when the moron is you...

We've all heard those stories that are much more amusing because they didn't happen to you. Well, yesterday I became the star of one such story.

It all began at about 12:30 p.m. I had just finished a late lunch, due to my cardio/yoga Saturday morning ritual. I was waiting to hop in the shower, as my friend had told me she would stop by while walking her dog to bring me the money she owed me from the Death Cab for Cutie concert. By the way, the put on a great show, as did Mates of State. The doorbell rang and we sat on my porch chatting away when a nasty wasp kept buzzing around me and the door. To avoid it entering my house, I shut the door. We chatted some more and then said our goodbyes. I turned to enter my house only to gasp in horror. I had locked myself out with my phone inside. The invention of cellular phones has created the inability for me to memorize phone numbers. With no way of knowing when my roommate would be home, and no way of breaking in, I resigned myself to finish walking with my friend and her dog. I went over to her house still in my sweaty work out clothes with a sunburn beginning to develop on my pale-ass shoulders and chest. I used her phone to call the only friend whose number I have memorized. After leaving several messages on both her and her husband's cell phone, I waited patiently. I walked back to my house to leave a note written on bright paper for my roommate. Upon my return to my friend's house, I was greeted with the news that my other friends were en route to break in. Apparently my friend's husband has a knack for that sort of thing, although he is an upstanding member of society.

I sat on my friend's porch and snoozed in the sun. They arrived much later than they had originally anticipated, drove me to my house, and within seconds (with the help of a Discover credit card), we were inside. Considering I have about three friends in Provo, no way to contact my roommate or landlord, and just the clothes on my back, a two and half hour wait to get in my house was pretty darn good. The moral of this story is that wasps not only sting, they can also make you lock your silly self out!

in the eye of the beholder

I had the privilege of going to the Art institute of Chicago and was awed by some of the beautiful pieces.

But then I saw this (my apologies for the quality):


and then this:


Although I am not a fan of most abstract art, there are times when I can see and appreciate the talent. However, I look at these pieces and believe that there are plenty of people who could replicate it. I am willing to admit that I do not have a full understanding of how and why some art makes it in to museums while others do not. Is there some talent that I cannot see? Do these "abstract" pieces make it in because the artist already has a good reputation in the art field? Please, someone, anyone, help me figure this out. *Sigh

Even though I don't like this either, it looks like it took some thought and talent.

Why, oh why, does abstract art continue to mock my confused mind?

hot or not

There was a time when my favourite "love to hate" heiress thought she should try her hand at a Donald by attempting to patent "that's hot". Thankfully, it was rejected, thereby saving us from the heaps of junk at Claire's Accessories proclaiming "that's hot."

You may wonder where this Paris diatribe is headed and I assure my readers that I am not as directionless as her. That may be a cruel jab, as she does take a lot of time to match her outfits, spends time in the studio recording and filming videos, and almost writes her own novel, but I stand by my statement. Okay, back to the point... sizzling under the summer sun, my thoughts are frequently turned to what is hot and what is not. Much like this very awkward website, it is clear that each person has a very different opinion of what is or isn't hot.

My loyal readers, I turn to you for the first of perhaps many polls. Only time will tell if it becomes a feature. The virgin Right of Way poll is related to transportation, not Ms. Hilton:

Women riding motorcycles: Hot or Not?
Men riding scooters: Hot or Not?

P.S. - If you still have a hankering for links after my prolific use of them in this post, check this site out. I stumbled upon it randomly and found it a more amusing take on internet polling.

via chicago

When embarking on a solo trip to Chicago you might want to have a few things to make the trip smoother.

1. Toothpaste: Fortunately for you careless packers (ahem), the Marriott hotel gives you complementary toothpaste.
2. Money: Parking in the downtown core is expensive. Do some investigating and you'll discover that there is underground parking that is half the price of all other places. Unfortunately, I found this bit of information on my last day. Also, unexpected toll booths pop up and it's rather embarrassing when you don't have cash on you. There is also a need for spending cash at the awesome stores.
3. Patience: When you're a driver, the pedestrians drive you crazy with their constant jaywalking and crossing against the light. However, once rolls are reversed, you join in the bad walking behavior.
4. Sense of Direction: When you finish watching the amusing musical, Wicked, you might want to ensure you go the right direction down Michigan Avenue. It doesn't feel like such a magnificent mile when your error is discovered and it is so busy on the streets that hailing a taxi is near impossible. MOM CLOSE YOUR EYES. She told me to be safe and I don't want her to know I was walking alone at 11 p.m. MOM YOU CAN OPEN YOUR EYES AGAIN. Interestingly enough, there were so many people out that I felt totally safe... the only problem was sore and tired feet from the extra mile I ended up walking.

Oh, and don't forget to get a chocolate molten lava cake at the Grand Lux Cafe. Delicious.

against all odds

Population of Provo: 105, 166
Population of Provo between the ages of 25-34: 17, 345
Popularity of Cafe Rio: High
Odds of running in to an ex-boyfriend at Cafe Rio in Provo: In my friend's case, the odds are 100% that you will.

This wasn't any ex. He was a class act... one of those guys that starts dating another girl before he breaks up with his current one. She discovered this bit of information when she happened to go to a large church function that had thousands of people and coincidentally bumped in to him while he was holding his new girlfriend's hand trying to navigate her through the crowd. Naturally their breakup occurred that same night. See? Class act. Back to the present when we see him come in to Cafe Rio. He walks past us to a woman that is separated by one other person in front of us. The woman was the girl from the night long ago and she is now his wife and they have a baby. Although my friend is now much relieved for the demise of the relationship, we mull over leaving but decide the one person buffer may help avoid an awkward interaction. Within several minutes, our buffer exits and we are right beside them. At this point the best way forward is to talk to him but he makes enormous amounts of effort to pretend he does not see her standing mere inches away from him. The solution? She stares weirdly until he looks over. What proceeds is a fake nice conversation by all and the pretend "Oh I didn't see you. How are you doing? It's so good to see you." A perfect moment to laugh over during a perfect meal.

Ah Provo, your odds endlessly entertain me.

platform blues

I would like to start this post by stating that I do not always have the perfect shoes for each of my work outfits. I have been searching all summer for dark brown, open toe shoes that fit my annoyingly narrow feet. So, occasionally I have to wear a tan colour shoe that doesn't always work with my brown slacks.

However, the other day I saw a co-worker in cute black slacks with white platform flip flops. I hate platform flip flops and I also hate dirty white platform flip flops. The next day I saw her in a black skirt, black shirt and the dirty white platform flip flops. The platform sandal rarely looks good on anyone. It makes your calves look bigger and you're not fooling anyone with those extra inches. If you want height, go for cute heels. Also, the flip flop should be reserved for casual wear not work. Lastly, it's just not fashionable to wear white shoes with an all black ensemble. Red heels? Sure. White embellishments on your shirt or pant with white shoes? Possible. But the white platform flip flop rarely works with anything and just looks silly. (As a side note, the picture above was featured on a site for bridal shoes. If I ever see something resembling that on a bride, I'll shudder.)

family tree

I wasn't sure I wanted to write this post as I've struggled to articulate my experience back home. I have been back in Utah for 24 hours and actually made it through work on little sleep.

I loved being home with my family and seeing the new additions. I didn't do much of anything except laugh at all the funny things that my nieces and nephews said/did. Calgary has changed so much since I left. It's only been nine months but housing prices have skyrocketed and traffic seems to be worse. I was glad that I rarely ventured further than the south bubble of the city. It was no longer the city I always thought so fondly of.

I feel like a hobo (sans the penniless). Provo doesn't feel like home but neither does Calgary. My family is where my heart is but it could be in any city and that is all that would matter. The vacation gave me time for much introspection. Time moves forward and people move on. We get busy with the day to day aspects of life and things that seemed to matter so much before can seem trivial months later. Sometimes timing is everything...

somewhere over the rainbow

I have noticed a disturbing trend in my closet... a substantial amount of stretch t's from the GAP. It started out innocently enough. I would see a cute colour for a reasonable price and pick it up. I added the light pink t-shirt last week when it was on sale for $4. It was a killer deal for a good quality, basic shirt. However, now that I own almost every colour, I feel rather silly. Am I losing my style? Have I become a boring dresser? Am I too cheap to care? Am I the only one that has fallen prey to the multiple clothing item in different shades?

At least I know my style at work is holding strong. A new coworker commented that I am the best dressed female at work. He also noted that he knew I would be cool because of my glasses. As a side note, he also said he could tell the kind of music I listened to because of my eyewear. I don't necessarily buy in to judgments of personality or tastes based on accessories but I'll take compliments where I can get them.

As for the blog, it will likely be on a brief hiatus while I refill my family tank in Calgary. Perhaps this holiday will bring back some of my creativity that has been sorely lacking.

a movie script ending

Was it Star Wars that first brought us the idea that movies could also double as Hallowe'en? Although not socially acceptable, I tolerated the Luke's, Leia's and Vader's at the theatre. Afterall, they were the more awkward folks of society so entranced by the trilogy that they could not help dressing as their fictional favourites.

However, over the years I have started to notice a disturbing trend in movie watchers. Harry Potter openings were full of wizard and witches floating about the popcorn stand. It was usually limited to younger kids, so I shrugged it off. Then a few weeks back I was waiting for friends to arrive at the movies when I saw a few people walk up in capes and masks. I was confused as to why these wrestlers were walking in to the theatre when it dawned on me that Nacho Libre was opening up. This horror was soon forgotten until Friday night. I was at the movies with free tickets to see the new Pirates of the Caribbean (long and overrated) when I was suddenly surrounded by pirates.

I still cannot understand this dressing up business. Rather than free candy, you pay exorbitant amounts of money for snacks. Sitting for several hours wearing hot robes or ridiculous attire is completely unappealing to me. So please, leave the costumes for that spooktacular time of year when you get to dress like a fool, beg for candy and smash pumpkins.

crazy

I was in Small Town, USA over the weekend where I learned something new at church. A woman was discussing various things that have been upsetting to her, one of which was an article she read in Snowflake, Arizona's local paper. I don't have the energy to find the article but this link or this one gives you the gist.

What? Does she seriously think that there is a secret movement to make one country in North America? I kept waiting for her to say it was a prank but then she talked about her pregnant friend diagnosed with cancer and that all of these things were weighing heavily on her... requiring her to pray to God for strength. It was all I could do to contain my laughter. This poor woman was all worried about Mexicans and Canadians combining with Americans to create one super country. I thought about spinning it in to a positive comment about us coming together as one people under God but decided I couldn't say it with a straight face. I'm just a stranger that sees the comedy not the tragedy in the article. Finding the links were especially amusing because any site that advertises Ann Coulter's new book is not one I'd spend too much emotional energy on.

What I need now is your stories of something so ridiculous but was strongly believed by someone else.

after the fireworks

Tonight fireworks blaze on each side of the darkened streets. As I drive the streets I see children up past their bedtime, faces aglow with the excitement. I'm mesmerized by the sight and sound of it all.

I hope these little ones keep this spine tingling feeling all their life. Remember those small moments when your family was happily gathered together. Never let your dreams dissolve in to the night sky. Your potential is as bright as the fireworks reaching upward.

ridiculous thoughts

Before I head out of town, I have a parting thought regarding pant buttons. The last two days I have worn pants that button on the opposite side from what I am used to. Yesterday I noticed something slightly awry. Today it was down right annoying. My hands are not used to moving that way and it almost made me want to drink less water. It did get me thinking about the merits button uniformity but I'm too lazy to start a campaign. I had always assumed that pants buttoned in the same direction but perhaps lefties are demanding equal treatment. I did hear sometime in my life, whether or not it is true, that men and women's dress jackets are buttoned on opposite sides from the other. I am too lazy and tired to actually google this factoid. If it is true, I wonder how they decided which side each gender received.

wayfaring strangers

As I listen to Johnny Cash sing the post title, I think of my roommates. We're literal strangers sharing the same space, a space I don't enjoy sharing. My flatmates are not that bad. They fair better than the one that rarely slept at home unless her boyfriend was also sleeping there. He had the audacity to leave the toilet seat up during his late night urinating. Jerk! I knew living with her would be a disaster when I saw our bathroom plastered in faux leopard print. I almost burst in to tears. There was also the roommate that didn't know how to clean and didn't seem to understand that dishes went in the dishwasher. She watched television non-stop on the first t.v. I ever purchased. One of my current roommates doesn't take out the trash, leaves crumbs on the counter, rarely unloads the dishwasher and has yet to clean the kitchen or vacuum but she's nice so I forgive her. My biggest problem is the air conditioner fights. I don't know who is doing it but there is a constant battle over the temperature. We don't talk about it but it's constantly changing. I finally managed to figure out how to set the program so I changed everything for good (unless one of them already knows how it works or decides to read the instructions). I even set it so it wouldn't start getting really cool until after midnight to avoid sneaky fingers making it warmer. Back me up people, who wants to sleep in a house that is 26 C (80 F)? They let it hover around that temperature all day. It's already 29-35 (85-95) degrees outside. I managed to get it much cooler in my house and was so excited for my first non-hot and non-sweaty sleep since summer began. About 5 a.m. I awoke, burning up, confused because it should have been at least 22 C (72 F) which is still fairly warm. I walked to the thermostat only to discover it had been turned off. Blast! Is their blood so thin that they don't feel the heat under their blankets? We're not 80 year old Floridians or Arizonians. Who likes that much heat? I'm losing the battle. I'm not sure how much talking will change the problem, as people have different hot and cold preferences This whole marriage and compromise idea becomes less and less appealing.

The difficulty I have is not wanting to spend the bulk of my paycheck on living, thus the need for roommates. However, my sharing threshold is reaching its maximum. The current solution is to move in with a friend that shares my same air conditioning ideals. Saldy this is several months down the road when summer is cooling off. I'm curious as to the biggest frustration others experience with inhabiting a house with someone else. Perhaps my problem is only minute in the scheme of things. I do envy those that live alone.

it's too late

Sometimes I am reminded that I am becoming more like my parents. The other day my doorbell rang at 10:00 p.m.. I went to open the door and there was a kid trying to sell something. The phrase "it's very late to be ringing my bell" sprang to my head but my mouth said "No thanks." What I found amusing is that the way I said it in my head is exactly how my mother would have said it out loud... her intonation, accent, pauses. I am assuming that down the road these phrases will no longer be running through my mind but will be out of my mouth.

I still can't figure out why a parent allowed their nine or ten year old child to ring houses so late at night. I used to get turned away at 8 p.m. on Hallowe'en. My folks barely tolerated sales people at our door past the same time. It was baffling. Less baffling is that as I've aged I'm more accepting and even appreciative of my genetic and socialized self. As a teenager I struggled so much to be an individual (only to be a conglomerate of my friends) that I tried to be "unKelly-like." I wasn't really fooling anyone. I'm very much a Kelly and can finally embrace that. Another benefit of aging.

all you can eat

Last night I discovered that I am doing my grocery shopping all wrong. I usually go on my own, straight after work and make little eye contact. Last night I shook things up and went on a brief shopping excursion with my friend. It was getting late so we stopped in at the local grocers closest to the BYU campus. We were so engrossed in our conversation regarding hair conditioner that we didn't notice two lurking males. While we were discussing the merits of 85% more shine, 65% more fullness or 70% more body, a tall young fellow told us that the 99 cent Suave was the way to go. After glancing at his red raspberry shampoo, I suggested he go with the more manly smell of "kiwi lime." I assured him it would change his life, as his short roommate looked on. He heeded my advice and after some friendly banter, Jo made her decision on conditioner and we moved on. A few minutes later we were perusing the sunblock options when a man came over to us and complimented me on my glasses. He stood there, awkwardly looking at sunscreen that he had no intention to buy but trying in vain to think of something else to say. Jo and I had more important things to take care of, such as me dancing and both laughing to wait for another question. We went off to pay and rehashed our eventful trip.

The conclusion to my evening was that shopping with a buddy, late at night, with singles milling about makes for some interesting experiences. Also, it never hurts to buy cute glasses. So, when you need a little boost and something to laugh about, heed this experience...

let's get physical

For a good portion of my life I was fairly allergic to exercising. I would go on the occasional hike, do some yoga, and every once in a while go for a jog. Then a time would come when I would be determined to get in shape. It would last maybe a month or two and then become dormant until the next flash of inspiration. Well, for the last four months I've stopped my sneezing and sniffling toward working out. I think that this time it may actually stick. I've discovered that there is nothing more exhilarating than running further than I ever have before or pushing my limit in spin class. Training for a half marathon has given me a goal I never thought plausible. Growing up asthmatic often put a damper on heavy exercise. Now I've gone from hating running to craving it. The benefits of exercise are clear, yet we often neglect the negatives.

Rolling out of bed at 5:30 to make it to spin class is less than thrilling. Stiff calves from running are a literal pain but the absolute worse part of exercise is the increase in laundry. I realize that most of the people in my life are busy doing laundry on a daily basis because they have kids. However, doing more than a couple of loads a week is a major annoyance to me. Daily workouts mean stinky clothes that demand my attention. They're also picky and need to be hung to dry. Someone should really invent workout clothes that can sustain multiple wearing before washing. It sounds gross but would be really convenient.

Let's hear them... pros and cons of exercise. Is it love/hate, just love or just hate?

traveler's song

I think it's pretty clear that I need to travel more. *Sigh




create your own visited country map

papa don't preach

Today is our family photographer's birthday. War often broke out during family photo sessions, like the time my brother pushed me over while swearing about something. I believe this was the same weekend his now wife was meeting us for the first time. It's a wonder she ever came back. Often one sibling or another would storm out, only to have to come back minutes later to paste on the fake smile. Even with this knowledge, our regular photographer often chose to test out new equipment on us. Several hours would be spent waiting for it to be figured out, only to get prints back that were less than stellar. I remember the blue backdrop he bought, the light reflector thing, new flashes, but all in all, my dad is a pretty good photographer. Now family photos only happen at weddings, so we don't have to worry about that for a long while. Family fighting is kept more to the little ones and the main goal now is just to have everyone in a shot with fewer than two people closing their eyes and only one crying kid.

Back to my dad... he has several roles in our family. He's the captain (but only when he's sailing), the photographer, the paper editor (when I was in school), the softy grandpa and the tease (only because I'm such an easy target). This got me thinking about the roles each of us play in our family. Some have more clearly defined roles, such as the peacemaker or agitator but I've noticed roles have changed in my family as we've all gotten older. All of my siblings also have the role of mother or father, along with daughter/son, wife/husband, brother/sister, aunt/uncle. It's got to be rather confusing! What is interesting is to see how roles change with the person. My dad was always a sweet softie with my mom but never mushy with us (although it does creep in with his grandkids). I also relate differently with each of my siblings. Relationships are interesting things.

I think I really like Sailor Dad, as the sea air makes all of us cheery and it's inspiring to see how much he's invested in this hobby. Side note: Sailor Dad wasn't so cheery during one trip when he had gout. I preferred to say he got "grouch." Editor dad was pretty handy too when I needed help with university applications and when introductory English papers had been badly procrastinated. Happy birthday dad, thanks for always giving me a hand.

By the way, I see my future favourite role as cool Auntie. I plan to hedge all the other Aunties out by spoiling my nieces and nephews rotten when I am a mega-rich therapist (but I think that's an oxymoron). What is your favourite role?

farmer chords

What happens to a city girl when she spends a weekend in the country? Well, a lot actually. I discovered that hours aren't wasted and that you get up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday to hike a massive American flag up to its proper place. Apparently you can't let the flag touch the ground so we all held on to it while it was hoisted up. I was a respectful Canadian and actually appreciated their patriotism.




This peak is right beside Kristina's parents amazing property.


Later in the afternoon, I was initiated in to true jeeping. When I wasn't scared silent, I screamed/giggled. I like to call it the sciggle. The climb to the top nearly put me over the edge but replaying the Titanic calmed my nerves.















The jeeps got to the top but the bigger concern of mine was getting them down. The drivers were fairly calm, don't you think?

I'm not quite sure how we made it down as my eyes were closed for most of it. I'd rather be surprised if we rolled.

Sunday was even more of an initiation to Vernal life. We hiked to some petroglyph's which ended in us wading through the river to get home in time for Sunday dinner. They were quite amazing. I don't look quite as amazing but rather than believe I'm not photogenic, I'll blame the photographer.
Later that night I was up close and personal during a horse surgery. See, I'm the kid whose parents actually paid people to let me ride their horses. I went to several horse camps... a city kid pretending to be country. So, keeping in line with the country initiation, the vets chose me to be the one to drip saline (I think) on the horse's stomach. Apparently it keeps it from drying out but I didn't want to ask too many questions, as their hands were literally full of guts. I think the ranchers knew the nervous looking gal in flip flops had no clue what she was doing. My true colours continued to show when we went to feed a calf. Dave was pouring store bought milk in to the bottle and I said "We're giving it human milk?" I was greeted with a pause then a "What kind of milk do we drink Aislinn?" Yeah, that would be cow milk. In my defense, I thought they would give the calf some special cow milk, not just the kind I can pick up at the local grocers. As an aside, it's kinda gross when a cow nibbles on your finger.

The last day I tried to be more country by helping Kristina's dad change the wheel lines. The biggest help we were was looking pretty for the camera. Then it was off to do some target shooting. I have never shot a handgun before and I was rather nervous. However, after I shot the lid off a bottle with a 9mm I felt rather cool. Some say luck, I say raw talent!

Kristina and I could easily be the next Charlie's Angels. I'm not sure who the third angel would be, because we're really angelic enough.




I was exhausted by the end of the weekend but enjoyed every minute of it. Being outside, away from all the noise is good for the soul. It was also refreshing to do something out of the ordinary, especially something that was so enjoyable. I appreciated how much work that lifestyle requires. I was sleeping in when I got up at 7 on the weekends.

Next goal: herd some cows!

missing

I should be sleeping but I'm not. I was needing some reminders of home, friends and family. While looking through all my pictures, I was drawn to this one.

My dad took this picture of two of his granddaughters, cousins, sweeties. I love this picture. As the sun is going down two little girls talk, laugh and play. Their unknown future stretches before them. Their conversation will soon be forgotten but the moment is captured forever.

Reminds me to live more in the moment, take time to play and love...