I Love Myself, and I Hate Myself

Oh, Monday. (It is Monday, isn't it? It feels like Tuesday because yesterday felt like Monday because I worked and missed half of church ... freaking Old Navy.) Today was a seriously bad day. It started out well. My mom and I went to breakfast at Perkins and I got some delicious orange cream cheese stuffed French toast. I hate to admit it, but I think the Canon center does it better ... (Am I allowed to say that?) And then she dropped me off at work. Which really wasn't too bad. I got another ONC, which feels good because they used to fire people who didn't get enough ONCs per month and I have already got two and I've only been the full-time register girl (that is, not just back-up register girl) like four times. It feels really good :)

After work, my mom and grandma and grandpa came to pick me up and we went home and I had a Cosmic Brownie (YUM) and I got to say goodbye to my grandparents (even though I'm going to see them during the first week of September for my cousin's wedding) and then it was off to my hair appointment, ya know, freshen it up before I head off to school. Last time I got it cut, I also got it colored and it was this awesome shade of purpleish reddish brown. It was awesome. I loved it. BUT my hair happens to grow really really fast, which means roots like nobody's business. So I decided I wanted like, some lowlights which will kind of mask my root situation a little bit. I also wanted a fresh haircut and to flip my part over to the other side. No biggie, ya know?

Well, then my mom and I are in the car, and she's got to go to this open house at the high school, and we're having the missionaries over for dinner, and I've got this dumb haircut starting at 4:30, and she's dropping me off and I'm like, how the heck am I supposed to get picked up in time to get home for the missionaries and still get my hair done? Plus, at that point I'm thinking ... 1 summer and 2 $90 haircuts = POOOOOOOOOOP. So I decide that I will not get highlights and that I will just get my hair cut really quick, not even have her style it or anything, and then I'll get picked up and have dinner with the fam and everything will be hunky-dory, right?

WRONG.

I go in, and it's 5:00 before my stylist can even see me. So already a half an hour wasted. Then when I'm finally in the chair, and she starts asking me about hair color, I start feeling bad that I booked up her afternoon so she's expecting to do all this work for me and there's no one else scheduled after me ... And I feel really terrible. So I say, what the heck. May as well get what I want. Only then I start having second thoughts, but she's in the back room grabbing color swatches. And she's back there for like five minutes. By the time she comes back, I feel like it would be SO rude to make her go and try to figure this all out and then tell her, "Ya know what, bag it. I don't want highlights anymore!" Because highlights cost a lot of money, and haircuts ... not so much.

So I just figure, okay whatever. Highlights. It's like $35 for highlights and $20 for a wash and cut. $55 isn't so bad. Especially considering that the salon I go to is one of the top 200 in the nation. (How that happened in Jefferson City, Missouri, I have NO idea.)

Except that then my hair's so #&$*#%(#%)(*$#&ing thick that she has to make a second bowl of color. Which means BAM. Another $35.

And here's what really hacks me off. Can they really not make only half a bowl? Did I really need that much color in my hair? I mean, I guess I should have known that the highlighting services there are sucktastic, since the highlights I got there last Christmas were barely even noticeable and I was super disappointed with them, but back then they only charged me for a partial highlight. Which is really all I wanted, because it's not like you can see my roots in the back of my hair. Just at my freaking scalp. I mean you could, if you really dug into my hair. BUT WHO THE HECK DOES THAT?!?!?!?! NO ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SO I SHOULDN'T FREAKING NEED HIGHLIGHTS THERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So then the highlighting alone takes until like, 6:40. Which is a major piss-off, if you ask me, because the missionaries were supposed to come at six. And by that point, I'm mad, upset that my money's getting ripped out of my hands, and feeling super guilty that I'm missing the missionaries and that I didn't help my mom get ready for guests. AND I'm thinking about all the stuff that I need to be doing like packing and all sorts of other ridiculous crap ... So as soon as she's done with my haircut, I tell her I really need to get home so she doesn't need to style it, I pay my freaking $90, call my mom, and walk out of the salon with wet hair. Keep in mind, my mom's still at the house. So I can't really say, "Oh I need to hurry!" and then sit out on the bench in the front of the salon. That just looks super rude. I tell my mom I'm going to start walking up to the car wash that's up the road, and there's a big parking lot there for her to pick me up in and it'll be all awesome.

Only it's not. Because she sends my little sister. Who I texted and said, "Pick me up at the car wash, not at the salon. That's where I am going to be." And I'm chilling in the parking lot, and guess who drives right by me? Oh yeah. My sister. I'm practically in hysterics, because I can barely control my upset-ness about my hair, and because then I know she'll walk into the salon and try to find me in there, and then they'll know that I left for no apparent reason and half-lied just to save $5 on my haircut (since they didn't blow it dry). So I start walking back towards the salon. And I'm calling and calling and calling my sister, only she never picks up her phone. I'm leaving an angry message on her phone, telling her that she needs to freaking turn her phone off silent when she's driving to come pick somebody up (because she really never thinks of those sorts of things EVER). Just as I hang up the phone, guess who drives by? My sister. I'm waving my hands frantically, and there are tons of cars on the road because a major detour is running through there right now. So I turn around again. And by this point, I am totally in tears because (1) I look like an idiot. (2) My mom told me that I completely missed the missionaries. And (3) Because I am mad about how much money I just spent on a nothing hair cut.

So I keep waiting and waiting and waiting but she never drives by again. Finally I call her phone one more time. Miraculously, it gets picked up. Tragically, by my mother, who is still at home.

Now I'm sobbing, alone in a deserted parking lot next to an extremely busy street in a small town with my hair wet.

Like I said, it was a bad day.

My mom tells me to just hang around and wait for her and she'll come get me because my sister has completely disappeared. My mom finally comes and gets me, and I'm in hysterics because I'm so miserable about everything and wasting my money, especially. I'm a real tight-wad like that.

I get home and realize that all I've had to eat all day is breakfast and a Cosmic Brownie, and it's like past 7:00. Now you all know why I eat all the time--because not eating throws me into a black hole of misery and irrationality. Plus I'm like an emotional wreck because of certain conversations with my mom earlier that day, and because, even though I am very excited about college, I am very sad to leave my family. Since I hadn't yet emotionally confronted that fact, it chose to confront me whilst in my hunger-induced depression. And I'm mad at my sister for driving past me twice and forgetting to take her phone with her. I'm not fit to comment much more on that, as I will be extremely rude, since my happy tank is still not full, after such a serious draining today.

I come home, and, as you may well imagine, I'm an emotional train wreck. So I bust into tears at the beginning of family scripture study and ask to be excused. I then proceed to cry alone in the basement while packing my things.

Keep in mind, I'm not telling you this to garner pity. Really. I just need to get my words out without having someone tell me "Oh it's not that big a deal" and without having to choke through them. Because you know what, I don't give a crap if it's not a big deal right now. It freaking feels like a big deal! That's the worst thing you can say to someone who is irrationally upset. You, in that moment, cannot know what it feels like, because even if you've been there, you forget how upsetting it is. Also, when you are that upset and it is so irrational, you can't think through it well enough to make sense of it, so the advice-giver may as well shut up, save their breath to cool their porridge, etc. Sorry about THAT mini-rant. ...

I guess the point I'm trying to make is summed up by this: I have to eat. Or else I get really upset. Really, really, really upset. Also, don't go into a salon not knowing what you want. Know what you want, be a stickler about what you want, and don't let anyone else convince you that you need more than what you want. And make sure they know that you don't want to spend a freaking lot of money because you have darned other things you want to spend your money on besides stupid haircuts.

That's all I can talk about now without busting into tears again. I need more brownie. And some chamomile tea. I wish I was more able to impose on people, so that I don't end up spending $90 on bum haircuts. I love myself, and I hate myself.

I might consider eating 2 chocolate cheesecakes for breakfast tomorrow morning. Just to stave off the misery.... Ugh.

Once again, not meant to be a depressing post. Laugh at me at your will. Just don't tell me about it except on days when my hair looks good and I've had plenty to eat. :)

The MoTab

So I was thinking about the MoTab today, and wondering why we call it MO-tab, and not MOR-tab, considering the fact that Mormon doesn't sound like "MOE"mon. I mean seriously. The phonetics of it all are distressing.

And then I thought about saying "Mortab," and realized it sounds a lot like Lortab, which you may or may not know to be a brand name of Hydrocodone (/dihidrocodeinone), which is also marketed as:

Hydrococet,

Symtan,

Anexsia, [Anorexia + Amnesia?]

Damason-P,

Dicodid,

Hycodan,

Hydromet,

Hycomine,

Hycet,

Lorcet,

Norco, [This sounds like a druggie nickname, a la stoner, crackhead, etc.]

Novahistex,

Hydrovo,

Duodin,

Kolikodol, [Kolipoki? I want islander food.]

Orthoxycol,

Panacet,

Zydone,

Mercodinone,

Synkonin,

Norgan, [I hope Morgan takes this someday so I can call her Norgan Morgan ... HAH]

Xodol,

Hydrokon,

and, perhaps most recognizably, Vicodin.

Suddenly I'm glad our nickname for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir is phonetically nonsensical, and not reminiscent of licenced narcotics. :)

P.S. Thank you Wikipedia for the list of drug names. It's not like I'm THAT familiar with drug brands ... Hah.

Books

Before discovering the miserable state of my work schedule last night, I went to the library with my mother and little sister Aubrie. I forget how much I really like libraries ... Even in the pathetic little regional library here in town there are thousands upon thousands of books, and each one of those books (well, I assume all of them. There might be a couple of exceptions...) is the result of hours upon hours of thinking, writing, rewriting, editing. So much work, and all for what? In order that I might lay on the couch for hours and hours, or stay up until two in the morning, or sit on a barstool eating cookies and cream ice cream from my Godiva bowl, while reading it?

I wouldn't for a moment suggest that each and every book is written for me and me alone to devour and soak in and amuse myself with. Obviously that is not the case, though I do love the feeling of being alone with a book. Old books are just familiar places, with the same smells and colors that you've always imagined, even when the rest of your life has changed utterly. There is never less to a book, the second (or third or fourth or fifth) time you read it. Only more. What a miraculous, beautiful gift words are!

Last night I read Ransom My Heart "by Princess Mia Thermopolis with help from Meg Cabot." It's not one I'd recommend, but it was entertaining enough. Today I'm reading The Time-Traveler's Wife, which is excellent, with the exception of some "strong language," to use the MPAA's phraseology. I think Henry DeTamble and I must be some kind of literary kindred spirit, or else there are a lot more people like us out there. In the first chapter, Clare says, "I walk into the kitchenette in search of coffee. All the counters and the stove are covered with stacks of dishes, magazines, and other reading material. There's even a sock in the sink. I realize that Henry must have simply heaved everything into the kitchen last night, regardless. I always had the idea that Henry was very tidy. Now it becomes clear that he's one of those people who is fastidious about his personal appearance but secretly slovenly about everything else."

Take a bow, Audrey Niffenegger. You've got me nailed. Me and, if I suppose rightly, thousands of secret slovens, who walk the streets like perfect Type A neat-freaks, knowing full well that there's not a thing folded in their closet that they've worn since their (approximately) quarterly cleaning spasm, and that there are no less than seven unwashed cups and mugs that have been deposited about their quarters with reckless abandon. Though, of course, we fastidiously-dressed-and-yet-secretly-slovenly people never think of such things, except to admire the collection of cups that inevitably amasses on bedside tables, or to notice that our favorite mug is sporting a 2-week old tea bag crowned with a fine crop of fuzzy gray mold. Somehow, these things do not bother us, because they are our own, and because we are usually the only ones who see them.

This is why we need other people to live with us who have some degree of true Type A cleanliness, in the hope that their scrutinizing eyes will produce enough insecurity to result in, at the very least, sanitariness, if not also orderliness.

But I'm jumping ahead of myself. And, in all likelihood, freaking you all out. (Though it's not as though you aren't aware of this to some extent. I promise I won't leave moldy tea bag mugs lying about the apartment! Haha.) What I mean to say is that, in reading this book, The Time-Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger, I feel to have bonded with Henry. The trouble is that, the more bonded to a character I feel, the more connected with their emotions I feel. And right now, Henry is feeling lonely and depressed. I, therefore, am feeling lonely and depressed. Or at least, I was until I put the book down and picked up an old favorite, Who Stole the Wizard of Oz? by Avi.

I first read this book in second grade. I think I must have borrowed it from the library about ten times, because the periodic pencil illustrations are branded in my memory. I never suspected this, having all but forgotten about the book until I was at the library last night and Aubrie was trying to find a new book to read. I couldn't remember the name of the book, although I could see the cover clearly in my mind, and recalled things about a town built up like a checkerboard, something to do with stolen books, and the word "Oz" being in the title. All I can say is thank goodness for library computer catalog searches. When I finally found it on the shelf, I was shocked at how small it was. For one, it was a paperback, and I had always borrowed an old hardcover from my elementary school library. The font was huge, and for a moment I was embarrassed to show this book to my sister, a fifth grader, and tell her that it was just about my favorite book in all of my childhood. (Others include The Westing Game and From the Mixed Up Files of Ms. Basil E. Frankweiler. You notice a pattern? Funny, that ...)

Gawkish though I felt, and practically watching the words "Are you seriously going to ask me to read that kinder-book, Kayla?" spell themselves out on my little sister's forehead, I urged her to borrow the book. After all, she didn't HAVE to read it. Whether she did or didn't, I was going to. And this I did, just before writing this post. The book that, in all likelihood, took me at least a couple of days to finish as an eight year old took me all of 25-ish minutes this evening. The illustrations were so familiar they seemed like ghosts in my head. I remembered enough of the book to remember the main points of discovery in the book, and as a pseudo-adult, I was shocked at how weak the plot was. (Really, the kids just "understand" how the pieces should fit together all of a sudden? Doubt it!) But still, it was a delightful read, a delightful jump back in memory. Almost like a jump back in time.

I wonder what I would tell myself, if I, like Henry DeTamble, could go back in time and talk to little me. I wonder what little me would tell big me.

It sounds like one of those post-Christmas break projects, doing stuff with New Year's and whatnot, like, "Write a letter to yourself in 10 years." Or five or whatever. Except it's always right after they've taught you how to write a polite letter, and tell you that you need to ask some questions, so it's a two-way conversation, and not just a snotty "BLAH BLAH BLAH ME ME ME MY LIFE MY LIFE MY LIFE." (Which is really all it seems that most of our communications are these days, with texting and Facebook and Twitter and crap, wouldn't you say? We're all so self-absorbed ...) For me, I always took what I was saying in those things way too seriously. I would compose each sentence after five minutes of thought, simultaneously feeling stupid for even doing the dumb project and knowing it would end up in the trash anyways. In elementary school, everything was so timed. So I never got to finish letters to myself, and they'd end up short, pathetic (or, conversely, embarrassingly verbose) letters that had no content and all questions. Like little me thought nothing in my life was worth telling an older, smarter me, and that I had no worthy advice to offer.

On the one hand, I admire my own humility (how bass-ackwards is that??) and the fact that I had a sense of elders and youngers and knowing my place in "society," even if that society were only me, in and through my various ages.

On the other hand, I feel a kind of tragic sense of loss, like there was some kind of insight little me could have shared, only I missed out on it because I was too busy asking myself how I am. ... Ay caramba.

Work

Oh gosh. I just got my work schedule for next week:

• 12-5 on Sunday
• 11-4 on Monday
• 10-3 on Tuesday

I'm going to kill myself.

I leave at 9 a.m. on Wednesday morning.

I work 2:30-8 on Saturday night.

Oh, and tomorrow I'm probably going to spend most of the day at the lake because it's my very last day to be able to go before I go back to Utah.

MY WHOLE LIFE IS FULL AND I HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED PACKING YET.

Plus I totally hate my job and they're going to stick me on register and they're going to pressure me to get people to apply for Old Navy credit cards, which I pretty much believe are the spawn of Satan. Or maybe just the spawn of the spawn of Satan. Ugh. I don't know how I'm going to do this. I mean, I won't even be able to go to church on Sunday. Well, I won't be able to drive up to my ward anyways, that's for sure.

This is so disappointing. Old Navy, I hate you.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!!

Buying Stuff

If you pay any attention to me on Twitter or Facebook, you are probably already aware that I made some purchases today. If not, congratulations. You've just been informed. Today was a very good shopping day for me. That doesn't happen often ... I kind of hate shopping because spending money scares the cruddykins out of me. It's like I just want to keep it as a protective barrier against ...who knows what. It's really stupid, especially considering the fact that I don't really have any serious needs, at least none that I spend my own money on. My parents pay for all my food and shelter, and they've bought for me most of the things that I have. So whoohoo parents for being awesome. Anyways, this is getting totally of subject...

I think the reason today was such a good shopping day is that I got two paychecks today, and finally got my employee discount card. Hallefreakinlujah. Gap, Inc. has no idea how much money they've lost from me by not making employees actually getting their benefits a priority. Seriously. There have been so many times that I've almost bought things, and then thought ... Oh wait. Stupid discount card. Don't have one. And then in my bitterness, I've refused to make my purchases. As you can see, I'm a very emotional shopper. So anyways, I'm feeling really good about the income of cash, knowing that I'm working a lot of hours this week, and getting my last chance with that awesome babysitting job tomorrow right after I get off work at ON. Granted, I've been trying to hold back on the shopping lately. I mean, I've never really had significant amounts of moolah before, so it's kind of a new feeling for me to have such extensive financial freedom (which, ya know, really makes me want to be rich for the rest of my life). Plus the fact that I don't actually have to pay for any of the necessities of life. But again, I am avoiding my ultimate point, which is this: I have a complex. No, really. I do. It's called The Psychological Need to Wear All New Things Immediately After Purchase.

Which explains why I'm laying on my bed in my nightgown wearing my new red lipstick and my black polka-dot galoshes.

I have some really shameful pictures from my childhood that illustrate this very point. I remember one Christmas when I received a floor-length khaki skirt, a cream sweater, a cream scarf, brown knee-high boots, and one of those super cheesy flat caps in some kind of a light tan pseudo-suede sort of material. Consider how close all of these things are in color. Consider how outrageously they differ in style. Consider what a tacky child I was for even wanting these things in the first place. And then consider what they all looked like together on tacky, bad haircut, no contacts, more than usually unfortunate looking even for a Christmas morning, thirteen year old me.

And oh yes. It's that bad. The picture should honestly be burned. I mean, could I not just try each piece on individually? And if there really was some shred of idiocy in me that thought MAYBE some of them would go together (and for heaven's sake, I hope I didn't think they'd all work out alright) ... if I really, truly was that stupid, WHY ON EARTH WOULD I PARADE MYSELF OUT IN FRONT OF MY ENTIRE FAMILY KNOWING THAT THAT DAY, OUT OF ALL DAYS ALL YEAR, WAS THE DAY MOST LIKELY TO BE CAUGHT ON CAMERA?

Maybe it was just a testament to the fact that I really don't have much of a sense of style. Also the fact that I need other people to confirm that my outfits actually work together. It's very possible that I simply did not know how bad I looked, and thought I might as well check and see if someone would say, "Whoa, who'd have thought those would all go so good together?" And then voila, all would be well.

Instead, all signs point to the fact that if my mother wasn't kind enough to prevent me from embarrassing myself in public in an outfit like that, I would have walked around looking like a total tacky camel.

Thank goodness that didn't happen. Hooray for NOT looking like a camel! :)

Check It Out!

So I made a new blog. It's not a real blog--we're just going to see how a blog functions as a cookbook. Haha. Should be entertaining. Especially this post. Even if the rest is lame, this post is a must-see. If only for the video's sake.

Talkward

So today was the day of my big Sexual Purity talk. Woof. It could have been SO awkward (hence talkward. Or tawkward, if you prefer. I don't, obviously). But guess what! It wasn't!! People even laughed a couple of times, which felt good, ya know. I mean, when you're talking about immorality over the pulpit, and to a congregation of like 30 predominantly single people, the potential for awkwardness is outlandish. Fortunately, though, as I said, it wasn't awkward in the slightest, and I felt really good about it.

On the downside, I did suffer some gut miseries over the past 36 hours or so, which I attribute to nerves. Also genetics, because it does run in the family ... hah.

As far as exciting stuff goes, guess what! I bought three pairs of pants this week! Yep! A pair of navy blue trouser-like pants for $20, a pair of jeans with sweet back pocket details for $30, and a pair of (get this) black super skinny jeans for $20. How awesome is that?! And they all look totally great on. I can't wait to wear them in front of people I actually like to be around, as opposed to people I work with or Old Navy customers, or other people I don't and won't know. (I know that's a bad attitude, but I can't help it.) I also got a really cute white blouse for $10, and a SUPER CUTE long blueish one (really, it is so darling) for $30. Which I thought was okay since everything else was such a steal. Plus there was no state tax on retail that day (awesome) and so I really saved quite a bit of money. I didn't buy too much else ... a long sleeved white crew neck, a cream and gray fleece jacket with a hood (yay hoods!), and ... OH THIS PART IS AWESOME. So Trade Secret had an awesome clearance section while we were shopping and I found a couple mini bottles of a certain type of hairspray. They were $3.50 each. And they spray glitter. On your HAIR. Like, really fine glitter and stuff, and I'm pretty sure you can really where it anywhere on your body that you want. So I bought a gold one and a silver one. And dude. They are going to be SO RIDICULOUSLY COOL for parties. Do not even try to deny this. WOOOOOO.

Oh man I had the scare of my life today ... I thought I was going to need to keep a 3.91 to keep my scholarship because there was something on the scholarships page while my sister was getting ready to start thinking about school and stuff and it said like college of Humanities needed a 3.91. Which let's point out I so totally do not have. And if I end up taking 17 credits this semester (let us pray that I do not have to) then that could be really bad. Thankfully, I read on another page just to make sure and hallelujah I still only need a 3.60. Seriously though with the way they're changing scholarship stuff this year, I was totally freaking out! But no worries. :)

Yeah okay well I don't really have anything else interesting to say except SIXTEEN DAYS until I'm back in Provo. 16! I can't believe it. I'm so excited. Not so excited to pack, of course, but I really can't wait to get out there. I just have to figure out how to get all of my life into 3 suitcases and a carry on and a personal item! And then one or two suitcases for Sept. 7th or so when my mom comes out for my cousin's wedding. Which really isn't a long time to wait or anything, but whatever. I'm really going to have to get serious about what I really do need, and what I really don't. Or possibly mail some stuff to myself. Idk. Um anyways ... I'm just super stoked for life right now.

About Time!!!!

How can It be August already???? I can't believe I haven't posted anything since then!!! Not that there's that much to say, but all the same I can't believe it. Not too great a many thing has happened. Well, that's a lie. I went to California, and it was the first time I've been since i was five years old and i was supposed to be a flower girl in my mom's cousin Wendy's wedding. That was fourteen years ago, for those of you who aren't so hot at on the fly math (not that any of you suck at math. I just felt like being redundant.) But yeah. California was awesome and I am so glad i got to go!!!! I'm possibly even more excited and happy about the fact that time is passing, a ticket has been purchased, I've given Old Navy notice, and it's officially only 24 more days until I'm safely back in Provolone. I'm so darn excited i could almost spit. Or scream for joy. Or run until my legs give out (which is, granted, not a veery long time. But you get the point.)

In other exciting news, i think I've figured out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. At least for the next three (or maybe four) years. I'm going to major in English. I'm going to pursue a second major in French. And then I'm going to get my minor in Management, like from the business school. Management. I made this decision last night, around 11:40 in the p.m. But i feel like it's a good one. I mean, I've got some math-y skills that would otherwise go un-used. Furthermore, it would make my English degree much more marketable. I'm pretty committed to it actually. If i get too stressed out, i will probably drop the french degree. It'll be good. I'm sure of it. It just might take a little more work than i am used to. But thats okay. Education is important, and i think it would be wise to push my self right up to my breaking point. Of course, i haven't actually had to do that yet. But I think i can handle it. Fall is gonna be so awesome!!!

Okay so I'm watching the bachelorette right now and there was just a commercial for a movie called Going the Distance with Drew Barrymore and Justin Long. And I'm getting all excited for it and then bam ... Rated r. Crapola. Guess I'll be watching that one on our clear play player when it comes out in a million and a half months. Ugh. So annoyed. But at least I'm about to find out the results for the show that I've been watching for months. In like, not even very long at all. Woohoo!!!!

I don't have the energy to keep typing on this stupid iPad. Don't get me wrong. It's awesome. But it's a pain in the butt to type full out blog posts on. Yikesah!! Toodle-oooo :)