Thursday, 28 April 2011

pilates & joe's cafe

My first adventure consisted of two slightly opposite endeavors. The first was PILATES. Beats Yoga hands down. I don't know why I've gone to Yoga all those (three) times when I could have been at Pilates.

The second was eating at Joe's Cafe. Most random, tiny little place on State Street that I would never have seen if I wasn't looking. Pretty sure Joe packs more calories per square bite than any restaurant on earth. He takes your order, makes your food, and talks to you in between each step. So refreshing to be in a place where there doesn't seem to be any hurry.

Here is Nat and her omelet...she gets credit for discovering the venue.

So intense.

See all those pictures on the wall? Joe insists on taking a pic with every customer who comes through. There are so many that by now they aren't even taped to the walls, they just hang there holding onto each other.

We are now a permanent part of Joe's decor! Wooohoo. While I doubt the pilates made up for the omelet, both were totally worth a try.

Tuesday, 26 April 2011

diaries of a post grad: day 1

Welp. Day one as a post-grad was slightly rough.

I spent three hours at the gym. I closed the blinds at 11 am and put on Dirty Dancing. (for the first time ever! hellllloooo patrick swayze) I sat at home for hours waiting for a recruiter to not call me back. I somehow found myself at the mall, smelling perfumes I have no power to buy. I ate a sandwich at Gandolfo's and fries at Five Guys and probably 8,000 Cadbury eggs. At 10 PM I was home face down on the couch.


I know what you're thinking--enjoy this time while you have nothing to do and no one to answer to. Trust me I've been telling myself the same thing. But as someone who's self-esteem level is somewhat frustratingly linked to her productivity level, it's easier said than done.

It's so frustrating to feel totally capable and ready to have a job yet not knowing how to get one. I feel totally overwhelmed. I feel myself closing slowly into fetal position. I cannot let myself go there. I've been thinking about what the best part of yesterday was and the answer is glaringly obvious: PATRICK SWAYZE.

I've decided to dedicate my life (outside the job hunting and gym going) to doing everything I've wanted to do but not had time for during college. Basically I'm sick of winning the game "never have I ever." It's quite shocking really, how much I haven't done. Considering I've lived in London and New York, isn't it terrible I have yet to eat a Big Mac?? I've seen Jersey Boys and Twelfth Night yet have never watched Billy Madison.

If there's one thing I know for sure, it's that lack of new experience and lack of confidence kill creativity faster than anything else. So I will do my best to stuff my self full of newness and tell myself i'm awesome as much as I can.

What would you do if you had no life? Movies I should watch? Books I should read? Road trips I should take? Any and all suggestions will be much appreciated. In the meantime, I may try Pilates this afternoon. Why not?

Wednesday, 20 April 2011

enter to learn, go forth to serve.

TODAY I graduate college. I am not quite sure how I feel about it. This post serves to explore how I have or have not fulfilled my soon-to-be Alma Matter's motto.

Four and a half years ago I packed up my clothes, books, hopes and dreams and drove 3.7 miles from my parents' house to my College dormitory.
I remember Brienne Roney sitting on the floor unpacking her things, and realizing we'd be spending every waking and sleeping moment together in a 5 x 5 room.

(ok she wasn't really sitting like this. that would have been creepy.)

I quickly learned that Brie was legally blind, vegetarian, and one of the only people who could share my angst at the question:

"Where are you from?"
"Wait. You...born and raised? In Provo? And you live in the dorms?"

i love this girl.

I learned as a freshmen way too much about insecurity, something the protection of high school in happy valley had somehow saved me from. I admit to part of it being my fault, as in a flurry of confusion, or discovering myself, or who knows what, I dyed my golden locks brown.

Unfortunately my desires to be an exotic brunette ended in a year of not having to try too hard to avoid hormonal freshman boys.

I learned as a freshman how to party hop like a boss. I'm still not sure how we physically attended so many dance parties in such a short period of time, but back in the day those were some goooood times. From A51 to The Lounge to The Glenhood, we definitely did our time on the dance floor.

Sophomore year I learned how to hablar espanol cada dia con mi cumpaniero de cuarto Betsita. After two fuegos en la cocina, Betsy made a habit of cocinando con un jar full of agua by her side.

Junior year meant LONDON...Four months I am quite positive will forever remain the happiest time of my life.
Real job?

Real school?

Real boys?

No such thing.

I learned in London about Shakespeare, Magnums, and The Woman Question. Or wait...what did that mean again?
I learned that the sightseeing (scaffolding) and traveling were fabulous, the best times were the hours spent in room 3 with fourteen girls on bunk beds. Ohhh how I love you guys.

I also learned in London I'd been accepted to BYU's advertising program.

Finally, I want to be in college!

Finally, weird people like me!

Weird people who make me laugh and get my jokes!

Weird people who opened my mind to so many things and became my bffffs!

Senior year I learned about a little place called the Candy Shoppe. I am fairly certain I have raved too much about the CS, so I will try to keep it short.

Senior year was Creative Track year. I learned that the hardest years can be the best. Also that sometimes it's good to spend all your free time in a pile on the world's most comfortable couch with five of your best friends talking about ads or Jack Shephard or politics or men.

(where is mj?)

Supersenior year may be too close for me to know what I really learned from it. Except that I am so grateful I somehow stumbled into living with these girls.

And that worry is much harder on your happiness than failure.

As I embark across the threshold of graduation, I wonder who in the world I will go forth to serve.

Leo Burnett? Ogilvy? DDB? GAP? Seriously, nothing sounds so good right now as being a brainless employee who goes to the pool after my five hour shift.

Likely I will serve an advertising agency in some big city in the continental United States. Likely in that city I will serve in some church calling, maybe trying to reactivate ladies in the relief society again or planning last minute games of catch phrase for FHE.

While I would really rather serve a man dinner after a long day at his sexy job, I fear that option is outside my control...

Deciding who/what/where to serve is probably the most overwhelming thing I've ever had to choose. How are we supposed to leave the safety and happiness of Provo Neverland? Where friends gather like weeds and men flow like punch?

There have been plenty of stresses and disappointments over the last few years. But it's strange how you somehow forget about those when you're ready to leave.

I have no idea where I will be in a few of months. It's stressful and frustrating and overwhelming to have to say that. But somehow I have this weird feeling like things are going to work out. Probably because I'm such an optimist.

I love you cougartown. Thank you for loving me back.

Tuesday, 19 April 2011

the result.

Just thought I'd share what I came up with. Good heavens 450 is too short for my long-winded self.


It was so cold, Sarah Seymour, you calling my house to ask Ms. Patel if her student Raj could step out of class for a moment.

That’s Raj Patel, R-A-J P-A-T-E-L, and I’m the home school kid. Last year my mom convinced Fairmont to let me on the third grade spelling team, and thanks to me we won Regional and State Championships. The picture in the yearbook said, “Spelling Club Gains National Fame” and showed ten third graders sitting in a row on those metal chairs from the lunchroom. The tenth third grader, me, was half cut out of the picture and where my name should have been it said (No Info).

I was mad about that and Sarah knew it, but it hasn’t stopped her from inviting me to guest spell at all the important bees. My mom calls me the pinch-speller, the one who comes in and bails everyone out. But I’m fed up and tired of being their trophy puppet! Their marionette! Sarah made it clear on the phone how she could and would have called Zoe Ratliff except her house had been swallowed by a sinkhole and she wouldn’t be coming to school anymore.

I wished a similar fate upon Sarah as she stood up, her bottom tethered momentarily to the chair by a thick piece of pink bubble gum Dave Riester had stuck there. As she said C-R-Y-S-T-A-L I thought maybe the ground would get hungry tonight and swallow her house up, whole. She’d be buried peacefully in the earth where there were no telephone wires and no way to call me for State.

We were tied now with Ridgefield Elementary. One mistake of theirs would send us to state for the second time. Their top speller, Eddy Maxfield, stood up and clunked toward the mic. He was big and had this gross neck like a pelican who had something stuck in there. He spelled CHARIOT correctly. Sarah whispered fiercely at me, “Pssst! Patel! If you screw up, your teacher’s gonna put you in timeout!”

I stood and walked to the microphone, my shoes illuminating each footstep.

“All right Mr. Patel. Your word is: ROUSTABOUT.”

Hmm. Two “ows.” I wonder if it’s an “ow” or an “ou.” W, used in the words Weathervane, Writhe, Owl. U, used in the words Under, Uniform, and Ouch.

“May I hear the definition please?”

“ROUSTABOUT: A laborer who typically performs temporary, unskilled, or underappreciated work.”

I thought for a moment. I looked at Sarah Seymour.

“ROUSTABOUT. R-A-J P-A-T-E-L. ROUSTABOUT.” I walked back to my seat in slow motion and said “in your face” with my eyes.

It was cold what I did, huh Sarah Seymour? It was so cold.

Wednesday, 13 April 2011

my finals are better than yours.

Ok maybe I should let that joke die. But before then I must share my final assignment for my creative fiction class:

Write a short story that meets each of the criteria below:
-be exactly 450 words
-have the title "roustabout"
-include these words or objects: tether, pelican, marionette, weathervane
-include a character death by an act of God
-begin and end with the words, "it was so cold"

I am a bit at a loss as to where to start but I'll take it over the testing center any day. Anyone have any ideas? Anyone know what "roustabout" even means?

Sunday, 10 April 2011


Anyone else see this last week? I kinda want to be friends with him.

Monday, 4 April 2011

what's in an about me section?

People may call me judgmental. I call myself perceptive.

Recently Spence was telling me about some guy at the gym (spence is not a tool) who wanted to fight him or something (i promise, he's really not). Naturally I requested to see this man's Facebook profile. I was less shocked than delighted to see his interests.

"MMA, Boxing, Muay Thai, Jiu Jitsu, Road Trips, Learning New Things, Basketball, Baseball, INVESTING, Weightlifting Bodybuilding, Watching Movies, Going out to Eat."

One of these things is not like the other. Right? Maybe it's just me. The icing on the cake though came in a box classified as "Basic Information"

I will refrain from saying many things about this person. What I will say is that I became itchingly curious as to what my own 'about me' section said. The result?

"I'm currently living in London. My roommates consist of 40 other girls and 1 boy and I am somehow still loving life!!"

Oh hey, Fall 2008! My music interests consisted of Corinne Bailey Rae, Colbie Caillat and the Step Up soundtrack. Sheeeeesh.

I have since (somewhat) updated my about my section but honestly isn't this whole 'capture my personality online' thing so exhausting? Don't get me wrong, I enjoy Facebook as much as the next girl, it's just that I so infinitely prefer real life.

I'm hoping the above mentioned yet nameless individual will find it in his heart, if he ever hears of me picking fights at the gym and stalks me on Facebook, not to judge a girl by her 'about me' section.

Saturday, 2 April 2011


Those who go to BYU may have seen the recently installed creek that wraps around the south end of campus, the area formerly and colloquially referred to as rape hill. I'm not sure if that awful nickname is what inspired the renovation, but it is now quite a lovely place. This Friday marked the Ad Lab's first annual George Washington's Rape Hill Regatta, a day we (I) have dreamed about for many moons.

The idea was to build a fleet of boats out of materials that cost less than three George Washington's ($3) each and race them down. "Race" is a relative term, since the river moves at probably 2 mph. But the lazy pace and the 65 degree weather combined to make it the pleasantest of afternoons.

Umm this is my boat. Complete with percy/he-man captain and sparklers on the back.

Boat shoes were a must.

Not surprisingly Robbie Rane stole the show. I'm thinking I should start devoting my blog entirely to him.

This video is a little taste of the intensity. I was in first place THE WHOLE TIME until Jon's milkjug surpassed me at the last moment. Forgive the screams and Blair Witch Project camerawork.

The only problem with the grandiosity of Robbie's boat was that it got quite stuck in the tunnel on the first heat. Suffice it to say they spent the rest of the afternoon trying to get it out and here is the moment of rescue. Don't tell BYU.

I graduate college in three weeks, and doing things like the RHR are part of my denial concerning the fact that I will soon be schoolless and jobless. Stay tuned for more.