In my genes

I feel very inspired to write about a miracle that has taken place in my life; because hopefully the information I provide can help someone else. I don't normally talk about this, but I've been suffering with major depression for the last 14 years. I've been to multiple doctors, therapists, and psychiatrists. I'd be put on a new medicine and feel a little better, and then a few months later I'd feel just as bad or worse. I've tried all the different classes of anti-depressants, with combinations thereof, and nothing seemed to truly work. However, I do feel like they helped, and am grateful that I had access to them, so please don't discount their role in the mental health field. 

One thing that the medicines were never able to wipe away were the constant thoughts of suicide. I know, I used that word that makes everyone (including myself) grimace. For the most part, those thoughts were like gremlins, locked in a room in a corner of my mind. But I could always hear them banging on the door, or screaming to be let out. Sometimes they gott out, where they grew in size and power to resemble a massive monster of an unconquerable nature.

The only way to keep myself from being harmed from this hideous beast was to lie in my bed for hours on end, hoping and praying for it to go away. There were times when I couldn't lie in my bed. Where I'd be at work and something triggered my mind, unlocking those pesky gremlins. It was all I could do to function, let alone put on a smile and give good customer service. (Please note that I've never attempted suicide, but our judgments concerning those that have should be kept in check).  

I tell you these things in depth that you might better understand where I'm coming from and the significance of my miracle. There's so much more I'd love to ramble on about (the tabooness of mental health in our society being one), but I'll try to get to the point. 

About 6 or so months ago, a friend who struggles with infertility posted about finding out she has some mutated genes which may be an underlying cause of the infertility. She then linked to an article about this particular mutated gene, which goes by MTHFR (for real, that's the acronym). I was curious more than anything, and the article said that mutated MTHFR genes are linked to not only infertility, but also severe depression and anxiety, as well as other disorders. I started to research more, and found that those particular genes help in the process of folic acid and vitamin B, which then build amino acids and other sciencey stuff. It also plays a part in the making of things like dopamine and serotonin (chemicals that affect your mood). 

I didn't really understand the hard science of it, so I won't pretend to be an expert here, but I felt driven to figure out if my MTHFR genes were mutated and if it could be a potential clue to understanding my own treatment-resistant depression. I found out that if these genes are mutated, and you can't process folic acid normally, you need the pure form of folic acid, or folate (please forgive me in advance if my science isn't spot on). Folate is found in leafy greens, like spinach. You can also get a supplement, but, and this is important, you cannot just take folic acid tablets that you get at a vitamin store. It will do nothing for you. You actually have to get a folate prescription from a doctor -- they call a medicinal food. There are a couple of kinds, but the kind I started taking is called L-methylfolate. When I saw my doctor, he had never heard of MTHFR, but he was willing to give me the L-methylfolate because well, why not? It basically is just a vitamin. No side effects. 

The second thing I did was to find out if my genes were mutated. Some articles say that you don't have to get tested, that you could start just taking the folate and if that helps then awesome, but I needed to know. There is a company called 23andMe which will map out your genes for $100. They can only give you raw data concerning your genes as it relates to health matters (like if you have genes that mean you are more susceptible to breast cancer, Alzheimer's, etc), but there are sites that help you interpret the data (I'm happy to share all those sites if you're interested). It came back that two of my MTHFR genes were mutated. 

I started take l-methylfolate in June, and found out about my genes in July. And here's the miracle of all of it: I am finally feeling happy on an everyday basis, and even more importantly, I no longer think suicidal thoughts on a constant basis. I feel like it took about two months for the L-methylfolate to really take effect. This has been such a huge deal. I realize it can't be measured like the shrinking of a tumor, but I promise you my life has been changed. Just some examples: I keep my room more clean and am more apt to do housework. I laugh more. I'm eating better. **I exercise (which I also give credit to Luna for). 

Doing this research has also helped me realize there is so much we don't know, especially when it comes to our genetics. Yes, we still have agency, but who's to say the man with the extreme anger problem, or the child that can't sit still, or the teenager that can never be serious doesn't have some sort of deficiency that makes it twice as hard for them to overcome a particular weakness?

In closing, I don't want to come across as offering a cure all. Because it's not. I still struggle and have down days, but overall it's made a big difference. It's also not a solution for everybody -- to those people I pray that you'll one day find your solution. I share because someone else shared their hardship, and I was led to one of the biggest blessings in my life. I thank those who are supportive of me, but especially for a loving Heavenly Father and the quiet encouragement from the Holy Ghost to keep going. And for a loving older brother, Jesus Christ, who suffered for not only my sins, but my sorrows. And if you take nothing else from this, just please try to be a little kinder to all those you interact with.  

If you have any questions, I'd love to help answer them!

*TLDR I've discovered my MTHFR genes are mutated; but by taking L-methylfolate, my sufferings with depression have been significantly reduced. If you are struggling with depression, anxiety, and or infertility, you might want to look into the MTHFR genes.

**A note about depression and exercise. A lot of science has said that exercising can improve your mood, and even cure bouts of depression. While I agree with this, I also believe that there are times when people are so sick with depression that saying they'd be cured if they'd just exercise is a huge detriment to their mental status (read -- massive amounts of unneeded guilt). Or because they choose not to exercise, they obviously don't want to be happy. We don't judge people who are ridden with cancer when they're not pounding the treadmill, so why do we do it with severely depressed people? It takes an incredible amount of energy when your body is in survival mode; the thought of going on a walk would make me weep. Or I'd be starving, but afraid to cook something in the kitchen because there are knives in the kitchen and I didn't feel strong enough to fight that temptation, so I got fast food. Basically, try to be less judgmental of others. You don't know the demons they're fighting. End note.  

To Catch a Job

It's no secret I'm on the look out for a new job. I was alerted to a copy writing position that I thought would be a good fit for me. When I started to type up the obligatory "my name is Elissa and please give me this job" email, I thought screw that. I wanted to show these people that I have a funny bone and a creative bone in my body.

I decided to make it look like Entertainment Weekly had interviewed me about my skills as a wordsmith. To do that, I also needed sweet pictures to back up those fightin' words. I roped my dear friend Adrian into a photo shoot that we pulled together in less than 2 days. Seriously, we worked magic.

My favorite aspect is that we were able to get a real anvil. Knowing great people like my friend Mary is like knowing the janitor staff at the Capitol. You get hooked up. The stump that the anvil is sitting on? That'd be fire wood that I rebundled to look like a tree stump. A stump from a stump. We made the legs of the work desk from every hard cover book Adrian owned. I bought a ton of chipboard letters at the HL (Hobby Lobby) and spray painted them black then threw them everywhere. Unfortunately most of the letters didn't even get a cameo appearance in the shoot; but now I have a ton of spray painted black letters if you ever needed to do your own version of Sesame Street.

We set up the shoot on a Saturday morning, and by the time we got it all set up, we only had 20 minutes to do that actual picture taking because I had to go into work. Adrian's an angel and cleaned it all up after. And isn't she a great photographer? She's does weddings if you're interested.

Sunday night I wrote out the "interview" and designed the pages. I'll admit, it's not my best work, but I really wanted to submit it by Monday. You never know when these opportunities will close.

And yes, I did spell out "hire me" with my black letters. It seemed better than silly words like "live," "laugh," or "love."

So far I haven't heard back from them. But if you're another potential employee impressed with my ninja skills, please contact me. I'd be delighted, to say the least.

Here's the interview if you aren't able to channel your inner Superman eyesight:

Elissa, how long have you considered yourself a wordsmith?
Does spelling “change my diaper” in pureed green beans count as wordsmithing? If so, I’d say since I was 10 months old.

That seems abnormally young to be using the written word. Are you a prodigy?
I was a prodigy. Unfortunately, I had to squelch my inner genius for the sake of my parents. I’m sure watching your toddler copy John Grisham novels onto the wall with crayon was a bit unnerving. Instead, I would placate them by playing peek-a-boo for hours; they really loved that stupid game.

We heard that you’ve even written while sleeping.
[Laughs] What can I say, I’m an excellent multi-tasker. While attending BYU-Idaho (where I majored in graphic design and minored in journalism), I would sometimes nod off during class. I didn’t want the teacher to be too offended at their lack of presentation skills, so I’d keep my pencil moving to look like I was writing notes. Sometimes I’d wake up and find I’d written out a dream without remembering it.

Tell me about your brainstorming capabilities
Sorry, no can do. Trade secrets and all. However, I will tell you being a ginger and having no soul grants me special privileges and certain, shall we say, opportunities.

Do you consider yourself a hard worker?
Do I look like a Cyberman? I believe you meant to ask if I work hard. Then the answer is yes. Unless it involves quantum physics or long division; if that’s the case, then I check out faster than Lindsey Lohan leaving rehab. Bless her heart.

You haven’t exactly had a writing job before, yet you consider yourself a wordsmith. Elaborate.
Working at Walt Disney World, driving buses in Alaska, being a copy editor for a small paper, and working in a craft store are all part of my plan to take over the wor … uh, I mean, become a master wordsmith. I like to think of those experiences as manure which has fertilized my idea garden. I tell you, I’ve got some exotic plants growing in my head which are just waiting for the right moment to be harvested.

You lived in Alaska?
Fairbanks, Alaska, to be exact. I even made the choice to stay there a winter. My grandfather may have walked to school in the snow uphill both ways, but I walked to my car in -40 degree weather without the help of my dogsled team or Sarah Palin. I hate to sound prideful, but I’m pretty sure I just one-upped my progenitors.

Well you are just a treasure. Any final words?
I just want to point out that this interview and photo shoot were thrown together in three days. Imagine the things I could accomplish with a team and a paycheck. My name is Elissa, and I’m a wordsmith.

*Yes, I did also send them a regular resume so they knew where I went to school and those kind of boring details.

But Do You Recall, The Strangest Christmas Songs Of Them All

Like any good Christian, I enjoy Christmas. I love the family time, the presents, the food (sometimes the food more than the family ... don't tell my family I said that), the way people pretend they're at an all time happiness when in reality they're pulling the hair from their noses because the holiday stresses them out. But Christmas definitely wouldn't be Christmas without Christmas music; whether that be hymns or commercialized jingles pointing out special savings (Happy Honda days ... really?). 

Today, I want to point out why some of these songs may have the magic of Christmas, but it's a dark magic. 

Baby It's Cold Outside
Can I just say this is one of the creepiest songs in songville in general? There's a man, I'm guessing he's in his mid-50s, probably rocking a pedophile mustache, singing to a girl who most likely is 17 trying to convince her to not leave his den of iniquity because it's cold outside. All her good common sense is combated with responses like "you'll freeze and it's up to your knees out there." 

How is this a Christmas song? I think it may have started out as a Public Service Announcement showing the dangers of My Space relationships and accidentally was played on the radio after a Mannheim Steamroller rendition of "Joy to the World," therefore cementing into the minds of the listeners that manipulation is a Christmas theme. 

Santa Baby
If there's one thing we learn at Christmas, it's seduction gets you the best gifts. Even old fat Santa can't resist a pouty blonde who "innocently" asks for things like the deed to a platinum mine. A platinum mine. There's one thing this girl will never have to ask for: The entrepreneurial spirit. 

Winter Wonderland
"In the meadow we can build a snowman, then pretend he is Parson Brown. He'll say are you married, we'll say 'No man. But you can do the job when you're in town.'" 

A parson is a pastor. I'm guessing this is about a shot gun wedding in which the local small town pastor denied the couple a church wedding, so they had to wander out to the meadow to make their clergy out of snow. Taking their frustrations out on this cold effigy, they then turn him into a circus clown and watch the kiddies knock him down (notice the dual meaning as it correlates to the woman being knocked up with a kiddie). 

Side note: I used to think the lyrics were "then pretend he is sparse and brown." Then again, I grew up in California and our snowmen, made from tumbleweeds, were sparse and brown. 

The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire)
"And folks dressed up like Eskimos." 
1)Pretty sure the general public doesn't even know how Eskimos dress (think seal skins, animal furs, ivory trimmings. Surprised PETA hasn't banned this song).
2) The only people I've seen dressed as Eskimos were wax figures in an Alaskan museum. 
Conclusion: Folks dress up in gear from Burlington Coat Factory. Sorry that doesn't rhyme. 

My Favorite Things
This also gets the honor of "How In The World Did You End Up As A Christmas Song?" My friend said it's because it has the lyric "brown paper packages tied up in strings." Although in today's world, nondescript brown packages usually contain a bomb. 

But the thing about this song that I really can't wrap my head around is this part: "When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad; I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel so bad."  

You're telling me that you've just been mauled by a rabid dog, your ankle is attached only by a few tendons, blood is geysering from an artery and you have the thought "Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles" and then things magically seem better? 

Granted, I guess I too would feel better if I were on Oprah's episode where she hands out her favorite things, come dog bite, bee sting or the black plague.  

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas
"Dolls that will talk and go for a walk is the hope of Janice and Jenn." 

Well, we do know Santa is an anagram of Satan, and it looks like Janice and Jenn are some devout Satan followers. The top of their wish list is to have dolls that talk and go for a walk; i.e. demons. Corey also asked for a doll that would talk and go for a walk. Here he is with his demon doll on Christmas morning: 

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
For the most part this song is fine. Except for the line "There'll be scary ghost stories." Wait. I thought scary ghosts were associated with Halloween. 

"And then kids, when the elves found Rudolph, his nose was red. FROM THE BLOOD OF THE REINDEER HUNGER GAMES!!!"  

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus
Dear son, I know you saw me kissing Santa Claus last night. He is only one in a string of lovers I have. I'm surprised you didn't see me kissing Principle Jones on the porch swing or fondling daddy's boss Mr. Matthews in the laundry room. I realize you also thought I was tickling Santa Claus. It was a type of tickling, but a tickling only grown ups do that you'll understand when you're older. And no, daddy would not be laughing if he knew. 
Love, 
Your Mom Who Gets Around

In conclusion, there are some messed up Christmas songs out there. But at least we have Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You," restoring faith in humanity's ability to write good Christmas songs.

Merry Christmas y'all.

If you give Elissa a cookie ...

Dear friends and fans,
I realize you are greatly anticipating my post concerning my galvanization into the film world, but I must address something first.

For the past two months, I have made it a goal to limit my sugar intake to two days per week. In this I have been doing very well and am quite pleased with myself come the end of the day.

I'm mainly doing it because I have a slight sugar addiction, but I also do it because it feeds my self-righteousness.

I have been very dedicated and am able to pass up decadent trifle my dear aunt has made, or shake my head at cheap Costco gelato, and even resist the urge to lick the screen while looking at Pinterest.

The holiday season comes upon us, and we all know that means each day is pumped with at least a 304%  increase in sugary goodness. I'm at peace with the forthcoming fructose tsunami and have mentally been preparing for it.

But like any well-written superhero, I have a weakness in my armor.

Gifts of sugar.

You see, when you feel the need to be domestic and bake me supreme chocolate chip cookies that are fluffy in the middle but slightly crisp on the outside -- I cannot refuse such a thoughtful gift. I love sugar to begin with. And I probably love you. So to say no to two loves at the same time would be heralding Armageddon before its due time.

But just save it until one of your sugar days, you say. But I cannot. The wafting aroma of those cookies, though hidden next to the water heater, will permeate my dreams and drive me to madness until I enclose my jaw upon them.

Are you seeing the dilemma you put me in with your lovingly baked gesture?

So this holiday season, as you make your plates of mint brownies and peppermint bark cozied up to gooey caramels underneath seductive rolls of cinnamon -- please don't give me one. It's not that I don't appreciate your friendship or love that you thought of me. It's that I appreciate you thinking of me so much I'm willing to sabotage my own personal goals. This gives me such sweet moments of pleasure, but in the end I feel terrible about cheating myself ... and usually end up with diarrhea as well.

If you can't stand the thought of coming to my door caroling without leaving a token of holiday cheer, know I gladly take cash, check and bank transfers.

You really are just too thoughtful.

Fear

I think we can all say we had unfounded fears as children. I had a couple of unique fears. Like fear of killer bees, O.J. Simpson (although, to be honest, this is a rational fear), the world coming to an end because the paintings of popes ran out of wall space (it was a 20/20 special and that's all my 7-year-old brain got from it ... whoa, tangent. Just understood why the show was called 20/20. As in perfect vision. Good name.), fear of the skeleton lady who sat behind my pillow at night, fear of the vent monster (courtesy X-files). Thinking about it, most of my fears came from TV. Although I'm sure my creative brain would have filled the fear-void with something had I not watched it.

Sometimes, my parents would capitalize on my somewhat paranoid state. Once, I went to the bathroom and when I came out, my whole family had disappeared and the house was pitch black. Instead of looking for them, I immediately ran to my neighbor's house sobbing that my family was gone. Turns out they thought it would be funny to hide from me. But I got the last laugh when I disappeared (to the neighbor's house) and they couldn't figure out where I was.

Now that I'm an adult (can I really say that?) I have different fears.

Fear of a hidden camera in my bathroom.
Fear of all crane flies I've killed coming back to life to attack me.
Fear of being mistaken as Miley Cyrus.
Usual fears.

A fear that I don't have is public speaking. Jerry Seinfeld once said "More people fear public speaking than death. Basically, they'd rather be in the coffin than speak at a funeral." Not me.

I also don't fear being incredibly awkward and making a fool out of myself, mostly for humor's sake. When I was serving a mission in Georgia I went to a transfer meeting intentionally looking ridiculous. Because I knew there was at least one person who would find in hilarious, and I didn't care what everyone else thought. Believe me, a lot of those missionaries later told me it was the first time they saw me and they thought for sure I was one joke away from being sent to the funny bin.

But then there are my deep fears. Fear of never marrying. Fear of failure. Fear of dying alone. Fear of not being remembered. Fear of never making something of myself. Which I'm sure most of us have.

Unfortunately, my fears keep me from my potential. Like writing. I know I'm supposed to write, because I believe I do it well; but then I sit down and fear envelopes me like London fog during a Victorian-themed horror movie. Or designing. My hands start to shake and my head starts to hurt and before I know it I'm rocking myself in bed pretending I'm a hermit crab.

Perhaps it's more anxiety than fear. Whatever it is, it's holding me back and I want it banished. And I realize I'm the only one who can truly fight my own demons.

What I really wanted to get to in this post is that I'm in a transitional point in my life and am facing two doors: mediocrity or potential. The mediocrity door is neutral in color, has a familiar door knob, even has a "welcome" mat printed in Times New Roman. Behind it lies a secure job and a regimented daily routine; but not a lot of fulfilling happiness. I do want to make something clear, I am in no way diminishing the choices other's make. My mediocrity may be someone else's potential, and vice versa. Like they say, one man's junk is another man's treasure.

But the potential door is abstract painted and doesn't even look like a door. More like a black hole with streamers and beads dangling from the top while being sucked into the vortex of unknown. There's no welcome mat. In fact, there's a giant canyon you have to leap over before even getting to the door. Behind it lies the possibility for adventure and growth, but also the possibility for bigger failures. It's an uncertain future financially.

Sitting here writing, I'm reminded of the show Dr. Who. If the doctor showed up at your house and asked if you wanted to travel with him though all of time and space, but with the possibility of death, danger, and disaster at every pit spot -- would you go with him? I think we all would like to say "Hell yes I would!" But has our life reflected this sentiment?

I'm letting you know I've started walking towards the black hole door. I'm shaking in my boots, and it may be some time before I even attempt to jump across that canyon, but I can no longer let fear stop me from living the life I'm most meant to live.

Dream Job

People have asked what kind of job I'm looking for. Here is a list of what my dream job would look like. Unfortunately, I don't know where this job is ... yet. But I know it's out there. If you're feeling like you know something that even semi fits this list, please send it my way. I will make you the ultimate cookies or something. 

-Be able to make people laugh
-Interact with lots of friends/make new friends
- Have the freedom to set own hours, not have to "save up" for vacation days
-Have Sundays off
-Be creatively challenged/yet enjoy the challenges 
-Excited to go to work-Not stuck at desk for 8 hours
-Opportunity to travel if I desire, but don't have to if I don't want to
-Be paid a substantial amount, enough so I can pay off debts and not worry about money, and be able to buy things such as house and car and have money left over to travel without feeling like I'm blowing a year's savings.
-Work with people who like me
-Feel fulfilled and like I'm doing something worthwhile
-Use my skills as a leader and teacher
-If there is a home base/office, I want it to have plenty of natural light, but not so much that it's annoying (I know, this is kind of weird, but I'm not fond of being walled in with the constant-never changing artificial light blasting down)
-Not have to sit for 8 hours
-Be able to grow/get promoted/take on more responsibilities 
-Help others
-Not feel guilty for taking days off
-My higher-ups like and respect me
-I like my higher-ups
-Others I work with will have good communication skills
-I have a sense of pride in my work, feel invested in it
-Job will have perks/benefits that other jobs won't
-Wouldn't be an impediment to raising a family
-Stimulating
-Able to do fun things on a whim and leave work
-Do fun things at work

28

I daresay it's about time for another post, don't you agree? And what a more appropriate  time than on my birthday.

I am now 28 years old. Why don't we have a looksie at the past year, shall we? (*This will only be a word journey as picture journeys take too long to upload and now that I'm 28 my days on this earth are numbered and I mustn't be bothered with such frivolous things.)

In the past year (and in no particular order) I have ...

○Driven a 45 ft. passenger motor coach
○Had my heart broken
○Been in a car accident
○Been sued
○Been to California, Utah and Alaska (Washington if we count layovers)
○Survived -55 temperatures
○Seen Mt. Denali/McKinley
○Gone to the Anchorage temple twice
○Seen wild: dolphins, killer whales, humpback whales, seals, otters, eagles, puffins, fox, caribou, moose, humans (no bears yet, don't worry, I'm working on it).
○Taken star trail pictures
○Called to be Relief Society president
○Seen the sun at midnight
○Started watercoloring again
○Started writing a story
○Been to the North Pole and sat on Santa's lap
○Slid down a slide made entirely of ice as well as go through a maze made of ice
○Joined the hipster ranks and got an iPhone/first smart phone
○Survived the Mayan apocalypse
○Worked as a copy editor/page designer at the second largest newspaper in the largest state
○Taken at least one photo everyday since Jan. 1
○Sent off quite a few sister missionaries
○Been the victim of a fender bender
○Eaten moose tacos, moose spaghetti, and bison burgers
○Read too many books to even count
○Watched too many hours of Netflix/Hulu that I should never count
○For making new and dear friends (not deer friends, I could never associate with someone with a name like "Bambie")
○Was a bridesmaid at my cousin's wedding
○Got to create some floral arrangements
○Seen the northern lights
○Went to my first Zumba class
○Found my gratitude journal and returned to writing in it daily (...mostly)
○Bought a car
○Found the unfortunate effects of taking too much caffeine
○Lived in three different places
○Navigated through ice fog (easier said than done)
○Grown my leg hairs to stages where it could be braided
○Took a long walk in the pouring rain

Not too shabby of a year. At times a very cold one, but a decent one.

I'm sure there are other things that I'm missing, and I debated whether I should list every time I fell asleep somewhere I shouldn't have, but decided I can't remember because I was sleeping. But out of all of these things, I think the number one highlight of my year is finding happiness from within. Last summer I was happy, but it was because I was surrounded with fun people and fun times. This winter taught me how to find happiness even when I was by myself; which because I worked nights, I was by myself a lot.

My last day of working at the News-Miner is June 27. I'm really excited. I don't know what life is going to bring me next, but I know it's going to be great. Yes, I'm looking for a new job. No, I don't have a specific job or place in mind. If you think of something for me, please send a bird my way. I'm trying to be open to all possibilities.

Until I turn 29 or my next post (hopefully the latter), I say adieu.

Confessions of a body hater

I'm about to do something very uncharacteristic and 1) go off on an epic rant and 2) divulge things about myself that up to this point I've tried to keep secret to most of the world. But I'm tired of hiding and I hope that maybe my experiences and struggles will help someone else, as other people who have shared their struggles have helped me. Just in case you were getting really concerned, I'm not about to confess to being a serial killer or that I'm about to run for office. You can now unclench your jaw and exhale.

I am slightly nervous because what goes on the internet can never be undone, and there will probably be consequences later. And who even knows how this will affect my dating life (then again, I'm pretty sure it couldn't be worse than what it is now -- as in non-existent). I guess that's what courage (or stupidity) amounts to. Sigh. Here I go ...

For most of my life I've been severely depressed. As in go to therapists and take medication depressed. As in think about suicide all the time depressed. Some of you know this; others, this may come as a surprise. Hello, my name is Elissa and I'm a closest depressive. And I'm finally okay with being open about it.

Well Elissa, you may be asking, why are you depressed? You're an amazing person and funny and have accomplished so much. I don't understand. 

Yep, kids, these kind of things don't make a lot of sense. Medical professionals will say there's a chemical imbalance. Others will say it's genetic. Some zealots might say I'm not being righteous enough (let's just nip this in the bud right now -- we all know I'm the most humble person you know). There really isn't one answer.

I won't go into my long annoying history of it all, but suffice to say, there has been one constant. That constant being that I hated myself. I hated that I wasn't enough. I wasn't pretty, smart, kind, spiritual, girlie, skinny, normal, sane, mathematical-minded, popular, forgiving, fill-in-the-blank ... enough. Which led me to believe I was a failure and undeserving of love or happiness.

But if you weren't feeling good enough, I was right there to disprove that. Here's the thing; I honestly believed other people were good, but I honestly believed I wasn't. Logical? By absolutely no means.

There's this voice inside my head (no, I'm not schizo, we all have this voice, mine is just extra voluminous and much harder to shut up) that would constantly tell me I'm not good enough. Think of villains from books/movies who hurt with their words; spouses that are emotionally abusive and leave unseen bruises and marks on the mind -- that's what the voice in my head does to me. I just came to the realization the other day that I have been a victim of abuse. The sad thing was, I was my own abuser.

This voice tries to put me down in any instance.

Got an B on that art project? Well you obviously didn't put enough of your heart and soul into it or you would have gotten an A. You didn't do your best at all.

Sometimes, it's outright  ridiculous and I daresay creative the things this voice tells me. You know, there are children in Africa that have never had clean drinking water. What makes you think you deserve to drink clean water, much less water?

You're right, I'd tell it. I don't deserve to drink or eat today.

For hours, I'd lie in bed, staring vacantly at nothing while I held onto the thought that I was nothing. Thankfully, basic human instinct would usually take over and I'd end up eating and drinking.

Man alive, I still can't believe I'm posting all this. But I digress.

These are just a few examples. If you're ever feeling like there is too much happiness in your life, I'll let you read my journal to help bring you down a couple notches. Or twenty. Actually, false. I probably won't let you read my journal. I don't hate anyone that much.

One of the absolute favorite ways this voice puts me down, is to point out my weight. So much so that I tied my worth of a person to how much I weighed (which, interestingly enough, even when I did lose weight, I wasn't happier). I hated my body. Hated it.

It got to a point where all I'd picture is taking a sharp knife and cutting off my fat (I never did). Because maybe if I didn't have that fat people would love me (people already did love me). Or maybe boys would like me. Or I'd be a more acceptable person.

And this is the real reason of this whole post (I know, longest intro ever). Here I am, almost 28, and just now starting to realize my worth is not tied to my physical appearance. It has been a long and harsh road getting to this point. I am far from absolute love for myself, but I've made a lot of progress, and I want to share that with others. There has been too much shame in my life and I don't want it anymore.

A main reason I hated myself is because I was taught to hate myself.

Which brings me to the part where I rant. We've got to stop putting so much value on one's appearance. Is there an obesity epidemic? Sure is. Know what's a bigger epidemic that isn't talked about nearly as much? A vanity epidemic.
 
Everyone talks about how the magazines and Hollywood perpetuate unrealistic images of what we should be; and yet those magazines are still bought. We crave "beautiful" people. No, we're obsessed with it. Each year, they pick the world's "sexiest person," because one's ability to perform intercourse is obviously a main requirement to be successful.

Whatever happened to celebrating people who are ethical, or quietly charitable? What about people who have integrity or encourages others to be better? These virtues come in all different faces and body types. 

I cringe every time a boy asks (and it's the very first question) about a new girl "is she hot?" Which some of you may say, well you're just jealous you're not hot. Okay, fine. I'm jealous. I admit it. But seriously, in the long run, if the only thing your wife has going for her is that she's hot, I doubt she's going to be there to wipe the drool from your wrinkly, saggy face when you're 84. But hey, maybe you'll be lucky and get a hot nurse to do it, as you lie alone and miserable in the assisted living home.

I remember a boy (okay, there have been plenty like this) who would go on and on about how above all he wanted a girl who was kind. A hot girl (who was not kind) walks into his life, and he forgets all about his priorities because (and I quote) "but she's so pretty!" I've come to terms that those boys deserve what they get, and I sure as hell don't want a man who can't keep his priorities straight.

Now I'm not saying hot people can't be nice. I'm also not saying you can't look for a hot companion, because I do believe that there needs to be a level of physical attraction for love to work. I'm also not saying I'm not guilty of oggly-eyeing fine male specimens. But we've got to get our priorities inline with what makes a person good and decent.

I want to share some of the reasons I believe I'm fat. One, I have this belief that boys only love thin girls, and because I believe I'm undeserving of having someone love me, if I stay fat then no one will love me. It's like my armor and protection from being vulnerable. And don't worry, I know this is a false belief and I'm working on changing it.

Two, as oxymoronic as it sounds, being fat is a way to be in control when you don't feel in control, as well as a sense of rebelling. I don't want to bring up specific people, but I'll just say that in a way I rebelled against people in my life who didn't want me to be fat (please don't think this was some conscious plan that I came up with one night).

Three, for me, I think being fat is a physical reminder of how much I hate myself (remember, I'm in the process of loving myself now). 

Do you see that fat has many more layers (yep, I said layers) than just what someone chooses to eat?

I have been a victim of fat shaming, but I have also been a shamer. I'll admit, I've gotten grossed out seeing obese people (although I don't voice these horrendous thoughts). It's because we've been engrained to automatically judge a person by what they look like. It's what we've been taught, and so a lot of it isn't our fault. For this reason, I forgive others. Especially loved ones who didn't know how much it hurt when they would say certain things. I already have physical baggage, I don't also need to keep carrying around emotional baggage. And if I've shamed you in some way, I hope you're able to forgive me. But be mindful of the things you say about others, even when you're not in their presence.

One last point (maybe, we'll see). I believe God created our bodies. That as spirits we were sent to earth to have a mortal experience. I also believe that Satan was cast out of heaven and denied a body. So does it come as too much of a jump to believe that Satan is the major force driving this skewed view of bodies? That he is rooting for us to hate ourselves and our bodies, or to put others down for their bodies? When we do this, we're really helping him to win.

I also believe that all can be healed through the atonement of Jesus Christ. That he and Heavenly Father love us for who we are and who we can become. Until I can find love for myself, I'm leaning on God's love for me.

So after sharing some of my deepest secrets, I ask a couple things of you. Try to be less judgmental of others. We're all going through our own battles and we all need each other. Try to see others as God sees them. We've all heard this before, but we need reminded of it every now and then.

There's still a ton more I could say. I have biases and beliefs that aren't perfect, but try to take the essence of what I'm saying, and try to change some of your own beliefs. Don't let the vanity epidemic have any more power over you. 

Hello, my name is Elissa, and starting today, I'm loving myself for who I am. 

Trailing the stars

Y'all are going to be super impressed. I have yet to miss a day in my photo a day challenge to myself. But I am on to another pet project. Star trails.

Star trails are pictures of the stars that makes it seem like the stars are moving across the sky, when in fact we're the peeps that are moving (well, the earth is, anyway). I've always wanted to take these type of pictures, and now I have the chance. I live up in the hills where there's not a lot of light pollution, it's currently dark (although we're gaining daylight like mad, so I won't be able to take too many more of these), and I'm up all night anyway. Great combo.

They're fairly simple, you do have to have patience, as well as some special equipment. First night I did it, I didn't even look online for directions. Probably because the internet was down (yep, I remember now). I knew it had to have a long exposure, so I figured I'd just set up my camera and come back in a couple of hours.Which is technically true, but not how I thought. I also didn't have a tripod (mine met an untimely death in a certain car accident we had last summer), but I'm real good at stacking junk together to place a camera on top of.

It was about 2 degrees and when I came to get my camera 2.5 hours later and there was frost forming on the lens (my camera may die at a younger age). The camera had also turned off, because of the battery dying. When I plugged the card into the computer, this is what I got:

 

I was stoked. There were trails of light! Okay, it was obviously way over exposed and the composition wasn't that great, but I felt fairly satisfied with my limitations (read: freezing, no tripod, not a lot of knowledge). For those photo nerds, the exposure was a little more than 30 minutes at f11. 

Here it is again, but I messed with the levels: 

Cool, right?

The next night the internet was working and I found a decent tutorial: http://www.jamesvernacotola.com/Resources/How-To-Photograph-Star-Trails/12233655_V7cX4D . There are a ton more, but I didn't want to waste time reading them.

I learned that you have to take many exposures and then combine them into one as well as set your f/stop to as high as it will go, like f2.8. Right.

To take multiple exposures and then combine them, you CANNOT move the camera. That means not even touching it. Luckily, I have a remote. I won't get into the technical details of it all, but I really need a lock cable release, but the remote was the second best thing.

Still not having a tripod, I used a hymn book (my mom said "It's nice you were able to use a hymn book for something other than hymns." Thanks, mom) and a cardboard box and set it all up on the snow/ice covered driveway. I'm in Alaska. We're hardcore.

Here's a short exposure (30 sec) so I would be able to tell what my composition was:

 Good to go. I decided I'm come back every 10 minutes or so to stop the exposure and take another one. Unfortunately, after doing this a couple of times, the remote wasn't working (human error) so I gently touched the button. Remember when I said you can't even touch the camera? This is five images combined, but because I moved the camera, you can tell things don't line up. 

It had potential. The faint green you see is part of the northern lights. They have not been coming out when I've been looking, so I got over them, and now I don't want them out (well, I still do, just not a lot) because my picture would just be a sea of green. It was said that this Friday and Saturday they're supposed to be out really strong, so I'll switch back over to northern light photography if that's the case.What can I say, I'm flexible.

Quick astronomy. You may notice the lights are going in a circular pattern. That's because of the north star, you know, the one that doesn't move so sailors can navigate by and such. If you look up star trails online, a lot of them have the north star as a kind of focal point so you see a complete circle of stars. I obviously did not position my camera this way (maybe because at the time I couldn't find it and was using a hymn book anyway, okay?). 

Tonight I asked Doug if he had a tripod (I know, I need to buy another one). He did. Turns out tripods are a lot easier to work with than random junk or hymn books. I set this shot up on the deck right outside the family room so I it wouldn't be as much as a hassle to take another picture every 10 minutes. And...

Sweet!

Tomorrow night I'm planning on going out into the semi wilderness so I can get cooler foreground stuff and perhaps a better view of the whole night sky so I can be a cool photographer with the north star in the picture. Let's pray I don't get eaten by bears.

It's really incredible how fast the world is moving, even after 10 minutes the streaks of stars have moved a considerable distance. Stars may be my new favorite thing. Besides hot country singers.

Anthropology of YSA dances

Last post I told you I got an iphone. That pretty much sums up why I've been neglecting my blog. However, I did take on a pet project of posting to instagram everyday for the month of January. My end goal will be to take a picture every day for a whole year, but I'm doing it month by month so I don't feel like a failure when it doesn't happen. So far, so good. Follow me at, you guessed it, #elissagator. That's also my Twitter account, which I've also been using a bit more. I'm full of surprises.

This past weekend I got to go down to Anchorage for an LDS temple trip. It was great to get out of Fairbanks. I even saw caribou on the way down. One of the Anchorage YSA wards invited us to a dance. Now, I'm not that into dances.Granted, I can dance a storm around you, I just don't usually feel like showing off.

Sitting there, wondering when the night would come to an end, inspiration struck. When that happens, you can't disobey the muses. I got paper, pen and a hymn book, sat in a chair and started writing. Mind you, I was still in the gym, with the dance going on in front of me. I became that girl. The weird one. And I gloried in it.

Here is what I banged out on paper (with a few edits. The copy editing job is really starting to seep into my brain system. Shudder). For your information, YSA means "young single adult;" those in the LDS church that are 18-30. Now you know.

Observations of a YSA Dance
By Elissa Stewart

No boos. Modest dress. A basketball gym with haphazard strung Christmas lights.

A mash up of Thriller and Lady Gaga blast through the speakers. It's an appropriate beat for a scary event -- a Mormon YSA dance.

I stand with the group, yet a part as I write my observations. Tonight I am merely an anthropologist, studying the strange mating rituals of a group ostracized for their different ways. They are different, and yet beautiful -- in the same way a penguin will give a potential mate a pebble. Not a lot of logic, just pure weird.

Their favorite type of dance is the line dance. Not necessarily country, but a mix of the electric slide, pop and wobble and a rural rhythm called "Cotton Eyed Joe." I don't know if Joe would be pleased or astounded at how his name was being used. Then again, having cotton eyes, he would be prevented from most of the indecency.

The slide disintegrates into a slow song. As the tempo slows down, there is an energy change on the dance floor. A massive rush to the drinking fountain ensues by those too sweaty or too self-conscious to wait through those painful seconds wondering if someone will ask them to dance. Others claim a metal chair that hug the prickly-scratchy wall (this wall paper choice is a whole study in and of itself).

And then we have "those" couples. I put that word in quotation marks to symbolize the close and curving ability these people fit into each other. Appropriately, of course. They gaze into each others' eyes, dismissing the strong aroma of body odors and stale farts. They are the only two that exist in the room, under a hoop that will hopefully soon serve as a backdrop for their wedding receiving line.

The odd assortment of the collection adds to the mystery of the dancing ritual. There are big girls, small girls, girls swallowed up by their own vanity. And then the nice girls who come up to strange girls sitting in the corner writing (writing, at a dance -- who does that?) and introduce themselves and start small talk.

Now I don't want to group the males into one group, but for the most part they are a nervous bunch. Sure, there are the outliers -- those who wear sunglasses inside and have the moves of Usher with the morals of Joseph of Egypt. And the few males that you can't help but pity as awkwardness radiates from their clothes.

Putting the males and females together you get raging hormones of a religion that believes sex before marriage is a sin. The ability to get jiggy with it in a church approved setting is a counted blessing.

Not to worry -- there are chaperones, older couples so deliriously happy with their own marriages they can't help but facilitate the marriages of the young and energetic. These chapersones usually have kids about the same age -- and they want grandbabies. If they can help some other older couple get grandbabies, maybe karma will be good back to them.

The paradox of the evening is the fact that this event is supposed to help young people meet and mate -- yet they can't communicate over the dropped out bass of the speakers. You usually end up nodding your head and smiling with anything anybody says. I guess Ursula was right; they have to rely on body language.

Speaking of body language, after studying the subtle nuances and inflections of this particular language, I've translated a few dance movements into modern English so you might more fully grasp what these youth are trying to say to each other:

Waving hands in the air = Would I be a viable partner to produce offspring with?
Booty shake = I can't mate now, but once you wed me by taking me through the temple, you can be sure nights will be pleasurable.
The safe shuffle = I don't really want to be here, but online dating has only given me matches from the Philippines and I'm not that desperate. Yet.
Circling around a guy with pop and lock skills: Finally the attention isn't on my moves but maybe a potential mate across the circle will notice my fun and happy disposition and be willing to follow my Twitter account.

By the end of the night there has been heartache as well as feelings of floating on cloud nine. There have been an average of 3.7 trips to the bathroom by the females checking that their hair still lingers behind their ears in the most seductive manner. At least one person has left crying, and at least two more will cry the next day once they realize the person they hit it off with isn't going to return their texts.

There have been no serious studies as to the probability that two unknown strangers will meet, fall in love and get married as a result of these peculiar Mormon dances. But every opportunity to increase the odds of finding an eternal companion before the ripe age of 28 is taken. That's why I find myself putting down the pen and joining the bouncing throngs.

So far online dating has only given me matches from Cambodia and it turns out I almost am that desperate.

First world problems

Guess what? I did it. I have arrived. If I were Latin, someone would be throwing me a quinceanera. If I were the daughter of Lord and Lady Grantham, this would be my first London party. You get the idea.

I got an iPhone.

I know, Droids are better, I just sold myself to the Apple power who wants to take over my brain, blah blah blah.

It's my first smart phone, and I am stoked. I ordered it online and it got sent here in 2 days (which is miraculous for Alaska shipping standards). Today, I opened it, and started going through the activation process. After some problems and calling tech support, I was given devastating news.

I can't activate here in Alaska because I have Verizon and Verizon is not America's largest network because Alaska is part of America but Verizon is not in Alaska. Soon they'll be here, they tell me. I meant to tell them "well AT&T is here." But they were actually really nice and helpful so I didn't want to be rude.

I have to ship my iphone home so my mommy can activate it and ship it back up. For a couple of days I will have no cell service. Gasp, I know. The world actually might come to an end on Friday.

In more uplifting news, I've started to write. Like actually write a story. I don't know where it's going to go, but it makes me really happy. It's what I'm supposed to do.

And because I can't really get you all a Christmas gift, this is my gift to you. These are my jams that have inspired and motivated me to write and be happy. You should listen to them.

You're welcome.

In no particular order:

Take A Walk by Passion Pit

This song almost makes me want to take a walk, but then I realize it's -40, so I just take a walk in my head.

 

Madness by Muse

This song describes so much of life. Especially my life. Not that I've been in love, but when I am, I'm pretty sure it will be madness. Favorite part is at 4:10 (on the music video version anyway). Wow. It just builds and you feel the power and you feel like you've been blasted into space.

 

 

We Come Running by Youngblood Hawke

I'm pretty sure there's a kid's chorus in the background and it gives it a unique sound. I really like this music video. Most music videos are like "meh, whatever" but if you watch one of these, it should be this one.

 

Wanted by Hunter Hayes

Okay, this kid is only 21-years-old. I would not mind at all if he sang this to me (and meant it, of course). This video isn't my favorite, but his facial expressions are pretty endearing. I'm pretty picky in my Country selection, but I really like his stuff. 

Now I'm sure you're thinking "what, no female artists?" Not for today's list. Maybe next time.

Some interesting facts about some of the above: Hunter Hayes has Grammy nominations for best new artist, best Country solo performance, and best Country album. Muse's Madness was nominated for Best Rock Song.

My only concern is that these songs are going to get way overplayed on the radio and then it will be like when an Adele song comes on -- you really love it but you can't stand it anymore. Sigh, I guess good music just goes that way.

I love these songs because they make me feel. And I want to write stuff that makes people feel. Whether it be passion, or excitement or sadness. Don't worry, I'm not planning on writing 51 Shades of Neutral or anything like that.

And if I don't write for awhile, Merry Christmas! 

Just How Cold Is It In Fairbanks? Part 2

Last week it dumped snow. That's not even the best part. The best part is it got up to 20 degrees. As in 20 above 0. I think that lasted 1.5 days. It snowed so much they canceled school because the buses couldn't get through it (Fairbanks is used to snow, but it was over a foot in a 24 hour period and they just couldn't keep up with clearing the roads). It was my day off, and I had plans to go out and do things, but Deb told me not to try to drive anywhere because the roads were so bad.

Luckily, by the time I had to go to work the next day, the roads were basically cleared. Deb said when this much snow happens at once they have to haul it out of the city, because you can't exactly keep making a snow wall on the side of the road. I guess technically you could, but then people would get really mad.

Speaking of a snow wall, at the university they make an ice wall every year. As soon as the temps start dropping below freezing they start to spray water onto this 35 foot frame and before you know it, ice wall! You can then rent gear to climb it. Like rock climbing, except slightly colder. And slipperier. And colder.

Remember how I said it got up to 20 degrees? Well I'm pretty sure the weather was climbing an ice wall and suddenly fell off because within 30 hours or so it dropped to -40. That's a 60 degree difference. On my laptop it says it's currently -46. Today we only had the first hour of church because of the temperature. Winter church regulations: -30 church is 2 hours, -40 church is 1 hour, -50 church is optional. It's because they don't have outlets in the parking lot so we can't plug our cars, meaning they will literally freeze if left out in those conditions too long.

It's too cold even for ice. Let me explain. There's a lot of ice sculptures around here, because, well they can make them in November and they'll last until April and why not. But if it gets too cold, the ice gets brittle and the sculptors can't work with the ice and then the wings start falling off angels and then you have to glue them back on and then Tinkerbell dies. Tragic.

Coming home from work tonight I'm pretty sure I small icicle formed on the corner of my eye. I wanted to give it a name, like Squishy, except Freezy, and it would be all mine. Instead it melted and died.

The ice fog was the worst I've seen it tonight. At one point I only could see 10 feet in front of me. What's ice fog? Ice fog is when all the car exhaust, pollution, smoke from wood burning stoves and other particulates freeze and get trapped in low levels. So exactly like regular fog, except this stuff is miniscule ice crystals of crap. When you're driving behind cars you have to have a greater following distance because the exhaust immediately freezes and it's like driving through Puff the Magic Dragon, minus the drug references. 

In fact, a couple of weeks ago Fairbanks had the worst pollution in the whole nation, and greater than most places in the world, besides big cities in China. Thanks China -- we didn't want to be number one in that category. Don't worry, in the summer there's hardly any pollution, unless there's a fire, then there's a bunch of ash, so take that and smoke it.

Here's me in a frozen sleigh with a frozen Santa in North Pole. He also had 8 ice reindeer, but I didn't feel like straddling something that would undoubtedly chap my thighs and perhaps sterilize me from ever having children.



Now I need to clarify something. There are few things in my life that I am able to have bragging rights over, and living in Fairbanks during the winter is one of them. Someone (I won't mention names...) challenged me because she stated that she had lived in a certain southeastern Idaho town where there's a certain LDS owned college and once it got to 50 below.


Being the good researcher and humble bragger that I am, I checked up on that. The coldest it's gotten in that certain potato growing village was -30 back in the 80s. It rarely drops below -20.

Whew. Glad I got that off my chest. I feel better.

And for those of you going to warm destinations for Christmas, like, I don't know, Hawaii... I hope you have a wonderful time. And that the ice machine in the hotel starts spewing ice into your room. That is all.

Just how cold is Fairbanks cold? Part I: Cars

In our paper we put a graphic of the state of Alaska with the weather forecast for main cities (all 6 of them). For Anchorage, which is 6 hours south of us, the high was -1 and the low was -8 and the blurb said something like "Sunny and very cold with snow flurries in the evening."

For Fairbanks, the high was -30 and the low was -36 and the blurb said "Some sun and very cold with cold snap continuing through the week."

Let's break this down. The difference between -1 and -30 is 29 degrees. That's the difference between a nice 71 degree day and a hot 100 degree day. You notice how I use different adjectives: nice vs. hot. The Eskimos may have 40 different words for "snow," but apparently anything below 0 is just "very cold." 

Mark Zuckerberg has yet to create the facebook option where you can feel things through the internet, so I'm going to have to explain what -35 is, because I'm betting most of you haven't experienced it.



Fairbanks "very cold" is so cold that you have to plug your car in while you're at work, else your engine, oil and battery would freeze. At many work places, such as mine, they have these posts with outlets that you plug a freeze fancy extension cord into and the other end into a plug coming out the front of your car. They even light up so you know there's juice flowing. 

It's true. I'm cheating. These aren't my pics, but they're linked back to the original site. Don't go too judgmental on me, I'm living in very cold weather.

Now, some people have this sweet device called an auto start for their cars. The device is attached to your key chain and before you go outside you push the button for your car to start so it gets warm before you have to risk your life. It takes about 10-15 minutes, depending on how comfy cozy you want your car to be. Really fancy auto starts have sensors inside the car and if the inside temperature gets below -5, it automatically turns the car on to warm it back up.

I do not have an auto start. I did recently buy a car, and it would be awesome to have one, but getting an auto start installed is about a quarter of what I paid for the car, so it's just not worth it to me.

Because of this, when I get into my car at the end of the night, it is slightly cold inside. I recently bought these extreme gloves that are leather and down goose feather crazy insulated; in fact if I wear them inside for more than 2 minutes my hands start to sweat -- but it's so cold these gloves aren't cutting it because I can feel the cold radiating from the steering wheel. I don't grip the steering wheel very hard.

This concludes this section of "Just how cold is Fairbanks cold?" Stay tuned for more informative reasons on why I deserve lots more gifts this year.

Highlight

On the inside front cover (A2) is a brief summary of the weather. There is the high and low of the day (H 9 L -5), the sunrise (8:51 a.m.) and sunset (4:05 p.m.), the percent of snowfall (30%), and minutes of daylight lost (6 minutes and 44 seconds). And then a cute weather icon picturing what the day is supposed to be like.

I am then supposed to write a short 3-4 line phrase interpreting the forecast, and they told me I could be creative with it.

Let me repeat that. They told me I could be creative with it. 

This is the highlight of my work night.

I get to type out words from my head and they get to be published in a newspaper. The second largest paper in the largest state.

For the first week, I kept it within the limits of a stagnant pond. I was still putting my feelers out for my new environment. The last two days -- well let's just say the tadpole got some legs and is walking out of the pond.

Because honestly, there are only so many words that rhyme with sunny, cloudy and cold. And those three words are what the weather will always be for a long time.

Two days ago, it was supposed to be cloudy with some sun. I wrote "After the sun hides behind the clouds, look for clouds that are shaped like mythological creatures." Yesterday, cloudy all day "If clouds were cotton candy, there will be lots of cotton candy in the sky." Today's cloudy and cold "On this cloudy day, dare a friend to eat ice cream outside. And then run away."

Ladies, and gentlemen, I am just warming up.

I want to be that girl that my editor gets calls about "You have just got to tell me who writes your weather reports. They're brilliant!" or "Do the world a favor and let me hire this girl and help her achieve greatness while paying her loads of money."

I want to be that girl that when Katie Couric asks what was the main turning point in my road to fame I'll look sentimentally off to the right and say "Writing the weather reports, Katie."

I want to be that girl that gets her honorary meteorologist degree and makes surprise visits during the nightly news weather report, much to the glee and happiness of all who are present.   

I want to be that girl that gets perfume named after her (I'm thinking "Cloudy, With A Chance of Eternity, by Elissa")

Because that girl needs only three lines a day to slide her way into the hearts of many and the noses of none.

Why I Love Alaska

1. The bumper stickers. Those that say "Tok Alaska: We're not all there because we're all here." Or "Where the hell is Chicken Alaska?" And how could we forget "I can see Russia from my house." As one person pointed out, Alaska bumper stickers are like an inside joke, because the only people most likely to read them are...other Alaskans.

2. Driving erratically because you're watching the northern lights in the night sky.

3. Going on walks when it's 5 degrees and seeing moose only 10 feet away.

4. The crunch of snow. The other day someone said they hated that sound. I'm not sure how they're dealing with everyday life here.

Want to see what I see everyday? This is the arctic cam, which is a real time view from the building I work in, the Daily News-Miner.

This Post May Be Boring

I made it to Alaska.

In case you were wondering, it's cold and dark.

And I'm lonely.

Maybe this should be my eharmony profile. I'm sure the over protective/jealous/chester molester creeps would come slimeing through the wood works.

I moved into the home of the Maynes', basically my adoptive family up here. He's the first counselor in the single's branch and him and his wife and family are just the greatest. They recently became empty nesters, so I made sure to remedy that situation by moving in.

Unfortunately, Deb's mother passed away in Georgia this past Wednesday, so her and Doug flew down there and will be getting back this coming Wednesday.

They have two dogs, Otter (a chocolate lab) and Ali (a black lab mix), and have so far been my only companions. Right now they're fighting...now they've made up and Ali is sniffing Otter's butt.

The Maynes' home is in the hills of Fairbanks, and has a beautiful view of the valley. One day I'll take a picture. Until then, just pretend how you'd draw "Fairbanks valley in the winter" for Draw Something, and it will give you a fairly close idea.

So it's somewhat isolated, which is nice, but also a little scary. Especially being here all by myself. That's why I take the Dall sheep head that Doug has mounted on the wall to bed with me every night. It in no way shape or form causes disturbing shadows.

I'm sure you're all dying to know how my job is going.

I flew in Wednesday at 11 p.m., and started my first day on the job Thursday at 3 p.m. I figured I might as well follow Will Smith and get jiggy with it. Which, by the way, does anyone get jiggy with it anymore?

Tangent: Because I'm writing this in real time, because I have yet to master fake time writing, I'll tell you that I've been keeping updated on the potential tsunami in Hawaii. Last time there was a potentially huge tsunami in Hawaii I fell asleep watching the television coverage. Looks like they were spared again.

Back to the topic at hand.

I wake up, let the dogs out, eat something, and think about being productive as I mindlessly check Facebook (it is imperative to my mental health to know just how many people liked my status). Then I get ready for the day, take the dogs for a walk, come back and check Facebook again, find something else to eat, count the fibers in the carpet, make a lunch, and go to work.

I work as a copy editor/page designer for the Fairbanks Daily News Miner. I have a desk facing other desks (picture "The Office) with a computer, on the second floor of a building with few windows. I work 4:30 p.m. to 12:30 a.m. There are only about 7 of us there during that time, and because everyone is concentrating on their work, it is very quiet. The only noise comes from the police scanner, which most of the time doesn't come in clearly so it sounds like aliens gurgling mouthwash. I think Van Gogh had the same thing in his studio, and I now know why he chapped his ear off.

Everyone has been very nice and polite to me and no one has yet to question my sanity. We'll see how long that takes.

I open pre-formatted templates and insert news stories accordingly. Sometimes I'll place a picture. Then I make sure all the lines are straight and the i's are dotted and I print it. Two other copy editors look over it; I make corrections to errors they've found and then I start work on the next page. While I'm working on my pages, I'll stop to proof pages from the other editors, because every page gets edited twice.

Towards the end of the night I'll upload stories to the website. Then, once my pages are sent to the press, I sit around until 12:30 or the first paper comes off the press (we then do a quick glance over to make sure there are no huge errors), whatever comes first, and then I go home.  

So besides having to remember 109 different style idiosyncrasies, it's fairly simple and straight forward.

And this brings us to the thesis of this post (I've never been one for nutshell versions).

I'm bored.

And I hate myself for it. Millions of people world over do mind numbing work day in and day out and are content with their lives. They're content that they are able to bring home a paycheck and feed themselves and their families and pay the bills. This is the definition of adulthood. And I can't or won't accept it.

Obviously, I'm probably just an ungrateful brat that needs to embrace the monotony of life.

Coming home from work tonight I was thinking about all of this. What would a life without boredom look like?

Things that would not be boring:
1. Getting kidnapped.
However, this would be terrifying. And you'd miss out on the media coverage, and who wants to miss their own 15 minutes in fame?

2. Epic Disaster.
Also terrifying. And I don't relish the thought of some cannibal wanting to eat me (my Uncle was watching the movie The Road the other night).

3. Running for President.
Purely insane. Would shave 26+ years off your life. On the plus side, you could make the Secret Service play hide and go seek with you in the White House.

4. Doing drugs.
I'd do this, but I completed the DARE program in 5th grade, so I just say no to that option.

5. Being a dog with ADHD.
I think this describes Otter. He always seems so happy.

6. Having short term memory loss.
Also may describe Otter. Only problem with this is what if you were having a a not boring time and then forgot about it? The only remedy would be to date Adam Sandler.

And so, as we can see, there doesn't seem to be too many great options.

That's why I decided to eat an ice cream cone and check Facebook. Because telling your friends about your calorie intake via dairy products is definitely un-boring.