I Have This Obsession...

No, it's not sniffing delicious-smelling people.

I like to call that an occasional hobby.

No. That's not it.

See, I don't really cook.

I make the occasional banana bread, cookies, 

muffins, birthday cake...

but I like to stay out of the kitchen as much as possible.

However.

I'm completely hooked on reading cooking blogs.

Especially baking and dessert blogs.

It's bad.

It's been really bad since mid-December.

Because all I want now is a Kitchen Aid stand mixer 

and an ice-cream maker.

You now know what I desire this Christmas. 

Save up your money.

Haha!

I'll never be a foodie, but I love reading their blogs.

As Craig Ferguson once said on the Late Late Show:

"Foodies are like Trekkies, only fatter!"

5 Dollar Movies at Wally-World...

are my weakness.

I am $15.00 poor-er.

Sigh.

(Miss Congeniality, Edward Scissorhands, and She's the Man.)

:-)

Stop Getting Married, People!!

You're making me poor!!

I mean, poor-ER.

Cos I already am.

Today, I decided what I am purchasing as wedding gifts for next month. I have FOUR weddings to go to in July. FOUR!!! One on the 21st. One on the 27th. One on the 29th. And one on the 31st.

Abbie and Allie are my former roommates. Abbie is marrying Voldemort and Allie is marrying a most wonderful guy named Jared. You can probably guess which wedding I'm more excited to go to. Jessika has been my friend since the summer-before-7th-grade orchestra. Even though we go to the same college, we hardly ever see each other, and worst of all, I've never even met the dude she is going to marry! I still love her though. But see, you come to a point where you (meaning me) invite your friend to do lots of stuff with you, and she says yes, but bails on you every time... and then, there's just no point anymore. You know? You lose touch, and then all of a sudden, you find out she's engaged. Sigh. Utah.

The fourth wedding is for my dear friend, Matt (my neighbor across the street when we were in the 6th grade), who I wheedled into confidence last summer because he was scared to ask out girls. Figures he'd marry the first and only one he ever dated. Sigh. Utah. I don't think his fiancee liked me very much. Apparently, joking with one of your oldest friends is a no-no and will thus cause his fiancee to sit silently in a corner with lips tightly and disapprovingly pursed. Also, she wears a light shawl to church. In my book, that spells uptight. 

But I'm no judge, as I told Marie the other night: 

Every person needs the weirdo to his/her weird. 

Whatevs. 

So the three girlies are each getting a cookbook

and a gift card to the grocery store.

(I'm gonna wait on Matt's gift, until I see what the dudes are going in on).

I could go the registry route,

but what good are cooking utensils if you don't have some recipes,

or some food to cook?

On an unrelated note: I also have the BFF's birthday present. And her birthday isn't until the middle of August! Am I on the ball or what?! (On second thought, that just ruined the surprise. Oh well. She still doesn't know what it is.)

When I Close My Eyes at Night...

all I can see are stacks of dirty dishes,
smelly puddles of dishwater,
crumbs scattered on the floor,
who-knows-what caked to my apron,
cheese sauce sticking to my fingers,
soda spilled on high-chairs...

Only two more months of dreams

where I forget to serve a customer

and all I do is sort silverware, silverware, silverware...

...and, worst of all,

of fearing my manager will yell at me...

:-(

(Oh, the things we go through for a silly education!)

I Know It's Silly, But...

Sometimes I believe in silly things.

Like fate.

But only when it's really silly.

Like if you had written six posts centering on--or at least mentioning--yummy-smelling boy, wouldn't you think it was fate if....

• You had dressed up for a ward Father's Day party and looked particularly fetching (mostly because  you had spent an entire week in smelly workclothes and an apron)
• Your hair was done and not in a ponytail
• You had decided on a whim to text your best friend Joe and say, "Hey man! How do you feel about going to a movie?"
• He had said, "Sure, what movie?"
• You had said, "Well, I'm at a ward party so I can't look them up. You suggest one."
• Your best friend, Joe, suggested How to Train Your Dragon which you had been dying to see anyway
• There was only one theater where that movie was playing
• You decided to meet up with him at the theater because you had to go home and get your money because no way was Joe paying for your ticket again
• You got there before him so you were sitting in the middle of the lobby people watching 
• You heard a somewhat familiar-ish voice
• You saw a very familiar face
• You said, "_____?"
• He said, "Chessie?"
• You both exclaimed, "What are you doing here?!"

It was Yummy-Smelling Boy!! In my hometown. At my theater. At the same I was there. We exchanged pleasantries, numbers, tentative plans to hang out should he come down again and should I go up to Logan. And except for the fact that he was going to Toy Story 3, the whole event was quite serendipitous. I got giggly when Joe and I got to our theater, and he mercilessly made fun of me and called me a girl. It's true. I was.

So what do you think?

Fateful?

Should this crush train leave the station?

Haha!

Can Kent Get Any More Adorable?

I mean, seriously.

Yummy Smelling Boy Once Told Me...

"Chess, you're more American than I am. YOU country swing dance."

Well. My American-ness just got bumped up about ten notches.

I met up with my friend and went dancing last night.
He teaches the country swing classes up on campus.
He is very, very good.
Like I've said before, I could dance every dance with him,
and it would be awesome.

It also doesn't hurt that he is ten directions of attractiveness.

(I don't even know what that means, but it sounds good.)

But he has a girlfriend, so that crush train can stop before it leaves the station.

Anyway.

Friend = dance instructor = he taught me almost everything I know

=

He totally messed up like ten times during a line dance.

That he taught in class.

Which I totally did not mess up on at all.

Take that!

Who's the country swing pro now?

Why am I so proud of something so lame?

:-)

All Grossness Aside...

I do like my job. 

Especially when a cute little three-year-old girl with pigtails

slipped her hand into mine,

looked up at me with her huge blue eyes and said,

"I wuv you!"

I melted into a puddle among the spilled corn and rice.

And then her older sister,

rolled her eyes in the world-weary way 

that only an eleven-year-old can muster,

 heaved an exasperated sigh, and said,

"Markie loves everybody."

I could've let that get me down. 

I could've hung my head and realized 

I am only one of a bajillion generically loved people.

But no!

I held my head high,

and with a big smile 

I told Markie and her sister

that it's okay to love everybody.

In fact, you should.

So let that be a lesson to all of you:

Be like a three-year-old child.

♥ ♥ Love EVERYONE around you ♥ ♥

No matter what _____________.

[fill in the blank yourself]

I Just Got Back From Work...

Want to know what happened today at the restaurant?

I think you do.

I was cleaning up the floor by one of the tables,

and I saw what I thought was some chewed-up food.

It was too big for my little sweeper to pick up,

so I just grabbed it with my bare fingers.

And then I froze.

This was no chewed up food, people!

This was POOP!!!

I almost died of gagging. 

And then I almost rubbed all my skin off washing my hands.

HOW CAN POOP FIND ITS WAY 

INTO THE DINING ROOM???

300!!

It is my 300th post, folks!

After 299 posts of silliness,

I have decided to write about something special.

My two oldest and dearest friends are

Kelli and Joe.

I first met Kelli on the sixth-grade monkey bars a few months after I moved back to the States after living in Venezuela for six years. She lived three houses away from me, and we both rode the same bus. She was not happy to see that another little girl had invaded her spot on the playground. She got over that super quick when I tutored and saved her from the miry deathtrap that was Pre-Algebra and Algebra. I also saved her when she got stuck in one of the trees in my backyard.

She introduced me to the terrifying classic that is Wait Until Dark, and I brought her into the world of Lord of the Rings. The two of us decided on a whim that Utah State would be the college for us. It was first and only school we applied to. 11 years sprinkled with Aragorn and Legolas Valentine's poetry (don't ask!), movies, birthday and Christmas presents, trips to Costa Vida, boy drama, tears, laughter, shoe shopping, and Utah State University, we are still best friends!

Josef came along in the eighth grade. We met in German class. Kelli was in German too and actually already knew Joe from choir, if I remember correctly. My optimistic mind seems to think that we all loved each other from the very beginning, but they might tell me otherwise. I can't remember. German, Joe, and I became a yearly tradition all the way through our junior year of high school. Because our teacher was simply awful, we would sit in the back, talk, and sing Elvis' Blue Christmas. You probably think that Joe sang Elvis, while I did the falsetto backup vocals. NOT. Other way around.

Joe was a very diligent student. He did his assignments, completed the projects, and finished his worksheets. I did not. I felt that I shouldn't have to work in a class where the teacher didn't really work to teach us. Then at the end of year, Joe had an A-minus, so we decided to make some marzipan for a little extra credit. Frau loved it so much that she went into German ecstasies and cried, "Zis ees so vonderful, you both get A's!!!!" Joe has never forgiven me for that. But he still loves me. He buys my lunch every time we get together.

Kelli and Joe are both so talented and clever. Kelli is a choral education major graduating in December. She also wants to be a fitness trainer on the side. Joe is a vocal performance major who graduated this year, and will be going on to graduate school at Arizona State. They both had their senior recitals this year, so I snuck a couple videos and I'm going to post them, whether they like it or not! You should definitely watch. They're soooo good!

Kelli:
I forgot that dinky cameras don't rotate videos, so ignore the fact that Kelli is singing sideways.
Close your eyes and listen.

Joe:


(This next one is my favorite!)


So... to make a really long story short: 
I love my friends.

The Ghost of 21...

I was digging through a box of personal mementos, 

when I found three letters addressed to myself. 

One to be opened in 2012, one in 2015, and one in 2010.

See, I have this thing I like to do. Sometimes, I will get some stationary out and write my future self a letter. Usually, I do it around my birthday, and I plan to open it on my birthday a few years later. I don't remember when I wrote the letter for 2015, but I do know that I wrote the 2012 letter when I was 14. I guess I wanted to see how much I'd changed in 10 years. I can't believe that in less than two years, I get to open that one.

Anyway, I forgot to open this year's letter on my birthday. I guess I must have forgotten due to finals and moving and stress. But I found it yesterday, and I opened it. Quite anxiously, I must admit. I think I was afraid of what was it would say, because I couldn't remember when I had written it.

It was dated May 7, 2009. Exactly 13 months ago. I knew what was going to be in it, and I didn't want to read it. Especially after what I posted yesterday. But I bravely read the contents, and 21-year-old me asked me some questions about a boy that I used to care about. I think she would have been delighted with the initial answers and then terribly devastated with the final ones. I'm glad she didn't know what was going to happen, because she wouldn't have been as brave or learned as much as she did. She probably would not have learned the meaning of forgiveness, kindness, or charity. She would've lost a friend and she would've lost the opportunity of being a friend to somebody else.

I think that's why we're not supposed to know our futures, 

because then we would limit ourselves 

to a stunted, selfish, half-lived, grayscale life. 

Don't you think so?

The closing paragraph reads,

I hope you're still strong in the gospel, because, you know, it's the only thing that truly matters in this world. I just hope you're happy. Right now you are getting sad and getting hurt a little too easily. Please be happy. There is always something to smile about and to laugh about. Be the person you want to be. There is so much I want for you. Please make the right choices.


Love,
21

Little 21 was brilliant and she didn't even know it. She somehow wrote the words that I needed to read. And someone knew I didn't need those words on my birthday, and I didn't need them two weeks later either. I needed them yesterday.

I'm going to answer this letter, and I'm going to ask some new questions.

Then I'm going to put both those letters away to be read next year.

I think you should join me, because

I think your future selves could use a reminder of who you are right now.

So take out a piece of paper and an envelope. Write yourself a letter this week. Tell your future self who you are right now, what you're doing, what you love (and who you love), and what you expect from the person you'll become. Tell yourself your dreams and your wishes. Pretend you're long-lost friends catching up after not seeing each other for a year. What questions would you ask? What stories would you tell? 

Seal it up and pick a date to open it. Six months from now, a year, maybe five years. Write the date on the envelope. Put it in a safe spot where you won't think about it, but you also won't forget. It will be a wonderful experience when you do get to open the letter and reacquaint yourself with the person you used to be. You will be surprised to know how much you have changed and also how you have stayed the same. 

As grown-up and mature as you will get, 

I hope all the different versions of each one of you 

"never lets a problem to be solved become more important than a person to be loved." 

You can never, ever regret a life where you loved others with all your heart.

How about we meet back here in a year 

and share a little bit of what we wrote to ourselves?

That is, if we're all still hanging around the blogosphere...

Would you like that?

Well, It's Official...

He-Who-Must-Never-Ever-Be-Named-Again-On-This-Blog

and the Roomie are engaged as of Friday.

Not gonna lie.

Even though it's been a few months 

since I decided I was over the whole debacle,

my li'l heart is feeling a bit pummeled.

Crying in the middle of Shopko is not attractive.

I wish I had held it together a little better.

Two Ladies Walk Into the School...

where I'm registering my younger brother and sister for summer school.

One squeals in delighted surprise.

The other shrieks at the top of her lungs,

"MICHELLE from HEHHHH---CK!!!"

Then they fall into each other's arms and hug like there's no tomorrow...

...and like they don't have delinquent children who can't keep up in school.

"Why Is This So Sticky?"

I asked myself today

as I lotioned up my legs.

Then I double-checked the tube.

It was body wash.

*Sigh*

Four Years Ago Today,

I graduated high school.

I was a choir nerd and A Cappella always sang at commencement.
I remember us singing
Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.

I remember bawling my eyes out
because I was afraid
of what the next four years of college
was going to bring.

Crying and singing at the same time
doesn't really work, you know.
Also, when you are on the very front row
because you are so stinkin' short,
everybody and their grandma can see
your total emotional breakdown.

A dear friend stood on the front row right next to me,
and as tears silently ran down my face,
he reached over and took my hand,
holding it tightly in his.

I remember thinking,
"This is the first boy who has ever held my hand,
and he's gay."
I cried harder because I was sure that was an omen.

Fortunately, I have matured a bit since I was eighteen,
and my college dating life has been only slightly better
than the nightmare I imagined.

I only had to wait until the fourth year of college
 to be asked on my first date.
Because boring blind dates to help your more attractive roomies don't count.
I'm sure you agree.

Haha!
:-)

What the URL?

Yesterday, at work while I was clearing and scraping dirty dishes,

I had a thought:

Why is my URL "chezprez"?

For the life of me, I couldn't remember.

There must have been a reason.

There is always a reason.

So I got out my deductive logic thinking cap which looks like it belonged to Spot Conlon and put it on. And then my supervisor said it wasn't part of the uniform and told me to take it off. Probably a good idea. It totally clashed with my apron. 

Okay, so the thinking cap part is a lie. But I think I figured it out. I think I have rediscovered the mysterious origins of the URL of this blog. It's like genealogy except not useful to anybody at all!! Have you ever heard of anything more exciting than something like non-useful genealogy?? I know, right?!

I knew it had something to do with my name. "Ch" after all. But then I thought, "Well, 'chez' looks kind of like cheese." People do think Chessie is Cheesy sometimes. And when they tell me and think they're funny, I say, "Oh ho ho, I never heard that one before. Ever." Like in a sarcastic tone. You know, when you pretend you're serious. But you're not. You're lying. Lying in a truthful way, so that they know you are an honest fibber.

I like cheese though. That's the truth. Actually, I love cheese. If I could eat cheese in big pieces (and I do) all day long, it would be a happy day. You know what I like? I like string cheese. I like the ones that are called Cow Pals. I like buying them in the big packs and eating one (or two) for an after-school snack. Or an after-breakfast snack. Or a before-bedtime snack. Do you guys pull bits off like you're supposed to, or are you hairy, unibrowed cavemen that just bite off the ends?

What was I saying? Oh, that "chez" looks like cheese. Like the Cheez-It crackers except minus an "E." Do you like those crackers? I do. I like the white cheddar ones better than the yellow ones. Have you ever sat down with a box of crackers intending to eat only a handful, and then three episodes of The Office later, you realize that you ate the entire box? Which you bought that day?! Not that I've ever done anything like that. That would be silly and piggy. Anyway, while filling up a Dr. Pepper for some lurpy teenaged boy, I came to the conclusion that "chez" could only be associated with cheese.

So then I came to the puzzling mystery of "prez." Except it really wasn't that puzzling. I mean, please, what else could it be? Even a hairy, unibrowed caveman would know that "prez" could only be short for president. Even if he didn't know that you NEVER bite off string cheese, but you must always peel it, piece by piece. He would know "prez" means president. Obviously, I meant to have a blog that referred to myself as the President of the Cheese Fan Club. Which, if you know me, makes perfect sense. In fact, how could I have ever forgotten? 

Therefore, Groupies,

You can either be called

my "Kraft-y Singles"

or

my "Cow Pals"

or

my "Hairy Unibrowed Cavemen."

But I know all of you are much prettier than that.

So maybe we should just stick to plain ol' "Groupies."

However,

I still demand to be called
 President 

I Thought of Something to Say:

I like my blog. I really like my blog.

I like thinking about things to write, I like writing it, I like when you comment on it.

Do not be offended engaged / married people at what I'm about to say. 

I love you. I do. 

But I cannot do to my blog what you have done to yours. 

Not ever.

I was talking to a buddy recently and he begged me never to go all mushy on my blog because there are a couple blogs that we follow that we hardly ever check anymore because the originality and individuality has faded from the words. It's like aliens are writing these blogs. Mostly because these "Just Her" blogs have become "His and Hers." 

I guess what I'm saying is this: This is my blog. Just mine. I can't imagine changing it to a "his and her" blog. Not even if/when my life becomes a "his and her" life. It would ruin the sanctity of what little Chester the Best-er has grown up to be. I admit it, sometimes I talk about people I'm (was) interested in. Maybe in the next few years Mr. Chester will come along and make my life a mushy "his and her" life. That's okay. It's kind of fun to think about sometimes. But this blog is still my own. I will do what I have always done when it come to boys in my life. Talk about them vaguely. Use Harry Potter nicknames to disguise their identities. Pretend that they (mostly) don't exist. Mostly because they don't. Hahaha!

I like having my own observations, my own sense of humor, my own reasons for getting up in the morning (or not getting up because I stayed up too late watching episodes of Glee or So You Think You Can Dance or Arrested Development). And though I realize that if/when someone becomes a fixture in my life and suddenly the real world seems to revolve around him, I'd like to think I could come back to this little blog o' mine, and just be myself and by myself with you guys. Like if I wanted a family blog, I would make one. But this one, this one would stay for just me and you. You know? 

Some of you started blogs because you were married already and wanted to let family know about your new lives. I am not talking to you, haha. Some of you had blogs while single and then changed the titles to include your husbands' names when you got married. I guess you're the ones who inspired this post. Sort of. I hope that you'll remember what your writing was like when you were on your own. I fell in love with reading your blogs because I fell in love with you. Not your husbands. Not the person you are with your husband. The person that was just you and only you. 

Don't ever think that I'm saying that you shouldn't acknowledge the most important people in your life because you must, but I'm begging you not to let YOU get lost in the mix. That's all. Please change the titles of your blogs if you want to. Talk about The One as much as you want to. Just, remind your readers of the real, raw YOU every now and then. Okay?

Oh my word.

What a weird post. I'm so sorry.

But do you guys agree?

Or am I really out there right now?

That being said, I love reading Kelsey's blog. I can't explain it, but she has managed to defy everything I just ranted about. So obviously you can't take me too seriously. But I AM being serious when I say

 There will never be a boy's name in the title of my blog.

 Not ever.

Oh wait. 

Chester IS a boy's name.

Crap.

I failed already.

Sometimes, I Wake Up...

and think,

My, I would like to blog today!

But what would I say?

Sometimes, there is just nothing to say.

You know?

You open your mouth, 

or, in this case,

stretch your fingers,

take a deep breath 

and....

Nothing.

Nothing comes out.

So maybe tomorrow guys.

Actually, I have something to say:

I take naps that are WAY TOO LONG.