Today I went to Deseret Book to buy some materials for my CTR-5 class at church (Murray and I started teaching the 5-yr-olds in January, and we absolutely love it). Of course, being the self-absorbed design snob that I am, I only purchased materials that I had designed myself (except for some rubber CTR rings).
It does, in fact, feel a little bit weird to buy something that you, yourself made. (Also? My total came to over $40!! Holy crap! I'm expensive!)
When I was at the cash register, I had to resist every urge to say, "I made that! I'm a designer and I made all of this stuff! It's mine! All mine! Look at meeeeeee!" Instead, I said, after the cashier commented on how cold it was, "Maybe it's the fact that I'm pregnant, but everyone seems to be complaining today about how cold it is, and I honestly haven't even noticed."*
And in that fashion, I avoided embarrassing myself like Kathy Proctor.
Phew.
Murray asked me if I was going to tell the kids that I made their bookmarks and their stickers, and I told him no, because it could seem like a lie to them. Or if they went home and told their parents that their teacher made their stickers and bookmarks, the parents would think that their kids were WAY off base, and they'd correct their children and say that their teachers just GAVE them the bookmarks and stickers, not that they MADE the bookmarks and stickers, and then the children would just be confused.
*This was, in fact, another modesty moment, because what I truly wanted to say was, "Maybe everyone in Utah is just a big fat baby because I grew up in much much worse weather conditions that this, and I'm not even wearing a COAT today (sorry Mom and Dad) and when I was a kid, we didn't HAVE snow days, and we walked to and from school in -40 degree weather, and our thighs FROZE and we would have to wait for them to THAW when we got inside (which causes deep tissue itching and much redness of skin)."
Showing posts with label being really incredibly modest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label being really incredibly modest. Show all posts
My Tough Boy
Here's one more post about Gulliver, but I didn't want it to get lost in the last post. Today, he made me very very proud. We took him to the doctor for his flu shot today. Because I was there for another appointment, when they called Gulliver, Murray went with him alone. I reminded Murray to please ask if they had suckers because Gulliver is old enough to be mollified with sugar now.
Then I waited in the waiting room and listened. I didn't hear a peep and all of a sudden, Murray came back into the room carrying Gulliver, and Gulliver was completely dry-eyed. And carrying a candy.
Apparently, Gulliver got his flu shot and did not even cry. Let the record show that Gulliver is 21 months. (At this point, you don't need to chime in with comments about your children not crying when they received shots at 21 months because I am completely happy ignorantly believing that he is the strongest boy in the world!)
Murray, our eye witness, did say that he whimpered a little. But that was it.
Heck, even during MY appointment, I whimpered a little bit, and when they apologized for hurting me, I explained that I just had to be tough because my 21-month-old just got his flu shot without crying. And then they celebrated with me and told me that he must be REALLY tough.
I really am proud of how tough Gulliver is. I think I always heard that if you give kids too much attention when they hurt themselves then they'll learn that hurting yourself gets you love and attention and then they are wimps. So I have gone to the other extreme and I have actually cheered most times that Gulliver has fallen pretty much his entire life. And either as a result of my superior parenting, or a result of super-tough genetics, when Gulliver falls, 49 times out of 50, he picks himself up and dusts himself off and goes on playing as if nothing happened. (Because let's face it. Nothing happened. He just tripped and didn't actually hurt himself.) When Gulliver DOES hurt himself, he lets me know because he cries. And then I can pick him up and love him. Most of the time, if he hurts himself only a little, he'll come to me holding out the injured part to let me kiss it. But even then, he doesn't cry.
So there you go. I love my tough boy and I'm proud of him.
(And my mom and I have talked about instead of watching out for bullies, I'm going to have to watch out and make sure that Gulliver doesn't BECOME the bully!)
Then I waited in the waiting room and listened. I didn't hear a peep and all of a sudden, Murray came back into the room carrying Gulliver, and Gulliver was completely dry-eyed. And carrying a candy.
Apparently, Gulliver got his flu shot and did not even cry. Let the record show that Gulliver is 21 months. (At this point, you don't need to chime in with comments about your children not crying when they received shots at 21 months because I am completely happy ignorantly believing that he is the strongest boy in the world!)
Murray, our eye witness, did say that he whimpered a little. But that was it.
Heck, even during MY appointment, I whimpered a little bit, and when they apologized for hurting me, I explained that I just had to be tough because my 21-month-old just got his flu shot without crying. And then they celebrated with me and told me that he must be REALLY tough.
I really am proud of how tough Gulliver is. I think I always heard that if you give kids too much attention when they hurt themselves then they'll learn that hurting yourself gets you love and attention and then they are wimps. So I have gone to the other extreme and I have actually cheered most times that Gulliver has fallen pretty much his entire life. And either as a result of my superior parenting, or a result of super-tough genetics, when Gulliver falls, 49 times out of 50, he picks himself up and dusts himself off and goes on playing as if nothing happened. (Because let's face it. Nothing happened. He just tripped and didn't actually hurt himself.) When Gulliver DOES hurt himself, he lets me know because he cries. And then I can pick him up and love him. Most of the time, if he hurts himself only a little, he'll come to me holding out the injured part to let me kiss it. But even then, he doesn't cry.
So there you go. I love my tough boy and I'm proud of him.
(And my mom and I have talked about instead of watching out for bullies, I'm going to have to watch out and make sure that Gulliver doesn't BECOME the bully!)
I Don't Do My Hair
So here's a funny story that I haven't shared yet. A little while ago---like a couple years ago maybe---I went over to my friend Jenny's house after getting a haircut. She said something along the lines of, "Your hair looks so cute like that, and you never do your hair!"
I took the compliment and thought long and hard about the insult part of it. It was true that sometimes I wasn't 100 percent at my hair routine, but to say that I never do my hair was going a little too far! I don't even think I was a work-at-homer at the time. (Now, it would be fairly accurate to say that I never do my hair. Sorry Murray. I'll be better.)
In December (in fact, the night I got together with everyone at the Communal) I got another new haircut, and when Jenny saw me, she again complimented me on my great hair and said something like, "But you don't do your hair. You did it tonight, though, right?"
I finally decided to address the issue and said something like, "Jenny. I do my hair. You've mentioned me not doing my hair before, but I do my hair!"
And then Jenny's whole weltanschauung totally fell apart. "What?? You told me you don't do your hair! This whole time, I've believed that you have this fantastic wonderful hair where you just wake up and it looks like that! And you don't have to do anything! That you just get out of the shower and it does that! I've told every single friend I've ever had about you. I talk to my hair dresser about you, and she tells me that people like you don't exist but I'm like no, my friend Cicada! She just wakes up and her hair is amazing!"
And two years of hurt and heartache were instantly healed. Hearts were touched. Tears were shed. A friendship was restored to its fullest measure.
I don't know how Jenny ever got the idea that I don't do my hair, but I have two possible explanations.
1) There are very very few times when the stars align and my hair dries naturally, and it actually looks presentable. If Jenny saw me on one of those days and asked me about my hair, I may have told her that it just dried like that, but not stressed the astronomical involvement in that happening. And then she may have assumed that that's what my hair always did.
2) Sometimes my hair is straight. Sometimes it's wavy, since my friend / old mission companion Jill taught me to scrunch it while blow drying. So if she happened to see me on a scrunched day, and asked me if that was "natural" I would have said yes, because I would have thought she was referring to the curls, and my hair is technically naturally wavy. (As opposed to becoming curly by using a curling iron or curlers.) If all I'm using for my hair is a blow dryer and/or brush, I classify whatever happens as "natural." If I use a flat iron, curling iron, or curlers, I will not classify it as natural.
So there you go. Contrary to popular belief (of Jenny's entire circle of friends and hair dresser) I am not the (mythical) type of person who can just get up and go with perfect hair.
I took the compliment and thought long and hard about the insult part of it. It was true that sometimes I wasn't 100 percent at my hair routine, but to say that I never do my hair was going a little too far! I don't even think I was a work-at-homer at the time. (Now, it would be fairly accurate to say that I never do my hair. Sorry Murray. I'll be better.)
In December (in fact, the night I got together with everyone at the Communal) I got another new haircut, and when Jenny saw me, she again complimented me on my great hair and said something like, "But you don't do your hair. You did it tonight, though, right?"
I finally decided to address the issue and said something like, "Jenny. I do my hair. You've mentioned me not doing my hair before, but I do my hair!"
And then Jenny's whole weltanschauung totally fell apart. "What?? You told me you don't do your hair! This whole time, I've believed that you have this fantastic wonderful hair where you just wake up and it looks like that! And you don't have to do anything! That you just get out of the shower and it does that! I've told every single friend I've ever had about you. I talk to my hair dresser about you, and she tells me that people like you don't exist but I'm like no, my friend Cicada! She just wakes up and her hair is amazing!"
And two years of hurt and heartache were instantly healed. Hearts were touched. Tears were shed. A friendship was restored to its fullest measure.
I don't know how Jenny ever got the idea that I don't do my hair, but I have two possible explanations.
1) There are very very few times when the stars align and my hair dries naturally, and it actually looks presentable. If Jenny saw me on one of those days and asked me about my hair, I may have told her that it just dried like that, but not stressed the astronomical involvement in that happening. And then she may have assumed that that's what my hair always did.
2) Sometimes my hair is straight. Sometimes it's wavy, since my friend / old mission companion Jill taught me to scrunch it while blow drying. So if she happened to see me on a scrunched day, and asked me if that was "natural" I would have said yes, because I would have thought she was referring to the curls, and my hair is technically naturally wavy. (As opposed to becoming curly by using a curling iron or curlers.) If all I'm using for my hair is a blow dryer and/or brush, I classify whatever happens as "natural." If I use a flat iron, curling iron, or curlers, I will not classify it as natural.
So there you go. Contrary to popular belief (of Jenny's entire circle of friends and hair dresser) I am not the (mythical) type of person who can just get up and go with perfect hair.
Mall Cut or Mom Cut, Part II
So I'm still trapped inside my computer. I'm hoping that I can wrap every major project up by December 14th so that December 15th, the more important but oft-forgotten December holiday, can be celebrated without stress. To celebrate my 29th year, Murray and I plan on a 2-night stay at Château Terre d'Amour, a members-only resort that boasts on suite parking, a fireplace, a jetted tub, live entertainment (including the Terre d'Amour shuffle), and a free babysitting service, which includes a special "sleep-in" service where your child is fetched and cared for in the morning. It is heaven, I tell you. Heaven.
But enough about that. Let's get back to the fact that I'm still under the gun and super stressed and overburdened. And since I haven't been taking proper care of myself, I feel my body is falling into disrepair. (What? Fast food and chicken nuggets don't keep you healthy?) And speaking of not taking proper care of myself and eating not-homecooked meals, on Saturday we decided to run out to a local Mexican restaurant. Since Gulliver was happy, it was best that we did it right away. So I just ignored the fact that I wasn't showered and wasn't wearing nice clothes. And was wearing no makeup and my hair looked terrible. I mean, I've been needed to get a haircut for over a month now, but I haven't had time to do this, so it's just been getting mangier.
We also had a booth at the Beehive Bazaar, mecca of all local cool people. And we had to take down our booth that evening. I thought I was okay because we'd have time to go home and I could get presentable before going to the BB for take down. But alas, we decided after our meal that it was best to stay out rather than try to go home just to turn around and go out soon after. So we found ourselves in Provo/Orem with a couple of hours to kill, and decided to take our annual venture to the mall. We went to Gap, where I found a totally cute shirt (for $22). But trying on said shirt just reminded me of how bad my hair was.
And then it hit me! We still had an hour to kill at the mall, and I could get a HAIR CUT! You know that I love me a good mall cut! So I found my nearest mall hair salon and got a cut.
And you know what? After that cut, which looked awesome, it did not even MATTER that I was not wearing makeup. Because I looked cool. And in my new Gap shirt (that I may or may not have worn every day since Saturday... but only for a few hours at a time) I looked very presentable, even hip.
Here are a couple shots of my new hair. Also? Totally new part. My mall hairstylist suggested a new part for me. And you know what? I like that in a stylist. So in case you're interested, check out Amy at Regis. She was awesome and made me into a new woman. So although I'm still stuck in a computer, I have really really fabulous hair. Really. Now I am a mom with a mall cut.
(Also, my hair looks darker in these photos because it's 1:00 a.m., and it kindof makes me want to dye my hair dark. I mean, I may as well, before I get pregnant again, right?)
(P.S., those purple lights above my head are my shoulder angels. One of them is telling me to go to bed. The other is telling me to stop blogging and send more proofs to my client.)
But enough about that. Let's get back to the fact that I'm still under the gun and super stressed and overburdened. And since I haven't been taking proper care of myself, I feel my body is falling into disrepair. (What? Fast food and chicken nuggets don't keep you healthy?) And speaking of not taking proper care of myself and eating not-homecooked meals, on Saturday we decided to run out to a local Mexican restaurant. Since Gulliver was happy, it was best that we did it right away. So I just ignored the fact that I wasn't showered and wasn't wearing nice clothes. And was wearing no makeup and my hair looked terrible. I mean, I've been needed to get a haircut for over a month now, but I haven't had time to do this, so it's just been getting mangier.
We also had a booth at the Beehive Bazaar, mecca of all local cool people. And we had to take down our booth that evening. I thought I was okay because we'd have time to go home and I could get presentable before going to the BB for take down. But alas, we decided after our meal that it was best to stay out rather than try to go home just to turn around and go out soon after. So we found ourselves in Provo/Orem with a couple of hours to kill, and decided to take our annual venture to the mall. We went to Gap, where I found a totally cute shirt (for $22). But trying on said shirt just reminded me of how bad my hair was.
And then it hit me! We still had an hour to kill at the mall, and I could get a HAIR CUT! You know that I love me a good mall cut! So I found my nearest mall hair salon and got a cut.
And you know what? After that cut, which looked awesome, it did not even MATTER that I was not wearing makeup. Because I looked cool. And in my new Gap shirt (that I may or may not have worn every day since Saturday... but only for a few hours at a time) I looked very presentable, even hip.
Here are a couple shots of my new hair. Also? Totally new part. My mall hairstylist suggested a new part for me. And you know what? I like that in a stylist. So in case you're interested, check out Amy at Regis. She was awesome and made me into a new woman. So although I'm still stuck in a computer, I have really really fabulous hair. Really. Now I am a mom with a mall cut.
(Also, my hair looks darker in these photos because it's 1:00 a.m., and it kindof makes me want to dye my hair dark. I mean, I may as well, before I get pregnant again, right?)
(P.S., those purple lights above my head are my shoulder angels. One of them is telling me to go to bed. The other is telling me to stop blogging and send more proofs to my client.)
Campaign Trail, Day 2
I don't know how long this poll is open for, so I've got to make the most of it while I can! Today I'm going to challenge you a little further. Yesterday I asked you to vote for me. Today, I ask you to go to another computer and vote for me again! I know that this requires a little more effort, so I am willing to reward you by doing the first giveaway ever on Singing Cicada! (And probably the last!)
My giveaway package includes:
* 1 leather passport holder (valued at $20, your choice of brown, green, camel, or orange)
* 1 "while you were out" notepad from Knock Knock (believe me, it's cool and funny, and valued at... under $5?)
* 1 set of three small notebooks (valued at.... under $10?)
for a total value of under $35ish!
What do you need to do to be eligible? Simply find a new way to vote for me today and let me know you did so in the comments section!
I don't know what I'm going to win, but I really really hope it's a tiara!
My giveaway package includes:
* 1 leather passport holder (valued at $20, your choice of brown, green, camel, or orange)
* 1 "while you were out" notepad from Knock Knock (believe me, it's cool and funny, and valued at... under $5?)
* 1 set of three small notebooks (valued at.... under $10?)
for a total value of under $35ish!
What do you need to do to be eligible? Simply find a new way to vote for me today and let me know you did so in the comments section!
I don't know what I'm going to win, but I really really hope it's a tiara!
My Big Cheat
I am pretty sure that everyone out there reading my blog thinks that I'm perfect, and they would not be far off. But today, I'd like to talk about a moment when I was not perfect. I cheated.
Last night, Murray and I went out for our date night dinner. With gestational diabetes, finding restaurants is not always the easiest thing. I mean, you can pretty much rule out any Italian place, for starters. So we've even opted to eat in for a few of our date nights. But last night I wanted to try Spark, a new restaurant/lounge that I've seen downtown Provo. When I first saw it, I was a little hesitant to try it because although it looked hip and cool from the outside, the sign said, "Restaurant/Lounge" and I haven't been to a lounge before and I really didn't know what to expect. But recently a friend recommended the restaurant to us, so we decided to go.
Stepping into Spark feels a little like stepping out of Provo. In a really good way. Although we showed up at prime time on a Friday night, we were seated immediately. (This is something that I would like to see change since it makes me scared that now we've discovered this place, not enough people will be enjoying it to keep it in business.)
Our hostess who seated us explained the menu a little. They offer "small plates" or appetizers and she recommended ordering three or four small plates as the ideal way to dine there. Then she directed our attention to the bar menu, which I didn't pay much attention to because 1) alcohol and 2) fruit juice (forbidden to me while gestating). When our waitress came by shortly afterward, she said, "I'm sure that our hostess explained our non-alcoholic bar to you." Suddenly that menu became much more interesting to me. The drinks look really delicious and creative and I am excited to go back after the baby comes and try something out. She told us that the Shirley Temple comes topped with cotton candy, which I thought was a little bizarre until I actually saw someone's. Then I wanted one immediately. BUT this isn't where I cheat. So rest assured, I'm still waiting a while to try their drink menu.
Murray and I ordered some fries with aioli garlic dip, braised beef with cabbage, and crispy pork on polenta. Since I had no idea how many carbs to expect with this combination, I told Murray that we might even consider dessert (so that I could have one bite) depending on how the food was prepared.
The presentation of the food was fabulous. We were served our fries first. They were very thin, shoe-string fries cooked to perfection. While we were eating the fries, a waitress brought out a taste from the kitchen---an apple cream soup---for us to try out. What a taste experience! Our soup came in tiny pots with tiny spoons. And it tasted like creamy apple bacon. Soooooo good and such a pleasant surprise from the kitchen! Next came our braised beef and cabbage and our crispy pork on polenta. The braised beef and cabbage may not have seemed as gourmet to me because it was a lot like cabbage rolls that I had regularly while growing up because of Eastern European immigrants to Canada. But it was certainly delicious. (I've never been known to say no to a cabbage roll!) The crispy pork on polenta was definitely my favorite. It was topped with perfectly sweet grapefruit.
The portions were small, which is the sort of thing that you respect about a place like this. It means that you can enjoy the food experience without feeling stuffed and overdone. It also means that there's room for dessert.
And this is where the cheating comes in. On the menu was fried chocolate pudding. And darn it, I have been wanting a real dessert for what seems like an eternity now. And this sounded too good to pass up. Small portions of chocolate pudding are coated in an almond flour and then briefly fried to crisp the shell. It is served with orange ice cream to complement the chocolate.
And here is my paragraph of justification: My doctor said she was part of a control group for gestational diabetes where she didn't have it, but she had to test her blood at certain times during the day. One day, she ate a lot of carbs without really realizing it and when she tested her blood, it was in the 160s. I'm never allowed to go over 130, and I typically don't (when I do, it's never even as high as 140). So I figured that if, like my doctor, I didn't have GDS, sometimes my blood sugar would naturally be higher because of the food choices that I make, then with GDS, it wouldn't hurt to go over just once. And later, my sister-in-law pointed out that when women don't manage their GDS properly, they get put on insulin, but it takes a couple of weeks of improperly eating before they're switched to insulin. Anyway, at the restaurant, I also reasoned that exercise is like a shot of insulin, so Murray and I could go swimming in our club house pool after dinner so that I could help my insulin deliver the glucose to my cells.
Okay. Justification done. Now let's move on to gratification. This dessert was AMAZING. "Pudding" does not describe what was in these crispy almond-flour shells. It's more like a rich chocolate not unlike pots de creme (which my mom would make growing up and it still seems gourmet... except for when we'd bastardize it by eating it with marshmallow peeps and call it pots de peep...). The ice cream (which Murray expected to be a bright orange sherbet and wasn't very excited about it) was a perfectly creamy orange. The whole experience was wonderful---so wonderful! Of course, the problem was that there were three little puddings and only two of us. But then Murray said that if I wanted to have a second one, I could have it all to myself. And then I almost broke down in tears in the middle of the restaurant.
I highly recommend this restaurant to anyone in the area. It was a fun experience and we'll definitely be going back. The prices were extremely reasonable (our bill came to $28, which is what we paid recently for a meal at Bajio) and the experience is far beyond run-of-the-mill Utah dining.
(And in case you're still wondering about my blood sugar... we got home and got our bathing suits on and headed over to the clubhouse, only to discover that the entire pool had been taken over by a singles ward activity where they were playing an organized sport, so slipping into the pool would have been like stepping onto a basketball court during someone else's game. I am not allowed to do hot tubs as a pregnant woman, lest I cook my fetus. So basically Murray and I dangled our legs in the hot tub for 40 minutes, hoping that the awful singles activity would eventually end, and dodging the football whenever it came hurling at our faces. But I kicked my legs for all of those 40 minutes. It ultimately didn't help too much. My blood sugar was 160. Little baby Leland, I'm very sorry for any fat cells that you might have put on due to my indulgence. And a note to the singles who monopolized the pool even though they don't pay for it and we do: When Murray and I went home, we *****[censored]*****. So there.)
Last night, Murray and I went out for our date night dinner. With gestational diabetes, finding restaurants is not always the easiest thing. I mean, you can pretty much rule out any Italian place, for starters. So we've even opted to eat in for a few of our date nights. But last night I wanted to try Spark, a new restaurant/lounge that I've seen downtown Provo. When I first saw it, I was a little hesitant to try it because although it looked hip and cool from the outside, the sign said, "Restaurant/Lounge" and I haven't been to a lounge before and I really didn't know what to expect. But recently a friend recommended the restaurant to us, so we decided to go.
Stepping into Spark feels a little like stepping out of Provo. In a really good way. Although we showed up at prime time on a Friday night, we were seated immediately. (This is something that I would like to see change since it makes me scared that now we've discovered this place, not enough people will be enjoying it to keep it in business.)
Our hostess who seated us explained the menu a little. They offer "small plates" or appetizers and she recommended ordering three or four small plates as the ideal way to dine there. Then she directed our attention to the bar menu, which I didn't pay much attention to because 1) alcohol and 2) fruit juice (forbidden to me while gestating). When our waitress came by shortly afterward, she said, "I'm sure that our hostess explained our non-alcoholic bar to you." Suddenly that menu became much more interesting to me. The drinks look really delicious and creative and I am excited to go back after the baby comes and try something out. She told us that the Shirley Temple comes topped with cotton candy, which I thought was a little bizarre until I actually saw someone's. Then I wanted one immediately. BUT this isn't where I cheat. So rest assured, I'm still waiting a while to try their drink menu.
Murray and I ordered some fries with aioli garlic dip, braised beef with cabbage, and crispy pork on polenta. Since I had no idea how many carbs to expect with this combination, I told Murray that we might even consider dessert (so that I could have one bite) depending on how the food was prepared.
The presentation of the food was fabulous. We were served our fries first. They were very thin, shoe-string fries cooked to perfection. While we were eating the fries, a waitress brought out a taste from the kitchen---an apple cream soup---for us to try out. What a taste experience! Our soup came in tiny pots with tiny spoons. And it tasted like creamy apple bacon. Soooooo good and such a pleasant surprise from the kitchen! Next came our braised beef and cabbage and our crispy pork on polenta. The braised beef and cabbage may not have seemed as gourmet to me because it was a lot like cabbage rolls that I had regularly while growing up because of Eastern European immigrants to Canada. But it was certainly delicious. (I've never been known to say no to a cabbage roll!) The crispy pork on polenta was definitely my favorite. It was topped with perfectly sweet grapefruit.
The portions were small, which is the sort of thing that you respect about a place like this. It means that you can enjoy the food experience without feeling stuffed and overdone. It also means that there's room for dessert.
And this is where the cheating comes in. On the menu was fried chocolate pudding. And darn it, I have been wanting a real dessert for what seems like an eternity now. And this sounded too good to pass up. Small portions of chocolate pudding are coated in an almond flour and then briefly fried to crisp the shell. It is served with orange ice cream to complement the chocolate.
And here is my paragraph of justification: My doctor said she was part of a control group for gestational diabetes where she didn't have it, but she had to test her blood at certain times during the day. One day, she ate a lot of carbs without really realizing it and when she tested her blood, it was in the 160s. I'm never allowed to go over 130, and I typically don't (when I do, it's never even as high as 140). So I figured that if, like my doctor, I didn't have GDS, sometimes my blood sugar would naturally be higher because of the food choices that I make, then with GDS, it wouldn't hurt to go over just once. And later, my sister-in-law pointed out that when women don't manage their GDS properly, they get put on insulin, but it takes a couple of weeks of improperly eating before they're switched to insulin. Anyway, at the restaurant, I also reasoned that exercise is like a shot of insulin, so Murray and I could go swimming in our club house pool after dinner so that I could help my insulin deliver the glucose to my cells.
Okay. Justification done. Now let's move on to gratification. This dessert was AMAZING. "Pudding" does not describe what was in these crispy almond-flour shells. It's more like a rich chocolate not unlike pots de creme (which my mom would make growing up and it still seems gourmet... except for when we'd bastardize it by eating it with marshmallow peeps and call it pots de peep...). The ice cream (which Murray expected to be a bright orange sherbet and wasn't very excited about it) was a perfectly creamy orange. The whole experience was wonderful---so wonderful! Of course, the problem was that there were three little puddings and only two of us. But then Murray said that if I wanted to have a second one, I could have it all to myself. And then I almost broke down in tears in the middle of the restaurant.
I highly recommend this restaurant to anyone in the area. It was a fun experience and we'll definitely be going back. The prices were extremely reasonable (our bill came to $28, which is what we paid recently for a meal at Bajio) and the experience is far beyond run-of-the-mill Utah dining.
(And in case you're still wondering about my blood sugar... we got home and got our bathing suits on and headed over to the clubhouse, only to discover that the entire pool had been taken over by a singles ward activity where they were playing an organized sport, so slipping into the pool would have been like stepping onto a basketball court during someone else's game. I am not allowed to do hot tubs as a pregnant woman, lest I cook my fetus. So basically Murray and I dangled our legs in the hot tub for 40 minutes, hoping that the awful singles activity would eventually end, and dodging the football whenever it came hurling at our faces. But I kicked my legs for all of those 40 minutes. It ultimately didn't help too much. My blood sugar was 160. Little baby Leland, I'm very sorry for any fat cells that you might have put on due to my indulgence. And a note to the singles who monopolized the pool even though they don't pay for it and we do: When Murray and I went home, we *****[censored]*****. So there.)
Halloween Food
I just thought I'd share a picture of what I brought to my cooking group last night. The theme was "black and orange" and I felt it was the perfect excuse to use my black spaghetti that I bought at Target months ago. I made an oil-based shrimp sauce to go with it. It really was delicious. I know, because I even tried some. Yep. I ate 3 spaghetti noodles with 2 shrimp. I am restraint incarnate.
I think that this is going to have to be a Halloween staple in my house from now on. The kids will love it... hopefully. I'm even thinking that if I broke up the spaghetti, it would look like LITTLE black worms... delicious!
Black and Orange Pasta
12 oz package of black spaghetti (I got mine from Target.) --Prepare according to directions
1/2 C oil
7 cloves garlic
pinch red pepper flakes
1 tsp salt
1 lb shrimp
fresh parsley
1) Heat oil on low heat.
2) Add minced garlic, red pepper, and salt; heat until garlic turns golden but is not brown, about 15 minutes.
3) Add shrimp, stir fry for 2 minutes or until shrimp is pink and opaque. (I cheated and just used thawed pre-cooked shrimp.)
4) Add oil sauce to spaghetti, add parsley, mix.
On a completely unrelated note, I think I need to start charging people more for what I do. I just received some Illustrator pattern files that a potential client bought from some professional company. Although they bought the copyrights to the patterns, the company did not actually set up the patterns to repeat. The files are an absolute mess and the client needs me to make them into repeat patterns, which the company should have done in the first place. When I give files to clients, they're set up properly, they're clean, and they're very usable! Must start charging exorbitant prices because obviously my skill and professionalism is worth it.
Last day of work
Friday was my last day of work. For about the last two weeks, I've had pretty much constant dreams about work. There was one night that I actually worked an entire day of work during my sleep, and woke up realizing that I had to do it all over again. Other dreams included packing up my office (again and again and again) but in my dreams, my office had as much stuff as an apartment. I hate moving. Another dream was about all my coworkers stealing my sweaters because they thought I was giving them away. Clearly, my mind had a lot of anxiety about work.
I left my job because 1) it's in Salt Lake and that's a big commute for me (2-3 hours a day), and 2) once I found out I was pregnant, Murray and I decided that the thought of combining the commute with an expanding belly wasn't the funnest idea. And so here I am, striking it out on my own, starting up as a contract worker. We'll see how that works out for me. I'm grateful to have Murray to support us through this so that we can take a risk and see what happens.
It wasn't easy leaving my job, though. I woke up early Friday morning and couldn't get back to sleep, so I just got ready and made the last commute. My last day mostly consisted of cleaning up my office and finishing up last minute details, and explaining projects to my coworkers so that they could tie up any loose ends. And of course, there were lots of jokes about Toby from The Office, since the season finale was all about his last day. (In my exit interview, I was not asked, "Who do you think you are" or "What gives you the right?")
In order to clean all my files off my computer, Murray suggested I take in one of his external hard drives and just put my personal stuff from my work computer onto there. (No, I didn't steal company files, like all of the fonts, which apparently someone did do before.) Of course, he didn't know which hard drive had space, so told me to take the suitcase with all his hard drives in it. And so I walked into the building at 7:00 a.m. looking like I was carrying a bomb into my last day of work. I expected a SWAT team to burst in and take me out.
Here's the last picture taken at work, which includes my coworkers who came to escort me out of the building (which is better than Security, like Toby got).
Ah crap. In looking at this picture, I realize that there's a bunch of papers on my shelf that I was supposed to give and explain to Polly. I'll have to give her a call.
Anyway. Now moving on to the world of self employment, I realize that I'm going to have to set up some structure and some rules for myself. Like shower and brush my teeth every day. And do my hair. And get dressed. So far I'm not doing so well.
So yeah. I've got to get on with the day, and do some responsible things to get ready for our big vacation. So this is me, signing out, and reminding you that if you have work for me to do, I'd love to do it. For pay.
(Oh, and sorry for dropping the ball on sewing skirts... I'm going to have to do it AFTER my trip. There was too much to do what with leaving my job and all to leave time for sewing.)
I left my job because 1) it's in Salt Lake and that's a big commute for me (2-3 hours a day), and 2) once I found out I was pregnant, Murray and I decided that the thought of combining the commute with an expanding belly wasn't the funnest idea. And so here I am, striking it out on my own, starting up as a contract worker. We'll see how that works out for me. I'm grateful to have Murray to support us through this so that we can take a risk and see what happens.
It wasn't easy leaving my job, though. I woke up early Friday morning and couldn't get back to sleep, so I just got ready and made the last commute. My last day mostly consisted of cleaning up my office and finishing up last minute details, and explaining projects to my coworkers so that they could tie up any loose ends. And of course, there were lots of jokes about Toby from The Office, since the season finale was all about his last day. (In my exit interview, I was not asked, "Who do you think you are" or "What gives you the right?")
In order to clean all my files off my computer, Murray suggested I take in one of his external hard drives and just put my personal stuff from my work computer onto there. (No, I didn't steal company files, like all of the fonts, which apparently someone did do before.) Of course, he didn't know which hard drive had space, so told me to take the suitcase with all his hard drives in it. And so I walked into the building at 7:00 a.m. looking like I was carrying a bomb into my last day of work. I expected a SWAT team to burst in and take me out.
Here's the last picture taken at work, which includes my coworkers who came to escort me out of the building (which is better than Security, like Toby got).
Ah crap. In looking at this picture, I realize that there's a bunch of papers on my shelf that I was supposed to give and explain to Polly. I'll have to give her a call.Anyway. Now moving on to the world of self employment, I realize that I'm going to have to set up some structure and some rules for myself. Like shower and brush my teeth every day. And do my hair. And get dressed. So far I'm not doing so well.
So yeah. I've got to get on with the day, and do some responsible things to get ready for our big vacation. So this is me, signing out, and reminding you that if you have work for me to do, I'd love to do it. For pay.
(Oh, and sorry for dropping the ball on sewing skirts... I'm going to have to do it AFTER my trip. There was too much to do what with leaving my job and all to leave time for sewing.)
Vanity
As long as I'm making recommendations, I have to put in a word for my favorite jeans store, Vanity. If I got only two things out of my roommateship with Brozy, one would be El Azteca (she introduced me to their nachos) and the other would be jeans from Vanity. (Note: El Azteca makes it harder to fit into jeans from Vanity.)
Vanity is a little trashy store. It's even more trashy because I usually go to the one in the Valley Fair Mall. So trashy, trashy, trashy. BUT every Vanity, no matter where it's located, has a huge selection of jeans. And they often have lots and lots of jeans on sale. Their off-sale price averages at about $40. Their on-sale price is typically from $10-$20.
And this is the MOST IMPORTANT PART: Vanity offers a variety of LENGTHS for every pair of their jeans. I have awful, short legs. This means that finding pants is really hard for me. But at Vanity, I can choose the length that works for me. I have friends (Ambrosia) with long legs. Once I even borrowed a pair of Ambrosia's jeans, and even with high heels on, there was probably about 5 extra inches of pant leg. (I borrowed them only for as long as it took to try them on, laugh at the ridiculous length, and find a pair of my own pants.) The lengths range from, I think, 29-35. That's a pretty big range in my opinion.
And yes, Vanity is a trashy store, but I really think that most of their jeans are cute and unique. And I get lots of compliments on them by non-trashy people. And so I highly recommend the store, with only two warnings: 1) Sometimes their stretchy jeans are just way too stretchy, so I try to be picky, and 2) Most of their jeans are extremely low-rise and you think that they're going to fall off your butt, and they will unless you're wearing a belt. So wear a belt. But seriously, buy Vanity jeans.
(Notice my office is looking slightly more sparse? Have I mentioned I'm leaving my job? Sob!)
What's this?
So I wanted to direct your attention to some of the recent efforts of some close friends of ours.
[wink, wink, nudge, nudge]
ETSY
PHOTOSHOP AND ILLUSTRATOR CLASSES
[wink, wink, nudge, nudge]
ETSY
PHOTOSHOP AND ILLUSTRATOR CLASSES
I give a hoot about children.
So. I taught the sunbeams yesterday. Both of them. Well, both of them in my class anyway. We live in a new development so we have a very young ward. So there are actually three sunbeams classes with five kids per class. Only two of mine were at church, and they're thinking of just combining my class with another anyway, and pairing me up with the other teacher as team teachers. Which is great that I won't be alone, but not great that Murray will have to go to Sunday School all by himself. Poor thing.
Anyway, on Friday night, I bought myself a long sensible brown skirt. It's just plain but it certainly does the job. I wanted a long skirt so that I am free to sit on the ground with the kids if I want. Or so that I don't have to squeeze my legs together for fear that the kids can see straight up my skirt.
I prepared my lesson on Saturday (the manual says that you must prepare your lesson at least a week in advance, but I only got the manual on Saturday, so I'm sure that I'm absolved of that sin). It said that I could make crowns, which was pretty exciting. Even more exciting was where it said I needed a bean bag. I didn't have a bean bag of course, but needing a bean bag meant that I could haul out my sewing machine and get crafty. I made the bean bag and a bunch of crowns while Murray painted. How productive! All of a sudden, I think that I'm going to really love teaching Sunbeams, if only for all the fun preparation I get to do. I can't wait to see what next week's lesson requires! (I should have also prepared that yesterday or Saturday because now, it is no longer at least a week in advance, so I'm clearly not absolved this time.)
This is the bean bag I made. (Why sew two squares of fabric together when you can make an owl instead?)
Our Primary starts with Opening Exercises and Singing Time and Sharing Time, so I got to do that first. Of my two boys, one didn't speak at all, and the other only managed to mutter that he wanted his mommy and daddy. So I pulled out Walter the owl and let him play with it, and it was extremely gratifying to see his face light up as he exclaimed: "A owl!" And then for the rest of Sharing Time, I got to try to get him to play with the owl quietly and not chuck it at the other children. (I may include here that I saw the other little Sunbeams of the other classes eying that owl enviously.)
When it was time for class, Murray was waiting for us outside. He had permission to join us to help me. My owl-bribed kid had no problem coming into the class, but the other little boy needed a lot of coaxing. So I finally laid out a crown on the ground for him and promised him that he could choose the first crayon for coloring. And so it was that I just ended up teaching our lesson as we all colored crowns on the floor. I think I could get used to this. (I promise that they were paying attention as much as they could and I even got them to answer questions.)
By the end of class, my silent kid finally said a word (about Walter the owl) and he was happily playing as he waited for his parents to come get him.
So all in all, it wasn't anything to worry about. I didn't have to wipe any butts this week (and I've been promised that I'll never have to) and both children left my classroom undamaged, but filled with the Spirit from the excellent, wonderful, perfect lesson that I taught them. And they wore their crowns with pride.
Now, I might add one more word about church. See, we only live about three blocks away from church, so I think that it's absolutely lazy and wasteful and environment-killing to drive. We made a goal to walk. But it has happened for the past few weeks that the walk to church is fine, but by the time church is over, the weather is raging, and we have to run through frigid winds to get home. Since church moved to 9:00 instead of 11:00, I figured we were safe---clearly the weather only got bad at 2:00.
On our way to church this time, the weather was very mild, but the sidewalks were so slippery that any time there was a slope in the sidewalk, Murray and I would start to slide downwards. It was a treacherous trip to be sure. But by the time church let out, it was snowing horizontally in gigantic snow pellets. And we had to walk directly into the direction of the snow if we wanted to get home. Having no other options (no home teachers have been assigned to us) we grabbed each others' arms and headed out. Outside was even worse than we could have imagined and we screamed and laughed as we tried to get home. We couldn't even lift our heads up to look where we were going, and of course, we knew that under all that snow, the sidewalks were still icy and treacherous. We walked for what seemed like an eternity, and only actually managed to walk from one side of the church building to the other, when a ward member offered us a ride home. And we accepted. When it is snowing like that, the environment deserves to be killed.
Anyway, on Friday night, I bought myself a long sensible brown skirt. It's just plain but it certainly does the job. I wanted a long skirt so that I am free to sit on the ground with the kids if I want. Or so that I don't have to squeeze my legs together for fear that the kids can see straight up my skirt.
I prepared my lesson on Saturday (the manual says that you must prepare your lesson at least a week in advance, but I only got the manual on Saturday, so I'm sure that I'm absolved of that sin). It said that I could make crowns, which was pretty exciting. Even more exciting was where it said I needed a bean bag. I didn't have a bean bag of course, but needing a bean bag meant that I could haul out my sewing machine and get crafty. I made the bean bag and a bunch of crowns while Murray painted. How productive! All of a sudden, I think that I'm going to really love teaching Sunbeams, if only for all the fun preparation I get to do. I can't wait to see what next week's lesson requires! (I should have also prepared that yesterday or Saturday because now, it is no longer at least a week in advance, so I'm clearly not absolved this time.)
This is the bean bag I made. (Why sew two squares of fabric together when you can make an owl instead?)
Our Primary starts with Opening Exercises and Singing Time and Sharing Time, so I got to do that first. Of my two boys, one didn't speak at all, and the other only managed to mutter that he wanted his mommy and daddy. So I pulled out Walter the owl and let him play with it, and it was extremely gratifying to see his face light up as he exclaimed: "A owl!" And then for the rest of Sharing Time, I got to try to get him to play with the owl quietly and not chuck it at the other children. (I may include here that I saw the other little Sunbeams of the other classes eying that owl enviously.)
When it was time for class, Murray was waiting for us outside. He had permission to join us to help me. My owl-bribed kid had no problem coming into the class, but the other little boy needed a lot of coaxing. So I finally laid out a crown on the ground for him and promised him that he could choose the first crayon for coloring. And so it was that I just ended up teaching our lesson as we all colored crowns on the floor. I think I could get used to this. (I promise that they were paying attention as much as they could and I even got them to answer questions.)
By the end of class, my silent kid finally said a word (about Walter the owl) and he was happily playing as he waited for his parents to come get him.
So all in all, it wasn't anything to worry about. I didn't have to wipe any butts this week (and I've been promised that I'll never have to) and both children left my classroom undamaged, but filled with the Spirit from the excellent, wonderful, perfect lesson that I taught them. And they wore their crowns with pride.
Now, I might add one more word about church. See, we only live about three blocks away from church, so I think that it's absolutely lazy and wasteful and environment-killing to drive. We made a goal to walk. But it has happened for the past few weeks that the walk to church is fine, but by the time church is over, the weather is raging, and we have to run through frigid winds to get home. Since church moved to 9:00 instead of 11:00, I figured we were safe---clearly the weather only got bad at 2:00.
On our way to church this time, the weather was very mild, but the sidewalks were so slippery that any time there was a slope in the sidewalk, Murray and I would start to slide downwards. It was a treacherous trip to be sure. But by the time church let out, it was snowing horizontally in gigantic snow pellets. And we had to walk directly into the direction of the snow if we wanted to get home. Having no other options (no home teachers have been assigned to us) we grabbed each others' arms and headed out. Outside was even worse than we could have imagined and we screamed and laughed as we tried to get home. We couldn't even lift our heads up to look where we were going, and of course, we knew that under all that snow, the sidewalks were still icy and treacherous. We walked for what seemed like an eternity, and only actually managed to walk from one side of the church building to the other, when a ward member offered us a ride home. And we accepted. When it is snowing like that, the environment deserves to be killed.
New Christmas Tradition
I was always jealous of my friend Sophie's family Christmas tradition. They would draw names and make homemade gifts for each other. I know that doesn't work real well in your average family, but Sophie's family is above average artistically. Everyone has a talent that can lend itself to making a wonderful, unique Christmas present.
Now that I'm married to an artist, however, I have the opportunity to start that family tradition and cultivate creativity and artistic talent in our future children. Murray and I started this year by deciding that our main gifts to each other would be handmade. Then we'd fill each other's stockings (and for those who love materialism out there, let me just be clear about the stockings: we went all out and even though the stockings were enormous, some of our "stocking stuffers" still didn't fit).
I took pictures of our homemade gifts for you to enjoy. (And I took pictures where you can actually see the size of the stockings.)
{A calendar I made of Murray's heroes... and yes, that's a picture of him. I think he should be his own hero. After all, he's mine!}
{My portrait, done by Murray. Isn't he awesome? The work represents two things I love: 1) Murray's original artwork, and 2) me.}
Now that I'm married to an artist, however, I have the opportunity to start that family tradition and cultivate creativity and artistic talent in our future children. Murray and I started this year by deciding that our main gifts to each other would be handmade. Then we'd fill each other's stockings (and for those who love materialism out there, let me just be clear about the stockings: we went all out and even though the stockings were enormous, some of our "stocking stuffers" still didn't fit).
I took pictures of our homemade gifts for you to enjoy. (And I took pictures where you can actually see the size of the stockings.)
{A calendar I made of Murray's heroes... and yes, that's a picture of him. I think he should be his own hero. After all, he's mine!}
{My portrait, done by Murray. Isn't he awesome? The work represents two things I love: 1) Murray's original artwork, and 2) me.}A Handful of So-So Women
Last night for FHE, Murray and I headed to Borders to pick up a book about great women. We figure it's a nice thing to have on hand, but we also need it for a more immediate project we'd both like to be working on. Anyway, we figured it would be easy. Find a book called "50 Great Women" or "The 50 Greatest Women of the Twentieth Century" or something. Just anything about great women, really---as long as it had lots of pictures.
At Borders, we asked a guy for help. He checked the computer and said that they didn't have anything like that, but directed us to the Women's Studies section. There, we found some classics like The Vagina Monologues, and a book whose title was simply the C-word... not really books that had pictures (thankfully!) and not books that talked about great women.
We then headed to the history section and that was a bust. We would have hit up the biography section, but they didn't have one. Then we looked through every coffee table book section and still found nothing.
We were sure, however, that Borders was an anomaly, so we headed to Barnes & Noble, who surely would have a book on great women.
At Barnes & Noble, the employee we asked for help was very eager to help and very optimistic. "Oh yeah," he said. "I've definitely seen something like that recently."
Ten minutes later, we were still standing at the help desk as he entered in search after search. He was coming up with nothing. I finally told him that instead of 50 great women, I'd settle for a handful of so-so women. Still nothing. Murray and I decided that maybe we should just write the book since apparently it doesn't actually exist.
Our helper took us through every possible section of the store it could be in. We found a coffee table book of pin-up girls. We found a Play Boy Bunny coffee table book. We found a book called Amazing Men with a picture of Ben Kingsley on it. Great women? Nowhere to be found. Murray, at this point, was on the verge of becoming a raging feminist.
We finally found a book called something like They Changed History. It's a collection of 200 great and influential people. We figure we can possibly find about 50 good women in its pages. In the meantime, I guess we'll have to get started on our 50 Great Women book idea since apparently no one else has done it. And maybe I'll throw myself into the mix and see if anyone notices.
At Borders, we asked a guy for help. He checked the computer and said that they didn't have anything like that, but directed us to the Women's Studies section. There, we found some classics like The Vagina Monologues, and a book whose title was simply the C-word... not really books that had pictures (thankfully!) and not books that talked about great women.
We then headed to the history section and that was a bust. We would have hit up the biography section, but they didn't have one. Then we looked through every coffee table book section and still found nothing.
We were sure, however, that Borders was an anomaly, so we headed to Barnes & Noble, who surely would have a book on great women.
At Barnes & Noble, the employee we asked for help was very eager to help and very optimistic. "Oh yeah," he said. "I've definitely seen something like that recently."
Ten minutes later, we were still standing at the help desk as he entered in search after search. He was coming up with nothing. I finally told him that instead of 50 great women, I'd settle for a handful of so-so women. Still nothing. Murray and I decided that maybe we should just write the book since apparently it doesn't actually exist.
Our helper took us through every possible section of the store it could be in. We found a coffee table book of pin-up girls. We found a Play Boy Bunny coffee table book. We found a book called Amazing Men with a picture of Ben Kingsley on it. Great women? Nowhere to be found. Murray, at this point, was on the verge of becoming a raging feminist.
We finally found a book called something like They Changed History. It's a collection of 200 great and influential people. We figure we can possibly find about 50 good women in its pages. In the meantime, I guess we'll have to get started on our 50 Great Women book idea since apparently no one else has done it. And maybe I'll throw myself into the mix and see if anyone notices.
Just a Better Way to Live
So it's all official. Murray and I are back and we're figuring out the married life groove, and now we're all ready to say really insensitive things to single people like, "You should get married. It's just a better way to live." What are some insensitive things you've heard over the years? Murray and I need a few ideas.
Thanks again to Nemesis and Daltongirl for blogging about my special day. I'll take my turn at the reception, but first I wanted to post a few pictures that I thought people might like as well as our slide show that Murray kindly uploaded to YouTube for all of us. Anyway, I have to get this wedding stuff over as soon as possible lest people complain that I've turned into an I'm-obsessed-with-my-own-wedding blog. But really, with a day so perfect as our wedding day, I must admit that I am obsessed with my own wedding right now.
Without further ado, the video and some pictures!
(You'll forgive that the music cuts out at the end. We wanted to cut out our "real names" that appeared in the last slide.
All of the wedding party who loved us enough to stick around for photos after the ceremony.
I just wanted to share this picture because it looks like my grandpa is blind, which made me laugh.
Me and Murray and the best man (brother Steve) and maid of honor (Switchback)
.
Showing that we know how to have fun always.
Evidence that we got married in a 70s church movie.
A better way to live.The Invites
So a few people have posted comments after receiving our invite. We're very happy that you're all impressed with how it looks. And because I like bragging and because I think it's only fair for the whole internet to see our invite, I decided we should post the pictures and the invite to the internet.
Of course, I can't actually post the invite because it has names, places, times, etc. So I made this mockup that gives you a general idea of what our invite looks like. The wording in our invite was formal and nice. And the fonts weren't as huge, but you know... for internet readability... Also, I just noticed that it says "pleased to announce their marriage to the Internet." I don't mean that we're marrying the internet. I just mean that we're announcing our marriage to each other to the internet.
We included either one of these pictures in the invitations. Most people got the one where you can see our faces best.
Of course, I can't actually post the invite because it has names, places, times, etc. So I made this mockup that gives you a general idea of what our invite looks like. The wording in our invite was formal and nice. And the fonts weren't as huge, but you know... for internet readability... Also, I just noticed that it says "pleased to announce their marriage to the Internet." I don't mean that we're marrying the internet. I just mean that we're announcing our marriage to each other to the internet.
We included either one of these pictures in the invitations. Most people got the one where you can see our faces best.
I wouldn't be marrying Murray...
...if contact from random blog stalkers creeped me out.
Yesterday Murray and I went to Zupas. If you've never been there, I highly recommend it. It's great except that the booth-to-table ratio favors tables too heavily. After Murray and I payed for our food, we were filling up our drinks and I noticed a bus boy cleaning a booth. And I decided that I needed to grab the booth immediately, despite the fact that Murray had already brought our food to a table. So I walked towards the booth as quickly as possible, not even taking the time to catch Murray's attention, and trying not to spill my drink (I didn't put a lid on it because I didn't want to waste that time in nabbing the booth).
As I approached the booth, I caught another patron approaching the booth out of my peripheral vision. She had just walked into the restaurant, so I thought she might be one of those horrid, horrid people who save tables before they've even ordered their food. I quickened my pace and slid into the booth moments before she arrived, trying not to make eye contact.
She came closer. That was unexpected. She said, "I hope this doesn't sound creepy, but..."
My mind jumped to two conclusions:
1) "...I was wondering if I could have this booth even though you got here first and I don't even have my food yet." In that case, it would not be "creepy." Just rude and awkward.
2) "...I was wondering if I could share your booth with you." Here I thought she'd talk about some sort of physical condition that would require her to sit at a booth rather than a table. And yes, asking a stranger to share a booth with them would be creepy.
But neither of my conclusions were correct:
"...I think I read your blog. Singing Cicada?"
This was a huge relief. First of all, she was no longer a booth contender. Second of all, I had an anonymous fan!
We chatted for a bit and she explained that she and her husband live in California but she knows about my blog because of a mutual friend, Kit. In fact, she even said that before coming out to Utah, she got caught up on my blog to see what I was up to. How random for her, then, that she'd run into me while she was here. She must feel so, so very lucky for having met me... but come to think of it, she didn't ask me for my autograph at all, which I find more than a little insulting.
Anyway. Murray finally came over with our tray of food and she congratulated us on our upcoming marriage, and I let her know that I can't possibly be creeped out by an anonymous blog reader because I'm marrying one. (Except the other night, I did actually have a nightmare about a murderous blog stalker...)
So here's my shout out to Random Blog Stalker. After a little further thought I've concluded that you must have forgotten to ask me for my autograph because you were so flustered. Here it is in printable format.
Yesterday Murray and I went to Zupas. If you've never been there, I highly recommend it. It's great except that the booth-to-table ratio favors tables too heavily. After Murray and I payed for our food, we were filling up our drinks and I noticed a bus boy cleaning a booth. And I decided that I needed to grab the booth immediately, despite the fact that Murray had already brought our food to a table. So I walked towards the booth as quickly as possible, not even taking the time to catch Murray's attention, and trying not to spill my drink (I didn't put a lid on it because I didn't want to waste that time in nabbing the booth).
As I approached the booth, I caught another patron approaching the booth out of my peripheral vision. She had just walked into the restaurant, so I thought she might be one of those horrid, horrid people who save tables before they've even ordered their food. I quickened my pace and slid into the booth moments before she arrived, trying not to make eye contact.
She came closer. That was unexpected. She said, "I hope this doesn't sound creepy, but..."
My mind jumped to two conclusions:
1) "...I was wondering if I could have this booth even though you got here first and I don't even have my food yet." In that case, it would not be "creepy." Just rude and awkward.
2) "...I was wondering if I could share your booth with you." Here I thought she'd talk about some sort of physical condition that would require her to sit at a booth rather than a table. And yes, asking a stranger to share a booth with them would be creepy.
But neither of my conclusions were correct:
"...I think I read your blog. Singing Cicada?"
This was a huge relief. First of all, she was no longer a booth contender. Second of all, I had an anonymous fan!
We chatted for a bit and she explained that she and her husband live in California but she knows about my blog because of a mutual friend, Kit. In fact, she even said that before coming out to Utah, she got caught up on my blog to see what I was up to. How random for her, then, that she'd run into me while she was here. She must feel so, so very lucky for having met me... but come to think of it, she didn't ask me for my autograph at all, which I find more than a little insulting.
Anyway. Murray finally came over with our tray of food and she congratulated us on our upcoming marriage, and I let her know that I can't possibly be creeped out by an anonymous blog reader because I'm marrying one. (Except the other night, I did actually have a nightmare about a murderous blog stalker...)
So here's my shout out to Random Blog Stalker. After a little further thought I've concluded that you must have forgotten to ask me for my autograph because you were so flustered. Here it is in printable format.
We can do it. They can help.
Switchback is coming to town this weekend. This, of course, makes me very excited. She is, after all, going to be my maid of honor. And it's not like I bestow that title to just anyone.
Since she's around to chaperone, then we'll stay at Murray's house for the weekend. Normally when I'm in town, we stay at his parents'.
Since she's staying at the house for the weekend, we needed to address an issue that we've neglected for the past several months. The guest bathroom shower does not have hot water. That is so not cool. I mean, it's not the end of the world or anything. She could have just used Murray's shower. But still. I really really wanted it to be done for when she's in town.
The first step in any undertaking such as this is to call El Senor. Which I did. If El Senor lived in the same city, the next step would be to make El Senor come over and fix it. It's what I've done my entire "independent" life. But that wasn't really available to me as an option.
So I explained the problem to El Senor and because he knows everything, he diagnosed what the problem possibly was, and explained how I could test it. He said I had to turn the water all the way to hot to see if anything was coming out. If nothing came out, it meant there was a hot water blockage and I'd have to take off the faucet and pull something out and replace it or whatever.
So I turned the water all the way to hot and nothing came out. So my problem was at least partially diagnosed. Then Murray came home while I was in a rage about not being able to figure out which valve turned the water off. Poor, poor, patient Murray. Then I got in a rage about not being able to take the thingy off the faucet because the screw wouldn't unscrew because maybe it was stripped or maybe I just wasn't using the right tool, but it was near impossible to tell anyway because the thing was tiny and down a hole; not easily accessible.
Anyway. We made a trip to Home Depot because I thought that I had to replace the whole faucet. But then I remembered that Home Depot's motto is "You can do it. We can help" so I realized that they were obligated to help us figure out the problem.
So we talked to a guy who had us talk to another guy who kindof explained the problem in terms I could kindof understand. And then the first guy gave us the part we needed (a cartridge) and we were off.
At home, after a fair bit of plumber's crack and only one curse word, we had the faucet completely disassembled (did I mention we figured out how to turn off the water?). And we found out that the new cartridge was actually the wrong part. So we went back to Home Depot right before they closed, got the right part, and went back to finish the job (with a quick stopover at Macey's where we got ten white pumpkins for a steal).
So we finished the job (all this time not actually knowing with 100% certainty that this was the right thing to fix the hot water situation). And when we turned on the water, we found out that I'd installed the thingy upside down, so in the off position, water was coming out at full force. So we turned the water off again, and I reinstalled it all and we turned on the water again and somehow I had still managed to install the thing upside down. But the third time I did it, it worked. And the hot water works. And Switchback had better appreciate it.
And now Murray and I are officially plumbers. But we won't be booking any appointments until after November 3rd. And we only specialize in reinstalling cartridges. And we charge $300/15 minutes.
Who knew that by not relying on El Senor, there was a whole world of empowerment awaiting me?
Since she's around to chaperone, then we'll stay at Murray's house for the weekend. Normally when I'm in town, we stay at his parents'.
Since she's staying at the house for the weekend, we needed to address an issue that we've neglected for the past several months. The guest bathroom shower does not have hot water. That is so not cool. I mean, it's not the end of the world or anything. She could have just used Murray's shower. But still. I really really wanted it to be done for when she's in town.
The first step in any undertaking such as this is to call El Senor. Which I did. If El Senor lived in the same city, the next step would be to make El Senor come over and fix it. It's what I've done my entire "independent" life. But that wasn't really available to me as an option.
So I explained the problem to El Senor and because he knows everything, he diagnosed what the problem possibly was, and explained how I could test it. He said I had to turn the water all the way to hot to see if anything was coming out. If nothing came out, it meant there was a hot water blockage and I'd have to take off the faucet and pull something out and replace it or whatever.
So I turned the water all the way to hot and nothing came out. So my problem was at least partially diagnosed. Then Murray came home while I was in a rage about not being able to figure out which valve turned the water off. Poor, poor, patient Murray. Then I got in a rage about not being able to take the thingy off the faucet because the screw wouldn't unscrew because maybe it was stripped or maybe I just wasn't using the right tool, but it was near impossible to tell anyway because the thing was tiny and down a hole; not easily accessible.
Anyway. We made a trip to Home Depot because I thought that I had to replace the whole faucet. But then I remembered that Home Depot's motto is "You can do it. We can help" so I realized that they were obligated to help us figure out the problem.
So we talked to a guy who had us talk to another guy who kindof explained the problem in terms I could kindof understand. And then the first guy gave us the part we needed (a cartridge) and we were off.
At home, after a fair bit of plumber's crack and only one curse word, we had the faucet completely disassembled (did I mention we figured out how to turn off the water?). And we found out that the new cartridge was actually the wrong part. So we went back to Home Depot right before they closed, got the right part, and went back to finish the job (with a quick stopover at Macey's where we got ten white pumpkins for a steal).
So we finished the job (all this time not actually knowing with 100% certainty that this was the right thing to fix the hot water situation). And when we turned on the water, we found out that I'd installed the thingy upside down, so in the off position, water was coming out at full force. So we turned the water off again, and I reinstalled it all and we turned on the water again and somehow I had still managed to install the thing upside down. But the third time I did it, it worked. And the hot water works. And Switchback had better appreciate it.
And now Murray and I are officially plumbers. But we won't be booking any appointments until after November 3rd. And we only specialize in reinstalling cartridges. And we charge $300/15 minutes.
Who knew that by not relying on El Senor, there was a whole world of empowerment awaiting me?
It's the Hap-Happiest Season of ALL
I may be jumping the gun on this, but it's sweater season. Allow me to demonstrate.
And yes, I'm happy to sign any modeling contract that comes my way. Seriously, though. Is there any happier season than fall?
And yes, I'm happy to sign any modeling contract that comes my way. Seriously, though. Is there any happier season than fall?
I'm Not an Addict (Maybe That's a Lie)
I currently have two addictions (three if you count Murray). They are Etsy and Amy Butler fabrics and patterns. The bad thing about these addictions is that I don't feel remorse when I spend money on either of them.
With Etsy, I'm supporting independent art, which is actually quite noble. The writer of Design Sponge talked about creating a gallery wall in her home and I've decided I'm going to do the same thing after I've collected enough art. (Luckily because of Murray, I won't have to buy all the art---he can create it and then I can display it.) But so far, I've purchased three things on Etsy. In one week's time... come to think of it, it may actually be a bad addiction (not to mention that I coerced Ambrosia into purchasing a crochet pattern on Etsy so that she can try it out and then teach me how to do it). The positive side effect of being an Etsy addict is that I now check the mail almost every day, whereas previously I think I would go about three months on average between opening my mailbox (El Senor did it, and really, if all I'm getting is junk mail and bills that are already automatically paid, why take the effort to get my mail?).
This is my first Etsy purchase, a print from Dkim.
My second addiction is Amy Butler fabric and patterns. I also justify these purchases because I consider them "market research." I would eventually like to produce my own original fabric line (instead of designing fabric for a corporation). I also love her bags, and I figure that since I help to design bags as well, sewing Amy Butler's bags is really just investing in my own skills and knowledge. Did I spend $100 in Amy Butler stuff last month? Yes! And what an investment!
Last night I completed this Amy Butler bag just in time to take it to the beach in San Diego. Next month I'll take it to the beach in New Jersey.
And as long as I'm showing things I've bought and made, I may as well give you a sneak peak at a a lining I've done for work. I don't show my designs on the blog because they're not my property, but I think I can ethically get away with showing this picture of a sample product... This weekend I'm also using a weekender bag that uses my poppy pattern on the outside. I'll have Murray get a shot of it and post it when I get back.
With Etsy, I'm supporting independent art, which is actually quite noble. The writer of Design Sponge talked about creating a gallery wall in her home and I've decided I'm going to do the same thing after I've collected enough art. (Luckily because of Murray, I won't have to buy all the art---he can create it and then I can display it.) But so far, I've purchased three things on Etsy. In one week's time... come to think of it, it may actually be a bad addiction (not to mention that I coerced Ambrosia into purchasing a crochet pattern on Etsy so that she can try it out and then teach me how to do it). The positive side effect of being an Etsy addict is that I now check the mail almost every day, whereas previously I think I would go about three months on average between opening my mailbox (El Senor did it, and really, if all I'm getting is junk mail and bills that are already automatically paid, why take the effort to get my mail?).
This is my first Etsy purchase, a print from Dkim.
My second addiction is Amy Butler fabric and patterns. I also justify these purchases because I consider them "market research." I would eventually like to produce my own original fabric line (instead of designing fabric for a corporation). I also love her bags, and I figure that since I help to design bags as well, sewing Amy Butler's bags is really just investing in my own skills and knowledge. Did I spend $100 in Amy Butler stuff last month? Yes! And what an investment!
Last night I completed this Amy Butler bag just in time to take it to the beach in San Diego. Next month I'll take it to the beach in New Jersey.
And as long as I'm showing things I've bought and made, I may as well give you a sneak peak at a a lining I've done for work. I don't show my designs on the blog because they're not my property, but I think I can ethically get away with showing this picture of a sample product... This weekend I'm also using a weekender bag that uses my poppy pattern on the outside. I'll have Murray get a shot of it and post it when I get back.
Sincerity at its Sincerest
Because I am a responsible woman, I did the responsible thing and made an appointment for my pap test. I underwent the whole ordeal a couple of weeks ago and because I have at least the tiniest ounce of propriety, I won't discuss the details of that appointment.
I will, however, share that during my appointment, I had this to look at on the wall in front of me:
(Okay, not really, but there was a picture of a little girl with her eyes wide and her mouth open, which was funnier/even worse than The Scream. And even though I had my camera in the room with me, and I was all alone barely swathed in sheets of paper, I didn't want to take the picture for fear of 1) getting caught and being considered a freak show and 2) catching the reflection of my scantily paper-clad self in the photo.)
During the visit, the NP became concerned that I may have thyroid disease. It runs in my family. She ordered blood work and told me I'd have the results in about two weeks. Yesterday, I received this letter in the mail:
It scares me to think what they would have sent me if my blood test had not, actually, been normal.
I will, however, share that during my appointment, I had this to look at on the wall in front of me:
(Okay, not really, but there was a picture of a little girl with her eyes wide and her mouth open, which was funnier/even worse than The Scream. And even though I had my camera in the room with me, and I was all alone barely swathed in sheets of paper, I didn't want to take the picture for fear of 1) getting caught and being considered a freak show and 2) catching the reflection of my scantily paper-clad self in the photo.)During the visit, the NP became concerned that I may have thyroid disease. It runs in my family. She ordered blood work and told me I'd have the results in about two weeks. Yesterday, I received this letter in the mail:
It scares me to think what they would have sent me if my blood test had not, actually, been normal.
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