questions of the soul

Why is it ok for guys to go run around the city without a shirt on but I have to wear pants?

Why did an entire box of Cheerios fall off the top of the fridge, covering me and the kitchen in honey nut flavored cereal?

Why did it snow yesterday?

Why did I put my ski gear away 2 weeks ago?

Why is the inside of my car covered in hair?

Why did I shave today and then wear jeans?

Why does that man have pizza and I don't? 

Why doesn't he share with me?

Why do some people breathe really heavily out of their noses?

Why was I convinced that I couldn't breath out of my nose until 8th grade?

Why did 8th grade even happen?

Why don't I ever wear my retainer?

Why couldn't I finish my book before it was due?

Why did my little sister look fabulous for her prom while I had a wardrobe malfunction for mine?

peace and preguntas

that's "questions" in spanish. no i'm not pregnant.

rrw

let's get high

Alright guys. So I guess the last post I wrote had a few people concerned about my well being. First of all, bless you. Bless you all and the generations that will come after you. And if you weren't concerned, then dishonor. Dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow...But I digress. Second, yeah, it was a little more thoughtful and serious than the usual randomness I put up on this thing, but I can assure you that I am not about to do anything drastic with my life. Unless staying in my pajamas until 3:30 pm counts as drastic. Then alright. I'm going off the deep end. and how lovely it feels.

I vacated the premises of Provo yesterday afternoon in order to attend and assist in the annual Canyon Rim Academy Arts Festival, planned and produced by my own mother. It was a hit, as usual, and I've taken the opportunity to remain in Salt Lake for the weekend. Because I like this place. It has a never ending supply of cheese, the dishes match the kitchen decor, and there aren't hairballs stuck in the couch. But more than that, I've been able to do and see some of the simple things that bring me immense joy. Things that I had forgotten I even like. There's obviously a list coming up so get the popcorn.

6 Natural Highs: How to Make the Safety Kids Proud

|| My family's scooter. The thing is older than my brother and my aunt drove it in high school. I can never get it to start on my own the first time and the seat is covered in duct tape. The wheels have white paint marks on them from when my friends decorated it 5 years ago and it can't go over 32 uphill. It leaves you smelling like gas and oil and I most definitely look like a crazy person when I ride it because I'm literally laughing the entire time. (please note that the use of "literally" was literally correct in the previous sentence)

|| The smell of Great Harvest. I took said scooter ^^^ on a ride and ended up in the bakery where I walked around and smelled things. My purpose was to get a free piece of bread but then I chickened out because I didn't want to buy a 4 dollar muffin. So instead I just walked in a circle about a dozen times smelling things.

|| When clothes are accepted as clothes but really feel more like pajamas. It's like I beat the system and quietly rebel against the social institutions dictated to us by the man when I can go out in public in such attire. And will you look at me being all progressive? Next thing you know I'll be out picketing for a protest against plastic grocery bags wearing nothing but a burlap sack.

...that's actually not a bad idea.

|| Quail. They are funny.

|| When I find something that I thought was lost. Like the charger for my camera's battery. I'm not a photographer by any means, but I love to take pictures and have missed doing so for the last few months. Now I can. So if you ever go out with me somewhere that I've deemed worthy of documentation, bring your pretty face because I will most definitely make you pose by that tree gosh darn it.

|| Ankle bracelets. I mean, why do I like those so much? I'm really not a fan of any jewelry other than simple earrings, but give me an anklet and I will wear it until the twilight of time. I think in another life I wanted to be a granola hippy. No. I know that in another life I would have been a granola hippy simply because my favorite anklet has a piece sign on it. Which I guess actually suits my protesting persona described three bullet points ago.
also i think warm weather brings out my liberal side.

|| My family. We can sit in the living room and talk about how to roll your "r"s for 30 minutes, a conversation that has actually happened multiple times.

So I've been pretty high all weekend. I'm heading back to Provo tonight, however, because I guess it's time for me to actually take finals seriously. And I've kind of missed that hair covered couch.

peace and chicken bombs
rrw

Owners of a Red Rope

So here's the thing. I've been reading.

No, no. Not the type of reading where you scroll through buzzfeed in order to see what kind of hamburger topping you are. Nor the type of reading that's assigned by professors and makes you want to vomit under a table because suddenly one of your favorite childhood past times has become the most acute and terrible form of torture.

No, that's not the type of reading I'm talking about. I've been doing the type of reading that is so good it makes you sick in your heart. You get sick of the characters because you see them making the same mistakes you make. You get sick of the fact that you can't do anything to change their circumstances. You get sick because you can see what's going to happen and you just don't want it to happen. And then you get sick because what you thought would happen doesn't actually happen and then you're sick of the author playing with your emotions and thoughts but it's just so good that you can't stop.

And then you get sick of your real life. You get sick of how you speak because nothing you say sounds as rich or full or communicates to emotions as well as the words in those books that you read do. You get sick of the petty worries surrounding you because don't people realize that Charles just tried to kill Adam and shows no remorse for any of the abuse he's shown his brother? You get sick of statistics because what are they really even telling you about the human condition? You get sick because the new perspective you get from reading these books throws you into a state of vertigo that is more difficult to stomach than an attraction at a carnival.

So I've been reading. And thinking. And then thinking about what I'm thinking because shoot dang metacognition is real. I should be focused and studious but instead I just want to keep escaping. Either to the dark and foggy streets of London or the warm and daunting valleys of California, full of flowers and life and death. But mostly I just want to write. I just want to take my thoughts to paper in order to make space for the new ones I can sense itching to form.

So I do.

peace out
rrw

.....

There is a window that I look out from and see the trees hesitantly asking the air whether it is time for them to show their secrets that have been held all winter, or if they should stay hidden within themselves. Their limbs bounce in the wind and I cannot tell if it is a cold or a warm breeze that moves them. For, while the window is clear and clean, it is a barrier. It prevents me from hearing the conversation being held across the road between two men who might be friends and who might be enemies. It separates me from the birds flying back and forth with seemingly no purpose but to fly. It removes me from the dog, once white and soft but now brown, gray, and matted. And while I cannot hear his whines as he pleads for release from the red rope tethering him to a tree, I can see his struggle. As I sit behind this window and watch him fight, which effort only entangles him deeper and deeper into the tree, I wonder when he will be released. And upon that occasion, what will he do? Who will he go to? How fast will he run? And will he then return to those people who own the red rope, to be tied up and ignored once again by those he trusts with all entirety? Yes. He will come back. He has been trained to do so and knows no other life. His will is no longer malleable because it has already been molded. It has been molded by the owners of the red rope.

And all this I see from behind the clear, clean glass.

weiler filled weekend.

If you have stopped by with expectations of eloquence and wit, then please, for my sake and yours, remove your eyes from the words that will soon follow, for I have nothing of that sort to say. No, today I am simply going to make broad generalizations about people I don't know at all and perhaps offend a few, but only if I'm lucky. You see, I just returned from a glorious weekend spent in southern Utah with my family, and while in transit I made a few observations. One, that the area of Floy, Utah is literally empty. I do not know why that exit exists and yes I just googled it to find out more and the first link that popped up was "No Town Utah: Floy."

Appropriate, for there is no town there.

Two, the seat in my car is lopsided and it is entirely my fault. Because I drive a manual, I find myself leaning to the right as I rest my hand on the gear shift. Years of this habit has caused the seat to anticipate my preferred reclining angle. It is bothersome and I must fix it and aren't you glad you know this now?

And third, drivers. You notice a lot of drivers when you're driving. And a few kinds stood out to me. So now I have to comment on them.


Tailgaters
Perhaps the closest thing to my arch nemesis, the tailgater has a way of getting to my nerves more efficiently than any known person, place, or thing on this planet. When the speed limit drops from 80 to 40 and I am the only thing keeping you from getting pulled over by that cop who was just waiting for someone like you to come speeding through here, you better have the decency to back off a little. The closer you get, the closer I get...to slamming on my breaks and giving you the opportunity to buy me a new car. Fortunately for you I don't want to have a broken body, so I resist.

Campers
They are endless and eternal in their parade of mobile homes and not once do you ever see the same brand twice. I swear, how are camper companies even making money? They sell one vehicle each. One. And yet there are incalculable amounts of them on the road to Moab. And yet not as many as there are on the road to Yellowstone. I don't really have much against these guys unless I'm stuck behind one. Heck, the Weilers did a cross country road trip in a Cruise America, which we look back on fondly and with laughter. But let it be known that I will not own one of these unless it is brown, has antlers on the front, and is called "The Moving Moose."

Pass Lane Incompetents 
Oh the glories of that additional lane, when one can be free of the barriers damming their swift travel. Each and every one is a 5 mile stretch of miracle. And then...you get the one. That one person who just doesn't understand how crucial this time is and who just won't. go. faster. Finally they see that the passing lane is about to end and they make their move, but you are stuck behind the 15 passenger van, wondering how the driver even sees through the back because it's completely covered in stickers of stick people playing baseball and dancing. And you wonder that until the next passing lane.

Granolas
Perhaps my favorite people to see on the road, the granolas cruise along in their subarus or VW vans with their beards, dreadlocks, and bandannas flying in the wind of their opened windows. But even better, their cars are completely packed. Old coolers, dented kayaks, worn camping gear, dirt covered bikes and carefully placed climbing ropes ornament their rather rusty car from the inside out. You look at them and know that they are either on the way to their happiest place, or that they just accomplished a lot of good over the weekend. And you feel slightly jealous of their lifestyle.


Contrary to everything previous written, I did more than just drive and judge people this weekend. Surprising, I know. The entire family united for hiking, joking, watching Cast Away, eating stir fry and pizza, biking, and conference viewing. Arches and Canyonlands are National Parks that must be visited, and visit we did.

I succeeded at waking the baby up in the middle of the night, but failed at bringing a camera that had a charged battery. So that's typical. But hey, phones.

Fourth couple of the family.

Mesa Arch.

 Island in the Sky.

Love the views.

And the heights.

Cooper's head is a rainbow.

These are my favorite people and I'm glad I get to spend so much time with them, even if they tell me I have man shoulders. I miss them. So I guess I'll just go see them again next weekend. 

Ok, sounds good.

peace and pickles.

there's just something about a pickle....

#insidejoke #borntobeweiler #hashtag

rrw

trust in me

(20 points if you get the reference in the title)

Let us think, for a moment, of the number of times a day we trust people. This morning I trusted that my roommate wouldn't draw with marker on my face while I slept. And then I trusted that all the drivers in their cars on the street wouldn't run me over as I crossed the road on my way to school. I trusted that fellow students passing me by on campus weren't going to come up and kick me in the shins. And those are only the most important examples.

If you think about it, almost everything we do is founded on the trust that someone, somewhere, at some point did their job correctly. I trust that whoever built my bed frame used the correct measurements so that while I sit here it won't suddenly collapse onto the floor. Although that would be pretty hilarious and now I'm kind of hoping that it does happen. We generally trust hundreds of complete strangers every time we get in the car and drive up the canyon to go skiing. i say generally because like, there are definitely some drivers that you just don't trust. but i'm not going to say anything too specific for fear of suddenly realizing that it's actually me that can't be trusted on the road. so moving on.

My point is that we have to have a certain level of trust in order to function at all. And we give it rather freely to people we have never, nor will ever, meet. But when we're asked to trust people we know we suddenly can't even think about doing such a thing without having a panic attack.

And that's just bogus.

If you can't trust the people in your life, then why the heck are they still there? Similarly, if you can't imagine them being removed from your life without sudden sadness descending and consuming, then I say trust them. That's at least what I've recently decided to do. But be warned. If you even think about stealing my cheese quesadilla you will be removed from my life. Forcefully and suddenly.

Well this has been a rant. But what else did you expect when you clicked on that link I shoved in your face? Me to share my favorite recipe for chicken?
Ha. That's a good one.

But here are some pictures because that's everyone's favorite part of blog posts.

This St. Patrick's Day might have been the best I've had since third grade. 

I couldn't resist. I had to park next to it. I had to.

This one's entitled "Spring Break?"

It's always fun when your best friend comes to town because sometimes she locks her keys in her car within 2 minutes of arriving and you spend all evening trying to push the unlock button on the key chain, which is sitting on the front seat, with a clothes hanger. 

Sometimes.

It's like all I do is ski.

Ha.

And one of the chubster just for good measure.

peace and trust exercises.

fall. i might catch you. but i'm not very strong so don't count on it. sorry.

rrw

loling.

There are times when events happen in your life and you have no choice but to laugh. You laugh because if you don't you very well might break down into tears and mess up your makeup which took an unnaturally  long time to do because for some reason you forgot how to use a mascara brush and stabbed your eyeball 4 times while getting ready this morning. Can you all relate to this or are you too busy picturing me weeping black tears out of one eye that's redder than my face after I try to run? Oh, you weren't? But now you are?

Good.

Ok fine. Here's what it looks like. The following was taken almost a year ago when I took a scooter ride up the canyon and a mosquito flew into my eye, blinding me for the rest of the evening. Yes, it felt almost as bad as spearing your ocular organs with a tool of torture meant to make you attractive to the opposite gender.

#nofilter #rosecoloredeyeballs 

DO YOU FIND ME ATTRACTIVE NOW!? DO YOU!?

don't answer that.

Anyway, being a student, or just a human being in general really, there are plenty of times when my body has said to me, "Rachel, you either need to start sobbing or laughing hysterically. Right now. Because I just don't know how else to react in this moment." For the last long bit of my life I have chosen to laugh, because like, pinterest told me to at one point or something. Plus I mean, can you say ab workout!? go girl. go go gadget. go go superpower rangers. 
for the record: i have no abs in the plural sense. i have one. one ab. which is the result of my addiction to eating cheese tortillas at midnight. but i'm going to stop talking about this because why did i even start talking about this? 

So let's start with what I've already mentioned. You just have to laugh when you poke your eye with a mascara brush upwards of 9 times and try to desperately salvage your appearance for 14 minutes but then just realize that you and your eyelashes do, in fact, look like Yzma from Emperor's New Groove. And you're going to rock that look like there's no other purpose in your life.

*scroll up to previous picture*

The resemblance is uncanny.

Next, you just have to laugh when you finally realize you have never been more confused in your entire life about absolutely everything in your entire life. Future? No idea! Present? Barely making it! Past? I don't even remember what I ate for breakfast this morning! false. it was a poppy seed muffin from costco and was delicious. yay for opium. 
false again. i don't do drugs. back to the point?
I HAVE NO IDEA ABOUT ANYTHING IN MY LIFE EXCEPT FOR THAT I LIKE TO BRUSH MY HAIR. So maybe I was about to have a slight breakdown in the kitchen last night with all my roommates sympathetically hugging me and rubbing my back and generally just being spectacular people when one of them chimed in with a "Hey, at least your butt looks great."

The breakdown was immediately concluded and all worries forgotten as I collapsed onto the floor in laughter at the utterly perfect timing of her comment. It was perfect.


And last, getting your take home midterm back and seeing your score. You just have to laugh.


So in conclusion you now know much more about my physique than you ever cared to know. Let's be friends? Also, I cannot say, think, or type the word "physique" without thinking of "Mystique." You know, the woman who was naked and blue before Avatar made it cool? And when I think of Mystique I think of Jennifer Lawrence and then I smile because I like her and she's dating the man I'm in love with...which actually doesn't make me smile at all. But I guess it wasn't ever going to work out with me and Nicholas anyway, right?

Those eyes. THOSE EYES!

And now that I've unashamedly participated in "man crush Monday" I cease my pointless rambling and bid you farewell for another fortnight.

peace and eloquence.
i like to pretend i have it despite the contents of this and all other posts.

rrw

status update

I am currently sitting in a computer lab on campus shivering like the drowned cat I so closely resemble in appearance. Not only did I get minimal amounts of sleep last night thanks to a take home midterm, but it's raining outside as opposed to inside? yes. I have one coat with a hood on it and that coat is my skiing parka. Which is fine. I love that coat because it has cool zippers in the armpits so I don't get too hot while shredding the gnar. if you didn't laugh at my use of that phrase then don't worry. i'm laughing for you.  And you know, keeping me from being too hot while skiing is actually pretty difficult to do. I mean, have you seen me ski?

Hot.
sarcasm. sarcasm. i more often than not fly down the hill with no sense of control with my poles flying all over the place. i should probably figure out what the heck i'm supposed to be doing with those by now, right? 
....nah.

Anyway, I didn't wear that parka coat because the walk to school is uphill. And no matter what the temperature outside is, that walk will cause you to enter your first class with that stunningly terrible, sticky, moist feeling of sweat all over your upper body, especially on your neck under your hair. Blech. I think that might be one of my least favorite things ever. Along with being called "dude," "man," and "bro." I mean really? I know that sometimes I struggle with the whole makeup/hair/outfit coordinating thing that so defines my gender but come on. I'm not a "homie bro."

So I didn't wear that coat, the only one with a hood, in order to prevent my body from feeling like a handful of melting Skittles. So my hair might be dripping wet and drying into what I could only describe as a mullet Billy Ray Cyrus would envy.

And I wonder why I get called "man."

In other news my lower back is killing me. I'm holding to the argument that this pain has been caused by carrying a backpack around all day and am completely dismissing the more probable hypothesis that I was shaking my hips too hard in Zumba and pulled a muscle or something. Because I mean, who does that? me. i do that.

You know what else I do? Watch the Olympics with my family and then become inspired and perform feats of incredible physical ability. Prepare to be amazed.

Amazing.

Stay strong mi amigos. Do Zumba.
peace and hip thrusts

rrw