Oh, What A Beautiful Morning

Today is starting out wonderfully. It was a little shaky right after I woke up, but got better immediately. I'd been having a dream that I was helping a co-worker (male) with a work related task. For no apparent reason I woke up suddenly. It was so abrupt that I didn't have time to realize that the man I was cuddled up to in bed was not my co-worker, but my husband. Sense came to me just in time, as I was about to yell and start kicking. So it actually turned out funny. Eric agrees.
Tangent: A similar thing happened the first year we were married, except in this case it had nothing to do with a dream. I woke up to see my long hair resting on my arm. I thought it was a cat. Eric tells me I got about two feet of air between me and the bed before I realized my mistake.
The next good thing was leaving the house on time to get Eric to school and me to work. Being on time allowed us to be at the intersection of 500 W and 1230 N (Bulldog Blvd) at the perfect time. One of my biggest pet peeves is people who run the red turn arrow at that intersection to get onto eastbound 1230 N. It happens every time I'm there. This time there was a police car that the red light runner couldn't see. Maybe it's not nice to be pleased that he was pulled over, but I was glad that someone finally got caught.
Finally, I got to work in time to get my parking spot. The past several mornings they've been taken by evil white truck, evil white truck's mini me, and big red truck. I didn't see the two big trucks, but mini me was there after I had parked. I hope the rest of the day keeps me in such high spirits.

Today in Traffic

Eric and I decided to leave early to get him to school and me to work today. The reasoning behind it was to beat the evil white truck for my parking space. I only ask for one, but now he has invited another truck crony. It is also a white truck, but small. At least now all three trucks are only taking up two spaces each. Evil white truck just got here and (horror!) had to park in just one space. I digress.

I dropped Eric off at school and there were two accidents at the roundabout to get into UVSC. No one was hurt and I'm sure that one of the accidents was caused by rubber necking from the other. Maybe now people will learn how the two lane roundabout works. Anyway, the first accident we saw was a minor fender bender on the inside lane. Once we got into the roundabout we saw the other, more comical accident. The car had left its lane entirely. To separate where cars exit and enter the roundabout, there is a grassy divider with a sign for directions to different locations on campus. The car was resting peacefully on the grass, except for the bit of front bumper caught on the cement base and bent out of shape.

After I dropped Eric off and negotiated my way back onto the main street there was another traffic snarl at the next light. A carpet van lost a roll of carpet and two pads when they stopped at the light. They had their own orange triangles, so it was cleaned up before long.

I wanted to take a picture of the car on the grass while I was in the parking lot, but Eric said it wasn't nice. So, to even the score, I will admit to one of my stupider driving moments. In high school I worked at the MTC Cafeteria. I had a crush on a fellow employee, who had just quit. We drove away at about the same time and, instead of watching where I was going, I watched where he was going. It resulted in my ramming the car into a divider hard enough to pop the tire and make the horn blare. At least I was still in the parking lot. And the missionaries enjoyed watching my dad change the tire.

Why I Didn't Go

I was going to write about the wonderful evening that was the get-together with the sisters from my mission untl I realized that almost 50% of the four people that actually read my blog are people I served with. Okay, that's not exactly true. Abbie wrote about it and posted the picture, so it's on her blog if you want to see it. I thought I would, however, address the reasons why I decided to cut my evening short and go home instead of to the actual reunion.

I really, really wanted to see three of my companions who would be there (Alma, Jen, and Lena), but I had other compelling reasons to stay home.

1. I haven't actually enjoyed the reunions for about two years now. They hurt my feel bads. There are always people there I was good friends with and was excited to see who seem to brush me off on their way to talk to someone else. Why would I put up with that? The one notable exception is one of the more awkward elders I served with. He is very sweet and silently follows me around the room until he feels comfortable enough to greet me. He then says hello, asks how I am, and then goes away. If I didn't know he's just shy it would kind of creep me out.

2. I wasn't feeling very well. On the day after my body informed me in no uncertain terms that I am NOT (remember the NOT) pregnant, it decided to make me morning sick all day. How annoying is that? Answer: very.

3. I didn't want to fight traffic and parking at BYU. In the rain.

4. I was halfway through making cinnamon rolls for conference.

5. While I was in line at Pudding on the Rice with the other sisters a guy behind us asked if he knew me. We were in choir together in high school. We chatted for a while and I realized that I was having a more meaningful conversation with a guy who couldn't remember my name than I would have with any of the elders I served with.

6. It was a combined reunion with the most recently returned president and I wasn't interested in wading through room crowded with missionaries I'd never met.

So, to Alma, Jen, and Lena: I really did want to see you all, and I'm sorry I didn't.

To Lily, Mary, Abbie, Amber, and Allyson: I had a lot of fun. Thanks.

Game On! part 2

After yesterday's post I got to thinking about why I'm such a brat when I play board games. It is my highly competitive nature. That got me to thinking about whether or not the competitiveness has been good for me. On the one hand, it has gotten me to do things I would not normally have done. Like get up on the roof of a building (I work there) to take a picture with a 20 foot tall missionary.

I had been all prepared to get up there with the other girls until I got a good look at the skinny little ladder leading to the roof. Then I got scared. Nothing could persuade me to hoist myself up that high with nothing but an empty dumpster to break my fall. Then one of the guys came and shimmied up without a problem. At that point I thought, "If he can do it, I can do it faster." My goal was accomplished. That very night someone else shimmied up on top of the building, stole the missionary, spray painted words (and...anatomy), and left him on BYU campus. We felt pretty bad that we had given someone the idea.

Verdict: Good at first, bad later.

The other incident that comes to mind landed me in the emergency room. This happened in kindergarten. After thinking I saw my brother spinning around a pipe I thought, "I'm smaller than him. I can do better than that." Apparently I was mistaken in what I thought I saw and ended up with five stitches in my head.

Verdict: Bad all the way around. Maybe I shouldn't make decisions based on trying to be the winner.

Game On!

Through the years many people have had the mistaken opinion that I am perfect little angel. I discovered this during my dating life. One young man in particular was very vocal in telling me that I couldn't get second dates because I was too "good" to have fun with. On the other hand, he also believed that I would welcome his offer to kiss me. He thought that was why I was always staring at his mouth. The truth behind the staring is that I was always curious how his teeth achieved that shade of green every day without the assistance of heavily dyed candy. It's still a mystery.
Aside from this young man, several other people also told me I was a bit too sweet and nice for my own good. I suppose that's true to a point, but those people have never seen me play board games. It's like another personality takes over. Winning is all that matters. If I don't win, someone always suffers the consequences. Eric has borne the brunt of this several times. While playing my first game of Space Risk (not my favorite), my sweet husband neglected to mention a few helpful points and I lost the game. Badly. I wouldn't speak to him for about two hours after that. He felt it once again when we were playing Settlers of Catan with my parents. He made a move I considered both unfair and illegal (he's supposed to help me win, dang it!) and I spent at least an hour not allowing him to touch me. My grandparents were also there and I had to let Eric touch me again when they started asking questions meant to find out if our marriage was in jeopardy. Sigh. We're fine...I'm just a brat.

A Very Scientific Experiment

I have weird toes. Eric gets no end of enjoyment out of making fun of them. The first three are totally normal. The last two toes are the toes that get teased so mercilessly. For ease in reference we will call them "Had None" and "Wee" (think This Little Piggy Went to Market). Had None is a shy toe that curls up and hides behind "Roast Beef". The one on the right foot is particularly shy. Wee, on the other hand, is more outgoing and takes advantage of Had None's tendency to hide by overlapping it. Either that or Wee thinks the ground is yucky and won't touch it. Really. You should see my 4-toed footprint.

You may ask what all this information has to with a very scientific experiment. A few nights ago Eric decided it was time to make fun of my feet again. What followed was the official Very Scientific Experiment to see if you have weird toes.

Take a longish piece of paper (in my case a Mentos wrapper folded into quarters) and stick it between Had None and Wee. Using only the movement of the toes on that foot, see if you can release the paper from its fleshy confinement. If you can get the paper out easily by spreading and wiggling your toes, you will have what we call "normal" toes. If the paper won't move at all, you have "weird" toes.

After a bit of struggling I can do it with my left toes, but no amount of effort makes it possible for my right toes. I am embarrassed to admit that I tried it again several nights later. But it gives solid, scientific evidence that I have weird toes. Maybe other people have better luck than I do.

Dream a Little Dream of Me

It is a widely recognized truth that one's own dreams are much more interesting than anyone else's dreams. Unless of course someone else's dreams are prophetic or include you. Otherwise it's much the same as listening to someone tell you the entire storyline of a 900 page novel that you didn't want to read, anyway. So, rather than tell you about two of my favorite nightmares, I will give you the basics and you can come up with your own story lines.

Nightmare 1

Setting: a cruise ship at sea.

Scary person: a leprechaun-sized Jack the Ripper with spiky hair.

Other notable items/ details: a pogo stick and a ring of toothpicks figure highly into the drama.

Nightmare 2

Setting: An apartment building with fire escapes on the outside

Scary person: Voldmortgollumyoda--a creature with the face of Yoda, the body of the animated Gollum from The Hobbit (about the size of a St. Bernard), and the magical tendencies of Voldemort.

Other notable items/details: this creature was my pet, but didn't seem to like me very much.


Both of these are dreams I actually had. Leave a comment for me to tell me how you think either of them went.

It's All About the Music

I love my job. I really do. I love every single person there. That wasn't true before we got our new manager, but tht is not the story. The only thing I don't like (aside from stupid customers) is the repetitive music we hear. Every day for 8 hours I am treated to the lovely sounds of church music. Most of it is fine, the rest of it is LDS pop. I never did like religious pop music, but I was completely cured of it on my mission when that was about all we were allowed to listen to besides Mo Tab.

For those of you who love LDS pop, sorry. I don't. I think they all sound the same. Three of the songs I hear every day do, however, stick out to me more than the others: His Hands, Wings, and The One I Don't Know the Name Of.

The One I Don't Know the Name Of is the least annoying of the three. It actually kind of amuses me. It's about Christ (not the reason it's amusing) and the voice of the singer sounds so familiar. Like something from the past... If I had to choose a name for it, the name would be The Carpenters Sing the Bible.

His Hands is a song that I was once indifferent to, and now hate with a burning fiery passion. Why? There were too many weeks in a row that I heard it at least four times every day. In English and in Portuguese. The English singer intrigues me. Never before have I heard singing made to sound like vomiting. It's an entirely new experience. In good news, I have discovered that it comes on 3 hours and 50 minutes after the playlist is started. Then I can make sure I have other music playing in my sewing corner.

Wings (I think that's the name) is song I have most recently taken notice of. It is sung by my very least favorite LDS singer and there are only two lines that I can make out while I'm at work. What are these things that look like wings?/What are they doing on me? Because I can only hear those two lines, I am left to draw my own conclusions about the meaning of the song. I have decided that she is lamenting the condition that afflicts so many women. Relief Society arms. Oh, the pain.

Meet My Mohawks

When women wander through times of trouble, transition, or trauma, we wield one weapon against the angst: hair. The complete control hair harbors provides peace for the frazzled female.
Death of dog: dye it dark. Start of school: Straighten it smooth. Betrayal by boyfriend: buzz it bald. The list is lengthy.
My moment of melancholy made me crave a curly coif. After an alteration to my limp and lifeless locks I discovered a disturbing dilemma. Miniature mohawks meander through my mane (four 'fros roam free, but a couple aren't "camera comfortable").
Sad side-effects, but I've mastered mohawk management. My method? Spray it sticky and smooth it slick.

Eyeshadow for Dummies

While I was shopping for new mascara I was amused to find this particular eyeshadow next to my mascara of choice. Unlike regular eyeshadow, this one has instructions printed right on the color. Along with those, there are further instructions and combinations printed on the back. I've never thought of myself as makeup impaired, so I was tempted to walk right past it. However, I saw a set of colors I really liked and thought I would shell out the money and give it a try. I was so ready to mock the fact that the colors are stamped with where they go on your eye. I followed the instructions and it found out that it looks FANTASTIC on me. Turns out I really did need the instructions.