England Countdown: Three Months

Tomorrow is the beginning of my countdown to England. We'll start in Glasgow, walk 200 miles to London, and then I'm going to kick it for an extra week with Lady Jane before coming home. Eight weeks in the UK.

Now I just need a really great idea for my countdown.

Or I could just do this: I'm going to England! I'm going to England!

I promise to bring you back a present.

Gertrude Stein

I sure as hell better be hormonal right now because I don't like feeling this way without an excuse.

I just posted and then deleted a very Gertrude post. It felt good to just go, just write, but it opens me up way too much. At about the same time I was chatting with Saule and I'm afraid the poor boy got an overdose of editorgirl. I know I did.

So why am I posting now? I don't know. I haven't been writing much lately. Reading a lot. Thinking about writing a lot. Thinking about submitting to journals. Kim suggested Quarterly West. I think I'll look into it tomorrow.

I'm overwhelmed. Not with school so much as what I feel school should be. And subsequently what my life should be. Which isn't the best way of thinking. I know this.

I know this.

I know this.

poor little rich girl

I have come to the conclusion that I have been incredibly spoiled the past two years of my life. Two years ago, I was part of april (that's aa in the pic). And last year I was adopted into Fob. In addition to playing the part of both muse and critic, these groups were my friends.

This isn't to say that I am no longer friends with these people--in fact, I consider them some of my best friends. And this isn't to say that I don't have other friends--I feel the need to single out Lady Jane in particular. But I am feeling my loss rather acutely this semester. Last semester was so crazy--teaching and classes and the gallery exhibit and my thesis. This semester is teaching and my thesis, which I don't feel much pressure over (yet). I also don't have those hours of both learning and socializing booked into my schedule for me.

I'm scared to say this, but I need to make the commitment somewhere: I am going to make friends. I already love the Study Abroad group--there is more than one kindred spirit there, and I don't think I'm too much the teacher yet (Bennion is excellent at making a class a class rather than a hierarchy). And there's one gentleman in my ward who seems a likely candidate for friendship. I'm afraid this means I will be muching and mingling today, but it's a small price to pay. . . right?

I'm no good at seducing

so I'm back to blogging.

I was recently (about ten minutes ago) sitting in my car rocking out to The Weepies ("Painting by Chagall"), Faith Hill ("The Way You Love Me"), and REO Speedwagon ("Keep On Loving You") waiting for my Taco Bell Grilled Stuft Burrito. It's moments like these when an editorgirl has time to really consider life and all its intricacies, including (but not limited to)

• I wonder if the guy in the car ahead of me can see me dancing. Oh well. (Shakes hair seductively and continues dancing.)
• Would it kill them to spell "stuffed" correctly? Probably. (Shakes hair saucily and continues dancing.)
• Do I know all the words to this song? Who is this anyway? Faith Hill? Rock on! (Shakes hair twangily and continues dancing.)
• Hmm. I still need to decide on Pride and Prejudice clips for class tomorrow, although there's no way we're getting to them. Can I justify showing the Bollywood dance number simply because Naveen Andrews is hot? (All hair shaking and dancing ceases in light of this all-important truth.)
• Naveen Andrews is hot.
• Still on Naveen--wait. Wait wait wait. Is this? It is! "I'm gonna keep on lovin' you-ou 'cuz it's the only thing I wanna do-oo!" (Flashbacks of Adrian Grenier and Melissa Joan-Hart in Drive Me Crazy, before the romance, but in that all-important returning-to-how-things-were-before-his-mom-died moment. Dancing commences again.)
• Remind self that that was a movie, not real life.
• Momentary depression over how boring real life really is.
• Contemplate return to the blogging world, just to say "Hi" to everybody.
• Momentarily stop tossing hair and dancing in the car to pay for burrito. Ignore the strange looks from the drive-thru window operator as dancing recommences.
• Five minute serious reflection considering how if I really liked a guy and he was in the car, I would not be dancing, which would be a shame, because I love this song and dancing just feels so good sometimes.
• Turn up Backstreet Boys song which--yes--I know all the words to. Rock on!

why no man will ever love me, take 3

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

Sven's I-don't-know-what-to-call-her-so-I'll-just-say-"girlfriend" came over tonight to retrieve her birthday present.

Sven better marry her, because I don't think Mom will ever be happy with any other woman in her life. We'd spend the next however-many-years listening to "She doesn't talk about quilting the way _________ did" or "She's not as pretty as __________ was."

Which leads me to the purpose of this post: _________ needs a nym. And tonight I found the perfect one for her.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mary Poppins.

Practically perfect in every way and all that.

Although I don't think she has flying down yet. Oh well, give her a few years. I'm sure she'll figure it out.

antsy

The time has come for me to return to Provo. This is not due to my being driven crazy by my family--in fact, I've quite enjoyed myself this break. Sleeping and walking and quilting and reading. . . rather fantastic.

But the fantastic-ness is waning. And I am antsy. I rewrote my syllabus and created a calendar for 150. And then I read the first twelve chapters of Pride and Prejudice. And then the February issue of Lucky. Made dinner for Marzipan and her gaggle of friends. Shoveled the driveway. And so forth. And this is all tonight. Tomorrow I get to play with K (I hope) and by Sunday I will be in Provo and by Monday I should be stressed out of my mind again.

At least, let's all hope so.

Wii!: a(nother) photo essay

The novelty of my digital camera hasn't worn off yet. Give it a week or so. . . Last night K called me around 9:00, we met at 5300 south around 10:00, found out Mimi's had closed early, spent an hour at IHOP, and then headed back to K's (parent's, not Indiana) for an hour of Wii. Which, I admit, I thought sounded and looked a little riduculous. And it was. But just a little.

K in bowling stance.

my bowling stance.

the lanes

Mii.

the victory dance of K

so this is the new year: a photo essay

I have thrown and I have been to some fabulous crazy parties, but ultimately I prefer a small group of friends, and for New Years, Tolkien Boy and co. gave me just that. Good friends, good food, good fun, and just a strong enough dose to make me wish for one more game of anagrams.

Melyngoch and Ginsberg (check out the beard!)

[Insert photo of unsmug marrieds here]

Brozy and Bawb, the best marrieds to hang out with ever

Pretty sure Tolkien Boy is laughing at Melyngoch. Brave, brave TB.

Melyngoch demonstrating how she would quiet a crying child. And Ginsberg wondering if this really is the future mother of his children.

In the game of Curses, there is no cursing. Just Bassercussionist (TB's brother) scratching himself like a gorilla while giving himself bunny ears, hiccuping, clucking like a chicken, and delivering Mr. T's catch phrase. . . in falsetto.

And finally, because it's only fair, a self-portrait. Although, if anyone knows how to upload movie clips to Blogger (or another program), I have a great clip of Ginsberg demonstrating the Lon Cheney approach to werewolves.