Tradition

"Dad canceled Christmas", my sister informed me as I trudged through the door after work.

"What?!!!" I replied. "How can he just cancel Christmas?"

Sib went on to explain that it was the breakfast that had been foregone due to a lack of attendance. I was upset, but not with my dad. Christmas came too quickly this year and in the mess of finals, graduate applications, and finding a new job, I had forgotten about holiday traditions. Because of the busy nature of my everyday life I put Christmas on the backburner and had only half-heartedly committed to attending Christmas with my dad, including breakfast.

For as long as I can remember we have held Christmas with my dad and stepmom on Dec. 23-24. Christmas Eve is usually Christmas with my dad, and then we pack up, make the trek south to Sandy, and do "real" Christmas with my mom. Somewhere over the years, however, both Christmases became "real" Christmas, and breakfast was part of this tradition. It was peach french toast, cranberries, hot chocolate, orange rolls, potato scrambles and an assortment of other exquisite foods. It was feeling warm and happy after opening Christmas Stockings. It was our final moments with Dad over the holidays. It was breakfast.

"How can he just CANCEL breakfast?" I cried. Sib was sad, too, but we realized that we both had cared too late. We had let ourselves become too busy to show how much this annual meal meant to us. I realized in this conversation that breakfast was much more than simply breakfast: it was Christmas; it was family; it was tradition.

It is so easy to take for granted the good things in our lives, especially when these good things come disguised in simplistic forms like breakfast, christmas stockings, and time spent around a warm fireplace.

Here's my reservation for next year: I'll be there. Afterall, it's tradition.

Tag

Angie asked: "Did you see my blog? You're tagged!" So here it is, my first blogging tag, courtesy of the "You Tell Me" request:

3 Joys-

• Being done with finals
• Chilling in my LoveSac in my cozy apt reading, or watching a movie with Sib
• Laughing
  

3 Fears-

• Watch the trailer for Revolutionary Road; that's one of em.
  
• 100% rejection letters come Spring
• Sharks. More of an irrational phobia, though. Terrifying.
  

3 Current Obsessions or Collections-

• Word Challenge game on Facebook. I'm addicted.
• Steamers from Coffee Connection
• Movies at the Broadway Theatre (independent films)
  

3 Surprising Facts-

• I won't eat at Carl's Jr. because I dislike the commercials so badly
• Sometimes when I'm home during the day and procrastinating I watch Sesame Street
• I could eat sushi all day every day and never tire of it
  

What If

Barbados asked: How 'bout some 'what if' questions...if you could travel anywhere? If you had a year off of work & an endless money supply what would you do with your time?

1. What if you could travel anywhere?
Well, that would indeed be awesome... next question. Oh wait, you probably want me to answer that right? Many of you know that traveling is a passion of mine, so this list is actually really long. Currently on the list of things to do/ where to go: Guatamala/Yucatan, visiting the highlands and Mayan ruins; Spain, Barcelona and the northern winery areas; Peru; Mexico--- all over. Sib and I are planning a backpacking trip through Europe this summer so I'll keep ya'll posted on that.

2. What if you had a year off of work and an endless money supply what would you do with your time?
Oh my, that would be living the dream, by the way. Well, first of all, I would take full advantage of the endless money supply by paying off my car, buying a condo, and getting out of my crap gym contract. I would stay in New York for a few weeks enjoying the great food, a fabulous night life, and seeing all the Broadway shows I could stomach. I get a little anxious when I don't have structure in my life, though, so I'd have to break up the vacation with volunteerism in South America somewhere, maybe in Peru for about 6 months. Then travel down there. Then back to the U.S. to hit up great concerts, restaurants, the ski slopes, REI, and IKEA. I'm pretty boring, I know. All would be invited on my adventures, so if this actually happens I'll keep you posted...

There you go bob!!

Hermana Frumpy

whitneytherose asked: How the heck can you be a missionary without the ugly clothes and shoes? and why is it that wine and cheese go together, but not grapes and milk?

Let's start with the latter: all good things come in time; and in time all good things go together. Confucius say.

To the second point: My dear Whit, there is an element of frump that is innate to missionary-ness that is inescapable. I don't care what anyone else says: the mission is no place for beauty for the following reasons:

A) there is no time for it. You will have exactly 20 minutes to get ready for the day. Including a shower. That means that often you will leave the house with either wet hair or pony-tail hair. Or you'll get a haircut so that it looks like you got ready, when really you didn't. That's my suggestion. Good haircut. (But beware: there are people lurking in the shadows who are equipped with shears and will give give you a mullet hair cut and disguise it as a good haircut. This will make you cry and question your reasons for being a missionary. Been there done it. Anti-mullet).

B) after a while you figure out that it doesn't matter what you look like. The people you talk to will either hate you or love you, regardless of your D&G Shades. The elders in your mission will be cool but goobery. Furthermore, you will be completely trained NOT to seem attractive to the opposite sex. Or the same sex for that matter. In fact anything having to do with sex is wiped out. Thus the frump; You will be genderless and you won't even notice or care because you'll be too busy.

C) comfort takes number one. always. Picture a 115-degree summer in Texas: fire ants, blazing sun, sweaty mcsweatyness, bicycles, nylons. Or a -25-degree winter ice storm in Oklahoma City: cankles due to layered socks, fleece PJ bottoms under the skirt, 4 scarves, boots, the whole world an ice rink, frozen power lines, ON FOOT. Yeah, you're getting there. This is the point where you say: "who the frick cares if I look like a man, my only goal is to live". Because that's how missionaries talk- FRICK.

Moral of the story? Don't worry about the frump because everyone will go through and it's fun and hilarious as it happens. Besides, frump is a state of mind, so even if you are looking mannish, when you're feeling fierce, you will be fierce--- no matter what! (SNAP!)

Here's some missionary favorites of mine you can check out:
Shoes: Dansko. I got two pair and wore them my entire mission. They are comfy, sturdy, and decent looking. You will wear out any other type of shoe in a few months so it's worth the extra pretty penny for these ones.

Shirts: Collared, button down 3/4 sleeves. Easy to wash, dry, and look dressy. Tip: as you shop for clothes keep the laundry process in mind. Avoid things you'll have to iron and DO NOT get anything you'll have to dry clean. You won't do it because you won't have time.
Skirts: Anything that fits. If you find one you like buy 5 of them. Seriously.
Nylons: The cheap ones that come in a box of a zillion. You will wear these down, and throw them away daily so don't waste cash money millionaire on nice nylons. If you serve in a Wintery area invest in tights!!! Also, as a tip. If you're on a bike you can turn black tights into biker shorts really easily (trust me, you'll want to ). Step one: take black tights and cut off the "feet". Steep two: put on tights. They will be like biker shorts- voila!!

Shopping List

Smith's: Market Fresh Every Day

Orange Juice........................ $1.39
Gatorade............................. $ 1. 19
Cold/Flu Meds................... $ 4.19
Hand Sanitizer................... $ 1.19
One pack travel tissue...... $1.69

Having the option for "self-Checkout" in your disease-ridden state?............... Priceless.

OPEN

Angie asked: "Why do you have an "open" sign and why is it in your profile picture?"

Well I guess I can answer this question with a question of my own: why do I do anything that I do?! :) This picture is just me in the middle of more of my antics. I was visiting the Missionary Training Center (MTC) about two years ago. I had just returned from my mission and my good friend Astrid was a week away from reporting for hers. Astrid (who is from OKC) wanted to see the MTC so my companion (Moffitt), Astrid and me hit up Provo and walked around the MTC. This open sign is actually part of a bigger sign that says "the missionary field is open" (or closed, depending on how you flip it). In a nutshell this was me taking a sign at the MTC and turning it into a veritable dating advertisement. It's my profile picture because it was really the only pic I had of myself when I set of Blogger and also because it doesn't show my double chins. Two birds- one stone.

To see other pictures of this day visit the links below:
Closed for business
Three Amigas

Paper or Plastic?

Neither. I haven't been grocery shopping in over a month, so no need to choose. Why no shopping you may ask? Because all I do is study. And when I study all I can eat, er drink, is Dr. P. In fact, this is the face of finals. Sad, sad day. Note to self: when Sib's manfriend says "Hey Okie, do you want a D.P. from 7-11" never reply "YES! the biggest they've got..." You will end up with a drink the size of Texas.

Blue or Yellow?

Okay, you asked for it! Here's the answers to the first create-your-own-question session...

1. Anonymous asked: Blue or yellow?

Now this is a pretty open ended question. Are we talking Skittles? Because that would be yellow, of the original flavor variety. Tropical Skittles freak me out. But what if we're talking jeans? That would definitely have to be blue, because yellow jeans are just awkward. If you own any I would like to support you in giving them back to the 1970's. Generally speaking I would have to say I prefer a mixture of the two. Blue + Yellow= Green. My favorite color. There it is! Also, anonymous, please show your face. As exciting as it is to have a stalker, I'd rather have a stalker who I can name, joke with, and file police reports against.

You Tell Me

I've been told I'm not blogging enough lately. It seems, actually, that many are not blogging right now. What is it? A change in the weather? The busy holiday season? School? Who knows. Either way, I'm feeling pressure to blog, but have nothing that is blog worthy. So I'm opening up the floor to you. Instead of posting a generic questionnaire, now is your chance! Leave questions in the comments that you want me to answer and I'll get to blogging! Bring it on... I'm hoping your literary poking and prodding will reignite my creative flair... or at least my brain.

... A Case of the Mondays

If you're feeling like me this rainy Monday is inducing a horribly strong case of the Monday's! If you're in need of a chuckle this video is just what the doctor ordered. Keep in mind this is a REAL music video put together by the Hoff and it's all the rage in Germany. Oh, how it makes me grin.

Spumoni

Spumoni is a splendid little ice cream treat made up of three flavors (chocolate, cherry, and pistachio) that swirl together to create heaven in a cup. In my current line of work I get to serve spumoni all day and all night. Add the heavenly taste to the fact that the ice cream comes free with their meal and people are somewhat ga-ga over their Spumoni. (capitalized to show respect...)

Last night I was serving Spumoni to a family that had four young children. After I placed the hand-dished dessert on the table I was about to banally recite my robotic "enjoy dessert" (insert smile) when I was interrupted by a wail. This was a whale of wail.

"Their ice cream is bigger than mine", sobbed one of the kids. His siblings were already started on their desserts, but it was true. Their ice cream was bigger than his, and he was not standing for it. His parents tried to hush him by showing him how much he had; by telling him to be grateful that he had gotten any ice cream at all. Least effective was their threat to altogether take it away from him if he didn't shut up about it. But he didn't shut up. The next series of wails began: "But it's not fair!!!!!!"

There is an unwritten law in childhood that fairness is the number one factor of importance in decision making. Let it be good, or let it be bad- it doesn't matter as long as it's fair. Every kid wants the equal piece of cake, the equal dish of ice cream, the equal punishment, the equal amount of chores. This law is sacred to kids and they take it very seriously.

I hurried back to the kitchen and brought out a small scoop of Spumoni, after all we have plenty of it in the store and it didn't hurt to bring out another dollup in the name of equality. The aggregate of his now two scoops equaled what his siblings' portions originally were so he was happy. Things were fair.

I wonder if we as adults shouldn't try to take a few notes from the laws of childhood? The tenets are few, but simple: Play nice. Forgive each other. Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty. Share. Be fair. Isn't that what it all comes down to anyway? Everyone just wants an equal-sized dish of heaven.

Decision 2008

This week I was forced to exercise my judgment in order to choose between two options; both of which are less than desirable... and I'm not even talking about the election! I'm talking about the OTHER democratic process where people make choices that define their behavior and highlight their identities. It's a process that comes around every year and I always wait until the last minute to decide.

Decision 2008: What do I want to be for Halloween?

It's the one day of the year where we can be anything. Anyone. The options should be endless, but alas, I'm discovering a trend. Halloween for women means two options: sexy person or sexy animal. In the person category you will find the tired choices: nurse, school girl, teacher, nun. Yawn. The animal category holds the same character's we were when we were younger, but significantly cuts down on costs due to the fact that it requires HALF of the amount of fabric. So here you'll find the bunnies, the ducks, the kitties, the devils. All this really means, however, is that you're in your underwear and high heels with a tail pinned to your butt.

Alas: how can I choose between two such options? Both the sexy person and the sexy animal categories are equal parts cliche and boring, as well as degrading and... well, naked. (Let's be honest, if I had the bod I would go as Eve. Hand over the fig leaf and the apple and call it good!)

In the end the choice for me was simple: I am not doing either of them. Decision 2008 political style collided with my Decision 2008 Halloween style. I was Joe the Plumber. And damn was I sexy!

Tap that!

With the previous post (Bananas and Berry Shakes) it's easy to see that I love me my music. Love. This is a love that has existed forever and because of that I've been attending concerts of various styles, shapes, and sizes for equally as long. In recent months I have decided, along with my concert attending posse, that concert etiquette and know-how is a thing of the past. So here I would like to offer up some observations for a list of Concert Do's, and Concert Don'ts. I'm by no means an expert, but I feel the following list are things we would all benefit from.

DO'S and DON'Ts: CONCERT EDITION

• DO go with your friends or people you care about to concerts. More the merrier.
• DON'T noisily make out with your significant other the entire concert. This includes sucking noises, sighs, heavy breathing, grunts, moans, etc. etc. If you are curious if you've crossed the line, just look at the disgusted faces around you. This will verify your need to a) stop or b) get a room
• DO fraternize with other concert go-ers. This is a great time to get to know new people
• DON'T talk during the entire effing concert. That's right, I said effing.
  
• DO feel free to dance, move about, generally look like you're enjoying the music
• DON'T headbang in a Missy Higgins set. She is not a rocker; neither are you. Also, your incessant need to headbang like Paris Hilton is turning my face into a whipping post for your weave.
• DO use a fake laugh to freak out the people around you. Your friends will wet their pants with hilarity while the people around you judge you . (Tara?)
• DON'T assume that the crazy-scary-beluga-whale-laugh from the girl behind you is real... you just got PUNK'D!
• DO watch what you do with your elbows- in close concert proximity one uninhibited move of the elbow could catch your neighbor in a variety of places that don't want to be smacked: face, boob, crotch. Just to name a few. If you can't control it, fold your arms and sway. Your neighbors thank you for it... and so do their parts.
• DON'T bring your Mary Poppins sized carpet purse to the concert zone. This will double your body mass, but you won't be aware of it, which means as you dance around crazily that purse (that probably has a dead body in it) is whacking and bruising the people around you.
  
• DO consolidate your belongings. Generally speaking you'll need: an ID, the ticket, a bit of cash, chapstick, and a cell phone. These items fit in your pockets. If it doesn't fit in your pocket you probably don't need it. (Please see previous "don't" and get your purse out of my stomach. 'preciate cha.)
• DON'T repeat loudly that you wish the "set would just get over" during the headliner. This makes people who actually want to be there really bothered with you... especially since you and your BFF's obnoxiously and painfully elbowed your way to the front. TIP: leave if you're "so over it".
  
• DO wear deodarant. PLEASE. For the love. We are in close proximity and chances are high that you will be clapping, dancing, and lifting your hands in the air to share your love with the artist. We support you in doing this, as long as you've been supported under there.
  
• DON'T put smoking restrictions on venues if this restriction isn't going to be followed up on
• DO "fart on" the person standing behind you if the cigarette smoke is bothering you. This is a perfect way to say "you're bugging me". Silent, but deadly. (Yeah, this happened, you know who you are!!)
• DON'T stand next to someone whom you suspect to be farting on you. Gets awkward.
• DO yell out "TAP THAT" at the top of your lungs if you find the artist to be super attractive. Works every time, right Asholina?
• DON'T stop going to concerts. Where else can you mash a million people in one gross room and expect them to like it?
  

Bananas and Berry Shakes

As a connoisseur of milkshake making I learned early that if you add a little bit of banana to any fruity flavor it makes the berry taste that much more delightful. Just a hint of banana makes the raspberries, strawberries, and blackberries taste more fresh in the ice cream.

So here's an analogy they should have on the GRE-

BANANAS: BERRY SHAKES ; MUSIC: LIFE

Music is the banana to the berry shake of life. It is the soundtrack of our emotions- happy, sad, and all in between. Music can change our moods dramatically and instantly. It takes the experience of humanity and makes it that much better by making our experiences more vivid, more tangible. The only thing better than a great song on the radio or ear-buds is live music. I love listening and watching artists perform their songs live. I love to hear the stories behind the lyrics and to see how engaged they are in their songs while they sing.

Such was the case Wednesday night at In The Venue as I listened to Joshua Radin and Missy Higgins. I love both of these artists, but Missy's songs especially toca el corazon. Here's a clip that my friend Asholina posted; she filmed this at the concert Wednesday night. Oh Missy, you rock socks.

Thank You, Come Again

It's no secret that I'm a bit of an emotional eater. I'm not ashamed of it; it's just who I am. When I'm stressed/upset/bummed out/alive I tend to eat my feelings. It's not something I worry about because I also work out a billion* times a week and normally make very healthy choices regarding food when not stressed/upset/bummed out/alive.

With that background, it should come as no surprise to you that the last few weeks have been filled with serious food= feelings eating behavior. As I prepared for a certain test, which we will call Voldemort, everyday was packed with stressed/upset/bummed out/ alive moments and I took advantage!

One such emotion packed morning I stopped at 7-11 before hitting up the library. I was going to be hanging out with Voldemort all day and I was going to need a Spice Pumpkin Latte and a chocolate donut to get me through it. Once inside the convenient store I grabbed my purchases, added an oh-so-necessary Dr. Pepper, and piled them on the counter. The store attendant stepped behind the cash register and began to eye my purchases. After a quick survey of the items he looked up at me. Then back down at the food. Up again. And back down. Finally he spoke. His words didn't reflect the normal customer-employee conversation. I was expecting a simple, objective response. Something along the lines of "that will be $3.42, please." Nope. No dice.

"That's A LOT of sugar. Sugar is not good for you. No, not at all."

What?! I was a) mortified; b) shocked; c) ticked; d) stressed/upset/bummed out/alive. No, this isn't a choose your own ending blog--- ALL of these reactions roamed through my mind as I faced my judgment day there in the quickie mart. I laughed, payed my dues, and walked out of the double doors. I had bigger things to face that day than fight a store clerk.

I will say this, however. In reflecting upon this experience I have realized one thing. Sure, loads of sugar at 9:00am may not be good for me. But, dear store clerk, messing with a girl going up against Voldemort? You OBVIOUSLY don't know what's good for YOU.

* Author's note: saying that Okie works out a billion times per week may or may not be an exaggeration...

Really, Facebook? Really?

As a bit of a joke I created, with the help of a friend, a Facebook profile for a Mr. Joe Plumber. The sole purpose of this profile was to a) be hilarious and b) be able to change my "relationship status" to reflect a hook up between Joe the Plumber and myself. Whatever, it's funny. Facebook didn't agree, in fact, here is the email they sent:

Your account was disabled because the name it was registered under was fake. We do not allow users to register with fake names, to impersonate any person or entity, or to falsely state or otherwise misrepresent themselves or their affiliations.

Facebook is built around real world interactions. Operating under an alias detracts from the value of the system as a whole. We take this standard very seriously and take down fake accounts as we become aware of them.

At what point have we declared Facebook, or any other social networking site, to be "built around real world interactions"? Never in my daily life am I notified by a friend that I was "bitten by a Vampire". If someone walking down the street were to randomly "poke" me as they passed I promise you that I would not respond as well as I do when I get "poked" on Facebook. Furthermore, if I were to show up and write on your real life "walls" I think I would actually lose friends, not to mention be arrested for vandalism.

Dear Facebook, Myspace, Blogger, Hi5, etc. etc. etc.: Please remember that you are not reality, you are just replacing reality. Thanks, -- Mrs. Joe the Plumber


** After I posted this blog my good buddy Barbados posted something on her page that just fits perfectly with this post... visit her page to continue the Facebook (mis)reality guided tour... thanks Bob!

Snippet...

Mom: I'm really glad that you took a break from studying to come to dinner

Me: Me too, I really needed to get away from the library. This whole GRE thing is really stressing me out.

Mom: Don't worry, this too shall pass.

Me: Yeah, that's exactly what I'm worried about. This shall pass and kick my ass on it's way by

Mom: Not if you take it out first!

As usual, great advice from the madre.

Now that you're registered to vote...

Confession: I must admit that I have been so caught up in trying to follow the volatile presidential race that I have completely forgotten about all of the other issues facing my own state of Zion. I looked at a sample ballot today and was astounded at all of the issues and races that I don't know about! I didn't even know that Guv Huntsman, Jr. was up for re-election. So, if you're like me, you've probably decided on which ticket you're choosing- McCain/Maverick or Obama/Biden. Now it's time to turn our attention to our local governments.

For the state of Utah there are some important issues and propositions going down, so check it out. THIS WEBSITE helped me to find my new voting location as well as look at a sample ballot. Just enter your info and you're set. The sample ballot has links that tell you about the different propositions as well as the different candidates for Salt Lake County mayor, judges up for re-election, and people running for the board of education.

Also, check out your voting precinct to see if they have the option of early voting... beat the rush!

Hope it helps... let my mess be my message, right?

Sunday Ritual

On my mission we had a code of ethics, or values that we were to live by. One of those values reminded us that preparation is the advantage. I rattled off this value every morning during companionship study, a ritual where two missionaries that form a partnership practice for the days events. Although I rattled it off, I'm not sure I really implemented it. "Preparation is the advantage", blah blah blah.

Last Tuesday I was watching my new favorite time waster, a TV show entitled The Biggest Loser. All political correctness aside, it is my absolute favorite show. The contestants, pairs of families, are busting their butts to get in shape, be healthier, and earn a little cash. I have formed unhealthy TV friendships with these people and faithfully tune in every Tuesday evening to see their personal gains and physical losses. An added bonus of my TV love affair is the weekly advice given by the contestants' trainers. Last week the advice was familiar. Apparently in weight loss, preparation is the advantage.

Call it what you will, but this time I listened. Sib and I spent the evening preparing healthy foods that will be used for breakfast, lunch, and dinner throughout the coming week. The goal is to avoid the unhealthy landmines that hunger brings to those who aren't prepared. My past life labeled this as "if ye are prepared ye shall not fear." My new life tells me "if ye are prepared ye shall not eat McDonald's".

We exhausted ourselves preparing the chicken, veggies, brown rice, wheat pasta and fruits. We were so busy preparing ourselves for the week we'd forgotten to eat dinner. We had no choice but to end the healthy food prep session with chocolate donuts.

Nate and Hollie- Newlywed Style

It's been a long, long time coming. Nate and Hollie tied the knot. I don't really know what that expression is supposed to mean, but you get the drift. Sunday's wedding ceremony and celebration were both beautiful and extremely fun. Kudos to the happy couple for throwing such a great party.

I admit I got teary eyed in the ceremony- something about seeing my little brother in his tux waiting for his bride seriously threw me off. If I'm going to own up to the crying I must confess there was swearing also. I wasn't prepared to hear the presentation of "Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Leslie". Swore right out loud after that announcement due to shock. Much to my sisters' enjoyment. (Sorry Grandma...) As Bob Dylan said, "the times they are a' changing."

However, much to my surprise actually, the entire day felt joyous, lighthearted, and just downright fun. I say anytime you can toast to the future, remember the past, avoid catching the boquet, mingle with loved ones and rock out on the dance floor all in one night... well that's a good day indeed.

I'm proud of my brother and excited for him to start this new journey.

As for the next wedding? Well, Austin DID catch the garter... Krys? :)

For those who are interested, here are some pictures from the days events... there are a lot. Enjoy!

Register to Vote

"The tongue hath the power of life and death" -Proverbs

At this point we all know the election is coming. It's on every newspaper front page, every news channel, every SNL skit, and all over YouTube. It's safe to say that we all have an opinion at this point- one way or the other- for who we feel should take the reigns at the end of this term. We have power to express that opinion on Nov 4th by casting a vote. But are you registered? The deadline is THIS WEEKEND!!! If you don't register to vote THIS WEEKEND your voice is taken away; you can't vote in November.

Hit up the post office, the courthouse, the student government offices at your local university, or visit this website to find voter information in your city and state. All you need is your driver's license number, your full name, and your home address.

DON'T FORGET TO REGISTER!!

STOLEN!

My camera was recently misplaced (aka: left behind in an automobile and swiftly carted off to Pleasant Grove). I couldn't be happier to have it back in my position so that we can continue our Kodak moment exploiting together. I also couldn't be happier that my friends, who we shall call A and J, toted around my ever so sleek Cannon Elph and documented their weekend. Here are the pictures I got back from my camera's visit to PG. I just want to personally thank A and J for allowing me to attend the Pleasant Grove High School football game vicariously through their documentation. Would never have wanted to miss it!

STAB

I'm becoming an expert at procrastination. This blog, in fact, is a perfect example of how instead of doing the gazillion things I need to to secure myself a future I choose to forgo studying and replace it with extraneous* activities. (*For the record, extraneous is a Top 100 GRE word... that basically means this blog is like studying. 2 birds. 1 stone.)

During one such procrastination moment today (20 minutes of delay to be exact) I watched an old DVD that I made almost 4 years ago at Utah State. The DVD was a compilation of the adventures of the 2004-2005 Student Activities Board, violently reverenced back in the day as STAB. I laughed, I cried, I loved it.

To those of you who particpated in that crazy-town year of programming: this is a shout out from momma. I was going to email everyone and say "Thx 4 the memories" but I have only a few emails. And Fall Out Boy would sue.

I guess you could say it's getting pretty serious...

All Growed Up

I'm sure you know exactly what I'm talking about. There are certain moments when it feels like the world around us slows down and allows us to take everything in and appreciate the moment. These occasions are few and far between but they become tangible in our memories as a sweet reminder of all the good this life has to offer. I had one of these moments last night. I quietly looked around a beautiful reception hall and was taken aback by change, friendship, gratitude, and happiness. Last night was somewhat of a high school reunion, only a much better version because it only featured the people I actually want to see. I spent three great years with these wonderful people in the maroon and grey halls of Jordan High School. Shared lockers, secret santa gift exchanges, choir robes, bus rides, AP tests, peddling candy bars, football games, lunch times. These memories feel stiff and dusty but they are respected because they have become the foundation of what seems to have become a collective friendship. Years after recieving our diplomas we are very different people in very different places. Looking around the room last night I saw educated men and women who now bounce babies on their laps, drape an arm around their spouse, circle the room in a newlywed embrace, and talk confidently about their plans for the future. We once were students together but I can see now that the roles have changed- we are teachers, therapists, graduates, mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, case workers, engineers. Time has pulled at the physical boundaries of our collective whole as we leave to study or explore job opportunities. Marriage, children, and master's degrees have pulled at the intensity of our relationships, forcing us to branch out. I used to be saddened by this, interpreting these changes as a loss of friendships. After last night I stand corrected. As I looked around the room I realized that regardless of proximity and other responsibilities we have found there is still a foundation that binds us together. We are not friendships lost, but rather friendships that have grown, adapted, flexed in order that we can include others and carry on. We came together last night for Emily, but I think we also came together for eachother. To each of my friends who were there last night: thank you for sacrificing your time, family obligations, studies, frequent flyer miles and even fragile hearts to be there. Although we carry on daily as individuals anytime we are together I feel the bonds come back. We are friends.

San Rafael? Swell! And other adventures of the weekend

My oh my, what a weekend! Friday night I drove to Southeastern Utah with my Padre to participate in my first 10K. Anytime the race is called "Little Mammoth Marathons" you know you're in for a good time... The race itself was beautiful and all things considered I think I did great! (Translation: I didn't die! In fact, I improved my race time by 1:50 min/mile) It was really fun to run with my dad and he definitely kept me going... even after almost killing me by amping up the last mile to a doubled pace... sheesh! Other weekend highlights included the hike to Rochester panel featuring some amazing petroglyphs and the ever so fantastic Little Wild Horse Canyon hike. The last hike mentioned absolutely BLEW MY MIND! It was so beautiful and such a fun hike, I give it 10/10 and recommend to all. As my father has been travelling the seven seas lately it was also nice to just to hang out with him a bit. Been about a year since I've spent more than a few hours with him. Good to have you back, Pa, however tempory.

All in all a great weekend of camping, guitar, good tunes on the iPod, great food on the camp stove, beautiful scenery, enjoyable company and another checkmark on the ole "to do" list. 10K? Been there; done that.

Public Apology

Dear Guitar,

I'm sorry that I momentarily lost my mind and thought that I could pawn you for a little extra cash. People do crazy things in their time of need and I almost just gave you up. Please accept this apology. I'm glad that we can spend more time together and I forgive you for ripping my pinky finger to shreds every time we play. I promise to pay more attention to you if you promise to stay more in tune.

Looking forward to rocking the country,

Okie

Memory Lane

When I was 2 1/2 years old my brother joined the family (AKA was born). His addition turned our little clan into a full-blown, bonafide, "we have more than one child" family tree. When my parents brought him home from the hospital I thought he was pretty stellar for about .2 seconds, but as soon as I was done with him I told my mom and dad that they could take him back. Apparently kids aren't eligible for the "return to sender" policy, so to my infantile dismay he stuck around.

After this initial antipathy towards the new sib, my brother and I became fast friends. I have vivid memories of the two of us digging in the dirt in the garden (much to the chagrin of my father) and climbing on the roof to jump off of it (which my mom of course just loved). Our antics were endless; it wasn't until we were much older that we realized our names weren't "you little shits!" (thanks mom....).

Because we were so close it seems that whatever would befall one of us would inevitably take us both out. For this reason my memories include countless days of the two of us wrapped in blankets in the basement den watching Disney movies while trying to rid ourselves of the flu, or sipping 7-up to ease the strep throat that hit my family yearly like the plague. Then there was chicken pox, the coming of age disease that every kid secretly wanted just so you could say "yeah, I've already had the 'pox". We both ended up with the little spots of itchy-horror at the same time and one of my strongest memories of childhood is of my brother, sister, and I sitting in the den watching The Little Mermaid with pink Calamine lotion caked in polka dots on our skin and mismatched socks on our hands so wouldn't scratch ourselves to death. These are some of my favorite memories because they were literally hours on end that we got to play and just be brother and sister. This is perhaps one of the great blessings of being young without real responsibility: you can be with other people and just enjoy your time.

This week has afforded my brother and I another opportunity to recreate these moments. Although I'm sad Nate had to go through all the yucky stuff that is "open flank" surgery (ew), it's been great to be able to spend time with him. After class I stop in at his apartment, throw my bag on the ground and we immediately revert to just a brother and sister hanging out, watching movies on the couch and eating microwave Lean Pockets. In one month he will be married, and in 6 months I'll (hopefully) be living out of state. For right now though, we're still just a couple of little shits who enjoy each other's company.

Take the Plunge

Friday was my last day at what I will from here on out refer to as my "grown up" job. According to tradition, my final staff meeting was replaced by the 5 D's: dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge. Being the recruiter for the Mayan had it's perks and even in the end it 'done me good'... here are the pictures from the Mayan Adventure. (Click on the pictures to enlarge- they aren't as dark when they're bigger).

Scene 1: The Mayan Cliff. 21+ feet of cliff diving into the pool. Oh geez.



Step 2: The edge. Where I waited... and waited... and swore... and waited... This picture is completely false advertising. My thumbs were shaking... terror. TERROR I tell you!!


Step 3: The Pool. The water was great! I had only minor "shark attack" panic attacks in the water... perhaps that explains this curious look on my face?



Step 4: Frolic like children of the night! After the first plunge, we played on the rocks for about 30 minutes. Diving, climbing, swimming. All in a day's work! Thanks to Danielle, Jared, and Blake for playing with me at the Mayan and to the rest of HR and the Mayan management team for making it/ letting it happen! Great way to end my time there!! Too bad I didn't borrow the Mayan loin cloth-uniforms. Hmm....
*** NOTE ***

I know I don't work for the company anymore, but the HR in me tells me to post this. Jumping at the Mayan Restaurant is for divers ONLY. Please don't try this at home... or there for that matter. And if you do? Don't mention this blog...

I'm like the freaking Energizer Bunny of undergrads...

Just found out that I won't be graduating in December. In fact if I can't get into a certain class this semester, I won't be graduating until NEXT fall. 2009. That means it will have been 7 years from my H.S. diploma to my B.A. No, that's not a typo: SEVEN! Please people: light candles, face the east, fast, pray, chant, dance on tables with magic beads. Do what you have to do for me in this, my time of need- I NEED TO GRADUATE! My feelings are best described from our dear friends on Tommy Boy:

Tommy: Did you hear I graduated?
Richard: Yeah and just a shade under a decade. All right.
Tommy: A lot of people go to college for seven years.
Richard: Yeah, they're called doctors.


... SHUT UP, Richard!!

I hate shopping for new clothes. I dislike the fact that I have to peruse the clothes racks and frequent fitting rooms only to find a pair of pants or shirt that I will love and adore for a few months only to lose interest in them and fling them to the dark black hole in the corner of my closet, thus resulting in the need for another shopping spree. It's a vicious cycle for me because my taste in clothing is constantly changing. I've been through many styles in my life: the baggy Mossimo shirt days, the knit sweater vests, the button down, the t-shirt, business casual, business, casual, hippie, "tom boy" (whatever that is). Heck, I even went 18 months on hardcore skirt wearing. My styles and interests in clothes change, and as they do I'm constantly back at the store wanting more. I harbor ill will towards clothes shopping for this reason: I know that it will never be enough. I will never NOT need more clothes. And I'm not even a shopaholic. My taste in style just changes, so I have to keep going back. Every year or so my entire wardrobe gets a pretty good face lift as I replace the old with the new. There are a few classics I hang on to but the rest goes to Goodwill, DI, or Salvation Army, depending on state and location at the time of tornadic-like restyling.

This is something that I've learned to deal with, but most recently in my life I've realized a horrifying fact about myself: It's not just my wardrobe that get's a strong cleaning once every year or so- my entire life seems to reflect this thinking. Just as my style of clothing ebbs and flows, it seems that my thoughts about life and all within it have been permanently buckled into a seat on a never ending roller coaster. It's up, it's down, it's all around- constantly changing. So here I sit in the aftermath of another "tornadic-like restyling" of my life and I'm looking around at the changes thinking: what is my deal!!

Will it ever be enough? I don't know the answer to that question but I do know this: my butt looks great in the jeans that I'm in. I couldn't be happier to have finally quit my job. And I feel like I'm being more honest in my life right now than I have been in a very long time. I've always loved roller coasters, anyway.

Details in the Fabric

I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. When this happens I find that I can’t really express my thoughts as well as others can. So, here are my thoughts for the day brought to you by Jason Mraz:

Hold your own. Know your name. Go your own way. Everything will be fine.

Amen, brother. Thank you for this song...

Nana's Box

The thing that makes my life so charmed is that I have always been surrounded by amazing people. A friend from USU put together a non-profit group to create photo boxes to give to people who are undergoing cancer treatments. Check out the website here or copy and paste it into your browser: http://nanasboxnonprofit.blogspot.com/.

Here's to making a difference. Angie- thanks for a constant example of how to live life deliberately. You are amazing.

Uniquely... Adept at Killing Arachnids

The campus at Utah State is one of my more favorite places on earth. In the summer the grass is green, flowers are everywhere, and the sky above is blue... one might even say Aggie blue. On a day such as this not too long ago, Christina and I were basking in our surroundings as we long boarded on the Quad. As we were leaving campus Christina took her long board right over the curb and into the parking lot. So impressed was I that she had effectively "jumped the curbed" that I immediately threw my right hand into the air offering the universal symbol of "that was freakin' awesome": a high five. As Christina and I slapped hands and then retracted our arms again I felt something slightly moist on my palm. Now, noone likes a moist palm but I think it's safe to say that noone likes to blame their best friend for having moist palms, either. (Little did I know that as I was silently judging Christina for having too-wet hands, she was silently judging me, also.) In an effort to conceal my dislike for my new post-high five situation I looked down at my hand to see how I could effectively dry it out without offending. As I looked down I discovered with both relief and chagrin that indeed Christina was not the offender! Three wet, crinkled spider's legs stuck to the flesh of my palm begging me to ask the question: "Christina, do you have a dead spider on your hand?" Fortunately we have the kind of friendship where such questions don't seem an anomaly and she simply took it at face value and checked her palm. I had definately gotten the better end of the deal: my friend's palm uncovered an enormous spider's body and remaining legs, crushed in the wrath of our spontaneous high five. Poor spider never saw it coming. As for Christina and I, our friendship is all the better for our murderous high-five talents and spider killing prowess. We're also glad to know that neither of us suffers from the moist palm.

Moving. AGAIN.

I am SOOO over moving. In the last 10 months I have moved 3 times... seriously, I have a problem. This is the latest adventure in moving and I am excited about my new apartment as well as my new roommate who I will refer to hereafter as Sib. (Not do be confused with Cyb of the schizo or Shepard genre...)

Nate, Hollie, Sib and I moved all of our things in one evening. That's pretty impressive considering I wasn't even packed when I picked up the UHaul. Also impressive? I picked up the UHaul! It was definitely one of those "I'm a big kid now moments..." Similar to buying a power tool...

Sib and I were extremely grateful for the help of our brother and soon to be sis-in-law. A little insight: my TV is from 1980 and weighs about 300 tons. Moving that sucker was a thing of beauty and a joy forever. We rewarded ourselves with Crown Burger, of course. This is a family tradition that I
love. Come to think of it, this tradition could be the reason I move so often! In my effort to get in shape I have left the Crown in the dust, except for the special occasion of moving. In fact I'm craving another move...

Look forward to the new apartment. Couldn't be happier about being closer to Downtown as well as the U. Good times ahead. Go Aggies!

Bryce Canyon: Running, Sleeping, Hiking. In that order.

Went to Bryce Canyon a few weeks ago to run in a 5K. I took my sisters and mom along with me and we made a mini family vacation out of it which was so much fun. (It’s been 4 years since we’ve done any sort of trip… we’re lame sauce). On our way down we stopped in Panguitch at Henrie’s for dinner. My “healthy choices” diet went right out the window at this point. When they name their burger “Chubby Cheese” there is no going back... I’m just a sucker for alliteration I guess.

Friday night we found Cannonville Park with 10 minutes to spare and I picked up my race packet. This was my first running race (others have been cycling) so I was excited but scared at the same time: could I really haul myself 3+ miles in the desert? It was a baby step, but an important one for me. The next morning came extremely early and my baby sister commented that she had “never been up before the sun before”. Cliff bar, banana, and off to the races! Some of you know that I trashed my knee a few days before the race, so I was worried about running on it. My knee held up just fine, my pants, however, did not. In my hurry to pack I brought a pair of shorts that I usually use for biking. They used to fit pretty snug so I figured they would be fine for the run. Never underestimate the importance of waistband in running. My non-waistbanded shorts kept falling off me and thus I held them up with my right hand for the entire run. People were even commenting: how’s it going with the pants? Awesome. The race was through Bryce and it was beautiful. Crossing the finish line was so great and helped me to realize that we really can do whatever we put our minds to.

The rest of the weekend was a blast and I am so glad that my family includes people that I consider to be my closest of friends. I had so much fun with “the girls” and am glad we had the mini adventure. Some highlights: horseback riding along the rim of the canyon (and getting chased by a steer… I said a lot of swear words… can’t lie); sleeping for 12 hours only to wake up at 3am for a game of Skip-O; hiking, hiking, and hiking. What a great weekend. Thanks mom, Krys and Tay!!

Here’s a slideshow with more pictures. roll your cursor over the pic for explanations if you wish...

Uniquely... Bound for Broadway

They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway. They say there’s always magic in the air (Mann and Weil, 1963). So why not be a part of it, right? This weeks orientation class found me confessing one of my deepest and truest desires: I want to star in a Broadway musical. I want to hang out with the likes of Patti Lupone, Idena Menzel, Liza Manneli, and Betty Buckley. I would like to sip lemonade in the Park with Stephen Sondheim as we discuss his newest project. I want to belt out emotion at the top of my lungs as Tracy Turnblad or Elphaba. Is it too much to ask? What I need is an agent, someone who will get me discovered. Let’s start at the beginning though: voice lessons, then agent, then discovery, then lemonade. If this dream can't come true I will settle for daily life becoming a musical. You know, spontaneous dance and song in the middle of the afternoon. Better go put my dancing shoes on...

Juxtaposition. Or, why the world is so confused

The south end of Oklahoma City features one of my favorite streets in the connected 48. This particular area is called Capitol Hill. Apparently it used to be the state capitol back in the day when Roy Rogers was all the rage. Although I do love me some cowboy, this is not the reason for my afan. Capitol Hill holds a lot of memories for me that bring me back to my eager-beaver missionary days. Walking up and down the street accosting strangers to give them pass along cards, picking up pass along cards that people threw in the bushes, volunteering at the ginormous Christmas charity store, Chelino’s pan dulce and snack shelves, the excellent taco place on the corner, and Moses. Good ole Moses, the homeless Native American who chased my companion and me down the street with a ridiculously large stick… that’s right: Moses, big stick… you do the math. My favorite part about the street however was the hole in the wall bar. Day to night this smoke-infested love barn was filled with drinkers (read: alcoholics). What’s more? Right next door to the bar is the local chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Really? We’re going to put the AA next to the bar? Isn’t that a bit like putting the child molester in juvie? Or making Martha Stewart relocate to Taiwan? Turns out this is the case all over OKC. Bar-AA-Bar-AA-Bar-AA. Are they in cahoots? Is this like the Lowe’s/Wal Mart partnership? The AA is either snagging them before they get to the bar, or upping their meeting numbers by dragging every drunken arse to the circle of trust after a few shots. Either way, we’re not exactly making life easy.

Yesterday I was at the gym and realized this kind of rationale is everywhere, not just the windy streets of Oklahoma. The Gold’s Gym in Sandy towers into the sky, a multi-leveled representation of blood, sweat, tears, and strength- all in the name of good health. However, once you step a tennis-shoed foot outside those shiny front doors it’s like you are in fast food Sodom and Gomorrah: Wendy’s, KFC, Taco Bell, and the real kicker… Blimpie’s. We all know that no one really eats at Blimpie’s, but just the sheer title of this chain makes us feel so gluttonous that we have to grace our local drive thru............................................................................

Dear city planners: WTF? A girl can’t lose the relief society arm when her bicep curls are chased by a frosty. Please help.

Uniquely... Terrified of Sharks

My first venture into my self psyche was to share my irrational, ridiculous, incapacitating fear of sharks. I think it's safe to say that this fear has surpassed the normal scared stage and settled nicely into being a full blown phobia. I don't just fear sharks while in the ocean, I panic while swimming in lakes, canoeing in rivers, or even while hanging out in the neighborhood pool (the shadows look like sharks... I swear). It's rather ridiculous.

During a few weeks in Boston a friend and I travelled to Walden Pond to swim, lounge on the Massachussetts beach, and enjoy a little history. This "pond", made famous by American writer Henry David Thoreau, is actually not a pond at all. It's an enormous lake... but it's still a lake. No ocean access, no way that sharks could actually be in there. As Adam and I swam out into the middle of the lake I noticed the deep, dark water and how cold it was out in the middle. I realized how far I was from the shoreline. And then I realized the one thing that always sends me over the edge: I couldn't see my toes below me. If I can't see my toes, how could I see my impending shark-doom?

I panicked. Right then and there I had a panic attack in the lake and nearly drown. Good thing Adam was there! He put me into a back float and took me back to shore. (It was basically vacation time-out... I was acting ridiculously!)

So there it is. My name is Okie, and I have a problem. It's true that Sharks may never kill me; but my fear of sharks definately could!

You Are Special... Just Like Everyone Else

Every week I teach an orientation class for our new hires here at the funny farm. Every orientation begins with introductions. You know the kind: "Hi my name is (what?), my name is (who?), my name is (slicka slim shady)." Part of the drill is that everyone must say something unique about themselves. This is always a bit awkward for our new hires, the majority of whom are 16-18 years old and a bit too self-aware. I watch a new group every week as they struggle to find a unique thing that is A) cool enough to share, B) something that will get their peer's approval, and C) true. They do pretty well with it. For over a year and a half I've mentioned the same old things as the unique things: scars, broken bones, etc. My current challenge is that I'm bored in orientation. From now on I'm going to name a different unique thing every week, come hell or high water. ( I prefer high water). And guess what my blogging comrades? I shall post it right here! I figure it will add a fun side to the blog while also keeping out of comatose stages at work. Stay tuned for weekly snippets and tid-bits to the weird things that are the total sum of... ME.

Independence Day

I have always been a sucker for cheesy music.  I blame it on the fact that I grew up on Michael McClean, Afterglow, and The Righteous Brothers.  (The irony of this sentence is that the first two aforementioned names are religious bands; the brothers, however righteous, are secular.  Go figure.)  It is for this reason that every 4th of July I have to listen to the ridiculous ensembles of patriotic songs that one radio station or another piece together while I sit on my car hood and stare up at the fireworks.  If there isn't music, it's just no good.  You know the kind I'm talking about:  Lee Greenwood being "Proud to Be an American"; Martina McBride wailing her plea to "let freedom ring"; heck, even John Phillips Sousa's "Stars and Stripes" gets the goosebumps going for me.  (I think I'm going to change his name to J-Sous, I think this can increase his new-millennium popularity...)

This 4th of July the tradition started out much the same.  10:00pm found me parked in front of the Crown Burger facing Sandy City Hall.  My mom, my two sisters and myself rolled the windows down and turned up the radio and then climbed up on top of the hood of the Camry.  Side by side we stared into the sky as the fireworks erupted.   But, just as is so often the case, this particular evening was ruined by none other than Neil Diamond.  First, let me give you some background. 

I served an LDS mission between 2005-2007.  Although I served within the bounds of the US of A it felt more like a foreign mission.  I spent the majority of my time working and living with people of Latin decent; mostly Mexican.  In my short 18 months I made lifelong friends, second families, and connections that I will forever be grateful for and proud to have.  Truth be told, my heart bleeds Latin now, and hopefully always will.  For this reason I have returned to my mission stomping grounds on several occasions.  It's a chance to reconnect with people I love, and who in turn love me.  The most recent visit was this past May when I returned with two of my companions (read: very dear friends Shay and Moffy) to the land that gives me my screen name.  We had an amazing time.  We were treated to wonderful food, great music, and a lot of dancing lessons!  It was 4 days that passed altogether too quickly, but it was time very well spent.  Two weeks following our visit I received this call from Shay:

"Kath?"  She was calling me in the middle of the day; usually we chat via Internet since we work for the same company.

"Yeah, what's up? What's wrong?'

"Did you hear from Evelyn yet?"  It's always like Shay to need to know the background first.

"No, what's going on?"  Evelyn is a dear friend in OKC who keeps us posted on all of the happenings.

"Liliana and her mom were pulled over yesterday while driving in the city.  They are being detained over night in a jail and are being deported first thing in the morning."  

What shocked me most about this sentence was the mere fact that I had seen Liliana and her sweet mom, Hermana Lopez, only two weeks previous during our visit.  Liliana caught me up on how things were going at the University of Oklahoma.  She was accepted there on full scholarship; a natural occurrence for the valedictorian of her high school.  She had brought her friends to the church party and I laughed as I watched them all participate in the dance contests.  I had some long talks with Liliana that evening about what her plans were for the future and what she was enjoying and/or struggling with in the present. With Shay's call none of this mattered any more.

"What can we do?  How much will it cost for bail? Can we bail them out?  Who do we need to talk to?  Tell me what to do?!!!!"  I shot questions at Shay as if she would know the answers, but neither of us did.  I felt as if I had been kicked hard in the stomach: my air was gone, I was dizzy.  I pulled over while driving; I was overcome with anger and panic.  This couldn't be happening.  Later that afternoon I called OU: couldn't someone override this decision?  Liliana doesn't even speak with an accent, she's lived here almost her whole life!  How could this be happening?  Nothing.  Liliana and Hermana Lopez were put on a bus the next morning and driven across the border.  They were dropped off in Ciudad Juarez which is thousands of miles from their place of origin in Mexico. They were given chance to collect things from their home of several years, nor visit their loved ones.  Dropped off with the clothes on their backs.  No money, American or Mexican.  No food.  No address book to telephone once in Mexico.  Just kicked out.  Hermano Lopez and Juan (son) were left behind in OKC with no way to contact their family.  Split apart and separated like criminals.  What was their crime? Driving while Hispanic.  

Flash back to Friday night, July 4th.  On the roof top of my mom's car Neil sings:

Far/We've been travelling far/ Without a home/ But not without star

Free/ Only want to be free/ We huddle close/ Hang on to a dream

On the boats and on the planes/ They're coming to America

Never looking back again/ They're coming to America

Home, don't it seem so far away?/ Oh we're traveling light today/ In the eye of the storm

Home, to a new and shiny place/ Make our bed and we'll say our grace/Freedom's light burning warm

Everywhere around the world/Every time that flag's unfurled/Got a dream to take them there/Got a dream they've come to share

They're coming to America

This used to rank high up there as one of my favorite cheesy songs.  I think it's because I believed it.  I believed that people came here and were given an opportunity.  My thoughts have changed since someone I love has been kicked out of this country only to be left stranded in a foreign place.  I'm convinced that songs like this exist to keep the wool over our eyes.  It's easy to sit on the hood of a car in the soft summer breeze and feel grateful to have been born in this country.  When songs like this are played it seems as though everyone is given the same opportunity to enjoy what we have.  Are we fooling ourselves?  How much of the American Dream are we willing to share when we kick out the English speaking, Valedictorian, Freshman Pre-Med and tell them they aren't worthy to be here?

This is the first time I have spoken about this in any way.  When emotions get tied around your heartstrings it becomes difficult to unweave them without causing further injury.  It's time I shared it though.  

I must make it known that I AM grateful to be in America.  I am grateful for this land and the liberties it has offered me personally.  I am grateful for the freedoms that I enjoy and for the safety that I too often take for granted.  I love this country and much of what it stands for.  I can't, however, support the idea that man made divisions that we call "borders" can stand as an excuse for prejudice, discrimination, or the idea that only certain people have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.   I know there are many of you who feel differently, or perhaps simply have never bothered to think about this before.  I certainly have never really pondered it until this year.  

What will each of us see when we take off our rose colored glasses? Would we be willing to start changing the rules? Until then I'm sure there is a bus leaving early in the morning and to the families that are about to lose their loved ones: I'm sorry.  Welcome to America- it's not as new and shiny as Neil makes it out to be...  yet.

Thank You

THANK YOU to each of you who donated to the MS150 Ride this year. With your help and support we were able to raise $542.00. My original goal was $250.00, and we blew it right out of the water. This money has been given to the MS Society of Utah to help teach classes, offer support through programs, and hopefully find a cure for Multiple Sclerosis. As for the ride itself, it was huge motivation to know that I was being "sponsored" by each of you. You were kind enough to give that money, so there was no WAY I could give up on the race! We did it together, so gracias!Thank you again for "joining the movement", you are wonderful.

MS150: Check.

Take a moment and picture the following with me: bad farmer's tans, Velcro shoes, "fruit punch", Idaho, Peanut Butter sandwiches, RV campers, spandex, and cut off shirts... Tell me honestly- what did you picture? Perhaps you formulated an image of a your family reunion? Maybe you came up with a joke that ends with "you know you're a Redneck". Or maybe- just maybe!- you thought, "Hey, that sounds like a bike tour to me!" Welcome my friends to my weekend; the best weekend ever!

The tan is from my biking gloves. The Velcro shoes are actually racing shoes- the fancy clip in type. (Read: the kind that kill you if you can't clip out of them.) "Fruit punch" is what they called the Powerade provided at each stop- red and blue and oh so necessary. Idaho fits in the equation because we biked from Logan to Preston and back. (About the time I saw the "Welcome to Idaho" sign my knees buckled- what the #$#% was I doing?!) Lunch was a Peanut Butter sandwich- the perfect blend of protein and carbs to get me through the final 35 miles. RV campers and tents cluttered the Logan Fairgrounds as 3,000+ bikers prepared to mount their bikes for the event. Spandex- aka Lycra- a biking MUST if you want to have a butt after the ride. Even with saddle padding my bum felt like... well, we won't go there. And the cut off shirts? Well that's just to look sexy, of course.

I completed the 75 mile bike ride and it was no easy feat. There were so many times that I was inside of my own head telling myself to stop and just SAG back. I just kept telling myself: this is what you've been training for: THIS. You can't back out now. It is easily the best thing I have done in this year. First, it's an amazing cause. I talked with several woman along the way who have MS. How could I give up just because I was "tired" when these woman were riding with a disease that could eventually stop them from moving? Keep going, Okie, keep going.

Second, it's beautiful country up there. There are lakes and streams and beautiful bridges that dot the country side. I spend all day everyday couped up in an office cubicle. Why give it up early? Keep going, Okie, keep going.

Finally, there is something amazing that happens when we accomplish the task we set out to do. I have been training for this race for nearly 4 months now. Training has included running, strength training, cycling, and working on flexibility. I was amazed at how fit I felt throughout the ride. As the girl that grew up with the "great personality" (as opposed to the hot bod) I knew that I had to finish that race. I can become an athlete again. Keep going, Okie, keep going.

And so I did. Crossing the finish line after 7.5 hours of riding in 100 degree weather was an amazing feeling. Even better was having Christina there cheering me on! I may have ridden by myself, but I definitely didn't feel alone. Christina was there and my family and other friends were cheering me on via text. I felt like I had been hit by a semi-truck. Sunburned and tired I vegged at Christina's where we allowed Papa John's to make us dinner (wheat pizza, of course- delish!) Hit the sack at 10pm and let 12 hours of sleep heal my muscles. I will be doing this ride again, as well as other rides.

Things I learned:

• I never could have completed that ride on a mountain bike. Dolce is the best friend I had out there and she helped me cruise through 75 miles without a scratch.
• I need to apply sunscreen every 2 hours or so... got a mean sunburn on my thighs and parts of my neck and arms.
  
• Training is ESSENTIAL- it made all of the difference in the world to know that I had been practicing for that exact moment
• Old biking gloves from 8th grade aren't sufficient, even if they look like they have padding. My hands were killing me by mile 50, which is not a good place to be on a 3/4 century ride.
• Although it's handy to have a hydro pack, I found it hurting my back. Note for future rides: ditch the hydro and use water bottles and shirt pockets. Especially on a fully supported ride.
  
• My body is stronger than I give it credit for.
  

Things I am grateful for:

• Dolce. She is such a sweet ride and I am absolutely in love with her. (My bike, people. My bike!)
• Mother Earth. How beautiful are our surroundings!
• My health. I am grateful that I can even attempt to do things like this, let along complete it.
  
• Everyone who donated to my ride. We raised $542.00. That's pretty awesome!!!
• Christina, Ashley, Mom, Krys, Nate, and Tay: all of these people kept me going via text or phone over 7.5 hours
• Seeing Tara after the finish line. She is the Event Director for the MS Society of Utah; translation: she was in charge of the entire thing. She is one of my closest amigas and I was proud to be a part of something she designed and executed so well.
  
• Finding a sport that I love again.
  
• The woman from Bad Ass Coffee who was also riding alone (her group rides at 20 rpm, which is killer fast). We rode from Fairview to Amalga together- it was 14 miles in the dead of the afternoon and we kept each other going. Thank you to my new friend. Good luck on training for your upcoming marathon.

Here are some pictures from the ride:

"I gotta go lube my chain." This is what I said to Christina when we were carb loading the night before at the O.G. She definitely gave me a look. Again: the bike people, the bike!


Pumping up the tires. Each tire must be to 100lb pressure. That's alot. The Ghetto (pictured above) and I took turns because our arms would get tired. The start line just outside of the fairgrounds in Logan, UT. Mass chaos in an organized fashion. I held back a half hour because I'm not super comfy riding in lines and big groups yet. One day...

Dolce and I gearing up for the ride. This is my debut of Spandex in public.
The ride map. I did the 75 mile course. Next year I will do the entire century.
The ride is fully supported and is a GREAT first big touring ride for those who are thinking of getting into it. This is a picture of the lunch stop. Bikes, bikes everywhere.
Just past the finish line at the fairgrounds. Ghetto- I LOVE YOU! Thanks for being there to support me. I'm glad you didn't see me crash.

I am basically a big dork and crashed AFTER the ride. Dismounted on a hill... on the wrong side! Here are a couple of pics (above) that show off my bleeding knee. The road rash was pretty sweet too. I'm a total boy, so I love the scars; they are like trophies. I don't, however, love cleaning gravel out of my leg with alcohol swabs. OUCH!!!! Check out the sunburn line in the picture above, too. Nice, eh?

Christina driving me home in my own car. I was beat!!