Update

This is an update of what has been going on in my life--absolutely nothing! I'm still looking for a job, still living with my parents, and still working for my parents in the delivery business. My life looks like a lot of young people's lives right now, and, knowing that the stock market crashed on the eve of my college graduation, there's probably many people living the same life, which totally sucks.

I went shopping with my parents today, and, except for my parents, I have Christmas done. It helps that all of my grandparents are dead; I have less shopping to do. It also helps that my family draws names, and I only have to shop for one person, plus my parents.

New Favorite Food

We had a retirement party for one of my co-workers last night. He likes sushi, so we went to Blue Hashi, and I had never had sushi before. I loved it.

I'm going to be sad to see Ron leave; he was such a pleasure to work with. I'm certainly going to miss the sound of his voice saying, "Super!" or "Fantastic!" every time I gave him something extra to do.

Les Miserables

I've been reading Les Miserables and thinking about the economic crisis. It used to be that when a person was thrown in jail, they were taught a skill, usually something like brick-laying or some other type of manual labor. They would then work to pay for their food and their stay at jail. At the end of the ordeal, they came out of prison with a skill and a pocketful of cash from the "leftovers" after the state deducted their living expenses.

Now we spend an exorbitant amount of money on state prisons, and our nations are heavily in debt. Yes, I think our prisons used to be cruel and harsh, but we have over-corrected ourselves.

Won't You be My Neighbor?

Our neighbor (the one next to our business, not the one next to our house) constantly bickers about our business. He lives downhill from us, and occasionally his building gets flooded just from the way water runs downhill. But of course, this is obviously our fault because we park our vehicles by his property line (which is five feet away from his building), and the snow that collects on our vehicles is most definitely the cause of his building being flooded. We end up having to shovel the snow away from the building because it is "our fault."

Last time we did this, my dad was kind enough to help shovel the neighbor out of his mess with his Bobcat. The Bobcat slid into the building, denting the side of it. It cost the business a hefty amount of money, and, needless to say, we vowed never to help the neighbor with his snow removal again.

Recently, we had some concrete done, and we worked with the neighbor and the workers to get some concrete put up on his and our side of the property line. The workers were even kind enough to slope the concrete so water would not flood the neighbor's building.

The whole time our neighbor was outside with a measuring tape and a level, griping to the workers and us about how the slope wasn't going to work.

Fast forward to this week. Someone hit the neighbor's car, and he is hopping mad (as any normal person would be). We are investigating it on our end to see if it is one of our drivers, which is very possible. We are more than willing to admit when we make mistakes.

What I did not appreciate, however, was our neighbor's pounding the pavement with a measuring tape, measuring the height of each vehicle in sight, including the vehicles of our customers, who need high security because they are armored cars with armed guards. I also did not appreciate his taking pictures of each and every vehicle that parked on our private lot.

Sure, I would be mad, too, if someone bashed into my car and did not leave any contact information, but I would hope that I would have the maturity to understand that a company that has already admitted their mistakes with me and offered compensation for other things will certainly be capable of performing a professional investigation without my help.

So, howdy, neighbor, this blog was written just for you with one message and one message only: get a life.

Thankless Jobs

Every job is thankless. Mothers don't get the praise they deserve; soldiers are rarely thanked for fighting for our freedom; teachers go to work every day to educate people; the list goes on.

I often hear people's frustration about how thankless their own jobs are, but I rarely hear of people who thank other people. Housewives often complain that their jobs are thankless, but do they ever show how much they value motherhood with a "thank you"? Do they write notes to their mothers, thank their mothers-in-law for raising great sons, or even thank their husbands at the end of the day for working to support them?

This realization helped me to be more grateful. I need to thank the people close to me for being there for me. I need to thank television networks for showing good, uplifting programs, instead of complaining about the "corrupt media" and showing everyone my distaste.

Sure, their are distasteful things out there, and I love to write my "rants" about them. But their are some great things out there as well.

Fair Weather Parents

One thing I have noticed lately is what I'd like to call "fair weather parents." They are like fair weather friends, only they are parents, parents who only make certain sacrifices for their children.

Some of them, who don't like working, will cancel work for every recital and little league game, "sacrificing for their family." But when it comes to working on the weekend to up their pay and earn enough for their kids, they have "family obligations."

Others love their jobs. They work long hours, "sacrificing for the family," but they rarely see their family and don't seem to want to see them.

I am grateful that I had parents who sacrificed for me, rather than doing what they liked and using me as an excuse.

Family

My Aunt Barbara and Uncle Keith are over for the weekend. We are going to have an awesome breakfast and spend some time together.

Westerns

Reading the newspaper, trying to get things done, being intimidated by the looming Writer's Market and all it holds for me. Just a few of the things on my mind today. I found a contest in Writer's Market for Western short stories. I'm going to enter it, and my dad will probably be enthusiastic about it because he loves to watch Westerns on TV.

To tell you the truth, I make fun of him for it. Don't get me wrong, I love a great Western once in a blue moon, but my dad can watch them for hours. He can lip sinc every John Wayne movie, and he prides himself in being able to say a line before the characters say it themselves.

My only hope is to wait until he falls into a deep sleep, clutching the remote control to his chest. Sometimes I can steal the remote; other times I'm not so lucky.

Some of the outdated Westerns are corny. The last one he watched was about some bandits terrorizing a quiet little nun. John Wayne comes to the rescue, wounded in the shoulder by the lead bandit. The nun thanked him in a sweet, quiet voice, and he rode off into the sunset with a bandage over his glory wound.

You may be asking why I would be writing in a genre that I'm currently making fun of. I only think some Westerns are corny, and, frankly, I just can't watch them for hours on end. But I am a Western girl, I have horses, and I live in the wilderness among sagebrush, farmland, and an annoying screech owl that keeps me awake at night. So I guess that qualifies me to write a Western short story, just don't tell my dad. (I really do make fun of him a lot.)

Hang Gliding

This morning, I heard a strange noise outside my window, and it was someone hang gliding. I was able to catch some pictures while the person buzzed by my house, 100 feet above me.

Lobster

My mom had this great idea for the Fourth of July: she ordered in Lobsters from Maine, her home state.

Here is my huge nephew looking at his dinner, sort of.

The grown-ups are helping the little ones.

Carly doesn't seem too exited.

EmmaLee is helping Curtis.

Abigail is thouroughly enjoying the lobster.

Our number one fan of all things edible: Curtis.

Will Freelance for Food

I'm giving a more full-fleged effort to freelance writing, fueled by a Writer's Market 2010, courtesy of my sister Sarah on my birthday. I'm putting myself out there, and if anyone responds to my queries, I'll buy myself a dinner. (Normally publishers don't pay in meals, but the thought was nice.)

I made the decision to freelance more for two reasons: 1) I have temporarily exhausted all my resources, including local businesses, every personal connection I have, and various businesses across the country. 2) It's easier to BS my way through a short column about the health benefits of cauliflower than it is to BS my way into flattering some company into thinking that I "wanted to work there my whole life" and "I would be a wonderful asset to your company because..." Frankly, I'm temporarily tired of all that. I haven't completely given up on finding a job right now; I'm just taking a sick leave because I'm sick and tired of playing the game.

So, for now, I'm going to don a cardboard sign that says, "Will Freelance for Food" and see what comes of it.

Romance

Right now I'm attempting to write a submission for the Ensign. Maybe it can be an "in" for one of my first publications. One can only hope.

My other best bet is to write a "lust in the dust" novel. Romance novels are published far more than any other genre, and they are the easiest to get a contract for. (I've done my research). My only problem is getting an idea for one. I've tried to read romance novels, but they seem boring and have no substance.

The Mormon romance novels are the worst: a girl meets a boy, and [gasp] he's not Mormon. The whole rest of the novel is dedicated to the conversion process: a complete waste of paper. Then they get married in the temple, and all happens before their first year in college.

Needless to say, I will not be writing a Mormon romance novel. I would rather stick to the true genre of "lust in the dust," where I shall create a fanciful world full of tall, muscular men that look incredibly good in speedos. Fabio can pose for my cover, even though he is well past his prime. You can't write a romance novel without having Fabio on the cover. Period.

So I'm either getting my foot in the door writing personal essays about my spiritual experiences for a religious magazine, or I'm getting my foot in the door writing a steamy piece of trash. Beggars can't be choosers.

The Weekend

I did absolutely nothing this weekend, and it felt great. Well, I did finish a sewing project, but it's a gift for a friend, so I can't show pictures until she gets it. For the rest of the weekend, I watched TV and grazed the contents of the refrigerator, which were non-existent.

A couple of weeks ago, if you happened to be driving by a side street off of Yellowstone Highway in Idaho Falls, you would have seen a white van parked by the side of the road. An arm was sticking out of the van's window holding a bio hazard bag. Two seconds later, you would have seen a green Toyota Rav4 screech around the corner on two wheels and buzz up to the van as the man's arm flung the bag into the passenger window of the Rav4. The casual pass was completed in a matter of seconds and detected by no one. And the bio hazard bag was to the airport on time that day, making it's way to New Jersey with punctuality. Now that's service. I love it when there's a fleeting moment that makes my day job seem bad ass.

Work

There are some things that I do at work that seem strange to explain. For instance, I spent a chunk of my day folding boxes, putting coolers in them, and sticking labels on the whole of the packages. This was all in preparation for shipping biological samples out of prisons. I'm glad to know that our prisoners are safe and healthy. It does my heart good.

Apparently, these prisoners are given no notice to when and where they will be shipped. They are just randomly shipped to rural states like Idaho, where cows outnumber people ten to one. I would like to personally thank the state of New Jersey for sending these wonderful people that keep me in business. Thank you, New Jersey.

I would also like to thank the prisoners themselves. Thank you for doing drugs so I can be employed in a small part of the effort it takes to test your blood. Also, thank you for giving me the resolve to never, never go to prison under any circumstance. Cheers.

Self-fulfilling Prophecy

My mom was saying that many of the young single adults in my branch live with their parents. It's something that I have noticed, too. She pointed out that it wasn't a big deal to the parents because many of them had big, nice homes that were perfectly capable of holding one other person with little or no inconvenience, and, after all, it's a good time in a person's life to be frugal and save money by living with one's parents.

It is with that statement that I have noticed a trend in our community. My parents and I live in a predominantly religious area. A couple of years ago, there was a trend of purchasing large houses. A lot of the forty-, fifty-, and sixty-year-olds said that if there were hard times ahead, like the times predicted in the Bible, they could house their children and grandchildren. They also bought food storage, going heavily in debt to prepare for the hard times that would surely come.

Now the hard times have come, and, after burrowing in their big, fancy dens, clutching their food storage like a mother squirrel would hang on to her last acorn, their children finally need the help that they so predicted. They thank the Lord for having this opportunity to help their needy children and see this as a divine opportunity to edify and instruct them for a second time because all the lectures from high school years certainly weren't enough.

But here's a thought--perhaps the adult children of the Baby Boomers wouldn't need all this help if their parents weren't so set on the end of the world. It's as if they wanted it, and then they created it. Now they have their disaster, and it's good for them that they prepared for it. All that food storage is going to come in handy. Those big houses sure come in handy when your kid can't get a job because the nation is swimming in debt. But don't worry; it's Wall Street's fault. All those people in their fancy suits. Disgusting.

Fat Lip

A half hour ago my sister came over with her four-year-old daughter cradled in her arms. The girl had been running and tripped on the porch, hitting her lip on the pavement. Her front tooth had gone completely through her upper lip. Both of her front teeth were quite loose, and I think that she will be toothless in the following week. She was pretty good; she just cried softly while my mom tried to see the damage. The inside of her lip looks like hamburger. She wouldn't let us take off her bloody clothes to wash them.

As my mom was taking care of my niece, she told about how all of us kids had had similar injuries. Janelle was playing in the bathtub with EmmaLee, and cut her lip on the metal soap holder. Sarah was running with a pencil in her mouth and tripped. Last but not least, I cut my lip tripping into a coffee table. History repeats itself.

Urine-soaked Pants

The same day I had the weird missionary ask me how old I was, I had another mishap. (That day was so bad, it deserves two blogs.)

I got back to the office smelling like soup, and, since I work with my sister, my niece was there. (My brother-in-law and my sister do a type of "shift change" where they switch who takes care of the kids. They are there for about five minutes while their parents switch cars.)

Little Cassie can drink her weight in water, as I have seen her drink an entire jumbo soda at Sam's Club. That day she had peed through her diaper and onto the seat of the shopping cart. So I am no stranger to her accidents.

A moment after the children arrived at the office, I sat down at the computer desk to send a report. Instantaneously, I was soaked to my knees. Cassie's pee was dripping off of the chair, soaked through layers of fabric padding, and my clothes had quickly absorbed it.

Luckily, I was able to take a break and go home to shower and change my pants. On the way over, my car was filled with the strong scent of someone else's urine. I even had to disinfect my wallet, as the pee had seeped through my pocket.

I got back to the office clean but cranky. What do you expect, a positive attitude?

Feeling Old?

I'm only twenty-three years old, and I can honestly say that I have never felt old. Also, I have never felt like an old maid. An experience last week almost made me feel that way. Almost.

I volunteered to can beef soup at the cannery to help needy families. Actually, I just volunteered because Brother Shweider snagged me at the temple because there weren't enough people going. I'm not that generous.

There were only two people there from our branch: me and my home teacher.

For the entire morning, I was standing straight across from a tall, gangly missionary, complete with freckly skin, red hair, and glasses. He had a habit of sticking his large nose out in front of him and following it, like Tucan Sam, only not as cool. He had small, vacant eyes that would stare at objects for a long time.

The object of his desire was a newly-graduated girl of eighteen years, full of hope and dreams for her first year of collage. She was also full of delicious gossip from her high school: gossip that would be obsolete in a couple of weeks, when she would forget these people's names entirely and be wrapped up in a new college boyfriend. Ah, sweet youth.

I was enjoying this conversation that I didn't even have to contribute to; I just had to stand there and let the sweet words float to my ears and take me back to my former hopes and dreams of college. As I was daydreaming, I noticed that the red-headed missionary was staring intently at my face, his eyes squinting with scrutiny.

"How old are you?" he asked in a nasally voice filled with awe and plain nosy-ness.

"Twenty-three," I told him, thinking this was going to be the beginning of some light chit-chat.

"Oh," he said, and walked away.

He continued talking with the eighteen-year-old about high school gossip and what college was going to be like.

Two hours later, I was getting motion sickness from looking at the cans of soup go by on the conveyor belt. I took a second to look up and stretch my back and was startled to find that the red-headed missionary had been staring at me for quite some time, sticking his nose out and squinting as he analyzed every feature on my face.

"Are you married?"

"No."

Silence.

Temple

This morning I thought I'd go to the Idaho Falls temple to do baptisms, only the temple was closed. Last time I asked the lady who worked there what times they were open. She said they were pretty much open all the time, 24/7. I guess that was for the endowment portion of the temple.

So, I just ended up walking around the greenbelt in my dress, looking like a dork and getting honked at by Canadian geese (luckily, I wasn't getting honked at by cars). I passed a couple of old ladies talking about bringing dinner to a friend that needed it, went to my car, and went back home thoroughly chilled. It may be spring, but it's still Idaho.

Yesterday, it snowed. Big, blustery flakes falling from the sky. Beautiful, but not when it's the end of April and you have spring fever really bad. Overall, life is good. I haven't lost my job yet, but that's only because I work for my parents. No new job prospects, but the springtime snowball fights are fun.

FHE

It was actually warm today! No blizzard, no rain. It's been the first day that wasn't at least jacket weather. After FHE, the branch played ultimate frizbee to celebrate.

Even more exciting than the random warm day was Saturday night. I went to a poetry slam, and it was awesome. The winning poet had the coolest poem ever. It was a rap inspired by middle school. He pretended to be a nerd with a nasaly voice telling a stoner about how marujuana can ruin his life. The nerd also pitched his anti-drug slogan to a girl with blood-shot eyes who was on meth. The guy would change his voice to sound like the girl and the stoner. It was so hilarious. This guy should go to school assemblies and do his "rap" for the middle and high school kids.

Among the other runners up were this guy who had great poetry but talked really fast to stay within the time limit. He sounded like the guy in the old Micro Machines commercials. Another guy wrote about war a lot. And one of my favorites wrote about the hardships of gay life.

I also met one of the artists who has her art on display in the Idaho Museum of Art. She does copper engravings of people's faces, inks everything up, and presses it onto paper. It was cool to talk to her about the process.

Taxes

Though I did not attend the tea party today, I do oppose the amount that we are taxed. I am currently taxed three times the amount that Americans were taxed just before they said enough is enough and overthrew the British. The percentage of my income that goes to the government is more than the percentage that caused a war.

Although I openly oppose taxes, I do not do sneaky, dishonest things to silently protest. These things include but are not limited to: claiming pets as dependents, not claiming tips and other sources of income, and other things to cheat on my taxes. I do none of these things; I am one hundred percent honest in filing my taxes.

I encourage people to be honest in their taxes. If people oppose the amount they are taxed, they should write Congress, not claim their cat as a dependent. Do the right thing.

Family History

I spent another night at the Family History Center. This time, I actually brought the binder prepared by my roommate, Sam. She was a family history major and borrowed my family for a couple of projects.

Also, a correction to the last blog entry. Kyle, my former coworker, went to the Air Force, and not the U.S. Army. Apparently, there is a BIG difference. I made that mistake when I signed his farewell card. Oops.

Plasma TV

I teamed up with a coworker and delivered a plasma TV to someone's house. Our company started doing these deliveries a while ago. A few restrictions apply. We must have two people present to deliver the TV. We must unwrap everything and plug the TV in to ensure that it is working. And last but not least, the TV must be upright at all times or it is somehow ruined.

The first time I delivered one of these TV's, my car broke down in a blizzard, and I was stuck in the snow with Kyle, who is now in the army. Our manager broke the strap trying to tow us, and we finally abandoned my car in a snow bank. I got my car from the mechanic two weeks later.

This time, we weren't quite as lucky. The car worked, we arrived on time, and the TV worked beautifully. As I pulled into the driveway, I have never seen two young men so happy to see me. Of course, they weren't looking at me. Their eyes were glazed over with amazement as they drooled over the flat, wide screen that I was hauling down their narrow staircase. I love making the TV deliveries for just that reason. I feel like Santa Clause delivering presents. People are so happy to see me when I have a big screen.

Scams

The other day I got a fax at work. Some poor person who had lost a family member in the 9/11 attacks was having a banking problem of sorts, and I would get half of the money if I helped this person out by holding the money in my personal banking account. I wasn't born yesterday, so I threw the fax away. However, the scam gave me a wonderful idea for my own Internet scam.

My Idea for an Internet Scam:

Law enforcement has recently discovered a hi-tech gang of people who specialize in taking nude photos of citizens. They have had their hidden cameras in public restrooms, hotels, and locker rooms. Police have recently uncovered thousands of these photos, and a photograph has been identified as you. This photo has been very popular, and the perpetrators have made over $50,000 at your expense. Fortunately, these criminals are behind bars, and investigators have entitled the money to you. Please contact Deputy Smith at the following email address to claim your $50,000.

I think it would be incredibly funny at how many people will
a) Freak out that there is a lewd photo of them on the Internet
b) Be flattered that the photo of them was popular
c) Request to see the photo
or
d) have some other reaction

Bishop's Storehouse

We had a ward activity at the bishop's storehouse, and I was completely unaware of how much food the LDS Church stores. It was comforting to know that if anything ever happened to me or to my community, we could survive.

I'm also filing my taxes and trying to navigate the IRS website. A sucky ending to a wonderful day.

Mice

So I've officially had mice in my car twice. (No rhyme intended). The first time I parked by the haystack, and a pregnant mouse moved in and had babies. They were field mice, you know, the kind that have tiger tails and fuzzy ears, and they're really tiny. It was summer, and one hot day they huddled in a mass and died in the hot car. The only reason I did not clean them out earlier was because I thought the squeaking had to be my breaks or my steering wheel because the car would squeak every time I put on my breaks or turned.

This time, another mouse must have smelled that my car had previously been a great home for mice. The sun was glaring in my eyes, and I opened up my glove box only to discover a nest. The mouse had shredded the napkins that I keep in the car to check my oil. I never found the rodent, but my car is now extremely disinfected. That mouse was really freaking me out because for a day at work, I didn't know where it was, and I could imagine it crawling into my shoe. My foot would then fall asleep and play a mind game on me that there was a mouse shivering in my boot to keep warm.

Janelle's Birthday

My sister's birthday was today, and her daughter just got out of the hospital. The little tyke had pneumonia. She still looks peeked, but she had the energy to run around the house and play. Her mother told her not to do something, and, in a rage, little Kassie lumbered over to her mother, swinging her arm at her threateningly. It was so cute, but Kassie still had to go to the "naughty room." This is the laundry room, and it's a type of time-out.

It was a nice ending to my day, which was spend in the airport trying to send a package. Apparently, I had the old forms that were outdated by two days, and the former wording did not contain the single changed word. I spent an hour only to finally send the package FedEx. The airlines are mindless bureaucrats with rule books instead of brains. They need to have every word printed on their specified form in order to make sure I'm not going to do anything dangerous. Someone could just walk in with white dust billowing from their package, and the airlines would take it if it had the right form attached. Don't tell me I didn't warn you. Terrorists are smart enough to print forms with the right wording.

Isaiah

This morning, I came across Isaiah 28:19-20:

"From the time that it goeth forth it shall take you: for morning by morning shall it pass over, by day and by night: and it shall be a vexation only to understand the report.

For the bed is shorter than that a man can stretch himself on it: and the covering narrower than that he can wrap himself in it."

This reminded me of the slave ships in early American history. These ships were constructed of coffin-type constructions stacked on top of each other. For taller people, these "coffins" would have been quite uncomfortable.

It has been said that one could smell a slave ship seven miles away; only about forty percent of the passengers survived. People combed the coasts of Africa to kidnap as many as they could, morning by morning, night by night.

It was a vexation to me to understand the report of all this as I took an American Literary History class at BYU.

I'm no scriptorian, but this is what this scripture has always reminded me of.

Friday the 13th Came Early this Week

The day was busy when we started, but then everything went wrong. After we sent my brother-in-law to Elko, Nevada, to pick up a broken-down armored car, I get a phone call.

"We have a BIG problem," the driver droned into the phone dramatically.

"What is it?" I snapped, annoyed at the theatrics.

"We're in a parking lot and the armored truck is broken down, and there's oil leaking out of the bottom of it."

I ran to the back of the office to tell my mom, who was already having a terrible day. She rushed into the front office in lightening speed, yelling all the way, and somehow managed to dump all of the contents of her desk onto the floor before she found the keys to our other armored truck that doesn't work very well.

I inspected the alleyway behind our facility to make sure there were no signs of leaking before. I found a generous oil spot that had gone completely unnoticed before our crew started to drive the truck all over town.

So, there you have it, two different crews in two different states ran their vehicles out of engine oil on the same day. This was a reminder that I desperately need to get my oil changed this weekend or I will be the third person this week to run my vehicle out of oil, and my head will be on the chopping block.

Family History

There was another enrichment at the Family History Center tonight, and I found out absolutely nothing about my family. I ended up finding myself lost in an English book with coats of arms for different families. The different designs on them were beautiful, and I couldn't help but to be a little jealous that my family does not have a coat of arms. I also found out about early American catholicism and a bunch of cool Sisters and Fathers who kept the Catholic church going. But again, much due to my own laziness and absentmindedness, I found out absolutely nothing about my family.

Big Love

One of my facebook friends invited me to join a group to boycott the series Big Love. HBO's series is showing an LDS temple ceremony, apparently. Guess what? I don't care!

I have watched Big Love once or twice, and it's okay. The writing isn't great, but the entertainment value is pretty high, which is probably the reason that people still watch it. Sometimes I watch stuff that makes fun of my religion and love it. Case in point: South Park is totally awesome, and the Mormon episodes are really funny. Big Love, on the other hand, is like the train-wreck you can't stop watching, like Tyra Banks or Brittany Spears. But not as good as them because I actually did stop watching the show due to boredom. (Sometimes I flip through the channels and stop dead in my tracks, watching Tyra with one eyebrow raised.) Perhaps I will watch this Sunday's episode just because it's controversial. I'm curious like that.

What I care about much more than this controversy is the reason why I found a chewed up fingernail stuck in the keyboard as I was writing this blog. Hint, the fingernail was NOT mine, and it was big enough to have been a toenail. So gross!

New Job

I decided that editing wasn't really my thing. I am choosing to go into a profession that has more of a need for me. I am also choosing a profession that pays more money: swine odor reduction research.

Though I am not as passionate about pigs as I am about the English language, I will find joy in my job, as my industry will soon become a multi-billion dollar enterprise. They will hire me right away because of my poo-shoveling abilities, and my long job search will be over.

I would like to thank those who inspired me to find my true passion. I would also like to thank all of the taxpayers for providing me with a job. These little piggies will help fill my piggie bank.

Enrichment

For enrichment last month, we decided to make wooden toys for orphans. That day, I felt like a superhero saving these poor children from a life of toylessness. Weilding power tools, all of us women sought to toughen up the Relief Society, one belt saw at a time. Our instructor, being used to instructing fourteen-year-old boys, trusted us a lot more than the usual crowed. It was an evening filled with good times and the beautiful sight of wood shavings cascading into the air.

Urine

Today wasn't the best day at work. All I can say is that it involved a shipment of urine samples and two hours of my life that I will never get back. Don't worry. Nothing gross happened.

I didn't have the worst day, however. My mom spent quite some time filing taxes with the help of an accountant, and my sister was completely swamped at work while her daughter called a million times to report how many times her little sister had thrown up by the hour. (The little one was very sick today).

So I'm glad to report that I had the best day of all, except for, of course, the Obamas, who have a lavish party every night.

Debt Free!

I'm taking a moment to gloat: on Saturday, I wrote the last check to pay off all of my student debt, and all of my debt, for that matter. Now I am completely broke, but I am no longer in the negative numbers. Six months out of college, and I still have the same job I did before I graduated, but now it doesn't seem so bad.

For the rest of my Saturday, I decided to take a long, relaxing bath to celebrate. I put on a facial mask, got the water just the right temperature, and brought the phone in the bathroom so I wouldn't have to leave for anything trivial. As soon as I dipped myself in the water, the phone rang.

"We have a hot shot delivery to the airport," my mom said. "Are you dressed?"

"I was five minutes ago," I grumbled.

My long, relaxing bath lasted three minutes.

I Love You

I would like to turn over a new leaf and say "I love you" to several non-family members. I am doing so beside the image of a hideous heart-shaped pillow that I wouldn't be caught dead with, unless, of course, someone really, really loved me.

Samantha: I love you. I miss our long walks when we would gossip and complain about our college courses and how much they sucked. You have truly been a great friend over the years.

Anna: I love you. I miss your laugh and watching hours of Animal Planet with you.

Melisa: I love you. I miss your drawing of the really hot guy with the long, soft hair that somehow you weren't attracted to.

Kelsey: I love you. I miss your singsong call of "BEYONCE!!" every time she appeared on television.

Random Guy in Supermarket: Remember me? I worked at Albertson's for four years, and you would come in every Thursday night at approximately 8:58 p.m. You are about 5'8" and have brown hair and dark brown eyes. You bought a six pack of O'Doul's and sandwich fixings once a week. After I scanned your groceries, you would say "gracias" in your skinny-white-boy accent. You were trying to be posh, and it wasn't working. But somehow it worked for me. If you are still single, I love you. If you are not, this note wasn't about you. It was about someone else.

P.S. I am not stalking you. YOU were stalking ME. You bought the groceries, you came through my line, and you said gracias.

"I Hate You"

"I love you" rarely escaped my lips, but there was one phrase that I loved as a child: "I hate you." I would say it to everyone: guests that stayed at our home, waiters at restaurants, distant family members at reunions, and the like.

Not only would I say those fateful words, but I would narrow my eyes into slits until I could hardly see. Narrowing my eyes made the room darker, and it seemed that my hatred itself was darkening an entire room. It made me feel dark and powerful, like Maleficent on the Disney version of Sleeping Beauty. Her appearance on the screen paralyzed me with fear when I was four, but by the time I was six, she had become my icon.

Through the narrow slits in my eyes that represented a dark queen, I would look through my eyelashes and concentrate all my hatred into my gaze. If I concentrated, I could feel the "hate" escaping my body, emanating through my eyes toward the person I was hating. It felt so good.

One of my favorite things to do was to "hate" random people. I did it in department stores, hotels, anywhere my mother would dare take me. I would wait until my mother ran into someone she knew or was otherwise distracted, and then I would quietly undo the restraints of my Minnie Mouse child leash.

The first thing I would do is run to the nearest clothing rack and hide in the clothes. It was tricky because I had to hang on to the top and pull my legs up on the bar so my mom couldn't see two little legs sticking out the bottom and find me. Sometimes it was a contortionist act because some of the racks had mirrors that would catch my reflection. I had to twist away from them, hiding even my little fingers grabbing onto the bars.

It was worth it, though. As soon as I heard the faint squeaking of the hangers, I knew that someone was looking at clothes. As soon as the clothes drifted apart, I would poke my head through the lighted space in between the abyss and say "I hate you!" with all the fury of my soul. Sometimes I would add, "I hate you because you are ugly," or something to that effect. Always, I would look at their eyes, boring into their soul.

"There you are!" my mom would say in a singsong voice, rushing toward me with far more urgency than her voice indicated. She would then make some lighthearted apology to the person and laugh musically as she firmly gripped my arm, cutting off all circulation. She would pull me away to the car, never losing her grip. I would get it when I got home, but I can't say that it wasn't worth it.

Several years ago, we were going through old things, and my mom got a sentimental look in her eye as she pulled something strangely familiar out of one of the boxes. I instinctively knew what it was. "Trish," she said in a motherly voice, almost tearing up, "It's your leash!"

Sinuses

This morning I woke up at 5 a.m. My face hurt, deep into my cheekbones, and I had snot running down one nostril onto my pillow. When I got up, mere gravity pulled everything out of my nose and mucus proceeded to run dangerously close to my upper lip before I was able to obtain a tissue.

Two hours later my mom came in my room. "So-and-so called in sick, today, so I'll need you to come in early." Ah, the joys of living with your boss.

"I'm sick, too," I wanted to say, but all I could muster was a feeble, obligatory grunt. That usually means yes when I'm feeling well.

Granted, I came to work late, not early. I called in and warned my mom of my late arrival in a raspy voice.

I'm feeling a lot better, now, but I'll definitely need some major rest and some Mucinex. Needless to say, I'm going to bed now.

Hymns

My step-grandmother was from Boston. Heavy Boston accent, loud person. Her voice was so distinctive that everyone could hear her sing the hymns at church. That's why it was so embarrassing to have her come and visit.

Our congregation was a particularly quiet one, and everyone sang in nice, whisper-quiet voices. Grammie Clara would come, and the roof would be shaken with a thick Boston accent ranging from sounds only dogs could hear to deep, baritone grunts about the Lord's abounding mercy. Her voice had no mid-tones. Occasionally, she would fall asleep and snore through a verse, then jolt awake, picking up where she left off, which was half a beat behind everyone else.

Of course, it was hard to tell because she was one of those people who snored when she was awake. But I assure you, the snoring when she was asleep was different. Louder.

She also had a loud, distinctive laugh that started with a guttural snorting and ended with high-pitched, hysterical hoots. My dad would try to get her to laugh during church, just to make a scene.

Writing this blog makes me wonder what I will be like when I'm that old and how I will be embarrassing my family members.

Tryin' to be Serious. . .

I spent today trying to ignore the fact that one of the drivers at work had half a roll of toilet paper stuck up one nostril. He was completely serious. I only hope that he didn't show his face around the customers like that, because it was totally embarrassing. Maybe he just made his deliveries with blood streaming down his face and donned the toilet paper in response to a customer complaint. One can only hope.

Luckily, I wasn't the person he was talking to, and I was able to keep a straight face from behind my computer screen. It was fully reminiscent of seventh-grade drama class when I had to play "I really, really love you, but I just can't smile." I'm so proud of myself for not cracking a smile that might embarrass a coworker, who, I assure you, was completely unaware that he was making a complete social faux paus.

Vacation

So, I was able to predict my vacation to a T. We were even crowded in a McDonald's at one time, but it had no Playplace. Not to worry, my nieces and nephews were able to entertain themselves by screaming and eating Chicken McNuggets off the floor.

Now I'm back to work and the real vacation began. As I was answering phone calls with all the lines buzzing at once and trying to remember which person was waiting on which phone line, I breathed a sigh of relief. What a relaxing day. I'm so glad I'm not a mother.

But if I were a mother, I would definitely be an advocate for the child leash. They come in all sorts of cute animal shapes and form a humane harness around the child. It can greatly reduce the child's chances of being abducted or running in the way of a homicidal maniac.

Of course I was adamantly opposed to child leashes when I was four, but over the years, I have been enlightened. My leash was a Minnie Mouse leash, and it protected unsuspecting victims from being harassed in the supermarket.

Of course, with the economy today, many parents will not be able to afford leashes. Might I suggest making an apparatus out of duct tape? Or perhaps hooking their children to an old dog leash, one of those where you can press a button to let out some extra nylon cord if your child has been especially good and he needs some running room. Shock collars are available to the especially rebellious children, and, for those parents who seem to breed like rabbits and have many children, the best option might be to purchase a deluxe dog sled and teach their children to mush. You can travel in style without breaking the bank or harming the environment. Wouldn't Al Gore be proud.

Trip

Apparently, I'm going on some sort of trip this weekend. At least that's what I found out from my mom, who found that out from my three-year-old niece, who was the very first to know via Grandpa. My dad has planned a whole weekend including the whole family and has not informed me or his wife of the trip. It must be time to visit the grandchildren. If my dad doesn't see the grandchildren once in a while, his heart stops and he keels over. Right now he is in a panicked frenzy to see them. It has been an all-encompassing power that consumes him: "Must see grandchildren. . . must see grandchildren!"

Because of his frightful condition, I will be hauled off to Utah to visit the noisy little darlings. I will be stuffed in small, enclosed spaces (cars and the like) with little children who can exceed the amount of noise it takes for the government to require that I wear protective equipment (earplugs).

I find it amazing that the government requires earplugs when operating machinery, yet there is no such requirement for daycare employees. In fact, the use of earplugs in a daycare is frowned upon, which I think is an absolute outrage. Those employees need to protect themselves!

Maybe I will need to protect myself. Precautionary measures are necessary when one is spending a three-day weekend in daycare-like conditions. Once I get stuck inside one of these vehicles, there is no escape. When a diaper is filled, the stench can be unbearable. Methane gas fills the car, and as I'm about to take my last breath on this earth, my sister will say in a cheery voice, "Cassie's getting a little stinky." Meanwhile, the car next to us sees my palid features and my frail hands clawing at the window helplessly. They immediately start dialing 911 on their cell phones. I'll have to thank them later.

But alas, we are inching closer to someplace even dirtier and smellier than the car: the McDonald's Playplace. [insert scary, suspenseful music here] There I will have to rescue a crying niece or nephew from the ball pit, only to realize that they no longer have the diaper that they came in with, and they are naked from the waist down. Another child will yell, "Mommy, I stepped in something swishy!" to which his mother will reply, "Just keep playing, hon. Let me see you slide down the slide." At this point, what do I do?

a. Lift up the diaper-less child and carry him off, predending that I didn't hear a thing
b. Scream at the stranger's child and tell him to get the hell out of the ball pit RIGHT NOW
c. Tell the child's mother what the brown substance on her child's foot is
d. Tell a sixteen-year-old employee who is having her very first day on the job to block off the area so she can dive in the ball pit to find the offending diaper and sanatize the area

If any of you can help me with the above dilemma, please do so. I am so awkward in these situations, and frankly, they embarrass me. I would also like to remind you that I love my nieces and nephews deeply and unconditionally. They have enlightened me to a way of truth and light and everlasting peace: the option for birth control. Because of them, I know how important the pill can be.

Stuck

One of our drivers got stuck today. My mom had to dig him out of the snow after someone ran him off the road. Luckily, some people stopped to help them, and a police officer held up traffic because they were around a blind corner.

Earlier, when our driver couldn't get out of the snowbank, which was up to his hood, some generous people picked him up and took him to a gas station where he could get cell phone service. They also gave his dog a ride, as he takes his dog to work with him.

Chocolate Extravaganza

I had an Enrichment activity at my house, and everyone brought their favorite chocolate recipe to share. February is definitely the month of chocolate, and the ladies from my ward brought some sweet nothings that were downright delicious. We had chocolate-dipped strawberries, handmade chocolates, and cookies, as well as a layered chocolate pudding dessert that was to die for. Here's the recipe I used (and yes, I got it off of my box of Crisco):

Chewy Brownie Cookies
2/3 cup (2/3) stick shortening
1-1/2 cups firmly packed brown sugar
1 tablespoon water
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 eggs
1-1/2 cups flour
1/3 cup unsweetened baking cocoa
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips (12 oz. package)

1. Heat oven to 375º F

2. Combine shortening, brown sugar, water, and vanilla in large bowl. Beat at medium speed of electric mixer until well blended. Beat eggs into creamed mixture.

3. Combine flour, cocoa, baking soda, and salt. Mix into creamed mixture at low speed just until blended. Stir in chocolate chips.

4. Drop by rounded measuring tablespoonfuls 2 inches apart onto ungreased baking sheet.

5. Bake one baking sheet at a time at 375º F for 7 to 9 minutes, or until cookies are set. DO NOT OVERBAKE. Cookies will appear soft and moist. Cool 2 minutes on baking sheet. Remove cookies to cooling rack.

MAKES ABOUT 3 DOZEN COOKIES

Special Delivery

This Saturday my mom and I made a delivery to Teton Villiage, Wyoming. It was a mysterious package of paperwork that had to go straight from the airport to an exclusive hotel. When we pulled up to enter the building, someone stopped us and signed for the package before we even got to the front desk. They didn't seem to want us even close to the building.

There must have been someone important there because an SUV was backed up clear in the doorway of the building. The windows were tinted, and the back doors were open so someone could make a discreet escape without being photographed. The guy who signed for the package must have been defensive because he thought we were paparazzi faking a "delivery."

I would like to think that the mysterious package that I delivered was a movie script.

Job Hunt

I found two jobs that I am really excited about. I left my resume with both places, and I hope they contact me. The first one is to be a reporter for a local newspaper, and the job is only Fridays and Saturdays. The other one, which I am more excited about, is to be an assistant for the editor of a local interest magazine. I'm so glad to have found something after searching for a while. I'll have to keep my eye out for other stuff, though.

Jackson

Today I made a delivery to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. One of the perks of my job is that I occaisionally get to travel to a cool place. There was very little snow on the road, a big plus. And I found the place I was delivering to, bigger plus.

Later there was an activity at my church, another potluck. I made a hasty tossed salad within ten minutes and drove over. Gotta love quick fixes. I met a bunch of new people, all of which I can't recall their names a few hours later. But I remember faces, as always.

The Superbowl

My parents and I didn't know the Superbowl was happening until we went into the grocery store on Saturday. "Maybe we should watch it this year," my mom said.

To this my dad responded, "I only watched it one year, and it was the halftime show, and that lady exposed herself." So thus we all vowed to watch the Superbowl.

I was the only one who stayed awake. My dad slept until the dramatic last four minutes. I muted most of the game to concentrate on the book I was reading, turning on the sound for the comercials. My favorite comercial was the Doritos one with the "crystal ball" (snow globe) that the guy throws into the vending machine.

I imagined my old roommate, a Steelers fan, was in hysterics during the last four minutes, which I watched with the sound on. Congratulations, Anna, your team won!

Bride Wars

Instead of being politically savvy and tuning into Obama's speech, I watched Bride Wars with my mom and sister. (I promise I'll read the President's speech later.) The show was cute, but I wouldn't recommend it for men; it is definitely a chick flick. I especially enjoyed the body-slam in full wedding regalia. It made my day.

By the way, I had an awesome weekend. My mom and sister took me shopping for a suit, my belated Christmas present. We found the perfect suit! All I have to do is wait for the pants to come in the mail. (They didn't have my size.) Now I can look sharp for interviews.
After my dignified suit-shopping experience, I got to goof off with my girlfriends at a surprise birthday party. I can't act refined all the time, right?

Weird Premonition Dream

Last night I dreamed that I was driving a large diesel truck in a cramped parking lot. I was backing out, and I had to turn the car around many times. It was hard to see where both the hood and the back of the car were located. I felt a jolt, and I had backed into a police car that was parked in the parking lot. A police woman got out of the vehicle and inspected the damage on the car, which was an SUV, like some cops are starting to drive. All we could find was a dent in her liscence plate, so she told me to go ahead and leave and not worry about it. The police woman got back in the passenger seat and her male parner pulled out, backing into a flatbed full of fourwheelers. In fact, the police car hit one of the fourwheelers so hard that the left part of the handle bars completely broke off and flew across the parking lot. I breathed a sigh of relief and pulled out of the parking lot.

Later today, I got gas, and the pump that I pulled up to was broken, so I had to back around a parked police car to get to another pump. It was an SUV, just like in my dream. I backed around it very carefully. I passed another police SUV on the way to work. He was hiding out in a church parking lot, ready to pull over unsuspecting victims. Finally, at work, I made a delivery and made a wrong turn. The narrow street where I had to turn around had yet another parked police car that I had to carefully back around. Go figure.

Family History

I organized an enrichment activity at the Family History Center in Idaho Falls, and only three people showed up. That's a pretty good turn out for a small group to do their family history, but I made refreshments. Little did I realize that two of the three people that showed up would be allergic to flour. Oops.

At least I'm not "dead" like the woman who gave us a tour of the center. She had been doing research and found herself in one of the archives. Apparently, one of her distant cousins had submitted her name as a "deceased individual." I had to check in the archives to see if I was "dead." Good thing I'm still "alive."

The Good Old Days

I was sorting old files in the office, and I came across a pre-employment information form from 1978. Half of the stuff they asked is no longer legal. For example, there is a place to check the applicant's ethnicity, and "American Indian" is on the form, not "Native American." In fact, that question is completely eliminated when considering employment today. (Unless you are applying for a government job, in which case it is okay because the government can get away with anything. I found that out when I applied for a government job that I still haven't heard back from because it takes them eight freaking months to respond [insert bitter, crazed laugh here]). The form also asks for the age and marital status of the person (not as part of tax information) and whether or not the applicant is a Vietnam Veteran. As I read the form, I wondered what an "Alien Registration Card" was and if we still have them. And my personal favorite: asking the future employee if he or she has a "handicap." Those were the good old days.

Blood

Last night I made a delivery for the American Red Cross, which entails picking up thirty-pound boxes full of blood and delivering them to a lab in the hospital. It's one of the things I do in my job that makes me feel like I've done something really great: I've taken a part in saving a person's life—unless that person dies—and in that case, I will never know. So possibly I do nothing.

The whole time I was making the delivery, I had a random thought—an irrational fear of mine. What if I got in a horrific accident and the blood burst from the box and got all over me. Of course, this would have to be a bad enough accident to crush my car and the thick, protective box containing the blood from the Red Cross—in which case I would probably die on impact—but I would die amidst someone else's AB+ blood. Gross!

I'm going to have to leave blogging to watch Desperate Housewives. I have my priorities.

My Friend's Mission Call

Tonight I went to see a friend open her mission call, and she got called to the Sao Paulo, Brazil mission. I think it is so scary to surrender yourself to the will of God and trust that everything will be okay as you travel to whichever place you are called to go. In April my friend will go to Brazil, learn Portuguese for a couple of weeks, and then be expected to communicate with people in a new language and preach the gospel for a year and a half. I really admire her a lot for that.

Potluck

I just got back from a potluck in my singles' branch. After dinner, we did relay races, and it reminded me of grade school. At twenty-three years old I was once again forced to walk in a straight line holding an egg in a spoon. I also did a crab-walk, walked around with a book on my head, and did several other things that one would only do at a wholesome church activity.

Then it dawned on me. Some cops have a very boring time pulling people over for DUIs, and I think it would be beneficial for them to spice things up with a few props. The unsuspecting drunkard will then be forced to walk in a straight line holding an egg in a wooden spoon. If he or she drops the egg, a DUI will be issued. A cop would also be kind to ask the person to toss a balloon in the air and complete an obsticle course without letting the balloon touch the ground. If the person walks into oncoming traffic while focusing on the balloon-toss, a DUI will be issued. I would also like to see a person try to do a backwards crab-walk after guzzling a six-pack of beer.

Good thing I'm not in law enforcement.

Freezing Rain

My mom and I went out in the freezing rain to get socks. There are weather warnings that say "no unecessary travel," and my mom needed socks. Go figure. None of the two stores we went to had socks in a women's large, so she bought a pair of athletic shoes to keep her feet warm, and we went to Albertson's, where I used to work. It's so weird to go back to a place that was once so familiar. I see something out of place on one of the shelves and have the instinct to put it away, forgetting that I'm a customer, not an employee. It feels weird to be in Albertson's and not be in a checkstand or pushing a long line of carts while trying to dodge traffic at the same time. People didn't care that I was wearing a bright orange vest; they would look right at me and revv their engines. Today I instictively looked around for cars, but no one would run me over because I wasn't wearing a bright-orange target.

Work

Today was snowy, as usual. One thing that I notice about working for a company full of drivers is that snowy roads can literally affect an entire day. When making a delivery, our customers will attempt to make small talk. They talk about driving to work as if it is a trek. "...Yeah, there was, like, four inches of snow on my car this morning, and it took me, like, fifteen minutes to drive to work, and I live five miles away."

"Yeah, buddy, I just shoveled three employee vehicles out of the snow, and there's two road closures, so we had to modify all the routes. I totally get where you're coming from." There are some things that I never say aloud.

Today I feel lucky I didn't get into an accident. While I was meeting another driver to make a transfer, a red pickup came careening around the corner like it was hot-rod season in July. Only it's January, and his car lost control a hundred feet from the nose of my vehicle. Another incident almost occurred when an older couple made a right-hand turn in the left-only lane. I was in the right-hand lane, two feet away from a calm looking grandma who had no idea whether her husband was even on the road and who seemed to care less.

Update

Work
So, I haven't written on my blog in forever, as you may have noticed. What's new? Not a whole lot. I'm still operating the coin machine, and Friday I had the privilege of conquering my biggest fear: cleaning the men's room at work. I swear, that bathroom is worse than any truck stop bathroom by far. I wore gloves and swiched out the disposable Clorox wipes after every couple of wipes. I do not worry about conserving the environment while cleaning that bathroom. The toilet has things caked on it that have been there since the 1990's. Yes, that was in the last milennium.

A few days in the new year, and I've already conquered my worst fear. Not bad, indeed. I would also be happy to inform you all that I cleaned out the coin machine. That is quite a process, also. It involves a large air-compressor that is meant for airing up tires and a special nozzle. I simply take the nozzle and blow all the crap out of the machine. Out flies all those wonderful things that make their way into filthy money, including acryllic nails, pocket lint and the like. I blow my nose afterwards, revealing black snot from breathing in the debris.

Christmas
How was Christmas? This year was the in-law-year, so everyone was gone except for me, which is still kind of weird. We visited the Goldmans during the day, and they were taking a family portrait. After many bribes of fruit snacks, they got one picture without tears. "How do they get their children to pose for pictures?" Janelle said after looking at the Robinson's family portrait. Their secret? A lethargic, well-fed eighteen-month-old with a head bigger than mine.

The Single's Branch
I've been attending the single's branch, and I got called to be the second councellor. I'm really learning a lot about the Relief Society and its functions. I started two regular enrichments for once a month: a family history night and a craft night where we make wooden toys for needy children. I'm working on the Relief Society birthday enrichment on March 17. Yes, the Relief Society was organized on St. Patty's Day in the 1800s. Imagine that.

About Me
When I'm not digging crap out of the coin machine or the bathroom, and I'm not attending a church meeting, I'm usually applying for jobs, doing a sewing project, drawing, running, or just stagnating by the telivision, drooling over Andy Sandburg from Saturday Night Live, who is my new celebrity crush, by the way.

I guess that's a pretty sufficient update, since almost nothing has happened since my last blog in October. Until the next blog, take care.