Manifesto Ultimatum: Day 5: Something about bands and set lists.

Let's talk about Band of Horses. I was across the street, halfway across the universe with Emily and Avery and we'd lost everyone else somewhere else and we weren't listening until that beginning guitar riff from "The Funeral" came in -- you know that one? And that song is so good and we went running. We went running down the sidewalk, back across the street, back across the universe, and I think I pushed past a woman with a stroller (sorry, m'am), and Avery shouted something about getting back before the downbeat, but we aren't that fast of runners and we were kind of far away, anyway. 

The point is that that was summer for me, like boyfriends and best friends and dirt poor, so be it, dirt poor and happy to be it because we had each other and that made us rich, rich, rich, starry-eyed and new.

And now fall is here, less sweaty and more apologetic, if you will, perhaps only because it has more to apologize for than its summer-y-ier counterpart.

Fall is here now, and now I am okay it with it, though, to be honest, it's taken me a second to get this way -- I have jeggings, hot coffee, a whole heck of a lot of transcontinental phonecalls, women in overalls, lots of yoga, girls with curly handwriting, and calculus, even, oddly enough, to thank for that. Oh, and Shakespeare. I always have Shakespeare to thank. Thank you, William. You're the man.

And this fall, I'm doing okay, with okay meaning "I really like waking up in the morning."

What I'm really getting at is this: Today, I finally opened a checking account, which made me feel rich, rich, rich in a monetary sense, and I am rich, but not like that. I'm rich because I have a full head of hair and brains inside my skull and boys who run cross country to teach me about rap music and I still get transcontinental phonecalls and someone made a mix of "Islands" by Young the Giant and "Into" by The XX, and that's basically the best song to ever happen to me, and I have good teachers and good parents and good sisters and I wake up every day and I really like it. I really like waking up in the morning, because I am not lonely anymore, because there are people who love me. I've never needed to be lonely. There have always been people to love me.

There are people who love you.
There have always been people who love you.

"The minute you let her into your heart, she'll take all your money and leave you at home." NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA.
All my love,
Addy

Twilight (a time of day) (don't get your hopes up).

As much as I like to think that I am a city person, I think I'm actually a small-town person at heart. I'm definitely not a country person, that's for sure, because I'm starting to realize that the things I think I love about cities are really the things I love about small towns: people. I love people. I love knowing my neighbors and seeing the same ornery woman behind her desk on the second level of the library.


I love local bookstores and local coffee shops and local gas stations and local restaurants. I love local car washes, and I'm still a little cut up about the whole Firehouse Car Wash being bought out by nationally renowned Mr. Hot Shine, because that little car wash was a part of this little city! It was a part of my little city, like I'm a part of this little city, I'm a part of my little city.


And I love small-town because it's home. Maybe if I grew up in the country, I'd be a country person. Maybe if I grew up in the city, I'd be a real honest city person. But I grew up in a little baby, overly conservative town, and when people say things like, "Obama sucks," I know they're just saying, "Welcome home, Addy."


And I'm going to leave here someday. I'm might build bridges, I might write books, and I'm going to go to New York City, as cliche as it is. San Fransisco and Paris and Rome and Cairo and London and Tokyo, and maybe someday I'll call that my home. I'll stand at the feet of the Hellenistic Beauty and I'll cry and say, "I'm home," and I'll stand in Times Square and say, "I'm home," and I'll lean out of open windows in Barcelona and I'll say, "I'm home!" and no one will know what I'm saying because I speak English and they speak Spanish there.


Maybe I'll even go to Mitchell, Arizona, which is somewhat ironic and an anomaly in of itself. Mitchell, Arizona is doublethink in city form (boy form?). Maybe I'll fall in love with everywhere in the world and when I look at a map, I'll just stretch out my arms and embrace the entire world as my home.


But now? Right now? Home is my family and the weird conglomeration of friends that I've collected. Home smells like my shampoo. Home is Avery's shampoo and Kaitlyn's shampoo and how our hairs stick to Matt's black coat and how Kyle laughs when we pull them off. 


Maybe someday my home will be universal, because there are things that are universal, you know? Friends are universal, I bet, like families are universal and youth is universal. Heartache and euphoria are probably universal, and fires probably burn when you light them no matter where you are. As far as I'm aware, shampoo smells the same wherever you go in the whole world and hair probably sticks to coats on all continents.


But I'm not leaving yet, like you are not leaving yet, and like we might never leave, really, because we're pieces of each other at this point. I'm not leaving yet.


I'm still not over 17-year-old Leo. (Are you asking me on a date?)
All my love,
Addy

And I was like, "..."

We said we were growing down, and we liked ourselves better in cat sweaters. But all it really was was growing up. We realized what mattered and what didn't, don't you think so? We felt childish, but really we realized what we could handle and realized just how much that was. And we realized we didn't have to do things on our own.

It was the realization that we needed each other and that was fine to need someone, because we were children again, and children are allowed to need other people. But really, we were just growing up.

We stopped trying, I think. We stopped wishing so much and pretending to be someone who we were not. Even with keys of our own, we allowed ourselves to be a little bit younger, but also a little bit older.


They gave us so much growing space, but we didn't even notice all of this immense emptiness and crazy-cricket quiet. We just filled up the space and shed our skin and then all of a sudden we were these beautiful, fleshed-out individuals with drivers licenses and Friend-Boys and friends in general and music and youth -- a lot of youth and a lot of growing down, but growing up, also.


We stopped ourselves from overwhelming everyone and we did something right. I think we said something that changed someone or maybe we wrote something that inspired someone or maybe we sung on pitch. Because karma repaid us. Karma repaid us in pop art and telepathy and thrift stores -- but mostly it gave us each other.


Each other and growing down.


It wasn't about being mature and looking old anymore. It was about cat sweaters, but cat sweaters made us smile and our smiles gave us life and our life gave us maturity, but we were too excited about the sweaters that we didn't really even notice how old we'd gotten and how much of our growing space we had filled.


Maybe it's a paradox. Maybe we're a paradox.


We all teetered on the edge of adulthood, but we couldn't see the cliff through our mustaches and our rainbow cupcakes and photobooth pictures. 


I can't even really explain it to you correctly. 


We're children again, but our souls filled up this enormous space in which we were asked to grow and we didn't even see that whole thing going on until it was quiet and our voices were glowing yellow like the fire and our s'mores tasted like hope and also like the past, but a little bit like the future. 


"Now."
All my love,
Addy

A little less Titus.

Loving someone doesn't mean you have to love everything they do every second of life. Being best friends with someone doesn't mean that you have to want to talk to them every second and that you can't ever be annoyed with them or sometimes hate the people they associate with. Being a family isn't about never disagreeing or making mistakes.


It's about something so much bigger. Well, actually, I take that back. It's about something smaller.


It's about the way they smell; it's about recognizing that smell and knowing that when you smell it, you're home and you're safe and you've made it. It's about the way they shape the letter "u" and how you'd recognize that handwriting anywhere. It's about that smirk they wear when they are composing some sort of witty retort to what you're saying long before you've finished saying it. It's about hats. It's about misty-eyed laugher. It's about their fear of thunderstorms. It's about the dinner discussions. It's about Mondays. It's about cyber-stalking; it's about real-life stalking. It's about Legally Blonde the Musical. It's about how they have so many books that they can't even sleep on their own bed. It's about fake emails and bunheads and The Boy Book. It's about shouting "Drop dead!" too much. It's about singing "First Day of My Life" in a big crowd of people. It's about having secrets. It's about helping clean up the messes you've made together. It's about hair ruffles.


It's about the way they shape their words and the way your hearts beat together like a song and knowing that even though they might bother you sometimes or make you feel immensely jealous or incredibly small, that that doesn't matter at all. 


XXX.
All my love,
Addy

"Happy birthday, Harry!"

When did this happen to me?


I started crying at 12:01 last night. You know that old eighties song by Alphaville? It's called "Forever Young" and I cried when it came on just past midnight last night.


I love birthdays. I mean, who doesn't? They remind me of how good I've got it - how wonderful my parents are, even when they are mad at me. How many good people exist in real life: The barista bought my lunch today simply because it's my birthday; my fashion board director spent hours helping me find something perfect to wear tonight; my mom spent way too much money on me; an entire train car sang "Happy Birthday" to me on Thursday night; my neighbor brought me a beautiful cake; I'm discovering birthday wishes via the internet; people I haven't heard from in years are calling and making me cry even more... It's a little overwhelming, actually.


I find so much pleasure in material things, too - I'll admit to that. I love new bedding for my new room and gorgeous new shoes and this most beautiful black blazer.


It does seem fitting that I spent the last few moments of my year with the same people who have been in my life for quite some time, doing the same things we have done together for as long as I like to remember. It seems fitting that I spent it with people who wished me a happy birthday a year ago today. It's good to know that some things never change - that Kyle Somer will always be too awkward and too cute and that Matt will always pay more attention to his guitar than to me and that Avery will always have a book in her bag.


But I'm so scared. And so overwhelmed. I don't know when I got this old and I can't believe how much changed in just 365 days and I can't believe how much is changing right at this exact moment. I don't even believe that we moved into my house six years ago to the day.


Of course, I don't want time to pause and not live my at all life or anything, but guess who doesn't deal with change all that well? Me, that's who. Yours truly.


I can't believe how everything and nothing can be changing simultaneously. I can't believe how time can be moving in both fast-forward and slow-motion at the exact same second.


When did this happen to me?


Cheers, my friends. Thanks for being with me even when I am crazy and all full of badness. This is for you, from me, on my birthday. Because I wouldn't be me without you.


Don't taunt the flowers (they can't defend themselves).
All my love,
Addy

Pools of boiling wax.

Sometimes I want to go "home" but I don't really know what "home" is. But I guess that home can be created anywhere. Because when I think about "coming home" I don't think of my literal house; it's more about the people and the details.


This is home. I don't care what anyone else thinks about these people that I have or the way that we live or dress, because this is my home. This is where I have memories and a past.


This is home. This is the place where I grew up and fell in love and it's the place of free Thursday summer concerts. This is my family and my sisters and dinner with my parents. This is Matt Davis and the neighborhood boys and boy-stalking. This is wasting too much time and watching too many eighties movies. 


This is home. This is where I can sit in dollar movie theaters and make ridiculous cards. This is the quiet of the nights in the wintertime and the relief of spring. This is my cousins on the Fourth of July. This is seeing Katie at Orange Leaf and spending millions of dollars at Hawaiian Ice. This is Kaitlyn's sweater with a hole in the shoulder.


This is home. This is Avery's cat cookies and Katie showing up in my bedroom before work. This is the time we dyed Emily's hair blue in my basement bathroom. This is yoga class with and Ms. Luse. This is feminism with Sierra and rides home in Matt's three-doored van. This is paying Zack to go out of his way for me.


This is home. This is holding hands and crying every day and dancing in parking lots and writing poetry. This is my library and these are my future-professors-of-America friends and this is my bed and my quilt and my bookshelf. This is being witty with Avery. This is reading books far too late at night.


This is home, folks. This is knowing that there will always be enough air to breathe.


We watch things on the VCR.
All my love,
Addy

Surprise! You're adopted! Love, Avery and Addy.

The following is a list of things that are difficult and/or awkward to do in a darkened movie theater:
1.) Scrawl notes.
2.) Be cute.
3.) Cuddle.
4.) Carry on a flirtation.
5.) Concentrate on the movie.


And any attempts at numbers one and five grow futile when the perpetrator of numbers two through four is sitting right near by and smelling all nice and kissable.


Plus also, numbers one through five prove to be real-life impossible when you get notes passed from down the row referencing this cat video.


But I suppose that dollar movie theaters were made for seeing how boys smell and passing notes down the row.


Terribly embarrassing.
All my love,
Addy

"That's crazy."

I think I hear things like, "That's not my hair. That's a penguin," or "Don't you think so, too?" a lot. The problem is that I don't remember how the hair became a penguin or what I am supposed to be agreeing with 'cause, you know, I'm not, like, the best listener or anything. 

So usually I'm like, "Har, har, har..." but then I realize that the penguin is some sort of endangered animal and the fact that they're headed down the path towards extinction isn't funny and you can't laugh in answer to a question, of course.

So I set out to find an answer that is appropriate for anything. I'm not saying it's the best response for anything, simply that it's appropriate. And guess what, folks: I've got it.

"That's crazy."

I told Avery about it several months ago. I've been thinking about it a lot, lately. Try me. Give me something that I can't say "That's crazy" to. That's right. You can't. That's crazy.

1. Incredibly depressing situations. Person no. 1: "There is an impending meteorite." Person no. 2: "That's crazy."

2. Incredibly exciting situations. Person no. 1: "I bought something cool!" Person no. 2: "That's crazy."

3. Situations that are totally, totally random. Person no. 1: "My toenails are several different shades of pink." Person no. 2: "That's crazy."

4. Situations in which you are not listening at all but need to interject something. Person no. 1: "I was like, who does she think she is?" Person no. 2: "That's crazy."

The only flaw is the command form, I think. When someone says, "Dance," it might be semi-odd to say, "That's crazy." But, I mean, not really. So pretty much it works for everything.

Also, if you get the right tone, you don't even have to change the the tone of your voice to fit with the situations, really. The recipe for mine is below:

1/8 sarcastic

1/8 joyful

1/2 interested

1/8 angst ridden 

1/8 incredibly depressed

Beat with electric mixer until solidified.

I hate you for leaving. I hate you for leaving. I hate you for leaving.

All my love,

Addy

Graduation.

How much of my high school years I feel should be left: one quarter.

How much of my high school years are left in real life: two years and one quarter.

And I already have all the fine arts credits required for graduation. And then some. More than double, actually. (Did you guess that I am slightly right brained?)

Just allow me to graduate this June, could you?

Nothing rhymes with the word "orange" and no one looks good in parachute pants.*

All my love,

Addy.

*see Avery's blog

Day 23: Little letters to the ones who make everything better.

Dear Tanner,

This blog post is special for you. You have a way of making me feel better. Mostly, I love that you left me a voicemail saying, "Call me, punk. And make a new blog post right this second or I'll kick you into next week."

Marry me?

All my love,

Addy.

Dear Mallory,

Thanks for sharing your secrets with me. Also, thanks for driving me everywhere. Remember that one time we broke into the Aubrey's car?

All my love,

Addy.

Dear Kat,

Thank you for a plethora of things - being my best friend, laughing at my stories, loving Jake Barton, obeying the law, etc. - but mostly, thank you for all the notes you've written me over the last year or two. I have all of them in a shoebox in my closet.

All my love,

Addy.

Dear Avery,

Thank you for having a cute cat named Mundi. Also, thank you for being one of the seven people who attend Lone Peak High School that I actually like in real life.

All my love,

Addy.

Dear Morgan,

Thank you for being one of three things that get me to seminary every other day. (The other two are Heid and Mal. C'est bien.)

All my love,

Addy

Dear Cache,

Thank you for being photogenic. It's also perfectly normal that I still sort of want to marry you; however, I am working on not being a stalker so that's a secret.

All my love,

Addy.

Dear Emily Luse,

Thank you for capturing Cache on camera.

All my love,

Addy.

Dear Car,

Thanks for dying on us last night. But not actually dying while he and I were alone. It's perfect fine that we still have yet to kiss.

All my love,

Addy.

Dear French Band Called Yelle That Ryan Told Me to Listen to,

Thank you for always making the song "Je Veux Tu Voir."

All my love,

Addy.

Dear Black and White Photos,

You're better than color photos.

All my love,

Addy.

Dear New Boots That Came in the Mail on Tuesday,

I don't actually care about finding love anymore because I have you. You are my favorite shoes; you are my most prized possession; you are beautiful in every way; I am in love with you, I think.

All my love,

Addy.

Dear Lady Gaga,

Thank you for recording "Born This Way." It's my favorite song to run to.

All my love,

Addy.

Dear Radical Feminist Lady Who Spoke at Journalism Conference,

'Nuff said.

All my love,

Addy.

Dear Contemporary Elitist Groupies Who Wear Sweaters and Probably Belong in Seattle,

Thank you for making me feel substantially elite whenever you speak to me.

All my love,

Addy.

Dear British Accents,

Thank you for being the sexiest thing around.

All my love,

Addy.

Dear YOU,

I love you. I love you for reading this little blog and I love you for you.

All my love, Addy.

P.S. I planned on having today (which is bandwagon day 23 - something that makes me feel better) be a sufficiently awkward/adorable picture of he and I dressed as Indians. But I don't have it yet. All the pictures are still on Emily Luse's computer. It's fine.

Nice try, Avery.

Avery: I can't actually be dead to you, on account of you wrote that post and then came to my house.

Day 07: The souls who've shaped mine.

Katie: Blonde. Petite. Skinny. Likes sweaters. Likes boys. And boys, for that matter, like her. Plays piano beautifully. Has a legal drivers license. I like the way she writes the letter "u." Writes me notes. Taught me to love wishing. Very intelligent. Except sometimes she doesn't go to class. Talks on phone with me for hours. Has too few text messages. Got me in the habit of saying, "It's fine" after everything I say. Closest friend, probably. Lovely.

Avery: Brunette-ish. Beautiful. Afraid of haircuts. Keeps up incredible blog. Sings. Writes. Reads. Murders her weekends with books. One of two children; only child at home. Loves beautiful things. Her mom has a chocolate stash in the fridge which no one is allowed to touch. Likes an awkward boy named Jed. Wears red lipstick. Writes poetry. Loves Scott Pilgrim very much. Prefers to stay out of large social events.

Kaitlyn: Has boyfriend whom we all love. Plays guitar and uke. Wears black pants nearly every day. Has freckles. Loves white rice. Finally got drivers license. Beautiful. Loves Collin. Gets good grades. Writes for LP newspaper. Doesn't care much for sporting events. Exceptional in every way. Good at Clue the board game. Likes fashion. Hates sticky lipgloss. Skinny. Bad at communicating with said boyfriend who she won't kiss for some reason.

Collin: Is the aforementioned boyfriend. Likes funny haircuts. Cheats at all board games. Good driver. Used to listen to screamo. Going to be an intergalactic adventurer one day. Likes longboards. Wears the same hat nearly every day. Over thinks things. Messes with my speakers. Lives in a neighborhood on a hill. Loves Kaitlyn. Attractive. Has a living room chair with skis on the bottom in his garage.

Bianca: Odd friendship. Loves a boy. Is quiet. Is lovely. Very smart. Has beautiful eyes. Gorgeous hair. Boy loves her. Considers herself socially awkward: isn't really. Only person in this list who goes to my actual school. Sings. Takes hard classes. Has German family. Pays her own phone bill. Likes tamagotchis. Name is pronounced same in German and English.

Roah: Not indie only cause if he thinks he indie then he's not - ergo: he's ultra-indie. Has good sense of style. Listens to lovely music. Claims he had a tattoo. Claims he had said tattoo removed. Very brilliant. Possibly has early on-set schizophrenia. Reads books. Loves Cormic McCarthy. Wishes he was Holden Caulfield. Doesn't care much for school. Doesn't care much for authority. Plays guitar exceptionally. Writes songs. Takes pictures. Cute. Drinks tea with me. Has ex-girlfriend whom we all hate sort of.

Hannah: Has purple hair. No brothers, lots of sisters. Iphone-addict. Very smart. Crush on English teacher. Loves classical music. Plays viola. Yearbook-er. Like Ke$ha. Drives car. Sometimes a bad driver. Gorgeous. Kisses boys sometimes. Is my strength in hard times. Strong. Overcomes the worst. Photographer. Independent.

Hayley: Loves books. Loves words. Loves Noah. Devastatingly beautiful. Has gorgeous hair and cute nose. Plays soccer. Gets good grades. Intelligent. Lives too far away. Loves poetry. Has too few phone minutes. Has sister who looks exactly like her. Uses lovely words. Reads incredible books. Hangs with the boys. Strong. Independent. Loud. Perfectly petite. Noah loves her. Friend of a friend. Witty. Clever. Dashing. Very lively. Has sense of self. Incredible writer & poet.

"Do not go gentle into that good night."

All my love,

Addy

I am scared of something.

It's called waking up one morning and being old. Like, very old. Like, thirty or something.... Anyway. I'm very scared of waking up one morning and being old and thinking, "I haven't done anything with my life." And therefore, I am going to start a bucket list. I would invite all of you to join me - please. But that's your choice. (Bi, Kat, Ave, Hayles, and Kaitlyn, you have no choice. You are just required to do a lot of these things with me.) Well. Today is my hundredth post! Huzzah. I'm very happy with the way this little blog has turned out, aren't you? Nonetheless, ladies and gentlemen. The Bucket List (or part of it at least):

1. Be on Wheel of Fortune, The Price is Right, Jeopardy or some funny game show like that.

2. Learn to yodel.

3. Go to Asia.

4. Go to Europe.

5. Eat something terrible tasting that I can brag about for a while.

6. Kiss on the first date.

7. Attend Midnight Mass.

8. Substitute a high school class.

8b. Be the coolest sub they've ever had.

9. Perform on Broadway.

10. Graduate from high school.

11. Throw a giant 11/11/11 party.

12. Be on a late-night talk show.

13. Get into a great college back east.

13b. Graduate from that college.

14. Get my drivers licence.

15. Meet a celebrity.

15b. And also possibly pet their hair.

15c. Unless that'll get me a restraining order.

16. Dye my hair.

17. Get a really cool job with bragging rights.

18. Pretend to be a man for an entire day.

19. Speak with a British accent for several days in succession.

20. Go on a huge shopping spree.

21. Pull an all-nighter on a school night.

22. Ask a stranger on a date.

23. Accept a dare.

24. Be on the news.
24b. People aren't only on the news because they do bad stuff like rob old ladies, okay?

25. Have a song I sing on Itunes.

26. See a million or so of my favorite musicians in concert.

27. Reject the boy every girl is dying for.
28. Wear stilettos where they aren't usually worn.

29. Live alone.

29b. In the coolest apartment/condo/house ever to be.

30. Have a fantastic photoshoot with people I love.

31. Buy a wedding gown.

31b. Get married.

31c. And try not to get divorced.

32. Ride in an actual train.

32b. Trax so does not count.

33. Dance solo with a professional company.

34. Be voted "Best Dressed."

35. Sleep past noon.

36. Crash a wedding.

37. Get a tattoo.
38. Get my typewriter fixed.

39. Play a game of quidditch.

39b. Because quidditch is now a real, actual sport. I promise you. Here's the link. npr.org even said so. They're very reliable. I'm being totally serious here.

I think that's sufficient for now. Who's joining me?

Go play quidditch.

All my love, Addy.

(Comment and tell me which numbers you're joining me for. We start now.)

Life moves too much.

But Matt's shoes will always smell like fire. No matter how much he wears them, they always will. I love that.

I love that Avery will always be afraid of haircuts.

I love that Kate will always play the piano and write in the same cute handwriting and never fail to get me my notes she's written.

I love that Harli and Hayley will always live very near each other and never stop being funny.

I love that Nathan Stukey will always be... Very Nathan-ly.

And I love how Zach Lee will always keep the cold air on - even in the winter.

I love that Parker will always call me Oprah and tell me that we should throw a therapy session.

I love that Gabe will never know what we wrote on the bottom of his shoe freshman year.

I love that Parker will always be the greatest gentleman with the funniest baby pictures.

And I love that Kaitlynn and I will always be twins.

I love how Collin White will always be associated with to techno music and the time we played Apples to Apples in his basement.

I love Tim and Welson simply for being Tim and Welson.

I love that Ben will always blog funny things and play the guitar and write brilliant songs.

I love that Emily will always be in my Journalism class and feel like she still lives in my neighborhood even though she moved away nearly a year ago.

I love that the Colemere's house will always be very full of people and music and shoes that smell like fire.

I love that Laura will always text me when something scary happens.

And I love that I am considering getting a Dark Mark tattooed on my forearm.

Go read good books and eat rice.

All my love, Addy