Tick-tock–not a bomb

Thanks to Facebook’s memories feature, today I saw that I started college 8 years ago today.  The pictures from that day are awful. My face is blotchy. I’m doing my best to smile for the camera and not burst into tears.

Want proof?



There I stand, in Old Heritage Halls just trying not to cry my eyes out just long enough for my parents to snap this picture.  You can even see the tissue in my hand for proof!

The next 8 years held good times and bad. I graduated from BYU four years later with a bachelor’s degree. Three years after that, I graduated again–this time from SJSU with a Master’s degree.

I’ve lived in 7 different houses. In 3 different cities.

I’ve seen 5 different therapists–and only graduated from therapy once.

I’ve traveled to 6 different states and four different countries.

I’ve had 6 different jobs–Ice cream scooper, Student manuscript processor, Greeting Card writer,  Office assistant, Preservation Technician, and Collection Care Technician.

I’ve kissed one boy and subsequently married him.

And I’ve made lots of friends. Lots of lifetime (I hope!) friends.

There’s been lots of growing and stretching and crying and laughing. Lots of jumping and dancing and cookie-baking. Some coloring books and riding roller coasters and taking selfies and running 5ks. Lots of late night talking when I should have been sleeping, and lots of sleeping when I should have been doing…well, realistically lots of other things.

Looking back on these past 8 years, makes me proud of myself. 8 years since I left high school. 8 years since I started college. 8 years since I officially declared myself an “adult” and had to start adulting.

The past 8 years have brought a lot of change. And I’d say the majority of it was really good for me.  There have been some terrible parts (including some bad roommates, some not eating, some crushed dreams and some broken-ish hearts.)  But all in all, I’m real proud of the person these 8 years have shaped me to be.  I’m not perfect–far from it, in fact–and neither is my life, but I’m finally starting to be comfortable with who I am.  And who I want to be.  And I like that.  A whole dang lot.

As I sit here and think about how far I’ve come since that real attractive picture of me (read: hideous) was taken on the day I began adulting, I’m happy to say that I turned out okay. Some days, I feel like I’m drowning. Other days I feel like I can jump off the diving board into the deep end. And don’t we all feel that way?  Isn’t in funny how life works like that?

And at the end of the day, all you can really do is sit back and say–“Well, today happened. I wonder what tomorrow is going to be like.” Sometimes I laugh when I say that. Other times I cry. Other times I crawl into bed, exhausted, before I have the chance to think about my day.

I don’t know where I was going with this, and I always feel like I should steer away from not silly posts, because I feel rambly and uncomfortable and wonder if it’s even worth posting.  I had no idea that looking at that sad, sad picture of little sad me was going to trigger so much introspection and remembering.  And I just wanted to document it somewhere.


I’m baaaaaack

It’s been a while. And I’ve kind of missed being in the world of blogging.

I have a lot to say about that cute boy you last heard about me kissing.

I probably have some embarrassing stories to tell.

I might even be able to teach you about the wildlife of South Salt Lake–which it turns out is pigeons and they’re nesting on my balcony and it’s gross.

I might want to join a writing group. Or a book club. Or start an etsy shop.  Or bake all the cookies in the world. And you’re welcome to come right along with me.

But for now, I just wanted to reassure you (because I’m sure I’m the center of your universe) that I’m alive and well.  The end for now.

Kiss the girl

Hello friends. It’s been a while. I know.  But, part of that was because I couldn’t remember the password. And part of that was because I have just been busy with my whole life.  There’s a lot that’s happened. I finished my e-portfolio for grad school, I have been working full time, I got a cold, just a whole bunch of things.

But, this is a funny story that the internet needs to know. Because awesome and awkward and just plain Liz.

One time this boy {said boy is another story for another day} who I’d been spending lots of time with asked if he could kiss me.  And I freaked out.

For those of you who know me well, this doesn’t come as much of a surprise.  Physical touch isn’t my favorite thing in the universe. In fact, I get real awkward about it real quick.  Hugging: terrible.  Random girl deciding to play with my hair during church: completely unacceptable.  Cuddling, close sitting, kissing: Bad news bears.  (Please note, that I am doing drastically better with all of these things than I was a month ago. But knowing how uncomfortable they made me is important.)

Back to the point, though.  So, I had freaked out.  And by freaked out I mean I said yes, but then covered my face with my hands. Not quite conducive body language for kissing.  Poor boy.

So, after what seemed like one thousand minutes but was probably only not even a minute, the boy who shall not be named talked me out of hiding and kissed me.

YOU GUYS.  THIS IS NOT A BIG DEAL BUT IT ACTUALLY TOTALLY IS.  See, here’s the thing. I’m 25 years old.  And until roughly a month ago was un-kissed. (Which, for the record, you should NOT tell people on the TINDER. They will want to come down or up from whatever shady college town they are living in and have the honor of kissing you. This is not okay and also slightly creepy. But not as creepy as offering to go bathing suit shopping as part of the 12 hour date that a boy had planned. But, irrelevant.)

Also, this detail is important: MY 2015 goal was to kiss a boy on the face.

So, after said unnamed boy had kissed me, he reminded me that we had just accomplished my goal for 2015. I got this big old grin on my face. Because we did!

And so, what did I do?  I gave him a high-five. I felt like one of those totally oblivious girls in chick flicks who have no idea how to even be alive.  A  BOY JUST KISSED YOU SO YOU GAVE HIM A HIGH FIVE??? SERIOUSLY LIZ?  SERIOUSLY?

A natural response to just having been kissed, right?

If you actually said, yes, you probably should rethink that. The high five wasn’t the worst thing I could have done. BUT, the right thing would have been to kiss him again.  But I didn’t. He got the high five. The universal sign for “good game” or “nice job”.  And then we jumped in circles for a baby bit and kissed again and that’s the story of my first kiss ever in the whole entire universe.

P.S. I was mortified about the high five at first, but now I just decided to own it because it’s a pretty good first kiss story.

Dinosaurs, Dragons, Denver, and Yard Sards: An adventure story

You guys.

I never go on vacation. I just don’t. But last week I did.  And it was magical. I might be sold on the idea of using my vacation time at work for things that are actual vacations. It’s shocking, I know.

So, I went and stayed with my new friends the Krumholz family. They’re pretty darn cool–and their house is also. It’s 103 years old! Lyssa and Katie and Thomas were so nice to take me on a drive-around tour of the giant art of Denver which included things like the Blue Bear, the dustpan, the horse on the chair, and the naked dancers.  They also introduced me to the concept of the Yard Sard.

Which, if you haven’t figured out is this:

 yard sard

Katie found yard sards the most hilarious of anyone, and I think we can safely say that this applies to her life:

yard sard meme

I don’t know why yard sard is sooooo funny, but I giggle every single time I see a yard sale sign now.

While I was with the Krumholz family, they took me to really cool museum.  You want proof that it was cool: UNICORNS AND DRAGONS.

yourphoto (1)

yourphoto (2)

After hanging out with them for a couple of days, they decided to leave me behind and go to Utah.  But, instead of leaving me high and dry, the  left me with my best friend Kelsey and her cute baby Ava.

Side note: As all babies do, Ava loves me. But she loves me more than most babies do and more than she loves all the other people. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.  :)

We hung out in real life for all the days. We went to the grocery store and to a park and to a train museum.  THERE WERE SO MANY TRAINS AND YOU GUYS I’M A FOUR-YEAR-OLD BOY AND I WAS IN HEAVEN WITH ALL THE TRAINS.  There were trains that you could go inside and trains that you could just look at and trains that you could read about and a giant model train in the basement.  SO GIANT.

And then Kelsey and I ate buffalo meat.  That stuff is good.  And then we hung out some more.  We talked about all the things and played with her adorable baby.


See how cute they are?

Then I flew home and there may have been some tears because going back to real life is hard and leaving your best friend in Denver is even harder.  When I got home, I was supposed to take the Green Line of trax back to my house. BUT YOU GUYS. As my luck would have it, there was police and caution tape everywhere. And signs up saying there was an exercise underway.

Turns out, there was a terrorist attack drill–and they only had one of the three entrances to the station open.  And it took me 20 minutes to find the opening.  But then all was normal and well and I made it home safely.

But, I really did love the whole thing and I want to go on vacation again right now.

On Depression

I usually only like to tell you the funny personal details of my life.  Because the world and the internet are dark and gloomy enough as it is.  But, sometimes, you just want to put all your feelings out there into the void and hope that someone is listening and that what you have to say on a topic is helpful to someone somewhere.

So, here we go. Things are about to get very real.

I have depression. Not the suicidal kind, just the get-blue-and-not-want-to-do-anything-but-sit-on-my-couch-in-the-fetal-position-wrapped-up-in-a-blanket kind.  I hate having depression. I’m not telling you this because I want sympathy, or I feel like I have a soapbox, I’m just telling you what my life has been like recently.

I kind of disappeared from a lot of the things I love because I just don’t feel like doing ANYTHING.  I don’t want to eat. I don’t want to watch tv. I don’t want to sleep, but I do want to sleep all of the times.  I don’t want to read. Or bake. Or play the piano. Or get dressed.  EVERYTHING SEEMS OVERWHELMING.

Even things like microwaving taquitos.

Sometimes, it feels like I am a fly stuck in one of those nasty tape fly traps. Where I’m sitting there and everyone else is having a good time and I’m just stuck there, watching.  Sometimes I cry for no reason. I cry when I have any sort of emotion. I cry when I see touching commercials. I cry when I hear good news. I cry when I hear bad news. I cry in the shower. I cry in my car. I cry at work.  *Which, for the record, is super embarrassing.

A few days ago at work my boss asked me a question and it was all I could do to not burst into tears.  I’m grumpy and little dumb things make me grumpier.

And the worst part is that most people don’t get it.  When I was in my first year of college, I had some very noticeable symptoms of depression.  My roommates told me (they had good intentions, I think. Based on other things that happened that year, I might be mistaken about those intentions) that if I just served more, or read my scriptures more, or prayed more, or was more spiritual, I would be happy.

While those things definitely do bring joy and peace, when you have depression, that isn’t the cure. It’s been said time and time again–you wouldn’t tell someone with appendicitis that if they just prayed more they would get better. Or that if they weren’t so worried about themselves they wouldn’t have appendicitis anymore. THIS IS NOT A REAL MEDICAL CURE.

That’s the hardest part for me: Depression sometimes goes away and sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it is actually a chronic illness.  I want to be happy; I don’t want to be sad. But, I have a condition that, while it is treatable, causes me to be sad some of the time.  In fact, lately, it seems like a lot of the time.

The thing about depression is that it doesn’t look the same for any two people.  When I first started telling people I had depression, they didn’t believe me. They told me I was too happy for that.  Truth be told, sometimes I just know how to glue a smile on.  Like everyone, I laugh because things are funny. But sometimes those funny things aren’t funny enough to fight away the demons battling in my head.  (The demons are actually in my head, you know? It’s not like –oh, you’re crazy, it’s in your head; but there is an actual chemical imbalance causing me to have demons in my head. Note: Not actual demons. I do not need an exorcist; I repeat. I do not need an exorcist!)

But, sometimes I am actually happy.  And sometimes I am giggling one moment and sobbing uncontrollably the next.

It’s awesome.

But not really.
The thing is this: It’s hard and scary and sometimes I am probably dehydrated because of all the tears coming out of my face, but everything is going to be okay.  That’s how life works, I hear. Sometimes crappy stuff happens and then it all works out eventually. So, don’t worry about me.  Because it’s going to be fine. But, I just wanted to give you an update.

The time that rice and beans could fly

And I’m not talking food fight style.

Today, I was eating lunch. YOU GUYS. SALT LAKE HAS BEEN SO LOVELY AND WARM LATELY. (Also, yelling the world “lovely” feels weird. Go ahead, try it.  Tell me it doesn’t feel weird to you.)

Because of the loveliness of the whole universe, we (we being Jessy, Emily, Victoria {these are my coworkers and friends}) decided that eating lunch outside was in order.  So we headed right on over to the Food Court at City Creek (which makes it sound much fancier than the City Creek Food Court) and bought some food. And took it outside.

It was warm, but not super warm.  And the wind was blowing like a toddler blows on food to cool it–fast and in gusts (don’t worry, no spit though.)

Victoria’s chips blew off her tray before she ever made it to the table we were sitting at.  I lost napkins, a straw wrapper, and a receipt. Finally, I gave up on keeping all my trash on my tray. I bit the bullet and threw it ALL away.

When I got back to the table, I made some comment about I how I wasn’t going to litter anymore. And Victoria replied that she was going to keep littering. And on me.  (Which was true, if she littered because the wind would blow her garbage at me.)  FYI: This is what she had eaten (well almost, because she had a taco.)






Well, not five minutes passed before a giant gust of toddler spit wind blew through again. In a split second, the silver tray that had previously held Victoria’s Mexican food was flying at my face. Literally, the second was long enough for me to think “That’s going to hit me in the face”. But not long enough for me to react and dodge it.

Well, good news:

It didn’t hit me in the face. It hit me in the neck.  Rice and peas and carrots and corn and taco grease. The rice and peas and carrots and corn (WHO PUTS THAT IN RICE, BY THE WAY???)  got all over me. But, the taco grease–which I thought was salsa for a really long time–stayed mostly concentrated at my neck. On my shirt.  Fun, right? I was laughing so hard I was nearly crying, and for a while I didn’t really see the full damage because of laughing.

When I finally got enough control, I determined that I probably needed a tide-to-go pen, or a shout wipe, or some kind of stain remover, so we went to the pharmacy right over by the Food Court at City Creek. (I had no idea that store had two floors, for the record!)  Where a nice man who we now call Ginger Jared helped us find a tide-to-go pen and basically bore his testimony of how it saved his white shirt from chocolate ice cream on his mission. (Sidenote: It was at this point that Victoria whispered that I should marry Ginger Jared…)

So, we got back to the Church History Library, you know, where I work. I used the tide-to-go pen. And, yeah, if I were a normal person, this is where the story would end.

But we all know that weird things happen to me.

So, this clearly isn’t the end.

And, just in case having someone’s lunch leftovers launched at you by the wind isn’t weird enough, I got a weird rash from the tide-to-go pen. (Because you probably shouldn’t be wearing the clothes when you use it? I don’t know how the magic behind them works.)

The end.

Goat thermometer

Last night I had a dream that my family and friends and coworkers joined some cult where we participated in role playing games. There aren’t many specifics from this dream that I remember, which is kind of unusual for me.  What I do remember is that Sutton Foster kept trying to make me eat bread with ketchup.

Everyone was wearing headpieces.  Mine was a floral arrangement/blindfold combo.

There was a giant bald eagle that was going to swoop down and kill us all.

But, the highlight for me was that one of the tasks that was forced upon me in this role playing cult was taking a shower with a goat.  The goat would attack me if the water was too hot or too cold, and BY NO MEANS WAS I TO LET THE GOAT OUT OF THE GLASS SHOWER BOX.

I got attacked many times by that goat while I tried to make the water the right temperature. And it bleated and bleated and bleated (Do goats actually bleat?)

And then the giant bald eagle came and landed on our feast table, and spilled all of our ketchup coated bread..

And then we were all eaten by a black bear.

I’m a weirdo.