Instincts

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

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* 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

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

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

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

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

I love you

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.

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

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!