An anecdote that perfectly sums up my baby sister and why I love her so much

Today I had to work for seven hours, which is not that bad, except I was on dish duty, which IS that bad, because dishes take about 10000 years where I work, and you have to stop and help customers get meat every five seconds.  It was a busy work day.  Then I came home and remembered my poetry portfolio is due on Wednesday, so tomorrow will be a long revision day.  In the midst of this madness, I decided it would be a good idea to eat ice cream...in the bathtub.

Like this but only with ice cream instead of a cupcake and no second girl in there with me.

After eating a lot of ice cream, I snap chatted a picture of the ice cream box on the rim of the tub with the caption "I'm a lard" to my baby sister, Eryn.

Eryn sent back a picture of herself looking concerned with the caption "Chloe...."

Thinking, of course, that she was disappointed, I sent back "don't judge me!!"

Eryn replied "I judge you for judging yourself."

That is why she is the best baby sister.

These are a few of my favorite things, stated in very simple, almost childlike, sentences.

Lately, my life has been crazy hectic.  Finishing one show, starting another, working 2 jobs, school.... and not being able to sleep until 3 AM has NOT helped me.  So, I decided to make a list of things that make me happy.  So here it is, a brief list.

Hello, I'm Chloe.

I like unicorns and Zooey Deschanel and reading books in the bathtub.

I like having bangs.

I like Across The Universe and RENT and the fact that I saw them each multiple times in theaters.

I like my best friend, Tess, and remembering how we used to spend hours drafting screenplays and casting them in our heads.  I like how we'd go to the gas station every day for lunch in high school, except the days we skipped class and stayed at my house and made grilled cheese sandwiches.

I like going to sushi, especially with my former roommates Summer and Clare.  I can't figure out chopsticks, no matter how many people show me how to use them.

I like white chocolate Flipz pretzels and Sour Patch Watermelons.

I like people who are blunt and straightforward with me.  I especially like it if what they have to say isn't exactly nice.  I like knowing where I stand.

I like having Netflix marathons, especially if those marathons happen in blanket forts.  On that note, I like blanket forts, a lot.

I like going out with Amber in Salt Lake and fending off creeps.  I like that we literally can't find our way out of any place because we get lost.

I like mimosas and milkshakes, but not together.

I like texting McKay every night for hours about nothing and everything and whatever we want.

I like hanging out in Hillary's basement with Brock and Chelsea and McKay and not really paying attention to whatever movie we put on.

I like auditions. I like performances.  I like putting on microphones and costumes and drawing on my eyebrows really thick so you can see them from the audience.

I like over-planning with Brock.  I like when we plan our outfits.

I like late nights at Betos with Laura.  I like that we literally can't stop eating there.

I like going to Chilis with Katy and over-estimating how much we can order.  I like how we are definitely Amy and Tina.

I like seeing Colton act, especially if we ran his lines together.  I like going to McDonalds and the Kiki Lounge and anywhere as long as we are there, being the power couple like it ain't no thang.

 I love costume parties.

I like hearing a song I haven't heard since I was a kid.

I like writing anything, but I really like writing poetry.

I like Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes, Rebecca Lindenberg, e.e. cummings, and T.S. Eliot.  I like The Lovesong of J Alfred Prufrock and Red and Catalogue of Ephemera.

I like Richard Bach and Carl Sagan.

I like flower crowns.

I like having Crafternoon with Emi.  I like that we are not always the best at crafts and sometimes realllly can't put together a bookshelf.

I like Las Vegas and Libby Montana and San Francisco and all the places I haven't been yet, like Portland and Sorento and Nice.

I like hearing peoples travel stories.

I like boys in peacoats, boys in glasses, boys with beards, boys with all three of those things.

I like brooches.  I like collecting brooches from my mom and my grandma.

I like Anne of Green Gables--the book and the movie.

I like staying up late.

I like tiny white puppies.

I like a good moscato.

I like photo albums and the old books that my grandma left me and judging high school debate tournaments and singing and guitars and probably you, whoever you are.

A fun little ramble in the woods of Chloe's mind, or how I went from talking about my horrible Spotify playlist to simply showing you a bunch of pictures of William Beckett (also known as I-promise-I-can-write-but-that's-not-really-what-I-use-this-blog-for)

I was listening to my Spotify Nostalgic High School Favorites playlist tonight, and I thought to myself, you really need to watch the Helena music video (by My Chemical Romance).  Because you loved it soooo much in middle school.

So I watched the video.  And I remembered that holy crap, I used to be SO in love with Gerard Way (the lead singer.)  For reference, here's a picture of Gerard Way.

Naturally, my little trip back into Gerard's Hot Topic clad arms made me think of all my other high school crushes (and so on.)

This next little bit of blog-ness is from the "so on" part of the above statement.

I think I was actually in ninth grade when I did this, soooo...maybe that makes it better?  But I used to do a couple things to my binders.  The first was to cover them in duct tape and pictures of Gerard Way (above), Nick Wheeler, and emo dudes making out (for real.)  The second thing was to take dramatic pictures of myself and my friends and put them next to handwritten lyrics to whatever sad song I thought described my life.  One particular combination I remember was this song:

with these pictures:

Yeeeah.

Around this same time, I heard this song for the first time:

and I fell MADLY in love with William Beckett.  This guy:

I'm talking SEVERAL Sim families where he was my Sim babydaddy and we had like, 50 kids.  I. Loved. Him.  

I will admit, he has fine-wined for me.  Here is what he was like when I first fell in love with him:

And here he is nowadays, fitting into my current Favorite Male Aesthetic.

Oh, and just cause I can, here's a picture of us together:

I like to think that he fell in love with me when I said "I like your shirt.  My friends all make fun of me for voting for Obama."  I could definitely hear how much he wanted me in the way he said "yeah, this isn't exactly a blue state." 

In conclusion, all I can say is thank goodness my tastes have changed.  Cause I used to be REAL into this:

annnnd I have absolutely no idea where I would find that any more.  So there's that.

What Rings But Can't Be Answered by Rebecca Lindenberg

You are beautiful as a telephone, colors
of bone, rocket ship, and cocktail lounge—

Hmm, says the neon sign, starting
an unfinishable thought.

Where do we go from here?

I’m a balloon,
each minute you don’t call is a breath
you blow into me.

I want to be the crackers in your soup,
I want to be your brass compass. Oh, mister,
just thinking about you curls the ends of my hair.

The clock tisk-tisks.

Moon, you old spinster, don’t you mock me
with your pockmarks and your slow, slow travels.

Moon, what would you know, cold as cheese?

Hmm. Tisk-tisk.

Behind a far-off door, a thought about me is being formed
out of nothing but light.

And when that phone does ring—

-Rebecca Lindenberg 

The Shark Week Saga or Why I Will Never Be A 90 Pound American Apparel Model

So I was just in the shower, washing my hair, and I decided to put some olive oil on it, because in case you didn't know, apparently that makes your hair shiny and soft (in my case those things are synonymous with soft and greasy, like pasta, which is fitting.)  And all I could think was, my hair smells like the bread at Olive Garden....should I have some before-bed ice cream to go with my at-work ice cream?

And then of course, I came to the tragic realization that I will never be ninety pounds because I eat alllll of the things.

*Disclaimer: I do not really care about being 90 pounds.  I am not a morbidly obese person with unrealistic goals, nor am I three feet tall, so being ninety pounds is not really a "thing" for me.

Anyway, as I was massaging the olive oil into my hair, I made a scientific discovery!  The reason why I am incapable of resisting all the things (foodwise) is because of Shark Week.

For those of you who don't know what Shark Week is, it is not, in fact, the TV special that features lots of videos of sharks, I am assuming.  I am just calling Shark Week Shark Week here so as not to offend the delicate sensibilities of my readers, of whom I am certain there are many.

So, anyway, according to Science, the Cycle of Shark Week goes like this:

But according to ME, the cycle goes like this:

You can all thank me later for this dose of Science.

In which I detail my time as an illegal alien in France

So today for lunch...or whatever you call a meal you eat at 4:30, I had bread and butter.  And I thought to myself, "no wonder the phrase 'it's my bread and butter' came about.  This is delicious."

Then I thought about how European I felt.  Then I wondered if just eating bread and butter would be something Europeans do.

I decided yes, it was definitely something Europeans do.

Then I thought about how I am definitely going to go to France ASAP, run away, disappear into the French countryside, and likely work in a patisserie under the assumed name "Simone."  Or perhaps I will just keep my name because it's pretty French anyway.

Then I will fall in love with the local boulanger named Guillaume, and though we will be poor because I am an illegal alien and he bakes bread for a living, we will be very happy.

Until, of course, the government discovers me.  At which point I will have to tell Guillaume of my real identity.  And he'll be all, "tu n'es pas Francaise?!"  (Which roughly translates to "wait, for real?  You're not French?!"

And I'll be like..."non." (Translation: Nope.)

At which point he will say, "mais tu as le meilleur accent francais!!!" (You have a bitchin' french accent.)

And I'll be all..."je sais, Guillaume.  Je sais."  (I know, right?!)

Then we will have a green card marriage, which will rapidly disintegrate after the french version of the po-po are off my trail, because really, neither myself nor Guillaume was built to be married.

I'll have to quit my job at the patisserie.  Seeing Guillaume will be way too awkward.  But the skills I've gleaned will help me to move to another small french village in the middle of the night and establish myself at another local business.

I will keep doing this until I am deported or dead.  Either way, whenever I eat bread and butter I will think of my time as an illegal alien in France.

Fin.

You were right, Katy Perry, I AM a Firework!!! (Not sure why that is capitalized, but it's whatever, OK? Just shut up.)

A conversation between myself and my darling Colton Iverson.

Background: Colton told me, yet again, that I make bad choices, but that is why he likes me (a rather sad compliment, but I'll take it.)

Me: 

I know, I'm fun to watch.

On occasion.

Like...fireworks. But on a windy day

where you're kinda like..

shit.

I hope those don't blow over.

And light things on fire.

Colton:

BUT THEY'RE SO BEAUTIFUL

Me:

PRECISELY

but they're also kind of loud

and they do the same thing over and over

and you're like...

"I'm not that impressed" after about an hour

Colton:

But theres the ooooooooooh! aaaaaaaah! effect!

dont forget that!

totes worth it

This is a firework in the wind.  Just so you know.