Jiggety Jig

There's a preliminary paragraph of whining and then some cool stories. Stick around dear readers.

I'm home in Portland. We flew out Monday night, and it was extremely unpleasant. I've mentioned it before, but I have a problem with my ears when I fly. I don't know what it is, or why it happens, except that I suspect my Eustachian tubes (connecting my ears and my throat) are blocked in some way. Imagine someone taking a wooden dowel, half an inch in diameter, and lighting it on fire. Now imagine that someone taking that dowel and forcing it into both of your ears, pushing it in as far as it will go. And then some more. In any event it leaves me weeping and clawing at my ears in public most every plane ride I take. I'm also left partially deaf for several days after. My ears are only clear when I tilt my head forward and stare at the ground. I'm not looking forward to the trip back to Provo. Also, I got sick my first day back. What a trip this has been.

Not much happened our first night back, except that my brother F needed to be picked up from work around 11:45, and my mom was in bed already and H was playing Cranium, so they sent me. And what did I drive? The Buick skylark that my dad bought from the old lady across the street's daughter for $250. H told me the basics - where the lights were on this car, and sent me out to the driveway. I spent a few more minutes acquainting myself with the car so I wouldn't die driving it- you know, finding out how to work the broken parking brake handle, finding the locks, how to fasten the seat belt, all the essentials. And man alive, I love that car. It's a beater with a capital B. It's got this old fashioned steering wheel that I'd kill to have. It's just the sort of car Optimistic. wouldn't let me buy, and don't tell Eunice, but I think I'd trade her in for this car. It's a true old lady car and deserves the name Eunice more than my Galant. Anyway, I hope to get to drive it more while I'm here.

Once I had F home we went to the computer and I got out all the music I'd brought with me. Have you heard of Of Montreal? He countered by asking me if I'd seen the youtube video collection of Hooch from Scrubs. Good times were had.

I mostly was sick yesterday, so I stayed in my pajamas for a long time, went through some of my old stuff I had stored downstairs, and sneezed uncontrollably. My mom was watching a little girl for the day, who pestered me when all I wanted to do was sit down and eat my Raisin Bran. Normally I can humor children with the best of them, chatting about their stuffed rabbits dressed like hip-hop artists and whatnot, but she wouldn't leave me alone, was tugging on the towel on my head, was running around me, and was tugging at my bowl of cereal, until I flat out told her "I'm sick. I don't have time for this" and retreated to the family room to eat in peace.

It was a fairly uneventful night, and those of us in our room all went to bed around 10:30. I woke up around 1:30 to find a half eaten pizza on the table and H and her best friend Alexis in the office. Hooray! Apparently Alexis works at Papa Murphy's now, which is where the pizza and the following stories are from.

Despite being voted the best pizza chain in the nation, the Papa Murphy's branch that Alexis works at employs crack users. All of her coworkers do drugs, some of them in the walk-in at work even. A large, rosy cheeked, wholesome looking boy makes pizzas for a drug dealer he knows who's too poor to eat. I suspect he's not a very good drug dealer. A couple who work there apparently got into a fight when they were alone running the store. The wife got a promotion, and the husband accused her of sleeping with the supervisor. They left the store to continue fighting, shutting everything down. The supervisor gets a call that the store is shut down, so he's forced to drive down from Vancouver on his weekend that he has off to celebrate his first anniversary to see what's up. Another coworker had just arrived to work only to find the store closed. Then she finds the couple sitting in their car in the parking lot next door, tells the supervisor, and he goes to find out what the crack is going on. The wife is weeping inconsolably, the husband is staring straight ahead. When the supervisor approaches them, the man gets out of the car, throws his uniform at the supervisor, says he quits, then leaves his wife in the parking lot and drives off. Nobody talks about it now.

Karina is another coworker, who used to do meth, but is all sober because she only drinks and does pot now. She's under 21 and can't legally buy alcohol. Her mom was having a party, so when Karina got home her mom sent her into the back. When she turned on the light she found a near rabid raccoon in the room with her. When she came out to tell her mom about its presence, her mom pointed her finger at her and said, "That's my raccoon. I tamed it. Don't you go bothering it." Pure madness is what I say, but I never laughed so hard as I did when I pictured this girl's half drunk mother lecturing her about her tamed raccoon.

Also, their store was broken into, but it was by someone who knew the code and how to turn off the security cameras, so it was definitely an employee. They all assumed it was the jealous husband who had quit, but then they got the tapes from the nearby Rite Aid, and they discovered it was some petite blond girl they work with. Alexis had been counting everything in the cash drawer earlier that week and had discovered that they were $200 over, and she mentioned it to the girl and asked what she should do. The girl replied in a falsely innocent, almost mocking tone, "Gee Alexis, I don't know. What should you do with $ 200 extra dollars? Hmmm." And faced with this girl's implication that they should take the money, Alexis said she'd just ask the supervisor what to do with it. Then they were robbed. No one has seen the girl since.

Alexis also informed me that H talks on the phone in her sleep. "What, like she calls people up?" I asked. "No, she answered her phone during her nap." Only when Alexis was telling me this she said she'd called during "Nap" and I interjected that it sounded like it was a time of day for H - I can picture her saying "Well, after Nap I've got to go to work."

Anyway, Alexis called her and H answered her phone even though she was asleep. It went something like this-

H: Hello?
Alexis: Hey, were you asleep?
H: (groggily defensive, because she actually is asleep) No! I'm awake.
A: (confused) Oh. Okay. How was the beach trip?

H went on to tell her all about the ward beach trip before introducing the subject of tigers.

H: And then we were divided into groups and we were the tigers.
Alexis: Wait, what? After you got back you were tigers?
H: What? No, the tigers turned into T-shirts.
Alexis: The tigers were T-shirts?
H:The T-shirts were T-shirts!
Alexis: What T-shirts?

It was at this point that H woke up to find herself in mid conversation with a phone in her hand, and she very legitimately asked Alexis "Wait, what T-shirts?"

I wish I'd brought my tape recorder.

X marks the spot

I had my last day of work on Friday, which made for a very unusual week. It was the week between EFY and Education Week when finals are going on, so there was absolutely nothing to do at work. Nothing. Our set board, usually a twelve page list of rooms to set up and take down, was only two pages long. So I had some cleaning projects I embarked upon.

One was to clean a staircase in the back of the cougareat that leads up to a third floor catering kitchen. It was actually a lot of fun because it was filthy, covered with all sorts of old food stains and shoe marks. The best part was that just as I started cleaning I heard krebscout's voice from below, and after making a crack about her mother's father I revealed myself and we got to talk while we both worked. Me cleaning stairs and her slicing a billion loaves of cheese bread. I can't even tell you how nice it was.

Tuesday and Wednesday the ballroom had been reserved for me especially to clean out all the chandeliers in the ballroom using the lift machine. Only two of us are lift certified, and the other person is afraid of heights, so the task fell to me. I cleaned 15 of the 24 on the first day, and saved the rest for Wednesday. It was while cleaning chandelier #18 that one of them dropped. I watched helplessly as the giant glass bowl I was cleaning detached itself from the ceiling and slid down its three foot shaft. It caught on the small round bit at the bottom that holds the light bulbs, but now instead of hanging by eight wires it was only staying attached by four. That scared the crap out of me. I was 30 feet up in the air at the time so I was more than a little worried about my safety. A maintenance guy, my boss, and the head of the building got involved, and the chandelier was screwed back in. I was told not to twist them excessively. I hadn't twisted this last one very much at all, so it was really unnerving to know that I didn't know whether any of them were secure or not. I hurried through cleaning the rest of them. I just wanted to be done with them.

When not cleaning the chandeliers on those days I cleaned the catering kitchen. The walls are spattered with all sorts of what I hope is soup and the baseboards were filthy. Unfortunately it allowed for a lot of time to think, which wasn't so great. Mainly all I could think of was the fact that I was leaving my job on Friday. I want to say I don't know why it has affected me as much as it has, but that's not entirely true. It's just hard to push past my emotions and put it into words. Mainly it's because it's change, and because I won't get to see my coworkers anymore. And it's that I've been working there for 23 months. All of my college experience is tied into my job. Never having been very studious I always put work before schoolwork. I made my job a large part of who I was.

I discovered that I was afraid of two things - of not being needed, and being needed, so it was hard to console myself. I scrubbed and scrubbed, trying desperately to leave my mark by removing those on the walls. Everything I saw reminded me that I was leaving. That marble. I'll never have another chance to clean that marble!

Wednesday is when my coworkers and I finally started the treasure hunt. I'd talked about it for awhile, but was finally moved to action now that I was leaving. We made clues and traveled to obscure places in the building to leave them. Above the varsity theatre, on the catwalks above the ballroom, in the glass display case with the cougar, etc. It was fun sneaking around and leaving clues, and I felt better in a way.

Thursday we got to go exploring with the building coordinator, who took us to some of the Wilk's lesser known places, like the 7th floor, and into the ventilation shafts on the first floor. The first floor was the most fun, because of the wind tunnel. There's a door you can open to access the ventilation system for the building, and opening it is nearly impossible because of the incredible pressure of the air behind it. It's freezing and it's a struggle to fight your way into the tunnel, but once you're inside the pressure is less. Exiting the tunnel is also a challenge because in front of you is a cement wall, and jumping out of the tunnel with so much force behind you leaves you in danger of being splatted against this wall. So you have to jump and try to swerve around the corner to the right as much as possible.

Friday we finished the treasure hunt and made a trophy to put in the final spot with some Twinkies as a prize, because we figured they'd stand the test of time. There's a good chance no one will find the treasure, but it was fun hiding it just the same. And my boss brought in ice cream for my last day, which was incredibly thoughtful of her.

Friday I did everything for the last time - punched in and out, dropped my keys, turned in my radio, hugged everyone goodbye, and I cleaned out my locker. Two years worth of memories that were taped up inside of there are now in a large bag on the floor of my room. It was all very final when I walked away. Except I went back there on Sunday for church and I think it was a little too soon. It's silly really, but I was fighting back tears all throughout sacrament meeting. The chair in front of me had been scribbled on with a grey crayon. A Mr. Clean magic eraser will take that off. And Optimistic. had a bit of string he was playing with at one point that he tied around the chair in front of him. Vandal. In Relief Society all I could think was, "I miss my work" and try as I might to distract myself by singing "start wearing purple, wearing purple" in my head I couldn't get away from the thought. I miss my work. I saw that the moving partition was broken at the bottom, and that the white board needed cleaning. Who was going to call that in? Who was going to clean that? And worst of all was hearing the Elder's Quorum next door stacking their chairs. That was too much for me. It's a good thing church was over at that point, because I needed to leave that building. All of this is me being ridiculous and overly sentimental -I know that, but it doesn't change anything.

Vomit and why I like it OR How I spent my summer vacation by Genuine M. Draft

Let's start with the fact that I'm a custodian and I spend my time cleaning up after other people; people who don't understand the use of trashcans, reading bright yellow closed signs, or aiming. It gets old at times, putting up with these people. And some days there aren't any rooms to set up and I'm faced with the prospect of going and dusting something, anything, just to fill the time. And that's where the miracle of the vomit comes in.

For reasons not entirely understood I don't have a dislike for vomit. It's not just that I don't mind it either - it's that I love going and cleaning it up. And it happens without fail that if it's slow at work, someone somewhere it the building will decide to retch without making it to a receptacle. And we get a call at the supply desk.

It used to be that a general call would go out over our radios. "802, someone threw up in the women's restroom on the third floor by the elevator, is there anyone available to clean that up?" or "802, we just got a call from the convention in the ballroom and they said there's vomit in one of the booths. Could one of you find where that is exactly?" and I'd be thinking "memememememe, oooh, me! Pick me!" and answer the call as quickly as possible, hoping to be the first one to get a crack at it. What happens now though, is that they know to just call me first.

"802 Genuine?"

"Go ahead."

"Could you please come down to 1086?"

"Absolutely. I'll be right there."

Apparently no one else is leaping at the chance to clean it up. So I get gloves and bio hazard bags and go in search of the vomit. I guess I like it because it's something different. Different from the normal sets and bathrooms we do, and different every time, because just like a snowflake, no pile of puke is ever the same. Each incident is unique and presents its own set of challenges.

One thing I've learned - vomit is only fun to clean up for the first half hour or so. After that it's incredibly unpleasant. I had a case at the beginning of the summer where someone had thrown up in a small back room of BYUSA. The room was narrow, cluttered, not well ventilated, and as for the vomit, there was a lot of it. I assessed the situation as best I could and set to work, but it was rather difficult. The main problem was that this girl had upchucked on the piano she'd been sitting at. All I could think of was all the lectures I've been given as a custodian to be careful with the pianos, don't scratch the pianos, make sure you keep covers on the pianos, and here somebody had gone and vomited all over one. It was between the keys even.

Another tricky thing was that the room was carpeted. I can't just mop that up and call it good like I can do when I'm working with tile. I had to get a machine with a hose that sprays chemicals and also sucks up the puke, and it's hard because you have to get right down into the mess to clean it properly and try to do it without actually kneeling in anything unpleasant. I was in there for an hour and a half, and what boggles my mind is that during this whole procedure there were people in this tiny room trying to hold a meeting over the noise of my vomit slurping machine. It reeked in there, the way only bodily fluids can, and I was left to wonder why on earth they couldn't have finished up what they had to talk about in another room. I chalked it up to insanity.

I started a post back in June about vomit, and I titled it Not For [L'afro], because I know how much of a vomiphobe she is. The fact is, I became violently ill after going out to eat and I threw up 25 times. That was probably the least pleasant experience of my life. Up until then I'd been on good terms with Ralph - we understood each other quite clearly - you're sick, so I'm going to come up, pay you a call, and then you'll feel better. And I believed him after the first time I threw up, because it does make you feel better, but the following 24 times I cursed his name. What more could he possibly have to bring up? What more could I possibly have in me?! I was empty I tell you, empty!

The ironic thing was that I'd been having a discussion at work the last couple of days about vomit. I asked people if they had anything they threw up into as a child, aside from the toilet. I'm talking about when you've already been pronounced sick and you're sleeping on the couch in the living room. What do your parents put next to you in case you have to hurl and can't make it to the bathroom? Most families have a set thing they use - a specific bowl or a pot. There's a wide range of things. Someone told me they had a towel laid next to them on the floor, another person I know has a designated barf bucket they keep in the garage. Our family uses a brown paper grocery bag.

It seems like the only logical choice to me, but that's because it's what I grew up with. I mean, it's disposable. None of this "you yammied in this skillet yesterday, but today we're making omelets in it" business. I think that's disgusting. No. We used a grocery bag, its edges folded over. I asked my dad once why he did that, why he folded down the edges and he said something about it being easier to grip. I can't quite remember now. But I do know that when I was sick this last time I got out a brown paper sack and the first thing I did was to turn the edges down. (My dad could do it consistently without tearing the bag at all. I am not as gifted.) From what I've seen it helps the bag keep its form. It stays open this way, so there are no worries about missing the mouth of the bag when you've got to use it in the dark. I also like the bag, because it serves as a trash can. By the end of my stay on the sofa I had thrown used tissues in there, as well as some watermelon rind.

People do ask about leaking. Doesn't a brown paper sack leak? I assured them I had no memories of it ever leaking. Maybe this was because by the time you're placed on the sofa with the bag next to you, your preliminary puking has already been completed, and so the bag doesn't suffer much from use. It's merely there as a back up. And, I always had my mom there to switch out my bag if it needed switching. This last time the follow up vomit was not at all mild. It was plentiful. And there was no one to switch my bag because M-Lite had gone out of town, so my bag leaked and I had to make a dash with it to the front porch. I knew I should have double bagged. The second time I did the sensible thing and lined my sack with a plastic garbage can liner. But it was still a paper sack at its core, and I stand by my decision to use grocery bags.

There are other times besides when you're sick that you really need to hurl. There's a small amusement park near us at home called Oaks Park, and we went there at least once or twice every summer, for school or church trips or just as a family. Without fail, I would throw up every time I went. It's the spinny rides that do it to me, and in my head I have a list of rides I know I shouldn't let myself go on - Teacups, tilt-a-whirl, the round-up, the Matterhorn, the spider, the squirrel cages - nope, not a one of them. And a list of rides I can go on - The haunted mine and Big Pink (the giant slide). The Ferris wheel is iffy. It doesn't make me sick in and of itself, but I would go on it after I'd gone on a fast ride to give my stomach a break and I'd end up puking while riding it. I hit a guy that was beneath me on the Ferris wheel once, and I was so glad to get off before him.

I know this about myself, that if I go, I'm going to throw up while I'm there, so I would bring a plastic bread bag with me. It'd be there in my pocket, and when (not if) I needed to throw up, I'd pull it out, do my thing, tie it off, and throw it away when I got off the ride. This was standard amusement park attending procedure for me. Except the last time I was feeling sick on one of their rinky-dink rides and I pulled out a bag to puke into it didn't quite work. I puked into my bread bag, proud that I had averted disaster, until I noticed that my lap felt awfully warm. Come to find out the bag had a hole in it, so it had ended up all over me anyway, and I was left holding the bag. When we met up at the van to go home my mom asked if everyone had had a good time. H2 said she was mad because she'd wanted to go on the Matterhorn, but some idiot had thrown up on it and they'd shut it down. All I could say was, "Oh, sorry. That was me."

And there are dozens of more stories -the vomit in our basement that's been there for at least ten years, the time H got sick at school and laid out in the hallway by the nurse's room writhing in agony as people passed by, all the times I threw up on the school bus in elementary school and had to watch it slosh up and down the aisle when we went up hills, and I've got a great one from when I worked at the preschool. But there's only so much time and space I'm willing to devote to this subject. Perhaps one day I'll publish a series of vomit vignettes. Until then, this is Genuine Draft saying, "Come back next time, and feel free to vomit at my place of work."

and like thunderous applause, the rain descended

I've had that sentence milling about my head for several weeks.

A couple of weeks ago I had to go and put fliers on the doors of the people in my ward as I do every week for my church calling. So I took Optimistic. with me and we headed over to the complex. It was wonderful outside - one of those dark and stormy night type evenings, with more than a summer's breeze blowing - more like a small gale. The apartments were all dark when we arrived. Apparently the whole block had lost power. And in true old ward fashion, everyone was out on their balconies enjoying it. From far away I saw flames coming from in front of #15 and more than anything I hoped it was a trashcan fire. Upon closer inspection it was just somebody responsible using their grill to shed light and warmth. Rats. But still, there were people partying a little and somewhere in the distance someone was setting off firecrackers. It made me so pleased to see all this. I realized how much I'd missed the chaos that comes from living in the old ward, where people are slightly crazy and fun-loving. Just my kind of people.

And like I said, the weather was perfect. It was warm with a large enough gust factor to cool things off and make it chaotic at the same time. I love being out of doors in weather like that. I have a faint memory of leaving the old Beaverton library as a child one summer's evening carrying a stack of books, and I thought to myself that the weather at that moment was perfect. It was another evening with a breeze.

And the day after I got back from Yellowstone the sky opened up and unleashed biblical amounts of rain on this small town. I opened every window in the house to let the cool in, to let the smell in, to welcome in the sound of such a downpour. The rain makes me happy beyond all reason, blustery summer evenings make me ecstatic, and quiet, still, evenings spent laying in the grass are enough to make me think that this world we live in is perfect.

50 ways to leave your lover

Sometimes at work we pick up notes and things that EFYers have left behind. We did it all last summer to amuse ourselves, and it really did help pass the time. Everyone kept an eye out, and usually several people would come up to me each day and say, "Genuine, I have a note for you" and I'd add it to the collection. I have a large manila envelope in my locker at work labeled EFY 2006 filled with doodles, notes, and miscellaneous things we found while cleaning. Most of the notes are the " Do you like Katelin? Brenda says she doesn't like Josh anymore after what he said at the dance, so she sat by Kevin on Thursday and then Melissa's hair...." type of notes, which amuse me to no end to read. Some are salacious, and I wonder if the parents of these kids know what their kids are up to. I meant to make them into a giant collage or something but never found the time. Perhaps the best note from that year was a poem by Jeremy Moore titled Soggy French Fries. It was laughably atrocious, and up until today had been the jewel of our collection. But today I found the best EFY note to date, which I will now share with you. Also, it's all crossed out in places as though someone put a lot of thought into their choice of words. And I left in the original spelling. Here it is, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Dearest love
thinking of you sends me
spinning through
a whirlwind of sparkles
and dream.
our souls haven't ever
met but I know we are
perfect for
eachother like sugar and cream.
the image of your face
glows in my mind like
worms under a black light.
all the sudden I am soaring
swooping and you help me
take flight in the night with no light,
after a fight, lose my sight....yeah
right, are your pants tight?
when my hands aren't
hugging yours, my soul
weeps but then I start to smile
because I know from my one
sock to my other sock that I
will have that majestic opportunity
in a short while.

remember when, like deer, we frolicked
through feilds of luscious rocks
in new york.

Then I hated when you took me
to that slotter house where they
surved nothing but
potent pork

*also, on the side there's this crossed out sentence -"Bam, snap, dig, growl, I imagine myself with a sword in my foot"

Like that time you ate crisco, thinking it was something else

I'm mainly updating this because I know my family reads it and I haven't posted in a month. I only really have my day to day things to report on, and all of you readers here in Provo already know what's up. Most of you were there for this last month, so reading this will be old hash. Or maybe it's old hat. I don't remember how the saying goes.

First things first, Happy Birthday to my sister F2, who I hope is having a smashing time on her birthday.

Optimistic. and I took a billion engagement pictures yesterday, or rather, L'afro took the pictures while we tried to look our best. M-Lite did our hair first, and she and Optimistic.'s sister came along as our on-shoot advisors. It was hot out, but we still managed to have some fun I think, if only because we got frosties afterward. We're taking some more on Saturday with Olympus which should be fun.

News since last time -a group of us went swimming at a pond in Mona when CJ was in town, and man was that fun. I like having people like him and Dean in town because they make me want to do spontaneous things, like drive to Wyoming in the middle of the night to buy fireworks. Also, because he's got great stories and a laid back attitude that I like. We swam at the pond, got muddy and burnt, ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, returned to our respective childhoods and just generally had a good time. It was krebscout's idea, and I'm glad she had it. Laying there in the grass listening to people play the guitar, drying off in the sun after a nice swim - it was heavenly. Later that same day was our Canada Day celebration, which I enjoyed immensely, for obvious reasons. I think a good time and a lot of root beer was had by all. After watching Strange Brew we went back to my house and lit sparklers and groundblooms.

The Monday after that we went to a concert at Muse which was ear drum shatteringly entertaining. Then when we went to the hospital cafe to eat we almost got kicked out by one of the security guards for being a little too loud. Sometimes when we're all hanging out, or out eating, or out driving around and having a good time I'm overcome with glee, and I think, "This is what college living is all about- hanging out with the people that make you happy". Needless to say, I like my friends a whole lot. The Maoist even came to Canada Day and brought me an engagement present - a 22 pound watermelon. She knows me too well. Also in town that weekend was Optimistic.'s dad, who also brought us a gift; our first wedding present in fact. It's the new quieter Boggle, hooray!

We also bought a car. We'd decided to buy one before the summer was out, as Optimistic. will need something to drive to school/work every day. Well, a car presented itself and we bought it. It's a 2002 Mitsubishi Galant. We named her Eunice, mainly because it needed a name and because Optimistic. thinks that by naming the car Eunice it will deter me from naming a child Eunice. We'll see.

That was all at the end of June and I'm trying to think of what I've been up to since then. Not much I guess. I did go to the doctor for a work related thing with my arms. Basically, my forearms hurt from work, which isn't surprising seeing as how I've spent the last two years stacking and unstacking tables and chairs. Anyway, I have to take anti-inflammatories for a little bit and I'm not allowed to lift anything more than 10 pounds, which is very frustrating. My first day at work after my appointment I went to move a ladder and realized I wasn't allowed to. I've also found that in addition to tables, chairs, and ladders, I cannot move piano benches, microwaves, regular benches, heavy bags of trash, and scads of other things I'm accustomed to moving around. It's hard to keep myself from doing it, but I know it's for the best. I was actually eating lunch the other day and I realized that my hands hurt from opening ketchup packets. Ketchup packets of all things. Oh well.

Also, my ride to Portland fell through, so I'm not going home for all of August, just for a week with M-Lite to go to Sliquefy's reception and to fly H down to school for the Fall. I'm also looking for a job/putting off looking for a job because I hate the idea of changing everything about my life. I need to find something for the Fall because I won't be a student, and therefore can't work most places on campus. We'll see what turns up I guess.

I think the main thing I'm forgetting to mention is that I moved. I'm in a little house in my old ward and I love it. I don't know what it is, but this house felt like home before I even moved in.

I also had a wonderful weekend this last weekend, but I think I'll have to save that for another time. Those of you here in town that know me, know that I have a notebook I write down quotes in. Maybe for a future post I'll put down some of my favorites. Most of them make sense only to me because I was there and happened to find something somebody said funny, if only because my brain is somewhat off kilter.

I'm also going to Yellowstone on the 27th, and I'm really excited to be spending some time with Optimistic. and his family up at their cabin. I've been told that a lot of card playing and watching of the game show network will be involved. Also, geysers. Oodelally.

Basically, I've been having the time of my life. I'm young and in love, and I'm living with some awesome roommates with more to come in the Fall. All these things conspire to make me happy.

Happy Father's Day

It's Father's Day, so I've decided to post the Father Draft top ten. These are the vital life lessons/rules I've been taught over the years by my dad.

1. Never shoot someone just once

2. If you're surrounded by a gang while in your car, run them over

3. Never kick a volleyball. It's not a soccer ball, it's a delicate piece of sporting equipment

4. Never scream unless you're being murdered

5. Never slam doors

6. Don't leave things (like shoes) in highly trafficked areas

7. Never throw a gun to the ground - it might discharge accidentally

8. Always double tie your shoelaces

9. Always lock your car doors, even if you're driving at the time

10. Don't lie

So that's the top ten, and now I'm going to explain how some of them came to be/why I think they're important.

Numbers 1 and 7 are just two of several safety tips about guns. Our dad made a point of teaching us about guns in our family, his reasoning being that we might need to defend ourselves someday. There was a time I was watching a movie on T.V. with my mom. I think it's called Sleeping With the Enemy. Some Julia Roberts movie where she's trying to escape from her obsessive husband, only he finds her and they have it out in the end. Anyway, she has a gun and she goes about everything all wrong. We sat there screaming at the television set, unable to understand how she could possibly justify her actions. (You don't ever hold a gun away from you like that; somebody could knock it out of your hand.) We watched in horror as she made error after error. She actually manages to shoot the guy, and after he falls to the ground, what does she do? She collapses to the floor in tears, dropping the gun (you idiot, what are you thinking?!) right next to the body of her husband (why would you place a lethal weapon within the reach of someone who's trying to kill you? You deserved to have him find you Julia) who of course is not actually dead (you only shot him once! Do you really think one bullet is going to stop anybody?!), and who springs to life with the gun in his hand ready to kill her before he actually dies. It was painful to watch. If you're shooting to kill, do it right and empty the clip into the person.

Numbers 2 and 9. Very important. At some point after learning how to drive, our dad gives each of us a lecture about cars. Locking your doors is just good common sense no matter where you live. And that applies to when you're in the car as well as when you leave it parked somewhere. All growing up we kept a baseball bat in our van in case of carjackers, and whomever was sitting next to the big sliding door was responsible for wielding "the kiddie bat" as we called it. You never know when somebody will try and jump into your car. Our dad also told us we had his permission to run over gangs. He said that too often you hear about some woman or another who's surrounded and trapped in her car, helpless to do anything. Well let's see. They're a gang, so they probably have knives or bats or something. What do you have? Oh, right. You're sitting behind the wheel of a machine that weighs a couple thousand pounds. Run them over lady! Also, if you think you're being followed, drive to the nearest police station. And take different routes home from places. Don't have too set of a routine -it just makes it easier for somebody to follow you. Another fun thing is that whenever we got into the family van we checked for the Boogie man to see if he was hiding behind the back seat. That was somewhat terrifying as a child.

I can't emphasize how important number 3 is. I cringe whenever I see someone kick a volleyball. What are they thinking? A volleyball is very delicate and requires just the right amount of air. You should never play with a volleyball that is flat or overinflated. It's damaging to the ball.

Number 8 is just good common sense. Why waste your time having to retie your shoelaces all the time when you can tie them securely the first time and be done with it? No tripping over loose laces, no having to stop on the blacktop every five minutes. Also, I think it's just more convenient for parents who have kids who can't tie their own laces yet. Having worked at a preschool I know the advantages of double tying. Bony M also worked at a preschool, and I think the story goes that as she kneeling down to tie some little boy's shoes he commented how good her hair smelled. And soon all the little boys were coming to her to tie their shoes. I guess once they got out of her sight they'd untie their laces and come back.

Number 10 is to never lie. "Even to cops?" I asked my dad once, knowing he generally thinks cops can't be trusted. He said no, especially not to cops. Lying will make a situation worse and on top of that it's just wrong.

Numbers 4, 5 and 6 (come on and get your kicks) are rules we had in our house that were probably put in place to preserve my parents' sanity. With 8 kids running around I don't blame them. It was just generally known that you didn't scream or slam doors - our dad hated when we did that. If someone threw a fit and stormed off to their room in a huff, that was fine, but slamming the door in the process was never acceptable. It was one of the few things that would bring Dad out of his office. As for not leaving our shoes in the entryway, that's just common sense as well. Someone could trip and kill themselves. It's like in movies when somebody leaves a rollerskate on the stairs. It's funny on the silver screen but not in real life. My dad is probably most quoted as saying "Who left their shoes here?" and "There are too many people in the kitchen!"(We had a very small kitchen growing up. More than two people was kind of a tight fit, and that was if you didn't open the fridge or the dishwasher.) Shoes were supposed to be put away in the pantry or in the cubby. My family has a cubby, which I never realized how funny that was until I was older, that we have a cubby at our house for putting things in. Kindergartners have cubbies, and so does the Draft family.

There's also the list of things our dad told me growing up that are complete lies. Included on this list is the time he told me I didn't need to use conditioner. I never should have trusted him on that one, considering he's bald. I chose to follow his advice one Sunday with disastrous results. Also, (and he doesn't remember this) I asked him when I was little what all that purple stuff was on the horizon. What purple stuff? That purple stuff over there. Oh, that's the dump. And for years I believed him, that the mountains in the distance were piles of trash. That's one of my favorite lies though. He also says that you don't need to put mustard in the refrigerator, which could technically be true, but it's not something I'm going to find out for myself.

And there are scads of other fun memories in there as well, like the way my dad loves my mom and would always grab her and say to us kids, "You see this woman here? I love this woman" and we'd roll our eyes at the two of them in the kitchen. Things like that. I think I've typed enough. I just thought my family would appreciate having the top ten put down in black and white. Mostly I wanted to thank my dad for being who he is, for being half the reason I ended up the way I did, and to say Happy Father's Day.

ABCDEGH or (f)loss

*Warning: You won't want to read this whole thing. It's long because I don't know how to phrase things. Condensed version is this - It's me rambling about people that you've probably never met and how I feel like I'm losing everyone I know and care about. I can't recommend the short version enough.

(An enormously loud fluttering sound, perhaps from a book being dropped, awakens Genuine who is sleeping in the bed upstage Left. It is early in the morning. Roommate who made the noise is trying to be quiet.)

GENUINE: Hahahahahahahahahaha

(Roommate assumes Genuine is laughing in her sleep and continues trying to not make noise. Genuine goes back to sleep. An unspecified amount of time passes -the set is lighter now as sunlight pours through the open blinds, revealing just how messy the room really is. Roommate is leaning over Genuine's head, and Genuine awakens.)

ROOMMATE: Don't worry, I'm just trying to unplug my cell phone charger.

(Roommate moves to unplug her charger from the power strip located near Genuine's head in the gap between her desk and her bed. She is successful.)

ROOMMATE (straightening up) : Sorry about all the noise earlier.

GENUINE: Yeah, what was that? It woke me up and for some reason I thought it was hilarious. Very fluttery sounding.

ROOMMATE: I thought you were just laughing in your sleep.

GENUINE: I thought that you would think that.

(Chatter continues until Roommate moves to leave.)

ROOMMATE: Well, goodbye. See you in a week.

GENUINE: Where are you going?

ROOMMATE: Oh, did I not tell you either? I'm going to Yellowstone for a week for J's family reunion.

GENUINE (kicking her legs excitedly under her covers) : Room to myself!

GENUINE (stops kicking) : Wait, when are you coming back?

ROOMMATE: It gets over Friday, so maybe Saturday, but we'll probably stay through Sunday.

GENUINE: Oh, I'm moving Saturday.

ROOMMATE: This Saturday? This next Saturday?

(Genuine asks the date and the two confirm that she is in fact moving in a week.)

ROOMMATE: Oh. Well, have fun in your house. Leave your address.

GENUINE: Wait! Let me give you a hug in case I never see you again.

(The two embrace, Roommate exits downstage Right, and Genuine is left by herself)

THE END

Riveting stuff, I know. Class, what's wrong with this scene? Anyone?

Student A: Well, it's pretty boring for one thing. Why would somebody waste their time writing this?

Teacher: Well, you're right in a way- this scene is fairly mundane. But look closely. Do these characters do anything that strikes you as being out of the ordinary?

Student B: Umm, yeah. There's that one girl, umm, Genuine. Yeah. Well, the way she's acting doesn't really fit with what we've read about her so far. I mean, in ACT I she's pretty distant toward her roommates, but in this Act it's almost as if she likes them.

Teacher: You're absolutely right. This behavior is very uncharacteristic. Notice how at the end she requests to hug her roommate -we know that's not something that really fits with the way her character thinks or has acted in the past. She's being sentimental. Emotional even. Did you see how it ends with her alone in a dark room? It's a pretty obvious technique to convey her emotions through the setting. Well, I didn't say it was a good play. I really just showed it to you for practice reading, before we moved on to something a bit more complex, like say, Fern Gully! the musical. The message there is a little harder to pick up on. Try to notice the author's subtle use of nature.

Sorry about that drivel up there. Here's the deal - I realized yesterday that everyone was either leaving me or I was leaving them. A friend of mine just went into the MTC. A second friend from work had her last day yesterday before she goes on vacation before she also goes on a mission. Her farewell is tomorrow. Another girl from work is leaving in about a week. She's getting married. Her bridal shower is today. I'm moving in a week, away from my roommates I have now, which includes M-Lite, my sister and roommate for most of the past 20 years. (There was that one week when we weren't sisters.) And this morning I said goodbye to my other roommate because I probably won't see her before I move.

I'm a bit overcome by all of this -I've been feeling this enormous sense of loss pressing down on me for awhile now as I realize more and more that I'm never going to see most of these people again. I'm reminded that life goes on, that people move, people leave, people live, people die. I just don't want to have to put up with being one of those people.

The thing is, it takes me a long time to get used to people, and about the time I get attached, everyone goes their separate ways.

So, my one coworker who's leaving on mission, we'll call her Foggy. I didn't know her all that well in the beginning, because like I said, it takes me awhile to get to know people.Anyway, not knowing her as I did, I was under the impression that she was quiet and kind and polite. Coworker Jungle Jim always said that she was mean and none of us believed him, because I mean, look at this girl. She's blond and from Utah and just looks like she was cut out of a church magazine.

Anyway, I'd been wanting to get to know my coworkers outside of work, but was having trouble thinking of a way to go about it when Foggy solved the problem. She said her sister wanted to have a get together and she was supposed to invite some friends to this thing, the only problem being that she didn't have (m)any friends, and so she asked us if we would be interested in coming. It was a bold move on her part, not knowing whether we'd say yes or tell her to hit the road, but we were all really wanting to go, and we finally broke the coworker/friend barrier.

So we became friends outside of work, and I saw this girl for who she was. She has a mean sense of humor that I really like - she makes fun of people, but you know she's joking. I remember meeting her family and seeing how much they fought and being so relieved that they were normal. She's also very honest and demands that people be very blunt and open with her. If you're at her house at a party and she asks if you want to stay a bit longer and play games, it's okay to say that you're tired and would rather go home instead, and she won't think you're being impolite. I like that about her. She has a fair number of parties and things at her house and I realized that tomorrow is the last time I'll ever be over there. And I have no say in the matter - it's just being taken from me. These people and places are being taken from me and I'm helpless to stop it from happening.

H called me back in April when I got engaged and accused me of robbing her of her childhood. I wasn't allowed to get married because it would be damaging to her mental and emotional well-being. Well, join the club. I'm scared out of my mind about all the changes that are coming, and some of them are good even. Some are great. I'm going to be living with some awesome people this Summer and Fall. I've been looking forward to it for months now. Uffish, krebscout, Skye, Whistler, Ahem - I'm stoked to be living with you guys. And Winter semester I'll get a new roommate again, only he's kind of for forever and not just a semester.

It's just weighing on me, both the changes that are coming and the ones that are already upon me. I wish I had a little more control over things; over anything for that matter.

There's something M-Lite and I say sometimes from My Big Fat Greek Wedding when one of us is leaving the house. The father says in his little Greek accent, "Why you want to leave me?" and that's what I'm thinking about everything right now as I wonder why and how people go away and leave what they know to start something new.

eighteen divided by five. quick, what is it?

It's been five months and this floss is looking a little worse for the wear. It's gotten so that I don't even notice it anymore - it's just apart of my finger the way my glasses are apart of my face. I'm kind of not-so-secretly hoping it makes it to December for the wedding, because I think that it would be interesting to have in my pictures. Or to January. That would be cool, because then it will have been a whole year. Optimistic. and I count our anniversary as the 10th and my floss's anniversary is the 14th, so every time they both come around I think how I've had this piece of floss a whole month longer than I've had Optimistic.. Also, there is a definite groove around my pinkie and I'm wondering if it won't be permanent by the time this floss comes off. Heck, maybe it already is. What a cool scar that would be, and what a hard time I would have explaining why I let such a thing happen. And perhaps I'll get it something for our first anniversary. Something out of paper.

Well I'll Be

Incredible. A moment ago I was by the back sink putting on my face and a girl from the ward came back to the vanity area. She was dressed like a ninja. Didn't say a word; just marched in dressed in all black with a face mask and everything and a blue cape, and she proceeded to take our garbage. I just turned, eye liner in hand, and stared at her as she removed our trash bag from its can and tried to replace it with another bag that was too small. After I heard the door close I burst out laughing and checked the kitchen to see that she'd taken out that trash as well. What a delightful morning* this has been.


*Other happenings: M-Lite told me about her dream last night in which we were living together for the Fall, and then Kicks and Giggles came in to join in on the fun and crawled into first M-Lite's bed and then mine while I told her about Destroy All Planets and the two times I'd seen it. And now I'm going to go register for wedding gifts with that Optimistic. person I'm going to marry.

Glory Glory Hallelujah

Just yesterday I had the thought "the world wasn't made with us pale people in mind." I think this was me thinking back to the other night at the hospital cafe where Mustacheboy and I compared our flesh to see who was paler. I won. Apparently he'd never lost before. Well, neither have I, and I think that my winning streak is going to continue for some time.

I don't care for the sunshine; never have in fact. Being from the Northwest does that to a person. If I had things my way it'd be 65 and overcast every day. Being here in Utah really throws me sometimes. When I first got here the sunlight was blinding and my eyes watered every time I set foot out of doors. But on days like today when the clouds hang low and hide the mountains I can imagine that I'm in Portland. Don't look at the mountains and you could be home.

When I awoke to the sound of the rain it filled me with joy. I instantly felt at home with that trickling noise outside my window, and I realized what a difference the weather makes. I also realized that it's odd I don't feel that way all of the time considering my surroundings. I looked around my room today and took stock of my situation - I was on a bunk bed next to a cement wall with a window in a disheveled room with wood paneling. Hmmm. That's exactly what my room looked like at home. Why did I never realize that before now? It took the rain to make the scene complete.

So I felt incredibly blessed when it rained today. Thank goodness it rained today. Walking to work I uttered an audible "Thank You." I'm not quite sure to who - probably to God. I'm pretty sure He controls that sort of thing.

I went to work late and when I signed out my keys my friend commented that I was tardy.

me: I know. The weather was just too nice today, I didn't want to come in.

She laughed, but it was because she's from Washington and knew I meant exactly what I said. Everywhere I heard people talking about the weather, saying things like "it's really bad out there "and "it's freezing today. Yeah, it was like fifty degrees this morning!" and I just laughed at them with my eyes.

I walked to work in my usual jeans and short sleeved t-shirt as I ate my morning otter pop. Lime today. I did have an umbrella though, which is very uncharacteristic of a true Oregonian. I don't mind walking home in the rain, but getting soaked on the way to work is a different matter - I think it'd be kind of counterproductive to get to work and spend the whole time mopping up after myself.

Work was more than a little frustrating, mainly because I hated everyone and everything for some reason or another. I hated the way people straightened chairs, the fact that some of the people straightening chairs stopped working for no reason and left the rest of us in the lurch, and mostly I hated the fact that after we'd straightened the chairs it was decided that they needed to be taken down. It was then that I started thinking about how I've been at my job for too long. It was also then that I looked over and saw my boss's boss stacking chairs alongside the rest of us, and seeing that softened me. This woman just lost her brother. And the day of the funeral she was in at work getting her reports in, authorizing our paychecks so somebody else wouldn't have to be bothered. She has bad knees and never takes vacation time. And I wondered when it was that I became so embittered, cynical, and apathetic. I know the how. The how involves vomit, gum, immigration, C-clamps, back pain, duct tape, butter pats, sleep deprivation, and rows upon rows of crooked chairs that will never be made straight no matter how many times you straighten them. That's the how. The when is more complicated, and I don't know that I'll ever be able to pinpoint it.

When I left work it was with a piece of watermelon in my hand. It's something I've always wanted to do - eat watermelon in the rain. My hand was numb by the time I got down to the rind, and I walked homeward thinking about the restorative powers of rain and watermelon and wondered why I live in this state.

Cassius

I can actually feel the calluses growing on my hands. Fridays are our big day at work. Let me set the stage here for you. We have in the ballroom 1500 chairs. Obnoxious teenagers exit. We enter and stack all of these chairs. We were short handed today so when we began stacking there was no "we", only me. I had stacked almost two cartfuls of chairs before another girl came to help. Eventually there were six of us stacking, all girls. The guys were taking down the stage. I'm not really a sexist, but it's irritating to have guys (who are known for having upper body strength) taking down risers (not very difficult) when they could be stacking chairs. Us girls can do it fine, it just seems a little odd to have the guys do the lighter lifting.

So we cleared the ballroom. Midway into cart 5 I caught my finger. Man alive that was painful. I had to leave to go run it under cold water, and once I came back it throbbed slightly but was otherwise fine. I alone stacked over 13 carts worth of chairs.There are 45 chairs per cart. Total, I stacked 589 chairs. Each chair weighs 15 pounds, so I stacked 8,835 pounds worth of chairs. Not bad for an hour's work. Keep in mind this is all pre-set type stuff. We cleared the ballroom of all these chairs so we could reset it for the EFY banquet.

There were 6 or 7 of us when we should have had twice as many people. Where was the other crew? All the chairs we'd stacked were dropped at the tables by D and I set them out . It went on that way, just the two of us doing quite a bit of work. We'd set half the ballroom before some reinforcements came. But catering came then too to set out their tablecloths and place settings and stuff. And we hurried even more to keep ahead of them. I pulled chairs for other people to go behind and straighten, 3 and 4 at a time. Don't tell OSHA.

We were almost finished by 2pm and it was then that the other crew showed up. I was more than somewhat miffed. The main thing I kept thinking was, "who do you think you are?! Honestly, showing up after all the work is done. What the crap is that about?" I was exhausted.

I was about to head for lunch when my supervisor asked me to count all the chairs in the ballroom. Up and down each row straining to pick out the chairs with my eyes until they all ran together into a maroon nothingness. 346, 763, 1203, 1497. Four chairs over;possibly the closest we've ever come to getting an exact count.

We spend a few hours setting up the ballroom for this banquet, but as soon as that's over we tear it all down in 30-45 minutes. It's quite the rush I must say. Catering is supposed to get a head start of 2-3 rows. (That's what we told the new people in our meeting today. We laid out all sorts of rules, but everyone lost their heads and dove right in.) Then we follow right behind, throwing chairs and flipping tables while slipping on butter pats. And then there's the yelling - not just to be heard above the din, but honest to goodness yelling, usually catering telling its people, "hurry up! Custodial's coming right behind us! Don't ever roll butter into the cloths -take 'em off and pick 'em up at the end of the table."

And we run. It's us at our fastest, scrambling to get everything done. And even once we've tossed all the tables and chairs the floor needs to be cleaned. At that point the DJ will have set up, so we squirt and we scrub while the lights swirl and a hefty beat is pumped out into the air and there are blue curtains set up to keep the EFYers at bay. Then I vamoose, because the worst is the smell. The smell of 1500 teens and pre-teens crammed into one dark room. Their sweat fills the air. Mmmmm - smells like teen spirit.

And this will go on every Friday between now and the end of the summer. And I will continue to glory in it and exhaust myself setting up a banquet for people I cannot stand, because there's something satisfying about it all, about buckling down and doing manual labor, about knowing you're strong enough to lift 15,000 pounds worth of chairs in one shift. It's challenging, and I enjoy that to a great degree. I may not feel the same way by summer's end. In fact, I know I won't, but for now I'm going to enjoy the feeling of a job well done.

Stamp of Approval

I have discovered the secret of the difference between childhood and adulthood. The key is this – office supplies.

The main thing I take advantage of when I’m at home, aside from the free laundry, the meals, and the room and board and stuff, is office supplies. Growing up you never paid for your own staples or stamps or tape or paperclips or any of that stuff – at least I know that I didn’t. So that’s the great secret – office supplies. The more you’ve purchased the more of an adult you are.

Do you own envelopes? a stapler? scotch tape? packaging tape? stamps? paperclips? a stapler remover? 3X5 index cards? those little labels that say "sign here" and are shaped like arrows? post-it notes (in multiple colors)? white out?

I own a stapler, and not one of those weak, student model, plastic, holds only 5 staples, kind of staplers. It’s black, it’s metal, it’s hefty, it’s a Swingline, it’s perfection. I bought it at a thrift store, but it’s a stapler nonetheless. Why did I buy it? My family owns more than half a dozen staplers, but I personally did not own one. And it’s not just the stapler; it’s the fact that I bought a box of staples for it that truly demonstrates how responsible I am. 5000 staples in this box. It will take me a lifetime to use them all – even if I were to write 2, 763 more papers, hand out 105 more ward newsletters, and become some sort of activist that hands out bunches of stapled leaflets protesting the economic status of the Netherlands I would still have thousands of staples left. I bought them because they’re an investment - they’re something I know I’ll use (eventually).

I also own tape. It saddens me to buy tape. It saddens me more to use tape, because I know that using it means I’ll have to buy more. I don’t use paperclips, so I don’t buy them. But I pick them up whenever I see them on the ground. I don’t know why, because I don’t clip paper together with them, that’s for sure. I just unbend them before depositing them somewhere else.

Stamps: The final barrier between childhood and a life of paying taxes. I do not own stamps. If I needed a stamp growing up I went into my dad’s office and took one out of his desk drawer. I avoid things that require stamps. I don’t know what it is – there’s just something I reject about it. When anyone asks to borrow a stamp I say "no, nope, sorry, no stamps here."

I don’t know who mails in our electric bill each month.

Optimistic. and I got together mid-March to do our taxes. All I had to do was drop them in the mail and I had money with my name on it wending its way to my bank account. Only, I didn’t mail them -not until mid-April when they were almost due. Optimistic. found out I hadn’t mailed them and he took it upon himself to give me an envelope and a stamp. He gave the sealed envelope back to me, thought better of it, took it back, and went outside to mail it right then and there.

That said, I had a big first today. I needed a stamp. I had no stamp. M-Lite had no stamps. Optimistic.( my usual supplier) was at work. Crapdaggit. I went to the post office, shelled out 41 cents, and sold my soul for a self adhesive picture of an American flag. Goodbye childhood.

I wouldn’t have done it except I needed to mail a letter by today to a certain Elder of krebscout’s. It was a dang funny letter. He’d better appreciate my twisted sense of humor and the fact that my soul is now in a cash register up on campus somewhere. But in spite of my indignation I know as well as anybody that it had to happen some day-it was a dream to think I could avoid it forever. I just always thought it would never catch up to me, and spent my time wishing that this day (like most days) would stay in the distant future. Stupid future catching up with me.

This new batch really packs a wallop

Work was tedious today, right up until I went to clock out just now. When I came downstairs there were goodies left over from a set upstairs, and with them some raspberry lemonade (or DPL* for short). Oh happiness. And I see that it's pouring rain outside. I'm very pleased by this discovery. Also, as I walked past the barber shop I saw a small boy running along, probably no more than 5 or 6 years old. I looked at him, he looked at me, and as we passed each other we didn't break eye contact, but instead continued peering over our shoulders at each other. He smiled and I went down the hallway laughing. Now I'm headed home. I have no jacket and I fully intend to take my time walking in the rain as I drink some DPL.

* We used to get this stuff at work all the time last summer. It's pretty strong depending on which flavor you get and it tends to burn your throat on the way down unless you dilute it. But man oh man is it delicious. I wonder what they put in this stuff. I drank two and a half glasses of it straight just now. What do you mean I've had enough?! I know when I've had enough! (That outburst right there was for you Bony M)

Slightly Undone

I just quit my job. Not my real job, but my new early morning job. 4:00 -7:30 a.m.

It just wasn’t working out, which isn’t to say that I didn’t enjoy it. Let’s start by saying I didn’t make it through today, my third day. I should have made it through the spring term (25 more weekdays of working) or even given two weeks notice and muddled through that, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even make it through this morning. And that irritates me that I was in a position where I had to make such a decision- to quit my job without notice. It goes on my record for seven years.

I liked the people. They were funny, even at such an early hour. The lead student supervisor –I liked her too. We’d started calling her E-Dawg and everything. And I got to work with M-Lite, which is how I ended up working there in the first place. I’m going to be honest and say I felt pressured into working there. “It’ll be fun. It’s our last summer together. We can do it.”

I apparently cannot do it. Mostly the decision was made based on how I felt getting up this morning, which was like crap. I’ve slept a grand total 9 hours in the last three days. And each of those days feels like two days because I’d get up at 3:32, go to work from 4:00-7:30, and then come home and try to sleep between 8:00 and 10:30. Try. Then I’d get up and shower and go to my real job from 12:00 to 4:30, after which I’d try to sleep without ever actually managing to. Is it really only Thursday?

So in the middle of our shift I left and found my boss in her office where she was talking to E-Dawg and I said I wanted to talk to her about quitting. Her demeanor was rather cold after that. She reminded me it would go on my record. I said I felt I wasn’t adjusting. She told me to drop my keys and punch out. I did and went to find M-Lite before I left so she’d know I’d gone through with it.

The thing is, I’ve never quit a job before. The job I’m at now I’ve had for 20 months. To the day, now that I look at a calendar. I was hired September 17th 2005. And I’ve stuck with it for my entire BYU career. The job I had in high school? Almost four years. Every day after school December 2001 – August 2005. Even during the summer months - I stayed.

I stayed because I couldn’t quit. I felt I had an obligation to fulfill and because I cared about the people I worked with and for. And some of those factors even applied to this new job, but made no difference in the end. It’s wrong to quit a job without notice and to leave your own sister in the lurch and to let down your employer. That’s what part of me said anyway. The rest of me is sleep deprived. I actually thought I might pass out today while we were cleaning classrooms. I felt queasy in a way that only comes from getting up early. It’s that empty stomach toothpaste feeling. (That’s what I’ve always called it, and I have no better way of explaining how it feels –I’ve tried before without success, so that’s all you get.) And I’m sure that part of it was guilt too. And a sense of helplessness.

So all these things mingled together and it ended with me quitting this morning at 5:28. I exited the building after consulting with someone about whether or not I had to use an after hours exit or just the regular exit. You’re sure the silent alarm won’t sound?

I stepped out into the early morning that was still a blue merle, birds calling through the air as I took my leave. I got a little ways from the building and started crying. I even sobbed some on the way home, and cried more still when I’d made it to my living room, for all the reasons I’ve already mentioned combined with the knowledge that an entire custodial crew was sure to be thinking ill of me. She couldn’t make it three days.

And I try to say that it doesn’t matter. I don’t even know those people –why should I care? In a week they won’t even remember me. Except there was the coldness in the way my boss spoke to me, and the fact that I left M-Lite behind, and the fact that as I left, E-Dawg told me (in a good way) that she’d always remember my name. And now I’m crying again and hoping it’s all a matter of sleep deprivation and not a symptom of a larger something.

Perhaps it was Oral-B

It's been four months now that I've had this floss on my finger and it shows no signs of stopping.

The Weatherholds

I haven't posted in forever. Too much has happened, and most of you have already heard it all by now. That or you were there.

Optimistic. and I drove to Portland to see some concerts. We went and picked out a ring. He met my family. My parents met his parents. He was forced to meet every person I'd ever met on account of the fact that I never moved growing up. Everyone had something to say. None of those things are in the order that they happened.

The concerts were amazing, especially the Decemberists. I've never had so much fun in all my life. The drive home was not as much fun, owing to the fact that the concert was two hours away in Eugene and both of us were falling asleep. We did eat at Shari's though. Man I love that restaurant. And on the way there we crossed over a bridge with a sign that read "Butte Cr."
We were both thinking the same thing.

The group that opened for Andrew Bird, called The Apostles of Hustle, had a sound that attacked you when they played. I felt their music in my collar bones. And as we were leaving I saw a girl with some really cool Nightmare Before Christmas Tattoos.

And we went downtown to Powell's Books, Pioneer Courthouse Square, and Finnegan's Toys. We met up at my house first, me and Optimistic. and his brother "Kevin". My sister H2 was home sick and trying to work out some math homework. She asked for my help and I tried to make sense of the problem by drawing it out, which is how I think, but really I just made the whole thing more confusing. Then Optimistic. and Kevin showed up, and Kevin is in math education so he got excited and started in on the problem, only he couldn't solve it either.

Kevin: Man, I can't believe this.
H2: Me either. You're in college.

I think we were all disappointed that none of us could do the math homework assigned to a thirteen year old, but I can't say I'm surprised.

We went downtown and shopped and walked and ate. I think I could spend a week in Powell's if I brought some sandwiches with me. I bought a few children's books, some postcards, my own set of slang flashcards, and a collection of Wodehouse stories. I found some other things I would have bought if I weren't so cheap, and by cheap I mean practical. There was a neat booklet about the art of thumb wrestling. The jab, the counter-jab, wrist angles - all these things were discussed and diagrammed. There was a book about gamesmanship, or rather how to cheat without really cheating. And another sweet book about croquet. I wanted it mostly for the cover, because that's apparently how I judge books after all is said and done.

We stopped and sat in the shade by a park and watched some children play, by which I mean they ran and screamed and crowded around the drinking fountain, jumped in the pits dug out for the trees, fell off of things, etc. One boy kept on yelling "Barf bags!", and I practiced my glare on a small girl with a ponytail. We continued on our way but stopped almost immediately to use the bathroom. It may have been the dankest restroom I've ever encountered. Definitely a hobo bathroom, with a bottle of vodka on the floor next to the toilet. I took a picture. The good news is that I found 4 pennies outside on the curb. Optimistic. and Kevin each got one. I got two because there were four, and despite all of us proving that we didn't know how to do inequalities earlier that morning, I still knew that three didn't go into four evenly.

We were stopped on the sidewalk and asked to sign a petition. We signed, but when we looked up Kevin was gone. He'd already ambled across the square, managed to find a group of people playing hackey sack, joined them, and had taken his pants off to do so. We sat and watched and I took pictures of some pigeons - fat and gloriously filthy as they were I couldn't resist.

I took my mom to a plant nursery seeing as how I'd missed her birthday in March and Mother's day was coming up. All she usually asks for is dirt for her garden. That said, I wasn't about to mail her dirt across the country, so I told her we'd go and she could pick out whatever plants she wanted for her garden. When we were done we stopped by H's best friend's house, because that's where H had spent the night, at A's house. Her parents were out of town and she was all by herself. I found them in the downstairs living room sitting in the dark eating out of cans and looking incredibly nappy. I think they're incapable of making food for themselves. Or cleaning.

me: Get in the car. Mom wants to take us to lunch.

This was met with some moans about how disheveled they looked weighed against the fact that they needed sustenance.

H: Do you have a hair thing?
me: For the love of crap put this in your hair and let's go.

Burgerville was full - we went to Dairy Queen. Then we went home and H, A and I went to Value Village. Man alive I love that store.

We went to WINCO our last night in town and bought gummi worms, fruit pies, Martinelli's sparkling cider, cookies, strawberries, pudding - anything and everything we felt like eating. We brought it home, made a toast to ourselves with the cider, and had a small midnight feast. We'd meant to go TPing but we were all too tired when the time came around. We'd even taken a pre-TPing nap, but to no avail. We were both dead tired throughout the trip. I guess I'm not used to being so busy. Or I am, but in a different way. Mopping and shopping take their different tolls on me.

We said we would only go TPing "if the weather holds" and H2 asked," Who are the Weatherholds?".

We explained that they weren't people. She said a number of remarkably funny things this visit home, so this is me giving her some mad props for that. I love that family of mine. Krebscout always says that she wants to meet my family because in her mind they are the Weasleys. Optimistic. said he also saw that in them when he met them, so I guess it's true. It was good to be back home where I can be a little more spastic. F also made me laugh with a phrase that is now my new motto and the words I will leave you with - "Keep your friends close and your sandwiches closer." Words to live by indeed.

P.S. The driving parts of the trip were fairly uneventful. I'm not much fun on roadtrips -I tend to sleep. We listened to roughly a billion CD's. Highlights included a rest stop on the way back, and stopping in Baker City at a windmill where I was proposed to. Hoo-ray.

Barefoot in the Park/Kitchen or How I Came to be a Big Winner!

I'm getting married, and much like Optimistic., I have nothing clever to say about it. This is probably due to the fact that my head has exploded. Several times over in fact.

I met the family. Optimistic. fake won the lottery. We got engaged, though fairly unofficially. He called his family. I called my family. I went to convocation with the family. They expressed how excited they were, very unofficially. I got a phone message from H. We went out to eat and got rub on tattoos. We went to L'afro's party. Our friends expressed how excited they were in many rib-crunching hugs. I ate a ring made out of Twizzlers. I was tired out of my mind. We went thrift shopping with most of the family. A 1995 swimming trophy, a Charades game, a pair of old man slippers, half a game of battleship, some clothes, and a hip flask purchase later we were back at his Grandparents' for a family celebration. He announced. We celebrated. I ate strawberries. We're getting married.

Give Said the Little

It's been three months, and the string around my finger is still holding on. It's a little frayed, but I wouldn't be surprised if it made it another few months.

Also, I received a fourth piece of sock mail yesterday. It's from Auntie J, the aunt of my coworker Minerva, who sent me my third piece of sock mail. The whole thing makes me incredibly happy.

Life is good. Terribly, horribly busy, but good. I've taken note of at least 17 things I've wanted to post about, but I haven't had time. I need to write about my Easter in Rexburg as well as some of my fondest Easter memories growing up, and tied into that is the story of my Easter/laundry basket. I have pictures from the Festival of Colors. I have everything I've been thinking from the last few weeks rolling around in my head and nothing to do with it. I have posts eking out my ears and it won't be until after classes are out that I can even attempt to write them all down and do them justice. I have pictures and stories and nonsense waiting to come forth. Wait for it...wait for it...

A magic wishing lamp

I got to use the lift all day today at work. I was 30 feet up in the air cleaning windows and it was amazing. My coworkers and I also decided to plant clues in various places around the building, sort of like a treasure hunt, but much more intense. There will be codes, secret hiding places, and bribery involved. I love my job.

How to read (my face)

Announcement time! The Maoist got in to Boston College. Woot! I just wanted to say how immensely proud of her I am. She was getting a Jamba Juice, saw one of my coworkers, and asked her if she knew where I was. She was then led back to the bathroom I was cleaning, where she told me the good news. I'm excited for her.

I also wanted to say how much I love running into people I know when I'm at work. If you see me you should holler at me and get my attention. It's happened a few times that I've be talking with someone and they mention that they saw me sometime earlier that day or week, but didn't say hello. They usually say it's because when they saw me I looked very busy, very angry, or both. I always have to explain to these people that I'm rarely either of those things, and that that's just the way my face looks. Apparently I look severe most of the time. I think it's the face, coupled with the way I walk, which is quickly.

When my face is at rest the corners of my mouth turn down slightly. I'm not upset, and I wouldn't call it a frown exactly, but that's the way it stays when it's at rest. My smile consists of my lips pulling themselves up into a straight line, taut across my face without allowing my teeth to show. So my neutral face is a frown and my smile is really rather neutral looking. I am not a tooth smiler. It's only within the last few months that I've even attempted tooth smiling for pictures. It's unnatural for me, and therefore requires a great deal of thought and preparation on my part. I may just have to get used to it. The world expects us all to be tooth smilers, but I like to think that all good smiles start in the eyes somewhere. There's a crinkling that occurs when something truly tickles my fancy, and it's after this that I throw my head back and laugh.

And if none of this helps you in reading me, there's always the Helen Keller approach, but I don't think you should start feeling my face unless you've already tried the approach I've delineated above.

I found it delightful

I read this today and wanted to pass it along - it's a poem by Jay Hopler from his book Green Squall. The form will be a bit off, but oh well. Either he'll never know, he'll forgive me, or I'll get sued.

MEDITATION ON RUIN

It's not the lost lover that brings us to ruin, or the barroom brawl,

or the con game gone bad, or the beating

Taken in the alleyway. But the lost car keys,
The broken shoelace,
The overcharge at the gas pump
Which we broach without comment - these are the things that

eat away at life, these constant vibrations

In the web of the unremarkable.

The death of a father - the death of the mother -
The sudden loss shocks the living flesh alive! But the broken

pair of glasses,

The tear in the trousers,
These begin an ache behind the eyes.
And it's this ache to which we will ourselves
Oblivious. We are oblivious. Then, one morning - there's a

crack in the water glass - we wake to find ourselves undone.

Everybody plays the fool

Anyone else pee blue this morning? I'm hoping so, otherwise that last sentence might make things a bit awkward. Dimmi and Lavish, I'm shaking my fist at you right now, even as I type. Just know that I don't forgive pranks without some form of pranking in return, and by some form I mean that it's probably not safe for you to fall asleep. Ever again. And by forgive I mean hold a grudge and enter into a war to the death making all involved regretful, as ultimately they're left empty shells of their former selves, wasted and morally debauched with no hope of pursuing a useful, normal, or satisfying life.

Also, as I shake my fist I'm doing that pointing with two fingers stare. How am I doing both of those things while still managing to type? I'm simply doing the pointing while I shake the one hand and typing with the other, which doesn't look as menacing as I would have hoped, but rather more like a disgruntled elderly person with the shakes has it out for you.

When I noticed this morning that my pee was blue, do you know what I thought? Of course you don't, but I know that you're dying (ha!) to find out, so I'm going to tell you. My initial thought was, "I'm not M-Lite."

You're thinking this is a conclusion I probably should have reached fifteen or twenty years ago.

Bear with me. I do have a reason for thinking this, and it's because Wednesday at the hospital they injected M-Lite with the same stuff that would make her pee blue, so when I discovered that my pee was also blue I was a bit confused. It was also early in the morning. Ah well.

Also, just to guilt trip Dimmi and Lavish, methylene blue does have side effects, aside from just the blue urine. Yeah, the abdominal pain, chest pain, and dizziness makes sense now. Maybe because you're not supposed to use it on people who are sick.

I don't think either of them read this blog, so someone pass it along to them to watch their backs. Shakes fist again while pointing.