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So you may have noticed that I recently added a music player to my blog. You may have also noticed that every song on it (with the exception of about two) are complete stab-me-in-the-gut, kick-me-in-the-teeth, punch-me-in-the-face, horribly depressing songs. This is all by design of course.

At the end of last year I decided to make a mix that was "all sad." It was labeled simply as:

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and called "Sad Face." When I finished I realized that I had even MORE songs that I didn't have room for, so the 2nd installment was called "DOWNER" though it is also referred to as:

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And you guessed it, there was even enough for a third which is called "BROKEN."

When I'm totally depressed, upset, or angry I like to go for drives, and sad music is perfect because it seems to say all the things that you can't.

My favorite pic

I don't consider myself particularly artistic. I appreciate art, sure, but when it comes to CREATING something my skill level is completely shameful. The walls of my room are covered with pictures cut out from old calendars, birthday cards from nieces and nephews, and a drawing of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles teaming up with the Denver Bronco to defeat Giant Mutant Killer Monkeys that are attempting to escape from their cage in a secret laboratory located on a secret island (done in crayons, of course, which I got for my birthday that year. I was twenty-four).

Last year I was at a little bookstore and saw a painting there that I loved, loved, loved. It was so comforting to me, a feeling I had never experienced with an inanimate object, I mean, hellooooo. Every couple of weeks or so I kept going back to this store to look at it and make sure it was still there, waiting for the next art sale to come around since it was way out of my budget.

Just before Christmas I was having a particularly bad day, and went back to the store to see the picture again. It was gone. I was completely heartbroken since I had never seen the picture anywhere else, and for all I knew it was an original. I had waited too long.

Christmas was spent at my parent's house that year, and most of my siblings were in attendance. I was still feeling a little mopey about life that day when my sister arrived. She came over to me with a large bag and said, "This is for you, I hope you like it." Inside was my painting. I don't know how she knew about it, or where she found it, but it was there in my hands. Of course, I burst into tears.

It's hanging by my front door now where I see it every day. Here it is, along with the artist description from the back:

"Have you ever had someone you love go astray? Perhaps they continuously make poor choices which have led to great sorrow and difficulty. Perhaps it is no fault of their own. We may find that all we can do is pray that the Lord will help them. These lost sheep may find themselves feeling abandoned and unloved. But the Savior has told us that He is the Good Shepherd, and every soul is of great worth. He will leave the flock to find the one. For me this little black lamb represents the sheep that has lost his way. The Savior sits in front of the olive tree which represents His atonement in Gethsamane. The red poppies, as if drops of blood, remind me of this sacrifice for each of us. The white lambs gather around Jesus and they know that they are unconditionally loved. Then the Savior gently picks up the little black lamb and whispers "Ye are not forgotten."

"Ye Are Not Forgotten" is actually the title of this painting by Jon McNaughton. I love that the Savior's eyes are closed, as if his praying for the skinny little lamb with the ribs that stick out, with the burrs stuck to its side. I love it so much because I have always felt like the "black sheep" -- the outsider, the weirdo, the non-conformist, the outcast -- in my family, at school, at work, and among my friends. Being "different" was never seen as being "good." At least, I was never treated that way. I was so tired of getting slammed and shut down for just trying to be mysef. Tired of being forgotten by the people who were supposed to care for me the most. Tired of having to go through it alone because everyone had walked away.

There isn't one single person on this planet that I trust entirely. Everytime that I think I have found one they are taken away. Some of that is my own fault. Sometimes I am brought to my knees with pain, wishing I had someone there to be with me, someone who truly understands what is happening and who knows and accepts me unconditionally. For most of my life, no one has been there. But then I remember. I remember that there is One who listens to everything I say, happy or sad, trivial or not. There is One who always comforts and never condemns. There is One who goes after "the one," the one that feels they are most alone in this fight. There is one who knows how hard I pray for my fellow strays, hoping they will want to be found, knowing there is nothing I can do of myself.

The Menagerie

me·nag·er·ie [muh-naj-uh-ree, -nazh-] –noun
1. a collection of wild or unusual animals

My dream has always been to have a menagerie! I love everything strange and unusual, so my choices in pets have always been odd. Here is what I have planned so far:

Skunk: Clarence Cornhusker (CC for short)

Lobster: Pinchy

Cat: Sauté (this name isn't mean... I found it on a list of popular cat names in Britain)

Dog: Donuts (these are AKITAs! Love them!!)

Owl: Orly (or David Bowie, it's a tossup)

Turtle: Spork

Cow: Beefcake (this is a Highland cow)

Fox: Ruby (for a sheila), Ronin (for a fella)

Fat Pony: Thomas

Chameleon: as yet unnamed!

CONFERENCE CATURDAY!!

Can't wait til CATURDAY!!

My mom and I have a bi-annual tradition. Saturday night on General Conference weekend we go out somewhere fun for dinner then stock up on books, music, and movies at Media Play. We do NOT go "where the girls are" (Deseret Book), we do NOT go "where the fun is" (fancy restaurants), and we do NOT go "do the latest" (fill in the blank). We pretty much go where everyone is NOT because we hate people. Ok, so it's just ME that hates people -- my mom is too nice.

I think that Wallaby's Smokehouse is up for dinner this year. It's a little barbecue place out in north Orem that my mom loves and my dad hates (so it's perfect ;) I'm trying to think of where we went last time... maybe Noodles & Co? The point is to go wherever people are not. Post-shopping we will probably watch the latest BBC version of "Jane Eyre" which is pretty much AWESOME. If you haven't see it, you need to. And If you have seen and but don't love it, you have no soul ;(

Anyway, "the media run," is one of the best nights of the whole year, but sadly, it has been SABOTAGED three years running. So INTERLOPERS, USURPERS, whoever you are and whatever you do, you have NO PLACE here! I must have my fun! FOUR DAYS TO GO!!!

Love Stinks