Shelli Armstrong's Blog

I combined a few different recipes to churn out this utterly delicious butter chicken, and am so impressed I feel the need to record the recipe so I can go back to it again.
INGREDIENTS (Feeds 6)2 lb chicken thighs1 pint Heavy Whipping Cream2 tbsp butter15 oz Tomato Sauce2 tablespoons garlic¼ medium onion3 tsp turmeric2 tsp ground ginger1 tsp coriander2 tsp garam masala2-3 tsp chili powder1 tsp ground cinnamon1-2 tsp curry powderCilantroGolden raisinsSalt and PepperINSTRUCTIONSCut the chicken up into bite sized chunks and generously coat them in half the turmeric, ginger, salt, chili powder and cinnamon. Set aside in a bowl.Heat a skillet to medium heat and add the butter. Brown the butter, add the onion and garlic to the pan. Cook for 2-3 minutes until the onions are translucent and fragrant.Increase the pan heat to medium-high and add the chicken. Cook it almost entirely through - the outside should be white and this will take about 3-5 minutes. (Add more browned butter, if needed.)Once the chicken looks almost fully cooked add in the heavy whipping cream and tomato paste/sauce. It should be an red-orange color at this point. Turn the heat to medium-low and cover with a lid for 5-7 minutes.Remove lid and add the rest of the spices. The chicken is fully cooked and you should be able to eat it. Allow curry sauce to reduce with the lid off until it reaches the consistency you like. Add cilantro and golden raisins. Serve with low carb naan or over cauliflower rice. Enjoy!NOTE: You can store the butter chicken in a sealed container for up to 10 days in the fridge and 2 months in the freezer. You can also use chicken thighs instead of breast for a higher fat content.

I have a very real question. . . when people sit and demand PROOF of sexual assault, what exactly are they looking for?

If sexual assault turns into rape, there are rape kits available (if you have the wherewithal to go to the hospital and get one done, and if where you're located they even process it). But in cases of assault, what evidence is there really?

A few years ago, I was sexually assaulted.

It was scary. And gross. But I didn't feel like my life was being threatened. I was able to walk away shaken, but otherwise unharmed and mostly just really grossed out.

If I think about it, his lingering and last, "Text me," haunts me a bit. But it's been years now and I don't think about it.

It happened. But the thing is, I don't have any proof.

I do not remember what year it was, much less the day of the week or even the month. (I could sit and figure out the math to get the year... I remember where I was working at the time, but asking me off the top of my head? Nope. Unsure.)

There aren't photos or video--it's not like you're able to say, "Hey, pause for a minute on that trying to rip my shirt off... I want to take a snapshot for posterity, and potential evidence later on."

It's an assault, not a rape, so there are no bodily fluids.

We were in a car, so there were no witnesses.

I didn't save the receipt to his Hotdog on a Stick french fry purchase or the ticket from the parking garage.

But you know what? If he ever decided to run for office or was appointed to the highest court in the land--you know what??? I would speak up. I would want people to know that he is garbage.

I could tell you what he said to get me on the date in the first place. Or how I felt when I saw him bob into the food court. I remember how he looked as he stuffed those fries into his face. I could tell you the outfit I was wearing. I could repeat the fact that he grabbed me from behind on the way to my car and asked, "So, no sex?" And I turned him down.

But do I have anyone to corroborate? No. Do I have proof?

No.

That doesn't mean it didn't happen!

So instead he's out there. And hopefully he's grown up and figured out a better way to try and get his rocks off than pressuring women into doing something they don't want to do. But maybe he didn't. Maybe there are more women out there who could back me up if I ever needed to go public with his name.

Why didn't I report it?

I got away with nothing more than heightened stress levels and a little bit of shaking. I did check to make sure he didn't follow me home. I did make sure that I triple locked my doors for a few days. I dreaded seeing his number on my phone should he call or text.

But I didn't have nightmares after. I was physically fine. I was emotionally shocked but recovered quickly. I didn't report it because it didn't seem important at the time.

It didn't seem like assault. Because it wasn't rape.

When a man tries to kick off a conversation on dating apps with me by saying something like

You are so gorgeousYour pictures turn me onHey, sexyI think they want me to take it as a compliment. I think they want to fluff my ego a little bit. Make me feel good and receptive to their overtures. Maybe feel inspired to kick off a conversation with them.
It backfires. 
Every. Single. Time. 
But why? Why can't I just take these comments for what they are and ignore how gross they make me feel? Why do I immediately feel like I'm setting them up to be catfished? Or immediately feel defensive?
The problem with comments like these is that they are based solely off of a set of photos.
Photos that I specifically curated to showcase my BEST looks. While they are definitely photos of me, and I don't really think any of them are misrepresenting me (too bad), they are also the very best looks.  
These guys haven't met me in person. They don't know what I look like when I'm walking my dog. Or when I've been doing hot yoga for 90 minutes. Which are arguably times when I absolutely look my worst. Would they still be calling me sexy then? Probably not.
Which means that it all feels like a line. Insincere. Disingenuous. Unbelievable. 
They may as well be leaving comments on Tumblr posts or liking random Instagram accounts of any woman that looks good. The internet is filled with billions of options.
It's just superficial. If there is nothing else in my profile that sparks a talking point, then it's hard to believe that the guy is interested in anything outside of the surface, physical stuff. And if that's the case, I just don't think that there's really a chance for anything to go anywhere.
And it usually doesn't. I don't know how to respond to those "opening lines." Do I just say thanks? I know? You're right? 
Where is the conversation supposed to go from there? 
If I were just looking for hook-ups, maybe this wouldn't bother me so much? Or maybe I would still be irritated by the way I feel objectified on dating apps. Replaceable. Interchangeable. 

In high school, juniors and seniors had an opportunity to attend the local community college with all books, tuition, and fees paid for by the state under the Post Secondary Education Option. This program was something that I knew I wanted to be a part of long before I even entered high school. It was a part of my master plan to attend BYU; something I had also determined at an early age was the only option for me.

I knew paying for college, especially one that was out of state, was going to be incredibly difficult. My parents were not wealthy and neither of them had earned a bachelors degree. So this was new territory for my family and one that made all of us nervous. But the promise of having an associates degree by the time I graduated high school seemed like an answer to a prayer that hadn't yet been given, and an opportunity that could not be wasted.

The PSEO program wasn't something that was highly encouraged by high school staff. I remember sitting in the meeting with our guidance counselor explaining how everything worked and feeling as though they were trying to dissuade us from even attempting. I had friends who wouldn't even consider going because the appeal and allure of high school--the 10 Things I Hate About You version, not the real-life experience--was too much to consider giving it up. But that didn't deter me. This was what I wanted and this is what I had to do.

Imagine my disappointment when I was told that I hadn't passed the entrance exam into the program.

It wasn't just disappointment. It was full rage and upset. Upset to my plans. My future. Everything that I was counting on hinged on this test, and I had failed. By one lousy point. I kicked a hole in the wall of our kitchen because I was so angry.

The test was pass or fail, so it didn't matter that it was by one point. A fail was a fail. And I had to face the idea of attending high school for my junior year. Something I did not want to do. Something that I knew would interfere with my plans for going to BYU.

I could not accept this outcome.

I did not accept it.

I found out that the only way for me to be accepted into the PSEO program was to take an 0900 level class during the summer. I had to pay for it out of pocket, and I had to pass it. If I did that, I could attend Edison as though I had passed the test.

So I found a way. I'm sure my parents helped pay for that class. I also assume that many of my Bob Evan's paychecks went toward the $350 or whatever tuition was at the time. I took the class that summer, and I was admitted into the program. And by the time I was ready to apply for BYU, I was on track to have my AA. I was accepted and my plans were back on track.

The experience taught me that I did not have to accept the terms that were being presented to me. That there are multiple ways to solve a problem, if you are just willing to ask and act.

I fought for my degree at BYU. And in the end (after too many years) I graduated.

Again, my plans were on track. But I had accomplished the thing that I had set out to do, and now my goals were a lot less concrete. There isn't a course that you can map out for "get married and have babies." It isn't like college. In order to be accepted into college, you know you need 1) good grades, 2) decent recommendations, 3) a show of responsibility in either clubs, service organizations, or jobs. You know what you have to do to get in. And you know what you have to do to stay in. And if you do A, B, and C, you get the Degree.

But marriage and babies are a different story. The goal line remains elusive while the clock continues to count down. No amount of asking and acting has yielded any results. In the meantime, you fill your life with distractions. Some more meaningful than others. But on days when the distractions fail to work, and you feel as though you are just being handed one consolation prize over the next, it is frustrating. It is unacceptable.

We're told to live "productive, faithful, and grateful lives." But none of those feel like real actions toward accomplishing the things you want the most. They feel so passive, as though you are just sitting, waiting for the thing to happen to you, instead of making it happen for yourself.

I don't know how to not feel that way. I don't know how to make faith an action instead of it feeling like the equivalent of wishing on a star or throwing a penny in a well. All of it seems to give the same results. We are supposed to have faith in the Lord's timing. But that feels like a copout. Or contrary to the belief that "God helps those who help themselves." I believe in making things happen for myself. I also believe that God supports me when I do. We are grateful when we find the person we are supposed to be with, and credit God and His goodness. But we aren't to feel bitter and resentful while we are still waiting, as if He is somehow withholding blessings from us.

But agency plays into all of it too. And when you are involving the agency of another person, how do we know if it is timing, your actions, or the actions of the other person that is keeping it all from happening? I don't know that it is any of the above. Sometimes I think you just need luck and happenstance.

When I was applying to go to college, I didn't apply to a single other college than BYU. It was the only school I had considered. It was the only school I wanted to attend. When I hadn't received my acceptance letter after some weeks, I began to wonder if I should consider another alternative. If I should pick another option. I couldn't imagine what life at another school would look like. It made me sick to think of it and incredibly sad. If I didn't get into BYU, what was I really going to do with my life? Utah was my destiny.

I waited for weeks and began to think that I really needed to have a backup plan. I started my application to OSU. To Liberty University. I tried  to consider BYU-I or SUU. I did my research. I tried not to cry at the thought of having to abandon the thing that I had been working toward since I was in fourth grade.

When I got my acceptance letter, finally, and was able to abandon all  the other applications before paying application fees and writing too many essays I cried with relief.

I'm at the point in my life where I'm starting to wonder if I need to consider alternative plans. And it makes me sick and exhausted and panicked. I keep going back to the end of my high school career and feeling that same worry that things are not actually going to work out. That for all my preparation and hope and work, I was not going to make it.

You don't have much control over whether or not romantic love and pairing off is in your future. You can put yourself in the awkward situations that arise from trying to date; make sure that you remain social and open to new people, and hope that something works out.

It may never happen.

It doesn't matter how much you fill your life with productivity, faith, and gratitude. It still may never happen. And no matter how much I know that, I still find the whole thing intolerable. Unacceptable. But clueless as to how to change the cards. Where is the extra class I need to take? What is the extra steps? It's not so simple, because there are no guarantees.

I want to be fine with that. But accepting it opens up a lot of other things that I have to accept. And I'm not ready to do that. I'm not ready to start filling out the "other applications." But I'm feeling the pressure of the shot clock. And I'm nowhere closer to the basket.

January 21, 2017 I was in Washington D.C., participating in a march for Women's rights. The march was organized to be held the day after the inauguration of our 45th President, Donald Trump. The fact that a man such as he could be elevated into the position of the President of United States is abhorrent and so completely mind boggling, that since the election I have felt like we are living in a twilight zone.
There has been so much commentary about the Women's March, and given that my social media feed is a total blend of conservative, right-wing Mormons and my friends who are mostly liberals, I have gotten it from both sides--those who condemn the march and make judgments based on a few pictures and what they think happened. And from those who were really supportive and participated locally where they could.
This year, I've dedicated some of my reading to more feminist books. All the Single Ladies and Everyday Sexism have been excellent reads to remind myself why I participated in the march.
Because why would someone like me want to participate in something so crass and debase? I have voted in every election since I was 18. I went to college. I have a decent-paying job at a company that has women executives. What more could I possibly want?
There's a misconception that because women have the vote and are able to attend college then equal rights has been achieved!
Ladies, we are done! What more could we possibly want outside of women's suffrage and education? After all, both were denied us for so long. And things are "so much better than they used to be."
The problem is we aren't done at all. Just because I have had those opportunities, does not mean they afforded to women throughout this country. The problem with people who insist that civil rights are done just because a few laws are in place, means that they refuse to look outside their communities and actually see what is happening beyond them.
I don't want to be like that.
In all the books that I've been reading over the past year, in the blog posts, the news articles, the documentaries, there is resounding evidence that there is still so much to do. There is resounding evidence that despite the headways we have made for equal rights, we are still not being treated as full humans. Certainly not equals.

If you have been online it is possible that you have stumbled upon a site or two or twelve that show the hazards of online dating. Guys are made out to be complete idiots in varying levels of objectifying man whores, who are often disrespectful and crude.

While I've certainly had a few interesting propositions, for the most part, the guys that I have interacted with have been decent humans with varying degrees of intelligence and intrigue. I have mentioned in a dating profile that I like double entendres. Recently, a guy messaged me and said that I was brave for putting that in my profile, as it was like "opening Pandora's box." Which is true. Certainly anyone could use that as an excuse to start a conversation out with something entirely inappropriate.

The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that I must have mastered the algorithm for avoiding what the internet has dubbed as "f*&k boys" and gotten a much nicer experience (if a little more boring) than other women.

I can only speak from a woman's point of view. So, while I am sure there are plenty of girls out there making total cakes of themselves, I have to stick with what I know.

Here are my tips to avoiding massive douches when online dating/Tindering.

Swipe left on douchey pictures. These include:
Shirtless photos (of any kind)Pictures that highlight any specific part of the body--abs, biceps, hips, and penises are out--save that stuff for later conversation.Gym picturesBathroom picturesPictures posing next to a (likely drugged) exotic animalPictures of said dude posing with other females--especially large groups of womenUnless they are nieces, daughters, or otherwise identified as a relativeSwipe faster to the left if the girls were paid to take the picture with the guy--often indicated by the fact that their boobs are on full display and their smiles look extra forced and fakePictures where the guys is flipping off the camera. (Why--WHY--do guys post pictures where they are flipping me off?) Also included in this, any photo that has a suggestive or offensive gesture documented. Someone blowing smoke in your faceThe way the profile has been filled out is also an indicator. Some guys will tell you flat out what they are looking for. If you aren't looking for the same, then get out of there! Others are more subtle about what they really want. I have found that the moment I let my standards for good grammar and full sentences fall, I wind up regretting it almost instantly.

There are plenty of decent folk out there looking for love, or companionship, or to make a good friend. But there are also a lot of idiots looking to test the boundaries and ignore the good sense we were all given. Don't let those guys (or girls) get away with it! The less matches they find, the more likely they'll start to realize that they need to change their approach.

If someone does cross the line, feel free to unmatch immediately. Or, better still, call them out on it! And then unmatch them. You don't have time for their nonsense.

When I see the articles or examples that float around, I wonder, "Who is out there letting them get away with this?" I hope it isn't any one of my single friends. It certainly isn't me.

The sand in the hourglass isn't moving too quickly, but the levels on the top dips lower as each grain passes through. 
The room where the hourglass sits on the small side table in the corner is ornately furnished. The type of room where one would never lament a few hours spent in its company. 
The sand continues to fall in its inconspicuous and nearly silent way, but one doesn't mind its steady slowness. 
The room has several windows. Providing light and a lovely view. When the window is open, birds can be heard; wind, waves, and the whisper of a bigger, brighter world. 
The door is locked. But the sand in the hourglass isn't moving too quickly. And there are so many things in the room to do.
The library is vast and wonderful. Filled with books on every topic. There's beautiful artwork too. Stirring and emotional. Easy to spend time studying and learning. All for the sake of edification. Turn on the record player, listen to the melodies of whatever you wish.
Drown out the quiet fall of the sand. The sand isn't moving too quickly. But the door is locked. The view out the window unchanged.
You've read the library a hundred times through. You've stared at the paintings again and again. Memorized each record track by track. The room is beautiful. But you can only rearrange the furniture in so many ways. 
The view is lovely. But the sunshine beckons to you. It's no longer enough to hear the wind--you want to feel it. Feel it before the sand drains completely. 
The sand in the hourglass doesn't fall too quickly, but now there is plenty on the bottom piling up. The room is stifling. No longer is it enough to keep the window open. The room feels smaller. Each hour is spent in the same way. 
What's beyond the locked door?
These books are too familiar. There are permanent indentations in the frequently sat upon furniture. The sand in the hourglass isn't falling too quickly, but dammit, it's still falling.
The wind howls and beckons; the sun shines and like a siren it calls. If only you could feel the elements just once on your own skin. 
Every shelf has been dusted and cleaned. It's all been organized and reorganized. There's a well-worn favorite path about the room, but no square inch is unfamiliar. 
What's beyond the locked door?
Perhaps just another room. Perhaps just a little more access? Not a full egress to the outdoors. The unknown is tantalizing. 
The sand moves--not too quickly. But it is draining. Are these the only walls you'll ever see? The only books you'll ever read? It's a glorious room, but is this all there is ever going to be? 
How long can you enjoy the comforts and pleasantries of the only thing you'll ever experience before it becomes a cage? A cell. A sentence. Unbearable.
The sand isn't falling too quickly, but you resent it falling at all. Before you're ready. Before there is a chance at change.
The view remains the same. The walls still your prison. The weather is untouchable. Would that you could escape! The beyond is just out that window and heartbreakingly unreachable.
The door is still locked and the sand is still falling. What joy then from the delights of the room? This room is no more capable of providing happiness. Escape is the only solution.
The door must be unlocked. The key must be found! There has to be an exit. The sand will still fall, but at least behind the scenes.
It's isn't falling too quickly. But you'll be damned if you have to sit and watch it.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single person, who no longer wants to be single, will be asked, "Have you tried online dating/Tinder?" I remember when online dating became a thing. I was still in high school, but it was a scary practice whereupon you had to wade through profile after profile wondering if the person on the other side of the monitor was telling the truth about what they looked like, where they worked, and their criminal background. Everywhere you looked, people were counseling against it. Those that were the pioneers of this new technology were ridiculed or mocked. They came up with creative backstories because meeting online was not something to be proud of. Now, things are different. No one knows how to approach a stranger unless they have already swiped right, exchanged horrible back and forth meaningless text messages, and provided, at least, a headshot as a means of being able to recognize them at a lunch date. It's almost nothing to be propositioned by a complete stranger, just because there really is no risk for the person making the proposition. What's the worst you can do besides saying no? And while I'm sure there are scores of reasons to try online dating and/or Tinder (the first and foremost being that it really is the ONLY way to meet new people), it's created this phenomenon of Catalog Dating. The problem with Catalog Dating is that it doesn't really allow for human flaws and character. It's like flipping through a furniture website or a store catalog looking for a couch or a side table. If you were to see a couch in a catalog that was a little banged up-- maybe the legs were scratched or the upholstery torn, maybe you just didn't think one of the colors would tie into your table lamp--you would continue scrolling. You would never order something from a catalog that wasn't 100% in perfect condition. Why would you? You can't sit on the couch, or really visualize how it will fit into your space, complement your other furnishings. And if you can't do that, then it's best to keep looking until you find the one that you can visualize working out. And sometimes that is great. There are plenty of people that get some really amazing things off of online shopping. But other times, we find out that we didn't measure the size correctly or the color wasn't represented correctly on the screen. Sometimes there is just a problem with shipping. Maybe the construction or material quality is lower than what was represented on the site. The point is, online shopping for men or dates generates these expectations of perfection. And if we don't see perfection, then we move on to the next thing, which means that all of us are missing out on some probably really good options. Remember when dating was more like walking through a consignment shop? You're walking through this placed housed with things that have stories and histories and character. No, not everything is great. But every once and a while, you stumble on a table with so much character that it makes your pulse quicken. You can see easily how it will sit just so across from your fireplace and against your window. Sure, there's a few nicks and chips in the wood. It could probably stand to be repainted, too. The handle might be a little worn, and if you had found this in the catalog, you would have certainly ignored it. Instead, you're giddy and excited. This is just the thing you need to complete your space. So you take it home, give it a little TLC, and its a match in heaven. You don't demand perfection, because you don't expect perfection. You got it from a consignment shop, where you lose all expectations of perfection and are just looking for the thing with the most character and the thing that will fit in your home perfectly. The answer is yes. If a single person, who no longer wants to be single, is asked "Have you tried online dating/Tinder," they are inevitably going to say yes. We've all looked through the catalogs. We've all seen what is being offered. But sometimes it is just a lot more interesting and fun to try a little more organic method.

Tell us your unique #HeForShe recipe.A photo posted by #HeForShe (@heforshe) on Dec 18, 2015 at 1:18pm PST

Two of my coworkers were enlightening another of how our fathers empowered us as young girls so that we could grow to be confident, strong women. Growing up, I often heard how proud my dad was of me for being smart, getting good grades, and being a good big sister. He and my mom entrusted me at an early age to help care for my younger siblings and let me make all of my own decisions, supporting me each step of the way. I was blessed to grow up knowing that I was not limited because I was a girl. And that I could do whatever I set my mind to. It has made me the uncompromising, demanding (but only in the best of ways--I think) person I am today. With expectations that might be a little too high.

I know that I blog about how dismally sad that I'm not married and I'm childless and all these other things at the age of 30. But the truth is, I am infinitely more grateful that I didn't get married at 19.

At the age of 19, it's hard to have a true understanding of what real life is like. 

If you're lucky, you graduated from high school with little to no challenges. You weren't struggling to find creative ways in which to meet your basic needs. Shelter, food, and clothing were provided. The hardest thing I had to do was find a way to balance my part-time job, some homework, and wake up at 4:30 a.m. for early morning seminary. Once, I ran out of gas on the way to Edison. Once, my tire went flat at midnight on a country road. This was all before I had a cell phone. See? My life was hard.

I'm glad I had the opportunity to move out of my parents' house, and into an apartment. This is where it became critical to learn how to pay my bills. I had to balance my needs (rent, food, tuition) with my wants (those pants that fit because I wasn't actually buying food and that double-feature movie procrastination day). I lived a bunch of kids my own age and to varying degrees of success. Some of my roommates were gems that developed into long-lasting or lifetime friendships. Others were straight up trials, that helped me figure out how to deal with difficult people.

Life has been one barrel roll over a waterfall after the other. From my cars falling apart at the most inopportune times, to health or family challenges, and job changes, it seems like nothing is ever easy. That there's always something. And it always happens at the worst time.

But inbetween the trying times, there's the trips, the laughing fits with your best friends, the cozy meals, and the exploration of the city/state/country or the world. If I had been married at 19, I would have missed out on so many amazing experiences that have colored my life with happiness. I would not be friends with any of the men and women that I associate with now. It was during the ages of 19-25 that I really was developing into the person who I am today and to have been married during that time would have changed so much. And I'm not convinced it would have changed for the better.

At 19, you're still trying to figure out who you are. 

How can you possibly know who you are if you have never lived on your own? If you have never dealt with anything outside of your comfort zone? If you have only a few years of part-time employment experience, and spent the rest of the time in a classroom studying things that you're guaranteed to forget instantly?

There's so much to know. And so much to experience. Trying to figure out a way to support a young family before you've learned how to support yourself seems ludicrous to me.

At 19, you haven't had enough relationship experience to know what you're doing.

I equate picking a spouse at the age of 19 to blindly picking out a boat before you know what kind of water you'll be in.

And honestly, it doesn't hurt to test out some of the boats, before you know how they'll handle the crash of the waves, or the bends in the rivers. Do you really want to take that rowboat into the open ocean? Or try and fit that cruiseline down a mountain stream?

Sometimes you choose correctly. I do understand that. But at 19, how can you have really had enough experiences in relationships, to know you're making a choice that you are going to be happy with 10 or 20 years from now? In what other scenarios is is appropriate to just pick the very first thing to come along and go with it in full confidence?

I think it should be illegal to marry before the age of 25. (Ok, maybe 24.)

This seems extreme, but I really believe it. Even in Mormondom, where we expect everyone to save sex for marriage, I think that it doesn't hurt to experience a little bit of life outside of college, outside the realms of these very temporary blips of our life stories. Once you've graduated, and found at least the first step in the ladder of your career, things start to settle. You start to realize that life is always going to be crazy, and if it isn't one thing, it will be the other, but you'll have a strategy with how to deal with it. You'll know how you handle all kinds of life situations, and know what kind of person you'll need in a life partner in order to help you be successful. Or in helping you become a better person.

I believe that every relationship you're a half in, should help you become a better person. If there are people that are dragging you down, then you shouldn't continue with the relationship. But if you don't know what kind of person you are, then you don't really know where to set the bar! And it should be equal. You should be encouraging those around you to be better people and to grow in some way. If you don't know who you are, then you won't know what kind of influence you are on other people, either.

There are sometimes I wish that I were married, and that I had begun this other stage in my life. I get tired of what I feel like is ACT I. Marriage and babies would be my ACT II and I do feel like I'm ready for that scene change. But the thought of starting ACT II at the age of 19 would have been a huge detriment to my story. There would have been too many plot holes, and too many characters cut. Yes, ACT I has been long-going, but, I wouldn't cut anything from it. It makes me sad to think that there are so many that do without truly weighing in what they are losing.