There was a moment, as I was laying there next to him in bed, that I thought he might be mine forever.  And then he murmured the sleep-sodden words "I love you", drink still heavy on his breath, and I realized how, though I could move my hand but inches to touch him, he was lost to me forever.  

Now, years later, as I sit on a pew in church, surrounded by friends and familiar faces, that same feeling rushes back and brings tears to my eyes. The feeling of knowing his arms around me, of talking and discussing life and the world, the feeling of being home...and then the dawning realization that none of it was ever mine to keep. 

I've had many loves since then. Other men. Myself. But still, as I sit here,  the speakers saying the familiar messages, the hymns I've known since childhood...still, I find this place doesn't belong to me--these people.  Still, I have that deep unsettling reality that this, too, is temporary. Still I search so that I will no longer be alone.

What do you do when you find yourself desperate--for those loving arms, for that feeling of home, and for that place where you belong, are comfortable, where being is easy--but with nowhere to turn and no arms to hold you? Those who would, are wrong and false.  Those that you wish, won't or can't or shouldn't. 

So easily I fall into the arms of those who are willing.  But they don't know me. They don't understand this need to burn, to run, to fly.  Sympathy is not what is needed to sustain or fulfill. But my kindred spirits are destructive. They seek to run away, to escape with flight, to burn to ash. I wish to fly to see, to run to explore, to burn to enlighten. 

How long has it been since I've found one that understood--someone who feels that the distance I have placed is a challenge, not a demand. How long has it been since someone filled this void in my heart and hopes? Years, surely, since the song of my heart has been lightly played with masterful fingers of understanding and study--of genuine,  unselfish concern and love for me--the same love that I have for them.

That is the ghost of my heart and soul--the ghost that I live with daily.  The memory of a feeling I had once, which makes all else superficial in its poor attempt at comparison.

Forgive and Forget

It seems everywhere I go recently people are telling me that I need to forgive and forget.  They're not telling me to my face, of course.  To my face they're saying things like "You're handling this so much better than I could have!" and "I don't know how you do it...." But wherever I go, in movies, in relief society, in my conversations with people....I'm given this constant reminder that you really, truly do have to do that.  Cattiness won't get you very far...even if you do have a few really good zingers.

For those of you (those being the...er...one?  Two people who read this?) who don't know, I recently went through a spot of male difficulty (and woman difficulty, too....but definitely in a different way).  I won't get into the details, but let's just say that someone that I loved very very deeply and who told me on a regular basis that he loved me recently slept with (and then afterward started a relationship with) someone who I, unfortunately, can't escape from in my life right now while we were still dating...and they both lied about it and told me to "trust" them...and then, once they couldn't deny it any more told me in quite a few more words to get over it.

Not such a fun month, that one.....

And how did I handle it?  Hard to say.  Better than I could have, but not without blemish, as I'd like to tell myself.  So many times in my head I wanted to go all crazy psycho girl and slash both their vehicles up and maybe a few mattresses (the one that he was sleeping on with her happens to be one that I gave him, free of charge...just as a side note.  Oh...and the sheets, too....), maybe put a few bugs in bedrooms, things like that.   But I didn't.  I only yelled once, and I refrained from any specific name calling and focused instead on descriptions of actions....and in the end?  I was left knowing that I wasn't to blame for the situation but still hurt and wounded and liable to lash out like any other wounded animal would.

And I still find myself this way.  That's the hardest thing to acknowledge.

I find myself wanting to be mean and nasty to this person (whose relationship with my ex, by the way, ended rather quickly...turns out it wasn't the bargain he was hoping for...) and wanting to say snide things like "well maybe if you didn't this, then they wouldn't that."  But...what would that help, really?

Nothing.

And it sucks.

To prevent backlash, and to keep my hands in the still relatively-clean state that they are in now, I find myself alone a lot.  If there's a group situation and I know she's going to be there, I try to avoid it.  I don't want to risk saying something nasty and then embarrassing her and myself--she doesn't deserve that, and I don't want to be the girl who acts that way.

But is it fair that I feel jealous that she's already moving on from it?  She's perfectly fine with claiming everything that's male in sight as her game to flirt with.  She sees no problem in talking about MULTIPLE other guys to me already.  She has no problem with flirting and complaining about how guys just don't want to beeeeeee with herrrrrrrr.....And meanwhile I die a little more inside every time. I have thoughts that range from "wow...if I'm interested in the same guys that she is, what does that say about me??  And the guys we both apparently are attracted to??" And: "How is that even fair that she can move on, and I'm stuck, still broken and alone?"

And that's what I feel, mostly.  Alone. A little bit damaged, but mostly just alone. I know that we all like to scoff at the saying of "nice guys finish last"....but is it really true?  Obviously I can go to bed knowing that, morally and ethically I'm clear...but what if my refusal to bow down to that level of stupidity doesn't in fact make me a better role model to others and in fact makes me the chump who sits on the side lines.  Forgettable.

Forgiving and forgetting.  Forgiving is easy....although as I feel these thoughts of wanting to put her down, I realize just how far I have to go until I have let myself completely forgive...but forget?  That's the hard one.

Maybe it should be the other way around.  Maybe the only way to truly forgive someone is to forget about what they've done.  Forget so that you can truly forgive. Otherwise, if you don't forget it...if you choose to remember it when they are near or when something similar happens, you'll never be truly able to get over it.

Heaven knows I am ready to move on.

Pinterest Recipes

Lately, I've become a big fan of Pinterest.  I know.  Who isn't?  But I've decided of late that Im going to try some of the delicious-looking recipes I've been pinning.  I've been selective, I think, and only pinned and made the ones that everyone gets raves about "I make these every year and my family loves them." "This won fourth place at my church's bake off"--you know...stuff like that.

Here's what I'm learning, though:  People will tell you anything about your food in order to make you feel good.

We've all done it--someone hands us the rock hard, salt-lick cookie. "Mmmmm!" we say. "I have GOT to get this recipe from you!"  

Little does the well-meaning baker know that we want the original.  So that we can burn it.

Today's recipe mishaps?  Sweet meatballs, bacon and ranch pea salad and a baked potato.   The baked potato was actually quite delicious....but, then again, it's kind of hard to screw up a baked potato with butter, sour cream and cheese....and who DOESN'T love that?? 

Here's what mine looked like on my plate all ready to eat:

The peas were OKAY.  The problem was with the ranch.  Here's the link: 

http://carzycook.com/showthread.php?tid=5249

#1, they must've put ALL the bacon that they told you to cook in that one little picture...because the four pieces that I cooked up and crumbled were hard to find.

#2, Even though I put in more peas than they called for, the amount of ranch dressing was WAY out of proportion.  1/2 cup of ranch to the little 16 oz (more like 20 in my case...) of peas is WAY too much.  Maybe it would have tasted different had I used homemade ranch instead of the bottled Hidden Valley stuff...but even so...BLEAGH.  For a condiment-lover like me, that's saying something.

And #3, This one may be me...but I didn't actually put the onion in like it calls for...I know, I know...bad idea...but we don't actually seem to have a knife in my kitchen...no clue where they all are...(put that on my shopping list next pay day...)..but even so, I don't think I could save it.

Then we come to the meatballs:

I've eaten meatballs like this before.  My family made them and I remember eating so many that my tummy hurt in a very good way.  I went to make them again...not so amazing.  The lady said to cook them for 8 hours.  Not a good idea.  I think 2 would have been better.  By the time I got home from work and got around to eating them, they were SO saturated through with all of the oils from the sauce, that they were kind of mealy in texture and overly sweet.  I think next time I'll either 1-cook them in the oven for a shorter time or 2-skip the sweet sauce and stick to marinara.  Totally not worth it.

Although, it should be noted that the sauce was DELICIOUS on top of my baked potato...

Now, I'm at the crossroads of deciding if I should give up on trying the new, shiny recipes with pretty pictures on them that Pinterest has to offer, or if I should stick to the family favorites that I know and can be certain of tasting good?  Have any of you guys had any success with Pinterest recipes?  What are the secrets and what are some of your favorites? 

Stay tuned for more elucidations...this single working girl is in the process of getting her butt back in gear and blogging once again.

Happy Tuesday!

Gosh Darn Itchy Skin!

The last few weeks and my re-exposure to online dating have taught me something very definite--most people aren't at all comfortable in their own skin.

It's interesting to me how many conversations have been started asking "What are you looking for in a man?  Are you looking for a relationship?  What is your ideal first date?"  It seems to me this this line of questioning--these patterns of behavior--are akin to milking a cow from the front.  You might get some milk, but most likely you're just going to end up sitting face to face with a cow.  

This week, my problem with dating and (relationships in general), is that too many people just want to be with someone, anyone, just so that they don't have to be alone.  Too many people want to speed their way through a person and end up at the alter. 

Don't get me wrong, the alter sounds nice and all.  Tomorrow I turn 24 and have recently found myself going through a bit of a mid-twenties crisis.  My recently disappointed swaray into the land of love leaves me feeling more like an old maid than I ever have before.  And yet?  I'd still rather be alone  than be in a relationship that has anything less than deep love and devotion.  

I had a conversation with a guy today about how he thinks he would be a great boyfriend, but he hates and is bad at dating.  While I don't disagree with that sentiment, and I have, myself, felt it on more than one occasion, I also understand that there's a certain level of self-possession that one must have in order to be an attractive mate to another. My advice to him?  Love to be alone.  Be content to be alone There's something about a person who is confident that you should want to be with him (because he wants to be with himself) that convinces you that it's so.  

So here's what I'm working on this week and that I can only hope the men in the world are working on, too:  Be okay to be you.  Be happy about it.  Right after my break up I couldn't stand to be alone--I wanted to have people there all the time, to be occupied all the time, to be entertained and kept busy.  Now, I'm slowly equalizing again.  I'm finding my stride.  I'm re-learning to love being by myself, the stillness, the quiet, the enjoyment and freedom of doing what I want when I do.  

Being alone: Perhaps it's the easiest thing to do, but also often one of the most uncomfortable.

Just Friends

One of the hardest things about a breakup is the aftermath.  After the crying and the tears and the mourning is over, when reality has sunk deep into your soul that this actually, really, truly is how things are one must still wake up every morning with one truth:  He's still out there.  The awful thing about a break up is that, even though you're no longer "together" you're still in each other's lives.  There's the separation of the belongings "Do you want these plates?  Or should I keep them?"  There's the forced conversations and texts and questions from casual acquaintances who haven't yet heard asking the inevitable "So!  How are you and your man doing these days??"  Not to mention the innumerable texts, tweets and Facebook updates all reminding you that he is still out there and he is moving on with his life as happy as can be.

And then there's the other thing.  There's the staying friends thing.

I'm not going to lie, I hate staying friends with an ex after we break up.  I would rather he just fall off the face of the earth and I never have to see, think of or hear from the guy again.  Usually, though, I'm the one doing the breaking, so it's an easy desire to have.  In this case, though, I'm the one who got broken.  In this case, he's the one who suggested we still be friends.  In this case, I'm just enough in love with him still to be willing to go for it.

Let me tell you this little secret, dear darling reader--being friends freaking sucks.  There's no way around it, really.  For all the above mentioned reasons, it's hard to still have someone who you're crazy about close in your life and not be a major part of theirs.  It's hard to see the updates on Facebook of flirtatious or fun things happening in that person's life.  It's hard to know that you're only allowed to see that person with prior planning and scheduling so that you won't overlap with the other girls/friends he has around.  Also, it sucks to know that you're no longer the cause of that person's happiness.

They say if you love someone then you let them go.  Well I say that's bull.  What should you do if you love someone?  You fight for them.  You hold them close.  You shield them.  You do whatever you can to make them happy.  But you don't, under any circumstances, let that person go out of your life.

And so what is my elucidation of the day?  Part of me, the part that's feeling a little bitter and neglected wants to say the lesson is to not love or to not stay friends with those who you used to love.  But no.  That's not realistic. And anyone with a dreamer's heart will know that the only true happiness for a romantic is in that love, and is in that hope, and is in that dream that some day things will be better.  And so the lesson is instead, despite the heartbreak and the hurt, the disappointment and the feelings of inadequacy and emptiness, to love, to fight, to stand strong in your love. Even if the person you think should love you back--the person you're fighting for--doesn't and won't ever return those feelings, some day, someone will deserve that kind of fierceness.  Some day, someone will love you back just as strong.

You can't keep your grasp tight if you aren't willing to exercise it.  And so I flex my love, even though it hurts.  Even though, like a muscle tearing, I feel sore for days after.  I flex because I know, some day, that love muscle will build up and I'll be stronger.  Some day, that'll be enough.

The single girl has been gone for a while. She fell in love. She found a man she wanted to spend the rest of forever with. But now she's back. She's working in Utah. She's figuring life out. But while I'm figuring it all out, I'll probably carry you with me because now, more than ever, I'm searching for a happiness that thus far has only slipped out of my grasp.

Proper Worship

Today I find myself inordinately frustrated with the people attending my friend's ward. Typically I find myself quite proud of the conduct of those with whom I share my beliefs. With only a few small, negligible exceptions I feel the vast majority of the LDS population acts with some level of propriety. Certainly, in most cases, that propriety is at least seen to in church functions and settings where the members are worried, if not of disturbing others, then at least what their fellow church goers will think should there be some sort of a disruption in the gentle facade of quiet and reverence.

Such facade does not seem to be the stumbling block of the ward I am currently attending. Where normally parents would quietly excuse their presence from the room if their children act out or becomes disruptive, such does not seem to be the social protocol of this group. Screaming and yelling children are accompanied by only slightly quieter screaming and yelling parents.

So here comes the question: what is the appropriate course of action? For myself, I find myself so distracted by the noise and commotion around me that I resort to blogging about my experience, having given up minutes ago all hope of feeling the spirit. But, just because I am unable (or perhaps unwilling?) to feel the spirit through the noise of it all, does that give me the right to begrudge the parents of said noisy children their chance to stay in the room and feel the spirit also? I, obviously, don't have children of my own, but I do have two sisters who are children and I cannot imagine my mother or father EVER letting us make that amount of noise in the chapel no matter how much they were personally in need of some spiritual enlightenment.

So again, what is appropriate? Do I, as a single working girl, need to continue to exercise outward patience for a situation that I have no personal part in, or should I have the expectation of being in an atmosphere when at church of being able to feel the spirit?  (Spot the fallacies in that statement! :P)  And, also, when I do someday (assumptive) find myself in that situation, will I have the right to let my children scream and carry on so that I, too, can attempt to feel the spirit?

My Addiction

I have an addiction, and it's called "moving". (I know...you thought this was going to be a Diet Coke post, didn't you??)

In five short days I will embark on my third move in the last 15 months. After only six sort months in Portland, my feet have decided that they've grown restless with the view here and that it's time to return to move familiar ground. It seems that every 6-8 months I begin to get this same itch. It starts at the base of my spine and works its way up to my shoulders before becoming trapped in my brain. Over and over again it says, "What else is there? You're missing something? Best move on now before you get yourself stuck." And so I do. I make plans to attend yet another college, or start looking at jobs and apartment in a different state. Since I graduated from high school, I haven't lived in any one place for more than 10 months.

This time, though, I've decided that I need to go back to somewhere a bit more familiar. Portland was an eye opening experience for me. (all three times...) I met amazing people who helped to mold my perception of myself and of the world--people who both made me question and view who I am and what I believe in and also who reinforced a confidence that I was afraid to let shine. For these people, I will be forever indebted. Boise was wonderful. I loved going to Boise State and I made one of the best friends that I've ever had in my life there! Living alone, I learned more about who I am without the influences of roommates or parents in my home and I loved it. And so now, with a new set of values (or, rather a slightly different perspective on my old ones) and a fresh zeal for life, I'm returning to the closest place I have to home: Utah--a variable Mecca for the single LDS girl.

I have to admit, one of the things that I like the most about leaving is knowing that I'm going to be missed. Sometimes, when you leave a situation, it makes you evaluate just what you really like and dislike about it. In the case of this current move, I'm realizing that maybe I'm not as alone here as I thought I was. I have a family who I love and adore, and more friends than I realized at work. Each and every one of whom will be missed.

The other thing that keeps me addicted to moving is the promise that it holds. I know, I know...it sounds cheesy, but seriously. It's like starting a brand new relationship each time. You have the anticipation, the sense of wonder, the expectations, the desire for new things, and the unfailing faith that everything will be all right.

Perhaps my inability to settle on a place to live is indicative of my inability to find a committed relationship and, perhaps, going "home" will be just like running into the loving arms of a close friend.

Phone Calls

A few weeks ago, and friend at work and I had a rather interesting discussion on taking on the phone. We both related expereiences where we had given a guy our number and had carried on rather extensive texting conversations before the dreaded "you should call me" comment came up. We both whole heartedly agreed that talking on the phone--especially to a near stranger or someone you don't often interact with, is incredibly uncomfortable. So why do it?

I have another friend who I frequently exchange text messages with . They're casual and fun but, after about 20 minutes of texting, almost always he'll say, "call me". I haven't seen this friend in over a year, and even then he was just one of a larger group of acquaintances that I belonged to, so talking to him on the phone always feels out of rhythm and oddly personal. At that point, I help the awkwardness reach a boiling point by making all sorts of excuses not to and eventually the conversation goes away for a week or so until one of us opens up the conversation again. Why do I do this?

For years now, we have lived in a society that uses our technology for alternate means of communication. I was 15 years old when I got my first cell phone. When I was 18, my parents finally decided they needed to get an unlimited texting plan because, apparently, my brother and I weren't about to stop. Now, if I don't have my phone on me to text, facebook or otherwise be "locked in" I start to wonder what I may have missed. But, no matter how close I keep my phone, unless you are one of two or three choice people, you can bet your call is being screened.

Why is it that we want this, though? It's true that our conversations that are on phone (or even better, in person. *gasp!*) are more personal, more relaistic...so maybe that's the cause? Maybe, after it all, we don't want to be close to others around them? Keeping them at arms length is safe and convenient. Maybe we really just don't want to be bothered with stopping our lives for longer than we choose to give attention to another person. (And, let's face it, we've all had that friend or known that person who can talk on and on and on about absolutely nothing....gee...I wonder what that would be like...)

As I was thinking about this topic, I turned to my good friend Mr Google to see what other people had to say on the subject. As it turns out, most girls seem to prefer when guys call instead of text. Or, that is to say, girls who like receiving phone calls are louder at acknowledging their comfort (or "dis") than girls who feel differently. Perhaps my friend and I are among the minority of women--those who are easily content with the impersonal texting but not so easily placated with hearing a voice attached on the other end. Maybe we are both more independent thinking and like to have our space and our time to respond when and how we want with proper thought. Or, maybe we're both control freaks.

To the right I have added a poll, and I'd love to know what you think be you man, woman or six-legged octopus. What is the best way to communicate given the choice?

Try Me

There is a sign posted on a table at work that reads very confidently "Try Me".   It sits on a table full of boards and nails, all of which are battered and abused beyond thepoint of being effective.  The autohammer that you're meant to try is currently packed away, haphazardly stuffed into its complementary carrying case--it, too, has seen better days.  On days when we are slow, I stand behind the row of self-propelled lawn mowers and stare blankly at the sign and its surrounding display (which includes a TV with a visual display fir you to follow along with).  A few days ago, I was standing behind my favorite mower, day dreaming as I sometimes do, when I had the image of myself laying on the table with the "Try Me" sign strapped to my neck, waiting for someone to ask fir a demonstration on how I work exactly.  Were I laying there, would anyone stop to see what deal they might be getting by trying me out?  What features and benefits could they get with me as the tool in their hands?  Would anyone take the time to take a second glance?

At the age of 23, I am old for an unmarried LDS woman.  Not quite to the point of being a spinster, I am definitely in that "be weary" category.  In another year or so I will graduate into the "something's wrong here" grouping, shortly followed by the "stay away" club which I will join by the age of 26.  There is no fault in this assumption, whoever makes it and no matter how untrue it may be--for me or for any other LDS young adult found in a similar situation.  I belong to a culture that values very highly family values, and the creation of such family is viewed as a high priority.  I, myself, would love one of those families for my very own.  However, here I am, at the age of 23, single and without many options, not even cool enough to have a basement to live in at my parents house.  I intend to put all of those mistaken ideas and impressions of what a single LDS girl is to rest.

This blog will chart the adventure of being a single LDS girl and the discovery of what makes my life happy.  A sort of Mormon girl's Sex in the City, I intend to touch on every topic--from love to lust to fashion to humor.

So now comes the part where I have to ask: "Try me"?  Just for a while walk up, read my sign, and see what all I can do.  You may be surprised by what you find is displayed before you.