Why I hate belts.

Lately I've been having a problem with my pants. Every single pair I own decided to get all stretched out--but only at the waist. I am now wearing my one and only belt with everything. I HATE BELTS. And this is why.

AT THE STORE: Oh look, a cute pair of jeans! I'm in need of some new pants, and these will fit with a belt. I think I shall purchase them.

 LATER, AT HOME: Add a belt, and.....

I like to call this look, "Deflation." This also happens to my shirts, up around the chest area. It seems that I was blessed with a valley, but no mountains.

The cute pants are destroyed, thanks to my belt. I usually have to cinch it up pretty tight, which makes a few horrible things happen:

1. I get a side-tail, due to the fact that the end of the belt is not quite long enough to reach the next belt loop, so it just flaps in the wind. Cute.
2. Unflattering wrinkles and bunched fabric appear, making it look like I'm wearing a horrible 80's hair scrunchy around my waist. 

Remember these hot things? This girl sure loves her scrunchies!

While I hate the unflattering things belts do to my pants, and subsequently my figure, I do have to say that I would rather have the deflated look than the, "Ugly Overages" or "Pencil Drop"  looks.

I guess this is usually called the "Muffin Top," but my mom calls it "Ugly Overages," and I like that better.

The pencil drop look is not going to be illustrated. But in case you don't know what it is, this look can be described as a gap in the back of someone's pants when they sit down. It gives you a lovely view of their backside if you are behind them, and allows you to test your pencil throwing skills by seeing if you can get your pencil, or any other object you have around you, in the gap. 100 points if you can do it without them noticing.

Other than pant problems, life is dandy. Summer is always kind of slow for me, but I'm hoping to get some fun stuff done this summer. I'm saving money to buy a car (FINALLY!!!), and I get my braces off next month.....OR ELSE. I'll be all grown up! I'm even moving out of the awkward acne stage....for now, anyway. Want to know my secret? It's this guy. This guy right here:

That's right folks, the potato!! Cut a slice off a raw potato, and rub both sides of it on your face. Let it dry, leave it on for a while, then rinse it off. You'll smell like potatoes, and people may laugh at you, but it does some good things for your face! Good old potato.

The other night Miranda saw some face mask thing on Pinterest, so we decided to try it out. Why not, right? It was some mixture of milk and gelatin, and you mix it together and slather it onto your face. After it dries, you peel it off. It's supposed to help remove black heads and dead skin cells. We may not have put enough milk in it, because ours was preeeetty chunky. And it smelled like the hind end of every animal. Combined. It made our faces all stiff as it dried, and I wondered if botox was anything like it. If so, count me out. I like my face to move, thank you.

The chunkyness is not exaggerated here. That's pretty much what I looked like. It was hilarious.

Miranda's face mask peeled off quite nicely after it was dry, and her skin was smooth as a baby's bottom. Mine didn't go so well. It didn't really peel, so I had to scratch at it. By the time I was finished, I looked like this:

My skin seemed very smooth, but other than that, I'm not sure that it did much for me. But it was fun to do, and man did we look awesome!

I've been working on a few paintings lately, and since I don't have a studio or an empty room to use, I paint in the kitchen. There's not a ton of ventilation in there, and I'm using pretty harmful stuff. The other day Miranda mentioned something about how smelly it was. I became worried when I realized that I couldn't smell anything......

I might be losing brain cells. Hecks, I might be losing my brain. Oh well, we've all got to die somehow, right?


Also: apparently someone in Russia is reading my blog. Um.....eh?

Artist?

Sometimes I have a hard time calling myself or thinking of myself as an "artist." I've always thought that a real artist was someone who went to art school and now makes a living off of their work. Someone who's entire life is dedicated to art. Someone who uses "real" artist supplies, rather than things they found in the dumpster or at the nearest Hobby Lobby. According to those definitions, I am not an artist.
Because I was constantly comparing myself to these standards, I felt that I would never truly be able to succeed as an artist. I haven't sold a single work of art, I probably won't graduate from art school, and I'll never want to spend hundreds of dollars on a single paintbrush.
I think that "being an artist" is sort of a stupid concept. It makes it sound like artists are a separate class of people--Male, Female, and Artist. I believe that everyone is an artist, though not in the traditional sense. Being an artist is a state of mind--how you perceive the world around you. Ever look at a sunrise or sunset and feel in awe of the beauty of it? That's the artist in you. Ever feel an emotional surge when listening to a certain piece of music? Artist. The ability to recognize beauty in the creations around you, and recognize the significance of the emotions that they evoke--that's what I call "being an artist." Choosing to see the world around you as more than just living space; actually looking at what surrounds you instead of rushing through each day--that's when you become an artist.

You've got to have artwork of some sort on a post about artists, so I found some sweet prints and paintings for your viewing pleasure.

Paper cut-outs. So kewl.

This is made out of clothespins!!!

Ya can't rollerskate in a buffalo herd.

This is my theme song right now, except my lyrics are a little different. Instead of "...but you can be happy if you've a mind to," I sing, "..but you can do yer homework if you've a mind to..." It's a fantastic song with magical powers.

This post is all about me. Really. There are no pictures, and it's probably kind of boring to read. So if you read it and feel like you've wasted your time, don't say I didn't warn you.

It's funny to look back on life and think about the things I used to want, and what was most important to me.

For instance: just last summer I wanted new clothes. So, I bought a LOT of clothes...all of which I'm sick of by now. But at the time it was so fun to get packages in the mail containing some new, fun thing to wear. I also wanted to run a marathon more than anything. I was so dang fit last summer! I worked out almost every day, I was eating better, I was disciplined and getting enough sleep, and then--crash! My weak little bones decided to throw a hissy fit, and I couldn't run the Top of Utah Marathon. I was so close to accomplishing my dream, and falling short basically crushed me. I was also desperately wishing that I could attend school in the Fall, instead of working to earn money for Spring semester. It was hard, not being in school, and I thought that once I got back in, things would be a lot better.

Summer, according to my definition, begins next week. My wants are so completely different from last year, I feel like a completely different person. I need clothes, but I don't want to spend any money on new clothes, so I probably won't buy any. And having kewl clothes isn't that important to me right now. Weird, I know. I do want to get in shape and eat better this summer, and I would like to run the TOU marathon, but it isn't my number one priority right now. If I don't run it this year, I won't be crushed.

At this moment, I am counting down the assignments and tests until I am done with school. I wanted it so badly last Fall, but now I can't wait to be done. Don't get me wrong, I'm super glad that I was in school this semester. It felt good to be using my brain again, and I really do like school. But this semester was the hardest of any semester I've ever had, for many reasons. I didn't go to classes for basically a month, and now I'm trying to make up all the work I missed, as well as study for my finals. I'm sure that most students would laugh at me, since I'm complaining about 4 finals and homework while they have 5 papers to write - each 1600 pages long, 27 finals, 9 final projects, etc. (It's so strange to me how students will try to top each other by bragging about how hard their finals week is going to be, and how their major is sooo difficult. People are weird.)
Yeah, most people have lots of assignments and finals, but I'm an art major, for heaven's sake! My finals for the past 2 and a half years have been art projects, and they were due the week before the end of school, so my finals week has always been a breeze! And inhaling mineral spirits and turpentine and varnishes has definitely done something to my brain. I'm sure of it. I have been using the creative side of my brain for so long, that doing words and numbers and theories makes my head asplode.

My focus this summer is on work, and saving money for a car and school....if I decide to continue with school. I probably will. But whatever. I want to do tons of art, and I would like to sell a piece or two. I also want my shaved hair to grow out long enough to braid. IT'S TAKING FOREVER!!! My bangs grow 10 inches in 2 days, but my shaved hairs are taking their sweet old time. Typical.

People say that looking back on your life helps you see how you have grown. Sometimes I look back to certain areas of my life and feel like I haven't progressed at all--in fact, sometimes it feels like I've regressed (that's a word, right?). I know that I have grown a lot since last summer, but it seems like growth should get you somewhere. I'm in the same place, doing the same things, being with the same people, listening to the same music, and wearing the same clothes--nothing has really changed.

I'm not sure what I expect, and I don't really know what I want. But I always thought that by the time I was 21, I would have things more figured out and I would have accomplished so much more. HA! Hilarious.

I guess what I'm saying is, I don't know what to do with my "growth," so I'm just sort of floating around, waiting for my brain to get a clue. It's probably not the best way to be living, but at least it's a way.