& I'm Sure He Appreciates the Grease Stains.

“Student Event Coordinators,

       This is our schedule for this Wednesday-- At 11:30 we will meet for lunch in the Skyroom.  Dress is casual. Shortly after that meeting, we will meet with the Faculty Center for September events re-cap and then we will go straight to 5311 WSC to re-vamp our s-drive files. Feel free to bring a quiet snack for the second meeting—it’ll be a long day.”

Great. Here it comes. You don’t know what a quiet snack is.

A ringing Amen closes the first of our marathon meetings. Yup, there it is. Right on cue. The crinkle of that bag. The smell of those Fritos. The crunch of your pearly, porcelain teeth.

Wait. That’s not Fritos. Or even Cheetos. Maybe your habits have changed. Maybe you’ve brought carrots. 

Nope.

Definitely not carrots.

We understand that we ate lunch only an hour ago. And that you’re pregnant. You get hungry quickly—We get that. And I know, I know we ate a light, eighteen-dollar lunch in the most ritzy and renowned meeting place on campus. That’s fine.

But oh. We see now. Your quiet snack is, in fact, Cool Ranch Doritos. & No matter how politely you try and eat your precious circadian chip, your fingers are still a spicy orange and your cute “lets-impress-the-boss” giggle still turns into a “lets-count-the-number-of-crumbs-in-and-around-her-mouth” tournament. But, fair game to the pieces that temporarily employed wings and seagulled across the room with every fake fracture.  

Eat what you may, Miss, but please… you are in a professional meeting. Don’t bring Cool Sucking Ranch Doritos.

Oh, and did I mention that President Samuelson was present at this meeting? The President of the university you are attending? A General Authority? But yah know, I’m sure he really likes Cool Ranch Doritos too.

Especially on the monthly reports you are handing to him. 

Alabama, Arkansas, I sure love my Ma & Pa

Half-eaten cookies & toys on the floor.

A gym I called mine.

One woman’s shoe

Two stately, staunch feet

A life-size Sheldon right out my door

That perky pup looking for a snuggle or two.

Semipiternal Suran-wrap Surprises.

My Dam. My Drive. My Car.
Ke$ha-fied Barbies. 

& limitless berries that were limitedly blue.

Needless to say, I miss Home.
&the darnest things that happen there.  

Ode to Family

Derek, Sheri, Bryce, Austin, Chase & Cameron, Shaun, Briann, Leah & Charlotte, Rachel, Megan, Dallin, Isabella, Avery & Penelope, Lindsay & Preston,  Heather & Ben,  Jenna, Jared, Rebecca. Mom & Dad.
This is to you. 

<3

My family has two perfect parents: Mike & Lisa

My family has nine children.

My family has six girls and three boys.

My family has two sister-in-laws and three brother-in-laws.

My family has five nieces and four nephews. 

 My family is quirky.

My family is clumsy.

My family is big.

My family is loud.

My family is weird.

My family only gives side hugs.

My family doesn’t cry.

My family is the Neeley's, yea, yah jealous?

My family loves to gossip.

My family says their choice shits & damns.

My family also loves Bedi the Jedi. 
My family uses Receipt Flatteners. 
My family hears dad pulling into the garage!! 

My family has their own Santa Claus suit.

& Their own Santa.

My family confronts school bus drivers.

My family skates at Skatetown.

My family’s farts rise.

My family is the Neeley Nation. 

My family is only cleaning hard enough if we’re sweating.
If my family sees a fire, call a fireman! 
My family really hates Wolves. And High School Musical back-up dancers. 

My family points at a graveyard

My family says hey look! There it is!

My family asks there’s what?

My family knows there’s heaven!  

 

My family is a beegegie-snake-brain-skittle-shit

My family can kick the star off the top of the Christmas tree.
My family knows it's me, The Bee
Can you find the phone? 

My family breaks all their bones.

My family got reading glasses!

My family yells it ripped and shaaaron
My family knows that a buttload is like, a million dollars
Because "one time, I tried to stuff five dollars up my butt..." 

My family moons the camera.

My family makes up words & phrases.

My family has cankles. 

My family sings Celine Dion.

My family makes a mean gingerbread house.

My family jumps down laundry shoots.

My family knows what a "farting leper" is.
& My family definitely knows who "Jam" is. 

My family eats dirt.

And toilet paper and Kleenex and the scraggily ends of paper.  

My family screams out of back doors.

My family sees a man out there. 

My family is fast paced.

My family makes nutcrackers come to life.  
My family knows the Welcome Song. 

My family is savin’ this for laaaater.

My family has secret facebook pages.

My family also really loves mullets.

My family is a white bird with black spots. 

Like that soccer ball behind my eeeasy chair. 

My family is unlucky in cards.

But my family is lucky in love.  

My family has the most giving, selfless mother.

My family has the most jolly, loving father.

My family is supportive.

My family is close.

My family is just like me.

My family are my best friends.

My family is sealed together for time and all eternity.  

There are 25 people in my immediate family.

I couldn’t love one more than the other.

My family is probably better than yours. 

The Rule of The Sock

I’m weird. I like weird things. I dislike even weirder things.

One of these things is… you guessed it, socks.

You can often hear me say, “He’s cute, but wears really bad socks”

One of the first things I look at in a boy is his shoe/sock combination.

I’m picky about my socks, okay?

I like boys with good Sock Style.

I am constantly getting questions on my Sock Rules.  

So to all you creepily curious out there… here.

#1) The No-Show Sock

This one is complicated. If you have really big feet—so big that these No-Show Socks are stretched to hardly grasp the curve of your ankle—don’t. You must see just a bit of that white cotton comfort when fashioning the No-Shows. Because if you can’t see the sock just a little—the pessimist in me says you aren’t wearing any socks at all.  

White No-Shows are best with sneakers.

Black No-Shows are best with vans, Cole Haans, or maybe even a nice pair of SeaVees.

But both can be interchanged and I’ll be okay.

But be cautious... too small of a No-Show can be a tweeny bit effeminate and can quickly turn into a "Dainty Sock". Men should never be dainty.  

#2) The Ankle Sock

No, stop. Please. Just No. Never. Never okay. Ever. Even if you wear jeans to cover them up. I never want to see your Hanes or Fruit of the Loom logo lightly resting above your calcaneus.

I don’t care that they have a “superior fit” or “extra double cushioning”. I mean… double extra? Really? Hi, you must also be a computer science major and wear New Balance sneaks. These socks make any shoe look tacky, cheap, and lame.

Be better than the Ankle Sock.  

#3) The Crew Sock

Typically okay. Either in black or white. With most shoes. I might title you a sucker… maybe even a “bro”. But that’s okay, because if you wear the Crew Sock, you probably are both a sucker and a bro. And you're probably okay with that. & So am I. 

This is the one sock that is okay with the Rebok Black Slide Sandal (you totally know the ones I’m talking about). So to all you avid gym goers out there, yes, it is okay to put these on after a meaty, manly work out.

#4) The Hole-y Sock 

I'm not even going to go there. Or show a picture. 

That's gross and you know better. 

#5) The Patterned Sock

Always okay.

I like my classy with a little bit of tacky.

goofy men in goofy ankle attire is always a glossy combination. 

And yes, I realize this makes me slightly shallow. But...

Everyone has their quirks. 

And this is just mine. 

So get over yourself. 

Prepare Ye Every Needful Thing

Would you be ready for that?

One year ago I could have changed it all. One year ago I thought “hey, in a year—you’ll have it all figured out”. In a year, I could’ve been ready. But it’s been a year. And I’m still clasped in the cleave of nothingness. I’m still listening to that same song, and still wanting to be that different girl.

In this moment, I am left fishing for a definition of what the word ready means.

Read·y [red-ee]  adjective, read·i·er,read·i·est; verb, read·ied, read·y·ing

1. completely prepared  or in fit condition for immediate action or use.

1. duly equipped, completed, adjusted, or arranged, as for an occasion or purpose.

1. willing

1. prompt or quick in perceiving, comprehending, speaking, writing, etc.

1. inclined; disposed; apt.

1. in such a condition a to be imminent; likely at any moment

Willing. That makes it all seem so manageable; so… uncomplicated. Comical, really, to even be stressed about it.  Of course I am willing. I am more than willing; I am wanting.

I'm wanting something bigger, 

I'm ready. Are you? 

But I know I am not ready. 
Not ready in his definition. 
Not for what he wanted. 
Not for a life revolutionizing phenomenon of any sorts, actually. 
But, what I do know is this: I know that I am ready to start preparing to become ready. 
As redundant as it sounds, it's true. 

There exists in me a predisposition to behave; a latent readiness. I am willing to become prepared. I am wanting to change.

I’ve been refreshed to find that awareness itself is never a trigger for change.

I’m aware. I’m willing. I’m wanting. I’m ready.

So where’s my trigger?

What's my trigger?

Are you ready for this?

Organize yourselves; prepare ye every needful thing, and establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order,

 A House of God.

 D&C 109:8

And possibly all these unhinging, unsettled thoughts are artlessly here because I’m sitting outside in the summer tide of the dog patch and thinking Hey, I really wish I would’ve brought my coat.

Talk about a change. 

That's Where You'll Find Me

I’m a prescriptivist in a descriptive world. I like the sound of being the prescriptivist in a descriptive world, but I don’t see myself as that idiosyncratic. I actually think that everyone sees the world in a prescriptive way, but they just don’t pay attention.

Where trouble melts like lemon drops

High above the chimney tops

That’s where you’ll find me.

That’s me. The girl who lives in her own lilliputian chimera. The girl who thinks she is a different person than she is. The girl who is always making unicorn & mermaid sounds. (which granted, has nothing to do with my worldly delusion—but still important to note while getting to know me.) I just see the world as the way I want it to be—the way it should be. Not the way it is.

Oh somewhere over the rainbow

Way up high.

And the dreams that you dare to

Oh why, oh why can’t I?

Well, I’m Jenna and I’ve recently seen holes in my bubble life.

If you don’t think Jenna is "classy" enough –or cla$$y enough–, like I have so recently been told, you can call me Genevieve. It sticks, I promise.

I’m nineteen. & I’m a sophomore at Brigham Young University. & I live with five intimidatingly pretty girls. Ask me how many bathrooms we have. I dare you. [one].

And no, intimidateingly isn’t a word. Apparently reunitement isn’t either. Although I’d like to argue the counter.

I am an animated [annoying] texter. I use smiles and points of exclamation and only spell correctly because my Droid Bionic telephone tells me to.

I love whistling. I think because one time about one year ago, I heard a lonely whistle echoing through the campus bank… I am pretty sure I had just failed an American Heritage exam and let me tell you —that whistle made me so stinkin happy.  

I love parallelism. 

I write with my HP 17in computer screen bisected with a blank word document and an internet browser with satiated tabs of thesaurus.com, urbandictionary.com, and meltolyrics.com. The .com’s eternally mock my illusory superiority.

I used to be an English major, until I realized I’m terrible at English. Now I’m studying Communications. And am realizing I’m terribly awkward when communicating. Rubish.

I am wearing eight rings right now and my nails are freshly polished gold because a friend of mine told me it was “really effing girly and it rocks”. You see what I’m dealing with here, people. I live in the land of the bros.

I want to be like you, but I also want to be like me.

Ooo-oooo-oooo-oo-oo-oo-ooo

Ooo-ooo-ooo

Ooo-oo-ooo, ah ah.

Oh, and a prescriptivist isn’t even a real thing.