coldplay 2006

funny story (or i like to think so):

in february 2006 cam and i went to a coldplay concert. it was a rootin time, and i can only imagine how fabulicious this tour is, since X&Y is a horrible album in comparison to Viva la Vida. anyway cam had been getting on sarah's case and mine for periodically dropping the "d-word" and "h-e-double hockey sticks." he had in fact given me a mini-lecture that very afternoon. when cam was trying to park the car in the hotel garage, we were having the uncomfortable sensation i imagine a turkey would have trying to squeeze through a doggy door. not seeming to fit, and almost kissing the car parked next door, cam let out the following word:

Scheiße

i had a friend at byu (or i guess i should say i do have a friend...it's not like we've had a falling out...i just never see her anymore and have no clue where she lives) who had lived in germany as a child and from time to time would drop curse words in her mater tongue. so i knew what that word was, from whence it came, and what it meant.

me: (laughing instantly) cam! do you know what you just said?!
cam: huh?
me: where'd you get that word?
cam: i dunno, my friend at school says it. it's like instead of "crap."
me: i know! it's german for "_ _ _ _"!
cam: (red in the face) ah. i see. (trying not to smile)
me: (quoting him from that morning's lecture) you know, you should really think of what a nice young person like yourself sounds like when inappropriate words come out.....

i miss cam. he goes to ecuador 1 week from today. bon voyage, pal.

i'm not a whiner. or a wine-o.

the term wine-o just cracks me up. i just recently heard of it for the first time and suddenly everyone and their aunt jemima seems to be saying it! good times.

anyway, i'm not a whiner, either. i just have this little thing to say:

confession: i hate cooking. as far as i'm concerned, cooking can take a long walk off a short bridge. but not all cooking, because i love food cooked for me, i just refer to the cooking that i am asked to do. someday i'll find a homeboy that i want to spend the rest of my life nurturing and cooing over, but never cooking over. someday i'll have muffins of my own and i will love them more than myself, but not enough to cook for. it's the sad truth, or so i like to tell meredith, version 2008. but it's for their benefit! really! i'm no good at it. while a student at byu i went a full 8 months basically living on protein bars. by the end of it i was in desperate need of chlorophyll, but gee heck, i was alive and kicking and had a bit of muscle definition. then i went home for summer and sobered up a bit, thanks a la meri eaton's steady purchasing system in the produce department. but anyway my roommates that year of college had teased me that i'd settle down with a picket fence and when my husband came home from the office and my kids scampered in with dusty knees i'd be in an apron, unwrapping promax bars and placing them on plates, calling in a sing-song voice, "supper's readyyyyyy!" whichever roommate HADn't just told that joke (again) would chortle in agreement and i'd give a chuckle and think, "yeah? so??"

why do i stink at it? i don't know. i follow the instructions. i just don't have the....the cooker's wrist, shall we call it. those in the cooker's wrist club know how to drizzle olive oil, can knead bread dough, get the pit out of an avacado without destroying the edibles, know how often to turn over the grilling chicken without burning it and somehow making all the greased qualities you'd initially given the pan STAY AROUND so the chicken doesn't start to leach on to the teflon. *pant pant pant* i'm getting sweaty palms just remembering the last time i tried to grill chicken. and chicken i don't even want to eat. bleh.  since most of the blogs i read are done by mommies sometimes i happen upon a post that has a detailed description of what dinner will be and my inner alarm system cries out in desperation, "ABORT ABORT ABORT."  sigh.  i'm sure it's all so very tasty, but the idea of actually preparing it in truth begins to make it start to repulse my stomach and taste buds.  how can that be?  i'm just...i'm just a mess is what i am.  :)

it's something not unlike holding and/or burping a baby. i can do that. i can do an ok job as in i know to hold the head, i was initiated into the irvine babysitting brigade at age 11 (for other paying people...i suppose i was an eaton babysitter from the age of 6), i know how to keep them elevated and i know how to love love LOVE them to pieces. kinda like i know how to keep the rice from actually catching fire.  but i don't have that MOMMY HOLD down and i don't have the method to make it taste MOUTHWATERING down. it's like as soon as you bring a baby home in a car seat you just KNOW how to hold a wee bairn so they not only love the crap out of you, but they are so comfy they could fall asleep in the middle of a "monster ballads" concert. i've seen it myself countless times. especially with elizabeth. in the 90s we'd go babysitting together and be about on the same level of infant-know-how-iness. but the day her first nugget was born i called her at the hospital and she was somehow...different. her voice was just different! my big sister had become even bigger, and before mine own ears! i love her for many reasons, one of the top ones being what a wonderful mummy she is, but it's something i won't be able to share with her for a while. we share almost everything else, except for kris jex and vegetarianism, but it's like she became a mommy and just KNOWS how to hold any baby now, the chip was implanted with the epidural or something positively sneaky like that. every baby, like every version of a spinach salad, is a bit different, but elizabeth could not only make every single one of the babies on earth sweetly secure in her arms, but she could martha stewart the spinach off every spinach salad posted on www.recipes.com.

how does one acquire the cooker's wrist? to h if i know, because my elizabeth-mom-chef theory is not a blanket one.  rachel ray is not a mother and word on the street is she really knows what she's doing.  in 30 minutes, even!  that giadi gal was whipping up culinary perfection long before her baby girl was brung.  it can't be limited to mommy-dom endowments of knowledge. practice? please don't tell me it's practice, because in that case i have been practicing for YEARS and it definitely is not making anywhere NEARLY near perfect. it's way below the equator of perfect. and i'm ten times more a ragamuffin than a perfectionist, but if i'm going to mess up my mascara by chopping onions, and if i'm going to handle dead animal innards for the ones i love, it better make their tastebuds sing a song of joyful satisfaction.  so far all i've heard is crunching.  slow crunching.  i crunch reluctantly, as do they.

another thing: fruits? there. veggies? done. mother nature put them there in its fresh and delish form, throw it in the microwave with some water in the bowl or eat the apple and stop when you see seeds. humus? you buy it at the store or if you're in irvine and dad has a minute you throw chickpeas and other stuff in the quisinart and BAM!  i'm happy with my limited abilities and feel nourished.

maybe the love i should at some point feel for a certain choice dude + spawn would be enough for me to at least try to move beyond humus and broccoli. i'm willing to consider the possibility. as for  and until that moment, i'm 100% thrilled with the knowledge that my dinner tonight will be the product of the blood, sweat, and tears of some professional, and placed in front of me piping hot for my indulgence.

how's THIS for a sign?

i keep a stick of deoderant in my glove compartment. just in case. today i used it and stuck it in the driver door handle knook for speed purposes.

today, due to the inhuman heat of the desert, my precious, brand SPANKING new stick of clicking deoderant, exploded all over my car door.

i was so disgusted i stuck my nose up, drove around leaning far to the right, and chose to ignore the aforementioned catastrophe until at least 5:30 pm. when i imagine cleaning this thing i see a plastic spoon, lysol wipes, and grumbles.

i'm so not long for the vegas world.

when i was like, 17 i saw a movie called fools rush in. maybe you've seen it, and if you have, i'd have to be a little bit surprised, because if i do recall correctly it didn't do so hot in the theaters. como se dice "migraine for studio executives"? but just like she's the man, charlie bartlett, enough, and loads others, i am such a sucker for movies like these because they're easy. easy squeezy entertainment. they don't require too much thought, they spell it all out for you not unlike your kindergarten teacher. they always end happy, and include 2938 cliches. so when i'm tired and can't offer up the deserved attention span to a deep character developing movie like darjeeling limited, i go for a lovable flopper. did i mention after the 2nd time watching these movies are incredibly quotable? "darling, they fell in love! and looooove....is a beautiufl thinnng...." which is why in my personal DVD library i've already blasted "frequent use" scratches onto my personal DVD of fools rush in. there's already one memorable quote from this movie that has already come true in my life!

Tracey Burnham: Well nobody ever plans to end up in Vegas. You just do. Kinda sneaks up on you.*

*no disrespe-tin' vegas. but seriously folks, if you'd told me 5 years ago i'd live in vegas i'd have told you to alert the presses, you were entering the cirque lodge for detox. anyway, moving on.

salma hayek's character in this movie is deeply religious. She desperately cleaves to fate and signs and waits for one before making big decisions. so as not to bust out any korihor behaviors, (alma 30:43) i'll not start it in seriousity.

BUT. if i did, as to and pertaining to the current decision i think i've made about where to go/what to do, this is what i'd come up with:

-got a speeding ticket from a (kindly) cop returning to vegas from irvine on tuesday. leave vegas.
-the weather was cloudy on wednesday in vegas. my favorite. stay in vegas.
-the albertsons in irvine didn't have samples. stay in vegas.
-the song don't leave home by dido just came on my ipod. go back to irvine.
-the apartment i was going to move into here in vegas when my lease expires in september is not in a ward i really want to be in. leave vegas.

you get the idea. just if i were salma hayek.

JUST to clarify....

1) i am NOT dating the guy in the previous post from my mission. 'twas a joke. he's great, ultra kind and reminiscing mission style with people who were there is something i could do all day long, but this is completely plato style. JUST to clarify. even if there were that sort of vibe on the table, i would have serious issues a) dating someone from my mission and b) he's loads younger than me. in 2001 i dated a guy 3 months younger than me and almost broke out into hives on my bday. i've come a ways since then but am not ready for multiple year age differences. bleh.

2) someone asked me in march if i'd seen any good plays or cirque shows, etc. in vegas. i was horrified to realize that i hadn't! i sort of regret never milking the utah "powder" (as they love to call it) for all it's worth, after all that time i lived in p-town, so i made a hasty resolution:

i would most definitely see 2 vegas shows during the summer, and i would pay for neither.

i am most pleased to report that this friday i will be seeing my 3rd FREE vegas show!

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Engagled

My pals Raime and Phil are getting HITCHED! Woop woop!

And in case we needed further proof as to how teensy the world is, this guy from my mission, Elder Riback, is now an RM and back in his hometown singles ward, Red Rock. Wait, that's MY ward! Now we're free to pick up right where we left off -- I bought some new chapstick.

KIDDING!!!!! JUST KIDDING!!!!!!!

One more thing I forgot I want to accomplish in this life:

Be the one that gets Rufus Wainwright to play for hetero team. Then of course I'll convert and marry him. Is that so wrong?

Conversation with 50-something year old co-worker:

(In the copy room this morning)

She: I hear you have a birthday coming up!

Me: Yep!

She: So you're turning...?

Me: 26.

She: (Eyes bug out) Ooooooh, gettin up there, aren't we?!  Getting into the double digits!

Me: Well, didn't the double digits come 16 years ago?

She: (Looks sideways, straightens her skirt so the zipper is correctly aligned, and walks out of the room.)

If there's one thing that makes my stomach churn and tie in knots, it's when people grumble and fret about their age.  The calendar is what it is, and nothing, save it be the time machine that Chuck Norris invented but immediately destroyed with a swift round house, can change it.  No no, the world shan't stop spinning on its axis, no matter the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth over the age that was and is now gone forever.

Of course, when I was 18 I thought, "Oh my GOSH, when Cam goes on his mission I'll be 26!!!" and that seemed 

a) impossibly far away, so far away it would probably never come and good thing, too, because it is 

2) very very old, and 

d) the one nice thing about it is I'd surely be married to a Venture Capitalist or the future King of England by then and vacationing in Saint Tropez to ring in the new year.  

But then, I  like to think I've done some growing up since then.  I know now I'll not be old until I hit 28 (snicker, snicker, Annie and Elizabeth).  Plus, my mother birthed me at age 26, so that pretty much had to be the most rewarding, entertaining, stupendous year of her ENTIRE life. Why shouldn't this year be the same por moi?

I am amazed, however, at how quickly time does sprint by me.  And it's true what they say - time does indubitably pick up the pace with increasing fervor, no matter what.  2007 went by much more quickly than 2006.  And a few weeks ago in my home ward in Irvine I nearly choked on my Sacrament bread when I realized CADE GUBERNICK had passed it to me.  CADE GUBERNICK.  I was at one of his first public outings when I went to see Twister with Elizabeth and Annie and a bunch of 1st ward people.  I remember he was a little tiny bag of brand new, curled up on his mommy's shoulder, and I thought he was so uncommonly sweet.  Now that little cooing bundle is old enough to be texting the ladies and buying Oxy-10.  I had to fight the impulse over and over again to run up to him after the meeting, pinch his cheeks, and say in a shrill and frumpy voice, "I REMEMBER WHEN YOU WERE YAY BIG!!!"  Because while I am old enough to see kids I babysat hit puberty, I am not too old to remember how hellish THAT conversation is for the one who was yay big.  Dignity, always dignity.

I appreciate the time I've had and the things I've been able to do.  2008 has been a rough year and I'm not thinking it's been easy for everyone else and Wo is only me, but it has been filled with what do I dos and where do I do thems and who do I do them withs.  As I am on the brink of a bday I must, MUST take an inventory of my life.

Dear Me,

Here are the things you've been able to do:

-skydive

-bungee jump

-go to paris, london, mexico, live in costa rica, and 16 of los estados unidos.

-serve a mission

-see 3 of my best friends be eternally strapped to their dream boats

-bond with my nieces and nephews

-learn spanish

-graduate from BYU

-go to many a concert

-be a part of the studio audience for Full House, Leeza Gibbons show and Donny & Marie

-blog! and blog!  and blog!

-gee, lots more stuff.

And here is the wonderful thing about life: while I have gotten some good things under my belt, I have TIME to do the following:

-visit the rest of the countries on the planet

-tour de temples

-learn how to do hair so I can give my future angels mohawks and highlights

-fall in love with the right dude and do something celestially consequential about it 

-get fat and pregnant and then post baby bringing be out of excuses not to join the spin class craze my sister has been bitten by

-make a quilt

-master creme brulet 

-be a bridesmaid 39 more times

-go back to Costa Rica

-write so many short stories they actually warrant being compiled into one glorious hard back book

-buy a patio heater, a plasma tv, a hammock, and a pack of dried mangos in one trip to costco

and heavens, I want to do so much more.  I want to Billy Blanks this life.  If I don't turn 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, etc. I can't do all the things I want to, the greedily indulgent and the noble things.  So bring it.  Bring it on, and I care not if I have to haul double digits and gray hairs along with me.  

And that's all I have to say about that.

By the pricking of my thumbs, something birthday-ish this way comes.

july 11. moi.

guess what.

having 4 days off in a row isn't the best thing in the world.

lack of productive behavior is a voyage of soul gnawing and watch glancing.

i never ever ever ever ever thought i'd say this, but i'm enthusiastic about the prospect of returning to work tomorrow.

p.s. since every blog seems to be reporting on day of independence, i'll throw it in to be cooperative: the 'rents and sally and i went to the reynoldzizzles for, among other things, the best apple pie, the cutest blonde girls running and swirling around the fireworks, and a concierto. thus saith ray charles: i'm talkin about, america, sweet america, God done shed his grace on thee-eeeeee, he-he-he-ee crowned thy good, and with brothah-hoooood, from sea toooo shinin sea!

Balance

What I'm reading right now:

A road-of-mortality-enhancing pleasure

A my-life-will-never-be-the-better-for-it-pleasure.

I'd see it if I were you.

Whatchoo got?

A cast full of familiar and talented and faces*, written by a GENius, and all together an enjoyable cinematic experience. If you know Jim-a-lim Eaton, $10 says you'll agree Dustin Hoffman's mannerisms are so him.



If you have beef with watching R rated movies, get a Clearplay. And if you don't have beef with watching R rated movies, go to Blockbuster or Hollywood Video.

*Dustin Hoffman, Robert DeNiro, Anne Heche, Woody Harrelson, Kirsten Dunst, and a few others that escape me at the moment.

A Feel-Good Wedding

Not a dry eye in the sealing. That's what happens when you're such a wonderful pair, everyone is over the moon about the fact that you're both so happy and so together.

Argyle biking spandex. I was impressed. Only in Irvine.

Bagpiping went down as detailed out and planned to a very clear and crisp T.

Getting swindled by the nail people. I learned the hard way that if they ask you if you want ANYTHING, say with a firm resonance to your voice, "NO." Even when they ask you, "Would you like me to put nail polish on?" I guarantee that by saying that little word that starts with a "Y" you are unwittingly piling $5 more onto your tab. So do as they taught us long ago in 3rd grade and just say no.

I know, the bridal party was about the size of a Liza Minelli wedding.

Can ya believe the flowers??!?!?!?!?