Why I'll always be a proud feminist.

I'm going to approach this like an A.A. meeting.

Hi, my name is Hilary, and I've had an eating disorder/seeing my own body disorder since I was in kindergarten. Neither my mom nor I really know where this came from; before that I had been a happy, confident, healthy kid, but one day I came home in a real state, thinking I was fat, and it only escalated from there. I have distinct memories of pushing my stomach as hard as I could against the edge of a bookshelf, trying to make it shrink (this was still in kindergarten). I slept with a pillow rolled up under my stomach because I hoped maybe that would make it smaller (still in Kindergarten). I graduated from Kindergarten and was more or less eating regularly until sixth grade because I was homeschooled, and my mom took good care of me. Then, meals were skipped or eaten as little as possible; and in 9th grade I went into full-fledged anorexia. At my lowest, I weighed 110 pounds and I was just about as tall as I am now.

I'm only just starting to get over it, and even then I have my days where the fact that I currently weigh 125 scares me to death. Tanner's played a huge part in this (since he found out I wasn't eating when we started dating last year, and that I weighed 115 lbs and dropping at 5'8" tall), as has my mom. It's been off and on for 12 years of my life; that's well over half. For that much of my life I've been tortured, and tortured myself, because I'm not "thin" enough, not "pretty" enough for society to acknowledge my looks.

I can hide it really, really well. The only time people really suspected something was up is when they noticed how thin I was. And that was when my mom gave me an ultimatum, and she gave it in as loving a way as possible: stop it or treatment. So I stopped not eating temporarily, but I still had that blasted body image. I realize how lucky I am that I have loving family members who stopped me before I needed more serious treatments from weighing below 100 pounds.

I am telling this to emphasize one of the contradictions inside of the being that is Hilary: While I have spent 12 years of my life trying to fit into society's mold of what's perfect, I also have a fervent belief in the strength, importance and general awesomeness and badassery of my sex.

(*language alert: when I get passionate, especially about sociology/gender roles/women's rights, I cuss a little.*)

I heard it once said that women are the world's most under-valued resource. I could not find this to be more true.

Don't believe me? Call me crazy (Ooh, that'd be a good variation on the Carly Rae Jeppson phenomenon)?  Well, it has been said that men are a little afraid of women in power. OK, make that very afraid of women in power. Think about these two examples:

1). Joan of Arc, symbol of the French Revolution, leader, warrior, visionary--burned at stake. Portrayed as a whore/harpy for much of history (shame on Shakespeare). Only canonized fairly recently by the Catholic Church. Men feared her power; tried to rape her while she was imprisoned before her death. She took to wearing slacks because the lacings made it harder for men to take advantage of her.

2). Cleopatra. Ruler, queen of Egypt. Famous for her sexual escapades, she also happened to be clever. Very, very clever. And she also happened to be an astute politician. She intimidated a great number of Roman men, because Roman women were less than property and nameless until they married. One Roman philosopher in particular--Cicero I believe--particularly hated her. Probably because she wouldn't sleep with him. Anyway, how has she gone down in history? Whore, harlot, and femme fatale (when in ACTUALITY, her looks were the least intriguing thing about her. Her intelligence was what was attractive and seductive. But men can't handle that, so she's characterized historically as someone who only maintains her rule because she takes her clothes off).

I only gave two because there are so many women who are powerful and have been feared. Eleanor of Aquitaine, Eleanor Roosevelt, Susan B. Anthony, Margaret Sanger, Abigail Adams, Jane Addams, Margaret Fuller...

Here is some more evidence in support of my argument:

Oh yeah, things have gotten better, but they still aren't exactly GREAT for women here in the US.

Men don't like the idea of women in power. They haven't for centuries. Millennia. Eons.

I'm not saying men are bad. I'm not one of THOSE feminists that rages against men and will threaten any male she meets with castration. I LIKE men. Men are my friends. Men are smart. Men are necessary. I married a man, didn't I? I'm a daughter of a man! I try not to be one of those earnest, droning feminists that lectures somebody in the rain about Amelia Earheart (thank you, Tana French).  I like men. There are many wonderful, awesome, funny men. I could name some of them for you if you like, just to prove that I am not a crazy, droning feminist.

1) My husband, Tanner. He thinks it's funny when I get on an ultra feminist soapbox, but he does understand that women are important, and that it's not a question of men being BETTER than women, just different.

2) Shout out to Johnathan! This guy is awesome. He works at the Rape Recovery Center, and is as much of a feminist as I am!

3) John Green. His statement about nerd girls is on my top 10 best quotes EVER. And he's smart, super funny, and replaced the words of a rap song with Romantic poets. What's not to like?

4) John Stewart. Say what you will about his satire, he's dang awesome. I would be friends with him.

5) My friend Liz's husband, Nephi! He seems like such a genuine, nice, awesome person. And, he also helped me during that awful day on the way home from Tanner's farewell.

6) Mr. Gardner!

7) Mr. Bracken!

8) Brian Regan! Gotta appreciate comics!

9) Jimmy Stewart! I love that man! He was so gentle. You don't have to be a fan of his acting to appreciate how good of a person he was.

10) Bill Gates! Look how he treats his wife! and he's a bona fide genius! and...rich too.

The problem is not just with men (or rather, SOME men who control social media in a negative way towards women). The problem is with women, too. Women are all too willing to try to bend and stretch and scrape and inflate (or deflate) ourselves and our various parts to try to fit into the social construction of beautiful.

The scary part is how young it starts. I can say it because I am that girl. I know so many who are that girl.

*Explicit language ahead alert*: This is one of the best ways I have heard it put, and it was put so eloquently by my own best friend Sahara. This meme has been particularly popular on the interwebs.

In response to it, my lovely friend wrote this:


"I am fairly certain that putting down one body type in order to uplift another is just plain wrong. Yes, that swimsuit picture of Marilyn is sexy. But so is the skinny woman that is often pictured next to her with a caption "fuck society," and as is every body type in between. Commenting on someone's weight is rude, even if it's to mention how much they've lost and that they now look great, because it is a perpetuation of the idea that one body type is better than another, and that thinness equates to beauty. The key here is to stop linking weight to beauty and self-worth, period. Not bashing someone to be too thin because you yourself feel overweight, or the other way around. If the goal of those pictures, which appear to have exploded all over the internet, was really to stick the middle finger at society, they would be commenting on how both bodies have their own beauty, rather than perpetuating the ridiculous idea that in order to feel beautiful someone else must be ugly. Actually considering all women of all different weights to be attractive is what would actually throw society a curve ball, not continuing the petty backbiting over image that has been going on for decades."

I love having smart people for friends!

I am a feminist, then, because I see myself entranced in the trappings of society, fussing about my body image and how many ounces more I weigh from one day to the next, and I WANT OUT. I am a feminist because I don't want to be just an object. I want to be appreciated for WHO I AM, all of me, especially the fact that I am smart and funny as well as pretty.  I am a feminist because I want to raise my future daughter to know that she doesn't have to be a porn star to be worthwhile, and that there is more to her life than being some man's sex toy. I want her to know that she is beautiful the way she is, and that smarts are more than just valuable, they are essential, they are priceless. I want her to know that, because one day I came home from kindergarten and my whole body image was changed, and with that the course of my life took some very poisonous turns. I am a feminist because I WANT women to be utilized politically. For Pete's sake, really, is a smart, well informed woman president of the United States too much to ask? And when we get one, can people please treat her with RESPECT?

 I want my voice to be heard. I want to vocalize my thoughts on issues that are important to our country, and to our world. I don't CARE if this sounds hippie-dippie. Lastly, I want to love myself and my body for what it is, not for what society thinks it should be. 34B bust, 125lbs, bigish nose, 26 inch waist, problem skin, and all. I even want to like the chicken skin on my elbows.

We talk about oppression of women by many other cultures. What we don't realize, is that we are doing it here, in America, still, right now in 2012. If this doesn't disturb you a little, it SHOULD.

(And, guys that get off on women being objectified in pornography/whatever else? Those women are someone else's daughters. If you have a daughter, think about how you'd feel about some stranger getting off on her tits/naked body.)

&That's Elementary.

For further information, PLEASE WATCH:

I know they look like porn, but that's the point. They illustrate how yucky society really is when it comes to depicting women.

Do you want your daughters to feel this way? Because I can guarantee, a lot of them do.

I did.

If you watched both the videos, and read the quote, you get a gold star and I love you. Sorry for this post being so long.

I'm back. Miss me?

Yep, it's been a while since my last post. Especially in internet time.

It's not that I haven't had things to write about. I have. I've just been super uninspired and not motivated in the slightest.

So instead, here is my amateur photography for your viewing pleasure.

My freshman year of college, fall was really exceptionally pretty on our campus. So I took a bunch of pictures of foliage that ended up being used in my creative writing project. I'm really proud of them, especially because I'm a wannabe with a tourist camera.

Anyway. Fall is my favorite time of year, and I'm posting these now because I'm super sick of summer heat. I want to be able to cuddle under a blanket and drink tea (haha, herb tea. right...?) Of course, I want to do all that without it being time to go back to school. Even thinking about school gives me ulcers. Because that means headaches and finals and BIOLOGY and science has wanted to bite me in the butt since we became acquainted.

Fall 2010 was an interesting season. I was in my first year of college, first relationship...a lot of firsts. Good memories. Also...some bad ones. But I wouldn't trade it for anything.

So, here it is. Project Document Autumn, 2010.

I really, really want to be a Cat Mom.

I guess I'll be posting about all my wants today. 

I love cats. I am a cat person, without doubt. I have been a cat person since I was little, and I...have always wanted one. Always. For as long as I've been alive. 

My dad is allergic to cats, though. Actually, he's allergic to pretty much all animals with fur, but beyond that I just have never seen him as much of an "animal person."

So now I'm moved out. And, I can have a pet if I want one. But I'm a poor, happily married college student, and as much as I want a cat baby, I just don't know if we can afford the expense at the moment. And our apartment is small and weirdly configured. The bathroom is as small as a closet and I have no idea where else we'd keep our litter box.

And, I'm also sort of baby hungry. Well, it's more...I want to nurture something small and cute. I don't really want a baby, because babies sort of scare me. Especially when they cry at me, or they poop. I don't do well under situations of high pressure, and for an only child, babies crying is high pressure. Seriously. When I babysat an infant who was crying its head off, I did call my mom. I'm not ashamed of it. I had no idea what in the heck to do. 

So, I guess that translates to, I want a cat. A kitten. 

And yesterday, on the neverending book of faces, I found THE KITTY. The kitty I want more than I want those red shoes. I saw her, and it was love at first sight. 

She has the sweetest, most intelligent face. 

If I can't have this kitty, when I CAN have a kitten I want one JUST LIKE IT. I don't care about the extra work it would be. I can handle it. And, it'd be good practice for taking care of things. And, I would love it for ever and ever and ever.

So that's my dream kitty. I hope I can have one sometime soon, because I qualify to be a very loving cat mom. 

& That's elementary.

Let's go to the MALL!

Hi, folks.

So, today I spent the  majority of the day in the mall with my mom, two of my aunts, and two of my cousins, plus my cousin's friend. I'm not particularly fond of the mall as a general rule. Something about  the electromagnetic influence from the fluorescent lights and the wiring, all the people, and the smell of capitalism at its finest.

That smell, I think, is something like a mix of the food court and the inside of Victoria's Secret.

Anyway, I ended up at the mall after going to the DMV to get my name changed on my license, because I done got married as you all know. We experienced a brief but totally fun (ha) few minutes waiting for my service number to get called, and then we were served by a really super cranky employee (is there any other variety at the DMV?) who told me that I needed not only everything else I had brought (SS Card, Birth Certificate, old drivers' license, and Marriage license) but TWO pieces of mail in MY name in order to prove that I live where I said I did. I did bring mail with my address on it, but because it was under Tanner's name it didn't work. Even though there is a marriage license, tangible proof that I am living with this man because I am MARRIED TO HIM.

Bah.

Anyway, at the mall, at Forever Young Shoes, I found the modern-day equivalent of the "God and my Shoes," shoes. I would give my...money, if I had any, for these shoes. They look a little bit like this:

Not so high, and the heel itself was black, but these are close. I'm not kidding, I love these things. I'm IN love with a pair of shoes. Not romantic love. Not like I love Tanner, but you know.

My mom pointed these shoes out to me right when I walked in the store, and I kind of laughed. They look sorta tacky on first glance, but ON, these babies are gorgeous.

They're like Dorothy shoes on steroids. They're like Jessica Rabbit shoes. I've never been much of a material girl (I HATE shopping, I usually get in, get out, no window shopping, no leisurely strolling. And, shopping makes me sick and nauseous). Some women have pairs upon pairs upon pairs upon pairs of shoes. Tanner thinks I have a ton, but really I don't have as many compared to some women. So me taking to a pair of shoes like that is...weird and unnatural.

I didn't end up buying them, because I'm a happy but poor married college student who currently doesn't have a job. But these are my dream shoes and if I had less sense I would have bought them. And now, enjoy How I Met Your Mother.

& That's Elementary.

Flying Squirrel Lessons cost $18

Tanner's big 20th birthday is today. We weren't sure if he'd be working today or not, so we celebrated yesterday by going to Lagoon, which is basically the kinda-Disneyland of Farmington.

I like Lagoon a lot. I have a lot of good memories going there with various friends, cousins, etc. One of my particular favorites was my cousin and I riding the Skyride across the park, and my cousin started yelling things at various passerby underfoot. She sounded like a Tourette's patient. The quote that stands out from that day was, "Liars go to Kansas!"

Apparently, Kansas is the circle of Hell that Dante forgot.

Another favorite memory was running into a high school friend who was in costume for the Frightmares. The same cousin and our friend and I were at Lagoon celebrating the friend's birthday, and a masked, faux-chainsaw wielding, costumed member of the "Hackenslash" crew came up to me and gave me a big hug. I knew exactly who it was, but my friend looked over and saw me hugging this stranger. It nearly gave her a heart attack.

I have some bad memories associated with Lagoon, too. Well, one. Lagoon is the place I discovered I have a fear of heights. I think I was about 10. It was the year they opened up the "Rocket" rides, and my dad talked me into going on "Blastoff" with him.

"It'll be like riding an elevator," he told me.

So, I got to the top of this elevator ride, saw the ground far, far beneath my feet, and subsequently experienced twenty seconds of Hell, not Kansas.

For the remainder of the day, I could feel the ground going up and down beneath my feet, and I was informed I was green at the gills.

In the subsequent years, people have tried various amounts of persuasion and coercion to get me onto the Rocket. Ex-Boyfriend did; no luck. Cousins, friends did; I stayed with my feet firmly on the ground. Even Tanner, the first time we went to Lagoon together, couldn't convince me to go on the Rocket.

Well, this time, because I love my husband, I let him convince me. While he was screaming, having fun, I had my eyes tightly closed and was making choking, sobbing, whimpering noises. The ground never felt so good.

Then he said, "Hey, it's my birthday. Want to go on the Skycoaster?"

 Because I am a sucker for my husband, I said yes.

I've been indoor skydiving before, and even at that 15-ish feet, I was scared.

So we went over and paid for our tickets. I was having some trouble with my mobile because I am technologically challenged sometimes, and so I wasn't really considering what I was about to do. I didn't even really think about it until I was all harnessed up, holding the bottom of the harness like some sort of weird mutant marsupial, and about to be hoisted up to forsaken heights and then dropped like a sack of bricks.

So they started hoisting us up and up and up, and it just didn't stop. "How much higher up do we have to go?" I asked my husband. He just giggled. So I held onto my wrists, our arms linked like the attendants had told us, and waited for him to pull the ripcord.

The freefall for me was the worst part. I kept my eyes tight shut and I was convinced that I was going to splat on the ground. Tanner thinks it's the best.

"That's when you feel like you're flying, with nothing restraining you," he told me later.

"That's the difference between you and me," I replied. "To you, freefall says 'Hey, I'm flying!' To me, it says, 'Hey, I'm DYING.'"

So I did it. I took the plunge and took my flying-squirrel lesson. And obviously I survived, or I wouldn't be writing this post.

& That's Elementary.

A Love Letter to my Mom

Lots of people like to say they have the greatest mom; that their mom is the coolest mom. My mom blows them out of the water for this simple reason:

My mom knows me better than anyone else on the entire planet. She's the first person I turn to when I have problems I can't seem to solve, she's the one I ask stupid questions to, the one who reassures me when my OCD or my one-track mind gets the better of me. She knows probably a lot more about me and my life than she cares to, especially at those times when I freak out about something. 

My mom and I are a lot closer than some other mothers and daughters I know. Although you might not be wondering why, I'm going to tell you anyway. 

I am an only child, and I grew up in a neighborhood that was predominantly settled. Meaning older. There were a few kids my age, but most of them moved away before I was 12. I was also homeschooled until I was 12, so I ended up spending a lot of time with my mom. Even when I went to grade school and middle school, she was my only means of transport because I went to middle school at a charter school that was a good half-hour away from our house, out in the boondocks for us. So I talked to her all the way up to school, and all the way back. 

Because of all this time spent, my mom can read me like a book. Even when I don't necessarily want her to know something right away, she can usually tell that I don't want her to know something, so she asks until I tell her. She  has a knack for knowing when I'm upset, and she knew fully when I had got my first kiss the moment when I walked in the door, and she knew when I kissed Tanner for the first time.

You can also tell how awesome my mom is by how awesome her friends are. The ladies of her "group," her friends Tree and Elizabeth, her sisters, and her friend Lisa, are all such huge role models to me, and basically my secondary moms, and friends too. 

Sometimes, she drives me crazy, but I know that I driver her crazy too, so it's sixes. Mostly, Mom and I just have fun together. I hang out at their house while Tanner works on weekends and Mom and I take part in lots of fun activites. We bake, we watch Sherlock together, we talk to each other about everything.

My mom is a really, really special lady. Anybody who knows my mom knows that. She's brave and she is strong. She's amazing, and I really hope that when I am a mom, I can do half as well as she has. I want my mom to stick around always. She is the best mom in the whole wide world. I can't imagine anyone who would be a better mom for me. I love her so much.

& that's the elementary truth. 

How many times do I have to tell you, we do NOT leave our machetes on the kitchen floor!

Tanner got knives.

Four knives, to be exact. Well, two knives, two machetes. They came in the most RIDICULOUSLY long, thin package I have ever seen. It's monster sized.

And...well, frankly, as I watched my dear husband open his knives at my parents' house, I realized that I didn't just marry a country boy. Oh, no. I married a redneck.

I should have realized it when he was watching the videos about the knives from the company he bought them from.

I felt a little wary of Tanner once he'd opened all these knives back at home. If I didn't know that my husband loves me, I'd be afraid of ending up like the Salesman's wife in Rear Window.

Chopped up.

So he was flipping through the knife magazine while in the meantime, the machetes were sitting on the kitchen floor in various states of sheathedness. I was trying to tidy up, so I came up behind him, poked him in the butt with the tip of a sheathed machete, and said, "we do NOT leave our machetes on the kitchen floor."

I thought it was funny. But Tanner had had very little sleep, and it didn't strike him as particularly funny, especially when, a few seconds before, I had been trying to get him to fold a pair of his pants that had been on the floor. Looking at the knife magazine was all he wanted to do at that point.

So I left off trying to be funny and went to bed with the hopes that everyone would wake up the next morning in one piece. And any burglars who want to steal the $2 we have saved up in the piggy bank, watch out. We're armed to the teeth, out here.

& That's elementary.

When it comes to first kisses, late is better than never, right?

The paramount moment of any teenaged girl's life is probably her first kiss. Well, at least that's probably the most pleasant of paramount moments.

I remember vividly the first time I realized I was going to get kissed. Let me draw you the setting:

Scene: A High School Acting Class. Location: The aptly nicknamed "Little Theatre" at Highland High School. Participants: One Hilary Forbush, 18, and one Austin Hurd, 15 or 16.

Yep. My first kiss was a stage kiss during a class. I was fully 18 years old, nearly graduated from high school, and I had never been kissed until that moment. My teacher basically drew straws for who was going to perform the Balcony Scene from Romeo and Juliet that day, and, as if that day wasn't stressful enough for me already (I was mounting the piece I had been directing for MONTHS for my very difficult directing class) and so of course it was my luck to get my first kiss on the most stressful day of my life up to that point.

That day=the day I snapped. My friend, Lia, thinks I was the most confident I'd ever been in high school that day, and she'd be right. I was so tired and everything was just out there, bare on the table for everyone to see, including my previously Virgin Lips, that I just didn't care what anyone thought. I was who I was, and I sure as hell wasn't apologizing for it.

The kiss itself was fine, but the funniest bit was when my teacher tried to illustrate a note for the pair of us by saying,

"You know how sometimes kisses just happen?"

Without missing a beat or batting a lash I said, "Nope."

That caused some laughs, but the truth of the matter was I really didn't. It's not that I hadn't wanted to be kissed before then, it's just that either a) I was never attractive enough or b) I was always just in the wrong place at the wrong time or c) part of me wanted to wait for the right person to make it REALLY SPECIAL.

Depending on my mood, I most often subscribe to A or C. I have had friends that kissed as early as 14. My mom's first kiss happened when she was 12 (sorry Mom, I'm outing you). So, the logical conclusions are A or C.

Or, B part 2, I always liked the wrong guys, and it had nothing to do with my attractiveness. My mom, who you might feel is biased, always said that guys were intimidated by my intelligence.

My first off-stage kiss was special, especially at the time, but 'tis a little uncomfortable now that the other party is now an ex boyfriend and I am married. So the less said about that the better.

But here's the real truth of the matter. I cannot see kisses as casual things. I can't do it. I've tried (only in my head, not actually on another person), but I could never make myself have a NCMO (assuming that there was someone who wanted to NCMO me in the first place). In theory, handing out kisses like party favors or bubble gum sounded like fun before Tanner and I started dating.

Maybe it's Jane Austen's fault. But to me, a kiss has always stated pure emotional involvement. I think in some ways it's good no one tried to put the moves on me before I was 18, because frankly, I was not mature enough to be kissed beforehand. When I really thought about it at the age of 15 or 16, the idea of someone kissing me was actually a little scary. It meant trusting that person enough to let them get close enough to me and my emotional wall that I put up for safety. In high school, or middle school, I didn't know anyone of the opposite gender that I trusted to that level.

Well, ok, there was ONE boy. But that's a whole other story about unrequited shiznit, and it was a mess.

:)

I'm definitely not one of those people that subscribes to the "no kissing anyone EVER until you're married to them!" I think figuring out if you're actually physically as well as intellectually attracted to that person is important BEFORE you marry them.

I'm not the only one in my family that's more or less been a late bloomer where first kisses are concerned. My cousin Sarah only just recently received her first kiss and she's 20. Another cousin is 19 and she hasn't kissed anyone yet, as far as I know. And they're both unbelievably gorgeous girls and any guy who gets to kiss them is a lucky guy.

I dunno. I dunno why some people have kissed 20 people and some others have only kissed 2. It can sort of be discouraging for a girl if they're upwards of 18 and haven't been kissed. For some stupid societal reason, it most often seems to reflect back on her looks. Which is stupid. Look at Tina Fey. She was a virgin until she was 24 and no one would dare say she's not hot, funny or awesome. She's a veritable rock star among comedians. AND she's pretty.

I don't mind, though, that I've only kissed two people offstage. Tanner enjoys that fact about me; it sounds cheesy but it makes him feel like I'm more "his." And really, it's not a bad thing to wait. I remember reading a Tina Fey quote (which I can't seem to find) which went something on the lines of, "let boys kiss all the stupid girls and get all their stupidity out, and then by the time they come to you as smarter human beings, you'll actually WANT to kiss them."

On a positive note, then,

Thank you, Aaron Sorkin.

& that's elementary.

“We’re nothing more than dust jackets for books, of no significance otherwise.”

It has been brought to my attention that a modern literary great, Ray Bradbury, died this last Tuesday at the age of 91. I only ever read one of his books, but he's on my summer reading list (which gets progressively longer every time I go into a bookstore, library, or the King's English website) and I've been wanting to read "Something Wicked This Way Comes" for the longest time.

Of all the books I read in middle school, the one that really sticks out that I had not read previously is Bradbury's most well-known book, Fahrenheit 451. I simultaneously loved that book, and was really really scared of it. As someone who has allegedly been reading since the age of 3 or 4, I cannot imagine a world without books, without print, without words on a page and the smell of adhesive and ink. Burning books is repulsive to me (Nazis anyone?), and I am as likely to burn a book as I am to eat another person for dinner. That is to say, not likely at all.

Fahrenheit 451 has popped in and out of my life at different times, in different ways. The most memorable instance, besides reading the book itself, was in high school during my AP Lit class.

The subject came up because we were reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, or rather, my teacher was reading it to us (go figure) with a slightly obnoxious, folksy twang of a Southern accent that managed to be both endearing and patronizing. At one point she asked the class if any of us had read Fahrenheit 451. I raised my hand; I think I may have been the only one. She explained the concept of memorizing a book for the sake of preserving it that Bradbury uses in his story (spoiler alert) and she said,

"After giving it a lot of thought, I decided that if the world ever were to turn into a world like the one Bradbury depicts, I would memorize Huck Finn."

Voracious reader that I am, I immediately started thinking of all the books I would want to save. It was a long list, and I think it took me a couple years before I decided on Harper Lee's To Kill A Mockingbird. I know I mentioned my obsession with Atticus in my imaginary dinner post, but the obsession extends to the book itself. Why?

Because (and this is just my personal opinion) I think it epitomizes the Human Novel. It has innocence and ignorance, corruption and bravery, hubris and potential in equal parts; and if that doesn't sum up humanity in six words I don't know what does. Well, perhaps innocence is the most debatable of those descriptive words, but look at the other five and I'm sure you'll find something about humanity to match up with those other words. That's kind of the reason I love Atticus so much, in him I see the person every human has the potential of being. I guess that's to say, the kind that has a conscience, the kind that sees wrong and doesn't close his eyes or turn the other way. The kind that defends...I hesitate to say "right," because that makes him sound like Superman or something. He's not. He's only human. But in defending Tom Robinson, he is defending "right" in a sense. Or rather, he's defending against "wrongs" even though he knows the chance of winning against society is slim. He speaks up because he knows what is really the "right" thing to do in that circumstance (Of course, it could be argued that his insistence to defend Robinson was selfish, because look at the danger he put himself and his two kids in; but all things considered, I think his kids learned more important moral lessons from Atticus taking those risks. That's what made the biggest difference in their lives. Imagine what the story would have been like if Atticus hadn't defended Tom, and you'd realize how silly that argument sounds).

So that's my most important book. Even though, by some classifications (looking at you, AP English exams) it's "for children" and therefore not a legitimate book to write essays about on the test.

Idiots.

That having been said, there are a million other books out there that would be worth memorizing. I imagine my friend Melly would memorize The Bell Jar, my mom would memorize Night, Dad would memorize ALL THE SHAKESPEARE, Sahara would memorize Water for Elephants or maybe The Ladies Auxiliary, Gardner would memorize the Grapes of Wrath, and Tanner would memorize Percy Jackson or something similar.

I feel sorry in advance for the person who memorizes the Unabridged Les Miserables.

But, honestly? Thank the Lord there is the Unabridged Les Miserables. Thank the Lord for every copy of Dickens, Wilde, Bronte, Austen, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Poe, Twain, Lee, Shakespeare, Tolstoy, and Plath out there. Thank the Lord that the list of important authors extends beyond the ones that I just listed, far into the hundreds and thousands. Thank the Lord for books. Even if you hate them, you need them. Society needs them. Even the silliest, worst books represent some sort of facet of humanity as the big, flawed, silly conglomeration that it is.

That being said, some of the silliest and worst books are best left alone once they have been created. Or they should be read very sparingly, and only specifically in order to remind us of our foibles and idiocy (I haven't actually said the Twilight Saga, but I know you're all thinking it).

(Oops. I just said it, and I'm not taking it back).

So here's to Ray Bradbury. And reading. Let's just keep on reading, folks.

& that's elementary.

Yo-ho, Yo-ho, a Klutz's life for me.

I really don't know how I do it. I think I have some kind of skill.

Anyone who knows me knows that I bruise ridiculously easily. I get that from my mom. Sometimes, I wake up with bruises the size of tangerines on my legs and I'm like, "whoa, I don't remember where that came from. I definitely feel like I should remember the instance where I hit my leg hard enough to cause THAT injury."

In fact, one summer I went to the dentists' office in shorts with massive bruises all up and down my legs, and the dentist was like, "You bruise really easily, don't you? You're like my wife, she bruises really easily too."

It's not often you get compared to a dentist's wife, but it makes you feel...really awkward. Especially when your mouth is full of cotton swabs and stretching implements while two people are picking at your teeth and one of those people is trying to make conversation. So all the response I could make to "You're like my wife, she bruises really easily too," was "eaurghhh? uhh huhhh."

Dentists. Apparently, the number one thing they don't teach you in dental school is "don't attempt to make conversation with the patients while you're drilling their teeth, injecting their gums, or cleaning out their mouths. Especially don't try to connect with them on a meaningful level during any dental procedures when you're telling them to squeeze your knee if it gets too painful. They might actually try to answer you and that could become hazardous. Missing teeth, facial scarring, a permanent speech impediment, or in extreme cases, death may occur. DO NOT ATTEMPT."

Death by dentist. Further proof that Clue should have taken place in a dentist's office and not a grand mansion.

(I'll explain all the dumb jokes later, or at least why they keep popping up).

I digress. Anyway, two recent klutzy incidents been really special, and by special I mean I haven't gone a day without whacking, hitting, or bruising myself. I tell these stories at my own risk, because I am aware how much any one of these will make me sound like an idiot.

Memorial Day, Tanner talked me into going out to a trampoline place in...somewhere south of Salt Lake. I think it was Lehi. Anyway, his cousin works there, and Tanner had been previously, so I decided to be a sport and go. Trampolines and foam pits are fun, right?

Yes.

When we got there, I quickly realized I was out of my depth. People were performing all kinds of fancy tricks off of the trampolines, and my husband, apparently a secret acrobat, hastened to join them.

My father was not fond of trampolines as a kid, so I never even learned how to front flip. I'm 20 years old and I don't know how to front flip. The extent of my trampoline jumping skill is jumping straight up, returning to the surface of the trampoline, and jumping straight up again.



Exactly like that, except sadly, I'm not an elephant. And, with everyone around me (including teeny kids no taller than my thigh) flipping around and acting like Olympic trampolinists, I wasn't about to waste trampoline space (or their time) to demonstrate my superior vertical jumping abilities.

So Tanner, the sweetheart that he is, took it into his heart and head that he would teach me how to front flip.

I'm 20. I know that's not too old to learn how to front flip, but it ain't exactly the optimum age either. So there I was, standing on a trampoline with Tanner trying to coach me through the steps of a front flip, feeling like a total idiot.

Our first few attempts mostly consisted of me doing flailing bellyflops into the foam pit, getting stuck (and grossed out by the number of how many people's feet had touched the smelly cubes before mine) and climbing out, humiliated, as some tiny kid performed a triple backflip suicide jump with ease off of a cliff and then walked across the ceiling.

I'm exaggerating. But that's how it felt.

So finally Tanner left me to practice on my own, because he wanted to practice a fancy-person move his cousin had taught him. So I stood there, jumping with my arms flapping up and down at my sides like some sort of deranged penguin, going "ONETWOTHREE GO."

Front flips combine two of the things I like the least: falling forward and speed. It's the same reason why I hate skiing, heights, and driving cars on the freeway.

So, I finally managed a semi-respectable front flip, and on the way down I was thinking, that wasn't too hard.


And then my knee collided with my left eye.

I gave myself a black eye trying to front flip. Granted, it wasn't a really bad black eye, but I did also manage to give myself a goose egg just above my eyebrow. I wasn't hurt so much as I was humiliated.

The second instance happened just yesterday. I was cleaning out the fridge of some of my more unimpressive attempts at cooking meals. I have a real sensitivity to smells, so this wasn't exactly my dream job. Since I was a kid, I could barely even heat up previously cooked cold food without gagging at the cold food smell. It's the number one reason why I decided that criminal anthropology was the wrong career path for me, and why I should write about murders rather than going out and examining decomposing corpses, sludge optional.

So, holding my breath, bag extended at arms' length, I walked across the parking lot and tossed it into our communal trash receptacle. Feeling relieved, I started the short jaunt back to my apartment.

On the bottom level of our complex, the swamp coolers/A.C.s hang out of people's windows, which are just at head-height. I was merely following the path I had taken out to the receptacle, watching for glass shards or other things that might be offensive to bare feet when my head collided with the sharp corner of a swamp cooler with a satisfying smack.

It's funny now, heck, it was sort of funny then, but the pain was dazzling. I let out a choice four letter word involuntarily and sort of stumbled back up to the apartment. The food smell was still sort of lingering, so I left the door open to try to air it out, and I decided it would be a good idea to vacuum. Head throbbing, I pushed the vacuum around the floor and it was that moment when Tanner decided to return home and sneak up on me. He likes to startle me, which normally is endearing and annoying in equal parts. But yesterday, he snuck up on me with the vacuum on, and my head was pounding. So I screamed, laughed, and started crying in that order.

Mr. and Mrs. Latham welcome goose egg and cut no. 2 on the right front side of Mrs. Latham's forehead.

That's where the lame jokes are coming from. I still have this dull headache deal going on, too.

But Tanner took good care of me and made me soup while I calmed down, and then he held me while we watched movies.

Moral of the story: watch out for glass paraphernalia, but watch out for low-hanging objects too. Oh, and tuck your knees in when front flipping.

& that's elementary.

SHERLOCK

So guys. It's time for THAT post.

Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock.

Sherlock.

I'm obsessed.

My mom and I are usually pretty good about getting ahead of the curve of popular things, and the new BBC Sherlock was one of them. From the moment I saw the preview for the first episode of the first season on my favorite TV show (Masterpiece and Masterpiece Mystery), it was love at first sight for me.

But, to be fair, I've loved Sherlock since this:

and this:

Jeremy Brett as Sherlock, as I have said a hundred and thirty times (at least) is the Absolute Paramount Performance of Sherlock any time. He captured the essence of the great character's infinite intelligence, eccentricity, insufferability, boredom, drug addiction, acerbic iceyness, asexuality and of course those long white fingers and that visage! He is exactly every inch the Victorian Sherlock from my imagination.

The new BBC Sherlock and the reason why I love it so much is that they took every thing I imagined and transferred Sherlock seamlessly into the twenty-first century. In fact, the only reason why Benedict Cumberbatch isn't my epitome of Sherlock is because Jeremy Brett IS Sherlock as Conan-Doyle wrote him. But Benedict is my Sherlock of now, and where Jeremy is my Sherlock 100%, Benedict is my Sherlock 99.999999%. I love both of them that much.

And, what is it with the British and their cleverness?! Every modernized adaptation of Conan-Doyle's stories has been unique and individual, while being pitch perfect and completely withIN the spirit of Sherlock as Conan Doyle wrote him.

It makes me so happy that I don't even have words to describe said happiness. All I can do is rave about this show and how much I love it. It transcends TV for me.

It also fuels my detective alter-ego.

It's amazing. And funny. And brilliant. And innovative. And well shot. And well directed. And well written. And well acted. And obviously enough to inspire fanaticism in SO MANY PEOPLE including yours truly.

GO WATCH IT NOW. All of it. No excuses. NOW.

And if you don't love it, well you must be heartless.  Or...something.

& that's elementary.

The "G" word...

OK, so you all know that I'm liberalish, and that the liberalish comes from my upbringing in a weirdly configured Mormon-Atheist household, where the main doctrines were the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and the Ensign; and Nova, Shakespeare, and Nova ScienceNow, respectively.

You also know that I am a faithful member of the LDS church, and that's not going to change. And, the LDS church has a reputation for being slightly homophobic among other communities.

So, you might ask, how does an LDS girl like me come to be a straight ally? How does she reconcile that with her beliefs, and not only with her beliefs, but with her conservative husband and his friends and family that share the same opinions?

Well, I sort of grew up with gay people around me. Literally. When I was a kid, the house just east of ours housed a gay couple. I have fuzzy memories of them, but when you're a kid you don't think anything's strange about the things adults find strange. Mr. Gardner said it the best; when he was a kid growing up in (I think) Chicago, he never noticed skin color. I never thought it was unusual to have two men living together next door. It's not until you're older that those things kind of hit you.

The couple next to us, Bo, and his partner, were some of the nicest people I have memories of. Both of my parents really liked them, and in turn, they really liked us. They really thought I was a fun kid, and they were always really nice to me. They never tried to convert any of us to gayness. In fact, their behavior was really very appropriate. I distinctly remember them giving me a piece of candy one time, and my mom telling me to say thank-you.

In other words, they were just people. And they were good people, at that.

From then on, I have always had gay friends. In high school, the gay people I knew and were friends with were some of the most talented, kindest, funniest, sweetest people I have met anywhere. And they still are! I won't name names, but one of them can dance like nobody else I've ever seen, and he'd never had any dance training before coming to the high school. One of them is the genuinely nicest guy I've ever known, and he should really have attended Westminster because I miss him. One of them never fails to make me smile and lives his own life with verve.

And now, in college, I've made even more gay friends. Air, who I worked with in my professor's office this year, is still one of the funniest, smartest people I've met to date.  And I've made plenty of straight ally friends too, LDS and otherwise.

However, as with any political or social stance, not everyone is bound to agree with you. And that's tough. It really is. The number one political fight Tanner and I have had most often concerns gay marriage. And I've been in disagreements about the issue of gay marriage and couples that really hurt  and upset people on both sides. I don't ever want to judge someone about their own personal and political views, and I seriously hate upsetting people and getting into those disagreements. But I'm not going to just change my views because someone else doesn't like them, and I wouldn't expect others to change their views just because I might not agree with them. It works both ways. I respect you; you respect me. Hopefully, we'll agree to disagree and look past our differences to remain friends.

One of the most relieving things  for me that has happened recently are the LDS "It gets better" videos. One of them was done by students at the church-affiliated school Brigham Young University, and the second was done by just ordinary church members.The growing LDS support and love for the LGBT community really warms my heart.

BYU "It Gets Better":

LDS Members "It gets better:"

If you haven't already, please watch these videos. PLEASE. I don't care if you're liberal or conservative, please watch them.

My job as a human being and as a daughter of God is to love my fellow men and women, whether they are black, white, tan, gay, straight, religious, atheist, liberal, conservative, or purple. I want to be a judgement-free person simply because it's not my place. I don't know the journeys other individuals have been on. I only know my own journey and what's in my own heart, so I'll just try to focus on that and how I can be a better person. Heaven knows I'm not perfect, but I always want to try to be kind, loving, and open-minded.

And if you disagree with anything I've said, please know I still love you and I hope you can look past my views and stay friends with me. If I have offended, it was unintentional.

But my gay friends are people, and they deserve happiness in their lives JUST as much as any straight person. And they deserve to know that God loves them. And, if they don't believe in God, they need to know that I love them, and that lots of other people love them for who they are, and they want them to be happy.

To me, that's elementary.

The Kindness of Strangers at Missionary Farewells

One of the greatest things that has come from knowing Tanner are his friends.

Tanner's missionary farewell back in August was one of the !@#* hardest things I have ever had to go through. I spent the whole day trying to keep my "cool face" on, when really, all I wanted to do was go somewhere, curl up into a ball, and cry my eyes out.

No, really, I'm fine...

"Put on a happy face," they told me. "He'll want to remember you smiling.

Well, that worked until about the ten minutes before I had to leave. He kissed me goodbye, and with that I dissolved into tears.

Luckily for me, a young couple had lost their car keys. Liz, who was one of Tanner's oldest friends, and her husband had attended the farewell, and somehow their car keys had vanished. My mom and I offered to give them a ride home, as it wasn't too far off our own route.

By the time they got in the car, I was a mess. Any semblance of Cool Face had completely and totally vanished, and I was sobbing. Not the polite sobbing, but the ugly, screwed-up face, choking noise kind of sobbing.

So much for happy, pretty face for my missionary to remember. I felt like my heart was being ground into dust because I loved Tanner so much, and missing him seemed unbearable.

Liz and Nephi were pretty calm through my sobbing, even though I felt like a social pariah with all the leakage that was going on on my face. I was usually pretty good about waiting to be alone before I fell apart, but I was just too tired and raw to wait that long.

Anyway, Liz and Nephi were recounting their own "How I Met Your Mother" type story, and the whole time I was crying Liz just kept her hand on my shoulder, even though I'd only just met her a few hours ago. At first, I didn't want anyone to touch me, but after a while, her kindness to me, a practical stranger (not to mention one who was sobbing) made me want to cry even harder.

She always told me that things would work out. Whenever I talked to her because I felt lonely and I didn't know how to handle the ache that came from missing Tanner, she always told me things would work out.

And, she was right. I can't tell you how glad I am that she was right! Tanner is my entire world, and he means more to me than any single thing anywhere. I love him more than I ever thought was possible to love another human being.

I really wouldn't have got through missing Tanner so much without Liz's reassurance. And I don't get to see her nearly enough, so I think it's time that we planned a double date. And, I want to come and play with her baby when it's born. I love babies and I bet Liz's is just going to be the cutest.

I'm still so grateful for Liz and her kindness to me that day. It was a little thing, but it's something I will always remember. She was an angel to me that day.

& that's elementary.