Friday, June 3, 2011

Adopt this boy!

Hello. My name is Rex. I'm a good dog. My family lost me in the canyon last weekend, and another family picked me up. They put me in the back of their truck, and I got scared. I tried to jump out, and when I did, I shattered my back left leg. It hurt, but it's okay because I don't use it now. I just hop around on three of them.

My family gave me to my friends at Family Pet Hospital because they don't have enough money to pay for my leg to be fixed. It's okay though because my momma's husband died, and she's trying to save her money to pay for her human kids. I will miss them, but I will find a new family to love me.

Do you want to be my family? I would love you and snuggle with you forever. I'm such a quiet and good dog. I'm good with kids and people and all kinds of dogs and cats. But don't feel bad if you can't be my new family. Having a dog is a big responsibility, and I would not want you to be unhappy if you are not ready for a dog.

Do you have $1 for me so that we can pay for my leg to be cut off? I'm not scared. Right now, my leg is in a lot of pieces, and it broke right in the spot that would make it so hard to fix. I would need surgery over and over for the rest of my life. I don't want to do that. So we'll just say "bye-bye" to my leg. If we can all help with just a tiny bit of money to pay for that, then maybe it will be easier to find a new family.

Don't feel bad for me. I'm a good puppy, and I am sure to find a new home soon.


Sunday, May 15, 2011

Welcome to Summer! Please check your dignity at the door.

It's been hot the past few days... hot enough for everyone to start moaning about. When it's cold, I start to romanticize the warm weather: it improves my circulation, everyone starts to feel happier because they're not shut indoors, the sun makes my serotonin come out to play, etc. In reality, summer means embarrassing episodes of back-sweat, avoiding swimming because I feel as large and spotted as a Holstein cow, and having to avoid the heavy traffic created by weekend marathons.

Don't mistake me. When everyone was complaining about losing one little hour of sleep to Daylight Savings, I was saying that I'd gladly go a whole week without sleep just for the extra sunlight. I will always love summer because it never feels like the sun sets after lunchtime. But warmer weather means you have to wear half as much clothing, and I feel like I'm a naked potato in shorts.

Rewind about one month, and brace yourself. I... started... running... My little sister put us on the couch potato program leading up to a 5K.  Two weeks in, I threw my knee out.  It took me another two to recover. Do you see how much my calories love me? They conspire with every part of my body to ensure their survival. Now my sister is way ahead of me, and instead of blog-bitching, I just need to get my asterisk on the treadmill and catch up.

I’m hemorrhaging friends, by the way. I really need to make a rule for myself: you can go on Facebook at any time of the day, but you’re only allowed to post things and comment during the “reality” hours of 12-2pm. If I had made that rule from the beginning, I wouldn’t have the problem that I do now.

It goes like this: I feel unrealistically good about my wit, I make a funny comment on somebody’s post, the comment ends up being out of place, and then, the only thing I know to do in order to save face is delete the friend I made the comment to. It’s probably not necessary to delete friendships that I’ve somehow made awkward, but when one little comment makes me feel like the fat kid in middle school with sweat beads on his mustache, it’s the only option that comes to me.

Note to self: technology is wonderful, but just don’t go ruining your reputation at a rate of 11 megabits per second.
On a side note, I can't seem to shake my pretentious tone. I am not under any illusions that my blog is a must-read, but I do want it to be a good read for the people that do visit. Does anyone have any suggestions on how to blog without making everything you write sound like a line from 'You've Got Mail'?

Sunday, April 24, 2011

A Letter of Resignation

My dearest X,

While in the course of my employment with BYU, I have made it my objective to avoid affection at all cost. As I've explained before, passions are so unproductive. They tie up your attentions and leave little room in your head for anything else. But now, after almost four years, I submit to you my resignation: I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment you walked through the door. And I loved you the moment I walked out. My tenure at BYU has spanned seven years, and I can say without reservation, my favorite part was you.

You may be asking yourself "Why?" or more aptly "Where the hell is this coming from?" Out of fear, I hide my affections very well. Fear is my exposed Achilles heel. It makes me freeze in the very moment that I need to be volitional. And so in a way, I've been frozen since I met you. It's like everyone is waiting for me to choose one of three doors, and I cannot choose any because being stuck in one moment, clinging to hope is better than choosing the wrong door. I want the Mercedes, but maybe the Mercedes wasn't made for me, and somehow I'm stuck with the washer and dryer behind door number three instead of the beautiful new C-Class that I so badly wanted. You and fear make me out to be the world's biggest pansy.

But I also won't fight for attention. I just won't do it. I refuse. Fighting for someone's attention is a bit like being the only one at a party that wasn't invited. Oh sure, I'll stay at the party because it's fun, make a few rounds, and take full-advantage of the open bar, but I'll duck out before anyone notices that I'm not on the guest list. My dear X, if you invited me, I couldn't tell. If I invited you, you couldn't tell. It was stale-mate.

I had almost four years to be happy. But under fear, I was content to just know where you were, how you were doing. Now, I no longer have the one thing that brought us together, and I don't know where you are or where you're going. Where ever it is you're headed, my heart says that I was supposed to be there with you. This is how my heart mourns:

Leaving school is so rough. I had this picture in my head of how life would be after graduation, and life just doesn't look quite like that. It takes a few months to adjust your plans to a more healthy place. When they learn that I've graduated in Psychology, people ask, "What do you want to do with that?" I may say anything that suits the conversation, but the real answer is: I just want to be happy with you.

So after these past four years of agonizing and doubting, I've come to this conclusion: it doesn't matter what I look like. It doesn't matter how much I earn. It doesn't matter if you are the one I deserve... because you are the one I will always want. And that is love's only bottom line.

I will never meet anyone better. I will never meet anyone happier. And I know that I will never meet anyone kinder. After four years, I am resigned: my dearest X, I will love you forever.

Yours always,