i click on the red callout box
coming from the blue world
on the blue banner
i forget
is zuckerberg’s.

i select the notification
and wait
for the page to load.

i scroll and
see your name
and yours
and even yours
with a message
for me
to be happy
on my birthday.

i smile
and i click
and i smile

should i thank

you kept me
clicking all
day, smiling
all day,
but now
it’s tomorrow.

there is no red
on the blue banner.
but i know
i can click on my name
next to home
next to the blue world.

i scroll down screens
upon screens.
my smiles remember
the one day
in may
what the clicks
really mean.

Ingrid Michaelson, Salt Lake City, April 19, 2012

Last Thursday after commencement, some friends and I went to the Ingrid Michaelson concert at In the Venue in Salt Lake City. The music was fun, and Harper Blynn opening for her made the show extra special.

On several occasions, Harper Blynn was the backup band for Ingrid’s husband, Greg Laswell. They’re good friends. So it feels like a nice little community when the openers are friends with the headliners. Then I talk as if I’m friends with all of them. If only I were a smidge as cool.

I still tend to call Harper Blynn by their former name, Pete & J, and I have autographed Pete and J albums, but I don’t have any Harper Blynn ones. Which I need to fix. Anyway, Harper Blynn performed their cover of Beyonce’s “Halo,” and they did their usual brilliant job of it.

Ingrid performed a lot from her new album, Human Again, but she also played some older tunes.

My friends and I ended up standing behind two tall couples, whose PDA was pretty gross. We started out behind some shorter people, but we were also underneath a glaring hot light, so we wove our way through the crowd and somehow decided being behind those couples was better. At least it was cooler. And when one of the guys slouched to hug his girlfriend/wife, I got to see Ingrid on stage for about five seconds! I felt tall and amazing.

We sang along and laughed and despite being behind tall people who knew they were blocking our view, the concert was a lot of fun. Totally different than the last time, almost a year and a half ago, when we waited outside in line for over an hour and then walked into 5 inches of snow after the concert ended. This time we walked out into slightly cool air and clear skies.

If my camera weren’t broken, I would post pictures. Alas.

Here’s the setlist:

Palm of Your Hand
Do It Now
Blood Brothers
Fools Rush In (Elvis Presley cover)
The Way I Am
San Francisco
In the Sea
This Is War
Black and Blue


You and I

Per Your Request

By the time you read this, I’ll be somewhere in midcoast Florida. I might be at church; I might be on my way back up toward Jacksonville. Point being I rather this pop up on your readers when I’m nowhere near a computer. I’m actually feeling extremely insecure right now. Meh.

Not too much to report.

So I went to that winter ball, and it was fun. I danced the fast songs I liked; I talked to a few people, but mostly I observed the strong friendships and interesting dynamics. My disdain for line dances deepened. I’ll still do the electric slide and attempt the boot, scoot, and boogie, but that’s where I draw the line.

FYI, the girl/guy ratio seemed pretty close to even.

Here are a couple of shots before I headed over to the church building.

I’m glad I arrived late.

I hope you’re having a great Sunday.

Another Incident

I am not going to apologize for the recent churchy posts, just because 1)well, I don’t have to and 2)it has really helped to process some of the less positive feelings I’ve had by returning to some spiritual fundamentals and writing them out. I am attending BYU, after all. After all these years, which aren’t that many, considering some people leave school when they get married and don’t get to go back until the kids are grown, or even much later.

I mean, it’s BYU. You’re either Mormon or you promise by signing something to behave like one. A good one. I guess you sign something either way. Either way, you outwardly express an inner commitment.

And one of my deepest commitments, dear friends, is to be a cougar.

Some friends and I went to dinner this evening for some barbecue nearby. We sat in a booth and shortly our waiter came to introduce himself. He asked how we were, and at the time I was checking my phone for a response to a text message to a friend about getting lucky on a date. So I didn’t answer the waiter, but the friend sitting across from me did. He asked what we needed, if we’d like a kids’ menu. My friend answered no.

Of course I heard.

Then the waiter asked if what we wanted to drink. My friend answered first, then I requested “just water” as well. Then something … grown up about my voice registered in the waiter’s brain, which caused him to state that I am not a kid, that I look really young, that he was sorry.

I sent out another text message.

This is the second time in about three weeks something like this has happened. It’s not a fluke; I look almost disturbingly young for my age. But seriously? Do I look like a kid? Do I look like I shouldn’t stay home without my mom? Do I look like I need to sign a minor’s waiver with a parent’s signature so I can go kayaking for free on the Hudson?

If the answer to these questions is a resounding “yes,” then how in the world, dear friends, am I going to be successful at BYU as a cougar?

Why are cougars so appealing, anyway?

1)They’re older
2)They’re hot
3)They’re on the prowl for younger men

1)I am older; I’ll be a non-traditional student. But what works here is that effective cougars look older. What’s so attractive is they seem more experienced in … life, and I would guess usually are. Well, I don’t really have to guess. I kind of know, but that is neither here nor there. Ahem…. I wonder, would it be helpful if I disclosed my age early on? Once guys actually hear the number, will they perceive my maturity and sophistication?

2)I’m pretty hot. I can tell when people are thinking it, and I brush it off with a false modesty when they try to tell me, and usually once people forget how short I am or how young I look, it becomes quite obvious. Have you seen how I clean up? Have you seen this rockin’ bod?

3)As long as I don’t pursue tenured professors, younger men will be the majority of my targets. Early-to-mid-20s; maybe a smidge older. Eager, wide-eyed; maybe open-minded, or ever-so drawn toward a certain older woman who could teach them a few things. Or many things. That just depends.

I did sign something, though. So. Maybe I really don’t have that much to worry about, after all.

Either way, maybe this balances all the churchiness for you.

All The Time

I answered a knock at the door.  A guy stood outside. He was in his mid-20s, about six feet tall, wearing a light yellow polo shirt, which has an embroidered logo for the local cable company below and left of the collar. Dark khakis, dark shoes, dark curly hair. I only opened the door slightly to keep the dog from going out.

He looked at me. “Is your mom home?”

The door opened wider, revealing more of my apparent childish build. His question reminded me of that thing I used to do on the crowded subways in New York City, when I’d loudly say, in a little girl’s voice, to my friends standing next to me, “Can you help me find my mom?” That would always turn heads. I don’t know if it confused people if they didn’t see the little girl from whence the voice came, or if it irritated them if they figured out I was merely a short adult trying to be funny.

The dog dashed out, wagging his tail and sniffing the cable guy’s feet as menacingly as he could, but only managed to look cute and happy. I didn’t respond to the cable guy’s question, but instead I tried calling the dog back inside. I used a firm voice, and my speaking manner definitely reflected that of an adult human.

The cable guy looked at me again. “Are you older than you look?”

In my mind I had already stashed away this experience as one to write about or to set aside neatly on the pile of countless situations quite similar to this. I smiled, and I told him yes, I am quite a bit older than I look. If he hadn’t asked if my mom was home, I would have left out “quite a bit.”

He apologized.

Then he talked about how he noticed how where I live doesn’t have cable, and would I be interested in subscribing. Then I told him how I can’t speak for the person who actually lives there, but maybe he could drop by another time. If he weren’t embarrassed, he probably would have kept pitching the sale, but he agreed coming back was a good idea. He apologized again about the “age thing,” and I told him it happens all the time.

He picked up his things and I thanked him and wished him a good evening. He walked away.

Poor guy.

Mom, I’m still your little girl.

I Guess You Had to Be There?

I need to recap a conversation. My friend, Deena, the one who posted that video of me and her simulating an OK Go video, talked with her cousin. Her cousin saw the video. She and Deena talked about it on the phone. Her cousin asked who the little girl was in the video. Her cousin asked if Deena was babysitting. Deena explained it was her friend, May. Deena asked her cousin if she wanted to know how old I am. Her cousin said, sure. Deena said, 33. Her cousin said, Oh, 23? Deena said, no THIRty-three. Her cousin said, Wow, I hope I age that well. Deena recounted this story to me, and I laughed until I almost cried.

I did explain to her the night before that sometimes when I’m with friends on the subway, I’ll ask one of them in a little girl voice, Can you please help me find my mom? It turns a few heads. And for some reason I think that’s hilarious.

It’s time for bed. And, it’s time to sleep in. I am so pooped. Internet, I promised to catch you up on some things. If you want to know about other things, we’ll have to converse in person or via phone or personal email.

Seminary graduation was tonight. Never a prouder moment. I’m really going to miss my class.