Honesty time: I'm friends with some people on Facebook out of sheer curiosity. That's it, that's all there is. Or a vague feeling that I might hurt someone's feelings if I unfriend them even if the last time we talked was over 10 years ago. I know that people enjoy spying on me, too. That's how it goes in this era of technology. Keep your friends close and your acquaintances, exes, old crushes, old friends, ex-employers, and enemies closer.
And--for the most part--if you're one of those people on my list, I don't mind at all. I like seeing what's up in your life, hearing about your engagements and babies and milestones, and even being jealous of your adventures from time to time.
But what happens if you have some pretty strong opinions and you share them strongly and openly like the destroyer of worlds you are?
I'll tell you: you alienate people.
People tell you "you're really annoying."
People unfriend you or block you.
People make flash judgements about your personal life (especially when you post about religious topics) that they have exactly ZERO authority to make.
And it sucks...kinda. But not really.
I've been both the alienator and alienated, the annoying and the annoyed. I've unfriended or blocked folks (which, regarding 2 specific exes of mine, was the most cathartic and therapeutic thing I think I could have possibly done for myself). I've survived it all.
I think some polarity is okay. Public discussion of difficult, divisive topics is necessary. The world needs people who are willing to boldly state their opinions and back them up with real information. If you're on the opposite end of the discussion from me AND you can provide solid reasoning, I respect the hell out of you.
Guilty am I of zealotry when it comes to the topic of Ordain Women/female ordination in the LDS church/feminist things in general. #sorrynotsorry Oh yeah and social justice, civil rights, food politics, body politics, corporate mismanagement...you name it, I've probably got an opinion on it. (FYI I try really hard to do my reading before I start sharing my opinion).
Being boldly outspoken leads to cacophony among friends and probably being unfollowed by an embarrassing number of people.
But it also leads to building or rebuilding friendships with old acquaintances, really valuable discussions, helpful views from the other side of the argument, and--for me at least--more empathy and a stronger desire to do good and be good.
I have been so inspired by the people that I didn't even know cared about my two cents coming out to show support and/or share their stories. It means so much to me.
I think the internet is such a powerful tool of connection.
I'm inspired to be a better person, more involved, more open, more vulnerable, more kind, and more powerful.
So if you already thought I was weird and you're tired of me saying things, fine. Unfriend me. I'll be disappointed to some degree but I'll understand.
It won't, however, stop me from being a soldier for truth and justice for all (learning curves notwithstanding) or doing the best I can to support and stand up for what's right. Or stop me from calling out evil when I see it. Or posting articles and pictures about cats. Oh that was so 2010? THINK AGAIN, SUKKAZ.
This post on Grist keeps flashing into my mind and making my body do a mini-earthquake-gross-out dance.
DO YOU SEE THAT?
DO YOU FREAKING SEE THAT
BRIGHT RED BODY CAVITY OF HORROR?
It's a rock with guts, guys, and people eat it. A rock with guts that is so ancient and crazy weird that it basically reproduces by having sex with itself and people eat it in stew. And it's clear blood contains ridiculous quantities of vanadium, which is rare or something--read the article for yourself--and it tastes like soap, apparently, AND STILL PEOPLE EAT IT OVER RICE.
Okay. Okay, I just....my brain....my body....I just....it's all....I feel both acutely claustrophobic and strangely wondrously alive and amazed by nature all at the same time.
I'd also like to point out--for the Jesus folk out there--that all of the references to Christ as "the rock" (Deut 32:4, 2 Sam. 22:2-3, Matt. 7:25, Acts 4:10-11, 1 Cor. 10:1-4) MEAN SOMETHING COMPLETELY NEW AND UNHOLY NOW. A new meaning that I don't want to take the time to analyze because I do not have the capacity to experience all of the feels.
She knows just how I want to spend my Valentines Day. We had the best time together.
1. My girlfriend knows that I absolutely abhor being late to work, so she went to bed early AND made sure she was up on time to get me to work 5 minutes early at 4:40 a.m. We're still working on the whole "get all the way ready...including makeup" bit, but otherwise, she set me up for a successful day.
2. My girlfriend knows that I have a dark side/vengeful side, so she didn't even consider trying to stop me as I fantasized about all the ways I would get revenge on 2 separate exes throughout my 6-hour shift.We came to the agreement that I would not *actually* exact revenge, even though it was ingeniously creative and of the harmless "kill 'em with kindness" variety...on account of the fact that revenge of any sort would categorize me as the crazy ex. We couldn't agree on which motto to stick with: dignity is always more satisfying than revenge OR success is the best revenge--either way I just gotta keep. being. awesome.
2. My girlfriend knows that I love feeling accomplished, even in routine tasks (I merchandize for Old Navy...oi), so she gave me my space as I busted my butt to finish my displays. She congratulated me on a job well done as my boss and I discussed how I've improved over the course of the past month.
3. My girlfriend knows how much I love to flirt, so she didn't even get
jealous when I sent flirty text messages to a couple choice beaus on my
lunch break.
4. My girlfriend knows I have an impish curiosity regarding that which seem gross/uncouth/weird, so she caved and bought me Lay's Chicken n' Waffles flavored potato chips along with another indulgent favorite: SoBe cranberry grapefruit juice. We were delighted to find that the weirdy-weirdy-pants chips tasted of syrup and a hint of regret, but not loneliness.
5. My girlfriend knows that the most satisfying time of the day is nakie time, so we spend a couple hours traipsing about the house in our loveliest underwear and scrolling through facey and tumblr, all punctuated by bites of leftover Thai. She really is the best.
6. My girlfriend knows I LOVE Cocorosie, so we got all giddy together over their forthcoming album, Tales of a Grass Widow. Happy, happy, happy.
7. I want to give a second shout out to #5.
8. We watched this:
...............cannot be unseen.
(but it is SO WORTH all 8 minutes. My favorite part: 5:48-6:05 and 6:53-7:10. SO MUCH YES.)
Also, let's face it--there's a good chance this could be me in 40 years. I've accepted it. My girlfriend's accepted it. Accept it, guys.
9. My girlfriend knows how important my friends are to me, so we sent Valentines to some of mah peeps, either via text or interwebs (she didn't even suggest trying to actually mail something because she also knows I'm a lost cause in that department).
10. We seriously considered making this but then seriously considered the consequences:
11. My girlfriend knows how much I love poetry, so we went to a poetry slam and open mic-ed it up.
12. My girlfriend knows I'm a sucker for making new friends, so we met some new people and felt wild and young for the first time in a while.
13. My girlfriend bought me flowers. FOR 50% OFF, NO LESS!!! She loves me and I. love. her.
In conclusion, I'd say Valentine's Day was a smashing success. I was truly happy all the day long.
In the book of my life, 2012 is a chapter marked by dating wins and fails, ridiculous makeout stories, hard lessons regarding the value of breaking up with a guy simply because your gut tells you to, and the most important discovery of all:
I ammy own girlfriend.
If your mind is in the gutter, get it out now. This is not a weird Narcissus situation. It's just the most concrete, tangible way I've found to remind myself that I set the tone for how others are allowed to treat me by how I treat myself. If a guy can't match how satisfied, happy, free, and content with life I make myself feel, he's not allowed to get a title.
This concept was an ambiguous goo permeating my life in the form of self-esteem since forever, but I didn't really get it until I started dating a variety of men in high volume as an adult woman. It's different on this side of the fence. I now have exterior lovers to compare my self-love to. Some great, some awful.
RuPaul said it best, “Honey, if you can’t love yourself, how the hell you gonna love someone else?…..Can I get an amen?"
AMEN. AMENAMENAMENAMEN.
You better work.
I discovered that what they say to overworked mothers in parenting magazines is true--it's not inappropriately selfish to take good care of yourself. You are better able to give to others when you give to yourself first once in a while.
I don't have babies to take care of, but I do get way to invested in too many projects/activities/ideas/people, spread myself far to thin, emotionally exhaust myself and find myself confused at how I got to that point.
I forget to put my emotional, physical, mental, even spiritual well-being above having fun or saying yes about the wrong things to the wrong people.
Enough of that.
If you're being your own girlfriend:
You work, meaning you achieve things and feel a deep sense of accomplishment. You are impressed by yourself. In other words: you have active self-esteem.
You do nice things for yourself (within reason), like splurge on exotic snacks once in a while, take yourself on a little vaycay to see your best friend, refuse to respond to annoying text messages from lonely dudes.
You enjoy your own company. A night in, alone, sounds awesome because
it's a choice to simply do what you want to do without anyone
else's approval. A night out, alone, sounds awesome too. The first time
you hit up a movie theater alone it's a bit scary/weird, but you just
gotta get used to it. Laugh as loud as you want. Sneak in as much candy
as you want. Sit your fat ass next to a hot guy on "accident." Be
fabulous and do you.
You say no to things that aren't a priority.
You don't apologize for liking what you like. The guy who truly wants to be your boyfriend likes your quirks, likes the things you get embarrassed about, likes the fact that you have scars. Can you say the same thing for yourself? You better.
1. I have always wanted to rock climb. I am working on health goals so that I can, one day, confidently attack a mountain and win. Brook Roboutou attacks a mountain like I attack GDS-Free chocolate. Dayum gurl.
2. It is not simply her skill & training, but her unconquerable soul that allows Brook to thrive in this environment. We could all do well to remember that.
Due to a communication mix-up, I found myself without plans on a Saturday night. There are plenty of things to do in SLC--I could've checked out a show at the Urban Lounge, there was a poetry reading I could have attended, a play or two I wouldn't've minded checking out--and the party girl/extrovert inside STILL feels both guilt and remorse for skipping all of it.
However, the introvert inside insisted that I had just spent a whirlwind weekend in the bustling metropolis that is Provo, Utah and I needed to wind it on down.
So I did.
And that's when I found Butter.
The IMDb description: In small-town Iowa, an adopted girl discovers her talent for butter carving and finds herself pitted against an ambitious local woman in their town's annual contest.
I'm a sucker for quirky coming-of-age stories and this film fits the bill quite nicely. It's only 90 minutes, which is just enough time to build a delightfully layered story without belaboring the drama.
I was especially thrilled by a star-studded cast: Hugh Jackman (my second-favorite character), Jennifer Garner, Ty Burrell, Phyllis Smith, Kristin Schaal...and the surprisingly hilarious Olivia Wilde.
Observe:
Okay, it might be funnier in context but believe me, she knocks it out of the park.
A little more substance than Pitch Perfect but not quite a heavy hitter like Les Mis, it's a great home-alone-but-not-depressed-about-it indulgence.
Have you seen it?
Do you have a not-so-guilty-pleasure flick you'd like to recommend?
Tell me about it!
I thought I could write about the past 3 months in Arizona.
I thought I would talk about being home with my nutty but wonderful family with the mommy blog vibe that aging lonely working women find so addicting.
I thought I could write about the struggles I never expected to have.
I thought you'd all want to know how it felt to watch my 17-year-old sister get hit on by a man older than myself at the New Years Eve party.
I thought I could jest about walking into receptions nakedly alone, and sitting out on slow dances. How it's not so bad when you think, "Hey, it's 90% my family here anyway. That'd be gross." Plus grandma doesn't want to sit alone, so.
I thought I could write about Valentines Day. About how I essentially flirted with a really, really hott 17-year-old young man since my sister couldn't handle it on her own. How I, via my sister, pretty much kinda almost got a corny red bear and a balloon, since I was the one who did all the heavy lifting in that pseudo-not-really relationship, anyway.
I thought I could write about the ups and downs of trying to be a strict vegan. How difficult it still is to turn down McDonalds, even though I never really liked it to begin with and the food tastes double awful to me now.
And my triumphs too. I thought I could write about my triumphs.
I thought you might want to read about teaching my grandpa about vegetables and watching that old dog learn new tricks. Becoming his friend. Falling in love with truth over and over again.
I thought you might want to read about the satisfaction of becoming more aware of what type of friend I am, want to be, and will continue to be in the future. Biting my tongue and quelling my anger when anger is the only reaction that makes sense.
Getting angry at the right things. Some things deserve more anger than others.
I thought I could write about the rewards of being the family chauffeur (a job I despise), and how much I love being someone my siblings talk to. How on Valentines Day I had the most mature conversation with my 12-year-old sister to date. A conversation I'd accept an award for were there an award to give.
I thought I could write about my most hilarious pseudo-secret to date. And one day I will.
I'm learning, though, that some times in our lives merit a measure of privacy until the chapter closes.
You caught me. But I love the word manifesto, and we all need to know what we're getting into with this blog.
In short, I want to do a lot of things before I die. For example, I would be ecstatic to jump out of an airplane, read a billion books, climb every mountain, learn how to change a tire, skateboard fearlessly, maybe dye my hair, go on a supremely ridiculous cross-country road trip.
I want to improve my quality of life with experiences, not things.
I've got gadgets and gizmos a'plenty. I've got who's-its and what's-its galore...but who cares? No big deal. I want more.
The simple truth is this: I can have more. We all can have more. There's plenty of more to go around. It just takes a little hutzpah and direction to get the right kinda moregroovin'.
Unfortunate as it may seem, all good things must come to an end. After a month on the road, it was definitely time for this roadtrip to come to an end for ol' Jeannettie.
I said my fond farewells to the Stellhorns of Menlo Park (Dear Universe: I would like "Stellhorns of Menlo Park" to become a reality show somehow...kthxbye). Garrett and I hit the road. He kindly drove me wayyyy the whoo-haw into the countryside to meet up with my grandparents, who serendipitously happened to be on a roadtrip of their own and heading down to AZ at the same time I needed to head south. Call it what you will, but I shall call it miracle. I did not want to fly to Phoenix with all my stuff, so they made room for me. So kind.
When I am filled with dark clouds, I look to the kindness I have experienced on this trip to remind me that the world brims with good. I could call the kindness of stranger, friends, and family alike nothing less than a blessing.
Thank you, all of you who continue to show me kindness that I know I do not always deserve.
This picture marks the last time I would see Garrett in 2011:
I'm pretty sure Garrett said he was going to miss me right before this picture.
You can see that I am hanging on for dear life. Otherwise, I'da fainted with shock.
We loaded all my stuff in the truck and that was it. Poetry Roadtrip 2011 = overtown.
On the bright side, Arizona or Bust 2011/I Have the Best Grandparents in the World Roadtrip had just begun...and would last for a day and a half.
Let me introduce you to some stellar human beings:
Martin and Suzanne Kempton
I know I've already touched upon the subject of needing to be with your own people once in a while. I can't write this post about bringing it back up. My grandparents are the embodiment of agape (divine, unconditional, self-sacrificing, active and thoughtful) love in my life. I'm certain my grandparents are as aware of my humanity as anyone (in fact, I would almost bet money that they weren't too keen on my road-trippin' with a dude I'm not married to), but they treat me like I can do no wrong. And they're sincere about it. Sometimes I begrudge this mantle of do-no-wrong-ness because it is too big, too much, to impossible. That's okay.
The important truth of it is: being treated like I can do no wrong opens avenues of soul-healing. This love makes me lean toward wanting to actually do no wrong. Let's holla at the miracle factor again, cuz if you haven't caught on yet, mine is an impish compulsion towards the dark side. And maybe it's more accurate to say that it's not even a desire to not do anything bad (impossible), but to do more good. Be better.
Grandpa Kempton has told me a time or two that, by this point in his life, he's realized the most important thing is people. Nothing else matters. I know that he believes that when he says it because he proves it to me on the daily. He always says just the right thing.
In the morning:
"Why, a hug from you is worth a million dollars."
After I explain that I have to get gussied up to take family pictures:
"Why, you don't need to take a shower to be beautiful!"
In response to my mom getting a little hysterical that I let my 17-year-old sister come with me to the 18+ church New Years activity (yep, I'm that sister), saying "ALL THE MEN THERE WILL THINK SHE'S FREE GAME AND SHE'S NOT!":
"Why, none of my granddaughters are free game. They all come with a price."
And my grandmother never, ever, ever wants to hurt anybody's feelings ever. Her heart is so kind and tender. I had a pretty nasty cold this whole trip and she just took the best care of me.
I know, I know, I know. By now you are sarcastically wondering if someone got all loaves-and-fishy up in hurr or something. I don't mean to blow the image of my grandparents out of proportion, but they are most definitely my heroes. It would take days and months and years for me to give you all the facts that legitimize my claims, so I guess you will have to believe me and I will just get on with the roadtrip deets.
We drove until the skies got dark and we got hungry. We stopped in a dairy-smelling down called Coalinga. True confessions: I don't mind the smell of a dairy at all. It reminds me of visiting my grandparents' farm when I was a wee young lass.
Imagine it is night time, and you can't see any of this.
We ate dinner at a fantastic fancyschmancy place called Harris Ranch. The most important thing for me to say about this dining experience is that it is a steakhouse. A very nice steakhouse in a town where steak is quite obviously a main commodity.
The next most important thing for me to say about this dining experience is that I have been investigating the world of plant-based eating for a few months now (on the road it's pretty much impossible, by the way). Now, that doesn't mean I hate meat or think it's terribly awfully evil or whatever. I just have been trying to change what I think is most delicious.
Dining on someone else's dime at an expensive steakhouse would be the perfect excuse to guiltlessly chow down on some delicious meat. Much to my surprise, however, all I wanted was vegetables. Like, I was only craving vegetables. Craving. Nothing else even really sounded appetizing. That has never happened before. What a pleasant surprise to see real evidence that my food choices are changing little by little. Also, portobello burger...divine.
So after that delightful dining experience, my grandpa got us TWO SEPARATE ROOMS at a motel. THAT'S RIGHT, FOLKS. I had my own room. Blammo. I think that was more for my grandparents' benefit than my own, but you will not catch me complaining. They could've told me to sleep in the truck that night and I would've done so with a smile on my face. So this...ah, perfectly wonderful aloneness. What a luxury.
You better believe I lounged in both beds on this glorious evening.
And also took an excessively long shower.
And also walked around in the buff.
Ka-ching.
I woke up, packed up, and prepared mentally, spiritually and emotionally
for the looooooooooong day ahead.
Bla bla bla. Morning happened.
Lunch:
Yum.
I absolutely love this picture.
Oh, and I somehow managed to hurt myself on this roadtrip. No surprises. T'was when we took a bathroom break specifically for moi. The situation was totally under control until my grandma didn't think I was rushing quite quick enough so she started telling me to "hurry, hurry!" like I was on the verge of peeing my pants/WWIII (granted, any woman who bore 12 kids in her life probably thinks all bladder-relief situations are emergencies). So, of course, I started believing I should run, which turned into an olympic sport as I felt as though I would either need to jump over the hitch to the trailer or face a bear-mauling, as surly a bear has decided to chase me now.
The Perpetrator.
The Perpetrated.
Has anyone seen The Harvey Girls?
This picture reminds me of that film.
A lil' treat for you:
4:07. I wanted to be her when we'd watch this movie on Sundays after church.
Moon.
We drove 10 hours this day. Shoot ya'll.
But we made it home, safe and sound.
Getting home to the house...ah. Nothing like getting home to a bunch of little hooligans running out to hug you a thousand times. It turns out that the little hooligans aren't so little anymore. My brother Scott loves standing up tall so I notice that he's taller than me. Matt and Cori both say how glad they are that I'm home too many times to count. And my mom...that was a nice hug. A nice hug that turned into a poke and a tickle. My people.
And that's just 'bout the end of the road. For now.
Dear friends, may you find home.
Whether it be temporary or permanent, soft or stone,
harmony or discord, physical or spiritual, sunshine or grey skies,
may we at least find home in each other.
May we give and receive love.
"Heal the scars from off my back/ I don't need them anymore /
You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars/
I've come home."
Stay tuned for reflections/conclusions from this experience, the month of December, and New Years ridiculousness. (???New Year resolutions??? Maybe.)
You might not know what, exactly, a Pollo Fritto might be. If you have taken at least 2 weeks of Spanish in high school, or if you've ever eaten at El Pollo Loco (smokey bean burito and loco salad holla!) you will know it has something to do with chicken.
If you have ever eaten Fritos you will know it is kinda close to the word "fritto," which also sounds like "fried" in English.
This will all lead you to deduce that it has something to do with fried chicken.
If you are an American, you will be excited. You will be excited because you like fried chicken. It's part of your national heritage.
Imagine you are hungry, and you want something tasty. Imagine this bad-a truck of dreams rolls all up on yo' business:
What culinary delights must await you, weary foodies!
Imagine you could put this in your mouth.
If you are ever in the Bay area, I'm surr-yus. You have got to Pollo Fritto it up.
I got a front row pass to Pollo Fritto this week. I'm totes geekin' out on the company. And for good reason--it is a great idea peopled by some of the most genuine, creative, cool, fun, interesting, kind, thoughtful souls around.
Oh, and BT Dubs, the food is seriously delicious--perfectly crisp fried chicken nestled in the warm hug that is secret bread from the heart of San Fran blanketed by perfectly tangy/spicy slaw. Not too spicy. Not greasy. Just right.
I have never been fan of cole slaw, so when they mentioned "slaw" as they explained the sandwich to me, I had to keep myself from making the "did you just ask me to eat cockroaches?" face. But this stuff isn't drowning in mayo. Nor does it have wilty carrot bits slithering all up in it. Instead, the vinaigrette dressing adds just the right flavor but none of the gag-factor. All the veggies hit your mouth with a delightful crunch.
What I appreciate about this particular sandwich is, unlike most of my experiences with fast food, I don't feel like I just ate a year's ration of butter when the sammy hits the digestive tract. While fried chicken isn't the best thing you could ever do for yourself, a deliciously filling lunchtime treat that goes down fresh and easy? Yes please.
Gah. My mouth is watering as I type this.
So, Skip and the dudes had been waiting and waiting for the truck to get tricked out so they could finally get their magic food to the hungry people of Menlo Park.
Garrett and I had the privilege of going with they guys to check it out hot off the press.
Driving, driving.
Yeah, that's Spongebob.
Ryan and the dawggie.
Dropping Jon off at the airport.
What a rockstar.
Oh you tricky doggy.
Luh dis.
GAH <3
Ryan, make me a sandwich.
(See what I did there? Gender stereotype role-reversal never tasted so good)
You can't see him in there very well, but it's a happy, happy Skip in his chariot.
The open road.
Good times, good food, good friends, good sunsets, good This American Life podcast on the radio.
Lets get slow. Ride into that sunset. Forgive. Love. Eat fried chicken.
So the dudes are putting together an acoustic album. Gah. They are so talented. They started recording while Garrett and I stayed with them in Palo Alto. I know we all wonder what, exactly, goes into that magic potion that turns ideas into recorded music. In this case, it's a work-space-turned-antique-storage-space-turned-sleeping-space/recording-studio-combo. It is the smell of California--a smell I can't exactly explain but it has something to do with this particular brand of sunshine in the suburbs. Soft breeze, tall trees.
The magic of recoding is Jon cursing under his breath and not so under his breath, Garrett happy as I have ever seen him behind that mic, Ryan making jokes, and me playing the role of obnoxious little sister.
On the note of me playing annoying little sister, I recorded some of the magic. Magic I shall share with you now. Garrett is singing Jon's song "Muddy Water" (I think that's what it's called?):
The best part, I think, is 2:09 when Garrett realizes I'm recording.
Also, you might have to turn the volume way up. I didn't spend much time fixing the audio.
If the dudes happen to read this post--which I don't think they will, since it's just me, Erin, SarahJo, and Amanda gettin' bloggy up in hurr. Holla, ladies!--anyway, if the do happen upon this post for any reason, I hope they don't get too angry at me for compiling some of the vids I took. It would be a shame that such a fine troupe of men to get angry at me for showing the 3 people who read my blog how studly they are.
So, after getting asked to leave multiple times, I kinda just kicked it in the house.
Don't worry, I got pictures first. Amy took some pictures too. They were much more receptive to her. Either way, enjoy.
Hark! A picture of me! I'm pretty sure Garrett took this shot.
What you don't see under that jacket of mine is a giant grin,
Just playin'. I really didn't care too much. They were trying to get work done. T'was no vacation for these hardworking fellows. And I actually really enjoyed having my headspace. And playing with Lincoln. And watching an episode or two of Gossip Girl. So there's that.
