My favorite thing in the entire world—nay, the universe!—is making playlists. I’ve been making a playlist for our upcoming Westy meetup trip for a month now. I take this shit SERIOUSLY, guys. Playlists for a road trip are of utmost importance. If there was a full-time job of making playlists, I would make that job my bitch and become the highest-paid playlist creator of all time. ALL TIME. Kanye West style.

Remember yesterday’s silly anxiety post? This is how I deal. Most days I don’t really want to feel because I feel too much. And Fiona Apple told me this was a good thing because…it’s not that you’re crazy—you just feel EVERYTHING. Which is true life. So most of the time when I feel too much I just listen to some music, because I feel music more than anything else. Which cancels out the bullshit and puts things into perspective.

Music isn’t ever a casual occurrence in this brain. Most people listen to music as background noise to make the time pass and fill up the brain space. But I listen to music in the foreground. So when a really terrible Pandora station comes on at work, I have to say HEY GUYS. Check yourself before you wreck yourself. Jk. I don’t do that. But it’s terrible. It’s like in elementary school when you were trying to open your milk carton and instead of opening it just kind of sticks to each other and half opens. Ain’t nobody got time for that. Or when you rip the cereal box and Mitch gets REALLY bummed because then it isn’t as fresh as it had potential to be.

All I’m trying to say, guys, is that my music is my JAM. My Space Jam 1996 Michael Jordan and Looney Tunes jam. To the max. And when most things are too much to feel, music replaces the crazies with the poignant thoughts of everything is going to be totally fine.

This post actually took 2 hours to write because I was wildly composing this playlist whilst writing. You say you want a random mish mash sampler of what’s on this mix master? You know it.

I have an enormous almost uncontainable spot in my heart for Freddie Mercury. Those awkward middle school years of recluse living were so very much enriched by Freddie, and for that—I love him. My guitar teacher promises he’ll teach me this song soon. I will learn it and make a vine of me playing it and singing it to you, although I’m totally kidding right now. You will never hear me sing or play guitar. Suckers.

Roy Orbison will make you FEEL. Fo realz. This song is a fav of favs.

And if you don’t love this song, you can leave. P.Y.T. is like the power going out at school and getting to go home early or finding $10 in last year’s coat. Basically a total bonus that makes life totally worth living.

Then you take a radical swing to French groove with this one.

And remember your roots growing up in West Jordan with this one.

And then you sandwich it all in a nice warm loaf of Rilo Kiley because you really learned to love music when Execution of All Things came around. And because Jenny Lewis is your spirit animal and because Rilo Kiley was my main reason for living circa 2003-06. I’ll always let Jenny back in. And Jenny, I’m really sorry I lost my skelly hoodie. I cherished it for 6 long years before losing it, and I really hope it made its way to someone deserving. I let you down.

So, the moral of the post is to listen to Michael Jackson’s P.Y.T. and then make a playlist. If you want to add a little TLC “Waterfalls” in there, it would really sweeten the ambience of the whole experience. And Whitney’s “How Will I Know” is a must, so don’t forget your 80s hits mmk?

Woooooooah, dudes. Just wanted to say—you know what’s sweet? When you leave and come back and people are awesome and it’s like you never left. THANK YOU for your goodness in the comments on yesterday’s post. Thank you thank you thank you. You are top notch ladies of which I am crazy honored and stoked and all that good jazz to speak with here in this online forum.

Today I had to get my prozac refilled for what was probably the, oh…I don’t know. 8 billionth time. Just kidding. That’s a total exaggeration. And if I had a little more patience and a lesser hatred for using calculators and math in general, I would figure out how many times I’ve filled that prescription over the last 11 years. I’ve found prozac to be generally awesome for my mental stability. I mean, it makes it so that things like going to Costco aren’t QUITE as nightmarish as they would be otherwise.

For most people, going to Costco is like…not a thing. As in, not a big deal kind of thing. As in, I’m going to own this Costco trip, pick up that $6 bag of Hi-Chew and the largest bag of chili rice chips possibly ever, and walk out and be STOKED about these purchases. But when I go to Costco, it’s a lot of things. It starts out with anxiety over crossing the traffic to get to the carts and then having to have a human interaction with the lady who checks my card. And from there, it’s me feeling like I have to speed walk because I’m in the way of the people behind me, and I can’t check out the samples because there are already at least two people near the table, and I might have to speak or move with another human.

And then by the time I make it out of the produce fridge with my jumbo tub of spinach, I’m starting to stress out because I need that 36 pack of diet coke, but that makes me REALLY crazy thinking about carrying that up the stairs to my condo, which isn’t so much anxiety as me being lazy. But it’s the principle of the matter…who stresses about putting that 36 pack of Diet Coke in their shopping cart? And yes, I will take that box, not because it makes these Costco purchases easier to carry inside, but because my cats will love it, and I have crazy anxiety about leaving them for our Westy trip this weekend. So…I better bring them a SWEET box so they’ll forgive me.

What I’m REALLY trying to say here is that if you get anxiety over Costco trips and phone calls and going to the store by yourself and large groups in any shape or form…you’re not alone. And if you, in all honesty, secretly recite “I feel good, I feel great, I feel wonderful” to yourself in these situations, then we are new best friends.

And more importantly, if you find yourself growing increasingly similar to Bob Wylie, that’s great. Let’s be bff. I actually used to call my therapist Dr. Leo Marvin because most of the time in rehab I felt like I was living a strange What About Bob reality.

Anyway, all I really meant to say today is that it’s totally ok to be afraid of people and social situations that might end in you making a fool out of yourself. I’m right there with you. And one of these days I’ll tell you the story about the day I went on 80mg of prozac. Or, as I fondly recall it–the day the earth sprinkled glitter into my misfiring synapses.

(PS…here are some photos I took with my STX-1 and color film.)

Mitch and his mom are cute.

Also, 99% of the time, nephews and iced coffee are the greatest natural prozac out there.

I don’t know if any of you are really reading this. I kind of disappeared off the face of the Earth, so I don’t expect you to be. It feels strange coming back to blogging after leaving like I did.

Some shit happened last summer that left me feeling pretty exhausted from this whole world. So I quit. But now I’m here because I missed the group of stellar ladies I met doing it. I met Maria, Lauren, Jes, Caroline, and so so so many others. And I feel pretty lame for letting all of that go because I went through a weird time.

So I don’t know if any of my old readers are reading this, but if you are, I just want to say hey. And I hope you’re still fighting the daily battle of complete and total self love. Because that’s really the only thing worth blogging about at this point.

In my hiatus, I couldn’t help but feel completely crippled by the endless barrage of bullshit the world throws at women day in and day out. I mindlessly perused an issue of Women’s Day at a family member’s house today out of boredom and was completely blown away at the weight loss ads in between recipes in between weight loss tips in between tampon ads in between more weight loss ads and tips and empty promises, all tinged with a nice dash of subliminal messaging to say, “hey, you’re really not that great. you could be better. and prettier. and thinner. and leaner. and here’s a bathing suit to make you feel not that shitty. and on and on and on and on and on.”

And that was just the span of 10 minutes at a Mother’s Day party. And for the last 6 months of my hiatus, I’ve been floundering and feeling the weight of these messages that find their way into every TINY aspect of our lives. It’s in the office lunchroom, it’s in the stores, it’s in the family parties and the girl nights and walking down the street and seeing something triggering. It’s completely inescapable. And I kind of crumbled.

Which was the main reason for me letting the tumbleweeds fill this space. All the sudden I couldn’t find my self love. I spent 6ish years out of rehab fighting fighting fighting FIGHTING ALL DAY LONG to get where I was. And then I found myself sliding. And I couldn’t blog because I had lost my voice. And with that I lost my struggle and will to fight it.

Mostly I just want to know why women can’t help other women out. We’re all fighting this constant struggle every day, so why are we tearing each other down? And why are we letting this happen? Why do we join in on the body shaming and the name calling and the endless self torment? We act like it’s normal and that’s just how we as women are doomed to feel. But…it’s not. And I guess I’m left feeling so entirely baffled that I have to fight this hard just to feel ok. Why do we all perpetuate this myth that women have to be whatever message the corporation flavor of the day is selling? We do it to ourselves by mindlessly allowing it to happen.

Basically, I just REALLY want to know why it should be THIS hard to feel good about yourself. If we all just helped each other out and stopped ourselves from complaining about our thighs or listing every minute morsel of food in our stomach from the day or bitched about another woman because she intimidated us somehow…maybe if we just calmed the hell down and realized that we DON’T have to act like the women society has portrayed us to be…maybe we’d all be ok.

You don’t have to hate yourself. We as women are not doomed to a fate of self hatred and weight loss. We don’t have to buy those magazines and buy into whatever schemes corporate America has planned for you next. Let’s just all calm down, step outside of ourselves, and make someone feel GOOD about themselves. Because I’m willing to bet most women feel pretty terrible about themselves on a daily basis. So what if we just for ONCE in our lives, said something positive and NOT body/food/diet related to each other?

Women are much more than what they eat or what they do in their workout or how great they look in their jeans. We are human beings with brilliant minds. Let’s talk about anything other than hating on other women and ourselves. Just once. JUST ONCE! Just try it. You might like not feeling like shit about yourself for once in your life.

aaaaand…end rant.

I just want to feel ok about myself for once. And I want you to feel that, too. And I just want women to wake up and realize they don’t have to perpetuate this myth. Go read The Beauty Myth. Go liberate yourselves. And for once let’s not tear other women down. We’re all in it together. And we’re all fighting the beauty myth together.

I can’t fight this fight anymore when women everywhere refuse to fight with me. And I know any person worth a damn would tell me that’s not a good way to feel because I need to radically accept that I can never change the world and all I can change is myself. But guess what? It’s REALLY hard to handle the daily barbs from left and right on my self-esteem. And sometimes you just want to give up, you know?

If you made it to the end of this post, I commend you. And I hope you’ll leave a little comment just to let me know you’re here and that I’m not speaking to space. And if I am, that’s cool, too. Just be good to yourself and other women. Myself included.

Until next time…

I have a huge respect for florists. Especially Ashley Beyer of Tinge. Talk about a girl with wicked talent. She made me two ridiculously gorgeous arrangements for my moms. I ordered them knowing they’d be fantastic, but when I showed up to her adorable studio, she kinda really blew my mind. And not even kinda. I even accidentally swore when she showed them to me because they are so absurdly perfect. They are hands down the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen. If you don’t know Ashley, you do now. Follow that girl.

Hey, Maria. Hey, Lauren. I miss you.

I really love my job for the sole fact that it’s helping me learn photography. The exposure triangle no longer gives me fits, and I’m comfortable shooting in manual. Kind of. But mostly. I owe 95% of that to Riley and his patient teaching and the rest to writing about it all day long. It’s absolutely the most fun I’ve ever had with a hobby.

As previously mentioned, my X-Pro 1 is my baby. I named her Tamikotan after  James Franco’s anime sex pillow on 30 Rock. There is no reason to this other than it came to me, and I ran with it.

With a full-fledge Fuji penchant on my hands, I couldn’t handle myself when I found a Fujica STX-1 at Savers. I saw the Fujinon lens peeking out from the brown bag and pooped my proverbial pants a little bit. It came with a Fujinon-Z f3.5-4.5 43-75mm lens, a silly flash, an unbelievably baller camera strap, and a brown bag. $20. Sold. It’s circa the late 70s, and it couldn’t be sexier.

I’ve never really shot film seriously–the Diana really isn’t all that great, which I learned the hard way. That thing is hard to get right. So taking a roll of B&W Ilford HP5 400 film was a leap of faith in my fledgling manual skills. The STX-1 offers no help to the taker other than a wobbly light meter powered by two watch batteries, so I was on my own ready to make Riley and my work proud.

I have a lot to learn, but I’m feeling thrilled about my STX-1 find. Fuji pride 4 life.

This one above is probably my favorite one of the whole roll. It has such an air of childhood goodness. Love it. And this below is Rita, the chocolate labradoodle that is absolutely the most brilliant dog I’ve ever met. I love her so much. She’s my sister’s, but I kind of feel like her godmother.

That one was an accidental double exposure. I was trying to figure out how to do them and…I accidentally did. Kind of bummed about the one I lost of Henry, but now I know. #filmlife

Oh, just Willie Nelson blowing a dandelion. Ain’t no thang. #hobolife

I now understand people’s boners for film. I always knew it was great and pure and all that, but…I never understood it until now. It has a bizarre intangible quality about it. I can’t articulate what that is, but it’s leaps and bounds different than digital. I get it, guys. Film is sweet. And it’s not dead. I’m on the bandwagon. And I’m ready for my next roll.

Mondays are hard. And so is the D9 chord. If I could give one piece of advice to the young hoodlums of America, it would be to a.) wear sunscreen like the Baz Luhrman 90s song told you to do, and b.) don’t ever quit playing your instruments. When you do that, you waste three solid years of guitar lessons and find yourself 10 years older struggling to play the D9 chord because your pinkie finger is a complete wuss. Just don’t quit. You’ll think it’s the right thing to do because you’re too busy or too cool, but you’re wrong. Don’t Quit.

Also,

That right there is Jimmy telling you to give peace a chance. Most days, while I browse Twitter in bed in my undies, Jimmy feels bummed at the lack of love in the world. He always tells me to give peace a chance, and I agree. So this is coming to a t-shirt near you sometime in the never. It WOULD make a great t-shirt, though. We’ll see.

Mondays are rough. I hope you made it through yours.

I miss LCD Soundsystem most of the time. And most of the time, I also wish I could move. I mean, it’s not that I CAN’T move. It’s just that I’m too chicken. Everything I’ve ever known is here. And I’m that strange strain of homo sapien that can’t handle change or scary things. It’s hard to put big girl pants on when you’re me and you have no confidence. It’s extra hard when you’re a perma ball of anxiety and not even prozac does the trick anymore.

So yeah, I’d love to move. I’d love to move to Portland or Seattle. Shit, I’d even move to Canada. But first I need a little convincing that I’m capable of making such a huge change. As much as I’d love to be a vagabond at heart, I’m secretly a bonafide hermit to the core. To the max power, guys. Hermit champion. I win the blue ribbon for World’s Most Epic Recluse.

But the older I get, the more I pontificate on subjects such as this, and I get to thinking. What if being a champion hermit isn’t such a bad thing? Yes, the anti-social tend to get a bad rap, but what if that’s only because the man wants you to go on, get out there, buy their fancy clothes, drink their expensive drinks, and consume! Just kidding. I’m only semi-serious with that conspiracy theory.

Is there really something inherently wrong with not dreaming big? Maybe the thing that makes a life worth living is learning to just be. Whether that’s kicking it in a huge city with all the eclectic people ever written as a character in a book, or chilling at home in SLC with your cats. I don’t really know. I don’t really know what life’s all about, and I don’t know what makes a life successful. But I’m just saying…what if it’s not so bad to not “live life” to the fullest in the way that the world thinks you should?

Deep thoughts. I’ve been watching Carl Sagan’s Cosmos, so this tends to happen. If you haven’t watched Cosmos yet in your life, I highly suggest you stop depriving yourself and TREAT yoself. Donna Meagle style.

(all pics taken with x-pro and the 14mm. my new fav)

I’ve lived a pretty sheltered life. And by pretty, I really just mean completely.

When you grow up Mormon in Utah, that tends to happen. I don’t get out a lot, I don’t travel a lot, and I mostly just do what I’m supposed to do. In elementary school I prepared for middle school, and when I got there I went through puberty and got good grades for high school, and then in high school it was full steam ahead to college! Career, ahoy! And then I got a job. Which lead to A LOT of jobs. Which lead to today and me writing this with a lot of work experience under my belt and little to no life experience. Cue the sad trombone.

What I’m trying to say is this. I know I haven’t lived much up to this point in life. The grass is always greener, yes, but really? A girl should like…LIVE, you know? All work and no play make Homer something something. That was a good Simpsons episode. And it actually comes to mind a lot because a.) I really like the Shining and b.) all work and no play really DOES make Homer and/or Amy a dull boy/girl.

And what I’m REALLY trying to say is that I’ve had to do a little bit of what they call soul searching recently to remember what it is that I actually like to do. Sometimes you are sitting at work and you realize that you literally have no life outside of your job and eating Honey Bunches of Oats with almond milk on the couch. What does it say about you when the highlight of your day is eating white chocolate pretzels and browsing Netflix for something to watch until you decide you’ve seen everything and you just want to read David Sedaris in bed? And then you fall asleep at 9pm and wake up at 5:50am to the horrendous Marimba iPhone alarm and BAM. Rinse, wash, repeat.

So what I originally was trying to say with this post was that sometimes you get just a tiny little hint about what really makes you tick. And when I went to Yellowstone, I realized that all I really wanted in life was to be a buffalo. No, just kidding. But seriously. Yellowstone is basically the be all end all of magical and enchanted places on this tiny speck of the galaxy we inhabit. We drove the Westy up there, and it was a week where I actually, for ONCE in my life, felt like I was present.

It’s kind of strange when you actually think about how little you really are present in your day-to-day bullshit. Sometimes you don’t really notice that you’re not present until you’re sitting in Yellowstone with the buffalo and coyotes and endless bizarre land formations and you think to yourself, “life is pretty cool sometimes.” I actually didn’t think that because that’s really from American Movie (which is a great show. Thanks, Abi and Ryan) but I kind of thought along the same sentiments. Life is cool, sometimes. And there really is a life outside of working and doing what you’re supposed to do.

I’m all for doing what you’re supposed to do. But what I really want to know is how do you know when it’s ok to do something you just WANT to do? That’s a very foreign concept to me. I really don’t remember a time in my life where I kicked it and did what I WANTED to do. Sometimes it seems like life is 99% of supposed to’s and a minuscule 1% of what you want to do. Maybe that’s just my weirdo life. I don’t know. But what I DO know is I would love to find out what it’s like to do something because you wanted to do it. I live by supposed to’s. And guilt. And it’s weird, guys.

Anyway, if anyone knows how to strike the glorious balance between supposed to and want to, do let me know. I suggest you write a book about it and make millions on a self-help tour. I’d buy the shit out of those tickets. And Oprah would probably make this happen when she brings you to her new network:

Best gif of all time.

Really all I wanted to say is that when I grow up, I want to be a Yellowstone park ranger because that place is straight up magic. I’m not really sure where I’ll end up or if I’ll figure out the balance between supposed to and want to, but at least for one week in my life, I kicked it with the bears and buffalo in Yellowstone and got a little glimmer of how life is really cool sometimes. Totes legit. Too legit to quit.

Happy Wednesday. We’re halfway to the weekend.

(all pics taken by me and the Xpro with 35mm lens. That baby is nasty sharp.)

I’m back, bitches. Just kidding. None of you are bitches. But I am kind of back.

Where in tarnation did I go?

Meh. Nowhere. Seriously. I was just kickin’ it keepin’ it real like I always do. Another day another dollar. I ended this blog last summer after I found myself baffled at what it had all become. Shit got weird, ya’ll. And I just needed to take a giant, big-girl step back and chill out for a minute. Take some breathers. Realign some shit. Figure out my ish.

That’s really all that happened. I woke up one day and decided I was really sick of Vanagon Champion. Nothing crazy. Nothing wild. I was over it and the direction it took.

So, whaddup, kids? It’s been awhile. I’ve been in a new job for about 10ish months, I’m still a cat lady to the max power, and I’m just really into gel nails these days. I’ve had a lot of addictions in my life, but none are quite as ridiculous as this gel nail one.

I also took a life-changing trip to Yellowstone in which I discovered my deeply rooted affinity for buffalo, I got some silver cat loafers for Christmas, and also took up guitar again. My teacher has a pony tail. It’s great.

That about sums it all up. I also recently decided that I hate wearing pants, and I spend a lot of time in my underwear watching Pretty Little Liars and eating zesty salsa wheat thins. Glam life, ya’ll. AND…I discovered I secretly love Taylor Swift, which is complete crazy town, but the heart wants what it wants. And I want Red. No judgments, please. Or judge all you want, but if you do, you should just listen to T. Swizz at least once. Life’s too short to be snooty. Do what makes you HAPPY. With a big fat finger on the shift button for extra exuberant caps. Life is short. Live it UP and do whatever the hell you want.

It’s good to be back.

And I guess if I had to explain why I’m back, it would just be that I missed writing. And I missed having a reason to take photos and post them somewhere where anyone other than me or maybe Royal would see them. I have absolutely no purpose for this space other than me, this keyboard, and some shenanigans. Some downright SHENANIGANS, ya’ll. I missed you. I really did. And if you are still here by some miracle, then I’d like to say…you’re great. Thanks for being here. It’s good to see you again.

Let’s party it up and live the dream.

Oh, I also acquired a Fuji X-Pro 1 last fall, which is my new baby rivaled only by my Westy and Royal and Pagoda. I should also tell you that Pagoda is mostly referred to as Jimmy these days. Don’t ask me how. It has something to do with RuPaul’s Drag Race, but it’s a long story. Anyway, the X-Pro. I have a good time with it, and I will most likely devote this space to the tomfoolery I get into with this sugary bun of a camera. I kind of write about photography all day long at work and sit amidst a glorious wonderland of photo gear, so it just kind of happened. I’m going with it.

Until next time, sweet champions. Much love.

(PS–if at any point in my hermit hiatus I ignored you, it totally wasn’t intentional. It was a weird time with a lot of weird feelings to work out. I hermit-ized myself from everyone, including Mitchell and IRL friends. So, I’m sorry. Forgive me. Sometimes you just have to hermit it out.)