Twas the Night Before...

Twas the night before graduation,

And all through the room, 

this student, still typing, 

Feels mixed feelings of gloom. 

Cap and gown hang aloft 

in my closet with care

and the promise of change 

is thick in the air. 

My novels, each nestled

All snug in their places;

But tonight, their pages

Cannot fill empty spaces.

And I on my laptop, 

its screen glowing dimly

Feel that the walls around me

are suddenly flimsy. 

My heart, in my chest,

is making such a din

that I am of half a mind

to let insomnia win. 

Off to the internet 

I go like a flash,

click open a browser

google "Benedict Cumber. . .bash--"* 

The face of that man,

with his cheekbones and grin

makes reality's intrusion

a little less grim.

But tonight, of all nights

It does not take away

the fact that my life

is going to change in a day. 

I imagine him saying,

all velvety and slow,

"It's okay, my dear girl,

that you're not sure where to go.

"Finding direction 

Can be quite a trick. 

You're not alone 

in this, so don't feel sick."

"But Benny," I say,

timidly, in my mind,

"I'm sad because

of the people I'm leaving behind.

"Of friends that I've made 

through thick and through thin

My life, without them

seems so horribly dim.

"I'm sad because things

Will never be the same,

And I can never go back

the way that I came." 

He smiles, reaches  over

And ruffles my hair,

And says (quite calmly)

"No, I know. It's not fair. 

"Change is like shedding 

a layer of skin, but friends 

and the like will still be around. 

Endings are never simply the end."

"I know," I shoot back. "I just wish

that I had some more time,

to savor each moment, and
not run out of these rhymes."

"At least you've got 

your whole life up ahead.

You're pretty damn lucky,"

Mr. Cumberbatch says. 

"You're correct," I say, 

"And I know that, I do. 

I just cannot look forward

Without feeling blue." 

His eyes twinkle, then,

and he says, with that knack--

"Who says looking forward 

never means looking back?

"You've had some good times,

So hold them quite close

They'll keep you from turning

unbearably morose." 

I smile at that,

For I know that he's right,

And thank him, and bid him

an imaginary "Good night." 

I turn off my laptop,

Feeling like I can cope, 

because in spite of the sadness,

there is now, also-- hope. 

Hope for all the things

I've always wanted to do--

see my friends, write a book

watch some more Doctor Who.

I wipe away a tear

and nestle down in my bed

A million new goals 

Leaping 'round in my head. 

And I think of all of you

As I drift off to dream;

Adoration for my friends

Making my little heart gleam. 

And the last thought I have, 

before I fall asleep completely--

May your future endeavors

follow your dreams, so neatly. 

Happy Graduation, Class of 2014!

*Yes. Cumberbash is not his actual name. And yes. I went there. ASK ME IF I'M SORRY. 

I'mma Fix Our Government. With a Metaphor.

Well, it's less fixing and more looking at a first step that should be pretty obvious. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I have a wonderful extended metaphor for you all.

Excited?

You should be.

So about a week ago at work, I was talking with my new co-worker, Mike. It had already been established that Mike and I have different views on some things (he thinks Wuthering Heights is rubbish, I think it's salvageable if you look at it as a cautionary tale and not a grand romance), so we were just sort of shooting the breeze with my boss, AJ, and for some reason, I mentioned my favorite TV show. Probably because that's kind of what I do. Even my geology professor knows what it is. I talk about it. . .basically constantly. Or I did. I've gotten better about just referencing it in my head when I'm around strangers/less enthusiastic viewers.

Suffice it to say that there are two kinds of people in this world. Those who are fans of this show:

And those who are fans of this show.

Fans of one of these two shows rarely cross into the other's fandom or if they do, that person is an exceptionally rare human being who is probably actually a unicorn (an unicorn?). BUT. That's beside the point. The followings of each of these shows are devoted, somewhat radical, and don't really know what to think of each other.

I belong to the first fandom, which anybody on tumblr will tell you may be the craziest of all fandoms. Seriously. I've seen the Sherlock fandom compared to Ed, the drooling, deranged hyena from the Lion King, and sometimes it's accurate. Sometimes I am even scared by the people in my own fandom. And I'm pretty crazy about this show, so if I'm getting scared, you know there are people who are more obsessed than I am.

Completely unnerving.


Exposition aside, I brought up my favorite TV show, Sherlock, and Mike said:

"You know, I like Elementary better."

My instinctual knee-jerk reaction was

 

And then when I could actually get words out it was 

  

Because if there's one thing I cannot abide in this world, it is Elementary. Actually, that's only barely an exaggeration--there are a few other things I cannot actually abide. Like sexism and racism and poverty and oppression. But Elementary is up there. For a lot of reasons. Not the least of which is the fact that we Americans seem to feel the need to REMAKE EVERYTHING THAT THE BRITISH DO RIGHT THE FIRST TIME. 

That's neither here nor there.The point is, Mike and I disagreed. And we talked about it in a logical, calm, civil way. Well, there was an initial moment where we sort of said words at each other like children: "No you're wrong--" "NO YOU'RE WRONG." That sort of thing. But then once we'd calmed down we sat and talked about why each of us preferred the show we did. Like civilized, well educated human beings. I don't think either of us managed to change the others' mind, but we talked. We listened to each other and worked to understand where the other person was coming from, and I think we learned something from each other. I would be more willing to watch Elementary without looking at it 210% through the eyes of cynicism, and I think he would be more open to watching another episode of Sherlock. Which is something that children have to learn how to do so that when they become adults, the world doesn't completely fall apart from people yelling belligerent insults at each other. 

Oh wait. 

See? Extended metaphors. They pay off. 

Basically. There are two kinds of people in our culture because we live in a bipartisan system. Liberals. And conservatives. And the ones who are moderates are exceptionally rare human beings who are actually probably unicorns, but they are my favorite group of people because they tend to be a little bit more balanced than the extreme left or extreme right. But since the system is bipartisan, there tends to be little room for them--which is a shame. 

Both sides of this bipartisan culture are extremely passionate about something. Now, in order to remain as fair and unbiased as possible, I'll just let you do the filling in about what each side is passionate about. It's not my place to categorize which beliefs are right or wrong; the point is, someone out there believes them. And to say that these two sides have their differences is like saying that in the desert, the sun shines in the summer. It's kind of stating the obvious. 

Now, I know that a lot of people go off about how bipartisanship and compromise are sissy, ineffective solutions and the people that are wrong are wrong and that everyone should generally go one way or no way at all, because THIS IS AMERICA THE LAND OF THE FREE.

 I have to admit, I do feel that some beliefs held by people on a certain end (or ends) of the spectrum are wrong and unfair and just plain old oppressive. I sometimes find it hard to listen to people expressing their opinions about what they think is the right way to do things because it differs so completely from mine. Like I found it hard to listen to Mike say Elementary was better than Sherlock, and yes, I went there. Sherlock and Elementary may not be on the global scale that politics is on, but it bloody well is a fistfight among the shows' respective fandoms, and if you think that the politicians in our government are more civilized than a bunch of probably teenaged to early-twenties nerds on tumblr, you've got another thing coming. 

I used to think compromise would be a good solution for the current problems. I still do. But even more than that, I think I would just settle for the people in our government and on the two sides of the spectrum to actually sit and listen to each other. Not immediately jump down each other's throats with "YOU ARE WRONG" "NO YOU ARE WRONG." and continue in that vein. No one ever learned anything that way, and no one's mind was opened from that sort of behavior.

You can certainly dislike someone's opinions. But you have to have reasons to back it up, and it can't just be whatever random stuff you want that sounds right. You have to take the time. Listen to the other person's opinion. Digest it a little--don't just spit it back out at them like a toddler who doesn't like peas and so decides that peas aren't going to be eaten without a fight that just makes them look silly and covers everyone else in green goo. Nobody ends up happy that way. After thinking about it for a while, do some research--legitimate research. Then, once you are actually able to back up why you don't like their opinion, give your evidence. And give your own opinion. Be civilized about it. Be kind. Be respectful. People are more impressed by respect than by screaming. Minds are opened that way.

Frustration is by all means allowed, but I find that understanding where someone is coming from eliminates a lot of frustration, and when all is said and done you don't have to agree with the person you're conversing with. You can just shake hands and say "agree to disagree." Chances are, you have grown from this encounter and you don't even know it. Maybe the next time this particular subject pops into your head, you'll think about it a little differently, somehow, even if your opinion isn't changed.

If a Sherlock fan and an Elementary fan can do it, I'd say that the middle-aged to old adults who run our government can do it. In fact, they should have learned how to do it a long time ago. I'm pretty tired of the absolute zoo that seems to be politics in America now, and I don't think I'm alone. Every rational and well-thought-out-argument stands out like a nugget of gold in a disgustingly dirty river.

Can we get more gold and less dirt? Please? And can we start by listening to each other, really listening? It's a pretty rudimentary skill.

I know it can happen.

I Was Engaged in Preschool; Or, it's a Miracle My Best Friend Still Loves Me.

Sometimes you look back on your past with disdain. Sometimes, you look at it with pride. And sometimes, you just have to sit and laugh at yourself.

This is one of those times for me. 

If you're lucky enough to have a best friend who you've been friends with since you were literally a baby (if 3-month-old babies can in fact have friends; for the sake of this story, I'm arguing that they can)  then you will understand the bond that I have with my best friend and eternal confidante, Sahara. Sahara is the only person in the world who could legitimately blackmail me--she knows that much about me; every embarrassing moment, ever stupid thing I've done, and she remembers all of them in great detail--but luckily, she loves me, and so I'm safe. Probably. 

Our parents met in parenting class and so we were thrown together by fate--more likely, we just sat and made baby noises at each other until we learned to talk. There has never been a time in my life when Sahara has not been there. We even attended preschool together. 

It was in preschool that I gave Sahara some of the earliest fodder for ridicule. I have always been a little boy-crazy, and in preschool I was in love with Neil Monson. Well; as much as a preschooler can be in love; which is to say, puppy love? I don't even know, I feel like even "puppy love" is too strong a descriptor. In any case, Neil and I decided to get married later in our lives, and so we were basically engaged, and we'd probably hold hands and smile at each other during recess. All the normal things. We'd pretend like Sahara was our child, and we'd "put her down for a nap" when we went on "a date," read--walked around the playground. 

Sahara. . .hated it. HATED it. After all, I was her best friend, and laying on a piece of playground equipment at three or four years old is the most boring thing imaginable, especially when it's sunny and there are adventures to go on. She did not enjoy being forced to play the role of the child; especially since she is twelve whole days my senior--it seemed unfair. So she usually went off on her own and played on her own, much to my dismay. 

So the last day of preschool rolled around, and I remember picking flowers by the fence and Neil telling me that I should "save those flowers for our wedding." 

I didn't. It wasn't that I didn't like Neil. It was because I was three or four, and when you're that age your memory retention is fuzzy at best. I can't remember much else from preschool, except that one time some girl pushed me down on the pavement and gave me a black tooth. Which was the closest I've ever been to "in a fight." I was extremely resentful of the fact that she'd injured me because it meant I couldn't really use straws and so when I went out to eat with my parents I had to drink my root beer with a spoon. 

The tragedies of childhood. 

I'm glad that preschoolers cannot be held contractually obligated to things that they said, because that would be incredibly awkward. That time by the fence was the last time I ever saw Neil, and I've certainly dated other guys (and obviously even got married once, though that did not last), so I may be wrong, but I think the engagement's been off for at least eighteen years. If it's not, I would just like to issue a formal apology to my former preschool fiance and just put it out there that it's definitely over between us. Nothing personal. So, Neil, can't sue me for breach of promise; and besides, suing people for breach of promise hasn't really been a thing since the Victorian era. 

So I win. No hard feelings, I hope. 

Anyway. The real lesson from all this is that good friends pretend to be your child when you're engaged in preschool. Best friends say "the hell with this, I'm not laying here!" and give you grief about it for the next eighteen years of your life. 

She definitely keeps me humble. I can say with certainty that I would not be half the person that I am without her influence in my life. We've made it through high school, college, and times of personal crisis together, and I think our friendship is the stronger for it. 

The bad thing about being an only child is you don't have siblings. But the good side of it is, your best friends become the siblings that you choose. And even though I was a baby when I met Sahara, I am pretty sure I chose her to be the sister I never got to have--the one who remembers all the stupid things I've done, but also the good things that I've done. When Sahara pays me a compliment, I know it's the most genuine thing anyone could say to me; because she's honest with me. No matter what, she's always got my back, and I know for a fact that she would kick the ass of anyone who hurt me so thoroughly that they'd probably end up somewhere in the future. 

I hope she knows that I would always do the same for her. She is really and truly my best friend, and I think it's safe to say that it'll be a lifelong thing. 

Besides, she has waaaay too much dirt on me. 

See? Practically siblings. 

I Do Desire We May Be Better Strangers.

It's a great line, right? Comedy of Errors.

But this little anecdote is actually about as far from the plot of Comedy of Errors as it's possible to get. It's more along the lines of. . .Comedy of This One Guy Asked Me To Homecoming After Knowing Me For Less Than Twenty Four Hours; Or, I Didn't Even Know His Name.

Which is not a pithy title, and would not have been a hit in Shakespeare's day. Or in ours, for that matter.

Let's travel back to my Junior year of high school, which is the farthest back into my high school career that we've gone! We'll be returning there for a post about a very important and amazing play I was in--the highest on my list of all the plays I've been in. Period.

Anyway. So. It was fairly early on in the beginning of the school year;  I know this because homecoming usually takes place in what--September? Early October? It's been a long time since I was in high school, and caring about social events like dances weren't things that I did until I was a senior and was in Student Government. Then it became an obligation to care.

I was finishing up my school day with one last class (acting) and getting ready to go to after-school seminary. One of my classmates, a girl a year younger than I was, had brought her brother with her as a "shadow." In Charter -School speak, "shadows" are people who follow students around figuring out if the school is somewhere they want to attend. This young woman's brother was actually a senior, so if he chose to come to our school he would be transferring for the rest of the year. He was introduced to me by his sister at the beginning of the class, so I smiled at him; because I'm a friendly person, shook his hand, sat down, and thought nothing of it.

Apparently the first wrong move I made there was "smiling," because he gave me a look that can be best illustrated by the Looney Tunes. In fact, everything is best illustrated by the Looney Tunes. Basically, think this:

It'd be funnier if I was exaggerating. But remember, this was Me in High School, and Me in High School was even worse at deciphering flirting than Me of the Present is. So his look of sudden admiration was lost on me. 

I didn't look at him or speak to him during the entire class. After class, he walked up to me and made some sort of joke, which was completely lost on me because of the naturally exuberant chatter of high school students who are free for the day. So I nodded, and smiled again, and walked out of the classroom. He followed me, talking to me. I could not for the life of me understand why he was tailing me, so I was walking pretty quickly because I wanted to run into someone--anyone--I knew, and shake him off my trail. 

Him: Are you going to seminary?

Me: Yeah, do you need me to show you where the building is or something? 

Him: Oh, no. My sister will do that. 

Me (suddenly distracted by the presence of the guy I had a crush on a ways down the hall): Hmm. 

Him: So are you dating anyone?

Me: Uh, no. Not at present. 

Him: Oh! Really! A pretty girl like you? Well, that's good news for me, because--

He just kept talking, and I just kept walking, but I sort of stopped listening to what he was saying, because, I don't know, I was thinking about rehearsal and also that guy I liked who had just appeared in the hallway and was chatting with his friends, looking all cool and handsome, and also homework that I had to do. But I resurfaced round about here:

Him: And you make me feel feelings that I haven't felt in a year. 

Me: Wait. What???!?!??!

(see, sometimes I do have appropriate responses to people saying things that come out of nowhere.)

Him: I was in love with someone a year ago, and looking at you makes me have those feelings again. 

Me (Inwardly panicking): Uhhhh...well...uhhhh...(trying to change the subject) So do you like the school?

Him: Yeah. I'm thinking of transferring here, especially if it means I get to see your beautiful face everyday.

Me (floundering): Uhhh...bathroom. I've got to go to the bathroom. Bye. 

Him: Ok! See you at seminary! 

I dashed into the sketchy high school women's restroom, freaking out for several reasons, not the least of which was the fact that some guy whose name I could not even remember had basically just professed love for me after meeting me an hour earlier. Now, I'm occasionally a romantic; and I was much more of a romantic then than I am now, but I've never been that much of a romantic that I believe in love that occurs on sight. Attraction, maybe. Lust, maybe. Love? You'd have been hard pressed to convince me. Even harder pressed to convince me now. 

I waited about ten minutes so that I would avoid pre-class chatter and any more uncomfortable conversations, and then I walked over and found a seat as far away as possible from this guy, happier than ever that I had to leave early for rehearsal (I was always Rehearsing after school, those days).Which I did. Probably far too early. 

I got home that night and nearly cried tears of frustration. I had no idea how to handle this situation with tact, or how to let this guy down gently, or do anything besides hide and run. I was mostly just grateful that I wouldn't have to run into him at school the next day, because shadowing generally is a one-day kind of thing. 

Yeah. I was wrong. The extent of my wrongness would become evident the next morning. 

The scene: a young high school girl with long, curly hair walks into the hallway where her locker is kept. She opens her locker, deposits a few things, and closes it. Turns around. Nearly runs into a guy in a button-up shirt who is giving her googly eyes. She looks incredibly uncomfortable in response, like she's seriously considering wedging herself into one of the ridiculously thin lockers and staying there. 

Him: Hey, Hilary. Can I talk to you for a second. 

Me: Uh... (she looks around frantically, sees no out. Looks at this guy, realizes she still doesn't know his name). Sure. 

Him: I know I've only known you for a day, but--

Me: Um. 

Him: But would you like to go to homecoming with me? 

Me: Um. Well, I uh, I barely know you, and I actually have plans for that day. Birthday plans. So, uh--I'm sorry? But no. 

Him: Oh, that's okay. 

Me: Well, I've got to go to class--Hey, look--(shouts a name of a friend and catches up to her)! 

And as luck would have it, and when I say luck I mean whatever the opposite of luck is--cruel serendipity?--he followed me to that class because he was shadowing his sister, and his sister was in my first performing arts class of the day. 

I carried out the rest of my day, purposefully avoiding open spaces and the hallway where most of my performing arts classes (and therefore the performing art students) spent their lunch periods. I made it all the way through the end of my day without seeing him, and I was so close to being free. I was pretty proud of myself. As I was walking across the lobby towards the arts hall, I heard him call my name, so I started skip-running. Like, trying to look carefree but also moving quickly. It's as effective and as graceful as it sounds. 

He caught up to me, of course. 

Him: Why are you running? 

Me: Uh...Impulse? Just felt like running. 

Him: Ha, you're so cute. 

Me: No, no, I'm not, I'm really not. 

Him: Yes you are. Hey, so I have a question--

Me (frantically waving): Hey! Josh! 

Him: Could I have your number? 

Me: Uh. I don't really like giving out my number.

Him:  Do you have a pen and paper? I'll give you my number.

Me: Uh. Yes. Pen. Here. I'm going to go talk to Josh. 

So he hovered, about three feet away from me, writing his number down, and I ran up to my friend (and resident guy who teased me about everything in a platonic way) Josh and latched on to him. 

Me (muttering): Josh, you have to help me. 

Josh: What?

Me: That guy. He wants my number. 

Josh (teasing me): You should give it to him. 

Me: I met him like 24 hours ago. I DON'T KNOW HIS NAME. 

Josh (being a smart-ass and in no way being helpful): Give him your number. 

Me: You like him so much? You give him YOUR number.

Josh: No. 

So then the guy re-approached me with this piece of paper, and it was all I could do not to make Josh play the role of fake boyfriend, but he already knew I was single, so I knew that would be futile. 

Him: Here you go. Maybe we can hang out on Saturday?

Me: Um, maybe. 

Josh (opened his mouth to say something)

Me (pinching him to make him not talk) 

Him: Well, I've got to go. Talk to you soon, Hilary. 

Josh (as soon as he's out of earshot): You should call him.

Me: No. 

I opened the note, out of curiosity. He'd written his email, his home phone, his cell phone, and presumably his fax line, and I'm fairly sure he signed it with x's and o's. 

Josh: You should call him. 

Me: No. I'd sooner be a cat lady. 

To illustrate that point, I ripped up the note, threw it in the trash.

Josh: That was mean and uncalled for. 

Me: He's freaking me out! 

Josh: I still think you should have called him. 

Me: Ugh. 

I was sixteen. I thought if I ignored the problem, it would just take care of itself and go away (I'm sensing a theme, here), because direct approach was not my strong suit. I hadn't had all that many guys hanging off me, so I'd never really had to be direct and just say no before. So for all you people out there who are like, "Why didn't she just say no to begin with? It would have been nicer!"

You are absolutely correct. It would have been nicer. And this story would be a lot shorter. I wish I had been direct, but I had no practical experience in being direct. I was afraid of being mean, but I was also afraid of getting asked out by a stranger. So I handled the situation the only way I knew how. Which was not the best way. For all you teenage girls out there, if a guy asks you out that you don't like or don't know or both, just tell him you're not interested. You don't have to be mean about it, just be direct. It saves time. And as long as you say it with tact (I'm sorry, I'm really just not interested, nothing personal) it's not that mean. Teenagers are fairly resilient. And if the guy persists and doesn't get the hint, then tactlessness is okay. And if he still persists after you're not just direct but blunt, probably talk to someone in a position of authority, because that's what's called harassment. 

Anyway. I actually did tell the guy whose name I forgot straight-up that I wasn't interested the next time he made a move on me. And I felt a lot better for doing so. It took one more dose of directness after that one to get him to back off, so I won't be held accountable for all my mistakes in handling this situation. Which are less than half, because I'm pretty sure if he had been able to read social cues, he would have figured it out on his own in less than ten minutes. 

Maybe I'm giving him too much credit. BUT STILL. 

And as for me? I've learned to be less passive. In the words of one of my heroines, "I have no pretension whatever to that kind of elegance which consists in tormenting a respectable man." 

And I never have, truly. For a long time, I just thought direct honesty was rudeness--I thought subtle hints would do the trick, like saying no to homecoming and saying "uh..." a lot. Also, running away in the middle of a school hallway. I've since learned that it's not and that direct honesty is actually the best policy. 

And that's the story of That Guy Who Asked Me To Homecoming After Knowing Me For Less Than Twenty Four Hours. 

Why Be a Writer (?).

I was never sure how to answer the question "what do you want to be when you grow up?" as a kid. I had a lot of things I liked to do, but I wasn't all that sure which one of those things would be what I ultimately went with as a career. I love singing; so for a while I wanted to be a legit opera singer. I love dancing, so for a while I thought maybe being a dancer would work. I wanted to be an actress, for lots of reasons, not the least of which was that I loved acting. And then for a while I wanted to be in musicals, because I'd get to do all three.

And of course, I wanted to be a writer. I had heard from a great number of my teachers that I was blessed with a way with the written word, and I had an overly active imagination as a child (and I still do, if I'm being completely honest) so writing seemed like a natural path to take. 

I focused entirely on acting in high school, and that dream of being in musicals sort of got swept away by how much I loved acting. Just in plays. I adored every single one of the roles I was in in high school, even my first-ever stage role, which was a completely mute lady in waiting in Twelfth Night. And acting is still very much a part of who I am now. 

I could have continued with my interest in acting into college, it's quite true. In some ways, I still don't entirely understand why I didn't. The best way I can describe it to you is that I just got burned out of being onstage. My senior year of high school was incredibly stressful, and I felt about six different kinds of pressure, and I really started to doubt myself where my acting abilities were concerned. Maybe that means I didn't really love it enough to pursue it. I think it just means that I got stretched too thin and needed to take some time for myself to figure out what I could and could not handle. 

So college rolled around, and I had no idea what to major in, because up until that point I had thought I was going to be an actress. Since I had always loved reading and writing, I decided to give being an English Major a try--so many people had told me I would change my mind about ten times, so I wasn't too worried about my future if English wasn't the right fit for me. 

So I entered into the English Department, with my Creative Writing Emphasis, and jumped headfirst into the work. I learned a lot my first semester from my Intro class, and I realized that writing actually felt like the Something that I loved. 

Not because it was easy. Writing is not easy. Writers are a cripplingly insecure bunch, and that's partially because of the way we work. Actors--at least, good ones--they pour themselves into their performances, for the entire world to see, and it's very real and very raw, and it can change lives. Writers do something similar, but it's a little more permanent. Putting words down on a page is the only way we really know how to communicate the entirety of what we're feeling; about politics, about life, about religion, about love, about ourselves. And once words are on the page, published, they're there. Forever. Period. Which is scary, and sometimes the self that we were at the time we wrote the piece gets preserved in those pages like a flower, and it can be embarrassing or excruciating, to see where we were at. Too young, or maybe not young enough.

 Even the authors who don't write themselves into their novels or poems or use authorial intrusion as a plot device put every ounce of themselves into every single word. And sometimes that can be devastatingly painful, especially when we are writing about the things we don't want to admit about ourselves, or our lives. Actors tell other peoples' secrets with their own selves. Writers tell their own secrets, through their characters. That's why no novel or story is ever truly neutral, because no author is. It's the reason why I hesitate to write any sort of detailed memoir about my marriage--well, that, and because digging through those old memories is too painful. I'm too close to it right now. But I can write about characters facing terrifying things without too much of a problem, because their demons, while perhaps on occasion are reflective of mine, are not mine. But it can be a release for me, just the same. 

Hemingway once said that writing is like sitting down at a typewriter and opening up a vein. It's almost like your blood becomes your ink, the story you write is made of your essence. Which is why writers are not always able to cope with rejection in a healthy way. Though all of us get rejected at one time or another, relentless rejections can start to wear on the spirit. Repeatedly putting yourself out there and repeatedly getting told no? It sucks. Actors get to deal with that, too, and it's equally as intimate, though in a different way. Editors and publishers look at the mind of the writer. Potential directors and agents look at the body of the actor. 

My acting teacher, Jared, liked to tell us "there are plenty of people who are going to tell you no. Don't be the first in line." He told us this on a regular basis. While it's a good life-policy in general, it is especially applicable, I think, to those of us who create. It's far too easy to tell yourself no as a writer--that a story isn't good, that it's actually bad enough that you should probably just stop writing it and give up because no one is going to want to publish your work anyway. 

It's hard to train yourself to think the other way. Acknowledging that a first draft is bad or weak because it is a first draft is hard. Working on it to make it better is harder. But it's something every single human on this planet has to do, in one way or another. Actors have to pick themselves up after a failed audition and keep trying. Writers have to keep sending things to agents and publishers. Painters and sculptors have to keep sending their works into galleries. Musicians have to keep composing and practicing. Businessmen have to do interview after interview. And so on. 

We humans put a lot of pressure on ourselves, especially in the type of society we live in. We're taught to. And while I think this is a good thing on one level, because it inspires people to continue to strive to be something more, it also is equally as likely to break a person--even if that person is a strong person. I think our society would benefit as a whole if we let ourselves take a step back and think, "this isn't perfect right now, but it doesn't have to be. I can improve and it doesn't have to be now." 

I know I would benefit from it. I'm far too hard on myself, and my writing file on my computer has more unfinished stories than I'd care to admit. 

So even though writing terrifies me, because sometimes I have absolutely no idea if I'm any good at it, or if I'll get any good ideas, or if anyone will ever want to publish me, I want to be a writer. I am a writer, but it's what I want to do. I never feel better than when I'm creating something, when my fingers are flying across the keyboard and the rough shapes of characters become clearer and clearer and the plot's path is revealed. Even if it's crappy, it's what meaningful feels like. It feels right.

 I don't quite know how to explain it, but it's--like how I imagine people must feel when they get an adrenaline rush from skydiving (assuming you like skydiving, of course--heights is one of my biggest fears, next to spiders, driving on the freeway, and commitment). You don't really know where you're going to land, but if the wind on your face is gorgeous and if the miles-wide view isn't just the best thing you've seen, then you don't know what is; and doesn't it feel like living, in the purest, most heartbreaking and wonderful sense? 

I know it sounds like I've been skydiving. I haven't. Writers are able to imagine situations in great detail--in other words, BS--it's one of our many talents. 

Sometimes--as I felt with acting my senior year--I don't know why I write. People tell me I'm talented; but talent doesn't always mean that a person is a good writer. I don't feel particularly proud of my writing ability, but I know that if I don't write, half of that puzzle that is my brain just disappears and I feel directionless and gross. 

And I guess that's why I write. Even though I often feel silly and like I'm shouting into the void like Augustus in The Fault in Our Stars--it's my voice, and even if it is a void that I'm shouting into, I feel better for it. 

Let's Talk Bros.

Yeah. You read that right.

So I just got back from viewing X-Men: Days of Future Past. It was actually a really good movie--well written, well acted, just all around impressive. Thank you Marvel, for creating some seriously legit superhero movies in the last few years. I don't have any complaints about it. Just an observation.

I've noticed a trend in Hollywood and filmmaking. Not specific to sci-fi films. Films in general. And I'm not the first person to have noticed this trend. I'll tell you more about it in a sec.

I'm going to share a few pictures and see if you can tell what I'm talking about.

There are lots more examples. But if you haven't yet seen the trend, I'll just say it.

There are so many movies with these meaningful male friendships. There are a few movies where meaningful best friendships between women are explored, but not really on the scale of superheroes, sci-fi, or drama. Best friendships between women are usually explored in rom-coms, and they generally don't get quite as much critical acclaim as some of these movies have.

There's actually a test for this. It's called the Bechdel Test. It's a pretty straightforward test. Its rules:

1) Two named female characters who
2) talk to each other
3) about something besides a man.

Now I know some of you might write this off as feminist b*tching, but I want you to think about it. How many sci-fi/superhero movies have you seen about female cohorts? How many dramas? When was the last time you saw two female characters playing a game of chess together, talking about mutant rights, or commanding the Starship Enterprise, or uplifting an entire nation and giving them hope?

I can't even count a full handful of fingers for plots like that. The closest I can think of is the trio of Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn/Catwoman from the DC world, and they definitely haven't been in a movie together about how Poison Ivy and Catwoman are disagreeing about the extent to which they should commit crimes or not commit them, ethically.

It just doesn't happen. Not to say that I don't think it couldn't happen. I think it's entirely plausible. I think that Hollywood just needs to realize they've got a whole mine of untapped potential sitting right under their noses, and I'm pretty sure that there's an audience for those kinds of stories. But there's this  sentiment that no one wants to see those stories. That no one cares about female friendships.

And maybe they don't. Maybe I'm just the one person who'd like to see a film about a relationship between two best female friends. But just based on the response to the strong solo female protagonist films like Hunger Games and Divergent, I don't think it's that much of a stretch to say that people would be interested in watching movies about meaningful friendships between two strong women.

We are half the population, after all.

But seriously. Go see Days of Future Past. It's a good one. And yes. The friendship between Magneto and Charles did make me get a little misty. I'm not saying I don't appreciate a good male friendship.

I'm just saying I think people would appreciate a movie about a good female friendship, too.

My First Kiss Was a Stage Kiss, so it Doesn't Count

I know it may stun some of you to learn that I went through all four years of high school without actually having been kissed by anyone. But it's actually fairly in keeping with my character at the time. I was shy, I had a lot of body issues, I was in a committed relationship with my studies  and I had even less of an idea how to interact with men than I do now.

I've progressed! I used to just not talk to guys I was attracted to outside of class. Now I talk to them, but I occasionally squeak at them or get all tongue tied, and when I say occasionally I mean "about half the time."

I'm a work in progress. I know it.

Senior year of high school, I was a major theatre kid. I was attending a performing-arts charter school which functioned in conjunction with a normal high school, so before you get all Oh, you didn't have any real classes? Yes. I did. I had lots of real classes. And they were all either Honors or AP, so no, I didn't go to a theatre school to get the easy way out. And for the record, performing arts school is not the easy way out. Hardly. It's difficult, strenuous even--mentally and physically--but highly rewarding if you are willing to put in the work.

Anyway. So part of my acting training that year involved a little class called Voice for the Actor, where we learned the International Phonetic Alphabet and applied it to dialects and speaking correctly and all that other stuff that actors need to learn how to do. So one of our assignments was to translate the balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet into IPA, memorize it, mark it with our intentions and tactics, and then perform it for the class with a partner.

Now, if you've seen the balcony scene at all, you know that kissing is involved, and we had a grand total of 3, maybe 4 guys in our class, and about 14 girls. I can do math just as well as the next person, and that doesn't exactly divide out evenly. In fact, it doesn't divide out at all. So my teacher, Jared, came up with the brilliant solution of drawing straws to decide which one of us girls would perform with which guy, and each of the guys would end up performing the scene multiple times to accommodate the sheer number of women.

Frankly, I'm surprised there aren't more hetero guys in theatre in high school, because there are nearly always more girls than guys, and we theatre girls are kind of awesome.

I was transcribing and memorizing my scene, just like everyone else, but there was one thing that I didn't really have in common with most of my classmates.

I had never been kissed. I was eighteen. I was half humiliated by this fact, half proud of it. But I really, really was terrified of potentially getting kissed, even though it was just a stage kiss--and though there's no emotional connection, it's not like the physical part of the action just goes away because you're on stage. I had these horrible mental pictures of banging heads with my scene partner or missing their mouth and hitting their nose or something. Or, even more humiliating, I might end up getting assigned to do the scene with the guy I had had a crush on the previous year.

So I went to talk to the school's resident Teddy Roosevelt look-alike and one of my favorite non-arts related teachers, Mr. Gardner, who taught AP US History. Both of the AP History teachers at my high school were the best academic teachers I had during high school. Their teaching styles taught me more about what to expect from college than anything else had, and I always felt like I could go to either of them with any questions or concerns I had.

But on this subject, Mr. Gardner had less advice than I had hoped. When I said I had to do a stage class, he was like, "That's not a big deal, right? Actors do that all the time." And I was like, "No. I haven't kissed anyone. Like, ever." And he kind of just looked at me and was like, "Well, you better go find the guy you like and fix that before you do your stage kiss, because that's pretty sad."

I didn't.

So the day that memorization was due by and the first day of the scene performances dawned, and Jared drew our lots, and--no surprise--I was up first. They say things always come in threes, well, I had my first non-official kiss,  I had to perform one of the most famous scenes in all of history for my classmates, and it was also the day that my one-act play that I had directed for my directing class (shocker) was due.

Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeah. To say I was stressed that day was an understatement.

My number came up, and my scene partner was a young man named Austin. I think he was either a freshman or a sophomore, and he was really nice. Sweet. I was just glad that I wasn't going to be kissing that guy I had had a crush on.

So we got up there, performed the scene--I'm fairly sure one of my "what's next" notes was "SLOW DOWN," because that was always one of my notes as an actress; since I talk fast when I get nervous, and I was really pretty edgy that day. But I knew my lines and I only fudged up once or twice.

And then, right after one of my lines, Austin and I kissed, through the bars of the extremely rickety balcony on the globe-style stage. And it was fine, but--

Totally not what I was expecting. Actually, I don't know what I was expecting. I guess it was because Austin and I were only barely friends, I didn't really know him or have chemistry or history with him, and he was so much younger (the age gap is wider in high school) and I  didn't have any feelings for him beyond that, but I always thought the first time I kissed someone, I'd feel something. A spark at least. Not necessarily a fanfare or something, but our culture does tend to romanticize first kisses. . .and I'm pretty sure that Shakespeare's culture did, too.

It was a quick kiss, and then it was over. I was a little shocked and overwhelmed, but I sat and took notes from my teacher and my classmates like a good little actor. The best note was this:

Jared: You know how sometimes, kisses just happen?
Me: No.

It was fairly common knowledge in the class that I hadn't kissed anyone outside of now having been stage-kissed, and so I got a pretty good-sized laugh from everyone there at that, including Jared.

Jared: Trust me, they do.
Me: I'll take your word for it.
Jared: So technically, you could have gone for more than one kiss, since it doesn't exactly say when they kiss in the script or how many times it happens.

More than one? I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the physical action of a kiss had happened to me once. Luckily, Jared didn't make me perform the scene more than once and so it gave me plenty of time to get my head screwed on straight and get the set all ready for my one-act.

Jared was right, though. Kisses do just sometimes happen, both casually and in committed relationships, and with people you don't expect, in ways you don't expect. More than once, too; which I learned after graduation from high school. Thankfully, none of the subsequent kisses I had off-stage took place on a rickety balcony that probably could have fallen off and killed me if I'd leaned on it wrong.

It's little things like that that put everything into perspective.

“Hey Boo.”

Wow, that last post was a downer, wasn't it?  But it's important and something I feel strongly about. And yep, occasionally there will be heavier posts on here. If you don't like 'em, feel free to skip them. I won't judge.

We're gonna switch gears now and talk about books. My favorite book, to be exact. And when I say favorite book, I don't actually mean "favorite book." Let me explain.

I'm in the same metaphorical boat as John Green--although, for the record, I would not be complaining if I was on a literal boat with him, because the conversation would be ah-mazing--and that boat is "I don't have A favorite book, I have hundreds!"So when I say favorite, it's just the easiest way to express this concept:

In Fahrenheit 451 (a novel where books are contraband and also incidentally one of my favorite books) by Ray Bradbury, the protagonists finds a group of people who are literally a library, because each one has memorized a book word-for-word. They are the keepers of the stories until such time as they can be written down again. When I read this book in high school, my honors English teacher, Ruthie, challenged us to think about what book we would memorize if something like this ever happened to our society (Shakespeare forbid!). She told us that her book had changed over the years, but she finally settled on Huck Finn by Mark Twain. 

So, being the thoughtful 16-year-old that I was, I went home and thought about it. A lot. I don't remember what the first book I decided on was, but it changed a few times until I picked this little gem:

This, to me, is one of the most important works of American literature. Granted, it has some overall racial-themed problems (in that the white characters intercede on behalf of the black characters), but this  little book is--I think--one of the most honest and mimetic books about a time period. Ever. Harper Lee wrote only one novel, but she hit it out of the park. Especially when you consider that the only other Southern woman who wrote only one popular novel was Margaret Mitchell and that novel was Gone with the Wind. Which is an important book and a good read, but nowhere near on the scale of To Kill a Mockingbird and at least twice as long. 

I think what makes this novel so honest and so important is the fact that it is told through a child's eyes. And Scout is a great person to keep company with, because she tells it like she sees it. Lee is a genius at weaving together the voices of Innocence and Experience seamlessly, so that the reader barely even notices it, and you end up learning something from this child about human nature. As Scout says: "I think there's only one kind of folks--folks."

The narrative is so direct. It looks at ugly themes right at the face and tells us exactly what they are, which takes away a good deal of their power. Bob Ewell, who is the main face of racism in the book, becomes small and kind of pathetic when Scout looks at him during Atticus's cross-examination. 

And--speaking of--there's something about Atticus. 

Of the literary figures I have crushes on, Atticus is actually on the top of the list (I know you all are shocked it's not Sherlock or Darcy--maybe I just have a thing for specs). I love Atticus because of the type of man he is--he's honest with himself, his children, and he is not afraid to stand up against the majority. The courtroom scene, where he defends Tom Robinson--his rhetoric is just so flawless, amazing and airtight and even though he's white you just know he is a good person.  I think that's kind of sexy. Not to mention Gregory Peck's acting skills are of the best variety. It'd be hard not to have a crush on him.  

In fact, Atticus helped me get into college. In order to complete my application to school, I had to write an essay--a common occurrence, granted. I wrote mine about Atticus, and how I wanted to grow up to be someone like him. I want to be the kind of well-educated, morally responsible citizen that he is. If there were more people like Atticus in the world, we'd be in good shape. 

I really do think this book is important. Even with its flaws. It says something very important about the amazing aspects of human nature and resilience as well as human foible and ugliness. 

And that's what art is supposed to do, as far as I'm concerned. It shows you the entire range of the human existence without hiding behind fancy diction.

And that's why it's my favorite book. 

An Open Letter to Eating Disorders

Dear Eating Disorders,

I really hate talking about you. I hate reading about you when other people write about you, even when they write about you well. But until you stop being a thing that happens to young people and women, I'm going to have to talk about you.

When I was fourteen, I became anorexic. I had been going down that path for the majority of my life, when I think about it, because when I was in kindergarten I thought I was fat. The culture of thinness is hitting girls at younger and younger ages--I was just a casualty, like every other young girl who has looked at their body and thought, there's something wrong with this over and over again until something in their mind just snaps. And that's where you come in.

You are a false sense of control. When everything else in life was spiraling out of my hands and I didn't know what to do, I turned to you. Sometimes I still turn to you, even though I'm a recovered anorexic by this point and most of the time I like my curves. But you're a security blanket, a bright and shiny feeling of emptiness that I can tuck around me like a suit of armor. Unfortunately you don't actually address the real problem--you don't cover up my Achilles heel, as it were. So even though I felt more and more invincible with every meal I threw in the trash, I was actually getting weaker, physically and mentally, and I didn't actually feel better about myself like I thought I would. It almost became a sick game, a challenge that I had to meet--just another ten pounds gone, and I'll be pretty and worth loving and life will start to make sense and I won't hurt anymore. 

If that sounds sick, that's because it is. You're sick, eating disorders. You're poison to even the healthiest little girls' minds. You're sick because being a recovered anorexic is like being a recovered alcoholic: you never stop being an alcoholic, you just stop drinking. Similarly, you never stop being anorexic or bulimic or a binger--you just learn how to control those impulses and manage your diet in a healthy way. But those demons never stop following you. And sometimes it's easier to say no to them than others.

I hate you, eating disorders. There aren't many things in this world that I hate, but I hate you. I hate you for what you've done to my mind and the minds of so many other women and girls in this country. I hate you because even though the news media has been talking about you for years, nothing has really been done to correct the damage that you do--ideal body size has fluctuated up and down with fads but nothing has been done to relieve women of the pressure of living up to that standard, so body image disorders (which lead to you) have flourished for a long time. I hate you for how physically ill and weak you make people. I hate you for the lives you've taken.

I don't want pity from anybody. I don't want to self-aggrandize or make myself seem brave for having faced you because I'm not the only one that's done so and it's our stories together that make us more powerful than you. I will fight in the crusade against you and I'm not going to stop fighting until you no longer touch human lives. Because I might have a daughter someday and I don't want you anywhere near her. Because fighting against you for even her hypothetical sake is the right thing to do. And I'm not going to be fighting alone.

That's the funny thing about messing with people's lives: you make enemies. And the enemy of my enemy is my friend. That's how alliances are formed. That's how someday--we're all going to beat you.

Vehemently,
Hilary

Every Crappy Relationship Cloud has a Silver Lining

And yes, I am aware of how cliche that sounds. I worked as an editor of a literary magazine for a year and the year before that I was on the staff of said literary magazine.

Trust me. I know all about cliches. I've run across them in stories, I've read stories where they're used ironically, and I've even been known on occasion to use the word cliche as a descriptor. Sometimes I think cliche is a cliche, because I'm meta like that.

That was really, ridiculously off-topic. The real topic of this blog post is my dear friend and pen-pal, Melece,  who I would not have met or corresponded with had it not been for my ex.

Let's go back in time to May 2011. My ex (though we were neither involved nor dating at the time) had traveled to Hawaii to stay for a month, to visit a friend who was attending BYU-Hawaii and also just because Hawaii. There are not many things that would dissuade me (or anyone) from going to a place with so many beaches and such nice weather.

I've been landlocked for far too long. I MISS THE OCEAN. Send help!

Anyway. The Ex and Melly became acquainted, became friends, and were sort of flirty and such with each other (but everyone who knows my ex knows he's flirty--our nickname for him freshman year was Shamu, not because he was whale-like but because the amount of girls he'd either flirted with or been involved with was substantial--being female and being around him was kind of like sitting in the splash zone at Seaworld; your chances were pretty good that he'd flirt with you. Yes, I know it sounds mean. No, I'm not proud of it. There's a lot I'm not proud of). And then he came back to the continental states and within two weeks we were dating.

I'd heard about Melly because in the space of time before we'd started dating he'd talked to me about this amazing girl he met in Hawaii who he hoped to date when he got back from his mission. He talked about her a lot, and I kind of had a crush on him, so I was sort of disheartened, but I decided that I wouldn't say anything and just be his friend until the crush just wore off. It wasn't like he was the only guy I'd had a crush on freshman year--there was one other guy I liked majorly, but I didn't think he was interested in me (I thought I wasn't his type or something), because I had terrible self esteem and thought most guys wouldn't crush on me.

For Sylvia Plath's sake, Me from the Past. GUYS LIKE YOU. Be a little more confident! And learn to be confident sooner rather than later!

Letting the crush disappear on its own worked so well, because one day in June, out-of-the-blue, he invited me to hang out with him and that was the day he kissed me and we started dating, which I totally did not expect because he seemed really committed to this idea of dating Melly after his mission and I think I even said something about it, but I can't remember if it was before or after my Ex Ted Mosby-ed me that night. He said exactly those words that Ted says to Robin in the pilot episode of How I Met Your Mother. I mean, we'd known each other for a while, but I had not expected it and I had no idea what to say back. What popped out of my mouth was more knee-jerk reaction than anything, and it wasn't "WHAT?" because obviously we started dating. It should have been "WHAT?!"

Yeah. Like that. 

But it wasn't.

Fast forward again to when I was engaged. The whole time I was dating my ex I always felt a little bit like I was competing with or had to measure up to Melly, because he would tell me he was talking to her, and sometimes he would text her when I was with him and ignore me. So needless to say I had been a little jealous, and when I got engaged to my ex I figured the best way to get rid of the stupid jealousy was to get to know this girl. So we started talking. And amazingly, we became friends. It was kind of magical. I found out that I really enjoyed talking to her, because she was funny and smart and had lots of good stories to tell, and we shared lots of common interests--more than my ex had shared with me, if I'm being honest.

Friendship. You find it in the weirdest places. And I'm so glad I did, because without Melly, the end of my marriage would have been a lot harder. Melly was the first person to point out that it sounded like I was being emotionally abused. She was always someone I could talk to when times got particularly ugly, and I am so grateful for that. Some debts you never can repay, and Melly's presence in my life when I needed it most is one of those things. And we'd never actually met in person! We corresponded though facebook messages and letters, and let me just add that having a pen pal is one of the most enriching things in the world. You should go get one.

My last year of undergrad kind of took a giant chunk out of my free time, and so my letter writing has suffered shamefully (sorry, Mel, I'm gonna write more now that I'm more free) and Melly got engaged to her adorable missionary and is now married to him.

Seriously. It's so cute it makes me sick--in a good way. You should go read her blog and see for yourself how smart and funny and amazing she is.

But! Last December/January, I had the opportunity to meet Melly In Person, when she came to my home state. We got to hang out and play weird games and watch Rom Coms one day and the next day she had an engagement party, which I attended. Her family was so nice and welcoming, and hanging out with Melly didn't feel awkward at all. It was actually kind of like meeting a celebrity for me, so I was probably more awkward than she was because I so admire her.

I even made a new friend at her engagement party--another person Melly had met online in a girls waiting for missionaries group--so it just goes to show you that the internet is a fully valid way to meet people, and that the next time Melly's in town, Emerlie, Melly, and I are going to hang out and be awesome.

And that's the absolutely true story of how I became friends with someone my ex had a crush on. After the last post I wanted to show that yes, it's totally possible, and sometimes those friendships become some of the strongest you've got. Melly really is the silver lining to a really dark time in my life--because she's just super like that. 

I'm glad she's my friend. 

You think your life is full of uncomfortable moments? I ran into my ex's ex at ComicCon.

We all remember that time I was married. I've talked about it before now. But that's not the purpose of this post.

Well, it's kind of related. But not too much.

Way back in March, I was invited--very courteously, I might add--by my best friend Sahara's boyfriend to go with him to ComicCon. This was NOT repeat NOT a date--Sahara was off being all academic in Chicago at the American Sociological Association Conference, she would have gone with him if she had been in town, and she was totally okay with me accompanying Landon as friends.

Landon and I are good buddies anyway--antisocial people are pretty good at understanding other antisocial people, and we were both super stoked about going to ComicCon. I was dressed up as Peggy Carter (as you'll remember if you read my post about Statuesque Guy) and Landon had a nametag on a Despicable Me/Doctor Who mashup shirt that read "Hello, I am a Stick."

He wasn't in full costume that day, and besides, it's a joke that only people who read Brandon Sanderson understand.

Anyway. We went into the convention center, mouths open, squealing "Look! Harry Potter things! Look! Doctor Who things! LOOK BUTTONS! Look, ART! A TARDIS? CAN WE GET A PICTURE WITH IT? NATHAN FILLION IS GOING TO BE HERE CAN I MAKE OUT WITH HIM?"

All the yes PLEASE

It really did escalate like that, and ok, that last comment was all me and not Landon, and I may have said it twice or. . .okay, okay, maybe three times. I would like to state that Landon was totally on the lookout for Rapunzel art, because she's his favorite Disney Princess so he was in no place to judge me for my strong attraction to the impeccable Captain Tight Pants. And yes. He has a favorite Disney Princess. And you do too, don't try to deny it. It just means he's cool.

There were quite a lot of people there in costume, and there were quite a lot of people whose costumes were much more impressive and less. . .obscure (I hesitate to use that word, because Peggy Carter is a pretty well known character, but apparently most people don't cosplay her as she appears in the movie scene where she wears the red dress) than mine and Landon's.

About ten minutes and lots of concrete and fluorescent lights after entering the behemouth convention center, my fellow adventurer and I came across these two young women, dressed up as two of the three female Jedi in the Star Wars Universe, and their costumes were impressive and detailed, and because ComicCon is 20% asking random strangers with good costumes to take pictures with you, we walked up to them and asked them if they'd take pictures with us. They agreed.

One of the girls--she was painted blue--looked slightly stymied and was studying my face.

Her: Do I know you? You look really familiar.
Me: Do I?
Her: Yeah, you do. I don't know if I'm recognizable--I'm blue.
Me (looking at her face): Huh.

So we posed for the picture, and it really started to bother me, because she did look familiar even though she was blue and had tentacles on her head. And I said as much.

Her: What's your name?
Me: Hilary. Yours?

As she said her name, she got this look on her face like something had clicked, and about two seconds later--I blame the delay on her blueness--who she was clicked with me.

She was the girl my ex had dated a few months after the annulment had been granted. They'd broken up, but I knew who she was; and she knew who I was, and there was this unspoken moment of "well, I don't know what to say," and we just turned away from each other and I walked away with Landon, who was suddenly my new favorite person in the world.

As soon as we were out of earshot, I whispered at him. Which was a silly thing to do in a convention center full of lots of people.

Me: I know who she is.
Him: Who??
Me: She's my ex's ex.

Great costumes. Awkward moment awaiting us.

And then Landon just started laughing. And patting my shoulder and apologizing all at the same time, because Landon, although he might laugh at my discomfort, is strangely adept handling at other people's crises with calmness. He was very understanding when I got weirded out every fifteen minutes and hid behind him when going around corners.

It wasn't that she seemed odd or mean. She seemed really nice, actually, and I definitely was impressed by her cosplay--she seemed like the kind of person I would have liked to be friends with under different circumstances. It was the weirdness of the association that was making me hide behind Landon and occasionally make pterodactyl noises whenever I thought about that moment. And I'm fairly sure she was having similar feelings about interacting with me.

But really, though. Anyone who puts together a cosplay like that and paints herself blue has to be an awesome person, because THAT is commitment to NerdDom. I just wish I had known what to say to her.

And poor Landon. No one deserves to be walking around with a friend who makes quiet pterodactyl noises at intervals. Like I said, he was very understanding, so every time I whimpered he just patted my shoulder and said "it's okay." Which actually really did help.

But we did end up having an excellent time, all said and done. I got to become better buddies with my best friend's boyfriend, which is important to me because Sahara has basically told me that she has to approve anyone I get involved with in the future (and with my dating track record--with the exception of one or two good guys, it's been messy--who can blame her?), so I feel it my duty to return the favor. Hanging out with him that day reaffirmed my initial impression: Landon really is a cool person. And I cannot WAIT for ComicCon in the fall. I have some ideas for an actual planned legit cosplay this time, but I'm afraid divulging those would be

Spoilers. ;)

And this cosplay was the funniest thing I've ever seen.
Sorry, Spider-Man. 

My Strangest Childhood Career Aspiration

Well...strange isn't actually the best word for it. Out-of-Character is more accurate. But hyperbole is what we live for, us humans, and so I'm keeping the title.

When I was about ten, I wanted to be a scientist.

Yes. ME. The girl who never wanted to take off the Disney-Store Belle dress and spent the majority of her childhood life aspiring to be a princess. I wanted to be a scientist. Which is funny considering the fact that I hated math even back then, but it's absolutely true. I don't know how I thought I would manage to dig up dinosaur bones without some sort of mathematical background, but hey. I was ten.

Specifically, I wanted to be a paleontologist. My family was going through the Kenneth Branaugh narrated "Dinosaurs" series, and I got sucked-in fascinated. I wanted to learn everything about dinosaurs. I wanted to dig up dinosaurs. I put down my Belle costume and left princesses in the dust. I started collecting dinosaur toys and learning all their fancy Latin-based names and characteristics. I watched dinosaur movies and pretended like one of my guardian angels was an allosaurus.

I'm honestly not making this up.

 I'm kind of amazed by that period in my life. It seems so brave, to want to be a scientist, and specifically the kind of scientist who digs up bones in the desert. Ten-year old me didn't ever account that I probably would have fried like an egg in the unforgiving sun and ended up some vulture's dinner, but I was a very idealistic child.

It is in keeping with my character, though, that I never wanted to be a scientist of the First, Second, or Third Degree, because the Holy Trinity of Sciences does involve a lot of math, and as one of my favorite professors--Dave, of the Geology department--elaborated, science has a hierarchy. It looks like this:

-Physics!!! Discovering the secrets of the universe!
-Chemistry!! Discovering and testing the elements of the secrets of the universe!
-Biology! Where you start getting into gross squishy things.
-Geology/the rest of the digging- around-in-earth disciplines.
-Stamp Collecting.
-
-
-
-
-Psychology.

Yeah, scientists tend to trash on psychology. It's still funny, and I'm betting you probably laughed, even though you felt bad.

I guess maybe ten-year-old-me never considered that math would factor in to digging around in the dirt looking for fossils. Maybe that was eventually what turned me off of becoming a paleontologist. I don't actually remember why. I just know that by the time I was thirteen or so, I was no longer able to name off all the dinosaurs. I started watching Lord of the Rings and thinking about boys and worrying about getting my period, because how awful does that sound can it just not happen to me?

Sorry, Me from the Past. Life's not fair sometimes and your body will win in the end.

Basically, I think around that time was when I started to realize I wanted to be a writer. Or an actor. I think I realized that being one or both of those two things would be the most fulfilling life path. Plus if I became an actor I'd get to wear a corset, and apparently that sounded like a good idea? I don't know. I was on the brink of an eating disorder when I was thirteen. Being skinny was what I dreamed about.

Actually, you know what? I've done a lot of reading as to why girls lose their more "masculine" ambitions--like being president, or a scientist, or whatever--around the age of thirteen because society presses in and imposes social norms and photoshopped magazine covers and girls start worrying more about their attractiveness than their aspirations. And eating disorders are sadly really common amongst young girls and can have an affect on the development of the body and mind.

Oooh, the bull***t of the patriarchy. Gets me every time (Hold on, don't interpret this as Hilary is blaming the patriarchy for all her life's problems and she could have been a paleontologist if she wanted to. I'm not blaming the patriarchy for causing me to lose my interest in paleontology, but I am blaming it for giving girls eating disorders and causing ridiculous gender inequality).

Hmm. Well. I may have learned something today about the psychological reason why I decided not to be a paleontologist thanks to being all conversational on the blog. Thanks, blog!

And I'm glad I'm a writer/sometimes an actor anyway. Those are great passions, and they are two disciplines that enable the person to learn about subjects like science and medicine and just the way people interact with other people. Which are all important and beautiful things.

But if I have a kid, and that kid is a daughter, I hope she follows her aspirations and if she wants to be a scientist, I will support the hell out of that. And if she's more left-brained, like me, I'll support that too.

And even if she goes through a phase where she wants to learn about paleontology and considers a trip to Vernal, UT to look at dinosaur bones "fun," I'll pull out those dinosaur toys and we'll learn together.

And then in a few years when she's a teenager I'll just embarrass her constantly. So it'll be all good.