Fulfilled Dreams

Sometimes, I realize the life I am living, and I am amazed. I don't want to write this stuff down as a bragging rights thing, I just earnestly believe that it is possible to live your dreams. 

Met Josh Groban. Twice.
Met Ingrid Michaelson. Twice.
Met Jason Mraz.
Saw Snow Patrol live.
Saw Missy Higgins live.
Saw Andrew McMahon sing live.
Ingrid's drummer wrote his name on my arm.
Worked a merch table at a concert (Ingrid's).
Got accepted to BYU. (Twice)
Got accepted to teaching program at BYU.
Had healthy dating relationships.
Have gone on dates with friends from freshman year. Often.
Receive hugs regularly.
Saw Wicked live.
Become friends with people I think look interesting. In a good way. Often.
Feel that a higher power is guiding my life.

RE: Old Testament Boy

This is from my friend Warren, in response to me being excited about sitting next to a boy in Old Testament, but I found it exceedingly hilarious, so I decided to post it.

hi betsy (wetsy)- at staples yesterday, i tried out a felt-tipped pen due to your implied suggestion. however, i felt like the paper wicked away the ink too quickly on my more-slowly-produced letters, creating not only uneven stroke width, but some letters whose line widths were unacceptably too great. in the end, at office depot today, i settled for a set of multicolored papermate 0.5 mm gel pens which not only dry quickly, but produce deliciously even stroke widths and lack the "ink trails" between letters. in other news, i currently use a 0.3 mm mechanical pencil, but i feel like the shaft is too narrow, resulting in greater pressure (pressure = force/area) on my finger. if you learn of any moderately wide mechanical pencils with 0.3 mm lead, please let me know.
also, my friend who accompanied me told me that i was "picky". i'm not picky, i'm just "particular".
-Warren 

 p.s. there is more to come with regards to my Old Testament romance, I just haven't typed up the latest update yet.

Snow Patrol

Snow Patrol = Amazing

As the concert opened I was so excited. It was like seeing friends I hadn't seen in forever. And I was so excited. The lights came up and I raised my hand up to the music, to move the air in time with the rhythm, and I thought, "This is all I can give you. I can't tell you how much your music means to me. I can't explain how it's helped me through my life. All I can do is show you that right now, my soul is showing through the movement of my body, and it is just saying that I love you for understanding my feelings like this, and so I will move my hand up and down as you sing, to show I know what you mean, that my heart is responding to your words, as it always has. All I can give you is this gesture of an open palm stretching toward where you are to show that right now, I am there with you as you are singing, just as you have been there with me all along as I have listened to your music when I needed support the most."

During one of the songs where the lyrics say"open your eyes" and the scene going in the background was someone driving around a neighborhood; there is this break where there is just a cacophony of sound. The drums are going, the guitars are going, you feel the chords circling around you and thrumming, and as we were watching this, I saw the lead singer rocking on his guitar and with his foot pounding the ground, in time with the music, and an expression of the most heart-rending grief on his face sing on rhythm "I want you back" over and over and over again as the music rose in intensity. You could only hear a faint echo of it on the mike because he was standing farther back and the microphone didn't pick it up properly. His face was so compelling though, as if he was sobbing as he was singing and the words were stabbing out, in desperation. I am forever moved by the memory of it; there are very few times that I've witnessed that kind of grief in the open. Especially heartache.

I need a new job

So let me know if you know of any openings anywhere. My class schedule next semester is in the mornings; it won't permit me to continue at the MTC.

Dear girl...

...who sat down just before me in Old Testament class and left a seat open next to the cute, clever boy with the rectangle-shaped glasses who takes notes in a blank sketchbook with a felt tipped pen and who started talking to me about my laptop and complimented my t-shirt and whose number I got, "In case I miss class."-

Thank you.

love,

Betsy

sleep

my afternoon slinks away from me
in half hour catnaps
and various arched positions of my spine

I'm always planning
to get up a half-hour later
but i just can't bring myself to

Sleep is so comforting
like a member of my family
it doesn't expect anything of me

just loves me the way i am
forever and always
I can retreat to childhood dreams
when life becomes too much

but sleep is also a highway robber
who promises fulfillment
and pays me in procrastination
and self-doubt

Homes

I was hanging out a few weeks ago with some people I didn't know very well, you know, new people, (I always have to put a disclaimer on these things, lest you think I am writing about you, dear reader) and while we were talking two of them got into an "I walked on the moon" sort of contest (If you don't catch that reference, I implore you to go watch Brian Regan). Among other things. it seemed like the point of the conversation was either to one-up each other, or to be the most critical one in the group.

Now, obviously I am becoming a part of the ridiculous sect who criticizes by writing this post (not to mention my last post) but I would just like to say how awful it is to realize, as you are in a new group of people, that with the way this conversation is going you, the quiet one, are in for at least 5-8 minutes of uninterrupted criticism of any movie/person/entity/corporation/policy/structure/industry. Everyone is SO busy sharing how THEY could fix the problem. How THEIR opinions/ideas are superior and so much more well thought-out than whomever is running apple/breyers ice cream/academic policies. It was practically unbearable. Ridiculous. DON'T WE HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN TALK ABOUT HOW WE COULD CHANGE THE WORLD IF ONLY SOMEONE WOULD LISTEN TO US. Go, do something about your opinions! Too much artificial flavoring in ice cream, fine. Go write a letter. Boycott. Throw the offending food articles into the bonfire in protest (but let me mourn the loss of some perfectly good ice cream before you do) but don't sit there and PONTIFICATE about all the things that are wrong with whatever situation ticks you off right then, and how that small situation is really just ONE MORE indication of how AMERICA is going down the tubes. Leave it alone. We're fine. I don't care if you don't like the new iTunesX. I don't care if you disagree with the universities dress code. I DON'T CARE if you see the apparent lack of concern about the obesity epidemic by the food industry as how we are all "slaves to the man." That's fine. Hold your opinion. Just don't make me listen to it on the grounds of being polite.

So, that got a little long, but I was thinking that we all know people like this. For whom this kind of conversation is the usual savior faire. People whose conversational skills never reach beyond the open lambasting of topics which afford no opportunity for rebuttal. They only serve to demonstrate how if "WE" (the people speaking) were running said entity, "things would be better."

And it makes me question, who teaches these people that this is acceptable? The answer: their parents, right? It has to be. That's who you learn to make conversation with. That's who you observe making competent conversation with other old people. That's who you learn to speak from, by copying their lead.

It also made me wonder: What can the people who speak to me tell about my parents, or my house, from my behavior?

This is not to say that everyone is a carbon-copy of their upbringing. Occasionally people exist who are just socially impaired through no fault of the home they are raised in. Maybe more than occasionally. I don't worry about it. Or there are those who learn from sources better than their homes how to behave, and don't reflect their home situation.

I just wanted to think about that last question, not really have a soapbox about upbringings. What things do I do that reflect my home, and what don't? Why is it that way? How did I decide what stuff (social skills/acceptable life patterns) to bring with me in my own separate life, and what to leave behind? Was it a conscious decision? What do people think about my upbringing when they meet me? What is the impression that they get?

Unappreciated Sarcasm

There are some times that my brand of sarcasm just does not fly on BYU campus.

Yesterday, in literature class, we were discussing Margaret Fuller, and comparing her views to the views espoused by Julie B. Beck General Relief Society president. Sister Beck gave a talk about how women need to embrace their roles as caregivers and mothers in order to feel fulfilled and reach their true potential. As another student was giving her opinion on how the two women really did concur in their views, my professor said, "Yes, it's not like she [Sister Beck] was telling you to stop reading by encouraging women to do these things." and I interjected (deadpan), "That's what I thought she [Sister Beck] was saying. I walked out." Absolute silence. After a heartbeat I said "Okay, I was kidding. That was sarcasm. Please, move on." and gestured to the girl who was originally sharing her views. Then some people gave this sort of half-hearted titter, as if they were still recovering from the shock of my apparent near-apostasy-like views. I was so embarrassed to have interrupted the main speaker anyway, but then my friend Allison behind me whispered "Betsy, you are amazing," and I felt a little better.

A few weeks ago the prophet (Thomas S. Monson, for those of you who don't know) spoke at devotional, and since EVERYONE attended at the Marriott Center, the hallways outside the arena and avenues back to campus were jam-packed. As I shuffled slowly forward, I turned to the boy next to me and said, "Want to be friends? Because it looks like we're going to be walking at approximately the same pace for the next 20 minutes." He agreed, and we started talking. After I found out his name (Trevor) he asked me, "So, how did you like the devotional?"

Can I just say, that I think that question is ridiculous? Hello? The Prophet just spoke. It was great. Amazing. Revelation for our day. And knowing President Monson, it was hilarious too. So why are you asking me how I liked it? Is that supposed to be rhetorical? I have this same soapbox when it comes to people asking me how the Temple was. What am I going to say? "Nah, I don't like following counsel from the Lord and communing with Him in sacred ways, as well as providing salvation for my fellow men. Boring." Um, no. Or my FAVORITE is when people ask others "How was your mission?" as if you could sum up a two year-long life-changing experience in such a paltry way! What can you really say? "Nah, it was okay. You know, the ush. Bringing people the bread of life and consecrating my life to God for two years straight." My friend Will is the only one who has ever been able to answer it appropriately by saying "Solid." Which is pretty much the best description of a mission I've ever heard in one word. But that's Will for you.

So my friend Trevor asks me how I liked the devotional and I say, "Ah, I don't know, I thought they could have done better. I mean, I felt like no one really knew who this guy was. I wish they'd get us some high-profile speakers every once in a while, instead of these guys no one has heard of. I felt like I was the only one in there. We could really pack that place, you know?" I glanced at Trevor out of the corner of my eye, and he was looking more startled than anything. "Surprised and confused" might be another way to say it, only he was definitely more confused than surprised. He struggled for words for a few seconds, still looking at me as if I were an alien life form and then said slowly, "You...are a wicked girl," and I laughed at him (%70 nervous/%30 at my own cleverness) and said, "Oh, you know. I try." Then we moved on to safter topics such as "where are you from," and "what's your major." I don't think I've EVER been called wicked before. I hate it when people don't get my jokes. Boo.