Grown-Up Job

Sometimes the hardest part for me is the staying put part. I rebel so hard against structure and schedules and routine. I don't like to do anything in the same order I did it in the day before. For example: I mess with my alarm clock every night before I go to sleep just to make sure I don't somehow fall into an accidently complacent waking-up habit. It doesn't really seem like a terrible thing to have happen—a regular wake-up schedule—but for me that starts the slow walk toward death. (Okay, maybe death is a little dramatic, but glassy-eyed stupor might describe it.) And to me, complacency seems a fate worse than death.

A little bit of contented and settled might be nice once in a while though. Sometimes I walk really close to that line and get a short whiff of security—a heady scent in itself. It draws me in with its long finger and its warm blanket making alluring promises of stability and discipline and ladder-climbing. With whispers of dental benefits and 401ks and expense accounts. And really, what is the cost? Just a little bit of freedom, a tiny bit of autonomy, a small amount of choice, and a generous chunk of your soul. And many promises of, "It will all be worth it in the end."

That is, if this isn't it.

Westley vs. Buttercup

Westley? Damn. That's unfortunate. I think Buttercup wins.

Meanderific Words

Here are some new and incredibly descriptive words provided by the multi-talented Quincie Bean. Webster's will be picking these up any time.

1. Weirtarded: That thing you call your big brother when he dresses like he's English and acts both weird and retarded. Also can be used to describe WalMart clothing choices.

2. Meanderific: Used to describe the journey when it starts out meandering and unplanned and ends with something terrific and extraordinary. (Like today's shopping trip ending at Pirate O's.)

3. Crapolatte: Best used in the place of f*** or S*** or whoops-a-daisy.

4. Lamesauce: What I am because I can't seem to remember this word long enough to even go home and blog about it. This one was contributed by Quincie's friend Alexa.

These are better than anything taught in Shakespearean slam class. Now you have, "Crapolatte, you are such a weirtarded lamesauce" at your fingertips.

My Friendship Chain

I mark my life with my friends. Some people have scrapbooks filled with memories of their life, but my memories are almost all wrapped firmly around my friends. I collect them. Like a trail along my life, I mark every twist and turn in my path with the people I picked up along the way. And my life has had more twists and turns than the Snake River. From every wildly divergent, hair-brained experiment in rediscovery, I have a friend or two who keep walking along this meandering journey with me. Whenever I feel alone I just have to count back.

It started on the first day of first grade. I picked up my first very best, sleepover and giggling friend on that day. I have dragged her along with me through junior high, high school, living together in college and beyond. My life wouldn't be my life without her. When she and her little boy got in a terrible crash last year I thought about just how empty the world would be if she weren't in it.

From there I just kept adding to my collection. My first college roommate, the Statesman people, my mission buddies, the China crew, my world trip partners, the Habitours, the Covey crowd, the law school trio, the WOWs, my chakra sisters, the cycle chicks and Provo people, the daiquiri darlings, the book-club beauties, the boy brokers, the bunko babes and most recently my SunCrest soul mates.

This has been a stellar friend year. My mates on the mountain have already changed me and now my life just wouldn't be my life without them either. Lucky me.

Lizard Lips

My nephews and I found the cutest little, fattest little, shyest little lizard today in my backyard. It turns out he is a horny toad. You can see info here. He ran up and down our arms and walked around on our legs. He was just about as cute as my two nephews and their friend PJ. The boys named him Larry and loved the tickley feeling of his little toes on their palms. I hope he stays in my yard even though we scared him with our gentle examination.

En Pointe

My young friend Quincie is the most beautiful dancer I've ever seen. She is breathtaking to watch on stage in every style and technique from tap to contemporary to lyrical to hip hop. She dances for hours and hours every week and competes all over the country. I can't wait until she is famous and I can say I knew her when she was just a little girl.

Tonight I was watching as she was breaking in her new pointe shoes. Literally. She was slamming these beautiful, pink, satin shoes in the pantry door, banging the toes on the cement floor and hammering on the arch. She even had to sew on the satin ties herself.

I think something is wrong here. It's a well-known fact that pointe = pain. And not the good kind of building-muscles-getting-stronger pain, but real pain pain. In fact, a quick search on Wikipedia includes a short list of injuries that pointe dancers can suffer.

Achilles tendinitis
Athlete's foot
Blisters
Bunions
Bunionette
Bursitis
Bruises
Bruised toenails
Calluses
Contusions
Corns
Cuts between the toes
Dancer's heel (Plantar fasciitis)
Dermatitis
Dorsal exostosis
Extensor tendinitis
Fungus nails
Hallux limitus and rigidus
Hammer toes
Heel bruises
Heel spurs
Ingrown toenails
Jammed big toes
Neuromas
Posterior Impingement Syndrome
Plantar warts
Sesamoiditis
Sprained ankles
Stress fractures
Thickened toenails

I didn't make this list up, Wikipedia did. But it all sounds very bad to me. I think it's the pointe shoe's fault. The lovely pink satin wrapping is unfairly deceptive. Dancers cram their feet into these stiff, brutal foot corsets. They have to stuff the ends of the shoes with special padding or lamb's wool just to keep their toenails from falling off.

I think it's time to call Nike.

If boys were dancing en pointe the shoes would definitely not be this painful. Nike or Adidas or Reebok would have come up with a special pointe shoe that enhances performance and is much more comfortable. Come on! What about air pockets in the end that blow up and conform to the dancer's toes? Or some kind of springy rubber end with floor grips?

Solidarity girls. It's time to stand up and revolutionize pointe shoes.

There's No Place Like Wendover.

I’m wondering just exactly when you become one of those Wendover ladies. Do you sign up for the gig at the same time you sign up for your casino frequent-flyer card on the springy, yellow cord that tethers all the blue-haired ladies to the slot machines? Or do they give you the credentials the moment you step foot on the Wendover “fun” bus?

A more important question would probably be: do you know if you are one of those ladies? Or is that just one of those things you don't know you don't know?

I've commissioned my friend Kim to be the one to tell me to "step away from the slot machine" and forcibly drag me and my free cocktail out of there if I ever get close to joining the ranks of those terminally Wendover ladies. (Just for the record, Kim is much closer to becoming one of them than I am.)

So anyway...knowing I was stressed out, Kim decided a quick trip to smoke-bell-and-buzzer land would be just what I needed. So we packed our swimming suits and toothbrushes and headed to The Montego Bay.

That place put the swank in swanky.

Kim is so close to being one of those ladies that she got comped an electric blue, tropical paradise room with two king beds. We got mood lighting, our very own palm tree and dusky mirrors on two walls. I don't even want to think about what has gone on in that room.

Feeling pretty lucky, we skipped our way down to the casino. Kim has a theory about this certain progressive machine she wanted to test out and I was ready to pretend to gamble so I could take advantage of the open bar at the penny slots.

What I didn't know was that "Cocktails?" is really code for: "You are not in Utah any more, but the drinks are just as weak."

Just one of those weak drinks later I had already lost my whole stash of pennies and sat through a harsh tongue lashing and a lesson on casino etiquette from a couple of those ladies. It turns out that the "on-your-feet-lose-your-seat" rule most definitely does NOT apply to progressive, diamond, three-spin slots. Who knew?

I did learn a few new things from this trip though. I learned that just because it's a penny machine does not mean that you lose money slower. It just involves more math.

I learned that those ladies can play three machines at once while smoking with both hands and saving two machines for their mother-in-law.

And I learned that just because the pile of shrimp at the buffet is taller than you does not mean that you should try to eat your weight in seafood.

Oh, and I learned to never, ever, ever get one of those frequent-flyer casino cards. They are just pure trickery and lead only to becoming one of those ladies.

It's All Perspective

A while ago my sister and I were driving down 4th North in Salt Lake when we noticed a man in a suburban in front of us kept turning around and shaking a little girl in the back seat. He was violently grabbing her and it looked like he was yelling. His face was getting red and he kept banging on the little girl's shoulder.

We couldn't believe it and started excitedly talking about what we should do. "Look at that guy up there, we've got to do something. He's hurting that little girl."

All of a sudden he pulled dramatically with two wheels onto the island in the middle of the street and jumped out of the car. We were stuck behind him and still trying to figure out what to do when we saw him grab the little girl violently out of the back of the car.

Just as we started to jump out to stop him, we watched him as he grabbed her around the waist and did the Heimlich Maneuver on her. A bright red jaw-breaker popped out of her mouth and suddenly she was breathing and smiling and they were hugging and crying.

This man turned immediately from a monster child-abuser in our eyes to the world's best SUPER DAD, saving his darling little girl from choking.

You just never know what's going on for people. It's all perspective.

Finely Honed Avoidance Techniques

I know I have an excruciatingly difficult decision looming. The best way to tell is from the cleanliness of my drawers and cupboards. I've cleaned out my sock drawer, my paper catch-all drawer in the kitchen, and my potting bench in the garage. They've never been so clean. I've even organized my random-cosmetics-hair-products-and-perfume-samples drawer. This obviously must be a gut-wrenching decision.

I've been perfecting the art of avoidance for years now. It started in college when I would notice how anally clean my bedroom seemed to get during finals. Things that hadn't seen the light of day since they were unloaded from my parent's car and stashed under the less-than-twin bed in my microscopic dorm room were suddenly aired out, fresh, and sparkling. The harder the exam--the cleaner the floor in the bathroom. The more intense the final-paper pressure--the more organized the shoe pile became.

It must have something to do with control. When my life seems a bit out of my control I need my environment to be tightly buttoned up. When my mind is cluttered, my spoons all have to be facing the same way in the silverware drawer.

It's a little psychotic I know. But I think until this decision is made, my house is just going to get neater. I'd write more about this, but my bookshelf is calling. Those books really should be arranged by topic and size. Don't you think?

Sex and the City

Here is a toast to incredible girlfriends, perfect cosmopolitans and fun new connections! I'm only a few short minutes late posting, but my girlfriends said it should still count as posting on Saturday when you consider the spirit of the law instead of the letter of the law. I'm all about spirit baby.