As of today, the worst roommate in my history of shared living existence is gone. My one regret is that I didn't get a chance to photograph some of her decorative gems. The stainless steel pigs ran a close second to the fake grapes. The fridge is no longer littered with Napoleon Dynamite magnets. The permanently fixed dish rack is a thing of the past. The dozens (note the pluralization) of dishes have been packed. I don't trip over furniture in the living room. The drama that was her life is now for the ears of her new roommate. It's all gone. GONE, GONE, GONE.

I can breathe again. Inhale, exhale. Wonderful. God is Good.


good times

Three years ago, almost to the day, I swam in the Great Salt Lake with this girl.
It was sort of gross and sort of fun. The brine shrimp got all stuck in your swimsuit and were very difficult to rinse off. That was the gross part. The fun part was floating rather seamlessly with one of my closest friends. Sadly, she moved to Arizona less than a year later so this swimming tradition died.

She is "prombly" one of the coolest digital photography teachers they have seen in those parts. But it's sad to have her so far. We've shared the same style in dance pants, the same taste in beauty, even the same taste in men (ahem, my bad on that one). So, on this very awesome August 23, I just want to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY JO. Love yo' guts (you know, I figured since you loved birthdays SO much, I would make it as public as possible for ya. Plus, you're not around to kick my butt for it).



Is it possible to get Olympic fatigue? Just as I started to get over-saturated on swimming and gymnastics, track and field starts. So now my interest has been rekindled. Yet, I find most of the sprinters much more arrogant than the other athletes. It's not as though there is anything of interest on television, so I appreciate this over re-runs. And although I find these athletes incredibly inspiring, I can honestly say that I'm glad there will be another two years before I endure 24 hours a day of Olympics. Am I alone in this?

PS-Brilliant idea that they began alternating Summer and Winter Olympics. I couldn't imagine doing this twice in a year.


Would you rather...

-Get punched in the arm?
-Stub your toe?
-Bite your tongue?
-Hit your head on a door frame?

I stubbed my toe so badly yesterday that it still hurts. I'd rather get punched. I do enough of the other three that getting punched is a novelty.

I strongly believe that stubbing your toe is one of the worst pains EVER.


who needs poopy boys anyway?

The title of this post is a direct quote from a dear friend in response to an email I sent today.  I don't intend this as a single woman's rant about men. I rarely fill this blog with "whoa is me" diatribes. I suppose I am hoping that some emotional vomiting will somehow fix things. 

There are days, weeks and even months when I feel as though I have everything together. I'm confident, strong and fiercely independent. Then out of nowhere, it quickly comes crashing down around me. So it's not really about "poop"-y boys. It's my own frustration at how easy it is to decorate my room with streamers and balloons for my personal pity party. At the pity party my cynicism of single males takes flight. I can berate all the single men I know, the ones I don't, the ones dating my friends or not dating my friends, and all imaginary 20-30 something men. I categorize them in to commitment-phobes and full of issues that none of my friends or I could ever possibly struggle with. And yet, stereotypes and generalizations are a pet peeve of mine. 

So, I look at my decorated room and know deep in my heart that I have to take them down but I don't want to... because this is my party and I'll cry if I want to. This party is a waste of time and never enjoyable. It's like those parties you go to where you look at your watch, wondering when you can leave without looking rude. You cringe as each minute ticks by, knowing it is sucking another minute of your precious life. You start to think that waterboarding would be more fun than this party. You plan your escape and take a deep breath as you leave the festivities. Gratitude flows through you because you are free. You vow never to get sucked in to one of those things again and kick yourself that you got bamboozled in to yet another crappy party. 

Soon this party will end. I'm just looking for my escape route.


my broken heart

My new love is gone for another year and my heart is aching. It is too much for this single girl to bare. I said goodbye several hours ago and am trying to avoid the natural despair that comes from pangs of loneliness. This love caught me by surprise. I entered feeling somewhat skeptical but quickly fell madly in love. Now my only solace will be watching my love over and over again on YouTube. Farewell So You Think You Can Dance.

I will dream of this:

I will smile at this:

And this will always take my breath away:


forced touch

Every summer, EFY descends upon P-Town. This morning I saw many of these fine youth strolling arm and arm up the street. I thought it was sort of silly to make the kids link arms but thought they were being trained in the art of chivalry. However, driving home I saw several more groups of kids all linked arm and arm, and then I thought it was just plain stupid. I've never been fond of forced touch with the opposite sex. So, I would have hated to be told that I had to link arms with some random dude that I would have met 24 hours earlier... only to be required to publicly walk down a busy street. This does not teach teenagers how to be respectful to each other. It just teaches them how to deal with public humiliation.


things i hate this week (and always)

1. Vacations ending... especially when they involve family and a good friend. My trip to Canada was much too short. It was chock full of fun, so it was sad to say goodbye. (See Wind in the Hair blog for more amazing photos)
Love this kid (and the other 12 too)

Love this place, especially when I see nuns canoeing.

Love this girl!

2. Thinking I have the house to myself for a whole weekend only to have a roommate return home Saturday night. I guess eating breakfast naked is out. Blast!
3. Sunday nights because it means I have work the next day. Why can't every job have four day work weeks? I guess I would then hate Monday nights.
4. Sore knees. Ice, ibuprofen, repeat. Argh.
5. War. I watched War Dance this weekend. There are some things that are unforgivable and some of those things happened to these innocent kids. The children in this movie had some of the most horrible, unimaginable things happen to them and yet, they were still able to find moments of happiness in their life. It reminds me how much I take for granted. It makes me want to do more in my life and help those that are truly suffering.

What are you hate-or-ating on this week?