Better Off Red

The Year Half Full

2012-01-03T20:25:00.008-06:00

New Year’s Eve dinner was all you can eat carbs with friends. It was also never ending question time from me. The year of 2011 was a world-class roller coaster for me and I was curious to see how everyone else fared.

Some of the questions I forced people to voluntarily answer:

What was your most memorable moment of 2011?

What is a 2011 moment you’d most like to forget?

What is a wish you have for 2012?

The first proved pretty easy and the responses involved some kind of move or vacation for almost everyone. For me it was the dreamy trip to Europe that I still brag about to anyone that will listen. (Don’t worry I still have a pending blog about England to be posted soon). The second question was a little more challenging. It seems most of my friends are refreshingly optimistic, so much so that it was only slightly awkward when I pulled out my lengthy list of events I would love to never happen again. Finally, the wishes were surprisingly large, life changing things like new jobs and babies (again don’t worry, that’s not me).

Over the next 24 hours I watched people, tweet, text, blog and instagram their way into 2012. Perhaps it’s standard to feel exhausted at the end of a year and eagerly welcome the many possibilities a new year presents, but I noticed more cries of relief at the close of 2011 than any year before. Or perhaps I noticed it because that is how I felt. I couldn’t wait to kiss 2011 goodbye. It was simply terrible. I wanted 2011 to be torn into little pieces, locked in a box, burned, buried far in the ground and burned again.

Then I remembered how difficult it was for my friends to come up with the moments they’d like to forget. At the time I thought they just might be hesitant to share potentially embarrassing things or worse, nothing went wrong!!! Later I realized it’s not that their year was perfect, but that they chose to only remember the good and the bad just sort of faded away from memory. Then it slapped me, like perspective often does, a year can only be remembered the way you want it to be.

Thanks to my optimistic friends, a year of horror started to turn upside down. Instead it was a year of survival, self-awareness, escaping death, superior strength, adventure, learning, supporting friends, not going broke, and finally a year that ended with great friends just enjoying all that is good in life.

So there it went - 2011 was quite the roller coaster. But now instead of wanting to jump off and run to the nearest trash can to vomit, I am ready to ride another! After all, I took a ride on that monster and even with all the screaming, I sure rode the heck out of it. Take that 2011!

C'est magnifique!

2011-11-07T00:15:00.003-06:00

Ah Paris. What a dream. I still can't believe I actually made it to Paris, and boy was it a whirlwind! For those of you wishing to live vicariously through my adventures, here is my version of Paris in four days.

Day 1: After a 10 hour flight and 2 hour train ride, arrive at the crowded, smoke filled train station. Drag your luggage half a mile down the creepy, sexy streets (this became the nickname of all the streets we passed of an adult nature) and find yourself standing in front of a huge wooden door in a Parisian alley way. Enter the secret code and step into a beautiful hidden courtyard. Enter the second secret code and enter the building. Drag your luggage up five flights of a super skinny, spiral stair case. Five flights. The blue carpet and the fact it is Paris made it worth while. Now enter the tiniest apartment a la IKEA you've ever seen in your life. It was adorable. A pit stop is necessary, you've been traveling all day. Head back out into the Paris air and on to the Louvre - it's four miles away, you say? I would never walk that far in the states, but when are you going to be this close again, plus you have your Dr Scholls on - what's stopping you? Wander/get lost in the streets along the way, taking in the sights, smells and luxury you've always dreamt about. Rest your weary feet while starring at the Parisian sky and watching the illegal selling of flashing, flying helicopters. If they weren't 7€, I would have illegally bought one because they were awesome. Stop for a fresh crepe on the way back. I swear, you've never tasted anything so brilliant in your life. Head back to the rented Parisian hideaway, falling asleep before you head hits the pillow.

Day 2: Awake with the Parisian birds...and trash man. Find another pastry to surprise your taste buds and tackle the Paris metro. As it turns out, even Dr Scholls can't handle 8 more miles of straight walking. There you are standing outside of Notre Dame. It is as daunting and beautiful as it looks in the history books. I've never seen more intricate handiwork in stone, wood and glass in all my life. Check. On to the long line for the famous St Chapelle just in time for the skies to open up and dump out more rain that Texas has seen in 2 years combined. Huddle under the chapel entrance with all the other Asian tourists. Check. Stop at a quaint street side cafe to enjoy a bucket of mussels for lunch where the adorable French waiter takes pity on pretty American tourists and teaches them how to properly eat mussels. You use them as forks - of course! Forget trying to avoid second hand smoke induced cancer, Parisians love their tobacco as much as their mineral water. Both are unavoidable in this town. After sipping down the 7€ Dt Coke head to Museum d'Orsay. I was surprised to find out how much I enjoyed museums, considering I always felt morally opposed to them. However, after 45 min of starring at darkly lit galleries on a full stomach of Parisian mussels you are going to fall asleep staring at a sculpture...while still standing. The best part of the Orsay, the French bodyguard stopping to tell me how beautiful my smile was. But oh no, the day is not over yet, you still have the sparkling Eiffel tower to visit. About face and head to the south bank to join a South African high school trip on a boat cruise down the Seine. Paris is even more beautiful at night and on the top of every hour, even the Eiffel tower sparkles just to prove it's unattainable glory. Oh and there are the flying buttresses...oops - how did we forget to see those up close and personal when we were there just there hours ago? Silly goose. After the lovely, but extremely chilly cruise, stop by another cafe for your first French macaroon. And again, nothing compares. Asleep with a smile.

Day 3: Hop on the train to Versailles...the ultimate residence of decadence. It certainly does not disappoint. Just walking through the gilded halls, with all the marble, the gold, the mirrors, the statues, oh such extravagance. It's truly remarkable and rather easy to imagine how ticked the French were to find the monarchy dancing and eating their cares away while the people starved in the countryside. Get lost in the acres and acres of pristine manicured gardens. How many statues and fountains does a mansion need? The answer is none, but a dozen certainly makes for a wondrous site to behold for a bright-eyed American. Versailles has so much to take in, a half day barely does it justice, nevertheless, more of Paris awaits! Returning to the Louvre, there is another long list of must sees. Be careful of lines in which you are not 100% sure what you are waiting for. You may think it's the Venus, but really it's a terribly boring Asian empire exhibit, that just ate 45 min of your precious time. Ay, yi yi. No worries, on to the real Venus, the Picasso's and of course the Mona Lisa. If you're not careful, the Louvre will eat you alive, I managed to escape just in time to enjoy a midnight dinner in the open French air, following up with the most delicious chocolate cakey thing I've ever had in my life. Dreaming in French at this point.

Day 4: Last chance to take in all of Paris. Head to one of the most famous flea markets and find the perfect tea set for your traveling buddy. A must have, so on to the hunt for an ATM - like a mirage you can only find when you don't need one - to get the Euros necessary. Watch out for the hundreds of 'one in a lifetime deals' along the north end of the street. They can smell the Euros burning in you purse, hold on tight. Head back to the fancy part of town to explore the high end shopping in the malls built in castles. Grab a few Parisian scarfs, perfume samples, macaroons and head back to the Eiffel tower. Pick one of three ridiculously long lines. Forget trying to decode them, it's a trick and you'll just end up in the stair line. You've just walked 50 miles across Paris, what's a few thousand more steps, straight up? Besides, the view is totally worth it! Climbing down, you realize it's time to leave the city of magic. Pick up the last souvenirs on the way back to the apartment. Drag your bags back down 5 flights of the old windy staircase and back down to the train station, this time avoiding all sexy streets. Haul your bags back on the chunnell on through the 20 mile tunnel under the English Chanel. Deep breath, did all of that really happen? Yes, and on to the next string of adventures in England!

Au revoir, Paris! You sure stole my heart.

TWAIB

2011-10-24T18:19:00.007-05:00

(Two Weeks Abroad in Brief)

Paris is as memorizing as they say it is.
European men wear purses and somehow it works.
The metro is always hot and stinky. Perfume is a big seller.
If you walk 50 miles, the back of your knees hurt.
We have no idea how bread or chocolate is supposed to taste.
Museums are designed to put you asleep, especially the famous ones. It’s the weird ones that are fun.
I only looked at the Mona Lisa through my camera lens.
A man only has to compliment my smile to win my heart; a French accent helps.
Street food in Paris is better than half our fancy restaurants.
There are 4 liters to a gallon, bringing us to $8 a gallon. Ouch.
Don’t order pork belly in London. It’s a mean trick.
Roomy roads are an under appreciated luxury.
French women wear stilettos everywhere.
English women are normal sizes. They really are my people.
Versailles is a tall and spacious building…and it is glorious.
Past royalty are generally all very unattractive.
Mineral water is body drano.
The Lourve looks exactly like it does in the Da Vinci Code.
American tourists are loud and obnoxious…not me though.
If you don’t order a full Cornish breakfast, the locals will give you dirty looks.
Buying jewelry abroad just feels fancier.
It is possible to eat your weight in pastries and still lose 5 pounds…if you walk everywhere. (Cars have ruined us)
Stone circles are super cool in the day, but uber creepy at night. I scream loud and run suprisngly fast.
British grass is so green it looks like 70s carpet, but they make it look good.
They have as many castles in every town as we have Walgreens.
I still think it’s weird there are actual dead people inside churches, but the caskets are very impressive.
Taking two weeks off to wander around Paris and the English countryside really is a fairytale, and I rocked it.

Yeah, you're looking at this.

2011-09-26T21:09:00.003-05:00

So...I shake my groove thing at the grocery store. In my yoga pants.

I got really excited and bought mini Triscuits, because they are MINI!

I singtalk to the mangoes. And the bananas...and the cereal.

People don't think I'm crazy, right?

Nah. They love it.

Semicolon P

2011-09-21T17:24:00.003-05:00

So...recently, I've found myself turning emoticons into actual words in my every day vocab. The top of my list has to be sadface. I'm not sure when it started, but for some reason I find it more powerful to say "sadface" instead of actually using the sad face icon. Occasionally, I'll throw in the more complicated ones like winkface and winkPface, but mostly it's the simple ones like happyface, sadface, and moneyface. Does this mean I'm feeling nostalgic and reverting back to the time before instant messaging ruled all? Or does it mean texting has now taken over my reality and my worlds a colliding in a Matrixy coma state style of confusion?!

For now, I think it's cute so I'll keep doing it, but one thing is for certain - the moment I start LOLZing out loud instead of actually laughing out loud someone must put me down.

The Miracle of Quinoa

2011-09-13T20:27:00.009-05:00

Some time ago I was taking this nutrition class during my lunch break. They provided healthy meals and they were actually delicious. One of my favorites quickly became something I’d never heard of, quinoa pilaf with chicken. Quinoa was like this magical little grain. Not quite rice, pasta or couscous. It was filling, super healthy and it was delicious. I began my hunt for the uncooked grain and I was going to conquer it and change my life. I soon found that it was in fact a health foodie trend and variations of quinoa were everywhere. It was a word of wisdom miracle!

I promptly bought a bag of quinoa with a vow to master the art of the old, but newly famous grain. I put it in my pantry. And there it sat. It wasn’t entirely my fault, for six months I lived in a box. Yeah, it had a kitchen, but you couldn’t actually stand in the kitchen and cook anything. You had stand in the bathroom and reach over with a stick because there wasn’t room enough for both you and food. So my quinoa sat and sat.

Then I moved into a glorious apartment with a wide-open kitchen and lots of counter space low enough for me to not need a stool. I told my mom I was going to cook every day. That was over three months ago.

While cleaning out my pantry a few weeks ago, I came across that bag of quinoa and excitement filled my tummy. Surely it couldn’t still be good. Oh, but it was! This time, I cooked it. I cooked it so good. I eat quinoa like every day now. I make it simple, I make it fancy, I’ve shared it with friends and I’ve enjoyed it alone with my stories. It’s the best – I’m saving money, eating healthy and since I talk to myself while cooking I’m even practicing for Top Chef.

So I’ve just rambled on and on about food. Let’s be honest, it’s the topic that most of us want to talk about all the time. But truthfully, it’s more than just about the food. A long time ago I found something I loved and sought to make it part of my world. However, it didn’t happen over night, in fact I wasn’t even close to diligent about it and most of the time I totally forgot. This miracle food just sat on my shelf, ignored and shamed. Then one day it came back into my life and this time I was ready for it. Everything was in place and we were happily reunited. What a difference it has made.

It was so simple. How many other things in my life are sitting on that shelf waiting to make an impact in my life…other than that box of cream of wheat which we all know is never going to happen – what was I thinking?

It’s probably time to clean out the old life pantry again and make sure I’m not missing any more miracle grains. Hopefully before they expire.

Oh and quinoa, if you haven’t yet, try it. For reals.

Past Blast

2011-07-04T00:36:00.005-05:00

Last weekend the BFF and I went to a massive boy band reunion concert to relive our 4th grade dreams. (Thanks L!) It was absolutely amazing and about a thousand times better than I was expecting. After all the New Kids on the Block are not new kids anymore. They sang, they danced and they really looked like they were having a blast. Instead of taking themselves too seriously, it felt as if they truly appreciated the opportunity to give this entertainment business one more go decades later. I found myself rooting for them as we gave homage to the songs that back dropped my early adolescence. For two hours I was transported back in time, a simpler time – no really, things were way easy back then. After the concert L and I talked about the memories that came flooding back. Please Don't Go Girl still gets me every time. It was pretty awesome to relive those crushes for an evening.

About a month ago, I saw a lovely little movie, Midnight in Paris. It was charming, funny and the final message was sweet and poignant. Without giving away too much, it was about not obsessing in the past. Instead we cherish it and use what we have learned to embrace the future. I love that.

For a few moments during the NKOTBSB concert, I felt that urge to go back. If only I could be there again, do it all over or just stay there forever. After the encore, the confetti settled and the lights went up, I returned to 2011 with a heavy sigh. Truth is life is not perfect today and I think sometimes if I could I really would like to do things over. Reminiscing in the 'good ole' times often makes my present heart ache and it takes a moment to remember there is no accounting for the path already taken. There is no telling what could or might have been and most of the time that is the point. Today is today, yesterday is gone and I only have tomorrow. It is with my past, I make the best of my future.

Now, can anyone tell me why there were 14 year olds at this concert? Seriously, I'm really baffled. I have NKOTB shirts older than them.

Rejected

2011-06-01T11:48:00.004-05:00

Rejection hurts. It sucks. Bad. Big time. There is nothing new about that.

Recently, however, I have received a new kind of rejection and I have to say, it hurts almost as bad as the boy kind.

I apologize for the shock of news to anyone, don't be mad, I kept my jaw rather tight about it (I know, I know, it's rare, but it's still possible). Due to the bafflement and frustration of the 'are you kidding me's?' this has caused, public release feels necessary and that demands full disclosure. So here it all comes...

I applied to the Marriage and Family Therapy program at BYU last fall. It involved a mix of emotion and was a bit stressful, but overall I was really excited for the possibility of a new career path, one that could open new doors and really bring me a lot of joy. I wasn't delusion, it's a very small program, chances were slim at best. However, I wasn't prepared for the speed at which that rejection notice arrived...via email. That was surprising. After a sigh of disappointed, it was alright. I knew it would be a long shot and I wasn't planning to give up. I have time. Next year, we will try again.

Then...a few days ago I got a letter from the program. What is this, 5 months later? Perhaps someone dropped out and maybe there is still hope! No. It was rejection all over again. This time on official letterhead. I guess this was just the delayed 'official' rejection. I read the first three words and threw it in the trash.

Then...last night, another email. Log into you account to see your application results. I knew it was a trap, but I looked anyway. Sure enough. Rejection #3.

What have I learned from this? When it comes to rejection, one time - swift and thorough is best. For the love, please don't feel the need to send duplicates just in case. Also, it feels good to put rejection in the trash bin.

Yes, it's weird.

2011-05-18T12:32:00.006-05:00

This is how it went:
Yes, mom, it's weird.
But no one else has told me it's weird.
Of course not. No one is going to say that to your face. Don't worry, they tell me all the time. I am just the only one who loves you enough to tell you, it's weird.

I'm telling you because I care. Sounds very similar to I'm not letting you go to the beach with your friends because I love you too much. Hm. That's the rub.

Most of the time it's hard to tell someone the cold, brutal truth. We don't want to hurt feelings or crush dreams. Some people don't have a problem with it and blurt out everything that happens to cross their mind at any given point. I find those people are usually wrong and don't have many friends. As humans, most of us do not really want the truth. We want to live in ignorant bliss. I know I do. Unfortunately, it usually doesn't get us very far. We have to face the truth to break our comfortable shell and grow. Despite our highest reasoning skills, we typically need some kind of help with this.

The trick is to be open to that help as well as learn how to offer it to those we care about when they need it. I know I've made the mistake of offering my seasoned, unsolicited, glorious wisdom at times when it was really not appreciated. Offended and appalled I'm not praised for shedding the light, it usually takes me about 36 hours to realize I was saying it for myself and not for the person I claimed to care about. It turns out that the only way to really help is to really care...about the other person.

Love is the foundation. The love of a parent, dear friend or our Savior gently guiding us back on the path we always wanted to be. It's easy to fight this. We have pride to thank for that. However, as we listen to the support and selfless advice of our closest confidants we might just find they are right after all. As difficult as it might be to swallow...

I doubt I'll be able to stop telling my mom my arrogantly naive opinions. The truth is, it was weird. But she really doesn't care and therefore neither should I.

A Perfect Pair

2011-03-24T01:39:00.009-05:00

Something shy of nineteen years ago, I walked down the hall into my bedroom to find two blond, pale skinned, diaper clad, midget destructors climbing up my dresser for perhaps the hundredth time. A girl could never successfully hide all her enticing accessories from such a duo. Today, I dropped those very same boys, now speaking full sentences, standing quite a bit taller with shaved faces and looking sharp in dark suits at the Missionary Training Center to begin a two year mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. What a moment! And the memories have flooded in ever since.

I can remember sitting at our kitchen table hearing the news of two more boys soon to join our family. I remember banging my head on the table, bursting into tears and begging they be sisters instead. It was the worst news ever for a 10 year old girl with already two highly irritating younger brothers. I couldn't bear it. Then I remember the day they were born and seeing their adorable, tiny bodies with color coded socks so we could tell them apart. I remember the heartache when only a few months later they were both miserably covered with painful red bumps from chicken pox leaving us with no way to console them. I remember dressing them up for my famous skits, changing diapers, sewing tiny costumes, showing them off at church and bragging to all my friends that I had the most adorable identical twin brothers in the world. It didn't take long to see that these two happy boys completed our family perfectly. I was so proud to be the oldest sister, to have four charming and practically all identical brothers.

I remember years later returning home after college and watching them endure the horrors of middle school. I was there to see them quickly become athletes, find success and popularity with friends, teachers and basically anyone they met. I went to as many football games as possible where they would always nod to us from the field just because they knew we loved it so much. I gave my sisterly advice on everything (especially when it was least desired), and perhaps spoiled them a bit along the way.

I remember just two months ago when they received calls to serve full-time missions for the church. I remember the excitement in their voice as they each read out loud their assignments. Uttica, New York and Las Vegas, Nevada. So soon, they would be off. It had come so fast. I remember the setting apart just days ago and a precious reminder of their special bond and the strength they would find within it.

Indeed, they have always a inseparable pair. Their personalities could not be more different and yet, the chemistry is so clear. There is no wonder they were able to plan such precise attacks on my possessions. Their secret modes of communication were always impenetrable by the rest of us. Not only have they parted from the rest of the family today, but they have parted from each other for the first time in 19 years. I have no doubt they with notice the absence, but I also have no doubt they will somehow support each other more than anyone else could manage to try.

After prying my poor, sobbing mother away from their jugulars, I watched the pair walk off into the Mormon sunset. My heart swelled with mixed joy and sadness. The tinge of pain was quickly overshadowed with pure respect. How proud I am still nineteen years later to have watched these boys grow and now serve the Lord. No longer saddened to be the only sister, I am grateful to have not just two, but four wonderful brothers who with their glowing personalities and unquestionable faith have always been such precious examples to me. No longer are they destroying my life with their diaper raids, but standing as willing missionaries called of God to bless people across the nation. What a perfect pair, always united by blood, faith and a little something special. Today they divide and they shall conquer.

Cosmic Irony

2011-02-11T20:08:00.006-06:00

Despite my ever frustrating inability to properly understand and use the word “ironic,” (Alanis really ruined that for everyone) I have been presented with a proper application. I think. I Googled it to make sure. My friends say if it is on the internet, it’s true. So behold, I present a truth of cosmic irony.

Cosmic irony: taunting from the universe. Example: You work for the Department of Middle Eastern Studies and are granted a week long tripcation touring the country of Egypt. For free. While also getting paid. However, not barely a month prior to departure, the country breaks out into the largest, longest and most organized revolution of modern history. After weeks of unfortunate and unnecessary violence, the stubborn president remains unmoved. You wait, you hope but alas, nothing improves. This guy does not give up easy and the trip remains in limbo. Finally, the call must be made and the airline pulls all flights scheduled over the next month as a result of the volatile situation. Not barely 36 hours after your tickets are canceled, the president finally steps down and thus begins the return of peace to Egypt. Thirty-six hours.

Really?! Come on!

In my egocentric world, it feels a bit like the fates must be having quite the laugh at my expense right now. Some (my mom) call it a sign to stay the heck out. Regardless of karma, luck, fate, destiny or apocalypses I will not be walking like an Egyptian any time soon.

On the upside, it looks like democracy has found its way into another country, possibly cracking open the door for missionary work (fingers crossed). Also, now I can say it took a revolution to keep me out of Egypt. Trust me, it's ironic.

Wrinkle Me This

2011-02-02T22:38:00.006-06:00

I just read an article about wrinkles. Apparently, my new age bracket leaves me susceptible to wrinkles and I am strongly encouraged to take cautionary measures. Terrible. Naturally, I spent 20 minutes examining my face in the mirror assessing the situation. Thanks to great porcelain skin genes along with a distracting hair color, there is no need to panic. Plus, I decided that I'm alright with my blooming wrinkles, they are just a result of all my smiling anyway. Those are the best kind.

A wise friend says turning thirty was the best decision he ever made. I roll my eyes and make a weird noise every time he says it, but I know what he means. Life never stops moving, we just get to decide if we hop on board or not. I wasn't ready for thirty, but it sure found me. So now we ride.

I didn't decide to turn thirty, but I'll decide to turn thirty into awesome.

30 Things

2011-01-05T16:24:00.003-06:00

The holidays flew by way too fast. I’m never ready for them to be over. However, they were wonderful and I have a whole slew of new and awesome memories like my mother swinging from a trapeze and getting her leg stuck in the safety ropes. Good times.

As the years have passed by, Christmas has evolved. This Christmas was like no other. The family has grown and we have little ones back in the house to rip open packages, break ornaments, demand playtime and be so adorable you can’t even be that mad when they wake you up at 3 am. It was fun.

I received some of the best gifts this year from people that love me. Too many too count. I had a mid-holiday move and managed to find myself overwhelmed and paralyzed in piles of ‘necessary items’ I’ve obtained over the years. To the rescue came my friends who packed all my prized possessions and then came back to help me move it and then help me unpack it, all while I whined about the lack of places to put it...which is still a serious dilemma. I also received some special attention from sneaky friends who left a gift on my doorstep for the 12 days of Christmas. I've never been so excited to come home or felt so appreciated. Who would do such a thing...really good people that like me, a lot. Nothing makes a person feel so loved more than a simple, out-of-the-blue, thoughtful deed, not to mention the excitement in the secret surprise! So wonderful. I don’t imagine I’ll ever find out who did this for me and I’ll never be able to personally thank or express how much it meant, but I have a feeling they know because that is the type of person who would do such a thing.

Now that the holidays are over, the family is all gone and my new apartment is all...well, mostly still in boxes, I’ve been reflecting on the past year as is customary. I could list out all the wonderful things that happened, all the hard times, lessons learned and all the other random joys of life, but really there are only more to come. What I am thinking about is where I am now and where I’m going to take the next year. As a rather significant birthday is about hit, the desire for reflection, gratitude and hope is increasing as I battle to overcome the daunting feelings this age brings. I want to insert a colorful analogy here for no other reason than I want to and I can because it’s my blog. It feels as if I’m called up in a really important game at halftime with no pads or helmet after warming the bench for a really long time. Yeah.

This year is unplanned and unsure. I can not tell anyone where I’ll be in the next 6 months. This is first time I’ve really ever felt that way, but I figure 30 is a good time as any for it. And, as for the benefits of reflection, I can certainly tell you how happy I am to have a family that loves to play together, friends that will pack all 125 pairs of my shoes without complaining and the joy of a gospel that reminds me these are the things that matter.

So, here is to 2011 and here is to being 30. Bring it.

White Pages, RIP

2010-10-05T15:32:00.002-05:00

On the radio this morning, I heard a brief story about the death of the printed White Pages. My heart sank a bit. It’s true I don’t use them any more...at all...ever. It’s true the last time I really looked at one was to watch my brother rip it in half. And it’s true I get a little annoyed when that book is left at my doorstep because now I have to get rid of it. Nevertheless, I have so many fond memories of the White Pages and it stings just a little to see it go.

I remember giggling with my girlfriends as we used our white pal to prank call boys in 5th grade. I remember having to flip pages to look up a friends’ phone number and then calling three wrong numbers first. I remember counting how many people had my same exact name. I remember hearing people telling other people to look them up, they are in the ‘book’. I remember having to tell people that we were not listed because my dad was convinced it was a socialists' agenda. As the Internet started taking over our lives, the printed White Pages became less and less used...for their primary purpose. They were outdated and rather tedious. But still, their departure marks an end of times, at least in my life. (I’m convinced half of my Ward would not even know what the White Pages were.)

Recently, I saw the new Facebook movie. It was really enjoyable, but I can not tell you how dated I felt during and after. I don’t think I realized how ‘old’ I was until I realized I was well out of college before the phenomena that now defines social interaction was even thought up. Not to mention how strange it is to watch a dramatized history of something that is still basically in it’s infancy. I still remember Atari, pagers, corded phones, clunky Nokias, creepy chat rooms, Lycos, VHS and of course, the birth of Napster. Now half of that is extinct.

I’m very aware that I still rank a member of the young generation, but I’m starting to feel the steady stream of new things aging me, fast. Now is the generation where the phrase “that is so last season” applies to more than clothes. My computer is out of date. My iPhone is out of date. My web browser is out of date. The email I just sent is out of date. I do not think it is even possible to keep up at this point. And yet, it’s so exciting! The awesome gadgets on Star Trek are getting eerily close and the pure ease of communication and accessibility is absolutely astonishing.

There are, of course, an equal share of yucky bits that accompany these rapid evolutions we must stay wary of, but it is so glorious to watch people think bigger, work harder, communicate faster, and generally be more ambitious. It is a 'get moving' or 'get left' world. It’s harsh and it’s empowering.

And on that note, I formally say goodbye to printed telephonic information. We forgot about you years ago anyway. Peace. Here is to the future of more cool things!

Oh and I’m still hoping for a Replicator...

Dear...

2010-09-24T10:32:00.001-05:00

Building 2 neighbors,

To whoever let their dog poo on our pretty welcome mat,

1) Your dog appears to be rather ill.
2) You owe us a new welcome mat from Crate and Barrel.

Thank you,
The girls in 226

It Could Be Worse

2010-09-17T14:42:00.002-05:00

Just as with any memorable road trip, the journey of life is bound to hit a bump or two or even a seemingly never ending wave of them. I’ve spent a lot of time the past few months trying to figure out how to train myself to better handle these frustrating and rather discouraging bumps. After all, there are some cars that can take a speed bump at 60 without even flinching. How do they do that? Others have to slow to a snail pace, twist sideways and still bear down for impact. Blasted lowriders.

A professor in my department stops by my office at least once a week. I ask him how he is doing and he replies the same way every time in his thick New York accent, “It could be woerse”. I wish you could hear it. Old men make me laugh. Still he has a valid point. I’ve been using this line a lot recently to lessen the utter life-sucking overwhelmingness that manages to accompany life's road hazards. For example:

1) I was recently t-boned by a red light runner. My beautiful brand new car spent 3 weeks in intensive care and still has a few bruises and my neck is still sore. However, it could be worse. The other guy could have had no insurance or failed to claim responsibility and I’d be stuck with a very hefty bill and no car. Also, if I was in my old car, I am pretty sure I’d have no legs.

2 ) I now have to share my glorious window-filled office. This has been rather upsetting for a variety of reasons. However, it could be worse, I could be back in a stupid cubicle or I could have no job at all.

I am not convinced this is the perfect coping mechanism, but right now it seems to be a fairly accessible. When I think something is terrible, it's always possible to find a worse thing. There is something slightly cathartic in that.

So even though life isn't as fairy tale as I’d like it to be right now, and there is no way I could be the spokesperson for how to gracefully punch stress in the face; things could most definitely worse. I could be Lindsey Lohan. Yikes.

Eavestopping

2010-08-30T15:48:00.005-05:00

The other day I was quietly standing near a conversation I was rather interested in. I was not a part of the conversation in any way, shape or form, but I was very intent on quiet, harmless, non-participation. So I stood there, listening closely looking as normal and breezy as I could manage.

Shortly after I was fully immersed in active although not technically welcomed listening, a sweet old lady came up to me. She grabbed my arm and went on and on about something I really could care very little about. My mom has always made me be nice to old people so I did my best to seem pleasant and act like I was paying attention. I was seriously stuck in politeness prison. I was technically preoccupied, but there was simply no safe way to explain that. Left with no enjoyable options, I sucked it up and put on my happy face. I nodded and smiled in response to whatever she was saying all while trying real hard to focus my other ear on the tantalizing voices just a few feet away. Seconds painfully passed until chatty grandma left me alone, hopefully not realizing I had no idea what she was talking about. Anxiously I returned my full attention to the conversation that was now over...fudgepops! Nothing could be more aggravating.

There really is just no polite way to ask someone to stop talking to your face so you can continue eavesdropping on some other far more interesting conversation. What is a girl to do?

Minute to Win It?

2010-08-23T19:37:00.005-05:00

I was just watching a new game show where contestants are asked to perform random, seemingly simple and random yet ridiculously challenging tasks in less than a minute. The person to accomplish the most rounds can win some absurd amount of money.

The edition I tuned into was filled with former beauty queens. The wardrobe and camera angles were just a little too skewed for me, but really I just couldn't handle watching these girls humiliate themselves on national television. I thought surely they'd have some skill allowing them to get a decent job, but then one girl cried over unfortunately stacked cups.

About 10 seconds later, I realized how appealing this game would be for members of my religious social network. Silly, simple challenges with only community-specific prestige at stake. The kids will love it.

Why is it that when someone says 'competition' we are so eager to willingly embarrass ourselves? Excuse me while I go beef-up my cup stacking skills...

All the Small Things

2010-08-12T15:10:00.004-05:00

Yesterday I had an appointment with the eye doctor. I got a sweet parking spot right up front so naturally I gave myself a mental high five. Then I hopped out of my car into a huge puddle. Oh right, that's why it was available. What a sucker.

The Doc asked me how much I smoked.
Me: Excuse me?
Doc: It says here (pointing to the screen) you smoke.
Me: No, no I don't. Look at this amazing skin.

Then he proceeded to drill me on personal information to make sure I was in fact the person sitting in the chair needing a check up and not the the random assortment of facts making up some person on his computer screen.

Me: Sir, I promise. I don’t smoke.
Doc: Hm...(rather discriminant) Must have been a typo.
Me: Um yeah, pretty sure.

He lowered my prescription by a lot which explains all my recently traumatic headaches. Phew. I got out of the chair feeling so proud of my eyes. They have corrected themselves to compensate for the beautifully massive high resolution computer screen I get paid to stare at all day long. They are so smart. As I walked over to the sink to put my new contacts, I searched around only to find the mirror was far out of my visual range. I glanced over at the Doc who was handing me the much more accessible child's mirror with a sympathetic smirk. Thanks.

Later, I stopped by the Wal-Mart to pick up some milk. I walked by the produce section and saw mini bananas. I had to adopt them. They are adorable. I walked by another aisle and saw purple plastic cups. I had to buy them. They are purple. After the cashier rung up all my essential items, I proceeded to stand on my tippy-toes to reach the thingy to swipe my card and sign my name. Now I have been too short for a lot of things, but I’ve never been too short to spend money. Really, Wal-Mart, when did you add the height restrictions? C'est la vie

That's New

2010-07-22T17:40:00.002-05:00

Today I ran in a dress. I thought it would be really awkward, but I kind of liked it. I think I’m going to try it more often. Those tennis chicks may really be on to something.

I was running to catch a bus. When I got on the bus I got very dizzy. We will never know if it was the run or the bus, but good thing I carry Dramamine in my purse now. Curse you David Bowie!

Tonight I have to walk home in the rain in a dress and flip-flops. I have a feeling it will not be as fun as finding out how glorious it is to run in a dress.

You just can’t plan for some things. I love Austin, it keeps you on your toes.

On a totally unrelated note, I recently learned that 'con man' is short for 'confidence man'. It makes perfect sense and somehow it changes everything.

Otis

2010-07-08T09:53:00.006-05:00

Sad news hit the Hall household yesterday. Our family dog was hit and killed by a careless driver.

As the shock set in I was surprised how much it affected me. Our family is not really a dog family; we are cat people. We don’t know how to give the attention required of dogs and yet Otis found a way into our hearts and became a part of our family.

He was quite the character our little, overweight pug. He couldn’t sleep without snoring, control his portions or jump on the couch, but he was sweet and innocent. He would stand by the window and wait for us to come home, not giving you a moment to breath before demanding a belly pat. He could run surprisingly fast when it was time for a bath or a nail clipping. It took 3 people to hold him down for medicine time. He was filled with dedication and loyalty. He warned us when cars drove by, when cats came downstairs and when he was hungry. He followed us around the house (when we had food) and kept our feet warm in the winter. We trained him to do a few tricks and that was always entertaining. He was an expert swimming and stair hopper. He was such a good sport about being dressed up. In his spare time he roamed the neighborhood, keeping things in order. Everyone knew and loved him (except for the crazy lady next door, but we ignored her anyway). He didn’t really love being outside unless of course you wanted him to stay inside, then he’d stare you down in the middle of the road just daring for a chase back home. He loved nothing more than to curl up next to us and take a nap.

It’s remarkable how attached we become to animals. Otis was getting really old and suffered increasing health problems, but I could never imagine him not being there when I came home. I always felt like Otis really appreciated the simple things in life and he was always happy. We loved him and he will forever be a Hall.

Goodbye, Otis, we will miss you, and I have no doubt there is an all you can eat buffet in doggie heaven just for you.

Patriotic Explosion

2010-07-07T11:36:00.001-05:00

After my tribute to Canada, I really wanted to say something profound or touching about America. I started, then stopped many times trying to flesh out an awesome analogy about fireworks. I paused recalling childhood memories of the hot nights on the 4th of July. No string of words managed to accurately express my feelings about how American I am.

I find it hard to think about our Nation’s past without getting a little choked up. I really don’t know what it’s like to fight for my freedom. I don’t know what it’s like to risk my life for my family, my home, my beliefs; I’ve been blessed with it all. I simply cannot imagine a life full of oppression and fear or the inability to express my opinions or demand simple justice. How lucky I am to be here, in this time, to enjoy all the things in life that so many people before me and even now fight for every single day. To all those who cast aside fear, who stood with courage for what they knew was right, I can only offer my humble gratitude and highest respect.

This past 4th of July I spent the evening with friends as close as family. We watched the broadcast of the D.C. firework display. It is the same as I remember watching live on the lawn as a kid. We then blew up our own fun in the street. I am not really sure how fireworks became a staple of our Independence Day, but I know I can’t celebrate without them. Just as music brightens my soul, fireworks bring about feelings of pride, excitement, resolve and unity. No matter the time or place, that really is what America is to me.

Happy birthday, America. I love you.

O Canada

2010-07-01T10:38:00.002-05:00

Today is Canada Day. I figure it is their version of our America Day. To honor them, I’m pondering all the things I know about Canada.

They have a maple leaf on their flag, but at least it’s red. I went to Canada once. They own half of Niagara Falls. I had to use funny coins to buy a beverage when we were on that side. That was exciting.

One year in college, I lived across the way from a Canadian. She was funny, friendly, beautiful and normal. I liked her. I gave her the unique nickname of Canada. I’m pretty sure she liked it. She taught me the Canadian anthem. Ours is better.

My mom served a mission in Quebec. It was so cold she still cannot speak about it without shivering.

I’ve watched Strange Brew more than is humanly necessary. They really like beers. Rick Moranis rocks. Also, it is still fun to say ‘eh’ excessively.

There was a Canadian in my career development course. He was not of the pleasant variety. There may have been a passionate, verbal discussion between us during one class. The professor could do nothing but stare in awesome wonder. I closed by telling him to go back to Canada. A year later he showed up in my home ward as a missionary. He definitely remembered me. Karma.

They sold a lot of silly hats during the 2002 Winter Olympics.

Ryan Reynolds is Canadian.

O Canada, our brisk neighbor, thank you for shielding us from the Arctic, providing an endless amount of hilarity and taking care of all the moose. You're not all hosers.

Single de Mayo

2010-05-06T18:08:00.002-05:00

I got an email yesterday from an online dating site. They were offering a special deal for Cinco de May, 5/5 = 25% off registration. Who doesn't love clever math and marginally offensive advertising? If only they included a piñata...I might not still be single on the 6th of May.

Score!

2010-04-12T10:16:00.003-05:00

This morning I got a golden parking spot on the ground level of the seven story parking garage. This is like the rarest of the rarest occurrences for someone as tardy as me. Something in the cosmos must have aligned today and dumped all its glory on me. Needless to say, I did an awesome dance of humble success outside my parked car. I really hope the security cameras caught that one because it’s a keeper.

Today is going to be a good day.

Easter Pickles

2010-04-05T17:48:00.003-05:00

A few years ago I sat down at the dining room table for Easter dinner with the family. The table was bright and set as usual with a beautiful honey ham, deviled eggs, Steve’s jello salad, potatoes, some greens, some fruit and…pickles. Pickles. Hm. That is an unusual thing to be on our table all by their lonesome in a pretty dish, I thought to myself. So, me being me, proceeded with something like this:

Me: What is with the pickles?
Mom: Uh Stephanie, they are pickles, you eat them.
Me: I know, but like are they special or are we supposed to do anything with them?
Mom: Yeah, you eat them.
Me: I know, but we never just have pickles on the table unless we have like hamburgers or something. (this it totally true by the way)
Mom: Stephanie, they are just pickles, if you don’t want them don’t eat them.
Me: Hm ok, but it’s weird.
Mom: It’s not weird, they are just PICKLES!
Me: Ok, yikes, I’m sorry.

I didn’t eat the Easter pickles that year out of sheer confusion.

That was all it took. Now every year we have pickles on the table for Easter. They are a family tradition. A random placement that turned into a mandatory item we all now love and laugh about.

Thanks to this year’s Easter pickles, I was thinking a lot about traditions this weekend. I went to an egg hunting/coloring party where we had some non-American born guests. They were fascinated by our hunting and coloring of eggs. It had never really occurred to me that this was almost solely an American tradition and how funny that was. I don’t know exactly how the tradition came about, I’ve heard a few theories. My guess, it came about the same way our Easter pickles did. Somebody just decided to try something new and it stuck. What makes some last so long is what they start meaning to us, individually.

Even if created haphazard, traditions are a beautiful thing. They often provide joyous anticipation, bring back wonderful memories and offer something to share and pass on. It would take me forever to write down all the traditions that have become a part of my life. Some have expired, some are brand new and some have been around and will live on forever. I don’t know why I color Easter eggs, but I know it reminds me of spring, being around friends and family and that alone brings a smile to my face. I will never understand why there were pickles in a dish that Easter, but I know now they remind me of my mom and being at home with people I love. That is enough for the Easter pickles to always have a special place in my heart from now on.

Ides of Memories

2010-03-15T12:16:00.006-05:00

“Beware of the Ides of March,” Julius Caesar is warned…a tad bit late. Did you know there is a toga run in Rome to celebrate this day? I’m going to start one.

I didn’t know much about this “holiday” until my later college years when theatrical BYU students pranced around quoting Shakespeare all day. Unfortunately, this wasn’t really an odd occurrence so it took me a while to recognize the significance to the date.

When I returned back to Austin, I was surprised to find there was in fact a collection of celebrators who also embraced the holiday in the classiest of ways. They put on a Shakespeare show! Cast members would prepare and present various adaptations of the famed originals. It was brilliant! We sadly skipped this tradition last year and as it occurred to me this morning, it was sadly overlooked again. A true tragedy.

I remember past events: a controversial kiss between two friends in the climatic scenes of Romeo and Juliet that is still talked about. A ghettofied version of the Macbeth’s witches three and the hilariously driest delivery of Julies Cesar I’ve ever witnessed. One year, I was somehow volunteered to be Juliet in a quick and witty opener as co-emcee. I managed to miss the queue and it never started. Mid-festival people began to ask what happened to R&J, which coerced us onto the stage at the end. I hung longingly out of the balcony with a very clever script displayed on a laptop next to me. After my very passionate, “O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo,” the computer knocked over, the screen went blank and I was left to my own devices. Red-faced and totally clueless, I stumbled through what can only be described as the most technologically awkward Juliet of all time. “O Romeo, the screen has blanketh and my computer has faileth, but alas what is a rose by any other rose, other than rose.” Oh how I wish that were not a direct quote.

Shakespeare must have been rolling…in his grave. Alas, it was an offbeat hit, a very palpable hit. No doubt it will stand as one of my most memorable performances of all time.

Regardless of what lack of thespian talent existed, the Idles of March was always a wonderful experience. Great friends, beautiful art, hearty laughs and endearing memories. For someone like me who often overlooks the finer arts for fast paced modern tales, I will never forget those sweet moments when embracing classic tales of life, loss and love meant more to me than any cheesy romantic comedy.

So, Ides of March, thank you for the memories and little reminders of the beauty in written word, friends and life. After all, there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.

London Bridge

2010-02-10T16:45:00.004-06:00

I am a very short woman and I am ok with it. It adds to my cute preciousness and keeps me looking youthful. There are times when this presents interesting challenges like sometimes things are just out of my view or physical range. It can be slightly awkward in a store when I have to call for help reaching something or wait around for someone walking by to take pity on me as I teeter on my tippy toes before resorting to climbing the shelves. Yes, I have done this, and yes I have made a lot of things fall over. Luckily at home I am equipped with a step ladder and a very tall, leggy roommate so, as far as reaching things, I have learned to reasonably adapt with my disability.

Shortness also often seems to equate with immaturity and/or incapability. I am often mistaken for a weak high school girl, which I certainly don't mind in cases of heavy lifting. However, when it comes to buying cough medicine or spray paint my ID is ridiculously scrutinized. One time a guy asked me if it was my older sisters card. Really guy? Just give me the NyQuil! There was even an incident at the airport when I was asked where my mother was and if I was old enough to fly alone. Keep in mind you only have to be 12 to travel alone...I was 25. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind looking younger and I will be most grateful for it in my 50's, but for now I'm really not a huge fan of waitresses, who are most certainly younger than me, calling me kiddo.

Lastly, doors. My disability does not affect my capacity for opening most doors, but I'm a lady so I appreciate the chivalrous gesture of a politely opened door, slight tip of the hat and a good day ma'am on any occasion. However, I'm slightly confused about the kind stranger who asses my height, opens the door and keeps his hand there, above my head, motioning for me to travel under his arm. It's true I don't have to duck and I will graciously accept the offer, but dude, that was a totally awkward game of London Bridge.

Well, it’s colorful.

2010-01-06T17:30:00.013-06:00

My mother is a saint. Seriously, if she were Catholic and dead (and I’m grateful she is neither) she would have achieved Sainthood. This is not only because she puts up with all my fiery nonsense but because she is the Queen of the Golden Rule. She never says an unkind thing about anything or anyone except Bill Clinton, she really hated him. She is slow to anger and quick to forgive. She smiles, she laughs, she feeds, she helps, she cares, she dances, she loves and she is way smart. She is the best and I certainly don’t come anywhere near her outstanding character but at least I have an excellent benchmark and I get to claim her.

Anyway, although my mother is very kind she also has very strong opinions and she is not afraid to make them known when need be. Don’t you dare try to sneak any extra charges on her bill. However, with her children, she often chooses the kindly ambiguous approach which I’m certain is intended to avoid bursting our delicate bubbles.

Example: in 3rd grade I picked out my own outfit for class photo day. I proudly selected a white sweatshirt with neon flowers, bright teal sweatpants and 4 assorted neon colored socks that I carefully stacked on top of each other. In my defense I totally matched and it was the 80’s. I came out of my room and my mom smiled, titled her head and said, “Well…it’s certainly colorful”. I will never forget those words and I will never throw out that photo. I wish I still had that sweatshirt.

Over time it has become very easy to tell when mom doesn't totally agree with our choices but nevertheless still stands close by as a great support. Over the Christmas break my brother, as he often does, went through a fierce ‘build things’ spurt. He crafted this beautiful, custom-made entertainment center equipped with under-glow lighting for my mom. It’s absolutely brilliant. In addition, he felt that in order to properly display such a perfect piece of carpentry the accent wall must be repainted. He waited for my mom to head to work and then he and my other brothers ‘garage mixed’ a custom paint color to slap on the wall in record speed. At this point keep in mind that my brothers are all very color blind. One of them still has a purple, and I mean purple comforter on his bed. Hilarious story for another time. Anyway, I stopped by my mom’s house later in the evening and was immediately accosted by a bright peacock blue living room. Now, I love the actual color, in fact I painted my room a very similar color before but, to say the very least, it simple will not do in my mother’s living room with a forest green couch and rich, royal toned curtains.

“Whoa,” I immediately exclaim, “my eyes, my eyes!”

My mother emerges from the back room, “So, you noticed?”

“Uh yeah,” again I exclaim in a very concerned shrill, “did you see it?”

With a sweet smile and a slight head tilt she gently sighs, “Yes and well...it’s colorful.”

She joyfully follows with, “the boys are so proud.”

I could not contain my laughter as all my brothers lined up with very proud grins and blue paint all over the place.

It’s true, the boys were so very proud and they really didn't know that this combination was 6 times worse than my 3rd grade outfit. Even after I have strongly suggested about 10 better shades the boys should paint the wall, it remains a bursting brilliant blue to this day. Turns out, it doesn't matter to my mom, her boys painted that wall and she loves it. It is, after all, colorful.

Labyrinthitis?!

2009-12-04T12:07:00.004-06:00

(I can not believe I forgot to post this gem)

No, this is not the David Bowie fever. Turns out, it is a real serious, non-made-up, disease and I’ve got it.

I asked my doctor 3 times to repeat the name, excuse me…like Labyrinth, you say? Hm. Well, that is something.

Not unlike the movie, it starts as a virus that infects the inner ear and before you even realize, you have one giant, blurry mess. It just so happens, the delicate part of the ear horrifically attacked by some random floating micro-terrorist is responsible for the body’s entire vestibular system – the part being solely in charge of balance and orientation. You know what happens when your spatial orientation is messed up? Turns out, you can’t function, at all…and you look really silly. I am not just talking about the kind of superior balance you need to score pro status in the Wii Fit Hula challenge (yeah, I’ve totally done that), I’m talking about normal, every day, plain old standing. A life-size, breathing wobbling Weeble…that falls down.

To cope with my afflication, I laid in bed for a few days remembering how nice it was to not feel like I was in a constant whirlpool of plain air. Remember when I could stand, yeah and it was great. Luckily the episode was relatively short lived and I’m now back to normal balanced life. The icing, Doctor says the virus will now forever live inside of me and will come back to visit every other year or so. Not to worry, he says, it won’t ever be as bad as the first time. Super and uh yeah, I’m going to get a second opinion…

I found some helpful hints so I knew what to avoid:
“You may need help walking when symptoms occur.” Or, in my case, remembering how to crawl worked out best. It’s the basics that save us. Stay low to avoid bullets…and vomiting.
“Avoid hazardous activities such as driving, operating heavy machinery, and climbing until 1 week after symptoms have disappeared.” I don’t know what heavy machinery is but I feel like I would avoid that with or without Labrynthitis. Driving, yeah that does not work and no climbing? Great, just when I had that rock wall installed. Thanks a lot, Bowie.

At any rate, if you see me wobbling about at an awkward 30 degree slant, don’t worry, it’s just the Labyrinthitis, I’ll be fine. Probably.

Still think I’m making this up? Go on, Google it.

Fireball 2.0

2009-11-09T09:54:00.003-06:00

There is an episode of Friends when Joey is supposed to be writing a screenplay but instead he and Chandler create "Fireball," a highly dangerous yet ingenious game involving a blow torch and bowling ball. The look on Joey's face when announcing his creation to Ross still gets me rolling. Yesterday, I created my own version only it starts with fish and chips.

All I wanted was to reheat my leftovers. I wasn't asking much. Where the story gets interesting is when my impatience and stupidly jumps in. I wanted the food so hastily that I, all safety regulations aside, stuck the cardboard box in the tiny oven. I just wanted it crispy not like soggy sad fish from the microwave. Well, if you do something this stupid you can count on not being careful enough when pulling it out as to avoid the hot coils of the oven which, by the way, will ignite cardboard. Voilà! A quick recipe for a personal-sized ball of flame.

Now, what do you do with a handful of fire on your counter? Easy, transfer to sink with bare hands, of course. Done...except what happens when the ball of fire bounces out of the sink, across the counter and onto the living room floor? Fireball disaster. With a flying fireball now threatening to take my apartment down I must quickly end this fiasco. I run over and attempt to stomp out the blaze, barefoot. I'm way smart. After the flames were out, and my fish certainly extra crispy, I gave myself a little vocal cheer and fist pump for taking out that fire like a champ with minimal bodily harm. I hope you're both laughing hysterically and shaking your head in judging disbelief. It's ok, go ahead. No one died except my pride and maybe a few pieces of carpet.

Not a minute after stomping the heck out of the mini bonfire, it occurs to me that by jumping on this highly flammable box, I sent smoldering pieces of cardboard across the floor. Sure enough, they were still glowing just begging a second challenge. My much smarter, safer solution: dump excessive amounts of water everywhere. Done. An hour later it is very clear I had a fight with something. You’d never guess it was with a fireball, but it was. I came out victorious. Yes, I did...mostly.

Hannah’s Hoedown Heals

2009-11-07T12:28:00.001-06:00

I watched the Hannah Montana movie last night. What can I say? It was a rough week. Despite the anticipated ridiculousness of various plot points it was overall a very humorous, upbeat movie and it did make me feel better.

Every protagonist struggle in Disney movies are basically identical, but in the simplicity of the formula is the appeal. We love the characters, they speak to us and you can rest assured things will always work out in the end. Aside from the fame, I can not say I find myself relating to Hannah all that much, but I certainly empathize with the heartache and struggle of figuring out who you are while trying to win the heart of a cowboy. Who doesn’t, really?

Last night Hannah reminded us to never forget our roots and who we really are. The movie also reminded me that I never want to live on a farm, although I am pretty sure this was unintentional.

Disney moral #2*: When life starts to get crazy, take the time to regain perspective with the help of those who truly love you. Magically, the world is not as scary as you might have thought and you can now overcome anything. Also repetitive, cheesy and purely addictive music never hurts.

P.S. we all really need to learn the moves to this Hoedown Throwdown. Trust me, just do it.

*Disney moral #1 has to do with Disney royalty struggling to get back the throne.

Injubily

2009-10-19T12:07:00.009-05:00

Google just made me type in this ‘word’ before posting a comment. I passed. It’s not a real word, but it is now my favorite word. The best thing about non-words (or my entire vocabulary) is it can be anything you want it to be. ANYTHING. Who is going to stop me?

Of course, I think this about myself anyway, a made-up word. I get to be whoever I want to be all the time. In fact, today, I am a Facebook stalker. Now, it’s true, I am that a lot of days, but today I’m admitting it so it’s totally different. Last week I was seamstress/sutto-aunt/baker/amazing. For the rest of the week I am going to be seamstress again and this weekend I will be the hot redhead in the brown dress that catches the bouquet. After this weekend, I will return to being single white female watching prime time TV and not thinking about anything that starts with wedd…I’m not even going to finish that.

Ah life, it’s injubily!

One of these things...

2009-10-01T18:19:00.010-05:00

I just saw a very tall Asian walking with a very short Asian and it confused me, well, I mean I starred at them. Then I remembered this must be how Asians…or anyone feels when I, a 5’ redhead am seen with my 6’4” blond housemate. Fair is fair.

While I was in Ireland, I was amazed at the ability of Irish to identify us as American even though I really felt like we could easily be Irish. I mean I even have the hair! Still, somehow the Irish knew we did not belong. This combined with today’s Asian encounter reminded me of a talk by President Nelson some time ago. He said ‘we’ (LDS) are a peculiar people.

At first this doesn’t sit exactly pleasantly. We all know how we felt about the peculiar kid in middle school – safe distance encouraged – but in reality the scriptural reference to peculiar is one of the highest compliments. In fact, it references a “valued treasure,” “made” or “selected by God.” I’ll take that.

Indeed LDS members, particularly our Utah friends (love you), often do seem peculiar from the outside. We don’t often dress, talk, or act like what is considered ‘normal’ in today’s world and we don’t for a reason. We are peculiar because our value can not be ignored and hopefully as time goes by, as we get stronger, we will only become a more peculiar people because we should stand out.

So, the next time I catch myself staring at something that seems odd to me, I’ll remember just how peculiar I am. Sounds good.

Potty Phone

2009-09-30T18:01:00.002-05:00

When did it become acceptable to talk on the phone in a public bathroom? As far as I know, it is still taboo to have a conversation with anyone when conducting business and it is certainly not cool to strike up a conversation with a stranger, so how on earth could it be acceptable to have an open telephone conversation…in a bathroom? We don’t even let boys in there! Are conversations really that important that you can’t wait just a few minutes? Do you really dislike your phone friend so much that you are willing to risk them suffering through the sewer symphonies with you? Do you know that we can hear your entire conversation? Do you know that I now hate you and am fuming in the next stall...dangerous.

I put up with your annoying phone conversation in the dressing room, checkout line, tiny elevator, library, restaurant, airplane, grocery store, bank, concert, movie, bus (ok I don’t ride the bus, but if I did it would be really annoying), but can you please respect the sacredness of the ladies restroom?

It’s time to make a choice – pee or phone. I promise the acoustics are horrible and next time I’m not holding anything in!

What the Nike shorts?!

2009-09-03T17:28:00.003-05:00

So, is it just me or does the University of Texas have a new dress code?

While on my break earlier, I counted 43 girls wearing Nike color-blocked running shorts. Really?! Now, granted, they were of varying colors and sizes but there were 43 people in a 5 min window wearing the EXACT SAME item of clothing. If you don’t know what shorts I’m talking about, then I’m afraid, you are more behind in the fashion world than I - shame on you. Oh and if you are asking why I was counting them, you are missing the point and well...my job is really boring.

So apparently, work-out clothes are the new college uniform in 2009. Why does everyone seem to know this? Maybe there was a critical Tweet I missed while checking Facebook, but I surely did not get that memo. However, I don’t think I get the fashion either. Sure, they look pretty comfortable and it is really hot here, but if running shorts are what you wear to class what is it that you wear while running? Isn’t that why they are called running shorts? I’m just being practical.

I suppose I might be slightly biased being that I went to BYU and we had a strict honor code that kept Polos and khakis in constant style. I just feel like people should wear real clothes in public. Maybe that’s far too old school and I need to start embracing the trend tides. Perhaps kids now-a-days are all about multi-tasking, you know, “I’m not only a student but also an athlete”. I could support that, especially if neither had to actually be true.

Solicited, unsolicited compliment.

2009-08-10T16:49:00.004-05:00

I don’t think there is any question that we all love to be complimented and praised. It feels awesome to be told you’re fantastic. A really good, unexpected compliment can literally make your day. Of course, some of us require more compliments than others to stay afloat, which can quickly become annoying. Personally I find that when I’m not satisfied I’ll just compliment myself, but still, compliments are much appreciated and in general a healthy level of reinforcement benefits us all.

The extremely frustrating and irrational expectation is when we want someone to tell us something nice but we certainly don’t want to have to ask for it. I find this occurring most often with the opposite sex being that same gendered friends are usually more aware of each others’ nondescript codes. In general we want to be noticed for things like our outfit or shoes or general amazingness but we don’t want to presumptuously point it out. Then on top of that, we want to hear the "right" thing not just anything. In reality this is a problem on at least two levels, we can’t control what someone else does or thinks and second, we really need to find a way to be happy with ourselves with what we can control, our own opinions.

I rediscovered this little paradox yet again this weekend when I found myself fishing for reassurances from my friend about something rather silly. It didn’t work, as it rarely does. After I walked away disappointed I thought, why didn’t I just say – hey, buddy, it would be great if you would tell me this right now because I really need to hear it, but don’t say it like I told you to say it, make it seem like you were going to say it and don’t forget to mean it. Somehow saying such a truthful statement out loud manages to miss the entire point. Fiddlestix.

Sometimes I think life would be easier if we were all comfortable enough to say so boldly what we want/expect/need from each other but then I think about it for 5 seconds and remember why it is probably best I keep those things to myself…or to a blog.

Shopaholic? Nah.

2009-07-14T22:46:00.006-05:00

I just finished watching another movie based on a bestselling novel, Confessions of a Shopaholic. It was disappointing but that is not my point. The main character is clearly out of her mind. She is helpless in the sight of shiny, new things and credit cards rule her life. Arguably her biggest flaw, however, is her horrific taste, but that is just my opinion.

As I watched this movie I discovered I was reassuring myself, out loud. I am not like her, I would never buy that much crap. Yes, I bought two pairs of shoes last night but they were so cute and they were on sale!

After a long look in the mirror - while wearing my new turquoise leather sandals - I came to the conclusion that shopping does not control my life and unlike the flaky protagonist, I am certainly not in debt. I do, however, buy things I don't need with money I could be saving for more important things...I guess.

The quick journey with our irrational buyer ends with her realization that her spending is really an attempt to define her entire life. What she owns is who she is. Once she decides to embrace who she really is inside she finds, of course, that she no longer needs all those things.

During a group meeting with the other shopaholics, the credit card queen explains all the reasons she loves to buy things. The stores are beautiful and they never let you down. The flutter in your heart when you find the perfect purse and the buttery comfort that follows as the credit card swipes to complete the purchase. All of these things, I totally understand and, I must admit, hit rather close to home.

I shop because I love it and I shop for how it can make me feel. A perfectly cut pair of jeans provides that additional confidence and excitement for a date. The purchase of a beautiful pair of shoes soothes my aching heart. A new dress makes a crappy week worthwhile and sparkling jewelry celebrates accomplishments. Shopping indeed regulates me and that, I'm afraid, is the true addiction.

There is no question that it is never a good idea to rely on 'things' to control feelings. I must remain the boss of me and this is why it's important to be aware of attempts to purchase happiness for surely it will go out of style, doomed to hang in the closet. On the other hand, it really is a crime to leave a clearance pair of red patent leather pumps in the store. C'est la vie.

Self: Noted

2009-06-29T15:37:00.004-05:00

I’ve had a lot of ‘Hmm...’ moments recently. I would like to say they were ‘Aha!’ moments of brilliant realizations but instead these are more like those in which you realize you did something silly or just blanked on common sense all together. I know you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Note to self:

If you leave a leaky cooler in your trunk, the entire thing will get wet, and if you live in Texas it will grow mold overnight and subsequently stink up your entire car, really bad.

If you decide to go tubing on a river in Texas during a drought, plan on carrying your tube instead of floating on it.

If you stop eating sugar for an entire month you will have nightmares about cookies.

Your eyelids are skin and as such can also get sunburned.

If your window blinds are slats up instead of down, a sheer curtain alone will not block the wide open view of your room from the swimmers in the pool below.

The paste on envelopes still does not taste good.

If you fall asleep under a tree, no doubt a punk squirrel will drop an acorn on your head.

Texans do not know how to merge, protect yourself by incorporating the constant honk and swerve technique.

If you call in sick but then show up sunburned the next day people might be slightly suspicious.

If the gas light comes on in your car, it is not a test, you are about to be out of gas.

Although some fine cheeses are moldy, hand grown refrigerator mold is not the same.

If you try to read a book while walking down stairs there is a high probability you will end up on your tookus.

Lastly, boys and girls never have and never will speak the same language.

A Raccoon?!

2009-06-10T15:53:00.006-05:00

This morning as I entered my office I was greeted by a hallway full of my coworkers. They were all starring at me. One of them finally said:

“You can’t go back there.”
Ok.
“There is a raccoon on the loose back there!!”
What?
“Yeah, a raccoon fell through the ceiling and is now running up and down the halls!”
Seriously? That is awesome.

The office was to be evacuated immediately. We must maintain a safe distance while we wait for the superb UT animal control force to hunt down the raccoon on the run. I was a lucky one, freed from both the confines of desk work and a terrifying hostage situation. The entire back half of my office mates were not as lucky. They found themselves trapped by the menacing mammal scurrying along the cubical walls and were directed to barricade themselves in the back room with cabinets and boxes...hm.

So, I took this short raccoon enforced break to catch up on some light reading: Harry Potter: The Prisoner of Azkaban – I know, people say I’m a little behind. Approximately 25 min later, a young lad – no more than 16 – comes strutting down the hallway, free of eye contact, with a large animal carrier, gloves and two large nets in hand. He was here to save us all and he means business. I was informed later that he is one of only three people on campus certified for this type of rescue mission – outstanding. Six minutes and 58 seconds later, out came our hero accompanied by a uniformed officer holding the now occupied metal carrier. Their chests stood proud as they walked down the hall of honor and grand applause. The raccoon has been captured. Well done, men.

So there it is, just another day at the office here at UT. And if you think this is entertaining, get ready, because bat season is just around the corner...

Sugar Free June

2009-06-04T16:57:00.006-05:00

That’s right, for 30 days I will be sugar free with the added bonus of removing carbonated beverages...more specifically, caffeine, from my diet. Before everyone goes crazy, rushing to remind me that it is impossible to be entirely sugar free let me clarify: I have removed "junk" sugars from my diet but maintaining natural sugars like fruit as well those incidental sugars in bread, etc.

Why on earth am I doing this? Well, good question. I figured since the 5k is over (which I totally ran in 42 min) I needed another goal which would increase my overall health and happiness...and give me more bragging rights. I’m looking to purge the system, shock the body into a more efficient processing machine and stimulate more weight loss.

Even with all these excellent reasons, what it really all comes down to is that 2009 is a year of conquering for me. I conquered Ireland, a 5k, some heavy reading and now it is time to tackle sugar and caffeine. Once I finally decided on them, my first few goals ended up being fairly reasonable to accomplish and sustained a high yield of gratification making them extra rewarding. I’m hoping June will continue on this path of amazinginess.

Today is sugar free day 4 and it is has not been easy. There have been incidents of severe headaches, a bit of drool, a tear or two and some mild hallucinations. It’s true, I knew it was going to be rough when I mistook a piece of orange paper for a Reese’s cup and wanted to devour it. No fear, I did not. Instead, I have replaced my normal sugar/caffeine intake with an excessive amount of peanuts. July food ban: peanuts.

Anyway...it is a pretty awesome feeling being able to knock out even a few things in life you either want to get rid of, overcome, or finally accomplish. The initial decision and accompanying challenge is extremely empowering, invigorating, inspiring and yet it can still be slightly scary. Change is good but change is change so expect some growing pains such as ridiculously sore calf muscles or caffeine withdrawal headaches and become BFF with Ibuprofen. But in the end, running through that finish line, it is totally worth it.

I’m not sure what will be next on the list after teaching sugar a lesson but one thing is for sure, nothing will stop me from making 2009 a year for the history books. Hey December, watch out – I’m already punching June in the face!

Ok 5k

2009-04-24T14:10:00.002-05:00

Once upon a time I was quite the athlete. I was a ribbon-carrying member of the district track team for the 100M relay and shot put. I also held the school record for unchallenged serves on the volleyball team. Sure, I was 14, but still, all facts. Now, doubled in age (but certainly not height), I find myself searching for that long lost athlete somewhere deep in my genes. For years I’ve wanted to run a 5k, but soon after, the reality of actual running sets in and I let it go. This year is different because, this year, I’m actually going to do it.

There have been numerous voices cheering me on during this physical challenge, among them might be a desire for a rocking body, but in all seriousness it is more about how this accomplishment will stand as a visible defeat of a very old inner battle. A few weeks ago this 5k seemed like one of the hardest physical things I could ever do and honestly, not really even possible. Just thinking about running for more than 5 min straight made me laugh, but then again I never really tried it.

However, along with the recent realization of my ever constant daily dog-paddling came the determination to do those things which for so long I cast aside as just too hard. With this renewed passion and determination I pushed myself to work harder every single day and just two nights ago I ran two entire miles without stopping. It is a true spring miracle.

Now, being just a little over a mile and 30 days away from my goal, one thing is perfectly clear, I’m blowing past more hurdles than I ever imagined and nothing can stop me. Not only am I indestructible, but something else rather interesting happened while tackling this personal challenge. Several of my closest friends joined me without request or hesitation. I can not tell you how amazing it feels to put on your running shoes, head out the door to stare that track in the eyes only to be met with 6 smiling faces to run right there with you, side by side. What a precious gift! (I might have gotten a little teary-eyed…maybe)

So, here I am, running toward that finish line with fire in my feet, eyes and heart. By this time next month I will be standing on my own personal podium to claim that trophy…after I punch that 5k right in the face. He will never see me coming. Run Red, run.

Emerald Isle

2009-03-30T21:50:00.007-05:00

About two weeks ago I was standing on a street corner in Killarney, Ireland watching a real Irish St Patrick’s Day Parade. Wow, what an experience! Not only did the town crazy (who they let out of the loony bin until 6pm) dance a jig up and down the parade route, but I saw green dogs, lots of men in plaid skirts, bagpipes and a little boy so dedicated to his penny whistle playing that he stepped in a ginormous pile of horse poo without even flinching. Go Irish!

Since there is just far too much Irish goodness to write about all at once, I will just highlight a few favorites for quick and easy consumption. (They are arranged chronologically since it was too hard to rank any other way.)

1. Cliffs of Moher: the most beautifully unbelievable cliffs of pure insanity I have ever seen in real life. It is truly amazing to me that 3 giddy girls could actually get in a backwards European car in a foreign country with basically nothing but aspirations of great times and find some of the most beautiful sites in the world, the Cliffs of Moher were just the first of many.
2. Random castles and stone creations strewn about the countryside. We had no idea what they were or how old but they were everywhere and that alone was pretty awesome.
3. Dunnes: Ireland’s version of Super Target, sure to fulfill all your American needs for only triple the dollar.
4. J90 at The Grand: the best, cute Irish boy American-pop cover band in the world singing just for us in an Irish pub.
5. Gerry aka Our Hero: General manager of our hotel in Killarney who rescued us from the parking nightmare in the back ally, quenched our thirst with free cocoa and gave us sweet insider tips on the most happening night spots. Our love was mutual.
6. Killarney: our hearts will forever belong to this sweet Irish town that gave us shelter, took our money and showed us how to have a kicking time Irish style (well, minus the alcohol)
7. Ring of Kerry: the most breathtaking 2.5-hour drive along the coast of one of Irelands smaller peninsulas. The roads were terrifying but the scenery was totally worth it and just when you think you’ve seen it all, there is so much more!
8. Blarney Stone: we made it to the Blarney Castle 5 min before closing, just in time to run up the itty-bitty spiral stair case to the tippidy top of the castle and kiss the stone for good luck. As a bonus, if you travel with a blond American girl you will likely get a free dinner offer from the creepy, old Blarney Stone man who holds you tight for ‘safety’ while kissing the stone. Awesome.
9. Leprechauns: this is what we affectionately called all the locals we befriended which was actually quite remarkable considering the language barrier. Turns out, they only technically speak English. One memorable leprechaun: Julie, our St Paddy’s Day Parade narrator who really just wanted a ‘fag’ and didn’t care much for the 'Mormons' but chatted and laughed with us for hours anyway.
10. Irish food: boiled tomatoes and warm milk for breakfast, that is the Irish way. And just when you think it might be safe to order a chicken sandwich remember you’re not in America anymore.

In the end, I spent a ridiculous amount of Euro, walked hundreds of miles, saw at least a million sheep, kissed one very old, slimy stone, climbed a thousand extremely uneven and rather unsafe stairs, took almost 300 pictures, laughed till my sides burst, drank cocoa in a pub, fell out of the shower, danced with the locals, chatted with leprechauns and brought back through customs so many other memories of Ireland to last 2 lifetimes. When I landed back on US soil I was ecstatic, not only to run to the nearest BBQ, but also because I just turned one of my life goals into a reality that I get to enjoy forever. I can hardly wait for the next one to begin!

Drafting

2009-03-11T12:50:00.010-05:00

I received a friendly email notification at work the other day that my mailbox was over the limit and I needed to reduce immediately or else. Oh no, I might not get some work related email, just tragic. Nevertheless, I had no choice, I must clean out my mailbox.

After deleting all my unread email I didn't care to look at, I went to my 'Drafts' folder where I found several dozen half-completed blog entries. I must start up a blog entry at least once a week. They are usually spurred by something ridiculous that just happened near or around me at work. (I work at a state agency so I'm sure you can vaguely imagine at least some of the ridiculousness I face daily.) I've written random short stories, interesting observations, long rants, fond memories or just a tidbit of new wisdom that hit me that very moment. One thing is the same, they remain there in drafts, unfinished, unpublished.

I re-read them all. I laughed, got a little angry, chuckled mischievously, and I even got a little choked up (some are rather touching, yeah, I'm that good). I thought to myself why didn't I finish and post any of these for someone to enjoy even if that someone was me? I don't have a good answer. They are just drafts, brief bursts of expressed emotion with no real conclusion.

It occurred to me, while reading my awesome drafts, that my life is too much like this folder. I have moments of grand intentions or tempting dreams, bursts of passion and excitement and moments of clarity and insight. I'm going to travel the world, start a business, begin another graduate program, solve the world problems, get married, buy a new car, write a novel, or be a millionaire and yet they sit, never completed, just drafts. Why? They do no one any good there, just clutter. I certainly don't want to get one of those "taking up too much space on earth, must delete" messages any time soon.

As it goes, with this discovery, it is now time to clean out my drafts and make room...for other things, bigger things, better things. This weekend I will finish my first draft - I'm going to Ireland. Not just to return to my adopted roots (turns out, I can only claim to have the national hair color) or see a new part of the world, but to live out one of my dreams and finish something I started a long time ago.

Don't worry, this will not be the only finished draft from me, I have plenty more. Stay tuned...

More Than Words

2009-02-26T13:23:00.008-06:00

So I meant to post this like a week ago, but clearly I did not…oops.

Last night (now last week) I sang my poor little heart out at the annual "Love Bites Sing-along" at the Alamo Drafthouse. It was pure therapeutic magic. There really is nothing like belting out surprisingly sentimental lyrics to the electric guitar stylings of Izzy and Jovi with your friends.

I’ve always enjoyed a good ballad and my favorite among them are those awesome power ballads from the 80s. Such an interesting time in music that made an everlasting impact on our souls. The power ballad, in my mind, stands as probably the best artistic description of love I can personally relate to. It is sweet emotion wrapped up in simple melodies, heartfelt lyrics and short bursts of heart pumping electric power solos. That is true love, baby.

For two hours I sang at the top of my lungs alongside the heart wrenching vocal pleas of Cyndi Lauper and Steve Perry. With every song, I released enormous amounts of that icky daily stress and a little bit of those irritating love pains. I can give no better suggestion to someone broken, stressed, torn, sad or just plain tired than to crank up the volume and embrace their inner power ballad. It is a total eclipse of the heart and it certainly works for me, time after time.

Tonight is round two. Tonight we take out the power and embrace just the pure soft ballad. It’s called the "No Shame" sing-along for a reason. And yes, I will sing those ballads shamelessly and you know why - because I love them and I will not be ashamed of what I love. Plus, I’ll take any chance to scream in public without fear of being ssssshhhh’d any day. Yes, we do it all for the glory of love.

My Ox is in the Box!

2009-01-27T18:09:00.003-06:00

Tis the year of the ox! A year of prosperity…to those who work for it!

The ox stands as symbol of prosperity through fortitude and hard work. The ox is intended to remind us that good things come to those who work for it. This is probably good advice any year but surely it can’t hurt to have a little encouragement from the stars alignment.

With this nudge form the stars, I thought I should probably take on the challenge of hard work this year. I mean, I would like very much to be prosperous, but that really just seems…well, like a lot of work. However, while I was conducting extensive research today on the ox year, I discovered that I am not actually the tenacious rooster I had always believed. Turns out, those Chinese place mats detailing my future are not entirely accurate. I know, I was both shocked and horrified as well. Since the Chinese calendar follows a lunar year they don’t exactly match up to our western, simplistic calendar. Therefore, I’m excited to announce that I’m actually a monkey.

Wow, this feels so liberating and now that I know where I really come from there is a whole new outlook on life. It all makes perfect sense really. Master Wiki says monkeys are “often inventors, plotters, entertainers and the creative geniuses behind anything ingenious, including mischief and with their charm and persuasiveness they can make people believe that just knowing them is a privilege.” Now, who couldn’t have called that one?

Armed with this enlightenment, I asked myself what a monkey would do in the year of the ox to find prosperity. Ingeniously simple! I’m going to find an ox to do the hard work for me.

Did I peak your curiosity? Good. Find your Chinese animal equivalent and figure out how to exploit the year of the ox as well.

Egad

2009-01-12T14:01:00.005-06:00

In less than 48 hours I will be turning 28 years of age and I’m not going to lie, it is really freaking me out.

The other day I was watching a few episodes from season two of Friends with a friend. For all my fellow Friends fans this is the season where Ross and Rachel finally get together, Monica starts dating the much older Dr. Burke and Joey is cast and quickly killed off on Days of Our Lives. Also in season two, the friends are 27 years old. Now, despite the fact these episodes aired over decade ago, it still hit me hard…I am now older than Chandler. Egad!

Not only am I freaked out because I’m now older than the Friends, but 28 is the basically the point of no return…to thirty!!! You see, at 27 you can still claim membership to the ‘mid-twenties’. You are just barely getting over the quarter-century life crisis and living the easy life of an independent twenty-something, but as that clock hits 28 everything changes. You are now officially a card holding member of the ‘late twenties’ and getting monthly reminder notices from the Thirty Club. There is no going back to the safety and innocence of the mid-twenties; those care free days are long gone.

Now, being that I’m not yet 28, I’m not sure what exactly all my new responsibilities will be but certainly the job of a 28 year old is more intense than the years prior. There is so much preparation to be done. I have to start thinking about my health, long term goals and retirement. I probably have to start checking out all the good buffets in town, practice going to bed at 8 pm and telling those 25 year olds' to turn down the music. On top of all that, I have to start looking for cats that need to be adopted. So much, so much. On the upside, I think at 28 you get reduced rates on car insurance and Dennys, are bestowed with additional bits of wisdom and blessed with the title, “Ma'am”.

Well, so begins the end. As I brace myself for this shove into maturity, I wish to say audios to all the glorious years of my youth. Goodbye young Red, you were a shining star. We have had many a good times and I will never forget you!

Peace Out 2008!

2008-12-31T02:45:00.001-06:00

Well, the time has come. It is now the very last day of 2008 and I am really not that sad to say goodbye. Now is the time to get pumped for 2009 which means a quick inventory and review of 2008 and projections for 2009. I shall begin.

I am still alive. Check.

Still have red hair. Check.

Still maintain appropriate levels of humor (most of the time), am relatively cute most days (super fly on all others) and am simply irreplaceable. Check. Keep that up. Done.

I had crushes on 23.5 boys, went on a dozen or so dates and kissed -?-.

I ate a lot of turkey sandwiches, Chipotle burritos, chips and M&Ms.

I drove 13,475 miles, killed one cat and 3 toads.

I semi-gracefully executed over 30 social events, hemmed at least 50 pairs of pants, repaired twice as many holes, baked over 1000 cookies, and danced my tail-feathers off for at least 100 hours.

I experienced a wide variety of emotions in 2008 from 'slap your face, slam the door' soap opera level to utterly boring lulls of hibernation.
2009 goal #1: Regulate emotional range so as to avoid extreme conditions much like hypothermia.

I spent a lot of money on clothes and shoes, many of which are still hanging in my closet...with original tags.
2009 goal #2: Don't buy things not needed just because they are the right size and have a 'sale' tag or are pink, purple, red or shiny gold.

I did not get enough sleep. (note: current blog time 2:27 am - oh dear)
2009 goal #3: More sleep.

I maintained moderately safe distance from huge amounts of trouble and managed to have good times at healthy LDS approved recreational funtivities. I decided that I prefer only moderate levels of drama created by myself and only slightly higher levels of drama discussed behind closed doors about others.
2009 goal #4: Maintain drama under level 5 and only levels 7-9 at safe distances for short periods of time.

I exercised a few times.
2009 goal #5: Exercise a few times +1

I attended 6 weddings, 4 bridal showers, 7 baby showers and one Eagle Scout thingy.
2009 goal #6: No more showers...of any kind, except the soapy ones in the morning, by myself.

Ok, that is enough with the goal making - I don't want to get carried away with high expectations or anything.

Looking back it seems 2008 was a pretty busy year. There were a lot of happenings in my general vicinity, most of which were unplanned, but they all proved valuable whether simply entertaining or profound life lessons. I certainly can't say 2008 was all peaches 'n cream but it wasn't all butternut squash either. Sure, there are some things I'd like to change and things I'd like to forget all together, but in the end I'm pretty sure I came out ahead with a bit of life capital left to make some good investments in 2009.
2009 goal #7: Make good investments, but if bamboozled and things start tanking, cut losses and run to Mexico.

Well 2008...audios sucka'! Peace.

Month of Mystery

2008-12-27T02:26:00.008-06:00

As a friend pointed out today, no posts in one entire month. Sadness fills the internet.

What on earth have I been doing? I'd love to tell you that I've been busy with a new job, or boyfriend, or hobby, or world tour, or mudslinging campaigns, or religious sabbatical, or travels, or cooking classes, or reading, or even extreme sporting, but that's a negative all around. Truth is, I have no idea what I have been doing but it certainly has not been any of those things listed above and clearly not blogging. Still, I have evidence that I was doing things. My Discover bill was unusually high and I don't have any more butter in the fridge so I'm pretty sure I baked stuff. Baked and shopped. Well now, that actually sounds just like every other month. Hm.

Anyway, this past month of holiday blissfully craziness has just been one big fuzzy blur. It feels very similar to waking up from a deep dream where you aren't quite exactly sure what's real and whether or not Brad Pitt is actually waiting for you in the other room with breakfast...hm, yeah, those are nice. Or like when you arrive to work on Monday and the coworkers make some standing joke about your tardiness and then pry into your weekend details. Hm...I don't remember what I did. Oh really, they snicker, it was that good huh (wink, wink, poke, poke)? No, no, I'm the Mormon remember, this is certainly not a 'I got plastered so hard I don't remember anything,' just a normal 'I don't remember but it probably involved food'. Sorry to disappoint, again.

I hear short-term memory loss happens sometimes to people under higher levels of stress. I wonder what has caused so much stress that I can't remember a blink of the entire month. No, it can't be that for I hear that stress is usually the result of some kind of work or work-like behavior and I think it's already been established that I don't partake in any of that. There must still be another reason. Perhaps it was boredom, no one wants to remember boredom. Although this is not really likely either since everyone knows I'm pretty much just one cute ball of fun. It must be that something so traumatic happened I have cleverly blocked the entire month from my mind. I sure don't know what it was but it sounds like it was pretty bad so I guess it's a good thing I don't remember it. Phew. Or... simplest answer, maybe someone just slipped me unmarked pills or bonked me on the head. Jerks.

Well, here you have it, a new post and a mystery...unsolved.

Morale of this long rambling and inconclusive story: life happenings + blogging = form of journaling = following the prophets + remembering things = blessings + entrance into heaven. Doh!

Protect the Polar Bears!

2008-11-26T09:38:00.003-06:00

I ran into Greenpeace again. This time they were trying to appeal to my animal loving side by encouraging me to save the bears of the far north. Perhaps, because I’m so cute, they think I have a special bond with other cute things. That might be a good theory.

But first, I’m not sure how cute polar bears actually are. Sure, they are fluffy and white but they are still actual bears and I’m a firm believer that past the age of enjoying little stuffed bears there are no more bears that are cute. Second, I don’t really know anything about polar bears, I mean, are they actually endangered? Do the Eskimos hunt them? Probably. Finally, if they are hunted by Eskimos I have no idea how I could personally save them. Oh if only we could stop global warming and Eskimos!

Anyway, one thing I do know about polar bears is they like Coca-Cola, especially around the holidays. So, for the first time ever, I decided to take Greenpeace’s challenge. I’m sending a case of the good stuff to my fellow cute friends chillin at the pole. I hope this helps with the whole endangered thing…and I sure hope they share with the penguins because they are cute too.

Cute, sappy...and so true

2008-11-25T14:22:00.007-06:00

It is no secret that I enjoy cute, little things and I have yet to stop the rumors that I’m fairly skilled with crafty projects and such. It is also not a secret that I do NOT like sappy-cute-crafty things. I don’t care for motivational wooden plaques, feel good embroidery pillows, silly animal pictures with cheesy sayings, ridiculous generic forwards adorned with angels and I certainly don’t scrapbook. It’s just not my thing.

Sure, my own taste in craft projects might not suit another, but the brilliance is I don’t care. I know what I like…and I’m mostly ok with others enjoying the crap they like. Sometimes I feel bad if I gag when you show me your little puppy pillow embroidered with: “I wuf you”…but it is not my fault you have creepy taste.

Sidetracked…anyway, my best friend is a member of a card making club which she really enjoys and is rather good it. It is a form of scrapbooking that I’m not completely opposed to so I’m ok with it. Occasionally she shows me something that is a bit cheesy, she admits it and I just giggle. Overall, they are really beautiful and rather sweet and I enjoy getting them. Recently she posted one of the cards she made on her blog and for the first time I saw a cheesy, gag inducing quote that actually gave me a genuine smile:

“A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same”

This simple little quote described our friendship better than I ever could. Our friendship has lasted more than a decade because we truly know each other and we love each other despite and because of what we know. There are not too many people in my life I’d be prepared to say that about and without question she makes the top of the list. We have seen each other from laughter to tears and together we have forged through the wonderful and the despair. A friendship like this does not come along every day and when a cheesy but beautiful quote appears as a reminder you find yourself most grateful for the opportunity you have for them to be in your life.

I did not intend for this posting to be homage to my best friend, in fact I was prepared to bash more warm-fuzzy quotables, but perhaps this is long overdue. We are human, and honestly just not that easy to love sometimes. Some of us pose challenges because we are clueless, guarded, broken or quite simply a tad bit feisty but we all desire to be and have good friends. A true friendship is more than completing sentences or bursting into laughter by the look of an unspoken joke. A true friend loves you despite all faults and cares enough to patiently encourage you to overcome them. A true friendship stands the test of time, distance and change. As two peas in a pod, together, we have weathered all three. I am so lucky to have a friend like her that can make a cute, sappy quote mean something very real to me. I am proud to call her my best friend.

Little Purple Things

2008-11-13T12:04:00.007-06:00

I finally caved last week and purchased a new iPod nano… a purple one. It is a very good purple and it suits me well. I can honestly tell you I purchased this iPod for two reasons: it’s small and it’s an amazing shade of purple. When I saw the ad release for the new generation iPods I was filled with glee – you put anything in the right size and color and I’ll buy it, so good job Apple. After my joyful purchase, a friend of mine generously loaded my new baby with some sweet jams and I drove home in high spirits singing and dancing with my new pretty purple pal entertaining both myself and fellow roadies.

It has been just over a week and I have proudly displayed it to everyone I know as if they have never seen one. That little electronic gem has brought me so many warm fuzzies. I feel slightly bad for my old fatty iPod because he just was never that pretty, but he has a new owner so I am sure he is just fine. BUT, the point is, the current joy. I am truly amazed at how happy I have been to get in my car after work and sit in traffic so I can play with my new friend -I actually look forward to it. Although this strikes me as somewhat strange I think the real reason is rather quit simple. It is the simplicity of it.

Recently I’ve been stressing in my life over huge things. I am starting to feel a tad older and daily more aware of things I thought I’d be doing by this point in my life and am not. Unfortunately, long ago, I approached these goals from the wrong angle, placing unnecessary time frames and silly expectations, so instead of standing as pieces of hope and excitement they have continually brought discouragement. Maybe I’m naive, but I guess I thought goals should be motivating and rarely discouraging, so…ooops.

While I know there is a place for long term goals and a genuine focus on the bigger picture I have spent far too much time recently overlooking the small things in life that bring happiness every single day. Thank you my pretty, purple iPod for reminding me of the little things that make life worthwhile on a very, very small and simple scale.

Election Exercise

2008-11-05T16:12:00.005-06:00

I did not vote for a President yesterday. I did not care for any of the candidates and this whole campaign season has really been a huge disappointment. I voted yesterday because I can. I voted because years ago a group of inspired, wise, strong individuals fought for the right to be heard, to choose, to vote. I voted yesterday because just shy a century ago a few brave women stood up in a society telling them no and paved the way for me to have the right today to be heard, to choose, to vote.

My heart ached yesterday when I heard the indifference of some of my friends and colleagues. “Who cares, my vote doesn’t count anyway,” “I don’t like any of the candidates so it’s just not worth voting.” What a sad state our nation is in when today we are unable to appreciate the simple privilege of heading to a local polling station and casting a vote when there were so many willing to die for it. I refuse to take this for granted no matter how poor the ballot may look when I get to it. I refuse to silence myself by apathy. I will not pretend to think my individual vote will flip any election but it does not really matter because it is my vote and that is the most important vote to me.

Yesterday I voted simply to exercise a privilege given to me long ago by others who would not be silenced. I voted for them and I voted for me. I voted because I am woman and I voted because I am an American.

Protest Sin

2008-09-22T13:02:00.004-05:00

On my way back from lunch today I passed a small group of individuals shouting at the top of their lungs. When I got closer I noticed a big yellow poster saying something about sin and then, in red, bold letters: Repent Now or Be Burned. Eek! Then I heard the guy tell a clearly drunken student they were out ‘protesting sin’ on this fine day. Amen to that is what I say. I think we should all protest sin more often, perhaps even every day, but maybe with something a bit classier than yellow poster board and sharpies. I’m thinking t-shirts.

That's My Spot!

2008-08-15T15:03:00.012-05:00

This morning when I pulled into the parking garage there was a small red car just sitting there in my spot. When I say my spot, I mean exactly that, it’s MY spot. Every time I find a car misplaced there I feel a small burst of anger flood through my body and I make a little growl noise to myself. Grrr! Now, we do not actually have reserved parking spots in this garage but still I feel some sense of ownership over this spot. I mean, I’ve been parking there for over 4 years so I figure it must be some kind of common law privilege. But every month or so I go through the same thing – new people that don’t know they've parked in my spot and I have to inform them…in the nicest way possible. I’ve been saying forever that I want to put up a sign to announce to the noobs this location has already been claimed, please park elsewhere, but clearly my laziness outweighs the temporary flash of bitterness towards the spot stealer.

Last night I was watching Project Runway and there was a hilariously over-dramatic blow-up between two designers about a sewing machine. Apparently one of the designers had claimed a certain sewing station and found another designer had changed the thread and was using it! Gasp! I mocked them through the screen, of course, but found myself thinking I’d probably feel much the same way had it happened to me. After all, I was irritated with little red car this morning and I can remember being irritated when those annoying kids tried to sit at our lunch table in elementary school. I can also remember shaking my fist and mumbling under my breath back in college when I would walk all the way up to the top floor of the library only to find my favorite study/sleeping cube filled to capacity with a fellow student I would now despise forever. And…I find myself actually getting slightly flushed and disoriented when I walk into church and somebody is sitting in my row. What is happening here?!?!

Honestly, I don’t think my reaction is entirely unfounded and irrational; although it is probably way more intense than it should be, but that’s not really anything new for me. Since the beginning of time we have been sectioning off territory for specific groups of people or individuals and we fight over it…still…today. We want our own space and probably for some deeply ingrained reason – we need something to call our own. Currently, I have my cubical at work and my bedroom – this is MY personal area so don’t touch my stuff! As a human race or maybe just an American race we all want a bit of space dedicated just for us. It makes us feel secure, comfortable, perhaps even gives us a sense of control or power. I like and want all of those things and so I guess that explains the desire for retaliation when someone tries to take it all away from me by parking in my spot.

Well, that’s just a little introspection for the day. Turns out, I’m possessive. I said it. There you have it. So, please, don’t take my spot!

Color Me Good

2008-08-08T11:22:00.008-05:00

I love color and I love wearing it.

I shant give away any of my secrets but every day I spend a minute or so deciding what color I’m going to wear based entirely on how I’m feeling, who I'll be seeing or what I’ll be doing. It’s amazing how much a little bit of color can affect my mood and the rest of my life. There have been plenty of studies surrounding color; what they mean or what they might say about the individual. Although I don’t know enough about color theory to support it as a pure science, I certainly find it very fascinating and worth exploring further. After all, there is no denying the role color plays in the advertising world so color must do something.

Since I clearly ponder on color a lot, I happen to know of a fun little online color quiz. Now, I’ve never really given too much credit to personality tests and although I feel this is very similar to an all encompassing horoscope or some creepy fortune cookie that sorta fits my current perspective, I found these results eerily close to accurate on a simply basic level. Interesting:

Your Existing Situation: Easily affected by her environment and readily moved by the emotions of others. Seeks congenial relationships and an occupation which will promote them.

True

Your Stress Sources: Has an unsatisfied need to ally herself with others whose standards are as high as her own, and to stand out from the herd. Her control of her sensual instincts restricts her ability to give herself, but the resulting isolation leads to the urge to surrender and allow herself to merge with another. This disturbs her as such instincts are regarded as weaknesses to be overcome; she feels that only by continued self-restraint can she hope to maintain her attitude of individual superiority. Wants to be loved or admired for herself alone; needs attention, recognition, and the esteem of others.

True, give me more attention.

Your Restrained Characteristics: Believes that she is not receiving her share--that she is neither properly understood nor adequately appreciated. Feels that she is being compelled to conform, and close relationships leave her without any sense of emotional involvement. Circumstances are forcing her to compromise, to restrain her demands and hopes, and to forgo for the time being some of the things she wants.

Mostly true, but what is emotional involvement – sounds lame.

Your Desired Objective: Takes easily and quickly to anything which provides stimulation. Preoccupied with things of an intensely exciting nature, whether erotically stimulating or otherwise. Wants to be regarded as an exciting and interesting personality with an altogether charming and impressive influence on others. Uses tactics cleverly so as to avoid endangering her chances of success or undermined others' confidence in herself.

True, I am cleverly tactic.

Your Actual Problem: Has a fear that she might be prevented from achieving the things she wants. This leads her to employ great personal charm in her dealings with others, hoping that this will make it easier for her to reach her objectives.

True, I am most charming.

Your Actual Problem #2 (cause 1 is not enough): Greatly impressed by the unique, by originality, and by individuals of outstanding characteristics. Tries to emulate the characteristics she admires and to display originality in her own personality.

True, originality is my middle name when I’m not conforming to others I admire.

Ok, so that was fun but I’m not really sure what all of this means. If my preference to a certain color led the computer to identify all these problems I have why does it not tell me with which color to solve them all. It’s probably red, red is the best, good thing I have a ton of it.

So, now I’m wondering, what does color say about ya’ll?

Affirming the Earth

2008-07-29T15:43:00.011-05:00

I work at a very large public university and every day I’m attacked by at least a dozen supposedly well intentioned students with ridiculous fliers and donation requests. On my way back from lunch today I heard the following simple seductions from a few of these human sidewalk barricades representing some obscure organization called "Greenpeace":

“I can tell there is a tree hugger underneath that fancy polo!”
“Hey, you look like someone in the mood to stop global warming!”

Surprisingly, these clever lines did not seem to work. I chuckled to myself, avoided any eye contact whatsoever and picked up my pace so I wouldn’t be forced to, yet again; tell them, “No, I would not like to save the world today.”

Truth is, I do want to save the world from utter destruction but I find it slightly irritating to be bombarded on my way to serve the man with these in-your-face guilt-tripping solicitations. Aside from pushing them down on the pavement there is little I can do to make them go away – something about free speech in a public place. Anyway, I really don’t like the feeling of wanting to avoid someone and for a second I actually feel bad saying NO but then I remember they just want the money I’m trying to earn to buy shoes and I don’t feel bad anymore. And also, I really don’t think my money is going to make the earth better anyway. Money just can not fix all the world's problems - everyone knows that.

Personally, when my 'problems' overwhelm me and I’m feeling a bit sad, worn down or simply ‘abused’, I perk right up when I receive compliments or accolades from my friends. I figure if this works for me it probably would work for the earth too. So, my simple suggestion for saving the world - while not annoying people as they walk to work - is to help the world feel better about herself. A happy earth is a healthy, self-confident earth.

I shall begin now, in a delicate yet forceful tone: “Earth, you are beautiful. You are doing a great job. Keep up the good work. We really need you.”

I think that will do the trick. A bit of affirmation goes a long way. Sometimes a little encouragement is all you need to keep moving with a smile. So, I’m gonna do my part to heal the earth and then next time those green shirt wearing hippies ask me to help them save the world I’ll just say, “No thanks, I already did that today but maybe you should too.”

I think tomorrow I will come up with a sweet earth cheer.

Yeah, you go earth!

Occam's Razor

2008-07-21T16:38:00.007-05:00

: a scientific and philosophic rule that entities should not be multiplied unnecessarily which is interpreted as requiring that the simplest of competing theories be preferred to the more complex or that explanations of unknown phenomena be sought first in terms of known quantities.

I’m baffled, but somehow I’ve found myself surrounded by a group of friends who utilize Occam’s Razor daily and are experts at it. They quickly identify the simplest answer (which typically also includes the least amount of work) and push full steam ahead. There is no grey, only black and white. Everything is either a 1 or a 0...speaking in their own language. Despite my continual protests that no, there are some things that do actually require some thought and work, they manage to do just fine with minimal supervision – often to my amazement. For the most part their calm and simple perspective on life and its happenings works out just fine and they are in general, pretty darn satisfied.

In a recent conversation with a good friend who thinks only in terms of money, he said he couldn’t understand why people would buy more problems. I agree, why would I do that – it just doesn’t make sense. But still, l find that I often face an irresistible desire to make absolutely everything far more complex than it ever need be. In essence I willingly pay for more than is necessary on a regular basis. I find this rather ironic considering my rather obsessive tendencies to clip coupons, shop only the clearance racks and pick fights with the cashier who won’t adjust the price of a mis-marked item.

I’m not really sure what motives this overspending and although it strikes me as somewhat irrational, I am somehow convinced things just can’t possibly be interesting or accurate if they are too simple. It could be a ‘woman thing’ or perhaps even a redhead thing but there I am wasting precious time reading between the lines or making up my own lines entirely. (You know that annoying person in the theater who talks back to the screen with their own ‘additions’ to the plot line, yeah that’s me. Sorry.)

Some people might call my spending habits exercising imagination or exploring creative thought processes but most of the time I think it really ends up being just a big headache machine...that I rent. I don’t like headaches and I certainly don’t want to pay for them so I figure I should be more like my simple minded friends (hm that didn’t come out right) and just refuse to buy more complications.

All things being equal, the simplest solution is the best solution...and hopefully the cheapest. Simple = Best. What a simply amazing concept. I will take one Occam’s Razor please…oh look it’s on sale!

Proof It

2008-07-17T14:54:00.005-05:00

My sophomore year of college was an interesting one. It was a pivotal point in my life…unfortunately I happen to be really bad at pivoting. Anyway, I spent my first year and half of college preparing to enter the 5 year masters accounting program and then it hit me. There was no way I wanted to be an accountant, not a chance. I was just as surprised as anyone considering the fact that A) well, I mean, I was pretty good at it B) my mom and the majority of my extended family are CPA's and C) it was a guaranteed money job. But I could not deny the feeling, accounting was not for me. After I pulled the emergency brake on that train, my second semester was spent exploring a variety of other subject matter in hopes of finding anything else to grab my attention. Looking back I’m not sure why I picked these but nevertheless I enrolled in the physics of sound, computer science and history of math course.

I did horrible in all three. But by far the most shocking was the math course. Although I was a Calculus TA at the time and certainly capable of talking and doing math, I apparently missed the part in the syllabus where I had to actually turn in my work, oops. Anyway, aside from just not following directions, I learned a great deal from the course. Initially, I wasn't sure what to expect, History of Math, I thought to myself: I'm good at math, I like history, this will be an easy course and I will walk out of here with some sweet Fine Arts credits (yeah I'm still not sure how that works). Turns out, it was way more intense than it sounds.

The course was conducted by a brilliant visiting professor from India. His English was horrible. Luckily, Indians (well and everyone else really) like redheads so I got a lot of ‘specialized’ attention…for you know…translations and such. The very first day of class he says, “Who can tell me what pi is?” Almost instantaneously, a pompous little nerd in the front row shot up his hand and spouts off 3.14…..blah blah blah followed by a brief explanation of what it's used for. Oh great, I think to myself, not only am I not going to understand the professor but I've got “Mr. I know all things math” ready to save us all from our silent ignorance. But Prof India goes on, “Can anyone tell me where pi came from?” Front row Frank tries but is quickly shot down. That is not what he meant and for the rest of the class he proceeds to show us an elaborate proof - how exactly pi came to be. I am not positive, but I'm fairly certain my mouth stayed gaped and my eyes blink free through the entire process. After all, I knew what pi was and I knew how to use it but it never occurred to me that while I was using pi to solve other problems it too had such a journey of its' own. The rest of the course continued in this fashion...we proved theory after theory, yes even the quadratic formula. I learned more about math than I ever thought possible. Ever. It was truly amazing, but without question, it is way harder to prove a math theory than to simply use it.

Now, in my old age I have found in other aspects of my life I often know about the pi and sometimes even how to use it. I typically know what the general concept is, an overview or at least a basic understanding of what mystical equations I must utilize to get to that final answer. The tricky part is actually coming around to it, proving what pi is actually made up of. And also, as I have learned over the years, this ends up being the most important part. The answer is not going to change – it is how I get there that matters, how I proof myself. So, despite no longer having an Indian to guide my way, I shall proof forward and yes, oh yes, I will solve pi.

P.S. if you ever want to know the proof to the slope of a line, just ask me…about 7 years ago.

A Lion! Oh My!

2008-06-20T13:52:00.007-05:00

Another tale of youthful innocence….

I spent most of my days as a youth in Arizona…in our backyard pool. We lived on the corner of a very busy street so we often had random ‘visitors’ wander into our yard. One day while my lil' bro and I were splashing about the pool playing ‘let’s see how long you can hold your breath under water while I sit on you’, we were interrupted by a ferocious creature who came charging in from the side gate. I shot right out of the water screaming, “A lion, a lion!” and ran in the house to get my mom – yes, I left my baby brother to fend for himself against the man eating lion. In response to my shrieks of pure horror she came bolting outside and to both our surprise there was my brother petting the lion! “Mom!” I screeched, “a lion, a lion, why is he petting a lion!?!” She, as a typical response to most of my reactions, burst into uncontrollable laughter, “Oh sweetie, that’s not a lion, it’s just a fluffy dog.” Now, to give myself some credit it was in fact a Chow and to this day I still insist they look exactly like lions.

We ended up babysitting this 'lion' for sometime until his owners finally came to rescue me from him. And yes, he did bite me many times, turns out – Chows are actually meaner than lions. Every time I came face to face with that dog and even today when I see a chow I remember that rush of pure terror that flooded my veins when I thought for sure that I was going to be eaten alive.

So what do we learn from this little anecdote? Well, I’m not exactly sure but it is a good story to tell at parties – trust me, when you add the gestures and facial expressions it’s a killer.

Ok so yes, I will provide a brief lesson. What I learned from my encounter with the lion was a real life application of the old cliché 'you can’t judge a book by its cover'. More specifically, I see it as a representation of life’s lovely little challenges. At first they come at us as fierce lions but in reality, and after we calm down, they are really just fluffy dogs – not too bad. Now, I don’t really like dogs because they bite and smell and I don’t really like trials because they are hard so no matter how you put it I’m still not a huge fan. Nevertheless, the basic point is things are often not as bad as you think they are…even if they do bite a little.

Just remember: take a deep breath before shouting lion or your mom will probably laugh at you.

Chocolate Chips, Divided

2008-06-19T15:49:00.002-05:00

When I was a cute little Beehive (the ripe age of 12) I really got into baking. It was always encouraged because, as it were, I was pretty darn good at it. Anyway, one of my favorite recipes was Peanut Butter Bars - they are delicious. After the peanut butter, the next most important ingredient is chocolate chips, and the directions read: two cups chocolate chips, divided in half. So, being the eager baker I was, I followed these instructions precisely until one day my mom came into the kitchen and I exasperatedly proclaimed, “You know I love these peanut butter bars but they are sure a lot of work!” Why? She asks. “Well,” I explain, “I have to cut all these chocolate chips in half and it takes forever – I don’t know why but that’s what the recipe says.” She immediately bursts into tear jerking laughter as I looked up at her from my chocolate covered cutting board with the confused “redhead caught in the headlights” expression on my face. What? What’s so funny? She lovingly comes over, puts her arm around my shoulder and says, “Sweetie that means you divide the entire portion, one cup here and one cup there, you don’t actually have to divide the individual chips”. Oh.

I’ve made peanut butter bars a hundred times since (minus the extra work) but every time I pull out a bag of chocolate chips I chuckle to myself in memory of those more innocent days when I followed the instructions word for word but missed the point entirely. Today I find myself with somewhat the opposite inclination but typically the same outcome. I’ve gotten lazy, just skimming over things or only half listening. I haphazardly read for context not content and I often hear only flash* words to maintain focus or the appearance of comprehension but too often I walk away realizing I did not retain any of it. Sometimes it’s not completely my fault but more often than not it is my own impatience that leads me down the path of complete blanks or inaccurate assumptions.

I think I’ve always been prone to taking the short cuts in life but ironically this has too frequently led down the much longer ‘scenic route’. I find myself standing in the middle of nowhere wondering exactly how I ended up there. Never good. So today, I will take a reminder from my little chocolate friends to slow down, be more patient and thorough at the beginning so I don’t bypass the whole point and end up hitchhiking the long road back.

Always keep in mind; you don’t have to cut all the chips in half individually, well, unless you just really need to chop something.

*flash words are words I find of interest...they change daily at whim.

Making the Man

2008-06-03T22:25:00.004-05:00

Today my younger brother returned home from serving a two year mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

As he came striding down the terminal, my mom and I began gleefully jumping up and down (yes, also clapping and screaming) while grandma stood on the sidelines shaking her head - apparently she doesn't want to claim us. Anyway, I saw coming down the escalator, a man I had never seen before, a man who had just accomplished something spectacular and he was glowing to prove it.

Just hearing him speak, you can tell how much he has grown. I'm sure he could go on for hours listing all the things he learned on his mission and how many ways he's changed physically, emotionally, spiritually not to mention all the lives he has touched. Of all the many wonderful things a mission does, changing the missionary is one of the most impressive. I myself have never served a full time mission and have often wondered what this kind of selfless sacrifice might have done for me. It takes a certain type of person to accept the intense commitment a mission requires and I never really had faith enough in myself for it. But there he is, standing with pure confidence in front of me, my little brother demonstrating what willingness to give in pure service is, and with that sparkling smile everyone knows he served well.

I recently had a discussion with a good friend about what it means to be a man. Despite my continual protests and shameless jabs, I walked away with an understanding that only the individual can decide when he truly is a man. Other people can sternly tell you, "you are now a man," but it is only when the boy himself walks the bridge to claim his manhood that it becomes real. Without question, a mission is one of the most difficult bridges but my brother crossed it, and he is now a man.

This is not the first of my family to serve a mission and it will certainly not be the last, but with each experience comes even more respect and appreciation for both my family and my church. Two years ago we sent off a 19 year old boy with a brand new suit and an eager heart and today he came home with 30 more pounds and an overflowing spirit of new wisdom and love. I stand in awe of him today, for who he is, for what he has done and for standing strong in faith. Even more, I stand in awe for his ability to do it all with such grace and then to still walk with the humility to ask what more he can do.

I love my brother. I often tell people he is the male version of me (minus the red hair), which I have always felt to be true and certainly explains our great relationship. Today, he is more than that - he is also a man and for his extraordinary example of strength I could not be more grateful.

Love Gambles

2008-05-21T17:26:00.006-05:00

From everything I know, gambling is bad. I must confess to having a mini addiction to the lobster game in Vegas (man I love that dancing lobster) but gambling as a whole, I do not partake. It is just not worth it. Recently while enjoying the play list on my BFF’s blog I ran across a song by Ben Lee, Gamble Everything for Love. My initial reaction was ok, whatevs, gambling is bad so he’s crazy, but nice beat. He sings to me, “if you gamble everything for love you’re gonna be alright”. Interesting notion.

Truth be told, aside from gambling being pure evil, this has been the complete opposite of all my thinking since the beginning of time. Gamble for love? Yeah, I’ll take a shot in the head thank you very much. All my days, I have tried to stand strong against the sneaky forces of love by simply avoiding it all together. An easy technique which works for me: cleverly pretending to be in love with any male that walks my path. Man, there is nothing better than that sheer look of terror and awkward mumble when you tell some poor, unsuspecting boy you love them. I live for it. Yes, I am a bad person.

Gambling everything for love is certainly something I’ve never considered, but as my years are rapidly increasing, I am discovering that love might actually be the one thing I can’t risk not gambling for. A friend once taught me, and by friend I mean I don’t remember who, that anything worth having comes with a great deal of risk and the greater the risk the greater the reward. Turns out, this actually just ends up being a combination of a whole bunch of clever sayings from an assortment of individuals but I think it works here. Now, without question, I’d feel much better about the whole game if I was guaranteed a royal flush when the cards are dealt but I’m slowly realizing that even with questionable odds, the spoils are worth it. They say it makes the game more interesting anyway. Bottom line, I’m all in…as long as I don’t get the Joker.

Love is a risk, it is a gamble, but the prize…well it is priceless.

Pipe Dream

2008-05-09T15:27:00.003-05:00

Back in the early 90’s I was obsessed with two computer games: Pipe Dream and Prince of Persia. I’ll save my Prince of Persia tale for another entry but I’ll just say this: I was really, really good and I saved that princess like a billion times…with record speed.

Pipe Dream came rushing back to memory just the other day when someone told me my aspirations to rule the world were nothing but a ‘pipe dream’. I thanked them for their support, crossed them off my “People I’ll Take to the Top with Me” list and then began sweet reminiscing of that silly game I loved so much. I can still hear the spectacular background music as it picked up tempo when the green goo neared the end of the pipe I was frantically trying to extend. I also remember the constant satisfaction I felt by beating my younger brother at yet another wholesome after-school activity.

When I look back on the game now, with a better understanding of myself, I think I know why I enjoyed the game so much. You see, Pipe Dream was a game that so cleverly combined all things I love. First: the challenge. There is nothing quite like begin thrown a good, clean obstacle which, with some decent effort, you can totally own. Second: creativity and imagination. Pipe Dream provided me plenty of right brain development opportunities as I swiftly crafted some pretty intricate and magnificent pipe patterns. Third: a great soundtrack. Excellent music really is the foundation for all things good. Music will instantaneously change my mood, get me moving and keep my going. Finally: success and reward. I make no false pretense for my desire of constant acknowledgment. Honestly, there are very few things more exhilarating than the joys following a conquest or in my case the flashy “You Win” banner and super happy music at the end of an intense game of Pipe Dream.

I miss those simple days when a video game alone could sustain my daily pursuits for excitement and fulfillment. Is it really any wonder that I’m constantly looking for a current, real life application of my animated childhood enjoyment? Today, being much older and indeed wiser, I find myself faced with particular difficulty in finding activities (specifically employment) that contain more than one of these passions as so liberally provided to me by Pipe Dream. It’s true, I might be held slightly back with misguided expectations that real life could actually be as good as Pipe Dream but I still think there is a chance. Just as I conquered Pipe Dream so many times I figure if I apply the same determination and if I can just find a ‘You Win’ banner to carry around for constant reinforcement; I can totally take over the world.

You may think my aspirations of taking over the world are just a pipe dream and you might be right, but I’m certainly willing to keep playing and I will do everything I can to keep the green goo from spilling all over the place.

Breakfast Smeakfast

2008-04-21T15:53:00.005-05:00

As a general rule I don’t eat breakfast. It’s not that I don’t enjoy breakfast foods I just don’t enjoy the practice.

Now, before you waste your time trying to point out the various flaws in my thought process let me just say I’ve heard it all before. I’ve heard countless individuals (both smart and not so much) talk of breakfast as the "King of Meals" – it’s the most important meal of the day, the one meal you should never skip. Breakfast brings your body to life; kick starts your day…blah blah blah. I’ve also read and listened to plenty diet professionals reiterating the counter-intuitive strategy that eating a nice hearty breakfast everyday will actually help you lose weight – yeah right Kellogg’s. I’ve reviewed countless studies on the matter and I do not doubt any of their claims just the application to me, as in, it doesn’t. I must confess to finding a certain level of legitimacy in the concept of breakfast as a whole. I don’t think it’s a bad thing and I’ll be sure to feed my kids breakfast every day, however, I choose not to partake in the morning ritual and my reasons are four-fold:

First: my body, like my mind, refuses to function properly before 10 am and if you make me eat breakfast chance is I will throw up on you.
Second: I never have time for a decent breakfast; I’m lucky to make it to work on time. Now, if I had a personal chef, things might be different.
Third: anytime I do manage to grab breakfast, within the hour I’ll be hungrier than ever and forced to eat again before lunch. What a waste. Sidebar: here is my beef with those crazy dieter’s theories. Tell me, how can I really lose weight if breakfast makes me so hungry I end up eating twice what I would have for the day?
Forth: I don’t like to do things that “may” be good for me just because random people say so…on principle.

There, I’ve said it – cleared my conscience. I just don’t do breakfast. Now go on, defend the ritual if you must.

Mind Over Matter

2008-04-17T09:37:00.004-05:00

When I was a wee lass I possessed magical powers. True story. I was obsessed with the TV show Bewitched and then of course Sabrina (the teenage witch) and I was positive that by a crinkled nose or wiggled finger I too could make stuff 'happen'. I remember sitting in the school yard wiggling my nose with my index finger (no telling what that must have looked like) sending out my spells to bring Jake right to me and force Dawn to trip on her stupid face. I never could get my magic to work on them but I 'made' plenty of other things happen - recess bell ringing - which kept my dream alive. To this day I occasionally catch myself thinking those special powers reside within and that I can control anything by a flip of the wrist - people, things, it matters not. Needless to say, the success rate on this is rather embarrassing.

A friend of mine is forever telling me I can do whatever I put my mind too and every time he does I just want to punch him in the face...but I don't...because he's right. The qualification is, you can really only put your mind to those things in which you actually have control, basically yourself alone.

So, how does one convince your mind that you CAN do anything without making ridiculous assumptions that converge on other people or things out of your stewardship? My guess: the idea remains the same but the thought process must change. I can't really make Jake come to me but I can make myself get up and talk to him and that's a pretty good start.

Luftmensch

2008-04-09T14:28:00.005-05:00

Luftmensch: an impractical contemplative person having no definite business or income.

Oh to be a luftmensch, a luftballon if you will, floating through life without a care at hand – free of any obligation and all things mundane or tiresome. At times I imagine how it might feel to be so completely insouciant and not responsible for or to anything, anyone. How enticing to embrace only all things sweet and simple, those pure joys of life…ahh hot air balloons. I can almost feel the breeze between my toes as my body drifts above the frenzied world, no restraints of time or destination. Feeling lackadaisical, enjoying unabridged breaths with pure freedom in my grasp, all troubles below disappearing and then…oh wait, there’s a DSW*! At that very moment I’m brought back down, quickly reminded how much I enjoy other things in life, like shoes. With this simple recognition a rush of other thoughts enter the picture like how I need money to buy them and that I need a job to have money so I can buy them. Hm. Welp I guess aspirations of a luftmensch will have to remain in my dreams. Truth told, it’s not so bad to have both feet on the ground...in a great pair of heels, and as it goes, “we’ll all float on okay” anyway.

Luftmensch: word of the day – state of my heart.

*For men folk who may not know, DSW is one of the most amazing shoe stores of all time.

Rodomontade

2008-04-02T17:52:00.005-05:00

I ran across this fun word today and so I will share some of the happy thoughts it brought about. For those, like me, occasionally vocabulary challenged I shall provide the definition to ensure complete same pageness:

1 : a bragging speech
2 : vain boasting or bluster : rant

I’ll go ahead and acknowledge the negative connotations but what a great word! Plus, it describes my daily pursuits. I decided long ago that my ego was just far too big to rely on others to fill so if I wanted to keep it bursting at the seems I alone was going to have to do something about it. My simple solution now has a great word: rodomontade! Surely, there is a good and very bad way of proceeding with this technique. Some of my fellow ‘rodomontadies’ push way too far, coming across rather conceded and are usually repulsive. I, on the other hand, find a happy, safe medium in humor. For certain, it’s a sneaky humor, the result of ridiculous statements or exaggerated skills which I likely don’t actually possess. It matters not what I go on about, with my rodomontade I stroke my ego and thereby maintain a level of contentment albeit unrealistic view of the world. But I’m good with that. Go on, give it a try and tell me if it doesn’t make you feel better. And if you can’t think of anything to brag about yourself feel free to brag about me...I will take it!

Procrastinating Princess

2008-03-27T16:19:00.002-05:00

This week my professor cancelled my evening class and called it a “work day”. There is no doubt in my mind this was a generous offering intended to give those of use who are diligent enough to start the dreaded semester project a good chunk of time to draft up a big fat ‘A’. In my case, however, instead of hearing “work day” I hear “play day!” Without question I should certainly be spending the day doing exactly what I’m sure at least one of my classmates is doing but I won’t.

With this acknowledgement I suddenly realize how poorly I manage my time on a regular basis. One would think someone so intelligent and organized, like myself, would surely be smart enough to make sufficient time to get things done…and done well. But no. In an ever failing attempt to rationalize my actions I must simply admit one thing – I’m a procrastinator…but at least I’m darn good at it. After all, it’s truly a rare occasion in which I arrive early or even on time to any event and I don’t remember a single time in my entire academic career I finished an assignment before it was deadline due. I’m right there, 11:59 pm hitting the SUBMIT button. I am in fact a Pretty Pretty Procrastinating Princess.

Being a PPPP, I’ve learned to work exceptionally fast under pressure and I always, typically with the help of some miracle, manage to crank out work sufficient for my needs. No doubt, there is some skill involved, but it has recently come to my attention, somewhat harshly, that perhaps this technique is getting a little tired and by tired I mean me actually being tired…all the time. As it goes, I figure I must somehow become a Punctual Princess but, being that I’ve so long been the wicked stepsister to this seemingly perfect character, I have no clue how to go about it. I would imagine her actions would be basically opposite of mine so that’s a start. BUT what if Punctual Princess me ends up being worse? What if in fact it’s the procrastinating itself that brings about the best fruits of my labor? This would be tragic. I guess there is only one way to know for sure - a scientific experiment and on that note I shall put the shoulder to the wheel and start on the research paper that is due tomorrow.

Backup Plan

2008-03-21T11:37:00.002-05:00

Right after my freshman year at college my roommate and I had to move apartments. We were going back home for the summer and just wanted to store our stuff for a few weeks. We boxed everything up and planned on leaving it in the apartment’s storage cages. Problem: we waited until just a few hours before our flight to make the transfer and it was, of course, locked. Everyone had left. Screwed we were. We asked our friend to come over and help us move the boxes somewhere else but we had no clue where…and we left out that information. As soon as he realized our predicament he shook his head, starred us both down and said in a rather piercing voice with outstanding gestures, “What’s Plan B? What’s your backup plan? You always have to have a backup plan!!!” We burst into a shameful laughter and to this day we’ll often recite this phrase to remind us of our pure lack of planning skills and freshman stupidity.

Since that pivotal moment in my life, I’ve tried to always keep a decent backup plan handy. I'm certainly an advocate of both the philosophy and practice. But too often I get caught up in the moment, incapable of thinking beyond the present and I find myself standing in front of a locked door with no chance of jimmying it open. Quickly I’ll realize the error of my ways and inevitably that voice will enter my mind. I know! Backup plan! Where’s my backup plan!?! That annoying voice is always right but why is it that I only hear it after I get locked outside?

Little Leprechaun

2008-03-17T09:58:00.000-05:00

In honor of St Patty’s Day I thought I’d share just some of the reasons why I’m often mistaken for a leprechaun:

1. The obvious – I have luscious red hair, natural as can be.
2. I’m 5 ft tall – basically already a dwarf.
3. I’ve got a rather high-pitched voice - come on, admit it, you know when you imagine a leprechaun talking they sound like a chipmunk.
4. I’m very very sneaky and super good at hide and seek.
5. I’m giddy for all things gold.
6. I enjoy bouncing around a wee bit.
7. Green looks amazing on me – it’s as if I were born to wear it.
8. I’m sorta unpredictable.
9. Rainbow is my favorite color.
10. Despite my vocal protests I really am just looking for someone to catch me and share my gold (awww).

Fair Play

2008-03-14T11:03:00.005-05:00

Warning: Sentimental Posting

Earlier in the week I took part of the annual tradition: the Texas Fair and Rodeo. There's no shame in saying that my mom guilt me into the excursion by labeling it a "good family bonding activity". I mean really how does one ever get out of that? I'm not sure what made her select the rodeo for our family time but I think it had something to do with the animals. Moms and baby sheep - what can you do?

The trip was off to a great start in the family suburban on the long drive out to the middle of nowhere. My little brothers were in the back playing DS and I was reading so yeah - that's bonding right? Next, we arrive to the fair grounds only to wait in a ridiculously long line where there was only one person selling the tickets and yet there were 5 people standing around waiting to take the tickets you just bought. There was definitely something wrong with that picture. We overpaid for our entrance fee despite having called prior to confirm it would in fact be cheaper to purchase the tickets at the gate - nope, not true - liars! After entering the gates and taking a big whiff of what I can only describe as the 'rodeo smell' we head off to yet another line to get the coveted wristband. With this gold shimmering slip of paper we could now walk the grounds like rock stars getting on absolutely any snap-n-play ride we wanted! And so we proceed with the fair. Still now, I can't really put my finger on it but there is just something slightly off about the people that work at the fair and rodeo. It's never a surprise, just fact. But then again this really only adds to the overall experience - I mean you can't say you've done the fair without actually talking to a few genuine carnies.

Despite my initial protests, it happened, more than once - bursts of laughter left my lips. I was having a great time and so was the rest of the clan. But it wasn't until I was hanging upside down in the Fire Ball with nauseous levels rising exponentially by the second, it occurred to me that it wasn’t the actual rodeo I was enjoying at all - it was in fact my family bringing the grin to my face. My mom was right. We spent a nice day with each other just laughing, chatting, and eating. It didn't matter that I stepped in a ton of poo and that she made me comment on all the pretty little cows sitting in their cages. We were together and together we had an amazing day.

Rodeo recommendations:
Skip the Fire Ball. Yeah it looks way cool but I'm tellin ya...just walk away.
Try the chocolate dipped cheesecake on a stick but don't eat the hotdogs.

BA in BS?

2008-03-11T09:27:00.008-05:00

Communication Studies - my undergraduate degree. It also happens to be one of those degrees in which the moment you drop the title all heads will tilt and then: “Oh, that's interesting...and so what is that exactly?” What a good question – Communication Studies – yes, what is that? I graduated just under 5 years ago and today I still can’t honestly tell you what it really means with much confidence. I can, however, tell you with complete confidence that I'm a college graduate. I met all the requirements to obtain a degree recognized by some high board of intellectuals who have been given, almost mystically, the authority to determine who gets that little piece of paper with the gold seal. Hooray, I have a golden ticket!

The problem is what in the world does this golden ticket get me? I mean, I am now fully qualified to hold any number of middle management positions for the rest of my life. Good times. But did I really push through 4 years of college to now sit in a small cubicle, all day, rattling off the same speech over and over to convince some administrative person that yes, receipts are required for reimbursements. I mean really, are you serious?

Truth is, even though I sometimes question the practical implications of my degree I don't really feel like it was waste at all. I enjoyed my educational pursuits very much. All my upper division classes were filled with theory, in-depth reasoning, and discussion. It was brain heaven and I soaked up every minute of it. There were a lot of other things too; like how to live off $5 a week, that contributed marvelously to my overall development. There is no telling where I'd be without this degree but the struggle now is that I feel as if my job, the job I got because of the degree, has put me in brain hell. I've got to get out. So the real question is - what do you do with a degree you enjoyed obtaining but that doesn't put you anywhere in the real world you want to be? My flawed solution - graduate school. And so it begins again.

Turkey Sandwich

2008-03-08T13:23:00.006-06:00

So yeah, I’m a turkey sandwich kinda girl. Aside from the ridiculously frequent chocolate indulgences, the TS is my comfort food. Yeah, I know it’s a little weird but I’m ok with it. This is how I see it: a turkey sandwich is always safe. I can go into any restaurant, anywhere, anytime and there’s always a turkey sandwich. Well, except for the Mexican places in which case I order the chicken enchiladas which if you think about it is really just the Mexican version of the turkey sandwich.

Recently, I went out with some girlfriends to a nice Italian place. They ordered this crazy appetizer assortment of weird cheeses and meats and then expected me to eat it. I said listen, my taste buds are super shy and sometimes they get really miffed tying crazy stuff. My palette then became the topic of conversation as they forced me to consume the plate of unknown - and yeah it was all pretty good. The consensus was because I never try anything spicier than mild canned salsa or deli turkey my taste buds are like tender little babies and as such quickly suffer from sensory overload. Give em too much and they don't know what's going on. But basically, they agreed, I've done it to myself.

I’ve been thinking about my taste buds a lot and wondering if my safe turkey habits pop up anywhere else in my life. I think I’ve found a few. For the most part I think it's ok to play it safe. It's nice to know what you're gonna get but at the same time I don't know what other amazing things I'm missing out on. So here it goes, I think I'm gonna try to step out of the safe zone and maybe add a little ham...oh or roast beef!

Sizzle

2008-03-03T12:46:00.009-06:00

For the first time in 2008 it happened, I got sunburned. As a typical ultra-light-complected redhead, bright red skin is nothing new for me. During the summer months my skin maintains an almost constant shade of pink which in some respects is a pleasant break from reflective white; however, I wasn’t ready for the pink cycle to begin so early in the year. Usually I can luck it until April before I pull out my enormous supply of SPF but along came a bright, sunny day and I was too eager…ran right out into the world without protection. Luckily it wasn’t too bad this time but it was as if the sun was giving me a little reminder to begin the daily regimen of dousing my skin in SPF 100 before even considering stepping outside. Thanks buddy.

I’ve been reeducated on the incompatibility of redheads and sun many times, it’s a tough lesson. Just last year I spent a good part of the summer drenched in Aloe Vera for I made the biggest redhead mistake, I went to the beach. It’d been quite some time since the sun cooked me so bad my skin actually bubbled and I had forgotten just how painful it is – yeah no, it’s not normal. Oh and not to mention how disgusting you look and feel. I spent two days sprawled out in bed unable to move and had to shower with a shirt on so the water wouldn’t tear off my blistered flesh for the next week – ah such good times (and you’re welcome for the imagery). The truly saddest part of it all is I was in fact wearing sunscreen on the beach, I mean I wasn’t suicidal. The problem is when you combine water, sand, blazing sun and a redhead what you have is a steak. Fact. Now, it may be rather entertaining to watch the poor redhead as she hyper-colors* in the car ride home but despite how fun it is to touch the bright red skin and time how long the white finger prints will remain on the surface keep this in mind: Yes I’m sunburned and yes it hurts so please stop poking me!!!!

Time it takes to burn a redhead with sunscreen: 30 min
Time it takes to burn a redhead without sunscreen: 1.5 seconds

*although I am unable to trademark the term ‘hyper-color’ I can clarify the usage. The term hyper-color references the change occurring between the actual sun burning and the physical demonstration of that burn. It’s rather amazing. The skin will change colors right before your very eyes from pasty white to light pink, pink, hot pink, red and occasionally all the way to purple – and yes, yes I’ve been purple.

Contagious

2008-02-27T15:23:00.007-06:00

About a year ago a friend sent me a link to an interesting and hilarious website dedicated solely to the disbursement of helpful information regarding the ‘gingerkids’ aka redheads. I recently ran across this website again and one of my favorite FAQ’s is “Are we contagious?” Being an inquisitive person, I decided to address the issue on a more serious note. Contagious – yes we are. But is it possible our potency is wearing thin?

There have been millions of redhead studies throughout time but today I focus on a groundbreaking study conducted by the Oxford Hair Foundation. Based on their scientific findings, redheads will drastically decrease by 2060 and could be extinct by 2100. {gasps} The problem is we are one big recessive genebomb – no one really knows when a gingerkid will pop up and there is a chance that even those of use already red won’t produce any more. Turns out only 4% of the world’s population carries the red-hair gene. Now I’m not really good will all the genetics but I know those ain't the kinda odds you bet on. We are quickly loosing the battle to those dang dominant brown-hair genes!

So there are plenty of other articles refuting this horrific declaration but I find myself feeling a strong sense of obligation – as if it’s my life duty to protect our race. I must provide heirs to ensure redheads will always be available for the world’s viewing pleasure and overall general happiness. In order to secure a redheaded family, there is only one guarantee: two redheads must mate. So this is now my mission and I’m off on the hunt...to save America.

Gift of Gab

2008-02-25T13:10:00.005-06:00

Rather recently (within a week’s time), I was told by two separate individuals in two entirely different situations that I have the “Gift of Gab”. Now, I must admit my initial reaction was that of the abrasive persuasion – I mean naturally, right. To me the term ‘gab’ carried some seriously negative connotations. Someone who gabs is annoying, trivial and subpar in both intelligence and humor. In all honesty I have no idea where this definition came from, sometimes I just make things up and so I was immediately repulsed by this comment. After a few minutes of unnecessary accusations in extremely high decibels, I was pulled down from my misconceptions. It was in fact a compliment, Steph. Talking to people is a good thing.

One must qualify: like any other gift it must be used (correctly) to provide gratification. Using the gift of gab recklessly is a hazard of which I’ve suffered many, many times. Note to self: some thoughts are really better just left up there. When used properly, however, the gift of gab can set others at ease, turn awkward situations into interactive comedy clubs and reinforce a level of personal communication that has too often disappeared these days.

An overused saying comes to mind: "Better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool than to open it and remove all doubt." In my case this is absolutely true. There is no way anyone would ever doubt that I say stupid things, it’s a daily habit. The beauty is the stupid things don’t really hurt if you’re quick enough to move on to topics of a more humorous, irrelevant nature. I call this the “Topic Tango” * and if it were a competition there would be a plethora of gold cups on my shelf. Keeping people on their feet is just what I do (and yes, I will always try to lead). Sometimes people are lost in the transition but most of the time there is enough gabbing to maintain appropriate levels of both intrigue and entertainment. It’s a skill.

Because of this wonderful gift you can always count on the redhead in the room to have something to say – you just may not care to hear it. From now on I’ll continue to embrace my gift and although it may never be perfect I’ve got it so I’ll be sure to share it...whenever and wherever.

*Topic Tango is a trademark phrase. Keep in mind the analogy can only go so far. Use with caution and don’t get all crazy with it.

Temper Tantrum

2008-02-21T14:31:00.000-06:00

People often associate redheads with inexplicable fits of rage or outbursts of fiery fury. I’m not gonna lie I am asked, rather frequently, if I have a temper. The answer is yes, yes I do and I’ll be the first to admit it.

Now, I’m not sure exactly if the red hair is nature’s way of providing a warning label to the innocent or if the hair is the physical manifest of the inherent boiling core; but it’s true, I am a firecracker in both appearance and temperament. Embracing true red-headedness means you have to appreciate the explosive nature of our character and as a breathing testament to this surprisingly accurate stereo type I do my best to live up to the ever growing expectations. I've learned to cut down my reaction time to record breaking levels which allows me to provide an optimal range of both irrational and humorous tirades at the slightest provocation.

Most of my close friends have learned to gage the ‘redbomb’ temperatures and once this skill is mastered it's rather easy maintain a safety zone in which everyone can enjoy an environment of light giggles and playful banter. TIP: the eyes are a thermometer to the soul - you can always tell how hot the core is by how fast the eyes are flashing flecks of fire. Unfortunately if you are close enough to obtain an accurate reading... you're in the danger zone.

Some say my firecracker personality is precious at a distance and others are truly terrified. Truthfully you don't need to be afraid of me you just need to put on some flame retardant gear.

Red is always IN

2007-11-24T21:51:00.001-06:00

As a natural born redhead, I find that I have very strong feelings about my heritage and I figured it was about time I share these red tidbits with the world...so hold on, things are about to go RED!!