So Fetchin' Grownup

I don't know if I've really established this before.  In case I haven't, let me just put it out there for the record.
I am a child.
While I may pretend to be blase about many things, inside I'm a screaming romantic, making a big deal about every stinkin' thing.  The smallest of things excite me.  Let me give you an example.
This weekend I boarded a plane to visit my best friend Lizzie in Texas.  I've ridden planes before but this time I was all BY MAHSELF, not family.
My dad dropped me off at the curb and I'm all, "ok dad, thanks, see ya in awhile!"  Completely calm and collected (or at least trying to be) because you know, this is no big deal.
Sike.
This is a HUGE deal.
I just felt so grown up.  There I was going to visit my married, pregnant, best friend living in another state.  All I could really think was, "this is the terminal.  I'm walking through the terminal.  alone."  "I'm going through security.  I went through security without getting confused or losing my mind!"  "Oh my gosh.  Now I'm walking onto the plane.  I'm on a plane!  I'm touching the plane with my hands!"
And this, my friends, is why you should be thankful I don't have twitter.
Don't even get me started on the actual flying aspect.
"I'M FLYING!!!!" was my very mature thought process.  I swear I've done this before.  I took off and landed a total of 6 times in the past 4 days and it never got old.  I was on a fetchin boeing 747, a giant metal contraption holding a hundred people or more and we were in the FRICKIN AIR.  So cool.

Now let's see if I've mastered the picture thing yet.

Looking super grown up on the late night flight
Don't judge my ghetto phone for taking crappy pictures.

Normal signs in the Vegas Airport

Welcome to Texas my friends.  Isn't is gorgeous?

This is my best friend.  I love her more than I can say.  She's gotten me through a lot.  Thanks for such a wonderful time LizDawg.  (Sorry I can't stop calling you that.)

Generic Name Boy

Dubbed so by none other than our very own Ry Guy.

My mom thinks I have a thing for fall flings.  Possible.  Two out of my last two relationships happened and ended fall semester.   Dalton and David.  Same initials and everything.  I swear that's a coincidence.

I met David because I had a massive crush on his roommate as a freshman.  Honestly, I should probably include that squeeb in the category of "people who influenced me in Cedar City."  But I can't just yet.  I don't quite have the words to cover that fiasco.  It didn't work out, that's the main point.  But David did, for awhile.

Despite being hopeless over his roommate, I remember meeting David and thinking he was a cute, fun guy.  We talked a few times but summer came and we both went home - opposite directions.  Then I ran into him at the bookstore during the first week of school and stopped to say hello.  I walked away from that conversation disappointed; he didn't seem very responsive and I figured he just saw me as that pathetic girl chasing after his roomie.

But then he got my number (probably from same said roommate) and called me.  And he planned, hands down, the best dates I've ever been on.  We went roller skating at this funky old roller rink on the outskirts of town for the first date.  The next time, he took me to the DI.  Stop right there.  Marriage?  Absolutely.  Done and done.  He took me to the DI, we picked out something for the other one to wear, and went to dinner.  RIGHT up my alley.  He picked out this shirt for me, and I tried to pretend it really was hideous, while in the back of my mind laughing because it was something I would have worn normally.  I picked out a bib for him.  And was so impressed because he wore it like it was the latest fashion, no shame.

We had a picnic on his roof, played people bingo at Wal-Mart, and he taught me how to cook authentic southern style fried chicken.  I loved every minute.  Six dates to hold my hand.  Nine until he kissed me.  Yeah I counted.   For the first time, I could picture myself really falling in love, and even marrying someone.  He was grown up.  A senior, applying for grad schools, sharing an actual house, growing vegetables and splitting wood in the backyard.  Plus he sweet talked me with biology talk.  That may have clinched it.

He had impeccable timing.  When I had to move out of my residence hall, he came over to help me pack, and after days of worrying about everyone else, I finally had someone to worry about me, and listen to my  fears.  At the end of the semester I was moving yet again, dragging suitcases down the long cement walk dimly lit by the broken street lamps.  I felt worn out and on autopilot.  He showed up just as I was reaching the stairs.  I looked up and he was standing there, backlit, so it took me a minute to register who it really was.  If it had been a movie there probably would have been a hallelujah chorus in the background.

I would have seriously considered marrying him and moving to where ever he went to grad school.  But I didn't love him.  I wanted to.  So much.  I could see everything working perfectly.  He was so solid, steady, and kind.  But I didn't love him.  After almost four months, I didn't feel any different than I did after our first couple dates.  I wanted it to work, but I knew it wouldn't, and I knew I was wasting his time.  So after the break, it was over.  We never really discussed it, somehow he just knew, and that was it.  Didn't see him again for a few months.  I took his blood glucose levels for my research project.  Sufficiently awkward.

So it didn't work permanently.  But it was a step in the right direction I think.  He wrote a song for me; I touched (and cooked) raw chicken for him.  These are not equal actions of devotion obviously.  But hey, he tried his best with that song.

But it was worth it.  I finally had a first kiss when my hair was clean.*  I finally dated someone older than me.  I finally pictured a future, albeit only for a few months.  Good luck David.  You were wonderful, ideal even.  I hope you find someone equally as wonderful.**  Thank you.



*This was a big deal.  Both of the last guys got dirty hair first kisses.  I was determined to break my streak and I ducked out twice until I looked dang good.

**As long as she's not prettier than me.***

***Joke.

My Muffin Top is All That

Oh Ry Guy.

What is the story of Ryan?  Well I'm not exactly sure.  In the same stake pretty much our whole lives.  Went to the same Jr. High (I thought his name was Brian for months) and High School.  And then the same college.  Ryan you creep.  Get your own life.

Joke.

We were always in the same friend group but it wasn't until the last few years that I actually got to know him.  He looks hella intimidating. 

The turning point might have been when a bunch of us planned to cook a Sunday dinner, now that we were far away from our doting, meal providing parents.  Ry guy was pretty much the only other one to contribute a meal plan, cooking skill, and the thought to help clean up.  I thought, "wow Ryan is like a complete person that can function on his own.  Self-sufficiency.  Weird."  This was the dinner when I called my parents and apologized for every single time I turned up my nose at a meal or left without at least putting away my dishes.  Karma has a sick sense of humor.  Um.. sorry again parentals.

So we ate real food together.  And a lot of junk food.  We share this disease - ihateeveryoneitis - and the only treatment was withdrawing from the world inhabited by complete idiots and watching 30 Rock while ingesting large amounts of junk.  Basically we were real big snots.  But everyone else really was stupid so it was ok.  We took many trips to the DI because few other people seemed to appreciate the beauty of already worn clothes.  And then we laughed at the people who actually wore new clothes with name brands.  Weirdos. 

We took many* a trip to St. George to sell plasma and sometimes just to get the heck out.  I followed him to the gym (where he works out obsessively) where he taught me the importance of using the shoulder machine.

"But Ryan I don't want to."
"Do it Gish.  It'll make you look like Michelle Obama."

Let's see.. there's the gym, the food, the clothes, the plasma.  AH.  I also need to somehow incorporate the volunteering with children, the music, and the writing.  Oh look.  I just did.  My apologies, it's just that that the little part of me, you know, the one the dictates my ability to coherently write descriptions and transitions that aren't crap took my last two finals and then curled up on the couch where I've been sleeping and died.

Sooo anyway.  Ryan is a real good writer.  And he tries to make his school work real good and not just slide by.  Once he made me go to the park with him in the middle of the night so I could take pictures of him all dead like with syrup (blood) on his face.  It was negative two degrees and he still took off his shirt for the integrity of the photo.  Dedicated, this boy is.  And he took these real cool pictures:

Ryan kind of does everything.  I think that's the draw.  He's interested in life, in everything, in learning, trying new things, going on adventures.  It's the best.  (This may be why he's changed his major what... four times?)

My ability to write in full sentences is continuing to slip.  Ry Guy.  You are fantastic.  I hope you escape this tiny town one day.  If not, I'll probably come visit you as an old man and remind you what a "downtown" looks like.  One with more than one street. 




*Many?  Did say many?  Mom I mean one.  Really..

Goodbyes: Ally Edition

Crap I'm going to cry.

Ally.

Where do I even start?

We met last year in a crappy little residence hall. This one, in fact. The asbestos? The 1950's carpet? Yea boy.

Honestly, we didn't click right away. She was wrapped up in her long distance boyfriend and the scariest looking roommate I've ever met.* I was too wrapped in looking for the label of cool that wore a certain type of band and thrifted clothes. Once and awhile though we'd start talking, and I think that was the redeeming quality: we had awesome conversations. Without the need to impress anyone I could express my real opinions and we found out we had a LOT in common. Both were raised by health freaks** and had similar experiences with boys and beautiful best friends. In the back of my mind I think I recognized this was a valuable connection to keep.

And then this year it clicked.***  In your words, "Why are we friends?  Basically because we're the funniest people we know."  Yup.  That's it.  We're hysterical.

This has taken a long time to write.  I don't know how to keep track of all the memories.

One time we drove home and got caught in fog so thick we couldn't see the lines on the road.  So we gave up and strolled down the highway at a solid 20mph.  Rolled down the windows (mid january mind you) and turned up the hot air and the music.  Ate cornbread and nearly froze our hands by sticking them out the window.  That pretty much describes it.  

Al.  Who is going to go running with me in the morning even when it's raining?  Who is going to show me the best types of organic food?  Who is going to quote Megamind and Gilmore Girls with me?   Who will NOT go running with me and instead bake a cake with two pounds of sugar in the frosting?  Who else will study biology obsessively with me and crazy dance at those lame institute socials?

I like your house because it's actually a house.  A home.  Not quite my pair of clean socks, but a dryer for the old ones at least.  I can come over and see a real pantry stocked with actual cooking ingredients.  We make real meals and I can play the piano and talk to your sister and aunt.

 Ok I'm stopping here.  There's too much to explain and I just can't quite get it right.  But I'm coming to visit you in Colorado.  And in the fall you better get your butt over to my apartment and visit too.

(I might miss you the most)



*This chick cleaned her nails with knives. True story. She also wore those collars with spikes on them and had random shotgun shells hidden in the room. Which is a feat for a 6 by 12 room.

**Sugar cereals were a dessert and only purchased once a year on my birthday. Honeynut Cheerios were to be mixed with regular Cheerios. I kid you not.

***How much does this sound like a weirdo romance I should be telling to my children about my hubsand? Too much.