The Gift of the Magi

A couple of months ago, Jon (my husband) and I spent an evening with Josh (my brother) and Camilla (one of my best friends and Josh's wife). While we were there, we talked about playing a game, but found ourselves stymied by the lack of available games. So we went to Walmart. On the way there, we tried to decide what to buy. Camilla mentioned The Newlywed Game. I said it sounded good to me.

Later, Jon and I were trying to decide what to get Josh and Camilla for Christmas. I suggested that we get Camilla The Newlywed Game because she had seemed pretty enthusiastic about it. So we went forth and bought it.

Meanwhile, Josh and Camilla were trying to decide what to get Jon and me for Christmas. Camilla suggested the Newlywed Game because I had seemed pretty enthusiastic about it. So they went forth and bought it.

It turns out neither of us really wanted it; we were just being supportive of each others' ideas. And neither of us kept the receipt. Hooray! Free (not really wanted) game!

Creative

So apparently I never posted this blog, written weeks ago. Oops.

I've never been a very creative person, so this semester I'm taking a creativity class (yes, really). Yesterday our assignment was to "make something out of a box of paper clips". So I did.

This is my dinosaur. You will notice that I made him out of the box of paper clips as well as some of the paperclips themselves.I'm quite fond of him.

The Christmas Bet

So Jonathan and I both hate doing the dishes as much as Scrooge and the Grinch combined hated Christmas before their changes-of-heart. This, as you might imagine, leads to some piled up dishes occasionally (OK, almost always). Two days before Christmas, I suggested that we should do something about the two weeks worth of dishes stacked in the kitchen. Jonathan had another idea. "How about whoever receives the best Christmas presents does all the dishes?"

I agreed, although I had a suspicion that he must have something really great lined up. Jonathan does not do dishes voluntarily, nor does he put himself in situations where doing the dishes seems likely. However, I had a trick or two up my sleeve also. Jonathan has been wanting a Wii since we got married. I told him we couldn't get one. Little did he know the reason we couldn't buy one was that I had already bought one for him. Good gift, right?

However, my suspicions were totally justified. Basically, he got me everything I had mentioned wanting, and then some. The clincher was probably my new computer. A few weeks ago Jonathan stepped on my computer and cracked the screen. Approximately 1/8 of the screen (and growing) was black and horrific looking. So he got me a replacement and I've spent about three hours doing the dishes over the last couple of days. And now, for the first time in weeks, every dish we have is clean.

New Year's Resolution: Never again live in a home without a dishwasher. Ever. Ever. Ever.

Grammatical

This one is for my editor friends and husband. Enjoy!

Grading

Last semester I was a TA for a math class. The below is probably the best(read: most fun for me) paper I ever graded. In case you can't read it, it says, "Sorry, ran out of time! Looks like too much work anyways... I'll draw a picture instead..." As promised, there is a lovely picture. Fortunately for me, for that particular class I graded a few homework problems for accuracy and the rest for completion, so I didn't have to take off points for the artistry.

Love Lasts Fo

So when Jonathan and I got engaged, my ring fit just about perfectly. Additionally, it was engraved with "FOREVER", and so was Jonathan's. My fingers respond aggravatingly quickly to changes in temperature and my level of hydration, and the end result is that sometimes my ring fits just about perfectly, and sometimes it's tight to the point of impossible to remove. So we went in to get it resized.

The lady was quite helpful, although she did express disbelief that I wanted it sized up rather than down. Ouch. Fortunately, she threw me a lifeline. "You like a looser fit?" Yep, that's it. It has nothing to do with sausage-fingers.

Remember how I said the ring was engraved with "FOREVER"? Yeah, apparently resizing tends to wreak havoc on engravings. Now it says "FO|".

Progress

This is how the world works, according to my nuclear engineering professor (who, by the way, is probably the smartest person I know, which is why I can't take any more classes from him: I don't live up to his standards).

"You would think that when a new idea comes up in the scientific community, people would read about it and discuss it and then, if it's a good idea, they'd come to a consensus and move on. Sometimes that happens, but not very often.

"You really get progress because all the old people with outdated ideas die or retire and then they are replaced by people who accept the new ideas."

Encouraging.

Uncomfortable

If you know me well, you know that I could be described as a bit of a prude (if you're feeling a little uncharitable). You also know that I'm fairly spineless. So keep that in mind as you read about my uncomfortable experience at the outlet malls on Friday.

I was looking for some nylons because, despite their cost, they are easily destroyed by the slightest touch. A sales associate came up behind me, and my husband suggested that I should ask her for help. I declined. She interjected herself in the conversation. "I can help you! Were you looking at the full length nylons or the thigh highs?"

At that point, I wanted her to go away, but I also wanted her to feel useful. So I asked what I thought would be an easy question that would allow me to return to browsing. "How well do the thigh highs stay up?"

Unfortunately, this was the wrong question to ask. She decided to draw a comparison. "They have this thing in them that keeps them up. Kind of like that thing in some bras. Actually, here, let me show you." She then pulled up her shirt and pulled down her bra and offered it for me to feel.

Yikes. Spinelessness won out over prudishness. But I was very uncomfortable.

Mind the Gap

As you might expect, my poor visualization leads to some interesting wrapping jobs. It also has led to a certain proficiency in using tiny pieces of wrapping paper to fill the gaps left by my inability to visualize whether a certain amount of wrapping paper will be enough to reach all the way around the box.

Exhibit A: I don't even know what happened. There was a triangular gap.


Exhibit B: This one almost made it, but no amount of pulling could stretch the paper enough. I gave up and added a strip.



Exhibit C: Yeah. At least I didn't have to just tape a rectangle over the entire side.

Ex-friend

I'm guessing the friendship mentioned in this letter to BYU's newspaper didn't last long after printing. I took out the name of the writer because I don't need searches for her to link to my blog.

Just yesterday, I received a wedding invitation from a friend who had been home a mere two weeks from his mission. I initially attributed the hilarity of his situation to jetlag; however, upon learning they had only known one another 11 days, I realized his situation is an indicator of a much more serious epidemic here on the campus of Brigham Young University.

Students are getting married before they know themselves, let alone the person they plan to wed. These people are insecure. They are weak and needy. They are in love with the idea of love rather than the person with whom they claim they would like to spend eternity.

[Name removed]
Mesa, Ariz.

Glitter, not gold

So Jonathan and I bought this Christmas tree.


It looks really lovely, right? (You don't have to answer if you disagree.) We particularly liked the way the base looks. So we bought our tree, brought it home, and opened up the box. Apparently glitter doesn't really show up in photographs. The design on the base was the same, but it was made out of a thick white and green glitter paste caked onto a metal frame. Not attractive. Fortunately, it was easy enough to pull the frame off, so our base just has four lighted, design-less sides. We laughed it off and went on our way.


The glitter demons apparently weren't done with us yet, though. We ordered a new credit card, so now I'm authorized to spend our money also. Hooray! The design looked nice enough--black and gray stripes.



The cards came in the mail today. They are, indeed, striped black and gray, but they also have glitter all over.

All that glitters does not show up in pictures.

The End.

"Reality"

This is a pretty entertaining clip. It's kind of dry for the first few minutes, but then it really picks up the pace.

RIP

Sometimes Jonathan and I disagree. One subject that we just can't seem to see eye-to-eye on is socks. I think as long as it covers most of my foot, it still can be worn (maybe not to the airport, though). Jonathan thinks half of my socks should be thrown out just because they have tiny holes in the heels.

Last night one of my favorite pairs of socks was forcibly retired. I showed it to Jonathan to illustrate that despite some minor missing pieces of fabric, they were perfectly good at covering my feet. He stole them off my feet and ripped them up. I accused him of ruining my socks. He said they were pre-ruined.

I think he owes me a new pair of socks.

Actual exchange from last night

Jonathan: What's that?
Me: That's my homework.
Jonathan: What is it?
Me: It's a graph that I made.
Jonathan: It's ugly.
Me: Go back to sleep.

Amazing!

So, I found this list of "Amazing True Facts", published by SparkNotes last year on April 1. While the list itself is pretty fun, I think my favorite part is the comments. (Looks like Jonathan's gotten me hooked.) Just so we're all completely clear, this was an April Fool's joke, and included this link at the top. Now, in case you didn't follow that first link, below is the list, and after that are some of my favorite comments.

• When placed in warm milk, raisins re-plump into grapes.
• The metal backs of iPods are made from recycled zippers.
• Eskimos don't believe in bridges or tunnels.
• Every sixteen minutes, someone named Richard dies.
• Billy Bob Thornton's grandfather was the first person to own a television.
• Dolphins kill more people annually than sharks and influenza combined.

• On a dare, former President Rutherford B. Hayes declared war on Chile for 17 minutes.
• The original title for Catcher in the Rye was Hey, Look, a Carousel!
• Professionals call the top socket on an electrical outlet the "Martha," and the bottom socket the "Jasmine."
• In the archives at the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, D.C., there are two identical snowflakes preserved in a freezer.
  
• Three out of every ten nickels has been in someone's mouth.
• If you hold one nostril closed for 72 hours, you will slowly lose the ability to see color. (Your sight will instantly return to normal when you release your nostril.)
• Wave a magnet at the lower left corner of a vending machine to receive a free soda.
• The glossy paper from the backs of stickers can be used to soothe sunburn.
• To be a train conductor, you have to cut off one of your own toes during a loyalty ritual.
• The Z in Jay-Z's name stands for "Zeppidemus."
• Jean shorts were invented three weeks prior to the invention of regular jeans.
• Whispering instead of talking on cell phones saves significant battery power.
• In Austria, the traditional Christmas colors are not red and greed, but purple and clear.
• Benjamin Franklin coined the phrase "Baby Mama" in a satirical poem published in Poor Richard's Almanac.
• If you take the first letter of each word in the Monopoly board game instruction manual, they spell out an X-rated sentence.
• The original name for the laptop computer was "Hinged Smart Slab."
• The average person inhales 3 pounds of spider webs in his or her lifetime.
• When first introduced to the public, plastic laundry baskets cost $75 each.
• Winnie the Pooh started out as a non-fiction account of mental illness.
• Reading backwards for twenty minutes burns the same amount of calories as walking a half-mile.
• The Q in Q-tips stands for "quantum," as the small bit of cotton on the tip contains more atoms than the entire human body.
• Revolving doors were first invented as a way to keep horses out of department stores.
• Peru and the moon weigh the same amount.
• Human beings and anteaters are the only animals that can snap their fingers.
• If you soak a baseball hat in coke, and then let it dry on someone's head, over a 3-hour period the hat will shrink with skull-denting force, causing intense pain and irreparable damage.
• Clouds cannot travel south southwest.
• In sign language, there are 72 ways to say "drawbridge."

Good comments:

Category 1: Dead serious and way excited about the facts.

whoa.....hummm no raisins in the house..guess i'll start looking for that game mannual

excellent....... are these really facts?!!

'Reading backwards for twenty minutes burns the same amount of calories as walking a half-mile’ might be true, cuz thinking and studying burn calories... Why do u think u never see fat nerds???

Category 2: Willing to admit (in public, on the internet, for the rest of the world to see forever) they totally believed this.

So.. these were all fake?
man... what a let down! I love interesting facts and these were like the most awesome ever!
but then not really :(

i swear i thought these were true, though some did seem a lil odd

Okay so I believed every single one of these because idk, why wouldn't I lol

wow...i actually started reading this post backwards to burn calories until someone in the comments said to click on the link and i found it was an april fools joke.

And Category 3 (my personal favorite): Determined to enlighten others about how obviously fake these facts are. I really like the self-righteous tone and the sense of superiority. "I caught this, and you didn't! I know better than to believe obvious falsehoods! I have a basic knowledge of the world! I have no sense of humor!"

But the clouds one doesnt make sence cuz that means that wind is never southwest which is definately wrong... have a nice day!!! (Nice passive-aggressive touch at the end. "You're wrong, but have a nice day!")

I can guarantee these are mostly wrong. The nostril and the monopoly one are for sure. The Q in Q tips originally stood for Quilted and now usually stands for Quality. The Smithsonian does not have two identical snowflakes. Most of these are just made up. (Only most of them, though. -Rachel) This sucks.

I'm eskimo, yuupik eskimo from southcentral alaska... I believe in bridges every time I go over one, and in tunnels every time I pass through one... All your facts are moot. (Personally, I believe in bridges and tunnels even when I'm not going over/through one.)

The thing about dolphins is definitely not true. For example, there are no documented case of a killer whale (which is the largest member of the dolphin family, not in fact a whale. You see early Spanish sailors saw killer whales, aka orcas killing whales so they called them killer whales.) ever killing a human, however scientists did once find another orca inside the stomach of a beached orca.... Dolphins are in fact quite friendly to humans. However, it is true that more people are killed by coconuts than sharks each year. Most sharks, such as the Great White Shark don't actually kill humans for food, but are curious and "taste-bite" humans, realize we are gross, leave, the human begins drowning and/or is eaten by scavenger sharks, like tiger sharks. (Good. Scavenger sharks will eat you, or you'll drown/bleed to death, but let no one pretend great whites are dangerous.)

Have a nice day!!

Innocent

Chemical engineering has a lot of fun-sounding terms that are really boring in reality. Some of them are pretty family-unfriendly, or at least would be in general use. Over this last week, I've learned a lot about necking, strippers, and generalized creep behavior. Heh heh.

P.S. Those links are family friendly, but a bit boring.

Liver-Eater

On Saturday Jonathan and I went to the opera with my brother and his wife (one of my best friends). Afterward we were in a crowded elevator heading back to our car when we realized we were sharing our space with a liver-eater.

Silence in the elevator. Then, suddenly:

"If you don't stop that right now, I will EAT YOUR LIVER!!"

OK, crazy lady. I will stop anything. Just leave my liver alone.

It turned out she wasn't talking to us, or to anyone in the elevator. She was recounting a charming anecdote about threatening a child. As we left the elevator, we could still hear her. "Mrs. Jones, what's a liver? What's a liver? Can you believe that? Mrs. Jones, what's a liver?"

We thought that was probably all there was, and if it wasn't, we were parting ways and wouldn't ever know how it ended. But we were luckier than we expected. We walked past her again. "But Mrs. Jones, how can you eat something inside my body?"

Lucky us. Poor kid.

The Payoff of Procrastination

I've decided/realized that I'm probably never going to kick my procrastination habit. Why, you ask?

1. Quizzes on reading
When I do my reading well in advance, it hardly ever fails that there will be a quiz on the assigned reading the next class period. If I read it three days ago, will I remember the details of some brand-new concept for today's quiz? Experience tells me no.

2. Typos and clarification
How often do your teachers send out emails or start class by saying saying something along the lines of "Many of you have asked how to do problem 3. The book has a typo/left out a vital piece of information. It should say [what it should say]." For me, at least once a week.

3. Elimination of assignments
Rarer but nicer than #2. "I realized problem 5 is much more difficult than I intended it to be/we never covered the material. Please don't do that problem. Apologies to those who have attempted it." Without procrastination: "Come on! Really?! I spent hours on that!" With procrastination: "Sweet!"

4. Concentration
This one is more personal. I find it much easier to focus, stay off facebook, read attentively searching for details and applications of principles, and accomplish things in a timely fashion when a deadline is looming. Of course, "looming" is subjective and depends on the assignment. I try to leave myself enough time that even though the deadline is near, I won't be rushed and will have time to at least ask a classmate if I get stuck.

The Return of Captain Obvious

I was reading the newspaper today when I saw something truly earth-shattering that I knew I had to share with the world. According to this article, anti-depressants are highly prescribed in Utah. Here are some of my very favorite quotes:

"People with chronic diseases are more likely to use anti-depressants." I'm shocked! Who would have guessed that a medicine the Mayo Clinic calls "a mainstay in the treatment of many chronic pain conditions" would be frequently used by people with chronic diseases? This is not even including the fact that being told you will suffer from a disease for a long time/the rest of your life/the rest of your shortened life could cause depression.

"Anti-depressant use also increases with age, according to the study." This couldn't possibly have anything at all to do with the fact that older people are more likely to have chronic diseases.

“If you look at where money is being spent on health care in Utah, it’s among people with chronic diseases." Another shocker. It isn't just the one-time visits to the emergency room or the more-or-less annual 20-minute appointment with a doctor? People who have a long-term condition requiring medical attention spend more money on prescriptions and doctor's appointments? Color me surprised.

Captain Obvious's next research goal? "To find out why people use anti-depressants and submit another report on that sometime in January or February of next year." I guess it just takes that long to google it.

Tired

Yesterday I was really tired during all of my classes. I kept nodding off for two or three minutes at a time. During my little mini-naps, I had some interesting dreams.

I was in Russia in the middle of a war. We were trying to decide which cities to take over next. We were looking at a map. "Let's take over Edmister." "Shouldn't it be Edminster?" "No, there's no n." Then I was no longer in Russia, but was instead in class (awake again). Apparently we had been discussing the Kemser (which I suppose sounds vaguely Russian) - Edmister method. Too bad I don't know what it is, unless it means taking over the city.

Cowardly

It turns out I'm as much of a coward as I thought I was. Jonathan and I are doing a study and needed to have our blood drawn. I was not excited because I hate needles. I actually did OK on the first try. She poked my left elbow, and it hurt, but not a lot. Unfortunately, that vein was too slow. So she switched to the right elbow.

That was when things started going downhill. In retrospect, I probably should have looked away the entire time. It really hurt, which prompted me to look. The right vein was apparently so ready to give up its blood that not only was the phlebotomist able to pull all the blood she needed, but I also was bleeding internally and externally around the needle. I started feeling a tad (as in extremely) unwell. The phlebotomist instructed her assistant to run get me a glass of water. She told Jonathan to talk to me and me to put my head down. Apparently the only thing my husband could think of to say was "it's OK, sweetie." Very encouraging.

So the room swirled, my hands got all tingly, she finished taking all the blood she needed, I didn't pass out (by a narrow margin), and now I have a nice nickel-sized bruise on my left elbow and a three-inch long bruise on the inside of my right elbow. I'm starting to agree with Jonathan that this study is not worth it.

Inconsistent

Recently I've heard people talking about this website. Cool, I thought. I want to see what famous writer I write like. Unfortunately, it seems that I am entirely inconsistent.

For this post, my result was Stephen King. This one gave me Leo Tolstoy. This one was like Margaret Atwood (blech). This sample was like David Foster Wallace, whom I had never heard of. I also seem to be like William Gibson, Stephen King again, and Cory Doctorow.

Anyway, most of the people I've talked to have gotten more consistent results. Maybe you will too. In the meantime, I'll be reconciling my multiple voices.

Baby names

In Twilight (or, more accurately, Breaking Dawn), Bella names her baby Renesmee, which is a combination of her mother's name, Renee, and Edward's mother's name, Esme. Jonathan and I are going to do the same thing (right, honey?). Our firstborn daughter will be named Maggendy, Wendaggie, or possibly Wengy. Our firstborn son can be named Jamal or Vernames.

On second thought, I just realized this sounds a lot like a dilemma Jonathan and I had earlier. Let's just scrap the whole thing.

P.S. This is not an announcement. Just speculation and some Twilight mockery.

Scare Tactics

When I was in elementary school, they decided it was important that we learn about AIDS. Not all about AIDS, though. We just learned a few select facts. For example, we learned that AIDS is caused by a virus known as HIV. You can have HIV for years before you develop AIDS. If you get AIDS, there is no cure, and eventually it will kill you, often indirectly through something like a common cold that your body, not having an immune system, can't fight off. We learned that you can't get HIV/AIDS from a drinking fountain, and that you can get it from the blood brothers/blood sisters thing, but that isn't the only way. And they taught us some of the symptoms. This is the part of the presentation where I got scared.

They told us that if, for example, somebody had a cold that wouldn't go away for months, that person was certain to have AIDS, and would die a slow, lingering, painful, family-and-friends-infecting death. OK, maybe they didn't actually say all of that. But they did say that a long-lasting cold was one of the symptoms.

I had a cold (or allergies) that had lasted for over a month. I was pretty sure that meant I had AIDS. I didn't know how I might have contracted it, but I suspected some classmate had the virus and sneezed on me or something. I didn't tell anybody because I didn't want them to know that I was slowly wasting away. Get ready for an embarrassing confession: I believed I had AIDS for the next three years, until I was in eighth grade.

And that's why we say that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Tragedy

Every vicious cycle has some backstory, so here's mine.

I am not a morning person. At all. Before 10:00, the world is a colorless place associated with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, a nasty taste in my mouth, unbearably heavy eyelids, and a vague sense of impending doom. On the other hand, I love nights. They are full of bright lights, time with friends, and a carefree assurance that I can, in fact, accomplish everything I need to and everything I want to, as long as I don't mind staying up later.

And now the sad part comes. Somehow, I've fallen into the bad habit of being early to bed and earlier to rise. So far, I don't feel particularly healthy, I am not wealthy at all, and based just on my sleeping habits, I must be very unwise. But I can't seem to break the cycle.

Here's how the death spiral goes. I have lots of homework, and it takes lots of time to do. So at some point I decided it would be wise to go to bed, and wake up early and do my homework. That meant that the next day, I was tired early, and I had to go to bed early. But my homework still wasn't done. So I set my alarm for an alarmingly early awakening. And the next night I got tired early again. And so forth.

The results of all this? Every morning I am awake by 5:00am (5:30 at the latest). And I get extra hours of feeling pale and washed-out, and then I'm asleep when I should be enjoying the vibrancy of the night. Tragic, isn't it?

Omens

Apparently, a long time ago people used to believe that if you dropped cutlery on the floor, it was an omen of things to come. I never really believed that, but today I decided it might have something to it after all. I dropped three cups on the floor, and I could immediately foresee the future. It held sweeping and buying new cups.

In other news, I like the saying "Cold hands, warm heart," found on the same list of superstitions. It proves that I don't suffer from circulatory problems; I'm just a kind person.

Book Deal, Here We Come!

The other night Jonathan came up with an idea for a children's book. After you read it, you have three tries to guess the circumstances contributing to this idea.

There is an anglerfish in the ocean. Whenever other fish see his dangly lure, they want to come close. He warns them, "If you come near me, I'll kill you and eat you." (Good line for a children's book, no?) But all the fish that hear him think he must just be joking. So they come close and he eats them all.

But one day, one fish starts to come close. The anglerfish says, "If you come near me, I'm going to eat you." The fish says, "No, you're trying to use reverse psychology. I see through you!" So the anglerfish says, "You're right. That was really smart." And the two fish become friends.

From that point on, the anglerfish and the friend-fish work together. The angler-fish tells all the other fish that he will eat them if they come close. The friend-fish tells them not to trust the angler-fish. So, all the other fish get eaten. The end.

I asked Jonathan what the point of the story was. He said the point was that you should trust people who say they're going to hurt you, and you shouldn't trust people who say the first group of people won't hurt you. Good moral.

Have you figured out the circumstances yet?

A Few of My Least Favorite Things

To help you get to know me better, the below is my bottom ten list--the ten activities I most wish I could live without forever.

1. Getting shots
2. Throwing up
3. Going to the doctor
4. Moving (maybe something to do with 5 and 6 below?)
5. Unpacking
6. Packing
7. Running
8. Cleaning
9. Washing dishes
10. Dying

Word Games

For your entertainment, and because it's driving me crazy, I'm posting some puzzles I was given in one of my classes. Enjoy, and if you figure them out, let me know.

The following puzzle is made up from common phrases that contain a number and several words. For example, 26: L of the A is Letters of the Alphabet.
24: H in a D -- Hours in a Day.

9: P in the S S
88: P K
13: S on the A F
90: D in a R A
200: D for P G in M
8: S on a S S
5: D in a Z C
64: S on a C

The Magic Bullet

So school started last Monday. This was exciting, but a little less so than it might otherwise have been. Both Jonathan and I were pretty sick, possibly due to our black mold problem. Anyway, I don't usually believe in treating symptoms, but I decided that I had to stop being unable to move if was to have any chance of academic success. So we went to the doctor.

He spent about three minutes, and prescribed a symptom-managing pill. In addition to treating nausea, vomiting, and respiratory ailments, it also is prescribed as a painkiller and mild sleeping pill. So I went from being ill to being sleepy, but it's a trade I was willing to make.

The side effects of this particular medicine were pretty awesome. First there was the standard warning that although it was intended to treat nausea and vomiting, it could also cause them. Then came the really good stuff. It may cause "an exaggerated sense of well-being." Fortunately (or not) I didn't experience any side effects. It would have been pretty cool, though.

The Many Adventures of Jonathan

Jonathan has had insomnia for a long time. He used to take Ambien for it, and recently he's started taking it again. He was prescribed small pills, which he could take one or two at a time. He has been taking one, but a few nights ago he upped the dosage to two. Hilarity ensued.

As soon as he took it, he started babbling about how fantastic it was. "This is why people pay for these on the street! This is so intense! Did you feel that? It's intense!" I told him that no, I couldn't feel it, as I do not suffer from insomnia and therefore did not take any sleeping pills.

Next he decided he needed to call some people and share his experience with the world. "Get me the phone! I need to call Josh and be funny!" So he called my brother Josh, informed him that he (Jonathan) was going to be funny, and slurred his words. Josh listened for a few minutes, then hung up. Our friend Camilla was next on his list. She didn't answer the phone, but this didn't fully register. So he left a slurred, fairly incoherent message which included some singing. Then he called her back and left a similar message. Finally he called one of his friends who knew him back when he used to take Ambien. From this friend, he got the idea that dancing would be a good idea.

So Jon got up and started disco-ing. Then he stumbled into the kitchen for some reason known only to himself. Unfortunately, his muscles were not cooperating very well. I helped him back into the living room, where he decided he needed to learn the "thingy". I asked him what he was talking about. "The thingy! Teach me the thingy!" It turned out he meant the cha-cha. So I showed him a little bit on the condition that next he would go to bed.

He didn't. Next he lay down on the floor and waxed philosophical. "Let's just be," he said. I asked if we could "be" with pillows. "No, let's just be." Shortly thereafter, he announced that the medicine had worn off and he wasn't drowsy anymore. "Let's go watch Arrested Development!" So we went to watch Arrested Development. I could tell he was awake because he laughed at every joke, but I could also tell he was tired because his laughter lagged about five seconds behind the jokes.

Last night he took Ambien again. This time it was significantly less crazy. The best part was when he informed me that we need to have a baby so we can put knickers and a petticoat on it. I asked if both the knickers and the petticoat were essential, and he said they were. "The petticoat will keep the baby warm." Then he said that the baby would need a lamp as well. "Not a candle, but a lamp."

He finally went to sleep, and I was left only with these stories and the firm conviction that Ambien is "intense", but only if you actually take it.

Transcript

So that you may benefit from my misfortunes, I am transcribing for you the more interesting parts of the conversation currently being had by the two plumbers who have come to fix our ceiling. We noticed a few days ago that there was water damage on our ceiling, and called our landlady, who promptly did nothing. We called again, and she said our plumber is out of town. Today it got worse, we called again, and she finally agreed to call an in-town plumber.

Incidentally, I think I may have bad karma, because something similar happened in my last apartment.

The below are things that you never really want to hear, especially in quick succession.

Looks like the whole ceiling's falling in.

Oh, geez.

OK, which is the biggest rip?

Heads up!

"Whole thing's gonna come down on us." "I know it."

It's under the upstairs toilet.

Oh, &%*$!

Oh, there's a flood!

It's definitely from flushing the toilet.

Hope nobody [needs to poop].

"Come out like crazy, didn't it?" "Yeah, it's a nasty leak."

We have to go get some more parts. Somebody's going to have to replace the whole ceiling, but for now we'll just stop the leak.

And, for dramatic effect:

Before:
















After:

Huzzah

Apparently my life can now be summed up by Dilbert cartoons.

http://dilbert.com/strips/comic/1998-08-09/

In this case, I'm on the other side of the line. A few days ago I got a letter from my bank informing me that they had made changes to my credit card policy, which "may be beneficial, depending on how [I] use [my] account." What were these potentially beneficial changes, you ask?

Increased fees for late payments, cash advances, transactions in foreign countries, and going over balance.

Yep. That sounds beneficial, all right. Maybe it provides an incentive to be financially responsible, which is a good thing? Maybe they're going for the "...money is the root of all evil" angle? Or maybe it's just that they didn't specify who exactly gets the benefits. I think that's the one.

Funny?

Apparently I, like my husband, need practice being funny. For your reading pleasure, I am about to record for you "the best joke I ever told" (according to Jonathan).

Jonathan: That's the state correctional facility.
Rachel: That's where they grade tests.

Haha, right? This was closely followed by my "second best joke" (ibid).

Jonathan: That guy from church is coming over today. What's his name? Garth something? Something Walker?
Rachel: Darth Walker?

So apparently that's my best material. Don't worry; I'm working on it.

Exercises in Futility

Ever since I was 17, Capital One has been sending me credit card applications and urging me to apply. "We have good policies!" "It would be wise to choose us!" "What's in your wallet?" "Please, please, please, please!" These applications came roughly every six weeks.

Recently I've been thinking about closing my Wells Fargo bank account, but I have a credit card with them, and I don't want to lose that. So I decided to finally apply for a Capital One card. I waited for the next application they sent me (not a long wait) and filled it out.

Two days later, I got a letter from them. They declined my application, citing my "insufficient credit history". Which kind of begs the question, are there a lot of 17-year-olds with sufficient credit history?

Kids say what now?

I've been asked to teach the six-year-olds in my ward. Today was my first week. The last time I had any significant interaction with a six-year-old was when Julia was six, which was seven years ago. Needless to say, I wasn't quite sure what to do with them, and class did not stay on task. Here are some of the things we talked about.

Bird-eating tarantulas. One kid, who told me his name was Paul and then later told me his name was Ethan, apparently has a bird-eating spider living in the tree outside his house. It bit his cat, and one time he watched it eat a bird.

Six-foot-tall purple geese with eggs as big as a child's head.

What's a bulldog's favorite activity? Bowling (bulling).

One of the kids wanted to play a game. He explained it thusly: He would draw three cups on the board. Somebody would choose a cup. He would pretend to look under the cup and say whether there it concealed an imaginary ball.

It wasn't all random non sequiturs, though. Ethan/Paul asked an important question.

"If a kid falls down the stairs, will they die?"

I said probably not, but it depends on how far they fall and how hard the ground is. Every child then piped in with a story about the time they fell down the stairs and did not die, including Paul/Ethan.

Good thing I have the opportunity to mold young minds.

That's Good! That's Bad!

When I was young, one of my favorite books was called "That's Good! That's Bad!" It was about a boy who gets carried into the jungle by his balloon, and a bunch of good and bad things happen to him. Anyway, that's kind of like my life now, only there are fewer balloons and elephants and so forth in my life.

I finished my internship, so I no longer have to wake up at 5:45 every morning. That's good! But I have nothing to do all day. That's bad!

I have been filling my time with reading wikipedia articles, which is pretty interesting. That's good! But most of them have been about serial killers, which is really creepy and not the best choice of reading material for someone who is alone all day. That's bad!

We don't have to use the air conditioning because living in a basement keeps us pretty cool (and also because we don't have an air conditioner). That's good! Our upstairs neighbors do use air conditioning, and we are subsidizing it by paying 40% of our cumulative utilities. That's bad!

I have nothing more to say. That's good (for you)!

Surprise

I promised Jonathan I would write a blog post today. For some reason when he is falling asleep and/or under the influence of (legal) drugs, it becomes vitally important that I write something.

On the other hand, I don't really have anything to say. So I am going to tell you all some things you (probably) didn't know about me.

1) Every time I eat something with sugar in it, I get a really sour taste in my mouth afterward. I think this explains a lot about my eating preferences. The pleasure of the sweetness has to outweigh the displeasure of the sourness. I've never liked fruit very much because the mild sweetness is easily outweighed by the hours of sourness. Chocolate has an especially sour aftertaste, so I don't like it as much as some other people. I love mints because the minty taste overpowers the sour flavor.

2) When I drink through straws, I always clamp the straw between my teeth and drink one or two drops at a time. I am always vaguely ashamed when the waiter or waitress comes to refill my drink and the straw is mangled, but I do it anyway.

3) Every time I fill out a word verification so I can leave a comment on someone else's blog, I get a little excited. I always hope that it will be either a real word (good) or almost a real word (better) or a word verification I've had before (best). My computer remembers things I've entered into fields. When I've typed scyk and there still are two words hovering waiting for me to choose them, it makes me happy Then I type o and they go away. But one day I will get a duplicate. And I will be happy.

Not a funny post

I realize that probably fewer of my posts than I think are funny. This one, however, is not even intended to be funny. Some of you are now shocked that this is an unusual occurrence, but whatevs. Life goes on.

Disclaimer to this post: I love my husband, and I believe service within a marriage is a good thing. That said...

Today at church one of the women was talking about how much she loves her family. OK, I can buy that. She went on to say she really loves her husband. We're still on the same page up to this point. Then she went on to say that serving her family is the main thing that gives her fulfillment in life, and that her very favorite things to do are things that her husband could do for himself, such as bringing him glasses of water and taking his shoes off when he gets home from work. We are no longer on the same page.

I respect that people make different decisions in life and that every person is different. I just have a hard time with deriving all of one's pleasure and purpose in life from other people. What would she do if her husband died? How would she go on? I imagine it would be heartrending under any circumstances, but if she has no interests or meaning outside of her marriage, wouldn't a tragic occurrence be even more difficult to deal with?

I hope I'm misinterpreting what she said. I'm hoping that even though when asked to tell a bit about herself, she chose to say that she likes taking off her husband's shoes, she also is an avid reader, or is working on a novel, or is a gourmet chef, or goes for three mile runs every morning, or something.

Maybe I should walk a mile in her shoes before I judge her. I could introduce myself with a list of things I do for Jonathan. But that feels unfair, because he does things for me too. So maybe when asked to tell about myself, I'll say, "I get my husband glasses of water, but he drives me to work every morning. So it's cool, and not a weird subservient thing at all." So maybe I'll just keep walking in my own shoes and hoping that her shoes are not that different from mine, except for what she chooses to share about herself. And you know, I usually choose to share nothing about myself, so who am I to judge?

Transparent

Last night Jonathan and I went to one of those Japanese steakhouses where they cook your food in front of you. Apparently it's called a hibachi or teppanyaki grill, not a table-stove, which is what I called it. Anyway, I thought it was lots of fun. What better way to spend an evening than with food, fire, and an old Japanese guy chopping stuff up?

Jonathan had less fun. The guy sitting next to him had apparently been to Japan and wouldn't stop regaling his companion with trivia about the differences between actual Japanese cooking and our experience. This does not make for a very enjoyable eating experience. We didn't go to the restaurant for authenticity; we went for a good time.

Anyway, the highlight of the show comes at the end, when the cook flips a shrimp into everybody's mouth. I was slated to be the fourth person to attempt to catch one. Jonathan had already not quite caught his, so I knew that at least I wouldn't be alone in failing to catch it. But my lack of mouth-eye coordination was readily apparent, and he flipped it onto my plate instead.

Question for you all: Is it really that obvious that I'm not the kind of person who can catch a flying shrimp in my mouth?

Impossible

Apparently I am impossible to please. I will never be happy in any job. I have a terminally bad attitude. This is according to my mother and my brother. Admittedly, I wasn't happy working in retail, at an outbound call center, or for the first few weeks of my internship. Now that I've explored every career and job type known to mankind, what's left?

Soup and More Soup

Jonathan and I went to a seafood restaurant for dinner the other night. I ordered the fisherman's stew (tomato based soup with vegetables and fish) and pasta with clams, shrimp, and tomato "sauce".

When I got my pasta I quickly realized that "sauce" was code for "fisherman's stew". They tasted the same, were the same consistency, and both required a spoon to eat. This is what happens when you believe the menu, kids. On the other hand, it's a good business model for the restaurant. They only need one pot instead of two, which is sure to save money and/or time somewhere.

Crack addiction

I have become something I hate. I realize hate is a strong word, but in this case it's completely justified.

I have always hated it when people crack their various joints. The sound makes me shudder. But I suppose I finally understand why they do it. The other day, my fingers felt compressed from typing all day long. I wanted to stretch them out, and ended up cracking all my knuckles. It made a horrific sound, but it felt good.

And so I have joined the ranks of joint-crackers. Sometimes I can hardly stand myself.

Curiouser and curiouser

Apparently my last post was premature. Let's pick up from "seriously kid who are you?"

Julie (apparently just ignoring Caroline): Definitely!
Caroline: Sarah!, im offended, you really dont remember me from 6th grade?, you were my first crush!!
Sarah: my memory is borderline photographic, and according to your birthday you are too young to have been in my class, by 4 years
Caroline: Im still in love with you, we should do somethin like go on a date, yes??
Sarah:uh, sorry. not interested and it's illegal. (Sarah is six months younger than I am, which makes Caroline not an adult yet.)

I guess I don't want to be Caroline anymore.

Actual Facebook conversation

I was skimming through facebook this afternoon when I saw the following conversation (names have been changed to protect the innocent, the strange, and me [just in case any of these people reads my blog]).

Sarah: I had a dream my life would be so different from this way I'm living, so different now than what it seems. Now life has killed the dream I dreamed.
Caroline: are you an emo?
Sarah: first, who are you? second, it's broadway, Les Miserables.
Julie: It was awesome seeing you on the bus this morning! And p.s. I LOVE Les Miserables :)
Sarah: it was awesome seeing you too! we should hang out soon or something k?
Caroline: yeah, sounds good, when should we hangout?
Sarah: seriously kid who are you?

I have several thoughts about this exchange. One is that I want to post vaguely creeper-ish things on my facebook acquaintances' walls. It could be quietly amusing. Another is that I want to react that way the next time a friend comments on one of my posts. The problem with this is that if said friend was not in the loop, it could hurt their feelings. Thought three is that I want to post something on Caroline's wall. Also, I'm going to start calling people "kid".

So many options, so little time...

That's one way of looking at it

Latest quote from Jonathan: "Babies are just big blobs."

Yummy

Today I went to the Utah food bank for a work sponsored community service day. We spent the morning putting 1100 pounds of frozen cauliflower into 2 pound bags. It was pretty cool. I never want to eat cauliflower again, but I didn't like it that much to begin with.

In the afternoon we spent our time sorting Number 10 cans (12 cups, approximately 3-10 pounds, depending on the contents). That was pretty cool too. People apparently respond to food drives by finally getting rid of that food storage they inherited from their grandparents.

We found a huge can of cornstarch that expired in 1976. My parents hadn't graduated from high school in 1976. Preliminary research (aka googling) indicates that cornstarch lasts about two years. That means this cornstarch could conceivably have been originally purchased in 1974. Apparently Gerald Ford became president in 1974. He was president so long ago that I don't even know what happened during his time in office.

Find number two was a can of "beef flavored textured vegetable protein." It was from the time before expiration dates. Apparently they still make it. How could anyone not be a vegetarian when we have options like that available?

We also found a huge can of "all purpose food". The back label said it could be eaten as a vegetable with ketchup, as a cereal with milk, as a meat with gravy, or as a dessert topper. Thanks, but no thanks.

Competition

I was at work on Friday (shocking, I know) when the conversation turned to 4th of July festivities. Someone asked me if I was from Utah. I replied that I am. He asked if the fireworks in Provo are any good. I responded that I don't know, as I've never spent the 4th in Provo. He asked if Salt Lake has any good displays.

"My family never went to the displays because we didn't want to pay to get in. So we always just watched the fireworks from our porch. So I couldn't say much about any particular display, but altogether we always had fun."

At this point one of my coworkers interjected. "You have to pay to see fireworks in Utah?" I replied that you don't have to pay, as you can see them from other locations. But to get into the parks or venues or whatever they are, you usually do have to pay.

"But that's communist!"

At this point I pointed out that however patriotic or not it may be, selling things, including admission to fireworks displays, is a lot more capitalistic than communist. A third coworker declared me the winner of the conversation.

Last blog ever

I recently learned of the magic "Next Blog" button. After a bit of experimentation, I determined that it takes you to blogs that are somehow similar to the last blog you were looking at. I thought, Hey, I wonder what blogger thinks my blog is similar to? So I tried it a few times. First it took me to a blog about how to make free or cheap international calls on cell phones. Boring, and also irrelevant. I refused to accept that. So I clicked back and tried again. The magic button whisked me away to the exciting world of Direct Plus Updates. This was similarly unacceptable. So I tried again. It took me to a technology/programming blog. No good. Fourth time is the charm? No, it just took me to Direct Plus Updates again.

Jonathan thought maybe it was just my computer, so he tried clicking "Next Blog" starting on my page. He got the international calls, then direct plus, then the international calls.

So apparently I am the most boring person in existence and my personal experiences are on par with instructions about how to call Sri Lanka on a cell phone. And that's why I can never blog again.

Baby Storage

There comes a time in every marriage where thoughts turn to the imminent arrival of one or more babies. After two months of wedded bliss, Jonathan and I have reached this point. It just isn't our thoughts that have turned.

About one month after our wedding, Jon and I were up at my parents' house. I saw a small box containing baby clothing on the counter. "Who's having a baby?" I asked.

Apparently there had been a miscommunication. My mom had told another woman she was excited to be a grandmother, and the other woman interpreted this to mean my mother was soon going to be a grandmother. So she went out and purchased a onesie, wrote a cute note, and brought it by.

But it isn't only well-meaning individuals. It is also big corporations. Similac recently sent me a package of two containers of formula and a pamphlet about properly nourishing baby through her first year of life.

Some people collect food storage. We just need Huggies to send us some diapers and our baby storage will be complete.

A little pick-me-up

I apparently might be one of those people who always looks in need of assistance. Or rides to different places. Or rides to "wherever you're going". This is a generalization on my part based on two occurrences in my life and a little bit of the benefit of the doubt.

The first occurrence was when I was eighteen. I had just finished my last day of my summer job at an outbound call center, which I absolutely loathed (the job and the call center, in case you were wondering at my ambiguity). I had taken the bus from my ex-office building to downtown and was awaiting my mother, who was going to come pick me up. As I was waiting, a forty-year-old man pulled over.

"Can I give you a ride?"
"Nope, I'm good."
"Well, why don't you let me give you a ride? I can take you wherever you're going."
"No, I'm just waiting for someone who's going to come meet me here."
"You look like you've been waiting a long time. Let me give you a ride."
"No thanks. She should be here any minute."
"OK, I'll come back in ten minutes and if she hasn't shown up, I'll give you a ride."

My mom showed up before ten minutes were up, for which I was grateful.

The second occurrence was this past Friday. Again, I had just finished work, and I was waiting for my husband to come pick me up. A forty-year-old man pulled over.

"Can I give you a ride to anywhere?"
"No thanks, I'm good. Just waiting for my husband."
"You sure?"
Yes, I was sure. So he left.

I'm thinking maybe there is an upside to my lost, in-desperate-need-of-a-ride image. Someday I'll be trying to hitchhike and somebody will pick me up. Or maybe it will be Bill Gates, and he will want to give me some money in addition to a ride. Or I will be famous or infamous, and will be able to hide from the paparazzi. Or maybe I'll narrowly avoid mugging by hopping into a random car. And here you thought I wouldn't be able to come up with any good upsides.

Top Secret!

I recently started my summer internship. At the orientation, they drilled into us certain facts: We cannot forward emails, we cannot send inappropriate emails, and we cannot tell anyone anything about the firm. For example, I can't put the name of the company on facebook or here on my blog. I can't tell anyone about the training I receive or exactly what I do or my opinions about the field the firm is in. I can't say how things are going or how my day went.

On the other hand, I'm pretty sure what I've done up until now can't be considered proprietary in any way, especially as I haven't actually done anything relating to the business. On Thursday and Friday last week I had orientation and was told repeatedly to not tell anyone about the business or send inappropriate emails. On Monday I was set to actually start working. Except I had no computer access. So instead I was on hold with tech support for over four hours. On Tuesday I still had no access. Ditto Wednesday. Ditto Thursday. On Friday I finally got some access and did a few things. Huzzah.

So what did I do with the rest of my week? 1) Stayed ten or more hours each day. 2) "Shadowed" my coworkers. Whee. I love watching people work. 3) Went to meetings. But don't tell anyone I told you, or I'll have to kill you.

To Jonathan with Nerdiness

In response to Jonathan's math/love letter to me:

Dear Jonathan J Reddoch,

You are as precious to me as the ring is to Gollum.

The Green Lantern without his ring is like me without you. Nothing.

And without our rings, nobody would know that we're married.

Love,

Your wife

This blog is free (and up)

While Jonathan and I were driving to California last weekend, we saw a bunch of signs advertising food. Most of the restaurants were probably the only place to get food for miles, so they didn't need to have particularly great food or great prices. But we were getting hungry, so we gave into temptation and stopped at one of the places. The signs had said "Buffet for $5.99! and up" When we arrived, it turned out the price was "and up"--$9.99. The selling points of the buffet included oatmeal, grits, and scrambled eggs.

Later, we drove past a video store. It said everything was "Up to 50% off!" We went inside. It turned out most of the good things had either been horrifically overpriced to start with or were only 5% off.

We knew going to both of these places that we probably weren't going to get as good a deal as was advertised. And yet we went anyway. Why is it that marketing works, even when you know what's going on?

Vertigo

Jonathan and I are staying at his brother and sister-in-law's house while we're in California. We were all sitting around enjoying a little bit of family time, watching Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo. Two hours into the film, which is two hours and nine minutes long, we reached the stroke of midnight. And Netflix's Watch Now films changed. Vertigo was among the expired films. Probably the last nine minutes were full of excitement and high drama (according to what was happening and Wikipedia's plot summary). But now I'll never know.

Disturbing patterns

I mentioned earlier that some of my fears are irrational. Others, however, have a perfectly logical basis in fact and reasonable conjecture. One of these is driving on the freeway with Jonathan. Actually, I wasn't afraid of this until yesterday, and it wasn't anything he did that changed my mind. It was the number of skid marks all over the freeway. Approximately every five seconds, we came up on another pair. Sometimes they stayed in their lane, but more often they went off the side of the road. Some of the more adventurous/frightening ones sent up twelve inches on the barrier in the middle of the road, swiveled around in a serpentine pattern, or ended abruptly at the dropoff.

So there you have it. I have a new fear. At least this one makes sense.

The Rachel-Julia Project

Jonathan and I watched Julie & Julia a while ago. It's basically the story of a bored woman who hates her job and turns to cooking every dish in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. It also tells the story of how Julia Child learned to cook in France. Julie Powell wrote a blog about how her experience, and eventually became rich and famous and they made a book, then a movie of her life. Yay. They conveniently left out the part where she cheated on her husband throughout the entire experience and how she was whiny, crass, and vulgar. But that's the movie business. (Fans of A Beautiful Mind may be disappointed to know that Nash had a three-year-long affair that resulted in a child, and he abandoned both mother and child when the mother found out about Alicia. Alicia divorced him in 1962, although they did remain friendly.)

Anyway, inspired by the movie, and ignoring the boring and sordid details, Jon and I bought Julia Child's cookbook. Some of the recipes, such as solution for canned mushrooms, which is intended to make them taste more natural, seem a little outdated and impractical. Others sound really difficult to make. And others sound tasty. So earlier this week I made French onion soup. It turned out surprisingly well. If I had a name that made for a snappier sounding title, maybe I'd repeat the Julie-Julia Project, only without the whining and affair.

A(lien)IN(competence)T(heory)

The other day I found this website, which details the obvious incompetence of extraterrestrials. I suggest you read it. If you don't like following links, here are my favorite parts of the text.

One of the most significant issues in ufology today is the attempt to explain the wide variety of conflicting, confusing and bizarre elements of the UFO phenomenon.

In every subfield of ufological studies, there are aspects which strain the logic of even the most seasoned researcher and cause one to doubt the rationality of the genre.

To this end, a new theory has been developed by members of Ufology Research of Manitoba (UFOROM) which appears to explain most, if not all, of these baffling elements. The theory, labelled AINT, is the Alien INcompetency Theory, and describes how all the confusing aspects can be explained by assuming one simple tenet: aliens are incompetent!

One of the basic premises of alien abductions is the conscious recall by abductees of their experiences aboard alien spacecraft. Nearly all abductees report that during their ordeal, the aliens create some sort of mental block within their minds so that they cannot remember what has occurred. Yet, as evidenced by the huge number of abduction accounts published and under investigation, these mental blocks are ineffective.

This is odd, considering the advanced technology and knowledge reported to be held by the aliens. Some abductees report that their captors claim thousands of years of development beyond our own, yet they, too, have failed to produce a lasting screen memory that can withstand our feeble efforts to unlock it via simple hypnosis techniques duplicable by any charlatan or stage magician. Why would this be?

The most famous crash story is that of the Roswell incident, in which a flying saucer apparently crashed during an electrical storm in New Mexico in 1947. While researchers have spent many years tracking down witnesses and speculating as to where the ship might have done down, the obvious question has never been asked: Why did it crash in the first place? One only needs to consider accidents of terrestrial vehicles in order to realize the answer: pilot or driver error.

It would be truly remarkable to consider that an alien pilot who has navigated his (or her or its) craft through interstellar space using highly-advanced technology and propulsion would be unable to maintain level flight through a mere thunderstorm. There is only one reasonable and possible explanation: the pilot was incompetent. Considering the large number of saucer crashes now claimed by researchers, it would seem that many aliens have difficulty flying their vehicles. Surely this could imply that many are incompetent.

We also can look at examples in areas other than space science. Why would politicians lobby for tighter controls on cigarettes because of cancer dangers, but pass bills that would subsidize farmers to grow tobacco? Why do bureaucrats create subcommittees to investigate wastes of time and taxpayers' money? Why would politicians sponsor a covert activity to break into a psychiatrist's office in a hotel? (For that matter, why would people vote for politicians, knowing their track records for honesty and integrity?) Why can't my subscription to a magazine get renewed, even when I send the check in four months before the subscription expires? And why are 60% of all automobiles recalled by the manufacturer during the first year they are on the road?

The answer, of course, is incompetence. Bureaucratic bungling, political wrangling and general ineptitude are responsible for most of the problems in the world today. Politicians and bureaucrats create such confusion that it is clear they themselves have no idea what they are doing.

Now, imagine a highly-evolved technical civilization on a distant planet. Its society functions well, with the exception of a comparatively small number of its population. These would no doubt be their most ineffective politicians and bureaucrats. What better way to remove them from the general gene pool and workforce than to send them off on interstellar voyages that, with relativity, would return them many, many years later, if at all?

Because they are incompetent, they would be confused as to their mission. They would be clumsy pilots and navigators and, because they lack the true knowledge of their society, they would be unable to tell anyone anything about their purpose or scientific capability with any degree of understanding or common sense.

Productive

Yesterday the power went off over a large-ish chunk of Provo. Our apartment was included in that chunk. You would be surprised how dark it gets in a basement apartment when the power is off. That left me with two options--sitting in the dark with no internet or electricity, or going outside. I chose the former. Just kidding, I chose the latter.

I walked over to the Social Security office to officially change my last name. The people there were kind of sketchy. There was one guy who was pretty scary. Every visible inch of his arms was covered in tattoos. His fingers said 2054 HILL (one digit/letter on each finger). He had three teardrops tattooed by his eye. And he kept looking at me.

Another lady was yelling at the Social Security people about changing her name. Apparently she didn't have the correct paperwork, but she needed it changed. "That person is not me! I've been married three times since that! Now I'm divorced and I need to change my name again!" There were pregnant ladies yelling at their children and loud old people on the phone insisting that whatever the other conversational party was doing was illegal.

After that, I went to the store, then came back home. By that time the power was back on, so I was able to return to my regularly scheduled life. Actually, I made soup for dinner, then went to work, got hit over the head with a mop, and came home again. It was a pretty decent day, all things considered. Unless that's the head injury talking.

How I ruined everything forever

On Saturday, Jonathan and I ran to the store. We had a gift certificate, so we were excited to make some completely guilt-free purchases. As we were checking out, I noticed a cob of popcorn. I love popcorn, so even though Jonathan hates it, we bought it.

Last night Jonathan suggested we pop the cob of popcorn. So I did. Unfortunately, popcorn on the cob doesn't tend to pop very evenly. The directions said to wait until popping slowed to one every two to three seconds. So I waited until it slowed to one every second. Then I removed the bag from the microwave. An acrid smell filled the kitchen.

I dumped the half properly popped, half burnt popcorn into a bowl and took it into the room where we were watching Firefly. The acrid smell followed. And it turns out that, unfortunately, the burnt smell and taste transferred to the white popcorn also. It was the worst tasting popcorn I have ever had, including the nasty movie theater popcorn that tastes like chemical butter.

We set the bowl aside and kept watching for awhile. Soon it became apparent that 1) we needed to eat something else to get the burnt taste out of our mouths and 2) we should probably move the bowl of popcorn to a different room, because it smelled really bad.

We lit a candle, threw away the popcorn, and ate some mints, but it was to no avail. The popcorn lingered. As we went to sleep, Jonathan asked why I had "ruined everything forever". As is so often the case, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Circular

Identity is a funny thing. I know who I am, and my friends and family know who I am. But nothing will really prove that I am the person who doesn't like balloons and studies chemical engineering and likes to bake, and the government and other official organizations don't really care about that. They just want to see "proof" that I am Rachel Bohman/Reddoch (I was going to try to change my name today, but it's kind of snowy. And who wants to go out in the snow? Not me.)

Asking for proof runs into circular reasoning. There are a few types of generally accepted IDs. I have my passport, my driver's license, my social security card, and my birth certificate. Some people have military IDs, government IDs, or naturalization records, but those don't apply here. And I'm sure people who have them run into the same problems I do.

To get my passport, I needed my birth certificate and driver's license. To get my driver's license, I needed my social security card and passport. To get my social security card, which I lose frequently, I needed my driver's license and birth certificate. I suppose the thinking is that if you have any two of the four, you are who you claim to be. If you don't, you have to resort to "secondary documents" (insurance card, school/employee ID, credit cards, etc.).

I understand their concern, but I think at this point I should just be able to show my passport for everything. It proves I have a driver's license and birth certificate, which proves I have a social security card. Think of the bureaucracy we could save. If that doesn't convince you, think of the time waiting in line we could save. And that's something we can all get behind.

How the Grinch stole Friday

I work three hours a day cleaning carpets. It's not a terribly exciting job, but it could be a lot worse, and I have a great boss. Her favorite thing to do is take care of people. So when her children grew up and moved out, she started working at BYU so she could continue taking care of starving college students.

Every day she brings us dessert and we sit and talk and eat for half an hour before starting work. She talks about her grandchildren and her dogs and shows us pictures, and it's fantastic. And every Friday, she likes to cook us a huge meal and tell us to invite any friends or family who are nearby who would appreciate a home-cooked meal. She brings salad and reminds us that we need to have vegetables in our system. The Friday night meals are the best perk of the job.

However, one of my coworkers was apparently not as thrilled with this arrangement as I was. He started needling the boss about doing potlucks instead. "Isn't it too much work cooking for all of us?" "Oh, no. I like it." "Doesn't it get expensive?" "Oh, no. I don't mind." "We feel bad taking your food."

If there is one thing the boss doesn't want to do, it's make people feel bad. She announced that she would be doing potlucks. Was that OK with everyone?

At this point, I faced a dilemma. I really, really would rather have my Friday meals cooked for me. But there is absolutely no way to say that without sounding incredibly selfish. Either everyone else secretly wished for potlucks, or they felt the same way I did. (I suspect the latter.)

A sign-up sheet went up. Vocal supporter coworker and I signed up to bring things. Nobody else did(this is why I suspect they weren't ecstatic about the potluck plan). The boss made dinner, minus cheese, lettuce, and onions. So hopefully the potluck idea will atrophy. If not, I'll know that I've picked up Jonathan's bad luck with potlucks.

Life in the basement

Some of you (not many, admittedly) may be wondering what my life is like.

Jonathan and I are currently subleasing a basement apartment that we found on Craigslist. When we came to look at it for the first time, the first thing I noticed was the ceiling height. I am about a quarter inch shy of six feet. The ceiling in the living room and bedroom gives me 4.5" of clearance. In kitchen and bathroom I have a comfortable 6" of space between my head and the ceiling. And in the laundry room there are 7.5". The doorway is 2 inches lower than my head. This made me slightly claustrophobic, but we were getting desperate for a good, cheap apartment, so I assured Jonathan I could get used to low ceilings. True, mostly.

What else? We have monster bugs. Assuming the specimen we found was representative, they have 26 legs (or 24 legs and two sets of antenna) and are a little over an inch long. They make me ill, even though I have only seen one, and it was dead. Every day I live in fear of finding another one.

The door to the bathroom squeaks every time it closes. The first time I heard it, I thought a mouse had been squished. No mouse (fortunately). Just a squeaky door. It's kind of cute, I guess.

The bedroom door, on the other hand, makes a sound like the undead every time it is opened or closed.

As my internship doesn't start for another two weeks, I don't have very much to do. My to-do list today looks like this:

• Put away groceries we bought last night
• Take out the trash
• Watch the first two episodes of Firefly so I'll be caught up and Jon and I can watch the rest together

Exciting stuff, huh? Now, if you've been one of those wondering people, you can move on and occupy your thoughts with something more entertaining and worthwhile.

Jumpy

So, as those who are close to me know, I am a bit jumpier than your average cat that was just rescued from a rocking chair factory. This provides infinite entertainment for people who are not me.

When we were younger, one of Josh's favorite pastimes was scaring me every night. He would stand inside my bedroom/closet, and when I opened the door and turned on the light, he would jump out and yell "Bah!" I would shriek and jump a foot in the air. I knew Josh was there. I knew he would be jumping out. And it still honestly gave me a two-second heart attack every time.

One time I decided in advance to not get scared. So I turned on the light, looked at him, and said, "Hello, Josh." He yelled, "Bah!" I screamed and jumped a foot in the air.

When I had just moved to college, my roommate discovered I was jumpy. I believe the discovery was made in some innocuous way--I was concentrating on something, and she came in and said hello. I fell off my chair with a stifled scream and lay gasping for air (exaggerated a bit, but not much). After that, she took every opportunity to scare me. I would come home, unlock the door, and find a dark apartment. Blissfully unaware of things to come, I would go into our shared bedroom. She would spring forth from the walk-in closet, and hilarity (for her)/terror (for me) ensued.

Now my husband likes to scare me. Even though I always know where he is and, being of reasonable intelligence, can guess that he's going to scare me, it still works. I say, "Don't scare me right now." He jumps out and yells, "Bah!" I scream.

I will admit, if I weren't the one being given all kinds of cardiovascular workouts sans exercise, I would find it hilarious too. In fact, in retrospect (he totally got me) and even foresight (I know he's going to scare me again tonight, and the fact that I know makes no difference) it's funny. It's just for those two seconds when I feel like I'm having a heart attack that I don't appreciate my own jumpiness.

Guest blogger

Hi faithful blog readers! If you couldn't tell by the ridiculously cheery opening, this isn't Rachel. It's her sister Kristina! Huzzah! Hooray! Hallelujah! And other such happy words starting with H. And now for a story...

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Octavia. Not a princess, just a girl. Despite this disadvantage, she was still the fairest in all the land. Also the smartest, funniest, and overall amazing-est. Oh, and also the humblest. Really. She didn't care that she was far and away the best. She just wanted to get married. You might think it would be easy for such a beautiful and talented girl to get married, but that wasn't the case. All the men (and especially all the boys) were intimidated by her. This made Octavia very, very sad. The only silver lining was that at least she wasn't rich too, for that would be even more intimidating.
One day Octavia finally met a man who wasn't so awed by her that he was scared to talk to her. This was because he was already madly in love with a girl named Meg. Meg was nice enough, but this man, named Joseph, thought she was pretty much the greatest thing. Ever. Not just since toilet paper, not just since toast, not just since sliced bread. Ever. So when he saw Octavia, he thought she was nothing special, at least not compared with Meg. So, Joseph talked to her. He wasn't intimidated by her awesomeness, and decided he might as well start a conversation. After all, at this point in time neither cameras nor phones had been invented yet, so he thought he might as well talk to Octavia, because he couldn't call Meg, or even stare at a picture of her. So, Joseph said Hello to Octavia. Octavia was thrilled! This was the 1st boy outside of her family to ever talk to her reasonably and un-self-consciously! As they talked, it soon became apparent that along with all her other attributes, Octavia was also a great conversationalist, and very friendly. Soon the two became fast friends.
However, also soon, Meg moved. Previously she had lived in the country far away from the village Joseph was apprenticed to a shoemaker in, so Joseph had plenty of free time to talk with Octavia. But when Meg pursued him there, Joseph spent all his time with her. Little did he know she was just a gold-digger. And little did Meg know that shoe making isn't the most profitable business. But Joseph complimented her and gave her rhinestones he bought on credit, so she decided she could wait for him to give her diamonds he paid for in cash. Octavia looked on with dismay. She saw that Meg was no good for Joseph, and he would be much happier if he forgot her and moved on to someone else. Someone else like, oh, say, her! Because in the short time before Meg moved to the village, Octavia had fallen in love with Joseph. He was funny, hardworking, nice, and just an all-around good person. Unfortunately for Octavia, Joseph was too preoccupied with Meg to fall in love with Octavia. It was nothing but friendship on his side. Even worse was the fact that he would talk to Octavia about how much he loved Meg. Every time he did, Octavia felt like someone was stabbing her soul then twisting the knife. And then pouring salt on the wound.
Then came the fateful day. A nobleman came to town. Meg was beginning to realize that shoe-making wasn't the most horribly profitable business, and so when she saw this nobleman, she immediately began scheming about ways to get him to fall in love with her, because he could give her not only diamonds, but also rubies, pearls, sapphires, emeralds, gold, silver, the list goes on and on. Meg was wily, and in the short time the nobleman (Albert Charles) was in town, he fell for her. He was even making plans to marry her, but he realized he had no ring grand enough for her, so he had to leave to go get one. In the meantime, Joseph was beginning to feel this strange sensation in his soul that Octavia felt. The stabbing and salt-pouring sensation. He could tell Meg loved another, and this hurt him so much. So when the nobleman came back with a suitably large ring, proposed to Meg, and she said yes, Joseph was devastated. She was the only girl he'd ever loved, and now that she was gone, he had no idea what to do with his life. Octavia, however, had plans on what he could do with his life...
Time passed, and Joseph eventually got over Meg. He realized that she was no good for him, and he would do much better to find another girl. Another like, oh, say, Octavia! His friendship for her had finally blossomed into love! Once he realized this, he immediately proposed, although he didn't have a big fancy ring, but that was OK, because Octavia loved him for himself, not for his money. Of course she said yes, and they lived Happily Ever After.

That was my story. For those of you thinking Octavia is supposed to be me, because of Rachel's lie and vicious rumor that that's my middle name, she's not. I did get the name from that LIE, but I'm not that conceited to think all the rest of it is true. It's called creative license. ANYWAYS, hope you liked the story! Sorry it's so long.

Compromise, or One of us can be unhappy, or we can both be unhappy

Mealtimes with Jonathan are always interesting. If there is a food item that can be prepared in two different ways, we always want it in different ways. Tonight we had steak, cauliflower, and brownies. I like my steak well done, my cauliflower crisp-tender, and my brownies thick and gooey. Jonathan likes steak rare, cauliflower soft, and brownies thin and crispy. I like chicken wings and chicken nuggets crispy; Jonathan likes them softer. I like pasta al dente; Jonathan likes it softer (aka mushy). I like Mexican food spicy, while he prefers it mild. I could go on, but I imagine you get the point.

This means that there is not a lot we can do when we're preparing dinner. We could cook everything for two different amounts of time, but then we can't eat together. We could cook everything to the middle state, and then neither of us would be happy. Or we could cook to my preferences half the time and Jonathan's half the time, and each be happy half the time. Yay compromise.

Black Thumb

When Josh and I were little, our mom would sometimes take us to Blockbuster and allow us each to choose a movie to rent. Most of the time we came home with the same two movies: All Dogs Go to Heaven and A Troll in Central Park. They were the best movies ever. Part of me wants to watch them again, but another part says that would ruin them.

Troll in Central Park was about a troll who was unlike every other troll. The others all had black thumbs that made plants wither and die at their touch. The title character had a green thumb instead.

To my dismay, I have discovered that I am much more like the regular trolls. I recently obtained a banana pepper plant. Fun! I thought. I can grow peppers and we can eat them on our sandwiches and in our quesadillas! How awesome will that be? As it turns out, not so awesome.

I think I killed it already. It is all droopy and sad looking. I talked to my mom (who has a green thumb) about it. She seemed confident I could revive it. We'll see. I think I should start practicing my Bad Troll song (about 2:40-2:50).

Jonathan Livingston Seagull

I just read a book called Jonathan Livingston Seagull. It was really good It was short--just 127 pages, and it only took about an hour to read. But I think it will stay with me for a long time.

The cover said something about sharing the "experience" millions of readers have had. Before I read it I thought that was kind of dumb. Books are read, not experienced. Then I read the book. It felt like a journey--an experience, if you will.

So I was wondering what give a book staying power. There are a few books I think about frequently. I've read books with more gripping plots and more believable characters. I've read books that I agreed with more. I've read books that I liked more. But I keep thinking about these same few books. Why?

I honestly don't know. If you have a great answer, text me or facebook me or comment or something.

Books I Think About All the Time

Cry, the Beloved Country
Izzy, Willy Nilly
Dicey books by Cynthia Voigt
The Five People You Meet in Heaven
The Richest Man in Babylon
Go Ask Alice
A book I read at the library about a girl who cuts herself
The Diddakoi
A book about a poltergeist my fourth or fifth grade teacher read to the class
The Boggart
Indian Captive
The Hiding Place
The scriptures
Jonathan Livingston Seagull?

Pinged

I recently installed google analytics on my blog so I could keep track of how many people actually read this thing (answer: not many). In addition to telling me how many visitors I've had, google analytics tracks where the visits come from. Apparently I've had five visitors from Moscow, Russia, one from Islamabad, Pakistan, one from Jiddah, Saudi Arabia, one from Singapore, and three from Hill Air Force Base.

I think I know somebody in Singapore on study abroad, so that one makes sense. I don't think I know anyone in Pakistan, Russia, Saudi Arabia, or Hill Air Force Base. I am slightly concerned about it. Maybe it relates to this post? I mean, I did mention Arab extremist groups and security warnings. But don't people have anything more important to do than check out my blog? Apparently not.

So, for the record: I have nothing to do with the War on Terror, nor with any extremist group. That is all. (Now let's see if those pings increase.)

Story of my life

Some of you may be wondering how my previous post describes the story of my life. Whether you were or not, prepare to be enlightened (unless you choose to stop reading). If you read my blog, you probably know me, so you've probably heard these stories before, possibly multiple times. Ignoring this, and forging ahead...

When I was in high school, people thought I was on drugs (I wasn't). People asked me drug-related questions several times.

One time I was just walking down the hall and a stranger stopped me and asked, "Do you want some marijuana?" I, being the terrified naive teenager I was, didn't even answer. I just ran away.

Another time I was in class during a break in the lesson. A guy came up to me and asked, "Do you do drugs?"
Me: No.
Druggie: Really? Why not?
Me: [Unable to think of a decent, polite response] Because I value my brain cells?
Druggie: Oh. OK. [Ambles away]
In retrospect, I wish I hadn't said that. I'm pretty sure there were better answers. But I was terrified and naive.

Yet another time I was at a church activity. The background to this story is that the blood vessels in my eyes are inflamed, so sometimes my eyes get really bloodshot, especially if I'm tired. I don't share this tidbit with everyone; it's none of their business. Another girl asked if I was OK.
Me: Sure. Just a little tired. Why?
Her: Your eyes are really red. Are you sure you haven't been crying?
Me: Yeah, I'm fine.
Her: Then are you on drugs?
Me: What?
Her: Either you've been crying or you're on drugs. And you said you haven't been crying, so... [significant look as she trails off]