My Mustache and Willies

I do support the troops and all, I just get the willies every time
I get pulled over. The willies are those really awful chilly feelings you
get when you are trouble. The exchange is just awkward to me.
Parent/child relationship feel.

I had a terrible, no good, very awful day yesterday.

I was coming out from an appointment when one of my
client's mother called me; I'm an awesome listener and I may
not have been paying attention as great as I should have. I may
have pulled out a little close in front of a vehicle. It wasn't that awful
though. Really. But I do realize that I am distracted and
pull into the nearest store parking lot to finish my call.

I am a good citizen for pulling over right?

Naturally, I was surprised when I get out of my car to grab
something from the trunk and a very menacing police officer is
leaning up against my car. Whoa!! Where'd you come from?!

"Do you know what you did?" he said.

"Uh... you mean pulling out in front of that car out there? I didn't
see him, sir. I am truly sorry."

He looked really mean. It was making me nervous.
"Do you know why you did that? That is called reckless driving."

"I really didn't see him sir until I was already out in the lane..."

"You know why?" he interrupts. "Because you were on that thing,"
pointing at my offending cell phone sitting on the seat.

Man, this is going to make my mom so happy. She is always telling
me to get off my phone when I drive because I'm too distracted.
I realize denial is never going to work. I pull out the big guns: sympathy.

"Yes, sir. You are right. May I tell you why I was so distracted?"
He looked really mean. Did I mention that?

Silence.

"Can I?"

More glaring. And then a slight nod.

"Well sir, I am a PSR Worker and that happened to be a call from
one of the client with not the greatest news. I really didn't see that other
car. I realized I was far too distracted, thus while I pulled into this lot
to finish the call. I am usually quite a responsible driver."

(PSR Worker and police have to work together occasionally. I had
a friend who got out of a $80 ticket because she was able to convince
them that her driving record was really important to keep clean to be
able to transport clients. Handy knowledge in times like this.)

He asks me lots of questions: who do I work for, where was I headed, ect.
He takes my license and registration and tells me to go sit down while he
does his little laptop thing in the car. I am biting my nails. I got a ticket
not two months ago will that effect how awesome I look as a responsible
PSR/citizen?
He walks back I give him my "sorry-I-am-such-an-idiot-and-this-will-never-
happen-again" look. He tells me that I really need to watch my driving
because I have two citations from 2010. I want to tell him that that was
soooo last year; I am a reformed woman! But I don't.

A not so bad interaction and I got away with nothing but a nose bleed.
No seriously my nose started bleeding a few minutes later.

Life could have gotten a lot better, but it didn't.
I went and picked up one of my kids. A six year old who is learning
English. I am talking with him about meditation (right what six year old
is going to use meditation?) when he starts pointing and laughing at my face.
All my insecurities come out.
Did I write on myself with pen?
Do I have a big zit that needs popping?
Is my nose really that ugly?
What did I eat for lunch?

He blurts out,"You have a mustache!"
I hurry and turn around to see who of my co-workers heard.
I'm dying in my seat. I try to hurry and talk to him about making fun
of people but he is just laughing too hard. So I do the only logical thing:

I put him in time-out.
(He deserved it. He was being mean to me.)

Then run to the bathroom to check out this mustache.

Truth: I use Nair.
And we are close that I can tell you that.
I hadn't used it in a while, but honestly it wasn't that bad. No black hairs,
just a little long around the edges of my mouth.

We had a good long discussion about making fun of people.

Mister says he doesn't see the stache. But he is too sweet so
honestly can't be trusted.

You should totally follow me!

(at least watch the funny video at the end of this post)

I have a love/hate relationship with blogging. I don't keep a journal
and so a part of me likes the idea of continued blogging to keep
my thoughts organized, written down, and easier to look at and analyze
and figure out.

At the same time blogging makes me selfish. I am constantly thinking
about events in the day and whether they are worthy enough to have
a blog post about them. And how can I be more enjoyable as to attract
more followers/friends? Also, the fact that I tell people about my
life expecting them to be interested is weird and unnatural to me.

Then there is the pictures. I want to take beautiful pictures, a tribute
to my art education, to post on here. That requires time taking them,
editing them, figuring out how to get them to fit on the screen, and then
commenting on them in an interesting way. And I
have just spent a great deal of time typing, trying to get most of my grammar
mistakes out, and attempting to be clever, at least to the best of my ability.
This adds up dear friends. How do you do it with a full time job, a full time
boyfriend, and a full time church calling? Tell me!

But blogging has a great purpose as well.
The divine ability to connect individuals without having to get dressed,
set a date, and organize an activity. We just get on the internet and we are
able to help, laugh, and cheer each other on. Yay.

Honestly, I don't know what sparked all this thinking except it is
one of the days where I feel obligated to blog but have nothing interesting
to say. And to those who feel this online life is a little weird, I agree:

Envious

I am feeling a bit envious today. It all started when I tried to put
on a pair of pants and realized that although I've been trying, I
probably haven't lost a single pound in my diet. Oddly, I envy
those people who can be happy with their salads and veggies.
(I wish I was stylish enough to be a vegetarian.)
I am not happy with my veggies.

I love Mister, but we have this conflict of interest. He likes to
munch and I have no self-control. He leaves snacks hanging
around and I just happen to be in charge of making sure the quality
of food in his bachelor pad stays fresh. Not an easy task mind you, it
requires a lot of sniffing and taste testing. And the biggest problem in
our relationship: he has no ability to tell me "no."

My boyfriend also doesn't like anything good, and stylish, like
pickles and tomatoes.
I love pickles and tomatoes.

I am envious of people who are able to drink 8 glasses of water a day,
who take their 14 vitamins regularly, who are flossing, and are able to
put their hair in ponytails. Yes, mine won't grow.

Why do Mormons eat so much?

Oh I am envious of those who got ready at a decent hour today.
I just got out of the shower.

All of this stemmed from the fact that I feel guilty for drinking my
Mountain Dew and eating my Teddy Grahams after 8pm last night.
Everyone knows that you shouldn't eat after 8pm if you want to lose weight.
We did Harry Potter at the drive-in though. I love drive-ins. It is great to be
able to carry in your snacks, a pillow, a blanket, a camera, a chair, some entertaining
music, and my laptop without trying to figure out how to make it all fit in my purse.
Plus, I can get up and walk around and talk to people if I want.

Mister says I talk too loud at all the wrong times and too quiet every other time.

I convinced him once to sneak in Chinese food at the movie theater. He
spent the whole time looking over his shoulder to make sure we weren't going to
get kicked out. I ate it all. I didn't have any guilt. I am envious that he has a compass
that tells him so explicitly right from wrong. Next time maybe he'll let me sneak in
something a lot less sticky.

Oh and Harry Potter... the books are better.
I am envious of those who get such a kick out of the movies. They don't
even let you carry in your own snacks.

(The movie was pretty good.)

Wise Words

{us in Times Square on the big screen}

And now marriage advice from two people who aren't married
but think they know a lot because we are young,
but not necessarily naive:

My Mister:
"The trick to a successful marriage is not realizing what a pain
the other person is."

Me:
well... I actually didn't say anything profound, but
I laughed really hard when he said this and
I wrote about marriage here. (it was sort of more about the
wedding day, although impertinent to marriage. I'm counting it.)

I did a Napoleon

I live in Idaho. Idaho is cool. The movie Napoleon Dynamite took place in
Idaho; so it's cool, right? (I'm a little ashamed to admit that I've watched that
movie more times than I can count.) Remember the part where Kip runs over
the tupperware when he is trying to sell it. I love it for some reason.

I dropped one of my rubbermaids last night while unloading my trunk and
couldn't find it. I figured I'd get it in the morning when I could see it.
I forgot. It didn't make it.
Although I'm impressed there isn't more damage from being run over.
I recommend the brand. Found at any local Wal-mart.
(They should pay me.)

I am probably the only one that thinks this is slightly humorous.

The man and I went out to my sister's place over the weekend. She is the
first of my siblings to return back to our roots. I think we are all slightly envious.
There are goats, chickens, a pony, a pit bull, and a
few cows all running around getting along quite well. I just took a few pictures
of my niece that is so stinkin' cute its ridiculous.

Indulge me please.



She's pretty much in love with him, too.
It honestly can't be helped.









She is kind of a little rascal. Extremely hard to take pictures of because
she moves around so much. Zip, zoom. I am loving my new lens though.
If you didn't know, my new toy is the Canon 24-105mm and there is love all
around with this baby. My mister says that all I said in New York was:
"My feet hurt."
and...
"I love this lens!"

Hey sis, I'll be getting you the pictures somehow. Soon.

A Found Note

I have a whole room at my parent's dedicated to the remnants

of my divorce. I have enough nice plates to feed an army.
I have towels. I have blankets; I have one that has the Idaho Falls
Temple beautifully embroidery on it--a heirloom I suppose. I have
a scrapbook that I painstakingly put together telling myself over
and over that I wasn't wasting my time, things would
get better. When a good friend asked me what I wanted for a wedding
gift, I told him a vacuum. He got my favorite color. It sits collecting dust.
I have the cute little-ice-cream-cone-shaped bowls with matching spoons,
missing one because he dropped it, shattering it into a million pieces.
I have picture frames still filled with us, waiting for me to find them and
change their stories. I have enough food storage for two for a year.

I have far too much for being single. Just sitting there in great piles
that get tipped over and scattered as I occasionally dig to find things.

It reminds me of him.
I remember who gave us what on that day. Everything was so exciting because
it held so much promise. Items to fill a new home. Items to help a new family get
started. It is a guilty treasure trove because
none of it was meant for someone who would a year later be throwing in the
towel. But I hold onto it because it is what is left for me to start new someday.

Today, I found a note from my boyfriend about a simple thing like loving
my laugh. It made me smile and feel good about keeping stuff.
It's what got me thinking about the important things to keep around.
I have someone really great. Someone so entirely special that sometimes
I am taken back that he loves me. (I check to make sure all the time.)

And someday I hope, knock on wood, that he will be the one helping me
unpack.

The Note:

Reasons Kendra is More Amazing than She Gives Herself Credit For
#4 Your Laugh
I absolutely love it when you laugh. It's such a bright and cheery laugh. Your eyes squint a little and your tongue hits the back of your teeth and I can't help smiling when you do it. It's great. Plus, when you laugh, you smile, and wow! What a gorgeous smile it is. I won't get into that though, because I think it deserves its own list item later on.

I sure like him.

7.9.11 Letter

I remember nights driving around feeling so empty, a shell, with every
breath making me more aware how I had nothing more to draw on.
I remember trying to stop my uncontrollable crying
because there were no more tissues in the car and I was getting
snot everywhere due to my sweater's inability to hold anymore
moisture. I remember thinking of all the ways I could stop this pain.
I remember contemplating which would be the easiest.

I kept thinking that there was no one to turn to.
You thought I loved him, that I was happy.
My friends were all single and wishing they were married and in my place.
God, well God was disappointed in me. A whole bunch.
I didn't want to talk to him then. I didn't know how to listen.

I irrationally thought I couldn't go home to you; I was suppose to cleave
unto my husband. I couldn't call my friends, that would be disloyal.
I wanted to do anything but return to him; he was the only one that was
waiting though.

Hours and hours of wishing that I could talk to you.

That small apartments full of ugly words, hateful yelling, angry
looks, and high expectations was not safe. I lived there daily trying, struggling
to do what I could to make it home. Scrubbed it clean of filthy, trying to
make it appear cozy, comfortable, and happy--how I wanted others to see
us. When all along I knew that the neighbors could hear us. I knew by their
inability to look me in the eye. By the silence that echoed after all the words
were said and we were both too exhausted to yell anymore. And I knew
they were whispering behind our backs that they would give us a year.

I remember all those feelings.
But I remember also when my walls couldn't hold back the surge
any longer and one night, when I knew it was past your bed time, I called.

I was terrified.
I was afraid that you were going to be so disappointed in me,
when I've wanted nothing more then to make you proud.
I cried. I cried so hard that it was difficult for you to understand me.
I told you about our fight. Just that one. Just the one that made me go
out in the cold that night, not the others, not about how wrong and lost
I felt. I just wanted to come home. I just wanted you to hold me.
I can't fathom that you did what you did.
Listened.
You let me break.
(That was the night that a cop found me in the church parking lot and
asked if I needed help. I was pink and puffy and hiccuping because
I was crying so hard. I barely got out that
I was just talking with my mom. He left pretty fast. I think he knew I was
going to be okay, if I was talking to you.)

There were a lot more phone calls after that from a broken daughter
lost in the world of marriage.
I think about how lucky I am and was. That I had someone
like you to turn to. I know you wish that you could have protected
me from everything that happened. But you couldn't. And I'm
glad you didn't, because somehow it needed to happen.
You did everything you needed to do.

There is a big piece of my heart that will never forget your encouraging
words and your unconditional love.

I wish I could express what is making me cry right now.
I wish I could write down how awesome you are and people would see
and understand how much on a pedestal I have you. I'm not that
skilled though. So I'll just say that you helped me so much through
everything. I love talking with you. You will always be my best friend.

I love you, Mom.

Lo and Behold....

Every once in a while I feel that I am hiding my issues.
I started a blog to help me talk. And all I talk about is
light fluffy, insignificant things that make me wonder why
I have a blog.

I feel shallow sometimes when I'm thinking of things to write about.
I like focusing on the things that are making me happy now.
I like knowing that despite disappointment, judgment,
and thinking I am not the greatest example that I did the right
thing. For everyone involved. Him included.

But there is a lot of guilt that I still have to work through.
I am Kendra. I am 23 years old. I am LDS, Mormon, whatever
you call us. I believe in eternal marriage. Families Forever.
I got married in the Idaho Falls Temple on a beautiful day and...
And I am divorced.

I've wanted to explain so many times why I did what I did.
I have wanted to share the details.
I have wanted to share all the terrible instances.
I have wanted to make sure that you are all on my side, that
you understand what I did, why I did it, and agree with me that
it was the best decision. I have wanted a team of cheerleaders made up
of my blog members who validate me often.

But... I haven't wanted to point fingers.
I repeat to myself that it "Takes Two to Tango." That by pointing
fingers, I am saying that me, myself is guiltless. I know I'm not.
I've wanted to convince myself that by not talking about it on here
that I was healing and over it.

I feel so awful.

Really stupid.

I want to forget it.

I am really scared sometimes. I think of marriage and I want to
say never again. Yet, with my best friend being there for me, helping me,
caring for me, I wonder WHEN will he ever ask. I'm a yo-yo.
Scared, impatient, loving someone greatly, yet hesitant and anxious
that I really don't understand my feelings.

I find myself saying that my ex did this and my mister doesn't do
that. I find myself relieved that he is complete opposite of the man
I found myself still married to about a year ago.
Should I compare?
Is that unhealthy?
Should I be seeing someone?
Can I fix things with my own thoughts and God's help?
What if things change?
What if we fight?
What if he wakes up one day and decides that I am messed up in the head?
What if I can never stop thinking about him?

I stopped writing for a bit because I felt like such a fraud.
I want to be deep. I want to share my struggles. And I want
to be one that can help others. But looking at myself I thought
who is this girl that complains so much? I've never wanted to be
Debbie Downer. I don't want people to read this blog and see everything
that can go wrong in marriage. And I haven't wanted to dwell on it all.
It is easy to be light and fluffy.

Sometimes I just want to talk about it.

I want to repeat myself over and over.

And occasionally I find others who are going or have gone through
a similar situation and I want to shake their shoulders and ask them
are you confused too? Tell me what you think. Tell me what happened
to you. Talk to me. I want to know why.
Today is not one of my strong days. I want to shake shoulders.

Wanna Taste Heaven?

K, so I'm still new at this loading video thing. It took me a while, close to two hours,

yesterday to figure out how to load them onto youtube. So I didn't get
yesterday's video posted with Mister's description of the pizza till way after
I posted it. Just in case you care.

Probably my favorite food in New York, gave me a food orgasm: Cannolis.
I've never had a cannoli {AMAZING!!}
(not something you regularly find in the wilds of Idaho's desert)
and will probably never be the same until I
make them myself. I've found several recipes: here, here, and here.
If you have no idea what I am talking about and you have mad cooking
skills you should try them out too.
I have a feeling they won't be so good for my no-existing-but-always-attempting
diet. Here is a little of Little Italy for ya:



I asked Mister if it was romantic. He said of course, as romantic as
you can get with sore feet, loads of people, and sweating to death from
the humidity. Then would you believe that he proceeded to tell me that
he thought I was awesome? He did. At least that is how I remember it
in my cannoli-induced mind. They do happy things to you.
Especially when you are listening to a man sing Italian music in the background
as you are indulging.
Then...
the next day all you can think about is all that food-- all that fatty food--
going straight to making fatty cells to fill my fatty thighs and butt.
Cannoli hangovers are bad. Proceed with caution.
Really try and avoid those last four extra servings, okay?

Pizza Nazi and Fireworks

"No Soup for You!"

I haven't ever watch Seinfeld, but Mister was telling me
about the "Soup Nazi." I guess the characters go with Kramer
to a new soup stand that he has been raving about; its owner is
referred to as the Soup Nazi due to his temperament and insistence
on a strict manner of behavior while in line.



The Mister and I experienced our own "Pizza Nazi" in New York.
We heard rumors about this amazing Grimaldi's Pizzeria under
the Brooklyn Bridge, fabled to be the BEST pizza in New York.
Since that was how I convinced Mister to go to NY for vacation, we
decided it was worth the effort to go there. It was hilarious.
People stood in this line outside the shop while a man choose who
got to inside. There are lots of characters in NY. Mister was cracking up.

It was a two hour wait.
It was good, though. Mister was smacking my hand cuz I
kept eating "his" food.Verdict: Good, the best in New York, but according to the expert
not as good as Chicago.

Mister posing for me while I got my camera set up. Seinfeld and Blue Steel-
we are sooooo cultured its ridiculous.

We watched the sunset and ate our delicious pizza. Topped it off
with Double Chocolate Chuck Masterpiece ice cream, and held my belly
for the rest of the night worried that it would pop.






We had the genius idea that it would be spectacular to see
the fireworks from the opposite side of New York City as it light up
the skyline of NY and we wouldn't have to deal with crowds.
Mister and I stayed in Brooklyn.
It wasn't what I was expecting but still pretty awesome
to see the New York skyline from a distance.
Brooklyn had lots of fun people to talk to as well.


I love this little girl. She kept us entertained.







We couldn't see much of the fireworks, but it was beautiful
regardless.









Happy Belated July 4th!!!

We've Returned

Ever been on vacation and decided you needed a vacation

from your vacation? We made it back from NY last night.
I think we are both pretty much exhausted, but good
times were had. The only thing I can think about right now is
that I felt that I've been walking around in these all week:
{image}

Or maybe had someone pound the bottom of my poor
feet with a 2x4 about a thousand times. I missed my car.

My feet kill.
My room is a mess.
I'm behind at work.
No clean underwear anywhere in this place.
And I've got a butt-load of pictures to go through.

I slept awesome last night though.

I need a vacation.
:)