In the Year 2525...

It happened. I got older. Officially. I had to get a new driver's license and everything.

Last time I got a new driver's license, I was four years ago when I turned 21. I remember thinking at the time, "Next time I get a new driver's license, it'll probably be because I'm changing my name and getting married." Wrong.

I even remember thinking a year ago, "I hope I have a cool job in an undiscovered part of the country next year when I need to get my license renewed because otherwise I'll be paying for a new one in Idaho again and I really don't plan to be there for the next four to eight years."

$30 later, my driver's license thinks differently.

Actually, I'm not all that uncool with being 25. It feels like a big accomplishment to have reached this age, and I even made several lists (intending to blog them, of course) of the 25 Most Epic Moments of My Life by Age 25.

Like those six amazing weeks I spent abroad in Europe, living across from Hyde Park, going to world-class theater every night, meeting amazing people I still call friends, and otherwise living the dream.

Like eighteen months worth of Texas-sized, Texas-style mission memories that are too numerous to list, too tender to blog, and often come back to me when I least expect it.

Like holding my sister for the first time.

Like holding my brother for the first time.

Like graduating from high school and college with shiny report cards and wicked awesome test scores that don't define who I am but sure provide me with tangible evidence that I am at least good at being smart when I doubt my other qualities.

But thinking about the 25 Most Epic Moments list only made me want to make the 25 Most Epic Moments Still to Come list, which inevitably made that half-full glass start looking a lot more half empty.

Which is silly, because there are great big things on the horizon for me, including one unbelievably amazing thing I cannot blog that even I wouldn't have predicted writing into the story of my life.

Of course, ten years ago on my birthday (which I spent in Hawaii! epic!), I remember having a contemplative moment with myself on the beach. I thought to myself, "By this time next year, you need to learn to be more open with guys and get yourself some dates and some fun." I wasn't scolding myself; I was just setting a goal.

But it didn't happen. I've never felt confident in the relationship department, and to compensate I've focused almost entirely on educational and career-minded pursuits, only to later whine about failing at relationships.

And all I have left now is a list of 25+ Questions I Keep Asking Myself about What I Really Want. Here are some sample questions:

When I do find a guy, will our relationship be as great as I've been imagining?

If I don't find that relationship, will I become one of those girls who settles?

If I decide not to settle, will I be able to stop kicking myself for being a relationship failure?

Will I ever stop being haunted by the 15-year-old version of myself and that conviction on the beach?

Will I ever be okay with getting my license renewed?

Welcome to my quarter-life crisis.

(Secret) Sports Songs

According to this week's Sports Illustrated, the following song was inspired by the singer/songwriter's wife's devotion to Roger Federer. And I am also devoted to Roger Federer, so I watched the video. Big surprise, I really like the song. I hope you do, too.

Several of the lyrics are very applicable to the idolatry of sports stars in general and Mr. Federer specifically. 

"He never gives attention, but you still yearn." Fact.

And the line about the "broken record" could refer to the fact that Roger is considered by many to be the GOAT (Greatest Of All Time) in the world of tennis and holds the record for the most Grand Slam wins.

(And on an unrelated note, I am in love with the lettering on the building behind the musician. It looks just like a scene out of That Thing You Do!)

And just to be random, I'll tell you that I once heard on The Today Show that the first big hit of The Plain White T's was inspired by the name of an aspiring Olympian. And this article (from a fairly sketchy website, I admit) confirms my remembrance. Which is to say that every time I hear this song I think of the Olympics instead of long-distance, unrequited love.

Unless of course that unrequited love swims the 100m freestyle in under 48 seconds and hangs out at Berkeley...

I'll Be Feeling a Little Olympic...

Ten days and counting, people. Ten days and I will be living the pre-Olympic dream, attending a full day of Team USA Olympic Swimming Trials.

Revel with me.

From Phelps's Facebook page: Trying out some Harrod's fashions.

This time around, London will add medals to Phelps's wardrobe.

From Lochte's upcoming supermodel career: Sporting a classic Ralph Lauren polo.

Vogue, Ryan. Vogue.

My recent (and related) post is actually bringing lots of lookers to the blog, but you may be surprised to hear that Lochte is lapping Phelps thanks to two keywords: grill and girlfriend.

In related news, nine days from now London will have an Olympic trial run . . . er, will continue it's tradition of making good-looking athletes look better. Prep yourself for the Wimbledon whites. Even Phelps knows to bow to the All England Club.

What is it with men and...

As a devotee of all quotes You've Got Mail, I enjoy Meg Ryan's exasperation that both Tom Hanks and Greg Kinnear instantly understand the phrase, "Go to the mattresses."

"What is it with men and The Godfather?" she muses. As a single Mormon though, I don't usually date men who are well versed in Vito Corleone. Instead, I find that I have to have a working knowledge of other movie series, each of which I find tolerable, but neither of which I would watch of my own choosing.

So, I ask all y'all, "What is it with men and...

1. Star Wars

2. Lord of the Rings

But I can totally seeing those guys responding with a "What is it with girls and...

1. Gilmore Girls
2. Gilbert Blythe
3. Pride and Prejudice


Anything to add, dear readers?

Bad Movie Genre: Robot Movies

Remember on Gilmore Girls when Luke married that lawyer lady while they were on a cruise together...but soon thereafter they decided to get divorced. Being a lawyer she knew how to handle her own side of the lawsuit but she sent some of her colleagues over to Luke's Diner to handle his side of the case. Her colleagues couldn't believe that Luke didn't want to snag any of her money or sue for damages or doing anything generally requiring a lawyer during a divorce. "There must be something that you want," they insisted to Luke. Finally, in a classic case of Luke-loses-his-cool, Luke described the on ship entertainment which he regretfully sat through three nights in a row: a water-glass player. Luke's verdict: "I want those three hours back!"

I can endure many "bad" movies--Frankie and Annette beach party films, High School Musical 1-3, Elvis movies, Prom, etc. But there is an entire genre of movies that always makes me say, along with Luke, "I want those three hours back." Luckily for me, these movies are usually less than three hours long, but the pain of watching them makes them feel at least 180 minutes in agonizing length.

Robot movies. Can't stand 'em.

In the spirit of the Olympics, I'm awarding gold, silver, and bronze to the robot movies that sucked irrecoverable time out of life

Gold: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

I actually went to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy on opening weekend, at the recommendation of my best friend's older, cooler, college-attending brother. Ten minutes in, I could tell it wasn't my kind of humor. Twenty minutes in, I realized the guy sitting next to me smelled like a speakeasy. Thirty minutes in, I was putting on lotion and covering my nose to mask the scent of Mr. Speakeasy. And at forty minutes in (or was it 42?), I was scanning the audience. Surely they were all in agony like me?

Half right. The women were all dozing to the best of their ability. The men were on the edge of their seats like this was the best superhero flick they'd seen in years. I don't say this to be sexist; I'm sure there are plenty of women who love this movie. I just don't know any of them, and none of them were in that theatre that night.

Silver: Wall-E.

I have a hard time watching movies with little to no dialog. I'm not a big fan of animation (although Pixar can usually entertain me). And I hate the deliberate ploy to "get nominated for an Oscar by making a movie about a current Hollywood-promoted issue." (See also Happy Feet, another 90 minutes I'd like back.)

Let's just say that by the time humans came into the picture, I had no emotional connection to this robot that many have called lovable or his high-tech, garden of Eden girlfriend.

Bronze: Transformers.

Other than the fact that I have no interest in Transformers, I probably should have tried to watch this movie before last summer. A roommate and I started watching it on a whim, but neither of us could take it very long. Four story lines are hard to justify in a film about living (and possibly breathing?) space robots. Only Michael Bay could take a movie with two Hollywood hunks--Josh Duhamel and Shia LaBeouf--and turn out a product that is unwatchably bad. (See also the historically embarrassing Pearl Harbor, but I still secretly like that one.)

By this point, I'd learned my lesson about robot movies, so I quit watching. But that movie followed me into my nightmares. Like Shia in the movie, I had recently gotten my first car. All night long, I tossed and turned as I imagined it driving itself away. Even worse, a car was being towed from the parking lot of my apartment complex around three in the morning that night, and in my state of drowsy half-sleep, I thought Optimus Prime was invading. If nothing else, I want those eight hours of sleep back.

Just out of the medals: Bicentennial Man and I, Robot