Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Heart of stone

I submit that it is impossible to watch Terminator 2 without crying a little at the end.


Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Little Buddy

One of the things I will miss most about living in Utah will be the opportunity to be someone's big sister.

No, I'm not talking about Echo, Charlie and Alpha.  Those three haven't let me big-sister them for years.  I'm talking about Diego.

Sure, Diego is technically older and quite a bit taller than I am, and he would beat me any day of the week playing "Never Have I Ever" (indicating that his life experience far exceeds my own), but Diego indulges my need to mother hen.  How are you feeling?  Are they being nice to you at work?  Who are you dating? I don't like the sound of that one.  Enjoying bar class?  Saving money?

And in return, Diego big brothers me back--you're going to do fine in Phoenix; I'm not sure that guy is treating you nicely enough; no, you don't look fat.  (Even though he's fibbing on that one, it's still nice to hear.  Scales don't lie, bitches.)

Of course these co-dependent conversations can still take place over Facebook, text, phone, email and IM (bless you, 21st Century, bless you), but it's not the same as chatting over the wall of the changing room at Express.

Without Diego--and all my friends like him--the cycle of neediness will go unfed.  Maybe that will make me a more mature adult, but I'm not entirely sure it will make me a happier one.

PS: Ryan claims that no one in the 80s bought "My Buddy."  According to him, girls all wanted "Kid Sister," and boys wouldn't play with dolls.  When I told him I had a "My Buddy," he says he's fairly certain that was the only one sold in the United States.  So if you, like me, gentle readers, had a My Buddy, please let me know, so I can shove it in Ryan's face.  :)

Sunday, December 27, 2009


I just own way, way, way too much stuff.

I'm cleaning out my room at my parents' for the final time and trying to pack up for Phoenix.  I'd forgotten about most of the stuff I own.  It's a bit like being on an archeological dig.

Hey jeans from high school - ahh, I see that sophomore and junior pants are embarrassingly high-waisted, while senior pants are embarrassing low-riding.   Good to see you again, I hope your time in the drawer has been treating you well.

Hi, AP English papers.  Why did I ever think I would need to refer to you someday?  In the trash you go.

Sheet music!  Wow, if only I were still musical ...

Guh, bar study books ... shove you back under the bed ...

I have three bottles of Febreeze in my room.  Three.  No one needs that much Febreeze.  Let's not even get started on all the half-used bottles of lotion and perfume.  Bleh, I'll just put it all in a box and hope that Echo wants some of it ...

Welcome to the D.I. pile, earrings, shoes, blankets, throw pillows, old Halloween costumes, knick knacks, stuffed animals, CDs, Babysitters Club books, ... MY LITTLE PONIES?!?!?!

Ummm ...

I think it's for the best that you guys come to Phoenix with me.

Just in case.

Saturday, December 26, 2009

Left or right?

I shop online for furniture a lot these days.

I really want brightly colored furniture, and I don't really care if none of it matches.  Crimson love seat, green curtains, orange sectional couch?  I think that sounds fun, not like (a) six-year-olds decorated my apartment or (b) a Skittles bag exploded in my living room.  (Both criticisms which have been leveled at my decor choices.)

But here's a question: when it says "left chaise" or "right chaise," does that mean from the perspective of looking at the sectional head on, or the perspective of sitting on the sectional?

Left or right?

(Also, picture this in orange leather.  Sweet, right?)

Friday, December 25, 2009

Christmas - a time of violence and geekiness

Last night commenced our family's annual Yuletide tradition of movie marathoning.  First, It's A Wonderful Life.  Then Inglourious Basterds.  Now we're on to Death Race, after which we will go see Avatar.  Come home, watch Star Trek on Blu Ray and finish it all up with some Simpsons on DVD.

Merry Christmas!

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

I am about to vomit down your back

Appropriate response when someone gets engaged: I am so happy for you.

Inappropriate response: FINALLY.

No matter how long someone has dated before getting engaged -- three months, three years, three decades -- it is NOT okay to assert your opinion that this should have come about earlier than now.  If they've dated awhile, it's simply because the natural progression of their relationship took that long, and if they're engaged at this point, they probably ENJOYED their time dating.  So why do you feel the need to assert your opinion that things could have moved along more quickly?

And if they haven't dated awhile, believe me, you look like an even bigger moron.  Case in point: the sweet spirit down at BYU who apparently thinks a courtship of seven months is unnecessarily extensive.

This is why I hate facebook.  I see a friend is engaged, I want to write something nice on her wall.  Instead I become infuriated by comments of a non-mutual friend who I cannot yell at via facebook wall because that would violate facebook etiquette.

(No, I am not engaged.  I realize this post may cause some confusion.  I'm still the same delightful old spinsty (thanks TAMN) that I always have been, and most likely always will be.  :)   But if Mr. Right ever does come along, he better be armed with an even bigger diamond than the one pictured above.  I'm not picky, I just want some acknowledgment that I'm a grown up, and grown ups wear at least 1 carat.  (No offense to anyone out there who proposed with or accepted a ring smaller than 1 carat.  Console yourself with the fact that you won't die alone, and that someday you can upgrade.))

Random sidenote of the day: My friends Hannah and Brett have been pondering the wed-or-not-to-wed question lately, and Hannah has expressed some reservations about an engagement ring.  Namely, she doesn't want to contribute to unethical diamond mining practices, but she does want a big-ass diamond ring.  (I mean, who doesn't?  Big fat liar pantses, that's who.)  

So after debating this issue, my friend Kate asked her husband Ryan if her ring was blood-diamond free. He said, "No.  I got yours with extra blood."

That's true love right there.


Does anyone know how to set up alerts so I am aware when people comment on my little blogarino?  I feel if people are nice enough to put in their two cents, I should acknowledge these comments in some way, but about half the time I don't notice the comments until days later.

:( for me.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Apartment hunting

Flew down to Phoenix for the weekend to look for a place to live.  It has been an adventure.  I've made a few mistakes (buying the rental car insurance I knew I didn't need, but was too scared not to get; forgetting the camera sync cord so I could email pictures of various apartments to my friends; booking the "Expedia Recommends!" hotel which apparently features neither free parking -- $19 a night -- or free internet -- $13 for 24 hours), but all in all, I think I will have a home in three weeks.

For anyone who is interested, here are my current prospects, complete with pros and cons.

First apartment complex: Super close to work, exposed cement walls and 10 foot ceilings, very quiet complex, good management.  Includes cheapest option.  Only real downfall?  The floor plans I liked best were essentially studios, with the bedroom separated from the rest of the place by one half wall and nor door, so when (not if, bitches) people come to visit me, it's basically like they're going to be sleeping in my room.  Weird?  I don't know.

Second apartment complex: Bleh.  Bleh bleh bleh bleh bleh.  I did not care for it.

Third apartment complex: Very torn.  Not too far from my work, but much closer to fun Phoenix things.  More expensive than the first complex.  My favorite floor plans included (1) a two bedroom (place for visitors!) with hardwood floors and a gas fireplace and (2) a two bedroom plus loft with spiral staircase.  But the bedroom layouts were weird ... like, not square at all.   I don't care from rhombus rooms.

Spiral staircase ... how I lust after thee ...
(While I forgot my camera cord, my dad's real estate agent friend emailed me a few pictures, so there you go.)

Fourth apartment complex: Really liked.  Further from my work than the first place, but not by much.  Huge bathroom with a tub and a shower.  (Why separate?  In case you want to soak and then shower, I guess.)  About the same size as the first apartments, but the bedroom is fully enclosed, so visitors would have the living room to themselves.  Gas fireplace.  (Ok, I know that fireplaces are not exactly a necessity in Phoenix, but I love fire.)  But more expensive than the first place, and I'm not really sure what the deal with the management is.  Not actually convinced they have management.

Fifth apartment complex: I think drug dealers lived there.  But really, a trip to Phoenix isn't complete without a trip to a crime-riddled area.

My super-sensible pops thinks it's a no-brainer--the first place is closest to work and cheapest.

But ... fireplaces ...  :(

I'm going to sleep on it.  In the meantime, if the interwebs have any thoughts, feel free to share.

Friday, December 18, 2009

"Have a blessed day"

Boys and girls, there are just some things you don't put on your voicemail.  Especially if you have been applying for jobs, and should foreeably anticipate potential employers calling you to schedule interviews.

Even if those potential employers include Deseret Book. 

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Feeling wrathful

Why can't everyone be good at their job?  Is it too much to ask that one display minimal levels of competence if one is paid for minimal levels of competence? 

That's all for now.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Going out with a bang (or a whimper)

Me, yesterday at work, trying to put a movie on hold at Blockbuster:

Dialing.  I am thinking, Please answer fast, please answer fast. 

Dang it, someone's walking toward my desk.  Answer slow, answer slow!

"Blockbuster, how may I help you?"

Crap. Time to haul A for the snack machines area ...

"Yes, I would" -- CRAP, there's someone here!  Turn around turn around, walk back toward desk -- "like to know if you all can put movies on hold?"

"Of course, which movie would you like?"

Oh balls -- standing an equal distance from my boss's open door and the guy who's getting a candy bar in the snack area ... "Um ..."

Two second analysis process (thank you, law school):

1. There appears to be no way out of this situation, short of running into the ladies' while still on the phone ...

2. Not going to do that.

3. How much do I want to rent this movie?

4. Very much.

5. Oh balls.

I glance down both ends of the hall, and whisper, "The Hangover."

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

What it's like in my head

Friend: This might be a weird question ...

Me: What?

Friend: Don't get offended ...

Me: I don't get offended.

Friend: If you were a stripper, what would your signature song be?

Me (externally): I don't know, I've never really thought about it.

Me (internally): Cowboy Casanova.  No, She Wolf.  No, I Like The Way You Move.  No, no, Rock You Like A Hurricane!  Yes, definitely Rock You Like A Hurricane.

Tear it up

I got some good advice yesterday from someone who shall remain nameless (because someone else who shall remain nameless already gave me crap for name-dropping that someone in an earlier blog post.) 

The advice was simple: "Tear it up in Phoenix."

I don't think this person thought twice about telling me to attack Phoenix instead of letting Phoenix passively happent to me (which, whether I knew it or not, was how I have been treating the idea over the last few weeks).  To him, the advice was obvious.  Be cheerful, be positive, be aggressive, and make the most out of your opportunities.

To me, it was kind of a surprising wake up call.

There are much, much worse things than having to move to a new city for a new job.  In fact, most people (myself of six months ago included) would be excited.  But I've been so busy moping about the friends, family, and familiar surroundings that I will miss, I have lost enthusiasm for what should be a great adventure.

So here's to tearing it up in Phoenix.  There will doubtlessly be other, more solemn posts in the near future about the people and places of Salt Lake City I will dearly miss down in the Grand Canyon State, but hopefully always tempered with the realization that Phoenix will be (fingers crossed) equally awesome.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

The therapeutic value of television

8:30 pm - feeling kind of blue

9:00 pm - feeling pretty chipper, thanks to How I Met Your Mother

The rudest show on television

I love me some Gossip Girl--but I have to say, the fact that every character answers their frikking cell phone even if* they're about to tell someone something "very important" got old in the first season.

Do these people not understand how to silence a phone?

* Actually, make that ESPECIALLY IF.

Friday, December 11, 2009

The bane of my existence: Responsible friends

Does anyone else have a problem with thinking of a really fun, really awesome idea, and then ... it dies because you can't convince anyone else of its inherent awesomeness? 

I really wanted to go on a sweet vacation before I started work in January.  It was perfect timing.  Unfortunately, none of my friends were similarly inclined.  Theoretically I could do Hawaii alone (wouldn't want to, but could), but India?  Croatia?  Brazil?  Alone? 

Lame.  And the murder potential is high.  (And when I say "murder," I mean "accidental death due to my own stupidity," but murder sounds scarier.) 

So, the super awesome vacation was post-poned for one year, in hopes that in the next twelve months my friends and/or family will get it together and want to come along.

And if they don't, then they can all suck it.  Because one way or another, this time next year, my passport will have been used at least a single time.  Maybe I'll need to hire some friends (already did it before when I joined a sorority - zing!), but it will happen. 

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Damn it feels good to be a gangster

Why my family rocks your family's socks off:

1. When I'm sick, my dad will bring me a 32 ounce of Diet Coke from the gas station at 10 in the morning.

2. When we're at Smith's buying candy (yes, we grocery shop just for candy), Pops successfully convinces a cashier into giving us Tab for 4/$14 instead of 4/$16.

3. We then proceed to buy all of Smith's cases of Tab.  And when I say "all," I mean all.

4. At Chevron where we go for Diet Coke (because fountain Diet Coke and canned Tab are two entirely different, but still awesome, drinks), my Dad reminds me that if there's anything he wants to teach me in this life, it's that you should always sip down your Diet Coke and then refill to the lid before paying.

The relationship between temperature & gastrointestines

If you live in my neck of the woods, you know that it is effing cold today.

And I woke up feeling kinda vomity.

The two are not a happy combo.  Lie in bed under all my covers, or sit on the cold, cold linoleum in my bathroom?

I chose the bed, and am now taking a big chance by surfing the web on my laptop.  Because if there's anything that will ruin a laptop, I'm pretty sure vom is it.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Soy un perdedor

There's this thing I do.  I don't want to say what it is, since (despite my facebook account and blog) I don't like to share too much personal information on the internet.  (Funny anecdotes and political rants?  Sure.  Those are fair game.)  So let's just call it "chewing gum." 

Most people chew gum at some point in their lives.  Chewing gum can be a very rewarding activity.  It can lead to greater long-term happiness or temporary enjoyment.  It can also lead to a lot of misery and confusion.  It can be a waste of time or it can be the very best thing you could be doing with your time.  And hopefully, at some point your gum chewing results in a situation where you don't have to or want to chew gum anymore.  Perhaps you've moved on to flossing or teeth bleaching in an effort to improve your overall dental hygiene. 

When people aren't chewing gum, they're usually wishing they were chewing gum.  And sometimes, even when you're chewing gum, you're thinking about how great it would be if you could just stop chewing gum already, or at least start chewing a different piece. 

I'm not the greatest gum chewer out there.  In fact, I've pretty much sucked at chewing gum my whole life.  I don't really like doing it, but have put in a valiant effort (in my opinion) to give it a solid chance. 

But on some rare occassions, I have found myself enjoying the gum chewing experience.  In the back of my mind, of course, there is a little voice saying Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!  But I generally ignore it, because I get caught up in the moment.  Because everyone else is doing it.  Because it seems like maybe this time it will be different.  And for a little while I think, Hey, maybe I can keep this going.

But I can't.  Because I'm just not cut out for it. 

The thing is, the fact that I'm not a gum chewer is nobody's fault.  But the fact that I repeatedly give it a shot, knowing that it's not my bag?  Slap on the wrist for me.

The idea that everyone should be chewing gum, that everyone likes chewing gum, that chewing gum is for everybody-- not true.  It's not for everyone, and it's certainly not for me. 

So friends -- if you notice me enaging in any gum chewing (or other impolite, improper, or icky behavior) in the future, please.  For the love. 

Remind me that it's ok to not chew gum.

Monday, December 7, 2009

I don't want to talk about it! I just want you all to read about it online!

You know how sometimes people put something vague and concerning as their status update?  It sounds like they don't want to talk ... but why would they have ever put something up on their facebook if they didn't want people to ask?

I guess it's just silent venting.

Imaginary Facebook status update: I'm currently a mixture of sad/amused and amused/amused.  Sure wish I head a better head on these here shoulders, but I guess God wanted me for a silly creature.  

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Tri Delts Do Wendover

On the trip to Wendover:

Diego: Are all your guys' songs about what big whores and drunks you are?

Me: No.  Some of them are about how much better we are than everyone else.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Question for people with "good taste"

Is "Always Kiss Me Goodnight" the new "All Because Two People Fell In Love"?

I find it 50% less irritating, but 120% more creepy.  Partly because I can't tell whether it should go over a child's bed (less weird) or an adult's bed (shudder). 

And for everyone out there who wants to criticize me for having hang ups regarding adult sexuality,* I would just like to say, a man would never, ever applique the wall above his bed "Always kiss me goodnight" as a cute reminder to his wife.  It would always, always, always be the wife pulling these shenanigans.  At which point my Oedipal Complex Alert Alarms start going at full blast, because did I mention it seems like it's more appropriate (though still tacky) in a child's room? 

Hence the shudder.

* (For your future reference, I have only the normal American hang ups regarding adult sexuality, namely, I don't like having any sort of serious discussion about sex, but am totally happy to make a joke about it.  Which is why if my future husband wanted to applique "Let's Bang" over our marital bed, I would be more than willing to let him. 

Until we had kids, that is.  At that point we would paint over the vinyl lettering and start passing normal American hang ups regarding adult sexuality on to the next generation.) 

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Does it make me a bad person if ...

... I immediately discard any apartment ad that includes a picture of a children's playground?

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Some people should be spayed and neutered

A slow afternoon at work resulted in a lot of web-surfing (while I hunt down those ne'er do wells who pirate copyrighted material).


For the love.

No matter how big a hippie you are.

Or how much you love unrefined flour.

Or organic food.

Or nature.

Or home births.

Or innocence.

Or glitter.

Or breastfeeding.

Or all the other halmarks of neo-neo-conservatism. 

Do not


Put naked pictures of your kids online. 




I cannot believe that after eleven seasons of Law and Order: SVU we even need to be having this discussion. 

We’ve gone too far!

I love it when old people complain about all the things that are wrong with nowadays. Bad manners. Punk music. Reality TV. Lack of respect for compass technology.

So while I may be only twenty-five, I would like to jump on the complainin’ band wagon. Item Number One on my Why Society Has Gone To Hell List: the towel warmer.

Seriously? You hop out of a warm shower into a steamy, also warm bathroom, and you’re so cold you need your towel to be artificially heated for you before you’re willing to dry off? Are you going to be sled dog racing later or something?

What enrages me most about this pseudo-appliance is that whenever I see a PSA from some celebrity cautioning against wasteful behavior and encouraging energy-efficient lifestyles, they almost always mention the two most idiotic suggestions ever:

1. Turn lights off when you leave the room.

2. Turn water off when you brush your teeth.

I’m sorry, but I have been aware that you ought to do those things since I was four, and was old enough to reach a light switch and brush my own teeth unsupervised. It’s called not being an idiot. Please, please, please, PSA announcer—stop pretending that climate change can be averted IF ONLY SALLY WOULD TURN OFF THE LIGHTS.

What I would really like to be addressed is the fact that you don’t need an electric towel warmer to keep you warm for the five minutes it takes to dry off and get dressed every day. Not only do you look like a total idiot for owning such an item, but you’re killing mother earth.

Yes, you with the towel warmer. You were the one who did it.

As a caveat: It is completely possible that the real reason I hate towel warmers is that the Craziest Roommate Ever (she of the Great Roommate Fire Incident of 2008 fame) thought that letting me use her towel warmer excused the fact that she owned two cats where she had previously said there would be no pets in the apartment. (I am not opposed to cats as animals. I just don’t want to live in the same home as them.)

Not comparable, missy. Not comparable at all.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Phoenix and I are not friends


 Looking for a place to live in Phoenix while still living in Salt Lake is a tricky task.

First problem: I can’t decide whether I ought to rent or buy.

Pros of renting: Someone else will continue to take care of my problems. I can remain financially untethered. More disposable income due to not forking over a down payment. If I hate my neighbors, I will not need to make any effort to see the positives in them. If they hate me, I will not need to make any effort to win them over.

Pros of buying: It’s the grown-up thing to do.

Cons of renting: My dad’s voice in my head, constantly reminding me that I am throwing money away.

Cons of buying: I don’t think I have it in me to decorate and maintain a home adequately. Also, I’m in a condo stage of life (emotionally, financially, socially) and the concept of HOAs really annoys me.

Winner: Renting

Second problem: Phoenix is a land of great contrast. Phoenix has air conditioned major league baseball fields, and awesome restaurants, and great outdoor activities, and Neiman Marcus. It is also the kidnapping capital of America.

So the dilemma is thus: If I do rent, all the places that I feel are within my price-range appear pretty beat up and ghetto. All the places I would love, love, love to live in are out of my price-range.

Why is this an issue? You would think that would be a no-brainer. Suck it up and live in the icky apartment with 80s tile and fake panel wood in the sketchy neighborhood. That’s what people do when they’re starting out in life, after all.

But that’s not really the answer, because Snobby Me knows that she can’t kill a cockroach, and will immediately book a flight home to live with Mommy and Daddy as soon as she sees her first scorpion. Snobby Me knows that, all protestations to the contrary, she is really freaked out by the fact that there was a shooting at the grocery store I frequented the last time I lived in Phoenix. Snobby Me remembers the Great Roommate Fire of 2008 debacle all too well. Snobby Me knows that Phoenix has a high crime rate, and Snobby Me also knows that I never really took any of those self-defense courses seriously.

And Snobby Me really, really wants garage parking. And floor-to-ceiling windows. And a view of pretty mountains, or pretty desert, or at least a pretty mall—not chain link fences. And Snobby Me wants hardwood floors. And a gym. And a washer and dryer. And a DISHWASHER, damn it. We went for three years hand-washing dishes in law school, and those days are OVER! And Snobby Me wants a second bedroom, or at least a den. And no, that will not be to facilitate roommates. That will be to facilitate our desire to have more than 600 square feet of living space. Ahhhh, the freedom of a thousand square feet …

Snobby Me really thinks that this is really not too much to ask for.

But Financially Responsible Me wants me to remember the value of provident living, and paying off student loans as fast as possible, and saving for retirement, and giving to charity. Financially Responsible Me choked on her own gum when she saw that sweet, sweet high rise apartment for $1600 a month before utilities. Financially Responsible Me is even bribing Snobby Me with the fact that my long-postponed vacation to India will be much more justifiable if we sacrifice now.

Snobby Me finds this argument very persuasive, but ultimately not conclusive.

So Financially Responsible Me and Snobby Me are duking it out in my head. Walk in closets and gated communities, or the peace of mind knowing that my 401K is maturing nicely? Granite countertops now, bitchin’ vacations later? Live with the guilt of knowing that my monthly rent could feed a starving family in the third world, or live with the fear of having my throat slit at night? (OK you two, that last one was a bit dramatic. Tone it down, please.)

This is a problem that may have no answer, much like a circle has no beginning or end.

But unfortunately, with or without an answer, I’m moving in six weeks.