tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83358143237609547162024-02-18T21:37:01.775-08:00Awkward SauceThings get awesome and embarrassing all at once.Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-40648743922267429652013-03-28T00:19:00.002-07:002013-03-28T00:19:47.333-07:00SurrealI learned a lot of things this week.<br />
<br />
<b>Trust No One</b><br />
I have trouble with trusting too easily. I see the good in everyone and believe the best in everything. So when I let some things slip (also: Don't Trust Yourself), I can see that action flow through my surroundings like blood in the water. Sure, people are good, but they are also dicks who will do anything to get ahead.<br />
<br />
<b>Thrust Yourself Into Experiences</b><br />
I may be novice at a lot of things, but it doesn't mean I'm not willing to try. I've rediscovered a passion (a passion some always saw in me) and I'm dying to immerse myself in opportunities. I'm good enough, I have the talent, it just needs to be shaped and utilized. Writing is moving to the forefront of my priorities list and I'm going to get my words out there.<br />
<br />
<b>Be Spiteful...But Only A Little</b><br />
It's kind of exciting to be spiteful. It's kind of fulfilling to know my own awesomeness is upsetting some people. But remember, don't be so spiteful that people whisper negativity behind your back.<br />
<br />
<b>Be Humble</b><br />
Things are going my way. Success and accomplishment abound. I can't let it get to my head. And honestly, I'm not letting it. I'm happy and proud of myself. I don't feel any need to be boastful. <i>That</i> is what will open doors.<br />
<br />
<b>Appreciate Your Accomplices</b><br />
Being grateful for the people in your life is one thing, <i>telling</i> them so is another. Let your friends know you're grateful for their friendship. Tell your mentors you couldn't have done it without them. Vocalize your love for, well, anyone. Understand you are not alone. I am not alone, and for that I am so thankful.<br />
<br />
<b>Enjoy Everything</b><br />
I mean <i>everything</i>. Enjoy the successes. Enjoy the parties and the friends. Enjoy the hard times. Enjoy the tears. Enjoy the mornings and sleeping in (or not sleeping in). Enjoy the haters. Reveling in the feelings of everything that happens is necessary for ultimate happiness. Feel shitty, but remember that things get better and this feeling of shititude is what will shape you into a happier person.<br />
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<br />Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-73586683260326844462013-03-25T23:40:00.002-07:002013-03-25T23:40:36.579-07:00Not much to say but<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-38970937690478447302013-02-27T08:58:00.001-08:002013-02-27T08:58:13.532-08:00FireI hit rock bottom.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was missing class a lot, mixing up my priorities, not taking care of myself. I was literally bed ridden for two days because of strep.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In that time, he came to move his stuff and we got to talking.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Long story short, he's winning the break up. What the hell, I am the breaker, not the breakee, I should be winning. Instead I'm a mess, a depressed mess. During my time on the couch due to antibiotics, I was forced to reevaluate my life. What the fuck am I doing, letting this overwhelming sadness take over?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have a fire lit under my ass. I'm more motivated than ever and I'm going to prove to everyone that I'm doing not just OK, but fantastic.</div>
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Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-90261723216741697902013-02-14T23:48:00.002-08:002013-02-14T23:48:45.024-08:00ValentineI'm so full of emotions I can't even express them properly.<br />
I'm exhilarated and depressed and happy and miserable and ecstatic and lonely and surrounded and loved and sad.<br />
<br />
I don't know how to be. I keep telling myself this is what I wanted. And I know that. I've known that for a <i>long</i> time, but starting over is hard.<br />
<br />
Have to learn sometime, I guess?<br />
<br />
This was my first single Valentine's day in a while. He left a flower on my car. I had a meltdown.<br />
<br />
Getting out of bed is hard. Trying to be a grown up and do grown up things is hard. Feeling like I'm barely keeping it together is extremely difficult to bear.<br />
<br />
It'll get better, it has to.<br />
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlE_u9WptwIRebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-63249405673748530702013-02-07T19:39:00.001-08:002013-02-07T19:39:37.776-08:00Lone.I don't want to air my laundry on Facebook. I keep shit minimal on Twitter. I have't taken a picture of any food to put on Instagram.<br />
<br />
I've been checking in a lot of places on Foursquare, though. Going out is a distraction.<br />
<br />
I did that thing I've wanted to do. I feel miserable. However, I'm also on the precipice of something amazing.<br />
<br />
I'm so full of life now. I've rid myself of dread and gloom and there is more room for happiness and exploration.<br />
<br />
I truly don't know how to feel about myself or what to do.<br />
<br />
I'm going to get a cat.Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-23751447490463532852012-12-18T20:29:00.000-08:002012-12-18T20:29:00.678-08:00SerenityI'm supposed to be writing a first draft of my first feature for this cool magazine thing I'm doing, but I needed a break to just sit and reflect.<br />
<br />
There is a lot of shit going on in my life. Some of it is awesome. So awesome. Beyond awesome. I'm living like a grown up. I'm promoted at work. I've got this writing job that, while volunteer, is so great! It makes me feel so good about myself. I've got an excellent group of friends. I'm building a name for myself. I'm actually doing well in school for the first time in my college career. I'm so...happy.<br />
<br />
The other stuff that's not awesome? It's all up in my head. I'm still trying to find a way to vocalize it, write it, get it out.<br />
<br />
It doesn't matter though. Things are amazing. 2012 really has been my year. It's been redeeming.<br />
<br />
I just need to find a voice.<br />
<br />
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Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-67249982333564599092012-11-21T09:47:00.001-08:002012-11-21T09:47:14.838-08:00AnxietySome days I am just so riddled with anxiety it takes six different people to tell me to stop and breath.<br />
<br />
There is so much going on in life right now I can't even. I CAN'T EVEN.<br />
<br />
I got a promotion thing at work. I got a writing gig at a local magazine. That podcast I'm on is getting bigger. I'm actually doing well in school.<br />
<br />
There is so much success in my life I don't know how to handle it. WHY YOU SO SUCCESSFUL, REBECCA?Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-23885796923831434122012-11-07T20:38:00.003-08:002012-11-07T20:41:59.890-08:00A Derby Recap!(This was a test article I wrote for a local magazine, which I now am totally a writer for.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Happy Valley Derby Darlins Bid Adieu to 2012 Season with Final Bout<br />
<i>(rebeccasfrost@gmail.com)</i><o:p></o:p></b></div>
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No matter which league you skate with or represent, when
there is another bout, you do your best to attend. You cheer for the other
league, even if they have kicked your ass a few times. You scream plays they
should have attempted instead of that mess of a jam, you pound on the floor
with your hands (assuming you’re on the ground in suicide seating right against
the track) cheering for a fallen skater to get up faster, and you definitely
feel for the losing team. Roller derby requires support. Roller derby is a
sisterhood. I’m not a very good sister, because this was my first bout at the
Roller Hive in Spanish Fork, and how I wish I had come out more often to
support the Happy Valley Derby Darlins because damn, they put on a good show.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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The Roller Hive is a proper name for the Food-4-Less that
hosts these girls, as the excitement buzzing through the building is felt from
the parking lot. I felt a small thrill walking into the building. The trip from
Salt Lake City to Spanish Fork was much like a pilgrimage. I travelled for what
felt like days (only an hour) to pay respect to this sport I so worship.
Everyone in the building, from players to referees, to spectators, gathered for
the same reason: to watch some roller derby! I felt excited, as I always do on
bout day, to be a part of this cult on wheels. <br />
<br />
It was the final bout of the 2012 season for the Happy Valley Derby Darlins,
and fighting for victory were two of the three teams that make up Happy Valley:
the Rollin’ Rebellion and the Sirens of Steel. It was also night for
celebration. Girls from each team were celebrating birthdays (Chiquita Wambamya
of the Rollin’ Rebellion and Shimmy Sham of the Sirens of Steel) as was one of
the referees (Scars Tupruvit). After the National Anthem, sung beautifully by
Chiquita Wabamya, blurs of purple from the Rollin’ Rebellion and shades of orange
from Sirens of Steel flew around the track during team introductions. The
audience chuckled with the announcement of player names (it is requisite that a
skater come up with a name for her or himself, something funny or designed to
instill terror in opposing players). To
show respect for their challengers, the Sirens of Steel wore purple socks.
Rollin’ Rebellion…also wore purple socks. Still have to keep <i>some</i> pride. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The first couple of jams are always the most difficult. The
jams are clumsy. Skaters are trying to find their groove. The first minutes of
the game proved no differently. Some skaters fumbled while jammers easily broke
through uncoordinated packs. The second jam included a no-lead-jammer
situation. In derby, the first jammer to break through the pack has the power
to call off the jam. Hyp-knock-it Therapy from the Rollin’ Rebellion broke
through first, but was sent to the penalty box. The Sirens jammer was then
forced to skate for the whole two minutes, getting knocked down, getting back up,
then trying again. If there was one consistent thing I noticed about the Rollin’
Rebellion, they built some excellent walls, making it extremely difficult for
an orange player to break through.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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After the breaking in the first couple of jams, skaters started
to find their way. The Sirens of Steel utilized a defensive jamming technique I
always get excited watching. When the jammers are released to attempt their
first pass through the pack, one jammer will act as a blocker and hit and block
her opposing jammer. It was a reminder that the jammer can do more than just
pray she would make it by four other girls without incident. The Sirens used
this maneuver several times, gaining a few feet and usually earning lead jammer
status. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Rollin’ Rebellion also worked their pivot. The pivot is
the only other girl on a team who wears a panty on her helmet with a bold
stripe down the middle. She is the last line of defense. She is usually in
charge. Whenever Lady Hipcracker wore the pivot panty, she put it to good use.
She skated in front, waiting like a cougar for the Sirens jammer, and would
attack her, defending her team.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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New skater, Devastator Cookie, received lead jammer status
for the Rebellion and the opposing jammer was sitting in the box. The announcer
exclaimed, “Power jam!” and cheers swelled. Devastator Cookie had the
opportunity to skate as hard as she could to earn points while her opponent was
incapacitated. This happened a few times during the night with different
players, and the look on their faces when they finally decide to call off the
jam when the opponent is released from the box is priceless. It’s a look of
“Finally, I can stop skating for a minute.” Fellow skaters in the crowd smile
and empathize with, “I know girl, that shit is <i>exhausting</i>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Jammers from the Rollin’ Rebellion Chiquita Wabamya, Kicking
Assets, Hyp-knock-it Therapy racked up the most points for their team while
Madeye, Bam to the Bone and Acid Burn made their Sirens proud. The final minutes
of the bout were polar opposite of the opening jams. Skaters were in the zone.
Others were suddenly impossible to knock down and skaters suddenly had the
grace of ballerinas. Hyp-knock-it Therapy gained enough points to bring the
Rollin Rebellion score close to the Sirens of Steel. Ultimately, points earned
by Madeye in the previous jam brought the Sirens to victory, closing the game
at 92 to 106.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
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For the final game of the Happy Valley Derby Darlins 2012
season, it was worth the drive. The league has made the WFTDA’s (Women’s Flat
Track Derby Association) list of apprentice leagues, putting them on the path
for competitions and, from the looks of it, glory. Unfortunately, Saturday’s
bout was the last bout to be had in this Food-4-Less, and it is unclear where
the girls will travel to next to continue their Happy Valley reign. I will
travel for them, because derby girls are in this sport together and we do
anything for each other, including driving south on I-15 through Utah Valley.
Like I said,<i> anything</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-38180511861105067492012-11-01T22:24:00.003-07:002012-11-01T22:24:55.715-07:00Divine ComedyThe Universe has decided this is the time in my life to throw all it's one-liners at me.<br />
<br />
I've been noticing the cosmic humor in every little thing I come across, every action I take, and everything that happens to me.<br />
<br />
The Universe thought my life wasn't interesting enough, so right when wheels actually start turning it pokes it's head in and says, "Hey, how about <i>this</i>?"<br />
<br />
Good one, Universe. I'll go along with it. You are too funny.<br />
<br />
Truth though, boyfriend and I are moving in together! In an apartment! With not enough kitchen cabinets! We have too much stuff! It is small. Like, uber small. The building always smells like Indian food and it's wonderfully diverse.<br />
<br />
I'm having mondo anxiety. Crazy anxiety. All of the anxiety.<br />
<br />
Here goes...Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-13753720347230433612012-10-17T21:35:00.002-07:002012-10-17T21:35:45.109-07:00Remember This PostRemember this post.<br />
<br />
This is a moment before the time you become an actual writer for an actual magazine.<br />
<br />
This is a moment before you grow up for real.<br />
<br />
This is a moment after you were the most stressed you've ever been.<br />
<br />
This is a moment in which you have friends who support you.<br />
<br />
This is a moment where you are a good student.<br />
<br />
In this moment, you are your own person and damn girl, you're getting what's yours.<br />
<br />
I'm so proud of myself right now. I'm also incredibly exhausted.<br />
<br />
<br />Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-58979283299749446482012-09-22T00:12:00.004-07:002012-09-22T00:13:03.915-07:00Oh Crap<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;">Hey, Rebecca, remember how you had this dream when you were a teenager? The dream where you were a writer, a media figure, and all-around cool person?</span>
</div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">Then suddenly, one day a few <strike>million</strike> years later, you finally got off your ass and did something about it?</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;">I start tomorrow.</span></div>
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I can be as vague as I want. It's my blog. So, suck on that.</div>
Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-17817904407280456062012-09-11T09:20:00.001-07:002012-09-11T09:20:18.087-07:00A Few Differences<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ycaoQXJ5wZs" target="_blank">A Few Differences</a> is a song by the band Athlete. It's also the title I gave to a one act play I wrote in high school.<br />
<br />
It's happening again. My past has returned to haunt me.<br />
<br />
Not that it's entirely a bad thing. Sometimes I need the reminder, "this is what shaped you into what you are today. These are the people who guided you into being you." It sucks, because I want to forget about some parts of my history so badly.<br />
<br />
Why, though? It wasn't even awful. Remembering things makes me ache. I don't understand why I wish I could forget about everything. I <i>have</i> to be reminded. I <i>need</i> to remember those who were my friends. I have to remember that I was kind of a bitch and left people behind and I should suffer the consequences of remembering.<br />
<br />
I wish I wouldn't have dreams about my exes. Not exes, just ex I guess. I wish I wouldn't have panic attacks when I think about the possibility of running into an ex or an old friend. I wish I would have behaved differently.<br />
<br />
But I'm too stubborn to change anything about it now. Instead I'll continue trying to focus on the present, because that's all I have.Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-8582897331861321882012-09-03T23:07:00.001-07:002012-09-03T23:07:25.827-07:00Funny AssholeSomething happened to me today. Something I didn't know I was waiting my whole life to hear.<br />
<br />
I was kickin' it with my podcast girls, guesting on Grumble Mountain's podcast on UtahFM. Grumble Mountain is a podcast done by three comedians. Comedians. Three of them. Whenever I'm in the same room as a "professional" comedian, I get sweaty and intimidated. I feel pressure to be funny. Not try-too-hard funny, but just right, casual funny. It's a very stressful situation.<br />
<br />
About halfway through recording, one of the girls turns to me and says, "I wish I was as funny as you, Joss."<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">I wish I was as funny as you.</span></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">I wish I was as funny as you.</span></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I wish I was as funny as you.</i><br />
<br />
Holy balls, I didn't know I was looking for that kind of validation. Me? Rebecca? <strike>A lady?</strike> Funny? So funny, apparently, someone wishes for my wit?<br />
<br />
I admire the shit out of female comedians. I long to be one sometimes. Only sometimes, I don't have the dedication to be funny 110% of the time. So, for someone to acknowledge that I am indeed funny, stirs strange emotions within me. Emotions like validation and giddiness. Also though, I'm going to feel like I'm in the room with another comedian all the time. Don't be too funny, Rebecca. Just casual funny.<br />
<br />
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But I'm doing this dance on the inside.</div>
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Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-79866882071242423632012-08-26T21:54:00.001-07:002012-11-07T20:38:58.441-08:00You're a douche. Let's be friends.What is it about douche bags that keeps me hanging on so tightly? When I was younger, I had a friend who I thought was the coolest guy. He was funny, knew things I didn't know, liked movies, kept up conversation for hours. Now, as an adult, I realize we was a total asshole. A huge douche bag. I made an effort recently to reconnect with him. I sent him a text, trying to strike up conversation. True to enigma fashion, he would only respond with one word texts. Short, brief, texts. "Meh," I said, letting it go, moving on with my life and accepting that sometimes, things never change. That night, at one in the morning, tried to start conversation. Like he always used to. Still a huge douche. No, some things <i>never</i> change.<br />
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But in the back of my mind, I'm still desperate to talk to him. I still want him to want to have conversation with me. Please tell me more about your super awesome job and how you are so much cooler than I. School me in the ways of philosophy and John Cusack movies.<br />
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I have a new douchey friend. He only talks about himself, conversation is always one-sided. Film is his fine wine. The holier-than-thou stench travels through the internet and through my speakers. I get so pissed off during our conversations I literally have the thought process, "how do I tell him he's an asshole? Do I just say it or should I subtly say, 'hey I have a douchey friend, how should I let him know?'"<br />
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Conversation ends and...I'm still thinking about him. I'm thinking "wow that guy is an asshole" with a subcontext of "maybe I can get him to change his douche-ways." Maybe I can give him a <i>My Fair Lady</i> treatment and release him into the wild, ready for the ladies.<br />
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Is that not the reason girls go for the asshole? Because maybe we can be the one girl who changes him? Why is it so difficult to find not just a guy, but <i>anyone</i> who isn't a total asshole to some degree? I know plenty of girls who are douches in their own right. "Don't get that beer. It's <i>only</i> good in California." I don't need more granola-people telling me that organic is the only food they'll eat, or that biking is the only way they'll get around. I don't need your 'tudes. But goddammit do I eat it up and find myself begging for more.Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-43692315547606181062012-07-25T13:07:00.003-07:002012-07-25T13:07:33.598-07:00SCHOOL IS HARD.This isn't my first time taking Math 1010. It's not my second time. I literally don't even know how many times I've attempted this course.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiISCgRutkPXEyvsDNCJsPSEihcOxLZVFcmSCPn7e9AoccrN43vBNhSzoxKuX7zq3fAmbD01PiaTD-AcdxbeZuzhM99hdEiVKigW12DvNfGJMyj3rSqtHYiOw1uvRcCo6gFxc09PuaB7qf/s1600/Angel_Confused.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiISCgRutkPXEyvsDNCJsPSEihcOxLZVFcmSCPn7e9AoccrN43vBNhSzoxKuX7zq3fAmbD01PiaTD-AcdxbeZuzhM99hdEiVKigW12DvNfGJMyj3rSqtHYiOw1uvRcCo6gFxc09PuaB7qf/s1600/Angel_Confused.gif" /></a></div>
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It feels impossible. I can't grasp it. I feel embarrassed when I sit in class and I feel like everyone else is getting it and I'm not.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_EEjf7wyekCPSXHiTpK-knS1z9Ys7-nEKJZHMToJJQLHaiJLBk-2yxa8X01evUeLcUUlitkXJTo-Sxl7jUl2MjCSHGZM4oT9kfFL4FM3ktDvxnaP6uDNRL-LKUNsxQXzpB0b3YS5cuKyn/s1600/Wat_buffy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_EEjf7wyekCPSXHiTpK-knS1z9Ys7-nEKJZHMToJJQLHaiJLBk-2yxa8X01evUeLcUUlitkXJTo-Sxl7jUl2MjCSHGZM4oT9kfFL4FM3ktDvxnaP6uDNRL-LKUNsxQXzpB0b3YS5cuKyn/s1600/Wat_buffy.gif" /></a></div>
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Today I was reassured when everyone around me was groaning, confused and frustrated. Yessss!<br />
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Hopefully I pass this time, God dammit.Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-88831875615197800412012-07-17T09:08:00.003-07:002012-07-17T09:09:03.488-07:00Hello, Sweetie! Podcast Episode 33Hey, I happened to make a very special appearance on this week's Hello, Sweetie! Podcast. I get nerdy all up in yo' business.<br />
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<a href="http://hellosweetiepodcast.podomatic.com/entry/2012-07-16T23_14_12-07_00" target="_blank">LISTEN HERE</a>Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-50128243517629654852012-07-03T11:25:00.000-07:002012-07-03T11:25:06.732-07:00Lazy Asshole Approach To Fitness<div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="color: red;">(Language. You've been warned.)</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">I have a weird style of working out. I will go for a week, then I decide that the one week was enough for two weeks, then I stop going. Rinse, repeat. Not really "rinse" repeat, I shower daily. Just kidding, I don't shower daily.</span></div>
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I also have a weird style of skating. I call it the "lazy asshole" approach to roller derby. I will come to practice, I will participate, but I don't push myself. The only time I push myself is when I'm jamming and I have to tell myself, "it's only two minutes of hardcore cardio, <i>just two minutes</i>." Then I get tired mid-jam and I have to mentally tell myself, "BUFFY WOULDN'T QUIT MID-JAM!" </div>
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Basically, what I'm trying to say is I lack discipline.</div>
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Sometimes, I pretend I'm a superhero in training. I do this when I'm working out or when I'm skating. I want so badly to stop halfway through whatever I'm doing but I have to tell myself that I can't save the city if I can't finish a 30 minute elliptical workout. <span style="background-color: white;">Can I fight crime on skates? That would be</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><i>so</i><span style="background-color: white;"> much easier than running. However, h</span><span style="background-color: white;">ow do I expect to stop alien invaders if I don't want to practice endurance skating? </span></div>
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But I'm not a superhero. I'm just a girl who wants so badly to fit into spandex and look good wearing it. I want to kick ass for hours. </div>
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I recently started reading comic books to help satiate my superhuman desires. Currently I'm reading <i>Civil War</i>. I've got a thing for Captain America (I'll get into it later) and while reading <i>Civil War: New Avengers </i>I was introduced to Luke Cage and Jessica Jones. Boyfriend was like, "Read <i>Alias</i> when you finish <i>New Avengers</i>." </div>
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So, I read <i>Alias</i> and fell in love with Jessica Jones, the girl who uses the lazy asshole approach to crime fighting. OK, she's not a lazy asshole. She actually gets shit done as a private investigator. But I found myself relating to her. She has so much potential to do more and she knows it. But she doesn't. She focuses her energies into private investigation. The powers get utilized when necessary, but other than that? It's not her thing.</div>
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I'm still trying to sort through it. I have potential to do more. I know I can go farther as a derby girl. It <i>is</i> my thing. Why don't I work harder at practice? I don't want to be a lazy asshole. I want to push myself and do what makes me happy. Reverse Jessica Jones. I have untapped power, let's fuck shit up.</div>
Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-66659593860438008402012-06-25T22:32:00.001-07:002012-06-25T22:32:26.737-07:00A Real Person!I'm in the process of becoming a real boy. Trying to be more honest with myself and those around me is foreign territory. Cut the strings and dance by myself. It's been a long process, and a never-ending process if you really think about it. We all have to work on ourselves every day.<br />
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Actually, maybe I don't have to. The doctor today was, dare I say, surprised with how awesome all my levels were. She said I have one of the best cholesterol numbers she's ever seen. I don't know what any of this science mumbo jumbo means. I just heard, "Wow, everything looks <i>really</i> good." (Wait...was she hitting on me? "You've got really nice <i>levels</i>.") Basically, I'm a perfect human specimen and you should all start to worship me.<br />
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Back to my main focus of this blog, I'm closer to being a real emotional person. All through my formative years, I was never a hugger, never a feeling-expressor, always a joke-cracker. We don't really express emotions in my immediate family so this whole "cutting the strings" thing is new to me.<br />
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I'm two for two this week! Two examples of me saying, "Hey, that hurt my feelings. Just wanted to let you know."<br />
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Example 1: I'm a bridesmaid in a friend's upcoming wedding. I had it in the back of my mind that she wanted to go to Vegas for her bachelorette party. I knew her maid of honor was putting that together so I waited for an email to come with details. An email never did come, but Facebook posts started to show up on my feed. Vegas? Already? Wait...I'm in Salt Lake. Not invited?<br />
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Typically, I don't get butthurt about anything. Seeing these girls post from Vegas made me revert to Captain Hammer after being hit with Death Ray shrapnel, "I think this is what pain feels like!" I stewed on it for a few days. I learned a lesson that I shouldn't repress anything, to let people know that their actions triggered hurt feelings in me. I decided to let my friend know that, while I understood it was a sorority sister thing, I still would have liked a heads up about their plans. I actually may have seriously stammered through texts, but it was enough for me. I expressed <i>something</i>.<br />
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Example 2: Boyfriend got a new job, and I'm so happy for him. He loves it. It's all he can talk about. Seriously. It got to a point where he would call me after work and tell me about his day, which I'm happy to hear, but suddenly it would switch to "ok goodnight!"<br />
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Wait, I had a day too. Hell, I got a tetanus shot! I got a pedicure! She painted a flower on my big toe!<br />
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So, I told him how I felt. It was all very girly and, "I want you to <i>want</i> to do the dishes!" and yucky. I didn't care if he apologized or not. I got my feelings out there and that's what I cared about. I got words out of my mouth and they reflected my insides.<br />
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Gross, this is all weird stuff. I feel lighter though. Better than biting my tongue and wondering why people can't read my mind.<br />
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But I can read yours. Because I am a perfect human specimen. I am that guy at the beginning of <i>Prometheus</i>. Don't let my flab fool you.Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-7423821961366155942012-06-24T23:57:00.000-07:002012-06-24T23:57:12.306-07:00Startled.<b id="internal-source-marker_0.34706021775491536" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had a pregnancy scare this week.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I actually wouldn’t call it a pregnancy scare. The experience was more of a pregnancy rumination. It certainly lit a fire under my ass.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I visited a psychic this week. She’s an angel reader. I met with her for a couple of reasons. One, I was frustrated with my relationship. When we were discussing my relationship with boyfriend, she laid things out for me that I would never have picked up on by myself. She reassured me that, yes, we are great, however I need to retool my thinking and actions. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was also frustrated with myself. I often find myself thinking, “Seriously Rebecca, what the hell are you doing?” I have been feeling beyond lost in my life. If I look at my metaphorical paths before me, there are options. Too many options. I want to do everything, experience every path and open door life has to offer me. I recently have been trying to force myself into writing again, but my foot was stuck. How hard must it be to sit down at a computer and type words? How hard is it to sit down and focus in school? Really damn hard.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I asked her, “can you tell me what I’m going to be when I grow up?” </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“How old are you?” She asked, her eyes closed and fingertips tenting.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“23.”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh, honey, you won’t know until you’re 40,” she joked. She kept her eyes closed for several moments, and opened her eyes, smiling. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“All I’m getting is ‘mom.’ And it’s going to happen </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">a lot</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> sooner than you think.” </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mom.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mom...</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mom? </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh, hell no. And HOW SOON? Oh, balls. I started to have a mini heart attack. I won’t get into details, but I haven’t been on birth control and I wasn’t exactly careful. I asked her if she was sure. She delved into my future as a mother to possibly four (!) kids, and how with the first baby I would fall in love with being a mother and I would want to dedicate myself to it.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">No, no, no. Firstly, I want only two (two is even pushing it, but boyfriend and I are both only children and we know how it sucks). Secondly, no way could I have a baby right now when I still live in my parents basement. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I left absolutely petrified. Sure I was bloated, but I also hadn’t been to the gym in a week and eating </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">really</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> poorly. I was also PMS-y so, you know. Those symptoms mimic pregnancy symptoms. Feathers ruffled, I pulled into a pharmacy parking lot. I had never needed to buy a pregnancy test before, what was with all the options?? I chickened out and said, “maybe the next store I go to.”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The next day, I told myself to man up and bought one. Unfortunately, I was on my way to work so I had to wait all day before I could pass or fail. While I was at work, I texted boyfriend.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Um, don’t freak out when I tell you this, ok?”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“...ok?”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The psychic has me really freaked out so I bought a pregnancy test.”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“And?”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Well I haven’t taken it yet.”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You know if you are she legally has to tell you.”</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We talked like this all day, cutting tension with jokes. I was increasingly ancy. He was surprisingly reassuring and supportive. I drove home calmly, sat down and peed on the stick. One horizontal line for negative, a cross for positive. 3 minutes passed and no vertical line. Negative! I got out of the bathroom and shouted (internally), “SOMEONE GET ME A BEER!” As if the universe was on my side, I got my period two hours later. Beer for everyone! </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It wasn’t a scare. Not even a possibility. But of course I am still thinking about it. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We went to the movies, surrounded by kids. I kept thinking about how I would hold my daughter’s hand through the crowd. How I’d tell her “shhh” during the movie. How I would watch her light up during the funny parts.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We went to the Arts Festival. I imagined her awe at the beautiful art, reaching out to touch the sculptures, reminding her to drink her water and keep on her hat. </span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What am I doing with my life? I don’t want to be mom right now. But if it happened...I guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. I’ve got so much I want to experience. I don’t want to be stuck behind a desk, I don’t want to be stuck in </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">anything.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I need to do what I was supposed to be doing this whole time. Writing. Experiencing life and writing about it. Experiencing </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">everything</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. This ordeal has given me drive to get out in the world and make every day a discovery.</span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You, little one, have given me something to write about. You, little one, have given me some drive.</span></b>Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-85504200289248118852012-01-01T21:12:00.001-08:002012-01-01T21:52:50.730-08:00Battle Zone"I dropped my gift card somewhere in Target. We have to go back," boyfriend admitted in the car. <div><br /></div><div>"Are you kidding me? I told you to put it in my purse so it would stop falling out of your pocket!"</div><div><br /></div><div>"I know, but I figured after the tenth time it fell out it would stop doing it," he said, his smarts obviously out of my range of knowledge. </div><div><br /></div><div>This was fine. I needed to go back to Target anyway. I needed to go to the bathroom and I wasn't going to sit comfortably all the way back to my house. </div><div><br /></div><div>I needed to go two-sie. </div><div><br /></div><div>Two-fer. </div><div><br /></div><div>Poop.</div><div><br /></div><div>We staggered into Target for a second time that evening (earlier I was buzzed off Uinta's Yard Sale Winter Lager and needed to walk it off) and I veered into the bathroom. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't understand why, but this Target always keeps it's bathroom freezing. The air is brisk. The water is practically ice. Even the air dryer shoots out arctic winds to dry your hands. Maybe you're supposed to get your blood pumping first with heavy duty shopping and cart pushing so you're prepared to venture into the frigid whiz palace? </div><div><br /></div><div>I bent over, doing a shoe-check to make sure I was alone in the bathroom. Alas, there they were. A pair of brown suede boots. God dammit, seriously? I can't drop the kids off if someone is there with me. I go into a stall, figuring she's almost done. </div><div><br /></div><div>I sat there, doing the mentally straining task of clenching one direction and releasing the other. You know, peeing while flexing. She was just...sitting there. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, I just sat there as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>And we sat there. Together. Waiting for the other person to leave.</div><div><br /></div><div>I NEEDED TO TAKE A SHIT. I was in the middle of a shit cold war, and no one was budging. </div><div><br /></div><div><i>Fine, </i>I thought to myself, <i>I'm going to go frickin' Poland on your ass and create a movement to "create a movement" elsewhere. GOOD DAY TO YOU.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>I left, taking extra time at the air dryer to give her the cover-noise so she could "get going." </div><div><br /></div><div>Why does this happen, ladies? Why does this happen so frequently? This is not the first time I've sat down for ages thinking, "god dammit shit or get off the can." Can't we poop together? Why do we sit on the toilet for what feels like hours, waiting for the other person to leave? We're all in this together, it's not like I wander into the bathroom, notice you're there too and say, "oh my Gorbachev what is someone else doing in here?"</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe one of my new year resolutions should be to get over this common poop space anxiety. Shoot the shit. So to speak.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-14078976158895304692011-12-27T15:37:00.000-08:002011-12-27T16:03:53.692-08:00Filter ThisMy brain might be broken. I think it's been this way since I was a child.<br /><br />I called my store's other location today and heard, "speak of the devil," in the background.<br /><br />"Are you guys talking about me?"<br /><br />"Yes."<br /><br />"Why? What could you possibly have to say about me?"<br /><br />"We're just talking about how sometimes you don't have a filter," she half laughed into the phone.<br /><br />"What? F*** you, I do too have a filter!" I yelled, clearly making their case.<br /><br />Another perfect example of this is the racist-comment incident of 2006. It was my junior year of high school and I was taking a psychology class. My mom was going off one day about the "brown out", a day when all the Hispanics in the area were going on strike, so no one would be working in the kitchen at her restaurant. We were discussing the strike in class, and the teacher asked us a question about what they were calling the strike.<br /><br />"Oh, you mean the brown out?" I blurted.<br /><br />"Uh. Yeah," he responded, uncomfortable. I began to shrink in my chair, humiliated. It was only in this moment that I realized how racist this comment actually was. I still cringe when I tell this story.<br /><br />Other instances that prove I'm a little bit special:<br />-I named our black cat Whitey.<br />-I named our white cat Tiger (I was into golf apparently?).<br />-I did theater in high school.<br />-I confused Simba with Johnathan Taylor Thomas and told people I had a "literal" crush on Simba.<br />-I used to chant, "TWO FOUR SIX EIGHT WHO DO WE ILLUMINATE?"<br />-Take Ring Around the Rosy and replace "we all fall down," with "EVERYBODY DANCE NOW." I thought I was a lyrical genius. I also thought the word "dance" was "down," so, you know, you can see where I thought it was appropriate.Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-72709414532318969012011-12-13T13:31:00.001-08:002011-12-13T14:04:15.656-08:00The X in X-masThis year is the first year I am actually celebrating Christmas as a goddamn adult. Sure, I was 21 last year, and technically I could have been doing what I wanted since I was 18. 2011 is the year I actually take charge and celebrate whatever the hell I feel like celebrating.<br /><br />So far, I have celebrated watching Christmas cable movies and not indulging in sweets. My body is a machine, and it functions on portion control and romantic comedies where girls ask Santa for a boyfriend. Possibly my favorite movie so far was a little Hallmark gem called <span style="font-style: italic;">The Case for Christmas</span>, in which Dean Cain (!) is a lawyer who represents Santa in court because Santa is being sued (!!). I want to meet the person who sat down to actually write that script and had the balls to turn it into a movie.<br /><br />I downloaded <span style="font-style: italic;">A Very She & Him Christmas</span> and Michael Buble's album. Which, let me tell you something, Michael Buble is obviously not trying very hard on this one. It's like someone said, "hey, you know you could make a shit-ton of money if you recorded a Christmas mix" and 20 minutes in the studio later, an iTunes #1 album was born (seriously, it's #1 while Black Keys is #2. A TRAVESTY). I listen to these on repeat. Boyfriend won't allow Christmas music in the car because it's all he hears at work. When I'm driving by myself, my car is a frickin' Christmas wonderland.<br /><br />Bigger than my Dean Cain Christmas and faux-joy Buble, this is my first Christmas after coming to terms with whatever my beliefs are. I may not see Christmas for what it's supposed to be about, so I'm trying to appreciate the spirit of it. Or whatever. I had an astounding summer in which I looked deep within myself and tried to figure out just <span style="font-style: italic;">what</span> I believe in , and let me tell you Christmas after that is <span style="font-style: italic;">hard.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;">So to everyone, I wish you a merry Christmas, a happy holiday, and I hope you enjoy my agnostic cupcakes when I get around to baking them.<br /></span></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkY4Yh-eTa6iUbmPMBmuF2yHJepPwmcez1pkdDPVN_ig7u5qKnEg8NNbltvlVWggurLdB6UDrdIAyhcQwzSTudG0EdhK791A3laNGcjEvkVvzEIfGZ5tGpJOLGiShDo2q5DPV-PN5xlJ-/s1600/hoho.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfkY4Yh-eTa6iUbmPMBmuF2yHJepPwmcez1pkdDPVN_ig7u5qKnEg8NNbltvlVWggurLdB6UDrdIAyhcQwzSTudG0EdhK791A3laNGcjEvkVvzEIfGZ5tGpJOLGiShDo2q5DPV-PN5xlJ-/s400/hoho.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685735899426259042" border="0" /></a>Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-11382780393811623012011-10-12T19:51:00.000-07:002011-10-12T19:54:59.658-07:00Foo Fighters Review<div style="text-align: center;">I am a grown up! Sometimes, I get the opportunity to see a band I really like and my dad will ask me to write a review for his newspaper's website. Last night I saw the Foo Fighters. IT. WAS. AMAZING. I am biased, because I kind of really really really really love the Foo Fighters. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Anyway, it was very cool to see my ramblings on the City Weekly website, along with really cool pictures.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.cityweekly.net/utah/blog-7337-6460-concert-review-foo-fighters-at-maverik-center.html">You can see my review here.</a></div>Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-37781750560021973432011-05-19T17:25:00.001-07:002011-05-19T17:29:55.035-07:00Back To My Roots<div style="text-align: center;">I will be straightforward with you. I am terrified.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have not written for myself in quite a long time. I have not been creative in years (YEARS!) and I am on the brink of beginning something so new to me that I'm unsure if I want to make the leap.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's not that I'm insanely busy (I am) or untalented (I'm not), I'm just...nervous.</div><div><br /></div><div>I need to take that anxiety and turn it into something beautiful. It's time to take this story I've had in my head since I was 13 and finally commit it to writing.</div><div><br /></div><div>I feel like if I announce it here, then I will have motivation to keep it going. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><i>(I'm wasting time here. Procrastinating, if you will.)</i></b></div><div><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXAdm8EwJrHMBvOVpVE1hZ9e3-Ds_YdsEkd0qdC0wrGI5uO-qoh3ZKjTxpzpLS1apfGedVl69kTJpqg3pfP4S8A6aT5B7UisGq18A01u4y0i2NnHlXDLnAau5kKCS3vpdcIDgCaYGkYc0H/s320/13390990_t7XhHZEv_c.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 218px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608588597954378354" />Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8335814323760954716.post-51734278592517624172010-08-13T20:33:00.001-07:002010-08-13T20:33:48.052-07:00Spoiler Alert<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGYQNiD8uSABnnYIiv0-Xt5UHtILyW3caKBhyymcmRivw1KWsBirJ2SFURJJCc-i-alucHTv0SdYh-Grn65ZdAMnFxSPD6Ypryf7eT-caYKpT704fzcf_4b5ZPyF6KM6O68eYkAD6q7TC/s1600/spoileralert2.png"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 302px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505103613168355490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGYQNiD8uSABnnYIiv0-Xt5UHtILyW3caKBhyymcmRivw1KWsBirJ2SFURJJCc-i-alucHTv0SdYh-Grn65ZdAMnFxSPD6Ypryf7eT-caYKpT704fzcf_4b5ZPyF6KM6O68eYkAD6q7TC/s320/spoileralert2.png" /></a><br /><div></div>Rebecca Frosthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10653656862232770347noreply@blogger.com0