This morning I found a gray hair. Not even silver or white--gray. So, it's all over now. I'll just have to endure this darkness for the next seventy years.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Friday, January 27, 2012
Couch-to-5K Running Plan
Lies! All lies! This website was my plan to run a 5K with my friend Megan. I started out strong, averaging about a 20-minute run/walk for the first few weeks. But the next horrible step is to run for three minutes straight. Can't do it.
I was getting pretty discouraged, so I took a step back to see what was wrong with me and I realized that I was trying to run a 10-minute mile for 30 minutes (according to the website strategy) and my poor body is just not used to running at that speed for that amount of time. So I started running at 4.5 mph instead, and I made it to 30 minutes with only a little ragged breathing and shaky limbs. Every day I've been increasing my speed. Right now I'm at 5.0 but I hurt my knee so I can't run the full 30 minutes, but I did 25 minutes quite nicely. Barely even broke a sweat this time, which was a first.
So my new plan is to slowly build up to the speed I need. I'd like at least a 5.4, though a true 6.0 (or 10-minute mile) speed would be amazing.
April 28th is the date of the 5K and all are welcome to pay the reasonable entrance fee and join me and Megan at Thanksgiving Point. It'll be liberating.
I was getting pretty discouraged, so I took a step back to see what was wrong with me and I realized that I was trying to run a 10-minute mile for 30 minutes (according to the website strategy) and my poor body is just not used to running at that speed for that amount of time. So I started running at 4.5 mph instead, and I made it to 30 minutes with only a little ragged breathing and shaky limbs. Every day I've been increasing my speed. Right now I'm at 5.0 but I hurt my knee so I can't run the full 30 minutes, but I did 25 minutes quite nicely. Barely even broke a sweat this time, which was a first.
So my new plan is to slowly build up to the speed I need. I'd like at least a 5.4, though a true 6.0 (or 10-minute mile) speed would be amazing.
April 28th is the date of the 5K and all are welcome to pay the reasonable entrance fee and join me and Megan at Thanksgiving Point. It'll be liberating.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Walmart Letter
Dear Mrs. Denner,
Over the past six months, your husband has been causing quite a commotion in our store. We cannot tolerate this behaviour and may be forced to ban both of you from the store. Our complaints against Mr. Denner are listed below and are documented by our video surveillance cameras.
June 15: Took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in people's carts when they weren't looking.
July 2: Set all the alarm clocks in House-wares to go off at 5-minute intervals
July 7: Made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the women's restroom.
July 19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official voice, "Code 3 in House-wares. Get on it right away."
August 4: Went to the Service Desk and tried to put a bag of M&M's on layaway.
September 14: Moved a "CAUTION - WET FLOOR" sign to a carpeted area.
September 15: Set up a tent in the camping department and told other shoppers he'd invite them in if they would bring pillows and blankets from the bedding department.
September 23: When a clerk asked if they could help him he began crying and screamed, "Why can't you people just leave me alone?"
October 4: Looked right into the security camera and used it as a mirror while he picked his nose.
November 10: While handling guns in the hunting department, he asked the clerk where the antidepressants were.
December 3: Darted around the store suspiciously while loudly humming the "Mission Impossible" theme.
December 6: In the auto department, he practiced his "Madonna look" by using different sizes of funnels.
December 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed through, yelled "PICK ME! PICK ME!"
December 21: When an announcement came over the loud speaker, he assumed a fatal position and screamed "OH NO! IT'S THOSE VOICES AGAIN!"
December 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited awhile, and then yelled very loudly, "Hey! There's no toilet paper in here!"
Once again we cannot tolerate this behaviour in our store.
Regards, Wal-Mart
Monday, January 23, 2012
Chocolate: The Love-Hate Relationship
So I'm human. I have weaknesses. Some of them are very, very apparent.
In fifth grade, my teacher nicknamed me Chocolate Girl. Not very inventive, but decidedly accurate. He used to buy fun-sized chocolate bars to give to people who answered questions and really helped participate in the discussion. I was the most active 10-year-old academic you ever saw.
Then I moved on to junior high, where the highlight of that awful, awful experience was saving up 75 cents to buy a chocolate bar during lunch. I didn't always get it, but man did it make my day better when I had the money. I think about 7th grade was when those sour skittles came out in a big way. EVERYone had them during lunch. The snack shop ran out of them daily, they were that popular. So while everyone was sitting around munching on tart, gross candy, I'd buy the lone chocolate bar and be blissfully happy. Chocolate IS bliss, you know.
My sisters tried to quell my chocolove. Nicole told me it would give me pimples. Rachel said it would make me fat. I ignored them. (One of them was more correct than the other, but we'll just skirt over that issue, shall we.) I loved chocolate and it loved me and we would always be together.
Well, for the most part, we have. It's been a rocky few years now that I'm in my 20s. When I studied abroad in Wales I discovered all kinds of candies that used magic for chocolate and I think I gained like 20 pounds of bliss. It was wonderful carting that blissful 20-pound memory around with me for a couple of months after I returned from the UK. But that's part of the problem with chocolate--I love it and it loves me, but it's too clingy. Sometimes it acts like it owns me, you know? Like my body is not my own, but chocolate's.
It's harder now, too, trying to balance my time between my two loves (chocolate and what's-his-name, that guy I married). Chocolate and I have sometimes not been on speaking terms. Sometimes when I tried to break up with chocolate, I'd cry in the middle of the night and chocolate would hear and come to me. Chocolate and I are best friends and no matter how many times I sever ties, chocolate always comes back, comforting me and helping me realize that I'll never be alone. Because I have chocolate.
I love chocolate. I hate chocolate. I'm eating chocolate right now. *sigh*
In fifth grade, my teacher nicknamed me Chocolate Girl. Not very inventive, but decidedly accurate. He used to buy fun-sized chocolate bars to give to people who answered questions and really helped participate in the discussion. I was the most active 10-year-old academic you ever saw.
Then I moved on to junior high, where the highlight of that awful, awful experience was saving up 75 cents to buy a chocolate bar during lunch. I didn't always get it, but man did it make my day better when I had the money. I think about 7th grade was when those sour skittles came out in a big way. EVERYone had them during lunch. The snack shop ran out of them daily, they were that popular. So while everyone was sitting around munching on tart, gross candy, I'd buy the lone chocolate bar and be blissfully happy. Chocolate IS bliss, you know.
My sisters tried to quell my chocolove. Nicole told me it would give me pimples. Rachel said it would make me fat. I ignored them. (One of them was more correct than the other, but we'll just skirt over that issue, shall we.) I loved chocolate and it loved me and we would always be together.
Well, for the most part, we have. It's been a rocky few years now that I'm in my 20s. When I studied abroad in Wales I discovered all kinds of candies that used magic for chocolate and I think I gained like 20 pounds of bliss. It was wonderful carting that blissful 20-pound memory around with me for a couple of months after I returned from the UK. But that's part of the problem with chocolate--I love it and it loves me, but it's too clingy. Sometimes it acts like it owns me, you know? Like my body is not my own, but chocolate's.
It's harder now, too, trying to balance my time between my two loves (chocolate and what's-his-name, that guy I married). Chocolate and I have sometimes not been on speaking terms. Sometimes when I tried to break up with chocolate, I'd cry in the middle of the night and chocolate would hear and come to me. Chocolate and I are best friends and no matter how many times I sever ties, chocolate always comes back, comforting me and helping me realize that I'll never be alone. Because I have chocolate.
I love chocolate. I hate chocolate. I'm eating chocolate right now. *sigh*
Thursday, January 12, 2012
New Semester, Old Problems
Officially I have survived the first week of school. A class every night and homework in between classes and work. It was a hard week and you won't believe the homework I have, but that's not what I want to write about.
So my Tuesday night is a marriage class and the professor assigned us to read his original manuscript that he barely finished in time for the semester. That's not all that unusual because lots of my history professors write history books for the courses they teach and then assign them to us for free so I save money by not having to purchase the textbook.Well this class started out with all of us introducing ourselves, and I mentioned I was an editor and working on my minor in editing. The professor asked to see me after class.
He had a proposition for me! If I agreed to edit his book (the one every student had to read anyway), he would first excuse me from having to write the midterm paper, and in addition he would look into maybe paying me out of some department funds. This, too, is not out of the ordinary because my last editing gig at BYU was a random professor using department funds. Pretty mainstream stuff, actually. So I agreed, copied his manuscript onto my lappy, and went home.
Jump to Wednesday night. It had been an entire 22 hours since my marriage class with the writer-professor. I had gotten up at 6, taken Josh to Trax, gone to work, done some homework for a couple of other classes, driven down to BYU, attended a 3-hour class, purchased a textbook, driven back up to Murray, filled the tank with gas, and picked up Josh at work. As soon as I got home for the first time that day, after 8 p.m., I opened my email and wouldn't you know it, the professor had emailed me that day. His email said something to this effect: "Camilla, I need you to send me the completed introduction and first two chapters so I can upload them to Blackboard tonight. Let me know what you've got. Thanks, BB"
Awesome. I had managed to work on his draft a little bit during the day, but only like 10 pages, not the 30 needed to fulfill his requirement. And he had given me no deadline or any inclination that he was in a desperate rush to receive the manuscript back, so I was completely baffled and totally stressed out. I was on a time-crunch already from my schoolwork and I did not have time that night to edit after I read my science chapters, completed my science homework, and kicked Josh off my online statistics textbook.
So I got up at 4 this morning, edited his work, and emailed it before I went to work. At least I know now the kind of time-frame he wants me to work in, but I have to finish his next 160 pages really, really soon on top of reading 400 pages for my various other classes and completing a handful of assignments and one ten-page research paper, all before I go out of town on Saturday. Now I remember why I burned out the last semester I took at BYU.
The moral of the story is:
Kids: Stay in school, but don't attend school while accepting freelance work on top of your full-time job. That's just dumb.
So my Tuesday night is a marriage class and the professor assigned us to read his original manuscript that he barely finished in time for the semester. That's not all that unusual because lots of my history professors write history books for the courses they teach and then assign them to us for free so I save money by not having to purchase the textbook.Well this class started out with all of us introducing ourselves, and I mentioned I was an editor and working on my minor in editing. The professor asked to see me after class.
He had a proposition for me! If I agreed to edit his book (the one every student had to read anyway), he would first excuse me from having to write the midterm paper, and in addition he would look into maybe paying me out of some department funds. This, too, is not out of the ordinary because my last editing gig at BYU was a random professor using department funds. Pretty mainstream stuff, actually. So I agreed, copied his manuscript onto my lappy, and went home.
Jump to Wednesday night. It had been an entire 22 hours since my marriage class with the writer-professor. I had gotten up at 6, taken Josh to Trax, gone to work, done some homework for a couple of other classes, driven down to BYU, attended a 3-hour class, purchased a textbook, driven back up to Murray, filled the tank with gas, and picked up Josh at work. As soon as I got home for the first time that day, after 8 p.m., I opened my email and wouldn't you know it, the professor had emailed me that day. His email said something to this effect: "Camilla, I need you to send me the completed introduction and first two chapters so I can upload them to Blackboard tonight. Let me know what you've got. Thanks, BB"
Awesome. I had managed to work on his draft a little bit during the day, but only like 10 pages, not the 30 needed to fulfill his requirement. And he had given me no deadline or any inclination that he was in a desperate rush to receive the manuscript back, so I was completely baffled and totally stressed out. I was on a time-crunch already from my schoolwork and I did not have time that night to edit after I read my science chapters, completed my science homework, and kicked Josh off my online statistics textbook.
So I got up at 4 this morning, edited his work, and emailed it before I went to work. At least I know now the kind of time-frame he wants me to work in, but I have to finish his next 160 pages really, really soon on top of reading 400 pages for my various other classes and completing a handful of assignments and one ten-page research paper, all before I go out of town on Saturday. Now I remember why I burned out the last semester I took at BYU.
The moral of the story is:
Kids: Stay in school, but don't attend school while accepting freelance work on top of your full-time job. That's just dumb.
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