Beautiful

This is a super embarrassing post.  Apparently I'm full of awful things lately.  Brittany pointed out that I shouldn't care what other people think about my blog posts anyway, so I'm posting it.  

I like the One Direction song What Makes You Beautiful.  It's been on the radio quite a bit recently.  Yesterday I was driving home from a hike and I heard James Blunt's You're Beautiful.  I know the whole world hates that song, but I like it.  These songs made me think of a discussion I had with someone recently (probably Megan) about how it would be miserable to be in a romantic relationship where the person didn't find you more than just averagely attractive.  Even if you boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife honestly loved you it would be kind of terrible to know they only found you averagely attractive.  

My concern with this idea probably goes back to my childhood.  One of my parents' "songs" is Thunder Road by Bruce Springsteen.  It's a good song, but it has the line "You ain't a beauty but, hey, you're alright."  As a very young child I thought that meant that my dad didn't think my mom was particularly beautiful.  I was a weird kid.  Lots of issues. 

Do you see my two jumbled paragraphs of avoiding the point of this post?  I guess I'm more ashamed of it than I even realized. Fine, here we go. 

More than I want someone to love me or to want to date me or to have a crush on me or whatever, I want someone to honestly look at me some day and tell me I'm beautiful.  There.  I said it.  And it's weird and not something you tell people or blog about.  My mom tells me I look great sometimes.  Megan tells me my hair looks good.  People say that oh, that skirt is awesome.  For me, though, there's some sort of power in that word beautiful.  I know that it's not something that just gets thrown around because it is so strong.  Nobody's casual friend is going to come in and say "Hey, you look really beautiful today" because that has the potential to create a severely uncomfortable situation (probably).  Someday, though, sometime I want to be beautiful.  I want someone to look at me and think that and to say it to me.  

Such an awkward post.  

Growing Up Country

I've found the comments of some of my friends quite perplexing as of late.  One friend on facebook was detailing her freak-out of having seen a mouse in her house.  She left the house immediately, bought traps, and had someone else handle the rest of the situation.  If I remember correctly, she even stayed with friends overnight because she was so freaked out.

Another friend blogged about seeing an enormous beetle in her house and how grateful she was that it wasn't a mouse.

Pro tip: You're more likely to get the mouse if you use peanut butter.  Occasionally mice can make off with the cheese and not get caught. 

Wait, what?  Is this real life?  I think it is.  Perhaps it's because I grew up poor and in the middle of nowhere, but we had some mice in our house.  So we just set traps (they are dirt cheap).  When we heard one snap we'd wait a few minutes for the mouse to completely die then take it outside to the trash.  Last step: set another one.  (It's not like we were dirty people, this was the country).  This is absolutely not a big deal to me.  

Bugs in the house stress me out much more because if you see one, in all likelihood there are hundreds more.  We used to have to set "fly bombs" in our house then leave for the day.  Basically they were aerosol cans of poison that you set around your house and then when you come back after a safe amount of time you have to sweep up all the bugs.  Gross.  Also, damn the fact that there were chicken farms close so we had so many flies. 

Last night at the bonfire I got a splinter in my thumb.  My fingers were too short and stubby to remove it so I asked my roommate to pull it out and she freaked.  Then I pulled out my pocket knife and asked if it would help if she cut the skin on top (it was buried pretty deep).  She was completely done after that.  Luckily Gentry manned up and got it out.  I found another this morning that's even deeper that I'll have to cut to access.  

I can clean a fish and cook like a champ.  I'm not strong enough to skin a deer, but if it's quartered I know how to break it down after that.  A mouse in the house is not a big deal.  I hate wearing shoes.  The bottoms of my feet are tough almost like a hobbit.  I love the smell of campfire.  Give me an old fashioned crank style ice cream maker and I can produce ice cream.  I've spent hours and hand ground pounds upon pounds of deer sausage.  In fact, I know all the different ways to season it depending on the intended use.  I've been squirrel hunting and eaten the result.  (Why do so many of my country tendencies have to do with food?) I don't wait on anyone to help me move furniture or boxes, I can figure out a way to do it on my own.  I say yes ma'am and yes sir on a regular basis.  Minor in home surgeries (splinters, in-grown toe nails, etc) are no big deal.  

Apparently these things aren't normal.  They come from growing up in the country (good old Luray, VA) with expectations.  Kids aren't for playing while adults work, kids are for making the work get done faster.  Maybe that means you carry the deer quarters from the tree where it's strung up to the kitchen where mostly women are cleaning and organizing the meat.  When you get older, you join the women.  Maybe you haul wood or build fires or take care of babies when you're still one.  Maybe you join your dad for a Saturday of activities (probably a trip to the dump and hopefully Tastee Freez).  Maybe you join your mom and weed the garden, pick up rocks, and make some vegetable soup.  It's all part of growing up country.  And I'm glad to have that experience. 

Call Me, Maybe

Parts of this post are probably going to be embarrassing, but I'm still posting it.  Because that's how life is.

A few weeks ago (probably four) Megan and I decided to go to institute.  What was so good to lure us there on a Thursday night?  Carrabba's was catering.  Nom.  Naturally approximately 494,000 people showed up so we were forced to watch the meeting on a television in one of the Relief Society rooms.  Written on the chalkboard were the lyrics to Call Me Maybe with a phone number. Naturally, because I am exceedingly silly and witty, I texted the number "Hey, Maybe."  (Get it?  Really, it's not that funny but it was more interesting than what was going on at institute).

Is she wearing tights or are her legs that pale?

The person on the other end was confused and thought I had the wrong number so I explained that a friend had probably written his/her number on the board with the lyrics and I was a stranger texting.  My new found text friend immediately knew the culprit and chuckled a little.  I found out this stranger's name was Chris and he lived near the chapel, but not in my stake (oh Provo, you crazy place).  

Over the next few days I heard from Chris (via text) a couple of times to tell me that two other people (both dudes) had texted him and our small talk turned into get to know you talk.  We started trying to find someone we both knew or a connection we had, but it proved nearly impossible.  When I found out Chris was a math grad student I asked if he knew my home teacher (who is a math grad student as well).  He didn't, but I realized my mistake a second too late.  Here comes the embarrassing part.  I had given a first and last name of someone I know and am facebook friends with.  And my name is unique.  Now Chris could probably easily find me and then he'd see what I look like and our text flirting would cease and it was nice to flirt with a boy because that doesn't happen in my life.  Listen, I know I'm awkward and weird and that I shouldn't be so insecure, but I am.  I also realize that boys don't do facebook stalking quite the same way as girls do (or as frequently).  

After running across my apartment screaming "Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!" Megan tried to console me, but that didn't work out so well.  So, we started trying to facebook stalk Chris instead.  Chris had mentioned the name of a friend with a unique spelling, so we started with that friend and then looked for friends of that person named Chris (see, girls are great at this).  Megan found one she decided was the guy: a suave looking ginger-kid with a profile picture taken by a photographer friend.  

As that night went on and Chris and I were still unsuccessful in our attempt to find a mutual acquaintance, he suggested becoming facebook friends.  I freaked out further and under Megan's direction changed my profile picture to something more attractive and less silly.  Turns out that the Chris Megan found was the Chris I had been talking to. 

To my truthful surprise, communication did not end once we became facebook friends.  I met Chris at his ward's softball game later that week and he was friendly and handsome.  Then I went all insecure as the game ended and Megan and I left.  I said something about "Well, I hope to hear from you again" and he acted like it was the most absurd thing anyone had ever said. 

This seems stupid, right?  To be that insecure about yourself that meeting someone in person makes you think they will stop communicating with you?  It's real life.  I'm not exaggerating.  

That weekend Chris and I went to Red Lobster and watched what is probably the most brilliant show on television, Duck Dynasty.  Seriously, that show is a gem.  

After writing this post I was getting a lot of unexpected negative feedback that created drama and further heartbreak in my life.  It was a painful situation.  Chris saw the post and commented that he liked it and that it showed that I was not "fluffy" as some ElEd folks tend to be.  It was a nice respite from all the awfulness.   

This post is getting excessively long so I'll try to sum up the rest quickly.  I found Chris charming and attractive.  He didn't hate me.  We hung out a few more times.  At one point he helped Megan study while I tutored her sister and it was really fun for some reason.  Chris has an amazing ward and fantastic friends that I got to meet at a barbecue and softball game (which was freezing cold despite the fact that it is now the summer).  I don't think I've ever met a more friendly and welcoming group of people.  Chris is a great (and inordinately fun) person.  So there it is.  My fairly embarrassing, but an interesting to tell the blogging world story.  Maybe it seems that I was placing too much hope? pressure? something on this situation.  Not so.  It was just awesome to go on an actual date, to flirt with some guy as not a joke, and to have a fun time.  And in the end? I'm exceedingly lucky because I got a friend out of the situation.  

My Guide To Hiking

Over the last week I've been hiking a few times up rock canyon, and I've learned some things.

Note: the pictures below aren't in order and were taken over Friday and Saturday hiking trips.

Starting your Saturday hike with about a teaspoon of grit and gravel in your shoes is not ok.  You will feel it. Also your socks will get holes.  

Stop and rock hop in the stream whenever you want (just don't get too far from the path because then your mom might get mad). 

Do everything you can to make it to the natural water fountains.  It is the best water on the earth.  To get here, though, you have to man up and stop getting passed by the old man taking an early Saturday morning hike.  That's just embarrassing. (I would pass him, then have to take a break then he would pass me while I was breaking.  Finally I decided to man up, push through the pain, and get far enough past him that it wouldn't happen). 

Hiking on Saturday is just better.  Because on other days you still have life to get back to and things to do, but if you're hiking at 7:30 am on Saturday you can go for three hours and that's fine. 

Make friends with as many dogs as you can. 

Take pictures at the bottom on your shorter hike so you can tell your mom that you got into the grey rocks.  Proceed to at least triple your distance the following day. 

Even though people say not to, realize the benefits of hiking alone: no one will try to talk to you while you're barely able to breathe, you can take a break or go as slow as you want, and you get to pick the playlist. 

Get to the part where the path narrows and there's not as many people. 

Don't pick leaves just because you want to smell them.  They might be poison ivy or poison oak (anybody know if these are poison ivy or oak?).

Catch the sun. 

When you decide to go off the path on Friday so you can get a good picture for your mom, don't tell her.  If the giant rock you're standing on suddenly starts sliding down the mountain just as you were about to go further off the path for a good view, it's time to head back down. 

Don't hike in the shoes you melted the soles off last time you went camping.  You can feel all the rocks. 

Hike at least until you want to keep going and can't bear the idea of turning around.  Only turn around when the path starts splitting too many times and you're afraid you'll get lost.  Also when you get to campsites that got accessed some other way and there are toilets and everything, just give up and turn around because you might feel weird. 

When you see the view of the valley that shows how far you've really come, stop and take a picture because your view will disappear in the trees quite soon. 

If you hike in the morning wear a sweatshirt because it's freaking cold.  Don't take it off when you turn around to go down because there's still not enough sun to give you a tan. 

Spend some time trying to decide if you prefer the burn of hiking in the hot or the freeze of the morning.  Decide you love both. 

Hope that it'll get warm enough in the summer that you can walk in the creek up the mountain because the water looks so inviting. 

Go here.  Refuse to talk about it later, but insist on keeping the picture. 

Post a long blog post so your mom can see all your pictures and realize that you're not dead. 

Try turning your music off on the way back down the mountain.  It's a nice change. And let's be real, there's no way you're getting up there without your music.  You need the motivation. 

Post another picture of the place you're not talking about.  Realize you're obsessed with water pictures.  

Stop near the bottom for a photo of a nice cloud and a view you think your dad will like. Also wish that you could press save on your hike like you do on video games so you don't have to start again at the boring part next time.  

Just generally have a wonderful time and hope you have time and motivation to keep going next week.  

What Men Want

Here's a list of qualities men want in a girl:

• good taste
• obedient
• calm
• fast workers
• good family
• tiny waist
• can produce children (preferably sons)
• soft (what does this even mean?)
• pale
• nice eyes
• adoring of the man's strength
• good cook
• think the guy is perfect

Definitely not on the list:

• smart
• outspoken

Do you know where I got this list?  Believe it or not it wasn't an Elder's Quorum.
I say that mostly in jest, but really I've heard guys say things quite similar to this.

And to be fair, I've heard girls say things at least this shallow.  This isn't all on men. 

Mothers Day

I'm going to join the droves of other people and post about Mothers Day.  And you know what?  You can't do anything about it because this is my blog and you're not my real mom.  Also, as a side note, I keep switching between Mother's Day and Mothers Day because I like both.

People I want to thank this Mother's Day.

Misti O'Neal Carbone for being a real life Loreli Gilmore.

Erma O'Neal for being the sweetest grandmother in the world.

Alice Budd for letting me share a birthday (and a name), for giving me good advice, and for hours and hours of card playing.

Katie Facemire Snead for showing me a different way when I was in high school.

Robin Stokes for giving me a hug every time you saw me even when I didn't want anyone to speak to me.

Sister Thatcher for being an inspiration and a guide in my growing up years.  Ditto to Joyce Wilson.

Christina Stommel for asking me if my oil was changed, for driving me places when I needed a ride, for being a beautiful example, for seeking out adventure, and for being a mother figure when I missed mine so badly.

Margaret Wright for giving me the biggest hug in the world before you even knew me freshman year because I missed my own mom so badly.

Heather Wooten for taking care of me when Mom couldn't and devoting every single ounce of herself to her children.

Laurel Budd for telling me that everything is gonna be alright, be strong, believe.  And for crying with me when everything was the worst.

And finally to my own wonderful mother.  She is an inspiration and an amazing human.  I love my momma more than anyone else in the world at this point.  I'm not exaggerating or being silly when I tell you she is my best friend.  She wasn't when I was a kid (because I don't think that's how good parenting works) but now I'd rather talk to her than anyone else most days.  I tell her about boys and friends and we love to shop together (grocery shop or idea shop at Ikea for the most part).  For my birthday she surprised me in my classroom.  It was a beautiful thing and that week was awesome.  When I fought with my friends that week and sobbed for hours she cuddled me and bought me a birthday cake anyway, which we ate almost alone.  For the past several months she's listened to me cry almost every day when my life was SO hard (stop judging me right now, it's been a really bad several months).  She loves my students and lets them call her Momma Budd.  When I was in high school she wrote me a letter and told me how much she loved being a mother and the one greatest regrets of her life was that she wasn't able to stay home with us all the time.  I have no resentment toward her for that because she was/is an amazing mother despite sacrificing her own sleep and time to work overnight shifts picking rocks out of jeans. I could go on for pages about my mother and how wonderful she is, but I won't.  I'll just end by saying, I love you Mom.

Leave No Man Behind

Someone I know tweeted this quote the other day.

No one can give you courage.  No one can thicken your skin.  I will not fail so you can be comfortable.  I will not lose because you can't win.

I'm not going to put who wrote it or who tweeted it because I think both should be embarrassed by it.  This quote is completely and exactly the opposite of motivational.  Also I think it's total bull shit.

Most of the people in this area are extremely religious.  What would Jesus say about this quote?  Because to me this quote says, "Man up and get over yourself because I can't take any time out of stepping on other people during my journey to the top to help my fellow man."

Let's turn our thoughts for a moment to the US military.  When I think abstractly of "getting shit done" I think of the military because they do.  And what is their unofficial motto thing that is in all the cheesy action movies?  Leave no man behind.  Not I won't lose because you can't win, LEAVE NO MAN BEHIND.  Because that's what classy people do.  Because that's what Christ-like people do.  Because that's what anyone who gives a damn about other people in the least does.

So yes.  I'm a fan of the phrase man up.  Sometimes you need to suck it up and move on.  But sometimes you are physically, mentally, and emotionally incapable of taking even one more step on your own and if only someone would help you just a tiny bit you could get up and run towards success with that person.  And then you can both win.  And you will both be better people.  And no one fails.  Is my point coming across?  If I win you don't lose and if you win I don't have to.  We can both win together.

Unless you're an asshole.