Uhhhh....

So this is my first try at the whole blog thing.  In all honesty I kind of think blogging is a little narcissistic...but after some more thought...I guess it has its advantages.  The main one being that it replaces my non-existent journal.

So Krista and I discussed a "blog" during a walk/run in Oregon a month ago.  It was about a week after I proposed and I secretly think that she had been patiently awaiting my proposal just so she could start a blog.  I think this means that now we can move on from our single Facebook "friends" to "blog stalking" new married friends in hopes that they will "follow" us and accept us into their very exclusive culture.

Tangent: Where did that stupid word "blog" come from anyway?  I'm sure I could google it and get some sort of explanation...but I don't really want to know...I won't think it is less of a stupid word if I actually knew where it came from.

Right or wrong...it seems to me that all married couples love to get together and play games.  Although I may be a bit apprehensive about making new married friends...I am not concerned about my future teammate in all things competitive.  It has come to my attention that people view me as a competitive person.  Good thing I have Krista (who most have agreed is even more competitive than I am) to deflect all the negativity associated with being "too competitive".  We just had a competitive outing last week to play tennis with/against Scott and Carly.  It turned out to be a tie....we let them win the first set.

So if you've gotten to this point you may be asking...why isn't he spending every waking moment with his bride to be?  Well let me tell you.  Krista Martin is way more interested in The Real Salt Lake than she is in hanging out with me and left me for Seattle and the MLS Championship Game.  In turn...this leaves me sitting by myself on a Sunday night writing a blog crying on my back-lit keyboard...and explains the picture above. :(

say my name.

Krista. Apparently it’s a difficult name to remember. Probably due to the excessive number of syllables, unconventional pairing of vowels and consonants, and the surprise A at the end. Whatever the reasons, people feel much more comfortable using Christy, Kristen, Crystal, or Sharon. I will be standing in a group of 12 people where everyone’s name is remembed but then they come to me and its….just…to…difficult. I went to church with a girl for 3 years and after a plethora of introductions and interactions, my last conversation with her was her confidently asking, “it’s Ashley, right?” Nope. Maybe it has to do with the fact that my face is evidently forgettable as well. Sure I’ll give you “I’m just bad with names,” but “sorry, I’m just terrible at remembering people I’ve met 6 times,” is not going to slide so easily. I mean, I’ve met boys who after hanging out, people inform me they are interested yet a couple weeks later there is no recollection when we meet again. At first I would pretend to not remember people I had met so that I didn’t come across as a freak that remembers names and encounters. Then I realized that they are the freaks and it is my social obligation to make them consciously aware of this fact. And I will tell you that it feels good.

The problem now is John has a face that whether people have met him or not, they remember him on first glance. This very fact was perfectly exemplified earlier this year on our way to Portland. So through various unfortunate events, I ended up spending part of Christmas Eve with this certain, undisclosed family. I have known their son Nate for sometime, I know their daughter-in-law pretty well from Thailand, and the family is old friends with my best friend’s family. All this aside, let’s remember it was Christmas eve, a day people tend to remember. Now, fast forward a few months later when John and I were walking down the aisle of the plane. I sit down without interruption and when I turn around, John is yacking it up with some joker. The conversation was something like, “hey, John Malfatto, right? I met you once 4 years ago, you lived with my son Nate for like 2 minutes, blah blah blah.” No mind to the girl who spent one of the bigger holidays of the year at his home. This is my life. And after tying the committal knot with old Malfatto, I will now only be recollected because of my significant other. I think I’d rather be forgotten then remembered because of someone else's face.

The point is, if you are cognizant of your general apathy towards remembering, I don’t know, people then stop hiding behind the ‘not good with names’ excuse and learn to actually pay attention when you ask someone their name. And I’m stepping off my soapbox.

the consequence of swiping.

except when people steal things. then there is only one perspective to be had.

I've been the victim of various accounts of theft. In africa, my daypack was stolen containing my ipod, camera, wallet, only jacket, favorite pair of pants, etc, i've had 2 bikes stolen, my car stolen, oh and my house was broken into a year ago where the thieves made off with all my electronics, jewelry, and so forth. The point is, people who steal should get their hands cut off. It's just that simple. I found this picture a couple days ago which we took right before i left for Uganda. I had taped the polaroid to the inside of my journal which, consequentially was stolen in Africa as well. So instead of reminding me of the great experiences i had there, it just reminded me of all my shiz that strangers have swiped. I hope this little Polaroid RIP's and the man who stole it RIH.

raincoats, dresses, and ugly beaches

So i have this problem where i know exactly what i want. Well, this isn't really the problem - the problem lies in the fact that the reason i know exactly what i want is because i have created it in my head which in turn makes reality a little unsatisfactory and not terribly obtainable. (Please note: this is a materially shallow post). This has happened with watches, boots, dresses, swimsuits, and so forth. I remember once i wanted a kelly green raincoat - one of those classic vinyl raincoat that was well fitted, mid-thigh, and fully lined with red flannel on the inside; that's just how i saw it. Well i never found this raincoat so needless to say, i never got a raincoat. My mother can attest to this personal characteristic and does actually, on a continual basis. But the thing is, if i don't end up getting the item of desire, it's fine. i move on without much problem to the next item of fabrication. A wedding dress, on the other hand, isn't so easily disregarded. I mean, you have to have one. However, i do have the option now of throwing some ideas out and having the dress made. Retribution for all the items that were never materialized, sitting on the mental shelves labeled "didn't quite make it." Yet even when you think you have a clear idea on how great something can be, or how badly you want it, once you get close enough, you realize somethings are better left imagined. Sort of like this story:
So Whitney and I went here after our program ended in Northern Thailand
We met my friend Ryan down there and basked in the awesomeness Ko Phi Phi had to offer. While sitting on the beach, we noticed a little island a short ways out that seemed to posses an unadulterated beach that we felt inclined to adulterate (so maybe we had just finished watching The Beach and were feeling slightly idealistic..). As we took off, I was feeling a little nauseous but trudged on like the champ i am. After swimming for what seemed like hours (John is the swimmer of the two of us, well and the successful one and i'm everything else) and swallowing copious amounts of salt water, our secluded beach was finally in reach. Once we arrived, i immediately threw up and then stepped on something and cut my foot. then we realized that the beach sucked compared to where we were and that it wasn't an island at all, we just couldn't see that it was actually connected. So we walked back home cursing the beach. Sometimes it's best to just keep things in your head where you know they will stay perfect, sort of like a well-imagined wedding dress.

The Slash to my Rose

Halloween. The holiday where societal norms are thrown out the window. Boys are applauded for looking like women (ps, boys dressing like girls for Halloween are like mustaches - thoroughly overdone, unless you are over 55, then it's hillarious!), girls are congratulated on how little clothing they can wear, and parents continue to send convoluted messages to their children (and by 'don't take candy from a stranger' i really mean, take as much candy from strangers as you can - whether they offer it or not; and while we're at it, go ahead and jump in their van, they probably are going to Disney Land after all). And I look forward to it every year. My 6 year streak of goth and goth variations (cheerleading goth, jock goth, the BYU modest goth, etc, etc) was broken when it was realized that i had a little Lindsey Lohan in me and a bf had a LOT of Sam Ronson in her.
However, I discovered this year (alright, i've heard it for years but finally accepted it this year) that i'm a little less Lindsay and a little more Axl. Actually a lot Axl - we have the same body, hair, and unfortunately..face. In my defense, i'm much more an '84 Axl than a 2005 Axl but in reality, that just makes me dread my visual future even more.












This all started when John and I were driving to Tahoe in May and it hit him, "you look like Axl." So sweet. So naturally, John was totally the Slash to my Rose. True love.
Needless to say John's favorite part of the night was looking in the mirror (sidenote: john is still unaware that this blog has begun so the jabs will continue to be uncontested. As it should be.