What a wondie.

A secret deed. A simple act. Scared out of my mind but comforted and reassured by a dear friend, I completed the task. This reality shall go with me to the grave. So don't bother asking.

The graduation. Sometime soon I'll post the incredible photographs my brother-in-law got of my runway debut (stank face and all). Until then, Que the bomb of photos.....now.

 Dying a thousand deaths of Anticipation

 The Strut. I was a bit essited.

McCall and Ty. I'm already miss my Dance Co girls.

Daddy's little girl. 

We're both the babies of our fams, so we get along quite well.

*insert sly smile right here*

 The Mother and Father. 

They both teared up that their baby is "all growed up" as Mother puts it.

I'm still forever and always your baby girl.

 I love you the most.

 It HAD to come from somewhere! Ha. They fake it quite well.

 Dance Co presidents (old and new). I love this girl with all my heart.

 KP, Con, Laurel, Benji-babe, and myself

 High School Musical became a reality for us today.

 The Conster. Thank you for having the same music taste as I do. Thank you for being so easy to talk to and for being genuine. Thank you also, for the CD's. Love them.

 The KP. Oh my dear Kristen. I want to be more like you. You are the fiendiest of all the fiends. "Tweet that."

 My favorite people.

 The best group of fiends. (M.I.A.: Amy, Mary, Krista, Davis)

 My Miranda buddy slash twin brother Cody. You make life easier and more enjoyable. 

Never leave my life.

 Morgs. My soul sister. No need for goodbyes because we've got great plans for the near future. Plans that may or may not involve a truck and some movies and playlists and car rides and tans and all the icecream places we can imagine and country music and seeking out men. Just to name a few :)

 

My absolute fave pic of the whole day. I can't get enough of them. The last documentation of us four together. Sure we went to Boondocks, but there is nothing that will ever be the same as this moment. My homeboys. I love you.

I'll always be here to tickle your arms. or backs. or heads. 

Whatevs you please.

We found her. 

 The best looking group of friends I ever did see.

 Well, Frump Queen. We did it. We both graduated from American Fork High School with gold chords. All the flamies, all the tears and the frustrations and stresses and funny faces and laugh attacks and rounds of BKM and simultaneously saying "Amen" to the motivational kids in our English class. Times of making it the best senior year possible. They were all worth it. But you see, they're over now. Sure it isn't the end of our friendship, but we both know life is going to be so different. We're headed to different parts of the state in the fall. We'll have different lifestyles, we'll meet new people, and you may even find love in Cedar City.
 I want us to forever have hopes of ending up as the grandmas at J's shows who hand out stale gum and chocolate covered nuts and fruit snacks to strange teenage girls. And we'll look back and say, "Yep. Those girls remind me of us when we were young and thought we had it all figured out."
 Amy. We've had our ups and we have hit those unfortunate downs, but it's not over yet. I still love it when you speak that language, and we'll always be RBF's. That is, if you'll let me. I love you Ames. Thanks for being my best friend.

PF Chang's was the lunch of the day. My first time. So divine.

Boondies rocked. 

"Babe! This isn't the entrance! I work here, babe." {Quotation of KP} 

The Haunted Mine was easily my fave.

I am now an official graduate of American Fork High School, Class of 2012.

Holler at your boy.

My Box

The Contents:

• Planners from sophomore and junior year (and soon to be senior year)
• wrapping paper
• Two Forkasters- senior tribute 2011 and senior tribute 2012
• The Notebook
• a box of Tinkerbell fruit snacks (unopened since sophomore year)
• an ice age watch
• two gift bags
• two Cavestock wristbands (junior year and senior year)
• a fishing thing...
• a lucky coin
• a sweater vest
• a letter.
• a ticket stub to the talent show
• a White Christmas playbill
• some wedding magazines (it's norm that I'm addicted.)
• boondocks wristband, bracelet that says Love and a starfish ring
• pictures, playbills, quotes, chocolate wrappers, momentos of all kinds.

The list goes on forever after. Those items will probably only ever mean anything to me. And me alone. And that is why it is my box. High school confined in a five sided cardboard contraption. The important stuff. The meaningful-junk-stuff I want to remember when I think back on those three years.

Have memories of you made it into my box?

Kiss today goodbye and point me toward tomorrow.

So many thoughts have crossed my frantic senior brain in the past few crazies {referring to weeks.} since my last post. Here is what I like to call word vomit on a page:

The resolution. I took initiative to show that I care. She received it silently but with welcoming arms. And without any frilly, fraudulent words, they were friends again. And they genuinely care about each other. They will always hold a few of each others' marbles. {The Marble Theory. Coming soon.}

The Intended. I love the sound of that. From now on, any discussions about my future male personage of interest for time and all eternity will be referred to as The Intended. It's amazing the things to be found when reading a book. Even when the book is despised.

"We did what we had to do. Won't forget, can't regret what I did for love." What a wonder, what a day. I don't even know how to put legitimate words to the thoughts associating with this quote.

"You know I hate, detest, and can't bear a lie, not because I think I am straighter than the rest of us, but simply because it appalls me. There is a taint of death, a flavor of mortality in lies--which is exactly what I hate an detest in the world--what I want to forget. It makes me miserable and sick, like biting something rotten would do. Temperament, I suppose." {A quote from the afore mentioned, despised book} So profoundly, yet simply true. What makes you think any of this is worth it? Your soul shines right through those eyes.

Hello, Mister. Pleased to meet ya. Perhaps tomorrow? Or maybe sometime before the end of this week I'll get around to it. But what to say in that letter?

Well Ladies? This is it. I wish you the best of luck next year. I love each and every one of you. I'll miss you all, but I honestly won't miss your stupid questions one sip. Alright, maybe a little. I'll miss the way you look at me when I tell you what to do. I'll miss the laughter that I could always count on after the stank face. I'll miss the random "dish" times where I got to see a glimpse into your real life. I'll miss my twin, my meh-heh/deuces/kidday, my sophomore, my ginger, my little one, my unicorn, my biker chick, my whiddle, my blondie, all my girls. I hope when I come to visit that I'll get tackled to the ground with screams and hugs, like the others. And to my adult self: Thank you for being my saving grace and my escape. Thank you for your comforting words of advice. I hope to dance with you again soon.

This is my gift. I have to understand what it all feels like myself if I want to help others through their problems. I need to be humbled. I need to have patience. I need to know what hope is. I need to experience every high, every low, every middle ground. That is why I have this gift. Not a curse, no, a gift. I have been promised by the World's Best Doctor that if I take care of my body, my body will take care of me. And besides, the food doesn't taste THAT bad.

The intruder...s. Home alone and trying not to focus on the paranoia that reigns in the back of my brain, I couldn't stop eating. I turned to the usual stomach filler to assist me in quenching my boredom hunger: Cocoa. As I stuck the favorite mug in the microwave, I heard the doorbell. I glanced down at what I was wearing. A cardigan and short knit shorts over my swimsuit. Not the door-answering material. A knock was sounded, yet I remained frozen in place in the kitchen. {As if the inquirer could sense movement. I mean, get real, Rick.} Then the door knob turned. My thoughts were the following. Why on earth would someone in my family ring the doorbell and knock before they come in? Then good ole Paranoia changed the conversation to what if it isn't a family member? They weren't saying anything, not even calling out to someone. I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die. Goodbye graduation. Nice knowin' ya class of 2012. No more birthdays, no more Tuacahn. {mind you all of these thoughts happened in point three seven seconds.} I crept toward where I could peek around the corner and reach for the phone at the same time. In case of emergencies, of course. And there I saw.... the stake young women presidency? One of the counselors looked up at me and said, "Ope. We've been caught!" Then they began the rambling explanation behind their most awkward situation that I didn't pay one sip of attention to. Awkward conversations followed and they left. What a wonder, what a day.

WARNING: dramatic blog post. If you are not prepared to be bombarded with anger, don't read. Just move right along.

Flashback: The very last straw

Gritted teeth. Jaw clenched. Knuckles white. Yeah, you could say I'm a little miffed.

I want you to feel sorry for your actions. I want you to feel responsible. I want you to be mature and not melodramatic, for once.  I want you to step out of the spotlight. I want you to feel attacked. Ohkay... maybs that last one was a little too harsh.

The smell of you makes me cringe. But somehow, it always ends up on me.

I am disappointed. No, completely disgusted is more like it. You are an animal. You crave the birds of prey who so effortlessly flock to you, mesmerized by your phony charm and artificial innocence.

I should have shoved. Slapped. Stood and walked away. There were plenty of open seats.

But I didn't. I sat there, rigid with agony. I let it happen. I fought those tears of frustration and betrayal. I choked the emotion away, just until you get out of here I told myself. But I knew the tears wouldn't come back. They don't work like that any more. So here I sit, miserable as H-town. I am literally in shock. I am shaking. Squirming. Convulsing in pain. My head is spinning and I feel like vomiting. (If you learn anything about me, please learn two things. 1: I hate twitching slash convulsing of any kind. It's not allowed. and 2: nothing that has anything to do with vomit {smell, taste, sound, sight, NOTHING} will ever come near me. [sorry future children. Ask your father to clean it up.]) I say I hate those things, and yet I involuntarily participated.

And YOU {different from the above personages}The fact that you are "intrigued" by me makes me feel violated. You puzzle me. Part of me wants to flee from you because I know who I am, and I can't and won't let you change me. I can't quite figure out why I am frightened by you, but I am. I don't know whether or not to tell you no, to walk away, or to remain here in silence. Most times I stay, but I want you to know that those words kill me inside. I think they kill you, ever so slightly, too. Those choice profanities pour out of your mouth like vomit from a food poisoned customer at the BK Lounge. Gross image? That's the picture my mind makes of your words.

This is why I'm broken. I've figuratively suffocated myself too much for too long. Now my soul is out of air. Dead. And I now realize, that is why I must remain alone and unloved. I am incapable of loving. Therefore I should not be loved.

Yet why won't you leave my head?

Clean hands, clean face, clean body, clean thoughts, a clean heart. I am clean of this deed. Sleep, come. Take me away to that perfect place in my mind where nothing can physically hurt this maimed corpse of mine.

Life lesson number 267: don't blog when you're angry.

Soft legs and a Sound Heart.

 {Please don't fret about the meaning of the title.

It only slightly has anything to do with this post. I can guarantee 

you won't ever come up with the real meaning, so just let it happen.}

Sipping soda out of mason jars through bendy straws. Hay bales, the entire atmospheric feeling, candy candy candy, inedible food {Well. Everyone else could eat it.}, picture posing with that vintage frame to capture this moment in digitized pixels forever, singing and dancing and reminiscing that crazy time in our lives, blankets and sunsets, movies and hidden candy stashes. Frigid cold settling upon our skin as the darkness thickens. The production. The cast and crew commentary is the best part. My comment about her shorts not being hiked up high enough. The laughter that follows and the satisfaction of feeling like a funny kid. I couldn't stand to watch that part because he never quite got it right. But I don't mind too much. The single floating lantern soaring up, up, and away from someone else's potentially romantic or perhaps just adventurous life. Not now memories. I'm trying to live in the moment. Frostbitten toes and feet, all the bodies squeeze together tighter under the blankets, every face reflects the same facial expression: happiness. The show that brought us all here. The secret love that we share with one another {by "secret" I mean it's not always evident. Actually, it's rarely evident at all}. But in this evening there is not a sip of hatred from him or her or them. Occasionally there are snide remarks, but they are simply water droplets on that little duckie's back. Sure there are words whispered that threaten to destroy my mood. But the adorable one behind me reassures and makes everything ok again. She acts like my mother in such a way that I can't doubt she cares about me. I mean, truly cares. And "I feel fine about it."

The torches run out of oil too soon, the mason jar lanterns hanging from trees are no longer lit, and the cast takes a final bow. The audience dissipates, and the magical country setting returns to its original backyard state.

Last night: a term that refers to a memory made and a preview of summer evenings to come...

...Only hopefully those evenings will be a lot warmer.

The most common phrase-

Ow.

If that word isn't said by me at least once a day, then something is very wrong. Perhaps the end of the world may be nigh...?

No but really. That simple expression of feeling is my favorite word, and I ne'er e'er use it sparingly.

Because I feel like it, I'm going to name every place that hurts on my body as of right now.

• back (high, low, every single corner. Muscle. It all aches. Especially the lower.) {"Do you have three spines??" No. Those rocks you feel would be my back muscles....}
• neck (I have knots the size of Africa)
• shins (never ending torture)
• right forearm (have you seen the bruise lately?)
• shoulders (again. The knots never end.)
• head
• tops of my feet (all those dad-gum floor burns.)
• big toes (dancer feet. You deal with it.)
• knees (yet again with the bruising)
• the place on my shoulder slash back where a little monster bit me.
• stomach (stress does no good for me.)
• left hip joint (still puzzled by this one.)

This post is not a complaint, but merely a I-know-you-were-dying-to-know type entry. So I hope you enjoyed and even became aware of your aches and pains.

do share. [If appropriate, of course.]

{Side Note: Lowened. Our new word. As used in a casual conversation:

[some of this conversation was too awkward to be suitable for this blog, so naturally, I edited out the preceding phrase] 

"A punch in the gut, a jab in the face, and then... LOWENED!!!" 

End Side Note}

Many Thanks.

Do you like the new do? Don't tell me. Tell it to the girl who deserves all the praise in the world.

Let's give it up for CaLea.

To be honest, she did nothing short of incredible up in hurr. If you want to have your blog redesigned by a pro and feel as if you would like to add procrastination to her plate (I'm sure she wouldn't mind. It's almost summer, after-all.), this girl is your woman.

"You have never loved me. You just thought it was fun to be in love with me."

Those were the lines that spilled from her gentile rookie-actress mouth. The lines that made me weep. The words so biting, yet so heartfelt.

What started out as a tender mercy and a wondrous day turned into something sour and repulsive.

{side note: I thank her for my vocabulary expansion. end side note.}

Insert Orange Cone *here*

I think my little bloggy blog is ready for a new updo. Anyone want to help me? I seem utterly incapable of doing anything artsy fartsy with it... so. Be my guest. I only have a few requirements that must remain the same. So let me know if you are interested! I'm looking for something timeless. Perhaps a new name? I don't know. (Please. You can't really read the desperation that seeps through this post. I am literally on my knees as I type.)





"Oh don't be insecure, girl. Own that ponytail. Work that updo."

Hopeless Adoration

How can I pick the second one

When he won't give me another glance

Unless I dance? (I hate that this rhymes. Apologies.)

He told me I was the only one

who executed the exact picture of what he wanted.

Yet I mean nothing.

 

Sure, he sweeps me off my feet.

Literally.

And yeah he makes the face

Each time we clumsily, yet ironically meet.

Oh the face. 

That childish expression

Immediately reflected in my own countenance.

The face he makes at no one else.

But this infatuation

will never be more 

than hopeless adoration.

For I am just one among the many.

And that's what pulls my heartstrings the most.