My Buddy

When I moved to Boston, I left my Melis in Provo. After talking to her nearly every day since after leaving Egypt in September 2008, I had to deal with some serious best friend withdrawals. I made several really good Boston friends, but Melis and I both know that the one who came closest to replacing her (no one will ever replace you, M) was dear Anne Marie.

Photo of us on my birthday, stolen from AM.
Please excuse the packing mess in my room.

Anne Marie is a sweet, strong, funny person. Her laugh is infectious, especially when she laughs in less-than-appropriate settings (Sacrament Meeting). She loves ice cream more than I do, and that's saying something. She is an excellent example of healthy living, something I will never do as well as she does. She uses her time wisely. She doesn't submit to social pressure when she isn't interested in doing certain things, which I appreciate. She loves pigs. Her parents are her best friends. She is a great conversationalist and a fabulous listener. And she knows when a girl needs chocolate.

Anne Marie is exactly the kind of person you want around when you want to have fun, or just be chill. She will go on ice cream runs, and walks to talk about life. She'll discuss nail polish as seriously as she does her schoolwork, and she is a critical and honest shopping partner. She is brave, and encourages bravery in others. She will never give up on you, and always has your back.

And because I'm sure Mel will make them play the game, I would marry Anne Marie because she is such an honest and faithful friend. She is the best kind of buddy a girl could ask for.


Happy birthday, AM. I sure do love you.

Never Changing

In July I took a trip up to Vermont with McCall, Anne Marie, Curtis, and Jake. During the drive, McCall suggested we play a game where we'd go in a circle, choose a song on the ipod, and then tell the rest of the car a memory that went along with the song. 

It's incredible how strongly music is tied to memory.

There is a band based in Vegas that has rapidly become successful over the last year. Most of their LDS following claims them as being from Provo, since the initial band was started there. But all current members (except one) attended the Berklee School of Music in Boston. And while he was in school, the drummer was good friends with my roommate Danielle. Who introduced me to the band's EP while we lived together.

So even though they really aren't connected to Boston as a band, they will always be connected to Boston in my mind. And when I run into their music everywhere from the radio to the Olympics to movie trailers, I can't help but think of D and be so proud of her friend.

A Perfect Day

Though technically today was my last full day in Boston, I really considered yesterday to be it. Today was Sunday, which meant church and a nap and other Sunday things that aren't very Boston-y. But yesterday was the most Boston-y of Boston-y days.

I got up early (on a Saturday, be proud) to accomplish a few moving errands, and chit chatted in the kitchen with Mel. Then I took the T across the Charles to Newbury Street for a hair appointment with my wonderful stylist, Amy. We talked about moving and how much we love the Pacific Northwest, and when she was finished I walked out into the Boston humidity that slowly curled my newly-styled hair as I walked the length of Newbury Street to the Boston Public Library. I walked through that beautiful old building with its arched ceilings and green lamps where I wrote my paper on Salman Rushdie and designed my beautiful poetry book. Then I took Boylston Street through Copley Square, Arlington, the Boston Gardens, and the Common. Past Robert McCloskey's ducklings on whose backs I once jumped. Past Emerson and the hole-in-the-wall burrito place. Past the stage for Shakespeare in the Common. Past Boston Magazine's Best of Boston award winning UBurger frappes.

That afternoon I drove with Mel and D to Walden Pond, stopping for drinks at Cumberland Farms on the way. We avoided the beach and instead found a rock stairway down to the lake (though this time we didn't have to sneak in) and swam in the dirty, duck-filled water for an hour. The sun came out as we did, and we made our way to Kimball Farms where I shared delicious heath bar ice cream with AM, and Curtis ate a pint by himself. We sat at a picnic table under an umbrella, admiring a beautiful curly-haired baby and laughing at the noisy geese behind the fence as we waited out the pouring rain that started while we sat.

In the evening we went to the mall to return some items and look for a few more. As usual, Mel, D, and I got separated and then went to all the same stores at different times. D got some great deals and I wanted to buy out both Banana Republic and J. Crew, so it was a normal shopping experience.

Instead of our typical Saturday night laziness at home, we got dressed up and AM, Curtis, and Calvin accompanied us to the South End for dinner at The Gallows. The restaurant was fun, the food was delicious, and we all looked (plus Curtis and AM smelled) excellent. As did the restaurant's coasters. So good, in fact, I may or may not have taken one with me as an example of gorgeous design. The drive home through our beautiful city all lit up made me feel so lucky that it was a part of my life. I will miss it.

Bye, Boston.

Proof for James

Dear roommate Jamie doesn't think I'd really go camping. (Let's be honest, her skepticism is totally founded.) So I had Miss McCall send me the only photos that were taken of me during said camping trip, and I am posting a few here. For you, James. (Feel so special, pictures from old roommates twice in the same week!)

Please admire my poodle-hipster bun.

Burning things is fun.

Oh hello, super awesome fire.

Across the Pond

Dear Europe,

I know everyone says you are fabulous and that I will one day admire you, and I'm sure that's true. Especially Florence, I look forward to a love affair with Florence. But good grief, this was quite possibly the worst possible timing to take away my Melis. This whole unreachable thing is taking a toll on me. And perhaps on a few others. Send her back to me?



Impatiently,
Al

What You Do When You're (Almost) a Graduate

Friday Night
Buy a half gallon of milk, cookie dough, and a rotisserie chicken. Also, redbox Contagion. Eat said milk, cookie dough, and chicken while watching episodes of Gilmore Girls and then Contagion. Never want to touch anything ever again.

Saturday
Sleep in. Watch more Gilmore Girls. Take (way) overdue library books to the Lesley Library, then walk to the Mount Auburn Cemetery. Find the Robert Gould Shaw monument, and read The Great Divorce. Go home to eat more chicken and watch more Gilmore Girls. Call Comcast to fix the internet. Karaoke with ridiculous people, then come home and lose a battle in the bathroom with a centipede.

Sunday
Sleep in (oops). Go to church. Read The Great Divorce. Eat chips and salsa instead of chicken. Take a nap. Watch more Gilmore Girls. Talk to the lovely Annie for an hour (miss your face).  

Blog Stalking and Unfinished Thoughts

Tonight, after a sudden emotional decision to stop designing (because sometimes it's just too much) I started perusing my Melis's archives. The were full of posts I remembered, and some I didn't. They made me homesick. Not for Provo (I never miss Provo). For that third bedroom in the apartment with a map on the wall, and a bed with green sheets, and a snitch keychain. So even though it has nothing to do with the homesickness, I'm stealing a blogging habit of hers. If I could steal so many of her habits I'd be set for life.



Old Drafts

If tired of trees I seek again mankind,

Well I know where to hie me -- in the dawn,

To a slope where the cattle keep the lawn.

There amid lolling juniper reclined,

Myself unseen, I see in white defined

Far off the homes of men, and farther still,

The graves of men on an opposing hill,

Living or dead, whichever are to mind.

And if by noon I have too much of these,

I have but to turn on my arm, and lo,

The sun-burned hillside sets my face aglow,

My breathing shakes the bluet like a breeze,

I smell the earth, I smell the bruised plant,

I look into the crater of the ant.
--Robert Frost

~~~

I have many friends and acquaintances who are touchy people. They touch your arm when you say something funny, they give you a hug when you leave the room, they nuzzle their head against your shoulder in greeting. I also know people who are so far from touchy that even when you greet them after four months of separation their hugs are stiff and have too much space in between your bodies. (B22 girls, you know who this is.)

Physical touch is a form of communication. I have a friend who was once convinced that if you shook the hand of the person on whom you were crushing you could immediately tell if anything could happen. (Did I get that right? And what happened the first time you shook hands with Paul?)

~~~

Loving March Reason #2: I heard Billy Collins read on Friday night and enjoyed his thoughts on titles, among other things

~~~

This Week's Designing Brought to You by

Mumford and Sons. Calv was whistling them on Tuesday night and they've accompanied my work ever since. Not a bad choice, though.

Letritas

Dear T,
I was sad not to witness something amazing this morning. Make up for it on the way home?
Daily,
A


Dear Nottinghill House,
I love you, I do, but the noises you make when no one is home at night kind of freak me out. Quieter tonight?
Sincerely,
Your favorite Nottinghill girl


Dear Jessie,
I found some Psych quotes from a game with Tanner last summer and now I'm super psyched (haha, good joke) to start on the fifth season. You should watch too.
xoxo,
Your Hunnybunny


Dear Stomach,
We are not friends anymore. I do not appreciate being psyched out thinking we're on good terms for five days only to have you hate me again. No more mood swings, are we clear?
Signed,
The rest of Al's body


Dear Kait,
Is it okay to call? I really want to talk to you, but I don't know the protocol for new moms and phones.
Love,
Will's favorite non-related aunt


Dear Jessica Simpson,
I really love your Oscar line. I'd love it even more if it were available in a size 5.5
Thank you,
A potential customer


Dear 5:00 p.m.,
Please come faster.
Impatiently,
Allison


Dear Jannie,
I have a dad crush on you.
Also,
I miss your face.
Hugs,
Your favorite roommate


Dear Boston,
The rain this week was great. We don't have to hit humidity again before fall. Let's just hop to it (but avoid winter for a really long while, please).
Yours,
An Oregonian
P.S. What's the deal with calling milkshakes frappes? That regional difference is strange to me.

Chemistry (or something)

Did you know that you can melt sugar? And that it turns into caramel?


We made homemade ice cream tonight, salted caramel ice cream (sorry Anne Marie, don't hate me, at least I couldn't go to Jim's Deli), and the directions included melting 1 1/2 cups sugar in a saucepan on the stove. If you've never done this, go try it; it was so cool to watch the sugar melt and turn dark. And if you add a little cream you can make some great caramel sauce.


I don't know if that's how you actually make caramel sauce, but that's certainly what it tasted like when Mel let me lick the bowl.

Random

I purchased myself a birthday gift, and I felt perfectly okay doing it ($12 is not a particularly expensive gift).


I fell asleep on a couch last night that isn't even mine, working on the project I will (finally) turn in tonight. I was awakened by someone else who doesn't live in that apartment. Though I basically have for the last four months, and he basically has for the last four days. So we do belong, I guess.


I have fallen hardcore for Pinterest. Are you in that boat yet? If not, you really should be; come check it out.


I really, desperately crave a burrito. Alyson 2 and Anne Marie and I were talking about that last night. Not burritos, cravings. Your body telling you what it needs. Mine needs more protein, apparently, because I'll I've wanted lately are protein sources. A decent burrito hunt will occur during the hour between work and class.


I tried to make this list parallel, but couldn't do it. It shouldn't have even been that hard. But I'm running on an average of 5.5 hours of sleep a night this week, and that's really not enough.


I will organize my bookcase this weekend. Also, I will watch The September Issue. And probably start on Psych season five (thanks Tanner and Jessica!). And sleep, sleep, sleep.


I hate that Anne Marie is leaving me, but it'll probably be better for my stomach (and my wallet) not to have a JP Licks run partner for a while. September though, baby. Right back at it.


I love my print productions professor, but I swear, if class goes more than two hours tonight I'm going to die. Or he might. I am so ready for this semester to be over.

Quarterback slash homecoming king?

"No. He was a rower. He was very hot."

So you saw the gorgeous flag cake my amazing roommate Melanie made. Really, I will miss watching her bake when she moves to Porter Square. Good thing I can get there in fifteen minutes from my office.

What you did not yet see was the evening’s adventure. Take a look at this map:

Oh, what's that black line in the Charles River, you ask? Why, that's four miles of rowing, baby.

Heck yes I did. I rowed a canoe four miles along the Charles. Technically eight, there and back.

Eight miles.

Now, I do have to admit that there were four other people in the canoe with me, and that I probably had the least amount of rowing prowess. K, remove the probably, I absolutely had the least amount of rowing prowess. But I did row. And I didn't die. Or fall in the river, which Mel was certain would actually happen. Anne Marie and I were grateful for that. Also grateful that Reed figured out how to be the rudder and a paddle at the same time so we didn't have to try to switch places while in the canoe.

But man, those fireworks were probably the best I've ever seen.

Ten points if you know the origin of the quotation up top.

Happy birthday, America

Grown Up Decisions

My uncle Michel likes to tell a story about how he was visiting us once (I was maybe 11?) and we went to get ice cream at Baskin Robbins. I asked him what flavor he was going to get and my dad turned around and said, "DON'T answer that. She has to decide what she wants by herself." 

My dad thinks I'm too indecisive. This may or may not be true.

But I am happy to report that yesterday I made a very large decision very quickly. At approximately 6:25 p.m. on Wednesday evening I learned that Mel is moving out of her room upstairs (sad, sad day) in September to be closer to her new job. She also told me that there was a girl who was coming to look at it on Friday. I thought about it and decided I want her room, and made it official with her on Thursday at 12:25 p.m. She emailed the girl, who is now coming to look at my room at 6:00 p.m. tonight. Assuming she wants it, I will have found a new apartment for myself and found a girl for my old room in only 48 hours.

48 HOURS. 


Be proud, Dad and Michael. Be proud.

What happens when you don't see a doctor

So apparently (per 500 Days of Summer, one of the greatest movies ever made) Henry Miller once said that the best way to get over a woman is to turn her into literature. I am not trying to get over a woman (cue sigh of relief there), but I am particularly irritated with some of my limbs today. Perhaps the suggestion applies to difficulties other than unrequited love.

This is a story of acute physical pain. Now, I haven’t broken a femur or been in labor, but apparently my experience was pretty close.

Four and a half years ago as a dorm-living freshman at BYU, I ran down my dorm stairs to go to watch the Tuesday devotional with Kait, and I tripped. Luckily, it was the lower end of the stairs and not the upper end, but I still fell and subsequently rolled my ankle and broke the fourth metatarsal in my right foot. (That’s right, I know anatomy terms.) Although it hurt, I was not aware that it was broken, and because of this (and my previous negative experiences with doctors) I did not get it checked for six months. And then not again for another six.

A year after the initial break I began seeing a podiatrist in Provo who tried a variety of methods to fix said broken bone: A brace, medication, three weeks in a boot (in Provo in February). After none of that worked, he suggested giving me a shot of celestone, a steroid that would help soothe the inflammation around the joint that was broken so it could heal itself properly. So, on the allotted day my dear roommate Jamie walked with me to the podiatrist’s office to get this shot.

Jamie (on left) at her bridal shower, a month after her heroic accompaniment.

Going to the office I think Jamie was more worried than I was. She stayed in the waiting room while I went back with the doctor, but by the time I was in the chair and he was preparing the celestone, I was nervous. I asked him how much it would hurt.

“Well, more than a normal shot, but less than childbirth.”

???

Could you possibly have given me a wider range of pain? (NO.)

As I mentioned before, I’ve never been in labor, but I am absolutely certain that this injection was much closer to childbirth than a normal shot. Apparently Jamie heard me whimpering from the waiting room (the walls are pretty thin there, don't think I was being really loud) and panicked. It definitely hurt worse than the broken bone, and I stayed off my foot (and on my couch) for two days.

This is what I looked like while in the boot. Actually, this is what I looked like most of the year regardless of the broken foot. That was my couch, and so help me, if I was home no one else could sit on it.

Two years later the same podiatrist gave me the same injection for a last-ditch attempt to solve this problem. I reminded the doctor of his description two years prior, and he said, "Oh. Well, we'll talk you through it." He then tried to carry on conversation as he was inflicting my foot with fiery pain: How's the summer? When do you move to Boston? Are you excited about Emerson? But I really only remember managing this response: "It's really hard for me to form coherent sentences right now."

This time it was my lovely roommate Kim who took me to the doctor, and knowing how badly it hurt the first time, I had her drive me straight home rather than going back to work. 

Me and Kim (and Melis) the day after, at Annie's wedding.

We were on our feet the next day for Annie’s wedding. Holy goodness, did that hurt. But these guys took care of me, and didn't even complain (much) when I asked them to get things for me so I wouldn't have to walk. Thanks, dears.

Dunkball in tuxes. Heck yes we did. (Photos stolen from Melis.)

This post is dedicated to Katelyn Anderson

A little over a year ago, I was still working at BYU Independent Study, ready to embark on a summer adventure filled with software I didn’t understand, my first real foray into public transportation, way too much Dr. Pepper, and an overwhelming abundance of male coworkers. As I was preparing to leave the job I’d had and girls I’d loved for over a year and a half, Katelyn suggested (requested?) that I start a blog, “so we can keep up with your life.” I did that, a year ago, today. And I have never catalogued my life in so detailed a way than I have the past year (except perhaps for a series of letters that once found their way to Europe). So Katelyn, thank you. After nearly 23 years, I have finally figured out what medium of journaling works for me, and it is because of you.

On a sadder note, Melis left me yesterday (then Dema went on a date and JM was studying and another friend bailed on me too; poor, sad night for Allison). We had a lovely weekend, none of which I captured on film (or SD card). But I did take two photos on my phone at the MFA.

There is an exhibit currently featuring the work of Dale Chihuly, a glass artist from Seattle. Oh man. Gorgeous stuff; if you live in the area, go see the exhibit. If you do not live in the area, go to his website and see where some of his work is near you. It was so cool. I felt like I was under water the entire time. I will probably be heading back at least once before the exhibit ends.

Because everyone left me last night I ended up running in the rain, and discovered a few things: A) Running in the rain is way more fun than running in the sun. 2) Running to JEW is way more motivating than running without any music. D) . . . I don’t have a D.

But I did have left over Indian food for dinner.

!!!

A year ago to the day, I had this conversation with Melis:

Melissa: I'm sorry. hey random, but do you remember off the top of your head where your stamps are?

5:34 PM me: in the drawer the printer sits on

5:35 PM I'm starting to drink dr pepper way more and it's all your fault

 Melissa: no it's not. That's your choice

5:36 PM do I just need one of the 94 cent ones?

 me: yes. it's only 94 cents.

5:38 PM Melissa: sweet. and I'm sorry you're becoming addicted to Dr. Pepper. Maybe we can stage an intervention

5:39 PM me: not addicted. but I like it more than I should because it means I'll drink it more

5:40 PM hmm. I wonder how the phrase "make out" came to be

5:42 PM Melissa: that's random

 me: a song from grease came on pandora

5:43 PM it says something like, "we made out under the docks"

  and then I wondered

5:44 PM Melissa: is that something that you could look up in the corpse?

5:45 PM me: it isn't dead

  I did look it up actually

 Melissa: sorry

  I wasn't paying attention

  and...

5:46 PM me: well it's a phrase we use for other stuff too, so I'm trying to figure out where that meaning enters

5:47 PM I have to look through the hits though, which is slightly time consuming 

She's leaving North Carolina on a jet plane as we speak to come have ridiculous conversations like this in real life. Yay, yay, yay.

Also, I am officially done with my first year of grad school. I survived the first round of full-time work and school. I am so fantastic.


Two hours and one minute until the best weekend of the year begins. Bye, baby.

For my Melis on her birthday

Dearest Melis,

I'm sure I can come up with more reasons that I love you than this, but you're only turning 22.

1. You throw my super awesome birthday parties.
2. You are very conscientious of the people around you.
3. You actually enjoy my crazy linguistic-induced excitement and conversations.
4. You didn't hate me when I laughed about Martin.
5. You invited me to come to Sunday dinners.
6. You are supportive of my decisions.
7. You gave me the Oregon map when I moved to Boston.
8. You taught me how to do my hair.
9. You let me use my broken foot as an excuse even when you knew it was just an excuse.
10. You love Bones and 500 Days of Summer as much as I do.
11. You tell me what you really think.
12. You let me cry and know exactly what to say.
13. You shattered my negative Utah perception.
14. You go on fun adventures.
15. You answer all my medical questions.
16. You have great relationships with your sisters.
17. You always made us stop at Roberto's in Cedar City.
18. You are coming to visit me in May (and it will be SO FUN).
19. You run slow with me when we run (unless you try to kill me by the temple).
20. You are concerned about my health and make me eat when I forget.
21. You send packages and post cards of inappropriately-dressed men.
22. You are a great example in the way you approach your life.


Love, Al

Kim Dear

Yesterday was my darling old roommate Kim's birthday. She is amazing and beautiful and so smart. She went on a date with a boy from Boston once, and I wanted her to date him just so she would come out here and could visit me.

I love you, Kim! I wish we could still play together all the time.