Spam

So I received this lovely piece of spam today. For only a few hours a week, a bank account, and the ability to wire money out of my bank account, I can make $600-800 per week! Hurray!


Hello Rachel Reddoch,
Our company is currently looking for qualified individuals for an opening of a "Payment Assist Manager" that doesn't demand any special skills. The job will take only several hours a week. It's a great opportunity to get an extra-income before Holidays in a short time.

The general activity of this opening is to collect payments from our customers in the US.
Each fund transfer will be accompanied by detailed instructions.
Compulsory requirements:

- Age: at least 21;
- US citizeship;
- computer skills and e-mail address;
- at least 1-2 hours of free time per day for work business hours;
- Initiative and honesty.
- an account at any bank in the US;
- an ability to send Western Union trasfers;
Average profit is $600-$800 per week.

The Shoe Date

So back before I met Jonathan, I was in a singles ward. And the leadership thought it would be a good idea to encourage dating, so they devised the idea of a shoe date. All the ladies in the ward who wanted to participate contributed a shoe. All the men who wanted to participate came and chose a shoe, and then were told to whom the shoe belonged. The idea was that the man would return the shoe and ask its owner on a date. So around February, I put my shoe into the pile with everyone else's and it was duly selected.

Everyone else in the ward began going on their shoe dates. The bishop would remind us every Sunday that people needed to go on their dates. As weeks turned into months, my shoe was not returned. Finally when the semester was two weeks away from ending, I decided that not being asked out was one thing, but having half of my favorite pair of shoes stolen was another. Our ward was the same as our apartment complex, so I recruited my roommates to go try to recover my shoe. They went and knocked on the doors of all the men in our ward. Eventually they found somebody who had seen my shoe in his roommate's room.

With my shoe recovered and the identity of my would-be date revealed, I decided I had to know why he had never asked me out, and also what he had planned on doing with my shoe. So once again I sent my roommates (cowardly, I know). They came back with the report that he had chosen my shoe because it was very cute, and once he found out it belonged to me, his plan was just to hold onto the shoe indefinitely because he couldn't return it without asking me out. Ouch. But hey, at least my shoes are cute.

Patience is a Virtue

Once upon a time, I was trying to open two different Word documents at work. And my computer was being slow. So I clicked both documents several times, thinking it would help with the lack of responsiveness.



Or, you know, just open each document 15 times. Either way.

Microwave

So I found this link that tells readers, "prepare to be impressed." We're all going to learn 23 things you can do with a microwave. I thought it might be interesting, so I started reading.

To my surprise, the first six or so items included: Soften butter. Melt butter. Melt chocolate. Soften cream cheese. Honestly, that all sounds like one thing you can do with a microwave - heat things. Then it moved on (but not really). Did you know that you can also use a microwave to heat syrup, cook vegetables, and warm tortillas? Now you know!

Inspired, I decided to make my own list of 23 things you can do with  a microwave. I have included it below for no charge, even though somebody got paid for the first list.

1. Cook hotdogs.
2. Heat leftover mashed potatoes.
3. Defrost chicken.
4. Defrost beef. (This totally counts as different, if melting and softening butter are different)
5. Melt cheese.
6.Heat hot fudge sauce.
7. Heat a frozen dinner.
8. Boil water for chicken broth.
9. Boil water for beef broth.
10. Heat water for hot chocolate.
11. Heat milk for hot chocolate.
12. Make a non-crispy cheese quesadilla.
13. Re-liquify honey that has crystallized.
14. Heat poptarts.
15. Make fettuccine.
16. Make spaghetti.
17. Make ravioli.
18. Make rigatoni.
19. Make angel hair pasta.
20. Heat marinara sauce.
21. Heat alfredo sauce.
22. Cook peas (they already covered artichokes, asparagus, beans, squash, and carrots, each in their own item. I can't believe they missed peas!).
23. Cook sweet potatoes.

Technology

Apparently George Lucas has just been sittting around waiting until there was enough technology to bring his original vision to life as seen in the following clip. After all, saying "Nooooo!" is a pretty advanced technique.

Thief

Once upon a time, there was a hypothetical person. This hypothetical person sometimes takes Trax home from work in the evenings. One evening, she arrived at the Trax station, ready to buy a ticket. However, that station would not take credit cards, and the ticket machine was apparently out of change, as it would not accept her $20 bill. So she dug through her purse and came up with $1.95. Unfortunately, a ticket costs $2.25. The ticket machine returned the money and informed her it was insufficient.

So this hypothetical person really needed to get home, and all her legitimate methods of payment had been rejected. So she got on the train without purchasing.

Now, Trax occasionally has police come by and check the tickets of every person on board. Those who are caught attempting to ride for free are fined $150, which is a lot to spend half an hour with people who smell of mold, smoke, or body odor. Determined to avoid this fate, our hypothetical ride thief kept a weather eye out for any police-looking people waiting at the stations. The plan? As soon as police get on, get off and walk to the next compartment over. The police switch compartments at each stop, so an enterprising rider will only have to switch twice (at most). Despite this brilliant (if somewhat unethical) plan, during her entire hypothetical 35 minute journey, the ride thief was paranoid and frightened, and it was with great relief that she reached her station. Nobody even attempted to check her nonexistent ticket. Moral: Crime pays.

Sleep Talk: Part Many

Because Jonathan keeps talking in his sleep, and because I continue to find it amusing, I'm going to keep sharing it with you.

Anyway, the other night Jonathan and I were both asleep when he rolled over and started talking, partly waking me up. "This is my bed."

"What?"

"It's my bed."

I was still half-asleep and in no mood to argue, so I went and slept on the couch until Jonathan woke me up by yelling, "Where are you? Why aren't you here?"

Why We Have A Housing Crisis

So I have been doing some thinking (not a lot), and had a few experiences while Jonathan and I have been trying to buy a house. Here are some things I've learned.

1. The government insures loans for first-time home buyers. These loans are known as FHA loans. Apparently you can't get one for a condo or a townhome. In other words, the government does not encourage people to buy smaller or cheaper places.

2. When I said you "can't" get an FHA loan for a condo or a townhouse, what I actually meant was you can't get one unless the condo/townhouse is on an approved list. What is this approved list? I don't know. It's difficult to find.

3. The list is difficult to find because the search functionality on the FHA website has office hours. Seriously. "Message: Your request could not be processed at this time. Please try again later.
Normal hours of operation are from 8 am to 9 pm Eastern time Monday through Friday. The time is now 12:21 AM " So forget abouttrying to find a home on the weekend. Do that stuff while you're at work (especially if you live in Hawaii or Alaska).

4. The same people who think that only single-family homes are worth subsidizing and think that websites can't run around the clock are the people in charge of the federal loan and mortgage assistance programs.

5. There is a very good reason we are in a housing crisis.

Sincerity

I was driving home the other day when I heard the best radio ad ever. Seriously. It started by calling out most ads for memory enhancement products as shams.

"I'm sick of hearing ads that try to sucker you into buying their memory enhancer with flim-flam and fast talking. They talk about clinical trials, but what does that even mean? They say you can try it for free, but we all know there's no such thing as a free lunch."

It moved on to use flim-flam and slow talking to try to convince you to buy their memory enhancer.

"Memory Fixer Upper [not its real name] was developed by a neuroscientist! It has been proven in large studies to improve memory in regular folks. And you can get a risk free 30 day trial!"

I'm so glad I've found the honest memory enhancement seller. Now I'll be safe from all those quacks out there.

Sleep Talk

Or, two vignettes from the life of Jonathan and Rachel

Jonathan (extremely agitated): What are you doing?! The children are more important than the dog! Everyone knows this!
Me: We don't have children or a dog.
Jonathan: Oh. We're good then. (Rolls over and goes back to sleep.)

~

Jonathan: OK, you go fight the aliens now.
Me: You don't make any sense.
Jonathan: Who fights the aliens?
Me: Not me.
Jonathan: Yes, you.

Extreme Couponing

The other day I was at Wal-Mart buying a few necessities. Despite the fact that there were 30 lanes, only four were open. All the self-serve lanes were closed for maintenance and I had more than twenty items, so that left three lanes for me to choose between. Lanes one and two had extremely long lines. Lane three had only one person waiting, so I rushed over there, only to realize why nobody else had chosen to wait in that lane.

The only waiting person had a cart full of duplicate items. She also had one of those clear storage containers, which she had turned into a filing cabinet. There were folders labeled with different brands - Pillsbury, Kraft, Lysol, etc. Each of these seemed to be stuffed with coupons.

I decided to take my chances in one of the extremely long lines. It actually worked out pretty well for me; when I left I looked back and saw that she was still checking out.

Further adventures of Rachel

It turns out last night I forgot to include some of my very exciting adventures.

Yesterday I had to go through the new security at the Salt Lake airport. Some lines just had metal detectors, but unfortunately for me, I was in one of the enhanced lines. After going through the body scan machine, the agent directed me to stand on a mat and wait. Then he started putting on rubber gloves. Needless to say, I was not pleased. Just as I was about to decide that travel, New York, and training are all completely overrated, he told me, "You can go." He unlatched the security gate and started talking on his walkie-talkie. "Copy female. The male is still here." The guy right in front of me did not look too happy.

The hotel where I'm staying is pretty decent. The people are quite friendly, there's a fridge, stove, and microwave, and they gave us cupcakes (red velvet, pop rock, and something sweet but unidentifiable) instead of just mints. There's also an abundance of alcohol available.

Pictured: rum, whiskey, whiskey, gin, vodka, beer, and wine.

Other adventures of mine have also related to food. Last night I ordered room service for dinner. When it arrived, the bill was a lot more than I expected, but I still filled out the tip sheet. Then I looked at the itemization on the receipt. They had already charged 18% gratuity. I hope the room service person didn't think I was too rude for crossing out the tip I had written in.

Today I had 11 hours of training. Halfway through, they provided lunch for us. I was pretty excited for my turkey and brie sandwich. It was a little disappointing, though: the sandwich consisted of bread, turkey, and brie. No condiments, no vegetables, no moisture.

Rachel in the Land of the Big Apple

So I flew out to New York today for some training for my job. The trip itself was OK. I had the option of buying three small turkey sandwiches for $8.50, or half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for $4.50, but for some reason I passed and made due with 45 calories worth of free pretzels. I had a middle seat (I hate sitting in the middle). One of my neighbors was asleep and kept leaning on me (awkward), and the other played really loud iPod music the whole time. I did not approve of his taste in music.

Once we arrived at the airport, I took a cab to my hotel. Or rather, I gave the address of my hotel to the cab driver and asked him to take me there. He dropped me off at the first hotel he saw, and I had to walk almost a mile to my actual hotel. I both felt and looked suave as I carried my two bags down the street, completely unsure of where I was going or how much farther it would be. So that was pretty awesome.

Now I'm hanging out in my hotel. I have a roommate, but I have yet to meet her. Tomorrow I have training starting at 7:30 am, which will feel like 5:30 to me. Plus it's an hour away! Huzzah.

Degrees of Unseparation

Sometimes I look at the people Facebook suggests as my friends. John Q. Smith. I wonder how I apparently was the only person in my class or apartment complex who didn't know John Q. Smith. I have 48 friends in common with him and I've never even heard anybody talk about him.

At first I worried it must be because I'm antisocial. But then I decided the blame rests equally on my shoulders and the shoulders of John Q. Smith. I hope it bothers him as much as it bothers me. I hope he sees "Rachel Bohman Reddoch 48 friends in common" and wonders how he missed meeting me, or hearing my name at any point.

The Most Illegal Contract

Remember how I actually read contracts? I've found one even more illegal sounding than a certain waterpark's. The people who drafted our apartment rental agreements seem to be under the impression that if you sign your name to something, that signature supersedes local, state, and even federal law. Here are some of the worst, most unethical-at-best, illegal-at-worst things to come out of it. As a side note, the Resident is referred to as an "it" throughout the document.

1. Throughout the document, the resident agrees to things for all their guests. I'm pretty sure I don't have power of attorney for any of my visitors, and I can't agree to anything on their behalf. They would have to sign their own waiver. Example: "Resident shall indemnify Owner from any liability to any third party." OK, I indemnify them, but that doesn't mean my visitors do. Other example: "This waiver shall apply to all residents, occupants, guests, and minors." This one goes in the illegal category.

2. "In the event [the premises] are condemned as a result of any type of governmental action, Owner shall not be liable for any damages to Resident." (This one is probably just unethical.)

3. If we decide to make any repairs that the landlord refuses to make, we are required to
a. Pay for it ourselves (fair enough so far).
b. Obtain three independent estimates (what?).
c. Utilize the lowest estimate. (Why do they care what we do when we're paying for it?)

4. "In no event shall Resident make any repairs itself." (Told you they call us "it.")

5. We agree to potentially perjure ourselves (illegal category): "Resident agrees to defend Owner against any and all claims, actions, causes of action, demands, losses, damages, and expenses of any kind...arising out of the growth or proliferation of mold or mildew or other contamination in the premises." Um, no. Also, again with the I don't have power of attorney for my guests issue: "Resident agrees that Owner shall not be liable for any damages caused to Resident's guests resulting from mold, mildew, or any other contamination."

6. We agree not to have the premises tested for any sort of contaminant. If we really want, we can pay the owner to perform the tests, but they don't have to disclose the results to us unless the results are above legal limits. This one is borderline, but I tend to believe it's illegal.

7. The owner is not responsible for any damages caused by structural problems, toxins, contamination, or "negligent behavior of Owner or its agents." This is also in the probably illegal category.

8. "By this agreement each Resident herein grants a power of attorney to each other Resident." I don't think they're very clear on who can give power of attorney to whom and what that means. And I'm certainly glad I'm married, because I'd hate to have some random roommate having power of attorney for me.

9. If we don't stay here for our full term of contract, we not only have to keep paying rent for the months we don't live here, we also have to pay $2000 extra for "leasing agent costs, advertising expenses, and other costs incidental to re-renting the premises." Also we have to pay back the $150 per month that we've had knocked off the rent for being good folks. The moral of the story: If we move out before our term is up, we just won't tell them. We'll keep paying rent for our empty apartment.

10. If the owner's costs increase for any reason, they can increase our rent based on a "formula to be determined by Owner." Seems fair. I'm sure we can trust them to do the right thing.

11. This one is definitely 100% illegal. Or insubstantially illegal. The Owner's responsibilities: "Remain in substantial compliance with federal, state, and local laws."

12. Probably illegal, at least unethical. We grant them a security interest in all our property, including our car. They can sell anything we own that we keep on their premises with a 7-day written notice, but "resident agrees to waiver of notice of the sale."

13. Violation of ADA: "Resident is required to get approval for any service animal PRIOR to the animal coming onto the premises." I can see informing them, but I don't think they really have the right to approve or disapprove. Especially when they allow pets without an approval process.

The whole thing is approved by a law office that is rated F by the BBB and comes up on multiple consumer complaint sites for shady business practices and potential violations of the law. On the other hand, it's highly rated by apartment complexes.

Rachel vs. the DMV

If you, for some reason, were entirely obsessed with me, you may remember that I actually changed my name almost a year ago. Since then, I have had no confirmation of who I actually am. So that's cool, but I decided it had to change. So, my naivety intact, I decided to head to the Driver's License Division and get things taken care of.
While there I learned the following things:

Just because their website says your address is changed doesn't mean the employees there will realize it.

Apparently there is a problem with people who have their driver's license (with their photo and so forth) mailed to somebody else's address.

A document from the internet is good proof that you live where you say you live.

A receipt showing that you paid $500 for the privilege of moving into an apartment is not.

A signed or verbal statement from my husband/cohabitant or my apartment manager is not.

You can change your address over the internet or phone with no information besides your driver's license number and new address. In person, you need your driver's license number, previous address, birth certificate, social security card, and two pieces of mail. Or a piece of mail and something you printed off the internet. Or a signed lease agreement. (I didn't realize the risk of fraud was so much greater in person.)

It doesn't matter if you were in the building before they close. If you haven't been helped by closing time, you must leave.

Graduate

So there was this one time that I graduated. It was pretty cool and stuff. I got to walk across the stage (third one!) and then I got to wait and wait and wait while everybody else I knew and didn't know walked across the stage also.

And then I got a diploma.

And now I have to figure out what I want to do. I feel like Inigo Montoya--I've been in the school business for so long, that now that it's over, I don't know what to do with the rest of my life. I've considered and rejected piracy, so I guess that's progress, but I have this feeling that the process of elimination will take too long. So I'm open to suggestions, I suppose.

Home Insecurity

Jonathan and I recently moved. We've been in our new place for six days. Here are some of the lovely things we've seen so far.

One night we came home to an army of police cars surrounding a neighbor's door.

The next day, we were driving to the store when we saw a police SUV speeding down the street with the emergency lights on. Returning from the store, we saw a car pulled over, another police SUV, and a regular police car. Two scruffy-looking men were taking pictures of the back seat of the pulled over car. We think they were probably plain-clothes detectives. Or something.

That night, we got back from dinner and saw a firetruck and ambulance crowded around another door in our apartment complex.

Also, one of the residents in our complex has an ankle bracelet. He is not ashamed at all; he walks around in shorts. Another resident probably was waiting to do a drug deal one night while we were moving boxes in. He was just standing motionless by his car. We walked back and forth between the car and apartment five or six times, and he didn't move the whole time.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that we're probably going to be stabbed one night, but at least the police will be really familiar with the neighborhood, so they'll be able to respond quickly.

Fair Agreement

Jonathan and I bought season tickets for Seven Peaks Water park because I'll have two months this summer with nothing to do until my job starts. As everyone knows, buying or using tickets means that you're agreeing to the fine print on the back. Because I'm weird, I actually read the fine print. I never do anything about it or refuse to buy or use a product because of it, but I do read it.

Usually it's pretty standard and you release the park, employees, etc. from any injuries or death you receive due to negligence.

This one was different. We released them from liability for any harm caused by "negligence or any other acts." I assume this means they can now legally shoot us in the face or push us from the top of the water slide or slip some arsenic into our Dippin' Dots. I also assume they don't plan to take advantage of clause. Either way, it's totally worth it, right?

Cognitive Dissonance

Cognitive dissonance is defined as an uncomfortable feeling caused by holding conflicting ideas simultaneously. Buyer's remorse, when evidence exists that it is justified, is a classical example of cognitive dissonance. One will either seek to discount the new evidence, or truly regret and try to renounce the purchase. In other words, when experience clashes with expectations, you get uncomfortable. Here's another example.

Further adventures in babysitting

So another time I was babysitting for the same family I mentioned before. The six-year-old decided he had a crush on me. Everything I said, he agreed with completely. For example, he told me he loved snails. Did I love them too? "No. I think they're really gross."

"Oh, me too! I hate snails!"

He told me he really liked teasing his brothers. Wasn't that awesome? "No, I think it's probably not the best thing you could do."

"Yeah, I hardly ever tease them. I have better things to do."

He told me he hated healthy food and only liked junk food. "Yeah, junk food is good, but you can't have it all the time."

"Yeah, I only like junk food sometimes."

So, between six-year-old babysittees and Child 1 from church, I'm pretty sure I'm irresistible to children. I suppose that means I should have great responsibility to go with my great power.

Un-Benefited

So I recently got a preapproved credit card offer in the mail. It seemed like a good deal because if I spent $500 within three months and paid it off, they would give me an additional $500 in gift cards. We already spend that much on groceries and other necessities, so why not?

Apparently preapproved is not the same as approved. My application was denied. Fine.

Twilight Zone

So, I haven't really accomplished anything. Life is going as usual, and nothing really noteworthy has happened. And when that's the way things are, I blog about experiences from my past! Like the babysittees from the Twilight Zone.

When I was a teenager, a young family in my ward asked me to watch their four children for an evening. I accepted because I naively assumed that if they didn't think I could handle their children, they wouldn't ask me.

When I arrived, they introduced me to their children. Jason was six and had been diagnosed with ADHD. Mark and Tim were four-year-old twins. Mark was autistic and Tim was on the heart transplant waiting list. Anna was two and had no diagnosed conditions. When I heard about their special needs, I was a little apprehensive. But still, if it was that difficult to deal with them, they wouldn't be hiring a 14-year old, right?

The parents did their best to lay down the ground rules in a clear, non-intimidating way. They gave me their cell phone number. They gave me the number to page if the hospital called and said a transplant was available for Tim. They told me Tim had to drink something besides water with his dinner (Pedialite or Ensure or something). He was not to walk up the stairs, and everything should be fine.

Fine. I could handle that. Things went fine for a while. We had dinner. Tim had his special drink, and the other kids had water. We played with their legos, watched a short movie, and read a few books. Then it was time for bed. Tim pulled up his shirt and presented me with a hypodermic needle. "What's this for?" I asked.

Jason was ready with an answer. "You have to give him a shot in his tummy. If you don't, he'll DIE!"

I was unprepared for this. Deep down, I knew that if their son's life would be endangered by not receiving a shot, they would have told me about it before they left. But what if it was so commonplace to them that they just forgot? I called the parents. They informed me that no, I did not have to stab Tim in the stomach with a needle. I was grateful.

I carried Tim upstairs, and everybody brushed their teeth. As Tim was brushing, Jason warned me that if any water slipped down Tim's throat, he would DIE! I called the parents again. Again, negative on the death risk. But don't let him drink too much.

I got the kids into their bedrooms. There was a huge contraption in the corner of Tim and Mark's room. I asked what it was for. Jason came running in. "That's Tim's oxygen machine! If you don't help him put the tubes in his nose and get it turned on, he'll DIE in the night!" I asked Tim if this was true. He said it was, indeed, the truth. I asked Mark. Mark corroborated.

We got Tim hooked up to his oxygen machine. Five or six more times the kids called me up and informed me Tim's life was in danger if I didn't do X immediately! Each time I called the parents, and each time they said lack of X would not, in fact, endanger Tim's life.

Eventually the kids settled down. Later still, the parents arrived home. They went upstairs to see their kids. "Why is Tim hooked up to his oxygen machine?"

"Well, they all seemed to agree he needed it."

Apparently not. Apparently it was just for special occasions or something. Apparently the whole time there was no extra risk. And apparently they really didn't hire a 14-year-old for something incredibly dangerous and complex. And apparently they weren't too irritated by my multiple phone calls, because they asked me to babysit for them many more times after that, despite the episode always including real or imagined disaster at some point.

Cranky

So Jonathan, in addition to talking in his sleep, is sometimes cranky in the mornings, often because of something he's dreamed. The other day he had another sleep-talking episode, and it was hilarious as usual.

I was getting ready for school and he was sleeping when he started calling for me. "Rachel! Rachel! I need you now!" I went into the bedroom.

"What's up?"

"I have some tips for you!" I asked what I needed tips on. "How to win your competition." I asked what competition he was talking about. He was exasperated that I would ask such a stupid question. "The female competition, of course." Of course. I should have realized that myself. I decided to play along and see what else he would come up with. "Oh, yeah?"

Jonathan mumbled some tips. Again, I said, "Yeah? That's what I should do?" More slurred words. "Yeah?"

This seemed to irritate him. "Stop saying yeah like you know all this!"

I didn't have a good response to that. "OK?"

"No. Don't say OK either. Say yes."

OK. I could do that. "Yes." He mumbled some more stuff that probably seemed very important at the time. Eventually I told him I had to leave so I could get to school on time. He mumbled some more stuff. "Yes," I said.

This irritated him also. "Don't say yes! It's not even true. You're such a liar."

OK, then. Apparently "yes" is the only appropriate affirmative. Except when using it makes you a liar.

Superglue Crisis

Last night at about 11:30, I had settled into bed and was just drifting off to sleep when I heard cries for help coming from the bathroom.

"Rachel! Rachel! Come quick! I need you!"

Fearing catastrophe, I sprang from my bed and ran to the bathroom. Jonathan yelled, "The toilet's broken!"

Indeed it was. For those of you who have not had a chance to become as intimately acquainted with the inside of a toilet as I have, here's how it works.

As seen in the picture, the lever you pull is connected to a long plastic arm.The other end of the arm is connected to a chain that, in turn, is connected to a stopper. When lifted, the stopper lets water into the toilet bowl, causing it to flush. All the water in the toilet tank is clean. This is a very important point for my sanity right now. (Although if it weren't, I would have a story to rival Hannah's. As an aside, you really should read Hannah's story. It is hilarious.)

Anyway, our plastic arm had broken off from the lever. I fished it out of the tank (which is why it's so important that the tank water is clean). We looked at it, and one of us said, "This looks like something we can fix with superglue!" Bad, bad, bad idea #1. Now, it may have been a decent idea if we had any functioning superglue. But no. The only superglue we have around the house is superglue that we've already used once, which means that the cap is unremovable because it is bonded to the part that's supposed to make dispensing the glue easy. We figure, no problem. We'll just take off everything and pour the glue out. Bad, bad, bad idea #2.

Now, at this point, I was holding the plastic arm, and Jonathan poured the superglue onto the end. Unfortunately but predictably, it ran down the sides of the plastic arm. I didn't notice because my hand was already wet from toilet tank water. We shortly realized we didn't know the exact way the plastic arm was supposed to reconnect with the lever. So I tried to reposition my hands so we could try again.

Didn't work.

My hand was glued to the toilet! Now, I realize that sounds a little dramatic. It would be slightly more accurate to say my hand was glued to the plastic part of the toilet's flushing mechanism. Either way, I couldn't move my hand more than about four inches (the length of the chain) from the toilet.

I panicked. Jonathan laughed. I didn't appreciate it. I was identifying with the people who have to cut off their own arms to escape entrapment. I was pretty sure we'd have to cut off my forefinger and thumb, or at least rip off all the skin from my fingertips. "I'm going to bleed!" I yelled.

After a few minutes, I calmed down and read the instructions on the tube of superglue. "Avoid use of excessive force to free bonded area." I was slightly less calmed.

Eventually it occurred to me that acetone might dissolve superglue. I told Jonathan. He asked where we could find acetone. I said nail polish remover. Unfortunately, we had none lying around. "What else would work?"

"I don't know! Check the internet."

So while I sat glued to my seat, Jonathan ran and checked the internet. Suggestions: Nail polish remover, or just pick at it until you are freed. I suggested that I was not thrilled with the prospect of picking myself loose. It sounded too much like the "leave my fingertips behind" idea, and the container had warned about using excessive force. So Jonathan left to go to the store and I sat and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Seriously, twenty minutes has never seemed like a longer time. Finally, Jonathan got back with nail polish remover. After a few minutes of trying to rub it around the edges of my fingers, I decided that what I really needed was to immerse my fingers and the plastic part in acetone so the glue could really dissolve. So we ripped the plastic part free from the chain (it was broken anyway, and we didn't have much to lose at this point), poured the nail polish remover into a tupperware container, and I immersed my fingers in it.

A few anxious minutes later at about 1:00 am, my fingers were freed, minus a few bits of skin that stayed stuck to the plastic. But at least there was no bleeding.

And that is almost the end of the story. Minus the part where we still can't flush our toilet with the lever. Once again, good thing the water in the tank is sanitary.

Kids Say What Now? Part 2

Remember how I teach the six-year-olds at church? I still do, but they changed my class members at the beginning of the years. So now I have a whole new crop of rising leaders. They're all pretty awesome, and they definitely have their quirks.

Child 1 is in love with me. Every week he makes sure he's sitting by me and he asks if a) he can kiss me or b) I will kiss him. Every week I tell him no. The advantage of his major crush is that he tries really hard to pay attention so I'll be impressed.

Child 2 and Child 3 are hyper-competitive. They are both positive that they are the rightful winner of every contest, and everything is a contest to them. 2 and 3 are the fastest, strongest, most karate-knowing, best at reading, best at writing, and have the strongest and fastest brothers and fathers. I suggested that they see who could be the most reverent and display the most church-appropriate behavior. I'm not sure how well that turned out. On the one hand, they stopped bragging about who could kick the other's head hardest. On the other hand, every thirty seconds they would ask me who was being the most reverent and inform the other that it was not them. "I'm quieter than you!" "No, I'm quieter!" "I'm the quietest one!" "Well, I'm better at paying attention than you!"

Child 4 I actually have no hilarious stories about. She's pretty sweet.

Child 5 is certain that everyone is conspiring against her. The kids are still at a stage where they love participating. Every time I ask for a volunteer to do anything (say a prayer, read a scripture, hold a picture, run to the library for some chalk, etc.), I get five hands raised. And whenever 5 is not the one who is picked, tears ensue. Today she cried because:
1. She hit Child 3 with a chalkboard eraser and he took it away from her.
2. Children 1-4 were hiding under their chairs.
3. She gave the prayer last week, so I asked Child 1 to do it this week.
4. I chose Child 2 to go to the library for chalk. She cried that everybody else gets to go to the library. Why doesn't she? I pointed out that children 1, 3, and 4 didn't go to the library either.
5. She was going to go second in the game instead of first. Child 4, who was set to be first, switched with her. Told you she's sweet.
6. She "didn't get very many" Starbursts, which I brought for treats. Besides, they "weren't very special." (Note: She really did get just as many as everybody else. And she told me before class that they're her very favorite.)
Fortunately, the tears don't last long. Within thirty seconds or a minute, she's all smiles and helpfulness again.

Oh, and remember Paul/Ethan? Yeah, his name is actually Scott.

Yuck

Some things should not be done. Ever. And certainly not in public. Fortunately for me, I encounter the people who disregard common sense and social mores.

Yesterday I walked into a public restroom on campus. Now, I usually assume that it isn't any of my business what people do in restrooms. If somebody wants to talk on the phone, I think it's kind of odd (mostly because if I were talking to somebody and suddenly heard a toilet flush, I would be a little weirded out), but I'm not going to judge them. But I will admit that I was pretty shocked to see a lady eating her lunch in the restroom. Using the baby change station as her table. Um, gross. Not twenty feet away from the restroom is a lounge, including tables (real tables) and chairs (soft, comfortable chairs). If she really, really wanted to eat in the bathroom, there's a rarely used mother's lounge that also has a small table and a couch. Who chooses hunching over a diaper changing table instead of eating her grapes in comfort and hygiene?

Police Beat

As many of you already know, the police beat is frequently the best part of BYU's daily newspaper (along with the typos). Here's a gem from today.

Jan. 14: A female student reported a male who made her feel uncomfortable at the WSC [Wilkinson Student Center] by asking her what she was doing there.

That's good. I'm glad we have our strapping police officers to protect us from people who talk to us in public buildings and ask us non-threatening things. Seriously, I wouldn't call the police for anything less than an explicit threat. Not for being asked what I was doing. Not for being asked for money. Not for being asked for a favor, or even for a more uncomfortable proposition. In Wales, I didn't even think about calling the police when I was asked to examine a newly-released from jail drunk man's knife wound.

I wonder if she works as a receptionist. (Post with the same date)

Jan. 14: A suspicious male entered the Center for Service and Learning and asked a female receptionist about the enrollment on campus and the purpose of the building they were in. The receptionist thought his questions were suspicious and reported him to police. No further action was taken.

Maybe she just really wanted to make the police beat but didn't want to commit a crime?

How to Occupy a Sunday

1. Go to church.
2. Eat lunch.
3. Study scriptures.
4. Check time. Only 1:00? This is going to be a long day.
5. Check facebook.
6. Check email.
7. Play tetris.
8. Check facebook again.
9. Read about Frida Kahlo, her husband, and various other subjects linked from their pages.
10. Play the Papa H game.
11. Make dinner. Even though you're bored, do not follow the trying-to-seem healthy and upscale Pasta Roni directions. No, I will not stir constantly for 18 minutes. Yes, it turned out fine.
12. Play the Papa H game some more.
13. Check email and facebook one more time.
14. Post vaguely whiney facebook status about being bored. Be disgusted with yourself for perpetuating something you disapprove of on principle (namely, vaguely whiney facebook statuses).
15. Check time again. 6:15? Why is time going so slowly?
16. Pluck eyebrows. Floss teeth.
17. Check facebook. Check email.
18. Try to think of a decent blog post idea. Fail. Decide to write a list of what you've done today instead.
19. Write dumb blog post.
20. Check time again. 7:10? You've got to be kidding me.

The Further Adventures of Jonathan

Remember how sometimes Jonathan talks in his sleep? And it's generally confusing and amusing for all? Yeah, it still is.

On Friday morning Jonathan woke up.

Me: Good morning.
Jonathan: Where are the pop-ups?
M: What?
J: The pop-ups! Where are they?
M: I don't know what you're talking about.
J: Where are the pop-ups? We just got them at a warehouse recently! There was a bride, and a groom, and a wedding cake statue thingy.
M: What warehouse?
J: Ugh! Fine, maybe it was Wal-mart, but that's basically a warehouse.
M: OK, I still don't know what you're talking about. I'm going to get up now.

At this point, he decided to give me a taste of my own medicine. If I was going to obstinately refuse to understand, so was he.

Jonathan: Up? What's up?
Me: Go back to sleep.

The Genre that Shouldn't Exist

The other day I was at Barnes and Noble when I found myself near this lovely sign. Since when does teen paranormal romance deserve an entire section of the bookstore? It's not really a legitimate genre. It seems a little too derivative for talented writers to aspire to, especially since I'm pretty sure we can all name the one series that kick-started all the others. Worst of all, even if there are some really great books in there, I can't ever read them because I simply couldn't live with myself if I shopped in the teen paranormal romance section. Bummer.