Fragments of Unfinished Posts

Sometimes it takes me months or years to write a blog post. More often than that, though, I start and then never finish posts that I don't feel right about for one reason or another.

Last night, I was going through drafts of unfinished posts and thought I'd share.

First, a fragment from a Christmas post that I eventually restarted and finished. It took me a good two years to write up what I was trying to say. Here's how part of the beginning originally went:

"Right this way," said the hostess. She started to take us to the fun part of the restaurant, where little wooden dividers separate everyone from everyone else so it's like being alone in a jungle of neon lights and plastic booth seats. And in that jungle, you can feel free to be yourself because it's just you and the people sitting with you. Also the waiter. Your secrets are safe with the waiter.

I also found a post titled "My Life as a Hobbit." It was a post trying to explain why I love hobbits so much. Also why I prefer the animated version of The Return of the King to the live-action movie. It was scattered, at best. The two memorable lines that I want to preserve are:

On a perilous quest to find my SAT scores in the depths of my bedroom, I stumbled across an unevenly cut piece of paper covered with my pre-teen scrawl.

and

If you like dragons, dwarves, and the white pony wearing sparkly armor, then you should not watch this movie. There are no dragons in this movie. No dwarves. And no sparkly-armor-clad ponies.

I also started a post called "The Road Goes Ever, Ever On." That's more hobbit stuff, for those of you unfamiliar. It was a post explaining why I decided to leave the country a few years ago. I will probably use that title eventually for a travel post, but it will be markedly different from the draft I stumbled across.

There was also a post about why my family loves Disneyland so much. That one just did not come together very well. I may try again at some point. I'd share a bit, but it's not that good.

Penultimately, I found a post called "Adventures in Book-Selling." This post was meant to describe my brief stint of unemployment during my last year of college. I'd felt like I should quit my fast food job but not look for another job for a little while. Strange as that was, I went ahead with it. In the two months where I didn't work, I tried to sell my textbooks on Amazon. Selling textbooks on Amazon would have been a lucrative career...if I hadn't been in college (the textbooks had to be mailed within a certain number of hours after the order was placed, which conflicted mightily with my school schedule) and if I'd had an unlimited supply of packaging (sometimes packaging and shipping cost more than the profits I made from the book).

This post didn't get very far, but here's what I opened with:

It's one thing to be in the grips of The Neediness. It's another thing entirely to be under the shadow of The Nothingness.

If The Neediness is when you care too much and feel extremely insecure, The Nothingness is when you don't care enough and are so self-satisfied you can't imagine changing whatsoever. The Neediness is unsteady, but The Nothingness is stagnation.

It probably would have been a real chipper post.

The last thing I found lost in the annals of Blogger was actually not a post. It was a draft that I filled with text messages copied off my phone. That way, I could delete texts off my phone to make room while still having a copy of the ones I wanted to remember. Such as:

Best Friend Boy: No problem. It was very nice to catch up. :)

And there we have it. All of the unfinished stuff floating around on Blogger. Hope you're gladdened by being able to see it, even if it's not in the originally intended form.

The Neediness and the Twenty-Fourth

It's the twenty-fourth of July, and y'all know what that means!

If y'all don't know what that means, then you must not live in Utah. Here in the Beehive State, the twenty-fourth of July is affectionately known as Pioneer Day. We dress up in red, white, and blue, have parties and parades and fireworks, and talk about how great America is and how much our forefathers' actions have blessed us. It's basically the fourth of July, just three weeks later, and with more handcarts.

Hometown's carnival for the twenty-fourth is always worth dropping by. There are rides, food, games, and a concrete stage with a makeshift tarped-over auditorium where Baby Sister performed with her clogging group. She said she didn't know the numbers very well this year, but no one in the audience could tell because she's Baby Sister.

When I arrived at the carnival, I was immediately dazzled by the sounds (music and conversations and laughter), the smells (fried bread and barbeque pork sandwiches), and the sights (sparkly face paint! neon posterboard signs! glittering costumes!) And the people! Seemed like half the city was there, tons of people I knew and tons I didn't. There was a guy dressed up as a mountain man, and a guy dressed up as a suspendered pioneer, and a guy in full Native American regalia, just standing around eating nachos, headdress and all. It doesn't get much more legit than that.

"Wow," I thought, "I love this holiday!"

That was when The Neediness struck.

Immediately I felt that I should not, nay, could not be alone. Because if I was alone, then I would never stop being alone. No one would ever love me. Never. Ever.

Such is The Neediness.

Swiftly I latched myself onto the nearest family member, which so happened to be Baby Brother.

MOM: All right, kids, here are your tickets. Now, does everybody want to go on the tilt-a-whirl?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Actually, I'd rather go on the whirl-a-tilt. #hilarious #funny #joke

MOM: Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: ...never mind. #shame #nobodylaughed #neediness

#THEneediness

And oh, that Neediness grew. It grew so much I was unable to extricate myself from the gaggle of cousins and siblings, even though I really would have preferred to go on a whirl-a-tilt rather than the tilt-a-whirl. I normally love it, but the portable, rent-a-cheap-carnival version is nothing but a blot on the illustrious name of tilt-a-whirl.

Alas, The Neediness made it impossible for me to refuse to go on the tilt-a-whirl. All my companions went, and so by necessity did I.

Suffice it to say, I felt nauseated by the time the ride ended. It wasn't stomach nausea, though. It was brain nausea. It felt exactly like my mind was about to throw up. My head was scrambled--but my gut was hungry.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: So... can we get fried bread now?

No. No, we could not. That is what I gathered from the social cue of everyone ignoring me. We could, however, go to the fishing pond, if the way Baby Brother and Ginger Cousin trooped over there was any indication.

The fishing pond was a bit lacking in pondness. It was just a small booth where children forked over their carnival tickets and got a fishing pole to pull up a prize from inside the booth. Baby Brother and Ginger Cousin were determined to fish up some prizes, and The Neediness dictated that I go with them.

There were three levels of prizes. The kids wanted the most expensive. The worker asked Ginger Cousin and Baby Brother their ages, took their tickets, and dropped their poles into the booth. And lo and behold! Exciting, age-appropriate prizes appeared on the end of the fishing poles. Ginger Cousin had a whistle shaped like a bird of paradise and a vial necklace filled with multi-colored sand. Baby Brother had a soccer ball whistle and some kind of manly craft kit.

At the last moment I decided to go fishing as well. I was here, wasn't I? Why shouldn't I get a sweet prize, too? A prize could be just the thing to soothe my needy soul. Only I didn't want to spend the tickets for an expensive one, so I gave a single ticket for the cheapest.

WORKER: How old are you?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Twenty-____.

WORKER: ...twenty-____?

From the way he was acting, you'd think I was the oldest person using the fishing pond or something. And if you thought that, you'd be correct.

When I reeled in my line, attached to the end was a pink plastic pen decorated with hearts. Except half the hearts had fallen off. And it didn't seem to be able to actually produce ink.

Oh, sure I thought as I compared my prize with the kids'. Just because I'm cheap and old. The pen perfectly embodied the loneliness of my soul. I wept inside. And became even more needy.

For the rest of my time at the carnival, I passed from companionship to companionship. The younger kids. My parents. My friend and troupe member Snow Angel. I even ran into Older Sister, who has returned from her mission to the land of America South and who had come to the carnival after work with our friend Rosebud. Anyone who crossed my path, I took turns sticking to like sticking plaster.

(Sticking plaster is something I read about in British books that is never satisfactorily explained. So I don't actually know what it is. Apparently I should never spend time with any British literature whatsoever, as it seems to be a source of much confusion in my life.)

For most of the carnival, I managed to be successful in not ever being alone. Then, when I'd finally convinced Baby Sister to go with me for fried bread, the unthinkable happened.

Baby Sister left.

The consequent events are a little fuzzy. Hyperventilation was involved. Possibly seizures. How I survived on my own is unclear.

What I can remember, however, is that I ate my fried bread like a crazed, ravening thing. Consumption was the only way to make certain it, at least, would never leave me.

Sushi Problems

Remember how even though I'm European-Jewish-Slav aka ethnic white, I'm secretly also an Asian? I know this because I crave Asian food way more than I crave European, Jewish, or Slav food. And everybody who doesn't live under a rock knows that the type of food you crave aligns with your racial background. It's genetics, people. Even monks who spend all their time growing pea plants know about genetics.

One of the Asian foods I crave most often is one called sushi. There are many great things about sushi. Sushi is Japanese. It usually involves seafood. It's delicious. But. There are dreadful things about sushi, too. I have compiled a list of the ones that bother me the most.

Problem #1: You have to use chopsticks to eat sushi.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Why is that a problem for someone who's secretly Asian, like you? Aren't you a chopsticks-using whiz?"

And I'm thinking, "Excuse me? Don't you know anything about genetics? Genetics clearly prove that secret Asians can't use chopsticks. When secret Asians try to use chopsticks, we look like schmendricks. Schmendrick being a Yiddish word that here means, 'more like a European-Jewish-Slav aka ethnic white than like an Asian.'" But in addition to the wrong genetics, I have other problems when it comes to chopsticks.

Once upon a time when I was in elementary school, I was unable to hold a pencil properly. Yes, that's right, I was unable to correctly use a pencil, one of the simplest utensils in the world. I don't know how I managed to accomplish this feat, but I did. In order to make it possible for me to use a pencil, my mom had to buy me this little doohickey:

Behold, the corrective pencil grip. Mine had little diagrams and stars engraved in them to guide me in proper finger placement. Eventually, I was able to hold a pencil the right way without deep thought and major confusion, but it took years of the pencil grip, the training wheels of writing instruments.

Aside from pencils, I was also unable to hold scissors properly. Sadly, there are no corrective grips for scissors, so that's something I struggle with to this day. Now you know my shameful secret: I can't fulfill the basic dexterity requirements of kindergarten. Also, I can't jump rope.

Using chopsticks is kind of like using a pencil. Or maybe more like using scissors, because there are two chopsticks in a set just like there are two blades on a scissor. Except scissor blades are attached, and chopsticks aren't. Each chopstick does something different yet works with the other in harmony. It's very confuzzling to my poor, uncomprehending fingers, who have the wrong genetics and just aren't good at this kind of thing anyways.

Problem #2: The world is divided into people who love sushi and people who are afraid of sushi.

If you don't believe me, go and watch the news. They're always covering the Great Sushi Divide. And if they're not, they should.

Whenever I talk to people about sushi, I almost always get one of two reactions: "I love sushi!" or "I've never tried it." And the people who've never tried it cite their fear of raw fish, or of seaweed, or of wasabi, and so on, all of which clump together into one big fear, the fear of sushi. Sushiphobia.

Why does it matter that like half the population suffers from sushiphobia? It matters because in the sample size of my friends, like half of them suffer from it also. So when I want to go grab some sushi, I can't just call up a bud. I have to call up one of my buds who isn't a sushiphobe, like Porch or Viola. Porch and Viola, though, aren't always available. That seriously inhibits my ability to get sushi as often as I would like.

And no, I can't go get sushi by myself. On account of The Neediness. Getting sushi while suffering from The Neediness is like putting butter on a burn: it's a terrible idea. And it just makes things worse. And what about all the mashed potatoes you could have made with that butter if you hadn't rubbed it into your skin? Bet you didn't think about that, didja?

Problem #3a: Sushi is expensive.

It's very expensive. A plate of sushi costs some serious moolah.

Now, I am more than happy to spend money on food. I love food. There are some types of food I would never get if I didn't buy it myself, of which sushi is one. However, I am less hesitant to spend that food money on, say, some coconut chicken kurma at an Indian place or some honey walnut shrimp from a Chinese one than I am to buy myself some spicy tuna or Vegas rolls at a sushi establishment. The reason?

Problem #3b: Sushi isn't very filling.

It comes in small portions. In order to get full, I'd have to spend a fortune. And I'm a college student. A fortune is something I simply don't have.

One fine summer evening, my BFF Viola and I went for sushi together.

VIOLA: (looking at menu) This is pretty expensive...

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: How many pieces do you think we should get?

VIOLA: If we get three rolls, that will give us each twelve pieces. That's enough, right?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Definitely.

Talking and laughing, we ate our sushi, savoring each bite and sopping up every last bit of spicy mayo. It was truly delicious, and happily I only dropped my food, like, six times.

The check came to the equivalent of one dollar per piece of sushi.

VIOLA: It's totally worth it, though.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: For sure.

VIOLA: I feel pretty full, don't you?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Oh, yeah.

We paid the bill, left a tip, and drove to the nearest Arctic Circle, where we then proceeded to blow ten more dollars on shakes and value menu chicken sandwiches.

Younger Siblings That Talk Back

Sometimes, I just start craving Indian food.

Or Chinese food. Or Thai food. Or Japanese food. Even though I come from a racial background that's European-Jewish-Slavic aka ethnic white (and yes that is a thing and no I'm not making it up), sometimes I feel, deep down, that I'm actually an Asian. Especially when I start craving all sorts of Asian-y food. Like Indian food.

So the other day, I decided to take a break from homework and to go to an Indian restaurant for a little while, maybe an hour or so. At first I was just going to go by myself, but then The Neediness overcame me.

The Neediness is a sensation of acute loneliness. Acute loneliness meaning not the kind of loneliness you feel when you want someone to hang out with, but more of a feeling that if you don't find someone to hang out with, you're going to be alone forever. So you surround yourself with people as often as possible and have psychologically scarring dreams about going alone to the grocery store.

You know what's almost as bad as going to the grocery store when you have The Neediness? Going to an Indian restaurant.

Even though my sisters and I have the same parents, for some reason they don't feel the whole Asian thing, just the European-Jewish-Slav thing. To my sisters, going to an Indian restaurant seems both like a terrible waste of money and downright repellant. Therefore, to stave off The Neediness's effects on my homework-weary soul, I had to exert all my persuasive capabilities to convince Little Sister and Baby Sister to accompany me to lunch.

"The lunch special is only ten dollars," I wheedled, "and to save money you guys can just have water, and maybe some naan bread. You'll like naan bread, it's really-"

At which point my sisters burst out into fits of hysterical laughter.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: What? What did I say?

SISTERS: Naan bread. Non-bread! Bwahaha!

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Naan bread. N-A-A-N. It's Indian. Not non-bread-

SISTERS: BAHAHA!

We ended up going for Italian.

A few days later, when I got home from a grueling day at school, I saw that as part of her redecoration project my mother had placed a mirror just inside the front door.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Oh no!

BABY SISTER: What?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: This mirror. My face is the last thing I want to look at right when I get home.

BABY SISTER: Then look at your face last.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

These are just two brief incidents in a recent outbreak of younger sibling insubordination.

I don't know if it's that Older Sister has been gone for so long or what, but the younger siblings seem to have forgotten their place in the sibling hierarchy. I mean, okay. If I was going to give my family a fake last name for this blog I would give them the fake last name of Obnoxious. And aside from having a reputation of bursting out into song and being able to reference obscure Jim Henson productions, part of being an Obnoxious is being, well, obnoxious.

However. My younger siblings are getting to be too much, even for Obnoxiouses. They seem to have forgotten that you never, ever talk back to your older siblings. Talking back to parents, teachers, church leaders--that's not such a big deal. But older siblings, particularly your awesome older sister? Unacceptable.

Hopefully when Older Sister gets back from her mission, she can whip these little rebels into shape. Otherwise, they're just going to get further and further from the unspoken rules of society, until they end up as high school dropouts who live under a bridge and eat newspapers for breakfast.

Either way, I predict Baby Brother will prove unsalvageable. His level of sauciness far outweighs his number of years.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Baby Brother. Don't put so much butter on your roll. You're going to get a heart attack and die.

BABY BROTHER: But everybody dies.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: *involuntary facial twitch*

BABY BROTHER: Well they do.

I hope Baby Brother doesn't turn out to have the Asian strain in his blood. There's precious little Indian food under a bridge.