Everyone, go get your hair cut.

I started this blog post in about five different ways, and through typing all of those out, the real organization or maybe even purpose for this blog surfaced.

A few weeks ago I got a magical haircut. Most of you have probably seen the picture on Facebook, but I chopped off at least ten inches of my hair and got an epically wonderful pixie cut. I've never felt better about anything in my life, and that is not even hyperbole. The response from 100% of the people in my life was sadness-crushingly positive. It makes me regret the 24 years I lived without this haircut. Here was my true response to getting this haircut, "My face space looks so good the rest of me should look this good."

For what seemed like no reason at all, I finally started the hundred pushup challenge (after seven weeks of the program, you should be able to do one hundred consecutive pushups). I've wanted to do it for years, and just never did. I just ended week 3 (after a week delay during Crohn's exhaustion), and I can now do many more pushups than I could when I started. Gonna start week 4 tomorrow.


I recently, finally, listened to Tig Notaro's "Live" album. She is a stand-up comedian who was diagnosed with cancer, almost died from an intestinal parasite, was dumped by a significant other, and lost her mother to a freak accident, all within the space of four months. And out of these tragedies, she wrote a brilliant set that was released for sale, unedited. She talks about the grand equation, tragedy + time = comedy, and it made me think a lot about Crohn's. For the first time since being diagnosed, and the first time in my life really, I'm thinking about what I'm eating. I'm thinking about my body and my health.

The disease has progressed to the point where I have to, or else my quality of life will be diminished. And through this forced facing of it, it's become even less of a big deal in my life, in some ways. In other ways, it's become a mammoth, staring me down every day, but in some ways, it's just this thing that I tell people about now. Yeah, I am going to skip that event because I have to go to the bathroom a lot. Yeah, I am going to pass on dinner because I know that I won't be able to eat anything at that restaurant. Things that still bother me to talk about: my unbelievably crazy hemorrhoids, but that's probably another blog post.


Tig's set wasn't perfect, it was just raw. It was so raw, and funny, and touching, and original. At one point she apologizes to the audience and asks if they want to hear some stupid, funny jokes and a guy in the crowd yells out, "NO!" She probes him for more information and all he can respond with is "You're f***ing amazing!" The audience dissolves into cheers and applause. The moment chokes me up. Crohn's will never be cancer, and I thank god for that, but I've always wanted to go into comedy, and here's some fodder for a set, I've finally realized. It's not about poop jokes, although those are great, it's about the experience.

That's tangential, I guess, to what I'm talking about. I just want to shout out to Tig Notaro. Anyway, I'm also moving to Salt Lake City. That was probably less a link in this chain of haircut magic, and more just a fortuitous alignment of ending contracts and an open first floor of a house near Liberty Park. But it's emboldening all the same. It fits into the chain.

I've written about change before, and I hope I never stop writing about it. It's so important. It's my favorite variable in life. One thing in my life changed, and it cost me $50, and it's lead to the newest new side of a leaf I maybe have ever turned over in my life. This is coming off as really dramatic. I don't mean it to be, I just want to impress on every reader the joy of the uncertain.

Not to beat the dead horse, but to close this out I'm going to jump back to the whole breaking-up-with-my-fiance thing. For 23 years of my life, my #1 greatest fear was living alone for the rest of my life. And I tried so hard to be okay with it, and to work on myself so that I wouldn't be so dependent on someone else for happiness. And I met amazing people who had lived solo their whole lives, who inspired me for a few days or maybe a week that if I were really to live alone the rest of my life, it would be a great opportunity. Invariably, that inspiration would wane, and the dark shadow of being alone would cast itself over my life.

I don't know when that fear left me officially (probably sometime in early March), but the other day I was practicing answering talk show questions (my favorite pastime, because I'm pretty sure I'm supposed/going to be famous), and I thought "What is my greatest fear?" For the first time, digging deep into my brain, I really couldn't think of anything. That lead me to realize that my mind didn't jump to "being alone" which floored me. Which defaults my greatest fear back to snakes. *shudder*

I think I scared myself so bad, I kind of woke up. Quarter-life crisis. I was so motivated by a fear, I almost married someone. I almost resigned the both of us to a really, really hard and sad life because I was so scared. Soapbox time:

Go get your haircut. Go wake up. Change yourself so fundamentally that you can live your life how you've always wanted to - freely. It's not easy. It sounds flippant to say "go get a haircut" because this was a long time in the works, to be sure. Maybe I have all the people who told me to never get a pixie cut to thank for this, to make the change so poignant at this moment. And maybe I have my ex-fiance to thank for all this, in which case, the price for this revelation was paid in part by another person who was hurt very deeply and that, despite the joy of what I've found, makes my heart ache. The best I can do is go forward and be happy and do great things, even if micro in scale to the rest of the universe, to make sure the payment was worth it.

I just want us all to be ourselves, because then everyone is at their happiest, you know? Let's do that.

A very short, non-fiction story from my life

I tell stories and then people say, "you should write that down!" and I never do. No one ever said that to me about the following story, but I want to remember it.

I was dating a guy and as we walked out of church, my bishop said, "Take care of her" to which this guy winked and said something to the effect of, "Oh I definitely will." I was annoyed because I was pretty sure my bishop didn't even know my last name, let alone know anything about my ability to take care of myself (not to mention the guy's ability to take care of himself).

I was dating a guy and after a double date with my brother and his wife, my brother said, "Well I'd tell you to take care of her, but I know she can take care of herself." I was so pleased I almost wanted to cry.

This story has very little point. Except to say that I can take care of myself. I've needed lots of help in the past, and I'm positive I'll need help in the future, but I can do it. No one has questioned that lately, and it's been pleasant. I just thought of this story today and how much I love my brother in it.

Press release

It's amazing the amount of "things" you accumulate in relationships. I'll be specific in this post, because this is in fact my blog. It's amazing what I've had to clean up for the very short time that I dated my former fiance. Our first date was November 30th. He visited my family in Washington with me on December 21st. On January 11th I scheduled our temple sealing. I told him that we shouldn't get married March 7th.

In those short months, on Facebook alone, I changed a relationship status, and profile picture, shared a ring finger-specific picture, took a handful of date night photos, added one of his friends, many of his family, and exchanged comments with my friends about the engagement. Then there's Google. I created a shared Google calendar for us, put big upcoming events (engagement photos, the actual day, bridal showers, the Seattle open house) as well as old ones (day he proposed, first date) on my personal calendar, in addition to his family birthdays and at least one vacation we were planning on taking, created Google Tasks related to the wedding, and I made a whole new email address for what was going to be my new name. Related to the wedding itself, I booked a photographer, rented a wedding dress, picked a cake, paid for half of a ring, asked my friends for addresses so others could send out bridal shower invitations, registered at two places, and added a countdown widget to my phone. I took my Wii and all my games and peripherals to his house.

So here I am, in the peaceful aftermath, slowly cleaning up. Emails to the photographer and the cake decorator. Emails to friends and family letting them know. I'll call the temple and the dress rental shop this afternoon. I deleted the widget and rearranged my home screen. I deleted the calendar, the events, and the reoccurring events that I won't be around to see or share. I completed the "Find an engagement photo outfit" task in my Gmail because I don't need to anymore. I scrubbed my Facebook; it looks as though we never met. And now I'm drafting this press release.

This post has taken a long time to write, and my mind has wandered, but I'll try to return to my original premise. I didn't take many pictures, we didn't exchange cutesy Facebook posts, and we didn't share anything (except for the Wii). We had been dating for only a few months and still, all of these little bits of digital data have collected and need to be cleared away.

That might be a good debate - which is harder (emotionally, physically) to get rid of. Looking at my clean bill of electronic health, I feel cleansed. It was an easy process to sit down and complete. It took some digging to make sure I had covered all of my bases, but now, I feel refreshed. On the other hand, all of my Wii stuff is still sitting in the backseat of my car, because the physical act of multiple trips carrying back to my apartment last night seemed too daunting. Texts and emails of condolences have been trickling in. I still need to cancel the wedding registries. I'm getting the photography deposit back in full, which is a pleasant surprise I just got in my inbox. This is how the day has progressed.

I love that this blog is still here. I love that my purpose and direction for it was so correct when I started it. All of life is a sorting out phase. I just sorted another piece. I learned even more about myself and about humanity. I feel sadness about the relationships that I've lost but not about the life I've lived, or the life I'm going to live.

Long live adventure and sorting and love and celebration and sorrow and catharsis and everything in between. Yukon, ho.

She throws a mean dance party

Ghost town! I've been writing most of my thoughts for littlesistergaming.com, so if you can stand to read about video games and like my writing, check out my project over there.

This however, has nothing to do with video games, but I really wanted to say it. For a few years, a few years ago, I didn't have many friends. Needless to say, I was pretty depressed. I don't place blame with anyone but myself; I should've reached out and made friends, but I had forgotten how because of my comfort bubble that lasted for three years. Slowly, and one person at a time, I've been working my way out of it. I don't know if you're ever fully recovered, or if you're just in remission, but I feel good about my social life now, and have for awhile, really. But one person in particular that really helped me turn the corner was Marci, who I got to video chat with tonight (she's teaching high school in Hawaii now, how awesome is that?), who reminded me how good it feels to be around close friends.

Marci has one of the most appreciative laughs I've ever heard in my life. Being the attention hog that I am, I do just about anything I can to make Marci laugh. Thankfully, the first time we met (a GNO through work, because in BYU tech support, there was only five of us) I said enough humorous things to make Marci want to become friends with me. And to her credit, she didn't really put up with my anti-social-ness. I hemmed and hawed about invitations to parties and functions with her boisterous friends and she always called me out on it and I usually felt shamed enough (in a good way. If you've been there, you understand what I'm saying) to come and have a good time all the while. And when you're default is to shrink into a shell, those people who care enough about you to call you out on your bullcrap become invaluable.

At the same time, Marci is really understanding. I had retreated so far into my shell that I had forgotten how to come out of it at all, how to be vulnerable with anyone. I'm still working on that, but she helps. You think you're analytical and intelligent enough to figure everything out on your own, but when you have a caring and patient friend who is willing listen to your ramblings and also prompt you to think about things in a new way, that really puts what you're thinking about in perspective.

I'd be very surprised if there was anyone who knew Marci who didn't instantly trust her. She's loyal and loving and kind enough to reaffirm your positive qualities when you need to hear a good word or two. She's certainly a people person and anywhere we went while we pal'd around Provo livened up a little bit when she got there.

I'd been feeling pretty good today, and Marci was kind enough to fit me into her high rolling life in Hawaii to chat via webcam for a little bit tonight. So it surprised me when after the chat, I felt really good. I tried to think back, of anything that was particularly bad about my day but it was all fairly standard. The difference was just that Marci makes you feel better, even when you weren't feeling down. Marci makes you feel good about yourself, even when you were already feeling pretty okay. Part of that is her laugh, part of that is her own awesome sense of humor which makes me bust a gut every time we talk or chat online, but I think most of it is just because she's such a good person; it's impossible not to feel better around her. Nobody is always happy, and nobody is perfect, but she is always a great friend.

And really, one of her best gifts to me is giving me a reason to save up and visit Hawaii.

4 years 51 weeks

So it was the end before, but for real, guys - now it's the end. I just turned in my final paper and gave my final presentation in my final class of my college education. Naturally, I pulled an all-nighter to finish the paper and quipped on Facebook that my education would've felt wrong to end any other way. I left work a little early to make sure I had everything edited and could print out the paper on campus without feeling rushed which left me with about thirty minutes to kill before the final officially started. I sat in the shade of a tree in front of the Joseph Fielding Smith building and people watched as I slowly crunched what I hope is my last ever, vending machine delivered Lunchable.

I was torn between posting a Facebook status containing a link to a video with explicit lyrics that sums up how I feel about some aspects of academia, BYU administration, and some choice professors. Then I thought of just posting MoTab singing "Joy to the World" and letting my pure bliss override any bitterness I feel about certain aspects of my education. In the end, I chose neither, but will instead write this blog post.

Sitting in my class, I thought that I should call my mom when I leave and give her the official news - I am officially graduated. Then I thought about how happy she would be, and I almost started crying. Then I thought about how there was no question if I called my dad he would start crying (meaning I definitely would), so I couldn't call him either. I got the best possible scenario I suppose; I called my mom and left a voicemail. When I got back to my apartment, I checked the message my mom had left me while I was driving. She was very congratulatory and I immediately burst into tears.

I have done something that not everyone does. I have hated something about it for every four month chunk of time (also known as a semester) that I've had to do it, but I've done it. I have debt, I don't have a competitive GPA, but I did it. I got two hours of sleep last night (which is undoubtedly contributing to my current emotional imbalance) because of my own procrastination, but I finished eight pages about Jonathan Edwards's sermon "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," and I am done. Exactly 4 years and 51 weeks ago (exactly), I started this, and now I finished it.

Despite some of my frustration with the system, I had a handful of really amazing professors that planted seeds of loving knowledge and maybe graduate school (don't mention graduate school to me for at least a year, perhaps never). I made some pretty good school friends (read: people I will only stay in touch with via Facebook since we don't have classes together any more) that also helped me finish papers, study for tests, and pass classes. But really the only thing I could think about as I slowly walked from the classroom my final final was held in, was that never in a million years would I have finished my bachelor's degree without my mom and dad. Never. So for as much as I wished I could've finished this class last semester and saved some time and money, it's all rather fitting that I'm wrapping this up as an early Father's day gift. It would only be more perfect is Mother's day magically fell again this year, on June 16th, or something. What the heck, I'm just going to say it is.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.

The end of an era

I just took my Washington license plates off of my car, and put on my freshly minted Utah plates.

I finally bit the bullet this morning and registered my car in Utah. My brother is getting married on Saturday (blog post forthcoming about thoughts on the end of that era) and I'm driving north for the festivities. The registration for my car expired in June of 2011, but I've been driving under the assumption that it's more of a bother for Utah cops to stop an expired out-of-state driver than just letting me drive around illegally. And my assumption proved true: I never got pulled over for expired registration (or any other infraction for that matter). But I am 95% positive that Washington police officers won't feel the same way and the instant I enter Washington state I'll get pulled over. So I had to register my car in Utah this morning.

Why does this matter at all? It was a late-in-life discovery for me that people might not actually love the state or hometown they're from. Weird. The same realization hit me about people's names (I love my name, so it's weird when people wish they could be called something else). I am so obsessed with Washington, it gets annoying. Every time I see a car with a Washington license plate, I audibly say "Washington!" and passengers with me a lot wonder why I'm allowed to drive when I have Tourette's. I tell everyone who wonders where they should go on vacation to go to Washington, I ask everyone where they're from in case they're from Washington and then we can talk about it, and I always hoped to go back to Washington so I wouldn't have to change my license plates.

I'm staying in Utah because I got a full-time job in Utah.

I started an internship (previously mentioned here) last November, writing content for a tech company's website. It went really well. So well, they offered me a full-time job that began in April. I enjoy who I work with, and what I get to do, and the experience I'm gaining, but it means that I'm still here. In Provo. I do recognize the positives to that but the stigma surrounding graduates to who stay in Provo is an odd thing to navigate. People always assume it's your last resort and while that was the case with me, it wasn't necessarily a conscious last resort. I would be happy to live in Provo, or at least stay in Utah (I have some beef with Provo government, don't get me started) but because everyone assumes that's what no one wants to do, it's weird to move on.

I graduated from BYU . . . almost.

That's one of the great things about this job: I was offered a full-time position without the contingency that I actually need to graduate. I know what you're thinking, hold your horses. I will officially graduate in June, but I participated in the convocation ceremony in April. Family drove down, we also celebrated my birthday, we laughed and partied, and focused mainly on me so let me tell you: best. weekend. ever. But again, paired with the staying-in-Provo bit and the not-actually-graduating bit, it was an unsettling feeling. What am I doing? I have a job, I'm graduating, I'm staying in Provo. With students and the perceived population who aren't moving on (who all really have jobs but have become the underground of Provo because people assume they're not doing anything valuable). Utah county is a weird, but potentially wonderful place.

The real conundrum of that weekend was the quintessential crisis of "I'm no longer a student" paired with "I'm still a student for seven more weeks." I did start working full-time which helped really demarcate the student era of my life but unfortunately it also put my motivation in this last class to "Get a C-."

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Even as I'm writing this my thoughts are becoming as jumbled as last month was for me. "Laurie, what's the point?" Great question. Everything is changing and it's making me nostalgic, not sad. I love working full-time because I love money, but I do hate the boredom. I love not being in class any more because I've always hated school, but I do hate not getting the opportunity to sit at the feet of some amazing professors I've had the privilege of knowing the past five years. I love how fresh and new my license plates looks because they're not filthy yet, but I hate that it has become one more piece of Washington that's slipped through the cracks of my life expanding into whatever it's going to become. This isn't really the end of an era; these are the ends of eras, and in the long run that's really okay.

Christmas is here, bringing good cheer

In years past I've lamented Christmas as a college student. I don't own any decorations and am too poor to buy any. I am craft-illiterate and refuse to taint Christmas by making then hanging severely mangled homemade Christmas decorations. I ring in the month of Christmas with end-of-semester papers and projects followed closely by final exams, and then I jump at the opportunity to work full-time the rest of the month to get a few dollars ahead. I'm not big on listening to Christmas music all of the time (don't lynch me, I like it, just not on those 24/7 radio stations), and I'm not exactly admiring neighbors decorations because I live in a mainly student populated apartment complex. I celebrate Christmas for a few days with my family, whether in Utah or in Washington, and then it's back for a few more days of full-time work before I start the new semester slog all over again. Like I said, this has been the rinse and repeat Christmas pattern for the past few years I've been in college.

I think of Christmas at home with ungodly amounts of cookies, decorations strewn throughout the house, and a Douglas fir filling the living room with needles, its sheer size, and best of all - its smell. All of our hodge podge ornaments are placed conscientiously on the tree to fill up as much space as possible. It used to be easy but as all of the kids get married, one by one, they take their ornaments and the tree looks a little more sparse every year (I am secretly pleased because then I get to put all of my ornaments front and center). One of the radios in the kitchen is tuned to one of those radio stations playing Christmas music 24/7 starting right after Thanksgiving and for some reason, it's not so bad when it's at home. Slowly, presents start congregating under the tree and even though it's never too many, it also looks perfect and full on the old tree skirt that has the 12 Days of Christmas  embroidered around it. Stockings are laid out on the fireplace and the white tree advent calendar that never has any candy in it is hung above the railing on the stairs.

On December 1st, something just felt kind of different about Christmas this year, and yet everything seems the same. If anything, it's kind of worse. My apartment is even less decorated than before, I have to work even more, and be with family even less. Regardless, I can't put my finger on it, but something is different. Maybe it's because I started out the month with family, and can now bear the next two weeks of wrapping up classes before I get to see them again. Maybe it was the office decorations I see everyday that are really quite impressive. Maybe it's because I heard my first Christmas song in a commercial last week and even though I don't remember the song or the product (it was not the Victoria's Secret ad, but I have to admit: Carol of the Bells is my favorite Christmas song), it made me so happy my eyes thought someone was chopping onions in my room. Maybe it's because I know there won't be much else this Christmas besides service and family, but I finally figured out that's all I need. Or maybe it really only hit just tonight, after we went caroling to some people that may or may not have needed to know that there was a haphazardly formed group of their peers that have found some common ground every Monday night, that miss them when they don't come. Whatever the reason for my attitude this season, it's refreshing.

P.S.

This is without a doubt the way Carol of the Bells is supposed to be sung. I love a multitude of variations and arrangments but as far as classic, perfect interpretation, this is it.