What I Did on My Memorial Day Weekend Vacation

So just like kids have to write a report on what they did on their summer vacation (except, did any of you ever have to write one of those? Because I never did), I'm writing a report on my weekend vacation. It's the closest thing I've had to a vacation in a while. So I resolved to do the following things:

1. Sleep.
Check and check.
2. Watch at least one of my Jane Austen movies that I have saved on my dvr.
That would be a check and a half. I watched Miss Austen Regrets, as noted above, and also the first half of Sense and Sensibility. Not while about the former, but the latter is promising so far.
3. Finish watching Don Juan de Marco with Jonny Depp (he's in it, not coming to watch it with me).
Do NOT rent this movie. Unless you think you will find satisfaction in a movie about a man who slept with 1500 women schooling an older man in the fine art of romance, inspiring him to nurture his relationship with his wife. Because nothing says True Romance like having 1500 different lovers.
4. Reorganize my closet.
Half a check. I might possibly finish it tonight, but don't hold your breath.
5. Sort through my cd's and figure out why I own so many and how to rectify that situation. Done!
6. Figure out how to make my computer talk to Word for reals.
Done! For 60 days of trial, at least.
7. Clean my bathroom.
Not done. Just don't look in there. You don't want to know.
8. Clean my food cupboards out in the kitchen so I can possibly find something.
Totally not done. In fact I think I made it worse. I know there is food in there somewhere....
9. Get a pedicure.
Done! So pretty. I have pretty, pretty little toes.
10. Balance my checkbook.
I'm halfway there. Which makes me want to start singing Bon Jovi songs.

Now if only I didn't have to go to a three hour meeting tomorrow morning....

Yes, She Would Regret

Just finished watching one of my Jane Austen movies. Miss Austen Regrets. And I think that she quite possibly might have regretted this movie had she seen it. SO depressing. I've decided that I don't like movies based on author's lives. The people who write the screenplays always have to draw some parallel between the books they wrote and their lives, so that people can walk away going, Oooh, THAT must have been the inspiration. Generally I don't believe them. And it irritates me that there are people out there that take these silly movies as the authority on someone's life. Jane Austen's sister burnt her letters. No one KNOWS. It was all speculation. And isn't that kind of gossip and speculation the kind of thing that Jane Austen laughed at?

Whose Brilliant Idea Was This?

What bright marketing person decided that Memorial Day Weekend was a good weekend to have big sales? Because I would like to cast my vote to stop that tradition. I personally do not immediately associate sales with any major holiday, whereas I know some people look forward to holidays so they can go shopping. I was excited that I had four whole days (sort of) all to myself this weekend, and looked forward to relaxing. A few of the things on my mental list that did not make it onto my blog list involved going to a few stores in the mall. When I pulled in to parking lot at the mall, I realized by the insane amount of cars in the parking lot that everyone else decided this was a good weekend to shop, too. Only most of them were strolling leisurely down the mall walkways. Who strolls in a mall? If you are one of those people who strolls, I have a few questions. Is this seriously the best activity you could come up with for a beautiful sunny afternoon in Seattle? To go inside and walk like a turtle down the walkway in herds with other women and teenagers, and a few poor men who got dragged along? Seriously, this sounded like fun to you when you woke up this morning? Are you on crack? Could you at least please stay to the right so I can walk by at a normal rate, if not a hurried, get-me-away-from-this-herd-of-crazy-women pace?

I got over hanging out in malls somewhere in high school. It sounded fun when I was about 10. Now I find it amusing only because there are so many people that seem to go there to be seen. Mostly teenagers. Also crazy people seem to go there. But people watching can only get you so far. And too many salespeople seem to follow you around stores. (NO, you cannot help me. I see your nametag, I know where to find you...)

Needless to say I got out of that mall very quickly. I got one item I had set out to get, but I did not get ANY clothes. You want to know why? Because I found things like this every which way I turned. Some of them I did find quite cute, however I cannot wear them. Seriously, a whole store with nothing with sleeves besides the plane tshirts, which I have enough of, is just silly. Mormon girls need cute clothes too. Ones with sleeves. That don't show off the girls. And don't age me 10 or 20 or 50 years. That's all I'm asking for.

It was enough to make me cranky. Never you fear, though. I went to pottery that afternoon, which is almost always soothing, and worked on some creations that are so, so cool that you will die from their coolness when I post the pictures.

Five words.

Grey's Anatomy Finale. LOVED it.

The candles. Oh, the candles.

Discuss amongst yourselves.

I'm Free! (sort of)

So I have a four day weekend. Sort of. I don't have to work for four days. Mostly. Okay, okay, I couldn't quite keep a whole weekend free and I scheduled one itty bitty meeting Saturday morning. But it's with one of my friends from high school and some other fun people. Also I think there will be food there. Oh, and I am also going to a play tomorrow to see a couple of my high school kids, one of which has one of the lead roles.

But mostly I have four whole days to do whatever I want. Oh, I have pottery for two hours on Saturday. And of course Sunday is all about church. And my nephew had the audacity to turn 14, so I have to go get him a gift sometime before Sunday and there's the birthday dinner Sunday night.

So what, you ask, will I do with these four free days I have?

I resolve to do the following:
1. Sleep
2. Watch at least one of my Jane Austen movies that I have saved on my dvr.
3. Finish watching Don Juan de Marco with Jonny Depp (he's in it, not coming to watch it with me).
4. Reorganize my closet.
5. Sort through my cd's and figure out why I own so many and how to rectify that situation.
6. Figure out how to make my computer talk to Word for reals.
7. Clean my bathroom.
8. Clean my food cupboards out in the kitchen so I can possibly find something.
9. Get a pedicure.
10. Balance my checkbook.

I bet you wish you could be as free as I am.

Fester, Fester, Fester

I'm festering.* Someone made a comment the other day about how sheltered I am the other day, and it really irked me. This Someone is someone who goes to my church. When it's someone who was not raised in the conservative religious environment I was raised in, receiving the label "sheltered" does not bother me too much. I think the real reason this comment bothered me was because the person who made the comment doesn't know anything about my past and what I have or have not done, or what my opinion is on most subjects. That would involve hanging out with me and trying to get to know me. But that's a bitter subject for another day.

So is "sheltered" a good label? I know that some Mormons wear the label with pride, because what people are really referring to is the experiences we have not had by virtue of living our religion, such as not drinking, smoking, doing drugs, or having sex outside of a marital relationship. I can understand why to some people this makes us seem very sheltered and set apart from reality. I'm okay with that. There are some realities I don't want to live. I've seen the pain, drama, and health issues that accompany a lot of those things. But that doesn't mean I don't KNOW things. For example, as someone who has never been drunk, I can still observe the effects of alcohol on my friends, and some of the difficult situations they have found themselves in due to their inebriation and loss of inhibitions. No, I haven't experienced it firsthand, but you learn things from experiencing them secondhand, too. And I've read books and articles, and studied things, and watched movies about issues, and all that good stuff. So perhaps I know more than you think I do.

So, if I don't think a conversation you are trying to have with me is appropriate, it's not necessarily because I don't understand the topic. I am curious about a lot of things, and like to understand different perspectives and what life experiences make people the way they are. If you are going to start being crude, juvenile, or base in your conversation, I might be disgusted, and ask you to stop or leave the room. You may think having giggly conversations about mature topics makes you mature. I respectfully disagree.

Me? Cranky?


* see: French Kiss, with Meg Ryan-- Fester, fester, fester. Rot, rot, rot.

Reflections on the Olden Days

So the other day I saw a little girl with one of these:



Why didn't they have these when I was 5? Hmm??

On the other hand, I had the original muppet show, new episodes of Mr. Rogers, the original Scooby Doo, and many other treats. Now the poor kids have dolls with abnormally large feet dressed inappropriately, cartoons where everyone has freakishly large eyes, and the pressure from their peers to get a cell phone when they are 7. They're totally missing out.

I know, I'm showing my age.

But seriously. When I was a little kid, I remember things being carefree. I remember the city I grew up in having lots of trees, and the main road that is now 6 lanes wide being 2, or maybe it was 4, lanes wide, and the traffic not being completely aggravating. I remember playing with the neighbor kids every day. I don't remember my friends being booked up every night of the week with soccer and dance and Camp Fire and karate and art classes. Not that I object to any of those things. But when I have parents tell me they are out every night of the week taxi-ing their kids around, I think, "are you serious?" I'm unsure when these kids are finding the time to learn how to participate in unstructured play. In the little free time they do have, they are hooked up to something electronic. Kids shouldn't be bored if they don't have an electronic device to entertain them. If they are, that's a red flag. Take the thing away from them. Send them outside.

Kids with the best imaginations are the ones that don't have ten million toys and gadgets to entertain them. They are the ones that make the stick into the sword, or the shoeboxes into the barbie mansion,, or the dirt into little rivers (with the aid of a shovel and the hose) or the sheet into the fort. Those are the things I look back on and treasure from my childhood, not the fancy cabbage patch kid that I probably begged and begged and begged for. Yes, she was special, because I only got one "real" one. But the dolls my mom made for me are the ones that I want to keep forever. The homemade blocks I had to play with are more memorable than many of the storebought toys I played with.

Certain family members might mock. Yes, I have always been a tv-aholic, and I spent alot of time in front of the tv as I grew. BUT, I also was an avid reader and spent hours in my room reading books. I also loved my bike, and rode it for hours and hours. I wrote stories that my sister mocked (not that I'm bitter), and I earned awards in church and Camp Fire as I grew older. I had plenty of down time, and I have fond memories of the calm and happiness my simple schedule allowed me. People seem to be under the delusion that giving your child everything you can think of is giving them the best childhood. But really, they're just going to end up with a feeling of entitlement and no imagination. And also no memories of just being a kid.

(As a side note I think adults are overbooking themselves too. Hi, kettle, I'm the pot.)

Put down the calendar and walk away slowly.

I Don't Know.

People are going to begin to talk. I somehow managed to give myself this the other day.

No one has asked yet, but this combined with other recent injuries could cause people to talk...

There'll be a Hot Time In My Bedroom Tonight...

I can't believe you. You totally went there, didn't you? I was simply going to share with you the story of my lamp. But whatever, make assumptions.

So the other night, I was sitting quietly in my bedroom, possibly watching MI:5 or some other netflix goodness. I can't really recall what I was doing due to the trauma and all. Anyways, as I sat there quietly contemplating what Mr. Darcy and I will name our children, I heard this kind of pop, pop, fizzle. And I smelled this ooky burnt plastic smell. And I looked over and saw smoke. Coming out of my lamp. And the fizzing was sounding awfully like the sound of a fire that was about to catch. Not good. So I very carefully turned off the lamp, at which point the fizzing stopped. And I very carefully unplugged the lamp, very carefully walked down my stairs with the lamp, very carefully donned my shoes, very carefully opened the door and walked across the parking lot, and very carefully deposited said lamp into the dumpster.

The good news is that my house is still standing.

Also I have a new lamp.

HOW Can You WEAR those???

Have you ever worn high heels and had another woman look at you like you had watermelon on your feet and say "HOW can you wear those?" I have. And I find it irritating. I confess, I enjoy a good pair of shoes with very high heels. I think they are cute, and I like being tall. And contrary to the belief of certain women, they are generally comfortable, if you buy the right kind. Cheaper high heels often come with little padding, or misplaced padding. So if you shop for your shoes at a cheap shoe store, of course you don't like wearing high heels. But really, don't you think it's a little rude to exclaim in disgust at my fashion choices? Especially if you are someone that hardly knows me? I don't exclaim in disgust "HOW can you wear that hideous shapeless skirt and that blouse with the kitten print?" Because I am polite.

A Representation of My Week

As interpreted by cats.

Shoosh.

I watch Top Chef on Bravo, and tonight I'm doing a little catchup. I'm a few weeks behind, so if you watch it don't spoil it for me. I'm currently watching the improv episode, where the chefs are in teams of two and have to do a dish that represents an emotion, a color, and one food as assigned by the comedians at an improv show they went to. I really, really wish that a few of the women would stop talking. One chef in particular, let's call her eyebrow piercing girl, tells us each week when they are given the challenge that she is not going to "dumb down" her food to please the masses, meaning cook food that is simple and something normal people like to eat. She needs to shoosh.

Don't get me wrong, I can appreciate fancy shmancy food. I like rich food, and fancy food, and I want to try some of the dishes they cook on here. But seriously, you're too good for barbecue? Because that's what she was whining about last week. Because apparently only the stupid people of the masses eat barbecue. Smart people eat sea bass and purple potato, and stupid people eat polish sausage. Just ask eyebrow piercing girl. Who I am hoping gets the boot tonight. She is a total potty mouth, by the way, and so negative I want to kick her.

Estrogen Overload is an Understatement

Last week I went back to my alma mater, BYU, to attend a Women's Conference with my mom and my aunt. I was very excited to return to what was for four years my home (more to come on that in a later post). But imagine thousands of women all on one campus. There was much crafting. And a LOT of estrogen. I'm sure whatever men were left on campus wanted very badly to flee for their lives. And also they probably wanted their bathrooms back, because most of the campus bathrooms were changed to Women's restrooms for the weekend to accomodate all the women. (Question: WHY do women take so long in the bathroom? I should not have to stand in line that long. It's ridiculous.)

The highlights of the conference for me, other than being back at my school, were a few of my favorite speakers.

On Thursday, the opening speaker was Sheri Dew.

She gives articulate, insightful talks, filled with firm doctrinal principles and practical ways to apply the gospel in your life. I enjoy her. To read her talks you can look at lds.org and search for Sheri Dew in the gospel library.

Her talk this time was no exception. She addressed the belief by some that in order to have influence, a woman has to have money, fame, or a title. This, she said, is a big fat lie. I don't remember if she used those exact words, but that was basically the idea behind them. She possibly was more eloquent than that.

At the close of the conference the president of my church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints), Thomas S Monson (no relation) spoke.

I got to sit down on the floor of the Marriot Center for both of these talks, which for those of you who aren't familiar with BYU, is a basketball stadium that seats about 29,000. So I was super close. Close enough to take the pictures above. It was cool.

President Monson is a prophet, and when you're in the same room with him the feeling of the spirit of peace is almost tangible. This time he talked about not putting off till tomorrow what you can do now. You know, like telling people you love them, or getting your education, or taking that job, or learning how to yodel. So based on his talk, I hereby resolve to eliminate "some day" and "one day" from my vocabulary. Expect further posts on what I will do now, instead of some day. Once I figure out what those things are. Also, I liked President Monson's advise to never let a problem to be solved become more important than a person to be loved. Food for thought.

How to Behave in Public, Lesson 1

JennaL and I went to see The Producers at a local theatre in Salt Lake City the other night. The story was just starting to pick up, and suddenly I noticed a small glowy light to my left. No, it was not a fairy. The woman sitting next to me had pulled out her cell phone and opened it up, and exited the theatre with her cell phone at her side. At this point, my thought was, "Is someone dying? Because if someone's dying by all means leave your phone on and take calls during a theatrical production. But then again, if someone is dying, do you think that perhaps this was not the night to be going to the theatre?" I did not say it. I was very tempted to, but I did not. When the lady came back in, she sat down and commenced to tell her theatre companion all about the call in a voice that would not qualify as a whisper by anyone's definition, and her companion answered her back in what was definitely not his 3 inch voice.

Lesson Summary: When at the theatre, turning off your ringer is not enough. You must also refrain from answering the phone. You must also resist using your three foot voice. Three inch voices only.