A double whammy

I decided that if Celine Dion and Josh Groban were ever to get together and have a concert, it would be something akin to a Mt. Vesuvius for menfolk. No. More like the atom bomb for the y-chromosome in general.

Ms. Dion, Bro. Groban: please don't nix all the y-chromosomes. Girls hate each other as it is, with very few exceptions (no one hates the Brittany!) and this social angst will only get worse if you have a concert together.

And it is a moral duty-nay, obligation-of radio stations everywhere not to play Celine Dion love songs in the same hour as Josh Groban love songs. Reports of people trying to drown themselves in water coolers are starting to circulate.

Its five-year mission...to explore new life

Yes I am blogging about Star Trek. I caught a glimpse of the Original Series today, and was simultaneously intrigued, disturbed and mesmerized at the same time.

You see, Cap'n Kirk, (who is the younger brother of this man) was making out with alienesque life-form played by one of those beehive-haired women of my parents generation, and it was kind of weird. They weren't talking about alien things. I think they were trying to seduce each other. I was like...huh. So that's how guys do things in the 22nd / 24th century. And he was saying the cheesiest things imaginable between fits of osculation where he smashed her mouth into her nose. I wonder if that's what silly putty feels like?

Note to trekkies: yes, girls probably want to be kissed like that. Provided they have breathing intervals within which you tell her cheesy things that make her brain evaporate.

Evaporate like that other UGLY alien who got zapped by the phaser which was only supposed to be set to STUN but in reality fried ugly alien into a platonic existence.

The point is, if you have big hair, hunky intergalactic space-men will want to seduce you with cheesy words, only because you work for the enemy and are eventually going to get ZAPPED.

The End.

You've Lost Your Queen! ... That's twice in one day!

The Swan Princess is kind of an annual ritual for Kendall and me. We have to wait for that pivotal moment...Derek and Odette are dancing in the grande ballroom and Derek proposes...kind of.

Derek: Arrange the marriage!
Odette: Wait!
Derek: What is it? You're all I've ever wanted. You're beautiful!
Odette: Thank you...But what else? Is beauty all that matters to you?
Derek: Uh...what else IS there?

Single most effective words ever spoken to put a man in the dog house. But for K & me, it's really just hilarious. Ken has too many boys telling her she's pretty--in fact, that's usually the first thing they say in asking-out. They're missing out on a little redheaded firecracker, I can tell you that. And then there's Lou. She's one of the most amazing girls I know...but boys are scared by her energy and intelligence. I don't really get it, but then again I'm not a boy.

Anyway, with the advent of homecomings and preference and whatnots, I'd like to dedicate Martina McBride's This One's for the Girls! to all my sistas out there who maybe feel a little like Odette. And in the hopes that, as in the end of the Swan Princess, your "Derek" comes to his senses. And even if he doesn't, just to know that you are beautiful beyond measure.

This one's for the girls who've ever had a broken heart
Who've wished upon a shooting star
You're beautiful the way you are
This one's for the girls who love without holding back
Who dream with everything they have...

Inspiration

Despite the fact that I don't really care for Paula Abdul in her role as pantocrator of American Idol, I do like her music. Like the song "Straight Up." I found it on the family MediaDrive this morgen, and it's got some good lyrics ('man.)

I've been fooled before, wouldn't like to get my love caught in the slammin' door, How 'bout some inspiration please? Straight up now tell me, do you really want to love me forever, or am I caught in a hit-and-run?

Sometimes I like songs that pay it forward like that. ;) Not heinous ones like "God Must've Spent a Little More Time on You." (sorry...anime again!)

That song makes me feel a lot like Galatea under Pygmalion's hand. I believe I'd rather have someone know my faults and love me more because I've tried to overcome those defects than turn me into the ideal woman who cannot, would not, ought not make a mistake. We're all striving toward perfection, and we help each other toward that goal. Negating faults and pretending we're already at the peak of our potential stunts us.

Not that we should always be reproving, either. Like Frank Sinatra's "Funny Valentine."

Is your figure less than Greek? Is your mouth a little weak? When you open it to speak, are you smart?... but don't change a hair for me, not if you care for me...

What I'm getting at is that I need someone who can pull me to higher ground when he's there, and who will let me help him to higher ground when I'm there. And when we're both there, we can walk together. I am a huge supporter of the idea of an eternal companion. Not my missing "half" but my missing whole. Two people who work intricately as a single cell but retain each's own respective and unique characteristics and spark of spirit.

Kind of like this song. Again, sorry about the anime... :)

I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you
But you just smile, you take my hand, you've been there you understand
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true...

Back from the Dead

Well, sort-of. I just haven't had anything to write on this blog for a while, or at least not a lot I wanted the www to know.

Anyway, I'm actually going to relate a quasi-boy experience as it applies to the 5-year anniversary of September 11:

I was watching the news feed when the second plane hit. I saw everything, even the faux pas the news made in showing people jumping out of the windows to avoid the flames. It was horrifying. I live near a military airport, and I remember how quiet the sky was for about a week afterwards, and how eerie it was the first time I heard a plane in the sky again. But most of all, I remember worrying about my friend on the West Coast.

It shouldn't have been something to worry about. He was on the wrong side of the country. But I thought if the planes could get us in New York, what was keeping them from California? Thankfully Rob called me later that night and we talked for a long, long time. He had been worried about me all day, waiting to get off of work to call me, even though he knew there was even less chance of an attack in Utah than Cali. The first thing he asked me was, "I know this is silly, because you're in Utah, but are you all right?"

We were scared. Scared about his mission. Scared for the United States. Scared for the Church. Scared of everything. Most of all, I remember talking to him and finally feeling some comfort knowing he was safe and knowing he was worried about me in return. It was a good feeling on a day that otherwise would be a blot in my memory.

No matter what happens, we have good memories of those we've lost. No matter what they have done or said, these memories make it worth the time. It's like Kendall always says,

People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But they will never forget the way you made them feel.

On September 11, 2001, I felt like one of the most important people in America.

"You will not have room to receive it"

"You haven't been sleeping lately."

He didn't start the conversation with small talk. Just an assertion. I looked at him for a minute with an awestruck face betraying the sense of "how-could-you-know-that?" As he enveloped me in a hug, I was just thankful I didn't have to explain. He just knew.

It will never cease to amaze me how sometimes your friends just know. Even when you haven't talked in months, they know. They don't want an explanation unless you want to give it. And when you do, they are all ears.

I have the best friends in the world.

BLegh

All I can say is:

I hate cheesy love songs like a fat kid hates to jog.
Sappiness kills my mood. And my appetite.

Genuine love songs, them's okay. Imma have to say I'm a fan.

Thank heaven I can't play the saxophone. I would scare off the menfolk with greater frequency. Now the trumpet, that's a different story.

I dunno

I taught the 20-child nursery on Sunday. Isaac and Elias had more than the alotted amount of energy, and ran around and around the room for an hour an a half. Despite the noise and pandemonium, this didn't bother me. I figure if they get their energy out in church, Mom and Dad will count their blessings. And I'll go home and take a nap.

Anyway, I finally got them to settle down by presenting them with books and asking them to read to me. Isaac screwed up his face trying to make out what the story was saying. Then he turned the book upside down and was a lot more pleased with his comprehension. Then I gave them crayons and let them color all over the butcher paper on the table, and let them rip off the technicolor paper upon completion. The puerile thanatos was satiated. The children rejoiced.

My life is sort of this way. Sometimes I think Heavenly Father lets me run around and around in circles until my energy is spent. There is no use trying to slow me down, because my Spirit feels like it's going to burst out of my body. But when I am through running laps and freaking out, listless and still, then He starts giving me answers. Even then, sometimes I have to turn them upside down before they make any sense.

I feel this summer has been a series of progressively intriguing adventures, each specifically designed to give me the proverbial patience of Job. I've been around a lot of children, which in a sense has caused two reactions: on the one hand, there was never seen a more effective method of birth control; on the other hand, I've never wanted children more than spending time with children in nursery or with Kassy and Josh and my neighbors. It causes an heartache, swelling inside and sometimes a feeling of loneliness. But also hope. I may not have children for years to come, owing to the circumstance of not having an eternal family unit of my own, but my arms are not empty as I have considered them this long while. When your arms are open, something is bound to come and fill them.

Wonder Dog

If you're ever feeling crappy about anything, listen to this poochie. Make it your ringtone if you have to.

Good form, Peter, good form

So I beat Christian in bowling.
As in, I beat Christian by doubling his score.

I beat EVERYONE but Mike.
Which is braggable.

Two games in a row, baby.

He let me do a victory dance, act sassy, and shout exhuberantly every time I got a strike / spare.
+50 points.


Isn't scared by my Ms. Independent Vibes. Or Miss Anthropic. Or Miss Chevious.
In fact, finds my sassiness cute / "aww"ish.
+65 points.

Is hesitant about going "dutch", prefers to pay himself, but lets me have my say in the matter: +25 points.

Enjoys my quirky / confusing sense of humor, even if he doesn't get it on the first try:
+35 points.

Congratulations, Boi Tribe. You are slowly coming back into my good graces.
Your team member has served you well.

Chance of future outing: ... 70%.

Caveat

My general caveat at present to myself and my friends is just this:

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts;
don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Stickin' it to the man

Feeling satisfied.

I spent all morning yesterday doing service for disabled adults and youth, and it did a lot for me.

I am half-way through Mosiah. Go Abinadi, I love you! August will definitely see me finishing the Book of Mormon again.

My room is a whole lot cleaner as of this morning, including the huge pile of clothes I'm giving to D.I. and the box o' trash that is well on its way to a lonely landfill.

I got a letter from my roommate today!

Sigh

It's only 9 A.M., and already I feel like it's one of those days.

I really, really need a hug.

PDA

My dad has a pda. As in personal digital assistant.
He also uses his pda *for* pda. As in public display of affection.

Today in sacrament meeting he wrote Mom a note on the screen of his pda and handed it to her.

It said "I love U" in mannish handwriting.

Mom smiled.
It was cute.

Les Choristes Caresse sur l'océan (au palais des Congres)

This is my absolute favorite French song from the movie Les Choristes. OH, I hope you have headphones so you can listen to it, it's beautiful!

S Club 7 singing 'Bring Him Home'

This is mostly for Kendall, because she and I have a thing for this song and S Club 7. Yay British Bands!

Random Thoughts

Which isn't so much a title as an excuse to use Miss Kendall's house as a repository for the current "huh"s running through the glorified paperweight on my shoulders.

Rufus Wainwright, thank you for your song "Complainte de la Butte," (no that's not the French word for butt or anything like it), and for its ability to be put on repeat 16+ times with little annoyance to my subconscious. And the fact that it's neither romantic nor bitter, but something in-between, causing no objections from bearers of the reckless female hormone.

Current opinion on Pride and Prejudice: it makes too much sense.
Current opinion on Romeo and Juliet: same as it ever has been--disappointing.
Current opinion on CS Lewis: I love him like a fat kid loves cake.

Anything sounds seductive if you say it in Italian. I think I'm going to order spaghetti next time and say it in such a sultry accent that the waiter drops his tray.

A man will get my attention if he's etymologically knowledgeable.
A man will get my attention if he lets me talk about things that are important to me, always
having the goodness to say, "uh huh" or "really?" at all important intervals.
A man will make me smile if he lets me know I am worth a lot to him. I don't really ask for a lot.

There are few things better than Spanish rice.

When I'm an old lady, I will still hold my husband's hand in public.
I saw a couple the other day at the temple holding hands. She was fat, he was lean--it was the ultimate over-the-hill realization of Mother Goose's Jack Sprat.

And now, at long last, the Deutschmusik CD must make its debut.

Intruder

You know how it is. You're peacefully asleep early morning (6-ish), having dreams about whatnot, probably Jack Sparrow (wait...remembered the status of his dental hygeine...going to reconsider that one) or the library or math or whatever tickles your fancy, and a loud ruckus wakes you up. You bolt upright in your bed, trying to discern figures in the early morning light. You hear footsteps, rustling papers and strange breathing. My goodness, you say, it's an intruder. Being excessively protective of your body, you search in the darkness for a projectile or anything pointy. Your alarm clock will have to do. At least it has the element of surprise.

The rustling continues...

And then you hear your ten-inch-high chihuahua gently whimper at the door for you to let her in, because she's ashamed of herself for messing up papers in the hall and tripping down the stairs in the dark. And breathing funny like a little pig.

I almost bought a fish the other night. My friend thought it was funny that I wanted to go to Petsmart before seeing Pirates of the Caribbean. I figured why not... we have an hour to wait. Of course plan A then kicked in as Ali and her husband showed up and ushered us into the queue for long-awaited summer flick. Playing cards and all that was fun, but I still wanted my fish. Maybe I should have snagged one from Bells Canyon Reservoir.

The Luckiest

Swoon. So today I'm in a hopelessly romantic mood.

But Brittany, you say, whyfore?

Well I'll tell you. Sometimes I hear certain songs on the radio--most of them old school--and they make me think of happy, wonderful moments in my life. The current top of that list is Ben Folds' "The Luckiest" which phrase I happened upon this morning and it triggered a memory. A very good one, too--although the Boy doesn't know he was even a part of that memory. It was a song I had in my head just after Valentine's Day. Funny that.

My roommate and I used to dance around the living room in our apartment to songs like that. And songs like this. And if Kristi were home, we'd dance to this. Once we had a group of guys from across the complex come over and ask us what we were doing. It's an interesting way to make friends: you never have to worry about doing anything stupid in front of them, because you've already put forth your shamless self to their scrutiny.

I'm glad to say that the return of music, dancing and me singing out loud to myself has returned. I was playing the piano the other day while singing and I realized I was actually hitting the RIGHT notes!

This is monumental.

Eagles

Whenever I watch Return of the King, I get teary-eyed when the flock of eagles comes in to help the good guys.

I can't help it. Merry says, "The eagles are coming!," the good guys all look up with hopeful faces, and my eyes start leaking.

Same thing with the part where the griffins fly out in The Chronicles of Narnia, or when Aslan goes around healing all the stone people in the White Witch's castle.

And don't get me started on Matilda. That movie is lethal to my stiff upper lip department.