Newlywed Blog.

The main thing I'm looking for

in a man

is a last name

that I can make a good pun with

for the title

of our newlywed blog.

Y Chromosome.

Some days,

it's just nice to be a girl,

and to like a boy

for no reason

except that he made eye contact with you

for a little longer than normal

and happens to have a y-chromosome.

(Eye contact optional.)

How to Be My Boyfriend.

Today, I found a list I'd once made

in a little notebook.

It was probably about 3 years ago.

This is what it said:

How to Be My Boyfriend:

1. Hair: cut it short

2. Piano: play it

3. Suits: wear them

4. History: love it

5. Serious: be it

It's absurd on so many levels.

I don't even know where to begin.

Well, here goes:

What boys do I even know

that don't have short hair?

This is Provo.

Why so much stock in playing the piano?

I already play the piano.

He can have his own hobbies.

...

Truth is,

this list was written by a me

who know little if anything

about anything.

All I can do

is laugh kindly at her,

pat her head,

and say,

"There, there dear."

...

Post Script:

I guess I'm looking back at that Rachel

too harshly.

She wasn't serious.

It was just for fun.

I tried to think

of what I would write on such a list now.

And all I could come up with was

1. Beard: grow one

via

Haughty.

You know how girls like guys

that are bad for them?

It happens to me too.

I have an unfortunate penchant

for guys who are

1. smart

2. cantankerous, and

3. haughty about how smart they are

(This is a picture of William Faulkner.

But it seemed to embody those points.)

Set someone like that in front of me,

and I'm sure to swoon.

I like trying to make them laugh.

When you manage,

it's a stamp of approval in the best way.

Like they're saying,

"Not only are you intelligent,

but you're _____ enough 

to break through my crusty exterior."

I'm not sure

what adjective

should go in that blank.

My life is a movie.

In 2010, I had a silly crush on a guy in one of my classes.

I didn't know him at all.

.

.

A bit more than a year later,

I wrote this.

.

.

And last night, I went on a date with him.

Crazy, right?

He correctly identified the pattern of his shirt

as gingham.

At the planetarium,

we learned that constellations are kind of dumb.

And we ate hipster food.

I wanted to order the Jack Kerouac burger,

just because.

But I got the Chubby Checker.

Isn't life funny?

Then we can talk about life.

Yesterday,

we spent a moment at church meeting new people

by talking about who our perfect fictional love interests 

would be.

I said Gilbert Blythe.

But today, I realized

.

.

.

there's someone else.

Fyedka from Fiddler on the Roof.

Usually, I'm the first person to gag

during cheesy romantic parts of movies.

Just ask me how I feel about rose petals.

But even I have my moments.

Take a look at the first part of this.

Let's just ignore the whole bit where

he turns her away from her religion and family.

Otherwise, a Fyedka is perfect for me.

.

.

Just before the clip starts,

he tells some buddies who are teasing her 

to leave her alone.

He's willing to fight for her,

as she would be for him.

.

.

I've often noticed you at the bookseller's.

Not many girls in this village like to read.

He notices that she's smart and interesting.

.

.

Would you like to borrow this book?

It's very good.

He's smart and interesting.

.

.

Do you feel about me the way they feel about you?

I didn't think you would.

He helps her see when she's being dumb.

.

.

Let me tell you about myself.

I'm a pleasant fellow,

charming, honest, ambitious, quite bright.

And very modest.

He's funny. 

See the way he waits for her to laugh?

He's got some pizzazz.

.

.

And the kicker:

Go ahead.

Take the book.

And after you return it,

I'll ask you how you like it.

And we can talk about it for a while.

Then we can talk about life.

And how we feel about things.

That's all you need.

Pals.

In honor of yesterday,

I'd like to say something that I've been thinking about.

Being afraid of commitment

doesn't make sense.

Just in general.

It started back in evolutionary times, see?

You didn't want to die.

So you picked someone

to be your pal,

and stuck with 'em.

Hunting,

gathering,

raising littluns.

End of story.

...

Nowadays, it's not all that different.

You don't want to die alone

or live a life not worth living at all.

So you pick someone

to be your pal,

and you stick with 'em.

You talk to 'em

and give 'em things to eat,

go to the things that they care about.

Hunt.

Gather.

Raise littluns.

...

You're afraid your pal will leave you?

They won't.

When they do,

it hurts.

But if you don't even try,

you still don't have a pal.

So either way,

you die.

Dumb.

And everyone wants a pal.

So you'll find another one.

And you'll be happier than with your first pal.

Afraid you could find a better pal?

I guess that could happen,

but that's not what it's all about.

Haven't you ever made a decision

that you didn't end up regretting?

Who ever knew such hullabaloo?

So,

I have a crush

on this boy.

(from here)

Let me distinguish between having a crush

and liking a boy.

You like a boy when you love to be around him.

He's your friend and you can talk,

and you wish he wanted to date you.

You have a crush when you're infatuated with someone,

and you wish you had a reason to talk to him

because if you did, he would obviously want to date you.

A crush is a lot like this:

(from here)

I haven't had a crush in two years,

so it's been frustrating me.

I hate that I feel nervous and awkward around him

so I can't even get to know him 

and turn this crush into liking.

What am I, in high school again?

HELLO.

I'm twenty-one years old.

It seems silly to worry about trying to stare at him 

without him noticing.

I just want to tell him, even though it means nothing,

because that's what I do these days.

I think we should all talk about our feelings.

I think that would make me feel a lot better.

But that being said,

there is something a little magical

about having a crush on someone for no reason.

It's like archetypal human behavior.

So really, I don't mind.

(from here)

The Importance of Being Earnest: A Trivial Comedy for Serious People

Good day.

My name is Miss Cecily Cardew.

And to the end of my recollection, I have always been exceptionally fond the name Ernest.

In all the waking dreams of my girlhood,

I thought to name my firstborn Ernest.

But when I became a young lady, I met the most beautiful young man.

And his name was Ernest.

We passed a year in the sun and I thought to marry,

but he was drawn away by his devotion to the crown.

And I have not seen him since.

More lasting than my affection for him

(The whims of a young lady's first love often dissolve under the weight of plentious grains of sand in an hourglass, you see.)

has been the knowledge that I could never love any man but one named Ernest.

And since then, the most queer thing has transpired.

Nearly every man of importance that has appeared onstage has been named Ernest.

There was first the Ernest whom I wanted nothing to do with.

And the Ernest I wanted everything to do with, but who did not quite wish for the same.

The Ernest who had the most wonderful adventures from India to tell, but who became wearisome for not having anything more to say.

The Ernest whom I took notice of just because he was an Ernest.

What, then is the importance of being Ernest?

.

.

.

.

I think I shall rip those pages from my diary and marry Cecil instead.

Masculine

I like when men cross their legs and still look masculine.

It makes me smile.

Our president does it well.

Still haven't met you yet.

Just now I went running at the good ol' Field House.

And guess who I saw there?

This guy.

Guess who seriously considered stopping beside him and striking up a conversation?

Me.

Guess who disappeared after like 5 minutes?

Him.

Guess who was so distracted that she ran a whole extra mile without noticing?

Me.

I saw two quails today, which I took as a good omen.

I love quails.

Maybe that was my chance.

So if I see him tomorrow, it's going down.

Just a-walkin' down the street.

Today, I met the man of my dreams.

His name is Jared.

I was on the way to the Testing Center to take a test, and he asked me about my LBJ button.

Good start.

(haha.)

So I told him I like presidents.

He said he liked presidents, too!

What?

He said,

"I was just watching Kennedy's inaugural address, actually.

I just love that stuff.

It feeds my soul.

You know,

'Ask not what your country can do for you,

but what you can do for your country.'

I started crying in the library.

It was so embarrassing.

I teared up just now just talking about it."

I looked at him, and it was true.

There was a glint in his eye!

I mostly walked in silence because I was so dumbfounded.

I've been wondering for a long time where all the other people are in the world who would wear retro campaign buttons on their backpacks.

I think I just found him!

Then he went into the JSB to go to class. And I continued on to the Testing Center.

He told me his name was Jared, and I said I was Rachel, and he said,

"Nice to meet you, Rachel-lover-of-presidents."

Don't worry.

I did a ring check,

and we're clear.

So now, I just need to run into him again somehow, and we'll fall into beautiful, historical love. 

The end.

Teaching moments.

Whenever I can,

I take the opportunity to teach boys what

gingham

is.

I have found that generally their knowledge of gingham is limited.

But it's a nice little fabric, see?

Makes you feel like a pioneer.

(=best feeling in the world)

Just haven't met you yet.

Do you ever have relationships in your head

with people that you see on campus?

I do.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Listen, it's not that weird.

This is how the story goes:

Once upon a time way last year, I took Living Prophets from Lloyd Newell.

There was this guy in my class.

And I found him...

handsome.

The good kind of handsome--the kind that you have to look twice to notice.

I was reminded of him last summer,

when I saw an article in a magazine that made me think of him.

And now this semester,

I

see

him

everywhere.

Crossing campus.

On the sidewalk near my house.

Often when I leave the office around 5 pm,

I see him in the lobby of the building where I work.

Once, I caught him eyeing my Greek textbook.

So now, I usually make longer-than-could-be-attributed-to-happenstance eye contact when I see him.

Sometimes I wonder if he notices.

I wonder if he recognizes me.

He always seems to be looking up when I walk by.

Today, I walked down the hall at about that time,

wondering whether he would be there.

I turned the corner

and he was.

And then I thought seriously about what would happen if I said,

"Hey, this is really weird, but we once had a class together,

and I just find you really handsome."

(And then I went home and facebook stalked him.

He's really clever and interesting, by the way.)

The end.

Life's boring if you're not just a little creepy.

BYU Boys.

Only at BYU:

1. Two guys meet up on campus and you hear one ask the other,

"What's your first name, again?"

Aww, former mission companions. Sweet.

2. One day in the library, I saw a guy on a computer,

with his anatomy homework abandoned next to him,

looking at engagement rings.

QUINTESSENTIAL BYU.

Gotta love 'em.