No Theme

Whew, I'm glad that's over.

Yesterday afternoon I discovered that all "personal web pages" had been blocked on school district computers. "Personal web pages" meaning BLOGS. The discovery nearly sent me into shock.
(Please no!)
Things have quieted down here in the LMC; 4th quarter just started and all my non-fiction inventory is done. So lately I've been working on "various projects."
Come to find out, the District Blocker Guy was just checking his new filters. He wanted to see how quickly people responded! Ha ha!

Last night I chaperoned for my very first dance!
The freshman class put on a "No Theme" Thursday night stag dance - apparently they couldn't even come up with a theme, much less a Friday night. They're freshmen so they can get away with that. Looking back, I'm thinking that the theme could very well have been Dirty Dancing.


I was appalled.

So was Slice, who surprised me by bringing a shake (yum) and staying with me for the last hour of the dance. I probably would have ditched earlier, despite my duty-bound conscience, if he hadn't showed up and kept me company. We watched in horror as the kids, um, yeeeeah, through the last few songs and when the lights came up. I felt like I 'd just seen a nasty movie - acted by kids I know and like.....and go to church with. {Shudder}

Slice said "I'm homeschooling."

How has it changed so much in 4 years???

I have a slight dollar bill obsession. (Jackie and Hobie, I blame you. And my dad.) I hate crumpled and folded bills. So when kids come to pay their fines, I always have to smooth the bills out before stacking them nicely in our money box. My own cash is never folded unless absolutely necessary.
I am not the only one!
Last night my fellow chaperone/teacher/money-taker uncrumpled, smoothed and FACED the bills before filing them in their respective places. Even when there was a long line.

She FACED them.

I'm in good company.


Side Business

I've been thinking about this for a day and a half now, and I'm still not sure what to say.

First - does this look like a hearse to you? This car right here?

Because apparently, it does to some people. This was news to me.

So I said, "Maybe for babies....like, we specialize in baby funerals! Only three-foot caskets or smaller."

And someone else added, "or midgets. Or dismembered people."

We laughed.
Then Slice gave me a strange look and said, "I can't believe you just said that."

Why not?


Oh how I love the screen snapshot function

This guy popped up this morning when I turned on a laptop:

D'oh (rian)

He calls from the other room:
"Which ones are sweeter, milk chocolate or semi-sweet?"


And in the morning, they're makin WAFFLES

You know you live in a small town when
you pay money to see
high school teachers and students
duke it out on the basketball court


Behold the wonder of Donkey Basketball.

...Maybe next month we'll buy a cow.


I probably should have called Carolyn

But I just couldn't wait, and I was feeling brave.


Here is the "before" hair:
Whoo! Forehead! (And my nose, is it always like that? Please tell me it's the distortion of the self-portrait?)

Here are my darling feet, with chipped toenail polish, of course:

I like that picture.

Here is the "after" hair:

I have bangs!

(That bed is so big, I get overwhelmed just thinking about making it.)

Ah, the old reflection-in-a-dirty-mirror trick.

(Carolyn, how did I do?)



I've always been a pretty big fan of Fridays. Probably because in elementary school every Friday was Early Day, and school got out at 1:30. The weekend started with a bang!

Many people consider Friday the 13th to be unlucky. Others scoff at those silly superstitions.
I, as a firm believer of all things Dan Brown, am convinced the tradition stems from that fateful day in 1307 when the Knights Templar in France were secretly arrested en masse. Because, you know, everything in earth's history can be tied to the sacred feminine.
(sarcasm, over.)

I've never had a phobia of Friday the 13th; I don't really believe in luck. But I DID have to post about this today because, well, today is Slice's birthday. And he was born on Friday the 13th.
I'll tell you what happened a year ago today.

You know about my trip up to Salt Lake and how I "made the first move," if you will. Well, two days later I called him and we chatted for a while; on Tuesday I called again on my way to Salt Lake, because I wanted to visit his grandma. He wasn't home that time.
I hiked Ensign Peak with Drew instead.

Wednesday my mom did some undercover work for me - none of us could remember when Slice's birthday was, even though I pretended that I knew. (Don't tell him.)
On Thursday the 13th, Slice called to see what I was doing. He was in SL for work and wanted me to take him to dinner. Very suave.
He picked me up and met my roommates, who did a good job of hiding their surprise, and we ate a nice dinner at Los Hermanos. Then we went back to my apartment.
And I sang.
I played the guitar for him and sang; I'm pretty sure that was when I clinched the deal. He had to drive all the way home to Roosevelt that night, but wouldn't leave the apartment. I practically pushed him out the door around 10:00 p.m.

He didn' t get home until 9:00 the next morning.  Because of a snowstorm.
He spent the night in a truck in Daniel's Canyon.

Slice has never told me his whole story of that night...
but I hope that - at the very least - this birthday is better than the last one!


Wherein I ruminate on the Important Things in Blogging Life

An unfortunate (or fortunate?), perhaps inevitable, effect of blogging is the one-sided relationships it nourishes. Oh wait - that’s the internet in general.

Here, I choose what to write about, how and when to write it. You choose what to read. But since I don't know who is reading, when, and what they’re thinking as they’re reading, it often feels like less of a conversation and more of me rambling about things no one else cares to know.

You’re still reading, right?

So I’m wondering today about how blogging affects real-life relationships. (Slice has been disgruntled on multiple occasions that he learns more about me from the blog than from ME.) If you don’t know me well, reading this might help you get to know me better. Or it might just give you strange ideas.

For example: sometimes I try to be funny on my blog. I don’t know if it works, obviously, because I can’t hear if you laugh while you read. Away from my blog, though, I don’t try to be funny very often. (Unless I’m with Matt or Em, and Matt’s gone. My personality just dropped like 20 points.) I’m the one who is always laughing at others, not the one making them laugh.

For another example: I’m a pretty quiet person, period. I've always wanted to be outgoing and friendly, but it has never been easy for me. I don’t know if this comes across in my writing. I like to think of myself as “reserved” – shy has such negative connotations, doesn’t it? – but actually, I’m more easily intimidated than I would like to admit. In fact, almost everyone intimidates me at first. Sometimes it takes quite a while for me to get over it.
(Sorry, roommates. And in-laws. It's not you; it's me.)

In the interest of full disclosure and/or dispelling any possible myths, I have compiled a list of random facts that should give you a good look at the inner workings of my soul. Most importantly, they will show you what a boring person I truly am.

  • I’m vain about my: hands and feet. I have the best-looking fingers, toes and nails I have ever seen. I inherited them from my lovely Grandma Eddington. Does anyone know how to become a ring-model? Anyone?
  • I’m a little vain (but VERY critical) about my: voice, hair and figure. Ahem.
  • I used to be vain about my: handwriting. When my name changed, my signature went down the drain. My cursive has never been as good as it was in 6th grade.
  • I LOVE popping blackheads. Zits are OK, but blackheads are the best. Anytime I see one I get this overwhelming urge to squeeze it. Sorry about that, um....everyone.
  • I never take nail polish off of my toes. Too much work and bending. I rarely paint my toenails in the first place, but when I do, it stays. Until it chips off or my nails grow all the way out. I think that bothers my husband.
  • I get really offended when people make derogatory comments about my driving. Slice.
  • I participated in Mock Trial in both 7th and 8th grade. I wasn’t a great lawyer, but I was an awesome expert witness - voted best witness by all three judges in one trial.
  • I love funny people.
  • Doesn't everyone?

Do you Copy?

A mysterious epidemic is sweeping the local copy machines. It began with an isolated case of no-stapling, but quickly escalated to full-blown jamming and error messages. Copies are dirty; feeders don’t work. Even our newest, hardiest copier is completely incapacitated.
Only the repairman can save us now…

On a related note,
I don’t know if students really are that clueless, or if they think I’m their personal slave. But honestly, who doesn’t know how to use a copy machine? After I’ve explained it so many times? You stick it in and press Start. The copy comes out.

Also, why is it my fault when they jam?


"You have big eyes"

A girl told me today.

But I had to see for myself.

What do you think?

Someday, I'll tell you about how my secret lover called me Enormous Gorgeous because of those eyes.

As of

Saturday, my Slice has been home from Japan for a whole YEAR.
Sometimes it seems like much longer than that.

For at least a week before Slice flew in, I wrestled over whether I should drive up to see him in Salt Lake or not. I didn't want to wait for his official report the next weekend, but I really didn't want to intrude on any Family Time either. I hadn't been expressly invited - and I know what it's like to have Family Time intruded upon. Oh, I know.

I consulted with friends, roommates, Matt, co-workers, total strangers.  Most of them told me to go; a few said it was too soon, even if it wasn't the airport.  On March 7th, a Friday morning, I went to class and then work, still undecided. Some high school friends had bailed on me. And I certainly wasn't going alone.

A little before noon I finally made my decision. I left work early (bless the boss!), called Geoff last-minute and picked him up on my way out of town. No one knew we were coming, least of all Slice.
I was pretty glad we went.


I'm so glad to be done

with all this
although I'm still (slowly) unpacking and organizing.
And I still need my books!

New calling: Primary pianist. Let the good times roll.


The Power of Suggestion, Mind over Metabolism, or, More than you ever wanted to know about my eating habits

A week ago I bought myself a BYU jacket (a graduation gift to me! I'm so happy). I tried several on and found, to my surprise, that the ones that fit me best were all size small. Even the larger children's ones would have sufficed, if looks didn't matter.
Sunday I hopped on the bathroom scale and looked at the smallest number I can remember seeing - ever. Since before I cared what the bathroom scale said.

What is this?

In high school I was healthy, but not athletic unless you count the Stagelight shows (from which I did, in fact, lose 4 lbs. in one day despite eating ridiculous amounts of food). Then when I moved away from home and started paying for my own food, I started noticing the eating habits of those I shared a fridge with. It drove me crazy to see good food -sitting, rotting, forgotten- when I was living off bagels and string cheese. For me, "healthy" came second to "cheap," especially for those few weeks I tried to live on $5/week for groceries. Saving up for Europe, you know.
Anytime I got free food, I ate it. Junk food, salad, leftovers, I did not discriminate.
You see where I'm going with this.

When I spent four months in Europe, our host family fed us breakfast every day plus one evening meal a week. Sundays we ate dinner as a group in Dr. Jacobs' apartment. My roommate ate like a bird, and I didn't want to offend Frau Hartl, so I ate myself sick at least twice a week. Usually more.

I found that when I when to bed stuffed, I woke up RAVENOUS. Like my metabolism went into hyperdrive at night. Every morning, I would jump out of bed and head straight for the table, afraid I would starve before making it to the food.
(Okay, I wasn't afraid I would starve. But I thought it was a possibility.)
Hardly a good thing for the figure.

I got back and nothing tasted as good, but my mindset bordered on obsessive. I thought about food constantly. I'd pack a lunch in the morning, think about it until I ate it - before lunchtime, often - then I'd go to work hoping there would be treats there. I was rarely diasppointed.
I jogged several times a week, swam, even took an aerobics class, but nothing made a difference when I was thinking about food all the time. By the time I was engaged to Slice, I had only lost about 5 pounds from my Vienna days.

Then, miraculously, I stopped caring about food so much. I ate what I wanted to, when I wanted to, and I just kept getting skinnier! My wedding dress was too big, my college pants don't fit me anymore.
It's like Slice solved all of my food problems!

I've been thinking about my compulsive eating habits, the stressful times that drove me to eating more junk, even when I knew it was just stress driving me to eat. Those times are pretty much gone now.
The stress isn't necessarily gone, but the relationship and school stress is.

And I'm thinking that the life changes which resulted in my weight changes are inextricably connected with my emotional well-being. My metabolism is happy when I'm happy.
At least that's my theory.

Thoughts, anyone? Chocolate cake?


Life in the slow lane

Slice and I now have space -and beds- to accomodate guests! We had a blast last weekend hosting our friends Bret and Laurel, and their adorable little Melia.
{Open invitation:}
Come to Roosevelt! We love introducing city folk to the simpler side of life.

I'll tell you what, I'm a much better shot with a gun than a camera.......working on that.

Slice designated himself Melia's godfather. Which, I think, makes me her godmother.

Farrers, come back soon! We'll have the steaks ready.

Some pirates came to steal my boat

Look how scary they were:
Shiver me timbers!

Everything came from Ki's car, which she was cleaning out.

The iHome was blasting The Chronicles of Narnia soundtrack when I discovered them.

Don't worry, they didn't get far.