A Tribute to the Gentlemen

Every woman deserves a man who will open the car door for her without a reminder. A man who will cuddle, not for sex or kisses, but just to show love. A man who doesn't care what a date consists of as long as he gets to spend time with his love. A man who takes a woman's emotions seriously without asking if it's that time of the month. And when it is that time, he simply offers chocolate and a shoulder to cry on.

And every man deserves a woman who will rub his back after a long day. A woman who will laugh off his road rage or his grumpiness after a long day. A woman who doesn't nag her man but encourages and builds him so he knows he can be better without her saying it. A woman who will not withhold kisses and laughter, one who is patient with his shortcomings.

If you've found someone like that, please hold on to them. Don't nitpick at your love until you begin to doubt yourself. Realize their flaws and decide if you can live with those flaws or not. If you can, hold on to your love. Letting that love go will be your biggest mistake and your greatest regret. Because it's not about the perfect person; it's about someone who will love all of you, strengths and weaknesses and all.

The Haunted Dream

Hopeless. Helpless. Hurt. In Hell. Can't sleep. Memories. Stop! Unwanted memories. Always coming, never ceasing. Abandoned. Betrayed.
Waiting. When, light, when? Never again.
Still waiting. Where, light, where? Nowhere then.
Tears? Can't stop. Stinging. Ringing. Headache.
More than night. Dark. Can't sleep.

Sleep comes. Dreams haunt. See you there.
Helpless flailing arms.
Jello water. Slowing down.
Your face there. Now here. I shrink. Your touch hurts still.
Worry. Run!
Must escape.
Must forget.
Can't forget. Flashbacks. Pain. Heart-pain. Brain-pain.
Locked away. Hidden deep. Not treasure chest, memory chest. Hurts.
Must escape.
Must forget.
No escape.

Sunrise: sunrays through window.

Alarm clock.

No more dream. Awake.

An escape.

To come off conqueror

The poet Mary Oliver concludes her poem "The Summer Day" by asking, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

I plan to do what I've always done: live to love and love to live. I will write until life leaves my fingers, and I will love until my heart no longer beats. I will wake up every day grateful for the rising sun and ready to take life by the throat and conquer it. I will be happy in the moment, and when my moments offer no happiness, I will look forward to the next moment and remember past joys. I will keep running from the pain and embracing the comfort. And on days when I'm too weak to keep up the fight, I will turn to my everlasting Father and my Savior, who makes my burden light.

 

Every moment will be filled with beauty. Whether the bright beauty of happy moments or the dark beauty of heartbreak, life's beauty will never cease to inspire me. Every moment, life will breathe inspiration into me, and I will never stop loving it. I will love every sunray, snowstorm, thundercloud and rain puddle. I will swim in lakes and run across beaches, hike mountains and roll down hills, pray to the Creator of these things and love Him every second. People, ideas and feelings will tear at me, trying to pull me down, but He will always pull me back up. I will remain what I am and always have been: a writer, a lover and a conqueror.

What has He done for me?

Every time I've had a bad break up, my parents have always reminded me to avoid looking back too much. Sometimes you can stare so hard at the closed door, you don't notice the one that opens next to it. My dad has told me to not look at it as a loss but as a positive change, as growth on my part.

Despite the many times I've heard this, I've only recently begun to take it to heart. It's so easy to view change as loss or as a trial. But in reality, change is often exactly what we need. Sometimes change offers that little push we need to fulfill that dream or to take on a new task. Sometimes change is the reason we need to eradicate a poisonous presence from our lives.

I think of one of my favorite movies, called "Waitress." It's about the wife of an abusive husband who finds out she is pregnant. Throughout the pregnancy, she feels nothing but resentment towards her baby because she thinks she will now never have the chance to get away from her husband and her hopeless, small-town life. After giving birth, she looks at her baby. You can see her demeanor change immediately as she whispers, "Oh God." Her husband starts to say something, and she looks up with new-found strength that she's never shown before, and it makes you shiver. She tells her husband to get away from her baby because she hasn't loved him for years and wants a divorce. Her husband goes to hit her and is escorted out by doctors. You watch her face and see she cares for nothing but her little baby. That little miraculous change gave her the strength to make the changes she wanted so badly but couldn't make before. I've never wanted children more than when I saw that movie, but that's not the point.

The point is: we may fight and resent change all we want, but that day will come when you look in the mirror and see what miraculous change has been brought about by that thing you thought was a trial, and you give thanks for the broken road that got you to this point.

That moment happened for me near the end of my study abroad trip. Something reminded me of a conversation I had had with an ex-boyfriend. This abusive boyfriend was my tormentor for 2 years of my teenage life. A year into our relationship, I told him about a Europe choir trip I wanted to do. I wanted to go so badly.

"You won't go to Europe," he said.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You don't have it in you. I just can't see you travelling anywhere, going anywhere."

I told myself I wouldn't let him change my mind, but my drive was already broken. That boy who controlled every part of my life had just told me I would not go to Europe, and I believed him. But somewhere deep inside me, that dream lived on, and I knew deep down that I would fulfill that dream someday, despite him. Throughout our relationship, he tore down any and all dreams I had until I was an empty shell, devoid of any love for life. When I was finally free of this tormentor, I slowly built my drive back up again. I began to dream once more. I dreamed of going to DC, to Europe, and beyond. I dreamed of visiting London and seeing castles in Ireland.

I saved up money for some trip though I did not know when the time would come or how it would present itself. A year ago, I saw an ad on the BYU-I website for the English Study Abroad tour to the United Kingdom and Ireland. I knew this was my ticket. I applied, got in and began to prepare. Fast forward a year later. I looked out the bus window at the British countryside. I was there. That's when I recalled that conversation with the tormentor, and I realized: I've done it.

"You won't go to Europe," I heard him say in the back of my memory.
"Ah, but I did," I answered, silencing him. Tears pricked my eyes as I realized this trip was the final step in annihilating any remainder of that experience that had been left in me. I exorcised the last ghost of my past that had been haunting me when I accomplished my dream in spite of him.

But who am I to take credit for this accomplishment? I remember right after I had broken up with that boy and had been abandoned in my pain. I prayed and accused God of abandoning me like that boyfriend had.

"Where are you?!" I cried at the silence. But the silence was broken. I opened my scripture to John, and one verse was literally illuminated by an unearthly light. It said, "I will not leave you comfortless; I will come to you." And He did come to me. God wrapped me in his light and warmth, and God overcame my pain and regret. He healed me from the inside out, and he gave me many experiences to help me move on. He sent me to DC, and then, he sent me to Ireland, where I felt such peace I have never felt before. God has done everything for me that I have ever needed, and I will never stop trusting Him and His will for me.

Throughout these experiences, I've learned that nothing is out of God's reach and nothing is greater than Christ's atoning power. In that scene in the Waitress, I compare it to that day when I looked upon God and found the strength I needed to change. That woman had loved her baby so strongly, she found the strength to overcome the darkness in her life. Similarly, that day when God started healing me, I looked upon Him and felt a love stronger than anything I've ever known. I found this desire to serve Him always and work as hard as I could to be worthy to spend eternity in His presence. Though I lose sight sometimes of the important things, my knowledge of the living God's presence has never wavered  I've never doubted His love and perfect plans for me, and I've never stopped loving Him. I will never stop loving my Lord, and I will never love anyone more than Him. If all I can do to show this love to Him is live my life, then I just pray that I can live the best life I can.

The true creation

I'm embarking on a great adventure tomorrow, and I've been reflecting a lot as I take the long drive to Salt Lake in a big van with seven sleeping girls.
For someone with so many amazing blessings, I sure do angst a lot. I've always had this deep-seeded darkness or negativity inside of me that I battle constantly. I've also always had this part of me that is happy just to be alive. My innards could be described as a battle between life and hate. But isn't this the existence we mankind are destined to live? Our inner demi-gods seek goodness and light while our human natures seek darkness and rebellion. This is the battle we are taught to wage on our "natural man." The age old turmoil between good and bad, light and darkness.
They cannot exist in the same space and so they fight for the stage. Darkness prevails in some battles, but we hope that light will win the war.
While I do strive for light and righteousness, the creative part of my soul often craves darkness and sadness because it recognizes the beauty and inspiration of it. I've addressed the artist's angst before: the reason for destructive tendencies in creative people.
In my creative writing class, we have learned about what my teacher calls "points of tension" in literature. He says the power of a piece is directly dependent on the amount and intensity of points of tension. This has shown further light on my theories about the artist's angst.
Why do we thirst after conflict so much? Our souls long for peace while our humanity seeks dissonance and distress. And so we like conflicts and resolutions in literature, art, drama and music.
This is part of the reason why creative individuals may seek discordance in their own lives. It's why I constantly let people in my life who I know will be bad for me and hurt me. And why I often go after boys who will never like me back or will ever treat me right. Perhaps it's why I fell in love with a boy I knew was leaving for two years.
It sounds morbid, but any creative person will understand because I believe we all have destructive tendencies to some degree during at least part of our lives. There is something so dissonant but beautiful about unrequited love. Something so inspiring about overcoming a bad relationship. The heart is so much more poetic when its broken.
The most creating I've ever done has been in the midst of an abusive relationship or shortly after being dumped. However, in contrast to that, the only time I was ever more creative than that was when I was truly in love, for love conquers all.
High school infatuation provided many songs and poems but true love inspires change and meaning. When I had that best friend, that loving presence in my life, I felt more alive than I ever had. He helped me realize the best and the worst in myself. As he said to me one time, "You are my biggest weakness yet my greatest strength." I had never believed in soulmates, but he taught me new meaning to the phrase "other half." Every day was an adventure, a fulfillment of a dream. 
To lose that presence from my life was enough to give me writer's block for the first time in my life. All the lust for life was sucked out of me, all the light extinguished. Writing had once been my best friend. Now it was a joker dancing in the corner of my subconsciousness taunting my pain.
That heartbreak was the only pain in my life that inspired nothing. And that was when I realized the power of love and the true nature of artist's angst. We seek discordance for inspiration only until we find life's true inspiration: love. The creativity we thought we found in heartbreak flees in the face of true love. And so the "tortured artist" archetype only lasts as long as we can go before finding love. Once we can find that, we will never want for inspiration again.

A Modern Psalm

O Lord, how powerful art thou?
I cannot ask because I cannot comprehend.
How small am I? One grain of sand rolling along an infinite beach,
being blown by the winds of life, tossed on the waves of adversity and then,
     cradled in thy hand.

O Lord, how many more souls are there than I? How many worlds beyond this?
How dost thou know me so well then?
I cannot ask because I cannot comprehend.
How powerful thou art to have me in thy heart at the same time
as so many others, to love us all eternally,
     to weep when we do wrong.

How is it, O Father, that one as rebellious and unworthy as I
can feel such an infinite love from a being like thee?
I am the grain of sand.
I can feel thy rays of warmth, but still
     I don't understand.

Yet, I do know thee, Lord. Thou art the warmth in the midst of
the cold world.
Thou art the light that fills my dark life. The love that never ends,
never disappears. I am blind to thee sometimes, but thou art ever there.
Thou art the only thing that makes life worth enduring, and makes the end
     more bearable.

Don't leave me, Lord, I pray, I beg.
Thou art the rope cast out onto stormy waters, the only thing stopping me
from becoming lost at sea. Thou art the only one who can calm the madness,
the only thing that's holding me up, and I hold on for dear life.
Thou art my joy,
     my hope.

Without thee, I can never be more than a grain of sand.
Thou hath enlarged my soul.
Make me more than I am, Father.
Make me like thee.
Stay with me ever more; never let me fall again.
I've felt that despair, emptiness, that follows rebellion. I hid from thy face.
Never again will I depart from thee.
Never leave my presence, dear Lord,
     never leave.

Redneck Escapades

I just thought I would enter today's journal entry into my blog so you all can read it. Today was a good day. :)

I had such a fun, adventurous day with my dad today. I went with him in the truck out in the forest to gather up firewood he had chopped already. At first I was nervous about my dad’s plan, but then it was way fun. We drove over logs, bushes, branches and small trees with my powerful truck in 4-wheel-drive. Sometimes I didn’t think he could make it, but he did. My dad backed into a tree a couple times, and the front bumper came almost completely off. The truck is also scratched up now. My mom was mad at us for messing up the truck, but I think the dents and scratches add character. They reminds us of experiences just like scars do. I got a few bruises where I dropped firewood on my feet and my dad accidentally threw a piece of firewood at my leg a couple of times. At one point I said to my dad: “You better be grateful I’m out here doing this because no other girls would!” We both chuckled. We got dirty and scratched up and sore, but it was so worth it to have an adventure with my dad.

At one point I was thinking to myself how rough and tough I was. I picked up one piece of firewood, and on the bottom were three, black, 4-inch-wide spiders. I dropped it with a screech and shook my arms until I got that gross image out of my head. That was the end of my conceited thoughts. Later we drove through the pasture into another part of the forest. My dad got out of the truck to pull some tansy real quick, but he accidentally left the truck in Drive. He stepped out and the truck drove off at probably about 10 mph. I yelled to my dad and we both chased after it. Luckily my dad got to it before it went more than a few yards, and he jumped in and backed it up and parked it. We were both just laughing our heads off. It was so fun. I’m so grateful for these sweet experiences with my dad. I hope I can look back one day and remember them. That’s why I’m recording them here.

Hello, goodbye

Life is full of hellos and goodbyes. We say goodbye everyday. It may be farewell til the next day or it may be goodbye forever. When I check out at the grocery store, I may see the clerk again, but maybe I won't. So there we are exchanging pleasantries, entering each other's lives for a moment. Then I turn and we leave without a word. The same is true with those friends and loved ones who must leave our lives. Sometimes we must say goodbye to those people, and it's beyond our control. Sometimes it hurts like heck, and we don't want to let them go, but we must. And I thank the Lord that those people can be in my life, if even for just a moment.

I've recently come to the realization lately that, just like when someone dies, when someone leaves your life for whatever reason, it's not goodbye forever. No relationship in this life is short-term or temporary. I believe we will see those people in the next life. There will be no pain, regret or hurt there, and we will reminisce of our days on Earth and the silly human things we did.
I think that when we return to our God after this life, our loved ones will be there. But there will also be those people, the ones who influenced us for a fleeting moment. They will approach us and say, "Hey, remember when we shared that conversation on the metro?" or "Hey, you're that girl who took the time to ask if I was ok. Thank you."

Even if you will truly never see someone again, I believe their influence continues to linger with you. It's why we recognize someone's face, even if we only met them for a moment. The people around us rub off on us and influence us. We influence them too.

I come back again to the subject of social media. I believe this is why we crave social media so much. We can pretend to be anti-social people all we want, but we really are creatures of connection. We crave information and association. We long to know and understand other people; it's a primal need. When people decide to leave our lives, or even to reject us, we tend to cut that connection and close that person out of our memories. But, we never truly forget, do we?

Some memories hurt too much to be remembered, but we ought to remember the pleasant memories of people no longer in our lives. We should be grateful for the influence that person brought into our lives, even if the only thing they gave us was an example of who we don't want to be.

So, where am I going with this? I'm going to one of God's greatest gifts to us: the present. We shouldn't dwell in the past but we should honor those experiences and fleeting moments which have made us who we are today. If I could go through my life again, I might change some things, but generally, I would do it all over again. My life has made me who I am today, but I make what my life will be from here out.

Washington DC: Reporting in the Rain

From last week:

"I wish I had some flipflops," I thought to myself yesterday as I walked to the grocery store in the warm weather.

Ironically (as my life always is) I walked out of the house this morning and walked into a wall of downpour. Being from the rainy state where we are too tough for umbrellas, I dawned a hooded jacket and went out the door. I was in a good mood, despite having to wake up early for an event that started before I technically had to start work and now being faced with the only part of Washington stated I hadn't missed: the gray. With the gray overcast sky, gray skyscrapers, gray sidewalk.. I felt like I was in the gray tunnel of the metro before I really was.  My metro ride to the event had used up all the money I had on metro card.  I could put more on online, but it would take hours to register.  It would be ready when I needed to go home after work, but not by the time I needed to leave an event.  I figured I could take a taxi back to the office.

When I came out of the metro stop near my destination, I realized that my phone's GPS app couldn't pinpoint my location.  The little blue arrow representing me was flittering between my home and a location near where I truly was.  I had my route on my map, but the streets were too complicated for me to be able to tell where I was or what direction I was going without my location working. 

I tried to shield my phone from the downpour, but the wind was blowing the raindrops every which way and my phone's dryness dimished rapidly.  I stumbled blindly down the puddle-soaked sidewalk and glared at the umbrellas surrounding me on all sides.  I chose a direction and walked it.  Of course, it was the opposite direction of where I needed to go.  I didn't realize that until after I had walked ten minutes.  My suede flats were soaked through, as were my plaid tights and my pencil skirt.  My jacket shielded my blouse and the upper half of my skirt, but my jacket was soon soaked too.  Water dripped through my backpack, and I prayed it wouldn't harm my dear laptop.  Or my smartphone which I carried in my hand or pocket.  Of course neither of those offered adequate shelter for my little touch-screen warrior. 

I soon found myself under a bridge.  After gazing sadly at the five homeless people snuggled into their ragged blanket-insulation-cardboard shelters on the sidewalk under the bridge, I returned my attention to finding my way.  I realized I was going in the wrong direction, so I turned the next corner and was now going towards my destination but from the other direction.  I had left my house 20 minutes early, but I was going to be ten minutes late.  I carefully followed my route and sighed in relief as I turned a corner and saw the building.  I entered the building in a bustle, and a sweet lady greeted me, expressing her concern about the weather conditions.  My shoes sqlurched and water squeezed out onto the carpet with every step I took.  I held the elevator door open for a woman who was just as soaked as I.  Water droplets dripped off both of us as we rode the elevator up to the fifth floor.  When I left, there was a puddle of rainwater where I had stood. 

I was so embarrassed to be ten minutes late to this press event, but I walked in and found that it hadn't started yet.  The room was relatively empty when I walked in, and the people around me looked just as wet and hassled as I was.  I remembered the traffic congestion I had witnessed on the way here and realized that I was obviously not the only one who was late.  I snagged a perfect seat at the press table with access to a wall outlet for my laptop, which had survived (thankfully).  The building was warm and dry, but I was shivering from my wet clothes.  My shoes still sopped and left wet footprints on the carpet.  I grabbed a scone from the breakfast table and sat my wet butt down.  The event was quite interesting, and I got a story out of it.  When it came time to leave, I knew I needed to find an ATM so I would have cash for the metro.  I asked the nice lady downstairs where I could find an ATM.  She pointed the senate building across the street.  I went through the long line through the front of the building, the security check and the elevator ride to the basement.

After walking a mile through the underground Senate tunnels with my squeeky, sploshing shoes and smudged makeup, I found an ATM.  I opened my bag to pull my wallet out, and my stomach dropped.

There... was... no... wallet.

I now had absolutely no way of getting to the office or even home.  I panicked, but decided to go back to the event and procrastinate my panicking until then.  As I walked, I remembered that one of my coworkers was attending the second panel at that event.  I knew I could taxi back with him; I just had to find him.  I advanced through the mud puddles once more and entered the event building.  I happened to glance behind me and saw my coworker.  It was pure divine intervention.  I awkwardly approached him and informed him of my dilemma, letting him know that I would wait until he was done with his panel and taxi back to work with him.  He agreed but suggested that I come upstairs once more for the free lunch.  (Yes, that is how much time had passed.)  I came upstairs once more and was greeted with sensuous smelling gourmet food.  There was salmon, salad and pasta.  I love salmon.  After I ate, I returned downstairs and wrote my story as I waited for Adam (my coworker) to finish covering the panel. 

During the taxi ride back to the office, we talked of his days as an intern at our company.  He hadn't known anything more about telecom than I did when he started.  But I'm learning just as he learned.  His internship led to a job offer, and he has been there for five years now.  That is great encouragement for me.  Telecom has really grown on me.  I find myself bringing it up in casual conversations. (no doubt to the dismay of people who don't understand it, which is mostly everyone.)

Anyway, so I made it back to work and enjoyed an uneventful day the rest of the time.  My morning escapades turned out to be a blessing in disguise though..  A very very very good disguise.  Here's how: I was planning on getting fast food for dinner so I could go to the gym after work and before institute.  I didn't have time to go home for dinner.  But, since I had forgotten my wallet, I had no way of buying dinner.  But... I had no transportation, so I had to wait for Adam, so I stayed for the free lunch, so I still had the turkey and cheese sandwich I had brought for lunch.  Therefore I still had dinner, yay!  So that was my crazy day.  But honestly, I still had a wonderful day.

The artist's burden

I've been thinking over my life so far lately, and I've begun to question why it is that I go for boys I know will let me down, and why it doesn't work out with guys who would actually treat me good.  I figured it out though.  I'm an artist.  I mean, I don't draw or sculpt or anything.  But I create masterpieces with my thoughtfully crafted words.  I take the English language in my hands like clay and mold it to suit my moods and desires.  But I've come to realize that deep-down, I'm one of the tortured artist types.  I am more inspired when I have some sort of pain or conflict in my life.

I subconsciously recognize that chaos and heartache can fuel this burning desire to write more than anything else.  So I subconsciously look for men to let into my life who will mess it up, men who will let me down time after time until I feel so pitiful and victimized that I write and write.  I think I actually seek out rejection sometimes, without realizing it.  And when I feel rejected, of course I feel hurt, but I also feel oddly satisfied, like I've fulfilled my burden.  I've fulfilled this role I view myself in, that role of the tortured artist.  The complicated one that no one else can understand who can only properly express herself with the written word.  I think that will be how I can tell if I've found my soulmate.  He will get me.  He'll see right through all my layers and plot twists, he'll see to the core of my protagonistic heart and my antagonistic mind. 

So as I sit and stew with a rock in my heart and a cold in my head, I feel down, but I also feel fulfilled.  I feel strengthened as the words flow out of my fingers, creating whole new worlds.  I wonder though if I will ever stop choosing the wrong man.  It would seem that I must keep choosing Mr. Wrong if I want to continue receiving inspirations.  There is something so romantic about unrequited love.  I love it.  I write so many stories about it.   I watch unrequited love at work in my own life as I draw towards men who will only cause pain and as I reject good men who long to devote themselves to me.  I feel so alive as I long for someone who won't think twice of me.  It reminds me that I'm living, breathing, feeling.  And it keeps me in this tortured role that I see myself playing on the stage in my head. 

The typical artist archetype: finding inspiration while being beaten down by the world.  It's what every artist longs to be: beauty and creation rising out of the depths of darkness and despair.  It's a stereotype, but it's what every artist finds themselves reenacting.   It's why some artists will dress in odd clothes or become vegetarians.  We want to be different.  We see the world differently than everyone else.  And we want to stand out from the world because we see how straightforwardly bland the whole world is without us and our creations. 

But come on, I can't just keep going for Mr. Wrong all my life right?  So how will I keep up this level of inspiration when I let someone in my life who will fulfill me and make me happy and stop playing the role of the unrequited lover?  I've noticed that requited love can be just as much of an inspiring fuel as heart ache is.  I look back at past relationships before I realized how bad they were.  I wrote so many beautiful songs and poems for those undeserving men.  I wrote my heart out for them.  One day, Mr. Right will come along and be my sole inspiration.  Until then, I'm an artist without a muse, finding ingenuity in the beautiful chaos that we call life.

DC: The Irony of Journalism - take 2

Let's try this again.  So I was talking about my job right?  Yes. 

Before I go any further, I must tell you about my biggest experience lately.  I went to an FCC open meeting the other day.  I felt so fancy.  I had to show them picture ID and have them print me out a badge.  Then I went through security and had to turn on my laptop and cell phone and let the security people look at them.  I'm not sure what they were looking for, but I felt fancy.  Matt, the new guy, also went to the meeting.  While I was there, one of my fellow reporters emailed me and told me to ask a question for him during the press conference after the meeting.  He would be watching the live videocast of the meeting and press conference online.

So, after the meeting, I went and sat at the press table, a table facing the commissioners with mics for each person.  It was so nerve-racking.  I was at the press table about the ask a question to the CHAIRMAN OF THE FCC on TV, for goodness sakes!  Matt was also up there, and he went before I did.  When I finally asked my question, the Chairman said, "oh you're new aren't you?"  That just shows how cool the publication that I'm working for is.  The Chairman of the FCC notices when we get new people.  I felt so important.  Then another section of the commission got up to answer questions about something else, and Matt leaned over asking me if I could think of any questions.  I shrugged and mouthed "I don't know" because I hadn't collected myself to think of any.  Matt came to me and told me the video camera had caught that exchange.  Great, I looked like a complete newby in front of the whole telecom world.  Ah well, what can you do. :P

Anyways, another fun part of work is when I do a good job.  After a particularly good story about the FCC and digital textbooks, I got an email from my boss that said nothing in the body, but the subject line said: "Nice."

It was such a simple compliment, yet it meant tons.  Of course, a couple days later, I wrote a pretty crappy story which probably ruined it.  Then this week, I ticked off one of my other bosses two days in a row.  I felt pretty useless.  Not to mention, I've been working on one story for a couple weeks and haven't made much progress. Yesterday I really buckled down and tried to finish it today.  I got some good, solid numbers for my story.  But then, I found out they were all inaccurate, and I found myself back at square one. 

But when I left work today, I had about half of the story finished.  I'm confident I can finish it Tuesday.   Yes, Tuesday.  Yay for federal holidays!! Presidents Day right?  More like "Katie Sleep-In Day."  Anyways, I also like the people I work with.  It's so cool to be working with real-life journalists.  It may sounds silly, but it's awesome.  I try to learn as much as I can, and they often give me advice.  I love it.

DC: The Irony of Journalism

I like many things about my job.  One of my favorites is, of course, covering events that give me free lunch (or various other free foods).  I also love that I'm covering the state legislative beat.  I get to learn more about how state governments work.  I'm not very familiar with state government, and I've learned a lot already.  I also get to see how different states are dealing with different telecom issues.  For example, Washington state has a bill that makes it easier for local governments to build broadband, while Georgia has one that would limit the local governments' ability to build broadband.  A bill was just introduced in West Virginia that would give the state's public service commission power to regulate broadband deployment.  The public service commission usually deals with things like electricity and waterworks, not broadband.  It just fascinates me that these different states are taking such different approaches to one issue.

It really makes me appreciate the freedom we have in this country, and it brings me back to the idea that we are such an individualistic society.  Different regions of our country can have polar opposite laws just because different types of people live there and have different types of needs.  Many people argue that, in this technology age, smartphones and social media and things have made us more individualistic.  It's an interesting debate.  Whether we are more or less individualistic now, I don't know.  But I think Americans have always been individualistic.  That's the idea our country was founded on: "I have rights, and YOU can't take them away from ME."  That's the most beautiful and right form of selfishness.  We are all united in our self-absorbedness.  But if we think someone attacks our rights, we can unite in an instant to fight back.  We saw that with the whole SOPA debate a couple weeks back. 

I think that the Internet and everything else has made us more united if anything.  We can share information with each other, check up on each other and give feedback in a matter of seconds.  Sure, we are probably less social, as in we have less face-to-face interactions.  And there are bad things about that to be sure.  But here's my point:
Technology came along, a wonderful tool that could be used for good or for bad.  And what do we use it for?
To connect with each other! 

We may be individualistic, but we are still very much alive and concerned with each other.  So much so that we all want to be instantly connected with each other 24/7.  Some of us can't go for more than one day without checking Facebook.  Is it unhealthy? Maybe.  But what does it say about our natures?  We're hungry for information.  We're hungry to learn, to be aware of each other.  And whether you're a positive young mother posting about her kids or a whiny teenager posting complaints about everyone under the sun, you know you've always got some type of following who will support you and "like" what you say.  What a beautiful use of technology.

DC: Escapades in Chinatown

I've been here over a month and have given up keeping track of how many days I've been here, so I will just write about isolated inspired incidents.

Yesterday.. it was Friday night.  And, naturally, I was hanging out with a guy.  That's what hot journalists do when they're not busy saving the world.  They hang out with their creepy, 29-year-old male friends!  Unless certain younger guys in their singles ward balls up and ask them out... Anyways. 

Well, I was asked out, kind of, by a congressional intern I met at a press event the other day.  He had asked me for my number, suggesting we "go out for coffee sometime."  Apparently my halo wasn't bright enough for him to recognize that I'm Mormon.  :P  Yesterday, he texted me and invited me to go with him and some friends to happy hour.  I said, "I don't drink."  I could just tell him I'm Mormon, but I like it when people figure things out on their own.  So I decided to go with my Mormon male-friend who has come to play the simultaneous roles of gay friend trying to set me up with other guys, mentor trying to give me ridiculous advice about life, and flirty guy friend who likes to argue with me about stuff, like Obama.  It's always nice to have a friend who balances between being fun to hang out with and sporadically ticking you off.

So, there we were in Chinatown.  I was in a particularly happy mood, probably because it was the weekend and I had just finished a casual Friday.  So I walked along in my Yogscast sweatshirt, attracting extra stares from passerbyers who probably wondered what the heck a "diggy hole" is, and of course attracting the usual stares from people who can't seem to comprehend a woman being 6 feet tall.  We went to dinner at a Tai place where I had the most delectable chicken and spicy fried rice.  It was mostly delicious because my body had not quite recovered from my kickboxing class the day before and I had been ravenous all day.  By the time I got to the restaurant, I had become giddy and moody because my blood sugar was so low.  I'm sure I was obnoxious.

So, he happened to have two movie passes, and I convinced him to take me to "Vow," a sappy chick flick that had opened that day (which was yesterday by the way).  But 7:30 was sold out, so we decided to wander aimlessly and argue about stuff until the 9 pm showing.  I doubted whether the streets of chinatown could be entertaining for that long.  But one medium McDonald's milkshake later, I was on a sugar-high mood swing, and we came upon a spectacular street performer.

The scrawny young white man stood under a lamp post, right in front of the Chinatown movie theater, playing an electric guitar and belting out songs by Journey and Bob Marley, occasionally changing words in the songs to match our settings.  ("In the government yard in Trenchtown" was changed to "by a movie theater in Chinatown")  The man was quite talented and sounded just like Journey when he sand "Small Town Girl."  He had a stand up mic and his electric guitar hooked up to a small speaker, and he had a bike leaned up against the lamp post.  What a beautiful thought, this man travelling around DC on his bike, with his equipment on his back. 

After a couple minutes of the music drifting out of that speaker, five people had stopped to listen.  We had stopped too but were a little ways off observing.  One man, African American and about 50, stopped and started dancing on the side walk.  A woman walking by with some friends started dancing too.  Soon about 20 people were gathered around listening, singing along or dancing. 

"This is why I love being a journalist," I uttered.  I love observing the little joys in life.  As much darkness as there is in this world, complete strangers can still be united on a Friday night in downtown DC by a lone street performer.  How grand is the human state.  As much darkness there is in human nature, there is also so much joy, fight and potential.  So much beauty. 

As the performer ran out of songs, we stood there still, observing the people wander back to their normalness after that moment of shared joy.  I was just going to check my phone to see the time when a short black man with a fat mustache approached us.

"Brotheh!" he exclaimed to my companion, "you gotta winnah here!  And if you find a winner, you gotta keep 'er!"  He gestured to me, and I laughed at the awkwardness of the situation. 

"You know what?!  You gotta love her.."  Then he proceeded into some sort of rhyme that involved numbers and references to love.  His accent was too thick for me to understand him, but I got the general idea, and I soon realized he was a beggar trying to get money.  After that he subjected us to a sermon about the fact that he had not asked us for anything but had instead given us something (his rhyme).  He then proceeded to preach about how God had saved him and would save those who were kind. 

"If someone gave me $100, it wouldn't mean as much as if you gave me $1, if his heart wasn't in it," the man rambled.  Then he again lectured my friend about holding onto me, loving me and fixing me a bubble bath after a long day.  I couldn't help but crack up.  We were both laughing, but he rambled on, interjecting "Oh baby!" and "Ow!" every few sentences.  After about fifteen minutes of this entertainment, my friend said, "I don't have any cash, but I can give you my extra metro card."  I could tell he desperately wanted this man to go away.  But to my continued laughter, the man continued, now preeching about my friend's kindness.  My friend kept trying to interject, but the man never even took a breath.  A pause finally came, and my friend shook his hand and backed away.  As we escaped, I couldn't help but laugh.

"This would not happen anywhere else," I said between laughs.  Don't get me wrong, I was definitely not laughing at that poor man.  I found his bold cheerfulness to be entertaining and uplifting.  But the man had been so forward, and the situation was so ridiculous, I couldn't help it. 

We had been listening to this man for about a half hour, and it was finally time for the movie.  We went in and stood in line among giggling girls and their reluctant boyfriends.  When we got into the theater, I was reminded of relief society at church.  About 80% of the people in the crowded theater were females, and they were all talking and giggling.  Of course, the theater showed a commercial about an orphan chimpanzee which induced many "aww"s from the crowd.  But not as much "aww"s as half-way through the movie when Channing Tatum, in all his muscley glory, started crying because his wife had forgotten him.  This brought on the biggest, loudest, unisoned "AWW" I had ever heard.  Of course, I joined in.  I couldn't help it.  After the movie, I was so tired that the 15 minute wait for the train in the metro was a sleepy haze.  But I thoroughly enjoyed my Chinatown experience.  It's nice to be girly sometimes and go see a chick flick, watch street performers and get complimented by a homeless man.

D.C. Day 26

Wednesday.
Today was a fantastic day.  Divine almost.  I've been quite mopey lately so I decided to buck up and be happier.  I've been spending more time in prayer and scripture study for the past couple of days, and I've been trying to focus more on other people than myself.  Of course today contained ironically horrible things.  My days always do, but the irony usually makes me laugh.  Lately I've been letting those things get to me, but not today!

I was supposed to cover an event today, and not just any event.  It was a discussion with a news anchor, the chairman of the FCC, and someone from the Department of Education, and it was being recorded live in a studio in the Newseum.  How awesome does that sound!! Also, today was gloriously sunny and warm, despite being the first day of February.  I didn't realize quite how warm it would be when I dressed that morning.  So I had worn a sweater over a long-sleeved button up white shirt and thick tights under my pencil skirt.  I walked to the metro station with sunlight imploding into my retinas from all possible directions.  The sunlight was dripping onto my skin, drawing out beads of sweat.  By the time I finally got to the metro station, I was exhausted.  When I arrived at my destination, it was even worse.  The area of the city I had gone to was more open, which meant more sun.  The sun rays reflected off cars, buildings and sidewalks as I walked the .7 mile to the newseum.  I went the wrong way at first and had to back track.  By the time I got there, my legs burned from trying to walk fast in a restricting pencil skirt, my eyes burned from the winter sunlight and I was a sweaty mess. 

I walked into the cool air of the museum, went through security, and entered the main doors.  I approached the sign in desk and was greeted by sorry looks.  It was 1:02. I was two minutes late.

"The live studio has started, and we can't admit anyone into the doors," one woman told me.  "You should have been in your seat at 12:30."

"The FCC press release didn't say anything about that," I objected.

"We're not in charge of what the FCC says.  Our press release said to be here a half hour early," she said.

"I didn't get a press release from you."

"I'm sorry."

I dejectedly re-entered the heat of outside.  It seemed even hotter on the way home.  My metro stop was the worst.  This certain stop has to exits.  The regular exit is shut down right now due to construction, so I have to use the other one.  This alternative exit has literally the tallest escalator in DC.  Maybe even the world.  My fear of escalators will not allow me to stand still on an escalator.  I must climb them.  So I climbed this half-mile escalator in a tight pencil skirt with the hot sun pouring down the tunnel.  I stayed motivated only by the desire to see the face of the man in front of me.  He had tan skin and a most attractive body with bulging muscles.  I was curious to see if his face was as attractive.  I matched his speed, and soon he grew too tired to continue.  He stood to one side as I passed him, and I caught a glimpse of his face.  He looked like Johnny Depp, but much beefier.  After passing the man, I climbed a couple more yards and emerged from the escalator: sweating, panting and grasping at the railing. 

As I came out, I saw a man with a large video camera.  I froze, stared at him in shock and then fled from the lens's view.  It was a news camera man from channel 5, no doubt filming some B roll of the escalator for a story about the other entrance being closed.  The camera man had caught my grand entrance complete with sweating, panting and awkwardly sneak-glancing at the hottie. 

Mortification.

I walked away and literally laughed out loud at the irony of my adventure.  I met my boss's boss as I was walking the last block back to work.  I said in one of my first blog posts that his name was Tim, but I got his name mixed up with another reporter.  His name is Dan.  I told him of my wasted time and being turned away from the event.  Then we continued into the office. 

Not soon afterwards, Howard came back to the office from an FCC meeting.  I didn't tell you about Howard yet because he was gone my first week at a meeting in Vegas.  He's another editor, a middle-aged man.  But after I met him, he soon became one of my favorite people because every time I talk to him, he goes off on a couple tangents that end with sprinkles of journalistic advice.  It reminds me of my favorite teacher back at BYU-I.  It's a trait that many writers have, and most of my favorite writing teachers have had it. 

"You ought to do as much of that kind of thing as possible," Howard said as I told him about when I covered a court case for a class at BYU-I after we got on the subject somehow.  I've also made friends with the two other women in the office, Yu-Ting and Kamala.  We're Facebook friends so it's official right?  They're super cool.  I'm helping Yu-Ting with the state legislative beat, so that has kept me busy this week so far.  I love the environment here, and everyone I work with is supportive and helpful. 

So after work, I went home for dinner before institute at the barlow center.  My landlord is the mission president in his ward so apparently the missionaries sometime come to see him.  They came tonight, and of course one of them was a 6' 5" football player from byu. Again, are you kidding me? So that was fun. Naturally, I was late to institute because I got caught up working on this post.  But I loved the class when I got there. We learned about Joseph smith coming to dc to talk to the president and running for president.  Then we talked about modern prophets.  The spirit was so strong, stronger than I have felt it since being at byu-i.  I love the propel in my ward.  When I first got here, I thought some were snobby, but there really are so many amazing people here.

I finally feel settled in, and I've got less than three months less.  Today was amazing, and my only worries so far are figuring out who to watch superbowl with on Sunday. People here don't watch sports, they watch politics. :p

D.C. Day 24

All my depressed writer ramblings from yesterday rang less true with me Sunday morning and even less today.  I think I was having a mid-internship crisis brought on by a combination of moping around with a soar throat for three days and being homesick.  Of course I still want to be a journalist, though I'm still not sure about the whole political thing.  Eventually I will be a freelance writer, but I've known that all along.  Right now, I just need to worry about enjoying DC for the 2 and 1/2 months I have left. 

Truth is, I'm homesick for Rexburg.  Never thought I would say that.  But I miss my little bubble where you never hear cusses and never see cigarette smoke, and where everyone holds the door open for anyone, no matter what.  But when you're homesick you can either whine or buck up.  I'm attempting the latter.  I do generally like it here.  There are some super nice people in my ward, and its so cool to sight see in this historical city. 

And church yesterday definitely cheered me out of my soar throat slump.  We had ward conference and the choir sang.  Naturally, I'm in the choir.  We sang "Come thou font" and we sounded almost as good as the tab choir.  It's so nice to be partaking of music like that again.  And I've been learning some new piano pieces in my spare time too. 

This morning, I have time to write before work because I woke up early.  I guess all the sleeping I did over the past four days kicked in, and my body wouldn't let me sleep in anymore.  I feel excited to go back to work today.  I'm going to start writing about legislation soon, and that's gonna be super good training.  So, I better go get ready for work!

D.C. Day 22

There wasn't a lot to report this week. The most exciting thing that happened is I saw a group of hipsters wearing striped socks, oxford shoes and Where's Waldo hats.  They were so stereotypical that I had to get a picture.  Unfortunately.. my flash was on.  I didn't get the shot because I averted my camera so quickly out of shock and embarrassment.  Next time I was on the metro and wanted to take a picture of something hilarious, I made certain that my flash was off.  That picture turned out:

I've never seen wooden high heels before, and they were so obnoxious, I had to take a photo. 

On Monday, I think, I was walking down a sidewalk.  I had to walk under some scaffolding because of construction going on.  As I was walking, I saw a tag sticking out from the wood and stopped to read it:

Great... that's reassuring.

So anyways, I got sick on Wednesday and spent Thursday and Friday sleeping, wallowing and watching chick flicks.  (How cliche)  I was very cold and went to extreme lengths to keep warm.  I woke up from an all-day nap and saw this in the mirror:

Yes.. I'm wearing my Russian mafia hat over my hood in an attempt to keep warm. :P

I felt much better today (Saturday, the 28), but I didn't particularly feel like going out.  I spent the morning cleaning my room and bathroom.  I also practiced the piano today.  Well it's only a keyboard, not a piano.  Yes, that's how desperate I have become to create music.. I'm reduced to playing a keyboard. 

Anyways, my friend Rachelle (who is also 6'0" and also comes from Tacoma, Washington area. She's awesome)  convinced me to go with her and her other friend to the Smithsonian museum of natural history.  That was cool.  On the way there, I saw a couple guys playing a terrific drum medley on some buckets.

As soon as I arrived at the museum, Rachelle and her sidekick announced their intentions to see an Imax about coral reefs.  Great, a movie about water, fish, diving... all things that I'm terrified of.. on a 12-story screen.  It wasn't so bad; it featured gorgeous scenes of colorful fish darting through cascades of floral.  But it was a familiar film about how humans are good-for-nothings who are ruining the earth and killing all the sea creatures. 

My bad. 

Besides that, we saw the Hope Diamond and a bunch of other beautiful diamonds and gems.  That must have been our favorite part.  Or at least mine. 

We also saw the fossil exhibit, which reinforced my believing in sea monsters and my non-believing in dinosaurs. 

After we all left the museum and said goodbye.  I took the metro to a stop about a mile from my house because I wanted to check out a gym I'm thinking of joining.  I walked home, but went further and traversed down to the waterfront.  I prefer walking to riding the metro, especially today.  The streets were empty in these outskirts of town where I live.  A few cars passed, and a few pedestrians carried groceries down the sidewalk, but I was mostly alone in the midst of the apartment buildings and oak trees.  The wind blew at my face, whipping my hair behind me.  But the air was thick and warm today, and the breeze felt divine. 

I thoroughly enjoy strolling pensively, losing myself in thought as I take in the sights and sounds of the city.  I enjoyed even more walking along the waterfront of the Potomac.  The water lapped at the boats in the dock, and I wandered down the sidewalk, delighting in the moisture lilting on the breeze.  The moist aroma reminded me of the waterfront back home, and warm memories flooded back of loved ones sauntering down the waterfront with me.  The sun was setting by this time, and the fuchsia-dandelion sky reflected on the rippled water along with the city lights across the river. 

I especially liked seeing house boats sitting in the water.  They looked so cozy with their shingled roofs and white decks overlooking the waves.  I spent an hour on the waterfront, soaking in the divinity.  Water.. I fear it, but I love it.  A large body of water is my favorite place to be besides a forest.  There is hardly an abundance of forests in DC, but the water is just as beautiful here as anywhere else.  While I luxuriated in the waterfront ambiance, I pondered.  I've been thinking about things a lot already, but this gave me some time to really examine myself. 

I've known who I am and what I want to do for a long time.  I still know who I am for sure, but I'm not so sure about what I want to do.  I still know that I must write; that's never been under question.  But I'm not sure if I'm cut out to be the political reporter I wanted to be.  I came here as a bright-eyed journalist dedicated to exposing the truth at all costs.  You know, my whole journalism is democracy speech.  But here I am, writing about FCC orders and what organizations think about pending legislation.  And my stories and news briefs are being read by some of the most important executives and government officials.  Yet how satisfied do I feel sitting in a cubicle 40 hours a week? 

DC was supposed to be my shining moment, the jump-start to this dream.  I'm still immensely enjoying the experience, but it has turned into a soul-searching marathon.  My thoughts keep going three ways.  1)  This weird and disturbing desire to settle down with a soul mate and have babies has surfaced out of no where and is suddenly stronger than my desire to be a journalist.  2) go do a bunch of young-person crap. And I want to live in Europe for a time period, most likely the U.K., but Germany would be a plus. 3)  I need to write books.  Hundreds of novel ideas pop in my head every day.  I want to write about everything. 

All these are conflicting ideas and somewhat new.  My desire to write books was replaced a couple years ago by my desire to serve the truth and justice of journalism.   Now, I want to let my mind expand onto paper and give life to these worlds I create everyday.  I feel like an artist with 3 miles of blank canvas.  I want to paint pictures with my words and never stop. 

But at the same time, I still feel excited by journalism, and the ability to present the news to the public.  I'm not sure what this all means, but I think it will eventually boil down to me becoming a freelance writer someday.   But honestly, when I think about making pancakes for mini-Katies in ten years or whenever it happens, all this stuff seems meaningless.  So for the first time in my life, I'm trying to focus more on now than on the future.  It's odd but freeing.  I don't know why I always stress about the future so much anyways.  My life has always followed the same pattern:  I try to live righteously, I tell Heavenly Father to lead me where Be wants me, He plops a scholarship, internship, opportunity, etc. into my lap and sends me off with very few obstacles.  I trust that it will always be this way if I keep trying to do what's right.  Hopefully.  So after all that thinking, I came back to Earth and found myself back in front of the twilight-lit river, walking home in the moonlight. 

D.C. Day 15

Jan. 21
So I decided to miss the basketball game today so I could sight-see.  Good choice right?  I got to see all kinds of monuments and stuff.  So of course I started with this:

We walked around it and travelled down the national mall towards the Lincoln Memorial.  The day was cold, and the wind whipped at our clothes.  It was so cloudy and gray, I almost thought I was back in my other Washington.  A previous snow still covered the ground.  Coldness aside, the air was crisp, and it was a lovely day.  Unfortunately, the reflecting pool is being remodelled, so I didn't get any cool pictures of that, but as we progressed towards the Lincoln memorial, we came upon the new World War II Memorial.  A beautiful ring of rectangle columns representing each state that fought in the war. 

 

Of course I found Washington's column.  At four points in the circle were small towers with statues inside.

 There was also a plaque of stars.  Each star represented every 1,000 American casualties... I think.

Next came the Lincoln Memorial.

 

 

Some lady awkwardly offered to take a picture of us.  "Pictures are so much better with your other half!" she exclaimed... ohmygosh, lady. We're just friends and he's like wayyy old.  Awkward... Cute picture though!

Here's a better one ;)

 

Hehe.. but seriously.. look at this guy!

He's so cool.  So while deciding where to go next.. I took this awesome pic:

(Lol)

And attempted to take a picture of a black squirrel, which I've never seen before.

So next, with wet feet and cold hands, I went to the White house, and it was my lucky day.  There were Iranian protestors in front of the white house gate.

Next we saw Occupy Washington D.C.  It looked like a bunch of homeless drug addicts living in tents.  But...all power to them!

Silly people...

So we walked by a bunch of cool buildings.  I will post those pics on facebook to save room.  But we also passed the FBI building.  Sweet!

I saw the capitol building very last, but it was beautiful as ever.

D.C. Day 14

So yesterday (Thursday), I covered my first real-life press event. It was a conference where two hoity-toity economists talked about their research findings that technological innovation might be minorly, somewhat, maybe, possibly related to job creation and could save our economy. Yeah, duh. They made it into such a big deal, but it was way overblown. But lunch was provided, and I got to network a bit. And by "network" I mean talk to tech-savvy people without sounding like a complete idiot, and receiving a business card from some chick who was giving them to everyone she talked to. It was fun to sit around and eat sandwiches with other journalists and reps from trade associations. I talked and joked with them and probably convinced them I was a "grown-up"... probably. :P

My smartrip card wasn't working so I couldn't take the bus. It was only a 1 mile walk, but with the 40 mph wind in my face, it felt like atleast 5. The wind was even colder on the way home, and I just about died everytime I had to navigate my phone. (Because it's a touch screen, I can't use my phone without taking off my gloves.)

Today, I finished up a story I've been working on about what trade associations are pushing for what policies and bills this year with the FCC, congress, etc. Then Bryce pulled me aside and told me I need to start coming up with my own ideas for stories. This is the moment I've been dreading. I've got no idea. No flipping idea! I mean I finally understand the stuff they assign me, but this is still a whole new world to me. I've got all weekend to come up with 3 story ideas. I told him I was interested in how video games affect society, and he suggested I start with that. But still.. I've got no idea! 

Hopefully I will be able to come up with something good this weekend. We had another basketball dinner tonight, but I didn't go because it's at some house that's an hour away. I hid in my bed all night, writing and watching T.V., trying to procrastinate away this stress. I'm sure I will be able to come up with some great ideas, after I get some much-needed sleep.... I hope.

D.C. Catch Up - basketball team

I realized I forgot to tell you guys about the basketball team, which is an intrical part of my experience here so far.

Apparently all the tall people in Washington D.C. are LDS.  I don't know what it is, but I'm not complaining!  There are several tall men and women in my ward, and there are plenty of women who are taller than I am.  One girl has got to be at least 6'2".  And a lot of the girls my height wear heels so they are even taller.  I love feeling so normal. 

Naturally, we have a sizable basketball team.  Last Friday, we had a dinner for all the girls on the basketball team.  Atleast 20 girls showed up.  We had it at the cheesecake factory. Why did a bunch of destitute young adults go to the cheesecake factory?  Good question.  So we got there at 7:30 p.m. and didn't get seated until 9 p.m.  Everyone around me ordered dinner.  Dinner cost atleast $20.  I splurged for a piece of cheesecake, which cost $10.  I ordered a piece of red velvet cheesecake.  It had layers of cheesecake between layers of red velvet cake, and each layer was frosted with white chocolate frosting.  The edge of the crust was coated in frosting and white chocolate chips.  Slice of heaven. 

As everyone else dug into their veggie burgers and chicken salads, I took a dainty bite of this 1,200 calorie slice of divinity which cost the same amount I would earn in an hour and a half at work.  The cream caressed my tongue and the tastes excited my taste buds. 

"This is like an art gallery in my mouth!"  I exclaimed.  The girls around me gave weak laughs and continued to devour their food.  They hadn't had my hindsight to eat dinner beforehand.  I knew we wouldn't get our food until late, and I knew I didn't want to spend 4 hours worth of wages on food I could easily make myself.  The cheesecake was worth it though.  I ate half of it and took the rest in a to-go box.

It was 10:30 p.m. by the time we got our bills.  After 3 hours together, we had all run out of things to say, and we were all too exhausted for conversation anyway.  We longed for the waitress to return with our cards so we could go home and sleep.  I think it was decided that we would have dinner at someone's house next time so we could afford it and not have to wait up so late. 

The next day we had a basketball game at 1:30.  We're the only singles ward in our stake, so we have to play the young women teams.  There were 15 of us, all over 5'8" and seven of them, all under 5'6".  I was the tallest girl at the game, so my team had me jump.  I never want to but I'm always the one who ends up doing it.  I easily got the ball to one of my team members and we bounded down the court.  Someone shot and missed, I grabbed the rebound and stuck it in the hoop.  One minute into the game I had scored our first point, and I suck at shooting.  We easily demolished those poor 14-year-olds.  I think the score was somewhere around 35 to 19.  I felt bad, until I heard that they had called us old ladies.  Those brats.. We had a dinner last night, but it was an hour away in Virginia, so I decided not to go, and we had a game today, but I want to go enjoy the snow and monuments, so I opted out again.  I'll play next week though.

D.C. Day 12

I don't miss the mountains very much because the buildings towering around me remind me very much of mountain ranges.  When I first got here, I felt a bit claustophobic.  In most places, you can't see more than a couple of blocks in front of you because of the thick swarms of people, vast herds of cars and looming walls of skyscrapers.  Naturally, I felt trapped and longed for a nice open field or forest glade.  But the buildings are tall and bulky like evergreens and mountains, and they soon became a comfort for me.  I feel safe and hidden in the concrete forest. 

My favorite thing about the city is seeing small, century-old buildings still standing amid the modern skyscrapers.  I took pictures of a couple of my favorite examples. 

I just love buildings like this.  Despite being overgrown by massive office buildings, they still stand strong.  I love this one even more: 

This one is my absolute favorite.  This lone little house with a fenced in yard, surrounded on all sides by office buildings, sitting in the shadow of skyscrapers, it reminds me of me.  I'm here in this odd world, this strange new place where I don't belong.  I stick out from the blonds in pencil skirts, but like this little house, I stand my ground in the midst of these city people. 

So about work today...  It was pretty uneventful.  There was an event this morning that we needed to cover but somehow no one found out about it until an hour before it was over.  So they sent me to it at the very end to catch what I could.  It was somewhat tolerable, yet terribly windy half-mile walk.  On the way there, I saw a homeless guy literally living in a cardboard box.  He sat in his box under a tree and cuddled into a ragged blanket .  I wished I had something to give him, money or food or anything.

By the time I arrived at the building, my face felt like a heavy, swollen iceberg.  I walked in about 20 minutes before the end of the event.  I got as much info as I could, but it really wasn't enough.  Before I left, I noticed the breakfast table.  After the event, I took a scone and a muffin.  Poor college interns have no shame.  On the way home, I passed the homeless guy again.  I stopped and offered him the muffin I had taken from the event.  Surprise crossed his gruff face.  He shook his head and looked down ashamedly.  He waved me away.  This was a moment of realization for me.  "Great," I thought. "I'm more desperate than a guy living in a cardboard box."  How ironic. 

That wasn't the only irony for the day.  That night, I decided to go to the Barlow center institute.  I hungout with my friend Emily and some other Barlow people between work and institute.  I probably won't go to that institute any more though cuz it gets out really late and I need my sleep.  Anyways, I somehow sat between two married couples at institute.  Darn married interns. :P

D.C. Day 11

Today, my alarm woke me up, and I thought I was back in my parents house for a minute because of the rain pounding on the roof. That music playing on the rooftop put me back to sleep and I woke up twenty minutes late. I rushed to get ready in time. As I dashed outside with my breakfast in hand, I was so happy to be in the rain that I didn't care that my toast was bloating with rain water. But after walking for ten minutes, I was enviously eyeing all the people around me who had umbrellas.

At work today, I covered a press teleconference about the Stop Online Piracy Act and the Protect IPs Act. Everyone is making a big deal about it, and tomorrow over 7,000 websites are blacking out in protest, including Wikipedia, Reddit and incidentally, Minecraft. :P Google isn't going to completely shut down, but it is blacking out its logo and providing a link. We'll see what happens!

So I actually did stuff after work today instead of returning home to wallow in boredom and sleep. I decided I would attend institute at the Barlow center instead of our chapel because the Barlow center is much closer to where I live, and it's unrealistic to return home after work and go all the way out to the chapel. (The Barlow center is a church building where all the BYU interns live, because BYU interns deserve better treatment than BYU-Idaho interns apparently. But I don't mind because they have strict rules and have to write essays all the time. Imagine being in Washington D.C. and living in a BYU-ruled dorm. Ack!)

Anyways. So institute at the church is on Tuesday, but institute at the Barlow center is on Wednesdays, so I wasn't gonna go to institute tonight, but rather tomorrow night. But my friend Alan insisted that I go. (And we know I'm easily persuaded by males) Not to mention he offered to buy me dinner beforehand. Considering my general lack of money and food, I figured it would be a good investment. (Not to mention a male being involved) So we ate at this burrito place, and I had a divine burrito with all kinds of things in it like chips and jalapenos. I ate the entire monstrosity hoping that my body would store some of it away and I might not have to eat the next day. Yeah right, like that's gonna happen. By the time I finished my meal, I had begun to view Alan as a saint. I may exagerate my financial standing in life, but it really has been a while since I've been truly full after a meal. After we ate, I sat and observed people around us. I learned some things about the dating rituals of non-Mormon DCites:

I'm glad I wasn't on a date with that tool! So after we ate, we walked around D.C. and saw random D.C. things. Alan said I should take more photos.. like this one:

I know where to get books for my future kids! :P We also walked by this:

I was expecting Tom Cruise to come out of the building.. It didn't happen. Here are a couple other cool things we walked by:

Aslan!!!

A wall mural of Marilynn Monroe!

So yeah.. fun adventures. It was lovely walking weather too. The rain that morning had left the air crisp, but the clouds had kept the warmth in. It was so warm, I only needed one coat, it was great. 

And then institute! Which was ok.. It was really really really basic so it was kind of boring, but everyone was nice, and I met this chick from Tacoma, Washington! That's basically where I lived. So we reminisced about being true Washingtonians. Then I took the long trip home and promptly passed out in my bed. :)