Saturday, March 15, 2014

Remember how we met?


Wow. Blogging is apparently not my thing. I haven't been doing much writing at all lately, though. Of any kind. Even my diary is sadly lacking. I used to bombard my journal with constant musings about my love life . . . and then I actually GOT a love life and I stopped writing.

 My last post was the summer of the 2010 world cup. Spain won. That summer I made a goal to be married by the next world cup, which is . . . this year. And I'm keeping that goal. :) I realized I wanted to have someone to watch the games with, so I didn't have to watch them by myself. I knew I was going on a mission, but I figured that'd give me just enough time to go on a fabulous mission (to Rome, Italy, which I definitely did), meet a great guy, become friends, fall in love, and then marry him. And that's exactly what I've done the last few years. That's a very simplistic view, perhaps, but true nonetheless.


After I got back from my mission, I dated around quite a bit, but always got dumped half an inch before actually getting a boyfriend. Yeah, BEFORE. You can, in fact, be dumped without actually dating someone. I've done it to others, and they've certainly done it to me. It is not terribly fun. But at any rate . . . It is a pretty good story, come to think of it.





 The Story:

 So it's fall semester 2012. I had just gotten back from my mission in July. One day, I didn't pack a lunch and so I stopped at Teriyaki Stix for a veggie bowl. In line I was chatting vigorously to the lovely Karen LeCates in Italian about the performance we were going to go to together. Once we said goodbye, the cute guy standing next to me in line asked, "What language IS that?" It turns out he speaks Portuguese, having served a mission in Brazil. We chatted a few minutes and then got our food and said goodbye. I was moving to a new apartment the next semester.

When I signed a contract for the apartment complex, they offered me a space in one apartment for fall semester and in another for winter semester. A bit strange, but I went along with it. Checking out the new building I'd move into, I was once again chatting on the phone, when a really cute guy waved at me and said hi. I waved back, wishing I weren't in the middle of another conversation. The guy from Teriyaki Stix.

 When I moved into the new ward, there was a small family home evening group activity in my apartment, in which a men's apartment, apartment 26, came over. There was one roommate in that men's apartment that was more than usually good-looking. His name was Brian, I learned. And yes, he was the one from Teriyaki Stix. His roommate Daniel was a fixture at my apartment, being a good friend of my roommate at the time. I asked him if everyone in his apartment was single. He said he was pretty sure Brian had a girlfriend. I was bummed, but decided (after some urging from Daniel) to flirt with his roommate Salvatore, instead.

And I threw everything I had at that kid! Oh, the hairdos and the opera-singing and the Italian and the intellectual conversations . . . he was a great kid, really, he was, and I darn well almost managed to seduce him, but he ended up dumping me too, just like the others, and before we were even really dating! Ouch. Brian and I became good friends. It turns out that he WASN'T actually dating anyone, but that's beside the point. Just a couple of weeks after the Salvatore escapade, Brian invited me over to his apartment for some minestrone and an episode of Sherlock. I had just had my car towed and wasn't feeling too great about myself, but like the good friend he was, he made me feel better. I started getting a crush on him. (I know, I know . . . I'm hopeless.) The thing is, though, although we were good friends and hung out sometimes (he even asked me on a date once), I didn't think he liked me back. And I couldn't stop liking him. It was against my will, but it was hopeless. I couldn't help myself. He was just too awesome.

At any rate, I gave him more and more chances, and nada. Nothing. He was definitely not interested. But this really cute redhead named Scott started flirting with me at a party and before I knew it, we were dating. He was fun and charming and nice, and I was twitterpated. But every time I would see Brian again . . . Scott would fly out of my mind and I'd be head over heels for Brian yet again. It was hopeless. After just a few weeks of this, Scott and I broke up--it was like trying to keep magnets stuck together, north to north end the whole time. And I STILL had a raging crush on Brian. I tried getting rid of it, killing my hopes, but the fact of the matter was, I DID have reason to hope.

He was delivering some very mixed signals, and it wasn't as if I was always following him around--he would constantly invite me over to hang out with him. I could have killed my hopes, but I guess a concept from Anne of Green Gables stuck with me: it's better to hope in something and be disappointed than to never hope in it at all. I knew that God wouldn't want me to lose hope, even if it were just over a boy. So I hoped. I dared to hope.

 We became even better friends, and were together nearly every day. After just a couple weeks of this, though, he told me that he was only interested in being friends with me, and nothing more. He hadn't told me sooner because he wanted us to stay friends like we were, and wasn't sure how to go about it. It stabbed like a knife, mostly in my tender ego, but I was just happy he had set me free from the worst of my crush and still wanted to be my friend. Pretty much every other guy I've known in the past has either wanted to date me, or has wanted virtually nothing to do with me. It meant the world to me that someone I liked and respected and loved hanging out with as much as Brian really actually wanted to be my friend. My good friend. And we became even better friends.

Once I was able to stop worrying about what he thought of me, I was able to relax and really be myself for the first time in weeks. No more stumbling over my words, no more flushed embarrassment at every awkward phrasing, no more failing to say what I meant. It was wonderful. I wanted things to stay just like that always. It was just so much better than it had been before, and each sunny Spring day grew warmer and brighter and happier. But things had to change. They always do.

 A week after the DTR (Define The Relationship), I noticed he probably had a crush on me. The flirting and the tickling and the hanging out all went up a notch or two and I wondered if he realized this. A week after that, though, I definitely noticed. Brian invited me over one night, and we hung out on the couch, watching stupid YouTube videos, when suddenly everything changed. He put his arm around me. And kept it there. In a pointed, "Yes, I am doing this on purpose," kind of way. I was super weirded out. I went home that night and fumed. I don't sleep around (I'm Mormon, and pre-maritally celibate), and I don't even like to kiss or cuddle with boys I'm not actually in a relationship with. So if he thought he was going to "friend-zone" me and then get some benefits, he had another think coming.

The next night, though, I was exhausted from working late at the restaurant, and Brian invited me over again. I declined, but he asked me again to come over, just for a few minutes. So I did. And he did it again! His roommates wandered in and out of the apartment, raising their eyebrows. I'm pretty sure if I hadn't been about to fall asleep I would have been bright red. I figured maybe he did actually want to date me, but I didn't want to be pushy about making things official. So I waited for him to at least mention that he liked me.

The next day we watched movies, cuddled the whole time, and chatted with our friends. He mentioned absolutely nothing. By evening, I was just plain mad. I ditched out on "ward prayer"--a church activity--and went home to write in my diary and fume a little more. I kept being interrupted, though, so after a while, I gave up and went over to Brian's apartment, where my friend Kevin was, and sang a few songs with them.

Everyone else cleared out surprisingly quickly after that, leaving Brian and I alone on the couch. He was awkwardly shuffling around a piece of sheet music.

 "You seem annoyed at something. What is it?" He said.

 Then I exploded. I told him he was confusing the heck out of me and I had no idea what he wanted from me.

 Hiding behind the piece of music, he said, "I really really like you."

 I halted. Raised an eyebrow. "But?" I asked slowly, looking for the catch.

 "No buts," he said, "I really like you."

 "But . . . you said you didn't."

 "Things change."

 Yes. Yes, they do. By the end of that evening we'd decided we'd date exclusively from that point on. We took a long walk the next day, in the sunshine, all the way around campus. Sitting on the fountain in the courtyard of my favorite building, he leaned over and kissed me in broad daylight. That was May 27th. And the rest is history. We decided to fall in love. We fall more deeply in love every day. Sure, we have our issues, and we take turns having crabby days, but we take care of each other, and we know we'll work through everything together. This is the right thing. This is what I've been waiting for.

 We're getting married May 3rd. I can't wait for our life together to start. So . . . that's the story, I guess. The short version. I'll write out the long version one of these days, I'm sure. :)

Friday, May 21, 2010

Anne of Green Gables



Okay, so I NEVER ever check my blog, and I really should. My friends all have darling, hilarious, introspective blogs . . . so I figure I should at least put in the effort and write every once in a while. Just so instead of being a random, once-in-a-blue-moon sort of thing, it can be a more dependable way to check up on my life. (Boring part over.)

I've been reading Anne of Green Gables for the last few months, but the story started mirroring my life so perfectly (in an Edwardian kind of way, of course) that it creeped me out when she finally got engaged, because I've been a tad misogamic lately. I do not want to get married.

For those of you who know me, this is kind of hilarious, I know. I've been learning how to cook and clean, how to raise children, daydreaming about my future husband more than just about anyone of my acquaintance. Marriage has ALWAYS been a focus for me--a major goal. And now? I am at the point in my life where I can honestly contemplate making a decision that drastic. And it sounds AWFUL. It's amazing how when you're young you think you know everything, and the older you get, the less you know. I used to know just what I wanted in a husband. I had a whole list planned out, with desirable attributes ranked and matched up to features I had. If marriage were like nutrition, I could very possibly be an an extremely "well-balanced" diet right now. But since foods aren't the sum of their parts (as it says in 'In Defense of Food,' this awesome book I've been reading. I've kind of decided to "go granola" if you know what I mean.) this doesn't work. Eating vitamin A instead of carrots and pure protein instead of whole grains . . . just doesn't do it for you. I can't just get a guy that has all the traits I want--I need a person. A human being. We eat carrots for lots more reasons than vitamin A, and we haven't come close to discovering all of the benefits of this (seemingly) simple food. It's the same way with people. I can't just judge people based on their nutrients. I can never imagine all of the ways that person could affect me!

And yes, I realize it's mildly creepy that I'm comparing my husband criterion to food, but what else can I do? It's been on my mind.

About the whole "going granola" thing . . . I really meant it. I want to eat better. Just . . . fruits and veggies and whole grains and oatmeal and stuff. None of this food that has been so processed as to cease to resemble food. Plus, D&C says it's a good idea. And I love making whole wheat bread. :) w00t.

Okay, other news . . . uh . . . I've been heinously busy this spring semester. 20 hours of school, 25 hours of work a week . . . plans every single weekend, church activities and callings, writing a novel . . . basically dating has not been on the agenda, which is good. UNFORTUNATELY, I also haven't had much time to hang out with girlfriends, which leaves me sort of mopey all the time.

Sheesh. Will I ever get this whole "living" thing right? I always seem to forget something or botch something beyond repair.

At least I finally changed the background of my blog, right?

Thursday, March 11, 2010

A Clipped Coiffure



I chopped off my hair a couple weeks ago, Ichabod. I haven't had my hair this short since . . . well, since I had hair at all. And I LOVE it. A lot. So much. I had thought that, because I was chopping it off and donating it, and because my hair had long been a source of vanity for me, and because it fuels my imagination, and we have a deep connection, and it is a link to me and the maudlin little universe I'd created for myself . . . well, in short, I thought I'd actually miss it. Funny, huh? I am still joyfully in the phase of looking at people with long hair and just pitying them--the tangles, the amount of time it takes to fix, the hampering feeling of having long hair with a backpack . . . Yes, it is pretty. Yes, boys--it is fun to run your fingers through. But I have news (mostly for myself)! Having short hair has almost all the perks of long hair, and much much much more convenience.

Fact 1: Long hair is attractive to the male gender. (Boys--do not deny this. I have conducted a large informal poll on the subject, and have come to this conclusion.)
Fact 2: Long hair is pretty.
Fact 3: Long hair is tragically romantic.

These three things were really the only things keeping my hair on my head several weeks ago, when my long hair was driving me absolutely insane and I couldn't seem to get it to do anything I wanted it to do. At the time I cut my hair, my annoyance simply overpowered these three facts. However, now that I have experienced the free and easy joy of having a head half a pound lighter, I can very easily refute these.

Response 1: Boys? You like long hair because it feels nice and smells nice and is feminine. Well? My hair is feminine. I didn't shave my head--it still curls on the edges and frames my face and all that--it's just short. Also, it smells nice because I haven't yet abandoned personal hygiene. And because it's shorter and therefore healthier, it is even softer than it was before. Still great for running fingers through. Onto the next point.
Response 2: As aforementioned, my hair is feminine, and very cute! I can do all kinds of things with it--it's a very versatile style. It's fashionable, and "cute," but it can also be more serious. It is pretty. I like it.
Response 3: Okay, okay, so although my hair will still blow in the breeze, it doesn't have quite the same tragically romantic appeal that my waist-length hair had. You know--picture a balcony by the seaside, in the purple twilight just after sunset, in a long, flowing white gown with long golden hair occasionally catching the barest sparks of light, tumbling over ivory shoulders in the slight breeze off the ocean . . .

BUT,

I can be a pixy now, which I've always wanted. It's a completely different, tinkerbell kind of whimsically romantic. My imagination still runs away with me--my lack of Disney princess tresses hasn't hampered it at all. (And by the way? NO ONE has Disney princess hair. It is not real. I have tried over and over to get the same hairdo as Sleeping Beauty and have sadly come to the realization, time after time, that it is simply not possible because she isn't real, and neither is her hair.)

At any rate, yes. I love my new haircut. It is SO much more convenient. It never bugs me anymore! And takes about five minutes to style every morning. I am in serious danger of never getting the amazing wedding hairdo I'd always imagined, simply because I love my new haircut so much.

Peace out, Ichabod.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Official forsake-ment of teenager-hood


People asked me what retarded things I was planning on doing before I was officially not a teenager anymore. I got some interesting advice (most of which I decided not to take) and it got me thinking. How will I act now that I am no longer of teen-age??

My answer, after much pondering, was that I will act very much the same as I do now.

I guess I've always felt old, in a way. My older siblings are separated from me by drastic age differences. Youngest children of my age and circumstances generally either act much younger than their older siblings, becoming spoiled and distanced from them, or they hurry and grow up as fast as they possibly can, so they can befriend them. I feel like I've chosen the latter. Not that I haven't been terrifically blessed (okay, okay . . . so a little bit spoiled.) but I've always wanted to be closer to my siblings. Some of the hardest times in my life were during that awkward phase where I wasn't cute and little enough to be a novelty, but I also wasn't quite old enough to be a real friend. As soon as I started being included in their "sibling bonding time" I relished every moment of it. Even this year.

Each Christmas, when we all get together at someone's house and wedge ourselves in (this year it was five siblings, three in-laws, two parents, and twelve young children in a fairly small Las Vegas home) the siblings all get together for a dinner. We hire babysitters (well, now we do. I used to do it.) and go out to eat and just talk. Talk the way grown-ups talk. The moment I was invited on one of these excursions was a truly delightful one. I don't think it happened until I was sixteen or seventeen, and it became one of my most treasured memories.

So, yes, I suppose I've grown up quickly. Onto the next topic. How am I NOT grown-up?

Well, for one thing, I've only got twenty years of life experience, and not twenty-five or thirty or sixty or ninety like other people do. Naturally, this is going to make my choices in certain situations less . . . intelligent. But somehow, I think I'll get by just fine.

Maturity? That's not really it, either. Aside from my nieces and nephews (who still insist that I look like I'm eighteen or less) most people seem to think I'm older than I am. This could be my grammar and vocabulary, my useless stores of information, my general confidence . . . but most likely it's just that they've never seen me when I'm hyper and acting retarded.

I want to grow up, because I want the life experiences associated with being grown-up. Especially a family, if I ever get one. If not (and now that I am officially at an age where instead of saying "you have plenty of time!!!" my dad is now saying, "well, you need to find the guy first . . .") I will very likely continue to be the crazy maiden aunt for the rest of my life. I'll take turns living with each of my siblings and their kids (and then their kids) and I'll write ridiculous romance novels that will describe lives very unlike my own and foster a love for opera in each of them.

But I would prefer not to.

However, as my dad used to say . . . I have plenty of time. And I still have no idea what the Lord has in store for me and my life. I used to be so sure of everything! So sure that I wanted to . . . to go on a mission, to study in India, to be an opera singer . . . and suddenly it feels like I'm doubting every single thing I've ever wanted (except to be a novelist--that's never going to change). Basically . . . I'm not sure of anything anymore. Except the Lord--that he lives, and loves me.

I'll get through life just fine. It's been a breeze so far. And now I think I'll finish contemplating and go finish off some homework before I leave for class.

All my love,

Mary-Celeste

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

CRAZY!!


Guess who is registered for sixteen credits! Guess who has SIX classes every monday and Wednesday! Oh, yeah. That'd be me. Crazy, isn't it? And yet, all of them look awesome, and I love my job, and life is just going great. I just need to keep walking this tightrope of hard work for another while, and try to keep from plunging into a bottomless, education-less pit.

SAY A LITTLE PRAYER FOR ME!

More later, Ichabod. (That'll be my blog name. Like Chuck, for any who know who that is, you will now be Ichabod. So Christened, let it be.)

Amen, Brotha.

-MC

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Christmas and Sick Children


Here's a tentative entry. I've never really accustomed myself to this whole blogging thing. Yet my university professors expect me to excel at it, so I may as well start doing it for real instead of under grade-duress for a class. At any rate, I figure I've already got a perfectly good blog right now, and I may as well add stuff to it every once in a while, just in case someone, someday may actually read it.

Anyway, here goes: Life is going well right now! I just got back from a lovely Christmas weekend at my sister's new place in Vegas. It's a cute little house, on a block next to several dozen other houses that all look very similar to one another. Her kids are so cute! And it was great to see all the nieces and nephews. I really love children--especially MY nieces and nephews. I want kids of my own someday. Someday LONG in the future. More on that later.

At any rate, everyone got sick. Now, in a household filled to bursting with twelve children under the age of ten, this is sort of a given. This fact was clarified for me somewhat when I witnessed some very blatant germ-spread. There was a portion of the room we were trying to keep the other kids away, where two sick little girls (Joy and Audrey) had been hanging out. Anna, who is about 14 months old, toddled over to me (as I was sitting in said area, with sick baby Joy in my arms) with some small unidentified object in her mouth. She spat it out onto the floor, bent down and picked it up, and promptly stuck it into her mouth again. Now, after the strict Germ-X/Purell policy had been established, watching this seemed doubly serious. It made me wonder how little children with habits like those survive for so long. And then I realized . . . this is just part of life. Little kids get sick. Period. End of story. The not-quite-so-easy-to-handle truth that accompanies that is that the grown-ups get sick right along with them. But even that part is okay, I thought as I cuddled the suddenly docile Joy, because these kids are worth it.

Even after a weekend of throwing up and nursing other violently sick people to health, I still want kids. That, in itself, is a miracle. It was a wonderful Christmas, and even without the snow, it was still CHRISTMAS.

Love you all (even though I'm honestly not sure who 'all' is, or if there ever will be an 'all'),

Mary-Celeste

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

25 random things about me you should probably know.


1. I can spread my toes out really far--they look really weird. 
2. I sing opera really loud. Preferably where no one can hear. 
3. I wander around my apartment in my underwear sometimes when I'm too absent-minded to remember to finish getting dressed. 
4. I have thirteen nieces and nephews (Julia, Gabriel, Brian, Anjuli, Jason, Rachael, Johnathan, Davy, Ellie, Audrey, Jack, Charlotte, Anna . . . and another on the way)
5. I write poetry.
6. My phone is pink and my current ringtone is a Rooney song
7. Sleeping Beauty and Wall-E tie for my favorite movies of all time
8. My best friend is my mom. No contest. 
9. I'm a research assistant for the Joseph Smith Papers Project
10. I dance when no one's watching (and occasionally I'm caught)
11. I'm a sucker for romance.
12. I'll cry at ANYTHING and everything.
13. I bore my testimony in sacrament meeting on Sunday.
14. I REALLY want to study abroad in London next year. 
15. I'm writing a novel right now, but I'm sort of stuck on page 120. 
16. I haven't studied for any of my midterms yet. They're tomorrow.
17. I secretly like to belt-sing. Don't tell my voice teacher.
18. My dad thinks he knows everything (and he's actually pretty close). 
19. My roommate's name is Kenna. She's the sweetest girl I've ever met. 
20. I love Jane Austen novels and movies. 
21. I spend far too much time on Facebook. 
22. I have a serious thing for roses of all kinds. 
23. I love easily but have never given my heart away. 
24. But I love my savior with all my heart. 
25. And he loves me back.