Where the streets have no name

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


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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.