Add Some FINESSA: Guest Interview

            Once I lived in a hallway where only a thin wooden door separated me from 40 other teenage girls. I came to greatly admire one of those girls for her motivation, drive, fun energy, and all-around powerhouse personality. I plan on being friends with her for a long time because I hope to use her as a reference to climb my way to success when she is the next Steve Jobs or Queen of England. This is good business. But ALSO she is very funny and writes an excellent blog. We interviewed each other and here is the result. So meet Anessa Rogers, writer of the blog FINESSA:  http://addsomefinessa.blogspot.com.

Q: Why do you blog?

 You learn a lot about yourself through writing. My freshman writing class helped heal a lot of wounds and gave me a sense of peace. But as far as my blog goes, I started it in high school, just because I have so many thoughts and ideas and my mind is always racing! Today, like all days, I was listening to Bastille and Dan Smith said the words, “I have written you down, now you will live forever…in eyes not yet created, on tongues that are not born.” By writing it down, I will never forget it. And neither will the world! And neither will my kids when I force them to read my blog to see how smart and funny I was/am/will be.

Q: You're going to Jordan soon and you wrote a post about that, but tell us more about why you study Arabic. Please.

With the growing number of white people wanting to seem culturally aware, I figured it would be good to go into the hummus exportation business, and Arabic would definitely help with that. KIDDING!

The real reason is because I love languages! Arabic is my second foreign language. I love its alphabet, the music, the culture, the FOOD (yes, hummus)- everything associated with Arabic. And I think the Arab world/ Middle East is a place under constant scrutiny and people don’t understand it in its human fullness. I think for that sake it is an important thing to study.

Q: Who is someone you admire?

 I really admire my cousin Mitch. He’s one of those people that are really good at everything they do. But usually people like that have off-putting personalities- or at least that is what I tell myself as a defense mechanism. Mitch has a very pleasant personality. Except for when he lies- he thinks lying is hilarious (it’s something he’s really good at). There are still some things he has told me in the past year that I’m not entirely sure are true. Still, I know I can count on him to pick me up when I’m feeling blue, whether it be a pat on the back or a slap in the face. He’s currently serving a mission in Brazil.

Q: Speaking of admirable people, talk about Beyonce. Which leads us to powerful women and furthermore, your thoughts on feminism in general.

Those words are actually all synonyms. I really like British female artists because they make the music they want and they’re real. I feel like American female artists- Rihanna, Miley Cyrus, Ariana Grande- don’t do that. But Beyonce is the exception. Correction: Beyonce is always the exception. She is the perfect combination of sass, class….and glutes.

I guess you could say I’m a feminist, but I don’t think that’s well-received. I just think we should encourage girls from a young age to be smart and independent and funny and have actual thoughts as opposed to being mindless, sexual objects. Is that so bad?

Q: What is it like having a name that, like Beyonce, is so unique you hardly need a last name.

I’m flattered. I thought Anessa was a unique name too- until I found Anessa Shishiedo- a sun tan lotion in….Asia. And it turns out Anessa is similar- almost identical to a name in Arabic. So, in the Middle East and Asia, I’m just another Emily. (No offence to any Emilies.) Everywhere else I can be a one-name wonder…but I just don’t have the credentials to be an international legacy.

Behind the scenes commentary--Me: Well you'll always have a Beyonce name in my book.

Q: Where do you see yourself in 15 years? 

This is interesting because I make 4-5 year plans every other week, but I’ve never been so OCD to plan what my life would be like at age….*using calculator*…34. Probably married (to Joseph Gordon Levitt) with kids, doing an accounting job on the side, before going back to work full-time. But that’s being idealistic. I’ll probably be experiencing the early stages of spinster, still writing blog posts complaining about pop culture.

Q: Five years ago where would you have guessed you would be at age 19.

When I was FOURTEEN. Because I watched a lot of USA network, I wanted to know 8 languages and work as an agent for the CIA. So, I would probably see myself still at BYU- studying something….spy-ish. But I guess it wasn’t too far off. Accounting is pretty sneaky, right?

Q: Is there power in awkwardness?

YES! I feel like the hipster movement is taking everything you were bullied for in grade school and making it cool. All your oversized and thrift-shop clothes you wore then are now “vintage”. And who was bullied most? The weird ones! Have I personally found power from awkwardness? I’m still working on that. But Rachel, I think you are leading the movement of awkwardness being the new “cool”. And I mean that as in the most sincere compliment way….awkward phrasing.

Behind the scenes commentary--Me: That's not true. Have you even met me? I am not awkward. I was asking for a friend. I'm very cool and collected. Also I was already cool in elementary school. The kids who helped the lunch ladies wash the tables in exchange for Twix bars were at the top of the social chain...so I was pretty much the top dog. 

Q: Would you say you have a life philosophy?

I spent a weekend in Baltimore and I met two men in their thirties who were really into meditation. (I promise this relates.) As I was complaining about pop music in these latter days, one suggested to take a meditative approach to this dilemma, i.e. listen to it through the ears of a 13-year-old girl who has never heard anything else.

So, I did, and Katy Perry’s “Roar” gave me an answer to this question. She said, “I stood for nothing, so I fell for everything.” I think everyone needs to have standards, goals, opinions, and/or aspirations. If you don’t, you’ll do anything. Just like eating everything is bad for the body, doing anything is unhealthy for the soul. It’s so important to try to determine what you stand for, especially when you’re young. Thanks, Katy Perry! Now go put on some cone bra.

Thank you Anessa for being on my blog, and thank you readers who read my blog. I love you. For real. Now go read http://addsomefinessa.blogspot.com especially if you want to see the other half of the interview where I answer some questions.

My Achilles Heel

         Sometimes it's hard to believe that ripping something apart and making it bleed could be a good thing. But that's what they did.      

       As I walked to the hospital the day of my surgery, knowing I would not be able to leave the same way, I asked myself if I was making a huge mistake. Why am I walking the direction I am walking?? They are going to slice my skin and shave the bone and twist the tendon and I'm afraid of all of it. I should be running the other way!

   

   The doctor said this will help. I like to consider myself a realist, but if I'm being honest, on the scale of optimism versus pessimism, I often unintentionally lean towards the latter. Whatever my pain was a week and a half ago, I was still able to do my own laundry, get myself to places I needed to be, open my own doors, go grocery shopping, ride a bike, and not endlessly annoy the people who live beneath me when I noisily hop up and down while getting dressed. So I have to ask myself if it is worth it.

  

      In nine to twelve months I should be fully recovered. I have a problem with long-term perspective, and that is a long time to me.  I want to run again. I want to lace up my shoes and feel my heart pound while the sweat drips from my forehead. I want this everyday and not in nine months.

   This is forcing me to learn patience as well as empathy for people with actual struggles that last much longer than mine.  Also, did the doctor know that with his knife he would be removing not just bone, but pieces of my pride, as I would be forced to rely on everyone around me for simple tasks? 

   I am hopeful that my injuries heal quickly. I hope the incisions they made into my bone make me stronger than before, though it's hard to force my perspectively challenged brain to understand something that feels so counterproductive. I'm learning new emotions. I'm not really happy, but also not sad. It is more of a longing anticipation. I am anticipating the happiness that I will feel when I am better. It is a different flavor of the hope that I am used to. And whatever else I gain, I am glad that I've learned this new flavor of hope.

Sunday Selfie

            I could pretend I don't have an arrogant side. I could pretend I hate attention or that praise makes me uncomfortable. But I promised to tell the truth so I won't pretend. Today is Selfie Sunday--a cultural movement that made it okay to shout, "Hey, look at me!" So here is my selfie. You already know what I look like, and I don't care if the world knows when I'm having a good hair day.  So instead of a picture it is a self-portrait made of words. 

            Let's get the important things out of the way. I'm sweatier than the average person, and this is why I hate hot weather. My hands are usually cold, I don't like egg rolls, I'm not a touchy person, and I have no idea what color my eyes are.

            I like to watch TV. I'm sure this isn't news to anyone. I instantly like anyone who likes the same shows as me, regardless of how well I know them or if they even remember my name.

            Speaking of remembering names, this is my talent. It seems like the whole world regularly claims to be bad with names. Either everyone is pretending to have a bad memory or I am the only person with this talent.

           

            I can never be a hipster because I have terrible taste in music. Okay, I don't only like terrible music, but.......I get excited when I hear Call Me Maybe. This is a hard thing to admit to the Internet, but what can I say? It makes me want to dance, and I love to dance.  Sidenote: Dancing is a hobby and not a talent. Also I like Macklemore. Okay embarrassing confession time is over. (But Macklemore's so right. Who would pay $50 for a T-shirt? Probably people who aren't cheap. This isn't me.)

            Some people would say I am quiet. They would be right...sometimes. The people who say this probably have not gotten to know me very well. I have been in love with words for as long as I can remember for the way they can be arranged into emotion and ideas and beauty. I could talk for hours on end, but I could spend as much time in silence and enjoy it just as well. There can be nearly as much beauty in the absence of words as there is in their presence.

            I'm aware that a lot of people think selfies are obnoxious. Or maybe it's just the word. (Am I the only one who thinks toddlers must be controlling the slang words of our time?) I do this so that years down the road whoever writes my eulogy will have plenty of material to make it the best eulogy ever written. Or maybe I do it because I am currently unable to walk and I'm very bored, and I hope someone will read this and like it and then come hang out with me. Either way, thanks for listening to me talk about myself.

I Started Running in the Winter

     I started running when it was just starting to get cold. I'd never felt the cold before.  I'd never owned a scarf or gloves. They weren't needed in Sunny Southern California.  But now Utah was my home, and I was about to experience my first Winter.

            

     I don't remember why I did it--the first time I went running. I thought I was fat or something like that. I put on a pair of tennis shoes and the only pair of non-denim long pants that I owned, and I ran. I did this everyday. My feet slapped the pavement over and over. I breathed in the air that kept dropping to temperatures I didn't know existed. I loved it.  I was alive, and each biting breath of icy air told me so.

            

    Soon there stopped being a reason I was pulling on my tennis shoes. I ran because I had to. It became an obsession. If the sidewalks were too icy to go I cried. I begged my parents to take me to the gym so I could run on the treadmills there.  When they said no, I would get angry. I would sit alone in my room and shake with the silence of my anger.

           

    I wrote about my anger. Entire sections of my journal are about my anger. I wrote how I hated the feeling. It wasn't like sadness. Sadness was okay.  It could even be beautiful. But anger I hated. It was the mixture of sadness, self-loathing, fear, and confusion.

            

    The only thing that could drive away this feeling was to run again. To feel the invigorating shock of cold air in my lungs. To taste the wind and the sweat and the ache in my muscles.

           

    One day as I ran I smelled a familiar smell. The smoke from a backyard barbecue had escaped and reached my nose. I realized I was too warm for comfort, and I pulled off my sweatshirt. The sun touched my bare arms and I shivered in delight. My feet splashed through puddles from the melting snow. This was Spring. I'd never experienced it before. Spring can't exist without the melting snow and the surprise of forgotten sunlight.

           

     It was beautiful and delicious and I ran and I laughed and I ran and I laughed.

Hipsters Make Better Than Average But Perhaps Slightly Overrated Doughnuts

Indeed the dream of the 90s is alive in Portland.

I found myself in Portland on Monday. Where they make bike sculptures and have to write "No rollerblades" on signs. 


It was an unexpected and unplanned trip. And due to my unorganized nature and my budget being a total of about $20, my accommodations for the night included a lovely bench inside the airport with a scenic view of the tarmac. 

When I arrived at PDX on Sunday night, I slept for a few hours. Or rather, I closed my eyes and wished I had packed my backpack, which was doubling as a pillow, full of marshmallows rather than a metal water bottle, an umbrella, and a banana. 

This is what people who slept on benches
look like while waiting for
trains at 5:30 in the morning.

Once I left the airport my first adventure in the city was at a much hyped place called Voodoo Doughnut. 

Now, I should explain that my doughnut standards are quite high, unlike my standards of where I'm willing to spend the night, which are actually quite low. (Wait that sounds like something my young women's medallion is supposed to remind me not to say. I must have forgotten to wear it. Just kidding, I was referring to my airport-bench-bed.)

located in Glendora, CA

Anyway, regular doughnuts were ruined for me at a young age because of a delicious place named Donut Man(See picture to the right). The Voodoo Doughnuts were scrumptious, but fell just slightly short of my expectations. In their defense, my expectations were impossibly high. 

The view as I ate my Portland cream donut.
Apparently, the official donut of Portland. 

Then I went hiking through the beautifully green Forest Park and saw a slug the size of a tube of toothpaste--not the travel sized toothpaste that is allowed through airport security--no it was the size of a regular Crest minty-fresh tube of toothpaste.

Luckily, slugs don't ruin my appetite because after my hike I had the most delicious tacos I have ever eaten from one of Portland's famous food trucks, while listening to a native Portlander playing the guitar. Street performers are absolutely my favorite thing about cities.

 After lunch, I went to the Lan Su Chinese Garden and took way too many selfies, but that is just one of the drawbacks of going places by yourself.

It wasn't long before I had to head back to the airport for another restful night's sleep on a bench and a flight at six the next morning. Perhaps I would have been able to see more if I hadn't spent so much time at various Starbucks' using the wifi because I like to pretend it is still the early 2000s, so I do not have a smartphone to help me get around. 

Short as it was, it was an adventure. And hopefully now when I watch Portlandia, it will feel less like an inside joke because I will be on the inside too.