THINGS I H8 < U

standardized tests.

petty fights and miscommunications.

public bathrooms.

spilling ketchup on a white shirt.

the ACT.

cats.

bell-bottoms.

waking up early.

tomatoes.

voldemort.

sun burns.

blisters.

spinach.

squirting lemon juice in my eye.

breaking a bone.

getting hit by a car.

skydiving without a parachute.

stubbing my toe.

losing monopoly.

obama.

taxes.

burnt pizza.

space cats.

winter.

the end of Fault In Our Stars.

being punched in the face.

ripped pants.

school.

your trendy shoes.

your pretty little bangs.

your ex-boyfriend's nose ring.

that level of candy-crush i can't get past.

what happened in november.

how long it's been since i've seen him.

how much you don't care.

H8 U.

over it,

suzy e.

MIND THE GAP[S]

I had a gap in between my teeth as a child.

Not the, "Oh my, how chic of your teeth" kind of gap,

But a "Oh my, you look like a walrus" kind.

My parents/orthodontist decided to close that gap.

But I've found that since that one gap has been closed,

twelve more have opened.

Gap #1: the gap between me and boys, I actually can't flirt to save my life.

Gap #2. the one that teenage angst has put between my parents and me.

Gap #3. the one between where I am and Peru.

Gap #4. the 20 minute gap between where I was a year ago, and where I am now.

Gap #5. the gap between me and happiness (high school).

Gap #6. the gap that was between me and people I thought were my friends.

Gap #7. that gap that was there a year ago in third period.

Gap #8. the gap between where I am now (my bed) to where I want to be (my fridge).

Gap #9. the gap that is between me and my diploma (online P.E.)(also sleep).

Gap #10. the gap between me and college ($$$$$).

Gap #11. the one that separates me from my friends who like me (work).

Gap #12. the gap that allows me to waste hours on end (depression, probably).

But there was one other gap that closed, once.

The gap between my head and your chest.

The gap between your arms and my shoulders.

The gap between your heart and mine was a lot smaller on 

July 21.

It was practically non-existent.

I would be willing to let all previously mentioned gaps 

double in size,

If we could only have another 5 seconds on July 21.

STAY GOLD,

SUZY E.

I'M PROPOSING TO YOU.

If you claim to hate Valentines Day, I probably don't like you.

If you post and/or say the words "Single Awareness Day" chances are, I hate you.

Valentines Day isn't a day to wallow in all of your singleness, okay?

IT'S A DAY TO FREAKING LOVE PEOPLE.

Do you have a problem loving people? Your family? Your friends? 
If you answered "yes" to any of the above questions you probably have daddy-issues or something.


Seriously though, the term "Single Awareness Day" is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Because for all of us single people (AKA ME) every time I see a couple I suddenly become very aware of my singleness. 



I'M PROPOSING TO YOU. (just for Valentines Day.)


Okay, so it isn't so much a "proposal" than a "proposition", but it still counts.

PROPOSITION: YOU LOVE EVERYONE TOMORROW AND WEAR RED AND PINK AND GIVE EVERYONE A VALENTINE AND YOU DRAW LOTS OF HEARTS AND YOU TELL EVERYONE YOU LOVE THAT YOU LOVE THEM.


Now, do you think this proposition is too much for you?

If you answered "Yes"---Well then you suck, but I will still love you tomorrow.
If you answered "No"---Good for you I love you all the days.


You can go back to hating people on February 15. But in one hour you're required love everyone, okay?


Love you,
Stay Gold,
Suzy E.

THE IRONY

Let me just preface this post with this: I do not cry in movies. 

I didn't cry in Titanic when Rose let Jack sink to the bottom of the Atlantic.

I didn't cry when Whatshername in A Walk to Remember died after her and Thatoneguy got married.

I didn't cry when Allie and that old man who was supposed to be the old-man-version of Ryan Gosling somehow miraculously died together in the same night in The Notebook.

I DO NOT CRY IN MOVIES.

But I watched Captain Phillips tonight.

And it wasn't that he was held hostage that had my tears flowing, or the fact that [SPOILER ALERT] those Navy Seals shot all three men at the same time and no one even cared that Captain Phillips was splashed with their blood. It wasn't that he was blindfolded when those three died, and it wasn't that he heard those gunshots that were followed by silence and with blood in his mouth cried out, "What was that?!" 

No, no my tears came after that. 

It was when he gets to the doctors and they're trying to fix him up, 
and it was the way he couldn't form a coherent sentence 
and it was that he looked so broken. 

But mostly I cried because no one was giving this man a hug. I know that sounds dumb. But honestly? This man has been held hostage, and he was beaten, and he almost died.
      AND NO ONE COULD GIVE THIS MAN A HUG. 

I know this is just a movie but actually no it's not. Because this happened five years ago. And I don't know if anyone actually gave him a hug, but that's what got me.

The irony of me crying when someone is saved, and not when someone dies.

My life is ironic.

Okay, that's all.

Don't worry, it's going to be okay.

I tried, okay?

The night after the poetry slam, Friday night, I was laying in bed and thinking about all of you.
And my heart was aching a lot a bit.
And it was aching because you hate God.

So I decided to write a poem for you all.
But when I finished it, just right when I put a period to finish the last line of the last paragraph,
My phone died, and with it my attempt to bring you all to love God again.

This poem that I wrote for you, it would have made you believe in God again, I swear.

But maybe it was deleted because I can't be the one to bring you to Him again,

You have to do it yourself.

i want to travel the world not a campus aka real talk

On Monday September 30, at 12:04 AM I posted a piece of writing that I thought included all of my fears.

But I was wrong.

I'm not that afraid of drowning.
Ferris wheels aren't that high.
I'm not afraid for the end of the semester anymore.
And bones aren't something scary, they're something wonderful.

I've realized what I'm afraid of most.

I'm afraid of the world.

And not in the oh-my-goodness-what-is-this-world-coming-to way.
But in the HOW-ON-EARTH-CAN-I-SEE-EVERYTHING-I-WANT-TO-SEE-IN-MY-LIFETIME???? way.

There are so many places that I want to see.

I want to see the sun set on the Taj Mahal.

I want to see the moon shine it's light on the sand through the roof of the Forgotten Temple of Lysistrata in Greece.

I want to see houses of all different colors in Portugal.

I want to spend the night under the stars staring in wonder at the Northern Lights in Norway.

I want to feel the strength of an elephant move under me as it takes me across a river in Thailand.

I want to go see the pyramids at Giza and think about all those mummies.

I want to cross every bridge in Amsterdam, while wearing wooden clogs.

I want to zipline through a rainforest in Antigua.

I want to eat gilato outside of the Trevi Fountain like Lizzie McGuire did.
I want to see what a beach in Poland looks like.

I even want to see Milwaukee.

MILWAUKEE.

Have you ever met a person who wants to go to Wisconsin just to see Milwaukee??

I honestly just want to see everything.
And meet everyone.
And I want to put a pin in the map everywhere I go.


But unfortunately the world doesn't work like that.
Life isn't a beach.

And you can't decide you want to go travel the world,

because apparently you need to spend too much money

and too much time taking classes that you don't even care about

ALL so that you can ease your mothers worried mind 

by having a degree even though just yesterday she said she thinks 

"real life experience is worth way more than a college degree."

(kthanksfornothingmom)

So instead of backpacking across Europe next fall, 
I'm going to be backpacking across Provo.

And instead of finding the quickest route from the Berlin Wall to the Swiss Alps,
I'll be trying to find the quickest route from the David O. Mckay Building to Helaman Hall.

Waiting until I can finally say

The world is my art school.

And I'm majoring in experience.

adios paris

You know those trips you take and you're like, "This is totally great, I'm going to write all about it when I get home so that I can remember it forever."

But as soon as you get home your mom is telling you that you need to unpack and give her all of your dirty clothes so that she can wash them and you need to let the dog out and you need to shower and then you want to go tell all your friends about your trip so you go and hang out with them and then you come home and go to bed and then its three months later and you remember that you didn't write about that trip so now you remember nothing.

This trip isn't like that.

This trip is full of time spent remembering.

Remember the way it looks like the world, and smells like hope.

Remember the way it tastes like ink, but sounds like a PG-13 movie.

Remember the way that you feel after another day in Paris. 

This is the place to become a free thinker, 

and then a free writer.

Remember how you feel here. 

Remember how you feel alive, how you feel like you're an artist, remember how your imagination used to be, remember how it feels to connect with strangers, how it feels to have your writing read.

Remember how you were hoping to get shot as many times near the end of the trip. ("THE SPREAD! THE SPREAD!") Remember how this was the first time in a long time that you want to hear all that a tour-guide has to say.

Remember to enjoy Paris. 

it's 12:58 AM and all i need is glitter.

i don't need a sleeping pill.

i don't need bon iver. (he puts me to sleep all the time.)

i don't need a boyfriend.

i don't need warm milk.

i don't need a pillow.

i don't need straight As.

i don't need to go to first period tomorrow.

i don't need to graduate.

i need glitter. 

it's 12:54 AM and i need glitter.

it's 12:56 AM and my feet are cold but i don't need socks.

it's 12:59 AM and i've given up the search.

it's 1:03 AM and i'm still thinking about glitter.

it's 1:06 AM and i've found five glitter gifs.

it's 1:07 AM but i'm not thinking about glitter.

i'm thinking about you.

there's something in the air and it's not love.

its depression.

happy holidays.

michelle kwan remembers.

i remember passing notes in eighth grade. i remember playing hockey in seventh grade and loving it. i remember getting in trouble for chewing gum in sixth grade. i remember when preston harmon said the f word to the nicest sub. i remember dressing up as susan mcauliffe. i remember using my neighbor's old space suit that he wore for halloween in second grade. i remember that gap i had between my teeth. i remember losing my retainer. i remember my grandma's vegetable sweatshirt. i remember that my cousin wore a superman sweatshirt to her funeral. i remember watching him cry and as a little seven year old trying to copy. i remember always being on the bottom bunk. i remember trying to split the room in half. i remember mr. cherrington. i remember making a model of the world trade centers and using cotton balls. i remember being put in time-out for crying in preschool. i remember the jelly-fish video. i remember playing with my american girl doll. i remember doing a report on michelle kwan in third grade and making her hair out of black yarn, and putting extra glitter on her dress. 

i just remembered that no one remembers who michelle kwan is. 

maybe this will jog your memory...

an actual picture of my totally life-like
representation of michelle kwan.

for a boy who is too free

If you loved me, I think we'd be okay.

You would come home from work to find me making spaghetti for the fourth time that week.

But you wouldn't mind.

You'd say "honey, I love your spaghetti" even though I don't always cook the noodles right.

You would say words that I don't agree with but I wouldn't care because those words would be followed by "I'm sorry sweetheart, I love you" and a jaw clenching kiss.

You would teach me how to smoke a joint just so I could if I ever needed to.

You would read to me poetry in our bedroom, while I sit on the floor and you use the bed for a stage.

You would take me to poetry slams so that you could read to me in the right settings.

You would grow your hair out long, because you know I like to play with it.

You would take me bowling at midnight just because.

You'd tell me exactly what to order if I ever went into a bar, because you thought you would drive me to drink.

You'd get dressed up to go to Sunday dinners at my parents house even though the t shirt and jeans you were wearing before looked finer than any suit ever could.

You'd take me to church and hold my hand the whole time, even though you feel like you don't belong.

You would step out of the room every time I knelt down to pray because you knew I would pray for you.

You'd drive me up to the mountains on warm summer nights when the air is dry to show me all of your favorite constellations.

You'd paint pictures of the universe all over our house.

You'd never play that old piano that sits in our front room because it reminds you of your mother.

You'd ask me to read to you out loud while you paint because you couldn't choose between the two.

You'd tell me "I think this could be it, I'm not lying" even thought neither of us were sure you weren't.

You'd get mad at me sometimes for asking you to please listen to me, even though you heard every word.

Instead of telling me to stop talking too much you would interrupt me with a kiss that would leave my lungs empty of air and I would forget about anything I was saying earlier.

You'd fight with me over everything but it would be okay because after you would hug me and say "I'm sorry, I love you" in between more world shattering kisses.
You'd hate how much I pray.

You never liked how tight that suit fit around your shoulders.

You hated leaving me alone in our room to pray, because you would worry about me going to sleep without you.

If you loved me, we could last a long time.

But you have a hard time committing to the commuter lane

So how could I expect you to commit to me?

I wouldn't.