If I were a super hero

Besides someone who can pick Amy Grant's voice out of all others...



Yes. I freakin' LOVE X-men. I mean, come on. Amazing. I love it. I've always loved it. Since I was little. No, I didn't read the comics. But I did watch the cartoons. And I'd play "X-men" with the little neighbor boy. I was always Rogue.

When the movies started coming out...I flipped.

I saw the latest one last weekend. I'm in love. It's put me into an X-men frenzy.

I love the story behind it. Close friends, brothers almost, but enemies. One fighting for peace...choice...chance. The other fighting for force...lack of choice. It's just a good story. And cool. And exciting.

I will not hide my love for X-men any longer. They are my heroes.

Hi

Okay. I'm writing another blog post.

I've decided that from this point forward, I will no longer care what people think about me.

This is not to be confused with the notion of giving up good manners...or just being blatantly rude and/or inappropriate. BUT, I'm just so tired of caring/worrying about what people think. I'm just done.

I just...I'm just frustrated. And hurt. And, why do I allow myself to get hurt? Especially by people who always hurt me? I just need to shut it off and not care. I've got to learn how to do that.

Example:

I say to a certain person, "So, I'm going to try out for American Idol!" It's obvious I'm excited about it. She says, "Really? Neat. Is Kevin trying out? Kevin's who really needs to try out. He'd definitely make it. He's just got such a clean, good voice." Okayyyyyy. This same person once heard a duet my brother and I sang together...and upon hearing it she said, "Wow, Kevin's amazing! I mean, you sound nice, Crystal, but Kevin. Wow. He can sing!" Yes, my brother can sing. And he is good. I love Kevin and his voice, and I'm very proud of the kid. I want him to try out for AI, and if he makes it, I will be sooooo happy for and proud of him. But why, WHY does she feel the need to continually knock me down. Why? WHY? I've been hearing variations of this kind of crap my entire life. The same person once said to me, "You're songs...they're cute. Not what you'd probably hear on the radio though." Or something like that. Seriously. What. The. Heck. I responded to that comment with my song "Words On Paper." Which I'd post, but I don't have an easy way of doing so at the moment. But, it's one of my better songs...that a lot of people like. She's never heard it...and probably wouldn't even understand it if she did.

Yeah. Most of my songs aren't sing-songy. Most of them are not about love and gooey-ness. I don't want them to be. Most of my songs take a teeny bit of brain power to understand. That might be too much to ask from some people. There are successful singer/songwriters who write about real stuff...in a deep, thoughtful way...who don't need to have repeated hits on the radio every 5 minutes. They stay true to who they are. Just because YOU don't hear their songs on the stations YOU listen to doesn't mean they don't exist and that they're not successful.

Okay. Anyway. Caring about what people think all the time just gets tiring and draining. Frustrating. Disheartening. Disturbing. Demeaning. And degrading.

I can't worry about it anymore. I may have annoying habits. Sorry. I may be emotional. Sorry. I may not be the person you want me to be. Sorry. I may get overly disappointed at times. Sorry. I may say the wrong thing sometimes. Sorry. I'm just not going to worry anymore. I'm going to be me. Try my best to live a Christlike life and be kind to others. That's all I can do.

Was this post too much out of character? Too negative? Haha...that's me caring about what you think. :) Okay, for reals. I'm done caring.........NOW.

Blog update

I have no better title in mind right now. Hence, "Blog update."

Sometimes, I sit at work and think about things I could write about. I have several blog topics running in and out of my head all day long. But then I get home and just don't write about them.

One is how I HATE using public restrooms when other people are using them. It's basically sharing a very private moment with complete strangers...or even worse, people you kind of know and have to talk to every day, but don't care to know better than the 'work setting.' Why must I be forced to pee in front of someone else? "Well, there are stalls," you say. Right. Stalls. Stalls don't mean squat to me. They do nothing for me. I might as well be peeing right in front of you. Anyway, I wasn't going to use this post to talk about my hatred towards public restrooms. I could go on and on about it. Like why people feel the need to have conversations on their cell phones in the bathroom...while I'm in a stall trying to go. Or why people feel they can bring their ten-year-old son into a women's public restroom. Or how I especially hate when you're in there with someone else who is "shy" in public restrooms...and you both just sit there...for what seems to be hours, waiting for the other to go, flush and leave before you let yourself go, but instead, you both just sit there...and it's awkward. Until FINALLY, one of you flushes, without going I might add, and leaves. Oh I hate using public restrooms. It causes major problems for me at work. Anxiety to the extreme.

Anyway...I've come up with a new idea for a book. I REALLY like this idea. I'm actually coming up with so many ideas that I might be able to make a whole book of book ideas. I've started writing one, but I'm excited for this new idea.

It's going to be another nonfiction one...journalistic style...about outcast mormons. "Outcast mormons" may come off as sounding harsh...it's just a title I have in my brain at this moment. I'm not sure how else to sum up my idea into a simple phrase. I'll work on it...and get back to you.

This has been brewing for a few weeks now. It started with an idea I got while imagining my trip back to the South (taking place two weeks from today.) I'm going to stay with this couple, the Akers, for one night while I'm there. Brother Aker has an amazing conversion story...and an amazing testimony. I want to interview him. You see, he's black. And he joined the church BEFORE black men were able to hold the priesthood. But he still believed, and he had faith he would one day be able to receive the priesthood. Anyway, I want to interview him.

This got me thinking about all the people in the church who, you'd think might want to leave the church because of all the odds against them, yet they stay because they know the gospel is true. There are all sorts of examples. And I want to tell their stories.

Okay. That's all. This post is obviously not an update about my life. Which is why I didn't title it "life update." Sorry if you're disappointed. My life is pretty darn boring at the moment. But the things that go on inside my mind...exciting. :)

A new song...of the week

THIS is a good song. Of course. Amy. Can't go wrong. Listen carefully. :)



She hasn't recorded a studio version of this, sadly.

Here are the lyrics...just to make the listening a bit easier. :)

When I handed you my heart I thought I'd put that need to bed
Oh please don't make me beg, please don't make me beg
For your time and your attention and the thoughts inside your head
Oh please don't make me beg, please don't make me beg

The meeting of our minds, the touching of our skin
We both have different ways, to let each other in

We want the same things, to be loved
We need the same things, to have enough
We want the same things, someone to trust
We need the same things, please don't make me beg

There's a man down on the corner, guitar case at his feet
Oh please don't make me beg, please don't make me beg
And he's singing out his gladness, and doing it for for free
Oh please don't make me beg, please don't make me beg

Such a simple choice, to share the things we have
He's got an angel voice, it's money that he lacks

We want the same things, to be loved
We need the same things, to have enough
We want the same things, someone to trust
We need the same things, please don't make me beg

Said the Son to the Father, must I drink from this cup
Please don't make me beg, please don't make me beg
And let my death be their redemption, every single one
Oh please don't make me beg, please don't make me beg

That man changed everything when He was lifted up
Can't you hear him say just don't run from love

Are you tired of me talking about....?

Amy Grant.

Okay okay, I know. Too many of my blog posts and conversations have been centered on her in the past. This is a post just to prove my insanity. I found it extremely hilarious. I mean, I was actually laughing at myself when this happened.

So, I listen to This American Life. I'm a big fan of it. Thanks again Tyler and Sundy--if you're reading this. Anywho... So, I'm listening to an episode of This American Life, (I listen to several a day, while I'm working) and I'm really into the story line. It's about integration between black people and white people. The specific story streaming in my ears was from a son's perspective....a son of a black father and a white mother. When the son was 12 his parents divorced, and then eventually married people of their same race, his mom marrying a white man and his dad marrying a black woman. ANYWAY.....

As the son was interviewing his mom, something caught my attention. To the average listener...this "something" would most likely be inaudible. Seriously. No joke. It seemed like the two were in the kitchen, because there were possible dishwasher noises and other kitchen type sounds, then the son and mom were very close to the microphone and their voices were pretty loud, and ALSO, the producer of the story had added some background saxophone/jazz music to go along with the feeling of the piece. So the "something" that caught my attention was practically...well, just not there to the average listener.

Guess what that "something" was... It was Amy Grant! Yes. It was playing in the home of the mom being interviewed. The first moment I recognized it...it was more of a feeling. Like, "Something seems familiar." Then I listened more intently to the background, tuning out all other sounds. "It's got to be Amy," I thought, "I can't put my finger on the song...the tune or the lyrics, but it's got to be Amy." So then I skipped back, and turned the media volume up on my phone, making the voices buzz loudly in my ears. I strained hard, focusing on just the "feeling of Amy" and, sure enough, it was Amy Grant singing "Takes A Little Time." What the....!!!

I think I have an illness. No normal person could pick that out. I'm like a super hero...whose power is to be able to ear Amy Grant's voice anywhere, any time, no matter how loud or soft.

Let me know if you ever need my super human services. It's pretty rare to meet someone with actual super hero powers.

Okay, so after I wrote this, I went back and listened to the Amy Grant part of the podcast. And, I guess the producer-added jazz music wasn't playing the majority of the Amy part. But it's still pretty remarkable, if I do say so myself. I still think I have a super human power. :)

Song Song Song

Song of the week. I. Love. Ingrid. The end.

Frustration

I'm a bit frustrated right now.

At this specific moment in time, I don't know what to do about it. So, I'm venting on my blog.

I can't find the title to my car. I own it. I bought it 2 years ago.

My plates are not current...they expired about 2 months ago. I didn't realize this until recently because...well, it's a long story.

So, I took my car in to get checked and registered, but I realized I needed to register it in Oregon because that's where I live now. (I bought the car in Utah and re-registered it in Utah last year.)

They can't register it without the title.

I don't know where my title is. Why? Because I'm irresponsible. In my defense, I know nothing about cars. I bought the car after my mission, right when I moved to Utah. I'm sure Chuck told me not to lose that piece of paper, but I don't remember. I do remember having it for a long time...keeping it in a box of a bunch of other loose papers that were important for one reason or another.

I've hauled that box around with me to many different places.

I can't have been stupid enough to throw that piece of paper away, because it's thick, and colorful and has important information on it.

But I can't find it.

When I came back home, my mom and I went through my stuff and downsized, repacking things. I've been through the "things" and still can't find it.

It takes forever and a day...plus money to get another copy of the title. Meanwhile, my temporary license is almost up. You're allowed two temporaries in a year...but what if I buy a new car before the year is up...and I need the second one then?

Or, what if I can't get a copy of the title before the second one runs out?

I need my car. I work. I need to drive to work. But I don't want to get pulled over for having expired license plates. I prefer not to brake the law when at all possible.

So, I'm frustrated. And at this point, I just don't know what to do, because I seriously couldn't have been idiotic enough to throw my title away, so it HAS to be somewhere. But where? And maybe I am idiotic enough...because I really had no clue how important it was anyway. I know...dumb. But I'd never owned something that grand before. Prior to that, I would just buy something, and it would be mine. The end. No proof needed.

Well, now I need proof. And I don't have it.

Blah.