My one a.m. blog

I am writing. And it is one in the a.m. This sounds unhealthy, but I am doing it.

I was watching SYTYCD. Lots of dancing. Lots of music. And it made me lonely.

I'm suppose to be at IHOP right now with my friends. Actually I was suppose to go to a Sadies dance (stag I ain't askin no boy out) and dance the night away and THEN run to IHOP at one in the a.m. But I was out buying ice cream and wasn't given proper heads up (thanks lame friends) and thus I wasn't ready in time and I couldn't find stuff to wear and all that crap. And so I said, "Thanks but no thanks. I'm out." So now I am laying in bed thinking about life. It's been entertaining. Here are my thoughts.

-Dancing. Why don't more people dance? And, like, all the time. All. The. Time.
-Boys. Why do we like them so?
-Girls. Why are we so crazy? I even admit: I'm pretty insane. We have all these emotions..blah we just can't throw them out. Yet I heard a song and it summed it up, "And this house ain't a home anytime she goes away." How true Bill, how true.
-Friends. Why are good friends so hard to find? And when is it that when I find a good one: people take them? Or they freaking go and change on me or we just dont' get along that well.
-Hairspray. Thou art perfect.
-Life. You crazy, crazy ride. You infuriate me. Why can't I just get ahold of you? There isn't a manual or even reins you just kind of jump on and get kicked around. I sure hope I find a seat I like soon.
-Marriage. How I hate you stupid looming stick that is hanging over my head.
-Singledom/lonliness forever. How I hate you ax hanging over stick hanging over my head.
-My dramatics. I think it gets higher the later it becomes.
-Fear. I hate you the most fear. You have such a tight grip on me I can't breathe. I can't move. I hate you more than anything in this life. I hate that you are my constant companion. That you sprinkle every thought and action. Why can't I use you for good? I'm a villian in a comic book and fear is my weapon.
-Work. Why did I enjoy you so much today? You were perfect in every way and that, for some reason, makes me even sadder. I wish I was still there. I want to be productive and useful and do good for a few more hours, I think I need it today.
-Jayla. I miss you. Alot. I think about you all the time. I wish you hadn't left me. I wish you hadn't changed. I wish even more that I wouldn't miss you. I hated our relationship towards the end. But man were you perfect. I see that now. You. Were. Perfect. I tried to hold onto you for as long as possible. I fought for you. Fought myself. Fought you. And then I just fought. I miss you, the old you. That reminder helps....and hurts. I want to talk to you. I want to share my thoughts and concerns, my fears. Dear Lord my fears. They're everywhere now. No one will listen to me about them, probably because I've talked about them half a million times. But you always listened. You were always there for me. Why did we fail? Was it only me? You were the best friend a person could ask for. I guess I asked too much. I'm sorry. I don't think I ever told you that. I really am sorry. You deserve every happiness in the world. And not my version of happiness, your version. Whatever that might be. That was always the hardest concept. That you might have outgrown me. That your happiness and my happiness no longer ran hand in hand. That we aren't going to be old, married neighbors that swap hot husbands.
-This post. Highly dramatic. But helpful. I hope Jayla reads it. And everyone else....just ignore the dramatics. It's two o clock in the morning. I guess I should change the title of this post.......

And this is what I think about when listening to Enya and staying up at all hours of the night.

More. Sleep.

The days are shortening. I swear it.



I wake up and bam ten minutes later it's time to go back to sleep. I don't understand it.



I wake up, nice and late, stare at my puppy that sleeps with me. Talk about how cute she is and how warm she is and how I wish she was my boyfriend. And then I shower. I shower quickly even. I don't know what I think about (probably my make believe puppy snuggler boyfriend) and then I dress. Now depending on how late I wake up (it amazes me even) I generally don't have time to do my hair. So I dress and tell my dog I lover her and that I won't make her leave now but if she poops in my room I would kill her. And I go to work. And at work....well I work. Or pretend to work. And sometimes I work really hard to make it look like I'm working. And then I get mad at myself and decide that I should just work. And then I facebook. And I have to reply because...come on....that's just rude not too....I am sitting at a computer. And then I go home.



Now this is where it gets tricky. Because as of late I'm a wanted lady. They need to tell people that when entering the Singles Ward, activities will flourish. Something about not having families to take care of so instead they hang out ALL THE TIME. And I can promise you that if there is a YSA (young single adult) activity, I don't care what time it starts, it will go until midnight. They will FIND THINGS TO DO. Oh what? Dinner's over? Okay let's go bowling. Oh what? No one wants to bowl anymore? Let's go play Murder in the dark at the church. Oh what? People are hungry again? And it never ends.



Now this breaks my heart because I had become quite comfortable with my fate as a lonely spinster and had gotten used to being home and in bed by nine, NINE. The Singles laugh at me. And I scowl at them. Midnight (that's even early most of the time). MIDNIGHT?!?! No. I refuse to do it.



But then those boys look at me (oh how they look!). And I swoon a little (Or say something biting and sarcastic [cause I'm insecure like that]) and generally give in most of the time and have experiences like the post below.



And then I go home. And my time to read scriptures are shot (cause let me tell you unless I am AWAKE and Alert and focused I won't make it one chapter let alone a good hefty hour of solid reading) and my want to run is shot (I may be big and hairy and strong but even I draw a line at running at midnight). And I stare at my alarm clock and try and think over what man drew me in this time (or maybe it was simply the idea that a man might WANT me there that drew me in) before scowling at myself and doing four squats reading two verses saying the quickest 'thank you lord i know I'm imperfect I'll catch up tomorrow' prayer known to man, finding my puppy/pretend boyfriend and falling asleep.

The Lamborghini of Plasma

I donated blood yesterday.

It was quite the experience.

I've donated blood before. Lots of times. Heck I've donated plateletts and plasma (it takes like 10x as long to give plateletts than to give blood) so I consider myself a pro. I look at all those other people and think that they should man up and give plasma. Everyone needs plasma. EVERYONE.

Well not true. And even more important, I don't give plasma....cause it makes me act funny. And when I say funny I mean.....LIKE A SAVAGE BEAST THAT CAN'T GET ENOUGH FOOD AND THINKS SHE'S DYING AND THAT EVERYTHING IS FUNNY AND NO ONE LIKES TO BE AROUND HER. I dislike it.

So yesterday I'm sitting there with my single buddies and my lil Duckie (that's Jordans nickname the seester) and they call me up for my interview (Have you ever had sex with anyone that has had sex with anyone that might have had sex with someone that was around people with yellow Jaundice?) and the lady scans my card into the system (Cause I'm a pro. Told ya) and looks at me and says "You have the Lamborghini of Plasma. What are you doing here? Your plasma goes to BABIES." And kind of just stared at me. I who dislikes being put on the spot said. "I dislike giving it because it makes me light headed." HAHAH Well the world thought it would be funny and karma was hanging around in the back and after I power through my little quart of blood (I did it in like a flat three minutes) I go to sit up and bam here comes the dizziness and the Ice packs. Oh what is that you say? No big deal? Well you obviously didn't have to stare at Mr. Hotness while your friends took pictures of you while covered in ice packs and scared you might throw up on them (and secretly hoping you do. Just to teach them a lesson)

And that is why I will forever more go down to actual centers ALONE and give plasma. Cause I have the Lamborghini of plasma and lets just admit it...that's freaking cool.

Hairy Arms

I have hairy arms. I don't deny this. I try and take care of them but honestly, they're a hastle so sometimes I just let them be. I let them grow and by funky and I've stopped being bother by it. But now, well now I'm bothered by them. I played 'Murder in the Dark' the other day with all the singles in my ward. The game is dumb. Plain and simple. You turn the lights off and 'kill' people and all this crap. It's like clue with adults and no lights. Well I was a 'killer'. And when you're a killer you have to go and 'slice someones neck' by dragging your hand across their throat.

Well people starting fighting back. Moving and twisting, shoving and running, it was starting to get a little rough and I'm not much for fighting when it isn't necessary. Well I'm wrestling with this guy to try and freaking kill him and he manages to get out of my grasp and he turns and yells "It's a guy! He's super hairy!" I don't think I have ever been happy the lights were off in my life. Naturally I stayed away from him but as I'm wrestling another guy he turns and yells. "Yeah it's a guy he's super strong."



I pretty much gave up after that.



Moral of the story-I'm not a guy, just slightly hairy and pretty strong. Man up men.

My Blessed Life

I have noticed, especially as of late, that I don't write as well when I am happy. And I find that not only frustrating but down right rude! I want to be able to express my happiness, my absolute lack of pain or emptiness or sorrow. But I can't. All I do is say 'Today is a great day. Everything feels so good.' Which doesn't sound nearly as good as 'The emptiness ate at me, chipping away my want for life, my want for a future, the desire to do or want anything. The feeling that you can't more forward, that you can't continue, that there was nothing to continue towards strangled you until you were nothing but a shell. An empty lifeless shell." I like reading what i write, but i can't read what i write cause I'm not writing anything. It's rather crappy. I want to sing from rooftops how appreciative I am for everything in my life. How many blessings have come my way and how absolutely LOVED I feel by my father in heaven. And that desire has led me write down a little story/experience I had.

In January I decided that I was going to go on a mission (I really decided in August of last year but I was fighting it, ALOT). A for real, out of state, away from family, read my scriptures, make sure I'm worthy, be terrified, bonafied mission.

I was.....scared...to say in the least.

And with my decision to go on a mission came my mission list. My Mission Bucket List (MBL) is a beautiful, but also daunting and highly improbable, list of things I would like to do before I leave my family (and hopefully [I think] the country) for eighteen months. Now on this list ranged the mundane, spend time with my family, to the extravagent, go to disneyland for four days and make a stop by the beach for four more days. And somewhere on this list (I would probably say the tippity top) was SEE MUMFORD AND SONS. They are my favorite band, hands down, I love them. Like my own child. Their success is better than my success. I cried when I saw that they got to play at the Golden Globes, yeah I know kinda weird. They are the ONLY band T-Shirt I own and I wear it as often as possible. If I was ever tempted to become a groupie it would be for them. I love them. Period.

So when I saw that they were playing at Coachella I was like...Um heck yes! But Coachella is mucho expensivo and kind of far and intimidating. But I was going to make it work! It was the ONLY gig they had in the US for 2011. Now me getting to Coachella, who would go, where i would stay, who i would stay with kind of was....tough. It was going to be expensive (can you say Missionary fund?) and I had no one to go with, except people I shouldn't go with (if you know what I mean). But I WANTED. NO! I NEEDED to go. It was on my MBL. Come on!

Well I was going to The Temple with the Singles Ward and decided why not pray about it (I was still struggling to convince myself a mission would be in my future and I needed to be there with it) so I stepped out of the main waiting area to the cute little court with the pretty water and trees and bowed my head. I pretty much said 'Lord, I want a mission, and I want Mumford and Sons, how do you feel?' I don't know what I was expecting (them to suddenly pop up and start playing 'I gave you all'? Maybe) but as I was praying, and really, really, trying to be spiritual and focus I got this feeling. This amazing, calming sensation (Whisper? Confirmation? Call it what you will) That everything was going to be okay. Everything. Mumford and Sons. A Mission. My future. Getting everything together and accomplished. It was all going to work out. Did that mean Coachella? I had no idea but I knew, KNEW, that no matter what I was going to be just fine.

And I have.

I got my paperwork done (with amazing ease btw) I got my interview done (still waiting on the stake president) and I'm reading my scriptures. I'm preparing myself to teach and preach and prepare and welcome people to this Gospel.

Coachella sold out (within like three weeks) but I wasn't that hurt. I don't know why. I wanted to see them, STILL WANT TO SEE THEM, but I was okay with it. I knew it wasn't meant to be and I would be just fine without them because if I needed to see them then the Lord would have made a way. I am going to throw out that M&S have posted other places they will be playing but it's like...New Orleans, and if i couldn't make it to California we all know i'm not going to make it to N.O.

Now I have had ALOT of other amazing and spiritual experiences since the Temple, all of which probably don't mean as much to you mere mortals but mean the WORLD to me, but this one is my favorite cause guess who is-FINALLY!-playing in Las Vegas?

Mumford and Sons.

And that right there is like one big thumbs up from the big guy up stairs.