To my Illia.

My dear Illia,

Congratulations on your mission call to Denver North!

First, let me just say, I love you so so so much. Second, woohoo! Denver! And third, you know that I sometimes have a hard time expressing myself when so much passion fuels my words. So I am writing this. (Also, I am more eloquent writing than when I stutter.)

Illia, I am so incredibly proud of you and your decision to serve a mission. I just want to let you know that I love this Gospel so much. We've never really sat down a lot to talk about it, (at least, I don't remember telling you) but I want to tell you about a spiritual experience I had this past winter/spring.

Back before Easter, I experienced the horrid unfeelingness, yet perpetual sadness, of depression. After some pivotal news, I was pushed from being relatively normal to depressed, I forced an emotional barrier to surround myself. Nothing was getting through and I was not going to let petty emotions get to me. And it worked for a little bit. But when it came crumbling down, and it broke a couple times, several people witnessed many emotions at once from me. What they got mainly, though, was my sadness and a subtle anger. I hated everything and I disliked everyone.

One Sunday, my Relief Society president came up to me and asked me how I was doing. I hate public crying, but I did it. I burst into tears in front of several people, one who literally took a step back and said, "Whoa." My RS president took me to the bathroom and held me as I cried and as I told her everything. In the midst of it, she asked me if I had faith. I said that I thought I did. She told me that I needed to have faith that Heavenly Father had a plan. I scoffed internally. I wanted things fixed now. I didn't want to go through this.

But I was feeling crummy, so I took her advice and I asked for a Priesthood blessing from my home teachers. And it was...nice. (This is in no way a reflection of my home teachers at that time, but I think more of a push for more faith on my part because I am a lazy person.) But I didn't feel "fixed" and so I continued to feel the darkness of depression.

Then, a good friend came in town. That was the most beautiful Easter ever, Illia. He offered me a priesthood blessing. And at first, I said no. I thought that I already got a blessing. It just needed the time to settle in, or whatever. But the more I thought about it, the more something inside nagged at me to ask for one. I needed to exercise my faith and ask for another blessing.

Last weeks of summer.

As the summer is coming to a close, I've been more and more exhausted. So this post will be more photo-heavy than usual for my blog. In fact, more peculiar for my blog.

Anyway it's been a while since I've posted. Over a month, to be, um, exact...ish.

In that time, I've traveled to San Francisco and got lost in a sea of Asian tourists.

Crooked/Lombard Street.

And Sacramento, which was way boring. With the exception of this Nile River-esque, pyramid scene.

I was stranded in Elko, Nevada due to a flat tire on a Sunday.

Photo cred: Michelle

I finished the summer term.

[Insert photo here.]

Food bloggin'.

Guess what. I guest blogged. On a restaurant review blog. And it was awesome because I finally had an excuse to go out to eat. You can read it here and check out other reviews.

And I'm reposting it here too. Just because. Also, don't judge my reviewing skills. This was my first time review a restaurant. And I just usually like all foods. (The real pro at reviewing is our very own guest blogger Sam. How I wish Yelp could show all your wonderful reviews.)

--------

Readers of this blog. Hello. I am Eden Wen. I was asked to contribute and I thought to myself, “Yes. A perfect excuse to eat out this week.” And I knew the perfect place to go to.

However, on my way to review my favorite Mexican restaurant, Emmanuel’s (if Ian lets me do another review, I’ll do it on that piece of heaven on earth), I bumped into two friends who told me that I must go to Stan’s instead. And conveniently, it was across the street from Emmanuel’s on 9th East, so I obliged.

On the outside, it looks like any other burger joint. But, I have to say, I was very confused walking in. I was bombarded with several menus and the interior was not the most comfortable. And not only was Stan not there, unless one of the three East Indian women was Stan, he is apparently an Indian man with a love for greasy American foods.

Trafalga.

Wednesday night came around and Eden was ready to laser tag it up with friends. Lively chatter filled the car on their way to the Trafalga Fun Center in Lehi and in any lull in conversation, you could hear Eden quietly shooting finger lasers at each passenger.

"Pew. Pew pew pew," she pewed.

Renae turned into the fun center's parking garage. Suddenly, all happiness and laughter ceased as uneasiness and fear settled into the hearts of the seven friends. They entered the Azkaban of all parking garages. While Renae turned a corner, looking for an empty space, Eden clutched Ariel and Eric's kneecaps, positive that at any moment, dementors would swoop in to steal her soul. No light fixtures were lit and after close examination, it appeared there weren't even light fixtures at all. The glow of the setting sun shone sparingly through the windows, if that's what you call the slits in the walls.

"At least there aren't any dead bodies, right?" Randi said. The friends all chuckled nervously as they left the car.

Randi spoke too soon. As they emerged from the dark shadows to a less shadowy area of the garage, Eden saw a body on the floor. Her heart stopped, then started again, beating five times faster than a regular day's worth of cardio.

The body moved.

A zombie? Eden's seen "World War Z." A bitten human can change in 12 seconds. She hated running, but this was a moment when her flight or fight instinct kicked in hardcore.

My flight or fight face.

Just as Eden was about take off, the body looked up and she realized what they were looking at. It was just one of those emo kids that exists in every junior high. She (or he...it was always hard to tell) was just being emo and introspective whilst another emo child was looking on. The Trafalga Fun Center parking garage seemed a proper setting for the youths of the night.

Right now.

Right now, I am sitting in the House of Representatives Chamber in Salt Lake City. The special session of the legislature was supposed to start at noon thirty, but apparently that was just a suggested time. It's a whole fracken hour later. I may seem calm and cool and collected, but this is how I really feel.

It's a shame these cushiony chairs are bolted to the floor.

Anyway, I charged my laptop, but there's always a fear that I'll run out of battery. Also, I fear that my car won't be where it I parked it. But that's always a weird fear of mine.

The major press is sitting to my left and across the way from me. And I'm sitting in these cushiony seats just waiting. And blogging. And waiting. With my press pass.

I'm trying out different smiles. Do you like this one?

And I'm nervous. I've never really gotten into politics, so I'm not sure if I can cover this effectively. We'll see. My editor's got my back.

The important people are slowly coming in. Slowly. C'mon people, I have class to attend later tonight. And laser tagging. If you have a Pass of All Passes, feel free to join. Even if you don't, come play.

Here's a song.

I'm learning to play this. And Tyler and I will perform it. For ourselves, mainly. 

Okay, I gotta go now. Gotta preserve my battery. It may be another hour before it actually begins.

Also, I realize that I might have gotten your hopes up about how cool this post actually was with my teaser line on Facebook and Twitter, so I apologize. I was just bored and wanted to write something. So here it is.

Okay, gotta go.

Update 7/18/2013: My article on the special session.

Happy Weekend.

Finally. The weekend is here. After my sick (pertaining to health) first half of the week to my sick (pertaining to awesomeness) jackpot of sources for my next article for The Universe, I'm exhausted.

But in the midst of it all, I have successfully executed an elevator pitch to the woman who could land me my dream job, won one of the biggest prizes in a raffle during a dinner with famous Utah bloggers, AND managed to stay awake in class. All while I felt like I could have thrown up at any second. (TMI? Sorry.)

Just some of the things I won. Courtesy of Breck's Vintage. Looks like there's a road trip or picnic on the horizon.

I've also made a goal with Ariel to make it to Seven Peaks at least once a week starting now through the rest of summer.

Why?

Because it's summer. Also, because I have ombre tan lines on my arms and legs. (Is that how you would describe those?) I need to even this out.

Feel free to join us.

Here's a summery, weekendy kind of song for you.

Have a good one, my friends.

Short post. Sexy post.

It was my mom's birthday the other day and my younger sister and I made videos for her. While I would love to put the videos up, Crystal gave me the idea to create gifs out of them.

So here they are, in all its sexy, gif-y glory.

Speaking of sexy, here's a compilation of the sexiest raps for you today. Thanks to Michelle and Sarah for sharing this with me.

I've never wanted a smartphone more in my life. Vine and SnapChat, prepare to be abused . . . in August. 

Newtown.

Written 6 months after the tragedy:

I remember sitting in the back of the cold room. It was always cold in that church building. Children's chatter filled the air as I sat there, glancing at each Primary teacher to make sure they didn't need my help.

This was my church calling when I was home summer of 2012. Primary helper. I aided the children's Sunday School teachers if their kids were ever rowdy or if they just needed an extra pair of hands. And so I sat in the back, looking out for the panic in teachers' eyes and for children wiggling about. That was my cue to assist them.

At the front, the Primary president was giving an object lesson. I don't remember what it was, but she asked for a couple volunteers. A sea of small, eager hands waved frantically, each one hoping they would be picked. A small, blonde six-year-old's hand rocketed into the air ahead of everyone else's and she was chosen. As she was walking out of her row, I thought to myself, she must be a Parker, that blonde hair and high voice. I was in Nursery just the Sunday before helping her youngest sister slide down the slide and in Sunbeams the week before that taking another sister and her classmates to get a drink. The way each of them chirped filled my ears and quickly became a part of each of my summery Sundays. Blonde, beautiful and beaming, all three Parker children.

As she was heading towards the front, another child bumped into her. She turned and said something sassy.

Her mother, who was also a Primary teacher and who I knew only as Sister Parker, chuckled to herself. Brother Parker walked in then to drop off something with her and she relayed the story of their sassy daughter. They laughed.

"Oh Emilie."

It was that moment that I had a sudden urge to be married with children and to be able to sit back with my husband and watch our kids learn and grow to be people like us.

December 14th, I was in the Salt Lake Airport when the tragedy at Newtown hit the media. I landed in Hong Kong when plastered all over the televisions were videos of Newtown, the place where I spent some of my weekends, where some of my very good friends lived, where I went to church every week for many years. Anchors commented in Cantonese on the other side of the world. Pictures of Emilie and her classmates were surrounded by Chinese in newspapers. Brother Parker was on TV. And I cried in the little Hong Kong apartment, filled with sorrow, filled with grief for the young lives that ended too soon, too brutally.

I am home for the first time in almost a year, and six months after the tragedy, I am in Newtown, sitting in the back of the cold room, remembering.

This really isn't a post, but after, in a sort of way, paying homage to the place I met the Parkers, this is my way of saying, rest in peace, Emilie, and God comfort the Parker family and the families of the children.


December 14, 2013, one year after the tragedy:

theparkerfive.wordpress.com

Happy birthday Camille.

Dearest Camille,

Today is your birthday. I have an opened bottle of Martinelli's in hand and am toasting to you an exciting 21st year. I wish you a glorious day in Malawi as I celebrate here in America with people who love you.

Speaking of glorious, Wes and I made you a video.

I hope your birthday is the best and that the beginning of your 21st year is full of happiness and glory. Also, we must resume the Critiques when you come back. And perhaps we shall incorporate Wes' German Cupcake Critique. This week's, if you can't see it, is "Better than S" cupcake.

Happy birthday bud.

With much love,
Eden
Wes

Not too bad.

After this post, I had myself and some of you worried about me living alone this summer. And I guess it didn't help that I haven't posted on my blog in a while. But, as the title suggests, living by myself is not too bad. In fact, I love it. Don't get me wrong. I love people and I cannot wait till my darling roommates come back from Africa. But I have a feeling that when I think back on the summer of 2013, I will remember it as the summer of greatness and of growing up.

School and work have kept and still keeps me busy in the mornings and afternoons. But I have to admit, I didn't know what to do with myself those first, quiet May nights. So I cleaned. A lot. And it wasn't because the apartment needed cleaning, but because I had nothing better to do. I remember making a midnight run to Smiths solely for the purpose of purchasing Lime-A-Way. But hey, the water fixtures have never been shinier.

And on the especially quiet days/afternoons/nights, I decided to not only fill it with music, but with loud music. My sincerest apologies, neighbors.

Suddenly, I realized the greatest thing about living alone.

Those of you who know me in such a setting know how much I love to dance. But dancing in an empty apartment? That's a whole new realm of awesomeness. There's just something absolutely freeing about dancing off of everything--couches, chairs, stools, counters--in anything I want and without the fear of being stomped on or accidentally touching the bare, sweaty arms and exposed pectorals of grunting bros in tank tops (ugh, *shudder*). And when I'm too lazy to go to the gym? What an entertaining form of cardio.

Happy birthday Nicolle.

Dearest Nicolle,

Today is your birthday. I have yellow tulips in hand and have lit some candles for you. I wish you a beautiful day in Malawi as I celebrate here in America with people who love you.

I also made you a video. But first, here is the blooper take. And yes, that is a cardboard cutout of a horse. You said I couldn't have cats in the apartment while I am living here, so some friends brought over a horse for company. Perhaps I should name her Grace or Majesty...or Debbie.

But I digress. Onto the blooper take.

And here is the actual video.

I hope your birthday is great and that the beginning of your 21st year starts with much excitement and happiness. 

With much love,

Eden

Max

Sam

Derik

Mystery (who was sadly taken away by said friends)