A STAR is born.

To my sons

2012-01-30T11:25:00.000-08:00

Just look at Edward and Bella! Sigh.
They're like Adam & Eve in an Abercrombie ad campaign.

Assuming I have some menchildren in the future, I'm directing this post to them. I know a little something about how to treat a lady...because I am one. Here are a few helpful tips about how to be a man. A real man. A man worth being. A man like Edward.

--Be helpful. If you see a woman who is working hard at something and you're in a position to help, offer to help. Of course you're more prone to do this if the woman is your girlfriend, your wife, or a good friend, but the concept applies to all women (all people, for that matter). This might cut into your football watching or something, but developing the habit of helping instead of pretending that you don't see her traipsing back and forth making several trips with heavy boxes will go far in making you a good person. Is it required? No. But it's what decent human beings do.

--If you take a girl on a date, you need to talk to her. I don't care how hard it is for you; practice in the car beforehand or with your mom or something. Repeat to yourself: I asked this girl out, which clearly means I thought there might be SOMETHING interesting about her, so I need to talk to her. Ask her questions. You may have to pretend interest in the topic at first, but if you really try and really listen, pretended interest can become real and then you're actually talking. Don't put a girl through the agony of silent dates.

--If you want to date a girl, it never hurts to score some points with said girl's friends or roommates. I don't mean ask them out first or flirt with them too, but I mean be friendly and fun with them as well. Girls like it when their boyfriends get along with her friends. And if you end up dating this girl and thereby practically live at her house with her roommates, be considerate of the fact that it's not your house: See first bullet point above. Don't hog the TV all the time. Don't eat the food her roommates make and then escape before helping clean up.

--The best advice I can think of for how to treat a girl on a date is to make her feel awesome. It's a compliment to get asked out, of course, but it's also a compliment if a date is engaged, makes eye contact, introduces her to people they meet, and has put some thought into the date. Making a girl feel awesome is not that hard--it doesn't require flowers or poetry or cheesiness or elaborate plans (at least not at first). Just some attention will do, kiddos. Repeat to yourself: I asked this girl out. I asked her. Make it clear that you want her there with you.

--If you like her, act like it. If you don't, stop acting like it.

--Go to school and get a job and all that grown up stuff. It's pretty attractive.

--If you're afraid of something you need to do, practice doing it in whatever capacity you can. If commitment is your fear, start committing to stuff. Even if it's just an activity, a road trip, a church assignment, even...a sandwich--Commit to it. If taking risks is your fear, start skydiving. Practice makes perfect.

--Don't use foul language in front of girls. (I would say don't use it at all, but...the transcripts from certain episodes in the privacy of my car would incriminate me). Some girls are cool with it, but I would assume, to be safe, that they're not cool with it and make an effort to curb your bad language and dirty jokes. Maybe you'll find that diamond in the rough who swears like a sailor just like you do, but err on the side of caution until then.

--Read about the love languages and figure out yours. Then figure out hers.

--Be honest. Be brave. Be dependable. Be a man, yo.

The Best Two Years

2011-12-01T10:34:00.000-08:00

Dearest Huntington Beach,
Surprise! Happy anniversary!!! I hijacked this blog so I could publicly tell you how much I love you. I want everyone to know how happy I am that we've been together for TWO YEARS! I hope you're not embarrassed that all of our friends are going to read this...but I don't care because you deserve the attention. xoxo

Many of you may not know this, but HB and I met a long time ago on a road trip with my freshman year roommates. Best trip ever. We were determined to discover all of California, even the weird parts, so we hit every beach we could possibly fit in (including Long Beach, which is not exactly known for its beach...but I digress). My first impression of you wasn't great, or very memorable. Little did I know what lovers we would become later on.

It seems like only yesterday that I pulled up in my exhausted Corolla, anxious about where Gretch and I would sleep that night, but practically bursting with excitement about our new relationship. I drove your tree-lined streets and gushed over all the cute houses, amazed that this was my new life. Once I found a place to live, it was rough for awhile. Every couple has their issues, but I can honestly say I never once doubted you. My eyes wandered a bit, toward Santa Monica, Newport Beach, even--dare I say it....LA--but I always came back to you. We spent a lot of really intimate time together in those first 6 months, when I had few friends and little energy for anything but curling up on your beach in my spare time. Every day, when I had to wake up at the butt crack of dawn and kiss you goodbye to battle the 405, I vowed that one day I would leave all that behind and stay home to devote myself to you completely. It took some doing, but I finally did it and now we're happier than ever.

Here are some of the things I love about you:
--Running on the beach
--Surfers, all day long, every day
--Chronic Taco, Cafe Allessa, Tuna Town, Liquor Store sandwiches, Thai Silk
--Your killer sunsets
--Our rooftop
--Volleyball on Saturdays
--Biking everywhere together
--Friday farmer's market
--The Pierside Ward (RIP)
--That one best day ever: Volleyball, lunch, hot tubbing at the Hyatt, etc
--This house
--Salvation Army and yard sale furniture
--Taco Tuesdays

I could go on and on. Of course it hasn't all been bliss, but it's all been life changing. You've been good to me, and your insane cost of living seems to be worth it every time I step out my front door. I'll stomach the parking tickets, the weed smoking next door, killing of all my rooftop plants, and the occasional possum, because...baby, this is love.

Cheers to a great two years!
--Stef

Old me, meet now me

2011-10-26T10:05:00.000-07:00

Direct quote from my journal, February 17, 2003: "I just spent a whole entry talking about boys. I am so lame! I hope I'm the only person who ever reads these journals. But who can blame me? All my friends are getting hitched, so it's kind of a boy-focused stage of life."

Oh, ho ho...do you think the Me of Ages Past would be embarrassed to know that I just shared that with the entire world? Not much she can do about it.

There are several indicators that I have a little too much free time today (besides the glaring fact that I'm blogging at 9am), one of those being that I just read my entire journal from the years when I was 19 and 20. Those were very formative years for me--The pages are filled with stress and worry about what to study in school, where to spend my summers, how to stretch my thin income, and....boys. Boys boys boys. See my previous blog entry for more information about that trend. Reading one's former self is not a comfortable experience, if you're me. It's cringe-worthy, most of it. I have to sift through a lot of mess to get to the heart of who I was and to see if that girl is still in me. I simultaneously conclude that I have both changed completely and haven't changed at all.

And then, right in the midst of laughing and shaking my head at the things I used to say, I come across a list. In October, 9 years ago, I made a spontaneous wish list of sorts, declaring all the things I wanted and wanted to become. I still do that sort of thing today, so not much has changed there. But as I read about the deepest desires of my 20-year-old heart, I was taken back to that time of my life. I remembered what it felt like to want those things and feel like they were so far away. Pipe dreams. A wish list is just that, right? Dreams that you fling out to the universe and longingly pine for, with no expectation that even half of them will come true. I remember that feeling--the taste of frustration at my own weaknesses, combined with a barely-containable excitement about all possibilities that lie before me. I remember that feeling because I still have it, all the time. But what's crazy about today is that I can check so many things off that list I wrote in 2002. Without knowing it, the last 10 years have brought me really close to all of the things I wanted to be. Of course there is much more work to do and infinite wish lists in my mind, but I'm amazed at how far I've come in realizing my dreams. In that entry I said "How much of that will really happen, or is even possible?" I love being able to answer that question now.

Time is a funny thing that way. I tend to wish it away, or want it to speed up to help see me through some current frustration. I found myself doing that just yesterday. I used to do that all the time--wish that I could just fast-forward a few months, a few years, or whatever. Well, it turns out that wishing away time is one wish that always comes true. I feel like I've just fast-forwarded to 2011 and am wondering where the time has gone. I feel sad about that, but also I am overwhelmed by gratitude for my life. I have been blessed with experiences that seemed like crazy dreams ("I want to go to Italy and learn Italian" or "I want to do weddings and floral design") and I've also learned through the hard things ("I don't want to work somewhere that I don't love"). Some of my dreams have changed ("I want to weigh 110 pounds") and some will never change ("I want to be an amazing, memorable writer" and "I want to be a positive influence" and "I want to be really, really good at something, like guitar or piano.") I'm glad to see that much of who I was is still who I am, and that at the very least I know I've been passionate.

I am filled with hope today. I hope that I continue to hope. My wish lists are less specific now ("I hope I'm learning what I should" and "I hope everyone feels loved by me") but no less real. And, thanks to my abundant free time today, I've learned that my wish lists are actual possibilities. Just give me another 10 years or so.

Fisher of men

2011-08-31T09:56:00.000-07:00

Confession: I have been boy crazy my entire life.

This statement, of course, comes as shocking to nobody who knows me. Being a boy crazy girl has its perks, you know: I always have someone(s) to talk about, think about, dress up for, get excited about, analyze, etc. And I always had little boyfriends growing up (before junior high happened). Even now the laws of statistics determine that with so many objects of my affection, I'm bound to get at least a little flirting in every coupla days or so. But I'm thinking today about some of dark sides of crushing (gosh, that word "crushing" should really only have dark sides when you think about it).

The ratio of nets cast into the waters of love compared to actual fishes caught is alarming. I figure that over the years I've invested some of my heart in roughly...435 boys (15 per year x 29 years) and I've ended up having that affection returned roughly...75 times. And of those who've returned my affections, only maybe 15-20 of those have netted a relationship of some sort. Don't question these numbers, by the way--it's science.

So, to sum up:
Boys desired: 435
Boys desiring me: 75
Boys following through with desire and actually dating me: 15
435x=15
x=15/435
x=.03

I'm batting a 3% rate of return on this particular investment.

Now, maybe if this were a money market account, I could feel good about that. But it's not, and I don't. So, math whizzes, life coaches, summoners of the dark arts (Jenny Morrow), ask yourselves what you would do in my position. I need to boost my rate of return to, say, 100%. No big deal.

I have questions:
--I'm still young, so the finance guys say "take risks". Done, doing, will do, thank you. Does that mean I cast more nets? More and more and more nets?
--The emotionally scarred would say that a heart can only be fragmented so many times before it ceases to function (actually, I'm pretty sure doctors would say that too), so perhaps the best course of action is to pull in the line and work on patching up the leaky spots until I'm in safer waters. ?
--Economists will tell me to use not more nets, but better ones. Part of my problem is that I run around gleefully throwing around anything that remotely looks like a net and then I might catch a little fishie who remains caught only long enough to find the nearest hole and wriggle away. Or, sometimes when I'm on a roll I'll catch too many fish in one net and, a la the Faithless Disciples, my net breaks and sends them all a-scurrying. How does one improve the net?
--I think most people would probably tell me to never, ever take an analogy this far.

Sigh. You're right. Maybe I just need to grow up and realize that it's possible to choose who to invest in, and that not having crushes on everything male with a heartbeat is something to consider. But even as I think that I feel sad, like a huge part of me would just be snuffed out by the part of me that finds it prudent to be cold and unfeeling and careful. NEVER! Ahem. Never.

Hummmuna hummuna hmmmm.....
Meh. I think probably I have less control over this than I think I do. I am me and apparently, that means I am a fisher of men. Analogy back on, yo.

2011-07-18T15:23:00.000-07:00

As of today, I am debt free!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If I were a rich man, yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum

2011-06-13T00:45:00.000-07:00

Late-night blog rant that I'll probably regret in the morning....ready....go:

I had a little 6-year-old student I'll call D for just about 5 weeks. Cutest thing ever, but let me tell you about the rollercoaster ride she put me on. I asked her awhile ago to list some songs she likes so we could learn them on the piano, because students will usually get much more excited to practice and/or perform a song they know, right? Well, she had recently seen Fiddler on the Roof and fell in love with "If I Were a Rich Man". So I went home and listened to it about 65 times, and came up with a little kid arrangement that I knew she could do if she worked hard. When I came to our next lesson and played it for her, she lost her mind with excitement. She threw her arms around me and thanked me and promised to do everything she could to learn the song in time of for our fast-approaching recital. And during that lesson, she sure kept her word! She was focused. She was working. She was very unlike a 6-year-old in her tenacity. I left that lesson rejoicing, considering a musical connection made and a testimony born of hard work and dedication.

That lasted until our next lesson, where D could barely play a short three-note section of what we'd learned, and spent the whole lesson exhibiting ADD like I'd never seen, repeating "piano is hard" about every 5 minutes. My little, naive heart broke. It really broke. I left that lesson feeling like such a failure. The scariest part of that feeling was not that I'd failed as a teacher, but that one setback in my student's progression so easily broke my heart like that. It took the wind right out of my sails. Instead of taking it in stride and chalking it up to a bad day, in one fell swoop it cut my motivation right out from under me and I wrote her off. Just like that.

Frightening, isn't it?

Then comes the inevitable onslaught of questions: Am I an idiot for thinking she could play that? Did I push her too hard? Is this simply a lack of experience kind of thing, since I've been a teacher for about 5 minutes? Are all children rotten little monsters who hate doing anything that requires work?

I'm learning that I have very high expectations for people, including myself. I realize the story above is embarrassingly dramatic, but I really did experience those highs and lows based on a little thing like Fiddler on the Roof. It may not be so bad to have such high expectations, except for the part where those expectations are not met (which they rarely are) and the resulting crash into despair. Tell me, mothers, how do you handle this with your children? I'm terrified to have children because I'm terrified they'll disappoint me.

That last line made me a little terrified to post this...we'll see if I actually do.

God hasn't blessed me with children yet--which obviously is a very good thing for now--but what I have been given instead is a Relief Society full of women for whom I am now responsible to be a good example to, to care about, to pray for, and to hope for...which I do my best to do. The problem is that I don't think I've really learned about agency yet. Two months into it and I'm already bitterly disappointed when I see girls who don't try very hard or who just...aren't that awesome at churchy things, you know? It's not like I feel they've disappointed me personally--I know they don't owe me a thing--but it's like they've betrayed my hope in them. It's difficult for me to avoid sometimes feeling like my efforts to get people to change (or to get myself to change) are an exercise in futility...that in the end, that little girl doesn't want to practice piano, or this girl just doesn't feel like coming to Relief Society today. Heck, sometimes I don't feel like going to Relief Society, so it's not the end of the world, right? I'm not any better than them and I have plenty of examples of girls who blow me away with how amazing they are. Still, disappointment will come throughout my life. What I need practice in is shaking it off. I need to be able to maintain hope in the face of disappointment. I don't want unmet expectations to mean that I have no more desire to try. If it's having that effect on me, then I am much more impatient than I ever thought. Sigh.

Not my best day, you could say.

Today

2011-06-09T00:45:00.000-07:00

Today was a good day. I got a glimpse of what it would be like to be a stay at home mom with no kids. A little of this, a little of that, total freedom, yada yada. I liked it. Once upon a time I had a really gross schedule that looked like this. Here's the new me:

9 am - We begin with some roof time. Reading, contemplating, gardening. Take a look at some of my babies:

10:30am - Some church stuff. It's my busiest job.

12:0pm - Lunch. I have time to make BLTs!

1:30pm - Temple. I love my little pink temple, but I do not love going in the afternoon. I forget the overwhelming power of sleepytime.

3:30pm - Temple photoshoot. Why not?

5:00pm - By the sweat of my brow shall I eat my bread. *Translation: Yes, I do have to work some today.

7:30pm - More church stuff

9:00pm - Hang out. Blog. Watch Modern Family. Visit a friend.

11:30pm - Go to bed smiling.

Can you believe this fairytale? Me neither. And you shouldn't, because this is by no means a typical day. Though my life is sooooo much better than it was, my semi-retirement has actually been much, much busier than I thought (thank you, Bishop) and that makes today a nice little treat. I really love where I live and I love when I have the time to love it.

I went to Yosemite last weekend! Remind me to blog about that. I've learned much about California and hiking vs. Utah and hiking. Remind me, ok?

2011-05-20T23:34:00.001-07:00

I think the post below is possibly the worst blog post of all time.

A Bedtime Story

2011-05-20T12:38:00.000-07:00

Forgive me for my long absence.

I honestly haven't had much motivation to blog lately, mostly because things are great and I'm busy and somehow I like to keep all that goodness to myself. But yesterday I was flirted with by a 9-year-old on a school bus, and I realized: People need to know about these things. I have plenty to write about.

This is what the kid did to me, I swear. The whole back of the bus was eating it up.

So now, a bedtime story.

Not sure how this has happened, but I have purchased 3 beds in the last few years. The first is my favorite: a queen that resides in my brother's basement, begging me to get married and finally reclaim it from storage. The second is the subject of this story. The third is the bed I now sleep in, a full-size that dips slightly in the middle but otherwise perfectly suits my needs.

The second bed has been on a quite a journey. I rescued it from some man's garage at what I thought was a good price, but has proven otherwise. It was advertised as a twin, but some exacting friends have determined that it is in fact a single, which is smaller than a twin. Did you know that there are beds smaller than twin size, that aren't cribs? Yeah, me neither. Anyway, my little kid bed and I have been through a lot together. She and I, hand in hand, fled the snow and cold in Utah and arrived in humid Huntington Beach a little torn up and soggy, but happy. When I placed her in my current room, she and I both realized this move was bigger than we thought. As in...my giant room dwarfed my little kid bed and made me feel like I was sleeping in a warehouse. That was fine with me for awhile, but then I purchase bed #3 off a friend and determined to send the little kid bed to live somewhere else. Like maybe with a deserving little kid. But I had underestimated the popularity of Hotel Stef, and my many guests have enjoyed her firmness instead of the firmness of my bedroom floor for about 9 months now.

Why am I going on and on about this? I don't know.

Anyway, I determined a few weeks ago to finally part ways with this bed. I had a mini yard sale where the bed was one of only 2 items I needed to sell. I sold the other one, but not the bed. So I posted the bed on Craigslist, to no avail. I called a place to see if I could donate it, but they wouldn't come pick it up. So yesterday, at 6:30am I put the bed in our alley by the garage, having been told that people come through there looking for free stuff all the time. I made an airport run and returned about an hour later and made a sign that said "FREE!" to put on the bed. But when I went to the alley to put the sign on the bed, it was gone. Gone! It took just over an hour to rid myself of it. Heck, it could have been claimed 5 minutes after I put it out there for all I know. I wish so badly I could have been there to see who picked it up, because the speed at which they came is blowing my mind. I'm a little suspicious that somebody has been stalking my bed, just waiting for me to offer it up for free. Well played, alley cats, well played.

Thus ends the story of my little kid bed.

This is the current bed. We'll call it my adolescence.

I know this is not very interesting to you or answers any of the questions I've received about how my life is going these days, but...here it is. This is what I'm doing with myself lately.

PS I'm extremely happy. Things are going just fine. I'll write about it sometime.

Lent and a Leap of Faith

2011-03-11T18:05:00.000-08:00

It’s that time of year again—My most favorite torturous Catholic tradition that I’m totally not required to do but feel compelled to anyway. It’s Lent!

I’m giving up a lot of things in the next 40 days. Here they are, in order of difficulty from least to most:

1) Candy. I don’t enjoy candy as much as I used to, so it makes me mad that I eat so much of it just because it’s always around. So this is a nice way to make me stop doing that. Not too hard.

2) Picking at my face. Like a stupid, self-mutilating monkey, I pick at my face constantly. I’m sure you all can attest to this. I am determined to break this habit, and I can already tell after only 2 days that this may be my most difficult Lent attempt ever. I am amazed at how much I do it, now that I’m paying attention. It’s such a terrible habit and if I really succeed in breaking it, I just may convert to Catholicism.

3) A trip to Thailand. Sad cry sad. No, I’m not giving this up on purpose for Lent, but I am giving it up nonetheless. I was planning on going in April but something came up that required me to adjust my travel plans, which is…heartbreaking. I’m starting to think that the Powers That Be do not want me to visit Thailand ever. Maybe if I go there I’ll quickly become seduced into a life of prostitution and woe. Anyway, this is sad news but I made the decision for a good reason…which leads me to my next topic, the GOOD NEWS segment! Ba bada baaaaa…..

I GOT A NEW JOB!

HOORAY!

WAHOO!

YES PLEASE PLEASE THANK YOU AMEN.

Not just a new job, kids: A complete career change. I’m going to be teaching piano for the Winder Academy of Music . Woot! I know you’re thinking I’m the most random person in the world, and you’re probably right. But I’m a big fan of their program and the whole interview process was so fun and exciting and I’ll be involved in music every day and I feel really good about it and I can afford to only work part time if I want. Did you catch that? I will be living in southern California, 2 blocks from the beach, and working part time.

Dream job—Check.

So anyway, I’m still reeling from this development and how quickly it happened. I am a lucky, lucky girl when it comes to jobs, but great employment opportunities always seem follow this pattern for me: 1) Interview for something awesome “on a whim”; 2) Have a great interview where we really click, but still assume I’m totally unqualified and don’t take it seriously; 3) Have another interview/conversation that changes it from a “whim” to an actual possibility; 4) Struggle to start taking it seriously; 5) Get job offer, but under conditions that require major life changes and quickly at that; 6) Spend one long, sleepless night spent making a huge decision; 7) Accept job offer the next day; 7) Run to keep up for the next several months. I’m so happy this is happening but it’s a lot to take in at once. Kinda like when I moved here. And kinda like my quitting school to work in advertising before that. Apparently this is my MO.

Well, huzzah. I am happy and so grateful. I hope it all works out I hope and I can learn how to be a good teacher. In the meantime, this post shall be followed with another one that I’m starting to compile now, entitled “Things I Will Not Miss About My Job.” I already have a list 6 miles long but I’ll give you the condensed version.

Doubting or Devoted?

2011-02-23T23:13:00.000-08:00

If you’re interested, help me settle an internal debate:

There are two opposing statements about human nature that I’ve thought a lot about, and I want to contrast them here. I’m curious what the masses (read: you 7 who follow my blog) think and why.

First is the great CS Lewis. I admit to having Brother Lewis on a pedestal, because I agree with most of what I’ve read and I am so persuaded by his easy logic and ring of truth statements. Therefore, some of what he teaches about human nature has significantly affected how I think about myself and others. From Mere Christianity, I quote:

“When I come to my evening prayers and try to reckon up the sins of the day, nine times out of ten the most obvious one is some sin against charity; I have sulked or snapped or sneered or snubbed or stormed. And the excuse that immediately springs to my mind is that the provocation was so sudden and unexpected; I was caught off my guard, I had not time to collect myself. Now that may be an extenuating circumstance as regards those particular acts; they would obviously be worse if they had been deliberated and premeditated. On the other hand, surely what a man does when he is taken off his guard is the best evidence for what sort of a man he is? Surely what pops out before the man has time to put on a disguise is the truth? If there are rats in a cellar you are most likely to see them if you go in very suddenly. But the suddenness does not create the rats; in only prevents them from hiding. In the same way the suddenness of the provocation does not make me an ill-tempered man; it only shows me what an ill-tempered man I am.”

This makes sense to me. I spend a lot of energy trying to curb the “natural man” in me, striving to be pleasant and friendly and kind and slow to anger and all that. My frequent failure to do so, however, has resulted in a tendency to really beat myself up. I’ll lose my temper at someone on the freeway and suddenly I feel like I’ve lost any ground I’ve gained in the positive direction. Back to square one, basically. I assume that, like Lewis says, the “real me” is the me that comes out when I’m caught off guard, when I don’t have time to shape an “appropriate” reaction. And I’m here to tell you, this girl is sometimes very slow to process and that instant reaction is not always great. So if that’s the real me, then…..not great.

Enter S. Michael Wilcox, an LDS speaker and institute teacher. Bro. Wilcox also has a simple, reasonable tone but he also speaks so much of love and mercy. His words take my breath away sometimes, in the sense that they are exactly what I need to hear. In a talk called “Using Scriptures to Solve Serious Problems” he coins something he calls the “Doubting Thomas Trap.” Though he’s talking in the context of marriage, I heard it as concerning myself. Here you go:

Far too often couples fall into the Doubting Thomas trap.

If I were to ask this group to fill in the blank: ‘blank’ Thomas….You’re all going to say ‘Doubting’ Thomas. Poor old Thomas; he’s remembered at his worst. Isn’t that sad? Sometimes we say in a marriage that’s struggling a little bit, “Ah, now I know the real you.” And the ‘real’ you is usually you at your worst, right? So who is the ‘real’ Thomas? Doubting Thomas? And then I like to ask people a question: Can anybody here think of another story in the New Testament about Thomas? I rarely get a single hand go up. Nobody knows the other story about Thomas in the New Testament, and yet we see a different Thomas. It’s in the 11^th chapter of John, when Jesus is going to Bethany to raise Lazarus from the dead. And the disciples are concerned, they say unto him, “Master the Jews of late sought to stone thee, and goest thou thither again?” Your life is in danger if you go back towards Jerusalem. But Jesus is determined to go. And in the 16^th verse we read, “then said Thomas, which is called Didymus unto his fellow disciples, Let us also go, that we may die with him.”

Now how else could we fill in the ‘blank’ Thomas? Devoted Thomas? Loyal Thomas, Sacrificing Thomas? ‘Willing to die for Jesus’ Thomas? So who is the real Thomas? Doubting Thomas, or Devoted Thomas? I like to think that Devoted Thomas was Thomas at his best. If we could just realize this in our marriages…as I think of my own wife. My wife at her best is the most magnificent woman God ever created on this earth. I, at my best, am…not too bad. And an eternity with somebody at their best is probably worth a few times when the stresses and frustrations of life bring out maybe not their best selves. Let us always realize that the person we married is them at their best; the devoted Thomas part of them, not the Doubting part of them.

(Listen to this amazing talk here)

Can I tell you, when I heard this my entire paradigm shifted. That sounds dramatic; But I really struggle with guilt and self-doubt, so to hear someone say that the worst parts about me don’t define me has been more helpful than any council I’ve sought out in a long time. I can go easier on myself when I think that way. I still try to do better and improve, but when I have a moment of weakness it doesn’t have the snowball effect of making me feel like a terrible person. That’s the idea, anyway—the practice of it will take time, but I like the idea. And it really has helped.

So, time to compare. Is one right and one wrong? Does one ring more true to you than the other? I believe both of them but have found one of them to be sort of damaging to my self-image.

If I believe Lewis, then I haven’t really changed at all because I still get ridiculously angry sometimes; I still am unkind at times; I still have bad thoughts and temptations. Those things are the real me because they are they quickest, most raw sides of my personality.

But if I believe Wilcox, then I’m pretty great. I still have all those negative things in me, but at my very best I’m doing good things and am confident I’m ok.

It’s obvious which one is the more attractive school of thought. Of course I want to believe that I’m great, but it’s much easier to believe I’m not. This may not be true of everyone, but it’s true of me. Perhaps this is just the age-old debate about whether man is basically good or basically evil. Anyway, I’d love to hear anyone’s thoughts on this. A note, however: I’m not looking for validations or comments about me. I use me as an example because, well, I’m most acquainted with my own experiences. I’d really like to hear about other people’s thoughts.

Baby making!

2011-02-21T22:45:00.000-08:00

An opportunity passed me by this weekend, and I don't want the same thing to happen to you.

If a baby is to be born on 11/11/11, it needed to be conceived this weekend. I figure that with modern technology there's still a bit of time to make a baby and still deliver it on that day. And since my baby making powers are on restriction, I'm calling upon friends and family to make it happen. Melinda, McCall, Maria, CANDICE, Shannon, Elisha, heck, even Katrina, I'm looking at you. Just think of the historic place your child will hold in society!

I'm shooting for 12/12/12. Not nearly as cool...but I'll take what I can get.

These days

2011-02-14T00:11:00.006-08:00

I realize my blogging of late has not been fantastic....in fact, my mom told me that if I don't start blogging again I would have to join Facebook. And since none of us wants that to happen, I must obey by posting something.

I've been meaning to post about my New Year's Eve this year. I didn't hate it, which is newsworthy! In fact, I loved it. Some of the single ladies got the idea to stay in a hotel and hot tub 2010 away, and it was perfect. We ate Indian food, which was amazing, and then battled the freezing cold but beautiful January snow to our hotel and stayed there the rest of the night. I got really hyper and we ate peppermint ice cream in a hot tub, which is totally illegal but definitely worth the risk. Some pics:

Pre hot tub, sans pants.

Have I mentioned I look 12 when wet?

Gretchen kept drowning me.
No really, she was drowning me. We all thought it was hilarious, I guess.

Midnight! I mysteriously disappeared at this point.

A coupla weeks ago I went with some friends to Mexico for lunch, "just because we can."
Some highlights:

--Not getting beheaded
--Best horchata I've ever had
--Donkeys painted like zebras are all the rage over there
--Crossing the border into Mexico feels like entering Disneyland or something because you literally walk through a turnstile and you're there. We didn't even have to show our passports. In fact, the sign that points the way says "West Parking lot and Mexico." No big deal.
--Spence bought us giant sombreros and made us wear them the whole way home. People cheered us on as we walked by, thinking to themselves (and sometimes aloud) "you can always tell the ones who've had too much to drink." Little did they know we're just a bunch of Mormon kids who are all hopped up on horchata.

We're using this as our engagement pic.

Other things of note: I did a small floral job recently. I'm trying to slowly work my way back into doing floral design, so spread the word if you know of anyone who needs flowers. Here are some shots of the latest, which were used in a photo shoot for an interior design firm:

Hmmmm....what else?

I just got back from San Diego with my parents this weekend. I really loved San Diego! I was worried about us having enough to do, but we had plenty. Go there. Go there now. Highlights:

--Coronado

--Old-fashioned candy on Coronado. Necco wafers, black licorice, and even these Italian seltzer candies I've been looking for allover the place! Yes, I meant to write allover as one word.

--My dad's reaction to the big aircraft carrier we happened upon. Picture 10-year-old excitement trapped in a mature adult's brain and vocabulary, and you get this: "That is...really cool..." repeated about 10 times. Very cute.

--She crab soup

--Vacation Mom

--The ward choir at the sacrament meeting we visited was AMAZING. They only had about 10 people singing, but they had this rocking organ player and they seriously gave me goosebumps. I couldn't believe it. It would have been even cooler if my mom had walked up there to sing with them like I dared her to, but oh well.

I've been kind of all over the place lately--I went to Vegas to see Maria last weekend (which was super fun and I can't wait for her to bring back the shoes we bought to share--we're the Sisterhood of the Traveling Shoes); to St. George before that with my ladies from Utah (which was also super fun, in that way that only exists with people you've known forever and love forever and ever amen), and now I'm tired so I'm going to bed.

PS The weather in the last month has been exactly what I changed my entire life to move here for.

Year in a day

2011-01-30T22:31:00.001-08:00

If January 1^st, 2011 was any indication of how the rest of the year will play out, it will look a little something like this:

Act 1: Cold, Dark, and Alone

My breath struggled to even leave my body, frozen inside me, as I rushed out to my borrowed car. Cold that deep leaves me in shock, stripped down to the basics of survival and aching to escape. So drive toward my escape I did, albeit slowly.

Act 2: The Great Escape

Still early in the day, I took my last few strained breaths and gleefully blew out the visible toxins, knowing they were my last like that for a while, maybe forever. I almost laughed in anticipation of my freedom, of flying, of soaring high above the cold and the dark. But still alone.

Act 3: The Sun

The early rays start to chip away at the ice I’ve grown accustomed to. I’m still cold, but starting to thaw. The sun is hope, refreshment, banishment of darkness, and I smile way too much just at the hint of it. These next few hours are mine to bask in its glow, to both wake up and rest and to keep concerns on hold for a while. I need sleep, and I need affection, and I need my ocean waves to carry me to safety. And I need to walk. To move. To become and to realize. I need to need more than cold, dark, and alone.

Act 4: Friends

The absence has been long, so reuniting is also long. I tell my secrets and you tell yours, and we make new ones to keep us laughing for months to come. That comfort sometimes seems so far away, but I realize it’s my own hand staying its warmth. I do my best to stay my hand. With the sun and with friends, I start to remember the opposite of numb.

Act 5: Warm and Safe and Sound, For Now

It ends the way any day should, with calm and compatibility. Reflection makes me grateful and sleep gradually but firmly takes over.

11/11

2010-11-11T23:49:00.004-08:00

It's a special day! I hope you made lots of wishes. I did.

Daylight Savings

2010-11-10T20:57:00.003-08:00

No, this isn’t a post about some funny thing that happened to me because of a surprise time change. This is about theft. Specifically, the theft of one hour of my day.

I inherited several things from my father, i.e. crooked teeth, a love for writing, the gradual disappearing of my bum (mom contributed to that too, so my poor buttskies don’t stand a chance), an increasing use of mustard, and….the loathing of decreased daylight. You know that myth, the one about Persephone and springtime and flowers and stuff? I don’t really either, but her name sounds like mine and I feel a kinship with her. The gist is that she was captured by Hades and held prisoner in the underworld, only to be let out once a year to frolic above ground. She was so happy to see the light of day—and mother earth was equally enamored of her—that wherever she went sprang flowers and new life. Thus, the coming of Spring every year. Do you see where I’m going with this? No, I don’t consider myself the breath of life that invigorates mankind and gives new hope to the world each year. My conclusion is simply this: Not having daylight is akin to being banished to hell.

Ever since moving to California I’ve wondered when my obsession with the beach, sunshine, and warmth would run itself out of my system. Naturally, I figured that being starved of all three of these at least 9 months out of every year would result in a short-lived, wild-eyed sun frenzy, kind of like when I got addicted to not sleeping as soon as I moved away from my parents’ house and into the co-ed dorms at USU. Since that only took about a semester to wear off (the addiction to not sleeping, not the actual not sleeping), I think I figured this beach thing would too. But…alas, I remain besotted with sun.

Besotted with sun. That’s a lovely phrase.

Anyway, my relationship with daylight is very high maintenance. Since my work day is really long, sometimes I don’t see the sun all day. By the time Wednesday or Thursday rolls around, I feel weird, and by Friday I’m all messed up. Sure, this could be attributed to many other factors, but when I think to myself “I feel weird, what’s going on?” The first thing my self responds with is “Why is it dark right now? I want to go outside.” And then I’m terribly distracted with images of me, basking in the sun, not necessarily doing anything but recharging. That’s exactly what sunlight feels like to me—I’m a giant dry battery, and the sun is my charger. The weekends are barely enough to recharge me for the week, and I find myself plotting dangerous things to get more hits during my work day (like extra long lunch breaks, complete with a blanket and a book and a questionable park and pants that can be rolled up to become shorts and light layers so I don’t get too hot and sunglasses, etc. etc. etc.).

You would think moving here, the "Golden Coast," would satiate me. That’s what I thought. But as it turns out, I still have to go to work and stuff. It nearly kills me if I have to run an errand on a Saturday that involves getting in my car and going somewhere indoors. Some of you have visited and have perhaps seen how my anxiety level increases the longer I’m out of the sun on the weekends. I’m a junkie. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. Every addict reaches a point where they have to either give up and let the beast take over, or give up and get help.

In short, I’m really sad that it’s November 10 and when I leave work at 5 I only catch about 20 minutes of sunlight. No more running at Manhattan Beach. No more happiness.

Ok, that was overdramatic. How about this instead: I will try to keep my chin up while I tap into the backup charger, which is food (more on that in subsequent posts!). In the meantime, join me and my dad in gritting your teeth and hunkering down until the dawn of the best day of the year: December 21. It only gets better from there!

Halloween 2010

2010-11-01T12:35:00.000-07:00

I hate being away from Utah on Halloween, turns out.
I did my best with the crushing homesickness and produced this:

I'm a tornado, duh.

And here I am spinning.

...and dancing.

...and sprouting arms in grumpiness. Probably because someone mistook me for a tampon.

And, finally, calling it a night. Riding in the car with a troll doll.

Happy Halloween, from far far away!

CUPCAKES!!!! Oh my gosh I love cupcakes.

2010-10-14T18:41:00.002-07:00

I made cupcakes last night for a birthday. White cake mix, cream cheese frosting, done. They are SO good.
I’ve known for awhile that cupcakes are good. Like, since I was 6. That’s what I always requested for my birthday cake—vanilla cupcakes with vanilla or cream cheese frosting. Yes, I was ahead of the cupcake curve. I knew then and I know now that cupcakes are good, and why are they good? Because they are golden brown on all sides. Because they’re less formidable than an entire cake. Because in about three bites it’s over and you’re happy. NOT because they have frosting piled 6 feet high. NOT because they cost $4. And NOT because they’re exotic and overwrought with ingredients like rose hip jelly and saffron buttercream cookie crumble.

Why am I so annoyed by modern cupcakes?
No really, why? Why does this bother me so much?

I guess because I feel they’ve been prostituted. Something I liked for its very simplicity is now a convoluted, trendy mess of a confection that will make me gouge my eyes out if I see one more super hip shop dedicated solely to fulfilling your wildest cupcake dreams. Sure, they’re inherently cute and tasty and I can’t blame people for wanting to capitalize on that. But that ship sailed 10 years ago or something! We need to get over cupcakes! Well, at least over the cupcake frenzy. And we especially need to stop doing giant cupcake cakes. I’m completely mystified by a miniature cake imitating a full-sized cake by becoming full-sized. There’s a term for that, but I can’t remember....life imitating art? Meta? No, wait, I remember: super nerdy.

No offense if you’re starting a cupcake shop, had or are having cupcakes at your wedding, or if you just baked your child a giant cupcake birthday cake. I admit that these new cupcakes are sometimes really, really yummy. But like a good song that comes out and then 1 month later makes you want to surgically remove your ears because it’s been so overplayed, cupcakes need to keep their distance from me for awhile.

Words, words, words

2010-09-23T22:42:00.004-07:00

So I’ve been reading again.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve outgrown a lot of things. Boundless energy, for one. A passion for miniature replicas of everyday items, for another. There was the turtle/frog phase, the playing orphanage phase, the pictures of shirtless Tom Cruise phase (Side note: This was when I first discovered the internet. And hot on the heals of this new delight was the revelation that one must be careful what one searches for on the internet. A shirtless Tom Cruise can very easily become a pantsless Tom Cruise, and at that point it’s only the sluggishness of a circa 1997 dial-up that preserves one’s innocence). But my childhood left me with one enduring passion: Reading. I thought maybe I’d sort of outgrown this too, but recent events have proven otherwise.

Tom Cruise has changed. I haven't.

I spent last week in a self-imposed prison. I say prison because it’s the only word strong enough to convey the hold on me certain books can get. To say I become enthralled is not enough. Distracted, addicted, consumed…those get a little closer. But I think it’s safe to say that I am held captive by books. They don’t even have to be particularly fantastic books either—obviously, because The Babysitter’s Club has stolen many an hour of my life. But if there’s a story and I want to know how it ends, I have to say goodbye to every other thing I have going on in my life until it’s over. My family used to tease me for trying to read books at the dinner table, while walking, while I was supposed to be doing homework or practicing the piano or playing outside in the summer.

What? I'm doing my homework.

What? I'm practicing piano.

What? My hair is permed. Especially my bangs.

In the last few years I’ve gone on and off with reading because I’ve become ridiculously busy. But every once in awhile, one of these books grabs hold of me and it’s not until a few days later, when I dazedly come up for air and see the shambles that is my neglected life, that I realize I have a problem.

I’m starting to think it’s not healthy. Like any other hobby, I guess it can be too all-consuming and start to steal from the other facets of life…like personal hygiene and social pursuits. Because when I read, I don’t care if I see another soul for days. I can’t seem to find the motivation to go running or eat a real meal or stick to a normal-length lunch break because the alternate world I’ve entered is much more inviting. Scary, isn’t it? I’ve always thought it was ok because, well, it’s reading. It’s not video games and it’s not porn and it’s not drugs or Renaissance reenactments or, I dunno, compulsive gambling or other things I consider deplorable. It’s reading. Reading is good for you! Reading makes you smarter! Reading is something precious, an ability and a privilege held sacred since the invention of writing. Right?

Is it possible that reading, for me, is a vice?

Nay.

I just felt like saying nay.

But really, I hope not. It’s true, I probably need to chill out a bit and not give up the few hours of sleep I’m lucky to get by finishing a few more chapters of my latest book. But I can’t do it! It’s a dang good thing that this relatively innocent thing happens to be my compulsion because the lack of self-control I’m exhibiting is frightening. I’m starting to get an idea of what life would be like if I had a fondness for alcohol. Thank goodness for acceptable pursuits!

So I’ve been reading again. And how.

In the last 2 weeks I’ve read The Hiding Place and all three Hunger Games books, and now I’m on to Don’t Get Too Comfortable by David Rakoff. Any new recommendations for me? I’m on a roll.

Dancing Queen

2010-09-18T18:14:00.000-07:00

Well, I've found my calling in life. I suppose I've always known it, but today it's been made quite clear that I was put on this earth to dance. At people's weddings.

I've earned far too much face time on cameras doing this (most of you readers are probably nodding your heads because you've seen me plastered all over your wedding videos) and it's slightly embarrassing, because I'm usually not an integral part of anyone's wedding party. But my only defense is this: When I ask what I can do to help with someone's wedding, the inevitable response is "Dance!" Apparently there is a great need for young single girls to dance like it's going out of style so that the marriage will be successful. Those who know me know that this is a job I can do.

And, brides of the world, I am happy to do so. If I accomplish nothing more than occupying a 12x12 dance floor for 2 hours of your special day, then I've succeeded in this life.

2010-09-01T22:17:00.001-07:00

Welcome to Summer

2010-08-23T19:32:00.001-07:00

I know most of the country is enjoying what they consider the winding down days of summer. But here in Southern California, Summer's just beginning. This last weekend, for the first time, each day arrived with little or no fog, and finished without any chilly wind and with temperatures above 75º. Finally. I will tell you that every single Californian I've talked to says "this is the coldest summer we've had in 30 years." Seriously, we've averaged 65º probably, with it being downright cold at night. For those of you who've been suffering through very hot summers, I'm sure this sounds like bliss. It probably is bliss. But I'm a spoiled little sun worshipper who just hasn't gotten her fill this year, so I'm determined not to be satisfied with bliss--I want bliss + 10º, apparently. Anyway, I'm very excited about the sudden warmth and have spent every spare minute at the beach this weekend. I'm a lucky girl. I hope it lasts.

And now, I present some pictures because the public demands it.
Ok, nobody has actually asked for pictures. But, uh, here you go.

This is me with my friend Olliviah on the 4th of July. A crazy lady saw us take this picture and complimented us profusely on our patriotic outfits. She then asked "Are you besties?" This is a word I'm not yet comfortable with, and lots of people use it around here. It means best friends, in case you're wondering. Anyway, I just said yes to get the lady to go away, and poor Olliviah is perpetually honest and proceeded to awkwardly look at me and try to put a name on our friendship. "We're still getting to be friends, I guess. We have fun together. We don't really know each other that well yet..."
Anyway, we're friends. She's not convinced, but I am.

This is at a party celebrating my friend Aaron's status as a full-fledged fire fighter. If you can't tell, I'm putting out a fire with a very large imaginary hose in this picture. Spencer (on the right) looks drunk but isn't. I promise.

Me with godchild Claire. Claire and Melinda came to visit last month and I'm not over it yet. This baby is magical and we're in love. She makes the best faces in the world, and I haven't even been around to teach her, so that says a lot about her natural talent.

In other news, Shannon came to visit a long time ago. This is us near Main street. Those trees line the ocean I run alongside every other day. Love.

I hate blogger. It's so hard to format. Anyway, last but not least I shall show you some pics from Maria's wedding flowers I did last month also. Her wedding was fun, but unfortunately I didn't get any pictures of things besides flowers, so....boring. But I liked how they turned out.

I might be wanting to start doing some flowers around here. I like doing it and I think I'm better at it than I am at graphic design. Don't tell my boss--I've worked hard to pull the wool over his eyes.

Well, I guess that's it. Just a bit of an update this time. I should have some more exciting stories to tell next time I muster up the blog energy.

See ya, besties!

xoxo

Lately

2010-08-08T18:24:00.000-07:00

Lately...
I don't feel much like blogging. I try to be outside as much as possible when I'm away from work, and my compy sort of hates going outside. I should probably do a real update on my life, but even now I'm getting all tense and anxious, as if my body is saying "Why are you at a desk? Why are you typing? It's the weekend. WEEKEND!"

So I'm posting some pictures soon. Not sure of what, but here are some likely candidates:
--Visits from friends and godchildren
--4th of July
--Pioneer trek

And about that last one, I returned yesterday from my long-overdue pioneer trek, and it was great. We've gone soft on these kids, compared to the stories I heard from previous victims. Seriously, Candice came back from hers talking like it was Vietnam. My trek was more like...hanging out near suburbia in long skirts and sleeping on the ground. Oh, and I died and came back as an angel. More to come after I sleep!

Simplicity

Small Victories

2010-06-23T18:46:00.000-07:00

Isn’t it messed up that I felt happy when I saw this?

As if I’d won something?

As if my 2 hours on the freeway yesterday afternoon weren’t going completely unrecognized and unrewarded?
The saddest part is that 4 out of the top 10 winners are in California. There’s really no escaping it.

Embarrassing

2010-06-10T23:43:00.001-07:00

Celebrations were notoriously fantastic at my old job. We partied on the less appreciated holidays in crazy and unique ways, and Cinco de Mayo 2008 was fantastic. I wrote about that day on my blog once, proclaiming my excitement over winning the limbo contest and also the group dance contest. But somehow I left out some important details that I feel I must relay now, for posterity’s sake.

My group performed an original piece to Madonna’s “Holiday” in which we all dressed up like obscure holidays and did solos. I was Labor Day, so naturally I dressed like a pregnant woman. I wore a dress with some jeans and stuck a big sweatshirt up my dress to give me a belly. My group knew the basics of what I’d do for my solo, but the particulars I kept as a surprise. The particulars were a plastic baby doll that I also shoved up my dress, under the sweatshirt. I’d recently learned some killer moves in my breakdancing class, so my plan was this: Hobble out to the center of the floor while supporting my back, as if I’m having labor pains, and then all of a sudden bust out some funk. Everyone loves a pregnant chick getting down. I wanted to do some stalls and a backspin, you know, the usual stuff.

Proper backspin technique

None of this was any big shocker, but then for the finale I wanted to circle around behind my group and secretly remove the baby doll from my dress so I could sort of slide it across the floor while I hit my final pose, like “Ta da, I just dance-delivered my baby!” Mind you, I never conceived (heh heh, get it? Conceived?) of trying to pantomime a delivery or anything like that—I was just supposed to magically appear with a baby comin' atcha.

That was the plan.

And it went off without a hitch, as far as I was concerned. I was busting a move. I was breakdancing. I was backspinning like a freaking pregnant champion. I was getting big laughs from the spectators (read: entire company) standing all around the perimeter of the room. And then, when I tossed my baby out at the end of it all, the big laughs just kept rolling. I mean, these were BIG laughs. I remember thinking “Man, easy crowd today.” I knew I was incredibly entertaining and everything, but…they were laughing really hard.

And then they were all coming up to me, patting my back and still laughing so hard they couldn’t talk. Some of them had really big eyes and shocked expressions while laughing. Some of them wouldn’t look at me. Did I mention my dad was one of the co-worker spectators? He was one of the ones who wouldn’t look at me. So…I got a little suspicious.

“How did you pull that off?” asked one of my friends (who couldn’t talk much through her laughter), saying she couldn’t believe I would do that. “Which part?” I asked, wondering if she meant my dance moves, my acting skills, or what. It’s a weird situation to find yourself in, wondering why people are laughing extra hard at something you know is funny but not that funny. You know?

So, in short, what I gathered was this:

While I was busy busting a move, my unborn baby doll was making her way down the “birth canal” somewhat. So, when I got down and did my triumphant backspin, well…her two little legs were visible. Between my legs. And since the very nature of a backspin requires you to spin around several times, I was giving a 360º shot of this image to everybody in the room several times. To summarize: Unbeknownst to me, I put myself in a position quite similar to a birthing position, and then I sweetened the deal by having a replica of my unborn baby placed just so. And then I proceeded to display that nearly obscene scene to everybody I worked with. Including my dad.

I swear, I didn’t do it on purpose. And that’s what made it even worse. Everyone thought it was a calculated effort. And why wouldn’t they? It all adds up as a successful attempt to totally gross out everyone in the room, which is pretty fitting for a lot of our office parties. Most people thought I was just really gutsy for doing it, but there were definitely those (dad) who were completely disgusted. Have I mentioned that my former bishop was my boss? Wouldn’t you like to graphically pretend to give birth in front of your bishop and your dad? Me too.

Anyway, I still cringe when I think about it, even though I think it’s so funny. My mind just doesn’t quite allow me to picture the full scene because I’m so ashamed. I swear, it wasn’t on purpose.

Papa don't preach

I'm in trouble deep

Papa don't preach

I've been losing sleep

but I made up my mind

I'm..keeping my baby

Ooh I'm gonna keep my baby

2010-05-20T18:00:00.001-07:00

I just figured out a major, major pet peeve of mine.

Mascots.

There's something about the way mascots are designed that just makes my skin crawl. The beefy muscles, the small waist, and everything usually tucked into basketball shorts or jeans or something. Have you seen Smokey the Bear lately? He's KILLING me. He's morphed into some sort of angry Uncle Sam/Top Gun Volleyball Scene hybrid that I find disturbing.

And then there's the way they act when doing their mascotly duties--fist pumping, gesturing, urging the crowd to "make some noise" but doing it like he'll freaking kill you if you don't. You know what I mean:

That pooch just seems like a bad dude. Not good bad, you know, BAD bad.

Apparently the Jazz Bear is quite famous, as far as mascots go. Awesome. Way to go, Utah. As if we don't have enough explaining to do, let's add the antics of a crazyangry bear to the list.

What? I'm adorable!

I know what you're thinking. Where is this coming from? I thought the same thing when my hate for these things filled me so quickly today. And I realized where it's coming from.

High school.
Doesn't it all start there?

Davis High is many things, but revered for its mascot is not one of them. Memorable, yes. Being taken seriously as a competitive threat? Not so much. I mean, we're no Beet Diggers or Farmers or any of these but...we're darts. Darts are small. They're inanimate objects, which probably violates the first rule of mascot selection.

I feel I'm headed for some serious Dart-lover backlash, so I'll hopefully avoid that by saying I loved my high school. I didn't mind being a dart, and I don't even mind the colors. Like I've always said to anyone who tries to poke fun, "...it grows on you." Brown and gold forever!

However, there was something truly embarrassing about mascothood at Davis: Dartman. I would hate for him to read this because I really don't mean it as a slight against him. It wasn't his fault! Our school's lack of funding, energy, desire, pity or whatever for our mascot left him without a real costume--you know, the cartoon-ized, puffy types shown above. Instead he just dressed sort of like a gladiator. From K-Mart. I imagine it's hard work to inspire a crowd when you just have some spandex and a cape on.

And then there was Dartwoman.
All I will say about that is this: In the litany of women's liberation milestones, let the brief existence of Dartwoman stand as a shining example of the female struggle. Sufferage, Roe v. Wade, blah blah, Dartwoman.

But my real issue with the Davis mascot was a much more personal encounter. I was part of this, ahem, team of sorts. We helped with school spirit, you might say. Well, one day our coach decided that we needed to join forces with Dartman. I'm not sure why she felt we'd be some sort of unstoppable means of sideline distraction, but our "joining forces" meant two things: We had to hang out with Dartman; and I, specifically, had to do stunts with Dartman. Alone. That's what I got for being small.

As if parading around in a tiny skirt and yelling stuff (adorably) at people isn't enough humiliation, just picture yours truly perched precariously atop an untrained gladiator's shaky arms. He was a one-man show and that was working fine for everyone until I entered the scene and awkwardly fulfilled my co-mascot duty.

Nothing personal, Dartman. I just think there are more convincing duos than the two of us. Perhaps Dartman lifting Dartwoman overhead would have been nice. Or you in a real costume and me with a disguise. The possibilities are endless.

Anyway, bygones. That was 10 years ago. I'm totally over it.
But I still kinda wish we were the Davis Raptors. I could really get into that.

Stoufapalooza 2010

2010-05-12T09:46:00.000-07:00

Just when I thought I had nothing to live for, April 27th came along and showed me what wonderful things lie in store for me at age 28.

It turns out that I need people. A lot. If it weren't for really nice, fun, charitable people, I would never enjoy anything ever. This birthday was no different. My 2 buddies, Spencer and Aaron, accompanied me to Six Flags after everybody else bailed. Well, not bailed, but claimed they had jobs and responsibilities and stuff. Anyway, these boys are blissfully unencumbered by silly things like employment, so we set off after a breakfast of waffles to meet our fate on the X2.

If you don't know the X2, I urge you to remedy that. It's the most amazing roller coaster I've ever Xperienced. It's Xtremely scary and awesome and makes you scream Xactly like a little girl. We walked right on and then proceeded to ride it 5 TIMES! 5 times is about 3 times too many, but we had to do it because we could. On my last ride I was on the front row with another lonely rider who was celebrating his birthday, all the way from Canada. We high-fived a lot and yelled stuff like "birthdays!"

Oh, Rhianna, hey...um, you should leave your doo-rag

in the bins provided before you get on the ride.

Then I had to take a breather.

Then we went to a ride called Tatsu, which is freaking amazing. You are laying on your stomach, in Superman position the whole time. We decided to act like kitties because that's what we looked like.

It's alarming how much I've googled kitten pictures for this blog.

So the way you do that is to paw the air like you're climbing the whole time the rollercoaster is climbing. We did this, and the view of these boys clawing and clawing in my peripheral vision was too much and I lost it. I haven't laughed that hard in a long, long time. Or drooled that much. Poor, poor people below us.

Anyway, we rode that one 3 times. An empty amusement park is an amazing place, my friends.

Then it was lunchtime, and we all got giant turkey legs so we could look like barbarians. The thought of it repulses me now, but that was some good eats.

Then we rode more and more and more roller coasters. Then we took booth pictures. Then we got me a commemorative pin for my birthday, and everyone signed it. Then I got a pink superwoman cape.

Then we drove home. No traffic! No problems the whole day, except my very apparent old age that makes rollercoastering quite quite difficult on the body. Specifically the brain.

Then I had some amazing birthday messages on my phone. I love those.

Then I went 80s dancing! This was such a good part. I was exhausted and nobody was dancing so it was kind of awkward. I decided that was enough of that so I started dancing by myself in the middle of the club. This went on for a long time. Then I got my shy friends to join me, and then we went crazy. People just sat and watched. Then some drunk girls joined us, and one of them complimented my cape. I told her it was my birthday and she freaking freaked out. She made a sort of hula hoop with her arms and slid it over my entire body. She stopped about mid-thigh and then picked me up with the hula hoop arms and carried me around the room like that. I was mystified and a little worried about her level of gay, but it was flattering and exciting nonetheless. My friends got a big kick out of that part.

I danced for 1.5 hours straight and the music was incredibly awesome and then I had to stop because I was going to fall over from exhaustion.

Which I did, once I got home.

Very, very good birthday. The brethren will never read this, but I love them and their willingness to treat me like a princess for a whole day. Always, actually. I'm a very lucky girl and always have been and I know it. I'm happy to be 28, even if my brain doesn't take to scrambling quite like it used to.

The end.

PSYCH!

Now it's the end.

Earthquakes 3-8, give or take

2010-05-06T09:03:00.013-07:00

This is getting spooky.
As I was trying to fall asleep last night, I definitely felt shaking. And then again later. And then again this morning. I distinctly remember 4 different times that I felt something, but it was really subtle. It felt like those days in SoSaLa when Trax would go by and rattle my bed a bit. Apparently I've gotten used to this California occurrence, because all I did was make a mental note to check online in the morning to see where the epicenter was.

So I did.
And this is what I found.

If you're counting (and I am), that's 26 earthquakes just in the last 24 hours. Not atypical, and not all that alarming. But of those 26, 14 of them were in California! !! I know, I know, I'm just looking at one day. But if that's anything like the normal pattern, I'm pretty freaked.

I know what you'll say next: These were tiny earthquakes. I know, and I still felt them. I really can't imagine one of those huge mothers that are happening all over the place. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm officially adding earthquakes to the growing list of Things I'm Wimpy About.

Oh, and I forgot to mention this.

Critters.

I saw a possum running down the street by my house last night. My first instinct was to run and scream, which I did. I don’t know why, but I imagined it jumping with surprising agility and latching onto my face, like something out of a Chevy Chase movie. All in all, this and the earthquakes, combined with my frequent killer spider dreams are making nighttime pretty rough for me.

Yeah, you'd be afraid too.

End of the Golden Age

2010-04-22T08:52:00.002-07:00

For the first time ever, I've been a bit reluctant to celebrate my birthday this year. Usually my birthday is my most favorite day of the year (and probably everybody else's too), but I'm a little sad to see this one come because I don't know what to do with myself now. My whole life I've been looking forward to the age of 27--my golden age--and now it's almost over. It went by so quickly! What in the world do I have to look forward to now, I ask you?

So as consolation, I'm going here instead of to work on my birthday this Tuesday. Wahoo!

You're all invited. Seriously. You, dear readers, my friends, are invited to Valencia, CA to ride with me on the best roller coaster I've ever experienced. The park opens at 10:30. Don't be late.

2010-04-19T11:40:00.000-07:00

Why are you not on Facebook?

I answer this question almost daily. I've grown weary of doing so, and even more weary of the inevitable onslaught of explanations about how misguided my abstinence is. As if to say that if I only knew the virtues of social media, I would happily join in and revel in my newfound happiness.

Well, kids, I've got news for you: Happiness, for me, never did mean unlimited access to information. I don't care how easily I can download pictures from that awesome thing we did 5 minutes ago; I don't care if I suddenly rekindle lukewarm feelings for that person I knew in math class 12 years ago; and I don't care if I don't go to your party because it was a "Facebook" thing. Ok, maybe I care, but I don't take it to mean that I should join your internet club so I can be included. I care because you've obviously forgotten how to actually be friends with people.

Whew. That felt harsh. This is bound to offend, and to that I can only say check your Facebook feelings at the door of this room, my friends. I'm not saying I'm better than people who love it; I'm not saying that there aren't things I would enjoy about it, for I've always liked being included. I'm not even saying that my feelings about this won't change. But I'm saying that I know me, and I know that for now I am better off without all of that.

That said, I will now wax prophetic! I figured out the next big wave of social media: The anti-social media. I predict that the younger generations will start showing a distaste for all things internet, and will go back to letter writing, telegraphing, and reading books.

Of this cause I will of course be a champion. Until it gets way too trendy and overwrought, at which point I will embrace Twitter.

In the meantime, I'm still going to ironically blog blog away about my mistrust of the internet. For me, the internet is a confusing love affair. I'm pretty enamored of it most of the time; I hate it for making me need it; I'm always a step behind; I don't understand how it does the things it does; and I am continually surprised and delighted by the little things. Often, while chatting with a friend in another country, I'll catch myself thinking "Wow! I'm talking to someone in ENGLAND!" I hope I can retain that wonder at technology, because it's completely lost on those who grow up with it. Just as we don't appreciated the amazingness of TV or movies because we've always had them, our children will have no patience for our musings about the way things used to be because there is no "used to be" for them.

I'm going to make t-shirts that say "Living in the Past: It's so now!"

Ode to Holga

2010-04-05T18:55:00.000-07:00

Look what came out of my Holga!
I had the film cross-processed and, despite grim warnings from the film guy, the results made me so happy.

Instincts

2010-03-24T16:53:00.002-07:00

I started this post awhile ago, so it's sort of old news. Oh well.
************************************************************************************************************************************

I had an earthquake for an alarm clock today.

I jolted awake, still in a complicated dream. Then I felt another jolt and my mind flashed back to my elementary school days, when we talked about earthquakes. Then my sensible side kicked in and decided I was imagining it. I laid back down and wondered if the trembling was my own. Deciding it wasn't, I got out of bed and used that fine earthquake training to look for a door jamb*. I wasn't so fully clothed and I also wasn't so fully awake, but I was aware enough to realize that my room is a bit of a death trap. After it all stopped and I got back in bed, it took me awhile to fall asleep again.

My co-workers today confirmed that indeed, Pico Rivera experienced a 4.4 magnitude earthquake at 4:04 am. That's a lot of 4s.

The funny thing is that right before I fell asleep last night, I had the thought that since I wasn't fully clothed, if anything happened it would be awkward to run around in my skivvies. I usually sleep in full pajama armor, so I decided I would grab a nearby sweatshirt in the event of an emergency and call it good. I don't usually run through my emergency plan before I go to bed, in case you're wondering.

That's probably just a coincidence, right? I wonder. I wonder if my instincts were kicking in.

I find instinctive behavior so fascinating. It blows my mind that I always know when a phone call is bringing me bad news. It's like the phone rings differently, signaling me to gear up for what's coming next. The other night my roommate came home kind of late, and something about the way the garage door sounded made me wonder if she was ok. So I went and asked her. She was physically ok, but had had a hard day and was in tears about it. How in the world does a garage door translate into somebody needing emotional help? No idea.

That's not to say my instincts are always correct, or even noticed. But I find it amazing how many times I've known something was about to happen before it does. Not in a visionary sort of way, but...just somehow. The question, though, is how you know when it's instinct (and thus actionable) and when it's imagination. The other night I walked to my favorite taco place a few blocks away, and as I sat down to eat, a man came up and made conversation. He asked if I lived around here and I found myself saying "Yeah, I just walk over" before I even thought about the fact that he was a stranger and I was alone. The whole remainder of my meal was spent wondering if the creepy feeling building in me was a warning instinct or just paranoia. I sincerely expected this man to wait for me outside in the dark and follow me home. But he didn't.

So how do you know? That's my question for you, dear readers.

************************************************************************************************************************************
* Turns out, the old "door jamb" method is very outdated. Coming from earthquake-free (so far) Utah, I had no idea. I wonder what else I'm totally unprepared for.

Driving Tips

2010-03-08T08:19:00.004-08:00

Anyone who’s driven with me knows I’m no fantastic driver. So, I offer this advice not as an expert but as one who spends WAY too much time in the car. Today, all my sad experience benefits humanity. You’re welcome.

On food:
—The following foods are not good to eat while driving, as they carry a high risk of getting all over you and your car, and/or causing accidents:
1) Ice cream cones
2) bowls of cereal (it is recommended that passengers also abstain from eating cereal, since quick braking or the accidental jumping of curbs might send milk flying everywhere)
3) waffles with peanut butter all melted on them
4) oranges (or any fruit you have to peel)
5) Nerds
6) Anything you have to dip
Oh, and large tacos are not easily consumed during the span of one red light. The inevitable “cram” session will result in some thoroughly amazed/disgusted onlookers.

Manuevering:
—In California and Utah: Do not wait for somebody to let you in. If you see about 2 feet of space, just violently jerk your car over and let the chips fall where they may. Never, under any circumstances, use your blinker. This only serves to indicate your next move and increase the unwillingness of the drivers around you to let you make that move.
—If you accidently cut off a car full of Mexican men, get the heck out of there. You do NOT want them to catch up to you later and throw a water balloon or something at your car, because you will think it’s a gunshot. You are racist. The resulting imagined paralysis is not good for your motor skills (which you desperately need when driving), and you will forever carry with you a haunting fear of Ogden that makes it difficult to be friends with Bruce.

Personal Hygiene/Grooming:
—If you choose to pick your nose and throw it out the window, don’t fool yourself that people don’t know what you’re doing. Everybody knows. It’s the freeway—the air is filled with exhaust, so it’s not quite balmy enough for you to be casually letting your hand rest slightly outside your window.
—When changing clothing in the car, do not park in front of your Stake President’s house, or near a playground. Especially if underclothes are involved, because sports bras and/or tights are difficult to manage in the driver’s seat, no matter how far you’ve reclined.
—Your eyeliner is best applied elsewhere. Forget the risk of not actually looking at the road you're driving on; those lines will not be straight or even make it to your eyes.

Bugs in car:
—When a spider suddenly starts crawling up the window right next to you, on the inside, the only course of action is to continue driving while leaning dangerously to the right and awkwardly cranking the manual window open with your left hand. You then might have to brace yourself and flick the offending bug through the opened window. Then breathe.

—If you should happen to have a bee in your car, heaven help you.

The best way to react is probably to steer your car to the nearest grassy knoll and jump out, a la Jenny Morrow. The car will keep going and probably kill someone, but at least that flying demon won’t sting you.

General conduct:
—Sing really loud and dance violently while driving. This not only enhances your drive; it serves as entertainment for those weary drivers all around you.

—Should you decide to play a joke on your friend in another car that involves removing your shirt so her homophobia is thoroughly piqued, make sure that her car is the one that pulls up next to you at the red light. If it isn’t, just sit there casually as if you always drive in your bra and bra alone, instead of clumsily attempting to replace your shirt while still wearing a seat belt.

—Just because you can’t see other drivers when their headlights are shining directly on you does not mean they can’t see you. In fact, they can see you very well. So if you are yelling obscenities at them, violently shaking your head as if to escape the bright lights, or throwing any sort of hand gestures in their direction, they will see this. They will then look at you like you should be committed.

That concludes this week’s lesson. I hope it has been educational!

The sanctity of running

2010-03-02T07:35:00.000-08:00

Whenever someone finds out that I've gone for a run, they inevitably follow up with the question "So, are you a runner?" I usually say no. I don't really consider myself a runner, because although I run sometimes, I'm not one of those people with the Running Gene. There is, beyond a shadow of a scientific doubt, a running gene. In fact, the chromosome looks like this:

You can't argue with science.

Anyway, I don't have it. I know that because...my jogs never accidentally turn into 10 mile runs. I feel every single step I run, and I want to stop pretty much the whole time I'm running. In short, it's a sort of masochistic hobby.

Yet, I find myself selling people on running, all the time. And, I look back on any long distance training I've done with a combination of warm nostalgia and winces of pain. But mostly nostalgia. So that got me thinking: What is it that I love about the run? (Not the runs; the RUN. Singular.)

I've been feeling lately that there is a much stronger connection between the physical and the spiritual world than we realize or appreciate. When you think about it, a lot of what we practice in the course of a day is about mastering the physical so it's more in harmony with the spiritual. I try to not eat every cookie I bake, both because I'll get fat and because self control is good for me. I try not to make out with every boy I see, for lots of reasons: That's slutty, I don't have time, and self control is good for me. So you see, there is something really amazing about harnessing the power of the body for good. When I run, I'm very aware of my body (Candice, that part was for you). I can feel the weak spots and points of fatigue, and I can also feel improvement over time. It's such a gratifying thing to notice those things and push through them, or to use some sort of technique to bolster suffering areas. On a good run, everything gets quiet, and very simple--I have a goal and only have room in my brain to concentrate on what I need to do to reach it. And while I may be cursing my running shoes the whole time, it's pretty cool when I finish what I started.

When I started running, I couldn't fathom going more than a mile without stopping. I really couldn't. And then one day I ran a half marathon. (That would sound much more Ka-POW if I could say "and then one day I ran a marathon." But, kids, I'm not a runner, remember? I'll take what I can get.) The only way that happened was through this process of paying attention to the physical and helping shape it to do what I wanted it to.

Taken literally, this realization is interesting for me because I wonder what else I could do if I worked at it. But it gets even more interesting--and empowering--when I think of it on a deeper level. If it's possible to mold this body into something I choose, then it's possible to mold me--my spirit, my mental state--into something better too. I think that's what I like about running. Even though it's really hard and takes FOREVER to make anything happen, over time I can look back and see the cumulative effects of my efforts, and they are incredible when compared to where I started. That's the point of life, isn't it? It's hard to feel any results of hard work when you're living it, minute by minute. But keeping at it puts you in the position to look back later and see how far you've come. Running, a metaphor for life? Man, I sound like such a nerd. I don't even run that much, so this is funny. Anyway...

I think it's amazing how intricately designed this probationary period is for us. With our bodies in this world, we have a perfect laboratory for learning how to become like God. He controls the physical elements in a way that mirrors all of their spiritual implications, and each of us has a piece of that work to practice on ourselves. I like the idea of life as one big, long race with myself. And at the end, hopefully I'll cross the finish line just like I did in the half marathon (remember, HALF marathon): Super dramatically, full of weeping and wanting to throw up, but knowing I did everything I could to get there. I feels really good to hold nothing back and complete a task with absolutely nothing left.

End monologue.

Meet the cookies

2010-02-22T13:50:00.000-08:00

I'm sure I got these somewhere off the internet years ago, but that's the circle of life I s'pose. Here is my now-famous sugar cookie recipe:

1 c. butter

2 c. sugar

2 eggs

½ c. milk

2 t. vanilla

4-5 c. flour

2 t. baking powder

¼ t. soda

½ t. salt

Mix together butter and sugar. Add eggs, milk, and vanilla. Beat until smooth. Add dry ingredients and mix well. Refrigerate at least 2 hours. If longer then place in plastic zip/lock bag. Roll and cut out. Bake at 375º 8-10 min. Cool and frost.

My favorite frosting is made with cream cheese, powdered sugar, and milk. Go get 'em, tiger!

PS Does anyone know some tips for getting rid of blog spam, or as I like to call it, Splo-Bam?

A little late

2010-02-16T06:13:00.001-08:00

It’s no secret that I’m not a fan of Valentine’s Day. But that’s just because I’m old and bitter. But the secret—and I swear, nobody has figured this out—is that I actually love it. I LOVE it. In theory, anyway. And the good Saint V. has been good to me sometimes, including this year when I was able to find a package of puppy and kitty valentines for a dollar. This gets me thinking of other great Valentine’s Day happenings, thusly:

In elementary school, nothing demonstrates the classroom caste system better than Valentine’s Day. I remember painstakingly sorting my store-bought cards, figuring out which message was most appropriate for each of my classmates. “You’re cute, Valentine” could be socially devastating if it landed in the wrong hands. So I had the ‘friend’ types and the ‘slightly flirty, if you catch my drift’ types. I also did this with conversation hearts. Yes…I sorted individual pieces of candy. I even measured how much candy I would give someone, based on how much I liked them. Call me nerdy; call me OCD; even call me unnecessarily discriminatory, but when you know it’s all downhill after fourth grade, you do what you can to secure your place in childhood society.

As a friend, ok? JUST as a friend.

When I was younger, I was very careful about the types of cards I bought for the occasion. They needed to be cool, but not seem like I was trying to be cool. I would opt for a flower power theme (I was really into the 60s back then) or cards that used smart-sounding quotes (I was also really into thinking I was wicked smart back then). Heaven forbid I arrive late at the grocery and find only Little Mermaid or puppy/kitty cards to choose from. Those were for babies. My taste in cheap, thin-papered sentiment was very sophisticated for one so young. If there were ACDC or Metallica Valentine’s cards for sale in those days, I would have bought them. Ok, fine, I would buy them now too. In a heartbeat. Get it? Heart? Valentine’s Day?! BAM!

Then there was 6^th grade. In the absence of cool grocery store options, my best friend and I decided to make our boyfriends something for the special occasion. Jason, my sweetheart, received some sort of doily thing.
Lindsay did much better and made a large folding something for Trent. I was jealous. So was Jason. But the best part was Jason's card for me. It, too, was homemade. I can picture it so clearly: A red heart partially glued on the front to make a flap. Open the heart and you see this:
I love you

I love you

(eyeball) (heart) u

And on the inside? Something along these lines, in careful cursive handwriting:

Dear Stefanie,

I have really enjoyed going out with you. I will always love you.

Love,

Jason

I think of this now, and my heart goes pitter-pat. It really does. It’s just so cute, this naïve declaration of 12-year-old love. But back then? I was endowed with far too much self-awareness at that age, with irony and cynicism that overrode anything young and blissful about me. I recognized right then and there that this was sweet, but that he couldn’t possibly really love me because we were too young. LAME. I held onto the Valentine for awhile but then I threw it away out of embarrassment. My regrets in life are few, but that is one of them. Do you think he still loves me? I mean, he said "always," right?

In junior high, all the girls would buy the flowers they sold at school for their best friends. And thus began the long-term coping strategy of substituting girl friends for boys in the absence of the latter. Where would girls be without girls?

One freak year in highschool I got roses from 2 different boys. That’s tough to beat.

Every year my mom makes my dad a giant (like, entire cookie sheet giant) heart-shaped cookie for the occasion. Don’t disappoint me this year with some silly diet, Mom! Anyway, this is a tradition I want to continue with my husband. (Please, please let me have a husband some day so I can make him a giant cookie. Amen.). I’m not sure why, but I love that so much. Something about the stability of the giant cookie warms my heart. Get it?!

Ok, enough of the past. Let’s talk about now. In Cupid’s name, I declare passionate love for the following:

Brandon Flowers of The Killers

The song “Cry To Me” by Solomon Burke

Heart-shaped stickers

My $5, deep-throat chair

The Halloween picture of Colby and Kara as a devil and an angel

Red hots

My bike

Those times when I can’t stop dancing and I go into another world

The sunny beach

Mail

My rooftop

Cooking--I love nothing more than an evening where I have the time to just be in the kitchen cooking something.

I also love (though not ‘passionately’ because that’s weird. Perhaps…’ardently’)

My family

My friends

My gospel

My country

My HB house

My capacity to love

Happy V-day, everybody. I hope you found your way to express it to those you love!

These things I love.

2010-02-10T17:05:00.001-08:00

What do you think it says about me when the highlight of my day (week?) is when a grilled cheese truck shows up at work? A GRILLED CHEESE TRUCK!

I have no time for preparing meals, and in my bachelorettehood grilled cheese, quesadillas, cheese and crackers, and string cheese have all become staples in my diet. So imagine my delight when a truck made of grilled cheese parks itself outside. Yes, food from a truck is questionable. That's why it's so exciting! !!
And these were not just any grilled cheese sandwiches--we're talking deluxe with an e. I ordered a cheddar and mac n' cheese sandwich. This means there's actual pasta in my sandwich. Unorthodox, yes. Delicious, yes.

I may have overdosed on cheese today. Yep.
But I think cheese is one of my 5 food items I would take on a desert island. The other 4?

--Nutella
--Jolley Time Kettle Corn
--Avocados
--Fish Tacos from Chronic Taco

Here are my 5 movies:
--Big Fish
--Stranger Than Fiction
--A dance movie....I can't decide. Step Up 2, Center Stage, or You Got Served
--Waiting For Guffman
--The BBC Pride and Prejudice (that's like 12 movies for the price of one, man)

Books:
--To Kill A Mockingbird
--The Hiding Place
--Kite Runner
--The Norton Shakespeare Anthology
--Los Scriptores

CDs
--Ray LaMontagne:
--Damien Rice: O
--An 80s compilation
--Eva Cassidy: Songbird
--The Killers: Sam's Town

The End.

PS I may or may not be losing my mind today.

The weekends....the weekends

2010-01-11T18:52:00.015-08:00

I'm living a schizophrenic existence.
Weekdays = Dreary. Boring. Owned by The Man.
Weekends = Bliss.

Here's proof.
Me on a workday:

Me on the weekend:

Ok, so this weekend was superb. Brayden the Mighty Asian came to visit and...well...we get along great. This is us:

We hung out under here:

...which reminds me of this part in Baywatch where Hobie has his whole no-dialogue-bad-music-way-too-long scene with footage of him jetskiing and running shirtless and kissing a girl under a pier. Or maybe it was Saved By The Bell. Anyway, under the pier is hot.

We watched a progressively beautiful sunset:

And Brayden graciously offered to herd a bunch of birds my direction so I could pursue my wildlife photography career.
I think these are sandpipers, little baby ones. I like the big ones. I can watch them go all jack-hammer crazy in the sand for hours. I'm just waiting for one to strike oil, or, strike something hard and break off their skinny beaks. Gross.

He'll make a fine shephard some day.

So pretty much that's it for pictures. Blogging takes forever.

Other highlights:
--Delicious Japanese food, prepared by Brayden
--Sleeping in, sort of
--My first HB volleyball game!
--Chronic Taco
--Baby vegetables and mini cakes
--New basket for my bike. My bike! I forgot to get a picture of it!!! I will very soon.
--Dairy Queen. Don't ask me why, but Dairy Queen was my favorite part.

It was a good weekend. Thanks, Sir Brayden.

PS I had a lovely weekend with some of the girls last week, but failed to bust out the camera. If anybody provides me with pictures, I'll post those too!

Smitten Kitten

2010-01-05T18:05:00.007-08:00

I was meant to be a cat.

All cats ask for is a spot in the sun, to be petted (not heavily), some independence, and baths only every so often. I want the same things. It’s so little to ask, really. I could take this analogy further, but I won’t…because I know it’s only cool to hate on cats. Suffice it to say that I find it easier to relate to the cat mentality than to that of, say, oxen.

The poor ox, beast of burden. He is stuck working his whole life, and for what? Oats? What the heck do oxen eat? And is there any other animal that gets an ‘en’ after it to make it plural? Point is, they do the same thing every day and it’s backbreaking, heartbreaking labor. Some would say “ah, but they’re beyond pity because they’re built for it. They’re made for that kind of work.” And that may be true. But therein lies my problem: I’m no ox. I’m not built for hard labor.

I like pretty things. While sometimes I credit myself with depth way beyond what is my due, when I’m honest I know that my interests only run about skin deep. For example, I’ve studied art--I know some stuff about why artists do the things they do, and what it all means and why we should care about it. Instead of caring about it, I roll my eyes. I am impressed by artwork I think is pretty. Pure and simple. If it’s nice to look at and I could look at it every day in my house, then I like it. I don’t care if it’s original Van Gogh, TJ Maxx clearance special, or back alley Stormin Norman. Same with music, lyrics, movies, speeches….people. Ha. Ok, not really people. Ahem. So. Here’s the key to any hope for my character: If it’s pretty, then I’ll think about it. Not always, but most of the time pretty things cause me to marvel at their prettiness and then either dig deeper to find out why they’re pretty or just let myself be filled with an intense desire to create pretty things or BE the pretty thing. I don’t move far beyond that, but at least I think about it.

This being the case, I’ve gravitated toward pretty careers. As my dad says, I draw the smiley faces on bombs used in the war. I love doing flowers, and I can’t really say it’s because I create the best looking arrangements or am uniquely gifted at it—often I just love being surrounded by beautiful flowers. But in the end, anything I’ve chosen that I try to make fit my enjoys-pretty-things mentality just becomes another job because I have to do it all day every day.

The real point of this randomness is that I’m not an ox. I’m really not. I’m not cut out for full-time work. I don’t know quite what I’m cut out for, but it’s not hard labor. I say hard labor because that’s what I feel this is. I’m not afraid of working hard—I’ve worked hard in school, I’ve worked hard at certain things I want, and I usually work hard at my jobs when I need to. I’m calling this—being stuck in an office, stuck in traffic, stuck depending on a paycheck that will never cover everything—hard labor. I’m not the career girl. I’m not an ox! I’m a cat! I’M A CAT!

I’ve alluded to this before, and I’m a little afraid of how intensely I’m feeling this currently. Call it a new job, call it stagnant career path, call it grass-is-always-greener-on-the-other-side, call it what you will. But I’m calling it quits with this whole career thing. I don’t care how pretty “design” is supposed to be. I’m marrying a rich philanthropist anthropologist (old money) and we’re traveling the world to look at pretty things. Then we’ll give people money so they can do whatever they want with it. Good plan, yeah?

The end of that diatribe. I'm long overdue for some pictures with my posts...but sadly I've taken none. Huntington is pretty. My weekends are the sublimest of sublime. So this weekend I'll get to the picture taking and leave the complaining behind! Huzzah! (In the meantime, enjoy these photos of delightful kitties doing what kitties do best)

Twas the week before Christmas...

2009-12-21T20:41:00.002-08:00

....and I laid on the beach.

I think I made the right decision.

This post will self destruct in 5 seconds

2009-12-07T17:59:00.004-08:00

Shhh...I'm really going to have to sensor myself here, because I work for a very important, top secret company and things I say may destroy you...and our country. But I feel like posting about my typical day here in "sunny" CA, and most of that day is used up by my employer.

5:00 am -- Wake up. What? This is even earlier than my clinically early parents.
5:45 -- Meet up with vanpool. This is a glorified bus and I have a free pass this week! Read scriptures with a head lamp while I eat dry cereal from a bag. Yum.
6:30 -- Arrive at war headquarters and settle in to my 1970s desk and chair. Begin work immediately for fear of being reported by a coworker for checking my email or yawning or something.
9:00 -- Blink. Realize I'm already hungry for lunch.
11:30 -- Decide lunch must happen. Wander downstairs amidst factory workers building jets (yes, literally building jets just yards away from me) and find a cafeteria. Eat. Lament the fact that California still has a winter and I haven't run far enough to escape feelings of coldness.
12:12 -- Back to work! Exactly 42 minutes for lunch or die.
2:00 -- Get slightly mocked by a coworker who points out that once again, I've used the wrong jet image in my layout. Weird that I've been there a week and I don't know that the current model has pointed wing tips instead of straight ones. Hold back sarcastic comments like "In Utah we don't have jets, so...my apologies."
2:15 -- Get caught singing "SAFETY DANCE" by another coworker. He's cool with it.
3:55 -- Freak out at my computer as I'm frantically trying to finish something in time to meet my vanpool.
4:05 -- Approach a disappointment-filled van and apologize for making them late on my first day. Feel like Dagwood in that stupid Blondie comic strip. Feel stupid for even remembering that character's name.
5:50 -- Arrive at home. Eat carrots. Talk on the phone. Do forbidden things on the computer like check email, blog, listen to music.
6:00 -- Wonder if I should be pursuing a social life.
6:01 -- Give up and watch something on Hulu.
9:00 -- Get ready for bed.
9:30 -- Lights out. Rinse and repeat.

It's a formidable schedule. BUT...I get Friday off, so we'll see if it's all worth it.
All that said, things are coming along nicely. I'm getting used to things I can't control, and despite my cynicism, I've been laughing a lot in the last week. When I try to swipe my badge to enter some area I've never been and the gate blocks me anyway--NO CLEARANCE!--I laugh. When I spot the most magnificent, unique mullet I've ever seen--tiny braids that curl under for the top layer, frizzy braid/dreads for the long, straight bottom layer--I laugh. When my coworker tells me a Mormon he knows is a Jack Mormon because he drinks Coke, I laugh. It's a good time.

I will post soon about my weekend. It was top notch!

Oh, Toto.

2009-11-30T21:44:00.003-08:00

Wow.
I mean, wow.

I found a magic lamp, rubbed it, and asked the resident genie to grant me my wish of change. What a thorough genie he's proven to be!

Just so you can rest your worried heads about my whereabouts, know this: I have a roof over my head. I live with a nice hairstylist named Jenn. After my first day of new employment I am still employed, so....that's good. I, with my argyle knee socks; and they, with their name badges and security clearance and orientations and 120,000+ employees and dizzying array of buildings and traffic and cafeterias and sunrise shifts; we'll learn to co-exist.

I'm a long way from home, in more than geographical terms.
Here's to making it through to Saturday/beach/breathing/reveling in this change I chose! Huzzah!

In 11 days...

2009-11-16T16:08:00.004-08:00

...I'll be living here:

I may be living in my car, but near my car will be a beach!

This is my formal announcement that I'M LEAVING UTAH. By way of fielding questions before they come, here's the deal:

I'm taking a job with Northrop Grumman, starting Nov. 30. I'll be a "graphic artist."
I hope to live in Huntington Beach, CA.
I don't know how I'm getting there.
I don't have a place to live yet.
Yes, I am sad to leave. Yes, I am terribly excited. Yes, it's 70º there right now.
Come and visit. There's room in my car.

Hooray for change!

11/11

2009-11-11T08:42:00.005-08:00

It's 11/11 so I'm making a wish. Lots of wishes, actually. Because I figure on 11/11 you have 24 hours/1,440 minutes worth of wishes and that warrants a wishlist.

1--I wish I could be tan without going tanning or getting cancer (or spending money)
2--I wish to go to Thailand in December, 2010
3--I wish I had a personal chef. Not because I don't like cooking, but because I don't have time. I never eat vegetables unless it's a salad from Wendy's.
4--I wish we could all wear really light-weight, unobstructive, minimal clothing every day. Not in an effort to be immodest...but just to be less encumbered by fabric.
5--I wish I had the guts to sing on Broadway. Oh, and the talent.
6--I wish I only needed 4 hours of sleep each night.
7--I wish that by the time I have a baby they'll have figured out some other way for it to happen so I don't have to experience pain or the bizareness of a freaking HUMAN coming out of me.
8--I wish Utah weren't so landlocked.
9--I wish Obama weren't so dang electable. Well played, Democrats, well played.
10--I wish hot chocolate gave me good breath.
11--I wish I could live on a beach but there would be mountains and trees and skiing and a lake for waterskiing and all of my family and friends lived there too and we would all home school our kids together (so you only have to teach them a little bit each day) and there wouldn't be a lot of pollution or lights so you could see the stars every night and it would snow just for the month of December and have an October and November just like the one we're currently having and we wouldn't have to eat unless we really wanted to and in my job I would actually help people but in a way that's enjoyable to me and everybody would join the church and...yeah. Ahem. That about covers it.

I discovered with Laura once that when I wish on a star or on an 11:11 it's formulated more like a prayer than a wish. So now I say "11:11, make a prayer!" And most of my wish/prayers are constructed something like that last one, with very specific information and lots of it. I've seen enough movies where you have to be careful what you wish for (ala "Big", "13 Going on 30") so I don't want to leave any room for misinterpretation of what I want. It's not like I'm asking for a lot, you know?

Flight of the Majestic Eagle

2009-11-09T08:15:00.008-08:00

Since no Halloween is complete without multiple costumes, I present the following:

You may think I look frightened. Not so. This is my fierce eagle scream, which, when hoisted by my waist (thereby cutting off most of my oxygen), sounds more like...a strange eagle warble. I'm trying to get a hold of some video so you can get the full effect.

And just because it's a fun memory for me, here's a picture of how my flight started out:

And afterward, there was a request that I do a final skate. That's when the eagle scream really came to life. I'm a mighty bird of prey.

Thanks, Natty and Ryan, for the goods.

Pier 39, here we come!

2009-11-05T14:31:00.005-08:00

Next year, please remind me of how much I hate being painted on Halloween. Seriously, remind me. I'll remember right up until about a week before and then suddenly I'll decide it will be really cool to paint myself some color, completely forgetting about how uncomfortable it is.

But we look pretty sweet, right?

And here's to the Halloween crew--5 years running!

What's better than one zombie?

2009-10-27T08:23:00.001-07:00

Siamese zombies. Yikes.

2009-10-19T15:40:00.002-07:00

Mayorzee dotes and dozy dotes and little lamzee divey. A kiddlee divey too, wouldn't you?

That's definitely what I've always thought the words were. Is that the point of this song?

ANOTHER SCAM!

2009-10-13T09:55:00.003-07:00

Just call me the gatekeeper.
I received an email today from a girl I barely know who used to be in my ward, asking me to send her money because she's stranded in Europe, having lost all of her money and identification. I wrote her back asking for some info to verify that it was her, knowing it was probably one of those scams where they hack into your email and mass email everyone in your address book. The creepy thing is that I got an email back! I emailed back and forth with this character, but they wouldn't verify anything, just kept asking for help. I've since called the girl and she's aware of the problem. What is this world coming to?! I'm conversing with a hacker, in plain English, and I have no way to catch them. Well, I say bring it. Once again, world, I'm here to tell you that YOU WILL NOT GET MY MONEY, AND I WILL NOT HELP YOU ESCAPE JUVY!

Stef=2
Criminals=0

Ghost of Me Past

2009-10-09T12:45:00.004-07:00

I have a stack of CDs in my office, some of which are unmarked discs I've found when spring cleaning or something. Today I put in a blank CD and expected some forgotten music mix....but imagine my surprise when it came up titled "June 16, 2005" and contained only 10 files, all of which are pictures of me. All in the same setting, same clothes, etc. Just me. They look self-timed and probably had a purpose to them, but I don't remember doing that at all, nor do I know how they ended up on a CD in my office. I'm so freaked out.

So, apparently this is what was going on in June, 2005 (you may need to click the picture to see these fascinating details):
--This was 6 months after returning from a 4-month eating binge in Italy, so I look rather chubby here. It's nice to know that my wrists don't have dimples anymore
--I was still wearing lip liner
--My Dad's office was in serious need of a remodel
--Acne. That must have been when my acne started, and it hasn't let up
--A strange, little girl-ish hairstyle. But I had a great hair color I don't remember having. I might have to get that back.

My next unfamiliar CD is called "Road to Self-Discovery." I'm terrified to see what's on it.

Nara

2009-09-24T08:10:00.016-07:00

To answer questions from my previous post, I will just simply say that the yogurt marination happened that day and I was so sicked out by it, for some reason. I still ate the yogurt but couldn't shake the feeling that I was eating hints of puppy waste...and that got me thinking about other things I've been grossed out by, or should have been grossed out by. I've decided germs are 98% mental, because none of us are consistent in what we're averse to.

Anyway! Ready for another Japan story?! I know I am! Roll the tape!!!!

In fair Japan lies a city named Nara, famed for only 2 things: A giant Buddha, and lots of deer. I don't know about you, but when I picture(d) Japan, deer had nothing to do with it. But...proud citizens always capitalize on whatever they can, so Nara has become Deer Town. Many signs, trinkets, and mascots lined the path to the park where Big Buddha is enshrined, promising us many delights to be had with mostly-domesticated deer.

I had been fed full of deer tales on our way, including one in which Chizu's friend was supposedly punched by a deer, right in the face. No, I thought, Bambi? I resolved inwardly that she must be mistaken. My experience with deer has placed them in the fantastical realm of myth up to this point--I 've seen them as elusive, docile, meadow-frolicking creatures who occasionally demonstrate roadside paralysis, or...mystical powers of flight and/or bewitchment (There's a story there, but it's not this one).
So I was ready to be enchanted.

Do you think this deterred me?

Heavens, no. If anything, the red lightning bolts only served to further entrench my fantastical notions about them. Besides, the sign was in Japanese.

And there we were! In the Land of Plentiful Deer! It was everything I'd ever imagined but hadn't ever imagined because who freaking thinks about deer, ever?!

Oh, it was magical. They were so kind, and gentle, walking right up to you and giving you a friendly nudge! I felt like Snow White, or Sleeping Beauty or whatever.

And then I saw this:

Deer fight. This unnerved me a little, I suppose. I made a mental note to steer clear of the big, mean-looking ones. They probably weren't deer anyway, since everyone knows deer are peace-loving animals.

I purchased packs of rice crackers and strolled to a slightly wooded area to begin some new friendships. My senses were buzzing, all six of them. One pretty little fawn came my way and pushed her nose into my hand for a treat. I happily obliged, giggling with delight at the human/deer physical contact. Then, to my surprise and slight unease, I noticed several deer trotting my way. Many, in fact. Trotting sort of fast. Snow White started feeling a bit, um, outnumbered.

And then, far too late, I saw one of the "mean-looking" ones approaching. And by approaching, I mean right next to me, snarling and staring at my bag of crackers with fire coming out of his eyes. I realized with horror that this was one of the "mean-looking" ones I had seen fighting earlier. Remember them?

Several things happened then. 1) I tried to convince myself that this, though angry, was still just a deer. Peace-loving, docile, enchanting, right? Right. 2) I contemplated running. But I never can keep the animal rules straight: Is it run when you see a bear and play dead when you see a skunk, or the other way around? I envisioned myself running and an angry deer chasing me, and we all know who would win that little footrace (Hint: Deer have 4 feet. Simple math). 3) In the absence of an escape plan, I instinctively withheld my bag of crackers from the approaching deer. You know, that whole give-a-mouse-a-cookie thing. Apparently I think I can subdue nature with tough love. BAD. IDEA.

Large angry deer circles me. Snorts. Nudges, real unfriendly-like, at my crackers. And then he freaking tries to gore me in the pelvic region. Remember this?

Yeah, more like this:

The evil deer threatened my loins, broke my favorite lens, bruised my inner/upper thigh, smudged weird deer goo all over that region, and left me with a mortal fear of the gentlest of God's creatures. Hit it and quit it. If that sucker had horns, he would have taken my unborn children.

Shudder.
So, yeah. That was Nara. We saw a really big Buddha there. And somehow, at the end of the day, I still felt a little bit like Snow White.

Germs

2009-09-21T08:35:00.002-07:00

If your yogurt fell into a dirty gutter and marinated in sprinkler runoff for awhile before you noticed it, would you still eat it? Even if it's one of those Activia yogurts where the packaging seems alarmingly permeable? Would you?!

Would you rather walk barefoot through a mile of poop or lick a toilet clean?

Do you believe in the 10-second rule? Really and truly, do you think that when your food falls on the ground you have a quantifiable window of time before the army of germs finds out about it and swarms?

How often do you wash your sheets?

Do you set your purse on the ground everywhere you go? And then set it on your kitchen counter when you get home?

If you and your friends were on a train in Germany and found half-eaten candy bar (this is amazing German chocolate, remember), would you, under any circumstances, eat the remaining half, starting from the unopened end?

Chizu hoops

2009-09-17T15:37:00.004-07:00

I taught the Big Cheeze how to jump rope with a hula hoop. She adds a decidedly gazelle-esque quality to it that I can't stop laughing at.

2009-09-15T09:10:00.021-07:00

It seems I am slated for Asian relations in this life. I haven't really sought them out (not that I wouldn't...um, I love Asians...I love all people...), but I have found many delightful people of Asian descent in my path through life. First, there were various exchange students my parents brought into the home. One of them, named Sei, is still the scapegoat for anything that goes wrong in the house ("Sei did it!"). I guess he wasn't a favorite. Then, there was Ai. She lived with me for a semester of my freshman year. My interactions with her consisted of witnessing hangovers (hers) and smelling strange stir fry in the morning (also hers). She was a good time. The real Asian influence started happening in Italy, of all places. My roommates were Chizu (Japan), Ko Ko (Taiwan), and Cindy (American, for good measure...but she also had really dark hair). Later I dated The Asian (Korean), who my nephew mistakenly called The African. He served as the pied piper in bringing many Asians into my acquaintance.

I tell you this as a way to laboriously introduce my latest adventure, which was, of course, a trip to Asia. Most people who heard I booked a trip to Japan asked me one question: Why? I'm here to show and tell you why. And hopefully you'll see why you should go there too!

First of all, the Chizu. This girl is probably my favorite person alive at the moment. She moved into my bedroom in Florence, when I foolishly thought that I didn't want a roommate. She's me if I were Japanese, but about 18 times cooler. I say we are soul mates and I mean that in the least gay way possible. Gay way. Pei Wei. See, Asia again. It's everywhere.
Anyway, I love her and haven't seen her in about 3 years, so it was time for a visit. Cheap flight + half-Japanese traveling companion = Tokyo!

This is Chizu and the crew. They were a blast to hang out with. Also below are pictures of Koenji, the city where Chizu lives and where we stayed and enjoyed karaoke. Karaoke was one of my only requests of the entire trip.

Karaoke bonded us. We spent a lot of time in Koenji with these friends, and I loved how entertained they were by my attempts at speaking Japanese. I felt like their puppet and happily danced on command. I like that kind of attention, you know. Brayden, my travel mate, spoke Japanese so I don't know if he was nearly so entertaining to them, but he entertained me thoroughly 24/7, so I shall call him my puppet from here on out.

I'm tired of uploading photos already....but I shall persevere. I think I have one story in me for today, and it's a good one.

We traveled south to Kyoto, which is old world Japanese. Think pointy temples, scary demon statues, paper lanterns....and geishas.

That's right, I saw geishas. What's more, I became one.

Not in every sense of the word, mind you. I'm not sure geishas still exist in every sense of the word, but there is a geisha district called Gion where Chizu surprised me with a special appointment. We selected kimonos and wigs and were subjected to a startling transformation that resulted in each of us falling on the floor from laughing so hard. I present to you my female-escort alter-ego, Kiki:

What? You want to see my face?

This look is scary on all human beings, but considerably scarier on those humans not Asian. Stupid round eyes.

Anyway, we danced around and passed out from heatstroke due to the many layers of fabric and paint on us. And we laughed. Chizu probably pulled muscles from laughing so hard at me.

Here are a few more pictures of Gion and surrounding areas--Really cool. This is how I imagine Japan. Sadly, I don't really know what any of these things are. Welcome to how I travel.

More to come!

Coming soon...

2009-09-15T08:36:00.003-07:00

Stay tuned for a story about why this:

And this:

...are responsible for one of the best times I've ever had.
The Japan report is forthcoming!

The hood

2009-08-27T09:43:00.004-07:00

*Note: This is the picture that comes up when you Google "Juvenile delinquent"

Today is my work anniversary. 2 years! Huzzah. I knew it would be a special day, but I was none too prepared for its very exciting beginning. Observe:

There I was at 8:30, basking in my suburban bliss at my kitchen table and so spiritually studying my scriptures when I heard a ding dong dingg dong BAM BAM BAM sound at my front door. Anyone who comes calling that way is either up to no good, or is the UPS man. I opened the front door, expecting the latter, and was greeted by three teenage girls, panting and sweating and asking to come in and use my phone because they were under attack. ATTACK! So of course I let them in, told them to lock the door, and ran to get my phone. While they made some calls, I asked what happened and they told me they were walking to Trax when a man tried to pull one of them into his car. So they ran away as fast as they could. To my front door. It's a really welcoming front door, so I don't blame them. Now informed, I suggest we call the police as they call for a ride, and one girl says her uncle is in the police department so she'll tell him. Meanwhile, she calls a boy named "Babe" and asks him to pick her and "two chicks" up at the "some lady's" house because "something happened that I'll tell you about later." She then directs Babe to the area by telling him it's by Trax and Youth Services.

Hmmm.

Do you, the average blog reader, know about Youth Services? Yeah, I wouldn't either if I didn't live near it. Strange that these teenagers--aka YOUTH--know right where it is. Apparently Babe knows all about it too.

Hmmm. I may be just some old lady whose house they randomly chose, but I'm no dummy. My Sherlock sense was kicking in....albeit slowly.

So I ask questions. Where were you going? Where were you walking from? Who is this picking you up? How about that call to the police?

Things suddenly got less threatening outside. The girls realized they had an abundance of resources to call upon, namely friends' houses nearby, various rides who could pick them up at various locations, etc. And the scary man who tried to abduct them? No worries, he didn't follow them. For sure.

So....I let them go. Don't criticize me for my bad Samaritanism. My instincts told me that if the girls didn't feel any danger in returning to the streets of SoSaLa, then I didn't need to either. So I gave them water and sent them on their way. And then I made a call to my friend who works for Youth Services.

"Yes, indeed we are missing 3 girls. They ran away this morning."

I aided and abetted, with water and a phone.
I feel so used.
Youth of America, I'm sorry to tell you that this lady is totally going to rat you out if you come knocking on my door. It's for your own good.

Early Alzheimers

2009-08-19T09:01:00.004-07:00

I'm worried about my memory. There are many signs that within 20 years I will be the Crazy Cat Lady down the street. For example:

* I've had a bag of pretzels at work that has been substituting for many meals. I went to reach for the bag yesterday and was dismayed to find them missing. Pretzel stealing, really? I found myself angry and disappointed in whatever desperate co-worker had committed such a crime. I went back to work, and as a couple of hours later I again wished for some pretzels to eat, into my mind flashed an image of me, polishing off the last of the pretzels and almost licking the bag to make sure I got every crumb...and then throwing the bag away. I ate all the pretzels myself, turns out. Heh heh....oops.

* I once forgot to wear a bra in 8th grade (um, because I didn't need one then) and it happened to be the day they do the scoliosis check, which, if you don't know, requires you to be shirtless.

* I shamelessly flirted once with a boy who, apparently, my friend had just declared her interest in. I was there, apparently, when she did so. To this day I have no recollection of that declaration, but enough witnesses have attested to my presence that I believe I was there and just completely forgot it.

* Sometimes I forget that the youngest children of my siblings exist. Sorry, siblings, but it happens. I remember distinctly that one time I looked at my niece Katie and couldn't figure out why Karly (her older sister) was so small.

* I forgot about a final in one of my last semester's classes. Just plain forgot about it. I mean, how this happens is beyond me, as there are many reminders about finals, like...calling it Finals Week. And studying. And taking lots of other finals.

The annoying thing is that I have a gift for remembering things that don't matter, i.e. my 8th grade crush's phone number/birthday/middle name/siblings' middle names/the first song I ever heard him play on the guitar. Also, hours and hours of movie lines and song lyrics are constantly playing through my mind, even when they are movies and songs I don't like. Once I memorize a phone number, it never leaves me....but I'll probably tell you a story 6 times before I remember that you've heard it before. Come to think of it, maybe I'm Rainman.

The other annoying thing is that it's the poorest excuse in the book. I know what it's like to have someone tell you they forgot something and to have absolutely no sympathy for that claim. I've always believed that if you forget something you probably don't care about it much. I no longer believe that. I think if you forget something you a) simply aren't obsessing about it; b) were trying to remember 50 things at exactly the same time and it just lost the battle of wits; and/or c) have a mind with the capacity for only so much, and at this time seems to be rather full of useless information. So....sorry. Sorry for the things I forget. I'm not sure what it will take to get your birthday to take the place of Paul's phone number in my brain.

Looking for a way to drop those extra pounds?

2009-08-10T09:16:00.001-07:00

Look no further.
Total Sauna

This just in

2009-08-07T08:54:00.003-07:00

I'm in the mood to be in love. I'm just not that willing to do what it takes to get there. Any ideas?

PS Hooray for Jeanine.

So I Think I Can Dance

2009-07-28T17:32:00.015-07:00

Well, check this one off the list: 5 years of really big talk and not-so-secret longings culminated in one heck of a day this July 24th. As any true pioneer descendent would, I chose to spend Utah's holiday seeking out fame, fortune, and the Hot Tamale Train. I officially auditioned for So You Think You Can Dance, Season 6.

A timeline:
11:00 am -- Lining up

12:00 p.m. -- Spirits are still up. These are the same clothes I wore while running a 10k at 6am that same morning. This turned out to be a really bad idea...

1:00 p.m. -- Sleep?

No way. Not when Cat Deeley is around! For the record, I did see her in person. She's very pretty. No pictures because I was threatened with death if my camera were to make an appearance.

1:30 pm -- Break dance fighting? Stretching? It's a little too early for that. The children are getting restless. We eat granola bars and carrots.

2:00 pm -- DIVA. Yes, her costume includes a tail.

3:00 pm and still waiting outside -- Is this worth it?

4:00 pm -- More waiting inside, still not in the actual theater. Rachel starts warming up. Still too early for that.

5:00, 6:00, 7:00 pm -- Finally get inside the theater and see some amazing dancing. And sort of make friends with this guy:

(Shortly after this picture, I am told to put away camera. And cell phone.)

8:00 pm -- Granola bar and carrots no longer holding us over, we prison break for some food. Share said food with starving hip hop girl behind us.

9:00, 10:00, 11:00 pm-- The lost hours. In a coma of no sleep and no movement for 12 hours. Realize, in a strangely liberating way, that I don't have the heart to be a dancer (you didn't have the feet; I don't have the heart). It becomes clear that I am different than these people. And I am not in fact willing to do this sort of thing ever again because...I'd rather watch fireworks. Or sit by a pool. Or watch dance shows on TV. Heart is what motivates people to do ridiculous, torturous things to advance themselves. Well, that and talent. This realization (and, let's be honest, intense physical discomfort and an impatient nature) makes me suddenly very apathetic to the whole thing. Nervous no longer, I long for my bed.

11:50 pm -- Rachel auditions. Captivates judges and secures only gold advancement ticket* in her whole group! So proud, so proud.

11:51 pm -- After much contemplation, I officially declare myself a "broadway" style dancer...and head backstage.

11:55 pm -- Take the stage with Superman pictured above and 8 other hip hoppers. Make eyes at Pasha and Anya from Season 3. Am denied the chance to audition because very weary British judge forgets I'm there.

11:59 pm -- Remain on stage, this time with a group of contemporary dancers. Continue making eyes so the judges will love me and, ahem, remember that I'm there.

12:00 am -- Saunter to center stage for my Broadway debut....strike a dramatic, saucy pose..."All That Jazz" music starts.....and I blank out. The world may never know what happened in those 30 seconds because they were a blur and a fog and a whirlwind of snapping, prancing about, and undoubtedly several 'huzzah' type moves. I honestly don't remember much of what happened. But it was sure fun!

12:01:55 am -- I am unceremoniously dismissed from the competition (what?! No ticket to Vegas?!) when the yellow ticket train passes me by. I am very relieved, because I'd like to sleep and have a real weekend.

12:05 am -- Mad dash of pure fear-induced adrenaline as I sprint to my car, which is parked by Pioneer Park.

12:15 am -- Arrive home and realize said car was unlocked, by Pioneer Park, for 13 hours. With my purse inside. Shrug it off. Also realize that 6am sweat, followed by 11am - 4pm sweat, followed by 5pm-12am sweat results in severe chaffing, among other things. Gross.

12:30 am -- Shower and fall into bed. The end.

*By way of answering your burning questions, Rachel was called back for tryouts on Sunday, where she did a quick improv dance in front of Mary, Nigel, Mia Michaels, and Cat. She didn't make it past that round, but I'm almost guaranteeing some camera time.

Wanderlust

2009-07-21T15:21:00.005-07:00

Dear BlogFans:
I know I haven't been good to you. Summer finds me anywhere but in front of a computer if I can help it, so I've been negligent. I ask forgiveness. I also ask a giant favor:

Please help me totally revamp my life.

I'm talking change. Specifically, change in locale. I love Utah, but this itch to go somewhere new has reached fever status and my skin is starting to get all red and welty. So what I need from you is a hook-up. Please call in any resources you have to find me a new situation somewhere. I know the job market is bad. I know the cost of living anywhere awesome is much higher. I DON'T CARE. Operation Get Stef Out of Dodge begins now. Here is my criteria:

1) I must get paid. Or at least break even (I can't afford to go on a humantarian aid thing that costs thousands, sadly).
2) First priority goes to any opportunities out of the country.
3) I'm a little too sensible to pick up and move somewhere without a viable plan. So if you know of a job or internship somewhere, that would fit better than just a friggin sweet place to live.
4) I would like to leave tomorrow. AKA ASAP.
5) I'm a graphic designer, so if you hear of anything in that field, let me know. But I can also do flowers, write, work in the event industry, dance on hit television shows, I'm interested in non-profit companies, and lately I want to become a teacher. I know, what?
6) Um...please don't tell my boss about this post. I'm grateful for my current job, really....

That's pretty much it. So really, if you've heard of anything cool that's available, or if you have contact information for somebody who would know, send it all my way.

And here's a creepy little picture to help you understand how I'm feeling right now:

Inspiring

2009-06-29T16:18:00.004-07:00

From our hike to Bell Canyon on Saturday.

Olan Mills Puppy

2009-06-18T07:47:00.003-07:00

Summer Project

2009-06-16T20:10:00.005-07:00

Allow me to introduce Buttercup. She and I are going to be great friends this summer.

I found her, forlorn, on top of a mattress is somebody's junk pile. She just needs a little love and a ride into the sunset to be restored to her former glory. Stay tuned for the fix up progress.

....and sometimes I find other things on the street.

Almost a philanthropist

2009-05-15T16:50:00.010-07:00

I graciously accepted the seat that was pulled out for me by my date, and smoothed a napkin daintily over my lap to cover my prom dress. I felt beautiful, if only for the fact that I was surrounded by Salt Lake City's elite and almost counted myself as one of them for the evening.

Seated around me were some of my favorite co-workers and their guests, all looking shined-up and ready for something exciting to happen. After our black-tied servers brought us a delicious meal, the emcee began the live auction. In this economic downturn, the bids were slightly disappointing, but some items were sold for inexplicably high rates--like an enchilada dinner for 20 people that sold for $3,000. This boosted my confidence and my desire to step off the bench and join in the game; not for any real amount of money, of course, but I always want to do my part to get rich people to spend money for a good cause.

My ears perked up when a trip to Mexico was mentioned. It seemed like it would be a popular item, since some of the other, less exotic trips had sold fairly easily. Before I knew what was happening, my hand shot in the air as soon as they opened the bidding. I should have listened, because the auctioneer started the bidding at $3,500.

Gasp. (From those seated at my table.)

Crickets. (From everybody else in the room.)

...Going once.

It was a curious feeling, like swimming underwater, but with superhuman laser-pointing eyes that zero in on one man with a microphone who was making his way to my table...

....Going twice.

Crickets.

Heart. Palpitations. Sweaty. Palms. Swallowing bugs with less-than-daintily open mouth.

In my desperation, I turned to the nearest bid-spotter and hissed—that's right, I hissed, because a lady under duress does not raise her voice or use foul language to make her point—she hisses. So I hissed, "What are you doing? SELL THIS THING!" To which he enthusiastically responds "Oh no, you want this. This is cool!"

Bat rastard.
Apparently he loves sick kids more than my financial well being. Oh, my dear beneficiaries of the Ronald McDonald House, I love you. I really do. But I also love making rent. And not starving. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why nobody in the room is making a peep. Too busy eating your shrimp scampi, Mr. Millionaire? Excuse me, Baroness of the Backless Dress to my right, but could you spare a couple grand so I can sleep tonight? Contrary to my appearance and polished demeanor, I do not in fact have a hospital wing named after me. My perfect posture is merely a ruse, to mask the fact that I'm only here for the food. And to look hot in my prom dress.

Meanwhile, the silence in the room had reached bone-crushing density and the widened eyes of every person at my table threatened to dislodged themselves at any moment. I was on the verge of some unladylike outlets for my panic, i.e. tearing out my hair and jumping frantically on the table, when a voice pierced the fog of my certain demise. One, clear, six-figure salary voice of mercy fought through the din and massaged a rhythm back into my heart with his sweet, affluent cry of "$3,600!"

...Sold! For $3,600!

I may have shed tears.

The collective sigh of relief from those near me was a substantial boon to our depleting ozone layer (global warming? Sounds more like global whining!). My heart found the will to go on, my kids thanked me for their college funds, and my prom dress went to the cleaners...for reasons I find unladylike to describe.

The Golden

2009-04-29T21:39:00.022-07:00

The pinnacle has been realized.
The summit of my existence has been officially conquered, and the view from up here is pretty sweet. Now what, you say? Now we review. Here is what made my golden birthday one for the memory books. Or the memory keeper's daughter...I can't really remember:

1) I challenged one of my fears. Several times.

(Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm by the Crash Test Dummies)

2) 4 Non Blondes, performed by one pretend blonde:

3) The Lawrence Welk Show....complete with tiny hands.

(Click here if you don't know what I'm talking about.)

4) Such awesomely talented people, everywhere.

5) It did not rain.
6) I received a Highschool Musical clock.
7) My hair didn't catch fire on the cake, all ablaze with 27 candles. That's a whole mess of fire, man.

8) The D.I. pulled through for me again, like it always does.
9) I might live to see age 28. But if I don't, it's ok because I really really liked this birthday.

2009-04-11T11:09:00.002-07:00

I am the whac-a-mole.
The question is, who's holding the mallet? Hopefully this guy:

Call me Medici

2009-03-31T21:53:00.005-07:00

I am a patroness of the arts. Congratulations to me! I now own this painting, custom created for me:

These pictures don't do it justice--the colors are amazing. Come over and see it! It's huge--4'x4', and the frame was included.

You can hire my artist! storminart1111@yahoo.com
He's awesome, and super affordable.

Why I love my life #1

2009-03-19T08:22:00.003-07:00

Sistaz

2009-03-10T09:52:00.002-07:00

As the baby of the fam, I've experienced my siblings in many different settings, at different times. I don't feel I grew up with the top half of them, since they were old enough to be moved out by the time I was forming a lot of memories. One of my favorite things about becoming an adult is getting to know my siblings. I am closest in age to Shannon, but still 4 years apart. This made for an interesting dynamic growing up. She knew how to push my buttons like nobody else, and chose to do so regularly. She also taught me important things, like how to write love letters to boys (who would later beat me up for it) and do my bangs and accept hand-me-down bras instead of asking your very reserved mother for one. I loved Shannon more than I would ever admit while growing up, and that has become clear when I go down memory lane and realize the almost puppet-like devotion to my sister. Examples, yes?

Remember the radio station KJQ? They had a contest once where you had to listen for the noise of Chuck Taylor scratching on his grave and then be caller #7 to win a pair of Converse All-Star shoes. Shan was trying desperately to win one morning but had to go to school about an hour earlier than I did. So she left her slavish little sister with a phone, a radio, her shoe size, and strict instructions on what to do. And I did it! Ultimately I heard the noise, called in, was caller #7, and won the shoes, and throughout all I impersonated my sister. It never occurred to me until years later that I could have won the shoes for myself. It never even crossed my mind because I was so excited to tell Shan that she'd won! Lest you think this was an isolated incident, there was also the time I sat outside the bathroom door with a radio in my lap, ...with strict instructions to listen for her favorite song ("Kokomo" by the Beach Boys!) and bring the radio into the bathroom as soon as it started playing, so she could enjoy it while she showered. And I did it.

I used to look at my sister's class picture and memorize the names of all her classmates. I knew who had crushes on who, who was moving away, and which boys made fun of Shan for having a gymnastics leotard in her bag (these boys have a special place in Hell for the torture they inflicted on her, it seems). I knew her life better than mine because it was so much more exciting!

A unifying influence in our lives was the fear/awe of our teenage angst-ridden brother, Matt*.
(Sorry, Matt, if you're reading....but you can't deny it. Actually, I'm sorry for much of what is to follow, as it may or may not be new information for you.) Ahem. So. Shan and I were badgered by Matt constantly, or so we felt, and wanted to exact revenge. Being younger, smaller, and significantly less angry, we knew we couldn't attack him physically or tell our parents about him because he would get back at us. We decided to get back at him in secret, so we could enjoy a quiet revenge to ourselves and not provoke his retaliation. We did what anybody would do: We picked our boogers and wiped them on Matt's pillow. Other times we mixed up some sort of yellow liquid concoction and poured it on his sheets. I'm not sure what the game plan was there--either to make my mom think he wet the bed, or to make him think he wet the bed. Hilarious, either way. All Shannon's idea. She also enticed me once to join her in throwing a metal baton down the laundry shoot that Matt was climbing up. The lion's roar that echoed through that metal shaft was fantastic. I don't even remember what he did to us after that...I think I blacked out.

And then there was the time Shan wanted me to get in trouble for some reason. We were forbidden to say "butt-hole", which still makes me laugh. So she takes my favorite treat, orange tic-tacs, a with an evil gleam in her eye, stares me down while she pours the whole box into the hot bathwater I'd just drawn. I, thus-provoked, gritted my teeth at the fierce injustice of it all and made a choice. Consequences be darned, I HAD to call my sister a butt-hole. She rewarded me with a predictable wicked witch-esque laugh and ran off to tell Dad what I said. Shan, don't ever tell me you're not creative.

Shannon has been a great champion of anything I attempt to do, even after I've sort of grown up and gotten all opinionated and cynical. She is humble and has a heart of gold, genuinely trying to be the best person she can. She is real. She is funny. And while she could still push my buttons if she tried, usually chooses not to, and in the process serves as a really really great big sister. Today I am grateful for my sis.

*Matt has turned out quite nicely, despite his less-than-promising adolescence. Proof here.

I did it.

2009-03-02T22:21:00.003-08:00

Becky Scissorhands for president! G

2009-02-25T08:19:00.002-08:00

Immediate update to my last post:

Unfreakingbelievable. I just walked by the vending machine at work, and today, for the first time ever, they've stocked the machine with little packs of goldfish crackers.

Ash Wednesday

2009-02-25T07:59:00.005-08:00

Lent starts today!
For the last several years, I've observed Lent. No, I'm not Catholic. But I like the idea of it, so it's a tradition I will borrow as long as I can come up with things to give up. Last year I gave up treats entirely, and that was probably the most difficult of all my Lents. I don't even eat sweets that often, but once I tell myself I can't have them they start appearing everywhere and beckoning to me like little demons. Not this year, my little demons! This year I am giving up a recent addiction...which some of you know about. For those who don't, please allow me to simultaneously announce and renounce my affinity for these:

Oh dear. I miss them already.

I found this statement about Lent: "Lent is a great time to break a bad habit and give it to the Lord. These sins and vices we should not take back after Lent."

Oops. In years past I haven't really followed that counsel. I tend to binge after the 40-day period. But in this case, I really do want to break a habit and not return to it. Not because the little fishies are so very bad..but because they are a so very weak substitute for actual nutrition. It's taken me several months to realize this, and now that my hair is falling out and my skin is weird, the fishies can no longer fool me into thinking they're a meal. No more, starting today!

Goodbye goldfish. See you on Easter.

2009-02-20T15:19:00.002-08:00

I was just told by my Guatemalan friend at work that I don't have a boyfriend/husband because I need a lion-tamer. Not sure that was a compliment...but it sure got a hearty laugh out of me. And then I punched him in the face.

Holga 2

2009-02-19T15:12:00.005-08:00

I finally got my second roll of film developed from my Holga..I need to use that camera more, because it's so fun. Once again, I was pleasantly surprised by what came out.

Flaming Gorge--Libby's amazing cabin...and the cabin next door.

Treatise on Valentines Day

2009-02-13T10:23:00.003-08:00

I wrote this last year around this time....Still applicable, my friends, still so very applicable. Spread the good word, for I only strive to make this world a happier place.

Dear men—

I do not envy your position this time of year. I am sympathetic to the fact that you are just coming down from a high-stakes Christmas gift-giving season—from which you may or may not have escaped relatively unscathed—and you now feel the heat this Valentine’s Day (and when I say heat, I’m not talking about the passionate flames of love). The holidays, instead of being a celebration, are often veritable pressure cookers for you poor men who adopt “don’t screw up this year” as your mantra. I feel sorry for you, I really do.

That said, there is something you can do about it. A little delving into the female psyche can go far to improve the overall experience of Valentine’s Day. Mind you, after reading this you may still hate the fact that it exists and curse the name of Cupid, but at least you can say you tried your best…and who knows? You just might brighten somebody else’s day.

You see, most women hate this day as much as you do, possibly more. But our reasons for hating it are complicated. We hate it because we want to love it but it never pans out as expected. Then we hate ourselves for having stupid expectations, which in turn makes us wish it would just go away sometimes. A few examples of how we might think:

Girl A) We’ve been married for 12 years. Yes, we express our love for each other in our daily activities of child-rearing and mutual toleration, and I’m way too realistic to expect diamonds or weekend spa certificates, but a night out without the kids would be nice. That said, a surprise something awesome would just floor me and I, like every other girl, always maintain that secret longing for Cassanova-esque gestures of undying passion. Sigh. But seriously, doing the dishes would make my day. “No gifts” pacts are totally legitimate—but you can show your appreciation in other ways.

Girl B) We’ve been dating for awhile and things are going really well. A thoughtful gesture would melt my heart, because it shows that you know me and are happy where you are. Capitalize on an inside joke, rent that movie we were laughing over the other day, or bring home the ice cream I crave. Flowers and/or chocolates are awesome too, but only if I like flowers and/or chocolates. Finding ways to say you appreciate me and that the magic is still alive will earn you major points. If you’re clueless about anything I like, then, uh…why are you with me? Maybe you should figure that one out and ask my friends/sisters/co-workers what I’m all about in the meantime.

Girl C) We’ve gone out a few times. The connection has been great, but we haven’t crossed that invisible line between “interested” and “couple.” Though we’re not anything established and may still be playing the field a little, it’s obvious that we like each other and enjoying spending time with one another. Yes, a gesture on Valentine’s Day could possibly result in sending a message of affection that exceeds your actual feelings. But the alternative—doing nothing—most definitely sends the opposite message: You don’t care about me and would avoid spending time with me on this most special of special, hateful days, at all costs. Is that the message you want to send? If I were you, I would err on the side of affection. Believe me, acting like February 14th isn’t on your calendar is the worst case scenario. Just do something, anything. A call. A card. Dinner. Even a heartfelt explanation of the awkwardness of the situation and an expression of your desire to keep it casual is preferable to the post-V-day call where we have to pretend we aren’t ticked off when we really are.

Girl D) You have a crush on me. What better way to say it (or to say it anonymously!) than with some sort of surprise? Of course, it’s not necessary. But it’s an excuse, right?

In a nutshell, my point is this: All girls are aware of Valentine’s Day. We may love it or hate it, or perhaps some of us are mature enough to remain relatively indifferent to it. But we are aware of it. And you should be too. Don’t give in to the pressure you’ll get from commercials, from your mom, or from scary ex-girlfriend memories—Just be aware that you have an opportunity to share a little bit of how you feel with those in your life who matter, and simple gestures can go a long way. Anyone who expects fireworks each year will probably be disappointed, but most of us are so jaded that even a little effort will blow us out of the water.

New post, please

2009-02-09T08:12:00.003-08:00

I can't look at those pictures any more.

I don't really have anything to say, though, except things are great. Tip of the Week: I have a new favorite restaurant, and if anyone's looking for a great Valentine's Day splurge, go to Tin Angel Cafe. Everything I tasted was amazing and I thoroughly enjoyed the eating of it, which says a lot, considering my recent surgery that ruined all things mouth-related (read everything you want into that, and you'll probably be right). Anyway, yeah. Trust me on this one--it's awesome! I recommend the gnocchi appetizer and the mushroom pasta entree.

All the single ladies, all the single ladies! I have that song in my head. Anyone up for donning a super french-cut leotard and high heels and learning that dance? If you don't know what I'm talking about, puh-lease.

I'm free tonight if you are.

So unwise...

2009-01-31T11:05:00.003-08:00

Well, it happened.
I finally got my wisdom teeth out. I guess I can go on a mission now.
I feel fine, once I got over the fear that I have nerve damage (I was numb for at least 12 hours after...I really thought it was permanent)...I woke up fine today. I will take a nap and try really hard not to play Bunko tonight, except that I really want to.
Pictures? Yes, lets!

Can you tell anything is different? I can't.

Except for maybe a tiny bit of swelling, I think I'm recovering marvelously.

Today's Special

2009-01-26T12:42:00.003-08:00

Today I am super happy. Want to know who I love? I love Burt Brothers. I could probably find cheaper oil changers and maybe cheaper tires, but you can't beat a place that remembers your name when you go in every 3 months or so. And they only tell you about problems when they're actually problems. And they give you an awkward ride back to work if you have to leave your car there. I love them.

I also love my friends. I have really good girl friends...not really any guy friends, except the aforementioned girlfriends' husbands. Friends have always been important to me, and today especially I love them.

You know who else is pretty great? My mom. She's not in-your-face great (unless you taste her gravy or banana cream pie or something) but she's incomparably great nonetheless. I don't think she knows that. Mom? Are you reading? Do you know that? Well, now everybody else in the WHOLE WORLD does. I love me mum.

And how bout this snow storm? It's pretty. I love it.

2008: Year in Review

2009-01-09T07:52:00.003-08:00

One for the Dickens

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. Sound familiar? Then you must have been in 9th grade honors English for a week too.

This was a banner year for me and mine. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such high highs, and alternately such low lows—A very dichotomous existence. If I were a stock market, I would close the year and break even….but, thankfully, I think life is a little more favorable as far as what we accumulate. 2008 showed me that my losses can ultimately become gains, if I let them. 2008 provided the setting for that lesson, but I imagine it will take many more years before I can say I’ve learned it.

My theme for 08 was Positive Thinking. How did I do, you ask? Not so awesome all the time. But I definitely made strides in that vein. I think I learned a lot about forgiveness, about perspective, about myself empowered by an awareness of how much my state of mind controls my state of affairs. I gave up resolutions a few years back because they’ve never worked that well for me. Not to disparage anyone’s goal-setting practices, because I definitely think it’s worthwhile, but for me? Not so much. I’m a check-things-off-the-list kind of person, so it’s way too easy for me to put “Service” or “Lose weight” on the list and check it off with relish when I make any sort of progress. It’s apparent that to make any real changes in my life, I instead need to focus on what I want to become more than what I want to do. Doing results in becoming, I know, but I would rather outline who I want to be and then, with that in mind, do things to reach that point. Thus, the setting of themes. It’s a little annoying to never be able to check it off the list, since at the end of the year I don’t imagine I’ll ever be able to say “Ta da—I’m a 100% positive thinker!” or whatever. But themes it will be, until I figure out another way to mold this mortal machine into something better each year.

This year? Live in the Moment.

No, I’m not a proponent of short-sightedness. I like perspective, and I like long-term thinking. This theme isn’t about naiveté or being frivolously present. It’s about being here, now. Being present by not wishing away this time that I have. I love Elder Wirthlin’s last talk, “Come What May, and Love It” because he’s speaking with the wisdom of an aged, completed man. Anybody who has lived through something hard can later look back and see what points should have been handled with less worry, more confidence, deeper faith. A whole lifetime of that, and I imagine things get pretty simple there at the end. One must have a pretty clear picture of what matters: Love, faith and spiritual standing, overall satisfaction/success (however you define it), etc. I can already look back on my short life and see times when I wish I could have just relaxed and enjoyed what I was doing, because it’s so fleeting.

Living in the moment involves awareness. When I am in a situation where I am not distracted by who else is there, what will happen later, how I look/sound/act, or any of the million things that go through my head, I am able to be aware of the things that matter. Church is a great example, since singles' wards are so distracting. I’ve gone and had my eye on some guy, thinking of ways to get noticed, and then I’ll leave disappointed if nothing happens. If, instead, I attend a meeting and just shut off the self-absorption, I'm suddenly opened up to learning things I need to learn...and it helps me identify people who might need help, motivating me to use my time efficiently and effectively.

Another example of this happened on New Year’s Eve. We arrived at a cabin covered in 4+ feet of snow and had to clear our own path to get in. Normally I hate getting to cabins first, because it’s always freezing and there’s a lot to do…so I like to come when everything is all set up nicely for me. I’m so giving, right? Well, this year there was more to do than ever, and for a split second it seemed pretty daunting to even salvage the evening. But then, somehow, I was there in the present, tromping around in snow up to my thighs and falling all over the place and dancing in a snow shower from a snow blower and laughing with everyone at our situation…and everything changed. I now have a memory of an amazing night with beautiful scenery, fun people, and the blessing of safety over and over again for myself and people I love.

Anyway, my idea is to do everything I can to plan for the future, but also do everything I can to see things as they are right now, because right now is when the work is being done. And right now is passing so quickly that I can barely keep up.

I’m curious what everybody else has planned for this year. Goals? Resolutions? Themes? Vacations? Project Rock? Send your ideas my way.

Feels Like Heaven

2009-01-06T08:29:00.014-08:00

In my sojourn through life, I've always been intrigued by the hereafter. I'm constantly evaluating which activities I could do every day if I had to, and which ones I hate so much that they would make up my idea of Hell. Of course I know I can't be trusted to define my own Heaven, because I'm impulsive and fickle in the things I love sometimes....but if I were in charge, I'm pretty sure eternity would look like this:

Not this:

There would be activities...

And my friends would be there.

In short, it would be a lovely place. And did I mention it won't be like this?

Or this:

And I'm pretty sure I'll look my very best, physically, and so will my boyfriend.

Sigh. I want to go to there.

La Navidad

2008-12-24T10:23:00.001-08:00

Holiday Magic 2008

2008-12-11T11:44:00.007-08:00

A dream I've had for awhile was partially realized on Saturday night: I sang karaoke. And I didn't laugh through the whole thing! A co-worker and I sang "Baby It's Cold Outside" at the company party...and it was a smash hit. I think we'll be recording soon. Turns out that song is all about seduction, which makes for fun times in the office.

In other news, I wrote this a week ago or so, and never posted it:
I may be getting a little restless here in the Promised Land of SLC...but sometimes I remember why I love it here. Man, I have the coolest friends. Every single one of my lady friends is beautiful and amazing and even more fun when drunk off a little too much fondue. I try to surround myself with attractive, enjoyable people so that some of those characteristics will rub off on me. I think it will work at some point--all dem boys are bound to see me walking with a bunch of hotties (not knowing most of them are married) and just automatically assume that I must be hot and enjoyable too.. Even if that doesn't work, I get some wicked entertainment out of the company. I woke up very happy today because of that.

And, for the kids, a nice picture of Will Ferrell.

Merry Christmas.

2008-12-04T08:09:00.004-08:00

Today my blogging reaches a new realm--Just trying to keep things interesting for all two of you readers....so today we talk about things that actually matter.

Typically, I'm not one to run around, shouting about what I believe. I think that sort of needs to change. Well, I probably won't shout, but I would like people to know what I believe because it matters. Not much that I do in a normal day matters that much, in the long run, except for how I choose to treat people and who I choose to be, on a spiritual level. I'm sad to say that often I come up short on both accounts, but...here's to hoping there's lots of time for me to practice, eh?

So, in short, this is a testimony post. My voice is small, but I know certain things and think they should be heard, even if just by the two of you who read this.

I know there is a God, and He is listening. I've never known it so completely as I do now. I know that He loves me. He finds ways to show me that He loves me, and while I don't always appreciate how it's happening...when I come away with a sure knowledge that I am loved by someone like that, it nearly knocks me over. This knowledge is absolutely central to my life, and I'm just now starting to figure out why.

Being loved is key to human existence. Babies die in orphanages because they don't receive the love they need. Relationships are destroyed when there is even a doubt about the presence of love; We run around our entire lives striving for love, no matter how much we might think we're after different things. Anyone who has been in love knows what a powerful force it is--It is motivating, all-forgiving, and all-sacrificing, when it's pure. And that's just human love. Do we really understand what it means to be divinely loved? It too is motivating. It helps us forgive. It makes us willing to sacrifice many of the worldly, eternally unimportant things. Feeling that love puts everything in perspective, because nothing petty or potentially hurtful can matter when God is holding you in His arms.

I have felt it. I have felt it without knowing why or how He chooses to love what I am. I have felt it when I find it impossible to love myself and impossible to love others. This feeling is helping my life mean something.

There are so many people in this world who don't know this. I am aching with the desire to make it known, because so much hurt and hate could be healed by this knowledge. What a strange state we live in--most of the time we aren't willing to even listen to the answer to all our problems. I know that there are still problems, even with this knowledge--There is hurt and hate and bad days and willful disobedience--but to be able to go through a normal day with a sense of what is important and what isn't makes life pretty amazing.

So that's pretty much it. Simple, right? I believe in a loving Heavenly Father, I believe in the LDS church, and I want other people to believe it too. I don't think that's bad to say that I want others to believe it. I'm selling something pretty amazing, here. Without any of this knowledge, one can still be happy and live a good life. But now I know how much happier and better life can be, and I would love for everybody to know that too.

Red rum

2008-11-24T12:53:00.003-08:00

Last night I listened to a mouse we caught in the trap we set for it, and I heard it struggling to set itself free...I even heard it squealing and crying. And then it died. I feel like a murderer.

I actually think mice are kind of cute. I don't think I would feel like a murderer if I listened to a spider die.

Much-delayed pictures

2008-11-23T19:00:00.006-08:00

Two dress-up occsasions that I've been meaning to post about: Halloween and the Sub 4 Santa 5k. I love costumes.

Geneology

2008-11-10T08:29:00.004-08:00

I am doing it--My geneology. And the reason why I am doing it is very plain to see!

Those are the only words I remember.
Anyway, I've been getting really into family history lately. I just love reading all the stories and getting to know the people that make up my family tree. Here's an example of a woman I found--there's only a little bit recorded about her, but for some reason I just feel really close to her. I feel like...she and I are really similar, somehow. I don't know why. Anyway, here she is:

2008-11-04T07:50:00.001-08:00

ROCK THE VOTE!
JAM THE VOTE!
BE THE VOTE!

Gooooooooooooo AMERICA!

10 Awesome Things About Being a Graphic Designer

2008-10-29T08:29:00.005-07:00

Everyone says "cool" when I tell them what I do. Like I'm an astronaut. This makes me feel good, but also slightly deceptive, considering that I spend a LOT of my time on boring, non-creative layout and at most have maybe 2 creative pieces to my credit. Cool.
I can wear baggy clothes and lots of eyeliner and...people chalk it up to being artsy.
I draw pictures all day.
I understand some of the jokes Pam and her art school friends make on The Office...and I laugh heartily just to prove it.
At work I am continually referred to as a Creative. 'Creative' is a noun here.
People request random things all the time--like an invitation to a daughter's baptism. And when asked if they have any ideas about how it should look, they may toss in some helpful hints like "You know, white...some sort of frilly stuff...maybe a 3-D dove or something..." So then I laugh and say "sweet"...and then I realize they aren't joking. WHAT? A 3-D dove? Seriously?
I pretty much get to exhibit the full range of emotions and temperamental behavior...people chalk it up to being artsy.
I don't get in trouble at work for searching Google images or watching YouTube--it's creative research.
I hear this phrase at least 5 times a day: "I'm no artist, but..." (Usually said before delivering an opinion on something I've created.)
I work with some awesomely quirky people. I am becoming quirky-er every day because of it.

Eddy Utah

2008-10-07T17:44:00.012-07:00

Eddy is going to be a famous model.
Libby and I are entering these photos, and I swear if he doesn't win I'll...quit life.

September

2008-09-30T19:27:00.005-07:00

Today I said goodbye to September.

True, some days I said I wanted to sleep through this month. It hasn't treated me the way I would expect a favorite to—sometimes it almost felt like February. But one doesn't alway love a thing because of how nice it is, or because it earns it. Sometimes you love something simply because it exists, because it's a part of you. When I looked at the calendar and saw tomorrow, I realized that today holds so much of finality, of things needing to be put to rest.

So I took a drive. I chose a route I don't travel every day but that is still dimly familiar. It began as something of a stress reliever, with wind in my hair and the music turned up loud. Soon, however, I started to see things that pulled the full weight of farewell firmly into my thoughts.

I saw hints of deep colors, muted by the lateness of the season, and receded waters that spoke of more abundant times. I saw pockets of intense, unexpected storms, with painful jabs of lightening and blood-tinged clouds—like those days when the cold came suddenly and reached all the way to my heart, when the emptiness filled my bones without words and without touch, and I knew the coming winter would be the coldest I've weathered. Those storms fought for my attention, but they were surrounded by mild, comforting, everyday sky to draw my eyes away.
I followed winding roads, sometimes expecting the curves ahead and at times being surprise by how sharply they cut through the scenery. I recognized that shoreline, that peak, that wandering path. I glanced at that arbitrary roadside stall, and the significance of it took my breath away.

As the sun set on my scene, I wished for more. More light, more warmth, more of the colors I can now only illuminate with my imagination. Eventually I yielded, and said goodbye to something so beautiful—how achingly beautiful I can never convey, no matter how well you think you know these parts.

I am infinitely sad to see it go, but I hope there will be other Septembers...or, at the least, a few great Octobers.

I used to be a boy. Er, uh, I mean tomboy

2008-09-16T15:55:00.004-07:00

Let's take a closer look, shall we?

Old Beyond Years

2008-08-20T20:21:00.002-07:00

...Tears For Fears.
I told someone the other day that something I said was an inside joke with myself and they thought it was weird. Is that weird? I have LOTS of those.

Anyway, it feels like forever since I had the writing bug, and here it is! Probably very boring for most people but here are the thoughts of late:

I'm finding that life is a simple process of turning into one big cliche. When you're a kid, you don't sit back and wish for the good ol' days. When you're still a kid but old enough to know what people mean when they wish for the good ol' days, you swear you'll never be like that. At some point, major life milestones start happening, and no amount of proclaiming them weird or surreal changes the fact that you are indeed growing older, and you are in fact living all those scenarios you most surrealy imagined.

Point is, I feel old. Some great shift has taken place in the last year or so, and suddenly I'm remarking that summers feel shorter than they used to; good friends don't keep in touch like they used to; my body doesn't happily take a beating like it used to.

I'm 26.
26 isn't old, by logical standards. By 14-year-old mentality standards, however, it's ancient. And while I claim a certain amount that immaturity, I never anticipated that at age 26 I would pull a muscle doing routine things like, say...shopping. Or that I would gaze at a toddler and be overcome with amazement--and jealousy--at the amount of energy they possess.
I never dreamed I'd so unmistakably notice things changing.

I've watched my father, over the years, become more emotional, more appreciative, more drink-in-the-moments minded. Maybe it was his heart attack--Maybe it's the increase in grandchildren. Maybe it's just plain aging. Whatever it is, it seems that we soften as we go. Things mean more. I feel it more profoundly when I am hurt, or when someone I love is hurt. I have less tolerance for the violence and cruelty I see in the world around me. I wonder more often if I'm doing what I should and being someone who matters. I am so keenly aware of the moments that result in happy memories...and of those that will teach me something difficult.

If I feel like this at 26, I can't imagine 46, 66, and beyond. I'll probably spend all my time remarking about how strange it is that I'm 46, 66, and beyond. Or about those days when gas was $4.25 a gallon. Or about how weird it is that I used to never think I'd find it exhausting to sleep in a tent and hike and eat granola bars and get sunburned but now I do.
I want the wisdom of age and the vitality of youth. I guess that's what everybody wants, but that's not the plan. Maye I'll settle for the ability to do the splits. And stay up all night for fun. And work a minimum wage job with summers off.

Maybe you grow old and look back on your life and wonder if it all really happened. And a small part of you wonders if it was all really that short, that amazing, and that meaningful. In truth, it probably wasn't. But age lends meaning to everything.

So I guess I welcome the rose-colored lenses.

Starstruck

2008-07-31T07:56:00.002-07:00

I only hope I look this excited if I ever happen to meet the famous Joel Welch.

Holga

2008-07-19T13:31:00.009-07:00

Whoa, look out--2 posts in one day. It's a seriously lame-o day at work. On Saturday.

Anyway, I mentioned once that I received a Holga for my birthday. Many of you don't know what that is. Hullo! I'm here to tell you.
It's a fantastic little camera, and it looks like it was made in the 60s...or for little kids. Or both.
The great part is that I have virtually no control over how my pictures come out with this little gem, so every image is a surprise. Good surprise! I skimmed the instructions when I got it because I was too impatient to really read them, and I started jamming film in it and went to town. After some strange symbols started appearing in the film viewer and the back just popped off at one point, totally exposing a section of the film, I realized I may need to actually try to do it right and pretty much wrote off that whole first roll of film. Well, happy surprises abound! I got my film developed and scanned it myself and was delighted to find 16 images! And I even liked some! Here are my faves:

And don't think I don't know what you're thinking: "Those pictures aren't that awesome. They just look...old and crappy." Well, you're wrong. Dead wrong. These are awesome and I'm very excited to get more and more awesome with this crappy little camera.
PS All these pictures are from Greece Lightning.

Saturday's Warriors

2008-07-19T10:32:00.002-07:00

Well, it's Saturday. And I'm working. Correction: I'm at work, but doing very little actual work.
This business might kill me. I love my job and the people with whom I work, but I don't know how long I can stand working in this volatile advertising world. There's absolutely no security, no predictability, and the clients control your lives.
Maybe I'm just not cut out for work. The problem, though, is that everybody my age says that. We all think we're somehow above the 9-5. How does one gain the work ethic that seems to come naturally in older generations? My Peter Pan complex has seriously inhibited my productivity.

On that note, I'm craving a slip n' slide. On my lunch break. Today. Which is Saturday. Anybody up for it?

A Pittance

2008-06-25T08:14:00.003-07:00

Write whatever I'm thinking: 3..2..1....contact:
1) The clouds are bleeding today. I know that sounds like some sort of poetic attempt at describing rain, but it's not. They looked like jellyfish--all poofy on top and droopy-streaky on the bottom. That I've never seen before, or maybe noticed. I wonder if it's normal to think everything strange I see is a sign of some sort. Bleeding clouds=freaky Utah storm, the likes of which we've never known=End of The World.
2) I did laundry a week ago. It's still sitting on my floor. I'm pretty sure after that long you just give up and declare the clean laundry dirty laundry and start over. Except I don't think I can let my jeans get any tighter. I mean, they're tight enough after one wash. Imagine a double wash. Just imagine!
3) My superior sense of smell has kicked into high gear lately, and I can't get enough of the smells of summer. Sprinklers on grass in the sun? Man. I'm nearly drunk from it.
4) I won (aka lost) credit card roulette the other day. I can no longer say I never win anything.
5) I'm currently amazed at how quickly peoples' lives can change. It helps us stay sane to think that there's any measure of security in the lives we lead, that each day will be relatively similar to the last. But occasionally a wake up call cuts through all of that and drives home the idea that existence is fragile. Routine is fragile. And foresight can only take you so far.
6) Pretending to be sad makes you actually sad. Take my word for it.
7) I'm kind of done with blogging sometimes. Not today times, but sometimes.

Best Days

2008-06-03T07:55:00.014-07:00

Warning: Long post. Long, worth-it post.
For the last several years I've been able to name the best day of my life. The day changes periodically, but I always have one in mind. In 2006 it was June 1st--Just an overall good day. I ran 7 miles, water skied, floated the Provo River, went to a winning Real Soccer game, and wrapped it all up by breaking up a highschool gang fight at Molca Salsa.

2007 trumped 2006 in many ways, but mostly in the beginning of July (exact day undetermined), on a day known as Truck Pool Day. I don't think I've simultaneously laughed and drowned so enjoyably in my life. We emptied 3 pools with our very scary neighborhood driving and went through the Del Taco drive-in.

These days have several things in common, most importantly a) A vague idea of some activities for the day; b) Nowhere important to be; c) No limits on time; d) Beautiful weather; and e) Good friends. And my most current Best Day of My Life? No different.

May 24, 2008
We awoke early in our skimpy hotel rooms; we feasted early on our skimpy hotel breakfast. We had a plan and Freedom was its name. Across the street waited 3 beautiful machines for that purpose, and we had only to sign our lives over to the man who never changed clothes or positions in his little shop. 3 quick lessons and 6 helmets later, we were off.

My partner was Katherine,
and she gave me the glory of driving first. Our little chain wound its way to the south-western peninsula of Santorini. We had a destination in mind, but soon realized that we didn't care where we went, so long as we were in control... The wind whipped through our hair and Katherine and I found ourselves singing anything and everything we could think of at the tops of our lungs. After several days and several cities worth of relying on public transportation, we were just now realizing what we'd been missing. We made a few scenic stops and then arrived triumphant at the Lighthouse, destination #1. Small hike, small cave, small doll found in bushes, the end.

Then we cruised to Red Beach. The cliffs in this particular part of the volcanic island are slightly red, from whatever crazy gases were emitted in the eruption. The red mixes with black and makes for a pretty cool background to blue-green water. We swam, we tried clinging to a rock (Mermaid-style), and I spent long moments listening to the water tossing rocks onto the shore--I think I have a favorite sound, and I can't believe I haven't heard it before.

Next stop: Peruvilos Beach (spelling uncertain). You know how you see a Corona commercial and think "what beach really looks like that?" Well...I have an idea. We ate lunch at a beach front restaurant and a few girls fell in love with our scrawny 12-year-old server. Then we each found a beach chair with accompanying thatch umbrella and took naps, read, whatever. I took a walk and spent some delicious alone time, applying what I'm certain should be a new spa treatment: Black Sand Scrub. Despite the occasional naked person who slightly ruined the view, this beach was super paradise. We attempted to crash a volleyball game full of Greek male models with laughable sports skills but ended up spectating instead.

Then we explored a few random villages, which satisfied my craving for the Santorini of my imagination. We walked around Pyrgos, and after being invited into a creepy old lady's house and repeatedly offered a donkey ride by a cute old man, we happened across a hilltop church with an all-too-accessible bell. I, thus challenged, decided that the bell tolls for me and gave it a healthy clang. Actually, it was a surprisingly loud CLANG that sounded out over the whole valley. Figuring the bell police were surely after us, we took off running and laughing our way down the hill. This whole event was captured on video, only to be suspiciously destroyed later...thus entering it in the realm of myth. You can tell your grandchildren that you know the girls who unwittingly mobilized the Greek troops to defend the castle against the encroaching pirates by sounding the Pirate Bell...if you want.

We raced back victorious to our skimpy hotel and transformed into beautiful goddesses so we could head to Fira for the sunset. All the restaurants overlooking the caldera (read: huge watery basin in the middle of the ring of islands) are super expensive so we grabbed cheap gyros and jumped on a roof with an amazing view. I will forever love the guy from the restaurant right next to us who saw us, contemplated, and then decided to let us enjoy our illegal selves. After some shopping and some amazing desserts, we retired for the evening.
This, my friends, was the pinnacle of the trip for me. I may or may not document the rest of it, but this gives an adequate picture of how it felt to be free in Greece for 10 days. Until something tops it, May 24th was the best day of my life.

Cinco de Mayo

2008-05-14T15:38:00.006-07:00

I'm very bendy.
Observe.

And I am the winner. Which means I scrunch my face up like a little rat or something.

I pretty much have the coolest job ever. Cinco de Mayo was a banner day for me--My group won the dance-off, and I won the limbo contest. I was very sore later, but I would rather break every bone in my back before I would have let that weak little pole get me down. Yeah! What, pole, WHAT?! Yeah, take that, gumby-chick co-worker! You may be my closest competitor for hottest in the office, but I'm not scared. I'm not blond, and I'm not scared. I can take you anytime. BAM!

26 years young

2008-05-03T11:10:00.004-07:00

Well well well. Another year has passed and I find myself in my Late Twenties. *Gasp!*
The Early Twenties have been nothing if not formative, so I can't wait to see what happens in this, the sunset of my life.
I call it the sunset of my life because my golden birthday is next year. (Some people don't know what that means, and I pity you. I also pity you if your golden was at age 2 or something. You weren't even aware, and that hurts my heart.) For as long as I can remember I've looked forward to the age of 27, since that will be my golden birthday. My Golden Age. All the stars will be aligned and my life will reach its pinnacle of awesomeness, to forever surpass my previous peak in fourth grade.

Beyond that, what is there?
I must assume that the downward slope will begin on the dawn of age 28. *audible sigh*

But enough of that Melancholy Molly. Let's talk about birthdays! This year's was one for the books, fo sho. Since I had a Sunday birthday, I got to have a whole birthday weekend. Thanks to all those who endured multiple birthday activities....all I can say is that at least I've scaled it down from a whole week, right?
Here are some highlights:
Flowers at work
Chinese food with good friends -- and the many good things that happened there (i.e. Caboodle, me trying to feed grease to a baby, that old Chinese guy, and everyone trying to eat our potstickers, [including the baby.].) .].).].)
Sleeping in
Shopping with Mom (Market Street wasn't half bad either)
The Barker Birthday Duet
Feats of Strength -- I see it as a sign of our growing age that lately we are continually pitting ourselves against each other in various physical contests...of which I win none. I can just see us all at age 75, pulling a break-dancing stall and saying "look what I can still do!"...and then paying for it for a week. Oh wait, that's what happens now. *even more audible sigh*
A guitar in tip-top shape
HOLGA!
The Stomp-esque birthday rendition that had a 5 minute intro and culminated in a bread pudding candle blowing
The Friendship basket
Cookie sundaes and Sundays with friends
Reading in the warm sun on a beanbag on the deck

Anyway, the list goes on and on. There were only 2 lowlights: 1) No birthday dance by me and Snee, and 2) Colby fell and Frankensteined himself forever (click on The Richins blog for pictures..but only if you can handle it. The cute little guy is a friggin champ, though--look how he poses all gruesomely!)

Okay I'll be done now. But I love everyone and loved this birthday. I loved age 25 and so far I love 26 even more. Wow! That's a lot of love. But that's how I feel so there it is. Rock the 26.