I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

So a few weeks ago at FHE we talked about what we want for Christmas. There were several digital cameras, an iPod, and the like. When it was my turn, I said I wanted snow for Christmas. Amazingly enough, Santa delivered:


Hope you all had a merry Christmas wherever you may be.

How To Make Friends and Influence People

So, last month I cut my hair short.

Two weeks ago, the Relief Society president cut her hair short.

This week, the second counselor cut her hair short.

The secretary swears she won't do anything of the sort.

And all of this becomes moot in a month when the president moves to Utah, but it's funny right now.

If only I could use this power on guys...

You really shouldn't have

"So, I found you a boy last night, and I'm pretty sure he's Mormon."

My coworker and her 85-year-old mother went out to buy a tree. It seems that in the process, they were helped by "the nicest guy." Now when most people buy a tree, they walk onto the lot, pick one, pay for it, and leave. Not her. Somehow she managed to get his whole life story, including the fact that his dad played football at BYU (which lead to the conclusion that this guy is Mormon). So, in addition to his alleged religious status, she told me he played football himself; he's tall dark and handsome; and he is currently at the Paul Michelle hair dressing school (but is not effeminate or gay). Oh, and my coworker thought it would be awkward to mention me at all.

Call me crazy, but there has got to be an easier way to meet people besides hanging around tree lots trying to figure out which guy sold a tree to my coworker Tuesday night with nothing but that description to go on.

By small and simple things

So last summer while we were trying not to melt in Boston, we stopped at a mall kiosk selling zipper purses. We were quickly approached by the kiosk salesman, who being the smarmy salesman type, struck up a conversation.

"Where are you ladies from...CIN-ci-na-ti?"
"No, we're from Wyoming."
"Oh. I do not know where CIN-ci-na-ti is, but I like to say it."

He told us he would cut us a deal if we sang him a song from where we were from. So my mom, sister, and I launched into "Home on the Range." Then of course to get the price he was offering, we had to buy 4. Then if we bought one more he would give us one free. He kept saying, "What about little Suzy in Wyoming? She needs a Christmas present!" We ended up with six coin purses and a really fun memory.

So on Saturday when I misplaced mine at Target, I was more upset about the purse than what was inside (not money; I use mine to hold chapstick and nail clippers and other flotsam that ends up in the bottom of my purse). I knew it was dumb, but the purse was a tangible reminder of my experience on that trip.

So as corny as it sounds, I said a little prayer that someone would find it and turn it in to customer service. And someone did.


"And now what evidence have ye that there is no God, or that Christ cometh not? I say unto you that ye have none, save it be your word only. But, behold, I have all things as a testimony that these things are true; and ye also have all things as a testimony unto you that they are true; and will ye deny them?"

Things that make me awesome

* I just fixed my wireless network all by myself. Okay, I used the trouble-shooting website. But no geek squad, no computer nerd friends, no tech support in India. Even better, everyone in the house can now get on the network.

* I fixed a schedule not only by adding all the lines, but by noticing that it went from July to September. That may not make sense to anyone else, but it made the project manager happy.

Okay, so that's all I got. But I'm pretty excited about the network. Internet is a beautiful thing.

Label the available

People should come with warning labels. I'm tired of flirting with guys who turn out to be married (or engaged or dating seriously or otherwise taken). I'm tired of thinking a guy is into me only to find out he's that nice to everyone. Maybe this girl had it right.

P.S. -- How awesome is it that you can access all those old Letters to the Editor? I just found out and it's pretty much the coolest thing ever.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Me, 7:45 a.m. today:


Me, 7:45 p.m. today:

Life's a journey; enjoy the ride

Yesterday my papa turned 50. I, being the respectful daughter that I am, bought him an Old Guys Rule t-shirt. He, being my papa, loved it. Today when I called to talk to the family in general, the first thing he told me is that he's 50. I said he was taking it remarkably well. I loved his answer: "Well, the only alternative to being old is being dead." That's my dad. Having a bad attitude isn't an option. I like to think I picked up some of that optimism, though I haven't perfected mine as well as he has.

Other reasons I think my dad is the greatest:
* He eats ice cream with a fork. You could always tell when dad had gotten into the ice cream on his lunch break because of all the little fork marks. We as kids used this to our advantage--if we ate with a fork too, we could always blame him for sneaking into it. Oh, and he always has to test the ice cream to see if it's "poisoned." It always is, so he generously offers to eat it for us so we don't have to suffer.

* He introduced me to the Muppets and the Beach Boys. As a result, I was the only 8 year old on the planet who thought that the Beach Boys were better than New Kids on the Block (which they are, but no 8 year old thinks that). He also got me hooked on BYU football by taking me to the 1996 BYU vs. Texas A&M game.

* He is an incredible example of service. It seems like he's always getting called in to help people move or give blessings or anything else he's asked to do. He's always done his home teaching too, which is something I admire as an adult attempting to visit teach.

* He's always willing to listen. I remember calling him one Friday afternoon when I was having a really hard time at school. He listened to be cry and complain for a good hour while I'm sure he had other things to do. He handled a lot of late-night panic I-can't-do-this calls too. He also listened to my beanie baby business plan, my "nobody will ever love me" post break-up whining, and my crazy idea about moving to California.

Happy birthday, Dad!

Nothing but sincerity reaching out as far as the eye can see

I went to a pumpkin patch last night for the first time since I was...well, I don't remember the last time, so I'm sure I was quite young. First we explored the corn maze.

This was the first maze I had been to with living corn. And because it was living (and probably because it was a ridiculously small and simple maze), they wouldn't let you cut through. Anywhere someone had tried, they had put up signs saying "Farmer Kenny is sad because someone couldn't stay on the path." Farmer Kenny was sad a lot.

The pumpkins themselves were pretty picked over. There were some really cool bright orange ones that would have been awesome in a black light, but they were all mushy so we didn't get any of those. We did find lots of others that we liked.

We finally narrowed it down to one each (with the encouragement of the staff, who wanted us to leave because it was getting dark. They had to check us out by lantern light.)

Then off to carve! I hate the scooping out part, but the carving itself is detail-oriented enough that I like it. Here's the results:


Mine is the tall skinny one. It's my tribute to Twilight. (The guy has a pointy vampire tooth, in case that's not clear in the photo. My friends were teasing me about my x-rated pumpkin.)

So now that I've carved a pumpkin, I'm officially over Halloween and ready to move on to Thanksgiving. Who's with me?

World on fire

This week was interesting. The smoke made my eyes itch and throat sore and head hurt. But because I was not one of the nearly 1,000,000 people evacuated, I knew that it could be worse. So I tried to keep the complaining down.

Other weird things happened. For some reason, I didn't get tired at night. I stayed up until 1 at least twice without even realizing it because my body never said "you're being an idiot; go to sleep!" Even weirder, I wasn't tired during the day either.

And have you ever noticed how when you can't do something, it makes you want to do it? Last week I had to force myself to the gym, and only made it twice. This week I couldn't because of the smoke, and all I wanted to do was go running.

The worst day was Wednesday. Headache + cramps + who knows what else = grouchy Mindy. I spent the morning apologizing to everyone because I knew I was being rude and horrid but I couldn't stop. I hated it. And then, that afternoon my mood just lifted. I didn't do anything; all of a sudden I realized I didn't want to yell at people anymore. I was still a little unsure of myself, so I went to Institute rather than Bunco (better a dark classroom where I wouldn't talk to anyone than a group of friends I might offend). And that helped too.

And now the smoke has started to clear. Here's hoping this week will be much better.

Serving as an example for small children

So I went to Disneyland this weekend (I have a pass now! I can go whenever I want! I love Southern California!). We decided to go on Splash Mountain. My friend ducked out because she didn't like the drop and she thought we were going to get wet. The two of us going on the ride said she was being ridiculous.

She was right.

I was dripping at the end of it. The people behind me in the next line made some snide comment, so I responded and we chatted a little. When I turned around, my dry friend told me that some mother had passed us, pointed at me, and said, "See that lady? That's why you can't go on Splash Mountain," to her kids.

So I have found my true calling in life: being an example of what not to do at theme parks.

We're on a need to know basis, and you don't need to know

Last week I remembered why I don't tell my parents everything. It's not because I'm not trying to be devious or untruthful. I just learned at a young age that there are certain things they just don't need to know.

Example A: Conversation with Dad 1
Dad: Doing anything this weekend?
Me: I'm going to a Pat Monahan concert.
Dad: Who?
Me: Most people haven't heard of him. He's the lead singer of Train.
Dad: Who?
Me: Drops of Jupiter? Meet Virginia?
Dad: Trains go on tracks and go "toot-toot."
This is the mild version of my parental editing: they just don't understand sometimes.

Example B: Conversation with Dad 2
Dad: So how was the concert?
Me: It was really fun. I enjoyed the House of Blues.
Dad: Why's that?
Me: It's standing room only, everyone just packed in with everyone.
Dad: What if there was a fire? An emergency?
Me: There were exits.
Dad: Well, you said standing room only...
Me: I just meant there weren't chairs. It was a big hall.
This is the main reason: they worry.

I also remembered why I don't really tell my parents about boys I like, my eating habits, and how much sleep I get. They worry. And when they worry, I worry about worrying them. So why tell them?

I had an absolutely fabulous weekend hanging out with my sister. My one complaint was the snow. In SEPTEMBER.

And people wonder why I moved to Southern California.


Today it took me 50 minutes to go 3.3 miles because some idiot stole a car and turned the road I needed to be on into a police scene.

And people wonder why I don't want to live in Southern California forever.

She's not afriad, she just likes to use a night light

So I was punching holes in a document today, listening to music and generally pretending the rest of the world wasn't there. I punched one set and turned to put it in my done pile. And then there was a spider in my face. A real one. I screamed like a little girl. Luckily I am a girl, or that could have been really embarrassing.

Girls don't like boys, girls like cars and money

So we were talking at lunch the other day about our "office move" next year. This move makes most people happy, for we will be much closer to where they live. It makes me unhappy because it will be farther away from where I live (I realize that it's not that far, but when it only takes you 10 minutes to get to work every day, another 10 doubles your commute time). And now that they've got the temperature figured out (turns out the vent wasn't attached to the thermostat so it just blew full blast all the time), I rather like our current office.

I groaned dramatically, so everyone at the table decided to convince me that this move will be a good thing.

"You can go shopping at the Spectrum!"
Great. Target will get an even bigger cut of my paycheck.

"You can eat at Panera!"
Isn't my current visit every Friday at lunch good enough?

But my favorite was this: "There are boys there!"
I had no witty reply to this. I had to give up and just laugh.

So if I end up moving in a year, you'll know why. It's because of the boys.

Things I learned today...

1. In the Constitution, it's "unalienable," not "inalienable," when talking about Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.

2. A package of Twizlers Nibs is not a part of a balanced breakfast.

3. Calling your coworker a "grumpy old man" at 8:30 in the morning is a bad idea. (He gives me crap about being young, so we're even. . . usually.)

4. Target doesn't sell the cool windowshades that I have in my car anymore.

5. A 19-year-old boy knows a lot more about suffering than I do, yet he has a better attitude about it.

6. My knee still hates me.

7. Tomatoes are actually pretty good in sandwiches and such(don't tell my mom about that one).

What's cooler than bein' cool?

This weekend was on the warm side. To the point that I took myself to see Pirates of the Caribbean 3 over Ocean's 13 because it meant 3 hours in an air conditioned theater rather than just 2 (it also conveniently kept me out until the house party I was trying to avoid ended). To the point that I spent a good portion of Monday in a pool/in a wet swimming suit because it was cooler. To the point that I was looking forward to returning to work because it's usually cold in my office.
Unfortunately, my office was rather warm when I entered Tuesday morning. We actually went outside to cool down at lunch. Wednesday it had cooled down again; I made good use of the sweatshirt I keep on the back of my chair for just such an occasion.
Today my office was an ice box. Since I refuse to wear thermals and sweaters in summer, we found an alternative.


Two large manila envelopes, packing tape, and a tall coworker, and voila! Our very own air deflector, sure to last at least a few months, at which point we'll be tearing it down to let the heat in because we're cold.

Suddenly I See

I've been neglecting my beloved Pearl recently. Between being out of town a lot and basic laziness, it had been months since she had had a bath. And thanks to the marine layer that rolls in every night, the grime was quite thick.

So last Tuesday I threw in the towel and took it to a car wash. But not just any car wash--it was the kind where you hand over your keys and the magical elves bring it back 30 minutes later all sparkly and clean. I'd never been to such a car wash before (I'm from Wyoming...they just don't exist there) because it seemed like cheating. In my family, the only time you don't wash your car yourself is when it's too cold. And that's only when it's really dirty.

Friends, it was the best $17 I've ever spent on that car. The elves even managed to remove the grime on my rims that had been there for years. Not only did they vacuum, they dusted the dashboard. But the best part was when I got in and discovered I could actually see out the windows.

At that point I realized I had been putting up with inferior conditions. I was reminded of a quote that I thought I remembered from Conference but I can't find right now that says something to the effect of "we live far below our spiritual potential." Around the same time, I'd had several spiritual experiences that, like my car, reminded me that I could have so much better. I just wasn't putting in the effort.

Of course, life can't be all uplifting, amazing experiences. It rained on Sunday; my car is now dirty. I get caught up in work and friends and fun; I loose some of the peace I found. But the memory of the good is newer. And at least one of these things can be fixed by a quick trip to the magical elves again.

I'm your recent acquisition, time to celebrate me

Proof that I really am better now: Yesterday I discovered that someone had thrown out/eaten my leftover burrito. I had been looking forward to finishing it all weekend (I forgot it in the fridge on Friday). Those coworkers gathered with me in the kitchen tried to console me.

"Maybe they were just cleaning out the fridge" Nice try, but no. In my frantic search through the shelves, I found several pieces of moldy fruit that DEFINITELY should have gone before my burrito.

"Maybe they just didn't know whose it was." I wrote my name on the top. And there were several other styrofoam containers that weren't labeled at all.

I was mad for about 5 minutes as I nibbled at the yogurt I had also left in the fridge. And then I was over it. Okay, not entirely, because I'm still writing about it a day later. But it didn't ruin my day; it became the most interesting thing that happened.

Life's a journey, enjoy the ride.

Don't it always seem to go...

They blocked streaming radio at work this week. Most of the time, I bring my mp3 player so it's not a big deal. But there are days when I forget, and I've built quite a collection of good stations at Pandora. And I'll have to kick my Chunga and Mister habit now too (hey, they're funnier than anything in L.A.).

Last night I went to the library and got a crusty look from the librarian when I flip-flopped my way back to the young adult novels. I figured it was for the noise. Only on my way out did I notice the small sign at the entrance that the children's room was for children under 12 and their caregivers only.

What's up with one or two people ruining stuff for everyone else?

Happy is what happens when all your dreams come true

So tonight, while trying to convince myself that "choosing" to be alone was better than outright rejection, Becoming Jane became the fourth movie I've ever cried in. The other three are Moulin Rouge!, Ladder 49, and Kate and Leopold (don't ask).

There was once a time when I was strictly a happy ending sort of girl. I wanted to know how things end, and I wanted them to end well. I've never really liked Romeo and Juliet, Gone with the Wind was good until the end, and I absolutely hated The Perfect Storm.

"But, then one day, the girl grew up and went beyond the walls of the grounds and found the world." In effect, I finally had the opportunity to live those chick flicks (at least on some level...). But unlike those movies, none of these relationships had a happy ending. Suddenly, My Best Friend's Wedding had a perfectly acceptable ending.

For various reasons, I've spent most of this week feeling 14 again. I think that's why I had such a strong reaction tonight. Normal me loved the movie; young me was ridiculously upset that true love didn't conquer all. Young me is winning the battle tonight, but normal me will win the war.

Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end.

The gentle island

I just had an amazing vacation (why don't we call it holiday like the British? It sounds so much more sophisticated.).


We spent a day visiting the College of Piping and the French/Acadian part of the island (including authentic food in the community center cafe).


We spent a day paying homage to the local literary heroine (I wish I had the picture of my sister and I dressed as Anne and Matthew...maybe when I get it from my mom). Turns out Gilbert Blythe is a little young, but still cute.


We spent a day wandering Charlottetown, including a few hours in a blessedly air conditioned theater. We also went to a ceilidh with an amazing fiddler.


We also ate ice cream every day and slept in and ate microwaved steak and got overheated in Boston and in general enjoyed ourselves thoroughly.

The end.

Carry On!

Made it back from the family reunion. I really didn't want to come back 'cause everyone else is still there, but that's the price I pay for taking off all of next week to play in Canada. Over the years, I've built up a lot of memories from these events. For some reason, they seem to fall on/near my birthday, so that's what I associate them with.

The year I was 10, we borrowed a cabin near Panguitch Lake, Utah. We had been there all of 20 minutes when my cousin and I went to play in the creek outside. Suddenly she started screaming, and I discovered a water snake crawling over my foot. I refused to go anywhere near the creek or the field beyond for the rest of the week. The only exception was when they dragged me out to play medieval games (Huzzah!). I was also considered old enough to attend A Midsummer Night's Dream at the Cedar City Shakespeare Festival, which remains my favorite of his plays. I believe this was also the year that I threw a book at my dad's head from the backseat because I wasn't getting my way, but my aunt would have to confirm that. It's her favorite story about me.

The year I was 12, I spent a good portion of my time being bitter about not getting to stay up with the adults and being young in general. Case in point: I signed the quilt we made my grandparents as Mindy, age 11 and 11/12. I also remember this as the year my uncle was a buyer for a grocery chain, which meant he brought lots of candy samples. I also learned that my grandpa liked his cantelope with salt and pepper.

The year I was 14, we did the pioneer heritage tour, starting at Chimney Rock, Nebraska. We had cheesecake to celebrate my birthday a few days early; I dyed my strawberry topping purple (I would have dyed everyone else's too, but my mom wouldn't let me). I spent the evening of my actual birthday stuck in a trailer in the pouring rain with just my immediate family while the rest of the family got to stay in a hotel. To my teenage self, this was vastly unfair. They did stick a match in a Snickers bar and sing to me again.

The year I was 16, we rented a cabin at Bear Lake. We had airplane races off the balcony and rented waverunners. But the best part of this one for me was seeing the graves of my ancestors and seeing the old homestead where my great-grandpa was born. My aunt also let me drive her car now that I had a license, making her the coolest aunt ever.

I missed the one when I was 18, and the two when I was 20 and 22 kind of blend together. Both were in Heber. The first had family olympics on my birthday. Other than that, all I really remember is that my parents let me borrow the car so I could work half days. The second was a big event: my grandparent's 50th anniversary (which also happens to be my birthday). I was prepared to let my birthday be a small affair, but was pleasantly surprised by cake, singing, and lots of presents (including my Hello Kitty desk set, which is my mom's idea of a good joke). The adults spent the morning in the temple, while we took the rest of the cousins to see The Testaments. My favorite part of this reunion was the family testimony meeting. Lots of tissues for that.

This last reunion followed the grand tradition. There was the fun of watching my mom do a llama dance in support of her kickball team (named for the llama herd grazing the lawn of the lodge we stayed at) or hearing my marathon-runner uncle describe lunch as calorie replacement. There was usually at least one person reading Harry Potter 7. We had pioneer games (Carry on!) and a huge sourdough pancake breakfast to celebrate Pioneer Day. But this was also the first reunion without Grandpa. We had FHE on Monday to remember him. I think it was good for everyone, especially me. I felt his love, which I needed.

So here's to all those crazy people lucky enough to be related to me. I love you guys!

Someday this will all be hiliarious...

So when I picked up the t-shirts on Thursday, the guy pulled one out to show me what he meant by "jagged lines." Silly me, thinking he meant that the image was horribly pixelated and would be printed as such, boxy outlines instead of my nice smooth ones. No, of course he would mean that the image looked hand drawn, the lines not entirely straight or uniform thickness.

Nerd.

I calmly explained that I was going for the hand-drawn effect, thanked him, and walked out with my exactly-what-I-wanted shirts. I'm just glad it's over.

How I spent my Saturday

Before:


6.5 hours, 2 cans of varnish remover, 16 vinyl gloves, and 2 N*Sync CDs later (old shelf included for contrast/to block glare):


Next project:

A random series of (what I find) hilarious moments of my evening.

* I was walking through Target when a loud voice says "You're from Wyoming...and you painted my house!" Huh? A few clueless blinks later, I figure out it's the lady who's house we painted for Neighbors to Neighbors a few months ago. Apparently I made a distinct impression (or the fact that I was wearing the free t-shirt they gave us that morning helped (I was "on my way running")). She repeated the Wyoming bit, smiled, and we parted ways.

* Does anyone else feel empowered by Home Depot? There's something about walking around that place that makes me feel like I can do anything. Of course, now that I've spent $40 on stuff to refinish a bookcase, I actually have to do the work. (Assuming, of course, that I find someone with a truck willing to transport the bookcases to my garage Saturday morning.)

* I'm headed home, windows down, Shania Twain BLASTING on the radio. I'm singing just as loud as she is until I pull up at a stop light and the two guys in the car next to me start whistling. Considering that these were two old, creepy Hispanic guys, this was not flattering. And of course, the light took f-o-r-e-v-e-r to change.

* And now I should probably go deal with the Level 5 hurricane damage in my bedroom. But instead I'm going to sit here and watch Scrubs reruns.

Under Pressure, or Why I Need to Run More

I have been incredibly stressed the past two weeks. There's been a lot to be stressed about. The lead editor of the big project I've been helping with went on vacation, so I got to be responsible for printing a 2,000 page document (I would have been in charge of most of those details anyways though. It just would have been nice to have her around as backup support.). I volunteered myself to be in charge of the t-shirts for our family reunion in two weeks (have you ever tried to get 25 people to agree on color, fit, and size?). And last week my grandpa died, so I had to make sudden arrangements to attend the funeral (on top of the general grieving stress).

All of this came to a head around 4:30 on Friday afternoon. In the proofing phase of the document, we discovered that about 20% of the graphics were wrong (our fault, not the printers). The t-shirt designs weren't coming through clearly, so they couldn't print. And my head was ready to explode. My coworker very kindly talked me through the worst of my hysteria (I was literally ready to cry), and Mike put things in perspective for me. The stress subsided a little.

But what really did it for me was the run I had when I finally made it home (at 7:30). It was like that Propel commercial--the one with the giant metal thing running through the streets that pieces fall off of until you see just the guy. I realized that in all of this stress, I had neglected to do anything physical. Heck, most days I wasn't even feeding myself properly. No wonder I felt like crap.

So I hereby make this declaration that I will not let my situation get that bad ever again. I will make running a priority. Because this week reminded me that I run not for exercise, but for stress relief.

Just when I thought you couldn't get any dumber, you go and do something like this... and totally redeem yourself!

The world redeemed itself today.

The last time I flew, the nerds who searched my bag broke one of my favorite earrings. I can see how it could happen (it was sandwiched between two shirts and in their rummaging it ended up next to the zipper/bottom), but still, I was mad. I went back to Old Navy (where I bought them), but the earrings were no longer in stock.

And then today I just happened to wander into Old Navy and they had them in stock again! Even better, they were on sale.

Life is good, friends.

Why is it...

...that waterproof mascara is anything but waterproof EXCEPT when you're trying to take it off?

...that a cupcake tastes so much better at the beach (though this goes for almost anything)?

...that drunk people are so funny?

...that bicycles hurt your butt so much?

...that the cute ones are always taken?

...that I'm still up writing this when I should have been asleep hours ago?

Happy Fourth, ya'll.

To whom it may concern:

I would like to request that you drop this "Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim" business. It is causing my mother undue worry in my behalf. As evidence, I offer this transcript of a conversation I had with her Saturday night, after I called her from the parking lot (someone should look into that too):

"So are you still in the parking lot?"
"No, I'm trying to find my way back to the freeway."
"Oh, are you in a really bad part of L.A.?"
"Umm...no. I'm nowhere near L.A. I just had to turn right out of the parking lot instead of left, which led directly to the freeway. Now I'm headed toward a different on-ramp."

Clearly, this situation has gotten out of hand. My mother worries about me enough, what with my non-existent dating life and all. I do not need her to think I'm wandering lost through the slums of Los Angeles.

I suggest you revise the team name to the "Anaheim Angels." Simple, direct, and self-explanitory.

Thank you for your consideration in this matter. I look forward to a speedy resolution.

Life is short so go on and live it, 'cause the chicks dig it

So last week I was on the couch, remote in hand, ready to watch the results show of So You Think You Can Dance. Then the TV flipped out, and all I could get were Spanish channels. Because I'm lazy, I didn't do anything about it until yesterday (in the back of my mind, I thought it would just sort itself out). So I call the cable company and they agree to send someone out. When the guy came, he fiddled with things for a few minutes before it all magically came back. Turns out there was nothing wrong with the signal, some setting got off on the TV itself. The cable guy was at least kind enough to cancel the request so that I won't get charged (I hope...we'll see when the bill comes in).

This experience made me wish, for the millionth time, that I had a boy around. Not only would this boy be able to fix my TV, he would unclog my shower, fix my washing machine, and make the emergency brake light go away in my car. According to Mike, "man skills" such as these are not valued enough by women. I, for one, completely disagree.

Man skills are hot.

This is not to say that I want to marry a plumber. I think President Hinckley had it right when he said, "We speak of being 'equally yoked.' That applies, I think, to the matter of education." I just want that educationally equally yoked to be able to fix a few things around the house.

I do not think this is such a ridiculous request. I have been told since I was a Merrie Miss in primary that it was necessary for me to gain certain skills becuase I would need them in my future home. This is why I had Mutual nights where I learned how to iron a shirt, sew on a button, and cook a meal for twelve. I do not resent this training; it's actually quite useful.

So men, dig out those long-lost boy scout lessons and get to work. You can start with my shower.

Humor: editor style

Eye halve a spelling chequer
It came with my pea sea
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.

Eye have run this poem threw it
I am shore your pleased two no
Its letter perfect awl the weigh
My chequer tolled me sew.

When I was in junior high, our typing/computers/whatever teacher had this poem above his chalkboard. I thought of it then what I think of it now: incredibly corny, but it has a point. Spell checkers will never replace a human being. Observe the following examples*, which are not nearly as over-the-top but are much funnier.

Screenline: A line across parallel roadways that defines a zone of analysts.
Now, this zone of analysts are posing as sagebrush, while this group represents the jackrabbits...

The sheet filed with our map shows our special dispensation under the ordinance because of the graphic nature of our design.
An X-rated parking lot, coming to a shopping center near you.

The compost site currently receives 200-tons of material per day, which is processed into compost and mulch for use on organic farms, gardeners, landscapers, and public agencies.
I can see the adds now: Organic compost--garden-fresh skin in just 5 days!


*These are actual examples taken from real documents. Details have been changed to protect the innocent. All are included here in good fun--I know I'm certainly not above a typo or two myself.

Learning to Fly

So turns out that if you don't fly the first half of a round-trip ticket, the airline will cancel the second half for you. I learned this when I showed up at the airport and handed my ID to the lady at the check-in counter. Three people later, they finally figured out that their system couldn't let them check me in because the ticket was cancelled. The next response was that I needed to talk to Travelocity because it was their ticket. Luckily, the supervisor was able to apply the money from the first ticket to a new, one-way ticket back to California. She just couldn't get that ticket until the next night. So I called my office and left a message explaining what happened and why I wouldn't be there the next day. And I got to spend another night with my family. So it all worked out in the end.

Also, because I had a one-way ticket both ways, I got the full body and bag search. Not fun.

And the award for idiot of the year goes to…

Short story: I bought a plane ticket for Sunday, not Thursday, which would have meant missing my brother’s homecoming talk, which was half the point of coming home. Changing the ticket would have cost $600 (I only paid $500 for the original ticket), which was out of the question. So my solution was to buy a new ticket to Salt Lake and drive up with my grandparents.

Long story: So there I was at work, humming to myself because I was so excited to go home. I glanced down at my itinerary as I was putting it away and noticed that it said Sunday, May 27, not Thursday, May 24. Must be a mistake, I thought. So I log onto Travelocity. Nope, not a mistake (at least not theirs). I started panicking (short of breath, shaking, the whole nine yards... my coworker describes this really well). I could not wait until Sunday. So I call Delta, who tells me that it will be $600 to switch my flight. My dad had conveniently lost his cell phone and wasn’t answering his office phone. I had to hunt down my mom at school to break the bad news and try to come up with a better solution. She suggested calling Travelocity. They said it would be $650, plus their $80 fee. Ouch. I don’t have that kind of money, especially for a ticket that I already bought. In talking about this whole mess with the same coworker, she offhandedly said, “Well, you could always drive home like you did at Christmas.” That’s when the little light bulb went on. My grandparents would be driving to my house from Spanish Fork the next day. So I bought a last-minute (and still overpriced, but way cheaper than $600) one-way ticket to Salt Lake and spent the next day in a car. My grandpa even refrained from asking me if there are any nice young men in my ward, and they let me drive the last section. So I still made it home in time to hear him speak.

Moral: Always always always triple check travel arraingements. And then do it once more just for good measure.

I hate to say I told you so...

A few weeks ago, I was lying in bed trying to convince myself that I really did need to get up. There's a tree just outside my window, and the birds were having their own version of American Idol. I thought, Wouldn't it be fun to put up a birdfeeder? This thought, like many that early in the morning, soon passed.

About a week later, a coworker began telling me about all the cool birds she's seen at her feeder recently. Once again, I thought it would be fun to put up a birdfeeder. I walked back to my office and told the other editor my plan.

"Oh, you don't want to do that. You'll just be feeding the rats."

I explained that this would be up high, where the rats couldn't get to it. She just gave me this "Fine, don't listen to me" look and we moved on.

The next weekend I went out and bought a birdfeeder. I put it up under the eaves of my house, close to the tree so the cute little birds would feel protected. I figured it wouldn't be long before they were swarming to my window.

I was wrong. Several weeks went by, and the level of seeds didn't change. I could hear the birds in the tree, but never saw any at my feeder.

Saturday morning, there was a huge commotion outside my window. Something was rustling around in the dead leaves. I thought it was the cat we've seen in our garage a few times.

I was wrong again.


Needless to say, the birdfeeder is no longer outside my window.

*I would like to point out the two mice in the background of this photo. There was a whole extended family out there. It was absolutely disgusting.

Meglio Stasera, baby, go, go, go!

Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you had made a different choice? This has been a recurring idea in my life the past few weeks, and I'm starting to wonder why. Ali and I were talking about it tonight. It also popped up when I listened to the new Michael Buble CD. For some reason, the second song took me back to a time in college when I liked two boys at once. Of course, I liked one of them more than the other, but he wasn't quite as agressive as the second one. I distinctly remember one night when our ward was having a dance. I elected to stay home, thinking that the first guy would stay home too, and I could take him cookies or something (I was very young :) ). But as it turned out, the first guy went to the dance, and the second guy came over instead. I beat him at Trivial Pursuit and we ended up cuddling on the couch. Now, I'm not saying I would have ended up with the first guy (I know for a fact that he wanted me to date his best friend (who lived in St. George...like that was gonna happen)). However, I really wonder if I would have dated the second guy if that night hadn't happened.
I do not regret my decision. I learned a lot from that relationship (specifically, a lot of what I don't want). I remember that summer as one of the best times of my life. But I also look back and think, "What were you thinking, self? He was a loser and you knew it!"
Now I'm sitting here at 1 a.m. trying to think of a noncorny way to end this post without it rambling on for another paragraph or two. I suppose this will have to do:
*Basically, I have been reminded several times in the past few weeks that small choices have big consequences. This weirds me out. That's all.

I'm back! I'm back!

You know that scene in Spiderman 2 when Peter Parker decides that he wants to be Spiderman again? So he takes a flying leap off a building, thinking his web is going to kick in and save him? And then he has to hobble away, groaing "My back! My back!"

That was me today, except it was a long run outside, not a building, and my knee, not my back. I'm still struggling with this small and steady business of getting back into running. Oh well. That's why they invented Aleve.


*for those of you concerned about my well being, I'm fine. My knee just gets a little sore when I try to run too far on it. I haven't actually had to take anything for it today.

Life is in the details

This past weekend, I ended up on a plane with an old friend. He and I knew each other at BYU, and we've run into each other a few times since then. My favorite part was that we even worked it so that we could sit next to each other--both there and back again. Good times were had by all.

Anywhos, this friend decided he was done with accounting (and I frankly don't blame him), so he's off to Harvard to dress from J. Crew and look important while taking business classes. Which means he's having a going away party, which I made him promise to invite me too. Sure enough, last night I got a text from him. Party, his house, 7 p.m. blah blah blah. I had to text back to get his address, which he readily supplied with a "See you soon!"

So I finish dinner and head out. After working my way past the street fair, I find a really good parking spot and walk up to the door. Odd, I think. The house looks strangely empty. I open the door and say, "Hey man, happening party."

"Well, it's on Friday."

Huh?

I dig out my phone and actually read the text message. Sure enough, it says Friday night, not tonight.

My friend, gentleman that he is, invited me in anyway and we had a grand time wandering the street fair (though we didn't see the possum that lives in the creepy store front) and watching American Idol.

Oops.

tryin' to find atlantis

I had the wonderful opportunity to attend a friend's wedding this weekend. Some have asked if this made me sad. I will admit that on a very, very shallow level, it's a little sad (how come she gets a husband and I don't?). But honestly, I'm so stinking happy for her. She's found a really great guy, and they are really good together (that's a lot of reallys). See?


If anything, her wedding has given me hope for mankind. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of songs about how all men are scum. Not one of them worth dating. I must admid that I often find myself on this side of the line. But do not be deceived. Really great guys do exist. And I know there's more than one.

For example, there was the guy sitting across the isle from me on the plane. His seatmate was an elderly woman who was making a connection to Portland. He flagged down the flight attendant and said, "This young lady needs to get to her plane to Portland. Do you know where she needs to go?" He then offered to carry her bags when we landed. I thought it was adorable (he wasn't bad looking either, but that's beside the point). The best part was the genuine care in his actions.

A few days later, I found another one. I was out with my friend Mike at Spiderman 3. We were walking back to the car (once I pointed him in the right direction). There was a man begging on the street corner. I did what I always do in those situations--my shoes suddenly became very facinating. Mike, not missing a beat of our conversation about how I can't really call myself a nerd because I've only seen the extended Return of the King once, pulls out his wallet and hands the guy a few dollars. And we just kept walking. I know he wasn't doing it to impress me, but I was impressed nonetheless.

So while "a girl tryin' to find a perfect man" may be a hopeless cause, there are plenty of not perfect guys who are well worth the search.

early to bed, early to rise...

I have always been a reader. I blame this on my mom, who can blame it on my grandpa. My mom is the type of person who reads during movies and family card games, and my grandpa has given most of his house over to his book collection. Basically, I didn't have a chance.

Somewhere in college, I stopped reading as much. I blame this on actually having to study (which I didn't have to do in high school). During the summers I would visit the library pretty regularly, but it was just too hard during the school year.

I have read off and on since then, but it's still pretty sporadic. I blame this on three main issues:
1. After reading all day at work, it's really hard to motivate myself to do more of it at home. Which is why I usually end up watching something really mindless, like Friends reruns.
2. I become really emotionally involved in what I read. If it's a teenage angst book (think Harry Potter 5), I end up wanting to yell at everyone that they just don't understand. If it's a romance, I come out all mushy. The first time I read Ender's Game, I spent half the night sitting in bed trying to wrap my head around the story and creating subplots and what if scenarios. I also have vivid memories of my eighth grade self becoming so involved in a story that my friends stole my book so I would stop talking to the characters (out loud).
3. I have a really hard time stopping once I start. I finished the last Harry Potter book by noon the day it came out. I have walked home from school/work while reading. I have closed myself in my room, ignoring calls to dinner or social activies, until the book is over. I have stayed up until 4 a.m. just to find out whodunit.

Issues 2 and 3 came to a head this week. I borrowed the book Twilight from a friend. She warned me that I wouldn't be able to put it down, and she was right. I started Tuesday on the plane. Wednesday I stayed up until almost 2 a.m. to finish. By 1:30 a.m. Friday, I was done with the sequel too. And even though I would be absolutely exhausted when I finally closed the book each night, my mind wouldn't shut off. I just kept going over the book in my mind. Could Edward really be as hot as Bella thought he was? Did she really want to become a vampire? What would it be like to live forever?

All of which is my explanation for why I fell asleep at 6:30 p.m. last night and didn't get up until 6:30 a.m. today.

I'm the girl you never get just quite what you see

Because I liked Mike's list so much, I decided to create a list of my own. With no further ado, 20 things you may or may not know about Mindy:
1. I have kissed a grand total of 2 boys.
2. I (along with my sister) take after my dad's side of the family. However, I have been declared the spitting image of great grandmothers on both sides.
3. I am quite often happier alone than with large groups of people, but too much alone time makes me depressed.
4. When I was in high school, I thought Harrison Ford the most attractive man alive. Cary Grant would have won, but he was dead.
5. My best friend still likes to tell the story of how sometime during my sophomore year of college, I became a girl.
6. I give off a very shy, quiet first impression. Good friends know the trick is to get me to shut up.
7. My faith grounds me and gives me purpose, even when I only have the "desire to believe."
8. Starting even as young as junior high, I have always identified more with adults than my peers.
9. I have been fired. I do not recommend the experience to anyone.
10. I dislike tomatoes and avacadoes plain, but I love salsa and guacamole.
11. I adamantly deny I am a runner, despite that 13.1 mile insanity last month.
12. Though I know my own self worth, I can be very insecure.
13. I moved to California for the ocean.
14. I write short stories in response to large amounts of emotion, good or bad.
15. I can't say no.
16. I genuinely try to be nice to everyone.
17. I am a perfectionist who also knows when to let go.
18. Calling people on the phone makes me nervous.
19. I have very few regrets.
20. The "Bolero" from Moulin Rouge! is probably my favorite song ever (and that's saying a lot, because I really like music).

I can't spell VW but I got a Porche

Today I learned what it's like to be a blonde. No, I didn't dye my hair.

I got oogled.

I was walking across the courtyard to get my grilled cheese sandwhich. There were two men who I assume had been talking. However, as I got close, they gave that up. I looked at the first, half-smiled in acknowledgement, and looked down like any self-respecting American. But I could tell he was still looking. When I looked up again, he most certainly was. He watched me all the way into the resturant, despite me talking to my male coworker.

So that's what that feels like. Creepy, a little grossed out, and awkward.

I think I'll stick with being a brunette.

Random thoughts from Target on a Friday night

Why can I never make it out of that store without spending at least $30?
Even when I'm only there for a new toothbrush?
Why am I drawn to the home furnishings section, despite being very happy with my current room set up?
Why did they up some of the stuff in the dollar section to $2.50?
Why do I always pick the "slow lane"?
What on earth is the man behind me in line going to do with a home pregnancy test and a diet Coke?

Why is it...

that I can go all winter without getting sick ONCE, despite a particularly nasty bug circulating my office several times, only to catch a cold now? Nobody gets a cold in April! And besides, I was supposed to be immune. The real bummer is that I don't feel sick enough to stay home from work, but I don't feel well enough to really do work. Today I made it until 4:30. We'll see how tomorrow goes.

Motorcyle cop is a sweet nothing?

So a few weeks ago my coworker and I noticed a short, siren-like sound that happened every so often. We finally looked out the window to see a motorcycle cop giving someone a ticket. Suddenly our afternoon became much more entertaining. Now every time we heard the siren, we'd rush to the window to see what new poor sap was reaching for his license and registration. The fun spread down the whole side of our office--anyone who could see the street he was working.
Yesterday he was back, and this time he brought a friend! Another coworker had come in to ask us a question and stayed to point out where the cop was hiding. We all sat and watched the cars pull through this four-way stop, ooh-ing and aah-ing as people almost didn't stop but then saw the cop so they did. It didn't take more than two minutes before the first cop had pealed out to go after someone (he stopped; we think it was for tinted windows). Almost immediately, his friend went after someone else. We all had a good laugh (maybe too good on my part) and went back to work.
So beware of driving near my office. There's a motorcycle cop who likes to hang around, and if he stops you, I will more than likely be laughing at you.

It's all the blacksmith's fault

So I was talking to my aunt the other day. I was telling her about my friend who's getting married next month. My aunt said, "It's your turn next. That Prince Charming has just been delayed until now." I joked back, "His horse has thrown a shoe, I'm sure." We both laughed.
Last night I got to hear Tricia's doorstep scene from yet another date (no, nothing sketchy or mushy...just the normal, awkward "We're at your door; now what do I do?" end to an otherwise pleasant evening). It made me wonder. Why is it that some girls have to beat the guys off with a stick, and others can go years without a date to their name? While I let you all ponder on that, I'm off to find a good blacksmith. I hear his horseshoing capabilities are needed.

turns out they weren't kidding when they called it agoura hills

I DID IT!

The hills were insane, my knee is killing me (probably from compensating for the foot), and I thought I couldn't make it at least twice. But I did it! See:

I even did it in under three hours (2:56:19), which was my goal.

And Ali Brinkerhoff is a liar. Anyone who would come back, water in hand, to help poor struggling me to the finish line is definitely charitable.

Dear boys...

She might not be interested in you if...
She's been busy for the past two months (every time you call).
When she says she's busy, she doesn't suggest rescheduling.
You get her answering machine more often than you get her.
She never returns your calls.
She would rather stare out the car window than carry on a conversation with you.
She spends thirty minutes polling the post-FHE crowd for ways to get you to stop calling.


And after all that, I still didn't get anything I could use. I ended up just texting him :( Why do I always attact the creepy/socially inept ones? And why won't he just take the hint?

Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you got 'til it's gone

Stupid foot. It was working just fine until Monday night. Even then, it wasn't that bad. Tuesday was terrible, but after that, things started looking better. I did all the things you're supposed to do: I stayed off it, I iced it, I took my vitamins. I even prayed that my two months of preparation might not be in vain and that my foot would stop hurting.
So this morning I got myself out of bed far earlier than I ever get up on a weekday to attempt to run 11 miles. After a half mile, I thought I could do this. Sure, it hurt, but not that bad. After a mile, I began to change my mind. After walking a bit, I tried to run again. Bad idea. This now left me with a sore foot two miles from my car. No phone and no road access even if I had managed to find someone up to come get me. Nothing to do but hobble back. Which left me a lot of time to think about life.
I had a thirty-second episode of, "Why is this happening? I didn't do anything that would have caused this!" Then logic took over, which said that asking why was really quite pointless. It will not fix my foot. It will not help me run the half marathon next week. All it will do is make me even more frustrated.
You see, I don't believe in accidents. Everything happens for a reason. Even if I don't understand that reason right now. Someday in the eternal scheme of things, it will make sense. Until then, worrying about the whys will only waste energy that could be put to use fixing the problem.
So I took it slow, enjoyed the view, and made it back okay. My foot still hurts, but I'll live. Who knew you could learn so much about faith from running?

Am I living it right?

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat
But always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give fate a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances
But they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake
But it's worth making
Don't let some hell bent heart
Leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out
Reconsider
Give the heavens above
More than just a passing glance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I hope you dance

I hope you still feel small
When you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens
Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance

And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
Dance
I hope you dance

I hope you dance

This song really hit home today, cheesy as it may seem. I found out yesterday that my grandpa has a brain tumor that is inoperable and more than likely incurable. He's not going to die tomorrow, but his death is certainly coming a lot sooner than I expected. I was talking with my mom about it and how I don't want to get old in general. She made the point that he's lived a full life so it's not as bad as I think it is now, from my limited perspective.
I keep remembering the last time I saw him in person. I was really upset--they wanted me to stay with them rather than driving home that night. The next morning it started to snow and I had to stop at Walmart in Cedar City for Midol. I called home (because I knew they would be up at 6:30 a.m.) and ended up venting to Mom for a while. For some reason, I thought this was just the worst thing ever. I'm glad now that I had that time with them, but I wish I hadn't spent the night feeling mad.
I just re-read an interview my Uncle Gary conducted with them a few years ago at a family reunion. My grandpa ended by encouraging all of us (kids and grandkids) to stay close to the gospel because you won't feel happy anywhere else. So that's what I intend to do.

Carpe diem, everyone.

How I spent my tax refund

And my overtime, and my fun money for the next two months. But isn't she beautiful?

BLK PRL

That's what I wanted my vanity plate to be. Totally fitting, right? Tragically, it was already taken, so I had to settle for a normal plate like most people. *sigh*.
I have decided that this cruel denial should have applied to a few other people. Like the car in front of me today. It said "I(heart)MYGLF" Aw, how sweet. If you're like...12. Not in your late 60s. Which the driver totally was. I just hope the GLF in question was at least moderately close to his age. (Side note: as I write this, I realize that perhaps GLF stands for golf, not girlfriend. I like my first interpretation better.)
This is, however, not my favorite license plate ever. That honor belongs to a Buick Lesaber I saw in Utah. It said "10COWMAN." I saw it several times, and it made me laugh every time.

Grunion hunting: a true California adventure

10:45 -- Arrive at beach. Set up chair, get comfy. Return coworker's "All clear" flashlight signal.
10:50 -- Decide that the moon definitely makes tonight better than last night.
10:52 -- Get up to wander the beach. Discover lots of trash, a seal carcass, and some cool shells. Feel slightly guilty for looking at shells rather than the waves. Redirect flashlight and walk back to chair.
11:00 -- Wonder what all the fuss is out on the boats. Their lights are flashing every which way. Suspect I hear gunshots, but attribute that to general creepiness of being alone on the beach at 11:00 p.m.
11:03 -- Get up again. More shells.
11:07 -- Decide I should use this time productively. Wish I knew someone still up to call. Contemplate composing a short story.
11:08 -- No story ideas. Mind returns to wandering aimlessly.
11:15 -- Resist temptation to check the time by getting up again.
11:21 -- Decide fingers are cold enough to dig out the gloves I brought.
11:23 -- Warm fingers are good.
11:30 -- Get out phone to record ocean sounds. Discover that more time has passed than expected.
11:37 -- Wander the beach again, this time to warm up. The extra layers are helping, however. (I had on two pairs of pants, three shirts/jackets, and gloves. It gets cold out there with no bonfire!)
11:45 -- Renew story-writing efforts. Takes even less time to give up.
11:53 -- Get out camera to take pictures of nothing. I have to have something to show for this madness.

11:54 -- Flash disturbs coworker. Sheepishly return the all clear.
11:56 -- Check time again. Wish it were later.
12:04 -- Wonder about the boats again. The lights are totally messing with my night vision.
12:10 -- Coworker calls. He hasn't seen anything either. We decide to give it 15 more minutes.
12:13 -- Get up to wander the beach again; part to stay warm, part to resist checking phone every 30 seconds for time.
12:26 -- Coworker begins walking towards the sidewalk. Begin collecting everything. This is no easy task.
12:30 -- Return to car, which has thankfully not been towed or ticketed. Crank up music to stay awake while driving home.
1:00 -- Discover that I am now fully awake. Begin plucking eyebrows to put off going to bed.
1:30 -- Eyelids rebel and finally close for the night.

Not a bad adventure for 4 hours of overtime.

Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons...

So I was having a terrible time focusing at work today (whoever designed this EIR with a sans serif font should be shot), and for some reason a really random experience from a few summers ago popped into my head. And what are random thoughts for but to be shared on a blog?


This trip down memory lane comes all the way from 2003...I think. It was one of the summers that I worked at Lecture Prep, and since I was alone and not doing anything, I'm assuming it was under Dave, not Mike (the dictator that he is). Which means it was 2003. I was stuck in my little closet reading a book and/or crocheting when the phone rings. It's Dr. Asplund, asking about spontaneous combustion demos. This wasn't unusual for him (this is a professor who walked into our cupboard every Friday with the exclaimation, "It's Friday; I need to blow something up!"). However, he then goes on to explain that his sister's brother (or something like that...it's been a few years) somehow got involved with a BBC documentary about dragons. Dr. Asplund got elected as the expert on how dragons could breathe fire. So we chatted a bit about various reactions that would possibly fit the description, and I got to work setting everything up.

A few hours later, four British men (balding and bad teeth, the lot of them) come in with oodles of camera equipment and set it up in one of the lecture halls. Dr. Asplund comes out in full chemistry geek style: bow tie, lab coat (with a few acid holes for good measure), and big safety goggles. We burned magnesium, we started a fire with an ice cube, we torched gummy bears. But my favorite was the ballons. I once had the ability to create a mean H2O2 ballon. The ones I created on this occasion were no exception. We set off the first one, which shook the outer doors. They warily asked for a second take. The second time, they knew what was coming. One poor fellow got his portion of the camera whatever set up then sat in the far corner saying, "I'm gonna sit here with me fingers in me ears." Finally the fun was over, leaving me with a pile of glassware and so on to clean (which I'm sure I left until the next morning, being lazy).
So today, sitting in my office staring out the window, for some reason I wondered if that particular show ever made it to the air. I'd like to see how it came out.


Work was really boring today. :)

I think I'll try defying gravity...

I went on my first, honest-to-goodness date in almost two years (that little blip with Toni last year doesn't count). Even better, it was the first date in even longer that went well. I had a really good time. Good conversation, good food, good company.

Now comes the fun part: waiting.

*cue Inigo Montoya voice: "I hate waiting."

Have to admit it's getting better, a little better, all the time

Today I ran 6.5 miles outside. That means hills.

And it really wasn't that bad.

Be proud of me.

Why I hate living with girls

So Flirt has programatically ignored me all week. At home I may get a one-word response, but in public she wouldn't really even meet my eye. Assuming this stemmed from our heated exchange last week, I finally decided to do something about it. I present the conversation verbatim.

me: are you mad at me?
Flirt: nope
me: then why won't you talk to me at stuff?
Flirt: cause I'm a brat like that
me: i told you i was sorry about that
Flirt: about what?
me: calling you a brat
Flirt: oh...see, I don't even remember that
I'm assuming it was at Computer Geek's house or somethng
me: it was
Flirt: yah, no worries
me: k

Guys, beware. I have no idea what you see in us. But could one of you please marry me to get me out of this madness?

Everything is illuminated

Sigh. Today was going fairly well. Flirt still isn't talking to me (not that I'm terribly broken up about it; more just annoyed). Church was good--very uplifting. Then Computer Geek and his roommate ask me to invite their other roommate, Comic Geek, to some party tonight. Neither one of them was going, but they want Comic Geek to get out. Understandably. Comic Geek is 32 and wants to make a living out of drawing comic books. He also doesn't get out much or have many real-live friends.
There are two problems with this: I still haven't actually been invited to this party (Flirt and her friends are throwing it, and since she's not talking to me, that makes it hard for her to invite me to anything) and Comic Geek has a small crush on me. The second was suspected but not confirmed until today, when the roommate wouldn't give me a straight answer about why he wasn't going to this party. It seems that he and Computer Geek decided that since they weren't going, I was the person most likely to get Comic Geek to come when asked. I had to literally chase the roommate down (after he let the crush part slip) to make sure this wasn't just some corny set up (it's not, but it's dangerously close).
Why is his having a crush on me a problem? Well, besides the fact that I'm not even supposed to know about it (though really boys...I'm not THAT dense), it's that I'm not reallly interested back.

Yes, I realize I'm blowing this way out of proportion and asking him to some party is not going to do anything, but I can't help it. My mind immediately starts thinking of how if a boy I liked asked me if I were going to a party, I would certainly be there simply to see him. Do boys work that way too? I sure hope not, becuase I already promised I would ask the guy.

This may also explain why Computer Geek has been such a retard this week. Or he was never interested in more than friends and I've been kidding myself this whole time.

Sigh.

Note to self:

the washing machine works best when you turn it on. Putting the clothes in and adding the soap will only get you soapy clothes.

I was sitting, waiting, wishing

Dear Computer Geek,
So remember how I was completely over this stupid crush? Remember how Flirt told me I still had a chance and I stupidly believed her? Remember how I don't want to become another e-mail brakeup to you? If you don't, you should. Because this stupid crush isn't going away and you're certainly not helping the situation. Here is my suggestion: Please just man up and acutally ask me out. Paying for things once we're already out only partially counts (it will win you a few points, but it also makes me feel awkward).
At the moment I feel very much like Mr. Darcy, in that I like you against my better judgement. My head knows what you are, but my heart doesn't care. Please rectify this situation at your earliest convinence. Thank you.

P.S. Swing dancing the other night really was fabulous. And yes, I do trust you to dip me. We should go again.

How NOT to impress a girl

* Get her number Tuesday; call Thursday and then Saturday (when she doesn't answer either time).
* Be vague. Is it a date or isn't it?
* Not have a plan. Calling to say, "Hey, some friends and I are going to dinner and a movie. Do you want to come?" is fine. When you have to make multimple calls about what movie you're seeing and at what time, there's a problem.
* Ask her things like, "So, do you stare off into space like that a lot?"
* Call yourself Mikey when you're 30 years old and attending a family ward.
* Leave her at her car with, "So you should call me sometime during the week and we can hang out again." She should not do any such thing.

There are a billion more ways to not impress a girl, but this list is a sampling of my evening. Seriously, there has to be a better way to get married besides dating.

Crap, my roots are showing

Mindy Moment of the day:
So I went to the post office today to mail a package to my adorable little sister. After twenty minutes of waiting for a parking space, I finally manouvered my cute little Black Pearl into a space. Once the package had been properly stamped and sorted, I headed for the car. The little button on the keychain didn't work. This wasn't that unusual, because it doesn't work all the time (I'm assuming it's something to do with signal interference blah blah blah). As I put my key in the door to unlock it maually, I think, "Oh gee. Someone broke into my car and left me seat cushions." Only after this thought does it dawn on me that THIS IS NOT MY CAR. Not only is it not my car, it's not even the same color. My beloved Black Pearl is, well, black, and this one was a very distinct purple. So then I had to walk away and attempt to find my car (the real one) amidst the soccer mom SUV monstrosities dominating the parking lot at 2:30 in the afternoon. It took me a good 30 seconds just standing there like an idiot before I found it. I just hope the people sitting in their cars waiting for my spot had a good laugh. What good is a Mindy Moment if it's not shared with the world?