The Beauty of Buffalo Stampedes

When I was about six, my aunt, uncle and grandpa took me to Yellowstone with them. My uncle was bent on taking flash, up-close pictures of a herd of buffalo despite the sign clearly stating to be cautious and turn off your flash. You know that scene in Jamanji when the walls start shaking and Robin Williams looks up to see a stampede of wild animals charging down the hallway? The huge herd of buffalo my uncle was photographing started channeling their Jungle friends and started running straight toward our car. Luckily, they swerved a bit and while our panicked selves watched the hundreds of them rush past us within inches of the car. Since I was six, I was pretty sure I would easily be able to swing myself atop one of the bison and bounce merrily along with the fluffy creatures. Now that I am older, I am even more assured I could do this. What is the point of this story? Buffalo are awesome. Secondly, this week has felt a bit like a stampede of figurative buffalo. You know what? Sel and I are riding merrily atop of the Royal Buffalo Herd. I have noticed through this whole wedding extravaganza how I would not be on top of my buffalo were it not for the people who sedated the buffalo with some heavy tranquilizers. My Madre is the master buffalo tamer- some have given her the title of Bison Whisperer. Quite a lot of buffalo have run on by over the past few days. The Bachelorette Buffalo was bedazzled by Mugs and spiffed up by my amazing friends and family who came to admire the BB. The Wedding Showered Buffalo was broken in by KT, Grams, Madre, Mugs, and Ky. The Buffalo Sel and I adopted for the next two years was loaded down by all of Sel’s family members and has been scrubbed, de-molded, vacuumed, and will soon be organized in the next few days. It is hard right now to go over all the teenager and baby buffalo who have stampeded through because there have been such a shocking amount of them and every single one has been handled by Sel or the plethora of amazing bison tamers (specifically the Bison Whisperer). Since this will probably be my last post for a month or more (cause there are a lot of wonderful buffalo Sel and I and family still have to joyfully tackle), I just want to say how exciting a buffalo stampede is. Especially when you get to ride on top of them instead of being crushed by their massive selves. I cannot believe in three very short days I get to marry Sel and we can ride our very own buffalo all the way to Cape Canaveral and then sit atop it while it swims to the Western Caribbean. Buffalo have such a peculiar way of making me so happy. My friends make me so happy. My family makes me so happy. My Sel, soon to be life time Buffalo taming partner, makes me really, really happy. Hope you are able to ride cheerfully atop all of your buffalo for the next month or so! If not, just tie some green robe around the middle of it and hang on :)

James

So often as humans we live under the impression time is endless. There will always be a tomorrow. Many a mantra or song or poem stresses the idea of living each day as if it might be your last. It very well could be. When I reflect on my life, I realize how very little of it has been shaped by me. It would be so very foolish to claim myself as the author or artist of my personhood. Who I am has been almost entirely formed by those who have come into my life. There have been the very few unwelcome who have come and chiseled away bits of my being. There have been hundreds, likely thousands of others who have instead added layer upon layer of purpose, understanding, depth, love, and beauty to who I am. While the obvious sculptors would be my parents, family members, close friends, and Sel, I am finding it is often the discrete impressions left by seemingly minor characters that define a huge portion of my being. The man recovering from a stroke who always let me hug him when I was little. The stranger who became a lifelong friend in only a matter of seconds who I would likely never see again. The professor who ignited an unknown passion who never knew my name. The extraordinarily compassionate Young Women’s leader who knew exactly what I needed to hear and feel every single week. The three high school teachers who reached inside of me and pulled out all the best parts I didn’t know I had. Or the friend who said “Hi” to you every single day in the hallway and sat with you through never ending class periods or teased you about being gangly or made you laugh or was the only 6’2, muscle bound Asian you’ve ever met. You know the one. The one you never really talked to after high school or thought of too much. The one who is now paralyzed from the chest down. My friend was in a warrior dash in Grand Rapids on Sunday. He dove into a shallow mud pit, fracturing his C5/C6 and now the doctor’s are unsure whether his body will heal. The boy I knew in high school was so extraordinarily tough it often times didn’t feel real. There was a Facebook group created for those “Who have ever been hurt by James Sa”. The funny part about the group was though James looked like he could saw through cement with his fist, he would never, ever hurt anyone (unless they were asking for it by hurting someone he cared about). I didn’t text or call him very much if at all. I didn’t spend every weekend hanging out with him. I didn’t know all the fine details about his life. Despite not doing all of these things in high school or having talked to him since, I still feel as if the layer he added to my being suddenly became more prominent, more important to who I am. I do believe in miracles. I believe who we are and what we can do are more powerful than what are bodies seem capable of handling. How many times have we heard the remarkable “I Shouldn’t Be Alive” stories. Or doctors marveling at the inexplicable recovery. I believe James can defy the fate the doctors are predicting. For anyone who reads this, can you offer a little prayer (whether you believe in God or not) that he will be the miracle I know he can be. Pray for him and his family. Pray for the people in your life who have added the fine layers that make up who you are. Pray that those who gave you a miracle will receive one for themselves.

Eyepatch

Two weeks = 14 Days = 336 Hours until THE day. My Dad writes books. Some of his books have been inspired by dreams he has had. Ever since I was four and my little body was racked with “frightmares”, I have suspected my father passed on a bit more to me than his height.
I have ridiculously vivid and highly detailed dreams. 99.9% of the time my dreams involve people I love dying in awful ways, people I love coming back to life as gruesome killers that I now have to kill to save the world from (sound familiar? Pet Cemetery. One of my least favorite works of my father’s. Sorry Dad! The rest of them give me warm fuzzies), someone trying to hurt my little sister, dolls that come to life and try and kill me, my parents cheating on one another, faceless murders, the list goes on. Sounds cheerful, doesn’t it?

Ever since Sel came into my life, awful dreams involving him have erupted. Here is the most recent one:

I was sitting in some bleachers and I see Sel and his “cousin” Elise fighting. After their fight, he comes and sits next to me. When I ask what he was fighting with her about he says nothing and then tells me how his temple divorce is going along swimmingly for us to get married in two weeks. The world spun as I asked what he meant by his divorce. He explained how he was afraid I might not want to marry him should I know he was getting a divorce, but he now knows how desperately I love him and would do almost anything for him. I ran away from him and called the temple office asking how far along the divorce was. The clerk informed me the divorce had been filed last week and would probably take at least a year to process. I found Sel in a random bathroom and demanded to know how his divorce had only been filed last week. He came up with some story about how his ex wouldn’t sign the papers despite them having been separated for the past two years. I told him there was no way we could get married in the temple to which he responded we could just get married civilly. I was heartbroken in the dream knowing I wanted nothing but the best and the best was getting married in the temple. I was even more heartbroken that Sel had lied to me. As I reached for my phone to call my parents, he grabbed my wrist and threw it on the floor. He then shoved me up against a mirror and told me I could never call my parents again because then they would hate him. I left the bathroom and ran into two of Sel’s friends. When they asked why I was crying and bleeding, I told them about Sel getting a divorce. The first said, “It’s a shame really. Elise is so sexy when she isn’t being crazy.” I was in shock. “Elise? You don’t mean his cousin?.” The second friend chuckled and asked if that was the story Sel had come up with to keep the truth from me. I demanded to know the whole truth and it was revealed that I was the other woman. Elise and Sel had a happy marriage till I came along and Sel decided I was the one he actually wanted to marry. So he started dating me secretly and would come home at night to his wife. He had finally told her today that he was leaving her for another woman (me) who he had been seeing for almost a year now. I turned back to the bathroom that was now a forest experiencing a torrential downpour . Sel came up to me and shook my sobbing self and told me to get over it and marry him.

Awful. Awful. Awful. I woke up in the usual distressed state I do when my brain clings to my dreams. How very opposite of everything that Sel is! To further prove this, here is the conversation I just had with him about it.
Me: I had an awful dream about you last night
Sel: (not being surprised since my dreams are usually awful) Really? What happened?
Me: Brief summary of the above dream
Sel: I know an Elise
Me: I know. It wasn’t her
Sel: Did she have an eye patch?
Me: What?
Sel: Did she have an eye patch?
Me: I just told you all about that awfulness and you are curious to whether your dream ex-wife had an eyepatch
Sel: Well, yeah. Wouldn’t it be cool if she did?

He very well is my favorite person on the planet. TWO WEEKS!!!!

A Star of Flesh & Bone

This week has been simply splendid. I would say it has started off as the three best days of almost my entire life. Want to hear all about how glorious it’s been? Sure you do.
Monday: I woke up on time cheerfully. Thanks to Mugs, my wedding task list was much smaller than it had been on Friday, my toes were a lovely shade of plum, and I had been wondering all weekend whether my new Vietnamese friend from the nail salon would give me one of the massage chairs as a wedding gift. I kissed my two adorable little cousins goodbye and walked out the door. I got a phone call five minutes later from my aunt telling me I left my lunch on the counter. No big-I will still be on time. I pull out of the driveway for the second time and realize my gas light has come on. Okay, fine. I will just stop by the gas station on my way to work. The gas station decided to not recognize my zip code five times. Maybe I ended up pushing the button that says “Complain to the non-English speaking attendant until they tell you to just push credit”, maybe I didn’t. I finally get on the highway and turn on the radio. I have become increasingly irritated with the radio and it’s tendency to not just play an abnormal amount of advertisements, but let the radio hosts talk about meaningless things for twenty minutes until they realize they should maybe play some music. As a conversation about where to find the best night lights started up, I started shouting at the senseless individuals who couldn’t hear me until I realized the guy next to me was shooting me a look of utter horror. Probably because I have become so unbelievably ripped lately. I rolled Old Yeller onto Foothill twenty minutes later and stared dejectedly at the one lane traffic filled with the other poor individuals who forgot it was dumb Pioneer Day. Don’t get me wrong, I normally love Pioneer Day. I normally get to run in the 10K, watch the parade with my fam, and end the day with a lovely little barbeque. Now that I have to be a grown up, I get to celebrate Pioneer Day by sitting in my cubicle for eight hours. I also get to celebrate it by following a dumb civic around the line of cones protecting the marathoners and getting treated by a rude blonde and doughnut eating police officer like I was on my way to Tiananmen Square. Just so you and the rude, yelling police officer know, the leader of the marathon was five miles away still AND whose to say I don’t live in that one house on the corner and didn’t just drive along five miles of cones. Also, you (police officer) are just bitter you are getting paid to babysit drivers today while your buddies get paid to do cool tricks on motorcycles in the parade.
Tuesday: I get myself into dangerous situations on a pretty regular basis. Usually (always) it is because I make dumb decisions. Why not run in down town Salt Lake and discover a marijuana field surrounded in barbed wire? Why not run in the mountains during a thunder storm and almost get hit by lightening? Why not kayak down an overflowing river and almost get hit by an oncoming train? Really, why not? I have also adapted to having vehicles break down on a weekly basis. The Beast, may he rest in peace, had his fair share of issues. Old Yeller has been pretty faithful (minus the brakes deciding not to work and the pathetic air conditioning). However, Old Yeller made the decision a little while ago to be a jerk and no longer wipe the rain off his brow. I made the decision to teach him a lesson on obedience and tell him he had to start working. He unfortunately has not yet graduated from L’s Obedience School and decided he still wasn’t going to work even though there was a torrential down pour yesterday. In all of the dumb situations I’ve gotten myself into, I’ve never been too afraid. I knew I could out run the high guards by the field. I knew the guys I met on my run knew CPR and could get me to a hospital should I get struck with lightening. I knew Caitlin was supposed to go on a mission so at least she would survive the kayaking trip. Yesterday, I knew I had a 20% chance of living through the storm. When I left work, there was a light drizzle. Nothing Yeller and I couldn’t survive. As he and I drove along the ever busy I-215, the rain furiously pounded my windshield. I rolled down my window and stuck my head out to try and see. This led to me swerving and almost hitting the previously invisible car next to me. My body began to register the life threatening situation I was in. I was in the middle lane surrounded by cars going 65 mph in the middle of a monsoon and, though his name implies he could fill this role, Yeller is no seeing eye dog. My hands went numb and I began to hyperventilate. I blindly drove into the next lane and prayed I would make it to the shoulder without being hit. A prayer was answered and I drove over the cement median onto an exit. I still couldn’t see anything and it was now even more dangerous because I could hit a person or a car or a tree or a light post or an office building. This is not the way I wanted to go out. I wanted to be 96 or so and have NASA drop a drugged up Sel and I a few feet above the atmosphere. As we fell through the sky, people would gawk at the beautiful star/meteor and Sel and I would warmly leave this world without pain. I didn’t want to be the girl who died because her disobedient car hates her. By some miracle, there was a parking lot of an office building two feet from the exit. I got to safely sit in that strikingly beautiful parking lot for the next 30 minutes. I would tell you I had some life altering revelation during that time about better car maintenance or using your brain more, but my body kind of gave out and I just smooshed my face against my window marveling that I wasn’t dead. You’d think that was all Tuesday had in store for me. But no, Tuesday wanted to see me in my best light yet. I was supposed to pick up my dress from the bridal shop that has given a new definition to “Incompetence”. I was 85 minutes late and didn’t really feel all that bad about it (since they have just been marvelous at meeting deadlines), told the Dominican seamstress “Gracias”, and scooped up my dress AND the wrong veil. I stared at the needles on Gladys’ desk wondering how much of a mess I would cause if I jabbed one into my jugular. I marched in what I hoped was menacingly down the stairs and informed the worker that this was gianormous two tired taffeta mess was not the veil I ordered. She apologized and grabbed the veil I tried on when I ordered it telling me she steamed both the one in my hand and the one on the rack cause she couldn’t remember which one it was. Thank goodness I was on my way to see Sel or I might just have ripped the thing to shreds in my fury. I thanked her and left the store that I will never, ever, ever have to go back to. And then I saw Sel and everything in the world was wonderful again.
Wednesday: Today is going chipper so far. I left my badge in Yeller and had to drive my cousin’s car the fifteen minutes back to get it and then I was crushed by a stampede of zoo animals. Okay, the very last part hasn’t happened. Yet. I do work really close to the Hogle Zoo though… The possibilities for today’s adventures truly are endless. If you reach for the moon, you might just fall through the atmosphere as a human star

The Glass Bridezilla

I would like to elope. To the temple. I have decided I too har

shly judged the girls I watched on Bridezilla. Let me get a few things straight before I launch in. First, I am so excited to get married to Sel I can hardly stand it. Second, the help pouring in for this thrilling event has been overwhelming and so humbling and has helped lessen the now mounting stress.

Now...I have decided weddings are not so much fun actually. I despise the drama it causes with friends and family. I hate the stress and pressure it pours upon everyone. I feel as if I am hemorrhaging money as are my parents, in-laws, and other family members. I feel sick thinking of all the money that is going into this that could be spent other places (like tuition, books, rent, food). Time seems to be some deranged black hole erasing large chunks of my day without me realizing. I try every night to get more than six hours of sleep, but the hours are somehow vaporized during my walk from the bathroom to my bedroom. I feel as if the precious time I should be spending thanking my family and enjoying the wonderful people they are has vanished into hours I will never get back. I feel sad thinking of those who I love so dearly, who I always pictured there not being able to be (they have some pretty darn good excuses, but I will miss them terribly). I feel panicked thinking of all the things I still need to do and afraid I might be forgetting. My emotions are spilling over the edge, threatening my sanity.

(Mugs-the sister who saves me daily)

Today the floodgates unleashed on my sweet, helpful cousin after she concernedly pointed out my resemblance of a zombie lately. She helped me organize all of the things I need to do and helped me check a bunch of them off the list. Despite her helping hand, I can't shake these feelings of panic. I don't want to feel this way approaching the best day of my life. I have seen enough reality T.V. and my own friends and family go through this same thing, but it doesn't change the way I feel. I am seconds from telling everyone to take back all their money, time, effort, and stress and just join us for a picnic of PB& J's in the park after the sealing. Again, my family (in-laws have been included in this term for a long while now) has been SO helpful and kind and caring. I think I would be getting fitted for a white straight jacket right now instead of a white dress if it weren't for them. Today, one of the co-workers I went skydiving with bought me a frosty. This was almost enough to get me crying. First, because it was unexpected and thoughtful. Second, because he drives a motorcycle and had to drive one-handed while trying to balance it (and himself) with the other.

It really has become a cycle of debilitating guilt. I sit and think about how much stress we are causing everyone. And then I feel guilty for not appreciating their sacrifices enough or letting them know. And then I feel guilty for being the cause of such sacrifices. And then I feel guilty for caring so much and not being tough enough to handle it all. And then I finally decide now would be a good time to go to bed.

* I apologize for the thought explosion on this. I acknowledge somewhere in my fogged up brain that I should not be writing this late. Thank goodness Mugs is the best in the world and taking me for my first ever pedicure tomorrow to help bring me back to life.

How to Reduce Your Chances of Being a Sociopath

21 days until I marry the most wonderful man on the face of the planet. I still struggle to realize this is really happening. It isn’t some amazing dream I am sure to wake up from. Getting married in general is a bit much to process, but I don’t know if I will ever be able to fully comprehend that I really am marrying the most amazing, nearly perfect man in the universe (Please note the upgrade from planet to universe). It is impossible to describe how remarkable Sel truly is. I have never been astoundingly gifted grammatically nor in being able to fully express my emotions. I think this is why the term love is such a genius invention. Somehow in using this four letter word, people can relate or interpret the many words that are associated with it. Love somehow explains why I still catch my breath when I first see his face or get butterflies even thinking about him. It explains why I feel like a robot until I see him-I go through the motions only capable of having elementary feelings. It explains why I am incapable of doing anything else but staring anxiously at my phone, fighting with the worst case scenario thoughts trying to enter my head while he is driving home. Love somehow explains why I now cry when I have to say goodbye to him. It explains why I smile like a crazy person thinking about him. It explains why I feel as if this is somehow my first year of life-that I am discovering the world around me wasn’t what I thought it was before. Love explains why I can somehow forget there are other people in the world and at the same time become more aware and grateful for my family, friends, strangers, homeless people who call me sweetbottom. It explains why the dreams of the future I had before him seem so small, so meaningless-how did I ever expect to be truly happy or successful or at peace without him? Without his steadying arms and constant encouragement? Without his perfect laughter or cheerful smile? Without his unwavering selflessness or overwhelming kindness? Without his little boy smile or unshakable testimony? Without his undeniable brilliance and admirable dedication? Without his love?
I am so undeserving of him. Of his love. “Our song” for the wedding is “I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You” by Savage Garden. I really do feel as if I knew Sel before I met him. As if my whole life before him was just a preparation or waiting stage until I finally got to see him again. The best part of finally finding him again, is I never, ever have to say goodbye again. I get to keep him for eternity. Three weeks everyone until the party of the century happens.

* I know this has been mushy, but just suck it up. Watching chick flicks and reading sappy blog posts helps integrate you into society and reduce your potential of becoming a sociopath. Or looking like a fool cause you’ve never heard , watched, or made fun of “The Notebook”.

Here is the song I wrote for Sel. Savage Garden stole it from me when I was a helpless eight-year-old girl.

Maybe it's intuition

But some things you just don't question

Like in your eyes

I see my future in an instant

and there it goesI think I've found my best friend

I know that it might sound more than a little crazy but I believe

I knew I loved you before I met you

I think I dreamed you into life

I knew I loved you before I met you

I have been waiting all my life

There's just no rhyme or reason

only this sense of completion

and in your eyes

I see the missing pieces

I'm searching forI think

I found my way home

I know that it might sound more thana little crazy but I believe

(Chorus)
A thousand angels dance around youI am complete now that I found you

Not a Cheerful One

If you are cheerful right now, you might not want to read this. It also touches on more sensitive topics than I usual focus on for which I apologize. I am not a violent person by nature. I run from any sort of confrontation and am a cripple when it comes to communicating something I might feel would offend or hurt another. When I get angry though, the pansy person I am normally disappears. I hate when this happens. This is the reason I began to shy away from contact sports as I got older-I hated feeling angry with another player. (That and my coordination skills exponentially decreased). To save Sel from my passionate venting and hysterics, I am going to use this as a venting arena. Last summer, I was bent on going to Africa for a field study. I wanted nothing more than to live in a hut, sweat buckets, and learn everything I could about the culture of wherever I was placed. One of my co-workers, who reminds me of my favorite high school teacher, expressed his concern at me going. I was touched by his concern, but nothing could sway me from my choice (except for a handsome blue-eyed man named Sel). While in the break room today, he offered his congratulations on my marriage and how relieved he was that I wasn’t going to Africa. He told me more of the reasons why he was so concerned last summer. He told me of the nearly 100 suits against the Peace Corp from women who were brutally raped while in Africa (among other areas). I looked up the article online and my flood of blinding anger I so often bury washed over me. It is still causing my blood to pound too hard through my veins and my hands to shake as I try and type this. There is nothing more despicable in this world than a rapist. I am Mormon and very strongly believe in the power of Christ’s atonement, but I don’t know if I will ever be able to feel anything other than hate for a rapist. I try to remember that rapists are human too. They have probably had difficult pasts. I try over and over to think this way, but all I keep coming back to wishing the pain they caused their victims would fall upon them tenfold. I know this might be controversial, but I think murderers rank better than rapists. When someone is raped, they have to wake up every single day and remember. Remember how they will never be the same again. Remember how they are supposed to be grateful to be alive. Remember they can never really forget. When you die, your pain goes with you. I know this is sounding dark and awful and I hope you know I don’t intend it that way. The world is full of truly beautiful people who do truly beautiful things every day. Even acknowledging that there are far more people who are good in this world cannot seem to placate my fury that women, children are sexually abused every single day. 1 out of 3 American women have been sexually abused. I bet you the statistic is actually much higher than that. The reason, rape victims blame themselves and are terrified people will find out. People will think poorly of the victim or wonder what the victim did to bring it on herself (sometimes himself). Children too often don’t understand exactly what has happened. They feel pain and are confused, but they don’t fully comprehend what happened to them was not normal. I want so desperately to know how to help stop this. I want justice to be served. I feel so powerless as I try and sort out what I could possibly do to keep another child or woman from being part to the too high statistic. The only weak conclusion I have lighted upon is that maybe if I am kind to every single person I encounter, it will help them believe there is still goodness in the world. Because there is. Even for those despicable predators who don’t deserve it. There is mercy and compassion. There is altruism and kindness. There is hope and faith. There is love.