Words, words, words

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

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.

Welcome to Summer

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

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

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

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