Monday, September 12, 2011

Life Plan

Life plan.

Life plan life plan life plan.

I have a college degree.

I have a job that is related to that degree. Ok. That is good news because not everyone can do that.

I pay for all my own stuff. Including a car payment and my phone bill and lots of other bills that I don't like to think about because it makes me feel too old and poor. This means I don't rely on mom for anything (wellllllllll OK sometimes I use her money to put gas in my car).

I want to get married at some point and have some babies that I can buy cute outfits.

Ultimately, I would like to teach high school film/media classes to juniors and seniors. Or English or something. No. Probably the film/media thing.

I don't think I want to be in Provo anymore because I feel like I'm stuck in a vortex of stasis. It's like my feet are stuck to a launching pad. Everything feels temporary. Plus male/female relationships are all kinds of jacked up.

I don't know where to go next or when to go there.

I don't have a lot of money saved up. Well I do, but I'm too scared to spend it on anything because I feel like it should be in a 401K or something.

I'm running away to Africa for 2 weeks.

Sometimes I play Roller Coaster Tycoon 3 to avoid grown up decisions.

I want to watch all of the movies Queen Latifah has been in.

Some days I feel like all options are good. Some days I feel like all options are bad. Well mostly just scary.

What I've decided is this: How my life changes doesn't matter as much as making the choices to cause change. I just need to move in any direction.

What if I move to Connecticut? That was my thought this evening.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

My Life Is A Little Depressing

So Blogger has this cool thing where you can just read all of the comments that have ever been posted to your blog in one neat little list. I was looking at this list for funsies and someone posted "Let's have a Footloose Party!" I immediately got really excited about whoever wanted to have this party with me. I was also really nervous that I had missed the opportunity they offered. I looked down where it says who posted the comment and was met with my own name. I had commented this as a response to someone saying they liked Kevin Bacon.

Footloose Party with myself. Epitome of sadness.

Adventures Outside

Once upon a time, I lived in the land of Florida where camping is something crazy hermits do in swamps and hiking is well... Impossible. Also in the land of Florida, there is no river rafting. Well, not that I know of. And if there is, it's probably real boring. Florida is flat, hot and humid. And you can get eaten by an alligator. Or herd of alligators. A gaggle, perhaps.

Florida is also magical and wonderful, but for you Nature Valley poster children out there, you may be disappointed to discover the closest thing to an incline you're likely to find is a highway overpass. Climbing these, btw, is not recommended.


Then I moved to Utah. I was 17 and excited about college. I was also freaking amazed every time I walked out of my dorm and encountered the incredible sight that was "mountains". I was entertained enough just looking at them and basking in their glory. It had never occurred to me to climb one. And, being a Florida girl in Utah, I felt a bit out of place when I was ambushed by my fellow college students wearing what they called Chacos as they asked me if I wanted to climb a mountain or sleep outside. Or climb a mountain then sleep outside. I mostly just said no. A couple of times I said yes. I hiked the blasted Y. Camping just sounded like a social experiment to see how many different ways you can die just from being outside.

So traversing the outdoors was a challenge for me both physically and conceptually.

Fast forward to this last summer. I was now seasoned in all things outdoors-y. I had been hiking at least twice and camped once over the span of 5 years. This meant I was a regular granola. I'm even waiting to hear back from Nature Valley about whether or not I can be on their next poster.

Nature Valley: You've been hiking HOW many times??
Asia: TWICE.
Nature Valley: Amazing!
Asia: And I own a Nalgene water bottle, sucka.
Nature Valley: It's too much!

Anyway, they're checkin' to see if I'm overqualified.

One fateful day last April, I got an email from my friend Sean about doing a camping/river rafting trip in central-ish Utah sometime this summer. I though it sounded fun and certainly within my abilities. We bought our tickets and planned our trip. Then we got super busy and summer filled up with random jobs/trips/other things that made it seem like our camping trip would never happen. But a couple of weeks ago, the stars aligned and the trip was planned. The group was Sean, me and his two older sisters. They were all born and raised in Utah and had camped at least 35,000 more times than me. Though my one short bout with sleeping outdoors was enough to count as at least 6 camping trips, they still had me by 34,994 camping experiences. My Nature Valley confidence was waning quickly.

Before we met up, Sean had asked me a few questions that further challenged this confidence.

Sean: Are you ok just sleeping outside on a tarp or do you need a tent?

Hm? Did people do that? It seemed like a tent was sufficiently primordial. Sleeping on a tarp increased the likelihood of death and animal molestation by at least 73%. It was a tough call. But I was determined not to be the little nancy that needed a tent, so I said something like:

Asia: Whatev! I'm down!

Luckily it was all over texts and he couldn't see the trepidation in my eyes.

Sean: We're bringing some bikes in case we want to go for a ride. Are you interested?

This one was a bit trickier because I knew that mountain biking was something I most likely couldn't do. The last bike I had been on was barbie-themed. And even that was on a flat neighborhood road. And even THAT ended badly.

Asia: I don't know anything about mountain biking.
Sean: You just put your feet on the pedals...

He was making fun of me. It was a challenge. One I wanted to meet and metaphorically punch his face with. But I also didn't want to end up a bloody heap at the base of a mountain, so I replied with a sheepish:

Asia: Well, if you don't think it'll be too hard, I'll try it, but it's really no big deal for you to go without me.

He said if I felt like it, we could take turns on his bike. I let it drop. He didn't bring it up again. Touché.

We met up and began the 3 hour drive down to Moab. We left after dark due to work schedule maneuvering and almost immediately ran into a huge lightning storm. It was a lot of lightning. Like... sleeping outside seems like an issue if there's an 80% chance of death by electrocution.

But on we went!

When we arrived in Moab about 3 hours later, we found a dirt road, pulled over and prepared for the evening. Luckily Sean had thrown a $30 K-Mart tent into the car -- "just in case". We set it up, changed into jammies and jumped in just before an enormous rain/lightning/thunder storm. As I lay there in the dark, both feeling and hearing the tent get completely thrashed in the storm, both spooning and being spooned by girls I didn't know I was close enough to for such close proximity, I was caught by the incredulity of the situation. It made me smile. It also made me feel like I was really roughin' it.


The next morning, we headed out for our rafting adventure. It wasn't long before we found ourselves standing on the side of a beautiful river in Moab, Utah. We strapped on life jackets and were asked by a man with a very nice bod if we wanted to go down the river in a raft or an inflatable kayak.

Another toughie. Kayaks? I hardly had time to think; my party of native Utahns were dividing us into pairs and claiming our kayaks. I mostly cowared behind Aubry, the sister I was paired with as a kayaking companion. I started to feel very sorry for Aubry. Accepting me as a kayaking partner surely meant death or getting stranded somewhere dry and lonely. But then I decided to man-up. I could kayak! People kayaked all the time. Asia is a kayak-er!

Plus there would probably be a little tutorial, right? Or a little safety rope? Surely they weren't going to trust that I could control this thing, right?


As we were preparing to get in the river, hot bod Joe came around and asked us if we felt confident in our ability to paddle our kayaks to the side of the river after we had been on the river for a few minutes. I couldn't bring myself to say yes. However, Aubry answered for both of us.

And we were off.

It was beautiful and serene. The river was lined on both sides by tall, red mountains with scattered groups of sparse trees. The weather was perfect, too. Clear sky, but not too hot. A rarity for Utah in July. The beauty of the scenery could, perhaps be blamed for the blunder that occurred after being on the river a mere matter of minutes.

I realized all too late that hot bod Joe's challenge was just that... a challenge. I was in the back, which meant I was in charge of steering. This meant we spinning in a lof of circles and trying (but nearly failing) not to tip over. It also meant that, when the time came to steer toward our group on the banks of the river, we were in no position to join them. Facing backwards, we floated right past them, staring blankly. A pitiful, more helpless version of deer in headlights. As we floated by, our party waved their arms and yelled things. I lamely splashed my paddle in the water a few times. Sean and his sister just smiled. I could tell that hot bod Joe lost all his confidence in us.

We were able to eventually get to a tree and grab a poky branch. We waited there until we saw our group pass us. With our eyes unable to meet those of our counterparts, we clumsily paddled out to join them. My kayak tutorial came then. A shout from hot bod Joe -- "The person in the back is for steering."

Screw you, hot bod Joe. I'm from Florida.

From there it became a comedy of errors. We got caught in what seemed like an underwater forest, scooting our bums in order to escape our twiggy captors. Then we got caught on a random sand bar. For this one, we actually had to get out, push the kayak forward and get back in.

I thought a lack of tutorial would surely produce many inept kayak-ers. Someone to commiserate with. But no. It seemed as though the only people not well versed in the ways of the river-tamers were myself and my stalwart companion. Aubry was extremely patient with me throughout, thank goodness.

After a little while, we selflessly surrendered our kayaks to a couple that wanted to get out of the large raft. We said things like: "Just when we were starting to get it!" and sort-of believed them. Swapping spots with the now kayakers, we ended up at the very front of a raft filled with some random strangers and lots of children.

The highlight of this episode was feeling my body fling out of the raft into the rapids and thrash between the raft itself and the large waves that ravaged it. Aubry, in a noble attempt to keep me in the raft, fell out herself. Upon being pulled back in, a small child looked at me and said, "You fell out. I didn't."

True, sassy child. Very true. And that may be the perfect coda to my life as Davy Crockett's wannabe progeny. But, I must say, despite the somewhat sordid and hopelessly inept nature of my camping/rafting experience... I had a BLAST.

So suck it, Nature Valley.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

This can't be the right thing to say...

On a hot day in valley forge, my brain decided to take a little detour.

Let's rewind a bit... I'm in Pennsylvania for my work as production coordinator on a pretty nifty little reality tv show. I think you would like it. Anyway, part of this episode required a little jaunt to valley forge, where (hopefully) enlightenment would happen.

We arrived at 9am-ish and I immediately realized how little I know about valley forge. I want to say that I know my US history -- I definitely loved studying it and if I think about it too much I get all misty and patriotic --but I didn't realize that, aside from a visitors center and a few reconstructed huts, valley forge is just a huge, beautiful park. There is no admission and no walls around it. People were taking jogs and stuff.

We met up with a genteel, kind of older park ranger named George. George was super nice and really really looked like a park ranger. He even wore one of those park ranger hats. George showed us around the visitors center then came with us outside to shoot some cool scenes. It was super hot and humid and we were outside shooting for hours. We had water bottles in the car to help combat the environment and I was in charge of keeping people hydrated (among other things... I swear I have a real job). Enter brain issues:

Asia: George, would you like a...
Asia's brain: ...walker? That's not the right word... Walker? Water? Whopper? Walker? That's the one.
Asia: ...walker?
Asia's brain: well done.
Loooong pause
Asia's brain: wait a minute...

After another long, strange pause, my brain came to a realization:

Asia's brain: what happened? We thought this through! Wrong choice! How did this happen??

But George either misheard me or just opted to forgive the strange comment from the mentally challenged girl who's only visible duty was giving people walkers -- I mean water.

What a sweet guy, that George.

Friday, June 17, 2011

Really Good Movie Review: X-Men First Class

Kevin Bacon was behind the Cuban Missile Crisis. Knew it.

Also Magneto is foxy. Also James McAvoy.

Also Michael from Roswell was in it for like 4 seconds. Also the Mormon doctor from House.

Thank you for joining us for this edition of Really Good Movie Reviews.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

Popular Things to Hate

There are some things that have become popular to hate, therefore I have decided that I like. I enjoy defending things that people enjoy attacking, whether or not I have an opinion about them initially... my super hero defense instict kicks in and I decide that I like them just because no one else does.

See... I believe in balance in all things. I feel like if 99% of the universe has decided to hate a thing, I need to like it, just to help tip the scales back to some kind of 50/50 situation. Because there's nothing I love more than disagreement. Not argument, per se, but when people disagree, I feel that the world can keep moving and changing and getting better. It's when everyone is unanimous on something that I start getting nervous and become the deviant that shakes things up.

This doesn't apply when I really do care about something that everyone likes. Or if I really don't like something that people find generally offensive. It's when I don't particularly care or when I'm sitting on the fence that I decide to deviate. Here are some examples.

Friday by Rebecca Black:
First of all... who cares? There isn't really a second of all...

Story time. Recently I was at a music club watching a sketch comedy group. They played songs between the sketches and one of the songs they decided to play was Friday. Some obnoxious girl yelled out "Kill me!!" That just seemed unnecessary. It got under my skin a little bit. If R.B.'s not hurting anyone with her inane song about her excitement for the weekend, why do we need to get nasty...? I guess "kill me" girl failed to notice that when Ms Black went into the "Partying Partying" part, everyone in the club yelled "Yeah!" At the appropriate time. It's fun. It's silly. Don't hate.

I will go to bat for Twilight every time. People love to hate things. Twilight is an easy target. You can whine to me about how the writing is whatever whatever and the love story portrayed is unrealistic whatever whatever and there are too many shirtless boys (I don't think anyone says that actually...), but I stand by my previous thoughts. If someone had worked hard to make a thing that people enjoy and it's not hurting anyone, don't hate. You don't have to love Twilight, but leave the people that do alone. And bring on the shirtless men.

Here's an example of the opposite thing. Because there were armies of people who flipped out over this movie, I decided to not love it. Mostly I don't have any strong feelings about it and I want to tip those scales. But I do love Leo.

Stuff I like that everyone else liked includes, among others: How to Train Your Dragon, Harry Potter and grilled cheese sandwiches.

SIDE NOTE: I can only really think of one movie that I hated. It was The Green Hornet and I personally disliked it because I found it morally offensive and disrespectful to it's audience. If you lah-oved it, by all means enjoy. But I will not watch it with you.

I just started typing as sentence that started like this "So maybe this means..." but then I couldn't think of an ending because I don't have any idea what this means. I'm a social deviant when it comes to movies and books that I don't have strong feelings toward. I guess.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

The Time I Had a Secret Enemy

One time I was in college.

While in college, I was required to take a "Writing about the Arts and Humanities" class. (Did I capitalize enough things in the title of that class? Probably not.) It was a dumb class, but it was required and who am I to stand in the way of academic increase?


On the first day of class, I sat down in the small classroom, identified a few people that I knew ("Hey!" "Oh, hey dude!" "Look at us, in a class.") then was introduced to my teacher, Sister Miller. Sister Miller was fine. I had no thoughts about her. She was an English teacher. I think she had curly hair. The end.

But I guess it was in that moment that she pinned me to be her nemesis.

Throughout the class, our interactions were quite limited. She assigned papers, I wrote the papers and turned them in, she would grade them and give them back. It was very standard. My writing wasn't awesome, but it wasn't terrible. I was the same "pretty much OK" student that I'd always been. As far as I knew, I was the same as all the other students in the class.

No reason to have a personal hatred toward me, right? Well... there were a few times that I remember, now that I think about it...

One day we were talking about argument, I guess and she was having everyone go around and say a statement that followed this pattern: "Although _________, however __________." Something about that format seemed off to me. I raised my hand.

Sister Miller: Yes, Asia?
Asia: Isn't it redundant to say both "although" and "however"? It should just be one or the other... right?
Sister Miller: I have a personal and intense hatred for all that you stand for.

OK she didn't say that... I don't remember what she said. But doesn't it seem weird for a college English professor to be teaching basic grammatical errors to her class...?

Anyway. The end of the class was approaching and we were supposed to break into groups and write a huge research paper on something related to our field. I told my group we could just turn in a research paper I had written in a previous semester for my film history class, which we did. It got a good grade and Sister Miller was none the wiser.

But on the last day of Writing about the Arts and Humanities, something strange happened. She was passing papers back to all the groups ("Cook? Here you go." "Davis? Here you are." "Brewer? Nice work!"). She walked by my desk and slyly set something on it that was not my final essay. It was a folded piece of notebook paper. I looked around, seeing if anyone else had received such a note. Nope. I opened it and read it.

It was kind of a mock-apology for "wasting my time" in her class. She said that if I wanted to be in an honors class, I should have just taken one and she was sorry if I felt that her class was a bust.


I didn't even think she knew my name. I was a completely anonymous student in the class. I definitely wasn't the most obnoxious and I definitely wasn't the student who cared least for the course. Yeah, it was dumb, but it was a GE... and I wasn't outwardly rude or sassy ever. She must have been receiving little cues from me all semester. Cues I wasn't intentionally sending, mind you. Little looks or questions that she built up in her mind as conniving and disrespectful.

When I got home, I opened an email to her. It looked like this:

Sister Miller,

I appreciate you taking the time to write me your sincere note, however I am confused about what made you feel the need to write it. I hope I haven't been terribly flippant about attendance or assignments. I know I haven't been the best student, but by no means do I regret taking the class. I admit that I took the class because it is a requirement for graduation, but I don't feel like it was a waste of time or effort. I'm very sorry to have made you feel this way. Thank you for your dedication to the course. Is there anything I can do for you?

Her response was weird:

No, not a thing.  I guess this is a question I should have been asking you earlier in the semester!  But you came to class and will pass--so it's all good.
Have a lovely day.
Sister Miller

What the H?

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Stalker Commercial!

My friend, David Law, made this for a class. Enjoy!

Wednesday, April 20, 2011


Disclaimer: People who love harps may be offended by this post. People who own harps will very probably be offended by this post.

I think harps are stupid. Well... mostly just pretentious. But also kinda stupid.

Why do you need a harp? The answer is... you don't. Whenever I see someone playing the harp I feel like they're judging me for using Suave shampoo and owning Sketchers. I feel like their homes are made of gold and they only come into public to make people feel inferior by playing an instrument that costs as much as a Toyota Prius. They are the bourgeoisie and I am the ukulele proletariat.

Harps are pretty, certainly. But so are fountains, and at least you can throw stuff at those. Harp owners have very specific rules about activity regarding their harps. You're not allowed to touch harps, move too erratically around harps or breathe too forcefully in the direction of harps. I've never been more tempted to jump around and wave my arms in every direction than when I was around a harp.

Harps produce lovely music, certainly. But listening to harp music really just makes me feel like someone has strapped me into a chair and forced me to watch non-stop footage of clouds and waterfalls. Meanwhile, I imagine the harp yelling at me, "This music IS ethereal and you LOVE IT." Do I, harp? Do I? I know I'm supposed to, but really....? Let's get some accordion in here and call it a day. At least you can polka dance to accordion music. I've never polka'ed but I know I would prefer it to having beautiful images shoved into my eye sockets while getting brow-beaten by a stupid harp.

Fast forward about 20ish years. Imagine my 13-ish-year-old girl child comes up to me and says:

Girl Child: Mom, can I have a harp?
Asia: No, but you can have an SUV because they cost the same and one is considerably more useful and less dumb than the other.

My girl child will be so much better off. And so will the world.

Monday, April 4, 2011

The Time I Was a Knife Smuggler

Once upon a time I had these 3 cool friends: Todd, Trevor, Jordan. They were all film students who had gone on their missions to Cambodia. We met in film classes and always had a jolly time. One day they decided that they wanted to go back to Cambodia to make a documentary as part of a school project. I invited myself to come along. They didn't believe that I was serious about going until I purchased a plane ticket. Then they understood that when Asia invites herself to things, she MEANS it.

Side note! I am SO lucky that the Liam Neeson movie Taken hadn't come out yet. My mom flipped when she saw that: "Why did I ever let you go to Cambodia!?!"


One sunny May (or June...?) day, we went to the Salt Lake airport and began the crazy travel to Cambodia. We were to fly to LA, then to Taiwan, then to Saigon/Ho Chi Menh City, then to Phnom Penh. We checked our bags, then began the process of going through security. While in the security line, Todd realized that he had forgotten to check his knife (a knife that he always carried in his pocket to use for random reasons at random times). Our bags were already checked. We were in the security line. This was just a big problem because he really liked that knife and it was a gift or something.

So, being a kind and gentle friend (who also had a small crush on Todd), I offered to carry the knife in my back pack. Why did I think this would work? What? Looking back I feel like the idiot girl who did the idiot thing and could have gone to jail or something. But I was 19, excited to go to Cambodia with my friends and felt like being a knife smuggler could be a fun adventure. I'm a sucker for adventure... So at the time, it really didn't seem like a big deal.


So we put the knife in my back pack and I put my back pack on the security belt so it could be scanned by the TSA people. I walk through the security-doorway-thing and made it to the other side. Surprise! My bag was flagged, pulled off of the conveyor belt and searched. They must have seen the rather large knife I was attempting to smuggle out of Utah.

Here's the disturbing part -- they searched and searched, but found no knife. They zipped up my bag and gave it back to me. I was off, scot-free. And I still had a knife in my back pack. I had smuggled a knife through security at the SLC airport... and it wasn't very hard.

Once we were at our gate, I told Todd about the security incident and we were both relieved that his knife was not confiscated, but at the same time, we were very worried about our safety because apparently it is pretty easy to sneak scary things through security. The likelihood that we were surrounded by guys with bazookas in their back pockets had increased.


Then we make it to LAX, the largest and scariest airport ever. We had to go through security again because now we were flying internationally and we had to leave some kind of terminal to go to another one la la la the point is I still had a knife in my back pack.

We waited in line patiently, people from every corner of the globe waiting with us. Finally, it was our turn to go through LA's security. I took my cell phone out of my pocket and put my back pack on the conveyor belt. I walked through and when I went to collect my back pack, the TSA people looked worried. They pointed at their screen (most likely it was at the HUGE KNIFE IN MY BACK PACK). But -- get this -- when they went to search my bag, they pulled the wrong back pack off of the belt. The person behind me also had a back pack, I guess, and he was the one who got searched. Seriously. I grabbed my bag and headed for my gate.

I had successfully smuggled a knife through two airport security portals. Disturbing? Yes.

Then we were on a plane for 67,4223412145 hours and finally made it to Taiwan. In Taiwan, we went through security for a third time. We were tired and gross-looking and Taiwan was weird and different and kinda dark and had too much flourescent lighting. But nonetheless, we lined to be to security-fied.

I stepped forward. I put my back pack on the conveyor belt. I walked through the metal detection thingy. On the other side, I was greeted by a tall Taiwanese man who looked down at me and said, bluntly, "You have a knife in your bag." I looked up, groggily and responded with a simple, "Yep." Then he said, "We're going to have to check your back pack and put it under the plane with the rest of your luggage."


That was it?

I could have done that in Salt Lake... All I had to do was check my bag.

So, I didn't go to jail in a foreign, poorly lit country; I didn't even get a slap on the wrist. And when we were headed back to American from Cambodia, Todd checked his frickin' knife.

And that, my friends, is how I became a knife smuggler. Moral of the story?? Ummm.... I don't want to say "airport security in America can be kinda sucky", but really....

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

The weather is warming up and it's almost time for summer! This means it's time for swimming, camping, bonfires and other summertime adventures. Speaking of summertime adventures, last July I had a little adventure of my own. See below.

Once upon a time, I was working on a film set in Alpine. We were up on the mountain and it took several windy residential roads to get to our basecamp. Every so often, I would have to exit our mountain hideaway and go into civilization to make copies of stuff.

One of these times, something strange happened.

I was in my super presh little jeep headed to copy call sheets and I was stopped at a stop sign. An SUV was coming so I waited patiently for it to pass so I could pull out behind it. As this SUV passed, though, I thought I saw something strange. Time slowed as it drove by, left to right, and I was 95% there was a cat on the roof. A cat clinging on for dear life, mind you.

I pulled behind the SUV and my fears were confirmed. There was a fluffy white cat having a panic attack on top of the car. After the initial "huh... that's a cat" wore off, I was struck with the definite possibility that this cat belonged to some precious child and it would be flung from the SUV on the highway and baby tears would be the only result. I decided this was not a good plan.

I started honking my horn like a psycho. What else could I do? I rolled down my window and waved my hands. After a moment, the SUV began to slow. It pulled over onto the side of the road. I pulled up next to it.

A mom and her 3 children looked at me like I was insane.

"Do you know you have a cat on your car?"

I pointed weakly.

The mom let out an exasperated sigh. I had a feeling this was a repeat offence. Wily kitty.

"Oh goodness. Thank you."

Having delivered my intended message and not really sure what else I could do, I pulled out. But looking in my rear view mirror as I drove away, I could see the kids getting out of the car and trying to figure out the best way to remove the terrified animal. I smiled to myself. Good deed AND super strange situation. Awesome.

That was one of last year's adventures. I hope this year will hold more and I hope you have some good ones too :).

Monday, March 14, 2011

Rex Lee!

So.... Hey!

I ran a 5K on Saturday. It was the Rex Lee Run 5K -- a run BYU hosts to help sponsor cancer research. I got a shirt and helped fight cancer! yay!

Now... I'm not a runner. This will come as no surprise to you. However, I don't want to think of myself as lazy and unsporty (nonsporty? insportatious?) because then I feel all sedentary and I worry that someone is going to use me as an example in one of those cynical documentaries about obesity in America. Hence I joined my track team. Hence I ran a 5K. Hence I try(ish) to limit my pizza consumption.

The race was Saturday so last Thursday I went to Gold's and did a test 5K. I jogged a lot and walked a lot and when all was said and done, my time was slow. But I had good feelings about Saturday. The 5K was do-able and with people around and a cool shirt on, I would probably be a bit faster.

I was gonna ROCK this 5K.

On Saturday morning, I woke up at 7am. The race began at 9am, but I wanted to get a good parking spot and ALSO be a bit early. Oh! Also I was tricky and put on all my running clothes the previous night. So all I did was wake up, brush my teeth, wash my face and go to the track.

I was like an hour and a half early.

Plus I had pre-registered so I already had my number and shirt. Needless to say... there wasn't really anyone else who was as enthusiastic about being retardedly early for the 5K. So I found myself wandering around looking like an idiot waiting for someone to entertain me. I pinned my number (in the running world this is called a "bib", which is weird and disconcerting) to my tummy then went and sat in my car, reading my book until it was an appropriate time to join the other runners.

But I had a rockin' parking spot, peeps. This was important because I figured running a 5K would be enough physical exertion and once I was done running I didn't want to have to walk an additional mile to my car.

At like 8:30, I left my car and joined the masses of people walking to the BYU outdoor track. We sat in the bleachers and listened to the sons of Rex Lee talk about their dad. Then we prayed and went to the starting line. There were a lot of people running the 5K. We all stood in a weird crowd, facing different ways, unsure of which way we were supposed to run when the shot was heard. I looked around at all the people I was up against. I was sizing them up, trying to decide if I would finish before or after them.

There were little old ladies, moms with strollers, super athletic people, super hot people, super hot athletic people, 8-year-olds, and people who looked kinda like me. People who were thinking "maybe I'll run a 5K today". But everyone, despite their athletic prowess, was startled and began to run when we heard the BANG!

I started jogging. I jogged and jogged. There were people lined up along the road, cheering us on and waiting for us to slap their hands as we passed. There were people taking photos. It was cool. I enjoyed being a part of the herd of people wearing a cool t-shirt and running for a cure.

Before too long I got tired and I started walking. I got passed by lots of people, but by this point I wasn't too worried about looking cool or athletic. I was doing the Rex Lee Run! And that was all I'd set out to do.

By the time I was pretty close to the end, I was tired and sweaty, but I felt good. I felt good about what I was doing for my body and what I was doing with the community.

However, it was around then that I was passed by a sweet old lady.

I then quickly forgot about my happy community feeling and decided that I needed to beat that old lady.

I pushed through my fatigue and ran. We were just a quarter of a mile away from the finish and I passed her. Then I ran through the finish, happy to be done running and happy that I was slightly faster than the lovely, genteel woman who came through the finish slightly after me.

Additionally I beat my test 5K time by 3 minutes. So basically I'm an athlete that gets faster by the minute. Look our for me, peeps.

Look. Out.

I then got in my very closely parked car and came home.

Now... I know 5K is nothing. People run this far and much farther everyday as part of a daily workout routine. Some people eat 5Ks for breakfast. But running much farther than a 5K makes me want to cry and barf. And cry-barfing doesn't sound very fun. So, marathon runners out there, I salute you!

Additionally, sweet old ladies, moms with strollers and 8-year-olds that run these things, I salute you. You are so impressive to wannabe athletes like me.

Run on, peeps. Run on.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Jimmer Love Song

This is my Valentine's song for Jimmer :)

Wednesday, February 2, 2011


I am nigh unto having 10,000 views on my blog. Crazytown, right??

For your entertainment: Words people have entered into google in order to locate my blog:

- pot of gold at the end of the skanky rainbow
- burned my tongue
- literally in love with this grapefruit
- actiso bromch
- luminary things
- disney belle and the best

It's just interesting to me what sticks in people's brains sometimes. There are other search words that people have used to locate likethecontinent, but they are boring.... like "likethecontinent".

I know all of this info because blogger tells me all kinds of cool statistics. It tells me that 4 people in Slovenia and one person in Egypt have read my blog. It tells me that people like sophomore year of my First Kiss Story better than any of my other posts. This is weird because that's the part of the story where nothing happens.

Also... "belle and the best"? There are just a lot of things wrong with that.

Basically you guys are weird. Weird but wonderful. Kinda like a bite of baked potato pizza.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for being you and finding it entertaining when I'm me :).

Friday, January 28, 2011

This Post is Not About Hallmark

I feel like, for the sake of being funny, I've been over exaggerating my feelings about sports and athletics. It's true that I'm not often passionate about playing or watching sports, but I do enjoy the community feeling that comes from watching a football game or being on a ward basketball team. I actually played on my church basketball team for about 5 years when I was a teenager and I loved it. I got to be pretty good too. I like when people around me are passionate about a team or a game and -- admittedly -- it's kinda contagious.

Also, recently I've been assigned to be the UPM on a TV show that is exclusively about college sports. I'm really excited to learn more about sports and have those long, obnoxious conversations about trading players and making it to the "sweet 16" (I know what that is!!).

Anyway... I guess that's just kind of a disclaimer.

So... I wrote this kinda long post about how I used to work at Hallmark and it was not fun and everyone hated me and I was fired because I skipped work to go to a track meet.

Then I realized that I could tell that whole story in one sentence (see above) and making it longer only made it boring.

Instead, I've decided to tell you a little bit about my experiences as a track and field superstahhh.

My senior year in high school was my little brother's freshman year. We were at the same school and it was fun to see him periodically. He ran cross country for a season, then started prepping for track and field. He told me that I should join the track team because it would make me tan and skinny and super hot for prom. Maybe he didn't say all those words, but that's what I heard mostly.

So I was like, "LOL sure!"

Before the season even started, little brother decided that he didn't want to do track, but I decided that getting fit was still probably a good idea. Even if Zac wasn't going to join me. I was ready. How hard could it be to be sporty? psh.

I showed up to my first track practice wearing Sketchers or something with black socks I had to fold over lots of times to make them look like they were ankle socks. They were not. My t-shirt looked ok (minus the fact that I didn't own a proper sports bra), but my shorts were probably khaki or courderoy or something tardy. I looked like a major dork.

Nonetheless, I jumped in to whatever they were doing and got to work.

After my very first track practice, I was completely exhausted. Beyond exhausted. My body was furious. After 16 years of complete inactivity I was putting it through outdoor track conditioning in Florida. Everything hurt. I was 98% sure I was going to die. Additionally, my muscles must have stolen some strength from my brain to keep them from dying so I was kinda loopy as well. Well... loopy? Understatement... Its the closest I've ever come to being stoned. I stumbled into my house mumbling incoherently. I couldn't walk properly, I couldn't speak properly and I'm pretty sure I was shivering.

Once inside, I wanted pudding like the earth was going to cease to exist if I didn't have it immediately. So I went to the fridge, got a pudding and a spoon and collapsed on the floor. I enjoyed my pudding from the floor as my little brother tried to have a conversation with me. He gave up and decided to make a video of me instead. This video has infamously become known as the "Hold my spoon" video.

Track was hard. We did a lot of running. A LOT of running. Running + Asia = sadface, but I figured I was building character and I eventually came to enjoy it as part of the adventure. We also jumped and squatted and lunged and climbed. I was by far the slowest member of the team. By far. Did I mention that this was my senior year? and I had never done anything athletic prior to this? The cool part was, though, that no one cared about how slow I was. They only cared if I gave up. We were all the same as long as we finished. It was kinda wonderful.

I also discovered it wasn't just because I was out of shape. At one point, the girls were doing stadiums and I was behind them all like a slow fat kid, and my coach pointed out that my breathing was not normal and I probably had exercise-induced asthma (AKA athletic asthma).

Shucks. Athletic asthma. How can I go on? I've been able to cope with this inhibition over the years by running less and using it as an excuse to stop playing basketball when I feel like I'm going to throw up.

One day at track practice, we took a little tour of all the different events. We saw shotput and long jump. We looked at pole vaulting and hurdles. Then we looked at the high jump. Everyone got a chance to try jumping over the pole. Some people made it over. Some people didn't.

I did.

I decided to cherish the moment and monopolize on my one sporty ability. I could jump over the dang pole. I had found my sporty calling in life.

Don't get your hopes up, though. I could clear the pole at track practice, but that didn't mean I could jump very high. In order to even compete in a meet for high jump, you had to be able to jump 4'4". It went up by 2" from there. It got to be VERY high. The highest I ever was able to jump during my time on the Mandarin High track team was 4'6". That meant I lasted 2 rounds generally.

Quite the athlete.

I'll have you know, though, that when prom came around, I did look tan and fit. And running track was one of the best learning experiences of my life. Mostly I learned that I could be on the track team and not die. Barely.

I know I know... my dress isn't properly modest for the Mormon girl I claim to be. You can see my shoulders. But this is about as rebellious as I got in high school so chalk it up to teenage experience.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Judging the Children

I have a friend that teaches 5th grade in Spanish Fork. This morning, they had their 5th grade science fair. She was looking for help with judging their projects/presentations so her husband (my coworker) and I went down to the school to help out.

To judge the children.

We arrived at the school and went to the front office. A woman was there corraling the other judges and giving out clipboards and instructions. We were told that we shouldn't go easy on them just because they're cute 5th graders. On a scale of 1-20, she said, 10 was average and we should feel no remorse giving a child a 10. 20 was for stellar projects and anything under a 10 was below average.

We put on our serious, adult faces and headed into the gym where the children were awaiting their judgment. This would be easy. I would be fair. I can handle children.

I walked up to a little boy in front of a yellow presentation board that said something about a cornstarch monster. That sounded entertaining. I said, "Show me whatcha got." As soon as he opened his mouth I knew this wasn't going to be a walk in the park. I couldn't hear a word he was saying. The gym was loud to begin with, but 5th grade child #1 was ridiculously quiet. And on top of that, his head was turned looking at his presentation the whole time so any hope I had of lip reading was completely lost. I crouched down next to his chair so I would be at eye level, but 5th grade child #1 was determined to not be understood. I decided to just read his presentation board. It looked neat enough. Not so neat that his mom did it, but it looked like he had tried to make it look nice. It said something about a Newtonian Liquid... did 5th grade child #1 know what a Newtonian Liquid was? I sure didn't. And there was no asking him... so I gave him good points on everything except his interview skills and moved on.

A little girl with braces looked as though she was dying to tell me about what happens when you bake cookies without using all of the ingredients. It turns out, she concluded, mayhem ensues.

I learned a lot of stuff from these projects. Some stuff that I already knew (like... that water is good for plants) but a lot of the information was useful and applicable in my life. Did you know that Oxyclean, Resolve and Shout all have the same cleaning power? According to 5th grade child #4's research, there is no difference. Did you know that yellow food dye dissolves faster than blue, green or red food dyes? 5th grade child #11 does. Just don't ask her why that is. She doesn't know.

After I had finished judging my quota of children, I just walked around and asked them if they were having fun. Lots of little girls just nodded shyly. One boy threw his head back and said, "I'm borrrrrrrrrrred!" I was informed by 5th grade child #6 that they were missing math class to be at the science fair. That sounded like a pretty sweet deal to me. When I asked one little girl if she was having fun, she sweetly smiled and asked me, "Are you?" I was beside myself. Heck yes I was having fun!

As I continued to pace through the projects and smile at the kids, one boy called me over to his presentation and asked me, "Do you get scared easily?" I looked at him nervously. Oh crap... what is he going to to? I responded with a hesitant "No...?" He shrugged and went back to chatting with the boy next to him. I smiled and awkwardly backed away.

Before too long, the children were called out to recess. Coworker (David) and I went out to see his wife and play with the kids. A bunch of kids came up and asked if I was their teacher's sister. I lied and said yes. Hopefully that doesn't ruin their trust in adults.

It was fun talking to all these children and trying to figure out what they were going to be when they grow up. One kid straight up told me he wanted to be a mechanical engineer. Best of luck, 5th grade child #3. It made me think back on my time as a 5th grader. I remember being kinda mean and having few friends. Those were strange years and I had no idea what I was going to be doing 10 years later. I guess I turned out ok, though. Little Asia, with her posterboard explaining why Duracel is the best battery, grew up to be a pretty ok 22-year-old.

At least.... so far, so good.


Monday, January 10, 2011

Ears: Pwned

When I was little, my mom really wanted me to pierce my ears. She thought it would just be so pretty and great. I didn't want to. We were the opposite of most mother-daughter dynamics. Some of my friends weren't allowed to get their ears pierced until they were 12. And they would itch for the day they could go into Claire's and pick out their first earrings.

Not me. Mom would beg every time we went to the mall. When I was nine, I eventually broke down and let her take me to Claire's.

Here's the thing about getting your ears pierced... people tell you it doesn't hurt that bad. They tell you, despite the obvious horror of the piercing gun, that it's a walk in the park.

They lie. It hurts like a mofo.

Real real bad. The trouble is, however, that once you've realized how much it hurts to get your first ear pierced, you have nothing to do but face the same thing again on the other side of your head. It's dreadful.

So the ears were pierced (imagine lots of crying). It ended up being a good decision because I really liked wearing pretty earrings.

However, as is the case with many young girls with their ears pierced, my ears got infected occasionally. I had to take the earrings out and tend to my wounds until they were ok to receive earrings again. One time I had my earrings out for too long, though and when I tried to put my earrings back in, only one would go through.

This didn't stop me from wearing pretty earrings, though... Like a young pirate, I wore one earring for about a year until my mom convinced me that it looked kinda dumb. Thanks for looking out, mom :).

So I let the other hole close up and didn't wear earrings anymore.

Flash forward.

When I was in middle school, my brother got me a beautiful pair of clip-on earrings. I wore these occasionally and really liked them.

Flash forward again.

It's time for my junior prom and I'm looking at the beautiful clip-ons from my brother. They had done good things for me. They were with me through grand times. But when I was 16, I looked at those suckers and they told me that I needed to try real earrings again. They inspired me to re-pierce my ears.

I was feeling impatient, though and wanted them pierced right then. So I decided to see if I could force earrings through my old holes. I went through my old earrings and picked some that looked appealing and gave it a try. Partial success! I was able to get an earring through the ear that I had kept open for a year longer than I should have. I had one earring in! How hard could the other one be?

Well this one was closed... completely. After a few painful tries, I quickly discovered that I would have to re-pierce the ear. I had seen The Parent Trap and decided that it couldn't be that hard. I found a safety pin and decided that it could probably do the trick. I think I wiped it off on a paper towel or something. This was my version of sterilization.

I took a deep breath and stuck it through my ear. I took another deep breath and pulled it out. I then grabbed an earring and tried to put it in the hole I had just created.

The hole could not be found... had it healed that quickly? Am I just an idiot? It was painful trying to find a hole that no longer existed so I decided to try piercing it again. With two more deep breaths, I stuck the safety pin back in my ear and pulled it out again.

Again. No luck in fitting an earring through. Had The Parent Trap lied to me?? Lindsay Lohan! Darn you!

The only way I was ever going to get an earring through my ear was to pierce my ear with an earring. This is how they do it at Claire's, after all. Except Claire's has special earrings that are really pointy and sharp so that they go through easily. I had no such thing (I had lost the ones they pierced my ears with, I guess).

So I began the painful process of forcing a dull earring through my (now pretty battered) earlobe. I kept icing it, which helped with the pain, but it was pretty awful.

But I was determined!

When I had made it about half way through my ear, my brother came to get me to go to a party we were invited to. So I continued with my ear-piercing in the car. It was during the commute that I actually got the earring fully through. It felt like I had climbed a mountain. I was so proud.

Do I recommend this? Heck no. But I feel pretty hard core that I did it. They're still pierced and I still get to wear pretty earrings all the time.

Ears: pwned.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

The Time I Auditioned for American Idol

The new season of American Idol is starting soon. Get excited!

I like American Idol because it feels like the American Bandstand of our generation. Everyone watches it. Even if you don't watch it, it's kind of difficult to not know what's going on in Idol world. It's everywhere.

When I was in high school, my family would watch American Idol all the time. We would even vote for the people we liked. But when I came out to college, I stopped watching it. I was too busy with my scholarly pursuits...

The trouble is this: when I would call my mom to chat about life, she always wanted to chat about American Idol. I never knew what was going on. So I started watching it again. After I was back in the loop of Idol-mania, my conversations with my mom were so much better :).

The other thing is this... I've auditioned for American Idol. I did it a few summers ago after facing peer pressure from two super precious, super Idol-addicted little girls who really wanted me to.

If they told you to audition for American Idol... you would do it too.

They told me I would totally win, so I decided to embrace my super diva stardom and show my talent to the world. After all, I'm ridiculously talented. I bring Mariah Carey to her knees with pure vocal aptitude. Just ask my young friends.

My little brother and I went to the veteran's memorial arena and got wristbands telling us our place in line. I had to sign a contract saying that I didn't work for Coca Cola and I'd never had a record deal. I also had to sign a contract saying that American Idol could make me look like a total shmuck on national television. No joke, the contract mentioned "public defamation" and other really specific, really awful sounding repercussions. The contract said that Fox could make up lies about me to make me more interesting and broadcast whatever they want about me and my personal life. This made me feel less bad for the people who look like morons on American Idol. They signed a paper saying that Fox could do just that.

Zac and I arrived on the day of the audition at 6am. We were in the longest line ever.


We sat outside for 4 hours (in the rain).

Then they let us in the building.

Then we sat there for about 8 more hours.

Zac, bless his dear, supportive heart, left me after about 6 hours.

While sitting and waiting, I read a book and listened to the thousands of people around me practicing their songs. The camera men got shots of the crowd yelling "I'm the next American Idol!" and we even got to see Ryan Seacrest for a little bit. I kinda love Ryan Seacrest.

Then it was time for the actual auditioning. I watched as people were ushered down to the floor in droves and told to sing for a small group of producers. These producers either said yes -- and you were off to meet to famous judges -- or no -- and you were going home.

Eventually I was ushered down to the floor, stood in a line of 5 people and told to sing my heart out for 2 random producers. I stepped forward, sang about 15 seconds of "New Soul" by Yael Naim (why? dunno. odd choice, but whatev) and was told that I wasn't what the network was looking for. Everyone in my little group was told that. Basically everyone at the audition was told that.

So it turns out that I'm NOT a super diva filled to the brim with sparkly talent.

But it also turns out that only about 200 people get through to see the famous judges. And only like 20 of those get to go to Hollywood. But like 15,000 people showed up in Jacksonville alone. That's .013% of people who even get to see Paula and Randy. Only the really good and the really bad people.

Which means! They can't let even close to all the talented people through. There's just not enough room. So basically my vocal self-esteem is still in tact. They wanted to let me through, of course! They just didn't have the numbers to do so.

The saddest part was when I had to call the super precious girls and tell them that I didn't make the cut. They cried.

Dang it.

So I opened Garage Band and recorded a Taylor Swift song for them to listen to. It seemed to tide them over.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011


So there are those people. The "literally" people.

"Literally" guy: I literally laughed my head off!
Other person: I'm worried for your well being.

THEN. There are those "You mean figuratively!" people.

"Literally" guy: You are literally blowing my mind!
"You mean figuratively" guy: You mean "figuratively". I'm figuratively blowing your mind.

The thing is... no one means "figuratively". When you say figuratively, it takes all the punch out. Literally is kind of a dumb thing to say, but figuratively just sounds pretentious and completely takes the impact our of your statement.

Person: I am literally in love with this grapefruit.
Other person: Why don't you marry it??
Person: Fine. I am figuratively in love with this grapefruit.
Other person: If your love is only figurative, your grapefruit is underappreciated.
Person: I can't win.
Grapefruit: Neither can I.

Sometimes the correctors are more obnoxious than the correct-ees. And by sometimes, I mean usually.

The other overcorrected thing is this: the pronunciation of the word "mountain". This will be hard to type about because it's an auditory problem, but I'll try my best.

Many people from Utah pronounce "mountain" like this: moun-ehn. With equal emphasis on each syllable and with hardly any effort from their mouth/tongue. It's a lazy pronunciation.

MORE obnoxious, though, are the people who say this. "People from Utah are SO dumb! They say moun-ehn when normal people say mounTain!" They express total belief that is is completely normal to pronounce the T in mountain as if they're from jolly old Britain. No one says "mounTain". You sound like an a-hole.

I stand by this: the most common way to pronounce "mountain" is the subtle "moun-n". With no obvious T, but with some effort put forth by your mouth; as if it's trying to do its job.

 Or "moe-TAYNE". Both are acceptable to me.

Monday, January 3, 2011

The Burn

Haaaaaappy New Year! I hope you had a safe and fun holiday season. I burned my tongue on some pizza 2 days ago (New Years Day!) and it's still recovering. Dang it.

Remember my precious first kiss story? Awwww warm fuzzies! Well, there's another epic boy story I have up my sleeve. Yaay!

Only this one is not precious. This was was a burn. A big, nasty burn. Less physically damaging than my pizza tongue, but certainly more emotionally hurt-y. Here 'tis.

The (non-pizza related) Burn:

Once upon a time I decided I wanted to major in film at BYU. In order to do that, you have to apply to the program. The application process is a B. It's really long and really hard.

I was working on my application while I was in a prerequisite class for the major. In my class, there was a boy. I will change the name of this particular boy, just for funsies. We'll call him Josh.

While working on becoming a film major, everyone said that it was a good idea to network, meet people, shmooze. While I was exercising my film major muscles, I decided to meet Josh and add him to my professional network.

Josh was super intimidating. He was applying to be a film major too, only his resume included lots of film work and he was practically Steven Spielberg.

I was all, "Moooooveeeees." and he was all, "Cinematography, low-key lighting, post-modernism!"

We decided to get together so he could help me with my application. We met in the library and talked about my resume for about 20 minutes. Then, for about 2 hours we just chatted. About our lives, about majoring in film, about everything. We laughed and laughed. At the end of the night, I went home thinking he was a pretty swell fella. I'd decided that film boys were alright.

The next time we had class, we were sitting together. We started walking home together after class. Then I started hanging out at his apartment after class. We started to become pretty good friends. We could talk for hours and hours. I had never before had a connection that strong with a boy. My perception changed from thinking film boys were great to thinking that Josh was great. Being with him felt so natural. So easy.

I started to fall hard.

There came a point in the class when we were split up into groups. Josh and I were put into the same group. As we would have group meetings and work on the project, we would talk and laugh and talk and laugh. I couldn't believe how effortless it was.

A couple of times I asked him to hang out in an environment that was not related to our project or our class. He was always busy.

But nonetheless, our friendship had blossomed. We were close. We could talk about anything.

In April, the class was coming to an end and with the end of the semester came the summertime. I was going home to Florida and he was going on his mission. It was a big, fatty ending. Josh decided that he wanted to take me to lunch to say a proper good-bye.

We went out to lunch and had a grand time. I gave him a going-away gift. At the end of our lunch date, he said he wanted a hug. I pulled him in for a brief side-hug and called it good. He said he wanted a real hug. I set down the items in my hands and we embraced. It didn't feel like a friend-hug.

Then -- I went home. He went home. I received an email from the film department -- accepted!!! I could hardly stand it. He was accepted too (duh). The universe was a happy place.



I was talking to our mutual friend on the phone one night. We'll call him Paul. Paul was also in our prereq class. He and Josh had been friends a long time. Paul liked to bug me about my feelings for Josh, but it was mostly friendly.

This particular night, though. Paul let something slip. Something I wasn't supposed to know.

In all of the time I had spent with Josh, in all of the hours we had spent chatting and laughing, walking home, working on our project, etc, he had not once mentioned his girlfriend.

His serious girlfriend.

The girl he had begun dating before he even met me.

Anyway.... Paul mentions this to me one night. I felt like a TOTAL retard. I wanted to dig a hole and climb in as far as I could go. The universe was not a happy place. Josh was happily dating a super great girl. A super great girl who was probably laughing at me the whole time I was in love with her boyfriend.

A few weeks later, I get a phone call from Josh. He's about to go on his mission and he won't have contact for a while (two years). He wants to say good-bye and wish me well.

I wish I could say that I held my head high and sassed him like he deserved -- some kind of well-rehearsed speech. Truth be told, though, I stuttered like a maniac. I could barely get the words out. Despite my sudden speech impediment, I did tell Josh that I heard about his girlfriend. I told Josh that he probably should have mentioned her to me. Josh stumbled through an apology. I told Josh to have a nice mission.

Time passed. He was off to serve the Lord. I was now a film major. I was enjoying it like nothing I'd ever enjoyed before. I was learning and growing and getting involved in everything. It was amazing.

Josh was an excellent missionary. We wrote letters periodically, just as friends. He would send me pictures of his various goings-on and I would tell him about the progress I was making as a film major. It was his turn to be impressed with my resume.

Two years later, he came home.

I was working on a movie. He was working on that same movie. We ran into each other on set. It was strange, but fine. Unfortunately, however, talking to him hadn't become more difficult. We could still chat and joke like the ironic friendship we had before his mission. I made a point of telling him that I had a boyfriend, though. haha, I made sure he knew that.

Production ended on the movie we were working on. It was back to work for me and back to classes for him -- he was just getting started, after all.

We talked online occasionally and I made sure to have a few more awkward conversations before I felt settled about the whole thing. I asked him if he was still dating that girl -- yes. I asked him if we could just forget all the messy crap that had happened and just be friends -- yes. I asked him the ever eloquent question of "are we ok?" -- yes. I hope he burned that stupid gift I gave him when he was about to go on his mission.

Anyway... he's married now. To the girl. The girl who waited. The girl he loves. I think I got a wedding announcement. I put it on the fridge. Then I threw it away -- along with all of his letters.

I was upset for a while about this, but I'm not anymore. I'm genuinely glad that he's happy. I've learned a lot from that experience and I'm glad that I had it. To Josh I may just be that dweeby girl that had a major crush; just a minor speedbump on the road to his happy eternal marriage.

To me, Josh is a reminder that I am worth more than that.

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