black friday

We ventured out yesterday afternoon on Black Friday, not so much to participate in any kind of deals, but to get a Christmas tree stand (with a Home Depot gift card that we got as a wedding gift, so we were actually spending someone else's money!). Kind of boring, unless you're a newlywed girl who is preparing for Christmas for the first time, in which case you get real jazzed about things like Christmas tree stands and strings of lights and darling ceramic bird ornaments for $0.99 at Target.

Anyway, there is something to be said about the gross consumerism of Black Friday-- being around the crazies grappling at everything they can get their thrifty hands on, shoving past people to see exactly which DVDs are on sale for $3.99 (even if you're not interested in actually buying them), and reveling in the spirit of a Capitalist Christmas (we'll wait to acknowledge the religious aspect-- you know, the important part-- for December 1st).

Here are some materialistic highlights of the day:

1. 50% - 70% off EVERYTHING at Aeropostale
This is not an exaggeration. Everything in the store was literally 50% - 70% off. Usually I have a hard time finding clothes for myself in Aeropostale these days (in spite of my 7th grade allegiance, since I basically limited myself to Aero and Old Navy for a whole year), but Ames is nice and tall and slim, which is just about right for the cut of Aero clothes. Also they have cute jewelry and bags and smells and my friend Tanner works there, so we bounced in on a whim.

Result:

actual images unavailable due to a network connection failure at aeropostale.com
corduroy pants for Ames / grey & silver striped leggings for me = 50% off

I can't speak for Ames's pants, but these striped leggings are not only adorable and affordable, but they look fantastic with cranberry colored knit boots and a dark gray striped boyfriend cardigan.

2. Lunchtime
Five Guys wasn't having any kind of deal, but it didn't keep the lines from going out the door! Can you imagine what it must have been like at In-N-Out? I don't even want to know. There wasn't a table to be hand, particularly when other customers heartlessly vultured tables from under us as we stood there awkwardly, food in hand, looking pathetic and helpless. Since Black Friday is all about dog-eat-dog, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Maybe those same customers will be a little less cut-throat come December 1st, when Christmas starts to focus on The True Meaning of Christmas a little more.

Result:
bacon cheeseburgers, soda and cajun-flavored fries

Just as delicious and fresh as any other burger I might have had yesterday from any other establishment to ensure fresh and delicious flavor. No free refills for us, however, since we finally just took our bag of food to the mall food court where we were immediately able to find a table. Thanks for nothing, other Five Guys patrons!


3. Forever 21 never fails
I know I promised that I wouldn't provide myself with any more headbands for my collection, and I already have a large selection of cardigans to wear on a daily basis, but what could I do when faced with unbearable cuteness? Anyone else would have done the same, I defy you to tell me they wouldn't have, regardless of sales not applicable to these specific items (though I applaud my friend Julie for her efforts to advertise Black Friday promos on her first full day of work).

Result:
photos to come later, due to lack of time at work to post

I've looked at this cardigan a few times and have talked myself out of it in the past, but there comes a time when I just have to give in after a while. And are you KIDDING ME about that headband?!?!!? RIGHT??!!


4. Adam Lambert is for MY entertainment
For curiosity's sake, we wound up at Target, mostly in search of a Christmas tree topper (found one, didn't get it, going back for it eventually). We already have a pretty TV, and I already have three pairs of boots from Target (don't worry about it) and aside from The Dark Knight, I didn't care to spend money on DVDs for the sake of a good deal. We couldn't pass up some music, however, regardless of a recently controversial performance.

Result:

I don't care what you say, this man has a voice that is not to be believed. And the album cover looks like freakin' Xanadu. XANADU, you guys. $10 for more eyeliner than you've ever seen on a man and that screaming voice is more than a deal, if you ask me (which you did, since you're reading my blog).


Conclusion: A successful Black Friday. Saw some friends, ate some food, spent some dollars. And I'm looking forward to listening to Adam Lambert while we set up our Christmas tree while wearing striped leggings and corduroys and cardigans and a headband (for me, not for Ames).

let me introduce to you

This is my immediate family, who are squishy and lovable.

We all went/go to college, which is why some of us like to hang out in graduation robes sometimes. This picture makes it seem like we kind of look alike too, which is not necessarily always the case.

This is my husband. His name is Ames, and we've known each other more than a year now. He wants to be a youtube star.
I talk about him a lot. He's really cute, and he's really nice, and he's got these eyes that make me go woozy because they're so deep, aren't they? Yes they are. We've only been a little Bell family for a few months, but (and they always say this) it feels like so much longer. For real, I feel (and they always say this) that we've been together for years and years and years and I'm starting to wonder how we ever existed without each other. I mean, of course we existed without each other, but you know what I mean (they always say that too, when they don't know what else to say). He's the most thoughtful boy a girl could ever ask for. Also, he's really snuggly when I'm freezing at night (which is almost always). Also, he indulges my headband collection (you thought I was going to call it a headband obsession, didn't you? Wrong). Also, he thinks I'm really cool and funny and talented and a kind of fashionista, which is all very nice and flattering, so I like to keep him around. He also sings a lot and very well, which is easy on the ears. Ames used to have very blond hair when he was young and kind of looked like Zach Morris. He thinks it's funny when I suck at Mario Kart and try very hard not to pout about it, though he beats the game every time and doesn't make any effort to hide it. He speaks Japanese. He's going to teach theater to high school students which makes me so proud and excited because he'll be such a good teacher. He'll contribute very pleasing genes toward our tiny Bells sometime in the undetermined future.

This is my dad Andy. He drives a boat and practices Wii bowling when he should be arranging music.
My dad is really cool, in that ultra-nerd kind of way. He wanted to be in the Coast Guard until he woke up one day and realized he needed to get a degree in Viola Performance, which is probably really good because I definitely see him poking around music libraries and spending hours in practice rooms, not Guarding the Coast. To compensate, however, he's got a veritable armada at our house in Maine consisting of two canoes, a row boat, a peddle boat, and a speed boat-- though he won't be satisfied until we can get him a little sailboat. Won't he be darling in a little sailboat? He's got this exploding wheezy laugh when he thinks something is especially funny that goes like this: "EXPLOOOOOOOODE-WHEEZ-WHEEZ-WHEEZ" and sometime his face turns bright red too. He's had the same haircut since he was seven years old. Once he brought a girl a dozen roses as an "I'm Sorry" on the night he broke up with her, which was an Oops. He and his friends made up a student in college called Frank DeLong who was actually enrolled in some classes and turned in assignments and curiously publishes pieces in my dad's string method books. He's a sucker for small dogs and takes them running. He's one of the smartest people I know, and I really like eating lunch with him at Gandolfo's when he quizzes me on the names of the sandwiches and why they're important in New York. I'm pretty glad I inherited my Polishness from him.

This is my mom Diane. She is the most beautiful and Aretha Franklin owes her money. This is not a lie.
My mom's jingle/voice-over voice is not only almost unrecognizable, it is also awesome. She has a degree in classical voice performance but should have been a Disney voice. She has sung hundreds of commercials, most notably for Tang (hilarious), Campbell's Soup (the ones in the late 80's-- you all have heard them), and My Little Pony (told you she's famous). She also sang backup for Aretha Franklin a few times when we lived outside of Detroit, which is why Ms. Franklin owes her money. She drove Bobby McFerrin to his hotel after one of their rehearsals (cigarette-tap). She's one of the most kind and thoughtful people I've ever met, though she simultaneously has the capacity to crust three inches thick when someone (usually her kids) needs defending. She's got a great collection of Santas that we like to set out each year for Christmas. Once we got to play Marmee and Amy together in Little Women for a whole summer which was not only a dream come true, but also one of the sweetest experiences in my life. Her middle name is Claire, which is why I want to have a little girl named Claire someday. I can always tell how proud she is of me by the things she doesn't say, or when she tears up. She's spontaneous and buys a Wii and Beatles Rock Band kind of just on a whim, which is definitely to our benefit too. She's funny enough to be on Saturday Night Live (can you picture Kristin Wiig + my mom?). I don't really look like her, but I'm glad we have matching eyes.

My little sister's name is Elizabeth. She's a really good musician and her nickname is Biz. She wants to live to be 100 years old.
Mom wanted to call her Elizabeth without any nicknames, but Elizabeth turned into Bizzy and then into Lizzy and she's been Lizzy ever since. She used to toddle toward the JCPenny's catalog in my mom's hands when she was learning to walk, and I'd set up a fortress of solitude on the couch with the coffee table pushed right against it so tiny Bizzy couldn't crawl up to me. She used to be a Trombone Performance major (keeping the music performance tradition going in the family) but then realized how much she hated playing classical music, so isn't doing that anymore, which I think is cool and very true-to-herself of her. It turns out she's really good at drawing too, which shouldn't surprise anyone because she's really, really good at basically anything she tries doing. Like cooking, for example. We used to fight over silly things, like this pink house that was in our town in Michigan, and we convinced ourselves that the other wasn't allowed to like the pink house because we already individually liked the pink house. We like to have a good laugh and still do it a lot. She's real supportive of me, and that started particularly when I moved home because of a bum thyroid. She's getting married on January 15, 2010, which is cool because then Ames and I can hang out with her and Spencer for eternity, and I don't think we'll get sick of each other.

This is Spencer, who will shortly be my brother-in-law. We went on a date once.
Spencer Bean is the reason why my sister and I will continue to have the same initials after marriage (EB). He's going to throw some nice blond-haired-blue-eyed genes into the Dabczynski mix, which will be interesting since there aren't many of those on either side of our extended family. He speaks Swedish and tells us all how to pronounce things at IKEA. We went on that date the night before I turned 19, which is funny because then he celebrated Biz turning 19 too, three years later. Then when she was in Japan this summer for like a month we went on another kind of date that was only a kind of date because he bought me dinner, but they were already engaged by then so it didn't count "like that." He's a real easy-going guy and likes sports, which is good for my dad. He's really nice and patient and is happy to help people do things, which is good because he's good at lots of things like computers and technology things. He and Biz are playing Young Scrooge and Belle opposite each other at HCTO this year, which is cute because that's how they were friends and kissed for the first time in the first place. When Ames and I got married, I inherited five brothers-in-law, but since I've known Spencer so long and since he belongs to Lizzy, I feel like he belongs to me as a BIL a little closer than the others, and I think it's neat that the Dab clan will be a full set of six instead of five.

I'm thankful for my family at this Thanksgiving time, even when we all look gross squinting into the sun after a 2- or 4-mile race on Thanksgiving morning. We ate a lot of food for the rest of the day, so it's good we got an early workout.

worst. thing. ever.

MY PURSE IS LOST.


Contents:
- wallet
- driver's license
- social security card
- MARRIAGE LICENSE
- Urinetown script
- Little Shop of Horrors DVD
- uncashed paycheck from HCTO
- journal (pre-engagement through now)


Also, it's a really cute purse.



I'm going to throw up.

UPDATE: The purse has been relocated, complete with all items inside as listed above. Thank you for good vibes sent into the Universe on my/its behalf.

sedaris v bell

.written september 14, 2009.

I live in a basement apartment, and my landlords are not small people, so my suspicion is they are generous with the air conditioning upstairs. Our apartment doesn't have its own thermostat, so if they're hot upstairs, I'm especially cold downstairs-- always. Tonight I'm a different kind of cold downstairs, though, one that is notably crispy, and I'm pretty sure it means that autumn is almost here.

We went to bed before midnight because tomorrow is a long day for both of us, and maybe it was the sitting around all day that wore me out, but I had been perfectly content for a while to lie there with Ames's arm curled around my stomach and his forehead resting prettily against the back of my head, contemplating the drift off to a sleep that hasn't actually come yet. It's too chilly, it's too autumn chilly, and though my bladder isn't particularly full with just two cans of Diet Coke, I'm too shivery to just let it sit there.

When I get up, I look in the mirror and I'm satisfied with these new bangs that aren't very new, actually, since bangs are bangs and there aren't very many variations: short, shaggy, side-swept. Sometimes you can combine the variations, and I'm sure I have, since I'm addicted to bangs, but I've been growing mine out since May so that my hair would be more versatile for the wedding, even though I ended up pulling all my hair back anyway. The rest of my hair is a reliable mess, since, in our whole relationship, my hair has inexplicably managed to escape from bobbi pins and ponytail holders after midnight, sprouting up all over my head in a ridiculous and hopefully endearing way. Ames never complains, he usually laughs, but I smooth it down across my head even though he's asleep.

Tripping over various throw pillows and the footie pajamas I wore yesterday evening, I stumble back into the bed I didn't make this morning and think about how we don't have side tables yet. Ames uses his hamper to rest my red-shaded lamp upon, that perfectly matches the duvet, and I've got nothing more than a folded red box from IKEA. I'd like to read that David Sedaris piece right now, from the 2008 Best American Essays collection called This Old House, which actually reminds me of Samuel Johnson's essay about his own boarding house. It's nice to know famous essayists maybe draw inspiration from other, older, more famous essayists. It gives me a chance. I grab my overturned cell phone from my IKEA box table, since the light of it charging annoys Ames (it really is bright, to his credit), and huddle under that red duvet, pressing various buttons incrementally so that I can read the essay without the light being too bright. This piece is amusing. David Sedaris is amusing. He's nostalgic, like me, but I haven't read the end of the essay yet.

I've been thinking of all the essays I'd like to write, and was suddenly inspired that we might be able to go to England after all if Ames and I find grants to pay for our trip. What kind of grant could I possibly get? What paper could I propose to research in London that would justify my attending the theater program, but not necessarily writing about it directly? I'm flooded with ideas, and I remember that Louise Imogen Guiney essay which details her thoughts as she observed a special collection of Tudor paintings in the late 1890s, most of which are now hanging at the National Portrait Gallery, and I think how I've seen them too, and maybe I could base an essay of my own off of hers? And what other essayists could I write about? Charles Lamb and his crazy, murderess sister, and A. A. Milne, and Addison and Steel, and certainly Samuel Johnson, who all lived there in London, where I could be next summer, writing about the same things that I might write about and discuss why that's important, the unchanging intrigue of sites and sounds, regardless of age.

I'm starting to be very excited about that idea, and others, while I read some David Sedaris, and then Ames turns over to face me in his sleep, his arm tucked under the pillow and his knees brushing my legs as he tucks them under himself, so close to me in our roomy queen-sized bed. He is long and lean and the sheet is draped so artfully over his waist, and I think how a Victorian artist might have captured him with the sheet and the pale light of my cell phone, set to Power Save Mode, highlighting all the right parts of him. His hair is sticking up all over, so we're not so different I guess, and I imagine how his eyes would look if he slowly opened them to smile at me, but he sighs with sleep instead, undisturbed now by the light, and I think he must be the most perfect specimen of a human male.

I watch him for a while and let David Sedaris slump across my chest, enchanted by the beauty and peaceful perfection of the man lying next to me; the man who wants me forever; who kisses my forehead and doesn't ever forget to tell me, "Goodnight, sweetie, I love you;" who has long limbs and long toes and can reach anything in the kitchen that we share because we are married; who married me three weeks ago and who has already grown up so much; who is the kindest, most tender-hearted man I've ever known; who squeezes my hand three times while we watch a play or sit in a room filled with people--

--and I kiss that slim, toned arm and revel in the sweetness and smoothness of his olive skin before I slip out of bed again to think about him without distraction.

truths

1. I hate the phrase "...that is."
As in, The way they think, that is. I think it's really pretty obnoxious tacked onto the end of sentences, because it's a clarifier that people think is all clever when they use it typically. A clever clarifier. But it's not clever, it's annoying. To me, that is.

2. I'm pretty excited by having in-laws.
And I'm really pumped to have another brother-in-law in January because he is pretty cool and I've known him for a long time, even if he doesn't ever blog, practically.

3. Urinetown is going to be a freakin funny show.
I don't think I even ever officially mentioned that Ames and I are both cast in Urinetown the Musical at UVU, in spite of the fact that I'm not even a student. Ha! We don't open till January 21 (had to get an early start before Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks), but we've already started run-thrus and it is so, so funny. It's been a relatively delightful rehearsal process so far, too. I'm excited for Ames to have an awesome/gross cop mustache and for me to wear a pregnant suit and jump rope and sing all at the same time. Intrigued now, aren't you?

4. I really need/want a full time job.
There is one that I applied for at UVU that I am trying my very hardest to secure for myself (and Ames, since it'll be great income and I can get free school and benefits) with the theater department at UVU. I feel pretty good about it and have all kinds of fingers crossed and recrossed and crossed again.

5. I can live without facebook...
For various/ridiculous reasons that don't need detailing, we haven't had the internet in our apartment for approximately 9 weeks. Don't get me started about this. But my point is, I haven't been able to spend much time online lately-- as in, today is the first time I've logged into anything since Monday, and I've survived.

6. ...but probably not without Twitter.
I. Love. Twitter. It's silly, but I love it. I love sending tweets, I love receiving tweets (mostly), I love having almost 90 followers (woo woo!). And on that note:

7. You only "get" Twitter once you just dive in and use it.
Get it sent to your phone, guys. You'll get it, I promise.

8. My wedding rings are seriously the most beautiful that ever existed.
I wish I had a better picture to post than the ones I took right after we were engaged. They're so sparkly and lovely and people think it's a whole lot more fancy than it actually is. I think that's part of the reason I love them too, because they're actually really very simple but they're tricksy and just kind of little and unassuming.

9. In-N-Out is just a hamburger place, not Mecca.
In-N-Out just opened locally and the greater Provo-Orem area has gone CRAZY. I was informed that people were waiting in line the length of an entire city block. Are you kidding me? It's a hambuger. I get them for $0.99 at Wendy's or McDonald's or Burger King or IceburgArcticCircleRedRobinBurgerSupremeSonicDairyQueenChadder'sFiveGuys whenever I want. I don't intend on tasting In-N-Out (since I haven't ever) until the craze has settled down enough that I can wait in line for less than ten minutes like a regular person who is not obsessed with beef patties.

10. It is possible that I am, in actuality, one of those Blog Girls who love fall.
I intend to expound on this later, but I think that, while I hate Blog Girls with their awesome blog layouts and awesome music playing and awesome ambiguous profile pictures (usually of their shoes) and cool hair and exclusively lower-case lettering, I might be one a little bit. What if I am? We have a lot of similar traits, in that we love fall and crunchy leaves, wearing scarves and boots, and the way it smells outside. Also snuggling, Christmas approaching, cardigans, and wearing lots of layers. I love all of those things, with passion. I've even blogged about it. And I selectively lower-case letter! But Blog Girls annoy me so hard. How do I reconcile this? To be continued (with bated anticipation, I'm sure).

11. The Twilight series is a dissenting topic to discuss within a marriage.
For real, Ames and I came as close to we ever have come to a legitimate argument (but not really) regarding Team Edward vs. Team Werewolf. There's a tweet-fight about it floating around the internet and various text message inboxes. Do not discuss Twilight if you want to avoid serious (but unserious) contention.

things on my mind

you know. just what i'm thinking about.

urinetown the musical

(only i don't get the eye patch. pregnant suit, though.)

twilight woods
(not because of the new moon release this week, though i mean...)

delicious macaroni and cheese
(even easy mac will do)

christmas/christmas trees/christmas decor/christmas
(i want my house to smell like a pine tree)

cherry chapstick
(retro goodness)

this dog
(to be named mops)

thanksgiving dinner
(comes before christmas, but what can you do?)losing weight
(sans bellybutton ring)this play
(opening at hcto in may 2010)

the rocket summer
(not coming to ut on tour right now, but just released a new ep)this haircut
(sans lip ring)

♥ ames ♥
(also the golden horseshoe, where this was taken)

dear person i knew once,

I was planning on kind of telling you off, insisting that you aren't worth my time anyway and I don't care that you have so unceremoniously ended our friendship of seven years without any actual notification and have a nice life thank you the most very much. I think you'd just gain some satisfaction from that, since it would be pretty obvious that I do care about our apparently ended friendship, enough to write a public letter-blog even.

Instead, I very earnestly want you to know, you are worth my time-- or at least, you have been worth my time when you were nice and squishy and my friend and filled with endless "Who loves you, baby?"s. You were worth my time when you sent me flowers to congratulate me for a performance you had to miss. You were worth my time when I was sad and feeling hopeless about all those boys who really weren't worth my time, just like you said, and I wrote your name in my scriptures next to a verse you suggested to me. You were worth my time when you read my blog and told me I was good, and all those times when you said I was unappreciated as an actress. You were worth my time when you read my friend's blog and then decided you loved her and I went with you to buy her jewelry. You were worth my time that night you texted and told me to be with her, even though I knew you were miserable too, and I wanted you to know that. Genuinely.

We were friends for seven years after a misunderstanding was smoothed over, and I asked you to that dance because I really did want to go with you. I promise. We ate ice cream and watched lots of movies at your parents' house. You called my parents by their first names, which is typical of you, but it made me feel happy anyway. You were sad when my dog died. She liked you, you know. You wrote a movie once, in about 800 drafts, and I was going to be in it since you said the character was based on me, even though the character was called Kelly. I went to all those concerts in your backyard and our friend's backyard, and we talked online very late at night. We talked about critical theories sometimes. You're smart, and you know it, and I'm smart too. It was nice to feel smart together, even when I suspected that you might feel smarter than me (which isn't a truth-- you're just different smart. I hope you accept that).

I do want you to have a nice life. I want you to be happy, and I know you can be. Maybe you are happy. You keep writing as if you are, though I've noticed you've been sick lately from status updates and things. I have kept track of you, even though you don't really want anything to do with me, I think. My updates are still public if you ever want to check, since you won't see anything automatically now.

I know you think I had adverse opinions about you that I'd never say. For what it's worth, I didn't. Still don't, really, except for when you say mean things about people I love-- including yourself. I like that you are who you are, without apology, almost to a fault. You think, and study, and make decisions, and stand up for yourself and other people. I'm not even mad that you put opinions in my head and words in my mouth. I'm mostly just sad about it. I thought you knew me better than that, to know that I wouldn't think or say those things about you. Maybe we grew apart more than I thought.

I know you've thought some adverse things about me and mine, too. It doesn't matter how I know. I know sometimes you say mean things about people behind their backs. We all do. I've known for a while that you probably say mean and untrue things about me. It's okay. I don't know why you think those things. I'm happy. My people make me happy. My marriage makes me happy. Whether or not you understand or think I'm wrong or misinformed or blinded, I'd hope you'd be happy for me, being happy. I'd hope you'd trust my decisions and my choices and my husband. I try very hard to trust you and yours (sans husband-- though if you had one, I'd try to trust that too).

I guess I'm not really sure why we have to end. I kind of knew it would happen. I don't resent it. But I did know, all the way back in March to some extent. And while I know our end has mostly to do with my best friend, I guess we probably would have ended anyway. We're different people than we were seven years ago, though I never thought our differences were exactly irreconcilable. I kind of always thought you'd be you and I'd be me, and we'd bounce along together with a sort of mutual understanding and respect for the person we've cared for such a long time. I know you think I take her "side" with everything, but I don't. I'm not sure there's a "side" to be had. I talk to her a lot. I'm with her a lot. I know how she feels about you and about things, but I also know how I feel about you. I didn't really think my friendship with another person would permanently get in the way of us. It hasn't in the past, though I know how you feel about many of my other long-time friends.

It might go to your head, this letter-blog, but as much as I love you, you need to know I'm not going to fall at your feet. I'm not going to leave a zillion comments on your blog or text you eighty times, only so you can tell someone else how needy and annoying I am. I have people who want me. I can turn to them. But I'll gladly turn to you again, when you want me, when our history means something to you, when I'm not so easily forgotten by merely removing me from your blog roll and friend's list and probably from your phone, too.

Maybe it's sentimental. And maybe it's inappropriate to declare publicly. And maybe you won't even read this, or maybe you will and you'll resent it. Or maybe you'll read it and all those things about us being friends will remind you that de-friending a person is a very sad and symbolically final sort of thing. One little click has made a clear impression on me, because you made an impression on me. You continue to make an impression on me, or I wouldn't even be writing this.

You're money, baby. You're so money, and you don't even know it.

Love,
Emily