Roommates Round #6

In a shocking twist of fate, my same friend who hooked me up with the GREATEST group of girls in Arlington has hooked me up with the very last group of girls I will ever live with, this time in dear wonderful Sugarhouse Salt Lake City. This friend, let’s call him, Veep, has never led me astray. I once worked on a campaign of his years and years ago, which he won, and he has been paying for it dearly ever since by doing me perpetual favors that I uniquivocally never could have done myself. From helping me move to going to my surgery to being a constantly good source of advice and stability, Veep has been there. From my earliest days in college, and he’s going to feel old when I say this, he has always been like sort of a second father to me. A really cool father you want to go on crazy adventures with. But I digress.
It is shocking to me after 6 years of living with all sorts of random people, I’ve always been incredibly lucky in the roommate department. Moving in with friends, moving in with strangers, moving in with distant acquaintances, I have always completely lucked out and can honestly say that I am still friends with nearly every one of them.

Jordanian Blossom and I are getting married within a WEEK of each other.

Shadijoon and I just went shooting together.

 Hannah Hussein and I email each other pretty regularly, and would be soulmates even if we never spoke again (I love friends like those)

 Josephine and I just met up in her GRAND new home of New York City

And my once all very single gal pals from DC and I all just shared our respective engagement stories over lunch.

These girls were so much more than people I shared living space with. They were women who shared their souls, and bore my temper, and lightened my load. They made me food, made me laugh, and let me cry. They learned how to give me my space when it was necessary, and pile on the the love when I needed it.
I can honestly say that the Object of my Affection incapsulates so much of what I loved about these women, I have not even the smallest doubt that he will be my favorite roommate of all. But to that note, I am genuinely glad that I have one more shot at that feeling of sisterhood and communal womanly life which is so sacred and sweet, so irreverent and hilarious, and such a part of the woman I am today and the wife I will be. Cheers to that, my dear sisters, wherever you are.


Exercising the Right's Interpretation of the 2nd Amendment.

When Dan and I very first started dating, we had this entire conversation about guns. I am a John Lennon loving, flower laden, peace sign carrying, product of farm country Pacifist Hippie. And Dan, well, owns guns. We have had a variety of tactful but adamant conversations about guns in the house, guns when we have children, guns for fun etc, the last chat of which I think devolved into a conversation of why I think Mr. and Mrs. Smith is a delightful movie, and why Dan never bothered to see it. (“you can have one of those underground gun places, like Brad Pitt!” and "You know I hate action movies" and "this is not an action movie, it's a chick flick with a car chase and guns!")
But somehow I got trapped by my own brain in concocting a plan which will inevitably cause myself to have to handle a firearm and shoot it this saturday. It will be a delightful outing if only for the people involved, many of my absolute favorite people all at once in the Utah desert. But I am still questioning whether or not I will actually be able to bring myself to do it? It’s been years and years of a longstanding principle that I would not personally participate in the handling of violent weapons, even at the cost of my own personal safety. How can I rally for the complete eradication of deadly firearms when I myself will hold the power to life and death in my hands?
My conclusion at this great fork in the road is pathetically twofold. For one thing, this outing is a grandiose attempt on my part to connect some of my closest friends to each other, and allow them to meet the Object of my Affection. I am hopeful for new beginnings among my nearest and dearest in Utah. Which sort of promotes, you know, love and warm fuzzy non violent feelings, so strong in fact that it might break even the karma with the guns and the stuff.

The more notable reason is that I feel a little hypocritical on the whole gun thing. I have often said that I think that it is difficult for people who have never used a substance to make judgments on it. Utah legislators regularly make elaborate laws about alcohol because they don’t understand the culture and actual chemical process and effects of alcohol- it is a totally foreign world to them that they then legislate for as absolute authorities. This can actually sometimes lead to more dangerous acts and behavior, much to the opposite effect of their intent. So, if I truly intend to take a stand on this issue, it should be informed. There is after all nothing I abhor as much as an uninformed decision. Rather than making snap judgments about gun owners, rather than attempting to determine the right answer for a world I know nothing about, I am going to start informing myself, and I am going to acquaint myself with the force and power behind a weapon. And I’m going to have a damn good time doing it, too.


Reconnecting with an old...friend

Since I'm back to the apartment hunt grind, allow me to share a recent winner with you (craig, er, Mr. List and I go way back, you see) 

Room Mate with benifits (Cottonwood Heights)
Have large executive home to share with open minded female(s) on a trade bases. Private bed and bath, wireless Internet, workout facilities, all utilities and amenities included.
Due to the spam, place "COTTONWOOD HEIGHTS" in the subject line if you want a reply.

oh man, gee, see, this would work GREAT, but I don't share apartments with guys who can't spell "BENEFITS".  Also, "trade bases."  Delightfully, though, he did spell amenities right, which is pleasing. 

And that's really too bad about the spam. 



If you’ve known me for any length of time, you’re familiar with the fact that I am somewhere between an extremely drab and plain dresser, and an abhorrently odd and overly colorful dresser. I’m not sure that much of anything in my closet is especially flattering, trendy, or well matched.

And yet, I am tragically attached to nearly all of it. This is most especially true of everything that’s retro or vintage. When I was a sophomore in college, I bought this brown leather purse at a second hand store ($9), and that purse has subsequently been to every country I’ve been to, and I actually can’t picture my passport anywhere but in that ONE pocket of that purse. Best of all, it’s super ugly, and yet somehow I still get compliments on it regularly.  It was also regularly paired with my my tan London Fog raincoat ($11) from Moxi, a delightful vintage store that no longer exists.  Proof:

There’s a peach skirt in that closet that’s polyester, handmade, and probably from the early 70’s ($13). The best thing about it? There are silky shorts under it sewn right in, thus making it the greatest skirt in the world.

I’ve worn a number of vintage dresses, the Lime Green Chiffon Toga ($19) the Blue Hippie Dress with white embroidery ($7. NO REALLY.) the emerald green number off of ebay ($23 with shipping) The pink floor length slip dress ($28)

So it only seemed appropriate that while my wedding dress is new and my accessories to it will be new, all much too paradoxical to my old fashioned wedding, for my engagements I will be wearing the most darling vintage black jacket, purchased today at Decades for one of my most abhorrent thrift shop totals thus far, $22. But trust me when I say, it was worth it. Eventually I will look at it in my closet against my variety of desperate attempts to impress some boys (Dan likes me in TEESHIRTS!) but mostly other girls, and know that, just like all the others, it was the impulsive, impractical, and utterly charming.

The reason I bother writing this is because in Washington DC, this was NOT a part of my life. I was often complimented for my colorful choices (that city is full of drab grey dressers) but with the exception of the divine peach pencil skirt, I never wore or shopped vintage. In Washington DC, the second hand shops are designer, couture, totally uninteresting. Like so many parts of my life, little dormant pockets of personality and electricity sparked back to life in this silly beehive. In more ways than one, that little black jacket is reclaimation.