Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Starbiz (Glitter Trail!) and KaRyn Daley

If you are looking for more information about my music after seeing the WILDLY popular, HIGHLY controversial, DEEPLY entertaining BYUtv show, STARBIZ...check out my facebook fanpage at www.facebook.com/karyndaley or myspace (what? Does that even exist anymore?) www.myspace.com/karynmusic I don't have a website yet (BRYAN!!!) but someday. In the meantime, you can at least listen to a few of my old songs in rough format and find out what happens next on STARBIZ...glitter trail.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

All this Wanting

There was this time in the life of NinnyBeth where I did not think I would ever register for presents for my wedding. I said to myself, "Self, you have all that you need and if someone want to gift you a thing upon your nuptials, they will know you well enough to get you something cool."

This week, I said another thing to my self. I said, "Self, actually, you don't have a shower curtain for your hypothetical new apartment. And then there is that part where you might also want to consider the fact that you just might need to iron a shirt for your hypothetical new husband and though you have ignored wrinkles for the past 34 years, it is possible that owning an iron and an ironing board might not be a bad idea."

And so my self and I have registered at a few different stores just in case a friend who might want to buy us something cool wants to also buy us something useful since we are poor. Here's what I wish though. I wish I could register generically like, just have a list on a website somewhere that says just the idea of a things like:


toilet brush

grill type thing in fashion of George Foreman for syphoning fat from delicious red meat patties in round shape.

kitchenaid mixer (any color, go crazy)

laundry basket


picture for over bed because we don't have an actual bedframe and that will make it look more like a grownup bed.*


shower curtain*

*note: we like blues and greens and things that look old.

Would that be a cool kind of registry? You know, something a little more generic that will allow us to allow for some freedom. I don't usually plan my decorating schemes as carefully as this whole registry thing would have me do. My decor is usually a really weird mix of found items, DI castoffs, hand me downs, and leftover college posters. I'm uncomfortable with the level of decisiveness that this whole thing requires. I also philosophically feel challenged by the idea of NB and JR leaping down the aisles of target gunning out the things that we think you should buy us. Gross. Additionally, I don't want ANYONE to think that they have to bring a present in order to eat our chocolate cake and play the pianica at the concert/reception. But then there is the reality. People give gifts and registries are helpful. blah blah blah....

Maybe my registry idea is a little bit like the DRUM CIRCLE DEBAUCLE OF LATE SUMMER 2011 (in which NB tried desperately to get everyone to agree that having a drum circle of jembe drums at the reception would be the coolest thing EVER and to which no one would agree. EVER.) but I think it would be more fun that way. I like my friends. I'm mostly friends with them because they have style and humor and sass and they like me. I would like to trust them with this one. But I guess I will have to settle for spending a day gunning crap at Kohl's and Target that we need and pray that there are some surprises in the mix.

I wonder what emily post would say about asking your guests who want to give you a present to give you 10 bucks and list of their favorite yardsale locations. That sounds like the perfect gift to me!

Friday, September 09, 2011

Oh Hey There...Remember Me?

Yes. i am still alive. I'm engaged though, so maybe I'm only half alive? I'm joining the rank and file of Mormondom and I must admit that while I am so very very very excited to marry JR, I'm having a slightly rocky transition. Oh, believe me, I know what you're thinking, "HOLY HELL. ALL I"VE HEARD YOU DO IS WHINE ABOUT THE BABIES IN THE BASKETS AND THE WOMEN WITH THE WEDDING RINGS AND NOW YOU"RE ALL, 'wo wo wo is me! I'm getting everything I've ever wanted!' HRRRRMPH. PPHLLLLLPTTTT. BOO HISS."

I allow you to be annoyed.

But I also allow me to be annoying.

So there.

There's this part about how I'm having a slight identity crisis. For the last many years, I've been a single active mormon virgin trying to reconcile my place in a church where the mainstream is not me. And I was really really good at being that girl. I was wise. I was optimistic. I was inspirational to myself. I was secretely fond of being the girl that confused the masses, "I just don't understand why you're not married?"

but now, when we have a chastity lesson in Relief Society in JR's ward, I'm not "the other". I'm not the girl who doesn't know if she'll ever get to have sex (in this life, blah blah blah). I have this ring (a beautiful one, I might add) on my left hand that makes me indistinguishable from the girl across the aisle from me who got married at 22 and has three kids. There was this row of single girls behind me in JR's family ward during said chastity lesson who looked like some of my girls...the kind I would quickly connect to and kvetch about the marrieds and the world and talk about how we were finding our place in this community. I had a weird desire to hide my ring and go sit with them while yelling, I"M ONE OF YOU! I SWEAR IT! I"M ONE OF YOU!...instead I just turned quickly around at the end of the lesson, introduced myself and blurted out, "I'm 34, I just got engaged, and I don't know what I'm doing!" Smooth. Really smooth.

And then there is the part where I'm really putting this body image thing to the test...This is too much information, I'm sure, and I'm sorry if you've stumbled upon this and wish you hadn't...but I just need to put this somewhere. If you're aren't LDS, you will probably think this is ridiculously backward and feel sorry for me. But maybe just maybe you will identify.

For years, I've been battling with my body. Hating it and loving it in equal measure. I've lost 75 pounds, up and down, back and forth and my body, my dear 34 year old body has seen better days. All this is to say that I don't look good naked. Skinny or not, my body is not that of a taut 22 year old (I guess I'm really over those 22 year olds?). And I'm going to be naked for the first time with a man who has the body of a greek god. Though he is wonderful and I know he wants me as I am, it is not JR's responsibility to make me feel good about myself. This is between me and the world that has taught me poorly. Today I tried on lingerie. I cried for a solid 10 minutes in the dressing room, the desperate tears of someone who knows she will never (at least not without surgery) look like the images of sexy that are purveyed by the makers of underpants. I found a beautiful vintage inspired robe thing that did make me feel pretty, but I couldn't get past the feeling that I was a failure at sexy in the grand scheme of things.

Here is where you want to write me some sweet comment about sexy is a feeling and that men don't really care....but please don't because I care. I get those things. I care because I'm angry that I'm still seeing myself through someone else's eyes, namely society. I care because I know that this is a last ditch adversarial effort to undermine my sense of self and worth. I care because I haven't yet mustered up whatever courage or strength it takes to not give a crap if my inner thighs are jiggly even though my legs are rock solid from all the strength training I've been doing. I'm angry that I'm still angry. Sigh. But I do have something. I have a Father in Heaven who loves me and will send help to comfort me and teach me whatever I need to know. Remember this girl?


She's still me, ring or no ring.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

This is How We Know It's Finals....

1. I shaved my legs. When I got out of the shower, I looked down to discover that one leg was perfectly smooth and the other was as hairy as sasquatch with PCOS. My initial reaction was to try to figure out what was wrong with my razor...why did it gloss over my right leg with "nairy" (get it?) a hair removed? Obviously it was a defective razor??? Oh wait. uh. Yeah. I suppose it could be that I LATHERED UP THE SAME LEG TWICE and didn't notice a problem. Note to self- stop thinking about qualitative research while enacting hair removal. 2. I pulled up to a four way stop in my neighborhood. The second one on 300 south going north (you know which one I mean, the one by the elementary school) The car at the opposite stop sign had his turn signal on to make a left hand turn. The car directly to my right was waiting patiently. The car turning left was not going. sitting there. with his blinker on. I got annoyed. I mean, really, Utah, can't you figure out how a four way stop works???? DUHHHHH. So I finally wave the left turner on. He was obviously there first. He finally goes, but not without a few blank searching stares from his passengers as I frustratedly make the face you make when someone is doing something dumb. And then the guy to my right. Just sitting there. Not going. So I wave him on too. Do I have to tell EVERYONE how to do a four way stop in this town?!>!>!>?!?!? Only after the idiot drivers who don't know what clockwise means are completely gone do I proceed through the intersection. But wait. what's this up ahead? A four way stop???? But...I don't underst...................ah. um. right. There was no stop sign back there. I stopped for no reason. I laughed for the entire ride to my destination, sad that I couldn't share the funny joke with the two idiots who don't know how to do a four way stop.

Friday, February 25, 2011

It happened one night at the Texas Roadhouse...

Don't judge me.

I had to go there because I was meeting some old mission companions for dinner. But also, I like throwing peanut shells on the floor.

Don't judge me about this part either:

I was feeling really sorry for myself because I'm 33 and practically the last one standing single from ye old west virginia charleston mission. After a recent string of less than stellar dating stories, my usual can-do attitude was waning in the face of dinner with my mormon-culturally-deemed-more-successful friends - one pregnant with 6th child and the other newly married with 6 month old. So I was driving to the American Fork Texas Roadhouse whining to God about a) eating at the TR b) driving to AF c) alone. alone. alone. I said a few things and asked that the spirit could help me be grateful for what I have instead of dwelling on what I lack. Whatever. The usual.

After we ordered an artery clogging onion dipped in oil and garnished with more oil, a different server came over to our table bearing three desserts. "You have the wrong table," we chimed in unison. The server, shaking his head in defeat, said, "no. it's the right table." Theories flew...was it J's friends at the table behind us? Was it one of the married girls' husbands? Longshot: Maybe it was the cute guy with the two kids at the table across from us who had made eye contact with me several times? I didn't see a ring, but we single ladies knwo that doesn't mean squat. More theorizing and observation and eventually, the server came back and said: "these desserts are from the gentleman in the booth back there. He just wanted to make sure that you had a great evening." to which J screamed and slapped me, "SHE'S SINGLE!". The waiter...errr, I mean server, then handed me a piece of paper - with the name Ethan and a phone number scrawled on it.

ARE YOU KIDDING????? Since when does something like this happen to me? There was no battle of wits, no exchange of cultural knowledge, no proving that I am smart and funny and a good housekeeper or whatever else I seem to think men like...He just thought I was pretty enough to hit on. me. ninnybeth.

And that, my friends, is how God answers whiney prayers occassionally. The story doesn't end with flourishing romance. Ethan, it turns out, is a nice guy but we have almost nearly possibly nothing in common except for proximity and a willingness to put ourselves on the line. It probably won't even lead to a first date. But God bless him for doing something. For taking a chance and being confident. In the narrative of my understanding of myself and making sense of a distorted vision of how others perceive me, this story will weave itself into my knowing and become part of that new fabric. Maybe it will sound overly dramatic to anyone but me, but these moments are healing and revelatory.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

The Phantom Ovary and Other Short Stories

she noted that the day was unusually cold and the air wafted with the smell of garlic sticks and pizza (with too much cheese. Note that, brick oven, too much cheese). The pain in her abdomen was growing steadily as she gripped the bathroom stall door and realized that she needed to call someone...anyone! HELP! "I just need to lie down for a second"....(author note: this mystery novel-ish formula is not working...maybe try as children's book?)

Ninny Beth had a scary monster cyst. It was very big. The scary monster cyst was crushing Ninny Beth's future babies. Ninny Beth had to go to the hospital because she couldn't breathe and had claw hands. She was probably dying. Most definitely dying. Then three doctors came. Each doctor gave her a different gift: Doctor 1 gave her a special potion to drink called morphine that made her feel like a princess. Doctor 2 was just starting his shift at the hospital and gave Ninny Beth pretty much nothing except a bill for his services and the secret name of the scary monster cyst (DERMOID). The third doctor gave her another bigger bill and told her that she could help NB remove the cyst, but only if she could take the future babies with her....
(author note: story kind of loses steam here...might need to switch to poetry?)

Eagerly, I have them
Remove this
Massive shape sitting on my
Ovary. oh hell take the whole thing
Its not doing anyone any good right now anyway
Delete. Delete. Delete.
Certainly, I can grow something better in there than this
Yesterday's tissue
Surely, this body can produce more than just a ball of
Teeth and hair?

(author's note: grossing self out with bad poetry. Try visual imagery. Maybe words are wrong medium)

Oh forget it. So I had surgery. I will be paying for it in more ways than one for the rest of my life. but I'm alive and not in pain anymore. I got to take a break from school and watch hours upon hours of 'Eureka'. I got to have visits from good friends. And I got to experience the Relief Society in action. It was a really lovely experience except for the part where they removed a vital organ. You know...whathaveyou.

Saturday, January 08, 2011

Academician is a really dumb sounding word, but it's REAL.

It's been a month since I posted. Over a month. But don't feel bad...its not just this blog that's been ignored. My paper and pen journal is bereft of content as well. My guitar sits completely untouched. I haven't made a watercolor since summer and I can't tell you the last time I wrote a poem.

But I'm contemplating a Ph.D. And I wrote a paper about websites and nonprofits and documentary film that I'm submitting to an academic conference. So...that's something, I guess?

Academia, I shake my fist at thee. You're squeezing the creative life right out of me...or are you? Doesn't it take creativity to think of questions you want to answer? Doesn't it take a bit of creativity to take 50 articles on seemingly disparate topics and weave them into a coherent (if not completely logical) argument to justify your study? Maybe I'm just transfering my energy instead of stiffling it. Maybe.

Still, I can't help but think that I'm shriveling a tiny bit. Like my once full, plump cells have been submerged in bathwater and instead of soaking it up, I'm getting prune hands. When I'm not studying, I don't take breaks with my guitar. For some reason, I head outside to shovel icy snow or pull weeds that are just going to grow right back or rearrange the furniture in the mauve living room yet again. There is no space for my art. And it's really not about time. I don't have the motivation. I'm fried. And I miss being a kindergarten theater teacher. I miss making magic with duct tape and paperbags. Remember when I wrote a musical version of "The Paper Bag Princess" and little asian kids were singing "I am elizabeth and I am a princess!" down the halls of school? Those were good days.

Whatever. I'm being self-pitying and revisionist. And I really do like what I'm learning. I feel like there is something really structurally important in what I'm starting to contribute. I guess I just wish there was a way to have it all? I left teaching because I felt like I could do more good in the world on a larger scale (forgive my illusions of granduer, but I'm tired of sanitized blogging)and I felt there was a calling in my future. And I know that I'm on that path right now. I guess today when there is so much haze on the whatever mountains those are to the east and gray snow that WILL NOT DIE and not a green thing to be found in provotown, I'm wishing there was just a little more magic in my life. A little more art. A little more of that OTHER kind of creativity that made me feel possible and powerful and full of love for everything and everyone.

Can we please call down spring now???????