Jots and Tittles

Best Professor Ever

2012-02-01T07:32:00.000-08:00

So I have this religion professor this semester (the same one whose book I'm editing). He's pretty cool. He knows I'm pretty busy, because I try to squeeze out a couple chapters of edited copy each week in addition to my work and school schedules. Yesterday before class I shot him an email letting him know that I might be late because I had to take a midterm after work but before his class. He said I sounded busy and wondered if he could help, which made me shrug my shoulders and ignore the email. What can he do? He can't make my professors stop giving me homework.

So after class that night he called me aside and told me that I would get an A in the class, that I would take the final but not be required to have to study for it, that I should still read the text for the course but that I would not be tested on it, and that I am no longer required to provide a chapter summary each week. So basically, I have to work on editing his book and I have to keep showing up for class.

Score.

I have never had a professor cut me this kind of slack before. And I didn't even tell him how stressed out I was--he just sort of knew and wanted to make it easier on me. He's the best ever.

AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

2012-01-30T09:30:00.001-08:00

It happened. My life is over. This is it.

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.

Couch-to-5K Running Plan

2012-01-27T13:44:00.000-08:00

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.

Walmart Letter

2012-01-25T09:34:00.000-08:00

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

Chocolate: The Love-Hate Relationship

2012-01-23T14:58:00.000-08:00

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*

New Semester, Old Problems

2012-01-12T13:36:00.000-08:00

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.

Text Messages

2011-06-19T12:06:00.000-07:00

Today is Father's Day and in sacrament meeting Josh got to pick out a candy bar (Snickers with almonds). He had a ppi right after church, so he asked me to hold his candy while I waited. Bored, I texted this message to a group of family members:

"Josh got a candy bar for father's day and then asked me to hold it for him while he had his ppi. Idiot. :)"

These are the various responses I got back:

"Lol. That's hilarious! What kind of candy bar WAS it?"

"Haha he has much to learn. What is ppi?"

"Newby!!!"

"Bwahahha!"

"So it would be better to say that YOU got a candy bar for Father's Day. Right?"

"Both Mum and I agree. Maybe he did that in purpose. As a gift?"

I would just like to say that I did NOT eat his chocolate. I'm a good person.

Cranberry Juice

2011-04-17T20:50:00.000-07:00

Friday night Josh and I traded in our date night for a total recall of our apartment...AKA we deep-cleaned the whole place. We did an enormous amount of laundry, I taught Josh how to clean the bathroom properly, I made the tile floors shine, and we generally organized and picked up our entire apartment. It was exhausting but so satisfying to wake up Saturday morning in freshly laundered sheets in a sunny room that was finally devoid of excess papers and clothes.

Did I mention that I swept and mopped all the tile? I even moved all the furniture out of the kitchen so I could get at every nook (but not the crannies--I leave those alone). So imagine my distress when Saturday afternoon I pulled out a brand new bottle of icky cranberry juice to drink (my doctor says it's good for you) and shook it--right out of my hands. It slipped out and smashed full-force all over my newly cleaned floor. Plus it was a seven-dollar bottle of gross juice, so that really bothered me. It was only later as I bemoaned the sticky, stained, glass-strewn tile that I realized a stupid chunk of glass had smacked my knuckle so hard that it caused an immediate bruise. Then later, as I mopped up the sticky mess and picked up the giant pieces of glass, I found the streak of juice on my ankle and toe wasn't juice--that stupid bottle had cut me twice. I hate getting cut.

Later, as I looked at the floor and cupboards to make sure I hadn't missed any juice, I realized that my first mopping wasn't good enough. Although it took out the red stain, it left a sticky residue that Josh didn't notice in his sock-covered feet (Quit walking around in socks, Josh!) but that I couldn't ignore. I had to mop it all over again. Saturday was not a fun day for me.

Hoarders

2011-04-16T12:43:00.000-07:00

Rachel's facebook status today mentioned the television show Hoarders, which I had never heard of, so Josh and I watched the first episode. My thoughts on the show:

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I never, ever, EVER want to be like those people! One woman on the show had rotting food for years just all over her house. This other woman had laundry carpeting her stairs all the way down to the basement.

I'm a little bit of a clutter-freak anyway, so this show really struck a nerve. I don't need my living space to be spotless--continuously disinfected, swept, mopped, and dusted--per se, but I DO need it to be open and uncluttered. Everything needs to have a place and if it doesn't have a place, it needs to be thrown away. If I can't wear the clothes or shoes, they're given to DI. If I can't fit the clothes or shoes into the closet, I give more clothes to DI. I don't like books just sitting on the table or papers cluttering up the counter--they need to be put away or thrown away so I can have that open, uncluttered apartment. It's especially important to me to have "unclutteredness" (or as I like to call it: "Utter Bliss") because our apartment is already so small. It's easy to let things pile up and around us when there's very little room to fit it all, but we don't let it because it's evil and wants to destroy all happiness. Also, clutter likes to eat small children. And it invites Dementors into your home.

After the show ended, Josh was so spooked that he said he wanted to get rid of some of his old t-shirts. Works for me--we're cleaning out our closet today to make a DI run. Also, we took a tentative and very apprehensive peek into our fridge--very sparse and clean. No rotting vegetables from 4-24 months ago. *whew*

Seriously, I don't think we're at risk for the kinds of hoarding behavior shown in that awful episode from hell, but even so, we're gonna get rid of a few things. No sense wasting the lesson and that feeling of rising panic and utter terror.

Othelleos

2011-04-08T16:37:00.000-07:00

I cannot play the game Othello without craving Oreos. It has become a legitimate issue in my life. I seriously love the game, but something about those black and white discs makes me crave Oreos in the worst way. It's gotten to the point where I had to tell Josh that I wouldn't play the game anymore unless we had Oreos to eat while I play. He didn't fight that stipulation one bit. He's such a support to me.

A Day in the Life of New Student Support

2011-04-06T18:50:00.001-07:00

I sit next door to my friend Janelle. Today a lady called Janelle and asked for help completing her taxes. We are not the IRS, we are the financial aid department. So Janelle explains, “I’m sorry, but we’re not authorized to tell you what to put on your taxes.”

The lady rebuts, “I just want to know what to put to make sure I get my financial aid.”

Right. We’re all certain you do want that, but it is illegal for us to force-feed you information to put on your taxes. It’s illegal for ANYONE to give you that information. Do your own taxes, lady—you’re a grown woman!

Janelle doesn’t say any of these things. She simply repeats, “We’re not authorized to tell you what to put on your taxes.”

The lady insists that someone is. “Well maybe YOU aren’t. Put me through to someone who can help me.”

Janelle remains calm. “Who would you like to speak with?

“A supervisor. Get me to your supervisor.”

So Janelle politely transfers the student to our team lead, Jennifer. Jennifer sits on the other side of my cubicle’s wall, so I can’t see her, but I can hear her.

“Financial aid, this is Jennifer…I’m sorry, you want what? No, that’s against federal regulation. You’ll have to see a tax professional to get that kind of help…”

Then the student hung up. Good riddance to people who don’t listen!

Hip Hip Hooray!

2011-04-06T18:46:00.000-07:00

Growing up at our house, food was your own responsibility for the most part. My mom provided regular dinners and otherwise the cupboards had ample supplies for you to get your own breakfast and make your own school lunch. (I liked the independence, but I grew sorely tired of PB&Js after first grade, lemme tell you.) Anyhoo, the point is that whatever food was available in the fridge and cupboards was up for grabs. Except for the unspoken rule: nobody touched the baby’s food. It didn’t matter who the baby was—there was always one or two lying around. And since the rest of us could eat anything in the cupboard, but babies can only eat specially-made colored goop in jars and those Arrowroot cookies , the food purchased especially for the baby was sacred.

Oh sure, every now and then one of us would sneak a jar of baby food (I LOVED the banana stuff, and some of the other weirdos in my family liked that apple flavor. Nobody touched the carrots) but for the most part, the baby food was left for the baby. Except, on very special nights when my mom was just too tired to feed us anything else, we got to eat…baby cereal!

I honestly have no idea what it’s really called. No wait, I just looked it up. They call it Rice Cereal. How very generic of them. Officially, it’s called “Gerber Rice Cereal for Baby”, otherwise known as baby cereal. And man, is that stuff magical.

We ate it with sugar and milk like any other boring, bland cereal and the texture was just too fun for words. It’s mushy and mixy and just fun to play with. I loved it then and still love it now. Whenever I’m sick or snackish or have a stomach-eating bacteria that curbs my appetite and makes me nauseous, I can count on baby cereal to be there for me. Loving me. Filling me up with bland mush that sits satisfactorily on my stomach without making me want to throw up. Three cheers for baby cereal!

Genie-ology

2011-04-05T19:54:00.000-07:00

So my latest BYU Independent Study class is a historical research class, otherwise known as genealogy. I have to pick two southern states and conduct some research using the principles and techniques I find in my coursework to discover new things about my ancestors. Well up until I yesterday, I didn't know I had any family who lived in the south. My great-grandmother was born in Alabama and two of my great-great-grandfathers fought for the Confederacy. I can't wait to find out if they fought against my mom's Irish ancestors during the Civil War. How cool would that be? That'd make my parents Romeo and Juliet except not dead.

Aside from the parts relative to my own personal history, I'm not finding much enjoyment with this class. It teaches nothing of genies and I don't know how to use the resources they describe in the reference section. Time to consult the only person who knows as much about genealogy as God does...to be continued.

Internet

2011-03-27T15:12:00.000-07:00

Well...we bit the bullet and finally paid for internet. I hate the idea of having another bill every month but man, it is pretty sweet to turn on the computer and have something to do. So...this is what I do now. Almost 24 hours since we've had the internet, I've signed up for Netflix, gotten bored with facebook, and watched more tv than any person should. Frankly though, it's just that I haven't watched a whole lot of tv in the past six months. I've discovered I haven't been missing much and also that a lot of television is wildly inappropriate. Even stuff I used to enjoy is obviously bad and I can't believe I ever thought it was funny.

We decided to keep the internet anyway. At least Josh can do his online classes at home now.

Update

2011-03-14T18:37:00.000-07:00

Holy cow--I haven't updated this blog in over six months! I meant to finish telling you guys about my camping adventures with Becca but I lost the pictures I took of our Valley of Fire campsite, which is too bad since we took baby Ben with us and it was flippin' adorable. That kid is hilarious in a tent.

I guess I'll just have to update you on everything that's been going on. I got a new job. I moved to a new state. I got married.

That's it. Nothing special, I guess. Oh, I finally got a letter from College of Southern Nevada telling me I'm eligible to graduate this May. That's hilarious because, save for one class I didn't realize I needed and which I took this past July, I've been done and out of CSN since 2007. But that's cool. It'll be nice to graduate from something.

And now, to talk about some REAL news: Josh and I are going to SUPER FAMILY FUN DAY this year! The annual Parshall "vacation" will include all of the old favorites--mystery lunch, pool baseball, book run, and chocolate factory--but with a new twist on the traditional wardrobe. Instead of our regular matching t-shirts, we're going to have a LOGO on our matching t-shirts! We'll be full-on legit this year.

Oh, and I'm officially jealous of Stephen because he's living on the Ronald Reagan, the single coolest ship in the US Navy, and he's in Japan helping after their earthquake. So, so, so jealous. Heather had a baby. Rachel is the self-appointed secretary of the Super Family Fun Day planning committee. Allyse is pregnant. Becca is coming to visit next month. Sarah got some money, so she can finally pay for a few AP classes I didn't even know she was taking. Stuff is happening all around.

Well, that's the update. Maybe next time I won't wait quite so long to write a blog. But then again, I'm pretty good at this procrastination thing...

Camping Trip, Part 1

2010-09-16T19:51:00.000-07:00

So Becca and I went camping Tuesday night to Mt. Charleston. It was really fun. I drove and Becca tried to dump water out of the passenger side window and sprayed the window and herself. That made the trip more fun.

Then we set up camp. It looked real official. We took our dumb dog but she was miserably afraid of the fire, so we had to tie her to the grill. I felt a little bad but that wore off after an hour of incessant whining.

We were all kinds of excited to prove that we could build a fire and cook a dinner and survive like real women. It took a little while to recall all that junk they forced us to learn from Church-mandated girls' camp, but we got that fire going. I made Becca call me lord of the flame for the rest of the evening.

She had to use my dad's extraordinarily dull hatchet to chop up some of the firewood we bought and make kindling. Then I made fire like a pro. We were totally awesome.

Then we cooked dinner, which was hot dogs and beans. We even boiled water to make hot chocolate. It was the quaintest campsite ever. I made Becca take a picture of my pie tin and I photographed the hot dogs being turned into dinner.

Then we tried to make s'mores, but our hershey bars had melted during the incredibly hot car ride up the mountain, so we stuck then in the cooler and they froze all funny and by then we were too tired to make them anyway. It was a great night.

Later that night we used Indy as a space heater in our tent while we watched Prince of Persia on my laptop. Aside from a midnight visit to the pitch-black, non-flushing toilets (where Latrine Man lives), it was an uneventful night. Breakfast is always harder to make than dinner, so I won't go into that whole affair, but we got home safe and sound and made ready for our desert camping trip that next night.

It's Not About The Religion

2010-09-12T15:39:00.000-07:00

"My major concern with moving it [the location of the Muslim center] is that the headline in the Muslim world will be Islam is under attack in America, this will strengthen the radicals in the Muslim world, help their recruitment, this will put our people — our soldiers, our troops, our embassies, our citizens — under attack in the Muslim world and we have expanded and given and fueled terrorism," he said.

This was the response Imam Rauf gave to the idea of moving the Muslim center farther away from the location of the 9/11 terrorist attack. I found his words mildly threatening and don't much appreciate him saying that he has to keep the center in a controversial location to prevent Muslim extremists from attacking Americans out of rage. This IS America, right? We have the freedom and intelligence to believe, think, act, and feel the way we want without fear of vicious attack from those who would impose a different belief on us. This is not a struggling country, or one mired by a regime. We are strong and independent and accepting of ALL religions--Christianity included--and not just the religions that are currently the most politically correct. So whether you agree or disagree about the current location of the planned center, everyone can agree that cowing under a threat of attack is not something Americans did in the past or believe in today.

We should be welcoming to other religions, yet strong in our Christian beliefs. We should do away with the ignorant fear of the Muslim religion in our country as it does no one any good and is a danger to many. But we should also make darn sure we are not so "understanding and open to new ideas" that we forget the ideals on which we used to stand firm. We built this country on righteous principles, and those principles ring true today and forever, if we could only remember and keep them. It's one thing to love our Muslim brethren, and another thing to throw away our own beliefs and embrace Islam.

What I see happening today where religion and political correctness are concerned is the same kind of reverse discrimination that we've all endured before. Women were not equal in the workplace, so now they get all kinds of advancements and benefits in the name of forced equality. Blacks, Hispanics, Native Americans, and any number of other ethnic groups and minorities were discriminated against so now they have an easier time of it when they apply for promotions, scholarships, and grants. That is not equality. And neither is America bowing to the Muslim religion or any smaller, extremist faction of that religion. We do not back down on our principles to appease angry, threatening people. We do not allow them to scare us into submission the way the extremists do in their own countries. We know how great our country is, and it's high time we stop apologizing for it. You hear that, President? Stop bowing to other princes and apologizing for our capitalism or democracy. We're amazing!

That nutjob pastor and his 50 parishioners are simply wrong in their threat to have a burn-a-Koran day. We all know that. But I'm certain that many people, myself included, feel the way they do: that America has done enough to tiptoe around sensitive religions and that maybe our viewpoints should be respected first in this country. Those crazy Floridians are frustrated, and I am too, but our frustration is not at the teachings of the Koran--it's not about the religion--but at the leaders in this country who do not put America first in their policies and actions, and at those in other countries who try to force us to our knees with political correctness. We cannot allow America to become mockable or disrespected. We have a legacy to uphold, after all.

Shortest and Longest Trip Ever

2010-08-25T19:57:00.001-07:00

Wow, I'm tired. Here's what happened last night.

Around 9:30 (Utah time) I bought a bunch of junk food at a gas station while filling up so I could stay awake on my way back home. Josh likes to drink energy drinks to keep him awake, but for me, it's always been chewing. On the way up I took down an entire bag of sonic ice. It was glorious, but I also had to have the heater on the whole way up. On the way back down, it was chips, twizzlers, and bubble gum. I learned that nothing is as effective as ice.

I made it to Fillmore before I just had to pull over or die, so I pulled over. I figured I'd sleep for maybe 30 minutes and then jump back onto the interstate. At 12:32 am (my time) I woke up completely frozen and stiff. It was flippin' chilly outside! I forgot that Utah gets cold at night even during the summer, so I was completely surprised by how miserable I was as I straightened the seat and turned the car back on.

From there, it was almost a straight shot home. I stopped in Cedar City to gas up at the Love's. I love Love's because it's huge, brightly lit, and always busy. It makes me feel a little bit safer to be around a bunch of strangers. But this time, Love's was totally empty! I was afraid the store was closed, but luckily it wasn't. I think it was around 2 or 2:30 so nobody was in it but me and a couple of creeper guys. I bought a cup of ice and hurried outta there.

On the way back to the interstate, I switched on my dying phone and listened to one of the most hilarious voicemails I've ever heard. I hope Rachel decides to blog about Jonathan's Ambien experience last night, because he drunk dialed and started singing and slurring on my answering machine. It made me just cry, it was so funny.

Then my phone died. That sucked.

The rest of the trip also sucked. I get really bored while driving long-distance and that makes me sleepy. The ice kept me going until after the gorge, and then I just kinda had to suck it up for the last stretch. So I did, but it felt like the longest trip in the world. Once I got into town around 5 (my time), I filled up one last time just to make sure my mom had a full tank before I returned the car. Rhonda's a thirsty beast, btw.

Anyhoo, then I plugged in my phone and collapsed into bed. And I'm still tired. The End.

Marriage Shouldn't Be This Tough

2010-08-22T21:17:00.000-07:00

So more drama over more reception plans tonight. I was so tired of explaining and arguing and explaining some more (my mom especially needs a lot of explaining for her to understand), that I tried to convince Josh to let me just cancel the whole stupid thing. He tried a "compromise" and said we could maybe have one in Utah and none in Vegas. Like that wouldn't piss off everyone I know. I hate receptions; I hate everything about them. I just want to marry some random dude--why do we have to throw an expensive, stressful party over it? Gah!

Night of the Endless Receptions

2010-08-22T13:40:00.000-07:00

So yesterday at 5:00 a.m. I woke up very startlingly from a terribly vivid nightmare. I don't often dream, I rarely remember them, and this is the first nightmare in recollection that featured me as the helpless victim to a crime. I am never the victim in my dreams.

Anyhoo, this awful, horrible, frightening nightmare woke me up at 5:00 a.m. and I was so shaken from it that I couldn't get back to sleep. So I stayed away for the next five hours, got ready for work, and left at 9:30. I got stuck at work for an hour and a half longer than I normally am because two walk-ins wanted to be fitted. I was ecstatic to dress them because I LOVE fitting men for tuxes, but that meant Becca (my ride) had to wait a really long time in the back sewing room for me to finish helping them because I couldn't leave the manager there by herself. That sucked for Becca and I felt so bad that it kinda sucked for me too. Then it really sucked for the both of us when we tried to get onto the 15 and found out there was a horrible accident on Sahara (there's always an accident on Sahara) and it was rush-hour and we weren't moving. We didn't move for about an hour but then we got home in 45 min after that, so it was all good, I guess.

The point of my rambling is that work was very long and busy and I had been up for a very long time. I was tired and my feet hurt and I could have eaten an entire horse (not the meat because that's gross, but all four of his horseshoes, easily) by the time I got home. Good thing I found out that three of my family's friends had their receptions that night.

So instead of sitting down and taking off my shoes, I wolfed down some food and raced out to Rhonda, where I was whisked off along with my parents and a couple-a spare sisters to the first reception.

The three receptions were all very nice, but at each one I spoke with at least two people who asked me if I was getting ideas from all the reception set-ups. Not really, I thought. Why would I want to use someone else's ideas? What--did they think I'd be calling up the groom the next day to find out if I could borrow their twinkle lights? Maybe I should have brought a notebook and jotted down some themes, I don't know. I thought I was there to offer my support of the new couple, but I guess not. I was supposed to be working. Don't they know that's Bob and Nicole's job? Goodness.

IOU

2010-08-19T02:16:00.001-07:00

Dear Becca,

You made a bet with me that I couldn't clean our entire room by myself. You even bet me ten bucks that I couldn't clean it. You went to sleep laughing at my pathetic attempts to make a dent in your huge piles of unorganized laundry and your stack-o-stuff in the closet, on the desk, on your dresser. Well you're quite literally snoring in bed right now, and I'm sitting in a perfectly spotless room. I took a break to talk to Josh, but other than that, I sorted, organized, and filled two trash bags with all kinds of your junk all night. By the way, you're a full-fledged packrat. Some things are meant to be thrown away--trust me. Just let go of those old achievement days awards. You were ten. Times have changed.

I even made time to organize my mail and change my sheets. My laundry's washing right now and I think I'll take a shower before trying to go to bed. You're gonna be surprised when you wake up. Don't bother looking for those popsicle sticks; I threw them away. You'll thank me in a couple of weeks when you realize you never use them. You're welcome.

You owe me ten bucks.

Blue Badge of Stupid

2010-08-18T09:29:00.000-07:00

So at work last Friday I was walking through the wedding dresses to get to the front desk, and the racks are positioned really close together, so I was squeezing through rather quickly to avoid getting claustrophobic. I was going so quickly, it seems, that I failed to notice the rack of bowties hanging up on the wall, the one with hooks that jut out two inches. My arm noticed them. It took a few days, but I finally have a gigantic bruise on my left arm. It's seriously huge and kinda awesome. After Bertha you'd think I'd be extra cautious. Nah. I like my badges of stupid.

Tuxedo Trials

2010-08-15T23:10:00.000-07:00

So Josh picked me up after work on Saturday and we drove to Men's Wearhouse to rent him a tux before racing to Allyse's reception an hour late. I know, I know: I work at I&A Tuxedos, why did I go to Men's Wearhouse? Well, I shopped around a lot and did some rather exhaustive research on tuxedo rentals, and MW was the most satisfying. (I&A certainly has more quality items in a wider variety, but their prices show for it.)

Anyhoo, Josh let me pick out silver accessories instead of yellow because they look more wedding-ish and will match a yellow boutonniere really well. He looks great. He let me pick out the tuxedo-style laydown shirt. He let me pick flat-front instead of pleated pants (he'll look more flattering in flat-front, being so thin). He let me pick the 2-button notch, satin lapel, Calvin Klein, super 100 tuxedo jacket. He let me pick the shiny tuxedo shoes and the long tie over the bowtie. He let me pick the solid tie over the diamonds, and the herringbone vest over the dots (he tragically shot down the paisley--that would have looked incredible). He let me choose everything but the cufflinks because he thought if he asked for cufflinks, they would charge him extra. Silly Josh. I'll call tomorrow and ask them to add the silver, pearlized cufflinks to the outfit.

I'm so glad Josh picked out a tuxedo that complements him so well. He has great taste.

Reception Schemes!

2010-08-15T22:44:00.000-07:00

So I was blogging two minutes ago (it's always feast or famine when I write: first I write nothing for two weeks and then I blog a bunch) and I thought about all the reception stuff we've got going on. First off, I haven't yet given up on convincing Josh to just elope with me. He's still adamant that he wants a reception, but it's totally acceptable to send out marriage announcements and a few, carefully selected sealing invitations without tacking a whole reception onto it. I know it's rude to deny good, kind friends the opportunity to celebrate with us and wish us well on our life journey or whatever, but the effort, expense, and ordeal of putting on a reception has never seemed worth it to me. I've lived through all of my sisters' receptions and known throughout all that it was never, ever worth it. When you witness your kind, sweet role models turn into sobbing bridezillas, you see the error in wedding receptions.

Anyhoo, because Josh has yet to see the light, here's what we've done so far:

We're both working on our guest lists. As I mentioned in my last blog, I have to completely revamp my list. It will most definitely exceed my invitation limit. Must make more invitations with imaginary money.

We picked out our wedding playlist from my iTunes. I had 6.9 hours of wedding music for Josh to sift through and choose what he liked but then I accidentally erased it. Smooth, genius. So we chose songs together. I'm actually listening to the playlist right now, a comfortable 2.2 hours of 90s cliche love songs. Good stuff, wedding music.

Our sealing room was booked months ago. We got the big room that seats 60, so 30-ish couples are gonna be crammed in there with us. I have to consult my parents to determine which people would be most offended by not being invited to the sealing. Everyone and their dog (Josh, my parents, Heather, the rest of my married sisters, my dog Indy...) shot down my wish for only our parents to be present. A private, sacred ceremony is not to be. Ah well, who needs it? (Lone violin playing mournfully in the distance...)

We have our table decorations! A little borrowing here, some small purchases there, and they are done. Flowers to be added at a later date.

Location! Backyard is officially nixed after Nicole and my mom stressed the fiasco of parking space. Our neighborhood has a zillion cars (the house on the corner alone has four cars perpetually parked near it) and no space to put them on, so our neighbors might lynch my parents if we tried to squeeze an entire wedding party onto the streets. My mom goes tomorrow to scope out other outside locations. A few backyards are available, and I'd love to have an outside reception because then we can light real candles. Hooray!

Rachel will make cake. I'm not sure if I'd prefer cupcakes. They seem easier. Nobody really likes cake anyway.

Dress is purchased. Silly thing is gonna cost more for alterations because I have a surprisingly squat torso and remarkably round "birthing" hips. I simply baffled the seamstress at my fitting, which always does some good things for my self esteem. I go back in two weeks to check on the progress and see if there's something to be done about my poor body shape. Or rather, something to be done to the dress to conceal my body shape. Whichever. Semantics.

Invitations are made. Depending on whether we need to make more or not, we should be sending out the beautiful, hand-crafted works of art (all made by The Amazing Bob, of course) at the end of the month. They're actually really simple because we designed them that way, and I just love them.

I think that's it. What else is there? Outside decorations? Nicole's job. Food? Mom, Nicole, Rachel, Bob. Lights? Bob. Speakers? Rachel. Photography? Bob and Dad. At this point, I think it's safest to step back and watch the womenfolk work. They don't need my interference anyway and frankly I'm afraid of stressing them out. I'll just focus on making the guest list and saving up honeymoon money.

40 days to go.

Allyse's Reception

2010-08-15T22:25:00.001-07:00

Holy crud! I haven't posted since the end of July. I suck at this.

Here's life now:

Allyse is married. Hooray! People kept coming up to me at the reception to offer their condolences that she beat me at getting married. Apparently it's significant that my younger sister married six weeks before I did. Good to know.

My mom's family met Josh. Josh met my mom's family. Despite the comically dramatic differences in height, I think they all are a little more comfortable with each other. That's good. Don't my aunts look just like my mom, Josh? They all laugh the same too. We call them the three witches.

I got a lame blister on the back of my foot for wearing heels for the lame two hours of the reception. Lame. But the shoes were gorgeous, so it was a labor of love. Or a beauty is pain thing. I forget which cliche I'm trying to relate here.

The people that showed up for the reception opened my eyes to the scope of the number of people we're gonna need to invite to our own reception. Not that I don't want to invite simply everyone, mind, but I thought it would be presumptuous to send invitations to vague family friends or people I haven't seen since I was ten. Apparently it's rude not to. I forgot just how many family friends we knew in old wards that would fully expect us to invite them to our humble reception. So we may have to make some more invitations, darn it.

Chocolate fountains are DELICIOUS! I was against them because of how messy they are (reference note here to Heather's reception), but as I was poison-checking all the food, I couldn't believe how awesomely awesome molten chocolate is. How could I have forgotten the awesomely awesome awesomeness of liquid gold? Must rethink reception food...

So basically the whole night was busy and crowded and lovely. I'm so happy Allyse and Richard could have such a nice reception. And I learned a lot about the junk I'm supposed to have planned. This is yet another reason why I don't want a reception. (Ironically I'm having two. Why, God?) Planning is dumb and expensive and stressful.

Thank heavens for sisters who like crafts and stuff. I'll just sit back and let them plan the reception of their dreams.

Try This On For Size

2010-07-26T06:45:00.000-07:00

So while I'm working very minimally for Jennaleigh Bridal (also affiliated with I and A Tuxedo) I have to memorize a whole buttload of information about measurements. I know how to take in or let out a sleeve or a pant leg, and I can measure men for shirts and pants. But the real memorization comes into play when we get to the jacket. Do you know how many jackets there are? Like, thirty. And they each have their own subtle differences that I'm supposed to understand and separate by price in my head. Bah. So I figured while I have to memorize all this information, I might as well educate you guys. Suckers.

The classic tuxedo has a few distinct qualifications: it has a satin lapel and is made of either worsted wool, super 100 wool (lighter, more breathable, and more expensive wool) or a silk and wool blend (for striped suits). The pants have a satin stripe down the outseam and typically come with pleats, but for some reason this is embarrassing for European customers, so we also carry flat-fronted pants. (They like no room in their pants. It's really uncomfortable and weird to dress the European tourists.) The shirt is either a 400 wingtip shirt or a 200 laydown collar shirt. Laydowns look just like any other dress shirt except that we insert studs in the button holes and every shirt is designed to hold cufflinks. The 400s have a stiff straight collar that bends slightly at the edges. Jonathan wore a 400 with a 2-button notch jacket for his wedding (the Centennial, as far as I can tell). There's also the Mandarin shirt, which has a button covering at the neck and the collar stands straight up an inch high. It looks Asian-ish and is popular for proms.

Now then, the jackets. We have dozens of kinds and I can tell you where almost all of them are in the store. I think. But I'm not gonna write all that down. I just wanna get down the different kinds. There's the shawl, which has a a smooth, unpointed lapel that ends in 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, or 6 buttons, depending on whether it's single-breasted (462), double-breasted (1001), or carries extra buttons somewhere (Positano, Alpha, DBDB, or PSDBB). The Dimension II is a double-breasted 1001 with an extra layer of shawl. It's a little odd.

The Verdi, Mirage, and Apollo are 3/4-length jackets with Mandarin collars. We reserve the extra long 3/4-length jackets for extra tall men. The Bohmen would look very nice in a 3/4 jacket, like the Cannes, Matrix, or Napoleon, which are long jackets, but with a lapel. The Matrix has a crazy checkered pattern on the lapel, and the Mirage has no lapels or buttons and also comes in striped. The Cutaway is a 3/4-length jacket that tapers to the back and can come in grey. British guys getting married love to wear that one, because they like to wear colors other than black for weddings, so we carry grey, latte, ivory, and white in a lot of our styles.

An old-fashioned style is the Peak design, which is like a notched lapel except one of the notches extends farther than the other one. A reverse peak is found only on the Napoleon. Then the most common style is the notch. The only difference between the Centennial jacket and a regular jacket (standard 1- or 3-button notch) is the satin-lined lapel. The Centennial has two buttons, and it was designed on the 100-year anniversary of the tuxedo company that designed it. It's a remake of the original James Bond tux, which I think is pretty cool. We also have the Savoy, which has a velvet trim along the lapel, and the Jaguar, which has these really suave stripes running down it. I like the C20 Shiny, which has some sort of sparkly material added into it, so that it glimmers a little. We call it the Vegas tux, because tourists love the glamour it adds when they're under a lot of night light. It also shows up really well in pictures. Then there's the C82110, which is a claiborne, so it's really expensive. The Nuvo II has three layers of lapel, and the Phoenix is my favorite because it is super light and has a much thinner lapel than any other. It looks great on tall thin men. Josh would look fantastic in it.

Anyhoo, there are a lot more, but I just realized how boring this blog is, so Ima stop here. We also have around 370 wedding dresses from sizes 2 (0) through 52, with the largest selection between 8 and 16. Prices range from $150 t0 $1000 and we also sell gowns for around $1400. But they're coutoure dresses, so they're made in Spain by one of the best designers, hand-stitched, and designed to order, so I don't wanna hear whining about the price. When I told my boss I spent about $200 on my own wedding dress, she almost choked on her trail mix. Yup. I can't even rent a dress that cheap at Jennaleigh.

Anyway, that's an idea of the kinds of tuxedos and dresses we carry. I imagine almost no one read this whole blog because it's surprisingly boring, but I'm posting it anyway because, well, I took the time to write it. At best, it was a nice review of the things I'm supposed to be remembering. Next time, maybe I'll detail how we clean returned dresses. That's a nightmarish tale of scrubbing and OxiClean the likes of which no one has read before. Maybe I won't scare you guys with that kind of stuff. I don't know.

Status Update

2010-07-26T06:22:00.000-07:00

So I officially suck at blogging, because I haven't posted anything since my now-fully healed bruise, Bertha the Magnificent, was born. That's crazy. Let me catch you all up.

I've discovered a new show, Rookie Blue, that's pretty cool. Watched all five episodes in one night. I am one week from finishing my last class from CSN, and then I'll have a diploma. Yippee. Technically, I should leaving for class right now, but I didn't finish my outline and bibliography for my third speech, so I'm staying home to finish researching, and then I'll deliver my speech tomorrow for 90% of the grade. I slept in this morning when I set the alarm for 3 and woke up at 5 instead, so I didn't have time to finish researching.

I have a currently healing burn spot on my left thumb. My thumb has a dark brown spot between the two knuckles and some of the skin is starting to bubble and split. It's two parts cool, one part icky. I earned it from steaming eight dress shirts at Jennaleigh last week. My other thumb and my middle finger on my left hand are also shedding dead skin from previous burned spots. I don't think I'm getting any better at steaming.

I work three days a week at Jennaleigh and an imaginary amount of hours at Carls Jr. They hired me, but I have yet to be called in, so basically I just work at Jennaleigh. It's really difficult work because I have to keep memorizing the millions of jackets we carry and the different sizing of pants and shirts. Josh is an L 6-7 dress shirt. Just in case you were wondering. I'd love to work more hours because it's stressful not to be working, but basically I'm just grateful I have any job at all. I like to be busy, even if my boss is insane and really mean and treats everyone like they're idiots. Working is worth it. Plus I get paid every week, which is kinda cool.

I got a speeding ticket on my way home from class last Wednesday. That sucked. $190 will go to the court next week when I have to go downtown to pay it. The cop cut me a break and knocked the ticket down a hundred bucks by claiming I only drove 10 miles over instead of 20. Thanks, guy. I'm thinking I might just hire a lawyer to take care of the ticket. They can get tickets reduced or waived most times. I looked up a couple of firms and I have to call to find out what they charge, but if it ends up being cheaper than the ticket, then Ima go for it.

My mom has agreed that she will dedicate most of tomorrow to helping me create a lace-up for the back of my wedding dress because I really want one and the dress didn't come with it. That should be really boring and home ec-ish, but it'll be cool when it's done. I wish I sewed better, but it's like cooking: if I'm too good, then I'll feel like I'm destined to stay at home and cook and sew and that grates on me. So I remain mediocre at both skills and strive to gain excellence in academic pursuits instead. My sisters think I'm retarded, but I can't help it, and what do they know, really? Every last one of them loves staying home and cooking for their husbands. Ugh.

I've been really lax about working on my novels, but I think I'm gonna pick that up again once school is over. I should probably file for graduation sometime soon. I think I'll go look that up now. Hmm. I hope they don't force you to walk, because there's no way I'm paying for a cap and gown for a community college. My dad says they require you to participate in graduation ceremonies because otherwise no one would go to those things. I don't see how that's a bad thing. If they tell me I have to, I'll fight it. I hate you, CSN. You tricked me into taking one more class, and I'd punch you in the face if you had one.

Anyhoo, that's life. Things are good, if a little boring. I wish something cool would happen like Josh would come down this weekend and I could give him the present I've been dying to show him for weeks. That'd be sweet. But I can only dream...

Big Bertha the Bruise

2010-07-06T11:12:00.000-07:00

So I lost my makeup bag. It sucked, cause I had to use my mom's makeup on Sundays for church., and while I'm super grateful, (thanks, Mom!), it was still difficult for me because my mom uses a very monotone palate of brown. I can't do brown. I do every other color, but not brown. And I am a firm believer that lipstick should be colorful, not...brown.

Anyhoo, Stephanie found my bag hidden underneath the downstairs bathroom sink. Awesome. She was so happy to give it to me that she chucked it across the room to me. Since she didn't give me anything resembling a heads up, I noticed a flying blue bag out of the corner of my eye and caught it before it hit the floor...well, my knee caught it. It hurt.

I don't think Stephanie took into consideration how heavy makeup is. Especially hooker makeup, which is the only kind I know. I now have a giant bruise on my knee. I shall call her Bertha for her great size. She shall be known throughout the land as the finest bruise there ever was. And she will do great things.

Lisa the Awesome is Awesome!

2010-07-05T10:53:00.000-07:00

Story's going well. Major points in the plot are coming together. Still a lot of danger to insert to make the storyline more thrilling, but it's going well. I'm super excited to be writing again! Huzzah!

Families and Feminists

2010-07-03T08:20:00.000-07:00

Josh and Rachel looked through their "next blog" list to find out what other blogs were similar to theirs. That's cool, I thought. I'll try it. So I next blogged my way through half a dozen extremely boring family blog posts. Ugh. Family blogs. One of them was a crazy Christian woman who couldn't go three sentences without talking about Jesus. That's fine and all that she's proud of her faith, but it'd be really cool if all her sentences were related to one another and not randomly thrown together. I was getting pretty dejected over these lousy family blogs when I came across a feminist doula. Awe. Some. Now we're getting somewhere. This lady was super cool and had the same standpoint on breast-feeding as half my family. Plus she just got her masters in public health. I liked her.

So my blog may be similar to a bunch of boring old families with lots of pictures of the kids, but at least me and my pal the doula are similar, too. Stay strong, sista!

Lowered Expectations Make For Great Viewing

2010-06-30T02:43:00.000-07:00

So my sister Emily and I have a time-honored tradition of going to the midnight premiere of the latest stupid twilight movie and quietly mocking it amidst the general screams and cheers of girlish fans. We enjoyed the past two experiences greatly, with much shared laughter. But this time, upon taking our seats, we were unable to laugh more than a few times. We barely snickered at the plot. Taylor Lautner was bare-chested fewer than ten times. Edward stopped looking painfully at Bella and started to actually say things. Even Bella was less annoying. We were so prepared for sheer idiocy (reminiscent of the terrible New Moon ordeal), that we were able to be blown away by the final movie.

Eclipse wasn't half bad. Of course, by movie standards I'd give it a C+, but by twilight standards, it gets an A. When you walk away from the laughable teenage sexual angst of New Moon, anything resembling substance suddenly seems like the greatest film ever made. Eclipse was just such an experience. Yes, it was overly long and the Bella/Edward scenes could have been cut in half, but the exciting action and the thrilling music score made for an enjoyable experience. Emily and I even agreed that we might rent this movie from a redbox at some point in the distant future. It was that not-sucky.

Employed Again!

2010-06-29T19:48:00.000-07:00

So today I started training for my two new jobs. The first one is for Carl's Jr. I get to be the cashier because my new boss says she wants my winning smile out in front of the customers. Yippee. Then I drove 45 min downtown (behind the Bellagio, just past the Palms) and started training on shirt variations and sizing at this bridal and tuxedo renting place that caters to the casinos. I learned how to steam shirts, raise and lower hems, lengthen pants hems, package gowns, and measure men for tuxedos. Did you know that the pants are meant to start at a man's waist and not his hips? That's news to me. And also that you're supposed to leave a finger's-space in the collar after you measure it. Guy's shirt measurements are crazy weird. And women are worse.

But anyway, I'm pretty excited that I have work. Hooray! And next Monday I start school again. So long story short, when I applied for graduation at the community college two years ago, I was already at BYU, and the registrar's office totally sucked and never returned my calls. After a few semesters, I tried to contact them again, but I was confused because they kept claiming I had a class missing. Because CSN really, really sucks, I could not get ahold with an actual person to find out why I couldn't graduate or what class I was missing. So a couple of weeks ago, I walked into CSN's Cheyenne campus and spoke with a counselor (coming in first thing in the morning and still having to wait an hour). She told me I was missing a communications class and that I couldn't file for graduation without it. So I signed up for the class this summer.

I guess that wasn't really a long story short, but I am pretty excited that I'll have some sort of degree from somewhere. I've been telling everyone that I have an associate's in poli sci, but until the end of July, that's not necessarily true. So I've really got to buckle down, because even though summer classes are crazy short (my course is only 4 weeks long), they're super intensive. I've got class four days a week. And two new jobs. Finally, I'm productive again! Hooray!

Plus I got a new pair of work shoes today. So I'm pretty happy.

Summer Update

2010-06-17T17:18:00.000-07:00

Did I tell you guys my family has a **GARDEN**??!! It's so pretty! We planted herbs and peppers and sunflowers and a whole buttload of other vegetables and flowers and stuff in this varied mixture of useless and useful plants. It is the coolest thing in the world to see the sunflowers growing taller than the corn stalks. The only downside is that we don't have sprinklers installed yet so we have to water them by hand twice a day and there are THREE TIERS of crap growing out there! That part really does suck. The back of my neck is sunburned. :(

In other news, I'm learning the cello. I'm on day 5 of practicing. I know I'm holding the bow wrong because my right hand keeps cramping up, but I can't remember the brief lessons I paid for, like, four years ago, so I can't remember all the things I "learned" back then. Oh well. Rachel1 is learning the violin so together we squeak through a few hymns every night. It's been hilarious to watch our family wince at our screeching. My parents have always been especially positive about music education, so they're 100% supportive of our sudden, random interest in string instruments. After years of trumpets, mellophones, French horns, flutes, oboes, bassoons, saxophones, clarinets, trombones, and pianos, they have to act really supportive over Rachel's and my new hobby. Even if it kills them, which it probably will--inexperienced cello players can burst ear drums. It's unholy the sounds that a bad cellist can create.

I'm also losing my summer tan early this year because it's too hot to read outside. Blah. Oh well, pale people are attractive too...in Japan. Seriously, though. My friend Lisa is half Japanese and extremely pale, and when she flew to Japan, people on the street stopped her frequently to touch her face and arms because she was so white. It's apparently very attractive there. Did you know those Japanese masks they make contain bleached bird poop? That's kind of cool. My old gate teacher told me that. Don't remember much about the Jason project or the Mars project anymore, but I remember the Japanese bird poop masks. It's crazy the things you remember, right? Or don't remember, as the case may be. As the case always friggin' is.

Anyhoo, that's what's going on in my life right now. What's new with everyone else?

Moving Pains

2010-05-23T18:57:00.000-07:00

Boy did we move a lot of stuff today.

I love Rachel's house because it's so elegantly designed and furnished. I admire a lot of her tastes and styles, and have enjoyed living in her beautiful home. But dang, she has a lot of stuff!

Apparently her unique style comes with a lot of fake plants and candle holders and table decorations and all sorts of stuff that is just crazy. So when we packed five boxes of dusty ornaments and wall frames I hadn't ever noticed before, we were absolutely exhausted. We had climbed all over the house, pulling down ornaments from all kinds of inaccessible areas, and sneezed our way through piles of stuff.

Now I'm sore all over and covered in dust, but there is a large pile of neatly stacked, ridiculously heavy jumbo boxes in the living room, and the house looks that much emptier. Congratulations to us. I'm taking a nap now.

The Only Sugar-coated, Dipped-in-chocolate Cereal That's Kid-Tested And Kid-Approved!

2010-05-19T02:28:00.000-07:00

I just now ate my first ever bowl of Cookie Crisp. Do you remember those? The nasty-looking, impossibly-sweet mini cookie cereal from the 90s that had all mothers shaking their heads before the commercial could point out the "nutrition" facts? That cereal. I didn't even know they still made that cereal, and I've never had it before tonight. It's actually really gross. Tastes sickly sweet and slightly sour at the same time. I also probably shouldn't have eaten it at 2 in the morning, but I was hoping to crash from a sugar rush to make me sleepy and allow me to fall asleep. Thirty minutes later and I'm not feeling the effects yet, but I remain hopeful.

Anyhoo, eating that awful blast from the 90s made me think of all the cereal commercials I grew up watching, and I started wondering about which of those cereals are still around. Froot Loops and Lucky Charms are still kicking, even though they're impossibly sweet. But if Fruity Pebbles still sells, then those two cereals look like Oats and Bran by comparison. Remember the rice krispie treats cereal? Where there were chunks of rice krispie treats and you apparently just added milk and called it a cereal? Man, I wanted to try that cereal so badly as a kid. Now the very thought of it makes me want to throw up. Or maybe that's just the Cookie Crisp talking.

I loved the Apple Jacks commercials. Those are the ones where someone would always point out that it doesn't taste like apples. I guess the cinnamon flavor validated the title a little, but just because cinnamon and apples go well together (in a pretty decent pie, that is) doesn't mean you should point out what the cereal DOESN'T taste like to defend a pretty pathetic brand name. I love Honeycombs, too. Even though I think they still shoot commercials featuring that insane crazy hairy thing (what IS that thing?!) who really, really wants Honeycombs, the cereal itself isn't half bad. But I can't even buy Trix, because those mean, nasty kids who never shared their cereal even though the poor rabbit really wanted to taste it have ruined the taste for me forever. I feel like if I buy a box of Trix, I'm paying out to those mean, non-sharing kids and making the rabbit suffer more. I used to cry over that stupid commercial because I felt so bad for that stupid made-up character. Any product who airs a commercial that makes me cry is blacklisted forever. No Trix for me.

I just realized something. Maybe Trix uses a rabbit character because rabbits come out of hats as a magic trick. That kinda makes sense. But then why is the cereal shaped like different kinds of fruit? I don't know anything. I'm talking cereal at 2:30 in the morning. Maybe I should pick this up another time, when I've had a chance to sleep.

So moral of the story: Don't support the illegal hunting of endangered animals. Or something.

Sometimes Cliches Are Awesome

2010-05-18T16:04:00.002-07:00

So I watched Avatar last night when I couldn't sleep. Man, is that a long movie. I heard a lot of things about that movie, mostly comments of derision about how similar it was to a plethora of movies. Having seen it, I can agree with a few of these comparisons:

-It is Dances With Wolves, except in space.

-It is Pocahontas, except in space.

-It is Atlantis, except in space.

And I liked it. Yes, it was cliche and the ending was predictable, but it was predictable in that the story line followed a natural order of progression in a way that I happened to be able to anticipate. So that's okay. And really, why is it such a scandal to make a movie that is similar to other stories? All fiction exaggerates the human experience so that the audience can see things from a different perspective. That's why fantasy is all one big cliche copied from Lord of the Rings. But we don't criticize new authors or screenwriters for writing a new version of Cinderella or whatever (well, we do, but they keep writing them anyway). And you know what? Ella Enchanted was great!

So yes, Avatar was yet one more version of true love for two impossible characters (except in space), but it was a new variation of the same story that has been around since before Romeo and Juliet and that will never ever die. And so I say, good job, James Cameron, for only putting a hint of non-pushy environmentalism in your story and keeping your screwed-up politics out of the story line. I appreciated your effort. And I appreciated the cliche.

Ann Barlow, I'm Talking To You!

2010-05-18T00:37:00.000-07:00

Dear Ann,

I tried very hard to go to sleep tonight. I went to bed at a very reasonable hour, hoping to get a phone call that never happened. Then I decided I would try to get some sleep. Ha.

Instead, I found myself inexplicably reminiscing about our awesome spring together in Provo. Remember when I would pace around the room at night while we talked about how dumb France is and how awesome England is? And remember when I basically ate everything in the kitchen and you came out and had a bowl of ice cream while we looked through all your facebook London pictures? Remember when we went out to get frozen yogurt at the hippie place where you can chew on the biodegradable spoons?

You were by far my favorite roommate ever and each night as I lay here frustrated with my inability to rest, I keep thinking back on those nights of shared restlessness. Thanks for staying up with me. You're the best.

Sincerely,

Camilla

Why Does Every Blog Have To Have A Title?

2010-05-17T11:14:00.000-07:00

So last night (in another fit of insomnia) I was desperately looking for things to do. I let the dogs outside to go play and sat on the swing in the dark for a little bit to enjoy the warm darkness. It got creepy, so I brought them inside and made me a graham cracker-with-nutella midnight snack (closer to 1 am, actually). Made me more awake. I watched a tv show. Nothing.

Then I dragged my computer out to the couch and started typing on it. Occasionally I work on these children's stories that I've been writing forever because writing is cathartic and children's stories are awesome. Maybe one day I'll really finish one and try to get it published (I feel like Family Guy's Brian all the time because of this). And the most amazing thing happened when I started writing. No, I didn't go to sleep. That would be silly. But I did have the most amazing brainstorm. I outlined four novels. Four. And proofread some fifty pages of an already started novel. And added more to it. It's so funny to me that I enjoy editing my work more than I do creating it.

So although I got virtually no sleep again and now have a dull headache, I did have a ton of fun writing and outlining for a few hours last night. Maybe I'll do that every night and not have to worry about tossing and turning in the dark, trying to get to sleep when clearly my body doesn't want to. I'm not even tired anymore. I don't remember what it's like to be tired, cause I'm always in this constant state of restlessness. Man, I miss working. At least then I knew how to be tired all the time.

...Sleeeeep...

2010-05-16T12:21:00.000-07:00

So I don't know what's come over me, but I've been having the hardest time sleeping lately. This past week I haven't been able to go to sleep before 2 or 3 in the morning, and I am not happy about that fact. You see, I talk to Josh every night before he goes to sleep (at an old-man hour, naturally) and usually I can just fall asleep after we talk because I've got nothing else to do. Well lately my mind has been just buzzing with all kinds of thoughts and I can't make it shut up enough to slip into unconsciousness. For the past six days I've been sleeping in until ten or so every morning to make up for the late falling-asleep hour, but yesterday completely took the cake.

You see, last night I went and saw Glee Live with my sister (Rachel1) and we grabbed some In and Out (twss) afterwards. So it was around midnight when I finally got to talk to Josh while I ate my animal-style fries. That was all fine and dandy except that Josh was super tired (again, old man sleeping habits) so we didn't talk long. Then I was stuck with a body that was practically vibrating with energy from the sugar and grease I'd just consumed. Not. Awesome. I watched a LOT of tv last night.

I woke up at 7 this morning since we have church at 8. But I only fell asleep at 5:45 this morning. And I can't take a nap because my brain won't shut up. FML.

You know how zombies are supposedly really into eating brains or whatever? And how they wander around towns groaning, "Braaaaaainssss....braaaaainnnnssss..."? You know what I'm talking about? I'm pretty sure they became zombies because they couldn't get enough sleep and they wander around bemoaning the fact that they can't get their brains to shut up.

I think I'm a zombie.

The Real Manifest Destiny

2010-05-09T15:20:00.000-07:00

When I was taking night classes at the community college and absolutely hating every single one of my political science professors (all lousy liberals) AND their bigoted grading curve, I'd come home every other night just exhausted and dejected. After a full day of work and then three hours of liberal politics, I was exhausted from work but mostly from arguing my viewpoints with my professors and fellow classmates. Nobody liked me in my classes, and that's not a big deal or anything, but it is disheartening to stand alone. I'm not saying I was right (although I felt I was) in what I said, but I thought it was crucial that the other students knew there was an alternative to the things (lies) my professors spouted in every class.

Well one night I came home especially weary and just about ready to give up. I felt like stupid John Adams during the second Continental Congress when nobody wanted to listen to his high-pitched whiny voice anymore because he opposed practically everything they addressed. I had just about made up my mind to shut my mouth for the rest of the semester and just let my teachers say what they felt like saying without fear of disagreement. I was just tired of it all.

That night I walked into my parents' bedroom where my dad was watching one of Ken Burns' amazing videos on the Civil War (titled The Civil War, I believe). My dad was on the bed, watching the TV and my mom was sitting in her rocking chair, reading. She put her book down when I came in and we exchanged a few words, probably me letting her know I was home and all that and her asking about my class that night. Well I wasn't about to confess that I was mentally defeated by my idiot teachers, so I just shrugged and tried to brush off the question when I caught a few of the words being read on the TV. I turned to listen and to my amazement (and my parents', who know how rarely I tear up) I started crying. This is what I heard on the TV:

"Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure--and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing--perfectly willing--to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt."

I have no idea how widely publicized the Sullivan Ballou letter is, but when I heard Ken Burns' narrator reading a passage from his letter to his wife, Sarah, I felt the reaffirmation I needed. In the clearest, most elegant language I have ever enjoyed, Major Ballou (a !!*lawyer*!! and public servant all his adult life) expressed his complete faith in the United States and his willingness to fight to the death to preserve its sacred mission. He understood that God's hand was in the War, and that those who struggled so willingly to create this nation during the Revolution deserved the justice of having that nation preserved at the hands of its descendants. This is exactly, one-hundred percent how I feel about America. I know this country is and always was given by God to those who would honor it and, to the best of their understanding and ability, keep it honorable.

Perhaps because of how dejected I was feeling that night and how ready to give up on everything with school and politics and my stupid, idiotic professors, I was more open to feel the words in Ballou's letter, and it has resonated with me ever since. Reading it again today I found myself still able to cry over his perfect, powerful testimony of patriotism. Sullivan Ballou understood what was expected of an American.

And I will never forget.

Musings from Soylent Green

2010-04-28T12:08:00.000-07:00

So after reading Jonathan's blog, wherein he encouraged his readers to watch Soylent Green right away, I did just that. I went online, found a free streaming of the movie, and watched the 94-minute film. Here's the most important thing I got from the film: It's no wonder feminism expanded so rapidly in the 1970s.

I mean, seriously. Yeah, the movie didactically tried to make us as humans feel both responsible and guilty for global warming, overpopulation, waste, and pollution, with perhaps the hope that we might change our evil ways as humans and learn to live as the deer do (probably among the deer, too). I'm sure at least one person took the message in this novel-adapted-to-film and responded by setting their car on fire, doffing their clothes, and screaming out passages of Silent Spring to shocked motorists waiting for the light at a freeway off-ramp. But I'm not here to write about all that tree-hugging stuff, cause there is something in that awful film that I feel even more strongly about.

I'm not a crazy feminist. I just happen to be a feminist and crazy...at the same time...no connection between the two. And the pro-male attitude in this film was not only blatant but rather appalling. Now I understand that when we look at history, we have to look at it through contemporary eyes, or we might be prone to cast unfair judgments on the people of the age. That being said, ho-lee-crap. The anti-feminism in that movie was so obvious, it made me cringe and actually heavily distracted me during the film. Twice I paused the film to begin typing a blog, but I decided to watch the entire thing before casting judgment. The ending certainly did not justify the unfair portrayal of women in this movie.

Here are the offensive events that I can recall from the movie:

Charlton Heston plays a rough cop in NYC who lives in a dying society, so, sure, he's a bit jaded. We see that by his actions during a murder investigation. While questioning associates of the deceased, he goes about the ritzy penthouse, stealing anything he sees as valuable. That gives us a fair idea of the kind of character he has. And I don't know if we're supposed to sympathize with him, or hate him (I hated him) or just pity the sad, sad state the world was in, but he was what he was and that is not the point.

The murdered man was very wealthy and rented a fancy penthouse complete with whore. I think her name was Shirl and she was actually a contracted part of the apartment, which is why most of the men in the film called her and her associates "furniture girls". I hate when people call grown women girls, but that is the least of the offenses within that phrase. She seemed perfectly okay with the terms of her employment and indeed, her lifestyle.

So Shirl stays in the apartment with a bunch of other whores while she waits for a new tenant to take over rent, residency, and her. One day Charlton Heston comes a-knockin', supposedly because he has some follow-up questions, but when he sees all the furniture girls comforting each other around the apartment, he takes someone's glass of alcohol, steals one of their cigarettes and then commands Shirl to talk with him in the bedroom. No one stops him or even protests as he dominates the apartment.

Very matter-of-factly, Shirl goes into the bedroom and, at his command, answers his questions while undressing and getting into the bed. After all, for a hired whore, this is just day-to-day business, and it means nothing to her that a man who has no authority over her actions (since he is not a tenant of the apartment and therefore not the renter of the "furniture") commands her to sleep with him. She does so without complaint.

Meanwhile, the landlord comes bursting into the apartment, finds all these women in there, and begins shouting for them to get out, the harlots. He punches one in the stomach, slaps another, pushes another, basically causing all the women to helplessly begin sobbing like children since obviously it never occurred to any of them to fight the douche, even though he was vastly outnumbered and a coward besides. No, nothing happens until Charlton Heston, fresh from his "questioning", comes out of the bedroom in his rumpled clothes and confronts the landlord, who immediately calms himself and apologizes for creating a scene. Charlton, like the very great hero he is, claims that he called all those girls into the apartment to question them and the landlord backs off, but not before Charlton walks around to the beaten, sobbing women and threatens the landlord that any of these "girls" might press charges. After examining one bruised woman's face, he shrugs and says, "Maybe not." Well, thank goodness Charlton Heston made the decision not to press charges FOR the furniture girls, so now the landlord can rest easy! I guess it wouldn't occur to any of the women that they could press charges withOUT the permission of a sexed-up, crooked cop.

Anyway, the fun continues and lots of dumb investigating goes on where Charlton Heston discovers more and more about the murder and its ties to the Soylent Corporation. He's getting too close, so his commander tries to make him sign a form, giving up the investigation. Heston refuses because he has just enough honor about him to refuse breaking the law. Riiiight. If he had given up, there would have been no movie, but nothing about Heston's character up to this point has proven that he would have had any qualms about signing that statement. But moving on.

Later, Heston's on riot duty, trying to calm the hordes of hungry people who came to collect their food rations on the day that a large shipment of soylent green didn't come in. Anger ensues, a mob forms, pushing against the police, and one angry citizen keeps trying to take a shot at Heston. Because of all the people, the gunman misses Heston twice, hitting two women instead. Of course. It's okay to accidentally shoot a woman, as evidenced by the fact that once those women drop, no one pays them any mind, including the movie audience. Luckily, the gunman later gets squashed by a "scooper"--a giant bulldozer used to scoop up people and dump them into the back of truck and out of the way.

Well things are going badly for Heston, so he seeks comfort in Shirl, sleeping with her again, letting her bandage his ankle when he gets injured, etc, etc. He's about to leave when she confesses that she doesn't like to be alone because it frightens her. He doesn't care, so she tries to entice him with real food, with soap, and then with a hot shower, which finally grabs his attention. Sleeping with a beautiful woman for nothing isn't enough for Heston--she's got to promise to rub him down after a hot shower first. I just love that she--as a piece of unfeeling furniture--begs him to stay with her when she's supposedly indifferent toward all men who aren't renting the apartment. I loved it even more when Heston was persuaded to stay only on the condition that she make him a big breakfast in the morning. This scene may be my very, very favorite.

Well, I promise I'm almost done with my list of grievances. Stuff happens, Heston gets closer to the impossible truth that "Soylent Green is made from people!" And as he's chased by bad guys, Shirl suddenly completely changes her personality and inexplicable develops a connection with the scuzzbag cop who slept with her repeatedly. She talks to him about running away together and he shuts her down with the excuse that there's nowhere to go. She asks him not to call her furniture anymore (you'd think he would've stopped that ages ago, but maybe he hadn't disassociated her from the refrigerator or the sofa or the other pieces in apartment yet. After all, he was busy being a crooked cop) and he surprisingly complies. Hooray! It's true love!

Close to the very end, Shirl meets the new apartment tenant, who is interested in the apartment and to a lesser degree, her. He asks her, "So tell me: are you fun?" We don't hear her answer, but the look on her face expresses her dislike of the new tenant. How dare he treat her like that! Yeah, right--when did she start caring about how she was viewed by men? She personally admitted multiple times that she had been "with the apartment" for "a long time". She was attached to the apartment by contract and it suited her just fine before the rugged cop raped her and hypothetically made her think more highly of herself.

So Heston's being chased by gunmen from the Soylent Corporation, and he knows he's going down. So who does he call? Shirl, of course. Somehow in between fornicating with the "furniture", he grew feelings for it as well. Completely inexplicably out of character. So he calls her and tells her to stay with the apartment forever, because the people who take over those ritzy places can afford real food, whereas the poor have to eat the soylent green squares. She protests, saying that she wants to run away with him, but he commands her to stay, so of course she promises. I would've thought that with her sudden transformation from submissive doormat to willing harlot, she would've grown enough spine to fight for the things she wants in life. But maybe it was too soon. She was just barely getting to hate the new tenant, after all.

Then Heston gets beat up real bad and is carried away on a stretcher, professing to the masses that soylent green is people. The end.

Well, I feel edified, how about you? All of these interactions with the women in this lame-o movie (and Shirl was the only significant woman--there was one other woman in the main cast, but she had, like ten lines) just oozed with male dominance and authority. And it was all a silent assumption, like the audience was supposed to be just as accepting of the way women were portrayed, treated, and how they behaved in the film as the men were in the film itself! H-E-DOUBLE-OTHER-LETTERS NO! I am more upset over the world as it was in the 1970s than over the preachy, false, exaggerative message of the movie! So for those of you who don't believe in radical feminism (myself included), we can probably admit that the feminist uprising of the 70s may not have been the absolute solution to male chauvinism, but it was better than leaving things the way they were: completely--wrongly--one-sided.

Awk. Ward.

2010-04-21T13:46:00.000-07:00

I have applied to two thousand bjillion jobs from three different states and five different cities over the past four months. So when I got a call from a very professional-sounding woman who mumbled the business' name, I had no idea what it was about because I can't remember all the places I've applied for. Turns out, it was a phone interview. Crap. So she asked me if I had a few minutes for her to ask a few questions and I complied (I'm not working, what else do I have to do?). She asked me why I chose that business to apply to. Well how should I know? I don't know what the business is! "What makes you qualified for the position you applied for?" Could you be any more vague, professional-sounding lady? "Um, I'm uh, dedicated to working hard...and I" ...like to sound like an idiot on the phone! Gah!

After her painfully awkward questions in which I could only answer vaguely, she said from what she's heard, she'd like me to come in for an official interview on Friday. That's great and all, but if "what she's heard" is impressive, then she must be used to a lot of idiots. But what am I saying? I have an interview on Friday! It only stinks because that'll get me in SLC way, way later than I had planned. But how can I turn down the promise of work?

Over-Sensitivity Is My Absolute Favorite Part of This Politically Correct World

2010-04-16T17:59:00.001-07:00

BAH!!!!!!!

Virtue Is A Virtue

2010-04-16T14:41:00.000-07:00

I went to institute with my sisters the other night, and although I haven't been to an institute class since I was taking night classes at the community college, I rather enjoyed myself. Not only did I meet a bjillion people I haven't seen since my awful experiences in high school (who all wish us felicitations, btw, Josh), but I got to listen to my old seminary teacher, who is *awesome*. It was an incredible lesson, too, as evidenced by the fact that I didn't start writing a new chapter for my great American novel like I had planned to do. Instead, I actually took notes with the notepad I brought along. I was mighty surprised by that.

Anyhoo, the lesson was about the signs of the times (which, incidentally, is a direct phrase out of Doctrine and Covenants, section 6-something). Out of the 51 signs of the Second Coming that Elder Bruce R. McConkie pulled from the scriptures, 30 of them are good things and 21 are somewhat more threatening (but really, how bad is it if the evil places are buried in the sea? The earth has to be cleansed for Christ!), which is way more of the good signs than I realized. One of the bad things was that the hearts of men would fail them, and as President Benson explained, this is both a physical and a spiritual occurrence, as people would grow weary with the world and give up on life and sometimes even kill themselves. I couldn't believe it! People would actually kill themselves because they don't feel hope anymore? I know I've been sad and discouraged again and again, but there's always the hope that things'll improve, right? So it's impossible to be sad forever.

At least, that's what I think. But President Wilson (my awesome teacher) explained that people lose hope all the time and that there are twelve things he knows of that will change people from being discouraged and depressed to being hopeful and happy again. Now, up to this point, I've been writing all of this stuff from memory, which if you know me, is flippin' impressive because I don't remember anything. But President Wilson has always been able to teach in a way that allows me to retain the information (which I'm positive is one of the Lord's tender mercies toward me, since afternoon seminary basically saved my butt during those awful, awful, awful high school years), so I think I can remember most of the twelve things. (I also wrote them down, but I'm not gonna go get my notebook.) We were encouraged to pray, repent, read the scriptures (these are obvious), be healthy, exercise, serve, work, listen to good music, have good friends, and then a bunch of others that I don't remember right now. The one I want to draw attention to is listening to good music.

When I heard that, in my head I thought, well crap. Before you get all judgy judgerson on me, understand that I don't listen to crap. I listen to what I feel is quality music. But perhaps there is a random swear word, and sometimes (mostly) the rhythm or beat is harsh and overloud, and perhaps the singer tends to scream rather than croon. But it's quality music just the same. And although I have been spending these past days trying to be always found working or serving or having good friends and all that, I don't think I can give up my music. Some of those bands got me through the twice alluded-to hellacious years of high school.

So I know that I need to clean up my act in all facets of my life, but if music happens to be one of the last things I focus on changing, then can I help that? I mean after all, even Ben Franklin felt that his 13 virtues could only be mastered one at a time in a rotating 13-week stretch. Attaboy, Benny--I'll follow your advice.

It's A St. Patrick's Day Miracle!

2010-04-11T18:12:00.001-07:00

So I just got back from Mesa, where my Uncle Chris got married (congratulations, Chris!). I'd never witnessed a civil wedding outside my own sister's, so it was kind of neat to see Chris and Kellie take communion and have a harmonizing duo sing songs of togetherness and love and all that right in the middle of the ceremony. The reception was beautiful and everything afterwards, but the real party was later on that night when the whole gang went back to my Aunt Jennifer's house. Cause they had a margarita machine.

Sometimes it's hilarious to be Irish, and my extended family did their heritage justice last night. Everything's funnier, louder, and more enjoyable when most people are just a little bit tipsy. Thanks, Bliven family! It was fun to see you all again!

And, Josh--they're very keen to meet you. Good luck. ;)

On the drive back home, I discovered that my iPod touch's applications, which for some mysterious reason have never worked, suddenly started working. Now I can play useless games and light up the screen like a flashlight (I promise that's a real app--it can also flash strobe lights of red, green, and blue). It's a Christmas miracle! Speaking of which, why do we isolate miracles that occur around Christmas as Christmas miracles? Are Christmas miracles more important than miracles that take place on an regular days?Maybe it was a Thanksgiving miracle, but it just took us a while to notice it. Or do miracles even occur on regular days? If it's a non-Christmas miracle, do we call it just a plain-old "miracle", or does it have a title, like "non-holiday-denominational miracle of average importance"?

I don't know what I'm saying. But, um...oh yeah, my iPod works. And...I love drunks?

Why am I writing this again?

For Kristina

2010-04-06T22:39:00.000-07:00

I am so sorry I haven't posted on my blog. You'd think, what with all my lame-o free time, I could find a moment to update my own blog. Apparently not.

Anyhoo, I was reading an article in my mom's one and only magazine, Woman's World, and I came across this little jewel:

"My Guardian Angel: A Cuddly Little Ball of Heavenly Love"

I won't insult/nauseate you guys by typing the entire article out, but the gist of the content detailed a woman's search for consolation after losing her mother. She pined for her mother, which is understandable, and asked her mother to send her a guardian angel to comfort her. We'll call this sad woman Sheila. Sheila thought to adopt a puppy. And this is where the first of a slew of little "miracles" came into her life. As she puts it, "For months I'd been thinking about adopting a pet--probably a puppy, I figured. So when I suddenly got the urge to search local shelters for a kitten instead, no one was more surprised than me. Yet the feeling was so strong, I just couldn't resist it."

Pardon my cynicism, but *really*? She just couldn't help herself? She just *had* to get a kitten instead of a puppy? Why, that must be her mother, sending her a guardian angel! And no one else was more surprised than she, huh? Isn't she the only person in charge of the decision? And doesn't that mean she is the only one *not* surprised by the decision?

Sheila went on to describe how her son picked out the kitten at the shelter, and the shelter workers had given the kitten the name Angel. Coincidence? Of course not! That's miracle number 2!

Sheila elaborates: "Without mentioning the kitten's name, I showed the picture to my little nephew, Kyle.

"'What do you think I should call her?' I asked.

"'Angel,' he chirped.

"I had to laugh. 'Why?' I asked.

"'Because she looks like an angel,' Kyle replied. And in that moment, goosebumps danced across my skin--for while I'd always been more of a 'dog person,' my mom had adored cats." Of course, she had. And that was miracle number 3, for those of you who are keeping track.

Then Sheila describes how the first few days with Angel were heavenly, which is just lovely. Good for her. But Sheila was not satisfied. No, she still wondered if her mother had sent "this little Angel" to her. Cue M4 (miracle #4), and this one's a doozy:

"Thank you, Mom, for this Angel, I whispered. And in that instant, a white dove landed on a branch right before me!

"Stunned, I gasped. For until now, I'd never seen a white dove anywhere in real life--and somehow I knew it was a sign that Mom was at peace now, and that she truly had sent me this fluffy little Angel to remind me of her love, all the way from Heaven!"

Wow. I know it's cruel of me to belittle Sheila's means of comforting herself after her mother's passing, but I just hate misguided beliefs like white doves and cuddly kittens. Shortly after my brother died, my uncle thought he'd pay a psychic to read my mother and myself. Thinking I was too young, perhaps, to have a deceased sibling, the psychic completely missed the mark and told me I was thinking about college and traveling abroad. Well duh. That's what *every* fifteen-year-old thinks about. Then the psychic told my mother (after learning from my uncle that my mom's son had died) that every time my mom heard a knocking at the door or window and nobody was there that it was my brother trying to contact us. I don't think I've ever forgiven that psychic for being so blase about my own personal trauma, let alone my mother's.

And so, my good friends and fellow bloggers, this is why I scorn Sheila's heaven-sent kitten. There are no guardian angels, no invisible spirits knocking at the window, and no tangible white doves descending at the behest of departed souls. This world is what it is, and the next world is what IT is, and people who try to combine the two are just deluding themselves. Unless, of course, they're psychic. Then they're just trying to help you contact your family from beyond the grave. Or was it, trying to make some money? I must be too busy thinking about college and traveling abroad to remember properly.

Joining the Ranks of the Gainfully Employed

2010-03-09T12:15:00.000-08:00

So the census called me yesterday. Or rather, a man who worked for the census called me from Provo yesterday to ask me if I were really interested in becoming an enumerator. I answered in the affirmative. Now I'm an enumerator.

The work itself probably won't start until May, but in the meantime, I have training next Tuesday-Friday. I'm worried about the location. It could be in Vernal, Roosevelt, Duchesne, or Provo. And I have no way to get to any of those places. I hope everything works out and I can actually go.

Also, I start my free-lance writing next Monday. Hooray! It'll be awesome to pad my resume with an actual writing gig, even if it's a do-it-yourself website that I'll be working for. I just finished a book called "The Help" that I keep thinking of when I think of this newest job. The book takes place in the 60s where this wannabe white writer who lives in Mississippi got a job at her local newspaper, but the only position they would give to a woman was this cleaning column. Well, the girl had never cleaned because she lived on a working plantation, so she had to go around asking advice from black maids around town. There was a bunch of civil rights in the book, but I only think about the white girl, because I'm kind of cheating the same way she is. I don't know how to insulate an attic or make my own cleaning supplies. For every article I write, I have to actually research the answers first and then try not to plagiarize my words. It's gonna be fun.

Anyway, I am so grateful that these jobs came. Hopefully I'll be able to get another job here in Vernal to supplement my paycheck. Then I can save up and go back to school! Hooray! *sigh* I miss school. I tried to sign up for spring classes, but BYU requires immediate payment for independent study classes. Grr. A short-term loan would really go a long way in this case. But anyway.

And after training next week, there's Disneyland! Hooray!!!!! I LOVE DISNEYLAND!

But first work. :)

Let Them Eat Cake

2010-03-07T05:11:00.001-08:00

Cupcakes are the most delicious things in the WORLD! I wouldn't ordinarily say this, considering how there are Kit Kats and British chocolate and devil's food cake also in the world, but in this case I believe I can safely boast that the cupcakes at the Cocoa Bean have been sent to Provo to bless my life.

I first tried a magical chocolate-y cupcake in Rexburg when I went to visit my awesome friend Ann (Shout out to you, Ann! That weekend ROCKED!). Then I bid the beautiful shop adieu and cried my way back to Provo.

But who could have imagined that a mere semester later, the cupcake business would have boomed enough to allow for a new branch to open in Provo? That's right, ladies and gentlemen: Provo has a new shop in town. And it's name is cupcakes.

So last night, upon making a very, very, VERY too-short visit to Provo this past Saturday and Sunday, one of the coolest people ever (you know who you are, Rachel Penelope Bohman!) suggested that we stop at the cupcake place and view a brief glimpse of heaven.

And we did. Ahhhhhhh, manna from heaven couldn't have been as wonderful as the chocolate raspberry confection that I split with my fiance. In fact, manna was probably worse than what we ate, since that stuff is supposed to be disappearing-and-reappearing bread. Isn't it? Or something like that? Wait, was it bread-ish? I can't remember now...

In any case, I'm writing this blog at 6:19 in the morning because I am wide awake and yet dreaming of delicious magical cupcakes. I guess my point is that the Cocoa Bean is beautiful.

And the Old Testament is confusing.

Greetings From Utah's Armpit!

2010-02-28T21:13:00.001-08:00

So Josh helped me move up to Vernal yesterday. It was a fun car ride, and even more fun when we got there and could actually walk and move around. Weather was good, roads were good, it was a surprisingly easy trip. And...well, I guess I have nothing to report. I'm here. I'm tired. I'm going to bed.

P.S.

Job hunt starts tomorrow. Wish me luck.

Big Brother

2010-02-21T14:54:00.001-08:00

So I'm pretty sure Facebook knows that I'm engaged, because all the ads along the side are about wedding parties and dresses and caterers and designers and on and on. Stupid facebook, convincing me to post my life on it and then trying to sell me crap because it knows my situation. Facebook is worse than Big Brother, because it sits there, silent, and waits for us to come to it and give it everything it wants. There's some kind of evil genius to that idea.

P.S.

2010-02-12T12:46:00.000-08:00

As soon as we were back in the car, Josh asked if he could call his best friend, because of course once you propose to a girl, you've just got to tell somebody, right? Even if that girl is still in the car and listening to everything you say. He called his buddy Josh and they congratulated each other on being super cool guys, and I was just smiling and shaking my head, because he is just so darn cute sometimes. When we got home, my family was at the table and they got really quiet, waiting for me to admit what I'd gone and done to myself. So I smiled and showed them my finger. My sisters dove into our leftovers while my mom asked me lots of questions that I don't remember.

Then Emily walked in and asked what all the fuss was about. Apparently no one had bothered to let her know what the significance of Josh coming to Vegas was, so when I told her I had gotten engaged, she absolutely didn't believe me until she eyed the ring on my finger.

"Nobody tells me anything!" Oh, Emily.

My Turn, I Guess

2010-02-12T11:42:00.000-08:00

Jonathan, Rachel, and Josh have all posted their engagement stories, and it occurred to me that maybe I'm supposed to do the same, so here goes:

Josh asked my dad for his blessing on our marriage the Sunday before, and during the conversation he suggested that Josh come down the next weekend to surprise me and propose. There was a suspicious gap in conversation that both my dad and Josh wouldn't explain to me when I asked about the phone call, so I was mildly suspicious at that point. The next day, Josh became hellbent on getting a car asap, and although it was something we had talked about, I was amazed by how quickly he went through with the entire process. A couple of days later, he had a car and was talking about all the trips to Vegas he'd be able to take. Clue number two.

Josh and I talk on the phone every night, and every night last week, he would bemoan the fact that we couldn't see each other in person until I moved back to Utah. By then, the hints were getting a little silly. I get it, Josh -- you're coming to surprise me!

Finally, Thursday night came, and I was trying to milk Jonathan for information on when to expect Josh. He wouldn't give me anything. If I don't know when to expect him, how can I get all "gussied up" for when he comes? Well, Friday rolled around, and I was leaving to go pick up my sister from school, but I left the house with the express instructions that I was to be informed the minute Josh arrived.

Of course he just had to come when I was out of the house. Not ten minutes after I had left, my sister Rachel(1) gave me a call and cryptically let me know that a certain someone had rolled into town. Well of course he was there already, because I was out running errands and hadn't even bothered to change out of my pajamas or do something with my hair. That should have been my clue that Josh would inevitably arrive.

So I hurried home after Josh had left the house, still trying to surprise me by arriving after I got back. I ran upstairs, changed and pulled my hair back, and ran back downstairs in time to pull open the door and see Josh leaning up against one of the pillars in front of our door. Man, I love that guy.

So we hugged and I pulled him into the house and everyone was all happy and smiley and junk. We basically sat on that couch together and talked with the family for the next several hours until the rest of my family got home from school and work. My parents were pleasantly not surprised, as were all my sisters. Except for Emily. She was, in fact, the only person in the entire house who was not expecting Josh to be there. Thank goodness for her obliviousness; she makes the secret all worth it.

So then we went to Carrabba's for dinner, which was absolutely delicious even though lobster is sick and lemon bread pudding tastes weird. The entrees were magical and I loved the ice cream that came with dessert. And the ice cubes were soft, so I could chew them without hurting my teeth. Incidentally, does it bother you, Josh, when I chew ice? It's not really appropriate in public restaurants like that, and the waitress did kept giving me a look... But it was my engagement night! I should be able to chew ice if I want to.

Anyhoo, Josh let me drive his new car to the restaurant, which was suh-weet! I really like the control of being the driver, and so letting me drive put me in a ridiculously good mood. I think Josh planned that so that I'd have to say yes. As we were pulling out of the restaurant, Josh said it was up to me to decide where we went next. Yeah, right. Like I'm going to be in charge of the date? I didn't think so.

I couldn't think of anything, so I asked him if just going home was all right. He readily agreed, which was disappointing, because how was he supposed to propose if we just went home? I couldn't be proposed to in front of my family -- that'd be just awful! So I quickly rethought, and asked if we could go see the fountain show at the Bellagio first. He agreed. If you ask him now, he'll tell you that he was just about to suggest it when I brought it up. Uh-huh. Okay, Josh.

So we drove to the Bellagio and walked through the garden area first. They had changed the decorations for the Chinese New Year, and although I'd forgotten my camera, I did have my cell phone, so I took a couple of pictures. And they are SO pretty! Then we went outside to look at the fountain, where Josh cleverly suggested we view it from behind, where far fewer people stand and where we'd be offered more privacy. The show started almost right after we got there. I had forgotten to check the time to see when it would start, but apparently Josh had been thinking about it since we got there. He's good at details like that, you see, which is one of the reasons why marrying him is a smart move -- he can be my personal rememberer!

I just think Italian anything is romantic, right? So when he let me choose the restaurant, I chose Italian. And when the music started for the show, it was a tenor singing this beautiful and obviously Italian aria. Instead of the water shooting jets of water as high as they could go and crashing down with powerful thundering sound, the water flowed gracefully in gentle arcs until the song was over. That was just beautiful. Of course, the entire time I was watching it, Josh was craning his neck right and left and behind us, looking for a good spot to propose. I just kept my head directed at the water and let him do his thing. This was his night, after all. I just had to stand there and say the right words when the time came.

After the show, which ended surprisingly quickly, we waited where we were for a little while so the ten or so people could finish taking their stupid pictures. I was hoping the entire time that Josh wouldn't suggest we leave, because the area was surrounded by dark, enclosed foliage, and it was really very beautiful and private. It was the perfect spot to propose, and I couldn't think of any other place that would serve better. So while I couldn't "suggest" anything to Josh because he was in charge of proposing when and where he wanted to, I was holding my breath that he would just have patience to wait out the tourists so we could have our moment.

A few of the tourists must have decided to live there, because they would not leave for anything. So Josh finally suggested we move on. I was a little disappointed so my legs moved kind of sluggishly, as if they were just as unwilling to give up the perfect proposal spot as the rest of me. That only meant that we moved really slowly away from our vantage point of the fountains. There were two or three people walking past us, when Josh slowed down next the railing that separated us from the water, and where the garden surrounded us on the entire other side.

This is the moment, I thought. Especially because Josh said something like, "Now that I think of it..." and got down on one knee. He pulled the ring box out of his pocket, where he'd been keeping it all night. He was even afraid to take off his jacket at the restaurant in case the ring box fell out. The only problem was, now that he was on one knee, it was apparent what he was going to do and he couldn't slow down or turn back. The next step would be to open up that ring box and propose, but the ring box was actually inside of another box, and that larger box was a little tricky to open. Now that Josh was kneeling, and now that I was standing there waiting, it was like we had to hurry up and do this thing before people came by and noticed us. Thinking back, I don't know why I was so concerned with getting it over with before people came along, but it mattered to me in the moment, so I was grateful that Josh was able to tear that first box off and open up the second to reveal the truly gorgeous ring that I picked out a month ago.

He said, "Camilla, will you marry me?"

I smiled and said, "Yes."

That's it. Then he stood up, I asked him to put the ring on me, and we hugged and kissed. But only one kiss, cause it's supposed to be romantic, and not gross, to get engaged. Then we walked back to the car in the absolute most blissful state.

What the Freak?

2010-02-05T00:35:00.000-08:00

I think my phone is haunted.

The battery was about to die, so I turned it off to save the last bit of battery before going to find my charger. Except that the phone refused to turn off! It started beeping at me a few minutes later to let me know that it was dying! I get it, phone! That's why I shut you off!

So I turned the phone off again. I even watched the screen turn white and the word "goodbye" scroll across before it went black. Good, I thought. That ought to do it.

Wrong! The darn thing beeped at me again a couple of minutes later, flashing the "low battery" sign on it's very-much-alive screen. How did THAT happen?! I turned it off again. I stared at it's blank black face for a moment. I set it down.

It beeped at me.

Agh! Quit it, phone!

You know what? Never mind - I'll just go get the stupid charger.

The Best

2010-02-02T14:09:00.000-08:00

I just love surprises, don't you? My dad's birthday is coming up and boy is that gonna be surprise for a lot of people. Some people won't be so surprised. But they will learn to hide it well. Because they love surprises. Surprises, surprises, surprises.

Surprises are the best, aren't they?

Girls Night Out

2010-01-28T23:58:00.000-08:00

So tonight I went to a sports grill with my sister and another friend. We ate our nachos and drank our Sprites and lemonades and enjoyed the extremely raucous birthday party going on in the corner. Around 10, the dj duo started setting up for karaoke, and the slightly tipsy patrons became considerably more drunk as they took turns watching and enjoying each other sing off-key country, hip-hop, and R&B songs. It was a lot of fun to observe the women in the short, tight skirts start to sway on their plastic heels, screeching to Fergie and Beyonce, while the men fell into tables and chairs as they tried to catch up to the Eminem lyrics flying across the screen.

Then we each took our turns singing our own songs, which was sort of fun, but I much preferred when the three of us closed out the night with the last two songs by Evanescence and Linkin Park. We had all those sloshed patrons dancing, leaning into our mikes to sing with us, and shouting and cheering by the end of the songs. What a fun way to end the night.

And we're going back tomorrow.

Ebit0r Neaded

2010-01-26T12:34:00.000-08:00

I was reading through my resume this morning, trying to make it more up to date and all that, when I started finding little errors here and there. The spacing was wrong for those two lines, that hyphen should have been an en dash, the tense in that sentence wasn't parallel... It would be fine and all if this were my first resume and I were applying for a position at the circus. But it isn't, and I'm not. No, I'm applying for an editorial position at a college, where my copyediting skills and ability to produce cohesive speech would be paramount to my deserving the job, and my resume will be picked over by a perceptive, sharp-eyed editor trained in catching even the smallest typographical errors.

But despite my cringing and wincing after every error I fixed, I couldn't help but smile too, because really, it's okay that I can't write anything perfectly on the first attempt. I mean, that's what editing is for, right? So cleaning up my original mistakes just proves my ability to do the job.

In fact, for a moment there I considered presenting a before/after sampling of my resume -- just to give the editor who will be reading it a chance to view my abilities first-hand. Then I saw my name at the top: Cami;la Parshall.

One resume should be just fine, I think.

What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas...Forever!

2010-01-20T14:14:00.000-08:00

People are always asking me what my dad does for work. The truth is, I'll never really understand it. He works to make his bosses look good when they have to present information to their bosses. So he does lots of analyses, ratios, statistics, and most importantly, spreadsheets. And the range for these information compilations is phenomenal. But that's not what interests me most.

What I like best about his job is the fact that he works for McCarran International Airport in the Department of Aviation. Because he gets to push around a huge, coffin-sized cart with "MIA/DOA" stenciled on the side. No wonder people ask what he does.

I'd be curious too.

Mid-morning Musings

2010-01-11T10:10:00.000-08:00

So Taco Bell has those five-layer burritos for 89 cents that they've been advertising lately. I love the commercials, so I tried one. They're not that great. Still, though...only 89 cents.

My niece Sophia likes my computer. The first time she saw it, I put on Yo Gabba Gabba and we watched a few short videos from their website together. Now whenever she sees the computer, she asks, "Gabba?" and waits for me to turn on the videos again. I've got to keep hiding my poor computer so she doesn't try to turn it on herself.

It's nice in Phoenix. Not "go tanning and become a beautiful bronze goddess" nice, but sunny and sometimes a little too hot. I think I could always live somewhere nice and warm. Dry, desert warmth is my favorite, but I like the beach too. Except the ocean. I do not like the ocean. I just like to stare at it and hear the waves' crashing roar before it creeps me out too much and I have to stop looking. Then I turn to the sun. It's amazing what the sun can do: it burns too fiery hot from billions of miles away and then it pushes its heat and light down on us so that we get just the right amount of comfort and power from its radiance. No wonder we look to the sun as a representation of the Son of God.

I've decided that cherry pie is my favorite kind of pie. But I still love almost all pies. Except pumpkin. I've never tried pecan before, but it looks so gross that I don't think I will unless someone swears that it's delicious on a stick. That's not likely to happen since it looks so ick. Something I've learned: always judge a book by its cover when it comes to food. Gross-looking food is gross-tasting too. And if it has a gross name, it's probably sick too, like chorizo. Gross.

Well, those are my musings for the morning. Hope the rest of the day brings more contemplations. I love not having to work or think on Mondays.

Concerning Burning

2010-01-02T22:07:00.000-08:00

We're an odd family.

Tonight we had our annual Christmas Tree Burning, so we convoyed out to the sand dunes and set fire to half a dozen dried-out Christmas trees and roasted hot dogs and marshmallows over the flames. Is it awful that I love burning the trees after the fact more than I love picking them out or decorating them for the holiday?

I did something new this year and wore a hat. I know that quite a large percentage of my body heat gets released through my head, but I've always hated wearing one because of how it messes up my hair and makes it all static-y. But some very awesome people in Utah taught me the usefulness of wearing hats when it's cold out, and that kept me really warm tonight. Plus I sat really close to the fire.

All in all, a fun night.

Contemplations on the Big Apple

2009-12-30T21:49:00.000-08:00

Yesterday my mom helped me move my stuff back home and we had a looong talk on the way home. I guess it's a little weird for me to open up to my parents about things that I would tell my friends in a heartbeat. That doesn't sound right, does it? In any case, she had no idea before yesterday that I was planning on moving to New York for my internship (like I have a choice--I can't ask the publishing houses to relocate!). Of course once she knew, she dedicated a goodly portion of the ride home telling me about all the awful things about old Eastern cities in general and New York in specific. She kept saying that she wasn't trying to dissuade me from pursuing my dreams, but that she only wanted me to know what to expect. Hmm. While I do believe that she wants me to be prepared for anything, after the fifth random fact about New York's disgusting buildings or their rent prices, I started to believe maybe she wasn't too keen on the whole idea.

New York will be amazing. Dirty, expensive, hard, moldy, cold, lonely, exhausting, and amazing. I can't wait.

Sad

2009-12-29T00:25:00.000-08:00

I'm sad. I don't want to leave. I don't want to keep mentally pushing away the people who are closest to me because I know that I won't be seeing them for a long time. It's a stupid defense mechanism. That's why I keep saying that I'll never see people again. Because I've got to get used to the idea, right? So saying it out loud helps me know that it is real. I hate today.

Blog: Special Christmas Edition

2009-12-25T16:56:00.000-08:00

So yesterday I flew into Vegas at 11:35 a.m. I was supposed to be there at 10:00, but the plane was delayed for unknown reasons. I wonder if there was a bomb threat...nah. That would be way too cool to actually happen. I had downloaded a tv episode on my laptop for the flight because I hate just sitting for an hour, and I'd packed up all my books, but as soon as I got onto the plane, I fell asleep. I woke up when the plane skidded to a stop at McCarran Airport. I guess I shouldn't have stayed up so late the night before.

Then I had a delightful lunch in my dad's office. This year for Christmas we were supposed to make something for the person whose name we drew out of a hat, so my dad was carving a Welsh love spoon for my mom. He was on his fifth attempt, and his hands were covered in callouses and scabs while his desk was littered with tools and sawdust. He isn't the absolute best master woodsmith in the country, but he gets an A+ for sentiment.

As soon as I got home from the airport, my mom sent me out to pick up foodstuffs for Christmas Eve. Oh, and I needed to buy a white elephant gift. Have you SEEN Target on Christmas Eve? Holy cow, was it crowded. But I enjoyed the noise, panic, crowds, and desperation. I kind of like to be in the middle of a big fat mess as the only one with a calm disposition. It makes me feel kind of powerful.

Then Christmas Eve happened: we did our games and opened our small gifts and ate our food. My sister needed help wrapping presents, so afterwards I went to her house with three of my other sisters, but I don't think I was much help. I put her children to bed and told them a story (they like to decide what characters they'd like to be in the story--it's a big hit). As soon as the story was finished, I lay down for just a moment. I woke up at 7:00 this morning. Whoops. More tired than I thought.

Anyway, Christmas was great, I took tons of family pictures, and I loved being around the noise and the crowd and the laughter. And I'm a little tired again. My sister invited me to stay with her and her fiance for this next month to help them out with their business. I could use the work, and they do live in Arizona where it's still warm...hmm. Something to think about over the next day or so. My sister is playing Christmas music on the piano downstairs and my nephew Chris is showing me all the notes he learned on his new guitar. I love my family.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

I Wasn't Cut Out For Customer Service...

2009-12-16T00:58:00.000-08:00

When I was 17 and a senior in high school I thought it would be nice to have a little money, so I got a job working at Mervyn's. It wasn't bad or anything, except that I was stuck in the "home section", which is where sad, tired, and cranky mothers go to buy their stupid bath towels during the half-off sales. I abso-friggin-lutely hated my contact with the penny-pinching shrews who shopped in my section.

One such delight came in late one night when I had had enough of people and the store was about to close. She tried to buy her bed sheets with two coupons and I explained to her that the store only allowed one coupon per person--news she did not receive well. But I was still clinging to my last vestiges of courtesy, and agreed to check the policy with a coworker whereupon I learned that I was wrong.

I respectfully apologized for my misunderstanding, at which point the lovely customer began ranting about how the customer is always right and how I should have known about the double coupon rule. She then demanded my name so that she could report me to my manager. By this time, I had had enough, so I calmly gave her my name and told her that I couldn't care less what she did because I got paid whether she bought something or not.

Her mouth fell open and, speechless, she walked away without purchasing her stupid sheets and without reporting me to anyone.

True story. I hate people.

Uh-oh

2009-12-03T18:40:00.000-08:00

You know you're in trouble when you don't want to do the work that you have to do. Absolutely have to do. But don't want to. It's a problem...

...where the deer and the antelope play...

2009-11-30T00:48:00.000-08:00

Homesick? For Provo?! Unheard of! And yet...

No News From Auschwitz

2009-11-23T13:00:00.000-08:00

It's been nearly a week since I've last posted a blog, so I kind of feel guilty. It's always like this when I go home. I get so caught up with doing things and seeing things, that I lose track of all my regular habits. This is why I don't answer my phone, or remember to respond to text messages, or manage my facebook account. Granted, none of these things are crucial to life, but they are things I would be doing were I not in Las Vegas. I have nothing really to say, so I'll just list a few things I've gotten to do so far.

I had an eye appointment and was able to talk with a bunch of my old coworkers. They're all doing well apparently, though my new rigid gas permeables are irritating my eyes.

I went to a karaoke bar with a few friends and we watched the world grow steadily drunker. Is it odd that I feel comfortable around drunk people? I don't think I personally know very many people that drink a lot--if you don't count my graduating class, that is.

I went shopping with my sisters. I seem to be the only person in my family who enjoys the general atmosphere of the mall. Everyone else was dragging their feet, but maybe they hadn't noticed the giant dancing bears in the fountain and the twinkle lights around the jewelry displays. I love the mall.

I watched Up with my sisters last night. Stupid movie had me "not-crying" in the first twenty minutes. Seriously, Disney is magical.

I celebrated my sister's birthday with the family. I'd forgotten what eleven siblings, eight grandchildren, and four dogs could do to the ears; man, we were LOUD last night. It was wonderful.

So basically, I've done nothing since I got here, but I'm loving every minute of it. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got an N64 version of Zelda that's just waiting for me to get reacquainted with it...

My Life Is Average

2009-11-17T10:23:00.000-08:00

For those of you who don't know, there's a great website called My Life Is Average where people everywhere can post the crazy/fun/funny things that happened to them out of the blue. I have compiled some of my very favorites (of the moment). If you don't approve of the length, feel free to skip over the rest of this blog. Enjoy!

Today, I woke up abruptly in the night. Why? An owl crashed into my window. I'm waiting Hogwarts. I'm waiting. MLIA

Today my six-year-old daughter told me, with a serious face, that she firmly believes the black plague was a cover-up for the zombie apocalypse. MLIA

The other day I learned that if you say 'beer can' with an English accent, you're saying 'bacon' with a Jamaican accent. Mind. Blown. MLIA

This morning, I walked into the kitchen to find my Dad drinking his coffee. When he took a big sip, I told him I was pregnant. He spit it out all over the table. I'm his son. MLIA

Today, I finally managed to say "Piii...kaa..." before I sneezed. MLIA

Today, I received a call saying that my son had been lying in school, and it had reached a point where he needed to be sent outside. I don't have a son. That kid is a good liar. MLIA

Today, my friend explained to me that if you write 3.14 on a piece of paper and hold it in a mirror, it will say pie. Mind. Blown. MLIA

Today, I renamed my recycle bin "Azkaban". Then I made a folder and named it Voldemort. When I clicked delete, my computer asked me: "Are you sure you want to send Voldemort to Azkaban?" MLIA

Today, my mom had her first baby girl. my family already consists of 6 boys. I just realized that my family exactly parallels the Weasleys. I have never been so happy. MLIA

Last night while walking through the city, I saw 4 construction workers climb out of a sewer dressed as teenage mutant ninja turtles. We're all safe now. MLIA

Today, my teacher told us we would watch a movie and we all cheered. He started the movie. It was a video of him teaching. Touché. MLIA

Today, I was working in a haunted corn maze. As I was hiding, a couple of really obnoxious teenage boys walked by. One turned to his friend and said, "Dude, this is so lame--I'm not going to get scared AT ALL." Right at that moment I jumped out in front of him in full zombie costume. He screamed at the top of his lungs and punched me so hard in the face that I fell over. At least I know he'll survive a zombie attack. MLIA

Today I saw a hot guy that was singing the Pokemon theme song at the top of his lungs during our PE class. I sang along with him and afterwards he came up to me and said, "I chose you, Pikachu," while handing me a pokeball. I opened it and read the message inside. Guess who's got a date for prom? MLIA

Today, my best friend and I found out that our friend, who moved here from England when he was seven, reverts back to his English accent when he gets angry. We spent the rest of the day provoking him; it took him two hours to figure out why. MLIA

Today, my sister and I were hungry so we went through the McDonald's drive-thru. I drive an old, beat-up car, and when we pulled up to the window to get our food, the worker looked at me and sarcastically smirked, "Nice car." Without missing a beat, my ten-year-old sister leaned over the seat and said, "Nice job." That shut him up. MLIA

Today, I realized most of my friends have gotten swine flu, but I have not. They live in the suburbs; I live on a pig farm. MLIA

Today, I bought a fancy new black SUV Hummer. When I went to pick up my son from school, I put on a black suit, dark shades, and my blue-tooth earpiece. I waltzed into his last class ten minutes before it ended, and announced, "Agent 03, it's time to go," at which point he nodded, packed his belongings, and ran out. The expression on his teacher's face was priceless. I only hope my boss understands why I had to miss work. MLIA

Today, I received back a paper that I had spent hours writing. I noticed on the fourth page that my professor circled the word "fitty" (supposed to be fifty). In the margins, he wrote, "This ain't no gangsta schoo, G." I'm in law school. MLIA

Today I was bored so I picked up my Magic 8 ball. After a few rounds of questions, I noticed the warning label on the ball that said: "Not intended as a substitute for a human pregnancy test." I could not stop laughing. MLIA

Today, my uncle accidentally ran over his iPod with the lawn mower. He then collected all the pieces, put them in a ziplock bag, and sent the obliterated iPod to Apple with a note complaining that he couldn't get the iPod to turn on. MLIA

Yesterday, I was handing out candy when a costumeless boy came up and, wondering what he was, I asked. He looked at me with a straight face and said, ''I'm a serial killer. We look like everyone else.'' Easily made my night. MLIA

The brand of tampons I use has cheesy inspirational sayings on the wrappers like, "The sky is the limit" and stuff like that. Today, I noticed one that said "Focus on the positive: at least now you know you're not pregnant." Thanks Playtex Sport. MLIA

Today, I got a call from my grandmother's nursing home at 3 am. The nurse frantically explained to me that my grandmother had taken an older man hostage, requesting chocolate milk for his safe release. You go, Grandma. MLIA

Today, while waiting to be let into our classroom, we realized the door was jammed and the class before us was locked inside. After a team of maintenance men tried drills and hammers, two administrators tried master keys, and one janitor tried to pry it open with a crowbar, the quiet kid in my class took a running leap and karate kicked the door. Guess who got it open? MLIA

Today I cut my leg on a chair at school and got blood on my pants. Four of my friends came up to me and told me seriously that I had gotten my period, and one gave me a tampon. I'm a 15-year-old guy... who goes to an all boys school... who is still wondering where Bobby got that tampon. MLIA

Today I saw a street called Love Lane. It was a dead end. Figures. MLIA

Today I saw a little girl wearing a blonde wig and crazy clothes. At first, I didnt know who she was supposed to be, so I asked her. Her response? "A slut." While I gasped in suprise, her mom ran up and said, "No, no, Kayla! That's a bad word!" Then she turned to me and said, "She's Hannah Montana." I love Halloween. MLIA

Today, I let my cat outside. He usually comes back with a mouse or bird, but today he came back with a fully cooked lobster. It's good to know that my cat has class. MLIA

A while ago I introduced my father to my first boyfriend. The only thing my dad said to him was "If you hurt my daughter, remember I have a shovel and live next to the woods. No one will find the body." Several months later, my boyfriend broke up with me. Today, my dad and I were at Home Depot buying a shovel. My ex saw us, and my dad pointed to the shovel. The look on my ex's face was priceless. MLIA

Today, I realized that Microsoft Word puts the red squiggly line under "Ravenclaw" "Hufflepuff" and "Slytherin" ... but not "Gryffindor". Ten points to Gryffindor. MLIA

Today I walked past a rowdy bunch of big guys with a heap of tattoos, piercings--all that macho stuff. Since I'm a ridiculously short teenage girl, I felt kind of intimidated and so tried to shuffle past without drawing their attention. As I passed them I heard one of them exclaim "Dude, Barbie is heaps cooler than Bratz! What is your PROBLEM?" MLIA

Today I tried number 153 of 333 ways to get kicked out of Wal-Mart. It said to scream in pain until someone comes along and asks what's wrong then act as if nothing happened. I live where there are no Wal-marts so I went to Woolworth's and tried it. As I screamed in agony with my head was in my hands, someone came up behind me and said, "This isn't Wal-mart," patted my shoulder, and walked away. Touché. MLIA

Today, after seeing many MANY cars with the bumper sticker, "We are proud of our A+ honor student," I saw a car with the bumper sticker, "We are deeply ashamed of our B average student." It easily made my day. MLIA

Today, I was trying to outrun a person who was running across the street. I ran into a pole. As the other person pointed and laughed at me, he ran into a stop sign. MLIA

Today my aunt asked my six-year-old cousin what she would do if a stranger pulled up in a van and said, "Hey little girl, do you want some candy?" Her response? "Throw it to me!" Best idea I've ever heard. MLIA

Today was the final day of my class' mock trial. The trial was for a murderer whose defense was that his hand was crippled, disabling him from committing the murder. I was the prosecution and, as I was questioning him for the last time, I asked if he was thirsty and tossed him my water bottle. The student, only pretending to be the murderer, thought nothing of it when he caught the bottle with his "crippled" hand. I rested my case while the jury applauded. MLIA

Today I was volunteering at a nearby elementary school's carnival. They had a DJ operating the songs and at one point, Miley Cyrus's "Party In The USA" came on. One student suddenly dropped to the floor screaming, "MY YOUTH! MY YOUTH! IT'S BEING CORRUPTED!!!" The DJ immediately turned off the music, apologized, and then started a Beatles song. I have faith in today's generation. MLIA

Today, a group of underage college students tried to get into the club where I work as a bouncer with IDs that belonged to Harry Potter, Optimus Prime, Tom Riddle, Fleur Delacour, and Ash Ketchum. Of course I let them all in without question. MLIA

Today, I was running late for class, so I texted my friend and told her to stall the teacher so he wouldn't remember to take roll. I arrived three minutes later to see my teacher and the entire AP statistics class doing the Thriller dance in unison while my friend blasted the song through her iPod speakers. I think I'm going to be late every day. MLIA

Today, while on the NYC subway, a really intimidating thug tapped me on the shoulder when I was changing the song on my iPod. I got really nervous that something bad was about to happen, but I acknowledged him anyway. Turns out he just wanted to show me he had the Glee! soundtrack on his iPod too. MLIA

A week ago I sent in an extension request form for my gas utilities bill. Under the section "reason for extension," I wrote in "attacked by pterodactyls." Today I received a two-week extension notification. Thank you, anonymous Consumers Energy employee. MLIA

Today I was in Australia visiting the zoo. I was on a bridge over a big pit which held saltwater crocodiles. By the railing was a sign that read "Please don't lean on the railing. If the fall doesn't kill you, the crocs sure as hell will." I had to get off the bridge I was laughing so hard. MLIA

Today I was sitting in English class, working in a group, when I mentioned that I was hungry and couldn't wait for class to get out. A guy sitting behind me turned around, pulled out a burger from his coat pocket, and said, "Will this do?" Yes, yes it would, strange burger boy. MLIA

Today, while zipping up my pants, I looked down and noticed that my pants came with instructions on how to wear pants. It's good to know that in a pants emergency, I will never have to worry. MLIA

Now you know of the goodness that is MLIA - go forth and have a perfectly average day.

Birthday Surprise

2009-11-16T12:42:00.000-08:00

Emily, I've got a surprise for your birthday. I can't tell you what it is, so I thought I'd publicly post it on my blog--not the surprise, but the fact that I have one. I'm so excited!

A Note

2009-11-12T03:13:00.003-08:00

Dearest Heather and Ian,

I'm so happy you could come to visit for a couple of days. What wonderful luck that you should be able to bring your dogs with you so that one of them could sleep on my bed. In other news, your horse of a dog has taken over my bed and my blanket, leaving me curled up in the coldest corner of my mattress, without a blanket, and without the ability to sleep. It is now 4:14 am and your beloved pet is snoring. I hope you all enjoyed your stay.

Warmest regards,

Camilla

Acordar

2009-11-11T00:04:00.000-08:00

It would be so nice to remember things. I really wish I could, but it seems that often events, conversations, even entire people slip through my mind like I have a hole-y sieve for a memory. I don't think anyone really understands how truly frustrating this is, so I'll list a few of the wonderful things that have happened to me because of my bad memory:

I kept forgetting when I had set up study sessions with my classmates, and so missed 7 of our meetings over the course of the semester.

I paid a credit card bill twice in the same month because I forgot that I had already paid it, then forgot that I had paid it twice, and spent money that wasn't actually in my account. The bank kindly informed me of my blunder and charged me $30. Thank you, Ensign.

I forgot I had a class--I am NOT kidding--and slept in, thinking I had two hours before my first class of the day. Missed that entire class.

I forgot that the testing center closed early in the summer semester, and went to take a test on the last day of testing, only to find out that the center had closed an hour earlier.

I forgot the name of the guy who had asked me out, so I had to endure the entire date without ever calling him by his name. To this day, I still don't know.

I forget when it's Fast and Testimony meeting every effin' month and come to church well-fed and guilty.

I ask Rachel to be my neighbor on Cafe World, forget that I asked her, ask her again, forget again that I asked her again, and ask her a third time. Smiling, she tells me that I've asked her to be neighbors three times, and I can't for the life of me remember asking her more than once.

I continually ask about the health of a friend the entire evening, and he finally tells me he's not gonna answer me one more time, so I don't know how he even feels.

I forget assignment due dates, only to remember them far, far too late with the familiar, horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I never know how old my family members turn on their birthdays, the dates of which I can also never remember.

I have to constantly do the math to remember how old I am. It is actually difficult to keep track.

These are just a few little gems that I get to endure with this memory of mine. I only hope that none of you experience the same ordeals and that your memories will continue to remain sharp and effective. I also hope that I can remember your names tomorrow. Good grief...

Strange Thoughts

2009-11-06T17:21:00.000-08:00

I realized today that I word-vomit almost everyday. The things I say are ridiculous and a lot of times outrageous, and I float through life under the impression that everyone understands that I'm not being sincere. If I WERE being serious about what I say, then here are a few of the bizarre things I'd have to make good on:

+I'd be engaged to a multitude of people, including two of my dearest female friends, my nephew, and the entire marching band class of 2005.

+I'd be an alcoholic, lesbian feminist with a drug habit.

+I'd hate everyone on this earth except for myself. And maybe a few select others.

+I'd be a professional bus driver, and would have kidnapped an entire busload of schoolchildren, ransomed them for retirement money, and run away to Mexico. (I still have the essay to prove this one.)

+I'd have founded a new country and subsequent theme park (Camillaland!) and placed myself at the head of the government. Democracy is for the other people of the world--I'd totally be King (Take note: I wouldn't be called a Queen. See feminist allusion above.)

+Absolutely everything in life actually would be either the best or the worst.

+I would have no memory whatsoever. (Wait, what am I writing? Why am I here? Who am I?)

+My sisters would all be hookers, and my favorite guy friends would all be German whores.

So you see from these choice few examples that I tend to exaggerate everything, and should not be taken seriously. I felt in all fairness that I should at least warn you so you can properly dismiss my meaningless ramblings in the future. It only seemed right.

Longfellow

2009-11-04T11:17:00.000-08:00

You know how Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was incredibly long-winded? Yeah, so was my last blog posting. Sorry it was so freakishly long. I hate long blogs, and then I became the thing I despise. This must be what Darth Vader felt like when he joined the Dark Side...

Again--sorry, guys.

Little Red Riding Hood - the Politically Correct Version

2009-11-03T23:38:00.000-08:00

There once was a young person named Little Red Riding Hood who lived on the edge of a large forest full of endangered owls and rare plants that would probably provide a cure for cancer if only someone took the time to study them. Red Riding Hood lived with a nurture giver whom she sometimes referred to as "mother", although she didn't mean to imply by this term that she would have thought less of the person if a close biological link did not in fact exist. Nor did she intend to denigrate the equal value of nontraditional households, although she was sorry if this was the impression conveyed. One day her mother asked her to take a basket of organically grown fruit and mineral water to her grandmother's house. "But mother, won't this be stealing work from the unionized people who have struggled for years to earn the right to carry all packages between various people in the woods?" Red Riding Hood's mother assured her that she had called the union boss and gotten a special compassionate mission exemption form. "But mother, aren't you oppressing me by ordering me to do this?" Red Riding Hood's mother pointed out that it was impossible for women to oppress each other, since all women were equally oppressed until all women were free. "But mother, then shouldn't you have my brother carry the basket, since he's an oppressor, and should learn what it's like to be oppressed?" Red Riding Hood's mother explained that her brother was attending a special rally for animal rights, and besides, this wasn't stereotypical women's work, but an empowering deed that would help engender a feeling of community. "But won't I be oppressing Grandma, by implying that she's sick and hence unable to independently further her own selfhood?" But Red Riding Hood's mother explained that her grandmother wasn't actually sick or incapacitated or mentally handicapped in any way, although that was not to imply that any of these conditions were inferior to what some people called "health". Thus Red Riding Hood felt that she could get behind the idea of delivering the basket to her grandmother, and so she set off. Many people believed that the forest was a foreboding and dangerous place, but Red Riding Hood knew that this was an irrational fear based on cultural paradigms instilled by a patriarchal society that regarded the natural world as an exploitable resource, and hence believed that natural predators were in fact intolerable competitors. Other people avoided the woods for fear of thieves and deviants, but Red Riding Hood felt that in a truly classless society all marginalized peoples would be able to "come out" of the woods and be accepted as valid lifestyle role models. On her way to Grandma's house, Red Riding Hood passed a woodchopper, and wandered off the path, in order to examine some flowers. She was startled to find herself standing before a Wolf, who asked her what was in her basket. Red Riding Hood's teacher had warned her never to talk to strangers, but she was confident in taking control of her own budding sexuality, and chose to dialogue with the Wolf. She replied, "I am taking my Grandmother some healthful snacks in a gesture of solidarity." The Wolf said, "You know, my dear, it isn't safe for a little girl to walk through these woods alone." Red Riding Hood said, "I find your sexist remark offensive in the extreme, but I will ignore it because of your traditional status as an outcast from society, the stress of which has caused you to develop an alternative and yet entirely valid worldview. Now, if you'll excuse me, I would prefer to be on my way." Red Riding Hood returned to the main path, and proceeded towards her Grandmother's house. But because his status outside society had freed him from slavish adherence to linear, Western-style thought, the Wolf knew of a quicker route to Grandma's house. He burst into the house and ate Grandma, a course of action affirmative of his nature as a predator. Then, unhampered by rigid, traditionalist gender role notions, he put on Grandma's nightclothes, crawled under the bedclothes, and awaited developments. Red Riding Hood entered the cottage and said, "Grandma, I have brought you some cruelty-free snacks to salute you in your role of wise and nurturing matriarch." The Wolf said softly, "Come closer, child, so that I might see you." Red Riding Hood said, "Goodness! Grandma, what big eyes you have!" "You forget that I am optically challenged." "And Grandma, what an enormous--what a fine nose you have." "Naturally, I could have had it fixed to help my acting career, but I didn't give in to such societal pressures, my child." "And Grandma, what very big, sharp teeth you have!" The Wolf could not take any more of these specist slurs, and, in a reaction appropriate for his accustomed milieu, he leaped out of bed, grabbed Little Red Riding Hood, and opened his jaws so wide that she could see her poor Grandmother cowering in his belly. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Red Riding Hood bravely shouted. "You must request my permission before proceeding to a new level of intimacy!" The Wolf was so startled by this statement that he loosened his grasp on her. At the same time, the woodchopper burst into the cottage, brandishing an ax. "Hands off!" cried the woodchopper. "And what do you think you're doing?" cried Little Red Riding Hood. "If I let you help me now, I would be expressing a lack of confidence in my own abilities, which would lead to poor self esteem and lower achievement scores on college entrance exams." "Last chance, sister! Get your hands off that endangered species! This is an FBI sting!" screamed the woodchopper, and when Little Red Riding Hood nonetheless made a sudden motion, he sliced off her head. "Thank goodness you got here in time," said the Wolf. "The brat and her grandmother lured me in here. I thought I was a goner." "No, I think I'm the real victim, here," said the woodchopper. "I've been dealing with my anger ever since I saw her picking those protected flowers earlier. And now I'm going to have such a trauma. Do you have any aspirin?" "Sure," said the Wolf. "Thanks." "I feel your pain," said the Wolf, and he patted the woodchopper on his firm, well padded back, gave a little belch, and said "Do you have any Maalox?"

Winter Sucks

2009-10-29T22:29:00.000-07:00

I hate the cold. Who likes it, really? How cool would it be if there were someplace in America where it rarely ever snowed? Probably someplace where there were casinos or something. Maybe it'd be cool if there were a temple there, too. But the coolest thing? If I were there RIGHT NOW!

Stewie's Backstory

2009-10-28T10:37:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cO9N5wJjII&NR=1

Lisa the Awesome

2009-10-26T12:59:00.000-07:00

"So how long do you think it'll take for us to reach Hagar's hut?"

Greg turned to squint shrewdly at me for a minute before answering. "It's just up ahead," he said finally.

I eagerly pushed forward and saw the pale outline of a house through the mist of a sudden clearing. The closer we got, the sharper the house came into focus, until I could make out every single detail of its construction in the generous moonlight. I gasped.

The entire one-room cottage was made out of gingerbread. There were icing window shutters and licorice paneling with gumdrops lining the walk. I could just make out the sparkling rooftop of shimmering sprinkles before I stopped dead. "No way," I said. "There's just no way. HER?" I asked the fairy, pointing to the house. "Do you mean to tell me that Hagar the witch is the same nasty old hag who tried to eat Hansel and Gretel?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Greg sniffed airily, "but if you mean those two children approaching her house, then no, Hagar hasn't eaten them yet."

"Wha--?" I whirled back around to face the house. "Hey! Hey, kids, what are you--Greg!" I turned back to face him but that useless fairy had already disappeared. At the speed his wings could go, he was probably already back home in his swamp by now. Talk about useless.

I ran forward to approach the children Greg had pointed out. They had just reached the cottage from the other side of the clearing and were stretching forth their hands to tear off a strip of licorice when I reached them. "Whoa! Unh-uh! What are you kids doing? You can't just eat somebody's property just because it happens to be delicious! What's the matter with you two?"

I was yelling at two blond-haired, blue-eyed twins who looked to be about nine years old. At the moment, they were looking scared out of their minds, and so thin that I knew they must have missed several meals in the last few days.

The little boy looked to be the leader of the operation, because at my rebuke, he blushed. "Please, miss," he said, "we meant no harm. It's just that we haven't had anything to eat since morning and we're terribly hungry."

I sighed, completely softened by their meager appearance, and rolled my eyes upward to the giant moon above. "Let me guess: you left a trail of breadcrumbs and the birds ate them, so now you can't find your way home."

The two children stared at me in wonder. The little girl managed to croak out, "Are--are you Hagar, the witch?"

"What? No! I'm Lisa, the Awesome. And trust me, you do not want to meet up with Hagar." I leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "I hear she eats children."

Homecoming

2009-10-24T10:46:00.000-07:00

It's homecoming weekend at BYU! Hurray! There's nothing I love more than being woken by the dull pounding of the marching band, the honks of the floats, and the cheering of the crowd right outside my apartment. Blah.

The Many Adventures of Bus Girl!

2009-10-23T02:03:00.001-07:00

Today I rode the bus by myself. I'd never done that before. It was difficult to have to pay attention to where the stops were and to try to ignore creepy staring guy sitting across from me. But I did it. And all by myself!

I am woman; hear me roar.

C/r/ap

2009-10-21T13:16:00.000-07:00

I like to read English usage dictionaries because they're the best way to keep up on our evolving language so that I can be an effective editor someday. Often I find the passages pretty humorous because our language is way more confusing than I ever imagined. Take, for example, the issues of gender equality. Can you use the pronoun “he” to represent a vague person in a sentence? You know, like “Anyone can wear his jacket to the prom.” Is that okay, or is it sexist?

Some linguists argue that the general use of the pronoun “he” is non-inclusive. In human words, that means that using “he” when you mean either a man or woman is bad. The feminists apparently tried for years to make pronouns more inclusive. They tried to use “he/she” or “s/he” to represent both “he” and “she”. Those examples are even more ridiculous to me, but hey, that’s linguistics.

My personal favorite, of course, is the argument that the gender-neutral pronoun “it” should be included as well (lest those non-gender humans feel excluded). The suggestion for inclusion in this case is “s/h/it”, which seems a fair representation of what language is coming to in the hands of people who think far too much and not at all, all at the same time.

Good Point

2009-10-21T00:21:00.000-07:00

So tonight I was hanging out with my good friend Rachel at my place. I was telling her about a mutual friend of ours who had "totally called me out on my crap last night."

Rachel, without missing a beat, immediately asked, "Which crap?"

I started to respond when I realized that she had asked "which" crap instead of "what", indicating that, with me, there's surely more than one thing I bs about. Then I was on the floor laughing and could no longer continue my story.

Despite Rachel's swift apologies and protestations that she had meant to say "what", I couldn't help thinking: "Good point, Rachel. Good point."

Holy Crap!

2009-10-20T04:00:00.001-07:00

Yikes! What a night!

Memories of Halloween

2009-10-19T14:41:00.000-07:00

So Halloween is by far my favorite holiday. I love that there are activities you can do at night and that people get to dress up and pretend to be something else. I love the cool weather and the carmel apples, the jack-o-lanterns and the tp-ing of people's houses. Pranks, ghouls, parties, haunted houses...all of this makes Halloween one of the more festive holidays of the year. Today I reflected on Halloweens of my past, and certain memories resurfaced:

I remember when my brother Stephen didn't know what he was going to dress as, so my oldest brother Chris threatened to strip him naked and paint his entire body black. He would go as a piece of tar, Chris claimed with his mischievous grin. But my mother flat-out said no, so Stephen was spared the embarrassment.

I remember going to the trunk-or-treat every year in the church parking lot because my parents thought Halloween was too dangerous in Las Vegas for us to span the neighborhoods. Trunk-or-treating is safer, even if the candy-haul isn't quite as impressive.

I remember finally being old enough to hang out with my friends when I was 13, when we dressed up and went haunted house-hopping all over town. That was the scariest thing I'd ever done to date and it was awesome to be around all the drunk, laughing older teenagers who frequent the haunted houses.

I remember finally realizing how truly disgusting bobbing for apples really is, with person after person dunking and salivating into the same small barrel of apples. From then to now, I've never bobbed for apples. And I never will.

And I remember the last Halloween I was in Las Vegas (2007), when I totally ditched the second half of my three-hour Tuesday night poli sci class so that I could go to the church parking lot and pass out (ie eat) Halloween candy. My trunk was just the right size because I own a Hyundai Sante Fe, so my sisters crawled in the back with me and we all talked, laughed and occasionally shared the bowl of candy with trunk-or-treaters.

Halloween is magical. Don't anyone try to tell me different.

Insomnia

2009-10-19T03:12:00.000-07:00

I couldn't sleep and decided, after spending the last four hours reading blogs, that maybe I should start my own. The whole concept of a blog seems stupid for me because I don't know who would read it, thereby making it difficult for me to write something entertaining according to that particular reader's interests. Also, contrary to my insistent need to talk at all times, I don't share many poignant details about my life because it makes me defensive thinking about anyone "in my business." It's an irrational mode of thinking, but my privacy has always been forefront to my actions, so there you are.

That being said, I suppose I will have to make this blog relate only harmless details. Tonight I'll share ten facts about myself in the hopes that I won't ever have to do that again, and can, in the future, write instead about events safe in the knowledge that my reader(s) understand the character of the author. So here goes:

1. I don't like people in general.

2. I pretend to like people because they can't help being people and really, there's no need to be rude about it.

3. My favorite color is yellow because it's so cheerful and brightens anything, including my mood.

4. I love road trips but hate long car rides.

5. Having nine sisters, I think I understand the female psyche pretty well, but men frankly baffle me.

6. I have a deep and abiding love for chocolate but the smell of flowers (particularly roses) makes me feel nauseated.

7. I enjoy the freedom of college but am terrified of life after school.

8. I don't handle serious commitment very well.

9. I'd rather burn to death than freeze to death.

10. My biggest pet peeve is rude people; they make me want to be seriously rude to them.

Now you know everything about me. May it serve you well.

Jots and Tittles

Best Professor Ever

AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Couch-to-5K Running Plan

Walmart Letter

Chocolate: The Love-Hate Relationship

New Semester, Old Problems

Text Messages

Cranberry Juice

Hoarders

Othelleos

A Day in the Life of New Student Support

Hip Hip Hooray!

Genie-ology

Internet

Update

Camping Trip, Part 1

It's Not About The Religion

Shortest and Longest Trip *Ever*

Marriage Shouldn't Be This Tough

Night of the Endless Receptions

IOU

Blue Badge of Stupid

Tuxedo Trials

Reception Schemes!

Allyse's Reception

Try This On For Size

Status Update

Big Bertha the Bruise

Lisa the Awesome is Awesome!

Families and Feminists

Lowered Expectations Make For Great Viewing

Employed Again!

Summer Update

Moving Pains

The Only Sugar-coated, Dipped-in-chocolate Cereal That's Kid-Tested And Kid-Approved!

Sometimes Cliches Are Awesome

Ann Barlow, I'm Talking To You!

Why Does Every Blog Have To Have A Title?

...Sleeeeep...

The Real Manifest Destiny

Musings from Soylent Green

Awk. Ward.

Over-Sensitivity Is My Absolute Favorite Part of This Politically Correct World

Virtue Is A Virtue

It's A St. Patrick's Day Miracle!

For Kristina

Joining the Ranks of the Gainfully Employed

Let Them Eat Cake

Greetings From Utah's Armpit!

Big Brother

P.S.

My Turn, I Guess

What the Freak?

The Best

Girls Night Out

Ebit0r Neaded

What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas...Forever!

Mid-morning Musings

Concerning Burning

Contemplations on the Big Apple

Sad

Blog: Special Christmas Edition

I Wasn't Cut Out For Customer Service...

Uh-oh

...where the deer and the antelope play...

No News From Auschwitz

My Life Is Average

Birthday Surprise

A Note

Acordar

Strange Thoughts

Longfellow

Little Red Riding Hood - the Politically Correct Version

Winter Sucks

Stewie's Backstory

Lisa the Awesome

Homecoming

The Many Adventures of Bus Girl!

C/r/ap

Shortest and Longest Trip Ever