The Horndar

A comprehensive analysis of the straight LDS Single's Horndar


Etymology: Horndar comes from the combination of two words. Horny meaning filled with lust (roughly); and radar an instrument used as a measuring tool or detection system.

The Horndar is similar to the terror alert levels.

Green - Low - The Single is not thinking about the opposite sex. They enjoy the company of their friends without worrying about who they can hook up with. They are open to relationships, but do not obsess with obtaining one. They are often blind to the attractive boy/girl sitting next to them. We're talking Beehive/Deacon levels here, people.

Blue - Guarded - A single living in the blue levels are the ones that are OK with the idea of saving their first kiss for the altar. They like the opposite sex. They're open to a peck on the cheek for a 3-second kiss on the lips, but only after a lengthier courtship. They want commitment with their affection. They like romance movies and books of the Jane Austen/Charlotte Bronte style, or of the Disney variety.

Yellow - Elevated - Yellow levels are generally looking for their make-out sessions within a relationship. Therefore, they are seeking out a relationship. You can catch them daydreaming about chaste kisses outside the apartment door and enjoying the latest RomCom.

Orange - High - Orange is a seemingly dangerous level. It is quite the jump from yellow to orange, because in the orange levels, NCMO's, necking and petting... things that we are supposed to avoid are open to us all in the name of romance. So what if you haven't talked to him/her in the past 6 months. If it means a little action, you're willing to risk it. Innuendo is high. You find yourself looking up your favorite make-out scenes from PG-13 movies or picking up trashy romance novels from the library. Orange levels are also exciting, because they involve the push-against-the-wall, tug-on-your-hair type making out. Trouble can find you if you are not careful.

Red - Severe - This is the most dangerous level. If you were married, it might be the most fun. But you aren't married. SO make sure you steer clear of all members of the opposite sex. This is when trouble brews for certain and will probably land you in the Bishop's office.

Which level are you?

Swooooooooon

A Little Flute Practice

So the video is nothing interesting to look at, but it is just me playing my flute. I brought it back to Utah with me the last time I went home because I wanted to pick it back up. I've been practicing flute more than stats, really... well, maybe it is about the same.

The first song is Come Thou Fount and the second it the first few lines of Claire de Lune. I'm not good at either, because I can't do really high notes and I can't do really low notes. And well, the counting throws me off and I can't sight read. There were more songs that I was going to post, but I'm too embarrassed to post just yet. Sometimes I play them really well, and other days I'm just off. I have a book with Harry Potter music and another with a medley of hymns. Those are hard because I don't really know how they are supposed to sound, and so a lot of the time I am making up the melody.

Ah, well... I'm trying to get better. C keeps threatening to sign me up for the musical fireside our ward wants to have (also, I'm hard-pressed to think of another ward that has more firesides than we do. I swear, last month we had one every Sunday. And they've already started it for after conference next week.) I tell C that I am not good enough to play in front of people, but she's a hard person to convince. However, I played the agency card, and I think she took the hint. I'll let you all know when I go public with my playing again...maybe in about 10 years.

Church Notes

Church was really good today. The bishopric were all gone during sacrament meeting, and so the High Councilman that was presiding and conducting bore his testimony of our Heavenly Father before turning the time over the congregation. His thoughts were exactly my own as he talked about our Father in Heaven and the love that He has for us as His children. He knows us so intimately and so infinitely that it is impossible to grasp. I've been thinking a lot lately of how Heavenly Father seems to be looking out for me. Even when I don't deserve it, somehow I have always had money to travel back home for Christmas or our family reunion. I've managed to pick up a temp job or find full-time or better employment than currently - and usually in the nick of time. Or He just sends friends into my life that influence me for the better, or ones that I can count on when I need them to be there, or just to say the right thing at the right time. More importantly, they've loved me for me - or rather, despite of me. He's also given me fabulous parents who love me and try to guide me. They've certainly taught me by example. And I'm fairly certain that Heavenly Father and my dad are pretty in sync, because my dad always seems to call me or text me when I need hm most. And in the end, when we have fouled up and we feel that we don't deserve to be loved and we don't deserve to be blessed...sometimes that when Heavenly Father blesses us most by reminding us of all the things that we have in our lives. I can't tell you how much of a comfort this knowledge has been to me in the past week - which has literally been a week from hell. And of course, I have to add, the ultimate sacrifice of His first born son, who he sent to earth to die for us, even though He was spotless and had no need to repent. I imagine the love that I know that He has for me and then multiply it for His firstborn - and yet, because He loves me, He sent Christ down to atone for us - despite of us - and because of that we can return to His presence...

My favorite thought of the day came from one of the testimonies that was given during Sacrament meeting. It was a guy and he was talking about a rough time in his life where he was away from home and his grandmother had just passed away. He had been praying for better understanding of what the resurrection meant. One night he was thinking to himself that if only he could have a hug from his mother, somehow that would make it better. And he realized that that is what the resurrection means to us. It means that one day we will have our bodies back, and because of that, there will be embracing in heaven. There will be hugging and touching... all because Christ was resurrected and set the way so that we can be too. I marveled at that thought, because I absolutely know that a heaven without a hug from my mom or my dad would be miserable. There are definite times in my life when I ache for the embrace of a loving parent. And I am so grateful that my parents were sealed in the temple, so that our family can be together for eternity. And because of Christ's resurrection, I'll get that hug from Dad whenever I need it. (And I could really use one right now, actually.)

In Relief Society, the lesson was on forgiveness the teacher put up a list of what forgiveness wasn't: It isn't trivializing your own suffering. It isn't accepting the sin. It isn't allowing yourself to continue being victimized. It isn't forgetting the pain. And it isn't trust. The Bishop brought up Elder Bednar's talk about how we choose to be offended and that we have complete control over those emotions. And I realized something. Sometimes in my effort to try and not be offended, or by choosing not to be offended, I am also trying to suppress the hurt that was done to me. As much as I complain about things, I often don't confront a person who has really, truly hurt me by their actions or their words. And I don't often realize how hurt or offended I am until I've really thought about it later. And even once I've realized it, I think that it's been to long to bring it up again, and so I let it go. I think I forgive them. But the pain is definitely still there. But the forgetting the pain part is part of the learning experience of life. So for all of those who think I still hold grudges, I say to you: False. I am just remembering the pain. And if I bring it up every time I'm reminded of it, don't think that I haven't forgiven. I just haven't forgotten. Which, we really aren't required to do - mostly because we can't. How do you forget that stinging remark someone has said to you, that you hear every time you look in the mirror now that he's said it? How do you forget that inconsiderate action by a close friend that turned your world upside down? You can't. But you can forgive them.

The Bishop also pulled out John 8, where the woman taken in adultery is accused. I love that story simply because of the amazing compassion that Jesus had for her. That He has for all of us when we sin. She broke a very serious commandment. By law she should have died. But he did not condemn her. And because of that, she was able to go from Him and repent. She was given the opportunity to change. What a marvelous blessing the atonement gives us! The Savior has paid the price for all our sins, and because of that, He opens his arms wide to welcome us back as soon as we give up our sin and come to Him.

Clothes are for...someone else

From Amy:

Kelsie wants nothing to do with shirts.

 




















And now she is trying to take off her pants.

The Dishwasher of Hope

Since I've moved in, I have not seen a clean dish come out of our dishwasher. It doesn't matter how many times I've put soap in and started it, and then redid a cycle and then gave up and washed the individual dish that I wanted to use. It took me...well, a while, to notice that when the dishwasher ran (which was not often) it would leave about 4 inches of standing water down at the bottom. When I made a comment about it to the roommates there response was basically an acknowledgment of that fact that it didn't work, but that didn't stop us from loading it - I only assisted in the madness in order to get the dishes out of the sink - and then, surprisingly, unloading it - to which I never did.

This is mainly the reason I have only eaten from a pink fork, spoon and knife, a pink plate or a pink bowl and a small number of glasses. Because I knew they were clean. I have often opened up the cupboard where their dishes are stored, or the silverware drawer in order to retrieve something, only to shudder and break out my own things. It took every ounce of.... determination? I had in me to sit down during roommate dinner and eat from the fork and plate, and drink from the big plastic cup (which I hate anyway)  without gagging a little bit. I just couldn't imagine those things to be that clean.

Finally, I took it upon myself and called the landlady of ST. I've heard some things about her, and while she seems like she can get a little cranky, she has so far been very nice to me. I told her about the dishwasher and suggester a little maintenance could be provided. Two days  later, a big box was discovered in our living room. The next day, we had a very pretty, shiny new dishwasher sitting under the counter.

Now, one of my roommates suggested that the whole kitchen situation (i.e. the sink of dishes) was in direct relation to the fact that there was a non-functioning dishwasher. I am hoping that the novelty of the new dishwasher will encourage a level of cleanliness that has not yet been achieved at this apartment. If C is correct, then the new dishwasher should solve all our problems. I am, of course, a bit skeptical as the dishes are not the only problem: crumbs and other remnants of breakfasts, lunches and dinners are always on the counter tops; overflowing trash and trash bags NEXT to the full trash can are often a concern; I'm fairly certain there are several rotting items in our fridge; etc. etc.

However, I must admit... when I walked out from the back of the apartment, I was surprised to see the sink empty, the counter top and stove mostly wiped down, and....at least there wasn't a bag of trash NEXT to the trash can. Can this mean that the dishwasher has begun to instill a little hope in me? Perhaps.

Or even more hopeful? I heard A trying to sell her contract to someone on the phone. K is getting married in April or May and C is planning on getting a house where she can have a dog. I think I might just make it until August - and that is hopeful indeed.

Customer Service

I've been working since I was 16 years old in some type of customer service industry. I started as a hostess at Bob Evans (I could really go for some cheesy potato soup and an extra roll right now...) and then moved to Edison in the Student Development office. I've been a server a few times, for a few years. I worked at a grocery store. I've answered phones. I've dealt with clients. All of which requires some amount of customer service.

Having been a server for so long, I feel like I know the industry well enough. I know that it typically isn't the server's fault when it takes forever to get your food. I know that sometimes they just forget. I know that it isn't likely that the server will spit in your food - but you have to be careful about the cook. Especially when you special order something, because for some reason or another, cooks hate that. And it's probable that your server had to fight the cook in order to make that omelet with no onions sub tomatoes. Knowing all of this affects the way I treat my server. I don't expect perfection, but I do have expectations. I forgive mistakes if they admit to them. I do not like when they ignore me because they don't want to admit it. I tip.... well, I used to tip really generously until I realized that I couldn't afford it, and now I tip 20% or a little more depending on how well I was served.

But sometimes - and it has happened more frequently than I like to admit - I just don't have patience for sales people or customer service people. I don't care if they are just trying to do their job and I don't care that they are having a bad day. I know what I want and I want them out of my way so I can get it. I don't think I have ever been so pushy as I am now. (I think it's the aging process.)

Most Recent example:
Last night (and yes, I'm giving you the back story to defend my thought processes) I worked until 1:30 a.m. This morning I woke up, having gotten a mere 5 hours of sleep (I always thought this was enough -- I think I need to rethink that) and had to run by Staples before going to the office. Since I was hungry already, hadn't had breakfast and hadn't had time to find a lunch at home, I stopped by Kmart to see what they had to offer. When I went to the register, Drenda asked me if I would like to sign up for their rewards thing and I said, "sure," thinking it would take little time to get my information into the system. Turns out, I was wrong. Drenda couldn't type. In fact, she typed with two fingers "pecker style" and kept having to look into part of her glasses to see the info I had written and another part to see the keyboard and a DIFFERENT part (yes, she admitted she had tri-focals) to see the screen. Not only did she type 3 wpm, but she also couldn't spell. Since I shop at Kmart strictly for work, I gave her my work email. To bad it has the word "architects" in it, because every time Drenda would get to architects, she would misspell it, and then hit backspace instead of enter and we would have to start the process all over again. I am not exaggerating nor am I kidding you when I say that we did this... I counted, ELEVEN times. I was fine with the first 3 - nay, the first 5 -- times we had to retype my email address. After that, I offered to type it in for her. I'm sure there is some policy about letting customers by the register, but really? The more I waited patiently, the more impatient my thoughts became. The shorter my responses when she said things like, "As you can see, I was never very good at English. It was my worst subject..." and, "I guess it's a good thing I told that other lady behind you to go to another register." I WANTED TO BE AT ANOTHER REGISTER. I felt like she was the biggest moron on the planet, and that's really just not a very nice thought. I'm sure my parting, "Have a good day," didn't make up for the unforgiving grimace I gave when she finally said, "Well, you're finally in the system! I thought I'd never get it!"

Unfortunately, there have been a few other times when I let my impatience get the best of me, and worse, there are witnesses (who never let me live it down, either).

We were at IHOP and I had just been happily presented with my custom-ordered crepes, just the way I like them. The waitress was going on about how she had to argue with the cook and get him to make them for me when I interrupted and said, "Can I have a fork?" Now, most people saw that as rude. And I guess it was... ok, there is no guessing about it. I know that the cooks - especially IHOP cooks - hate special orders. They hate modifying the dish by one ingredient, let alone creating something from scratch that isn't on the menu. But while she was jabbering, the crepes were getting cold and I didn't have utensils! And sometimes, I know that as a server you get to talking and then you walk away without letting the customer getting much response in because you don't want to be the waitress that talks too much. And I just didn't want that to happen! She got me a fork and I did, I think, apologize.

Another time we stopped at WalMart on our lunch break in order to pick up a few things. Now, lunch breaks are short time periods and I didn't want to be dallying around at WalMart, thank you very much, for the whole of the time, and so when I stopped by the eye center, I knew exactly what I wanted. ONE box of Acuvue 2 lenses met to the prescription that I held in my hand. He was trying to upsell to me. And I have a really hard time with that. I knew I wanted one box, so I came to get one box. So why would you try to talk me into two or three or four boxes? I want one. Also, he was soooooooooooo slow about getting the ONE box, I couldn't understand it. It was like he had all the time in the world, and if I had had a wad of cash on me, I would have thrown it at him and stormed away with my contacts. Unfortunately, I didn't have cash and he didn't hand me the contacts before I paid.

Finally, are the sales reps that I deal with at work. Sales people are naturally slimy. They want business because they need business, because that is how they make money. That's how everyone makes money. I know this. But they come in and try to schmooze their way into my good graces so that they can set up box lunches and appointments and get the inside scoop on projects.... and really, I see a motive behind every "How are you?" "Have a fabulous day?" "Let me know if there is anything - anything- at all I can do." Also, I don't want to talk about the weather, which consequently, is the only thing salespeople know how to talk to me about. After all, I'm not the one buying their services, I'm just the one that has to greet them at the door every time it opens. Sometimes it is really hard to force a smile on my face and ask them how they are. I'm not good at small talk, and so while they stand in the lobby I'm always torn between doing my work - which requires me facing the computer screen - or trying to come up with something to say...which always leads to talk about the weather. Sigh. It's annoying.

I can only imagine the wonderful things in-store for all customer service agents everywhere as I continue to crust over into this mask of impatience and intolerance. I don't know how it happened, but it seems to be getting worse. Pretty soon I'll dread even opening my mouth to someone for fear of offending them or insulting them in some way.

Shattered Knees and other Ridiculous Things

I quickly went through my nighttime routine in order to get to bed as soon as possible, but I think that I have to record how ridiculous the last 5 minutes have been. Besides, it should also be noted that I got ready for bed in just about 5 minutes... which is quite a feat, as I am easily distracted. I was tempted to just skip washing my face and brushing my teeth, but luckily, I accomplished both.

First of all, I shattered both of my patellas tonight. You may not believe me, but I'm sure there is a hairline fracture somewhere in at least one of them. There is certainly swelling. And swelling means fluid. And ugly bruises. I thought that my knees would bleed, but they haven't because I didn't really break the skin. Just the bone... but that is what falling onto solid ice does to your bones. I mean, not to Olympians' bones - they must drink lots of milk. But when I got cocky, and started going way faster on my ice skates than I had any right to go, it was only a matter of time before I fell. I made it around once without incident - why did I have to be greedy and try for a second time at personal record-breaking speeds? I tried, and failed. And my knees have been throbbing ever since. Even with the Tylenol Becca gave me afterward.

Also... I pretty much need night vision goggles to get safely from one side of my room to the other. Not that my room is very big. And I shouldn't be admitting this, but the truth is, I need a pogo stick to get through my room. It hasn't been clean since.... well, since I moved in. But that's because I haven't really moved in yet. I still haven't figured out where I am putting all of my clothes, and so they have just sort of taken residence on ... yes, the floor. I know, It's bad. That is on the agenda for tomorrow. I mean today.

So, while hobbling through the small, magical path from my door to my bed, I realized that I am in big trouble because my bed is practically on stilts. It sits atop two cinder blocks and is high enough off the ground that I have to CLIMB onto it in order to sleep. Usually, this is not a problem. Tonight, my swollen kneecaps protested to the point where I was laughing at the pain. It hurts so much - is so uncomfortable - that it made me laugh. A really, really awkward, twisted sort of laugh. But not loud enough that the roommates could hear me. (Don't worry.) And once I climbed onto my bed, I was not going to risk climbing down, even though I know that my phone is still in the pocket of the pants that I wore tonight. I had wanted to set an alarm and wake up early enough that my day could be fairly productive... but if I get down, then I have to climb back up...and really, I don't think I can handle it. I know, I'm a wuss.

So here I lay, in my bed...and luckily my laptop was at a reachable distance. Typing, but too lazy to even look at the screen and freezing, but at least I put my blankets back on my bed this morning, instead of having to need to climb down in order to get the discarded covers.

If you need me in the morning - early afternoon - you should know that I will not get my phone. I probably won't hear it, and even if I do, I anticipate my knees swelling to the size of small melons and my muscles to be sore from ice skating...so the likelihood of me getting out of bead is "not very".

New Hair

BEFORE



Granted, I didn't really do my hair yesterday - I just wore it in a pony tail. So when I took this picture right before my hair appointment, it was at optimum grossness level. (Well, it was clean, so at least I had that going for me.) But it looks kind of manegy.

AFTER

Of course, my camera on my phone is not very good for color quality. But it is more red. I have a few brighter red panels in my hair and bangs. My bangs are straight across, again. I don't know why I do that, because I never like it once I've styled them myself. Luckily, they're cut so I can swoop them or pin them back if I need to. Which I probably will....

Catered Tutoring

One of the reasons I hate stats so much is the fact that I don't understand - not even an iota - of what is going on. But William offered to help and he's been tutoring me for... about a year. On and off. More off than on really, because that is how often I work on stats........

That's besides the point.

The real point is that when William explains things to me, I almost understand. Which I think is monumental progress. I think this comprehension comes from two things. The first being: William also hates stats. Or, at least he says that he does. (I am convinced that no one - NO ONE - hates stats more than I do. And even if he does hate it, he still at least gets it, which probably makes it worse.) And, he's a mathematics major; which means, while he understands what I have to know for my stats class, he teaches it completely differently. He knows why we have to do things. He explains what is actually happening when they are talking about standard deviations and y-hats and all those awful...

The second reason William is such a good tutor is that he caters to you as the student. He draws his examples from things that you might consider interesting. So instead of learning about medical studies that I have a hard enough time understanding without the littered stats information, I am learning more about the probability of someone enjoying being pushed up against the wall and kissed.

That's right: William uses that as an example to teach me stats. And it almost works. I actually was thinking about emailing my teacher and asking for extra credit (or if I were really ambitious I would ask if I could replace my final) by doing an actual statistical study and analyzing the data and applying all the concepts I'm supposed to know by the end of the class. Mostly because I thought it would be interesting.

For those of you trying to keep up with my status on the blasted class: I haven't taken test 2 yet. But...I'm just about ready to. I said that two weeks ago when I ordered the test, but I had a few quizzes I had to finish first. Those are done now...so I just need to make sure I know the material. If I get a D.... well, I don't have the time necessary to recover from a D. So we'll just have to get a C or better. William?

Words of Wisdom by Michael Scott

David Wallace: So I am going to fax that information to you today.
Michael: Fax? Why don't you just send it over on a dinosaur?
David: sighs impatiently Michael, this is important.
Michael: Then why don't you email it?

Truer words have never been spoken. Working at KMA, I have used a Rolodex and fax machine more often than any other office equipment. We are so outdated here! But honestly, I can't complain because I know there are other construction offices that are worse off than we are. At least we have a scanner and can email things if we wanted to. Just sometimes we forget. Even me!

Like a few weeks ago when I was to send quite a number of pages of specs to one of our engineers and thought that the only way to get it to him was the fax machine.... And of course the fax machine didn't have enough memory to get it all through at once, so I started breaking it up into pieces until I remembered the scanner upstairs. Which resulted in the following email:

Hi J,

I fell into a worm-hole and landed in the dark ages where I thought a fax was the only way to get you the specs you requested. I’m back now – I’ve scanned the requested pages and I’m copying them over to you now.
Let me know if there is anything else you need.


Shelli

How embarrassing, right? There's something about faxes that inherently bug me anyway. It might be the fact that my machine jams all the time because it thinks it needs to feed about 30 pages at once and then yells at me to fix it. Or just the incessant beeping. OR the fact that the tray is never on right, there isn't enough memory and it just looks ugly and takes up too much space. It also results in unnecessary phone calls, because you always have to call the person to ensure that the fax sent or received correctly. Note: the great thing about email is that you can check a little box that will TELL you whether or not the email has been opened. Or do something as simple as say, "Please reply" and they just have to send a one-word answer. AND you don't have to waste paper. Brilliant. Just freaking brilliant. I love email.

J's response?

Shelli, I'm glad you got your technology straightened out.

So am I, J. So am I.

The Two-Way Stop

The above picture is abstract art. It is also a representation of the AWFUL experience that I have had repeatedly this week, that for the life of me I can’t understand. And on top of that, it is just one of those things that makes me IRATE.

Yup, I get irrationally mad whenever I find myself in the above situation. For those of you who did not take Art Appreciation 520, let me interpret for you.

Most of you may be able to tell that the depiction is that of a two-way stop. The strange colored houses and lack of nice landscaping along with the two-way stop may give you an idea that you are close to campus. The truth is, this particular depiction is that of 200 East, but it has and can happen regularly on other intersections around this area.

Because it is a two-way, Louise is happily waiting at the STOP sign. This is the law, and she (Louise being my car) and I don’t mind stopping for the law – well, most of the time we don’t mind it. And we don’t really mind waiting for the cars that do not have to stop as they continue to go on and on and on and on. Even though we are running late, and waiting is the very last thing we want to do.

So we’re waiting. I see a break up ahead, just after the teal car and there will be enough distance between her and the next car that I can scoot across and be on my way but then the teal car starts slowing down… and slowing and then she stops. STOPS. Even though, there is not stop sign. I’m baffled. And then I laugh. The ignorance. Doesn’t she know that there isn’t a STOP sign there? Well, I’ve made the mistake before...the sheepish little teal car will figure it out soon enough. Only, she isn’t going. And my mantra of, “C’mon. Go. Gooooo. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!” Complete with hand gestures and the shudder of Louise’s own idleness isn’t convincing her to move any faster.

She sees the gestures and makes a face and then points. Of course she is pointing to the pedestrian, who must have been so confused at this backwards game of chicken that he decides to walk. Because what else is he going to do? Tealie obviously is going to be “considerate” and let him walk across. And what does that mean for me? I don’t know what to do. By law I’m required to wait for Tealie to drive across, but the pedestrian (represented by the brown and orange circles, in case you didn’t get that) is going the same way I am – so why shouldn’t I get to go if Tealie is going to be waiting and Louise can certainly move faster than lame-brain BYU student crossing the street.

I didn’t go earlier, and then I was even more irritated with Tealie. But when it happened today, I said, “This pisses me off,” (and I was talking to Mom….whoops) and drove across anyway. Because it really would be inefficient not to.

I would say that I feel sorrier for the cars that are behind cars like Tealie. But that isn’t the case. I feel sorry for myself. And I feel rage. Lots of rage. I wish Louise were more like a Power Ranger, and could transform into this monster vehicle and totally cream Tealie. Because they make me so mad.

*Disclaimer 1: Of course, this whole situated is diffused a bit when it is the pedestrian’s fault. Some pedestrians feel entitled to go whenever the heck they want. And if that is what causes the car to stop, and I have to wait for little Peter or Molly to get out of Tealie’s way, then I do not blame Tealie. Pedestrians have the right away, whether they deserve it or not.

**Disclaimer 2: If it were exceptionally cold or there was lighting or a tornado or blizzard or some other natural disaster…if the person looks like they are in general discomfort because they are about to poop their pants then maybe – MAYBE – I can see the other car giving the pedestrian the extra 5 seconds it would take to cross their path and let them cross… Maybe.

"Gimme all your money, I take care of it no problem."

I don't know why, but this seriously cracks me up every time I see it.

"Gimme all your money, I take care of it no problem."