I've mentioned on this blog before that I've crushed on the Les Olson delivery guy before; and most people that follow me on Facebook have read the comments about when he drops by and makes my day by just letting me look at him and smile retardedly until he leaves.
There has been a lot of discussion about flirting with him (here) and not knowing how to take advantage of the 35 seconds I have to sign the paper before he leaves.
In December, when my work decided that we were doing our Christmas dinner, I was told that I needed to "find my Prince Charming" to invite as my date. (The last time we had a Christmas party, I invited a roommate of my friend and have not talked to him since...) I racked my brains with who to invite.
I had an offer of an engaged friend to come with me. I had a friend offer her husband. And then there's the group of guys that I hang out with on a regular basis, and I decided, that would be cheating. I wanted to bring a date. Not just a friend. So who?
A mention of it at the office had the guys suggesting a few guys. One of them being the Les Olson guy. I thought about it and then had a mini panic attack. Why shouldn't I ask him? But how should I ask him? What ensued was a lot of orders for toner (which were actually legit) and plotting and plots being foiled... There was talk about luring him back to the supply closet. There were WHOLE CONVERSATIONS planned in my head.
In the end, someone always managed to come down the stairs, ruining my "game" (yeah right, like I have game...) and a result of nothing.
And then "Santa" came to the office early, bearing the delivery guy's phone number on a post-it.
I debated for a whole day as to whether or not I should use the number. I did not know the precise tactics by which it was procured, and that made me worried. All the guys bet against me. No one thought I would actually call, but they asked on and off for the rest of the day. I polled all my friends. I had mini-panic attacks. I took the number home that night and didn't do anything with it.
Then, I decided, "What the heck." And on my way to work the next day, I called.
The guys all at work said that they were proud of me. I think they were shocked. Honestly, after listening to what my girl friends had to say (they all claimed that they would not call), I decided that I was proud of myself. The delivery guy acted as though he was interested until I gave him the date and he said he would be out of town.
I don't know if that was an excuse, the truth, or whatever. I did it. And I did it without actually having a panic attack and without feeling dashed to pieces when it didn't end up as a success. It wasn't that hard after all.
We've had one order of toner since then, and the delivery guy didn't come.
That's not really a good sign. Was he sick that day? Out of town? Did he have his whole route changed because of me? It's hard to know. I hope not, because that would be really dumb. Even though he turned me down, I am not embarrassed to interact with him (remember how he's in my office for 35 seconds per delivery?), so if he's embarrassed or what, afraid I'm going to jump him? then that's stupid.
I ended up finding a date to take to the Christmas party. That was after making a foolish misjudgment and asking someone I shouldn't have, then calling and persuading him to admit that he'd probably stand me up and deciding to call the whole thing off. I found my date randomly, and it ended up being a really good night.
Of course, if this follows tradition, I will likely never talk to him again.
Whatever.
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 06, 2013
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Pigs; for Real?!
One of my favorite things about having Kelsie in town was the funny things she says. It's exhausting keeping her entertained, then keeping her awake when she's too tired to be in a good mood, then dealing with her random bursts of energy when she decides you are her personal jungle gym.
We were driving in the car and Kelsie mentioned that she was going to eat her arm, and I asked her if she was a cannibal.
"What's a cannibal?" She asked. (I love when she doesn't know a word, she'll ask what it means.)
I tried to explain to her that it meant eating a person the same way she eats cows, or chickens, or pigs.
"Pigs?!" She said, with a weirded-out look on her face. "For real?"
Later in the week, we went to IHOP (because, embarrassingly enough, Amy and I cannot stay away), and Kelsie was eating her bacon.
"I'm eating a pig!" She shouted, and took another bite.
We were driving in the car and Kelsie mentioned that she was going to eat her arm, and I asked her if she was a cannibal.
"What's a cannibal?" She asked. (I love when she doesn't know a word, she'll ask what it means.)
I tried to explain to her that it meant eating a person the same way she eats cows, or chickens, or pigs.
"Pigs?!" She said, with a weirded-out look on her face. "For real?"
Later in the week, we went to IHOP (because, embarrassingly enough, Amy and I cannot stay away), and Kelsie was eating her bacon.
"I'm eating a pig!" She shouted, and took another bite.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Edinburgh Night Life
The other night we decided to catch a film at the cinema. (Captain America, don't waste your money). Becca was on her mini-honeymoon and had left us to our own devices, which meant we didn't know which taxi service to get, so we ended up with some Chinese man that didn't speak any sort of English -- especially American English. We piled into his small sedan and headed to the theatre, only, and he dropped us off at the grocery store across the street. We loaded up on candy and pop and I wondered if it would be more or less difficult to sneak it all in.
It was easier. Actually, it turns out that you can hit up the bar outside the theatre and you can carry your beer bottles in. Cool. The guy selling the popcorn informed us that they "don't do butter" which turned out to be smart -- the actual auditoriums were spotless and carpeted. No sticky feet!
The movie was terrible.
Afterwards, we headed out and tried to find a taxi, but they had all switched off their lights and we were out of luck. The guys were getting incredibly nervous because right next to the theatre, there were a few night clubs -- gay night clubs. And they were overflowing with sailors and flamboyant men.
The people in Edinburgh are sort of terrible drunks. Josh and Jason were commended because they knew when to quit drinking, whereas their Scottish counterparts, continue to drink until they are staggering down the middle of the road in 6-inch heels and leopard print leggings. I wonder how many girls go into the hospital with broken ankles. Seriously.
We headed on down the road, and were probably only a mile or so away from Rebecca's apartment, but it seemed quite a long walk especially because Roberta -- the poor dear -- was hobbling with pain in her ankles, knees, back and neck. We were walking pretty slowly, which made Roberta feel like a target for all the crazy people on the road. She clinged to her son's arm and I was supposed to take Josh's. Only, Josh didn't actually offer his arm to me, so I let him walk ahead as if he were my bodyguard, instead of my escort. No big deal.
When we finally hit Dean Bridge and started down the hill into Dean Village, Roberta was using the hand rail and we came across a slug. Because of the wet climate, snails and slugs are pretty prominent around here, but usually underfoot, and not on the hand railing. Anyway, Roberta decided to flick the thing, and it went flying, somehow, forward. Onto my wrist.
I'm not normally a panicky person, although, maybe I really am because it seems like every other day, I'm writing up some experience where I'm doing the heebie-jeebie dance... this was no exception. The boys, who were dying from being so held back by our slow pace, turned around and watched me shriek while Roberta bent at the waist and nearly peed her pants.
It was easier. Actually, it turns out that you can hit up the bar outside the theatre and you can carry your beer bottles in. Cool. The guy selling the popcorn informed us that they "don't do butter" which turned out to be smart -- the actual auditoriums were spotless and carpeted. No sticky feet!
The movie was terrible.
Afterwards, we headed out and tried to find a taxi, but they had all switched off their lights and we were out of luck. The guys were getting incredibly nervous because right next to the theatre, there were a few night clubs -- gay night clubs. And they were overflowing with sailors and flamboyant men.
The people in Edinburgh are sort of terrible drunks. Josh and Jason were commended because they knew when to quit drinking, whereas their Scottish counterparts, continue to drink until they are staggering down the middle of the road in 6-inch heels and leopard print leggings. I wonder how many girls go into the hospital with broken ankles. Seriously.
We headed on down the road, and were probably only a mile or so away from Rebecca's apartment, but it seemed quite a long walk especially because Roberta -- the poor dear -- was hobbling with pain in her ankles, knees, back and neck. We were walking pretty slowly, which made Roberta feel like a target for all the crazy people on the road. She clinged to her son's arm and I was supposed to take Josh's. Only, Josh didn't actually offer his arm to me, so I let him walk ahead as if he were my bodyguard, instead of my escort. No big deal.
When we finally hit Dean Bridge and started down the hill into Dean Village, Roberta was using the hand rail and we came across a slug. Because of the wet climate, snails and slugs are pretty prominent around here, but usually underfoot, and not on the hand railing. Anyway, Roberta decided to flick the thing, and it went flying, somehow, forward. Onto my wrist.
I'm not normally a panicky person, although, maybe I really am because it seems like every other day, I'm writing up some experience where I'm doing the heebie-jeebie dance... this was no exception. The boys, who were dying from being so held back by our slow pace, turned around and watched me shriek while Roberta bent at the waist and nearly peed her pants.
Monday, August 01, 2011
I Blame the Cute Kinkos Guy
Friday night I dropped a project off at Kinkos that needed to be done and ready to go to Duchesne by 7:00 a.m. Monday morning. Typically, last minute projects get dropped off at the the Orem store, because they are open 24-hours a day, seven days a week. It was early enough that the Provo store hadn't closed, and I knew that they could easily get the project done in time for me to pick it up before closing on Saturday. Plus, the really cute guy with the Arabic tattoo works there at night.
So I dropped off the project, flirted with Cute Guy, and he told me that he would be opening the next day and that I could pick it up any time in the morning. Naturally, I wanted to be able to go in and flirt with him again, because, really....what better thing is there to do on a Saturday morning?
The only problem with the whole plan, is that I sleep in on Saturday. I have a hard time getting to work by 9:30 a.m. or 10:00 a.m. on the weekdays... much less waking up on a Saturday to be to Kinkos bright and early. I told Cute Guy that I would be in at 10:30 a.m. and made the resolve to set my alarm early enough that I could be "cute" when I went to pick everything up.
When my alarm went off, I was too tired. My 3 a.m. bedtime throughout the week had really caught up to me, and I decided to sleep just a little longer. I still woke up around 10 a.m., but I also just bought a Kindle and instead of getting out of bed, I decided to read. When I decided to start getting ready for the day, I was distracted by my book and so I took it and read in the bath. I was just going to run over to Kinkos and get the project, but I still needed to be cute!
By the time I was finished with my bath and my book.... I had completely forgotten about Cute Guy and the project at Kinkos.
I spent the rest of the day relaxing and reading. It wasn't until I was at the grocery store later that night, picking up things for our Munch and Mingle on Sunday, that I remembered the project. And of course, then it was too late. The Provo store closes at 9:00 p.m. on Saturday, and doesn't open again until 7:00 a.m. Monday morning.
I felt awful. And irritated with myself. And frustrated. Argh!
So this morning, worried that my boss wouldn't know how to pay for the project when he picked it up at Kinkos, I crawled out of my bed and got ready early enough to make it to Kinkos by 6:54 a.m.
Aside from being up so early this morning, the fact that I'm recovering from a weird bug (yesterday I was nauseous and dizzy all day, which turned into chills and a fever and a massive headache last night), with a lingering headache, I haven't been up this early in months. Frankly, it's going to be a long day. The good news? I can probably leave as early as 3 p.m. or 4 p.m. today. :)
So I dropped off the project, flirted with Cute Guy, and he told me that he would be opening the next day and that I could pick it up any time in the morning. Naturally, I wanted to be able to go in and flirt with him again, because, really....what better thing is there to do on a Saturday morning?
The only problem with the whole plan, is that I sleep in on Saturday. I have a hard time getting to work by 9:30 a.m. or 10:00 a.m. on the weekdays... much less waking up on a Saturday to be to Kinkos bright and early. I told Cute Guy that I would be in at 10:30 a.m. and made the resolve to set my alarm early enough that I could be "cute" when I went to pick everything up.
When my alarm went off, I was too tired. My 3 a.m. bedtime throughout the week had really caught up to me, and I decided to sleep just a little longer. I still woke up around 10 a.m., but I also just bought a Kindle and instead of getting out of bed, I decided to read. When I decided to start getting ready for the day, I was distracted by my book and so I took it and read in the bath. I was just going to run over to Kinkos and get the project, but I still needed to be cute!
By the time I was finished with my bath and my book.... I had completely forgotten about Cute Guy and the project at Kinkos.
I spent the rest of the day relaxing and reading. It wasn't until I was at the grocery store later that night, picking up things for our Munch and Mingle on Sunday, that I remembered the project. And of course, then it was too late. The Provo store closes at 9:00 p.m. on Saturday, and doesn't open again until 7:00 a.m. Monday morning.
I felt awful. And irritated with myself. And frustrated. Argh!
So this morning, worried that my boss wouldn't know how to pay for the project when he picked it up at Kinkos, I crawled out of my bed and got ready early enough to make it to Kinkos by 6:54 a.m.
Aside from being up so early this morning, the fact that I'm recovering from a weird bug (yesterday I was nauseous and dizzy all day, which turned into chills and a fever and a massive headache last night), with a lingering headache, I haven't been up this early in months. Frankly, it's going to be a long day. The good news? I can probably leave as early as 3 p.m. or 4 p.m. today. :)
Friday, July 01, 2011
Let's Make Each Other Fat - Beacuse it's Romantic!!
There are some people that are extremely too self-conscious about what other people think about them. Some, like my brother, think that people are constantly watching. But others, live in their own little world and don't stop to think that if they are going to sit down in the front lawn of somebody's house (or business), there's a good chance that they are being watched.
Such was the case this morning when a young couple, she with a bow in her hair, he barely filling out his supposed-to-be skin-tight shirt, sat down in the front lawn to feed each other doughnuts. They looked to be about 12 years old, but I'm sure they were just BYU students enjoying the summer morning.
"Let's sit in somebody's front lawn, and make each other fat! Here, let me shove this doughnut in your face, because it's romantic!" Rob taunted.
Such things are not tolerated in our office. They are heckled and laughed at. We watched as she used a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth, and then tucked a different napkin into the collar of his shirt to make a bib. Then one of the guys opened the window and.... I don't even know how to describe the noise that was emitted from the upstairs window.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh."
The girl looked up in unadulterated shock and then started laughing. She looked towards the windows, but I'm sure she didn't see anything. A few minutes passed, and the sound again. The couple tried to ignore it, but it was difficult to do. She laughed through the whole thing. As did I -- at her.
When they stood to leave, Rob and Steve stood on the stairs and watched him stretch.
"Steven, he's skinnier you!" Rob said. "That's supposed to one of those skin tight shirts, and it's like a cape on him."
"Maybe he's Superman," Steven retorted.
"Maybe he's Superman," Rob agreed.
Honestly, it was much too cutesy for me. All it did was reaffirm that I have got to get out of Provo. But I am grateful for the early morning entertainment.
Such was the case this morning when a young couple, she with a bow in her hair, he barely filling out his supposed-to-be skin-tight shirt, sat down in the front lawn to feed each other doughnuts. They looked to be about 12 years old, but I'm sure they were just BYU students enjoying the summer morning.
"Let's sit in somebody's front lawn, and make each other fat! Here, let me shove this doughnut in your face, because it's romantic!" Rob taunted.
Such things are not tolerated in our office. They are heckled and laughed at. We watched as she used a napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth, and then tucked a different napkin into the collar of his shirt to make a bib. Then one of the guys opened the window and.... I don't even know how to describe the noise that was emitted from the upstairs window.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh."
The girl looked up in unadulterated shock and then started laughing. She looked towards the windows, but I'm sure she didn't see anything. A few minutes passed, and the sound again. The couple tried to ignore it, but it was difficult to do. She laughed through the whole thing. As did I -- at her.
When they stood to leave, Rob and Steve stood on the stairs and watched him stretch.
"Steven, he's skinnier you!" Rob said. "That's supposed to one of those skin tight shirts, and it's like a cape on him."
"Maybe he's Superman," Steven retorted.
"Maybe he's Superman," Rob agreed.
Honestly, it was much too cutesy for me. All it did was reaffirm that I have got to get out of Provo. But I am grateful for the early morning entertainment.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
The Spider that Disrupted Everything
Today was a rough day.
Not in a bad way, I guess. But I only allowed 20 minutes to get ready for church and then we had to park further down the hill of death than usual. So after huffing and puffing our way to the chapel (also known as the science building on campus) we listened to a few talks, some girl play the piano (amazingly) and began our Marriage/Family/Relationship/Dating class.
The class was going pretty well....and then a giant, fuzzy, black, fatty spider started crawling near my feet. But not close enough to my feet that I could kill him, just out of reach that I couldn't get to him, but close enough to give me the jibblies.
Normally, I am not afraid of spiders. I am perfectly capable of taking care of them myself. I'm pretty content to leave them alone, as long as they don't infiltrate my house and stay out of my way. On the chance that I do encounter a spider, I have a ritualistic heebie-jeebie dance that I do before squashing the thing.
Church is no place for a heebie-jeebie dance and shout of triumph after the victim's guts are spread across your shoe.
I kept an eye on it for a few minutes, but it was really giving me the creepy-crawlies. After all, it's one of those furry jumping spiders! And I had no idea where it would decide to go, and was that a spider that just crawled on my legs?!... no, it was just a phantom one playing mind tricks with me.
I decided to enlist the guy sitting two seats down from me. He quickly took to task with his shoe, trying to catch the litter bugger, but it was much too quick for him.
After a moment, the row behind us was involved. Laughing at the non-progress we were making in taking care of the hairy beast. And then it climbed the legs of the chair in front of me, and was residing on the seat (we have stadium-like seating) staring at us with his creepy green eyes - taunting us. We tried to pull the seat closer; a tissue from the row behind us was donated to dispose of the spider... and then he took off.
At this point, the six or seven of us that were invested in the location of the spider had gotten beyond the point of trying to pay attention to the teachers and were more concerned about the spider's movements. I felt bad that we were being so disruptive, but I didn't want that thing jumping on me!
The teacher caught on, saw the spider and asked who the "arachnophobic one" was. They all pointed to me. I'm not really that scared of them, just grossed out! But he admitted that the spider was gross; and well on its way away from us.
He had escaped our death sentence.
After class ended, though, the teacher took it upon himself to smash the littler bugger. And since we have Relief Society in the same room...
I can't say I'm not happy about that.
Not in a bad way, I guess. But I only allowed 20 minutes to get ready for church and then we had to park further down the hill of death than usual. So after huffing and puffing our way to the chapel (also known as the science building on campus) we listened to a few talks, some girl play the piano (amazingly) and began our Marriage/Family/Relationship/Dating class.
The class was going pretty well....and then a giant, fuzzy, black, fatty spider started crawling near my feet. But not close enough to my feet that I could kill him, just out of reach that I couldn't get to him, but close enough to give me the jibblies.
Normally, I am not afraid of spiders. I am perfectly capable of taking care of them myself. I'm pretty content to leave them alone, as long as they don't infiltrate my house and stay out of my way. On the chance that I do encounter a spider, I have a ritualistic heebie-jeebie dance that I do before squashing the thing.
Church is no place for a heebie-jeebie dance and shout of triumph after the victim's guts are spread across your shoe.
I kept an eye on it for a few minutes, but it was really giving me the creepy-crawlies. After all, it's one of those furry jumping spiders! And I had no idea where it would decide to go, and was that a spider that just crawled on my legs?!... no, it was just a phantom one playing mind tricks with me.
I decided to enlist the guy sitting two seats down from me. He quickly took to task with his shoe, trying to catch the litter bugger, but it was much too quick for him.
After a moment, the row behind us was involved. Laughing at the non-progress we were making in taking care of the hairy beast. And then it climbed the legs of the chair in front of me, and was residing on the seat (we have stadium-like seating) staring at us with his creepy green eyes - taunting us. We tried to pull the seat closer; a tissue from the row behind us was donated to dispose of the spider... and then he took off.
At this point, the six or seven of us that were invested in the location of the spider had gotten beyond the point of trying to pay attention to the teachers and were more concerned about the spider's movements. I felt bad that we were being so disruptive, but I didn't want that thing jumping on me!
The teacher caught on, saw the spider and asked who the "arachnophobic one" was. They all pointed to me. I'm not really that scared of them, just grossed out! But he admitted that the spider was gross; and well on its way away from us.
He had escaped our death sentence.
After class ended, though, the teacher took it upon himself to smash the littler bugger. And since we have Relief Society in the same room...
I can't say I'm not happy about that.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Homeless Leap-Frog
Today, one of our construction managers stopped by for a meeting and on his way out, he noticed a row of full garbage bags and a suitcase just sitting on the sidewalk. He called me over to take a looks saying, "Look what your boyfriend brought you."
The apparent owner of the stuff seemed to be walking down the block across the street, and when he saw Chris checking out his stuff, he took off running. We were puzzled by all the belongings left on the wet sidewalk, but assumed that he had been kicked out of his residence.
Of course, Chris makes a big deal out of things, so pretty soon, several of the guys were lined up at the top of the stairs asking questions and getting answers like, "Shelli's boyfriend just brought all his stuff because he's moving in with her. Honest. He told me when I asked what he was doing... He just kept mentioning 'Shelli'."
Apparently I'm to have a new roommate?
Even now, he is still bringings items to add to the pile. Steven wondered if he was playing a game of "Homeless Leap-Frog." Which, is in fact exactly what he is doing.
The stranger is probably a meth-addict, who recently was evicted from his residence, and currently does not have money to rent a storage unit or find another place to live. Chris went and found him down the block, called me and let me listen to the whole conversation. He's literally carrying his stuff, bag by bag, block to block until he reaches a storage unit that is a mile or so from here. He hopes by the time he gets it all there, he'll have enough for one-month storage rental.
I really hope that the guy is OK, but I am definitely glad that he's not really about to be my new roommate.
The apparent owner of the stuff seemed to be walking down the block across the street, and when he saw Chris checking out his stuff, he took off running. We were puzzled by all the belongings left on the wet sidewalk, but assumed that he had been kicked out of his residence.
Of course, Chris makes a big deal out of things, so pretty soon, several of the guys were lined up at the top of the stairs asking questions and getting answers like, "Shelli's boyfriend just brought all his stuff because he's moving in with her. Honest. He told me when I asked what he was doing... He just kept mentioning 'Shelli'."
Apparently I'm to have a new roommate?
Even now, he is still bringings items to add to the pile. Steven wondered if he was playing a game of "Homeless Leap-Frog." Which, is in fact exactly what he is doing.
The stranger is probably a meth-addict, who recently was evicted from his residence, and currently does not have money to rent a storage unit or find another place to live. Chris went and found him down the block, called me and let me listen to the whole conversation. He's literally carrying his stuff, bag by bag, block to block until he reaches a storage unit that is a mile or so from here. He hopes by the time he gets it all there, he'll have enough for one-month storage rental.
I really hope that the guy is OK, but I am definitely glad that he's not really about to be my new roommate.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Cheese Breath
One must always be wary of what he is doing with blinds wide open and facing another apartment building. Why? Because one never does know if there are three girls sitting on the couch watching.
For instance, if you have a bit of a cheese addiction, you might consider closing your blinds so that no one sees how you polish off the rest of the shredded cheese, down to every shred left in the bag - to the point where you turn the bag inside out, wear it like a glove and lick the bag clean.
If you are going to pick bitty morsels off your pizza while - the girls might assume - preheating the oven, with the pizza close to your face and your pincers armed and ready, you might consider doing that in a private place.
Sure, you might think that being alone in your kitchen is in fact, a private place.... however, if you leave the blinds open, you might be victim to some very classic neighborhood peeping.
So listen, Cheese Breath, if before you put your pizza in the oven, you are going to stick your face right in that pizza and lick up all the extra shredded cheese you just added to it, you might remember to shut the blinds.
Because if you leave yourself vulnerably exposed to the neighborhood, there are going to be three girls watching you from their window - laughing hysterically and being grossed out by your dairy obsession.
And a little bit irritated when they wait the necessary 15 minutes for you to remove your pizza, only to have you take it directly out of your oven, and out of viewing range.
For instance, if you have a bit of a cheese addiction, you might consider closing your blinds so that no one sees how you polish off the rest of the shredded cheese, down to every shred left in the bag - to the point where you turn the bag inside out, wear it like a glove and lick the bag clean.
If you are going to pick bitty morsels off your pizza while - the girls might assume - preheating the oven, with the pizza close to your face and your pincers armed and ready, you might consider doing that in a private place.
Sure, you might think that being alone in your kitchen is in fact, a private place.... however, if you leave the blinds open, you might be victim to some very classic neighborhood peeping.
So listen, Cheese Breath, if before you put your pizza in the oven, you are going to stick your face right in that pizza and lick up all the extra shredded cheese you just added to it, you might remember to shut the blinds.
Because if you leave yourself vulnerably exposed to the neighborhood, there are going to be three girls watching you from their window - laughing hysterically and being grossed out by your dairy obsession.
And a little bit irritated when they wait the necessary 15 minutes for you to remove your pizza, only to have you take it directly out of your oven, and out of viewing range.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Valentine's Day Misunderstanding
I got out of the shower this morning and noticed the following text message:
"SHELLI ARMSTRONG! I'm going to kill you! V-day lap dance?! Really?"
Immediately my mind is consumed with merriment. A lap dance! For my roommate, Melissa! This has got to be the greatest prank of all time. And she's at work, which makes it all the more delicious. I'm flattered that she thinks that I would be the one to orchestrate something like that.
It reminded me a lot like the time Colin texted me angrily about the phone calls he'd been receiving asking about his baby chicks. Someone had posted in the classifieds that he had baby chicks for sale, just in time for Easter. And he thought it was me!
I laughed and laughed (for both instances). I'm not a prankster, but I love that I'm being accused as one. People think that I am cleverer than I really am. More cunning, more sly, more creative... All traits that I admire in someone (er...) but I do not possess a single one. I could never come up with something like this on my own, but I endorse it heartily.
So I'm laughing, and texting my dad and others who would enjoy such a good joke. And the fact that I was being blamed for it. All while maintaining my innocence with Melissa. She's threatening to double my utility bill next month, to punch me until I bleed - that's on top of already threatening my death at her hands! But I insist I had nothing to do with it. I have no idea what she's talking about.
And then she sends me another text, "It was totally your writing on the check..."
Wait, what?
And suddenly all my mirth fizzles. And then rekindles. Because I had written Melissa a check for utilities yesterday, and in the FOR line, I had put, "Valentine's lap dance."
So, yes. It was me. I was so disappointed that Melissa hadn't received her Valentine's day lap dance - at work.
She only got paid for one.
*Of course, when you think about what a lap dance entails, I lose all appeal for anyone to ever be on the receiving - or giving - end. As my dad asked, "How many women want some strange man shaking himself up in her face/space?" And with that disgusting image, I am certain that I am not one of those women. I would never inflict said shaking on any of my friends (except maybe, Esther) and I hope to never had anything like that done to me.
"SHELLI ARMSTRONG! I'm going to kill you! V-day lap dance?! Really?"
Immediately my mind is consumed with merriment. A lap dance! For my roommate, Melissa! This has got to be the greatest prank of all time. And she's at work, which makes it all the more delicious. I'm flattered that she thinks that I would be the one to orchestrate something like that.
It reminded me a lot like the time Colin texted me angrily about the phone calls he'd been receiving asking about his baby chicks. Someone had posted in the classifieds that he had baby chicks for sale, just in time for Easter. And he thought it was me!
I laughed and laughed (for both instances). I'm not a prankster, but I love that I'm being accused as one. People think that I am cleverer than I really am. More cunning, more sly, more creative... All traits that I admire in someone (er...) but I do not possess a single one. I could never come up with something like this on my own, but I endorse it heartily.
So I'm laughing, and texting my dad and others who would enjoy such a good joke. And the fact that I was being blamed for it. All while maintaining my innocence with Melissa. She's threatening to double my utility bill next month, to punch me until I bleed - that's on top of already threatening my death at her hands! But I insist I had nothing to do with it. I have no idea what she's talking about.
And then she sends me another text, "It was totally your writing on the check..."
Wait, what?
And suddenly all my mirth fizzles. And then rekindles. Because I had written Melissa a check for utilities yesterday, and in the FOR line, I had put, "Valentine's lap dance."
So, yes. It was me. I was so disappointed that Melissa hadn't received her Valentine's day lap dance - at work.
She only got paid for one.
*Of course, when you think about what a lap dance entails, I lose all appeal for anyone to ever be on the receiving - or giving - end. As my dad asked, "How many women want some strange man shaking himself up in her face/space?" And with that disgusting image, I am certain that I am not one of those women. I would never inflict said shaking on any of my friends (except maybe, Esther) and I hope to never had anything like that done to me.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
The Lamp on My Nightstand
Most the time when you fall, or do something ridiculously embarrassing, the first reaction is to look around and make sure nobody saw you.
You're relieved, at first, if there is no one around and your stumble or blatant fall on your back, lay sprawling on the ground for twenty seconds before you come to fall wasn't actually witnessed by someone. But sometimes, when you literally flew in the air for a good five seconds, you think, "Dang! Someone should have been here to witness that!"
And sometimes it isn't falling at all.
Last night as I was getting comfortable in my bed, my pillow fell back behind my bed, pulling on the cord to the lamp that sits on my nightstand. The cord is stretched pretty tight, and so the pillow pulled it right down off the nightstand, and into my forehead.
It hurt for a second. And I looked around to make sure no one saw. And then I felt like a bigger fool, because of course no one saw, I was laying in my bed, alone. There was a pretty loud crash, and I was more surprised that no one made a comment about the noise. And even more surprised that the bulb didn't go out on the lamp. My forehead stung a bit, but there was nothing I could do about that, so I re-situated the lamp, pulled up the pillows from behind my bed (yes, there was more than one) and went to sleep.
When I woke up this morning, there was...blood. Just a bit, and crusted on my forehead! I couldn't for the life of me figure out how it had gotten there. I knew that I hadn't been picking my face the night before - there wasn't even anything on my forehead to pick! - And then I remembered that stupid lamp.
The thing actually cut me! And made me bleed!
How was no one there to witness it?
Is this a story that is meant for a blog post? Probably not. But really, when your lamp attacks you in the middle of the night, I really feel like someone should be alerted.
You're relieved, at first, if there is no one around and your stumble or blatant fall on your back, lay sprawling on the ground for twenty seconds before you come to fall wasn't actually witnessed by someone. But sometimes, when you literally flew in the air for a good five seconds, you think, "Dang! Someone should have been here to witness that!"
And sometimes it isn't falling at all.
Last night as I was getting comfortable in my bed, my pillow fell back behind my bed, pulling on the cord to the lamp that sits on my nightstand. The cord is stretched pretty tight, and so the pillow pulled it right down off the nightstand, and into my forehead.
It hurt for a second. And I looked around to make sure no one saw. And then I felt like a bigger fool, because of course no one saw, I was laying in my bed, alone. There was a pretty loud crash, and I was more surprised that no one made a comment about the noise. And even more surprised that the bulb didn't go out on the lamp. My forehead stung a bit, but there was nothing I could do about that, so I re-situated the lamp, pulled up the pillows from behind my bed (yes, there was more than one) and went to sleep.
When I woke up this morning, there was...blood. Just a bit, and crusted on my forehead! I couldn't for the life of me figure out how it had gotten there. I knew that I hadn't been picking my face the night before - there wasn't even anything on my forehead to pick! - And then I remembered that stupid lamp.
The thing actually cut me! And made me bleed!
How was no one there to witness it?
Is this a story that is meant for a blog post? Probably not. But really, when your lamp attacks you in the middle of the night, I really feel like someone should be alerted.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Grandma Stories
I love my grandma. And my great-grandma.
I do not love that my grandma does not know how to work a phone. I swear the women was born in 1737 instead of 1937, as she does not know how to communicate at all.
Regardless, I love my grandma.
I mentioned the thong story in my previous post, and I thought I would expound. My grandma and her two sisters go swimming every morning as a way to exercise. They are well-known at the community center where they have a membership. The woman at the front desk recognizes them when they walk in and pulls out their bowl of marbles which they use to keep track of the number of laps that they do (they are up to 22 laps every morning).
The dressing room at the community center is not a place meant for modest. Sure, there are dressing stalls for women to change in and out of their bathing suits, but that doesn't mean anything, as the women stand naked in the tree of life showers, in the sauna or next to their lockers.
One morning, my grandma, Barb and Jo (her sisters) walked in from the pool and a lady was changing next to her locker. She was wearing... her thong. When Jo noticed, she tapped the lady on the bum and said, "Hey, you're missing half your pants!" And then walked to her own locker, leaving my grandma and Barb standing there with their mouths hanging open.
The lady - thank goodness - laughed and said something passe, and then left. She came back a few days later and told Barb that she really got a good laugh and happily told the story to several people. To which Barb said, "That wasn't me! That was her," and pointed to Jo, wondering why she always looks like the troublemaker while my grandma and Jo always look like the innocents.
Another day, Jo was wearing her bathing suit that is wearing thin. The skirt is so droopy, it goes down to her knees. Now, my grandma takes her swimming very seriously. She has flippers and webbed-gloves in order to help her work out. This particular morning, her flippers and Jo's skirt got tangled up! Which was really rather ridiculous...
But yesterday (Monday), I had stayed over so I could go swimming before coming back down to Provo to work. They had told me all these stories, and as we were walking towards the pool, the lifeguard said to Jo, "Hey, you're not wearing your evening gown today!"
To which we all responded with rowdy laughter.
I love going swimming with my grandma. I love how popular they are at the gym and how people always notice when they bring me - a stranger - with the group.
Now, my great-grandma, sits in her little rocking chair and watches a movie or two before going to bed. I've never seen her watch anything other than what is on TCM. I don't blame her, though, because TCM plays some really quality movies. I did not know that they play silent movies, but apparently they do, because when we rolled in on Sunday, that is what my great-grandma was watching. I was immediately drawn in, and then laughed when grandma said, "I don't remember them having such silly movies back when I was a girl."
Because she did watch the silent films when they had the piano down at the bottom of the theater going while the movie played. They are a bit dramatic, and definitely silly, but probably no more silly than what we watch now. I really liked sitting there watching with her, though, and then listening to her explain the narration to my grandma about how "he said this" and then she "said that." When my grandma asked how she knew what they were saying, my great-grandma reminded us that, "You have to use your imagination," and I really loved that.
I do not love that my grandma does not know how to work a phone. I swear the women was born in 1737 instead of 1937, as she does not know how to communicate at all.
Regardless, I love my grandma.
I mentioned the thong story in my previous post, and I thought I would expound. My grandma and her two sisters go swimming every morning as a way to exercise. They are well-known at the community center where they have a membership. The woman at the front desk recognizes them when they walk in and pulls out their bowl of marbles which they use to keep track of the number of laps that they do (they are up to 22 laps every morning).
The dressing room at the community center is not a place meant for modest. Sure, there are dressing stalls for women to change in and out of their bathing suits, but that doesn't mean anything, as the women stand naked in the tree of life showers, in the sauna or next to their lockers.
One morning, my grandma, Barb and Jo (her sisters) walked in from the pool and a lady was changing next to her locker. She was wearing... her thong. When Jo noticed, she tapped the lady on the bum and said, "Hey, you're missing half your pants!" And then walked to her own locker, leaving my grandma and Barb standing there with their mouths hanging open.
The lady - thank goodness - laughed and said something passe, and then left. She came back a few days later and told Barb that she really got a good laugh and happily told the story to several people. To which Barb said, "That wasn't me! That was her," and pointed to Jo, wondering why she always looks like the troublemaker while my grandma and Jo always look like the innocents.
Another day, Jo was wearing her bathing suit that is wearing thin. The skirt is so droopy, it goes down to her knees. Now, my grandma takes her swimming very seriously. She has flippers and webbed-gloves in order to help her work out. This particular morning, her flippers and Jo's skirt got tangled up! Which was really rather ridiculous...
But yesterday (Monday), I had stayed over so I could go swimming before coming back down to Provo to work. They had told me all these stories, and as we were walking towards the pool, the lifeguard said to Jo, "Hey, you're not wearing your evening gown today!"
To which we all responded with rowdy laughter.
I love going swimming with my grandma. I love how popular they are at the gym and how people always notice when they bring me - a stranger - with the group.
Now, my great-grandma, sits in her little rocking chair and watches a movie or two before going to bed. I've never seen her watch anything other than what is on TCM. I don't blame her, though, because TCM plays some really quality movies. I did not know that they play silent movies, but apparently they do, because when we rolled in on Sunday, that is what my great-grandma was watching. I was immediately drawn in, and then laughed when grandma said, "I don't remember them having such silly movies back when I was a girl."
Because she did watch the silent films when they had the piano down at the bottom of the theater going while the movie played. They are a bit dramatic, and definitely silly, but probably no more silly than what we watch now. I really liked sitting there watching with her, though, and then listening to her explain the narration to my grandma about how "he said this" and then she "said that." When my grandma asked how she knew what they were saying, my great-grandma reminded us that, "You have to use your imagination," and I really loved that.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Flirting with Verizon
Earlier in 2010, my sister texted me and asked me if she could use my phone upgrade. I was happily carrying around the Samsung Juke at the time, with no intention of switching and so I gave it to her, knowing that if something tragic happened, hers was coming up in the next six months or so. Then my mom lost her phone, and so she took Amy's upgrade, which was fine because I was still happily using my Juke....
.... until tragedy struck, and the center button broke, and I discovered that no one in the world likes the Juke but me, and they stopped making it and selling it and I was out of luck.
So, since July, I have been carrying not-so-happily, a cheap Verizon phone that I've hated with all my might.
That was to change this Christmas break. So I went to the Verizon store, looking to upgrade my phone. Finally! My mom's upgrade was ready for my use, and I was ready to take it. Only... they don't make phones like the Juke or the Motorola Slvr anymore, because everyone wants a QWERTY keyboard (why?) and a data plan (expensive!) and nifty other gadgets that I am either not interested in or can't afford. Sigh. When I told the first Verizon guy that, he laughed at me! He mocked my longing for my Samsung Juke, and expressed his disdain at the very idea of carrying around such an outdated phone.
I left the store empty handed.
But then, on Monday, I decided to try again and go to the little shack across from Kroger, that houses a Verizon "store." I walked in and of course, the shack is only manned by one person, and it was a guy.
A guy of my very particular type. Tall. Dark haired. Brown eyes. Beard. Stocky.
Also, easy-going, easy to talk to, funny, down to earth and smart (minus the whole smoking thing... smoking is NEVER smart. Just saying.) And he wasn't a pushy salesman, at all.
Huh. Who knew? Do those guys exist, anywhere in Troy?
I went in and told him my desire for a similar-like-Juke phone, and he did not mock me. But he did recommend a phone that so far has suited my needs, even if it has taken a bit of time to get used to. I had it picked out within 20 minutes (and yes, I suppose I should note that it is another phone that they no longer make, so if something happens...whatever).
Anyway, so while I was standing around waiting for my dad to text me information in order to authorize this whole thing, we talked. About BYU and Utah. About Mormons - lots about Mormons. He was talking about how we know what we are doing by using "sex appeal [on temple square]" because drawing in tourists by good looking girls is a very smart way to do business. Even if they are dressed super modestly.... I love it.
We also talked...
...about the fact that he's Jewish. (awesome)
...and gays.
...and school.
...and the economy.
...and sports - and how there aren't many LDS pro-players, but they're certainly no Jewish pro-players.
...and snow - and how I hate it and how he likes to ski and I do not.
And innuendo - like when he was transferring my pictures from my old phone to my new phone, and I asked him if he was looking at them, because he probably shouldn't just in case...
I liked that he asked me, "Can I be crude for a second?" And then decided not to. But then went ahead and asked anyway. (I didn't even know what he was talking about, which was funny in and of itself. You think you know everything about stuff like that, and then find out there is a whole-nother vocabulary list you've never heard.)
We determined that we were not dessert friends. (Um, anyone who just prefers vanilla ice cream and Twizzlers to cheesecake and Cold Stone....uh, false.)
And...and... and....
After an hour, we were still talking.
And then I left.
He should have given me his number. I should try to come up with a reason to call the shack, and ask him a question and then tell me to text me the answer. But I never know what to do in those situations! And it always takes me forever after the fact, to do anything about it. It's such a foreign concept to me.
But then, it doesn't really matter, does it? Because he lives across the country in a place where I only visit 2-3 times a year. Oh well. It was fun when it happened. And why is it that stuff like that always happens when I am not feeling cute at all? I had let my hair air dry. I had minimalistic make-up on. I was wearing my big, ugly coat. I did have cute shoes on, though. But I doubt that he even saw those...
No wait, he did...because he commented on me not wearing socks. And that was the last thing he said to me before I tripped out the doorway (smooth...I know) after having forgotten my keys on the counter. (Neat.)
.... until tragedy struck, and the center button broke, and I discovered that no one in the world likes the Juke but me, and they stopped making it and selling it and I was out of luck.
So, since July, I have been carrying not-so-happily, a cheap Verizon phone that I've hated with all my might.
That was to change this Christmas break. So I went to the Verizon store, looking to upgrade my phone. Finally! My mom's upgrade was ready for my use, and I was ready to take it. Only... they don't make phones like the Juke or the Motorola Slvr anymore, because everyone wants a QWERTY keyboard (why?) and a data plan (expensive!) and nifty other gadgets that I am either not interested in or can't afford. Sigh. When I told the first Verizon guy that, he laughed at me! He mocked my longing for my Samsung Juke, and expressed his disdain at the very idea of carrying around such an outdated phone.
I left the store empty handed.
But then, on Monday, I decided to try again and go to the little shack across from Kroger, that houses a Verizon "store." I walked in and of course, the shack is only manned by one person, and it was a guy.
A guy of my very particular type. Tall. Dark haired. Brown eyes. Beard. Stocky.
Also, easy-going, easy to talk to, funny, down to earth and smart (minus the whole smoking thing... smoking is NEVER smart. Just saying.) And he wasn't a pushy salesman, at all.
Huh. Who knew? Do those guys exist, anywhere in Troy?
I went in and told him my desire for a similar-like-Juke phone, and he did not mock me. But he did recommend a phone that so far has suited my needs, even if it has taken a bit of time to get used to. I had it picked out within 20 minutes (and yes, I suppose I should note that it is another phone that they no longer make, so if something happens...whatever).
Anyway, so while I was standing around waiting for my dad to text me information in order to authorize this whole thing, we talked. About BYU and Utah. About Mormons - lots about Mormons. He was talking about how we know what we are doing by using "sex appeal [on temple square]" because drawing in tourists by good looking girls is a very smart way to do business. Even if they are dressed super modestly.... I love it.
We also talked...
...about the fact that he's Jewish. (awesome)
...and gays.
...and school.
...and the economy.
...and sports - and how there aren't many LDS pro-players, but they're certainly no Jewish pro-players.
...and snow - and how I hate it and how he likes to ski and I do not.
And innuendo - like when he was transferring my pictures from my old phone to my new phone, and I asked him if he was looking at them, because he probably shouldn't just in case...
I liked that he asked me, "Can I be crude for a second?" And then decided not to. But then went ahead and asked anyway. (I didn't even know what he was talking about, which was funny in and of itself. You think you know everything about stuff like that, and then find out there is a whole-nother vocabulary list you've never heard.)
We determined that we were not dessert friends. (Um, anyone who just prefers vanilla ice cream and Twizzlers to cheesecake and Cold Stone....uh, false.)
And...and... and....
After an hour, we were still talking.
And then I left.
He should have given me his number. I should try to come up with a reason to call the shack, and ask him a question and then tell me to text me the answer. But I never know what to do in those situations! And it always takes me forever after the fact, to do anything about it. It's such a foreign concept to me.
But then, it doesn't really matter, does it? Because he lives across the country in a place where I only visit 2-3 times a year. Oh well. It was fun when it happened. And why is it that stuff like that always happens when I am not feeling cute at all? I had let my hair air dry. I had minimalistic make-up on. I was wearing my big, ugly coat. I did have cute shoes on, though. But I doubt that he even saw those...
No wait, he did...because he commented on me not wearing socks. And that was the last thing he said to me before I tripped out the doorway (smooth...I know) after having forgotten my keys on the counter. (Neat.)
Friday, November 12, 2010
Gay Chicken
The guys upstairs are admittedly a little homophobic but definitely really hilarious about this fact. They were talking about how recently, they've inadvertently started a new game that they have since called gay chicken.[Which, I guess is from the show Scrubs, see the video Chris posted in the comments. Funny.]
Since they work together day in and day out, their usual preference of a 3-foot distance between guys has been cut drastically to about 6-inches. But that barrier is still there, and they aren't shy about calling someone out on a "close call" or any sort of contact.
The best example, though, was after their "beard month", Rob came in clean shaven and said, "Feel how smooth!" Since this is fairly out of character for Rob, Wes decided to go for it. But as he closed the distance to Rob's cheek, his hand started shaking. The closer he got to making contact, Rob started pulling away.
Apparently they can't handle it. But the trying and then retelling is certainly entertaining.
I wish there was a way to record these conversations, because they are certainly a lot funnier as you witness them than by sitting down and typing them out.
Since they work together day in and day out, their usual preference of a 3-foot distance between guys has been cut drastically to about 6-inches. But that barrier is still there, and they aren't shy about calling someone out on a "close call" or any sort of contact.
The best example, though, was after their "beard month", Rob came in clean shaven and said, "Feel how smooth!" Since this is fairly out of character for Rob, Wes decided to go for it. But as he closed the distance to Rob's cheek, his hand started shaking. The closer he got to making contact, Rob started pulling away.
Apparently they can't handle it. But the trying and then retelling is certainly entertaining.
I wish there was a way to record these conversations, because they are certainly a lot funnier as you witness them than by sitting down and typing them out.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
That Time of Year
Well, it's time for the annual car breakdown. And I'm happy to report that Louise (she's my car) was happy to oblige.
I drove up this weekend to attend my cousin's wedding reception. (Shout out to the family members I was able to reconnect with - Congrats Rebecca and Jordan!)
And then I was off to finish my weekend in Logan with my boys! Of course, it was raining the whole time, but it was nice to go and have a place to stay instead of driving all the way back to Provo that night. Jake cooked dinner and baked brownies and then we all went to bed. I woke up to breakfast being cooked and then I was on my merry way. (Pretty much, it was like staying at a Bed and Breakfast with two very amusing hosts.)
Only, I didn't get far. Louise was acting up, and so I pulled over to check the tire - which was fine - and then almost immediately after, I lost my brakes. Not that they fell off, or anything. They just, stopped working. So I creeped my way off Main Street and parked the dumb thing on the side of the road and immediately called my cousin Andrew (bless him) who said he needed a minute to figure some things out. I let Jake know what was going on. And called my dad just to see if he would answer in the middle of church. He did. And then I sat in the car and read.
After a few hours, I heard from Andrew (seriously, he's awesome) saying that he was trying to get a trailer. And a couple hours later... I needed to get out of the car! So Jake and David came and picked me up, fed me dinner and I continued to read while they worked on homework.
(Also, David can attest to this - in fact, he commented on it SEVERAL times - I was in a perfectly good mood. After all, this is nothing new. Louise chooses to break down at will, and so I was just very grateful that I hadn't gotten out of Logan, hadn't been on the highway and that Andrew answered his phone! I was doing great! No ogress to be seen.)
Around 9:00 p.m. (eight and a half hours from original departure time) Andrew rolled up with a trailer (YAY!) and we drove through the torrential downpour back to Salt Lake. And we didn't die! Which I attribute to the copious amounts of prayers that Amanda and I sent up to heaven coupled with Andrew (because he's my hero).
We made it to Andrew's dealership - Select Motorsports - where he gave me the keys to a Camero and let me go home. (YAY!) Which I did. I got home around 1:00 a.m. And my roommates were very pleased that I made it home alive.
I drove the Camero around for the day and then after work (and FHE) I went up to Sandy and Louise was back in my possession. If she keeps true to form, we won't have any more major complications for another 10-11 months or so. Maybe I can get her sold before then? In the meantime, she has brakes again! (Albeit, in desperate need to be "bled" - terminology given to me from the menfolk, basically there is still air in the brake lines and I have to pump the brake pedal before I get any sort of response - and then she will be... ready for the next break down.)
Over all, it's been an exciting week. With little or no sleep... so that is where I am supposed to be heading now. To bed! (YAY!)
And even though Andrew doesn't read my blog, I definitely wanted to send out another THANK YOU, because I have NO IDEA what I would have done if he hadn't come and rescued me.
I drove up this weekend to attend my cousin's wedding reception. (Shout out to the family members I was able to reconnect with - Congrats Rebecca and Jordan!)
 |
| The new Mrs. Bartholomew, i.e. my cousin Rebecca |
 |
| I was excited to see Amanda at the reception as well! |
Only, I didn't get far. Louise was acting up, and so I pulled over to check the tire - which was fine - and then almost immediately after, I lost my brakes. Not that they fell off, or anything. They just, stopped working. So I creeped my way off Main Street and parked the dumb thing on the side of the road and immediately called my cousin Andrew (bless him) who said he needed a minute to figure some things out. I let Jake know what was going on. And called my dad just to see if he would answer in the middle of church. He did. And then I sat in the car and read.
After a few hours, I heard from Andrew (seriously, he's awesome) saying that he was trying to get a trailer. And a couple hours later... I needed to get out of the car! So Jake and David came and picked me up, fed me dinner and I continued to read while they worked on homework.
(Also, David can attest to this - in fact, he commented on it SEVERAL times - I was in a perfectly good mood. After all, this is nothing new. Louise chooses to break down at will, and so I was just very grateful that I hadn't gotten out of Logan, hadn't been on the highway and that Andrew answered his phone! I was doing great! No ogress to be seen.)
 |
| Andrew getting the car onto the trailer. By himself. (We all tried to help, but I think we were mostly getting in the way.) |
 |
| Louise looking pathetic. |
 |
| It doesn't look like it is raining much in this picture, but once we got out of town it was BAD. Also, i t was cold and rainy and windy and Amanda and I braved it all out in the truck while Andrew showed us his manliness and toughed it out. Louise didn't fall off the trailer, and I am infinitely grateful for that. (But mostly only because it would have risked the lives of other people. I am slowly losing any and all affection for my car.) |
Around 9:00 p.m. (eight and a half hours from original departure time) Andrew rolled up with a trailer (YAY!) and we drove through the torrential downpour back to Salt Lake. And we didn't die! Which I attribute to the copious amounts of prayers that Amanda and I sent up to heaven coupled with Andrew (because he's my hero).
We made it to Andrew's dealership - Select Motorsports - where he gave me the keys to a Camero and let me go home. (YAY!) Which I did. I got home around 1:00 a.m. And my roommates were very pleased that I made it home alive.
 | ||
| Matti and Savannah. Probably a little sleep-drunk because it was well after 1 a.m. and we don't sleep in our apartment. |
I drove the Camero around for the day and then after work (and FHE) I went up to Sandy and Louise was back in my possession. If she keeps true to form, we won't have any more major complications for another 10-11 months or so. Maybe I can get her sold before then? In the meantime, she has brakes again! (Albeit, in desperate need to be "bled" - terminology given to me from the menfolk, basically there is still air in the brake lines and I have to pump the brake pedal before I get any sort of response - and then she will be... ready for the next break down.)
 |
| Although it was freezing, we had to take advantage of the fact that I was in possession of a convertible. So we did. |
 |
| It was Savannah's first time. |
Over all, it's been an exciting week. With little or no sleep... so that is where I am supposed to be heading now. To bed! (YAY!)
And even though Andrew doesn't read my blog, I definitely wanted to send out another THANK YOU, because I have NO IDEA what I would have done if he hadn't come and rescued me.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
Raindrops and Lemondrops....
I don't know why I chose that title.
Yesterday the weather could not make up its mind. It was kind of perfect fall weather, blustery and rainy one minute, warm and sunny the next. It was dark for most of the morning and looked like it would rain. And then it did rain for a few minutes; after which, the sun came out and I thought we were good for the day.
I don't have A/C in my car, so I often get caught with my windows down when the sun is out. And since it had already rained, I figured that it was done for the day when I got back for lunch.
But then the afternoon turned really windy. The clouds rolled in, dark and looming. And I had forgotten all about my windows. By the time there was a torrential downpour outside, I decided to go check it out and make sure my windows were up.
I looked out the back window, and all I saw was Todd trying to get out of his car and into the office as soon as possible. I opened the door so that at least he didn't have to deal with that 2-second endeavor, and asked, "Did you happen to notice..."
"Your windows are down," he was saying as I handed my keys to him. He took them without question, confirmed that he had the right key, handed me his i-pod to hold and ran back into the deluge.
He came back in a few minutes looking as though he had jumped in a pool with all his clothes on.
Sometimes the guys are rude, crude and unrefined. They talk about things that are straight up inappropriate (albeit, hilarious more often than not). And most the time, chivalry wins out and they don't make you run out into the monsoon.
Yesterday the weather could not make up its mind. It was kind of perfect fall weather, blustery and rainy one minute, warm and sunny the next. It was dark for most of the morning and looked like it would rain. And then it did rain for a few minutes; after which, the sun came out and I thought we were good for the day.
I don't have A/C in my car, so I often get caught with my windows down when the sun is out. And since it had already rained, I figured that it was done for the day when I got back for lunch.
But then the afternoon turned really windy. The clouds rolled in, dark and looming. And I had forgotten all about my windows. By the time there was a torrential downpour outside, I decided to go check it out and make sure my windows were up.
I looked out the back window, and all I saw was Todd trying to get out of his car and into the office as soon as possible. I opened the door so that at least he didn't have to deal with that 2-second endeavor, and asked, "Did you happen to notice..."
"Your windows are down," he was saying as I handed my keys to him. He took them without question, confirmed that he had the right key, handed me his i-pod to hold and ran back into the deluge.
He came back in a few minutes looking as though he had jumped in a pool with all his clothes on.
Sometimes the guys are rude, crude and unrefined. They talk about things that are straight up inappropriate (albeit, hilarious more often than not). And most the time, chivalry wins out and they don't make you run out into the monsoon.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Grocery Store
Today I had to go to the grocery to get milk for work. I also picked up two bottles of hand soap, toilet paper, a case of water bottles and plastic forks and spoons.
I tell you the shopping list only because I want you to count: seven items.
Which totally entitles me to use the 10 items or less self-checkout. But when I pull my basket up, the old guy running the self-checkouts tells me that I shouldn't use that one, but move to a different one. It would have been totally easy for me to move my basket full of items to the other one, but for some reason, I felt defensive. Why was he telling me what to do?
I'm not some 90-year old woman that doesn't know how technology works. I've worked at a grocery store before. I'm pretty proficient on the self-checkouts.
So I thank him for his concern, but tell him that I am perfectly fine on the checkout that I've chosen. He gives me this spiel on why the checkout that he wants to move me to is better (it isn't) and again I say thanks and continue to unload my cart.
I managed with absolutely no problems whatsoever. Despite his warning that you could only do two to three "skip bagging" items on the smaller checkout. (I only had one. On the most-case scenario, I would have had three, tops.) I am grateful for this knowledge though. It seems like something one should know.
When I left, I wished him a good afternoon, and he ignored me.
Oh well.
As I unloaded my car, I realized this is why my friends think I'm so crusty, and I wonder what they would have done. Probably have been pansies and moved to where the guy told them to move.
I tell you the shopping list only because I want you to count: seven items.
Which totally entitles me to use the 10 items or less self-checkout. But when I pull my basket up, the old guy running the self-checkouts tells me that I shouldn't use that one, but move to a different one. It would have been totally easy for me to move my basket full of items to the other one, but for some reason, I felt defensive. Why was he telling me what to do?
I'm not some 90-year old woman that doesn't know how technology works. I've worked at a grocery store before. I'm pretty proficient on the self-checkouts.
So I thank him for his concern, but tell him that I am perfectly fine on the checkout that I've chosen. He gives me this spiel on why the checkout that he wants to move me to is better (it isn't) and again I say thanks and continue to unload my cart.
I managed with absolutely no problems whatsoever. Despite his warning that you could only do two to three "skip bagging" items on the smaller checkout. (I only had one. On the most-case scenario, I would have had three, tops.) I am grateful for this knowledge though. It seems like something one should know.
When I left, I wished him a good afternoon, and he ignored me.
Oh well.
As I unloaded my car, I realized this is why my friends think I'm so crusty, and I wonder what they would have done. Probably have been pansies and moved to where the guy told them to move.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
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.
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, July 16, 2010
Your parents know who to thank.
I'm going to preface this story with the facts:
I went to bed around 3 a.m. this morning. I woke up at 9:15 a.m. I was therefore, "ready" for the day by 9:30 a.m. Which means, I threw on the first outfit that made as much sense as I thought necessary for a Friday, pulled my hair back in a pony tail and tried to conceal the majority of the zits on my face. (It's been a stressful week, and my skin has returned the favor in kind.) Needless to say, I was not looking my best.
So Todd comes downstairs and says we need a treat. Which, I never disagree. Breakfast is always a good thing, and I usually only eat one when there is something here in the office.
So I was standing in line at Einstein Bagel and I happened to be standing behind a man. This man was very tan, except where his sunglasses have been in place all summer, wearing black leather gloves and a cut off t-shirt. He also had longish hair. He was older, probably early 40s and had straight, white teeth that were probably fake. These observations only took place after he started talking to me, otherwise I would have never noticed him.
I don't really recommend that as a pick-up line, unless your goal is to completely stump the person you're talking to. I nodded my head and said thank you again, and hoped that he was the next one in line. I didn't know how to respond to that. "Can I have a ride on your motorcycle?" seemed a little too forward.
I went to bed around 3 a.m. this morning. I woke up at 9:15 a.m. I was therefore, "ready" for the day by 9:30 a.m. Which means, I threw on the first outfit that made as much sense as I thought necessary for a Friday, pulled my hair back in a pony tail and tried to conceal the majority of the zits on my face. (It's been a stressful week, and my skin has returned the favor in kind.) Needless to say, I was not looking my best.
So Todd comes downstairs and says we need a treat. Which, I never disagree. Breakfast is always a good thing, and I usually only eat one when there is something here in the office.
So I was standing in line at Einstein Bagel and I happened to be standing behind a man. This man was very tan, except where his sunglasses have been in place all summer, wearing black leather gloves and a cut off t-shirt. He also had longish hair. He was older, probably early 40s and had straight, white teeth that were probably fake. These observations only took place after he started talking to me, otherwise I would have never noticed him.
He turned around and said,"That's a nice ride you have." (I was driving the Ford Escape from work.) "A nice ride for a nice-looking lady."
"Yeah, thanks," I said. I like the Escape. I wish I did drive it in real life.
"Your parents know who to thank," he says. "I just get to appreciate the beauty."
I don't really recommend that as a pick-up line, unless your goal is to completely stump the person you're talking to. I nodded my head and said thank you again, and hoped that he was the next one in line. I didn't know how to respond to that. "Can I have a ride on your motorcycle?" seemed a little too forward.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Tales from the Upstairs
I don't know if I can accurately describe the events of this afternoon. But it had me laughing so hard that I feel like I must try.
There is a guy in our office who is different than the rest. One of his "quirks" is that he has ten or so sour cream / cottage cheese containers full of frozen leftovers in the freezer. These containers, due to the fact that his wife is more infamous than gourmet, and the unknown age of these foodstuffs, are all considered to be...disgusting. And I share that opinion. Often times while our coworker is gone, we play the game, "How much will it cost to eat/lick/smell the "food."
Today was one such occasion.
Rob took the container and shoved it into Steven's face, who valiantly tried to push the container and then Rob away. Somehow, the frozen block of rice, peas and mystery meat went flying across the upstairs towards Todd, who avoided it as it crashed into the wall, breaking on little bits and rolling towards Wes who kicked it away. Rob then recovered the block of rice, and picked it up using the container to avoid contact with it. And then somehow it started all over again. The frozen rice was then pitched over towards Rob's area who recovered it. Todd got out the shopvac to pick up all the pieces of mystery meat and rice and as soon as he had vacuumed it up, Rob dropped it again.
Wes and I mostly just stood by and laughed at the whole ordeal and I'm pretty sure it continued after I left. Luckily, I think the guys chose to throw away the food instead of replacing it...which I would never put past them under ordinary circumstances.
There is a guy in our office who is different than the rest. One of his "quirks" is that he has ten or so sour cream / cottage cheese containers full of frozen leftovers in the freezer. These containers, due to the fact that his wife is more infamous than gourmet, and the unknown age of these foodstuffs, are all considered to be...disgusting. And I share that opinion. Often times while our coworker is gone, we play the game, "How much will it cost to eat/lick/smell the "food."
Today was one such occasion.
Rob took the container and shoved it into Steven's face, who valiantly tried to push the container and then Rob away. Somehow, the frozen block of rice, peas and mystery meat went flying across the upstairs towards Todd, who avoided it as it crashed into the wall, breaking on little bits and rolling towards Wes who kicked it away. Rob then recovered the block of rice, and picked it up using the container to avoid contact with it. And then somehow it started all over again. The frozen rice was then pitched over towards Rob's area who recovered it. Todd got out the shopvac to pick up all the pieces of mystery meat and rice and as soon as he had vacuumed it up, Rob dropped it again.
Wes and I mostly just stood by and laughed at the whole ordeal and I'm pretty sure it continued after I left. Luckily, I think the guys chose to throw away the food instead of replacing it...which I would never put past them under ordinary circumstances.
Sunday, June 06, 2010
Weird Dream
I have crazy, vivid dreams sometimes. Usually between the time I've woken up when my alarm goes off and I've then fallen promptly back to sleep (with or without my alarm still blaring...).
This morning's dream was too strange not to document. Think a Tim Burton style film. Sort of weird and twisted with goofy characters that make you raise your eyebrows and say, "Um..." out of a little bit of discomfort.
The first part had me pulling up in a station wagon sitting next to my dad who was telling me,
And then I wake up. There was more about the ghosts, but I can't remember what. And I think my Aunt Bonnie had some speaking parts as well.
It was such a weird dream.... very dark and spooky. And about nuclear bombs, which is super weird as I haven't seen anything that I would think would incite such subconscious thoughts.
I know some of you are thinking that I embellished this or something, but really, my dreams play out like stories or movies. There is SO much detail I don't even remember it all. It's kind of incredible. I've had the weird, disjointed dreams that don't often make sense and they transition quickly from one thing to the next. But for the most part, my dreams are a story.
This morning's dream was too strange not to document. Think a Tim Burton style film. Sort of weird and twisted with goofy characters that make you raise your eyebrows and say, "Um..." out of a little bit of discomfort.
The first part had me pulling up in a station wagon sitting next to my dad who was telling me,
"Remember, everyone's fate now rests in your hands...or your backpack really."
I nervously gave it a glance.
"Dad, I really don't want..."
"It doesn't matter. It's up to you now. Are you sure you have a safe place to put it?"
"I think it will be safe enough. But what if there is an earthquake? Or someone gets slammed into my locker or..."
"We'll just have to hope that doesn't happen."
He kisses me on the cheek and then hands me the backpack very carefully. I cringe. I don't want to be doing what I now have been told I have to do. I don't want to take my backpack, with the carefully wrapped, highly-sensitive nuclear bomb that I'm carrying into the school and hope that something doesn't knock into my locker hard enough to set the thing off.
Otherwise, we're dead.
I put the straps on over my shoulders and begin praying that no one bumps into me on my way to my locker. It was already a cloudy, miserable looking day, the one word that came to mind was "bleak". Everything, our whole lives, looked rather bleak. The school - the whole town, really - had been prepping for a nuclear attack for months by driving livestock away so they wouldn't be destroyed. (Why didn't they drive away the people, I wonder?)
I walk cautiously down the long corridor, which narrows and widens at will, like walking through a hallway lined with carnival mirrors. People seem to be purposefully crashing into me. "FOOLS!" I think. They have no idea that I'm carrying one of the scariest things of all times.
When I reach my locker, number 55, I kneel down and carefully put my book bag on the ground and pull out a blue, high-quality looking lunch box. It is the one with the bomb. I hate having the thing in my hands. I really don't want the responsibility of this! But it's up to me now, so I carefully set it at the bottom of my locker. And then I pull out a paper sack with my real lunch in it.
Someone notices, "Two lunches today?"
"One's a snack. I have to stay afterwards, late..." They shrug and move off.
I sigh, and then gently close my locker. What if the lunchbox accidentally falls over? Would it detonate? My fears are all-consuming, and I quickly walk down the hallway. One thing is for sure, if the bomb does go off, I'm just as dead as anyone else. They'd never link the fact that I had brought the bomb into the school. Which is another thing that I'm worried about. Kids are carrying guns into the school now. I see my friend Levi, showing off his new handgun and then sticking it in the back of his pants. I thought guns weren't allowed on school property.
I go and sit in my class. Nervous. Sweaty. It's really humid outside because it has been threatening to rain for months. Colin is giving a special presentation and pulls out his fancy technology to show us who would be affected if a nuclear attack started here, or here or here. The lines he draws on the map are confusing and frustrating, because he hasn't pinpointed the school as part of detonation. And so he hasn't told the class that they were likely to be blown up, not just have their skin melt away.
Class is almost over and I see my dad in the hallway. He quirks a smile at me and as soon as the bell ring I go to the room where my Aunt Bonnie has set up for him. It's a special room, though I don't see what is special about it. The walls are dirty, the ceiling rotted away from a leak. The beds (it is a hotel room) are gross looking, but my dad is laying on one with his hands under his head.
He had checked on the bomb, it was still in my locker. And I kept questioning him on how he knew it was my locker. I kept asking if it was from the last time he was here, and he said, "It must have been the last time." But I'm still racking my brain for how he would know where my locker is.
"Is it safe?"
"For now."
"Good, let's go clean up."
Then something happens, and I'm not sure what, but we see a ghost floating down the hallway and my comment is something like, "No wonder there are ghosts."
We go outside and he has a shopping cart that he pushes around, while I'm picking up litter along the side of the road. We're talking as if there isn't a bomb in my locker. And the world isn't going to end. Just talking about how disgusting people are, and how easy it is to put away your own trash. And I kneel down next to a puddle and pile of mud and trash and notice a plastic set of bowling pins and balls.
"I wish they would have donated this to DI," I say forlornly. People are so wasteful.
"Me too," Dad says. "It would make this a whole lot easier."
We look over our shoulder, and there are ghosts messing around in the graveyard.
"Do you think we're going to make it out alive?" I ask.
He looks at me.
"I hate this," I say.
And then I wake up. There was more about the ghosts, but I can't remember what. And I think my Aunt Bonnie had some speaking parts as well.
It was such a weird dream.... very dark and spooky. And about nuclear bombs, which is super weird as I haven't seen anything that I would think would incite such subconscious thoughts.
I know some of you are thinking that I embellished this or something, but really, my dreams play out like stories or movies. There is SO much detail I don't even remember it all. It's kind of incredible. I've had the weird, disjointed dreams that don't often make sense and they transition quickly from one thing to the next. But for the most part, my dreams are a story.
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