My boss keeps trying to corrupt me (not my cousin/boss. The other one...). I call my cubicle "the cubicle of safety" and "the cubicle of peace" and "the cubicle of happiness" so that he can't come over and corrupt my space.
It doesn't always work.
But I refuse to give up.
More specifically, my boss tries to bring down my language to a more base level, though I will give him credit - he cleans his language up a lot when I'm around. And when I give him The Look. Then he laughs while apologizing to me.
Today he learned that a.) I have a blog - it's still a secret to most people, I'm self-conscious like that - and b.) I wrote the word 'hell' the other day on it. He was flabbergasted. I responded that I'm more likely to swear on paper than vocally. And just the soft swears. He laughed and thought of all the things I could/should say on paper, swearing. Then he decided/came to the conclusion that anytime I might swear, it was likely that I was talking about him. He started scripting out what I would say. Something to the effect of: That b&*%$d D. annoyed the s*#t out of me today....or close to that.
I think he's probably right. He may be the only person I could cuss like that about. And I think half of the reason is because he wouldn't be ofended at all. In fact, he'd marked it a sign of pride that he could be such a person that could elicit such a response from me. Ironically, that's just the sort of attitude that keeps any verbal assault at bay. I won't give him that satisfaction. A smug D is an intolerable D.
Utah has not been good for my language. Go figure.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Where I'm From
I found this blog that I absolutely love - the would-be writer's guild (it's linked from here, under my blogs to read). I probably love it because she is a writer, so she makes me want to write more. AND she has a few posts that have really good writing exercises, some of which I've started doing, and others I want to try.
One exercise has to do with a poem by George Ella Lyon, called, "Where I'm From." It's used a lot as a writing exercise, and I think it's just a fun way to look at your past, thinking of what really made you who you are today. Turns out, I have to teach at Church, in Relief Society, this coming Sunday, and I've finally figured out what I'm going to teach, and I thought this poem seemed like a great introduction to my lesson. So I wrote my own poem for me, and I'm thinking of asking 1 or 2 other girls to write a short poem to share as well. I'd like to see what has influenced other girls, forming who they are now as well.
I thought I'd share my poem here, too, hoping this might force me to keep writing when I know the whole world is just waiting to read it. Or just for my own amusement. Whichever. So here goes:
There was a lot more that I could've put in there - my list of ideas was quite long - but for a first draft, I think this is a decent representation of what has shaped me and what seems to have made a dent in my life.
It's kind of fun to look what stands out when I think of my life as a kid, considering my role in my family, looking at my heritage, and everything. I'm excited to ask someone else to do this and hear what they come up with for themselves. And I'm completely interested in you - how you would put your poem together? Where do you come from?
I really do want to hear from everyone, but I'm particularly looking at you, Abby. As my sister, what would your poem be? Talk about being put on the spot :).
One exercise has to do with a poem by George Ella Lyon, called, "Where I'm From." It's used a lot as a writing exercise, and I think it's just a fun way to look at your past, thinking of what really made you who you are today. Turns out, I have to teach at Church, in Relief Society, this coming Sunday, and I've finally figured out what I'm going to teach, and I thought this poem seemed like a great introduction to my lesson. So I wrote my own poem for me, and I'm thinking of asking 1 or 2 other girls to write a short poem to share as well. I'd like to see what has influenced other girls, forming who they are now as well.
I thought I'd share my poem here, too, hoping this might force me to keep writing when I know the whole world is just waiting to read it. Or just for my own amusement. Whichever. So here goes:
Where I’m From
I am from lilac bushes and cherry blossoms,
From wild weeping willows and green as far as the eyes can see.
From bluffs by the lake and landscapes carved by the glaciers.
I am from home-made, worn-in baseball diamonds formed by racing feet during pick-up games in our backyard.
I am from hand-made dresses and hand-me-down shoes,
back middle row seats and never shotgun for the youngest to ride in.
I’m from the sports-crazed and the self-proclaimed geniuses.
The sit straight, don’t slouch, the no elbows on the table.
I’m from “Isn’t she a sweet girl?” and “stop following me around!”
From I Know that My Redeemer Lives and Jesus Wants Me For a Sunbeam.
I’m from Articles of Faith and Scripture Masteries, each one memorized, but never for long.
I’m from Fantastic Mr. Fox and The Lorax, Elizabeth Bennett and David Copperfield, and the first chapter of the Hobbit we could never get past.
I’m from a Cinderella tape, worn out from use,
And I’m a Little Teapot, performed repeatedly for my family's amusement.
I’m from a generous smile my mom says I got from my dad,
Green eyes I got from my grandma,
And a firm handshake I was trained in by my dad’s best friend.
I’m from a need to be kind to everyone,
And a wish to be better than I am.
From a thoughtful mind and an active imagination that sometimes gets out of control.
I’m from lessons my siblings learned for me, and a few I learned for myself.
I’m from a past of heartache and joy,
Pain and love,
Angst and peace,
Pain and love,
Angst and peace,
All cheering me on toward a future of amazing potential.
There was a lot more that I could've put in there - my list of ideas was quite long - but for a first draft, I think this is a decent representation of what has shaped me and what seems to have made a dent in my life.
It's kind of fun to look what stands out when I think of my life as a kid, considering my role in my family, looking at my heritage, and everything. I'm excited to ask someone else to do this and hear what they come up with for themselves. And I'm completely interested in you - how you would put your poem together? Where do you come from?
I really do want to hear from everyone, but I'm particularly looking at you, Abby. As my sister, what would your poem be? Talk about being put on the spot :).
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Nightmares
I had a nightmare last night. It was painful. Usually my nightmares have something to do with bees chasing me or giant daddy long-legs waiting for me in our basement storage room. But every once it a while, they become a little more real life-like. Like once when I dreamed my brother got shot in a drive-by shooting at our house, or when I was trying to hide behind a shower curtain in a decrepit house while a serial killer looked for me. Those weren't fun dreams. They always mess me up for a good day and a half.
Last night was one of those terrible, keeps you in a nervous mood, makes you really exhausted all day, nightmares. I dreamt that I was at house, with a ton of other people, and this lady had me come downstairs to the basement with her to help her with something. She started crying about how terrible her life was, and then she placed this ring on her finger. The ring had a short pointy thing on it, and she cried as I realized she was going to kill herself by poking her eye out. I tried to stop her, pulled her arm away, screamed louder and louder for help, but I couldn't stop her. She didn't die, but I was freaking out and screaming as loud as I could. But no one upstairs heard me, until I dialed 911. Then suddenly everyone was downstairs, and I was still screaming and crying, and she was crying, and bleeding of course. Finally this really tall, good-looking guy came over, gave me a giant hug, picked me up, and took me upstairs to calm down. We passed by the woman, who's husband was suddenly next to her, and she smiled at me like she was slightly embarrassed that she had made such a fuss. Then I woke up. Stock-still on my back. Wondering if any of those piercing screams had escaped my frozen shut lips. I took some deep breaths and wondered what in the hell was going through my head to produce such a terrifying dream.
I'm not sure why I felt the need to share this with the world - probably so everyone else can know why I'm been a little on edge today. I didn't spend much time figuring out any explanation or attributing any sort of psycho-babble to it, but I'm sure it means something. Like, maybe I should take a personal day from work tomorrow. Or perhaps I need a boyfriend. And the only way to get one is by screaming at the top of my lungs for five minutes after seeing a woman poke her eye out.
The lady's eye was fine, by the way. A little red, but I recall noting in my dream that her recovery was just short of miraculous. So that was a plus.
Last night was one of those terrible, keeps you in a nervous mood, makes you really exhausted all day, nightmares. I dreamt that I was at house, with a ton of other people, and this lady had me come downstairs to the basement with her to help her with something. She started crying about how terrible her life was, and then she placed this ring on her finger. The ring had a short pointy thing on it, and she cried as I realized she was going to kill herself by poking her eye out. I tried to stop her, pulled her arm away, screamed louder and louder for help, but I couldn't stop her. She didn't die, but I was freaking out and screaming as loud as I could. But no one upstairs heard me, until I dialed 911. Then suddenly everyone was downstairs, and I was still screaming and crying, and she was crying, and bleeding of course. Finally this really tall, good-looking guy came over, gave me a giant hug, picked me up, and took me upstairs to calm down. We passed by the woman, who's husband was suddenly next to her, and she smiled at me like she was slightly embarrassed that she had made such a fuss. Then I woke up. Stock-still on my back. Wondering if any of those piercing screams had escaped my frozen shut lips. I took some deep breaths and wondered what in the hell was going through my head to produce such a terrifying dream.
I'm not sure why I felt the need to share this with the world - probably so everyone else can know why I'm been a little on edge today. I didn't spend much time figuring out any explanation or attributing any sort of psycho-babble to it, but I'm sure it means something. Like, maybe I should take a personal day from work tomorrow. Or perhaps I need a boyfriend. And the only way to get one is by screaming at the top of my lungs for five minutes after seeing a woman poke her eye out.
The lady's eye was fine, by the way. A little red, but I recall noting in my dream that her recovery was just short of miraculous. So that was a plus.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Flirting
So I'm getting ready to go to this kid's house for a birthday party for my friend.
My mother yells down the stairs, "try and flirt with some boys tonight."
I yell back, "What is it that you think I usually do?"
She responds, "I know you are a friend to all, considerate of everyone."
I hate that she doesn't even hang out with me when I'm with friends, yet she knows me so well.
I'll try, Mom. But no promises.
My mother yells down the stairs, "try and flirt with some boys tonight."
I yell back, "What is it that you think I usually do?"
She responds, "I know you are a friend to all, considerate of everyone."
I hate that she doesn't even hang out with me when I'm with friends, yet she knows me so well.
I'll try, Mom. But no promises.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
The Difference Between Boys and Girls
Last night, I made my way back to the gym (yeah, I was impressed with myself, too). I walked in to a crowded gym - 2 high school boys and an older guy. I felt claustrophobic right away, but shook it off and tried to act like I came all the time and totally knew what I was doing. I grabbed a remote that went to a TV that was, luckily, not being watched by anyone (at least I'm pretty sure none of the boys were watching the soap opera channel...), jumped on the squeaky elliptical while I searched for my Wheel of Fortune. Found WoF, switched ellipticals when I got too self-conscious of the irritating squeak, and tried not to solve the puzzles out loud, while also not looking like a complete idiot working the elliptical. I had to keep sneaking glances at the mirror on my side to make sure I wasn't accidentally pulling off my quite accurate impression of Phoebe from "Friends" running. I got myself into a good groove, mentally calling the letters the WoF contestants should've been calling, while attempting to maintain my heartrate at a brisk 128 for the optimal fat burning exercise.
One of the high school boys was somewhere behind me doing weights that were no doubt to heavy for him as he waited for me to turn around and check him out (don't you ever feel like things should happen like they do in movies and you get to imagine that you're the cute girl who still looks cute while working out? Yeah, that's the only way I keep getting to the gym, too...). The other boy was working hard on the treadmill just ahead and to the side of me, watching his own TV program 2 TVs down from me. But he didn't last long after I came in - I think picking up his pace so dramatically when I walked in tired him out too much, too quickly. He soon joined his friend in hoping to miraculously obtain amazing biceps and impressive pectorals.
When I refused to recognize their presence lurking behind me, the two high schoolers left, leaving just me and the creepy older guy who was working the weights in front of the mirror. I imagined him kissing each bicep as he curled the weight up, thinking, "You are just a magnificent specimen. I mean, look at you. A sculpture of beauty, that's what you are. Lovingly carved, the light catching your sweat just enough to create a perfect sheen. Wonderful. Wonderful."
Okay, I'm sure he probably wasn't thinking anything like that. If he's anything like me, he was probably really thinking, "WHY am I putting myself through this again? This hurts. I hate weights. Yeah, it's important to be strong, and I definitely DO NOT want flabby arms, but seriously. Isn't there a better way? And by better, I mean easier." Yes, I think in capital letters and strong emphasis often at the gym.
But that is one big difference betwen boys and girls: Whether or not we have the same general thought about our flabby arms, I have a strong inkling that boys don't generally use the term 'flabby.' They might say 'weak,' 'small,' or 'girly,' but not likely 'flabby.' Also, I'd like girly arms - I imagine slender, toned arms. Boys would not like girly arms. All it means to them is that their arms are useless for the 'manly' things they should be participating in daily.
Impressively, I soon lost interest in thinking what these boys might've been thinking. The young boys left, the older guy faded into the darkness in my mind, and I went back to focusing on my breathing and my puzzle solving.
Wheel of Fortune ended; I had solved the bonus round, won $30,000, hugged Pat, celebrated with my family and friends who'd joined me from the audience, and then remembered that I wasn't the girl on the screen. Instead, I was the loser on the elliptical, solving the puzzle for no money, no prize, and very little pride, since I wasn't about to shout the answer to the whole gym and earn the weight-lifting narcissist's attention for my brilliance.
In waiting for my next mental exercise - Jeopardy - I surveyed my surroundings. On the TV next to me, the Hallmark channel was on with some weird, supernatural show that kept holding my casual glances longer and longer. On my elliptical, I saw that I was running slow enough to keep my heart rate at 128-ish, which also meant that I hadn't even reached 1 mile in 10 minutes. The TV to my left had some boring news channel on that practically yawned for me when I tried to figure out what was being talked about. Then came the TV to the far left, the one the treadmill-running adolescent had been watching. I looked at the corner and saw it was on Spike - the man's channel. Perfect for at 16-year-old boy to work out to. I, on the other hand, rolled my eyes when I saw what he had been watching - Ultimate Fighting Conferederation Championships. Ugh....I don't know what it is, but UFC is one of the ugliest, uncompelling things to me, and, I think, to most females. These guys are ugly, bloody things, attacking each other by any means possible - a spin kick to the stomach, and punch to the mouth, a tackle and strangle, and then they get scored by judges to decide the winner? DUMB. I watched for a few seconds to see if I could figure out why this seemed so appealing. I found nothing. In fact, I dislike it even more now.
A while ago, my friend G. was getting asked out quite often by this guy who had found himself in one of her circles of friends. She went out with him once or twice, and she quickly realized she was not going to be interested in him anytime soon. Ever, in fact. So she stopped going out with him. He couldn't understand why she was always busy and didn't seem interested. I thought it was pretty obvious. He's an ultimate fighter. Way into it. He was quite the catch, as far as his guy friends were concerned. But that's the difference between boys and girls. All of his guy friends thought he was so cool, so awesome, so 'manly.'
But G and all of us girls were totally put off by it. I'm sorry, I just don't think I'd like to think of my date potentially coming to my door with a bloody, toothless smile or a broken nose because he had been fighting all day. For work. I want a guy with soft hands and aligned teeth, who wears a power suit to his job. I want a guy who who's quietly muscular, who is well toned, who doesn't break the seams of his shirts and suits. I want a guy who looks normal in regular clothing. In short, I want a guy, not a "man." "Men" are kind of scary and really boring to me. I know, their life seems quite un-boring, but I don't think I'd enjoy hearing about an ultimate fighter's job, or what he loves to do. Hearing about the last guy he just beat up is less than exciting to me.
But guys think "Men" are so cool. Even if they'd never think of being one, it's still rather impressive. Perhaps it's like being a runway model for a girl. I'd never want to be a runway model because their lifestyles are full of smoking and starving themselves, but the idea of being pretty and skinny enough to be one is kind of desirable. Yes, that makes it less weird to me. Comparison analogies - amazing things. Work wonders for my understanding.
At any rate, Jeopardy soon started and I left the Ultimate Fighters to people who wanted to watch them duke it out in a cage for supreme 'man pride.' I made it through my workout on the elliptical did a few reps of an impressive 50 lb. weights to tone up my girly arms, and tried to figure out what in the world the Hallmark channel's movie was about. Ultimate fighting can't seem to keep my attention for longer than 48 seconds, but a muted 1990s C-movie kept me captivated with the apparent "secrets of Grey House." Now that's what I call mindless entertainment!
One of the high school boys was somewhere behind me doing weights that were no doubt to heavy for him as he waited for me to turn around and check him out (don't you ever feel like things should happen like they do in movies and you get to imagine that you're the cute girl who still looks cute while working out? Yeah, that's the only way I keep getting to the gym, too...). The other boy was working hard on the treadmill just ahead and to the side of me, watching his own TV program 2 TVs down from me. But he didn't last long after I came in - I think picking up his pace so dramatically when I walked in tired him out too much, too quickly. He soon joined his friend in hoping to miraculously obtain amazing biceps and impressive pectorals.
When I refused to recognize their presence lurking behind me, the two high schoolers left, leaving just me and the creepy older guy who was working the weights in front of the mirror. I imagined him kissing each bicep as he curled the weight up, thinking, "You are just a magnificent specimen. I mean, look at you. A sculpture of beauty, that's what you are. Lovingly carved, the light catching your sweat just enough to create a perfect sheen. Wonderful. Wonderful."
Okay, I'm sure he probably wasn't thinking anything like that. If he's anything like me, he was probably really thinking, "WHY am I putting myself through this again? This hurts. I hate weights. Yeah, it's important to be strong, and I definitely DO NOT want flabby arms, but seriously. Isn't there a better way? And by better, I mean easier." Yes, I think in capital letters and strong emphasis often at the gym.
But that is one big difference betwen boys and girls: Whether or not we have the same general thought about our flabby arms, I have a strong inkling that boys don't generally use the term 'flabby.' They might say 'weak,' 'small,' or 'girly,' but not likely 'flabby.' Also, I'd like girly arms - I imagine slender, toned arms. Boys would not like girly arms. All it means to them is that their arms are useless for the 'manly' things they should be participating in daily.
Impressively, I soon lost interest in thinking what these boys might've been thinking. The young boys left, the older guy faded into the darkness in my mind, and I went back to focusing on my breathing and my puzzle solving.
Wheel of Fortune ended; I had solved the bonus round, won $30,000, hugged Pat, celebrated with my family and friends who'd joined me from the audience, and then remembered that I wasn't the girl on the screen. Instead, I was the loser on the elliptical, solving the puzzle for no money, no prize, and very little pride, since I wasn't about to shout the answer to the whole gym and earn the weight-lifting narcissist's attention for my brilliance.
In waiting for my next mental exercise - Jeopardy - I surveyed my surroundings. On the TV next to me, the Hallmark channel was on with some weird, supernatural show that kept holding my casual glances longer and longer. On my elliptical, I saw that I was running slow enough to keep my heart rate at 128-ish, which also meant that I hadn't even reached 1 mile in 10 minutes. The TV to my left had some boring news channel on that practically yawned for me when I tried to figure out what was being talked about. Then came the TV to the far left, the one the treadmill-running adolescent had been watching. I looked at the corner and saw it was on Spike - the man's channel. Perfect for at 16-year-old boy to work out to. I, on the other hand, rolled my eyes when I saw what he had been watching - Ultimate Fighting Conferederation Championships. Ugh....I don't know what it is, but UFC is one of the ugliest, uncompelling things to me, and, I think, to most females. These guys are ugly, bloody things, attacking each other by any means possible - a spin kick to the stomach, and punch to the mouth, a tackle and strangle, and then they get scored by judges to decide the winner? DUMB. I watched for a few seconds to see if I could figure out why this seemed so appealing. I found nothing. In fact, I dislike it even more now.
A while ago, my friend G. was getting asked out quite often by this guy who had found himself in one of her circles of friends. She went out with him once or twice, and she quickly realized she was not going to be interested in him anytime soon. Ever, in fact. So she stopped going out with him. He couldn't understand why she was always busy and didn't seem interested. I thought it was pretty obvious. He's an ultimate fighter. Way into it. He was quite the catch, as far as his guy friends were concerned. But that's the difference between boys and girls. All of his guy friends thought he was so cool, so awesome, so 'manly.'
But G and all of us girls were totally put off by it. I'm sorry, I just don't think I'd like to think of my date potentially coming to my door with a bloody, toothless smile or a broken nose because he had been fighting all day. For work. I want a guy with soft hands and aligned teeth, who wears a power suit to his job. I want a guy who who's quietly muscular, who is well toned, who doesn't break the seams of his shirts and suits. I want a guy who looks normal in regular clothing. In short, I want a guy, not a "man." "Men" are kind of scary and really boring to me. I know, their life seems quite un-boring, but I don't think I'd enjoy hearing about an ultimate fighter's job, or what he loves to do. Hearing about the last guy he just beat up is less than exciting to me.
But guys think "Men" are so cool. Even if they'd never think of being one, it's still rather impressive. Perhaps it's like being a runway model for a girl. I'd never want to be a runway model because their lifestyles are full of smoking and starving themselves, but the idea of being pretty and skinny enough to be one is kind of desirable. Yes, that makes it less weird to me. Comparison analogies - amazing things. Work wonders for my understanding.
At any rate, Jeopardy soon started and I left the Ultimate Fighters to people who wanted to watch them duke it out in a cage for supreme 'man pride.' I made it through my workout on the elliptical did a few reps of an impressive 50 lb. weights to tone up my girly arms, and tried to figure out what in the world the Hallmark channel's movie was about. Ultimate fighting can't seem to keep my attention for longer than 48 seconds, but a muted 1990s C-movie kept me captivated with the apparent "secrets of Grey House." Now that's what I call mindless entertainment!
Friday, March 26, 2010
My Mother, the Random Match-Maker
So Mom just got a calling as a Beehive advisor in my parents' ward. I thought it was cute that she'd be with the Young Women. She thought it was great, but funny because they have almost as many adult leaders as they do young women. It might as well be a personal mentoring program, with each girl assigned to an adult.
But she was happy to be with the Beehives - 12- and 13-year old girls are generally more excited and fun than the older girls. Everything about the Young Women program is still a little new to them, so they like going to all the activities and participating in classes and stuff. I know that's how I felt when I was a Beehive. The older I got, the more common and repeated activities became, and my schedule got busier with other things, so YW wasn't always the top priority like it was when I was younger.
I personally thought it was great that she was with the Beehives because they are still moldable, and they will be like putty in her hands (a thought I shared while rubbing my palms together and giggling like a mad scientist). She smiled at my silliness, but soon grew fond of the power she might be able to tap into with this new calling. Dad totally bought into the putty idea, and we spent the next 15 minutes discussing opportunities to mold these girls into what we wanted before we finally got to saying our family prayer, which we had initially gathered for. But since when have we ever been able to gather for prayers and then actually say them right away? I submit that even a cranky daughter or tired father or sore-kneed mother can't cut out the space between gathering and prayer.
But mom really is excited about this, and she likes that she gets to hang out with some great adult women who are fellow beehive advisors. She especially has one friend, a younger-ish woman, who is the Beehive advisor in the YW presidency, whom she was happy to work with. Apparently this woman thinks mom is just great, and mom likes that she doesn't have to be friends with only the older women in the ward just because she's kind of older herself. She's still 35 at heart, so her friends should be 35 as well, right?
So last night was mom's first young women's activity. She left, calling out, "Don't wait up for me!" like she was actually a young woman, and then added, "Because we've got to plan the next few months' activities, since they don't have much thought out right now...," which made me feel better about why I wasn't waiting up.
Turned out, she got home around 9:45, so she just barely made it home before I would've followed her wishes and not wait up for her. But, as it were, I was awake, and actually standing in the kitchen, downing a cup of deliciously cold water when she walked through the door. She saw me, smiled and hurried to close the door, a look of some excitement on her face. I wondered quickly what her activity had been to bring her home smiling.
Surprisingly, the smile was actually regarding me, as the first words that came out of her mouth were, "I've found your husband!" Knowing mother to be slightly pickier than I am on first inspection of any boy for me, I responded, "Great. I like it when I don't have to put much work into these kinds of things. When do I meet him?"
My favorite part about my mom is that she knows exactly what points matter right off the bat, and which ones can wait to be brought up until after. I always know the guy isn't right for me when she starts to talk about their traits and qualities in the wrong order. And she realizes certain boys aren't wanted when she catches herself withholding the important facts right away. And she quickly fesses up to it. I learned right away that this new husband of mine was 6 ft. tall, 25-years old, attractive, lives in Washington, DC (so he'll just be waiting for me when I get there), has a job with the Government doing work with people visiting from foreign countries, showing them around and teaching them some of the things that are commonly found or done in America, pretty much acquainting them with the Country and its silly habits and traditions. These people then say, "If you're ever in my country, you have a place to stay!" So he's got connections.Tall-ish, cute, young enough but not too young, employed, and looking to travel when his 3-year stint with the Gov't is over. Sounds like a pretty good catch, eh? His sister is the woman that mom is good friends with in YW, and I suppose she was telling her and the other leaders about my leaving, and everyone suddenly got really excited about the match. A few of the leaders who know me from my brief stint in the ward just think I'm so cute, so I'd be great for him. And those who know him attest to his attractiveness and great personality.
Mother did ask if he'd come settle in Centerville when his contract with the Government ended, since their family is here, and she said that he'd would be more likely to go travel around and use his connections. I could tell that probably made mom slightly bummed, but also pleased her because I would love to just go travel with him everywhere, and not come back to Centerville. But our families would be here, so we'd both be pulled back to visit when we wanted to see family. So at least our base would be in the same place.
I think she really is excited about this match. Mom has another friend who has a son around my age, and she keeps mentioning him randomly, but always remembering that he's short and slightly balding (which wouldn't be so bad, but the height problem hurts my ability to look past his follicle problem), so then she conveniently forgets him again.
And I'm willing to go with this, because my mother isn't the kind to make me date just for dating's sake. She doesn't think any and every boy could be potentially great. She judges them with the same harsh eye I do. We both recognize the good in the boys I go out with, but she also allows me to not like them for whatever other reasons. She doesn't try to rush me off to be married - although she has been suddenly dropping lots of comments that I need to find a boy to marry in the next few months. But the comments come from pure selfishness on her part. She just wants me to find a Davis County boy so that I won't leave in a few months, and because Davis County boys NEVER seem to leave Davis County. The biggest reason why I practically refuse to date a Davis County boy.
She told me last night, when it came up again later, that she'd find out some more particulars later - like his name, which for some reason, she can't remember. I generally find that to be important as well - what if his last name is atrocious with my first name? So I'm kind of disappointed at the lack of importance she's placing on it. But as she's reminded me lately, she never pictured herself with a "Walter," so I can't judge people by their names (but it's so hard!).
My favorite part is that, at one point, I mentioned, "I'm really excited to meet my husband in 5 months," and she lit up as she remembered that he'd probably be in town in July for his brother's return from his mission, so I could meet him then! So it's really only 4 months! Then she ruined the moment (as she's prone to do) by saying, "so we've got to get you looking really cute by July. Better get working out even more! And start growing out your hair." To be honest, the hair comment was based on an intruding conversation about how I want to do my hair for my wedding, and she was willing to discuss alternative ways for me to achieve my potential hairstyle. AND she always seems to add 'better start working out' to everything, I think in a pre-emptive strike to my constant retorts of 'are you calling me fat?' So I've brought it on myself. And I am working out, generally, so I just laugh at mom's cuteness now.
But seriously, I'm way excited about my new husband. The less work I have to do, the better. I can't wait for you to meet him! But first things first, specifically my first - which will come in July, when I first meet him. I look forward to the sparks that will inevitably fly between us as we look deep into each other's eyes and see our soulmate looking back at us.
Seriously, I don't know why people object to arranged marriages. I say bring it on!
But she was happy to be with the Beehives - 12- and 13-year old girls are generally more excited and fun than the older girls. Everything about the Young Women program is still a little new to them, so they like going to all the activities and participating in classes and stuff. I know that's how I felt when I was a Beehive. The older I got, the more common and repeated activities became, and my schedule got busier with other things, so YW wasn't always the top priority like it was when I was younger.
I personally thought it was great that she was with the Beehives because they are still moldable, and they will be like putty in her hands (a thought I shared while rubbing my palms together and giggling like a mad scientist). She smiled at my silliness, but soon grew fond of the power she might be able to tap into with this new calling. Dad totally bought into the putty idea, and we spent the next 15 minutes discussing opportunities to mold these girls into what we wanted before we finally got to saying our family prayer, which we had initially gathered for. But since when have we ever been able to gather for prayers and then actually say them right away? I submit that even a cranky daughter or tired father or sore-kneed mother can't cut out the space between gathering and prayer.
But mom really is excited about this, and she likes that she gets to hang out with some great adult women who are fellow beehive advisors. She especially has one friend, a younger-ish woman, who is the Beehive advisor in the YW presidency, whom she was happy to work with. Apparently this woman thinks mom is just great, and mom likes that she doesn't have to be friends with only the older women in the ward just because she's kind of older herself. She's still 35 at heart, so her friends should be 35 as well, right?
So last night was mom's first young women's activity. She left, calling out, "Don't wait up for me!" like she was actually a young woman, and then added, "Because we've got to plan the next few months' activities, since they don't have much thought out right now...," which made me feel better about why I wasn't waiting up.
Turned out, she got home around 9:45, so she just barely made it home before I would've followed her wishes and not wait up for her. But, as it were, I was awake, and actually standing in the kitchen, downing a cup of deliciously cold water when she walked through the door. She saw me, smiled and hurried to close the door, a look of some excitement on her face. I wondered quickly what her activity had been to bring her home smiling.
Surprisingly, the smile was actually regarding me, as the first words that came out of her mouth were, "I've found your husband!" Knowing mother to be slightly pickier than I am on first inspection of any boy for me, I responded, "Great. I like it when I don't have to put much work into these kinds of things. When do I meet him?"
My favorite part about my mom is that she knows exactly what points matter right off the bat, and which ones can wait to be brought up until after. I always know the guy isn't right for me when she starts to talk about their traits and qualities in the wrong order. And she realizes certain boys aren't wanted when she catches herself withholding the important facts right away. And she quickly fesses up to it. I learned right away that this new husband of mine was 6 ft. tall, 25-years old, attractive, lives in Washington, DC (so he'll just be waiting for me when I get there), has a job with the Government doing work with people visiting from foreign countries, showing them around and teaching them some of the things that are commonly found or done in America, pretty much acquainting them with the Country and its silly habits and traditions. These people then say, "If you're ever in my country, you have a place to stay!" So he's got connections.Tall-ish, cute, young enough but not too young, employed, and looking to travel when his 3-year stint with the Gov't is over. Sounds like a pretty good catch, eh? His sister is the woman that mom is good friends with in YW, and I suppose she was telling her and the other leaders about my leaving, and everyone suddenly got really excited about the match. A few of the leaders who know me from my brief stint in the ward just think I'm so cute, so I'd be great for him. And those who know him attest to his attractiveness and great personality.
Mother did ask if he'd come settle in Centerville when his contract with the Government ended, since their family is here, and she said that he'd would be more likely to go travel around and use his connections. I could tell that probably made mom slightly bummed, but also pleased her because I would love to just go travel with him everywhere, and not come back to Centerville. But our families would be here, so we'd both be pulled back to visit when we wanted to see family. So at least our base would be in the same place.
I think she really is excited about this match. Mom has another friend who has a son around my age, and she keeps mentioning him randomly, but always remembering that he's short and slightly balding (which wouldn't be so bad, but the height problem hurts my ability to look past his follicle problem), so then she conveniently forgets him again.
And I'm willing to go with this, because my mother isn't the kind to make me date just for dating's sake. She doesn't think any and every boy could be potentially great. She judges them with the same harsh eye I do. We both recognize the good in the boys I go out with, but she also allows me to not like them for whatever other reasons. She doesn't try to rush me off to be married - although she has been suddenly dropping lots of comments that I need to find a boy to marry in the next few months. But the comments come from pure selfishness on her part. She just wants me to find a Davis County boy so that I won't leave in a few months, and because Davis County boys NEVER seem to leave Davis County. The biggest reason why I practically refuse to date a Davis County boy.
She told me last night, when it came up again later, that she'd find out some more particulars later - like his name, which for some reason, she can't remember. I generally find that to be important as well - what if his last name is atrocious with my first name? So I'm kind of disappointed at the lack of importance she's placing on it. But as she's reminded me lately, she never pictured herself with a "Walter," so I can't judge people by their names (but it's so hard!).
My favorite part is that, at one point, I mentioned, "I'm really excited to meet my husband in 5 months," and she lit up as she remembered that he'd probably be in town in July for his brother's return from his mission, so I could meet him then! So it's really only 4 months! Then she ruined the moment (as she's prone to do) by saying, "so we've got to get you looking really cute by July. Better get working out even more! And start growing out your hair." To be honest, the hair comment was based on an intruding conversation about how I want to do my hair for my wedding, and she was willing to discuss alternative ways for me to achieve my potential hairstyle. AND she always seems to add 'better start working out' to everything, I think in a pre-emptive strike to my constant retorts of 'are you calling me fat?' So I've brought it on myself. And I am working out, generally, so I just laugh at mom's cuteness now.
But seriously, I'm way excited about my new husband. The less work I have to do, the better. I can't wait for you to meet him! But first things first, specifically my first - which will come in July, when I first meet him. I look forward to the sparks that will inevitably fly between us as we look deep into each other's eyes and see our soulmate looking back at us.
Seriously, I don't know why people object to arranged marriages. I say bring it on!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Working Out
I went and worked out tonight for the first time at this gym across the street from our house. It was (and still is, for the time being) a small 24-hour gym, and it just got bought out by this other gym, which is much bigger and offers a lot more by way of exercise machines and classes and saunas and pools and such (the such is really what sold me). Mom was kind of mourning the loss of this easy access 24-hour place that she could've worked out at anytime she wanted, and was small and intimate, but it had been there for at least a year and she only decided to sign up for it the day it was bought. So I don't feel too bad for her. And this new gym will be open 4am-midnight, so our opportunities to exercise aren't really limited by time - I mean, I don't think Mother was going to go over and run on the treadmill at 2 in the morning - she told Dad just yesterday that she'd go work out later that night around 9pm and he should watch her walk over in case she got kidnapped or mugged. At 9pm. I don't imagine her going anytime later than that. (She didn't end up going at 9pm anyway, so no one had to worry about anyone getting mugged. Always a good thing).
This new gym isn't fully built yet - it's still very much in the building phase - so we get free access to this old gym. I decided to take advantage of that tonight, because it's still a bit chilly outside and I didn't feel like just straight-up running. So I threw my hair in a fun messy ponytail and put on my cute new workout clothes. Last week when we went on a Barlow Family shopping outing at the Park City outlet mall, I enjoyed myself at the Nike store and the Adidas store, as well as the exercise areas of some other stores (Old Navy is growing their exercise clothes, who knew?), and found myself some cute workout clothes for the spring and summer. I need to get myself in great DC shape - I've skipped trying to motivate myself with 'swimsuit season;' it hasn't ever worked before, so it would've been a long shot this time. But who gets motivated when they have no cute clothes to be out in??? I sure don't. Clothes I want to spend time in get my butt to the gym or out on a run, which in turn helps me bring less butt back home. And there were some great sales, so I now have a good start on my motivational outfits.
So, I threw on some shorts and a tee, and then a light pink pullover jacket - a nice addition to my technical gear (which, if you had been with my mom at Park City, you would realize is now essential for just about every piece of clothing. Not to mention, dad can't fault you for buying it if you say it's technical - he's got enough of it, he can't question our purchases). Threw on my shoes, and I ran out the door...in more of a walking fashion, of course. I made my way to the gym and found it empty. Perfect. It gave me time to walk around a little bit, acquaint myself with the place, without looking like a total newcomer to anyone else. Then I jumped on an elliptical, played with the remote for the TV for a bit until I stumbled across the end of Wheel of Fortune. I smiled to realize Jeopardy would be on next, and I settled into a nice 10 minute warm-up. It seemed like the perfect combination: working my brain and my body at the same time! Talk about your multi-tasking.
That first 10 minutes in the gym was interesting: realized I run funny on an elliptical; felt my left hip bothering me due to funny running; refused to stop running before the 10 minutes were over out of stubbornness; answered the majority of Jeopardy questions correctly (or questioned the Jeopardy answers correctly; I suppose); missed stupid questions/answers I should've known; sighed with relief when 10 minutes ended. Then I moved to a treadmill and quickly decided two things - a. I do not like treadmills. b. I shouldn't try to set up any machine's workout programs while still trying to catch the clues given on Jeopardy. because it just doesn't work. I quickly moved to a stationary bike, hoping I'd like that better. I had to learn lesson b from above again, but I got myself going pretty smoothly this time.
I'm not the best stationary bike rider. I always want to give up after about 2 minutes. But I set my workout on the cardio setting, and I forced myself to get through another 10 minutes. I didn't realize at first that this 10 minutes would also require getting my heart rate to 157 and keeping it there. I don't last long on bikes - I almost just fell off around minute 5, as I went 'up' my 3rd 'hill' and wondered why everyone thought biking was such a great thing. Perhaps it's different on a real bike. But I don't think so.
But never fear, I forced myself to stay on that bike until it flashed 10 minutes and let up on its training course My heart rate wasn't so faithful though - it started falling a minute after I achieved the mark. So much for maintaining it.
The hardest part about exercising on a bike is that I sweat when I exercise anyway, and, as gross as it sounds, riding on a bike just makes me feel like I've peed my cute workout shorts. I'm sitting there around the 7 minute mark and I seriously have to think, "Did I really just pee my pants? Have I suddenly lost complete control of my bladder? Do I need to start wearing Depends?" I get up, wipe the seat down of my sweat (for I have finally concluded that I do still control my bladder, but not my sweat glands), smile that it really isn't very sweaty, that I was just getting over-nervous about it. But I was sweating, and my shorts still feel a little like I wet them.
And these workout shorts (not so cute when sitting on a bike, but I blame my squished thighs for that) have the built-in extra underwear/lining in them, which always seem to be bigger than the shorts they're put into. I'm really noticing their presence right now. I go and do a few sit-ups and weight machines for a few minutes, hoping to dry myself out, since a few older guys have come in and I get suddenly claustrophic with their presence. I finally decide I've done enough for my first night at the gym, and I leave, taking a quick 2 minute jog home. The cold air chills my sweat but feels generally pretty refreshing. But it makes that sweaty extra lining feel even heavier, and I can't help by feel like I'm carrying a load. So now, not only have I peed my pants, but I've also pooped them, according to how they feel. Stupid extra panties, making me question my bladder and bowel control, making me feel like an 85 year old woman. Don't worry, I've still got the control of your average 23 year old girl - only peeing my pants when I laugh too hard and only pooping them on extremely special funny occasions.
Mom thinks the extra liner might shrink when I wash them, and I'm really hoping for it. But other, asta la vista, panty. We had our fun, but if you can't change, then this can't work. You're too high-maintenance for me. I'm cutting you out of my shorts and out of my life.
This new gym isn't fully built yet - it's still very much in the building phase - so we get free access to this old gym. I decided to take advantage of that tonight, because it's still a bit chilly outside and I didn't feel like just straight-up running. So I threw my hair in a fun messy ponytail and put on my cute new workout clothes. Last week when we went on a Barlow Family shopping outing at the Park City outlet mall, I enjoyed myself at the Nike store and the Adidas store, as well as the exercise areas of some other stores (Old Navy is growing their exercise clothes, who knew?), and found myself some cute workout clothes for the spring and summer. I need to get myself in great DC shape - I've skipped trying to motivate myself with 'swimsuit season;' it hasn't ever worked before, so it would've been a long shot this time. But who gets motivated when they have no cute clothes to be out in??? I sure don't. Clothes I want to spend time in get my butt to the gym or out on a run, which in turn helps me bring less butt back home. And there were some great sales, so I now have a good start on my motivational outfits.
So, I threw on some shorts and a tee, and then a light pink pullover jacket - a nice addition to my technical gear (which, if you had been with my mom at Park City, you would realize is now essential for just about every piece of clothing. Not to mention, dad can't fault you for buying it if you say it's technical - he's got enough of it, he can't question our purchases). Threw on my shoes, and I ran out the door...in more of a walking fashion, of course. I made my way to the gym and found it empty. Perfect. It gave me time to walk around a little bit, acquaint myself with the place, without looking like a total newcomer to anyone else. Then I jumped on an elliptical, played with the remote for the TV for a bit until I stumbled across the end of Wheel of Fortune. I smiled to realize Jeopardy would be on next, and I settled into a nice 10 minute warm-up. It seemed like the perfect combination: working my brain and my body at the same time! Talk about your multi-tasking.
That first 10 minutes in the gym was interesting: realized I run funny on an elliptical; felt my left hip bothering me due to funny running; refused to stop running before the 10 minutes were over out of stubbornness; answered the majority of Jeopardy questions correctly (or questioned the Jeopardy answers correctly; I suppose); missed stupid questions/answers I should've known; sighed with relief when 10 minutes ended. Then I moved to a treadmill and quickly decided two things - a. I do not like treadmills. b. I shouldn't try to set up any machine's workout programs while still trying to catch the clues given on Jeopardy. because it just doesn't work. I quickly moved to a stationary bike, hoping I'd like that better. I had to learn lesson b from above again, but I got myself going pretty smoothly this time.
I'm not the best stationary bike rider. I always want to give up after about 2 minutes. But I set my workout on the cardio setting, and I forced myself to get through another 10 minutes. I didn't realize at first that this 10 minutes would also require getting my heart rate to 157 and keeping it there. I don't last long on bikes - I almost just fell off around minute 5, as I went 'up' my 3rd 'hill' and wondered why everyone thought biking was such a great thing. Perhaps it's different on a real bike. But I don't think so.
But never fear, I forced myself to stay on that bike until it flashed 10 minutes and let up on its training course My heart rate wasn't so faithful though - it started falling a minute after I achieved the mark. So much for maintaining it.
The hardest part about exercising on a bike is that I sweat when I exercise anyway, and, as gross as it sounds, riding on a bike just makes me feel like I've peed my cute workout shorts. I'm sitting there around the 7 minute mark and I seriously have to think, "Did I really just pee my pants? Have I suddenly lost complete control of my bladder? Do I need to start wearing Depends?" I get up, wipe the seat down of my sweat (for I have finally concluded that I do still control my bladder, but not my sweat glands), smile that it really isn't very sweaty, that I was just getting over-nervous about it. But I was sweating, and my shorts still feel a little like I wet them.
And these workout shorts (not so cute when sitting on a bike, but I blame my squished thighs for that) have the built-in extra underwear/lining in them, which always seem to be bigger than the shorts they're put into. I'm really noticing their presence right now. I go and do a few sit-ups and weight machines for a few minutes, hoping to dry myself out, since a few older guys have come in and I get suddenly claustrophic with their presence. I finally decide I've done enough for my first night at the gym, and I leave, taking a quick 2 minute jog home. The cold air chills my sweat but feels generally pretty refreshing. But it makes that sweaty extra lining feel even heavier, and I can't help by feel like I'm carrying a load. So now, not only have I peed my pants, but I've also pooped them, according to how they feel. Stupid extra panties, making me question my bladder and bowel control, making me feel like an 85 year old woman. Don't worry, I've still got the control of your average 23 year old girl - only peeing my pants when I laugh too hard and only pooping them on extremely special funny occasions.
Mom thinks the extra liner might shrink when I wash them, and I'm really hoping for it. But other, asta la vista, panty. We had our fun, but if you can't change, then this can't work. You're too high-maintenance for me. I'm cutting you out of my shorts and out of my life.
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