Sunday, February 19, 2012

go time.

remember that time?

that time when you were six. your tiny feet were laced up with delicate pink ballet slippers.

the scene was new. moderately intimidating. the room smelled of stage dust and hard wood floors.

your stomach churned.

nervous emotions began to take over. suddenly, this dream of yours began to look impossible. you felt inadequate.

hell, you didn't know ballet. you could barely dance (and not much has changed since then)

you just had some childish fantasy created by some mild tuesday morning episode of sesame street that you had seen weeks before.

a dream of dancing in the ballet. tutu's. music. points. the whole she-bang.

oh crap.

what had you gotten yourself into?

before more fear could take over, you turned to raise the white flag. immediately ready to tell your mom to pack up her purse, grab the keys and get the hell out of there.

but she knew you too well.

she sat there. calm as always. smile spread across her loving face.

'you've got this.'

a tear slowly made its way down your cheek. she knew you were overwhelmed. she knew that you were feeling lost in a something unfamiliar and new.

her smile turned into one of her contagious grins.

'just smile. no matter what, smile. show them how bad they need you.'

'show them who kristen is.'

i forced a smile on my face and pivoted around to my sesame-street-inspired-audition.

it was go-time.

three months later.

curtains opened. that same smell of dust overtook me. the stage lights made it impossible to focus on anything beyond their glare.

it was all about me. my time. my time to make a dream come true.

the music began--my first performance of the nutcracker with the california ballet company.

and you better believe, i smiled.

eighteen years later.

it's go time.

a chance for dreaming. and though they may not be sesame-street-inspired. they are as real as ever.

and damnit. i'm gonna smile.

here we go.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

happy valentine's day.

a classic white gown.

elegant and feminine with minimal detail. one dark, sleek suit.

fit with masculine lines.

and a simple, classic gold band. a ring of leaves whimsically engraved into its polished surface.

that day will come. and one day.

when it does.

we will rock each other's worlds.

happy valentine's everyone. hope you're all feeling the love.

i'm trying.

picture from here.

Monday, February 13, 2012

an affair to remember.

i’m currently having an affair.

yes, a heated and most guilty affair. on my oh-so-loyal diet coke.

and i’m slightly ashamed to admit who it is with, but i have to be straight forward. as hard as this may be, i can't leave any of you speculating.

eh-he-hem. ok,
it’s dr. pepper ten.

i know what you’re thinking. but he’s so young and so fluid, kristen. there isn’t any depth or history there and frankly--cheating is just wrong.

but just ten playful calories for a can of serious deliciousness? cut a girl a break. there is way to much being thrown around in my face right there.

i'm only human.

and how can a silly girl like me resist such flavor?

now. of course, my heart still beats to the caffeinated/carbonated/chemicalized zing of dc. no really. it does (p.s. i actually have no idea if chemicalized is even close to being an actual word--so don't quote me on that, since i know you wanted to)...

but listen to me. dc-baby, you’re my rock.

you are my ty burrell (a.k.a phil dunphey from modern family).

the one i trust. the one that i can turn to no matter what. the one that will always always be there to make me laugh and make me angry and love me through it all.

dr. pepper-ten is just a fling. my ryan gosling, if you will.

yes, i know he’s ridiculously good looking. don’t be hatin'. and appearance wise--a strong thirteen out of ten. acting wise--about as good as it gets (example: lars and the real girl--haven’t seen it? i’ll be watching it for my valentines day tradition. join me and my bag of swedish fish if your heart so desires.)

yes, let’s just call it how it is: he’s about as tempting as it gets.

but i’m not an idiot. and i realize that such obvious perfection is most likely deceitful. and yes, he is more than likely a world class d-bag once you start peeling back those polished layers.

but just a little fling or two never hurt anyone, right?

yeah? no? okay. you’re right.

starting right now, i’m going to get my act together. shape up. put things into perspective.

forgive me dc.

please, forget i ever said anything.

but since we’re at it already, i have to confess. that this past week i consumed a truly embarrassing amount of dark chocolate...on a daily basis. and then jacked up my knee at the gym trying to make up for it.

watched enough starring j.lo. by myself (yeah, low point? or really really high point? i’ll let you be the judge)

bought a piece of ikea furniture. my first. special, right?


saw ‘the vow’ with my two besties and shell-bell (my mom). and honestly almost walked out of that newly remodeled-swanky-lehi-megaplex. and not just because my theatrephobia started kicking in from about minute two, and not really because of the scandalous scene where the audience was graced with a full on view of channing’s naked ace. but mostly because of the frustration i felt for the poor guy. rachel mcadams is no easy-pleaser in that one.

but other than a bummer-box-office-experience, i’m pretty jazzed about life.

i have one more week living in utah. next weekend i start my new life. in a brand new crazy place. with a whole new...everything. scary? damn straight.

exciting? absolutely.

ultimate chance for a new beginning.

and i’m learning a lot.

like how good it feels to be taken care of. and how okay that feeling really is. even though is still suck at it. and how online shopping at urban outfitters at 2:30 a.m.--when you’re mostly asleep and having very fantastical thoughts about life--is a bad bad bad idea.

no kristen, you cannot pull off those pants like you somehow dreamed you could. sorry gf.

also, is addicting. period (for any of you ladies wanting work-out gear. i just purchased the new nike-pro running pants and they are flat-out the best i’ve ever had. and i've got my eye on these lil' darlings now...)

oh and apparently i have zero tolerance for alcohol-intoxicated-individuals. i know, right? who knew?

and am not ashamed to admit, that i find it attractive when i order both my diet coke and glass of water at dinner (classic kristen move)...and the handsome guy across the table from me orders both his regular coke and a glass of water with his.

yep, that'll do it.

so, there you have it--in all it's scandalously clad ways. an affair to remember.

cheers, to confessions and new beginnings.

p.s. picture is from here. and i really only put it up on this post because i want it SO bad right now. isn't it insane?

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

eh-hem. i blame february.

i won't ask for much. i can take care of myself. and i can take care of you. no trouble, really.

my dad taught me well (he's a smart dude) and my mom never let me become weak (i mean, this woman physically fought her way through her high school years in the ghetto of san bernardino. wait, what? you haven't heard those stories??? shoot, come on over. shell-bell's got some tales to tell)

so those factors, combined with my innate desire to fix any and all problems of the world--i can pretty much guarantee that i can handle it.

no issues there.

but. there is one thing. one thing, that i'd like to ask for. one thing that i can't really take care of myself.

and darling, it's all i want. and is the one and only thing that i truly need.

so, hold me.

that's it. that's all.

in that most perfect way that all guys can.

that convincing closeness, that leaves me certain there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

just for that moment, let me breath in that height of perfection. let me linger in that place of safety and protection. let me believe--for just a simple minute out of all the crazy-ass moments of the day--that nothing will ever get to me again.

and no, you don't need some white stallion or some grand romantic gesture (that makes me feel eeeeky anyways. i'm so awkward. really, soooo awkward.)

because babe--as you hold me, the world is good. darkness is conquered by light. and fear is replaced with invincibility.

the world is all acai bowls with honey granola, dark chocolate covered almonds, and perfectly-dense diet coke as far as i'm concerned (all my current obsessions--and pretty much all i eat).

no matter my worries. no matter the things i'm not telling you. the things that are secretly killing me inside...feeling that secure arm of yours bring me in tighter. mmmgh, yep. that's the ticket.

in fact, it makes me giddy. so giddy, that i want to write and write some more (ha ha, bet you couldn't guess that one)

nouns and adjectives of all forms and flavors begin dancing through my head, as my visually-driven mind attempts to adequately understand the height of this moment.

like that novel i recently read. with words that were strung together with such omnitude and grace.

yes dear, that is how this moment feels.

so pull me a little closer.

watch your ball game. laugh at comedy central. talk about your day. make fun of my driving. or just close your eyes and fall asleep. doesn't matter (really, i'm cool with the ish guys find entertaining. as long as you show me the love--you can watch as much espn as your lil' heart desires)

as long as you keep me there. and make it close. please.

and let me stay.

just for a small while, yeah?


and then, of course. as all stories go--you can let me go.

i'll continue on. i'll do my thing. i'll pack up my bag for the day, put on my make-up (ok, maybe no make up--it really just depends on the day--just realized i put on make up for the first time in 4 days last night. ha ha. my poor-poor future husband)

and yes, i'll go make it happen.

that's what i'm good at.

so just hold me. i promise not to ask for much.

p.s. this isn't my fault. i blame february for such childish talk.

picture from here.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

the old cigar man.

i don’t understand most things.

really, i don’t. and i truly consider myself an intelligent human being (i mean, all those years of nerdy-ness had to amount to something right?)

hooked-on-phonics baby.

but even with all those hundreds of books that i devoured--and after the seemingly endless years of school that i completed.

most things, yes truly most things--i do not understand.

like why in the hell driving up the five in that old truck felt like coming home.

or why seeing those familiar eyes and feeling the sting of that guarded grin will always make me want to sing those lyrics by the byrds.

i was so much older then. i’m younger than that now.

why that song?

no idea.

why those bizarre feelings that i somehow can’t seem to forget? seriously, why darling?

help me out here.

cursed with some spell that i hate with some sort of pent-up loathing. but honestly don’t desire to be rid of.

such confusion leaves me thinking about choice. agency. consequence. the whole cycle of being human. being imperfect. having perfect moments. the reasons that we all end up where we do.

like the choice to board that plane. that will take you to a place--take you away. for a while at least. so you make that choice.

maybe because you’re hoping to find yourself. or some answer to some question. and you’re not really sure what the answer should be, let alone what the actual question was.

like embarking on the first step of a scavenger hunt--realizing you don’t yet have the first clue.

so you start taking steps. hoping for some red-light green-light action. remember that game? telling you to stop and go? and you’d run as fast as you could until the person turned around and said stop. that game was boss when i was like eight-years-old. (red-rover on the other hand--not so hot on that one. everytime i played i would dread being called up to battle. see, up until high school, i was always a good head shorter than my classmates--and much smaller too. there was no way in hell i was breaking through any of those red-rover lines. and you better believe--i never once did. i was the ‘weak-link’. the one they would holler on over too. everyone knew it was a cheap shot, but if thats the way they played, there wasn’t much you could do about it.)

steps. choices. without any real thought as to what the consequences may be.

and then, there was him.

the 'him' of the story. what about him? what choice did he make?

unable to get on the earlier 4:05 flight, he finds himself on the 7:05. taking a seat right next to you. and did he have to take that seat next to you on an open-seating southwest commuter flight.

there were other seats open. there were other choices that could have been made. and then, two and a half hours later you walk away with a little piece of them--now yours for forever. or for as long as you choose.

and whether you ever see that person again in your life, will probably just be another matter of action and consequence. and maybe--ten years from now--you will pass by the window of barnes and noble. and you will see their book.

the book you told him you would buy.

who knows, maybe you will.

and then you step off that plane into a world so familiar and yet, all so new.

you see those same antiqued paintings, that seem to be glued permanently into their designated positions onto those old walls--coated with an array of floral wallpaper.

you remember staring at those oil paintings when you were a child. finding them peculiar and enticing. wondering why someone would paint a picture of an odd-looking man in a top hat and ragged coat, with a cigar in his mouth.

signed in the corner--the name ‘mila’. a cursive type, that could accurately be described as femininely playful and slightly childish. mila, your papa’s sister.

the one your nana so-lovingly pins with--"yes, there was definitely only one mila. no one else was quite like her.”

somehow, that makes you love her more.

the precise reason you always knew you’d name one of your children after her. that--and--the pictures you stumbled across of her in her 1920’s boyish-figured flapper dresses and faux fur won your heart instantaneously.

the sketch of your papa in his navy uniform hangs over his desk. regal as ever.

that always sparked a small amount of pride.

listening to your nana talk about his life--about his accomplishments. such fondness in her voice.

you chat about the time that he tried to get out the rotary machine--and how upset at him she was. she laughs at how she chewed him out for attempting such a thing when he knew he was to weak.

her laugh is mnemonic.

and yet, almost as if he was right out that screen door--gardening as we reminisced.

her hand trembles as she picks up her steaming cup of coffee.

you step away for a moment. opening the refrigerator. brushing the tear from your eye as you reach for a soda--that you really didn’t need. just a reason to hide your weakness.

such love could be felt--something you had needed to feel so desperately. maybe this was the answer to that question that you never knew in the first place.

a peace in knowing that such beautiful things exist. an emotion you hadn’t felt for quite some time.

faith, maybe?

re-kindled faith.

and then, you watched her hike up the side of that cemetery hill. jug of water in one hand--a scrub brush in the other. there she knelt. scrubbing the dust and dirt from his headstone. pulling the small weeds growing around the outskirts--the ones even too small for the lawn mower to cut down.

laughing as she exclaimed, “he’s probably up there saying--oh no, here she is again! it’s clean enough dear!”

you can't help but grin. that really does sound like something he’d say.

papa was a quiet man.

kept to himself. loved observing his surroundings. but brilliant--and quite comically astute. shocking, almost. the sarcastic comments he’d pull out of nowhere sometimes tripped me out. i loved it.

funny, isn’t it? the things we remember and hold onto from our childhood.

and now--standing there over papa’s headstone.

you. pretending to be an adult.

realizing things you had never realized before. like all your life you’ve been working on some sort of jigsaw puzzle--holding on to all these little pieces as you go...and you’re now just starting to get all the edges together.

like that damn painting of that crazy old-leprechaun-man in the beat up coat--and his stupid cigar--finally mean something.

because that right there--this scene you are witnessing in front of you--that’s real love.

real, honest, “i will love you forever” love.

its what this world is really about. why god has us here in the first place.

and now, papa--a man of principle, of ethics, of impeccably strong-family values--can look back at the legacy he left and the family he taught so well.

and he can see his successful children. with beautiful lives. now grandparents to their children's children.

all united in one beautiful cause--family.

what more could a diligent man like himself ask for? a wife that will love him through all time--until love itself ceases to exist. a family. unions of beautiful people--making their marriages work on a daily basis. raising their children the best they can--working their days away just trying to make life a little bit better.

and then--there’s you.

still that single one. still slowly putting together that freaking jigsaw puzzle.


the granddaughter that he once made fun of for an entire trip. saying you had finally lost all your ‘baby fat’ and your cheekbones were finally showing. the one that always loved to pick his oranges. and has ridiculously similar physical features to his wife.

the one with blonde hair--who once died it platinum during her senior year of high school and never heard the end of it from him.

the one who is stubborn and selfish. but tries on a daily basis to be kind and understanding.

his granddaughter. who would drive him crazy whenever she popped her knuckles.

yes, that’s you.

and all you can think about--is how you hope you are making him proud. how you hope--that one day you can be like your other beautiful cousins who you idolize.

...and raise beautiful children of your own and have a husband who adores you.

they know who they are. and they know why they are here. and maybe--just maybe--you can find that too.

that’s what would make papa proud.

it's 6 a.m.

you wake up from a dream.

back home again, in your own familiar bed. you look around, no cigar-man on the wall anymore. no smell of fresh coffee. just an empty water glass and a pile of clothes that needs to be put away.

and you smile.

your dream dances through your head. you're infatuated with its beauty.

as a little-blonde-haired mila in light pink ballet flats walks down some whimsical path of deep red bricks and the most heavenly trees you've ever seen.

holding the hand of a man. playfully telling her to not step on the cracks in the walkway.

her great-grandpapa.

oh-how-i-hope he will be proud.