Modest Extremism

Take a minute to look at this photo.

What do you see? What do you feel? If you are a man, are you stirred to inappropriate feelings because the "skinny jeans" are too tight? If you are a woman, are you rolling your eyes at the lack of tact and dignity presented by these clothes? Are you offended by this outfit in anyway?

No?...
...Really? ...

Why not?

I'd like to venture a guess. I'd say it is probably because there is nothing wrong about this outfit. There is nothing immodest about it. It's probably because your thoughts don't immediately turn to wayward, inappropriate thoughts at the sight of a cute, fully-clothed female. And oh, also, because those aren't skinny jeans.

Unfortunately, we live in a world where extremism is all over the place and I would argue, especially within our culture. I attended BYU and saw extremism all the time on campus, but never did it reach the heightened proportions that I have discovered and heard about as is found on the campus of BYU-I. Why is it that people feel it necessary to call out others in self-righteous judgment? Why do these people always land jobs in the testing center? It's so strange to me. The story goes: The girl in the above photo met with her bishop for her calling then headed over to the testing center in the same outfit and was turned away because her pants were "too tight". Now, BYU and BYU-I both have a dress code that limits the clothes you can wear on campus. Mostly they are the obvious: no bare midriffs, no butt cheeks hanging out your shorts. No sleeveless shirts, etc. But from what I can tell, there is nothing too "form-fitting" or again, immodest about this outfit.

If it were me, I'd be outraged.

The whole story can be found in this article here. I'd like to point out my favorite part: the flier.

A flyer was posted by university employees instructing students who felt that “skinny jeans” might be permissible to “go home and prayerfully visit with your Heavenly Father and recommit yourself to being a true disciple.”

Er...

It should be noted, that according to the article I linked to above, the flyer was removed a few days later and the school made a statement on their Facebook page that said, "

Wondering if skinny jeans are allowed on campus? They are. BYU-Idaho's longstanding dress & grooming standards promote principles of modesty and restrict formfitting clothing, but skinny jeans are not singled out or prohibited. In addition, the Testing Center issue reported in Scroll has been corrected and is no longer in force.

 ABC News also posted an article on the whole thing. They didn't really find students that had flattering things to say. While generally, I do not think that the dress code at BYU or BYU-I is "ridiculous" as the student quoted said, I do think that there are some who take it to extremes. From what I've read, mostly it stems from guys who probably think that girls at school should be dressed in a shapeless muumuu worn down to our ankles, not to be completely confused with a burqa. (I personally think that these guys need to go talk to their bishops about their porn addictions, because let's get real for a second: if you are completely turned on by the "shape of a girls leg", then you probably have some dirtier things going through your head, stemming from activities taking place in your bedroom. Just sayin'.)

The argument is modesty.

In junior high I owned two tanks tops that I wore to school. They had straps that were at least four or five inches thick and showed *gasp*shock* my shoulders, but that was all. I attended a broadcast with my mom, and the president of the church announced a new For the Strength of Youth pamphlet that encouraged us to not get that second pair of earrings that I had been working up my nerve to ask my mom for, and to not wear any item of clothing that was sleeveless.

Oh the arguments that I put forth! The sarcastic and belligerent comments I made towards my SHOULDER being put down as an object of lust! I hated it! Absolutely. My mom talked me down, told me that showing a little bit of obedience was more important than putting on display of my shoulder. Etc. etc. And for the most part, I have lived without that second pair of earrings. I have worn the Shade and the Downeast tops and put shrugs and cardigans to cover my shoulders. My shorts are all knee length. For a long time, my dresses and skirts were at my ankles. (Now... they might be quite a bit shorter, but in general, are still "modest".) I have no problem with modesty and the general dress code with which we are asked to adhere to. My problem is with those that turn it in to an extremist movement.

One of the quotes from the aforementioned article was from this blog. She talked about a specific Friend article involving a disappointed four year old and her grandmother's gift of a spaghetti strap dress. And she left with this thought,

I don’t want my daughters equating “modesty” with how much skin they choose to reveal or to cover. Sure, I’d like them to be modest, but modesty encompasses so much more than how much leg or cleavage or, okay, shoulder you reveal. Modesty is about attitude, demeanor, dispositions. It’s about moderation. It’s about avoiding extremes. It’s about feeling comfortable in your own skin.

I think that is the principle with which we should judge on what we choose to clothe our bodies with. For those of us not wearing garments, I know we should keep in mind that one day we will be wearing them, and shouldn't need to have to buy a whole new wardrobe for when we do. However, thinking that we need to dress in pioneer dresses or feed sacks is not the answer. And judging girls who choose to be a little more trendy, or whatever, is not up to us.

Miss Representation

Over the weekend I stumbled upon a documentary that I think touches on a really important subject and I hope will inspire people to seek change.

The film is called Miss Representation and documents the sexualization of women in the media and how it affects our society and how it has changed the way girls view themselves. It showed staggering statistics and highlighted things that most of us probably think about in passing, but have generally accepted it as "just the way things are."

One of the things that hit me was the section it did on the past election with both Hillary Clinton and Sarah Palin in the mix, and how the media focused more on what they were wearing and less on their actual politics. I wasn't a huge supporter of either woman, but listening to the way they were referred to in the media made me angry.

(SOUNDBITE OF DOCUMENTARY, "MISS REPRESENTATION")

BILL O'REILLY: Both you and Sarah Palin are good-looking women. I mean, you're attractive, young - relatively young - women.

MICHAEL SAVAGE: Kagan he's going to put on the U.S. Supreme Court? Isn't there such a thing about the aesthetics of the appointee? Let's put it to you this way, she's not the type of face you'd want to see on a five-dollar bill.

RUSH LIMBAUGH: I think I'm going to send Sotomayor and her club a bunch of vacuum cleaners to help them clean up after their meetings.

UNIDENTIFIED MAN #1: Cynthia McKinney, the former congresswoman from Georgia, was another angry black woman.

LEE RODGERS: Look at these ugly skanks who make up the female leadership of the Democratic Party.

UNIDENTIFIED MAN #2: You know that ugly hag Madeleine Albright? Remember her?

Hags? Skanks? Really? How is this acceptable? One of the other points from the film talked about how in the media, when a women politician speaks out about a policy they are said to "complain" about it, but if their male counterpart said the same thing, they would have "stated" it.

The film talked about how in the 20s, 30s and 40s, women in films were often well-rounded, complex characters that played multiple roles within the movie. Now, we have the bimbo, the ho and the accomplished proud women that is seen more as a b*tch that needs to be taken down a peg (think The Proposal).

The more I watched the documentary, the more I realized that people need to be educated on this very topic. The documentary was shown on the OWN network on television, and there are scheduled screenings throughout the country. To my friends in Utah, December 1, in Ogden is our showing. I encourage anybody and everybody to watch it.

Start:	December 1, 2011 7:00 pm
End:	December 1, 2011 9:00 pm
Venue:	Ogden Weber Chamber Auditorium
Address:	2484 Washington Blvd, Ogden, 84401, United States
Cost:	Free

NPR interviewed the writer and director of Miss Representation, Jennifer Siebel Newsom. You can find the transcript here. Also, take a minute to check out the website, www.missrepresentation.org and their facebook page, https://www.facebook.com/MissRepresentationCampaign.



Remember, "You can't be what you can't see."

First Observations

!!!!!!! I'M IN NEW YORK !!!!!!!!!!

I think I was so nervous this morning, that I didn't dare sleep through my alarm, which is really good considering we just made it to the airport. Luckily, I was all checked in and ready to go, I had no problems with security and I literally just walked on the plane. I also tested out using my passport, which was great to know that I'll be able to get through security without having to break out my soon-to-be-expired license when* I go home for Christmas.

*if


There have been lots of stories on the news about the new scanners that see right through your clothes and how they are mandatory, unless you want to subject yourself to being felt up by TSA. A lot of people are unhappy with this, and I am among them. I think it is invasive and unnecessary. However, whilst Salt Lake City airport does have the new scanners, they aren't mandatory - yet - and so I didn't have to worry about going through it. They do have the technology, though, because I'm pretty sure I've gone through one before. (Unless it was in Ohio... but now I can't remember. I really just try not to think about it too much...) All of these measures that are meant for our safety... ugh. I'm not really one of those people that shares the philosophy of "better safe than sorry" or anything, because I know that I am not a terrorist, or even so much as a security threat, and so yeah, I feel really inconvenienced when they want to look through my clothes or "pat" me down or refuse to let me bring my perfume and shaving cream because they don't meet the required liquid regulations...

Anyway, I love the airport in the morning. People are cranky. I don't know why. The man who made my smoothie - worst smoothie of all time, by the way - was in no way willing to offer a "good morning," smile or...anything. I also saw a man walking around with a flannel cream colored shirt with elk drawings on it, and coordinating camouflage pants. Oh, Utah. I wish I had a picture, because really, I think they should take that look to fashion week.

Upon boarding the plane, I noticed that ALL of the flight attendants were OLD. I've seen a few older attendants in my day, but... not all of them, and not all of them close to retirement age. The man was sort of funny. He would get on the intercom and say, "Good news, everybody!" and then proceed to tell us some pretty good news (e.g. everyone boarded the plane on time, and so we left early; we arrived almost forty minutes early, etc.) but then he finished up his joke with the Geico tagline, and I lost all respect.

I slept for most the flight, but was wide awake when I landed and I must say that that I was extremely disappointed that I did not have a window seat. I would have loved to see the city as we were flying in. I kept trying to get a look, and the guy that was sitting next to the window pointed out three large container ships that were likely bringing in products from China. The ocean looked awesome... at least the part that I could see. At first I thought I was looking at a pod of whales, but I'm sure it was just really big waves, and I guess that's cool.

Because we were early, we had to go on a passenger car, which was this... box-like structure that would lift all the way up to reach the plane, we boarded it, and then lowered down and drove. It was seriously nuts. You couldn't see the driver....

I wandered around the airport for a while, listening to all the different languages and seeing all kinds of people, which I love to do anyway. I was so nervous that I was going to get lost, but I found the air train OK. I was told that I could buy a metro card at the airport, but I didn't see a kiosk so I just hopped on a train and hoped that I would know which stop to get off... I didn't, but I chose a stop that had a very cute, very helpful (and likely gay) man who noticed I looked lost and told me to get on a train - which WAS different than the one I had been on - so that was really, really nice.

The subway was SCARY. Not the people. They all seemed cool. And there were a lot of delicious looking black men... seriously. Colin had warned me that the subway conductors spoke in ebonics, but... it was like no ebonics I ever heard. Are people actually meant to understand them? I am certain that even the black guys on the train had no idea what he was saying. Luckily for them, they knew where they were going.

I managed to get off on the right stop, but once I got off the subway, that is where the trouble started. I found the numbers that I was looking for, but no red lines (like I was told there would be) and no "John Street," which is what I was looking for... So I finally just picked an exit and made my way aboveground. Honestly, I do not like subway stations.

Once again on ground level, I began walking, hoping to just bump into the street I needed. Colin was in a meeting and unable to assist, and my GPS was not picking up any satellites. (Thank you, tall buildings!) So I was on my own and decided to enjoy walking around. Which I did. I saw St. Paul's church and Trinity Church and knew that I was on the wrong path when I hit Wall Street and the giant bull. And, I'm pretty sure I walked past the World Trade Center site... but that is unconfirmed. But I watched people take pictures and then I found a map. As far as maps go, it was helpful, but completely turned around. I had to think backwards in order for it to tell me anything. So I turned around and headed back down Broadway, and found the street I needed.

My first meal experience was an Lenny's. I had a roast beef sandwich, and either I was starving, or it was seriously the best sandwich I've ever had. I am sated and pleased with my purchase.

My overall impression is that the City is nice, but... I am a small town girl at heart. I kept waiting for the subway to empty out, but it only got more and more full! I like to sit and observe, but I don't think anyone appreciated me...I think they thought I was trying to listen to their conversations or something, but that wasn't the case. Anyway, there are tons of people here, obviously, and they all stand on the outside of their buildings and smoke. But for the most part, I've noticed that everyone is really friendly.

Now I am awaiting Colin's arrival and we are on to the midnight showing of Harry Potter.

Reverse Psychology

Reverse psychology is defined as telling a person something that is the opposite of what you want him to do or believe. German psychologists Adorno and Horkheimer theorized that people respond in an opposite or reverse direction of what they are told, and this theory has been tested and proved since the idea's debut in the late 1970s.

Several of my friends have gotten married this month or gotten engaged and a couple have broken up. All of these status changes have put me in mind of relationships - of the romantic and long-lasting sorts - and how I haven't had much experience with them and how I don't know much about things of this nature, at all. I've also been thinking of how I'm 24 years old and will be turning 25 in just a few short months (I try to forget this last part. Partially because I don't like that I am getting older and not really doing much with my life; but mostly because November means cold weather. I'm dreading the cold weather. While I am not really prepared to be 25, I am even less prepared for snow and coats and winter...*shudder*).

Anyway, the more I've thought about it, the more I've realized that nothing is going to happen until I come to terms with the fact that something might never happen. Not that that is what I really believe, but I am going to have to get to a point where I do believe it...or nothing is ever going to happen. Reverse psychology, see?

The advice you hear from those recently "caught" are the ones who say, "I had just given up," or "I wasn't ready/looking," or "That was the last thing on my mind."

Of course, I've always known this, but thought it was stupid. Because as soon as you want to stop thinking about something, the more you think about it. Just like as soon as you start dieting, you want to eat more Sweet Tooth Fairy cupcakes (yum).  So even when I seem perfectly contented in my single life, which is more often than not, and try to make that step to being completely satisfied with single life... well, the more I realize how my full-sized bed feels like it is a mile wide and the more I resent how truly happy my friends are that are married and the more I get jealous of those that aren't even that happy, but are just in relationships. Lame.

So somehow, I've got to truly and honestly convince myself that I am 100% completely resolved to live the life of a nun. Totally ready to be that somewhat eccentric, overly-happy, self-loving, joy-to-be-around, wants to be the BEST aunt (and only an aunt) for the rest of my days, ambitious, successful, SINGLE career woman, with no thoughts of men, romance, love, companionship, parenthood, partnership, empty bed forever, loneliness, etc.

After this, and only after this, will I find what I am not craving at all. It's like some spiritual journey that involves monks and ancient temples and finding your inner chi, but not. Instead you're finding tickets for one, third-wheel style weekends and way, way too much estrogen in your "much needed" girls' nights.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. The journey of a perfectly contented single life begins with.... what? Someone let me know, so I can get started.

Tricorn

Yesterday I dropped off submittals at a contractor's before heading home from work. Because of where this contractor is located, I took my favorite "back road" in Provo/Orem. After going through a round about, I found myself following this old man wearing a tricorn hat. (See picutre.) I already noticed how awesome his white, vintage Jeep was, but then I noticed the hat. I loved it.

As we continued down towards a new street, there was a guy just trudging along with a contented smile on his face. As the white Jeep passed him, I watched as his head turned to follow, and then when the Jeep had completely the passed the man laughed. My windows were down, so I heard his laugh. He even took a second to bend and place his hands on his thighs and then he stood up straight and continued on. The laugh made me giggle. I was already smiling because of the hat, but the walking man's laugh totally brightened my day.

Friday Night In

After a long week, sometimes it is nice to go off the map and watch a movie in your apartment alone. Which is what I did tonight. I haven't done the best at going to bed early this week, so I thought I would try tonight since my movie ended around 10:30 p.m.

When I went into my room to change into pajamas I noticed two things: lightening and the sound of rain. And a really awful rock concert going on somewhere in the vicinity of my bedroom window. And while the rain is optimal for a good night's rest, the terrible music was not really what I would call a lullaby. You would think that the rain would be damaging to the electrical equipment. I wanted to yell out the window for them to SHUT UP! but thought the better of it because 1) they wouldn't hear me and 2) as it is Friday night, they are typically entitled to rock out all they want until Midnight. I had flashes of thoughts of me partying all hours of the night and not caring who was around trying to enjoy the last two episodes of Justified on their enjoyable night in, and who am I to ask they respect me for just trying to do the same?

So I've been trying to keep myself busy, and I have been very successful. The "concert" probably ended over an hour ago...and sadly, the rain did too.

Still, I find that 1:00 a.m. is a great time to clean the bathroom. And now I even feel like my Friday night has been productive as well as relaxing. Even if I am only now getting to bed...

Change

Change is against my very nature.

It lacks spontaneity. It requires time and effort. If I could decide to change and then be changed in 5 minutes, I think it would go over a lot better.

If I could decide to change and begin working towards making that change, instead of having to sleep on it, instead of having to continue to live the remaining facets of my life, I could do it.

Unfortunately, change doesn't happen over night. It doesn't happen on the impulse of the decision. And no matter how much you wish it, if you don't make the necessary mini-changes, the BIG change will never happen.

But how do you know which little mini-changes will be just what you need to make the bigger changes? Why can't you set a timeline and know when the actual change will take place for good? Why is it so tempting to look back - and why does looking back have to be a stumbling block every time in which the change needs to then start from the beginning?

This is why I'm not good at making the changes I KNOW I need to make. Because I know that they need to be made - but I don't know how to make them stick.

Family Wards

I heretofore ban my attendance to family wards. This may seem like a silly thing, but here's the thing:

I go to church to be uplifted and spiritually fed. I go to worship and take the sacrament and learn. I go because I'm supposed to and I go because I want to and because it rejuvenates me. And sometimes I go to get out of the house. (And sometimes I don't go because I don't want to leave the house... but that's a different story.)

I've been attending BYU student wards for almost six years now. Student wards are amazing because you are literally going to church with people who are basically in the same life situation as you are. Usually we are far from home, broke beyond belief and struggling to pass a class or secure a job. Hardly anyone is happy with their dating life. We're all discovering just how strong our individual testimonies are...or are not. There are a lot of serving opportunities and growing opportunities through callings and new friendships. And there are no kids.

The last one may seem irrelevant or off-topic. But really, what is more distracting than children in sacrament meeting? They're there to learn, too. But mostly it's to learn how to sit through a long meeting without grinding Cheerios too much into the carpet. Or that during the sacrament you can't color, but after, it's totally fine. Kids are noisy and distracting. And ridiculously funny. And cute. And I can't sit through a church meeting that is littered with children and pay attention to what is being said at the pulpit. I just can't.

The other thing about family wards is that they have all these newly married couples that lean on each or curl up under an arm. The little wife is wearing her husband's suit coat and he will turn and kiss her cheek or the top of her head. They give each other back rubs and secret smiles. And mostly it makes me sick. It also makes me a little jealous.

And then, of course, there are the young mothers and the expectant mothers that waddle around the church building. They are distracting too, because then I catch myself wondering exactly how I would parent that screaming child (take him out!) or laugh at that child (yes, I'd definitely laugh at him) or how I'd look waddling around a church building. They look so cute in their Sunday dresses with their pregnant bellies. Which typically are not cute at all.

And by the end of the block (why do we call it "the block"?) I'm sick to death of eternal families and children and cute, thoughtful husbands. And I haven't done any of those things that I go to church to do. I'm pretty much green. And I don't like that feeling, because most of the time I am quite content with my singleness and perfectly happy in my BYU ward. I'm usually thinking about all the things that I can be doing because I'm not "tied down" and I only have responsibility for myself. But none of that matters when I go to a family ward and I leave more depressed than rejuvenated. So that's it. I'm going to stick to the Single's Wards from now on...

Missing You

Missing people, things, etc. is a fairly normal thing. We miss our best friend from elementary school that we don't talk to anymore. Or our grandparents who have passed away. Sometimes I miss school.........ok, not really the last one. We miss exes. We miss family who lives far away. We miss family activities and traditions.

But missing things we've never had doesn't really make sense at all. And yet, sometimes there isn't another way to describe the empty feeling. You're just missing....whatever it is.

I miss playing the piano. I've never learned how to play, but I see a piano and I miss playing it. I think I could have been good if ever I had taken the time to practice and to learn how to read the bass clef. I only ever had a handful of lessons and then because of scheduling and moving out to Utah, they stopped and I never really learned how to play anything harder than March of the Fairies.

I miss having a young, fit body. That sounds disturbing, but it's true nonetheless. I haven't been thin since I was about six years old, so missing this...well, it's sort of ridiculous. I've never really been in shape. I have never played sports well because of it. Still, the older I get, the less likely I will ever have such a thing.

And then of course, when I'm laying down at night waiting for sleep to come, sometimes I miss the person who would be sleeping beside me. Someone who would have already warmed up that other side and would curl an arm around me and pull me close. This, I can safely say, has never happened. And therefore is perposterous to miss.

But sometimes you miss things that you have no right, no reason, no experience to miss. And miss it you do. It all comes and goes. I realize that I have great friends to fill the place of that long-lost friend from elementary school. I can't play the piano, but I can enjoy practicing my flute or singing or listening to others play the piano. I play racquetball or tennis and find dresses or something that flatters my body despite my size. And in the end, I realize that I have a fairly full and content life and I don't need to be missing anything at all. (Except my family, who no matter what lives 2000+ miles away and still does family activities without me - of which, I will always miss.)

Irrational

Look, I know I am not always the most rational or logical person in the world. So when I admit that there are a few things that irrationally irritate me to death, well, just know that I do realize that it is irrational. I just can't help it.

Like faxes. I hate faxes. I hate when people ask me to fax them something and I hate even more when a fax shows up and is requesting for information. Seriously? Don't you know that there is a magical thing called EMAIL? And you can't get information just that much quicker and without wasting paper and without all the annoying beeping and sputtering and jamming my fax machine? Do you really think I am going to run over and jump to the fax machine when I hear it go off and it has already made me angry because it just sucked up 15 pages instead of the one it needed and then read your question and want to answer it? No. I want to ignore it. Because faxes are obsolete. And annoying.

Another thing: Snow in May. I don't care that it means that we aren't going to be in a drought this summer. Whoopie-do. It's MAY! I was enjoying the new, baby leaves and the flowers and the fact that we might just have warmer weather. Oh wait, we're going to be in the 70s by Wednesday. What the heck is that about? Should I be grateful that I got the opportunity to don my coat one more time this year? NO WAY. Man, I was ticked this morning.

And finally, my friend Meghan was telling me about this returned missionary who spoke in her ward yesterday that just really bugged me.

Meghan: anyway, he kept going on and on about this story about this guy and then he told about how 6 weeks before he was going home, the sister missionaries were teaching the guy's wife

and he went on this ramble/tirade about how sisters missionaries and sweet and nice (said very condescendingly) and made great cooks and stuff, but weren't "in-tune and forceful" enough to be missionaries...

...are sweet and nice

I seriously almost chocked him with my eyes

and Jared was going apoplectic because his lesson the previous week was about respecting women and all the YM had this horrible attitude, so he was like "great, now they're going to think it's ok to be misogynistic douches"

and we muttered the rest of the time with the people in the bench behind us

 Unacceptable. There are no...pleasant...words for attitudes like that.

M&Ms (OCD)

I am not sure how long I've done this, though I know it has been for at least some five years because that is when it was pointed out to me.

I was sitting at IHOP rolling silverware with some coworkers. Ben - the infamous Ben - was making fun of me because he thought I was OCD. He didn't have a lot to go on. So, I liked the place mats to be perfectly straight when I laid them on the tables. I had a pretty particular way of garnishing the food dishes, and how to drizzle chocolate on the dessert plates. (I just wanted those to look good! There's a right way to do the whip cream too...) These aren't obsessive or compulsive, they're just taking pride in my work. But he tested other things, I was known for doodling on the back of the place mats while waiting for Ben and April to get off work so we could go to Mimi's for breakfast. I would draw a box or something, Ben would add a line that messed it up, I would fix it. He would shade something in, but not all the way. I would fix it. I still didn't think this was indication of OCD.

But we were sitting there, eating M&Ms that someone had brought in and I very carefully separated my M&Ms in pairs by color. I'd pull out the singles and eat them promptly. Then, if there were more than one pair of each, I would carefully eat the surplus. And then line them up by color in the rainbow, or however I like the color combination best. Sometimes that meant switching things around and then I could eat them.

I still do that. Now I am more aware of it. But even when there isn't a table to line things up on, I line them up on my hand. And then I eat them. Two by two. If I don't do it, it irritates me. I don't find them as appealing, or they taste funny. If there are absolutely no two colors the same, I would rather get a different handful.

Tempus Fugit

Why is it that while sitting at work with little to do I can look at the clock and it is 11:38 a.m. and I feel like I've been there for about four hours already instead of just two and when I look at the clock again, knowing that it has to be three at least, it is really only 12:01 p.m.

But when I decide to get ready for bed at 11:15 p.m. so I can fall asleep early, one minute in front of the mirror or a quick email check or just a minute talking to my roommate and WHAM it is 12:21 a.m.

How does that happen? What sort of natural phenomenon/cruelty is life playing at? I know it's called managing my time better - but then again, if it only feels like a minute, how am I to know it is really 40?

For reals though, I am trying to get to bed early...so this is a short post before I climb into my sorta-comfy bed. (Thanks to a trip to Walmart that started at 1:00 a.m. and what seemed to only last for 40 minutes, but somehow I got home at 3:20 a.m. - Seriously, how does that happen?)

Ah, well... as they say in Latin: Tempus Fugit. (But never when you want it to.)

I am Biased (offensive)

Considering the timing of several very cute arrivals to some of the coolest people I know... this blog post could offend some people. Don't let it. I am posting this on my blog but I am not necessarily posting about you. Most of my friends/family are pretty good about not annoying me with their kids. It's just random people, friends of friends, etc.that really annoy me. (But if you see yourself doing these things... maybe, tone it down a bit???)

So... it's official. I hate parents (not mine, of course). I hate the new moms that post on their Facebook every "cute" thing their baby does, how much their head circumference is, whether or not they've gone #2 today or not, and how just perfect, awesome, amazing, incredible, etc. their baby is.

I hate waiting for two or three moms all pushing their baby strollers across the street in the morning. (This is an irrational irritation... so if you do this, don't feel bad. I understand you want company while taking your child for a walk. It still bugs me though.)

I hate blogs that are ONLY about the baby and say everything the Facebook statuses say only much WORDIER. Trust me, every kid learns how to say, "da" and "ba." It is also part of human development to learn how to crawl, pull yourself up, eat with a fork and stack blocks. We all did it as children. Our grandparents did it. Cain and Abel did it. Your baby is not really that special because at 5 months he learned to crawl. Turns out most babies learn to crawl at 5 months. If it were 2 months, when he's barely begun to hold his head up but still managing to crawl... well then, that is pretty spectacular. One could say that I should stop reading the blogs (or block the Facebookers) but I continue to read on the off-chance that you will post about something else in your life. Because I'm still interested in what is going on in your life, even if you've turned completely lame since having a baby.

I hate moms that refuse to get a babysitter because they don't TRUST anyone to watch their baby (or are too cheap to get a babysitter) or are offended because you don't want their little tyke coming to the opera with you (I don't go to the opera, but you understand my meaning, I think...)

I hate the moms that are so consumed with worrying about germs reaching their baby. Hello. It's called an immune system. Your baby will die if it doesn't learn how to fight a little bit of germs.

Has anyone noticed that parents have the grossest conversations, ever? And they put it on the web, even though it should be private information. Your nips are chapped? No one needs to know that. Your baby is constipated? Wow, who cares? Normal people don't walk around complaining that their uterus feels like it is about to erupt or that they are so gassy or have the runs so bad they've had to change their pants twice today. Ok - I do know some people like that. But really, they don't post it online, which is one of the most public places ever these days. There are some things that really should just be kept to themselves.

Of course, none of this applies to my sister, Amy. Because I can't get enough of Kelsie stories. I would sit on the phone and listen to her talk and scream and cry the whole day. I can't get enough pictures of her. I look through them 100x a week. Kelsie actually is the cutest, smartest, most advanced baby I've ever seen. I don't want to know if she throws up or poops - but if that's the only story you got for me, go ahead and give it to me! (Maybe not....I'm just trying to prove a point.)

Also, Amy is probably one of the more normal moms I've ever met. (Except the whole fear of flying to Florida...............) She tries to stop Kelsie from eating the dog food, but you know, isn't ridiculous about it. She doesn't mind if someone, like a little kid, wants to talk to Kelsie. She'll let her run around and play. She'll get a babysitter (granted, usually my mom or Mackenzie) when she needs to. She's not afraid of germ, of Kelsie dying spontaneously. She's fairly laid-back. Much like my mom was when Brad and Mackenzie were babies.

When all is said and done, babies are funny creatures. They are so dependent. They are terribly easy to make fun of. If you aren't making fun of your kid, then you aren't doing something right. Lighten up and laugh a bit. And do try to remember to retain your personality. You've had a kid. You aren't brain damaged.

All of this just goes to prove that I am extremely biased and obviously not a mom. I love that Kelsie baby more than anyone else's kid. So, sorry. 

I guess that means that I am giving you free leave to not be offended and to take what I write with a grain of salt. Because even if you are a crazy mom, and I claim to hate crazy moms, I more than likely don't hate you. You're probably one of my most favorite people in the world.

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?

The Incredible Edible Egg

I found a new use for eggs. I don't like them hard-boiled (blech!) and I really don't like just egg whites. I don't like meringue. I've never tried them poached. And I've only recently started liking them fried...as in over easy. I can't DO over hard...again, BLECH!

But for this, you don't actually eat the egg, so it doesn't matter what your preference of eggs actually are. Eggs are the new home-remedy for burns. Bad burns. Or blisters. It turns out that the lack of water in eggs helps keep the blister from actually blistering, which means there isn't a little pouch of annoyance ready to cry out every time you bump it on something, rub it against something or push on it in any way.

After burning my finger on the rotor of my car (I KNOW - stupid, girl) my poor little finger immediately blistered. Immediately. It hurt like a muuther. So I was carrying around a dish towel with ice - I know you aren't supposed to put ice on a burn, but the burn cream really wasn't doing anything - and Katie Call suggested that I put my finger in an egg. No one had ever heard of such a thing, but Carla offered her eggs to my poor finger, so I accepted.

Just crack the egg open in a bowl and stick your finger in. Immediately there is relief because the egg is cold from being refrigerated. And, it isn't ice, so it isn't too cold. The fact that there isn't any water for the blister to draw on, keeps if from filling with liquid. And whenever the egg started to feel warm, you could just swirl it around and it would feel cold again against your skin.

By the time I was done soaking my finger in 2 eggs, the blister was no more and the burning sensation nearly gone. I woke up with a callous on my finger, but no pain. I definitely have a testimony of this new trick! So forget anything you ever heard about vinegar or whatever. Just put an egg on it.

Sitting at the Computer

It's Labor Day...but I have a lot to do. Sadly, none of it requires me to actually leave this spot...right here in front of the computer. I tried to get up and go somewhere, and only got so far as the shower. I guess I could clean my room, but I still have to look at my computer.

Doing stats, searching for jobs, returning the emails from Korea, stats, blogging, writing and listening to my music - it's all done in front of the computer.

I just wish I had a more comfortable chair. (It's not even that bad... but it gets tiring.)

That's all.

Airport Observations

Every time I go to the airport, I want to blog about all the amazing observations. After all, between two 3-hour flights and a 3-hour layover, you are bound to see some things that you like, i.e. gorgeous black men; and things that you do not like, i.e. lots of saggy breasts. I will explain...

There was nothing too interesting to report the first day I spent at the airport. Flying stand-by is always a risk - and this time I was not too lucky. I couldn't focus on entertaining myself, because I was too busy trying to figure out if I had a way to get home or not. Or at least to Atlanta. That was a no go. --- How could I have forgotten? When I approached the lady at the ticket counter to see if she could direct me at one point, I watched as she clicked away at her keyboard and then looked up at the tall, intimidating blond in front of her and said, "Could you back up about four steps? I can feel your energy in my space." I'm pretty sure I looked at her in shock and amusement. Who says that? She proceeded to ignore me, and did not seem to want to help me at all. ---

Today - I knew that I had a confirmed ticket. I knew where I stood with relation to time and place and everything went very smoothly. I watched the ticket agent at the gate patiently walk people over to the screens so they could see where there connections were. She didn't make the passengers come to her - she went to them in order to help out. I was very impressed. I wanted to give her a gold star.*

*Wouldn't it be great if I carried around gold stars and awarded people with them whenever I was super impressed with the way they handle a situation or treat a customer? I am not always able to show my thanks to that individual because they aren't helping me directly - and honestly, they might think that I was weird observing them and then commenting on it. BUT, if I were to hand out gold stars...

While waiting to board the plane, I notice a fairly attractive man-boy standing nearby. He happened to have his boarding pass out and he obviously wanted me to see where he was sitting - and - he obviously wanted me to see that he was sitting right next to me! I was mortified and excited all at once. He was cute... but it would be difficult to stare with him sitting so close...

That didn't matter - he started talking to me. I felt like Cady in Mean Girls when she is documenting every conversation she had with Aaron Samuels - "On October 13, he asked to borrow a pencil..." Anyway, I was cataloguing what he was saying. "There's a dog on the flight..." He mentioned with enthusiasm. "You're a pro at this, you read right through the take-off," he said with awe. I tried to come up with witty responses - they never lasted long. However, I did manage to talk enough to learn that he lives in Atlanta where he is about to begin his first year of nursing in order to become an anesthesiologist. He drinks rum and cranapple juice (To which I wanted to say, "I thought only pirates drank rum?" But didn't.) And his brother is getting ready to serve a mission in Nicaragua.

When I landed in Houston, I noticed that women in the Houston airport do not need to wear bras. Nor do they feel the need to cover their extremely saggy breasts. Yes, it is as disgusting as you just imagined. I needn't say more.

Houston airport also serves as a transit place for a lot of really, really good looking men. Of all colors, shapes and sizes. I am OK with this, as I was just looking anyway. When sitting on the sky tram, I was able to observe a whole basketball team (one guy said "Hi," and I took that as my cue to make sure they were basketball players...) and a hot Indian guy (you didn't think they existed, did you? They do) and a man that nearly made me swoon. I only smiled at him - but I was seriously contemplating just letting him know how beautiful he was. I would have given him ALL my gold stars - just for smiling back. Too bad he needed to get off at terminal C.

The sky tram is a great place for people watching. And so watch I did. The sky tram is also very punctual. It takes exactly 7:42:89 minutes to get from terminal B to C to D, E and then back again. Even when it claims that it is being delayed, it does not change times. Which means, my friends, that there is a standard deviation of 0 when it comes to the mean run time of the sky tram. The tram is also a lot more rickety and ghetto than it was when Amy and I rode on it so many years ago. I was grateful that no one else thought to ride the sky tram for longer than they needed to, because I felt like Luna Lovegood (see Harry Potter) staring with a half-smile on my face, content in my odd behavior. The whole time I was biting my tongue because I wanted to ask everyone where they were going or where they had just been.