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...

no, not now

I had thought that Tuesday would be a perfect day for my Memorial Day weekend recap but it's not. First of all, I don't have the pictures from Kristina's camera. They are needed to really showcase the events. Secondly, I had a day from hell at work so I don't have the mental energy to be my witty self (ha ha).

All I can say is that it was by far one of the best weekends I've had in quite some time (excluding mine and Lisa's camping trip in March). This city slicker realized how fun it can be to try on the country bumpkin routine. I will leave this post with some pictures from my Zion's trip with Lisa in March. It's only a couple months behind. Perhaps my memorial recap won't take near as long!

do you realize...

...that music is a lot like clothes? Well, at least that's the epiphany I had this morning. I heard that you should purge the clothes you haven't worn in over a year. Organizational "experts" say the likelihood of wearing that garment again is slim to none. It may be resurrected by someone that picked it up at the local thrift shop but it will likely never see daylight on your body again. And therein lies the catch... it's not "you will never wear it again, it's only "likely" that you won't. So you hold on to that top from the late 90s because maybe, just maybe it will be fashionable once more or you may fit in to that pair of jeans again. Let's face it, even though the 80s is making a shameful comeback those vintage heels and polkadot dress aren't quite the same as the reincarnations. You end up looking like a fashion victim rather than a fashionista. Several moves has helped me to become quite good at the closet purging. I wish the same could be said for the music vomiting.

I keep my old cd's, I burn them on to iTunes and sometimes I even sneak them on to Vinny. I tell myself that even though a song has not reached my ears in several years, I will listen to it again and like it. Yet, when those songs play on my computer I quickly change it. I just don't dig them anymore. I justify keeping them for nostalgia reasons because sometimes when "I Saw the Sign" or "Red, Red Wine" comes on to the radio, I listen and think fondly of church dances (ironic that the Ub40 song was played at a youth church dance where strong beliefs against alcohol abound). The nostalgia is practically non-existent for my early twenties music. Yet, I just can't delete the songs. The music doesn't require a lot of disc space and you never know when you might need to get your groove on to Nick, Brian, AJ, Howie and Kevin (it was a gift that I thoroughly enjoyed at 21, so sue me). The reality is that it is like nails on a chalkboard now. Likely the music purge will have little long term effects on me. The songs will be dismissed as easily as my awful overalls that met their fate in 2001. And still my hand shakes and I falter as I attempt to hit "clear forever." I-just-can't-do-it.

bird's eye view

I remember a little poem my father taught me as a child

Little birdie in the sky, dropped a doo-doo in my eye. Me big girl, me don't cry, me just glad that cows don't fly.

Exiting the gym after my early morning workout last week, I saw not one, not two, not even three bird shats on my car. It was a machine gun hit from the front all the way to the rear of my car. My friends had parked on either side of me and their cars were sparkling clean. Grumbling and sweaty, I attempted to get the white turds off my windshield using my wiper blades only to discover I was out of washer fluid. Smeared crap blurred my view until I could successfully clean it off. I swear I get hit more because my car is silver. I have been unsuccessful finding proof but it never fails that it is my car. Stupid birds.

I'm a forgiving lass though. Yesterday I came to the rescue of a hummingbird stuck in my friend's window. We managed to get the little thing back in to the open air, free as only a bird can be.

touching you, touching me

Huggers and touchers and sweeties, oh my! I really, really like hugs but I really, really dislike hugging people I'm not close to. Take for instance the person you barely met that gives you a hug and then embraces you again when you leave. This person can be the same sex or the opposite sex. It doesn't matter, they hug without discretion. I currently have one of those in my life. She is really kind and she's Canadian, so I don't quite have the heart to tell her to back off the hugging.

Then there was a luncheon last week with a constant toucher. The chap may have been trying to get some of his physical needs met by constantly touching me but I didn't think it was near as entertaining as he. There are also those folks that find pushing you over or slamming in to your back amusing. Guess my co-worker missed the memo. Note to all employees: Non-reciprocal pushing and shoving is not appropriate in the workforce (nor outside of it). It is not entertaining and Aisy wants it to stop.

Tonight while shopping a nice clerk boosted my self-esteem by letting me know I was a sweetie. Although I don't think I've seen her before, we must be close because she called me hon several times. Well, sweeties, I'm off camping for a night for work, so hons, I'll check back later. Have a good night sweeties.

money

Today I made a cool five cents with minimal effort. All I had to do was drive back to the Mac store and return earbuds that were purchased 30 days earlier. I'm sure it didn't cover the gas but I'll take it. Apparently the sales tax on April 12 was five cents less than it was today. Go figure!

It's rather pathetic how much this made me smile but I am rarely graced with fortuitous events. My father has won a television and a stereo, yet the Calgary Stampede dream home still eludes him. The last time I can remember winning anything was a cake during the cake walk at my elementary school fair (along with half the school). I'm not quite sure why I still get that flutter of anticipation when tickets are being drawn. It's never my ticket, it's never my name and yet, I have that faint hope... only to feel the excitement drain out of my body. The winner smiles and his/her friend says "Man, you always win something." It seems to me that there are two kinds of people: prize winners and non-prize winners. There has to be a lucky gene just waiting to be coded by scientists.

The question is... are you feeling lucky?

the sounds of science

Ms. Kaz sent a link today about a truly unorthodox way to cure asthma and allergies. I had seen a show several years back using a similar technique (sans the feces) to help with several autoimmune disorders but hadn't heard much since. I'm still not sure how keen I would be to walk in human dung to rid myself of the lifelong pain I've experienced having asthma but I'm one of the lucky ones. I only had several bad bouts as a teenager that required two to three hours in the emergency room. My mother patiently waited, read, and snoozed through my treatments. Even then my asthma seemed mild to some of the young kids I would see getting treatments. Nothing was more tragic than seeing a young infant in an incubator with oxygen and ventolin flowing through it. As I got older, my asthma became more manageable and now I rarely require my ventolin. Sure there are those amusing moments when my wheezing is mistaken for a hissing cat but that is easily remedied with a few puffs of medicine. An asthmatic just learns to carry their ventolin at all times... just like keys.

This story touched a nerve for several reasons. My first job out of university was working with children diagnosed with autism. I saw numerous parents searching in vain for something, anything, that might help their child become "less autistic." You could see the hope with a new idea and the devastation when it didn't work. More recently I've been supporting my close friends as they've struggled to even figure out what the medical issue is so that they can find appropriate treatment. But the situation that hits straight to home is a health issue my family has struggled with for many years. It's not a life threatening disease but it has still been a long and painful journey, one that modern medicine has yet to be able to reverse. There has been a lot of traditional and non-traditional interventions and some tremendous sacrifices made to help the situation.

When I think of all these people, the common thread is that there is very little that they wouldn't try in hopes that it would help. As a society we've come such a long way as far as treating medical problems and yet, we still seem so far away. At what point do we give up and say we've done all that we can do? How far do we go to find that one cure? It's the realization that medicine will only get us so far, as we simply cannot control or fix everything. There will always be situations that seem unfair or senseless. Yet, life has an amazing ability to find balance. Just as there will be misery, there to will be joy. In the midst of the frustration and tears our family has felt over the illness, there is still laughter. I strongly believe it has created a deeper unity in our family and made us more appreciative of what we do have. Maybe we all need to have our own Cameroon experience... revel those moments when you walk in crap, as you might just find what you need.

this place is a prison

As I pulled in to my garage yesterday, a woman quickly jumped out of a van and asked to talk to me. She identified herself as a bounty hunter, showed me a wanted sign, and asked if I had seen the man in the picture. My response was "no", my thought was "why does she think I know him?" She asked me how well I knew the people living beside me or the cars they drove. I, of course, knew nothing about them. I just haven't gotten around to throwing that block party, let alone waving at neighbours. Ms. Bounty Hunter told me that my next-door neighbour is dating the man in question. Apparently I can receive a reward if I call in with any information. Maybe it's time for me to throw a party.

Guess this town isn't so sleepy after all!

drink to me, babe, then

If you don't want to drink to me, then drink to avocados. I've never been a fan of that greenish goo until recently. I still can't eat them plain but I've discovered the best way to eat a wrap that absolutely must have an avocado. This new fetish started out so innocently when I was in Moab. I ordered a vegetarian wrap and the woman forgot the avocado. It just didn't taste right and I was fixated on it all day. When Kris and I got home we promptly made our own. It was a wheat wrap with hummus (I recommend the red pepper hummus), bell peppers, mushrooms, spinach, tomatoes and the tour de force... avocados. I have made several since then and it never fails to please. The most recent edition featured havarti cheese. My mind is constantly drifting to different foods I can add avocados to. What I can't figure out is why I suddenly like them. They've always been high on my "do not eat" list, almost tied with olives. All I know is that I think about them A LOT. I also know I still HATE olives.

Someone said recently that our taste buds change every eight years. I think it's crap but I am curious to see if eight years down the road I'll start obsessing over olives. I'd just like an answer as to why our tastes change. However, I'm too focused on making another wrap to go research it.

what i'm looking for

Today I had my very first date since moving back to Utah. I've heard that there are a plethora of eligible young men in my vicinity eager to date, apparently not to date me. My bad luck could be due to spending most of my time with married folks with little single networking or perhaps I am just a hideous beast. I'd like to believe it's the former but only time will tell.

Anyway, to fully appreciate my situation I think it is time to come out of the closet to my readers. No, I'm not an expletive dyke, as a client called me today, I'm a (gasp) online dater. Last year I joined LDSLinkup. It's really like marijuana of the online dating world. You get coaxed in to it by the sell that "It's a networking site. Married people are on it too. You don't have to use it to date." I've not only heard this but I've said it in a vain attempt to feel better about my choice. However, I believe that all single people, and perhaps some not so single people, have perused that site looking for a potential date. I have to admit that two good things have come out of it... Ange and David. After some time being on the link, I decided to start phasing myself out of it. I was on the verge of pulling my profile when my married friends came up with a "bright" idea. They not only thought I should stay on it but I should take the online thing further. Their stance was that this form of dating had become more and more accepted. They believed that plenty of normal people were on such sites and that if they were single it would be the way to go. My "favourite" thing about married people is that they can say what they would do if they were single but with an automatic by because they're currently attached. My true favourite thing about my friends is that they always have my best interest at heart. So, as time wore on I started to open my mind. Suddenly that heroine didn't seem so dangerous. What harm could it really do? I acquiesced and signed on to a dating site for one month.

The first "flirt" I received was from a 55 year old man. If I thought it appealing to date my dad, he might have stood a chance. I brushed it off and pushed on. I still wasn't really in to it but saw first hand success with friends. After a few emails from one young fellow, I finally caved and gave my number. I wasn't too stoked but again, I was working on my closed mindedness. The phone call was slightly awkward but I wondered if I was just trying to find something wrong. Apparently I'm picky which is confusing to me, as it's hard to be picky when there's nothing to choose from! Going back to the date... the first red flag was when the date revolved around just a movie. The second red flag was that it was at the dollar theatre. The third red flag was telling me I was cute. I typically take this as a compliment but when you've never met in person and have only talked for mere minutes, it makes for a most uncomfortable moment. I decided we needed to change the location. Dinner and movie is fine but just a movie is the most ridiculous way to get to know someone. The location was changed to Jamba Juices. I was tied up at work and at 5 minutes past the hour, he called to see if I was on my way. I thought I had at least a 10 minute window to be late but maybe he was just anxious. {For the record, I hate being late}

As we stood in line to get juice, I pondered how I got myself in to this. I'm working on being a nicer person (plus I was admonished by my father) and my blog is more to mock myself, so I won't go in to all the gory details. Bottom line is that it was awkward, I wasn't always sure how much he was listening and well, he had warts on his hand. He was nice but I have some ideas regarding social hierarchies. Theoretically I am appalled by such a thought, but realistically, we are in different castes. He asked if we could go out again and my instinct was to do the "um, well, okay" and never return his call. However, after the ministry airplane ride, I decided to buck up. I gently told him that I didn't think we had much in common and were in different places in our lives. The honesty felt good, the look in his eyes felt bad. This was my first taste with the hard drugs and I'm starting to think I need to quit all of them... even pot. Perhaps I need to give meth a try or even ecstasy but I think I may be a drug-free kind of kid.

I'm not judging online dating. I know a handful of people that have had success with it. I'm just not convinced I will be one of them. I can't fully embrace the idea and thus it clouds my experiences. As I close this post, my embarrassment dwindles. So few secrets left for my blog... Sometimes coming out of the closet is the best way to truly accept oneself. {Holds breath as she hits Publish Post}

he's a missionary man

As we know, things can happen when you fly. I've always been such a carefree flyer with little distraction but the last two times I have sat beside less than desirable plane partners. The first experience involved a married man that was just a little too sweet. He failed to recognize that the unwanted touching was not being reciprocated. Then yesterday I sat beside a young man coming back from a ministry in Los Angeles. I found this out within five minutes of sitting down beside him. Oh crap... I think he's going to want to talk to me. He asked if I could spare him a few minutes to talk and in my attempt to be nice I stated "Okay, just a few as I do want to read my book." I knew in the back of my mind that a few minutes would become the whole flight and kicked myself for not being completely honest. No, I really don't want to get in to a conversation. My book and music are more appealing, but thank you for asking. I'm going to kill Kris for checking out and putting on her headphones. That's the last time she gets the aisle seat. I was completely uninterested in the discussion as I knew he wouldn't convert me to his religion and he certainly had no interest in mine. His approach was totally off-putting. It revolved around guilt, fire and brimstone and humans inherent "badness." He wasn't too pleased when my response to "how was that for you" was "I don't really appreciate approaches that put me on the defence or attempt to make me feel guilty. I think preaching the positive aspects of spirituality get you further." He wanted to belabor his point of why it works but I was done. I ended it as politely as possible just as the plane hit the ground... longingly looking at Vinny and The Time Traveler's Wife.

I was trapped with no way out, he could not read my non-verbal cues (or chose to ignore them), his breath stunk, it was a wasted conversation and I was frustrated because I didn't just say no!

Are planes breeding grounds for getting trapped? Are there better places to trap someone? Have you been trapped or gotten out of one? I'm beginning to think me and planes might not mix.

today is such a special day

There is a great person I know who is celebrating a birthday today. Her behavior hasn't always been great, like the time she was grounded from playing Pacman on the Atari due to swearing or the time she threw a large jug of water on a kid (but he can be very bratty). She says some of her words funny, like tomato. She's taught me some good phrases like "lovely" or "just a titch" or "bloody hell" (okay the last one is a lie). Sometimes she gets frustrated with me because she'll say "that looks okay" but she really means "that looks good" and so I say "well is it just okay or is it good?" She doesn't realize that her subtlety, likely due to being British, feeds in to my neurosis. Well, she does realize it but forgets in the moment. Then she laughs at me and says "I forget how careful I have to be with you about the words I use." Unlike my one lie, this is true... it just happened this week regarding my new glasses.

She grows a mean garden and is a fabulous cook. I think her best quality is that she is loyal and devoted. Today I ate some Weetabix in her honour. Thank you to SuperTarget for carrying it down here in the USofA.

Happy Birthday Mum. I love you!

(Seeing as half of my family (excluding in-laws) celebrate their birthday within a week of each other... Happy birthday little brother that had the water deservedly thrown on him and happy birthday older sibling twins).
The cutest bird watcher I know!