Something Happened

I am 27 and 1/2 years old. I have no idea how that happened. You can tell me that I'm still young, and most of the time I will buy the crap you are selling; however, 27 is nothing to joke about. I'm undeniably a grown-up these days.

I don't mean to beat a dead horse or anything, but I hardly resemble the 27-year-old me I used to picture as a kid. Which, as it turns out, isn't the worst thing that could have happened.
So, in commemoration of my 27.5 completed years, I thought I would take you through a timeline of significant events in my life thus far. I know, I know, there aren't words to describe your excitement.

1985 - I was born, and the party began
1986-1989 - mostly just a lot of being a small child happened here.
1990 - Took the"Germs Make Me Sick" episode of Reading Rainbow to my pre-school to watch. It must have scarred me because still I don't like germs. Or dirt.
1992 - Fell while tipping backwards on my chair and cut my chin open in Mrs. Johnson's 1st grade class and had to get 11 stitches. A story she told every year for the remainder of her teaching career.
1994 - Went to my very first concert: Janet Jackson. I think my mom thought we were older than we actually were...
1996 - Convinced my mom to let me cut my hair real short, and then perm it. Yeah, it was awesome. People thought I was a boy all the time, so my mom told me to start wearing make-up. My transition into womanhood had begun.
1997 - A boy in my class got in a fight with our substitute teacher and escaped out of the classroom window. It was so traumatic that I cried and now I never get in trouble or break any rules.
1998 - I wore lip liner and a faux leather jacket for my 7th grade school picture. Ate cheese bread with ranch dressing and a maple donut for lunch every day. And my best friend Cass and I rocked out to Prince's "1999" on New Year's Eve.
2001-2004 - High school. Pretty much the same as everyone else's. Complete with studded belts and bracelets, Dickie's pants in every color, enormous Osiris shoes, and going to punk rock shoes every weekend. I had my first kiss, started plucking my eyebrows (which probably should have started with the make-up 5 years earlier), told a boy I loved him, was almost a foreign exchange student in Mexico (not sure who's brilliant idea that was), had casual Fridays, and worked minimum wage jobs.
2004 - Left the nest for the first time. To Texas to be a nanny. It didn't turn out so hot and was a huge learning experience for me. Looking back, the two lessons that stand out to me still are: 1- how difficult it is to give tough love and 2- I am not a failure if things don't work out like I planned.
2006 - 2nd stint away from home. This time with my boyfriend and his friends for a summer job in Cleveland, Ohio. Drew Carey was right all along. Cleveland does rock. I'm pretty sure I cried a lot because I was homesick, but from my vantage point now, it was a really great summer.
2007-2009 - Life went on as normal. I started at my big-girl job, learned about myself through relationships, missed Jessica while she was gone, traveled Europe a little, and turned 24, which was how old I wanted to be when I got married. So much for that.
2010 - I dealt with the pain of a broken relationship and I spent the best summer of my life living large in San Diego with my Jessie. Kalie was the first in our family to get married, and we could no longer deny that we really were growing up.
2011-Present - Somehow I became an adult (this point is probably arguable). I think something clicked and I realized that I couldn't keep waiting for things to happen, I had to go out and make them happen myself.  So here I am at 27.58 years old. I wear funny undies, I have a mortgage, I will soon have a college degree, I have a job with a 401(K) and health insurance benefits. That is the definition of a boring grown-up, no?

More than all of that though, I have the happy imprints and painful scars on my heart from experiences that have earned me my 27 years and I wouldn't trade them. Not even to be married at age 24.

An appendix to this post of documentary photos coming soon...

Abraham and Isaac

Apparently my life/attention span only allows for one form of social media at a time, and blogs have recently fallen by the wayside.
However, I felt this experience to be blog worthy, mainly because I feel it should be documented for my own use. (Why in the world is this easier than writing it down in a journal?? Beats me.)

I am a terrible decision maker. Not that I often make terrible decisions (I only do that sometimes), but I am terrified of making them. I am frequently paralyzed by the fear of making a wrong decision, especially when that decision will alter the course of my life. I make myself sick with anxiety and am completely consumed with weighing my options.

Recently, my work offered me a position that involved me transferring to New Jersey, indefinitely. I was right in the middle of buying my condo and had just started to lay out my class schedules up to graduation (in 3 semesters).

The middle part of this story is mostly me being a wreck about the decision and only having about a week to make it (a few years ago when I was deciding whether or not to move to Ohio it took more time to make up my mind than I actually spent there), praying a lot, talking to my family a lot, asking them to pray a lot, making pros and cons lists, etc. It was a very heavy weight for me. I kept waiting for the answer to my prayers to come, but it didn't.

So after much tribulation and wrestling, I decided to go. I was going to put my faith in the Lord and take a step even when I was unable to see what lay ahead.

I started contacting friends of friends who lived in NJ, inquiring about the singles ward, browsing for apartments, planning the logistics of moving, etc. etc. etc. I was both excited and terrified. I was looking forward to the change of scenery, pace, people, everything. This was going to be a great way for me to make my life bigger. Despite my fears, I had committed to go, and that's exactly what I intended to do.

It was at this point that my bosses decided that it wouldn't be worth it financially to transfer me back east and that I would just continue to do my job from here. I felt so relieved and so disappointed. It was a mix and strength of emotions that I don't believe I have ever felt before.

My friend called it an "Abraham and Isaac" experience, which felt appropriate to me (on a significantly smaller scale, of course).

Was it to prove myself? Possibly. Was I supposed to learn something? Definitely. Do I know what that something is/was? Nope, not yet.
But the moral of the story is that I'm sticking around, for now at least.

Well....

People still blog these days? Whoops.

Mates, Dates, and Inflatable Bras

That was the name of a book I read once. I don't remember anything about it, so it must not have been very good. But the title stuck with me obviously.

Dates. Dates. Dates. That is mostly what started this here post.

I think that I need to go on a string of really spectacular dates in order to restored my faith in the practice. In the meantime, I am slowly coming up with my own rules for dating. Please don't judge too harshly, and if you have any to add, by all means, feel free to do so.

In no particular order:

1- The latest to make the list is no dating in the ward. To some that may sound counter-productive for someone like me in a singles ward, but I'm just not going to do it anymore. It works out for other people, but doesn't seem to work out for me.
2- In an effort to keep my options open (mostly to keep me from being a picky snob), I have adopted a 2 date minimum policy. If I am asked out a second time, I will say yes. Sometimes first dates are stressful, and people aren't their best, so both of us can relax on a second and less stressful (hopefully) date. I hate to be too blunt here, but I am pretty confident in my first date abilities; however, I know what it is like to not be on my A game, and regret it after.
3- After the second date, if I am not interested, I must be more direct in my "break up." No beating around the bush, or simply wussing out all together. My trying to be kind and not hurt feelings gets twisted and then we just end up in a bigger mess.
4- Be open minded. But don't settle. And no talking myself into it.... Which we all know, I am good at.
5- Try my best to enjoy dating. Sometimes it just really sucks... you know what, but if I am lucky it will be temporary and I will never have to do it again. Plus, it isn't all bad. Sometimes it can be quite fun too.

Ugh. Dating. The end.

I was tired

I went to Washington DC in November (which was a pretty good month for me work-wise... because I didn't really do much of it). As per usual, I seriously neglected the picture taking detail, so I don't have much to show for it.   

My friend/cousin/co-worker Cass came with me, which was awesome! This is in Alexandria, VA where we actually stayed.

 

The last time I went to DC, I posted about how much I love Mr. Lincoln, and I still love him just as much, so here are two pictures of Abe. They are basically the same pictures as before, just from this new trip:

 

 

We saw the front and back side of the White House (not because we were over zealous, we were just a little lost).  

 

 

Walked our aces off on the way to Union Station. Which I LOVE.

(And my hair looks EXTRA Bieber-ish here. My apologies.)

Posed with Obama. 

 

Visited the breathtaking Arlington National Cemetary.

 

Felt so overwhelmingly patriotic and appreciative as a soldier played Taps at the Tomb of The Unknowns. It was so beautiful.

 

And that's it. Well, not really because we saw lots more, but that's all I have picutes of. Almost.

 

Cass had never been to DC before so we wanted to maximize our time there as tourists, and booked our flights accordingly. We took the red-eye to JFK to fly into Reagan early in the morning. This is how I spent our layover in JFK:

 

Facedown on the concrete floor. Yeah, I was real tired.

Bavarian Sugar Cookies and also -time in

As Harold took a bite of Bavarian sugar cookie, he finally felt as if everything was going to be ok. Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true. And, so it was, a wristwatch saved Harold Crick. (Stranger Than Fiction)

One more time:

And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives.

Now, I'm on the look out for some cookies, ya hear!?

Also, this post could have been done at least 10,000 times different and better than this, but you get what you get, and you don't have a fit.