LIFE!!!!!!

Best weekend ever. Really. Want to know why? Well, that's too bad, because I'm not spilling any Deets!!!
Just know, that sometimes, after years and years of waiting and groaning and running and mumbling and just wanting to take a blessed walk in the park away from all that is and was.... Well. You get what you need.

Saturday. April 23. You must admit, it was a beautiful, blessed Saturday.

Today, however, I taught my first lesson in Primary! (I now teach the eleven-year-olds namely Meghan, Jasmine, Courtney, Caitlyn, Emily, and beautiful Adi Jensen)
They are hilarious. / they are not funny, but they somehow thing everything that comes out of my mouth is intended as a joke. .. Maybe it's the hair? I dunno.
But they really are a joy.
We talked about Easter today.

We talked about Resurrection.

We talked about the tradition of an egg and where the devil it comes from . (If you wanted to know, it's French and the Egg is a symbol of the Stone that had to be overturned by the Angel Elias)

But most importantly we spoke of hope.
The Original Hope.

Hope is a funny thing. (As my girls would probably burst out laughing at this point...)
It drives us to attempt the impossible. It drives us to surrender any doubts, fears, insecurities and to bound into the seemingly dark, desolate, empty space. Hoping that someone is there to catch us, feel us, understand us, love us, vouch for us.

In a way the only hope that is actually real, that actually works, is the hope that is somewhat knowledge.
It's an action.
We put that hope to action, plug it into the equation, set that hope on fire and watch it take of running, watch the solution appear from the sea of division signs and square roots, watch it conflagrate.

And even if that hope burns and dies, there is still the satisfaction of actually trying.
Failing is never the end, It's just the time where you learn you cannot fly, but maybe you can ride a scooter, instead. Then maybe one day, you'll try and fly again, and you never know....
Maybe hope is just an experiment you try over and over until it becomes reality.
Keep hoping, keep trying, until that hope is who you are: a hoper--> a doer--> a seeker--> a finder.

Anyway. I love those girls. They're beautiful. They're at the stage where they don't know what it's like to doubt. Not anything. Not their looks, or their grades, or their peers, or the world, or themselves. They have so much hope for things. Not anything like the Jr. High and High School kids who worry too much, who "know" the world is harmful and cruel, and who "know" that they are not good enough.

And guess who is the happiest out of all the world?

What's needed most is sometimes the reassurance that your hope is not in vain.
Who is the person to assure you that it's not?
It's yourself. (+2 others)



To need=to make a commitment.



Happy Easter, Everyone.

NUEVOyork?

HELLO. I SUCK AT POSTING.

BUt.

There is one good thing about my life: My Life in New York.

and It's reminiscent of Mal and Mik. Don't worry, you two, I've not forgotten you.

It is hilarious to watch the new two, a.k.a. Laura and Shelbie gawk, squak, and oogle over the yellow lights, smelly hobos, and every single cab maybe or maybe not being the cash cab.

Gah.

I love sharing this part of my life with others. It's surreal. Like two twins separated at birth, (just now meeting int their late thirties who discovered that the other had a similar life including a cat, an ex-husband, and an obsession with David Bowie), my two loves/lives are once again meeting. :)

Sitting here. Watching Those Two stare out the window of my father's apartment, enthralled. Typing semi-furiously on this ancient laptop of Laura's. I've not been so happy in a long time.

Shelb pointed out that this is something we three have needed. To escape into a world of bigger and better, into a breath of fresh air, is something we have subconsciously been craving. I think we all need a little oxygen. I'm beyond grateful to be getting that good ole O2 with Laur and Shelb in the good ole NYC.

P.S. My father is and will always be the same- the best tour guide in the country with a mouth and a nose.

Fuel for Fire

You know those girls who write names over and over and over again? and then one more time for good measure. and after about 4 minutes and 39 seconds, the page is covered in that name, and the curly letters with hearts all around it make the page look like somebody puked a cupid on it.

Well..

It's stupid. That's all I have to say about it.

Another thing..... I've been trying to listen to this band that basically everybody I talk to SWEARS BY.

And. I must admit.

I hate it. It's the worst. ever. I have a weird reaction/retaliation to its "musicality"/ it sounds like a freakin steamroller attempting the height of a pitch much like unto a tween girl happening upon her long-lost b.f.f. from, like, furevur ago.

>..? "3 in the mornin, better get some sleepin soon" - from said "band." (if you could call it that)

gahhhh

Almost done with DANG online classes!!! Hopefully Wheetneey will help me with health.

oh my gosh. this band sucks. I'm trying. I'm trying.

okay. next topic:

Trains.

They are symbolic.

As usual.

But sometimes, I like when people sing about it.

It's like music to my ears (no literal pun intended) after listening to rubbish.

P.S. I will never tell you the sucky band. On account of, I feel bad gossiping about them... (in case they hear me...)

GOOD NOTE: The Kooks are moving up on my list of FAV'S. (fav's? really, Ari?)

go on... listen to Naive. It's beautiful.

P.S.S. This is what is known as a puke post. Learn to lovem.

Financial Blit.

This is the main point I learned in Financial Lit today:

and I quote, "If you're alive, you are at risk at something." (visit this link if you don't believe me)

I basically laughed out loud when I read it.

Then... I thought about it.

And, even though it's the most ridiculous claim ever stated, the truth of it is hard to ignore.

Riskkk. The game of Life.

P.S.

Best news ever:

I'M GOING TO RAY LAMONTAGNE.

AND I WILL FALL IN LOVE

AND I DON'T CARE IF IT'S REAL OR NOT.

OR THAT HE'S KIND OF 37 YEARS OLD....

age does not affect the matters of the heart.

P.S.S I"m changing my name to Hannah, Jolene, Sarah, Meg, or (if worse comes to worst) You.

Then he can sing to me. And my name will be in there somewhere. Even if it is "I could hold You in my aaaarms," in which case I still win.

Ray is a real man. Beard. Voice. Guitar. EYES. MANE.

He's a lion to me. And I've never actually told anyone this before, but lions are sort of my thing. Yay for posted secrets. ... (...p.s.s.s(s?.) One day I will tell you all about my deal with lions..)

I'm done for.

Just sometimes need a push.

FRiday Night.

HOLY cow. (no reference to my previous post)

Thursday and Friday night was the talent show.

AMERican Fork HIGh school. GAHH.

how am I supposed to post if I have no words to use/!?

I will start with my gratitude. Having the opportunity to be surrounded by some of the most amazing musical people is a dream in and of itself. I'm just also ridiculously happy to have gotten a part of my self back that comes with a confidence I had lost.

Can I post some lyrics?.... k.

All This Time by Maria Mena

you self destructive
little girl
pick yourself up
don't blame the world
so you screwed up
but your gonna be ok
now call your boyfriend
and apologise
you pushed him pretty
far away last night
he really loves you
you just don't always love yourself.

all this time
all this time
you have had it in you
you just sometimes need a push
all this time
all this time
you have had it in you
you just sometimes need a push

think all the mean girls
that pulled your hair
are barefoot now and
pregnant there
and you write pop songs
and get to travel
round the world

all this time
all this time
you have had it in you
you just sometimes need a push
all this time
all this time
you have had it in you
you just sometimes need a push

so you've had some detours
some stupid men
now we know what not
to do again
besides you lucked out
finally

all this time
all this time
you have had it in you
you just sometimes need a push
all this time
all this time
you have had it in you
you just sometimes need a push

/

To my pushes: Shelbie, Laura, Sarah, Mikelle, Han, Chloe.

You are the reasons for everything. You're my pick-me-ups. You're my back. You're my right hand (just pretend i'm an Octopus).

But most importantly you listen. You understand that I understand and are willing to take my words with either a grain of salt or a take to heart.

I know I screw up a lot. A lot. And I'm being extremely hypocritical by making this post kind of Diary-esque.... but Honestly. I don't know who I'd be with out you. (Same goes to you other readers who know who you are, but I'm not mentioning your name.)

Although I might have screwed up these last months of our post-childhood pre-life, I'm so grateful for those surprising life-changing experiences. (Aren't they always surprising?)

I know for scientific fact (I'm a scientist) that if you look for the worst things in your life that affirm your worst expectations, your life will miserable. Full of those "duh's" that make true your belief system.

But, if you look for the best things in your life, suddenly your life becomes its best. You become who you always were. You remember what you always knew. You transform into your best self- which is the self that is infinitely growing, changing, learning, healing, coping, becoming entirely real. good and bad. all of it.

Feel free to eat some grapes with the cheese I just threw at you.

Also. Girls. Let's stop blog warring, okay? I'm disappointed in the justification of it all.

Even though I know you are not horrible people, you are not being very tactful. It's blogging, not slandering.

Know this: there is a lot of love out there.. But only if you are willing to look for it, give it, and accept it.

Parking Lot Fiasco/ TIPS FOR MEN.

How many Thank-You's to Codename: RaChelle Stwarto do you think will suffice for yesterday's hilariousness??

Ohohohohohohoho.

Story time?

Yes.

It all began on a perfectly humdrum, after-school day in the school parking lot. (A.K.A. The pink ticket's favorite place to kick it.) When, from the corner of my eye, I beheld a red car trying to make it over the concrete where... you know... you're not supposed to try and drive a car over.

Sure enough, "RaChelle" had managed to unwittingly high-center her car with the wheels on either side of the forbidden concrete hump. Much like unto this heifer---------------------->-------------->--------->----->

If you're ever bored and want to boost the macho morale of some hot Mexicans and a Korean...... Here's how a few tips....

HOW TO PROVE BLUSTERY TESTOSTERONE LEVELS:

STEP 1. Hunt for the beautiful, half-witted-decision-making girl with car in a pickle (in this case ON a pickle)

STEP 2.Stand around in a giant group surveying the damage.

STEP 2b. disregard any cops around who think they are helping but they are not.

STEP 3. Take orders from said beautiful, yet accident-prone girl.

STEP 4. After minutes pass, finally lift car off ground using brute strength and grunt a lot ....(I'll leave this one up to your imagination)

STEP 5.Watch wistfully as they drive away in somewhat altered car in blissful admiration at the manly man work you have done.

Applause!





What a great. day.

Thank you, Presidents.

For giving us an absolutely pointless holiday/ best idea ever.

Here's a list of pointless things in honor of the pointless holiday. (I really hope the Gov gov doesn't liquidate my assets for being a quote unquote national threat/ disgruntled citizen)

1. Woke up as pissed as my cat.

2. Pet the cat.

3. Started reading Emma.

4. Contacted a fellow citizen about Emma; we're book clubbing it(!).

5. Epically battled the cat. (cat won... idonwannatalkabouit)

6. Ate some toast.

7. Watched sweet documentaries about the symbols and secret organizationsof our country (to be somewhat patriotic/just in case the gov was listening...)

8. Told myself I wasn't schizophrenic.

9. MATH. -+=XX (If you get this math joke, you're a dweeb. Join me in my dweebiness.)

10.

I did not have a 10enth thing.

But I DID have a tenth finger in which to use my backspace with.

Caps lock was also used, just not as much as backspace. TO CAPS, I APOLOGIZE.

Also, I literally have not been to a single scholastic class period in over a week.

Hopefully my eyes remember how to feign awake when I'm in the back of my evil child development class.

I swear, the reason it's called Child Development is because the children in there are developing at an INCONCEIVABLY slow rate. (caps lock discretion no longer acknowledged).

They're like monkeys.

Fellow classmates of C.D..------------>

Even a few of them seem to compliment monkeys.

Speaking of animals. My dog tried to get up the steps... but he just fell down.

He definitely got eaten by 6 or 7 steps worth of gravity.

Poor boy.

These are words.

x.

ari.