Alright.

I have offically banned myself from facebook till December 1, 2010. In the mean time I have decided to fill my time with whatever I can...

That has included alot of watching sienfeld.

Tonight I caved.

I began to blog stalk.

It started simply at looking at a friends,

then I moved onto an ex-guy,

Slowly I moved onto a girl who at one point my very exsistance made her cringe.

That being said- she wrote about something-

that I myself have avoided writing about....

Well facebook is out of the question-

So blog... here it is.

July 29, 2010

I lost my hand model.

I lost my Keva partner.

I lost my muse of 7 years.

I lost my mother of 20 years.

I lost my best friend of 2 1/2 years.

Her name was Angela Ivie She raised two kids on her own-

Completely on her own.

She made a lot of bad choices,

But did her absolute best to be good.

Her hands were two of God's most beautiful creations.

Each finger, each nail, each vein was a work of art within it's self.

She was terrible with money-

But was always so pretty

She was the funniest person I know,

And I didn't know it till the last 2 1/2 years.

The day I turned 18 was the DAY we became friends.

Not just friends-

But best friends.

She no longer was responsible for me,

And I finally got the freedom I craved.

We went out to dinner- to Ruby River

(Like always)

I got my medium rare prime rib

(Like always)

And mom and I sat and laughed

I mean... we laughed

HARD.

(Like..... that never happens...)

Couple weeks later we planned our first road trip.

As friends.

We continued to roll our eyes at each other

And not understand.

but it didn't matter anymore because we now laughed together.

all the time.

I was the last person to see her alive.

That whole night was spent laughing

and holding hands

....Like always.

I miss her like crazy.

I cry alot.

alot.

I spend a lot of time down in springville,

Laying next to her grave,

and crying.

There.

It's Officail.

I blogged about it.

Lyrically Speaking- Heart Ache Sucks

Picked me up. I knew it was coming from the second I saw him. His arms didn't reach out for me, his eyes didn't care that it had been (48?) hours since we last hugged. Which sucked because I had missed him. "homesick for the home i've never had" (soul asylum)- I missed his touch.

We get in the car, why did he still open my door? "We're drving slow" (pussycat dolls), then he starts to talk. I honestly... I can't tell you what he said. I've twisted it and distorted it in my head already. Is it because of HIM? Does he fear one day I'll be like "hey-la my boyfriends back"? (some 50's group.) Was he leaving because he (loves) me and couldn't take sharing me? Or is he gone because he could never (love) me? I heard both. Yet- I know for a fact- that word never touched his lips. Never crossed his mind. And somehow I still heard it. While I felt my heart stop and my stomache turn. I have no idea what he said. He kept talking and I kept thinking "I hate this part right here...." (pussycat dolls)

Taking a U-turn, he pulls over and stops. My eyes are over whelmed with tears and my throat has a lump. I look over and he's completely calm.... un-moved at it all... "you make breaking hearts look so easy" (anberlin). He says "i wish i knew what to say", and I wave my hand- what else is there to hear?

I'm so confused. What happened? Last night he sent me a text that said "i love holding you." What changed? Why doesn't he want me anymore? "it's here then it's gone- love doesn't last too long" (the weepies). Pulling up to my house "can I walk you to your door?" "why?" "because I still care about you." What? I thought you didn't? Thats why my heart is where my stomache is supposed to be and my stomache has turned upside and cramped to the size of a quarter- isn't that why I'm hurting? Cause you stopped caring? Wait..........is this because he cares too much? I wish I had any idea on what he said....

I thank him for his honesty, and for the time we shared. "amazing" was my adjective of choice. I ment all of it. Everything I ever said. Everything I never had the guts to say. I ment it. When I thanked him for his honesty... I ment it. "But you still hurt me" (william fitzsimmons).

I get out of the car and (run?) to my tree. Been a year since my heart broke- and a year since I've sat in that tree. I pull myself up to the top with the greatest of ease. I sit in my spot, lay my head back and hold my breath. His car turns on. The lights flip on. He has to be laughing, "she went and climbed a tree??" I try to continue to hold my breath but I begin sobbing. His car pulls away. I sit there waiting for another U-turn. A movie scene. He's going to do a U-turn, pull into my driveway too fast, jump out of his car (all while I'm speedily climbing down the tree), he's gonna pick me up and spin me around. Streams of tears will stain his face. He'll put me down and wipe my tears away like he does and hold me. He'll take back every word.

Alright.... it's past the point of a U-turn. "Snap back to reality" (eminem). I stair at his car... at his tail lights. "I know there's nothing stoping (him) now.... but I'd settle for a slow down......come on tap those breaks..... give me just one sign" (Dierks Bentley). But just like the U-turn, he never slowed down. He didn't second guess losing me. Was there anything to be lost to him?

Oddly enough- laying in bed it was a little "past one- I'm all alone and I need(ed him)." I sent him a text. "i know the answer to this question, I also know how pathedic this is, are you awake?" No answer. I lay there... looking.... staring at the clock. Each minute passes by and my eyes don't get any droopier. Just more tears.

Every break up song I've ever heard runs through my head, "all these songs about rain" and while I liked them before, there is more meaning to them. While this is great for my writing and choreographing career... everything about me, every part of me hurts. It was 2 1/2 months. Why does this hurt. I keep thinking... keep racking my brain. I'm thinking of everything from our first hang out, to the first date, to the first time he held me. The first time he saw me cry. More then anything "i've been reading all the letters that you wrote me and all the fairy tales you sold me,and all the pretty things you said. i cant stop thinking about the way that you control meand now you wish you'd never known meoh how i wish you'd come and hold me." (Tony Lucca)

It's not like this is a big deal... since he's been gone "(he's) only the best I've ever had" (vertical horizon). And "there is love left for me I will see" (william fitzsimmons). And ya know... "some things don't work out like they should. i'd bang my head against (his) wall... but it ain't no good" (Joe Purdy). I guess here is where I "take my heart and walk away" (parachute).

Flowers

Monday May 3, 2010 I took my last final for the spring semester of 2010 (most likely bombed it by the way). Anyways- bla bla bla and yada yada yada I was given a single white rose. May I just tell all of you how much I LOVE getting flowers. flowers are so beautiful and so simply elegant. I don't need to get them all the time- but I just really like getting them. I don't think they should be purchased often because they're expensive, but I don't they should be disregaurded for that reason. Lots of things are expensive. Suck it up- skip your coke for a week and buy the girl flowers! (Demetri Martin does this hilarious thing on flowers. he's like "I've never understood giving flowers to a loved one.... flowers die. I feel like they should be given as a threat- send a dozen roses with a note that says "you're next") O.... you think I'm bad with flowers??? don't even get me started on stuffed animals.... (I have a family of bears on my couch in my room... all brown and cream colors. They're the Smithenson family.)

Hardest thing I've ever done....

Hillary Ivie Writing 990 Salt Lake Community College . Luthando . Growing to love, what felt like a million crazy little kids, was not the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Working at Luthando, an orphanage in Cape Town South Africa, loving each of my 73 children felt so natural, I knew it was right. Saying “no” to their eager eyes and forgiving smiles seemed to be the more of a challenge than anything else. One in-particular, Sevi, to whom I had grown very attached, there was no way to say no to him. This stood true, “no” being next to impossible to say, till December 4, 2008, my last day there, when I quickly found out that the hardest thing to say was not “no”, but simply “goodbye”.

. The alarm goes off 5:45 am. Forty-five minutes earlier than normal. Today was different though. I didn’t want to waste any time sleeping- I could sleep later. Every second I could be awake, I wanted to be. I reach over and turn the alarm off, and slowly sit up in my bed, and lean forward. My feet touching the cold wooden floor that often feels frozen, however this morning it was more of a comfort. My back curved, head resting on my knees, arms dangling with hands near my feet. I take a deep breath in as the crisp air fills my lungs.

. As I stand in the shower,no warm water again, although today I don’t seem to mind, I look up towards the shower head. The chilled water droplets beat down on my face. I close my eyes and feel the difference between the numbing shower water and the warm tears both seeming to blend. I’m not allowed to cry today, so this is where I have to do it. Silently in the freezing shower.

. Sitting in the front passenger seat, holding the rough dry hand of my driver who had become dear friend over the past months. I try to look closely at what we’re driving past, in a desperate attempt to absorb every image I can. The sun is blinding when I look out my window. I roll down the window and feel the cool breeze on my face, and the warm sun kisses my cheeks. I squint at the shacks lining the streets. They almost seem never ending. A small smile forms on my face. The mis-matched colors of blue, green, yellow, red, brown, and pink tin and scrap metal are somehow nailed together to create a simple box of 9x9x9, these embody more of a home and beauty than anything else I have seen.

. Pulling up to Luthando, the van slowing down to a crawl. Children are running in every possible direction, somehow effortlessly missing each other in what seems like should be major crashes with tears and bruises. But none of that happens, the children just run, scream, and smile. I laugh a little to myself as I reach back and grab my burnt orange back pack from behind the driver’s seat. My driver, Wonga, looks me in the eyes and whispers his deep raspy voice “be strong,” and then kisses my cheek. I bite my lower lip and nod in argument.

. I open the door to the van with a big sigh and a roll of the eyes and say loudly “here we go again!” Instantly the children all stop their running, turn towards me, and then there is the morning ritual stampede of little children charging me at full speed, yelling and screaming with arms waving uncontrollably in the air. They all tackle mento the ground, and before I’m allowed to stand back up, each child gets a hug and a kiss on the cheek good morning.

. Our day seems to be going normally. Breakfast, English, singing, wrestling, lunch, nap, and then dance. During lunch time I see one of the workers pull Sevi aside. Out of the corner of my eye I watch to try and understand what is going on, but I had no clue, all I knew was his eyes had never looked so hollow. His face lost what I had thought to be a permannet smile. He didn’t eat during lunch, and was restless during nap time. Before dance he came up and gave me a hug, and told me he loved me, followed by a quick kiss on my cheek.

. Dance time went longer than normal, which was fine by all of us. We sang every song we had ever danced to. The kids showed me their new dance moves, and I showed them some ballet. In fewer words then can do this justice, on this day, with 73 children all under the age of 6 and one teacher, we held the dance party of the century.

. Before I knew it my driver pulled up. The kids began screaming, stumbled outside, and began running in every direction.Once again somehow missing each other through their directionless sprints.

. Throughout all the noise, my heart sinks. My hands begin to shake as I gather all my material and put it back into my burnt orange back pack. I try to zip up the back pack and it won’t zip. I pull harder with each tug, the harder I pull the more blurry my vision becomes, I tast salty tears, and my lower lip throbs from biting it so hard. I give up and decide my back pack just won’t be zipped up. I don’t care. I can barely see. My hands are shaking. My heart is racing. My head is spinning, and I still have to walk to the van.

. I pick up my back pack and begin to walk. Glancing in the corner, through the tears, I see the workers standing there waving. One is choking back tears. I put my hand up to wave goodbye but can barely bring my hand up to such a height. They nod in understanding. My head turns back to my driver. All the noise around me blurs. The screaming and yelling from the kids becomes muffled and slow. I put one foot in front of the other and start making slow shaky steps towards the van.

. From the corner of my right eye I see Sevi sprinting towards me. His arms wrap tightly around my legs, and before I can even react to either of these things I look down and lock eyes with his big brown eyes that are filled with bigger tears than mine. My hearing focuses on what he’s screaming: “Don’t leave me! I’m sorry I was a bad boy! Please don’t leave me!”

. I bend down, drop my back pack, and pick him up in my arms. Although he’s the oldest and the biggest of all the children, he seems so light right now. His arms squeeze around my neck so tight I can barely breathe. His screams aren’t making much sense through his crying. I feel his tears against my cheek as he presses his cheek next to mine, uncontrollably sobbing. I hold him tighter and my tears are no longer silent, I am bawling hysterically. He knows this is goodbye. .

All the children stop their running and gather around. Quiet little whispers pass between them as they try to understand what’s going on. I continue to hold Sevi in my arms. His arms tighten around my neck as we both hear a van door open, a step, another step, the door closes. I try to look towards the van but can’t see through the tears that are now like fire in my eyes.

. I feel Sevi being pulled away from me, I loosen my grip on him but he holds tighter screaming “no!” I look at him, being held back by one of the workers. I lean forward, kiss his cheek, and hold his hands; I look him in the eyes and tell him one last time how much I love him.

.

Then say a word that as I say it my heart bursts and my stomach sinks all at the same time. I simply say one word that is the hardest thing I’ve had to say yet. I looked in his eyes and calmly say “Goodbye”.

Over the Shoulder Bolder Holder

I went shopping (last?) weekend with a good friend of mine. And bi-golly I was on a mission. You see- recently i've had 4 bra's.... disapear. I'm not pointing fingers or anything... (but i think it was misses scarlet in the dinning room with the candlestick). So yes... I needed some new bras. Victoria's secret. Thats right... I treated myself to some bra's of the Gods. I got there and anounced (loudly) that i was "too fat for this sale!" (Located at the front of the store were some bra's 2 for 32. they of course didn't have my size). I was quickly directed to the back of the store (where they put fat people) and set up with a bra specialist (do people dream of having this job?). The bra specialist asked me my size and what I was looking for. I simply said "36C and a good bra". She raised her eyebrow at me. Asked me if she could measure me. I said yes- confident in the information I had given her because I had infact been measured before (granted it was a while back). So I turn- face her- and assume the bra measuring position. She calmly informs me i'm not a 36- I am a 34- this makes me happy. Then decides to RUIN my day and tell me i am not a C... but infact a D. (I thought about slapping her mouth when she said that). She then bombarded me with like 20 bras. This one lifts and separates, that one is a push up, those two are demi's, that one has adjustable strapes, this one has no straps, over here is the full coverage, underwire, no wire, snap back, brown, pokadots, traditional, great support, little support, bettershape, and "my personal favorite" (her words... not sure what that ment.) I finally found the bra that was for me- spent way too much money and walked away. These bra's better not get stolen.... bra shopping is tramatic..... and Jerica owes me 5 dollars.

Dear God

"Dear God- I need to talk to you" I went to Barnes in Noble with a mission. I went to spend money and let go of a snotty comment made to me earlier. I knew i was gonna buy the book "the giver"- which I did- and will talk about in a later blog- but while i was busy waisting i was walking by the Journal section. My favorite section really. I saw this Journal (see picture above). On the cover it simply says "Dear God- I need to talk to you". For some reason that really struck me. I went through a period of time where instead of kneeling in prayer- I would write God Letters. This was a very "wrong" practice and I realize it. But I feel like I needed to do it. I wasn't ready to talk to him. Writing was just easier. The reason this journal struck me is because of the memory of the different ways I start prayers. Most of the time they consist of the good old "Dear Heavenly Father" or "O kind and gracious Heavenly Father". But have you EVER been on your knees and at the end of your rope? The whole world has crumbled around you and everything has a darker shade? I remembered a few prayers- already in tears before saying anything, bowing my head, closing my eyes and whispering- "Dear God- Can we please Talk?"

You're as Far as I can see.

Someone told me "distance will make the heart grow founder" Their friend told me "out of sight out of mind" I sit down to write you and i can't think of a single thing to say. I'm scared that you'll be offended. I'm scared i'll say something i wasn't supposed to. But i don't know what to say.... So i get worried- maybe we're not it. you're gone. maybe i've forgotten what your arms felt like. Maybe i don't remember your kiss. But then during these outings- driving home... i look over and wish to see you. I laugh during the day and can't wait to come home and tell you. like i used to. Remember all those phone calls and stupid stories we couldn't get enough of? I've forgotten you.... i can't get you out of my head..... nobody warned me about that...

Friends in Low Places.

A quick little note on friends. Recently i've been going through a big switch in friends. Not because my old friends were bad- or anything along those lines. But it seems as if they're moving forward in their life, and though i am as well- i'm not moving that way. So new friends. I've been thinking alot about "friends"... I decided a simple truth- these video's below... are friendship. What more is a friendship to be based on then a pure little rap? Friendship=Rap and