Things I've done in the past 48 hours

Work: 18 hours*
Gone to the gym: 1.5 hours
Ate: 1.5 hours
Showered: .5 hours
Had TV night with friends: 2.5 hours
Midnight showing of Twilight: 3 hours
Attended my sister's swim meet: 3 hours
Disneyland: 6 hours
Slept: ...

* All times include transit time. I actually worked 16 hours.

Where the streets have no name

I saw more of California this weekend than I ever wanted to. See?


View Larger Map

We were headed home from a camping trip and got horribly, horribly stuck because of two separate wildfires. For those not familiar with the area, we should have been able to take the 91 to the 55, which would have taken about 30 minutes from where we got stopped. Instead, we spent 2.5 hours driving all around Diamond Bar, La Habra, and I don't know where else, nor do I want to know.

Aside from that, it was an absolutely splendid weekend hanging out with friends around a campfire, climbing over rocks, and taking lots of pictures.




Yep, it was worth it.

Why I moved to California

I have lost count of the number of times I've had some variation of the following conversation:

So, are you from around here?
No, I grew up in Wyoming.
Really? What brought you out here?
Work.

Occasionally, we go deeper and they discover that I had no connections here; it was only because I got the job. Then it becomes, "Really? You're so brave!" To which I reply, "I didn't really look at it that way. I was just doing what I wanted to do."

Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

My last semester in college, I wanted nothing more than to get the heck outta Dodge. I even had a sign on my wall that counted down the days until I could "leave this stupid town." Trouble was, I didn't have any place else to go. Home had family, but very few job or social opportunities. Salt Lake was almost as unappealing as Provo. So I found a place to live and got permission to keep my student job, thinking that by the end of the summer, I would have found a real job somewhere new and fabulous.

Then I interviewed for a job in Springville. I called my dad in tears after the interview because I knew I was going to get the job. He said, "Sweetie, that's a good thing! They're going to give you a job." "But it's in Provo!" I sobbed back. I wasn't upset about the job; I was frustrated because I knew that taking it was the right thing to do. Frustrated because it would mean staying where I was, which was contrary to my desires. Frustrated because I was afraid I would get stuck in Happy Valley, never to leave again, to end up as a crazy cat lady renting out my basement to students and dreaming of missed chances. But I knew it was what I was supposed to do, if not why it was, so I took it. For the next several months, the conversation went like this:

So, you're done with school, right? What are you still doing here?
ARGH! I have no idea.

I had signed up for Monster.com in my initial job search. Every week, they sent me an email with newly posted editorial jobs. Usually, I just deleted them without ever reading them, but every once in a while I'd open them up to see what was out there. I even sent out a few resumes, but nothing ever came of it. One night I read of an entry-level position in Irvine, California. Huh, I thought, California could be fun. So I sent in my resume.

A few days later, I was surprised by a phone call from the editor I had sent my resume to. I took and passed their editing test. I drove out one weekend to interview with the editor and the office manager. They called my references. And finally, they called and offered me the job. This time I didn't cry, but I had the same feeling that this was right.

I was reminded of that a few weeks ago when my office was interviewing for a new receptionist. The old receptionist, who has been promoted and is one of my friends, sat in on the interviews. They had one that didn't go so well. The office manager told my friend that this interview "was even worse than Mindy's." Apparently, I had an absolutely horrible interview, but they saw some sort of potential and my resume was good, so they offered me the job anyway. When my friend told me this, I was overwhelmed with a feeling that I am supposed to be here.

So that is why I moved to California. But this certainly helps:

How I came to be dressed like this for Halloween:

It all started with this little guy.


We found him while going through the server room before the office move. Seeing prank possibilities, we moved him around the office for a few days, freaking people out (at first glance, he's very alive looking). One day, I wandered in at 8:30 as usual to find my officemates had decided to dress him up for Halloween. "We thought it would be funny to dress him up as a teenage mutant ninja turtle!" I agreed.

Except it didn't stop there. The next thing I know, the ringleader is saying, "Wouldn't it be funny if we dressed up like ninja turtles?" And for some reason, I agreed with that too. I then dazzled them with my intimate knowledge of all things ninja turtle, including who was what color. We sewed them on our lunch breaks this week (and managed in secrecy until Thursday, when everyone decided that our closed door really meant "come on in!"). We even managed to keep the turtle in the action as Splinter.

But the best part of the whole thing was our trip to Costco. We had to pick up our pizzas for the potluck lunch. Someone else was driving and offered to take us with him. So while he (and half our office) waited in line to check out, we stood at the front of the store holding two large pizza boxes and waving at all the little kids who walked by. It was awesome.

I'm not as young as I once was

I spent the day at Knott's Berry Farm with some friends. I only got us lost once on the way there (seriously, the 5 north is so confusing if you're not paying attention). Some lady gave us a coupon so we all got in cheaper than we thought we would. Which was good, because a bunch of the big rides were closed. So lame! And by the end of the day, we had almost gotten over making comparisons to Disneyland.

Cons: absolutely no efficiency...on anything. Seriously, we had to wait forever for the rides go, and once the ride was over, we had to wait forever to get off. Disneyland's small army makes that place a well-oiled machine.

Pros: the longest we waited in any line was 20 minutes, and that was for the log ride. Why that line was so long on the coldest day of the autumn so far is beyond me. But we weren't complaining, because it meant we could go on more rides. Like the Pony Express, which would have been so much cooler if it had been longer. And we got to do my favorite ride twice.

The only problem with today: I'm not 16 any more. Back in the day, I could do theme parks like this for days and never feel a thing. Today, the Silver Bullet had me walking sideways for a few minutes after we got off. The Pony Express made it difficult to breathe. The evil hang-you-upside-down ride gave me a headache. So at the end of it all, all we wanted was a long nap and a couple of Advil.

When did I become old?

Recently rejected Facebook statuses

Mindy...
has 3 versions of "Route 66" on her mp3 player.
needs a personal assistant/cook/trainer/maid.
smells like fixer.
should wear sensible shoes.
wants it to be fall.
knows she's more than just a little misunderstood.
needs more time in the day.
wishes she could rent children for a day.
is tired of being stressed out by things that shouldn't stress her out.

Keep your feet clean, you never know when one will end up in your mouth

I feel like this blog has become like a long distance friend. At one time, we told each other everything. But now that we've become separated (by distance, circumstance, time, whatever), we feel like we have to have earthshattering news to break the silence. Anything short of an engagement announcement or kidney transplant seems so mundane in the broad outlook of our lives. And so, I have nothing particular to say today, but I'm posting anyway to remind my friend the blog that I'm alive.

I can't say no. That whole scene in 27 Dresses was like watching a documentary of my life (well, minus the drinking and being in a bar). Case in point: A few weeks ago, a guy tried to get my phone number because he wanted to go grab ice cream one night that week. I said no, I'm sorry, I'm busy. He tried again for the weekend. Again, no, sorry, I'm busy. (It was true too. I didn't have time to eat or sleep that week, let alone make small talk with a guy I don't know over calories I didn't need.) He tried one more time; I said no and got in my car. It didn't help that I thought he was this guy who just didn't remember his previous attempt. Driving away, I felt horrible. Of course, I learned a few days later that it wasn't him and really felt like an idiot. But you know what? Thinking he was the previous guy just gave me the courage to say no. Otherwise, I would have felt guilted into saying yes to something I really didn't want to do.

Guys aren't the only thing I can't say no to. I have the same problem at work, when I take on projects I don't have time for; with roommates, when they decide to paint the living room purple or buy a dog; even with friends, when I say yes to tubing trips I don't want to go on. Then I get all grouchy and snarly because I get stressed out. So I'm going to try an experiment: for the next week, I say no without feeling guilty.

Today I finally overcame trying to fit the world inside a picture frame

Two weeks ago I kind of lost it. We put a sign on our office door that said, "Whatever it is, the answer is no." And we meant it. So on Wednesday, I decided to run away. I booked a room at the Sheraton in downtown San Diego, and the thought of that big comfy bed in a room all by myself got me through the rest of the week.

The hotel was almost perfect. My one complaint was that I should have had a fantastic view of downtown San Diego from my balcony, but there was a huge eucalyptus tree in the way. I fell asleep watching the Olympics in bed. I had a wonderful time hanging out with a coworker and her boyfriend at the zoo on Saturday. I slept in. But what made my weekend was spending the morning in bed reading From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. It's one of my favorite books of all time, and that's saying a lot. It's about a girl who runs away from home...to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. That's my kind of running away. Anywhos, there's this bit at the end that struck me this time:

The adventure is over. Everything gets over, and nothing is ever enough. Except the part you carry with you. It's the same as going on vacation. Some people spend all their time on vacation taking pictures so that when they get home they can show their friends evidence that they had a good time. They don't pause to let the vacation enter inside of them and take that home.

It took me until Sunday afternoon, when I was back from San Diego and sitting in church, to figure out how to get the vacation inside me. All weekend what I had really been looking for was peace, so I filled the weekend with fun activities and long, hot bubble baths in attempt to relax. But I also knew that come Monday, I would just have to deal with everything again. And then I found my peace--in a place I've been hundreds of times before. Funny how that works.

The zoo was still wonderful.

These boots are made for walkin'

It's been one of those weeks again. And yes, it's only Tuesday. The big project at work that has caused most of my stress this year now has a deadline of August 29. So if I snap at you in the next few weeks, it's nothing personal.

This isn't helping either:


On Sunday morning, my foot started hurting, like a joint needed to pop but couldn't. A lot like what happened to my other foot last year. Except this time I'm not training for a half marathon. I didn't drop anything on it or hit it or injure it in any way that I can remember. It just hurts.

My coworkers (the two that act like my "work parents") convinced me that I should go have it checked out. The doctor looked at it, said there was a little swelling, and prescribed an anti-inflammatory and a post-surgical boot. Unfortunately, the boot helps, so I think I'm stuck with it for the next week.

I don't want to grow up...

I had an absolutely fantastic birthday. My momma sent me a wonderful birthday box that included the massaging pillow I picked out at Christmas (the reminders every month or so didn't hurt). At work I got a birthday bagel for breakfast and lunch at Lucille's. But the day really started at 5 when I left work for Disneyland. Best. Idea. Ever.

I got a nifty little happy birthday button, which meant that everyone wished me a happy birthday. This included ride operators, custodians, and even a few random park guests. If you have gutsy, persistent friends, the button can even help get you on rides faster. And forget blowing out candles; I got to wish on fireworks. So yeah. Great day.

Yesterday I was wearing another birthday present: a cute teal polo shirt.


Except I caught a side glance of myself in the bathroom and really saw this:


Apparently 10+ years later, nothing has changed besides the braces.

Belief is a powerful armor

I've been thinking a lot about this post, and how I want to say it, and how to make myself come across right. And I'm not done thinking about it, but it's time to put something down on the digital paper.

I'm going to start with a story. It's from General Conference back when I was in high school. Elder Busche tells the story of a man he knew who had recently started a job with a small, private company. The company was having a dinner party that was sure to become a drinking party. This man was worried about the drinking, but he also didn't want to offend his boss by not attending the party at all.

When I saw him again, after that dinner event occurred, I saw him with a most happy, deep inner glow, and he could not wait to tell me what had happened. Because he was new in the company, the boss had sat right next to him, wanting to get to know him better. As the evening progressed, the brother saw his wildest fears confirmed because the boss would not tolerate that he would not drink beer with him, and he said, "What kind of church is that that would not permit you to drink even a glass of beer with me?"

The fear of my friend did not grow into panic as he was able to calmly answer his boss that the reason he was not drinking had nothing to do with the church that he belonged to, but that he himself had made a sacred covenant with God that he would not drink. If he would ever break this covenant, how could he continue to stay true to that which he would ever promise, and how could he be trusted, even by his employer, that he would not lie or steal or cheat.

According to my friend, the owner was deeply touched by this statement, and he hugged him, speaking words of profound admiration and confidence.

As a high schooler just starting to figure things out on my own, I remember this story really struck a chord for me. I had been told since Primary that I needed to find out for myself, needed to have my own testimony. But it had never occurred to me that it wasn't about what my religion told me I couldn't do; it was about my covenant with the Lord that I wouldn't do those things. This knowledge has spread to all aspects of the gospel for me, to the point that I do know for myself.

The reason this has been on my mind recently is Prop 8. How do I explain to people why I feel the way I do? And then I remembered this story. So here's the deal: we have been counseled to support this measure. I have studied and prayed, and as a result, I know I need to support it. And that part of me supporting it involves writing blog posts like this. But that's me. The rest of you will have to figure it out for yourselves.

So if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free

I went to see The Dark Knight on Saturday (a week after the rest of the world, I know). Because everyone and their dog had already seen it, I had very little response to my "Anyone want to see this movie today?" text. I resolved that I would see it by myself if need be, because I really didn't want more of the movie spoiled. However, one brave soul said he'd see it again, so off we went. After 45 minutes of movie, he leaned over and said, "I'll be right back." Another 30 minutes later, I began to wonder because he still wasn't back. I mean, I didn't smell or anything. During a lull in the action (not an easy thing to find in that movie), I sent a "You ok?" text, but got no answer. However, I drove, so I knew he couldn't have gone too far. So I sat and finished the show. As soon as the lights came on, he came running up from the front of the theater saying he hadn't been able to find me in the dark and had ended up in front of me instead.

And that's how, despite my best efforts, I ended up watching The Dark Knight by myself.

And this little weirdo would be a modestly hot girl

So earlier this week my relatively new external hard drive decided to stop working. I did everything I knew of to fix it...which consisted of turning it off and back on in the hopes that it was all just some misunderstanding. It wasn't. I asked my brother for help, but he had a crazy week and didn't have time. Besides, long distance tech support rarely works for these sorts of things. I ended up getting help from the IT guy at work, but I realized something: I don't have any computer geek friends anymore.

I wasn't always like this. No, I once had lots of computer geek friends. How, you may ask? Simple: I advertised.

It started in the summer of 2003. My first boyfriend and I had just broken up, and I discovered that I didn't know any guys in my ward anymore. Inspired by stories from my roommate of the benefits of a group of guys to hang out with, I decided I wanted guy friends. One Sunday afternoon, in a rather silly mood, I put a sign on our front door. "Wanted: Guys apartment to be male companions for 4 beautiful women. Must be willing to hang out, swap an occasional Sunday dinner, and listen to our problems when needed. Experience preferred, but willing to train. Please bring a resume to Apartment 108 or call 371-6658."

I figured we might get a few comments, but nothing more. Instead, I got a resume. So I wrote up an acceptance letter, and Apartment 108, Inc. was born. For the next round of resumes, we required samples of their baking skills. The new recruits were accepted based on the excellence of their cheesecake.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. That summer, we hiked Timp at midnight. We played frisbee. We ate a lot of popsicles and chocolate ice cream. We logged more hours playing Scum than working. And we didn't stop once school started. That year I became a 5th roommate (you know you have achieved this status when you start receiving phone calls at their apartment). I even met my next boyfriend through hanging out with them. They were some of the best guys I have ever known.

Alas, the youthful days when I would do something as crazy as putting a sign on my front door advertising for guy friends are past. Though if anything technical breaks again, I may be tempted to try again. 'Cause after all, a girl can always use a friend.

I Got a Peaceful, Easy Feeling

...and I know you won't let me down.

I was out running last night (don't be impressed; it was the first time in about a month), and all of a sudden I was singing this song. And it was true. I don't know what it was about yesterday, but I was in a fantastic mood. Life was good. And it all crystallized after a half mile. I just felt like everything was going to turn out. The run, this morning, my life. Everything. It was so cool.

And I don't have much of a point beyond that. I love life, life loves me.

I'm such a girl sometimes

You know how they say bad things come in threes? Number two was pretty good...

So I'm driving on the freeway Monday night after picking a friend up at the airport. The car kinda starts to wobble, but I thought it was just the road we were on. I slow down, but that didn't help much. My friend asked if I could smell something burning and suggested the brakes, which it wasn't. After another minute, I decided something was wrong, but still no idea what it was. So I thought I'd just check it out once I got to my friend's house. Which was my plan...

...until I looked in the rearview mirror and saw smoke and a disturbing orange-ish glow.

So yeah, I pulled over. Better late than never, right?

I called AAA, they came out and put the donut on, and I continued on my merry way. Slowly. Two days later, a brand-new tire is on (that I didn't have to pay for because the first was still under warranty), and life is back to normal. Well, as normal as my life ever gets.

I just hope number three comes quickly so I can get it over with.

and the waiting is the hardest part

So tonight at the library (yes, I was there again), I realized I have no patience. None. Ever since I got my new camera, I have been trying to learn everything I can about photography. Today, I was returning two photography books and ended up with three more. It was almost four, but I restrained myself. Learning is obviously a good thing, but I want to know it all now. I want to be able to just turn my camera on and take pictures like this or this or this or...

...all the while discounting the years and years of study and practice and hard work that went into those photographs.

And so tonight I am practicing patience as I take a million pictures of sunflowers and my purse and other random objects. And maybe, just maybe...someday they will amount to something.

Madam libraaaaarian

I've been thinking recently on my love affair with libraries. This love can't really be explained. There's just something about seeing all of those books lined up that makes me want to read them all. Even the boring ones. When I worked as a custodian, the library took me the longest to vacuum because I would get distracted by all the books. The first time I saw Groundhog Day, I felt that if I got stuck in one day forever like that, I would spend it at the library reading. I love libraries. There is something magical in the READ posters and tall shelves that go on forever and the smell of books. This magic can be found in some degree at bookstores, but it's a shallower, flashier magic. Bookstores have their place, but libraries are my true love.

I can remember the basic layout of our library in Idaho. I would wander into the "big kids" section and get books like Mrs. Pigglewiggle and Ramona Quimby, Age 8. I thought I was ridiculously cool.

Our library in Wyoming was even better. The kid's section had neon lights and a fort you could climb up to read in. Of course, by the time they had that all done, I had outgrown the kid's section and was reading mostly from the adult and young adult books. I read the Redwall books and The Hero and the Crown and everything by Mary Stewart. I loved library days, especially in the summer. I would always come out with an armfull of books (seriously...sometimes I couldn't hold them all). But they had to last me for the next three weeks, when everything was due and the cycle would start again. The hard part was trying to figure out what to read first. I had a system--save the series for last, because if I didn't have the next book, three weeks was too long to wait to get it.

Then came the dark ages known as "freshman year." All of a sudden I had to actually study. Even worse, the library became a place only for study. Yes, there were millions of books in it, but they all dealt with boring, nonfiction topics. But at the end of my sophomore year, a miracle happened: my boyfriend took me to the Provo library. The relationship with the boy didn't work out, but the library and I remained on very friendly terms. I read The Killer Angels and The Bourne Identity and more science fiction than you can shake a stick at. Most of all, I loved the building itself and the history it represented.

And now I have a new library to love, just down the street. When I'm feeling particularly adventurous, I drive over to the main branch. I still wander into the big kids section because I love young adult books. I've moved on from science fiction, but I still love mysteries. And I still come out with an armfull of books.

Only in Newport Beach...

...can you walk out of a movie and feel underdressed. Last week some friends and I went to see Indiana Jones. We walked out to a sea of women dressed to the nines. Heels, designer labels, and looooooooooong legs were everywhere. It took us about 15 seconds to make the connection that Sex and the City was opening that night. We just felt sorry for the one poor man who appeared to be there with his wife.

...can you see a string of Porsches and not question it until the 10th one or so. Apparently Huntington Beach had some sort of Porsche convention going last weekend. It's just funny to me that my first thought was "Hmm...that's a lot of Porsches" rather than "Hey look! A Porsche!" I ain't in Wyoming anymore.

Drama, drama, drama

I am so over drama. You would think that with four adult women in one house it wouldn't be so difficult (but then again, I've seen enough reality TV to know that age has nothing to do with it). I'm mad that I'm the "bad guy" to some of my roommates right now. I hate that our living room has become a no-man's land that we cross only to leave the house or sneak into the kitchen (which is neutral so long as no one else is out there). I think it's stupid we're even having this disagreement. Living with girls is so overrated.

Vacation, all I ever wanted

I had an absolutely fabulous time in DC. I was totally exhausted at the end of every day, but it was so worth it. We managed to fit a lot into four and a half days:

* Mt. Vernon, where we went on the National Treasure tour. No secret tunnels, but we did get to see the basement. We also saw Washington's dentures and the Lincolns' china (theirs was the prettiest of the presidential china). The bus trip out there was made interesting by the bus driver pulling over at McDonald's so he could use the bathroom. We all just looked at each other like, "Is he serious?" He was.


* The memorials at night. Korea is incredibly eerie that way--really cool. Also, Vietnam is impressive when you have all of the biker vets hugging each other there.


* Arlington National Cemetery. Apparently I picked a good weekend to go because it's the only time they allow flags on the graves. And the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown was incredibly moving. It was like watching a choreographed dance.


* The Memorial Day concert on the lawn of the Capitol Building. We heard Gladys Knight, Idina Menzel (Elphaba on Broadway), and Sarah Brightman. I also got some really cool shots of the Capitol Building while we were waiting in the security line...for 45 minutes. Still no idea why it took so long.


* The National Archives, where we saw the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, and the Magna Charta. It seems I entertain myself by taking pictures, because I also ended up with a bunch of this building because we had to wait in a security line again.


* The Memorial Day parade. The highlight for me was seeing the nurse from this picture.


* The Museum of Natural History. I loved seeing the Hope Diamond, but my favorite part was the live butterfly exhibit. The pretty purple butterfly I wanted to take a picture of came and landed on the back of my leg. There are now pictures of my backside all over the country.


* The National Portrait Gallery. The presidents were cool, but I was also a fan of the modern art piece that was supposed to be an enchanted forest (we think). Really, we just sat there so long because once we sat down, we couldn't get back up again.

* Dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe, which I had never eaten at (any of them...I know, I lead a sad, depraved life).


* The National Museum of Women in the Arts, which was the only museum we read all of the little descriptions at because we were trying to figure out what it all meant. It didn't help. The tag for the movie of the girl crawling through Seoul on a small, flat scooter actually confused us more. Modern art is really just not my thing.

* A staff-led tour of the Capitol Building (thanks Chase!). I loved the Rotunda and the old Senate room. And we got to ride the underground subway cars that the Senators use.


* The Library of Congress. Books. Lots of books. This was my favorite building. Kerri laughed at me, saying she'd never seen anyone so excited about a library before. But how could I not get worked up about the Gutenberg Bible? Because of that book, the modern world can read. I think that's huge. Thomas Jefferson's library was also really impressive. That man was interested in everything.


* The Air and Space Museum, which did us a favor by staying open late Tuesday night, so I could see more than just the main hall.

* The memorials in the day. Aside from the obnoxious small children there on field trips, I enjoyed this a lot. We even found Einstein.


* Even better, I got to spend time with a friend I don't get to see too often anymore (I know, it's my own fault for moving to California), and I got a break from normal life.

This concludes my interesting-only-to-me travel log. Stay tuned for irregularly scheduled blog posts.

Giddy up, we're homeward bound

Went out for a run tonight without my mp3 player. Usually I have a song with a decent beat stuck in my head anyway, so it's not a problem. Not so tonight. So I thought of my standby song. It's a song I learned back in preschool about a...carriage ride. Trust me, it makes no sense. But the song isn't my point this evening.

Back when I was in seventh grade, I decided to join the cross country team. Probably because my friends were doing it. It certainly wasn't because I was any good. If I got tired, I stopped and walked, which happened every 400 meters or so. Though that might not have been a bad thing. My running style was more of a hop than a forward stride--I actually walked faster than I ran.

The Saturday before our first race, my mom took me out to the park to go through the course. As we went, she offered suggestions for how to get through the race, including singing this song in my head as I ran. We sang it together as I huffed and puffed along, shaking seed pods to the beat.

But like I said, it's not about the song. It's about the love. I didn't learn anything about endurance running that day. But I learned I was important to my mom. And every week when I talk to her, I know I still am. So happy Mother's Day, Momma. I love you.

Things that made me laugh tonight

I went for a walk around Balboa Island tonight to try out the new camera and to just get out of the house. For an island that isn't very big, there's sure a lot of crazy stuff there.






I've also created a new blog to show off some of my pictures. Brownie points to anyone who gets the title.

And finally, proof that this camera is magic: it even takes good pictures of me.

Thank goodness it's the weekend

So this was another long week. I had to bust out the blueberry juice and classical music again...and it was only Tuesday. But Friday dawned with the promise of good things.

My mood was almost squelched by an idiotic semi driver who decided to take up both turning lanes, making me wait through the light twice. As I was grumbling in my head about it once I finally made it to the freeway, who should I see but the same semi truck. Only now he had been pulled over by the highway patrol. Yes, even at 8:20 a.m., the universe was smiling on me.

My next good turn was the arrival of my new toy. Though this was a mixed blessing because I had a section I had to get done that day, and it's hard to focus when you feel like a kid on Christmas morning who's just been told you have to clean your room before you can open presents. I lasted until lunch.

My first attempt.

Lunch also brought Sprinkles cupcakes "for all of your hard work." Ignoring the hard workout at the gym that its consumption would require, I ate an entire red velvet cupcake. A sugar coma ensued. The coma was furthered by the chair massage later that afternoon (also "because you've been working so hard"...I think they know the whole office is starting to go crazy). She spent the whole time trying to unknot my shoulders. With more time, she could have succeeded.

The rest of the weekend was fabulous as well. I got a trip to Atomic to feel both attractive and incompetent (someday I will learn the lindy hop). I also got to hug Mickey at the happiest place on earth (seriously, it's not possible to walk down Main Street without grinning). And today I heard some excellent talks on faith, hope, and charity, and our musical number actually went quite well, considering we only started practicing yesterday.

Monday might actually be bearable.

I just want you to know who I am

So I've been thinking recently of how my emotional state is often reflected in the music I listen to at any given time. There was the summer after I broke up with my first boyfriend where I listened to six or seven Dashboard Confessional songs nonstop (mostly because that was all we had ripped to our work computer, but also because they fit my mood). The next break up is associated with Norah Jones and Good Charlotte. And the happiness of the next crush will always be tied up with Tim McGraw. Oldies, particularly the Beach Boys, are for summer. Hymns and the Out of Africa soundtrack are for Sundays. My musical taste isn't particularly deep, but I think it represents me accurately.

My current musical phase is a new one...I seem to be stuck on the Goo Goo Dolls and classical music, alternating between "Iris" and "Moonlight Sonata." The Goo Goo Dolls makes sense; I tend towards adult alternative as a general rule. However, I have never in my life sought out classical music. Now I'm going out of my way to buy it. The CD I've listened to most in the past few weeks is a corny-looking compilation CD I picked up at Target called love:beethoven.

Because this is uncharted musical territory, I have no idea what this mood means. I'd like to pretend it's a result of some new-found maturity, but really, I think it's because I've discovered it helps me relax. For now, I'll just be content that it keeps me out of the loony bin.

These boots are made for walkin'

So I have a confession: I am a shoe girl. I remember being 14 and reading an article at the dentist's office about how Celine Dion had 500 pairs of shoes and thinking how cool that would be. My own shoe collection is far from that--I just counted 15 pairs in active rotation, with another 10 that hang out in my closet and I hardly ever wear and I really should just donate them to DI or something. But a girl has to have options. There are three things holding me back from expanding much further:

1. Space. They're already on the back of my bedroom door and in one of those hanging storage cubby things in my closet. And on the closet floor (boots do not fit in the cubbies, turns out). There's nowhere else for them to go.

2. Money. I'm ridiculously cheap. As in, if it's more than $30, it had better be the best darn pair of shoes ever.

3. Size. I wear a size 10. This wouldn't be so bad if I were a bit taller (my sister managed to stop at a 9 and she's an inch or so taller. Life is not fair), but 5'6" is all I got. And not only are they huge--they're square. Like, Barney Rubble feet.

I've figured out how to solve the first two problems. But I think I'm stuck with the third. If we could only get that silly pointy-toed nonsense to go away, I might stand a chance.

Am I that transparent?

You know things are bad when the guy checking you out at Trader Joe's asks in a it-would-be-patronizing-if-he-weren't-sincere voice, "How was your day?" My answer was simple: "It's done." He told me I looked exhausted and suggested that I switch from sparkling blueberry juice to 200-proof wine. I laughed and said thanks but no thanks. He wished me a good night on my way out the door.

It was a very long week.

I figured something out this week. Being super busy does not stress me out; I think I work better under the pressure of a big deadline. Nope, what sends me over the edge is lots of little nagging deadlines. This week I was super busy and instead of being able to finish what I needed to, I had to spend the whole week dealing with all the other crap people asked for last minute. Even if I didn't have time to edit their stuff, I had to find someone else to do it, and the coordination was just as distracting. I know it's not their fault; most of the people who made these requests had no more control over their timing than I did, and all were apologetic. But after a week of that, it's no wonder I ended up spending Friday night in bed with a bowl of Mimi's corn chowder, a glass of sparkling blueberry juice, and a back covered in IcyHot to try to ease the knots. TGIF indeed.

If you are what you say you are, a superstar...

I've decided that road trips are required to have theme songs. Thanks to Ali, I haven't been able to get "Superstar" out of my head all week. If only I knew the lyrics and not just the general chorus. Guess we should have listened to it more ;)

So Pismo Beach was fantastic. Beautiful scenery, great friends, and tons of junk food. I had a really great time hanging out with people I don't hang out with often, just sitting around a fire and talking. I had never been to that area, so it was fun to see more of the coast and this crazy state I now call home (though I still don't think of myself as being from California. Not sure when that will kick in). I got my picture taken with a burrito in a hammock. We attempted to hide a goose in someone's tent, but even the "special" goose was too smart for that. We cruised the beach...literally. We piled 14 campfire-smelling people into a Mexican restaurant up the road from the campsite (some kid asked his mom where all those people were going. We told him we were going out to dinner. That got us some weird looks). I missed out on the full Pismo experience because I didn't have a bowl of clam chowder, but I don't like seafood in general, so I'm okay with that. And I still have one question:

Why do guys sleep on cement? When given the choice between dirt and cement, it seems to me that dirt would be more comfortable (not that dirt is all that great...my back is still out of sorts). But seriously...how is the picnic table a viable option for sleeping?

It's not like I'm not trying, 'cause I'll give anyone a shot once

Actual conversation at tutoring last night with a woman old enough to be my mother:

"So, are you going to get married soon?"
"Um, no. I need a boyfriend first."
"Why don't you have one? You're so smart and beautiful?"
(I-don't-know shrug)
"What is these boys' problem?"
"If I knew that, I'd have one."

And now for the follow-up question: why is there no good way to say, "No, I'm not dating anyone, but I'd like to be," without sounding desperate and a little crazy? Can we get someone on that?

My thoughts are scattered and they're cloudy

These should probably be separate posts, but I'm feeling too lazy to do that. So instead you get bits and pieces of what's been bouncing around my brain recently.

* After church on Sunday, everyone was gathering in the chapel to break our fast before eating. I was handing in my tithing to the first counselor in the bishopric when he said, "Are you dating anyone?" I said no, but that I had been on a date this year, which was better than last year. So he and the second counselor decided that they would help me out. One offered to get up at the microphone to let everyone know how wonderful I was (I vetoed that one). So instead he had me sit next to him and asked if I was interested in anyone. Feeling a little weird about checking out guys with a member of the bishopric, I said no (but really, there isn't anyone. I looked). He said that was okay, I could just sit up on the stand so they could check me out. He later introduced me to a new guy in the ward and congratulated me on sitting with boys while eating. I've been set up by grandparents before, but having the bishopric trying to find me a date was a new experience.

* Saturday I went for a great run out along the bluffs. The sun finally broke through the clouds, and it was a 70-degree paradise. Seriously, I live in one of the greatest places ever. But my favorite was the little kid I heard telling his sister not to touch anything because it was all "poison oak" and "poison ivy."

* I finally convinced my friends that I'm human by having an emotional breakdown and yelling at them. Glad we got that detail cleared up.

* Tonight as I was out running errands, I noticed a bug attempting to escape my car through the windshield. I rolled down the window and tried to shoo it out. The bug was not deterred; he simply moved to the other side of the windshield. So I opened the window on that side. Finally I had every possible window open, but the bug wouldn't have any of it. He could see out the windshield; therefore, that should be his exit. And then I accidentally got too close and squished him. Sometimes I think I'm like the bug--I can see what I want, and I'm going to beat myself against any barrier in my way until I get it. But if I would only step back, I would see the many other, better opportunities waiting for me. And I should take them before I get squished.

I'm a hazard to myself, don't let me get me

So last Tuesday I was talking with some coworkers about how I've never been to the emergency room. No broken bones, no stitches, nothing. Their first reaction was that I haven't truly lived, but I have scars to prove I have. The next reaction was to be impressed. "I mean, you're really clumsy, aren't you?"

Indeed I am. I set out to prove that that night. I was opening a door and got my thumb caught in the door handle, which produced this little beauty:


Two minutes later I was crossing my legs and kicked the bottom of the chair next to me, which produced another bruise that didn't photograph well. I also managed to trip over my laptop cord, pulling it off the desk (luckily it's still working properly...).

Basically, when I do end up in the emergency room, it's gonna be good.

A Realization

I am Elizabeth Bennett. Almost everybody's here: Jane, Charlotte, Mr. Collins. Wickham and Lydia have made themselves very apparent recently. I just need one more:


In the words of Ali: 6 feet tall, 6 figures please.

Maybe I'm not but you're all I got left to believe in

...Don't give up on me, I'm about to come alive.

The voices are at it still. They all say give up now. Even the internal one when it's being honest. I have cried and yelled and pushed myself to exhaustion and the answer is still the same. And I hate it.

So please understand that my make-believe ending--the one that I know deep down is not true--is what's keeping me sane right now. Don't take that away from me.

i just do what the voices tell me to

So a lot of people have been giving me advice recently. I'm not complaining--their advice comes out of love, and in most cases, I have asked for it directly. But now their contradictions and cross-examinations are buzzing around my head. I'm inclined to give some bits of advice more creedence than others, but if I get any more (and I know I will), the voices may just start to take over.

However, it has occurred to me that there is one source that will always be right. He always has my best interests at heart, and He definitely knows what he's doing. And so long as I'm not out on some street corner hawking my wares, I know that I'm not really going to screw up my life.

Everything turns out all right in the end. If it's not all right, it's not the end.

Dear boys again,

Thank you.

Cars should come with owner's manuals. Oh wait...

So when I got back from Christmas, my car's battery was dead. The nice man from AAA explained that car batteries were not meant to last 6 years and replaced it for me.

Two weeks later, the fog lights turned on without me actually turning them on. While I was driving, while the car was parked, even after I shut them off they turned on again. Not wanting to kill yet another battery, I pulled the fuse until I could get it in to a mechanic.

The mechanic at the dealership explained that I needed a new switch, whatever that means, and that it would be about $350. I was expecting that, so no big deal. However, when he returned to tell me my car was ready, he also told me that I needed new brakes (and a new caliper and rotors). For $780, he could do that too. Luckily for me, he had to order in the caliper, so I didn't say yes right away. As he brought my car back to me, he said, "Didn't you see the brake light?"

Okay, so that light has been on for at least a year. However, I just assumed that the sensor was broken and ignored it. After this conversation I looked in the owner's manual and it turns out that light being on means you should have your brakes checked as soon as possible. Who knew?

$780 was still a lot of money, so I got a second opinion. Good thing I did, because I was able to get new brakes and rotors for $400 less. Hooray for helpful friends and family who told me I was getting ripped off and helped me find another mechanic.

So now I have spent nearly $1,000 on my car this year. And it's not even February yet.

Dear boys,

I don't care that you say you're emotionally stunted/socially retarded/whatever other crap excuse you're using today. Grow up, deal with it, and start dating.

So I just read Stargirl. It's your standard teenage be-yourself-no-matter-what-other-people-think story. But my favorite part of the book was that this girl expressed herself by caring about other people. She read the obituaries and birth announcements. She knew where every bulletin board in town was. She cheered for both teams at basketball teams, and didn't understand why this got her excluded by her peers. Basically, she believed that everyone deserved to be celebrated.

All of this reminded me of my freshman orientation. They had us all gathered on DT field. The counselors told us that everyone deserved a standing ovation sometimes. So they told us to ask for one. All you had to do was shout, "I want a standing ovation!" You got mobbed and cheered by anyone close by. Throughout orientation weekend, this happened pretty regularly. It even carried over into that first semester. But then, as all trends do, it died out.

Wouldn't it be cool if you could get a "standing ovation" whenever you want? You ace a test; you need a pick me up; you have no reason but you feel like a million bucks. I think it's a fantastic idea.

One year older and wiser too

Things I have learned recently:
1. Flying with the flu is definitely not fun. But hey, you can give your seatmates a funny story to tell their grandchildren.
2. Wyoming is windy and cold.
3. I am a hazard to myself. In the course of a week at home, I had a bruise on my knee from Mom's steering wheel, bruises from ice skates, and a blister from my walking shoes. My sister says I should stay in bed to prevent further injury.
4. Sewing is still a very frustrating process.
5. Car batteries are not meant to last 6 years. Also, if they are that old and you leave your car sitting around undriven for 10 days, the battery will die. Hooray for Dad and AAA.
6. Disneyland with a ton of people and no fireworks isn't much fun. Watching the ball drop on TV with a tub of Ben & Jerry's is much better.
7. Candy-coated peanuts and banana mints are not a balanced meal.