And I will try to fix you

My house (I live in the basement apartment, my landlady lives in the main house above me) got a new AC unit today. As I'm, ahem, working from home for the next hopefully not for very long, I got to observe the maintenance men in their unnatural habitat - someone else's apartment.

Here are the rules of their job that I was previously unaware of:

1. Start work before the tenant (that's me) is even up for the day. 
2. Don't open her bedroom door, so she sleeps peacefully as you work.
3. Creep her out by making her keenly aware that there were people in her apartment while she was sleeping and she had no idea.
4. Prevent her from showering all day. Or even using the facilities in peace, even if she locks the bathroom door.
5. Make very little noise, so she only perceives your presence in the apartment, but doesn't actually sense it.
6. Make her very aware of her single person habits, like eating chips and reading a book while laying on the couch, not because you're going to come into that room, but because you might and if you do, you will judge her.
7. Don't wear deodorant. Eau de Maintenance Man is the best scent ever.
8. When you leave, don't tell her. She'll feel unnerved long after you're gone.
9. Leave a bigger mess than you found, including soaked towels of unknown origins.



This was actually left on my bucket of laundry detergent, but I moved it for my landlady to deal with. I'm nice like that.



Really? You couldn't just flip this back over and move it 12 inches?

10. Fix the AC.
11. Only ask to use her bathroom the first time, but leave the toilet seat up every time.

Clearly, I didn't get a chance to vote on these rules.

Clean up, Clean up, everybody, everywhere

 Was there a chore you really hated doing as a child?

My parents would probably say "all of them". That was probably true at times. Eventually, however, I discovered how much I hate sweeping and mopping. I would clean toilets a thousand times over floors. This, for some reason, is still true. Vacuuming? No problem, so it wasn't all floors. I just don't like sweeping and mopping. It's gross and I never feel like it's clean enough.

At some point, we kids all figured out chores we preferred and I often traded vacuuming with someone else so they would sweep and mop. I've joked on Twitter before that I would trade with someone there who was complaining about doing a chore I didn't mind. I guess I wasn't really joking, because I totally would.

I really hope I marry someone who doesn't mind sweeping and mopping.

And I said hey what's going on

"What's up?"

Functional idiom or outdated nonsensical greeting?

Most of the time I go for the latter. If someone greets me with a question but really just mean "Hi" or "Hello" instead of actually asking me "What's up?" or "How's it going?", why not just say hi in the first place? It's shorter anyway and doesn't necessarily start a conversation you don't want to be a part of.

I even had this conversation recently, when a friend I was on my way to meet called me. Remember, HE called ME.

Me: Hello?
Friend: Hey. What's up?
Me: iiiiI'm on my way to meet you for dinner?

I was so confused. Turned out he was calling to give me the heads up that he might be late because of traffic. That's totally fine, but why not just jump right into that?

Then there's this:


And all variations of that commercial and everything it spawned in real life that resurfaces every now and again. It's done. Done, I say.

Now, I will permit instances like this:

Because it really is a cool sign.

Also, when it's really a question, that's okay too.

Me: Hey Mom!
Mom: Hi Panda! What's up?

But all other instances? I'm done with them, unless you have a good case why I should permit their existence?

All is calm, all is bright

Dear Mssrs. Gruber and Mohr,

Thank you for writing a beautiful Christmas hymn. Stille Nacht has always been a favorite because of it's beautiful melody and simple statement of reverence for the Savior.  I'm sure I'm butchering the language when I sing it in German, but I'm also sure you don't mind.

Gratefully,
Amanda

Dear Mr. Young,

What is UP with your translation? Thanks to you, I JUST figure out what was "round yon virgin" and that "beams" is a verb. A verb!! Trained musicians, particularly vocalists, look for phrase markings and punctuation marks for their musical phrasing, but even they fall victim to phrasing with the sound of the music, and this song DEFINITELY has distinct musical phrasing. Your translation cuts off the phrase and the meaning of the words doesn't exactly follow it.  "All is bright round yon virgin" is totally different from the way people mindlessly sing it - "All is bright. Round yon virgin" The same problem exists with the third verse, which most sing as "Love's pure light. Radiant beams from thy holy face" instead of "Love's pure light radiant beams from thy holy face".  Once again, beams is a verb!? I had no idea.

Fail.

Mostly kidding because I still love this song,
Amanda

Here's a more clear translation of the original German - clicky.  My goal from now on will be to sing this song with the proper phrasing, so that those who hear me sing it will know that beams is a verb.

A verb!

Eight days a week

What a week. Seven tiring days of nothing going as expected. Nothing really bad or life changing, just a long, tiring week.

Sunday, the editor of short film I directed and I met together to finalize our film before submitting it to our bishopric for the stake film festival. There were some weird technical glitches and the fixing of them took almost twice as long as we expected. But fix them we did, and our test screening went swimmingly.

Monday, I was just tired. I finally got back to my dance class after missing for two weeks for various reasons. I also starting my working day at 7 AM, 2.5 hours earlier than usual, and 1.5 hours earlier than I usually even get out of bed. Deadlines at 9:30 AM on a Monday morning are not my favorite.

Tuesday, I was even more tired than Monday, as my long day had caught up to me. I also felt rather oogy in general, for whatever reason.

I was feeling mostly better by Wednesday, but it didn't last. My current dance class is through Northern Virginia Community College, and their dance department was having a little showcase. My class (Advanced Modern) was last, and as I was doing the across the floor combination (a rather fun one I had just learned on Monday) I suddenly found myself flat on my back in the middle of the stage. I don't remember tripping or falling, just landing. As I tweeted, collective audience gasps are rather surreal when they're for you. I ran off the stage and the showcase continued, but I did end up going to bed with a headache.

Thursday was going really well. I didn't feel oogy at all, just a little sore and bruised. Until, of course, my cataloger came into my office and we exchanged our usual pleasantries:

Cataloger: How are you?

Me: Good, thanks. And you?

Cataloger: I'm good. You don't look so good.

Me: Oh . . .

I decided that it must have just been my tiring week manifesting itself in my demeanor, because I really did feel well enough.

We've already discussed Friday.

Today, I slept until 11 AM, did some cleaning (including those dishes and clothes), and then took a little nap. This evening was the aforementioned film festival, which I was looking forward to. During the opening announcements, however, a list of guidelines and themes each film was suppose to adhere to was read, so the audience knew what to look for. This was the first anyone in our ward, even our bishopric, ever heard of these guidelines, and, of course, our film didn't really fit. It was still entertaining, but I was embarrassed and annoyed, as were the other members of our crew, that we hadn't followed the "rules", even if it wasn't our fault.

We did, however, win the "Best On Location Shooting" for "following" the "This is the Place" theme, since we filmed at 7-11 and Eastern Market, and the MC did try to mention that we hadn't seen the guidelines beforehand. They were all Girl's Camp style awards - the ones made to fit the recipients. I can live with that, and I'm still pleased with the film under all the circumstances of its creation.

Pleased enough that I'll share it with you!



In a few days, I'll be returning home, and I'm looking forward to recharging my batteries, especially after a week like this!

So look out for those beauties oh yeah

Dear Drivers,

In most states (and definitely the ones I have lived or currently live in, I've checked), bicyclists have every right to be on the road as you do. So, be nice and share the road. If you stay to the left, I'll stay to the right. Honking and yelling at us scares the crap out of us, so avoid that, unless you want to startle us and possibly cause an accident. And no, I will not ride on the sidewalk. It's even more uneven than the road, and ends in random places.

Watch out for us, and I'll watch out for you. And we'll all get home safely.

Love,
Me

With the exception of the people who've inspired this letter, I really enjoy riding my bike around. I don't do it as often as I should, but when I actually get out and get a little distance behind me, I love it. The wind in my face, the satisfaction of getting somewhere under my own power, and the endorphins are all just great. I also love knowing that the hard core bicyclists are training on the same streets I ride. It is quite hilly after all.

So biking? Two thumbs up from me. I got eight miles in today, and it felt fantastic.

I am not always on time, please don't expect that from me

I am constantly running 5-15 minutes late. With the exception of things like planes and trains, which will take off without me and I WILL be early for that and you better not make me late or so help me (ask me about the time it took me 24 hours to make a trip that should have taken 5, I dare you), it seems that I am always late. Oh, and I do build time into my schedule to make whatever temple session I'm trying to make, but it always seems a closer call than I might like.

I'm never more than 30 minutes late. If am, I'm probably not coming, it's already been arranged that I will be that late (see my Thursday schedule), or I'm dead on the side of the road. Check for me, will ya? I don't like to make people wait, nor do I like waiting. For instance, the day that The Spy (who just moved out cry), this guy, and I had to wait for my other roommate for at least an hour or more was annoying to us all.

(Side note: She always complained that she hated getting rides because she had to wait for whomever she was receiving them from. I would like to point out that I waited a lot more for her that summer than she did for me. Another pet peeve: Calling me when I'm only 2-3 minutes late just really annoys me (sorry, Mom, I know I did this a lot when I was younger), because I guarantee you that I haven't forgotten or something.)

Also, if work needs me to be exactly on time, I will be. I'll even be early. The days I'm not on time, I stay a few minutes late to make up for it.

Anywho, I recognize that other people's time is as valuable as my own, that Sacrament is best when you're inside the chapel and not in the foyer, and that traffic is a tiny bit faster at 9 AM than at 9:15.

I know this. I hate that I'm late.

I blame, lovingly, my mother. She always found one last little thing to do before we ran out the door (probably because some kid was dawdling) and I got used to having 5 more minutes sometimes. And, now, I do the exact same thing.

It's also her fault, again, lovingly, that I don't get breakfast on the most extreme days of lateness. It was tradition that breakfast was always last after getting ready for the day, and I still subscribe to that theory. So, there are many Sundays, that because I slept in so long and took so long getting ready, that I don't get anything to eat before Church at 1 PM. Yes, I know how ridiculous and unhealthy that is. My mom knows that I blame her for this, and she always laughs at me.

So yeah, I want to improve. I know it takes me at least an hour to get ready for my day (at my sleepy speed), but it's so hard to want to get out of bed in the morning. And, on days that I do get up well in advance, I somehow lose 30 minutes somewhere in my time. The nasty Time Elves come and snatch that time away from me, and then they stick it somewhere in the middle of particularly slow days. It goes something like this "10:45. Okay, I, WAIT how is it 11:30 already!?!? Crap!" And then, on some quiet, turtle-paced Monday, "2:05 . . . GAH! It's only 2:10! How is it still 2 PM at all!?"

I can hit snooze for hours. Having an alarm clock across the room doesn't work for long. Setting clocks ahead just makes me do math, because I know exactly how far ahead it is.

Any ideas?

C'mon darlin', let's go back to bed

This is what my car looked like this morning.



This is what my pants still looked like two hours later (look closely to see how wet they still are).

This is what the floor I'm melting on looks like.


This is what I look like (I'm still cold, and my nose is still crooked).


There are maybe seven or eight people in my entire building that came in today. Schools are closed. Many things are canceled. And, yet, diehard that I am, I am at work.

At least I can play my music as loud as I want. Which I do everyday anyway.

Still a chimp in a suit

A few more thought's about yesterday's adventure.

It didn't dawn on me until after I posted that the song lyric I was used was from a song I heard both on the way to and from the lunch. It's not like I listen to Seether on any sort of regular basis, but I guess it was yesterday's theme song. Usually, the song lyrics I choose are not so coincidental.

Ladies, if you're going to be in public, especially if you're going to be speaking in public, bras are not optional. Sorry.

When the editor of PR News first started speaking, the Father of the Roaming Gnome turned to me and mentioned that she looked really young. I agreed, but realized, knowing the age of most college graduates, that she couldn't possibly be any more than a year or maybe two younger than me, and, since she's an editor and not just an assistant or something (yay her!), she could very easily be older than I am, and holy cow! how old do I look!? It must have been the suit I was wearing. Of course, when I recounted this story today, I also mentioned my plans for the weekend (80s party tonight, grocery shopping and homework tomorrow), it was suggested that maybe it's Saturday's like mine that are aging me prematurely. Super. I'll just hold onto the weekend where a stranger thought I was 18 and a friend thought I was 30.

Finally, I'll never get tired of passing things like the Washington Monument and the Pentagon as I casually drive back to my office. DC is a great place to live.

That I was Thursday's Child

Thursday's have long been my least favorite day of the week. Last "school year", I stayed at work until it was time for choir rehearsal. It made more sense than going home and putzing around until it was time to leave again, particularly since home was not on the way. This did, of course, mean that I was at work from 9:30 AM until 7 PM and wouldn't get home until 10 PM. Not that this is particularly strange, as I am an incredibly busy person, but being in only or two places for that long, mostly sitting - it makes for a long day.

Then I added Thursday night wings. Appetizers are half price after 9 at a local bar and grill, so it became a tradition to go after Institute (for my friends) and choir (for me and a couple other people). I would then get home anywhere from 10:30 to 11:30 PM.

There's been talk with one of my friends to watch The Office after wings. If that happens, I won't be getting to bed (after the viewing party and getting ready for bed) until 1 AM!

Now, this isn't that rare. I'm a night person after all. It's the non-stop that gets me. Even we Type-As need some time to kick back.

But today, I started my spring semester class. So, provided everything I talked about actually happens, here's my Thursday schedule from now until May.

9:30 AM - Work
6:00 PM - Class (on the internet, in my office)
8:00 PM - Rehearsal (which actually starts at 7:30 PM)
9:45 PM - Wings
11:00 PM - The Office

YAWN

Friday mornings come awfully early.

Laughing all the way

In honor of the Festivus "Airing of Grievances", and to borrow a feature often found on Darin's blog, I now present you with my

List of Things That Must Go - Christmas edition

Reindeer antlers on cars - Your car just looks silly. A big SUV with reindeer antlers on the front windows? Silly. A tiny sports car? Silly. I'm all for Christmas spirit, but your car does not look like a reindeer at all. The jury is still out on wreaths on the front of cars.

Bad Christmas music - It seems that Christmas music falls into one of three categories - Awesome, Bad, and Awesomely Bad (like the Shonen Knife song on my playlist). Just because you are a popular music artist does not mean you should record a Christmas album. 20 other people have recorded an equally bad rendition of that same song. What you should do is find Christmas songs that are appropriate for your voice OR write a totally new song!

Christmas without snow - It hasn't really snowed here yet, so it's just gray and cold, and that's not festive. At least the sun is shining, so it's not dismal, and I'm going home to a place where there is, reportedly, a lot of snow.

Do you agree? Disagree? Have grievances you'd like to air? I certainly feel a lot better, now that I've gotten that off my chest. Merry Festivus!

My hands were clenched in fists of rage

This morning, one of my big projects of the year was due. I actually finished most of my part a few weeks ago and once I got some more information, finished another part on Friday afternoon. As people came to library to help pack all the music and get it organized by school, we discovered I needed to re-do Friday's project AND that I'd forgotten to prepare about 18% of the music.

AWESOME. [/sarcasm]

Between running late, re-doing stuff, the copy machine acting up, and running around like a crazy person, I almost lost it this morning. Everyone was really chill about it, but that's because their hard part was about to start. My hard part was coming to a close until April and I had been working on this, and a similar project, for about two months. I was crazy stressed.

Luckily, it all worked out. I managed to bite my tongue and not say anything, because who would I say anything to? Myself? I was the one that messed up. I did that a little bit, but everyone reminded me that it was okay and they jumped to help me out.

The afternoon was a lot more quiet. I cleaned up after the flurry of the morning's activity and wrapped what I need to do with this project for now.

Then it was time for my piano lesson. I've been taking lessons since March or April at least, and I realized that even with the switch in teachers, I don't have a single piece performance ready. There's an event I want to play for in two weeks, and even the piece I've been dabbling at for four years isn't ready to go. (My transitions and a couple passages need a lot of work.)

My lesson is only thirty minutes, and we never get very far with the stop and start method, I asked her just to listen to the piece and take notes on what I need to do in the next two weeks. I got about half through the piece when I paused and she stopped me.

She explained generally what I needed to be aware of (knowing what sounds/shapes I'm playing) and then chose to go back to the first page of the piece (which I can play with my eyes closed) and illustrate her point.

I was frustrated almost to the point of tears. She's been trying to get this concept across to me the whole time I've been with her (since July) and while it's making more and more sense, she's not teaching it in a way that I retain the information very well. We're not going through a theory or lesson book together and what we talk about this week may not be the same piece we work on next week. Sometimes I'll be playing something and she'll stop me, we'll talk about it and work on it, and then she'll say "Hey, what about this piece?" and I'll sight-read (poorly, usually) it and we'll work on that. I never get more than 2 or 3 pages into a piece with her. So, when I have something I want to work on and perfect in a short time, I thought I made it clear that I had specific passages I was concerned about and we should have worked on them, not the two pages that I feel totally confident on.

More importantly, I should say something. Again. And make it clear that I have specific concerns. I am paying her for her services after all. I am an adult and I need to stand up for myself and what I want. I ended up being mad at her and myself by the end of the short, short lesson.

At least the day ended on a positive note. I'm actually understanding PHP in my programming class, I got to play Guitar Hero World Tour for two hours, and then I Skyped with my parents and then my sister for about almost half an hour each. My sister even made me have the best laughing fit I've had in ages.

I'm glad I'm not going to bed cranky, but I certainly spent most of the day that way.

Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans

Ever have one of those days where you end up experiencing the exact opposite of what you expected? I've had one of those weeks.

As most of you know, I love being a member of Mormon Choir of Washington. However, I was beginning to wonder if it was becoming too much and maybe I should next semester off. Then, last Tuesday, I was asked to be the section leader for the second sopranos. After praying and pondering, I accepted earlier this evening. So, instead of no choir responsibility, I now have more than I did, the opposite of what was planned.

I'm the FHE co-chair for my FHE group. Because I have class on Monday nights, my counterpart and I have planned all of our activities through the end of December. So, when we were informed Wednesday of a request that was made of us by our bishop on Sunday for this evening's activity, it threw us for a loop. We scrambled the rest of the week to put it together. I didn't make it until late (reasons below), and I don't know what happened, but apparently the activity still fell apart. A failed, thrown together activity is the exact opposite of a well-planned, much anticipated one.

Then, of course, there's the idea that every commute to work is going to be uneventful. There may be traffic, but that can be planned for. Getting rear-ended was the exact opposite of what I intended. My pretty, pretty car now has a scratch on the rear bumper, and hopefully that's all. We exchanged information and moved on with life. I was shaken and annoyed, but alright overall. The sign at the body shop in the building next to my office said it was open until 6, but when I arrived at 5:30, it was closed. I'll try again tomorrow.

Unfortunately, my back kept getting more and more sore throughout the day. At my dad's insistence, I decided to visit the doctor and get checked out. My piano teacher overheard me make arrangements to miss class and FHE and suggested I visit the Urgent Care in the same parking lot, instead of waiting for hours at the ER.

Had it been any other 30 minutes of my week than the 30 minutes I see her, I would have been stuck for hours. I consider it a blessing and that I was being watched out for. There were no other patients, so I went right in. Urine sample, vitals, reflex check, and some six x-rays, I was told that 1) I was fine, just some muscle pain and 2) to stop running. I'll explain my feelings about that in a future post. I was told to take Advil and given a doctor's note to miss work tomorrow if I don't feel up to it.

So, I'm good. Insurance and everything will still have to straightened out, but at least I and my car are okay. That's life. Always keeps things interesting.

I won't break your heart shaped glasses

Though I might break my new reading glasses. Yes, dear readers, you heard right. My reading glasses. That I'm wearing. In addition to my contacts.

Do you see why this is so distressing!?

I've had trouble with my dry and sensitive eyes for several years now. I've tried quite a few different brands of contacts and solutions and nothing seemed to help for long. Since my prescription had expired and I couldn't get new contacts without it, I went in for an exam two weeks ago and mentioned the dryness. The doctor asked how long I spent in front of a computer everyday. I was hesitant to admit it was somewhere between 7-9 hours, and then realized I was forgetting the hours of studying I do every week. 7-9 hours was long enough, however, for her to give me a disappointed look and tell me I needed "computer glasses". Which is code for "reading glasses". The girl who helped me pick frames didn't even try to hide it.

READING GLASSES!?

My mom has to wear reading glasses, and our prescription is almost exactly mine (which, by the way, was tweaked yet again). The kicker? She got the reading glasses sometime the last few years, and is in her late forties. I'm only in my mid-twenties! Why are my eyes already trying to catch up to hers?

Someone reminded me that I get to rock the sexy librarian look now, which is pretty much every guy's fantasy. Been there. Done that. Was Miss November 2006.


It took me a week to accept my fate and actually order them. I suppose that I really do only have one pair of eyes, and I don't want them to shrivel up like raisins. Also, I did notice that my eyes felt worse on days I was at the computer, comparatively to days I wasn't.

They came in yesterday, and I wore them whilst coding my new website and watching TV. It was the weirdest thing to take off my glasses and still be able to see across the room. I've been wearing them pretty much all day at work today, and yes, my eyes do feel better than they usually do at this time of day. I guess the doctor was right, and I have a third pair of glasses to add to my collection.

What do you think?

Straighten up and fly right

And now! I bring you the exciting conclusion to The Trip That Almost Wasn't:

Ms. [Armstrong]:

Thanks for sharing your recent experience flying with Frontier. It’s very easy to let stress build when you know you are running late and may not make your flight; our agents are unfortunately used to dealing with that stress that boils over when a passenger is told that they are too late to make the flight. At least you were offered the option of flying without your luggage or waiting. Most of the emails I get are from passengers who were told the only option was the next flight.

The reason for the 45 minute cutoff is twofold: (1) to make sure that the passenger has enough time to clear Security (even with a line delay) and reach the boarding area on time and (2) to make sure that the airline staff has enough time to load and balance the luggage; prepare the necessary paperwork such as passenger manifest, boarding list, and other FAA mandated documentation; board the passengers in an orderly fashion; and complete the pilot's check list prior to departure. At 45 minutes, the baggage cart leaves the bottom of the conveyor belt and heads out to the aircraft to commence loading; the computer closes the flight and begin to create the passenger boarding list; and, in most stations, the ticket counter is closed down so that the personnel can complete the other tasks that need to be done to get the flight in the air.

I will forward your remarks to the Washington Station Manager and to the In-Flight Supervisors office for their internal review and resolution. There is no excuse for rudeness – but I feel absolutely sure that the flight attendant was trying to make a joke . . . . one that in a more relaxed state of mind, you might have found amusing. Because of your experiences with our personnel, we will provide a $50 transportation voucher for use on a future Frontier flight. This will be sent via US mail to the address listed in your email, along with instruction for using it.

Thanks for visiting us at frontierairlines.com.

Customer Relations

Not bad. I'm glad they responded so quickly, though I could have done without the part of why they have their policy. I'd mentioned at least twice that I understood that. Oh well. My trip home for Christmas just got $50 cheaper!

Wild, Wild West

(I apologize in retrospect for my recent silence and boring-ness. I apologize in advance for the length of this blog post.)

I love going home. I love being with my family and friends and being back in the mountains. What I do not love is having trouble getting there.

Approximately one minute before I was to leave my office to meet my ride for the airport, the entire district received an email that we were on lockdown due to the tornado warning. We were not allowed to leave our buildings at all. I waited for an hour before the weather cleared and my building supervisor more or less said "It's your life. Good luck." I navigated the out of order street lights and moron drivers, grabbed my luggage, and jumped in my friend's car, only to get stuck in rush hour traffic to the airport. Lovely.

With 26 minutes before I flight took off, I arrived at the airport and had an experience that inspired this nastygram:

To whom it may concern,

I was completely dissatisfied with the customer service I received on my most recent trip. I was running late due to a bad storm and terrible traffic, and I arrived with about 26 minutes before my flight. I understand that there needs to be enough time for my luggage to get on my flight with me, and the need to adhere to policy. What I do not understand, nor tolerate, is being treated with disregard and rudeness.

The first agent at the desk said, curtly, there was absolutely nothing she could do. Either I go without my luggage, I fly out in the morning, or I shop around with the other airlines. In my experience with other airlines, this is a service they have done for me, in order to get me to my destination as soon as possible. Then, while looking up my information, she abruptly left and handed me off to another agent, who stayed on his cell phone for a minute before finally ending his conversation. I had to repeat my story, and he was equally rude about his inability to help me. Once again, I understand policy, but their tone, which was short, annoyed, and demeaning was absolutely uncalled for. I was clearly upset and there was no attempt or to do anything to help calm me down.

Once the decision to fly without my luggage was made, I had less than twenty minutes to get to my plane. I asked if the agent could alert the gate that I was coming as fast as possible and hold the doors as long as they could, to which he said, without apology, "No." I left my bag with a friend and literally ran through security and to my gate.

Once seated, the head attendant got on the intercom and said in a "hypnotizing" tone: "You will all sleep until Denver. You will not bother the flight attendants", emphasis on the word "bother". Now, I won't ask one to shine my shoes, but their job is to make sure we have a pleasant, safe flight. I was not amused.

I do not appreciate such treatment, and will be reluctant to fly with your carrier again.

I was not happy, but I was fairly sure that I had everything with me that I absolutely needed. That is, until I was talking to my seatmate about it and suddenly gasped.

18-year-old Jewish kid: What?

Me: Do you know about Mormons?

18YOJK: Yes.

Me: You know our big white buildings? Temples?

18YOJK: Yes.

Me: Well, we have to be a member in good standing to enter, and we have to have sort of a card that says we are.

18YOJK: Oh, so a "Good Mormon Card"?

Me: Yes. My "Good Mormon Card" is in my luggage.

At least that made me laugh, and I've learned that there are ways (and phone calls to bishops) to get around it if it's not on your person.

The rest of my flights were fine, both there and back. I feel like I know Terminal A of the Denver airport like nobody's business though. I know only London-Stansted, UK, and Hamburg- Lubeck, Germany, better.

I also found that if there's anywhere to go without your luggage and "Good Mormon" paraphenalia, it's Utah and your parents' house. Thursday afternoon, I got to go shopping with my mom and grandma for enough new clothes and toiletries to last through the weekend, on my parents' dime. It was awesome!

That same evening, after some difficulty of getting my parents out of the house (totally raising my mother's suspicions), my siblings and I threw a well attended and happily received surprise 25th anniversary party. Their anniversary was in April, but since we'd been planning this since January, we didn't really do anything then, and my dad had been a little miffed. Not so, now! Everyone had a great time, and my parents were thrilled.

Just after we cleaned up, my brother went to say farewell to a friend who was leaving for a long vacation and lives a block from our house. He took his longboard. It was dark. There was a pothole. The longboard stopped. My brother didn't. Not surprisingly, his collarbone didn't get along with the pavement and quickly became Z-shaped, broken in two places. For those of you who know, this is the same brother (well, my only brother) who shattered his elbow in a bike accident, and had to go home from his mission. Many people haven't been surprised to see him in a crazy sling contraption again, until they realize it's on the right side this time. He should be waking up from surgery right about now. Silly boy. Trumped me for recent trauma tales at the family reunion. However, it is highly entertaining to walk by his bathroom and realize he's stuck getting out of his shirt.


The rest of the weekend went pretty much without incident. Friday was the celebration of my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary, which we spent in the Logan temple and Bluebird restaurant. My brother, being on the Lortab, couldn't be there with us, and I was sad, but I was also overwhelmingly happy that I have the kind of family I would be in the temple with. Saturday afternoon was a family reunion and Saturday evening was a wedding reception for some friends. There I ran into both an old friend from high school and a guy I took on a date here in December who almost immediately left the ward as soon as he'd arrived. Apparently, he moved to Arlington, then back to Utah to date the girl he was at the reception with. High school friend? Super fun! Date with new girlfriend? Not so much. Also weird was the 20 year old sister of the groom and her 60 year old boyfriend (the wedding photographer).

Sunday, we celebrated both my birthday (late) and Father's Day (early) and took family pictures. It was a really chill day, which was extremely nice. Monday was back to DC.

Overall, it was a great time, just maybe a little too adventurous than necessary.

Shut Up and Drive

I knew my car was overdue for a safety inspection. I also knew that whatever noise was coming from the passenger side wasn't normal and I would need to get it checked out. So, reluctantly, I made an appointment at the VW dealership for a safety inspection and a diagnostic on the noise. (I know that taking a car that is not under warranty to the dealership can be an expensive thing, but I had a coupon for a free inspection and I wasn't going to have any work actually done. I thought.) I convinced The Universe to come with me, since he knows more about cars than I do, and he's not someone you want to mess with, should they try to convince me unnecessary work was necessary. Still, I was expecting something like this:

Last night, as I was driving home, I noticed my passenger side headlight was out. No problem, as I happened to have a spare bulb and I'd already replaced the one on the driver's side. I was about to fix that when The Universe arrived at my house this morning. We worked on it together, and jumped into our cars to caravan to the shop.

Then my car wouldn't start. Wouldn't even turn over. The Universe jumped it, but it wouldn't stay on. When we did get it running, it idled really low. After toying with it for a while, I finally called my insurance to get a tow truck. They arrived much faster than we expected, which was great, and it was nice that I already had an appointment somewhere, and that The Universe was with me to help out. We authorized the diagnosis and then headed off to continue with our day. (By our day, I mean me tagging along with everything The Universe had planned. My day was pretty much shot by this point, and it was only noon.)

Then, I started getting phone calls. A few of them, actually. They replaced the battery and then found multiple other reasons why the car wouldn't start, and at least one thing they have to fix before it will pass safety.

The cost is significant. Suffice it to say that I'm now going to get some second opinions before I authorize any work, and possibly consider just trading in my current car for something newer and won't just randomly fall apart. I am not pleased.

Silver lining - The Universe is letting me borrow his car, at least until Monday. Also, this didn't happen next week, which is the week I'm planning on joining the annual pilgrimage to the Outer Banks.

My car could have died in a fiery explosion. I could have been stranded, alone, in the middle of nowhere. It could always be worse. But having expensive car repairs on the horizon is not a good thing.

Going for speed

I spent yesterday morning in traffic court. That was fun. Apparently, they don't really like it when you go 86 miles per hour in a 65 zone, even if it is the middle of nowhere. Plus, in Virginia, anything over 80 mph is automatically reckless driving. Joy.

So, charged with reckless driving, I had to appear before a judge. I had to wait for 2.5 hours for a gazillion other people to do the same thing. A lot of them were getting their charges reduced to improper driving and just having to do traffic school. Some were there for possession of marijuana and DUI! Those are not the same thing as a first time reckless driving offense, thank you very much. I spent the entire time I was sitting there thinking either Can we be done yet? or Oh crap, I'm going to jail! The judge was a kindly older gentleman who was being very nice to these people, even the ones who clearly had no idea what was going on. He'd give them their punishment and send them on their way.

Until it was my turn.

Judge: "You've been charged with reckless driving for speeding."

Me: "Yes, your honor."

Judge: "How do you intend to plead?"

Me: What? EVERYONE else got reduced charges. Fine. "Guilty, your honor."

Judge: "86 in a 65. You need to slow down. That's almost the speed where you could face jail time. You keep speeding like this, you're going to lose your license pretty quick."

Me: *wide-eyed* "Mm-hmm."

Judge: "Traffic school and court fees, logistics blah, blah, blah"

Me: *sideways glance at the officer who caught me* "Thank you, your honor."

And then I got the heck out there.

Since I was 1) The only white woman in the court room and 2) The only woman dressed quite nicely, I felt like the reason I got the only lecture I'd heard all day was because he saw me as some spoiled little rich girl or something, which is far from the truth.

However, the opinion that everyone else has is that I'm the only one whose future is salvageable. The druggies aren't going to quit, but if I slow down, that's one life saved.

I haven't gone over 80 in weeks.

The court fees were $72, and I can take the 8 HOUR TRAFFIC SCHOOL online for about $50. It could have been way worse, and I'm immensely grateful for that.

Fittingly, I ended my day by seeing Speed Racer with Princess. The movie = Good summer fun! Traffic court = Completely the opposite.

Say my name, say my name

It's a well known fact that putting emphasis on different words can change the meaning of the entire sentence.

She hit the pole. - Implies that she did. A specific she.

She hit the pole. - Stresses that she hit it, not simply walked up and said hello.

She hit the pole. - A specific, probably important pole.

She hit the pole. - Not the cone, or the curb, but the pole.

The way to up the ante even more is to add someone's name. For me, my name is huge and personal and very much a part of who I am. I love my name. I love hearing it (when it's being used politely).

"You're beautiful" means more to me when it's said "You're beautiful, Amanda." Even when it's my nickname, Stretch, I love hearing it. I'm still getting used to some of my friends calling me by my last name, because that was always what my brother was called in high school.

No matter what's being said, adding one's name to a statement, beyond simply getting their attention, makes it more personal.

This is particularly true of something you don't intend to be personal, but becomes such when adding the other person's name.

Recently, I , was involved in a high stress situation. We were all exhausted, confused, and mostly helpless about what was going on. I made one simple suggestion, just trying to help someone who was even more stressed than I, and another party quickly snapped:

"We can't, Amanda."

I know they didn't mean to snap at me, and it was just the stress of situation, but since they used my name it was hard to convince myself of that. Hearing my name in that tone of voice gave it an extra punch I'd prefer didn't exist. A few minutes later, it happened again, where the offending party said something in response to the situation and threw my name in the middle of it. Trying to tell them that it hurt when they said my name like that didn't work, and I resolved to just stay quiet and avoid this person for the rest of the evening.

I still like hearing my name, just don't wear it out.

Hate is a strong word, but I really really really don't like you

I thought the worst that was going to happen today was that someone I'm planning on spending time with this evening was going to drive with their roommates to a gathering this evening instead of with me. While that could still happen, it's no longer the worst thing.

The guy I've briefly alluded to in previous posts? We're done. It sucks. He did something really, really stupid (to put it mildly), and, as one consequence, we both agree that we can't be together at all right now. Or probably ever.

I need a hug.