Random Rants

Black Widow?

2010-06-23T11:18:00.002-06:00

Here's a spider I found in my dad's barn:

Crazy

2010-06-17T21:07:00.002-06:00

It's been a crazy couple of weeks. We've gotten a new customer at work, and it's added a lot to the work load. Janelle just did payroll and she had worked one hundred hours in the last two weeks. The sad part is that the first week she only worked 30 hours.

Last week I had to pull over and clean a bird's nest out of our diesel engine that we haven't used in a while. If I had've left it in there, it would have ignited, making it an even worse day. I had cleaned out the dry, leafy branches and there was still quite a bit in there, so I reached my hand down in the crevices of the engine, only to get my hand wet. The top of the nest had been dry, but the bottom of the nest was completely glued together with the bird's waste products. It stank like hell. Then, I went into the gas station bathroom to wash up, and the faucet was broken, and it gushed water all over the front of me.

The best and worst of last week was my dad's heart attack. He was in the middle of nowhere in Wyoming when it happened. Of course, he decided to fix another ATM machine before he sought medical assistance, and he refused to be flown to Idaho Falls, so my mom drove him all the way back home. The great news was that the clot dissolved, and he didn't even need a stent; he just needed to take loads of medication for the next year.

Update

2009-12-12T17:57:00.002-07:00

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

2009-07-31T09:27:00.002-06:00

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

2009-07-27T09:39:00.002-06:00

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?

2009-07-23T09:41:00.003-06:00

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

2009-07-22T09:18:00.002-06:00

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

2009-07-21T10:11:00.002-06:00

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

2009-07-18T09:16:00.001-06:00

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

2009-07-17T09:54:00.003-06:00

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

2009-07-16T09:07:00.004-06:00

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

2009-07-15T09:58:00.010-06:00

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

2009-07-15T00:42:00.002-06:00

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

2009-06-16T09:29:00.004-06:00

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

2009-06-15T09:31:00.003-06:00

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

2009-06-10T22:24:00.002-06:00

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

2009-06-09T21:19:00.002-06:00

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

2009-05-27T21:37:00.002-06:00

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

2009-05-07T20:15:00.003-06:00

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?

2009-05-06T20:25:00.002-06:00

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

2009-04-27T10:25:00.002-06:00

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

2009-04-20T22:26:00.002-06:00

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

2009-04-15T21:12:00.002-06:00

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

2009-04-14T22:06:00.002-06:00

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

2009-04-13T22:30:00.002-06:00

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

2009-03-30T21:09:00.002-06:00

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

2009-03-26T22:08:00.002-06:00

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

2009-03-25T22:40:00.002-06:00

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

2009-03-16T21:27:00.003-06:00

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

2009-03-12T21:26:00.002-06:00

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

2009-03-11T21:37:00.002-06:00

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

2009-03-10T22:03:00.002-06:00

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

2009-03-09T21:02:00.004-06:00

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

2009-03-05T20:56:00.002-07:00

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

2009-03-04T21:29:00.002-07:00

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

2009-03-03T22:14:00.002-07:00

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!

2009-03-02T21:34:00.003-07:00

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

2009-02-26T20:59:00.003-07:00

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"

2009-02-24T21:09:00.002-07:00

"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

2009-02-23T23:20:00.003-07:00

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

2009-02-19T22:29:00.002-07:00

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. . .

2009-02-18T23:38:00.002-07:00

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

2009-02-17T23:42:00.003-07:00

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

2009-02-12T21:34:00.003-07:00

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

2009-02-11T21:43:00.002-07:00

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

2009-02-10T22:38:00.002-07:00

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

2009-02-09T23:47:00.002-07:00

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

2009-02-05T21:39:00.002-07:00

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

2009-02-04T23:48:00.002-07:00

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

2009-02-03T22:13:00.002-07:00

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

2009-01-20T21:52:00.002-07:00

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

2009-01-14T23:57:00.002-07:00

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

2009-01-13T23:25:00.002-07:00

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

2009-01-12T23:41:00.002-07:00

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

2009-01-11T19:37:00.002-07:00

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

2009-01-08T21:51:00.002-07:00

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

2009-01-07T21:44:00.002-07:00

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

2009-01-06T22:57:00.002-07:00

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

2009-01-06T00:10:00.002-07:00

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

2009-01-04T17:59:00.002-07:00

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.

Organization

2008-10-06T21:43:00.002-06:00

Today we worked on organizing the office, which is always a daunting task. There were random bins and boxes of important papers mixed with cords, tools, nuts and bolts, and just about anything you can imagine. You never know what you are going to find in the office. It has gotten a lot better from when I was little and the office consisted of piles of things with a trail to walk through. It also had a primitive electrical heater from the seventies. Now we have indoor heat. Whoo-hoo.

Student Ward

2008-09-08T22:24:00.003-06:00

I just went to a ward activity for a student ward that isn't my ward. My parents have both gotten called to be in a BYU-I student ward. My dad is the ward clerk, and my mom is the Relief Society specialist, so she helps the RS presidency in the ward.

The ward seemed okay, but it was weird to randomly go to an opening social when I was not even going to be in the ward. The home evening group I "joined" had two girls checking out the same guy. One said, "I'm gonna totally go after him this semester." The one next to her said, "Not if I get to him first." Another girl jokingly made it a race. The first girl to run up and touch him would win. Both girls frantically scrambled toward the unsespecting victim and one of them triumphantly slapped him on the back. He turned around, startled, and quite a few of us were laughing at the whole situation. Who knows, maybe I'll join the race.

Hannah Montana

2008-08-25T18:58:00.002-06:00

I was just distracted from my other post at the sound of "Hannah Montana" in the other room. And, no, my nieces aren't over. That's my dad mindlessly turning on the TV to whatever was on, and dazedly watching, not knowing what it is. I need to get him some dinner before he fries his brain too much. He only watched "Hannah Montana" for about ten minutes, but you never know the effects on the adult brain. . .

The Job Search

2008-08-25T18:41:00.002-06:00

Right now I'm looking for anything anywhere that has to do with editing. Of course, if anyone looks at this blog right now they will find many errors and probably not hire me. (I write many of these posts without proofreading what I have just written.) With the economy the way that it is, I'll probably spend the first few months out of college asking people, "Do you want fries with that?" I won't even need to buy any clothes because all I will be wearing is a work uniform.

My dad made an interesting observation: "If your name is on the door of the company, you are upper class. If your name is on your desk, you are middle class. If your name is on your shirt, you are lower class." Right now my name is on my shirt. I live at home out of the complete generosity of my parents, and I am anxiously awaiting my first paycheck so I can start to pay off my debt and possibly get a down payment for a lovely little lower-class-style apartment or homeless shelter.

I am aiming at one day owning a piece of crap that I don't have to pay rent on, but that's like a seven-year goal right now. My intermediate goal is to find a place that has minimal cockroaches and a sane roommate, along with a job where I get a shiny name badge. I'll be living the good life.

My secret fear is renting one of those places that gets foreclosed because my landlord doesn't make his or her payments. While the person who buys the foreclosed property will probably still want me paying rent, there is the slight possibility that I could get kicked out, and that scares me. Also, the lack of jobs right now is pretty frightening. Hence the coin machine adventures I get to have every day. Gotta love 'em.

Armed with a pen and some classified ads, I made the rounds on the Sunday paper. I found a few job possibilities and a few apartment possibilities. . .

Art Festival

2008-08-23T17:21:00.002-06:00

I went to the art festival in Swan Valley, and there was a lot of great art. The vendors there were all local artists, and I especially enjoyed the oil paintings and watercolors of the Tetons and other landmarks in the area that I could recognize, like the Snake River. It was fun to visit with the quirky artists about their work and find out how they got started. One lady started when her neighbor got a divorce. His wife left behind a kiln that sat in his garage for a while. The lady I met bought the kiln from him for a few hundred dollars, and they are worth a few thousand. She then started melting glass together and experimenting with it. She now does quite well selling glass pendants as jewlery.

It was nice to have a Saturday off to just enjoy the art festival and unpack my things. I had packed in such a hurry that I didn't discover that I had thrown in my container of flour with all of my dishes. As I opened the box to unpack, a white cloud billowed from the top, revealing the spilled flour. I had to rewash all of my dishes, and in the process discovered that my mom had packed appliances I didn't even know I had or that were even in the apartment. Apparently, the people who lived there before me left some stuff in the dark corners of the cabinets were I didn't ever look. These items included a broken electric can-opener that was covered with food and what-not, and a pan with the teflon scraped off of it. I threw these items away.

Pennies

2008-08-22T22:34:00.002-06:00

Today was entirely devoted to pennies. It's amazing what you can learn about people from the money that they leave behind:

Favorite gum to stick on the back of pennies: spearmint. We have dental tools in the coin room that we have adapted to clean the gunk off of coins and also for picking out coins that got stuck in the machine. I spent a good amount of time scraping blackened globs off of the backs of pennies, and as I scrape, a fresh, minty smell fills the air, reminding me that my job isn't so bad, after all.

Favorite glue to stick pennies together with: super glue. Yes, there are ways to pry coins apart, but as a good chef does not reveal his secret recipe, I will not reveal my secret. It's all I have.

Favorite drink of the bank tellers: Pepsi. I discovered this because I found a bag of pennies that had a sticky, dried substance on the bag's surface. I dumped in the pennies, and at the end of the order, I could hear coins rolling around that would not go through the machine. I leaned over and could smell the distinct smell of Pepsi. The coins were all stuck together by a gooey layer of completely dried-on Pepsi. I could have taken these coins and stuck them in a glass of water. The Pepsi would have replenished its moisture, and I could have had a nice little drink. I didn't do this for sanitary reasons, but it gave me a great idea to market to Pepsi: dehydrated Pepsi-to-go tablets. They could be an evervescent tablet, just like Alka Seltzer, and they would still have all the fizz of real Pepsi. Pepsi-lovers could take these on road trips, camping trips, and they could even put them in 72-hour kits.

The Coin-rolling Machine: Life After College

2008-08-21T22:00:00.003-06:00

By the grace of my parents, I have been living with them and working for the company that they own. A couple of years ago my dad bought a coin-rolling machine, an industrial-sized apparatus that works something like this: I put a large bag of quarters, dimes, nickels, or pennies in the top part, called the hopper. After a shudder and a squeal, the machine produces a roll of quarters, dimes, nickels, or pennies. The machine produces a roll about every second or faster. Then I box up the money, tape it up, and eventually it goes into a safe. We then sell the money back to the bank for $5.25 a box, including delivery. The bank gives us loose coin, we roll it and box it up, and we sell it back to them for a generous profit. It's quite a lovely job.

So this is what I did this week:

Wednesday: Quarters. That's all I did. My family went on vacation in Island Park, and I had a lovely surprise for me when I returned--a room full of coin. The entire floor was covered with bags of every kind of coin. The only problem was that the exit chute did not open wide enough to let the rolls of quarters through, so every other roll of quarters, I had to bend down, fish out the offending roll, and clear the machine, hearing the coins clink in the rejection bin and knowing that I would have to dig them out of there, too. That day, I learned that each roll of quarters is a gift from God. I also developed a deep loathing for Canadian currency. Not Canadians, mind you, just their quarters. They are slightly thinner than our quarters, and they clog the coin machine.

Thursday (today): I turned on the coin machine, and it greeted me the same way it greets me every morning--with the initials P.O.S. At least it doesn't lie about what it is. Today was entirely devoted to dimes. While they are small enough to get through the exit chute, they are also small enough to tumble through every other part of the machine and clog it up. They are also, in my opinion, the second-dirtiest coin, the first being the penny. In the dimes, I found what I usually find in filthy money: bobby pins, nails, fingernails and toenails, and the occaisional stray pubic hair, of which I have no idea how it got mixed in with peoples' money, and if you have any idea, don't tell me, because I don't want to know.

Tomorrow: I have nickels and pennies to look forward to.

Stories from President Thomas S. Monson

2008-08-11T18:27:00.002-06:00

For a class project, I gathered stories told by President Thomas S. Monson of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I have posted them on my blog:

Youth Gets Life
Communication

YOUTH GETS LIFE Las Vegas (AP)
A sixteen-year-old youth was sentenced to three consecutive life sentences Monday after he pleaded guilty to murder charges in the deaths of three bank employees.

The youth was charged in the shooting deaths of the bank manager and two bank tellers. The three were slain during a $35,000 robbery at a bank in Las Vegas.

The youth who was charged was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church when eight years of age. He attended Sunday School and Primary and held the Aaronic Priesthood. Upon reading of the murders, his bishop declared sadly, “Where did we fail to communicate with him?”
Improvement Era, Feb 1969, 4

Will Arthur Live Again?
Death

The flight from Brisbane, Australia, to San Francisco is a long one. There is time to read, time to sleep, and time to ponder and think. As a passenger on this flight, I was awakened by the calm, resonant sound of the pilot’s voice as he announced: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re now passing over the Coral Sea, scene of the great sea battle of World War II.”

Through the cabin window I could see billowy, white clouds and far below the azure blue of the vast Pacific. My thoughts turned to the events of that fateful eighth day of May in 1942 when the mammoth aircraft carrier Lexington slipped to its final resting place on the ocean floor. Twenty-seven hundred thirty-five sailors scrambled to safety. Others were not so fortunate. One who went down with his ship was my boyhood friend Arthur Patton.

May I tell you about Arthur? He had blond, curly hair and a smile as big as all outdoors. Arthur stood taller than any boy in the class. I suppose this is how he was able to fool the recruiting officers and enlist in the navy at the tender age of 15. To Arthur and most of the boys, the war was a great adventure. I remember how striking he appeared in his navy uniform. How we wished we were older, or at least taller, so we too could enlist.

Arthur’s mother was so proud of the blue star which graced her living room window. It represented to every passerby that her son wore the uniform of his country. When I would pass the house she often opened the door and invited me in to read the latest letter from Arthur. Her eyes would fill with tears, and I would then be asked to read aloud. Arthur meant everything to his widowed mother. I can still picture Mrs. Patton’s coarse hands as she would carefully replace the letter in its envelope. These were honest hands which bore the worker’s seal. Mrs. Patton was a cleaning woman—a janitress for a downtown office building. Each day of her life except Sundays, she could be seen walking up the sidewalk, pail and brush in hand, her gray hair combed in a tight bob, her shoulders weary from work and stooped with age.

Then came the Battle of the Coral Sea, the sinking of the Lexington, and the death of Arthur Patton. The blue star was taken from its hallowed spot in the front window. It was replaced by one of gold. A light went out in the life of Mrs. Patton. She groped in utter darkness and deep despair.

With a prayer in my heart, I approached the familiar walkway to the Patton home, wondering what words of comfort could come from the lips of a mere boy. The door opened and Mrs. Patton embraced me as she would her own son. Home became a chapel as a grief-stricken mother and a less-than-adequate boy knelt in prayer.

Arising from our knees, Mrs. Patton gazed into my eyes and spoke: “Tom, I belong to no church, but you do. Tell me, will Arthur live again?” Time dims the memory of that conversation. The present whereabouts of Mrs. Patton is not known to me; but, Mrs. Patton, wherever you are, from the backdrop of my personal experience, I should like to once more answer your question, “Will Arthur live again?”

I suppose we could say that this is a universal question, for who has not at a time of bereavement pondered the same thought?

Death leaves in its cruel wake shattered dreams, unfulfilled ambitions, crushed hopes. In our helplessness, we turn to others for assurance. Men of letters and leaders of renown can express their beliefs, but they cannot provide definitive answers.

The dim light of belief must yield to the noonday sun of revelation. We turn backward in time, that we might go forward with hope. Back to Him who walked the dusty paths of villages we now reverently call the Holy Land, to Him who caused the blind to see, the deaf to hear, the lame to walk and the dead to live. To Him who tenderly and lovingly assured us, “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6).
Improvement Era, Jun 1969, 102

Peace
Death

Arthur Patton died quickly. Others linger. Not long ago I held the thin hand of a youth as he approached the brink of eternity. “I know I am dying,” he said touchingly. “What follows death?” I turned to the scriptures and read to him: “Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it” (Eccl. 12:7). “There is a time appointed unto men that they shall rise from the dead; and there is a space between the time of death and the resurrection. … Now, concerning the state of the soul between death and the resurrection—Behold … the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, … are taken home to that God who gave them life” (Alma 40:9, 11).

To me, the lad said, “Thank you.” To my Heavenly Father I said silently, “Thank thee, O God, for truth.”
Improvement Era, Jun 1969, 102

Toronto Missionary
Missionary Work

I reflect upon several of the young and inexperienced missionaries who came to the mission where I had the privilege to preside. I shall ever remember the bewilderment of one boy from down on the farm when he first gazed at the skyscrapers of Toronto. He inquired of me: “President, how many people in this here town?” I answered: “Oh, about a million and a half.” To which he responded, “Goll-ee! There are only eighty in my home town.”

That evening in our traditional get-acquainted testimony meeting, some of the veteran missionaries expressed themselves regarding the difficulty of the work. “Doors will slam in your face, abusive language will be hurled toward you, you’ll get discouraged and downhearted; but when it’s all over, you will say, “These have been the happiest two years of my life.’”
My missionary from the small town was more hesitant than ever as he spoke falteringly; “I’ll be glad when the happiest two years of my life are over.”

At best, missionary work necessitates drastic adjustment to one’s pattern of living. No other labor requires longer hours or greater devotion, nor such sacrifice and fervent prayer. As a result, dedicated missionary service returns a dividend of eternal joy that extends throughout life and into eternity.
Improvement Era, Dec 1969, 90

Dear Dad
Fatherhood

A mission is a family affair. Though the expanse of oceans may separate, hearts are as one, as evidenced by this letter from a missionary son to his father:

Dear Dad:
This is my first Christmas away from my home and family. I wish that I could be home to share the joy, good cheer, and the love that come with this season; but I am grateful to be here in Sweden as a missionary.

I’m grateful for my father; I do so love, admire, and respect him. His life had always been a wonderful example to me and has helped countless times to make the right decisions.
I’m grateful for his wisdom, which has counseled me; his love, which has disciplined me; and his testimony, which has inspired me.

How can a son show his love for his father? How can he fully express what he feels? How can he demonstrate his gratitude? I wish I could answer these questions. There is, however, one way that I know I can show my gratitude, and that is by patterning my life after that of my father.
This, then, is my task—to live a live equal to that of my father’s, That I may spend eternity together with him.

Merry Christmas and God bless you,
Paul
Improvement Era, Dec 1969, 90

I Know It
Testimony

Remember our boy from the rural community who marveled at the size of Toronto? He was short in stature, but tall in testimony. Together with his companion, he called at the home of Elmer Pollard in Oshawa, [Ontario,] Canada. Felling sorry for the young men who, during a blinding blizzard, were going from house to house, Mr. Pollard invited the missionaries into his home. They presented to him their message. He did not catch the spirit. In due time he asked that they leave and not return. His last words to the elders as they departed his front porch were spoken in derision: “You can’t tell me you actually believe Joseph Smith was a prophet of God!”

The door was shut. The elders walked down the path. Our country boy spoke to his companion: “Elder, we didn’t answer Mr. Pollard’s question. He said we didn’t believe Joseph Smith was a true prophet. Let’s return and bear our testimonies to him.” At first the more experienced missionary hesitated, but finally he agreed to accompany his companion. Fear struck their hearts as they approached the door from which they had been turned away. A knock, the confrontation with Mr. Pollard, an agonizing moment, then with power, a testimony borne by the Spirit: “Mr. Pollard, you said we didn’t really believe Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. Mr. Pollard, I testify that Joseph was a prophet. He did translate the Book of Mormon. He saw God the Father and Jesus the Son. I know it.”

Mr. Pollard, now Brother Pollard, stood in a priesthood meeting some time later and declared: “That night I could not sleep. Resounding in my ears I heard the words: ‘Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I know it. I know it. I know it’ The next day I telephoned the missionaries. Their message coupled with their testimonies, changed my life and the lives of my family.”
Improvement Era, Dec 1969, 92

Mrs. E.R.M. (quoted from an Ann Landers column)
Sanctity of Motherhood

The weakness of our will and the confusion of our choices are illustrated in a letter that was written by a mother to the popular columnist and human relations adviser Ann Landers:
“Dear Ann Landers: A year ago our two-year-old son, Earl, had difficulty breathing, so we took him to a doctor. We learned that Earl is allergic to cigarette smoke. My husband said we both had to quit smoking right then and there. He hasn’t touched a cigarette since. I went back to smoking that same night.
“My husband doesn’t know I smoke. I have to sneak around and smoke in the basement. And it is making a nervous wreck of me.
“Do you think it would be wrong if we let a nice couple adopt little Earl—a nice couple who don’t smoke? The only problem is that my husband is crazy about the boy. I love him, too, but I am more the practical type.
“What do you think, Ann? Mrs. E. R. M.”
“Dear Mrs. I think a lot of people who read this letter are going to say I made it up. It’s utterly fantastic that a mother would put cigarettes ahead of her own child. Don’t present your wild idea to your husband. I wouldn’t blame him if he decided to keep little Earl and unload YOU.”
Ensign, Jan 1971, 17

Junior High Question
Sanctity of Motherhood

I recognize that there are times when mother’s nerves are frayed, her patience exhausted, and her energies consumed; when she says, “My children don’t appreciate a single thing I do.” I think they do appreciate you. One of the questions after a study of magnets at one junior high school was: “What begins with ‘M’ and picks things up?” The obvious answer was “magnet.” However, more than a third of the students answered “mother.”
Ensign, Jan 1971, 17

Lost Batallions
Charity

This past November I stood on a very old bridge which spans the River Somme as it makes its steady but unhurried way through the heartland of France. Suddenly I realized that fifty-two years had come—then gone—since the signing of the Armistice of 1918 and the termination of the Great War. I tried to imagine what the River Somme looked like fifty-two years before. How many thousands of soldiers had crossed this same bridge? Some came back. For others, the Somme was truly a river of no return. For the battlefields of Vimy Ridge, Armentieres, and Nueve Chappelle took a hideous toll of human life. Acres of neat, white crosses serve as an unforgettable reminder.

“In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.
“We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields.” —John McCrae

I found myself saying softly, “How strange that war brings forth the savagery of conflict, yet inspires brave deeds of courage—some prompted by love.”

As a boy, I enjoyed reading the account of the “lost battalion.” The “lost battalion” was a unit of the 77th Infantry Division in World War I. During the Meuse-Argonne offensive, a major led this battalion through a gap in the enemy lines, but the troops on the flanks were unable to advance. An entire battalion was surrounded. Food and water were short; casualties could not be evacuated. Hurled back were repeated attacks. Ignored were notes from the enemy requesting the battalion to surrender. Newspapers heralded the battalion’s tenacity. Men of vision pondered its fate. After a brief but desperate period of total isolation, other units of the 77th Division advanced and relieved the “lost battalion.” Correspondents noted in their dispatches that the relieving forces seemed bent on a crusade of love to rescue their comrades in arms. Men volunteered more readily, fought more gallantly, and died more bravely. A fitting tribute echoed from that ageless sermon preached on the Mount of Olives: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13.)

Forgotten is the plight of the “lost battalion.” Unremembered is the terrible price paid for its rescue. But let us turn from the past and survey the present. Are there “lost battalions” even today? If so, what is our responsibility to rescue them? Their members may not wear clothes of khaki brown nor march to the sound of drums. But they share the same doubt, feel the same despair, and know the same disillusionment that isolation brings.

There are the “lost battalions” of the handicapped, even the lame, the speechless, and the sightless. Have you experienced the frustration of wanting but not knowing how to help the individual who walks stiffly behind his Seeing Eye canine companion, or moves with measured step to the tap, tap, tap of a white cane? There are many who are lost in this trackless desert of darkness.

If you desire to see a rescue operation of a “lost battalion,” visit your city’s center for the blind and witness the selfless service of those who read to those who can’t. Observe the skills that are taught the handicapped. Be inspired by the efforts put forth in their behalf to enable them to secure meaningful employment.

Those who labor so willingly and give so generously to those who have lost so tragically find ample reward in the light that they bring into the lives of the sightless.

Do we appreciate the joy of a blind person as his nimble fingers pass quickly over the pages of the Braille edition of the New Testament? He pauses at the twelfth chapter of John and contemplates the depth of meaning in the promise of the Prince of Peace: “I am come a light into the world, that whosoever believeth on me should not abide in darkness.” (John 12:46.)
Consider the “lost battalions” of the aged, the widowed, the sick. All too often they are found in the parched and desolate wilderness of isolation called loneliness. When youth departs, when health declines, when vigor wanes, when the light of hope flickers ever so dimly, the members of these vast “lost battalions” can be succored and sustained by the hand that helps and the heart that knows compassion.

While the rivers of France witnessed the advance of those who rescued the “lost battalion” in World War I, so did yet another river witness the commencement of the formal ministry of a universal rescuer, even a divine redeemer. The scripture records, “And there came a voice from heaven, saying, Thou art my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” (Mark 1:11.)
Ensign, Jun 1975,95

Christmas Feast
Charity

In Brooklyn, New York, there presides today in a branch of the Church a young man who, as a boy of thirteen, led a successful rescue of such persons in Salt Lake City. He and his companions lived in a neighborhood in which resided many elderly widows of limited means. All the year long, the boys had saved and planned for a glorious Christmas party. They were thinking of themselves, until the Christmas spirit prompted them to think of others. Frank, as their leader, suggested to his companions that the funds they had accumulated so carefully be used not for the planned party, but rather for the benefit of three elderly widows who resided together. The boys made their plans. As their bishop, I needed but to follow.

With the enthusiasm of a new adventure, the boys purchased a giant roasting chicken, the potatoes, the vegetables, the cranberries, and all that comprises the traditional Christmas feast. To the widows’ home they went carrying their gifts of treasure. Through the snow and up the path to the tumbledown porch they came. A knock at the door, the sound of slow footsteps, and then they met.

In the unmelodic voices characteristic of thirteen-year-olds, the boys sang “Silent night, holy night; all is calm, all is bright.” They then presented their gifts. Angels on that glorious night of long ago sang no more beautifully, nor did wise men present gifts of greater meaning.
I gazed at the faces of those wonderful women and thought to myself: “Somebody’s mother.” I then looked on the countenances of those noble boys and reflected: “Somebody’s son.” There then passed through my mind the words of the immortal poem by Mary Dow Brine:

“The woman was old and ragged and gray And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day. The street was wet with a recent snow, And the woman’s feet were aged and slow. She stood at the crossing and waited long, Alone, uncared for, amid the throng Of human beings who passed her by Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

“Down the street, with laughter and shout, Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’ Came the boys like a flock of sheep, Hailing the snow piled white and deep. … [One] paused beside her and whispered low, ‘I’ll help you cross, if you wish to go? … ‘She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know, For all she’s aged and poor and slow.

“ ‘And I hope some fellow will lend a hand To help my mother, you understand, If ever she’s poor and old and gray, When her own dear boy is far away.’ And ‘somebody’s mother’ bowed low her head In her home that night, and the prayer she said Was, ‘God be kind to the noble boy, Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy.’ ”

What was the message of the Master? “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … ye have done it unto me.” (Matt. 25:40.)
Ensign, Jun 1971, 95

Jack
Forgiveness

There are other “lost battalions” comprised of mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, who have, through thoughtless comment, isolated themselves from one another. An account of how such a tragedy was narrowly averted is this occurrence in the life of a lad we shall call Jack.
Throughout Jack’s life, he and his father had many serious arguments. One day, when Jack was seventeen, they had a particularly violent one. Jack said to his father: “This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I’m leaving home, and I shall never return.” So saying, he went to the house and packed a bag. His mother begged him to stay, but he was too angry to listen. He left her crying at the doorway.

Leaving the yard, he was about to pass through the gate when he heard his father call to him: “Jack, I know that a large share of the blame for your leaving rests with me. For this I am truly sorry. I want you to know that if you should ever wish to return home, you’ll always be welcome. And I’ll try to be a better father to you. I want you to know that I’ll always love you.”
Jack said nothing but went to the bus station and bought a ticket to a distant point. As he sat in the bus watching the miles go by, he commenced to think about the words of his father. He began to realize how much love it had required for him to do what he had done. Dad had apologized. He had invited him back and had left the words ringing in the summer air, “I love you.”

It was then that Jack realized that the next move was up to him. He knew that the only way he could ever find peace with himself was to demonstrate to his father the same kind of maturity, goodness, and love that dad had shown toward him. Jack got off the bus. He bought a return ticket to home and went back.

He arrived shortly after midnight, entered the house, and turned on the light. There in the rocking chair sat his father, his head in his hands. As he looked up and saw Jack, he rose from the chair and they rushed into each other’s arms. Jack often said, “Those last years that I was home were among the happiest of my life.”

We could say here was a boy who overnight became a man. Here was a father who, suppressing passion and bridling pride, rescued his son before he became one of that vast “lost battalion” resulting from fractured families and shattered homes. Love was the binding band, the healing balm. Love—so often felt; so seldom expressed.

From Mt. Sinai there thunders in our ears, “Honour thy father and thy mother.” (Ex. 20:12.) And later, from that same God, the injunction, “… live together in love.” (D&C 42: 45.)
Ensign, Jun 1971, 95

Scrooge
Charity

One who lived much of his life ignoring his fellowmen and living for self alone was Dickens’ immortal character, Ebenezer Scrooge. But there came that wintry night when the ghost of Jacob Marley appeared to Scrooge and lamented:

“Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunities misused! Yet such was I! Oh! Such was I!
“Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode! Were there no poor homes to which its light would conduct me!”

In an effort to comfort Marley, Scrooge proffered, “But you were always a good man of business, Jacob.”

Lamented Marley, “Business! … Mankind was my business!” (A Christmas Carol.)
The change that then occurred in the life of Scrooge was miraculous indeed. He became overnight the most generous, the most lovable, the most kindhearted Christian soul. In his own words he described his condition: “I am not the man I was.” So it ever is when one inclines his heart to the example of the Christ.

“… he that loveth not his brother abideth in death,” wrote the apostle John 1900 years ago. (1 Jn. 3:14.)

Some point the accusing finger at the sinner or the unfortunate and in derision say, “He has brought his condition upon himself.” Others exclaim, “Oh, he will never change. He has always been a bad one.” A few see beyond the outward appearance and recognize the true worth of a human soul. When they do, miracles occur. The downtrodden, the discouraged, the helpless become “no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.” (Eph. 2:19.) True love can alter human lives and change human nature.
Ensign, Dec 1971, 131

My Fair Lady
Kindness

This truth was stated so beautifully on the stage in My Fair Lady. Eliza Doolittle, the flower girl, spoke to one for whom she cared and who later was to lift her from such mediocre status: “You see, really and truly, apart from the things anyone can pick up (the dressing and the proper way of speaking, and so on), the difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she’s treated. I shall always be a flower girl to Professor Higgins, because he always treats me as a flower girl, and always will; but I know I can be a lady to you, because you always treat me as a lady, and always will.” (Adapted from Pygmalion, in The Complete Plays of Bernard Shaw, p. 260.)

Eliza Doolittle was but expressing the profound truth: When we treat people merely as they are, they will remain as they are. When we treat them as if they were what they should be, they will become what they should be. (Adapted from a quotation by Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe.)
In reality, it was the Redeemer who best taught this principle. Jesus changed men. He changed their habits and opinions and ambitions. He changed their tempers, dispositions, and natures. He changed their hearts. He lifted! He loved! He forgave! He redeemed! Do we have the will to follow?
Ensign, Dec 1971, 131

White Ribbons
Forgiveness

Prison warden Kenyon J. Scudder has related this experience: A friend of his happened to be sitting in a railroad coach next to a young man who was obviously depressed. Finally the man revealed that he was a paroled convict returning from a distant prison. His imprisonment had brought shame to his family, and they had neither visited him nor written often. He hoped, however, that this was only because they were too poor to travel and too uneducated to write. He hoped, despite the evidence, that they had forgiven him.

To make it easy for them, however, he had written them to put up a signal for him when the train passed their little farm on the outskirts of town. If his family had forgiven him, they were to put a white ribbon in the big apple tree which stood near the tracks. If they didn’t want him to return, they were to do nothing, and he would remain on the train as it traveled west.

As the train neared his home town, the suspense became so great he couldn’t bear to look out of his window. He exclaimed, “In just five minutes the engineer will sound the whistle, indicating our approach to the long bend which opens into the valley I know as home. Will you watch for the apple tree at the side of the track?” His companion changed places with him and said he would. The minutes seemed like hours, but then there came the shrill sound of the train whistle. The young man asked, “Can you see the tree? Is there a white ribbon?”

Came the reply: “I see the tree. I see not one white ribbon, but many. There must be a white ribbon on every branch. Son, someone surely does love you.”

In that instant he stood cleansed by Christ.

His friend said, “I felt as if I had witnessed a miracle.”

Indeed, he had witnessed a miracle appropriately described by the third verse of a favorite Christmas carol, “O Little Town of Bethlehem”:

“How silently, how silently, The wondrous gift is given! So God imparts to human hearts The blessings of his heaven. “No ear may hear his coming; But in this world of sin, Where meek souls will receive him still, The dear Christ enters in.” —Hymns, no. 165

We, too, can experience this same miracle when we, with hand and heart, as did the Savior, lift and love our neighbor to a newness of life.

May we succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees, thereby inheriting that eternal life promised by the Redeemer, I pray, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.
Ensign, Dec 1971, 131

Master’s Degree
Service

Thomas Huxley advised: “The end of life is not knowledge, but action.” When our testimonies are reflected by our service, they shine with unequaled brilliance. Unfortunately, there are those among your group who, turning to their academic pursuits, turn their back on God. You have heard their comment: “I will serve the Lord later—now I must study.” To such a one I would answer, “Thou fool.”

I am reminded of a highly successful business executive in Salt Lake City who served as a counselor in his ward bishopric while at the same time earning his master’s degree. During the hectic period preceding finals, the bishop asked him, “Lynn, I know you are facing a crisis in your schooling. Let us relieve you of your meeting schedule and some of the details of your assignments during the next two weeks.” Lynn answered, “Bishop, I would ask that rather than relieving me of responsibility, let me assume additional duties. I want to go to the Lord and ask his help by right, not by grace.” He never slackened. He graduated among the highest in his class.
New Era, May 1971, 2

Letter of Gratitude
Gratitude

Do you think to thank your mother, your father, who have given you life and who rejoice in your accomplishments? Your gratitude should be expressed personally, but, in addition, it should be mirrored by your life.

An appropriate tribute of gratitude was made by a young Latter-day Saint girl attending a Denver, Colorado, high school. The students in her class had been asked to prepare a letter to be written to a great man of their choice. Many addressed their letters to sports heroes, some to the leaders of their nation, while others addressed their letters to persons of reknown. This young lady, however, addressed her letter to her father, and in the letter she stated: “I have decided to write this letter to you, Dad, because you are the greatest man that I have ever known. The overwhelming desire of my heart is that I will so live that I might have the privilege of being beside you and Mother and other members of the family in the celestial kingdom.” That father has never received a more cherished letter.
New Era, May 1971, 2

Monson Giving His First Priesthood Blessing
Priesthood

Many of you will be entering military service and will have special need to be close to God. I testify as one who knows that he will not forsake you.

During the final phases of World War II, I turned eighteen and was ordained an elder one week before I departed for active duty with the navy. A member of my ward bishopric was at the train station to bid me farewell. Just before train time, he placed two books into my hands. One was a popular satire in which I took interest. The other was entitled The Missionary Handbook.

I laughed and commented, “I’m not going on a mission.”

He answered, “Take it anyway—it may come in handy.”

It did. In basic training the company commander instructed us concerning how we might best pack our clothing in a large sea bag. He advised: “If you have some hard, rectangular object you can place in the bottom, your clothes will stay more firm.”

I suddenly remembered just the right rectangular object—The Missionary Handbook. Thus it served for sixteen weeks.

The night before our Christmas leave, our thoughts were, as always, on home. The quarters were quiet. Suddenly I became aware that my buddy in the adjoining bunk, a Mormon boy, Leland Merrill, was moaning in pain. I asked, “What’s the matter, Merrill?”

He replied, “I’m sick. I’m really sick!”

I advised him to go to the base dispensary, but he knowingly answered that such a course would prevent him from being home for Christmas.

The hours lengthened. His groans grew louder. Suddenly he whispered, “Monson, Monson, aren’t you an elder?” I acknowledged this to be so, whereupon he asked, “Give me a blessing.”
Suddenly I became very much aware that I had never given a blessing, I had never received such a blessing, and I had never witnessed a blessing being given. My prayer to God was a plea for help. The answer came: “Look in the bottom of the sea bag.” Thus, at two o’clock in the morning I spilled the contents of the bag on the deck, took the book to the night light, and read how one blesses the sick. With about seventy curious sailors looking on, I gave the shakiest blessing I’ve ever given. Before I could stow my gear, Leland Merrill was sleeping like a child.
The next morning Merrill smilingly turned to me and said, “Monson, I’m glad you hold the priesthood.” His gladness was surpassed only by my joy.
New Era, May 1971, 2

Dare to be a Mormon
Comradery

University entrance for me began in the midst of World War II. Girls on campus outnumbered men by a ratio of nine to one. Those were golorious days until there approached my own responsibility to serve. I was no hero. I enlisted in the U.S. Navy just ten days before I would have been drafted into the U.S. Army.

Navy boot camp was a never-to-be-forgotten experience. For the first three weeks I was convinced my very life was in jeopardy. The navy was not trying to train, but rather kill me. Finally came Sunday and the welcome news that all recruits would go to church. Standing at tattention in a brisk California breeze, I heard the wors of the chief petty officer: “Today, everybody goes to church. Those of you who are Catholics, you meet in Camp Decatur. Forward, march!” A rather sizeable contingent moved out. “Those of you who are Jews, forward, march!” A somewhat smaller group marched on. “The rest of you Protestancs, you meet in Camp Farragut. Forward, march!” Instantly there flashed throutgh my mind the thought: “Monson, you aren’t a Catholic; Monson, you aren’t a Jew; Monson, you aren’t a Protestant. You are a Mormon.” I stood fast. Then came the perplexed comment of the petty officer. Sweeter words I have not heard. “Just what do you guys call yourselves” You see, this was the first time I knew there were others standing behind me on that drill grinder. In uniskon we replied: “We’re Mormons.” He queried, “Mormons? Well, go find somewhere to meet.” We marched proudly by, almost to the cadence of the primary rhyme you remember:

Dare to be a Mormon;
Dare to stand alone:
Dare to have a purpose firm;
Dare to make it known.
Devotional Address, Jan 19, 1971 “Return with Honor”

Return with Honor
Courage

Our company had no particular slogan or symbol. One fighting unit in the war was known as The Fighting Irish, another as Uncle Sam’s Hellcats. Some Naval Air Corps squadrons painted on their planes the words, Remember Pearl Harbor or Back from Bataan. The motto I remmember best was that adopted by an air wigstationed in Britain and involved almost daily with bombing and strafing runs over theContinent. The words were simple, yet packed with pride and power: Return with Honor.

These words connoted courage to fight fear and meet death. They reminded each man to do his duty without flinching . They implied, “Better to die a man than return a coward.”

Then, as now, there were those who would “cop out,” fake mechanical trouble, pull up too suddenly from a dive, or skip drop a bombload to avoid heavily concentrated antiaircraft fire.
To most, that motto Return with Honor became a way of life. I wonder if it may not be a most desirable motto for each of us.

Most of you have left your homes, your families, your friends, and your communities to attenc BYU. You have set sail on the sea of education. One day you will return to that port called home. Have you determined to Return with Honor? Unfortunately, some tdo not. There are those who return cheaters, loafers, procrastinators—even sinners.
Devotional Address, Jan 19, 1971 “Return with Honor”

Just a Phony
Cheating

I shall never forget such a one with whom I studied business law. On the football field he was the Saturday afternoon hero; in the classroom, just a phony. Oh, he was clever, all right. Perhaps too much so. During the final examination all books were to be closed. Now was the moment of truth. My friend came to class that morning barefooted in sandals, As the examination began, he removed his feet from the sandals and, with toes saturated with glycerin, he opened his textbook and skillfully, with those educated toes, turned the pages, that he might read the answers to the questions asked. He received an A grade, as he did in other classes. Nominated for honors, praised for his intellectual acumen, he passed the examinations of school but failed the test of manhood. Do not be a cheater.

In a similar class is the loafer or procrastinator. Content with mediocrity, he becomes an underachiever and loses, perhaps forever, that reward of excellence which, with concentrated effort, would have become his precious prize.

Even more to be pitied is the student who comes to college to learn but instead succumbs to sin.
Devotional Address, Jan 19, 1971 “Return with Honor”

Three Examples
Courage

It is true today; it has ever been so. Consider if you will two of Lehi’s sons who were asked to go forth to the house of Laban on a perilous, yet vital mission. They saw the danger; they feared for their safety. They doubted their ability. They murmured. They failed. How could they return with honor when they failed to depart with faith.

In contrast, who can help but be filled with admiration for their brother Nephi and his clarion call:

I will go and do the things which the Lord has commanded. (1 Nephi 3:7.)

Three capsule illustrations may be helpful.

First, from a serviceman, this letter:

Dear Brother Monson:
Today I arrived in Vietnam. It is raining, dull and frustrating. Yet I am happy, for I know this experience can be a great missionary opportunity. Already I have participated in gospel discussions with six interested persons not yet members of the Church. This assignment is called a tour of duty, but to me it is a missionary privilege.

Dear Brother Monson:
Today is the greatest day in my life. I am the happiest man in the world. You remember I spend much of my time in a wheelchair and have done since a bout with polio long years ago. At 7: 00 p.m., in this glorious state of California, my companions wheeled me to the edge of the baptism font. I lifted myself from the wheelchair and, with effort, lowered my weak legs and crippled body into the font. I took the hand of one who had found the truth and pledged to live it and repeated the baptism prayer, then immersed him in those waters which cleanse soiled and troubled lives. He thanked me. I thanked God.

Third, from a cold—even an old—city of Eastern Canada. The missionaries called it stony Kingston. There had been but one convert in six years, even though missionaries had been continuously assigned during that entire interval. No one baptized in Kingston. Just ask any missionary who labored there. Days in Kingston were marked on the calendar like days in prison. A missionary transfer to another place—anyplace—would be uppermost in thoughts, even in dreams.

While I was praying and pondering this sad dilemma, for my responsibility as a mission president required that I pray and ponder about such things, my wife called to my attention an excerpt from A Child’s Story of the Life of Brigham Young by Deta Petersen Neeley. She read:
Brigham Young entered Kingston, Ontario on a cold and snow-filled day. He labored there thirty days and baptized forty-five souls.

Here was the answer. If the missionary Brigham young could accomplish this harvest, so could the missionary of today.

Without explanation I withdrew the missionaries from Kingston, that the continuity of defeat might be broken. Then the carefully circulated word: “Soon a new city will be opened for missionary work, even the city where Brigham Young proselyted an d baptized forty-five persons in thirty days,” The missionaries speculated as to the location. Their weekly letters pleaded for the assignment to this Shangri la. More time passed. Then four carefully selected missionaries—two of them new; two of them experienced—were chosen for this high adventure. The members of the small branch pledged their support. The missionaries pledged their lives. The Lord honored both. In the space of three months, Kingston became the most productive city of the Canadian Mission. The city was the same, the population constant. The change was one of attitude.

Consider the serviceman in Vietnam, the crippled elder in California, the missionaries in Kingston. Like a silver thread running through the fabric of their lives is the spirit of, “I will go and do the things which the Lord has commanded.” Such will indeed Return with Honor.
Devotional Address, Jan 19, 1971 “Return with Honor”

God’s Cathedral
Perspective

After the big London fire of long ago, the great English architect, Sir Christopher Wren, volunteered his services to plan and superintend the building of one of the world’s greatest cathedrals. Unknown to most of the workmen, he passed among them often, watching the construction.

To three stonecutters one day he put the same questions: “What are you doing?” One of them answered, “I am cutting this stone.” Another answered, “I am earning my three shillings per day.” But the third stood up, squared his shoulders and proudly said, “I am helping Sir Christopher Wren build this magnificent cathedral to our God.”
Devotional Address, Jan 19, 1971 “Return with Honor”

Plant

2008-08-04T21:44:00.000-06:00

My mom has had this plant for twenty years, and this is the first time it has produced flowers.

Robo Dwarf Hampsters

2008-07-13T22:24:00.004-06:00

My roommate, Valerie, has hampsters that are very tiny, and move very, very fast! Here is a picture of them sleeping in their nest. I also made a video of them running on their wheel. Their legs are just blurs as they go around as fast as they can!

Physical Science lab

2008-05-29T18:39:00.002-06:00

I spent two hours in the physical science lab, and I now know what an ion is. This class is bothering me even more just because it is the one of the last things keeping me from graduating. There is a test on Monday, and I need to know the difference between ionic, metallic, and covalent bonds. As I read the textbook and tests, all I want to do is edit them. The writing is terrible.

Physical Science

2008-05-28T21:38:00.002-06:00

One of the courses I have been taking during the summer is Physical Science 100. It teaches beginning chemistry, physics, and the periodic table of elements. In other words, it is the last general education class I have to take, and it sucks. At the end of the semester, I will have learned to hate ions, pulleys, and water, as well as other things. After my last test, I have grown a hatred for gravity, frictionless surfaces, and kilograms. I loathe oxygen, even though I need it to live. I now hate every element with a passion, and I can name each one that I hate. Over the week, I will increasingly loathe the concept of covalent bonds.

2008-05-27T14:58:00.002-06:00

I've been working on a book for my last editing class. The class is the capstone of the minor, and I work with a group to write, compile, and edit a book of essays and get it formatted and printed in a concise book. It's a useful thing to learn and put in a portfolio, but I'm a bit daunted by the qualifications listed for editing jobs. Most places ask for two to three years experience editing, and my only advantage is that I attend a school that offers an editing minor, which is unheard of. I just ended that sentence with a preposition, and if any future employer reads this blog, I'm afraid it will be very embarrassing; however, I think that it is good for me to write something just for fun and not have to reread it and edit it a million times. I write too many things that I have to worry about the exact language and how I'm going to hook the reader in and write a fantastic conclusion. It's nice to just write short blurbs with atrocious spelling and grammar that I know that not that many people are going to be interested in.

As much as I love this website for allowing me to write somewhat carefree, I am disappointed that it does not provide me with my favorite seriff typeface, Garamond. Yes, I have a favorite typeface. I always had trouble writing the "get to know you" sheets in different settings because they ask for things like my favorite color or my favorite food, or even my favorite rock band. With these things, I have no favorites. I don't listen to music, I like a variety of foods and colors, and my personality does not seem to be dictated by all the normal "get to know you" questions. I have provided a list of my favorites:

Favorite typefaces: Garamond, Arial, Lithos Pro. Garamond is a plain seriff font that looks so much better than Times New Roman, Arial is my favorite sans seriff font, and Lithos Pro is my favorite accent font.
Favorite laundry detergent: Tide lavender and vanilla scent
Favorite insult: queer sardonic rat (taken from a poem I read, and now I think of it every time I see a person I don't like; I just imagine them as a rat with beady eyes that glisten).
Favorite accessory: glasses (Too bad my eyesight is too good for them. When I was little, I even wore a pair of pink sunglasses with the lenses poked out so that they looked like real glasses).

2008-05-25T22:17:00.002-06:00

I haven't written on this blog in so long—mostly because I've been busy trying to graduate this August. After that, I don't know what I'm doing. I'll probably apply every place that I can and take the best job offer. I'm going to bed; I'll write more later.

Blog # whatever

2008-03-26T17:20:00.002-06:00

I'm not even going to bother with an interesting title this time. It's that wonderful time of the year when other colleges are on spring break or just getting back into the swing of things, and BYU doesn't even give us a three-day weekend for Easter.

Everyone on campus looks bleak and stressed-out, and I'm no exception. It's everything I've got to show up to class looking slightly less than disheveled. I don't know when I'll be blogging next; I've got to get through my classes.

Legs

2008-02-12T19:22:00.002-07:00

I wrote the following a while ago, but did not get it posted until now:

One of the classic scenes in A Christmas Story is when the father opens his package, revealing the famous leg lamp. This morning a package came to my door. Excited to see what my parents got me, I opened the box to reveal two legs in high heel shoes. It immediately reminded me of A Christmas Story. My mom told me that she and my dad had found it at Fred Meyer and thought of me. She asked my dad if they should fill it with candy or tacky flowers, and he suggested candy. My parents ended up eating the candy and giving me flowers instead. I can't complain. I love the legs!

PIBB

2008-02-11T18:22:00.000-07:00

The other day, my roommates and I discussed how there is no male version of MILF (Mother I'd Like to F*ck). We came up with our own male version: PIBB (Papa I'd Bang Bigtime). Now we have a category for men like Christian Bale, Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp, and Matt Damon. Our formerly constrained language now has a term for hunks with kids. I hope it one day gets into the Oxford English Dictionary. That would be a dream come true.

PIBB of the Week: Christian Bale

He is Batman, and so much more. I just saw his performance in Rescue Dawn, and it was an amazing performance for an amazing story. He also did the voice for Howl's Moving Castle, sucessfully making an effeminite anime character seem very manly. (It's all about the voice). At the prime age of 34, Bale is one English hottie that is well worth my PIBB award.

Not So Gross Commercials

2008-02-10T22:12:00.000-07:00

In accordance with my blog on gross commercials, I would like to pay a tribute to a tasteful and funny commercial for Trojan Condoms. This commercial features an attractive blonde in a bar surrounded by sweaty, dirty pigs snorting at her. One of the pigs pulls a single condum out of a dispenser and comes back to the woman, changing from a pig into an attractive man. The company's slogan is to evolve.

I thought that this was a clever ad because it put a positive light on the use of protection. Kudos to Trojan for advertising their product without being gross.

The Grammys: Amy Winehouse

2008-02-10T21:40:00.000-07:00

I just watched Amy Winehouse's performance for the Grammys. Apparently, she asked the rehab center if she could leave just for the Grammys, and they said "No, no, no." She was allowed to be broadcast by sattelite from wherever she was at.

Her legs were extremely skinny in that skirt, and she seemed to be putting her hands by her crotch a lot. Her movements were awkward, showing her apparent distraction. She seemed a little bit scared, and I wondered what the withdrawals must have been doing to her.

However, I was excited when she wone Record of the Year. She had stiff competition, but I really like "Rehab." I was confused when Winehouse thanked "Blake, incarcerated" in her speech. Was that her significant other? Who knows.

Gross Commercials

2008-02-10T19:29:00.000-07:00

Commercials for Personal Lubricant

Yesterday I saw a commercial for a personal lubricant. It had a split screen with a hand on either side, each hand representing the compeditors' brands. The narrator spoke about the other brands and how messy they were. Copius amounts of lubricant was then poured into each hand as the hands pulled their fingers apart in the sticky goo, demonstrating that these were poor brands, indeed. The advertised product was then lightly dabbed on a forefinger, and the narrator explained that the product was less messy than the others because it came out in a sensuous foam.

A Commercial for Denture Adhesive that Should Never Have Aired

Another commercial I hate is a commercial for denture adhesive. The commercial features an old couple making out in the back of a taxi cab and poses the question that only one of them is wearing dentures, but which one?

Male Enhancement Commercials

Need I say more? Also, I do not appreciate getting spam that offers to make my penis larger. I do not have a penis; please stop spamming me.

Feminine Protection

I will buy these products whether they are advertised or not. However, I do not want to see a demonstration of how a pad with a high absorbancy can soak up the equivilent of a large mud puddle. That's gross.

My Blog Will Now Be Advertising the Following Products...

I host Adsense on my blog, and no doubt the program will immediately scan my latest blog for relevant products to advertise. I will not block the scan of this article because I think that these are products that should be advertised and purchased. There is no better place to adverise these products than in a discreet line of text at the left of someone's webpage, and there is no better place to buy these products than in the privacy of your own home, on the internet. Or, if you are more brazen, like me, you can just purchase your feminine hygiene in the grocery store. But I am providing a way to purchase these somewhat embarrassing products that everyone needs without you having to watch those dreadful commercials.

Saturdays

2008-02-09T17:45:00.000-07:00

Today is Saturday, and I am working on homework. I couldn't think of anything more to write on an assignment that has proven difficult to me, so I decided to write on my blog. No one gives me a grade for the trash I write here, and all is good in the universe. However, I have plans tonight, so I only have a short time to write. I am going to an on-campus dancing event, and I have a potato heating in the microwave. The timer has just beeped on the microwave, and my Saturday evening is off to a great start.

Genie Magic

2008-02-07T15:06:00.000-07:00

For Valentine's Day, I purchased a box of Bratz Genie Magic valentines. I decided that nothing says "Happy Valentine's Day" like a bunch of seductively dressed pre-teen cartoons. Now I can celebrate my holiday in style with girls looking seductively at me through their eyelashes. Their faces are covered with veils, and they have gold chains glinting around their tiny waists. For that special man in my life, I can send a valentine that says "I hope your Valentine's Day is a magical adventure!" This valentine features a blonde in a short skirt kneeling with her legs apart and a brunette standing profile, sticking out both her butt and her chest. That's enough to make any man break out into a cold sweat.

Forget the lovey-dovey cards from the relationship section of the store. These cost about $5.00 each, and they are oftentimes heavy and sickeningly sweet. Send your love something sexy in the guise of a children's card! The message is subliminal and will surely be remembered. Besides, you can get 32 cards for only $0.50.

The Superbowl

2008-02-05T11:18:00.000-07:00

So I had a superbowl with my roommates. One is an Eagles fan, and the other is a Steelers fan. They were both rooting for the Giants because they were "the lesser of the two evils." I'll have to admit that this was the most excited I've ever been for a game. The last four minutes really surprised me. Still, the party for me was all about the food: chips and dip, bratworst and saurkraut, and potato salad.

Joining the Circus

2008-02-04T17:19:00.000-07:00

That's it; I'm joining the circus. After I graduate, I am not getting a 9-5 job, I am not working in retail, and I am not painting caricatures at a booth. I am joining the circus!

Disney Songs

2008-02-02T17:52:00.000-07:00

Facebook is a social network that I use to connect with friends from high school and college that I would have trouble contacting otherwise. Lately, Facebook has gotten a little weird. Now, I get daily invitations to join random causes, such as being a ninja or a vampire. I have just gotten another invitation on Facebook for "Which Disney Song Describes Your Life Right Now?"

I would like to respond to that invitation via my blog: No, I do not think that BYU is "A Whole New World." I do not want to "Kiss the Girl;" I don't like girls. I would just love for a shirtless man to pop out of a lamp and sing, "Never Had a Friend Like Me" because that's all we would ever be: just friends. Of course, the only man to pop out of my lamp would be the actual Robin Williams, old enough to be my father and having a full pasture of chest hair. All in all, I am taking eighteen credits, and, until I am done with my last final, things are not "Akuna Matata."

Superbowl Sunday

2008-02-02T17:36:00.000-07:00

Tomarrow is Superbowl Sunday, and I am actually living with football fans. Last time I had a Superbowl party at my house, it was only because my brother-in-law insisted that we have one. We had never had a Superbowl party, and my mother made appetizers appropriate for the occaision. We didn't actually turn on the TV until my brother-in-law came and insisted that we turn on the Superbowl for our party. The rest of the evening was filled with shouts from my dad: "Home run! Home run!" and me: "Are the commercials on yet?"

The Soup

2008-01-31T20:49:00.000-07:00

A couple of days ago, I was watching Joel McHale's The Soup. At the end of his usual banter of celebrity gossip, McHale paid a short tribute to Heath Leger and told people to stop trying to dig up dirt after his death. I thought that it was a very good statement, and I appreciated it.

Job Search

2008-01-31T15:57:00.001-07:00

After having my third job interview this week, I got an email back that said they had chosen someone else. So, out of all three jobs I've applied for, no one hired me. Yes, it has been a very busy and interesting week.

SAG awards

2008-01-28T12:47:00.000-07:00

I noticed that none of the female actors in the Screen Actor Guild Awards were wearing necklaces. Has this commonplace piece of jewelry instantaneously found its way out of the wardrobe? The most-sported look was a strapless gown with earrings and a bare upper-chest with no necklace at all. The men sported moppy hair with shaggy beards. You think that because all they have to worry about is a suit, they would at least shave.

President Gordon B. Hinckley

2008-01-28T12:41:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, the president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints died 7 p.m. in his home. I had never met the man, but he has taught me wonderful things about how to manage my life through correct, smart choices and taking the time to listen to intuition. My personal life has been continually blessed by the man who simply told me to pray and listen to my Heavenly Father. My heart goes out to his family; he was a great man.

Jobs

2008-01-25T18:45:00.000-07:00

I just got two job offers in the same week! (Two companies contacted me back after seeing my resume.) I also had a call for papers in one of my classes to be considered for publication. Other than my monstrous load of homework, this weekend should be fun. (And I hope I hear back from some people.)

Plasma Misconception

2008-01-17T19:21:00.000-07:00

I was donating plasma and thinking about when I first heard about plasma donation. I was about ten and heard about someone who was donating plasma. Immediately interested in the topic, I asked what plasma was. The adult who explained it to me asked if I had ever gotten a rug burn, and I said yes. She said that the clear or yellowish fluid that comes to the top of a rug burn is plasma.

I pondered this for a moment, and wondered how plasma would be extracted from the donor. I figured that there would be a sand-paper person to rub the donor down with sandpaper until their was a rug-burn-type injury, then scrape off the plasma that collected at the top of the wound and collect it in a small dish.

Luckily, this is not the process that I have to go through to donate plasma. I leave the donation center with only a small puncture in one arm. Besides that, I get $30, juice, and crackers. Life is good.

Feminism

2008-01-16T12:36:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about something I heard in a feminist seminar: "Women will not truly become women as their own entity unless they cease to be women of men." In the dating world, women are dependent on men for compliments and reassurances about their appearence, their decisions, et cetera. It is almost as if a women needs a man to wave his magic wand and say "I noticed that you were pretty, now you are pretty." A woman who has a sparkle in her eyes does not notice her radiance until a man points it out. It is almost as if the sparkle wasn't there until he came along.

But what about the women who do not date? Are they simply not pretty, smart, or funny? Are they destined to be the duds until a man comes along and declairs them the fairest in the land? I know many such women that are beautiful, radiant, and smart who go unoticed by men. I believe that personal qualities are arbitrary to whether anyone notices them or not.

Technical Support for Wireless Internet Service

2008-01-15T21:51:00.000-07:00

I've been tryting to set up a high-speed internet conection today, and finally I have it set up. It took three hours on the phone with people who all sounded like they were from India, and my brain was thouroughly fried before I even got to my homework, but I now have an internet connection. I have never been so happy to have wireless internet.

Forgetting Something? Walk into Another Room.

2008-01-14T18:34:00.000-07:00

Do you ever walk into a room and forget what it is that you needed to get? I have that with school assignments. Every time I look at a blank page my mind shuts off, then I look away from the page and the thought I was having comes right back. As soon as my eyes return to the page, I forget what it was that I was going to write about.

A lot of life is staring at blank pages and thinking about what to do. Researchers figure out how much time in our entire lifetime we spend going to the bathroom, kissing, playing tenis, you name it, but I wonder how much time is spent walking into rooms to get things that we don't remember what it was we needed to get.

The Nerd Complex: Hierarchies of Nerds

2008-01-13T15:32:00.000-07:00

Introduction

One day I was speaking with one of my friends and asked her what her major was. “I’m a bio major,” she replied. “I’m in there with all the nerds.” I began to think about her statement. Doesn’t every major have nerds? I began to see what had happened historically to the population of nerds throughout the ages. In grade school they were the ones that we excluded because they were different from us. In middle school, they helped us with our homework, so they were okay friends, as long as they weren’t friends with us in public. In high school, the nerds found strength lumping into one group, but in college, they slowly evolved into hierarchies of different types of nerds. They specialized in different aspects of the humanities and the sciences and became more and more eccentric in their obsessions. Now they are everywhere, formulating equations, writing reports for fun, and claiming that they invented the internet and the concept of global warming.

Some Nerds Out There

Todd Wilbur is a nerd notorious for using cooking and chemistry to find the secret recipes of restaurants around the nation. He has researched the Coca Cola Company and has found that only three or four top executives, including the Coca Cola chemist, know the secret formula for Coca Cola. They never travel together, and undisclosed precautionary measures have been taken for their utmost safety. When one member of the secret group dies, all others must agree to elect a new individual. The secret yellowing paper with the Coca Cola recipe is deep in a vault in Atlanta, Georgia.
Do you ever think of being a secret agent, but the FBI is too hard to get into? You can work for the Coca Cola Company! You can protect the secret recipe vault, travel with top executives, and carry a gun. Stop being a nerd and do something cool! Your title would be “secret agent protector of the executives that know the Coca Cola secret recipe,” and you can say that every time you pull out your special badge. Make yo mama proud!

Bill Gates

I checked out the official website of Microsoft and found a biography on Bill Gates. Gate’s biography reads much like an obituary when it talks about his past life and reads like a resume for the beginning and end. It is a true testimony to the fact that Bill Gates has been a nerd his entire life, from the time he was thirteen and programming computers to the time he was a student at Harvard. In this biography, I found a passage that filled my soul with glee: “Gates was married on Jan. 1, 1994, to Melinda French Gates.” The writer of this biography had written the sentence using Melinda’s married name, making the writing vague to the point that you can’t tell whether or not Bill Gates married a relative. Unfortunately for me, it was just a vague sentence, and Bill Gates did not marry his relative. But to comfort those who do marry their cousins, Teddy Roosevelt married his fifth cousin. So if you’re looking misty-eyed across the threshold of your family reunion, you are not alone in the world.

You may be a nerd if…

Do you ever wonder about the water that splashes you when you flush a public toilet? Of course everyone wonders about random things, but do you actually research the dangers of secondhand toilet-water splashing? If so, you are a bio nerd. You are one of those people who researches the germs on door handles for fun. Your weekends are filled with mathematical equations and Petri dishes. You have a full life.
Have you ever written a sonnet for someone on Valentine’s Day? Do you recite Shakespeare to prove your point? Do you have wild fantasies about members of the opposite sex that only appear in novels, poems, and other literature? You are an English nerd. You are sadistic and enjoy unhappy endings. You love to argue, and you believe that true love only exists in Jane Austin novels. If you encounter an English nerd, beware. Never get into a discussion involving your favorite movie, for it will soon be reduced to the thematic reproduction of the modernist existential angst of the movie’s putrid producer. If you have no idea what this means, consult the English nerd nearest you.

Thanksgiving Point Wedding Expo

2008-01-12T17:03:00.000-07:00

Today I went with my friends to a wedding expo. Yes, kind of a weird thing to do on a Saturday, but we mainly went for the freebies and labeled one of my friends as the "bride to be." She had her boyfriend with her so they could sign up for more prizes. I hope I get the free spa facial. Yes, we are weird.

News Stories

2008-01-11T12:23:00.000-07:00

For one of my classes I was asked to write a 50-100 word blurb about something that was going on around campus or the community. I had always made fun of the local newscasters because they seemed corny when they ran out of ideas for the news. They would talk about the weather or some boy who completed his eagle scout project, and I would point my finger in scorn.

Of course, I was asked to do this assignment within the first week of school, and there was nothing really going on. I was faced with the same situation as a local newscaster of a small town. The theatre department is preparing for things clear in spring, the biology department's triumphs were already covered in December issues of on-campus magazines, and the humanities department has such a lack of funding that nothing is ever going on. So what did I write about? The weather.

Jamie Lynn Spears

2008-01-10T22:21:00.000-07:00

I am writing about a topic of grave seriousness: the Spears family. You have to pay attention to anyone who takes an interest in Brittney Spears and her kin. It's like the train wreck you just can't stop watching.

I have read the exclusive interview of her pregnant sister in OK!. It was after the hollidays when fridges are full and no one even wants to step foot into a grocery store when I had all my closing duties finished. One of the magazines was out of place and I was interrupted by a customer as I was putting it back. The smiling face of Jamie Lynn stared up at me. She was posing in a hip top with facial expressions in her "exclusive photos" that seemed disturbing because it was such a carefree smile. I had to read the article.

So at 11 p.m. in an empty grocery store I flipped the pages to discover an empty life. She had been staying at a friend's house when she became suspicious and bought a pregnancy test. She decided to give herself about two weeks to tell no one and decide for herself what to do. She told her mother that she had something to tell her but that she couldn't tell her in person and she would have to read the note. Her mother read the note and asked her daughter's boyfriend if it was true. He confirmed. Jamie Lynn has decided to keep the baby and wants to be the best mom that she can be. I disagree. I think the best thing for that baby is to be raised by a family other than the Spears. It takes a better mom to admit she may not be the best thing for her baby.

National Geographic Geography Bee

2008-01-09T19:37:00.000-07:00

I just took an online geography bee test. I did not know that there was such a thing, but it sparked my interest, and I thought it was a neat idea to feature contestants on the subject of geography. The questions ranged from which country Germany invaded in World War II to which country Buddhism was founded in. It helped me just for a second to brush up on my geography and to increase my interest in geography. It is sad every time someone says where they are from or what happened in the news and I have to look at a map with my forefinger outstretched, saying, "Where was that, again?"