Yesterday my little brother Tyson went on an LDS mission. It was sad to say goodbye to him for two years because it's probably been in the last two years that I've really grown close to him. As kids he was the one who would indulge my creative whims, acting out parts in my pretend plays and choreographing dances to old songs that we would perform for the family with elaborate props and costumes.

As he grew up he became a hilarious partner in crime, stealing election signs in the dark until my car was packed and sneaking out to get tacos at 2 a.m.  He can flawlessly fold his 6'4" frame into a standing front flip, he's the happiest person I know and he always has a hilarious story about his adventures. I will miss him so much…here's to hoping I can get better at letter writing quickly!

your cool was contagious.

 I was getting that itch to delete Facebook again and then I remembered last time.

It was a Friday when I first gathered the resolve to delete my Facebook account. Tired of the mindlessly angry statuses from people I knew in high school and the strange compulsion I feel to check it every hour (conservative estimate), I clicked the 'deactivate' button.

Propelled by straight up internet rage at that point, I also deleted the Facebook app on my phone and tried to create a whole new identity for myself that involved literature and fields of grass.

Saturday was hard. I woke up and was checking my email when I remembered what I had done. There was a little black spot on the screen of my phone where once sat that charming blue "F" icon. What if someone I stalk posted pictures? What if I got an event invitation? It didn't matter, I told myself, because today will be full of real things like playing games on my phone making homemade lemonade and spraying febreeze cleaning my house.

I got out of bed and began driving to my parents house for a little visit when my car broke down. As I waited at the nearest gas station for my dad, all kinds of statuses ran through my head.

"Amanda is probably going to be riding bikes a LOT more after today."

"Amanda is apparently sitting near a beehive because a swarm of bees literally just circled my car, stingers ready and waiting."

"Amanda is throwing up gas station horchata. Bad life choices are all over the place today."

I could tweet them, I thought, but who would care? My one spam account follower? Resigned to keeping my thoughts to myself, I put my phone away and spent the next 20 minutes staring and people and trying to discreetly look away when they caught me staring.

That weekend I was all about starting a revolution. I nearly talked almost three people into deleting their pages, even. So, as you can imagine, it was a sad Monday morning when I realized what a fool I had been to shun the online world and came back. I can't do that to myself again.

(Image via weheartit)

Doing Stuff, Learning Things

In case you haven't heard, I have hobbies a hobby. No big deal*. Just thought I would photo document it in case it seems like all I ever do is watch TV and read other people's blogs. So come with me, let's explore the world of bookbinding.

folding and poking

sewing and knotting

 

 pressing and gluing

 

cutting and binding

 paper choosing and measuring

more gluing and waiting

The finished product-- linen paper, bound with leather and a vintage map of Paris.

* It is a VERY big deal. Bookbinding class entails interacting with strangers in an unfamiliar environment and cutting things with an Exacto knife. Two fears conquered right there. 

Culver's and Cats in Cardigan: Alliteration, Embrace It

The best part of my President's Day weekend? When I found out there was a Culver's right here in Utah.

(Sidenote: The smirk, I know, it has to stop. It's not ironically funny when I do it alone by myself. I know, I know.)

Not just the home of the most unhealthy fast food ever (I had a butterburger, fried cheese curds and a custard shake-- enough said), Culver's was pretty pivotal to my Midwestern high school years.  

I shopped pretty much exclusively at H&M, spent Friday nights having weird run-ins at Culver's and developed a crack cocaine-like addiction to Panera Bread while I lived in Illinois. 

It's easy for me to get nostalgic, but I daresay that all those things are totally overshadowed by Friday nights spent dressing cats in sweaters and eating pizza and playing mistress to my dearest Alison.