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!