I took my time to change my name when I got married. Like four months time. I really didn't want to, but I felt like it's what I was supposed to do and I thought Nate wanted it. So I did.
I gave myself a year to get used to the name. But it didn't feel right. So I gave myself another year, but then I decided, if it doesn't feel right, then what am I waiting for?
So today I went down to Social Security and changed my name back. They only needed my marriage certificate and it took less than 5 minutes (minus the wait time to be called to the window).
Then I went to the bank. The old woman could not understand why I would ever want to change my name back if I wasn't getting a divorce. She told me I would need to get court documentation of the name change. I decided that I would just close out the accounts and reopen one once I had my new driver's license.
I went to the DMV and was told I needed court documents as well. I asked the lady "So I'm going to drive under a name that isn't my legal name?" The lady working next to her with a mullet answered "Oh it's your legal name!" I replied "It's my name only in Utah. Can I drive with it?". Apparently you can have a different legal name with the federal government and the state government.
Honestly?! You would think Social Security would be the most difficult part. So we looked up how much filing a court documented name change online would be. $360. No joke.
Luckily my husband knows his court systems and knows how to file things so we don't have to hire an attorney.
But I still have to jump the hoops and prove I'm not a sex offender.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Bread to Feed the Multitude
So we accidentally bought a 50 lb. bag of white flour instead of the 25. How does one buy 50 instead of 25? Well 50 was the only size there, and it seemed like it would fit into our food storage bin.
Well, it doesn't. We've filled up the white flour food storage bin, and the counter flour bin twice and we still have half a bag of flour.
So, I decided to make white bread this week instead of my regular wheat bread. I found a recipe off of pinterest that I've been wanting to try and made it.
I checked the recipe 3 times to insure it only made two loaves. Then I tried to duplicate the recipe. 5 minutes into the 10 minute kneading process, my Kitchen Aid turns off and smoke starts billowing out of all the of openings. Now I don't have a dinky little Kitchen Aid. I have the industrial 6 quart-doesn't fit-under-your-cabinet Kitchen Aid. Luckily after an hour of rest it turned back on.
I took the dough out and kneaded it by hand for another 5 minutes. Put it in the pan and waited for it to double in size (about an hour).
They. Got. HUGE! I'm talking monster bread loaves. And they grew in the oven.
I don't know what happened. They look like embalmed animals to top everything off. At least it tastes good right?
Well, it doesn't. We've filled up the white flour food storage bin, and the counter flour bin twice and we still have half a bag of flour.
So, I decided to make white bread this week instead of my regular wheat bread. I found a recipe off of pinterest that I've been wanting to try and made it.
I checked the recipe 3 times to insure it only made two loaves. Then I tried to duplicate the recipe. 5 minutes into the 10 minute kneading process, my Kitchen Aid turns off and smoke starts billowing out of all the of openings. Now I don't have a dinky little Kitchen Aid. I have the industrial 6 quart-doesn't fit-under-your-cabinet Kitchen Aid. Luckily after an hour of rest it turned back on.
I took the dough out and kneaded it by hand for another 5 minutes. Put it in the pan and waited for it to double in size (about an hour).
They. Got. HUGE! I'm talking monster bread loaves. And they grew in the oven.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Utah State's Finest
So this past week I had a meeting for work in Salt Lake. I took one of the state vehicles, and was on the road by 7:30 am. Because I travel the furtherest out of everyone in my office, they usually assign me the oldest car (because once the car hits 100,000 they sell it). Which meant I was taking the ford focus.
Ever since I've started working at this job, the focus' battery light has been on. I've told the receptionist and she has emailed the guy in charge of cars at least three times. Since the light is always on in the car, I just thought it was something with this car.
When I started the car it took a few extra seconds to start. Not unusual because the last time I looked at the temperature it was 1 degree.
I started driving and rocking out to the radio, when in American Fork the radio shut off stating "low battery" on the screen. Now I've driven old cars most of my life and know the battery can recharge itself, so I turned off the lights and anything that would drain the battery and kept going.
When I got to Lehi, all of the dash lights came on (ABS, air bags, etc.) including the parking brake. I testing the brake a few times (while on the freeway) to make sure I didn't space it and leave it on. It was off, but the light was on.
When I got to Thanksgiving Point, all of the lights and gauges turned off. I still had the gas and still had brakes, so I decided to continue on to Salt Lake and just go the same speed and as most of the other cars.
Going up the point of the mountain the car started to chug and I knew my time was limited. I got off on the next exit (which felt hundreds of miles away), and tried to plan where I was going to stop. Since I still had control of the gas and brakes, I decided to try and make it to a parking lot.
I came to the stop sign at the bottom of the off ramp, and the car completely shut off. I tried turning it on, but there was nothing. So, I jumped out, cranked the wheel and started pushing. Then I heard "Get in the car and steer!". I turned around to find a man pushing my car. I jumped in and said out loud "Where did he come from?" and steered the car into the shoulder/snow bank. I hopped back out and said "Where did you come from?!" and he said "The car behind you". But there were already people in the car behind me and I said "Thank you!" over my shoulder as I got back into the car. We had pushed the car completely perpendicular to the road.
I called the front desk and the new receptionist had no idea what to do. Another co-worker transferred me to the guy in charge of cars' cell phone, because of course he wasn't in that day. He told me he would "try" to find someone to come pick me up and would get a tow truck.
I called my supervisor and then the guy in charge of the meeting I was supposed to be going to. He told me that another co-worker of mine was coming up from Utah County. I called her and she said she was just leaving Alpine and would swing by on her way. She also told me it was 6 degrees out.
I called the guy in charge of cars to tell him I got a ride and he told me that my stalker co-worker was coming to get me. He said that I needed to stop the stalker from coming. After multiple attempts to contact the stalker at this desk, on his cell, and at the front desk, I gave up (later found out the front desk tracked him down and stopped him).
I sat in the cold for another 30 minutes. Luckily I had my down jacket and wool socks on. But no matter how well dressed you are, when you just sit in the cold, you get cold.
The moment the tow truck called, my co-worker drove up. I frantically tried to tell him where the car was, leave the keys according to his directions (Ok, I'm sorry, the car is dead and not going ANYWHERE, so why hide the keys?!), move the files from one car to the other, and write a note for the highway patrol stating "tow truck enroute" all while my fingers where nearly popsicles.
We made it to the meeting and my adrenaline finally wore off. I did the training for the new workers. I handled an "emergency" situation for a new co-worker as she refused to get off the phone with help desk because she locked herself out of the computer (a family had stopped by to drop off paperwork and just needed copies, yeah not what I would call an emergency either).
I drove my co-worker's car back to American Fork where she told me another co-worker was and would be driving back to Provo. I get there and it turns out she never asked the other co-worker if he could take me and she didn't even know if he was still there. She had me walk into the building she thought he was at and start looking into windows. With no other choice, I did. Luckily as soon as I walked into the building and turned left he was there and he said he could take me.
I spent the next 15 minutes following my co-worker's crappy instructions of where to park her car. With a few choice words I thought I found it. She was bugged when I called her again to make sure I was in the right place.
I had to sit through my ride's meeting and then he took me to Provo. However, he drove from American Fork, back up to the Alpine highway. I thought he knew a short cut, but it halfway there he said "I go this way because it's the only way I know". 20 minutes later we were on the freeway to Provo.
I made it back to work and caught myself up on what I missed. Called my supervisor and gave him updates.
The sad thing of this all is, is crap like this happens to me all the time and I'm starting to get used to it. I was just glad it was me and not a car full of DCFS kids. I'm also glad I can go home to my bed and warm (or slightly warm because I'm cheapskate) apartment and I don't have to sleep in a freezing car.
Ever since I've started working at this job, the focus' battery light has been on. I've told the receptionist and she has emailed the guy in charge of cars at least three times. Since the light is always on in the car, I just thought it was something with this car.
When I started the car it took a few extra seconds to start. Not unusual because the last time I looked at the temperature it was 1 degree.
I started driving and rocking out to the radio, when in American Fork the radio shut off stating "low battery" on the screen. Now I've driven old cars most of my life and know the battery can recharge itself, so I turned off the lights and anything that would drain the battery and kept going.
When I got to Lehi, all of the dash lights came on (ABS, air bags, etc.) including the parking brake. I testing the brake a few times (while on the freeway) to make sure I didn't space it and leave it on. It was off, but the light was on.
When I got to Thanksgiving Point, all of the lights and gauges turned off. I still had the gas and still had brakes, so I decided to continue on to Salt Lake and just go the same speed and as most of the other cars.
Going up the point of the mountain the car started to chug and I knew my time was limited. I got off on the next exit (which felt hundreds of miles away), and tried to plan where I was going to stop. Since I still had control of the gas and brakes, I decided to try and make it to a parking lot.
I came to the stop sign at the bottom of the off ramp, and the car completely shut off. I tried turning it on, but there was nothing. So, I jumped out, cranked the wheel and started pushing. Then I heard "Get in the car and steer!". I turned around to find a man pushing my car. I jumped in and said out loud "Where did he come from?" and steered the car into the shoulder/snow bank. I hopped back out and said "Where did you come from?!" and he said "The car behind you". But there were already people in the car behind me and I said "Thank you!" over my shoulder as I got back into the car. We had pushed the car completely perpendicular to the road.
I called the front desk and the new receptionist had no idea what to do. Another co-worker transferred me to the guy in charge of cars' cell phone, because of course he wasn't in that day. He told me he would "try" to find someone to come pick me up and would get a tow truck.
I called my supervisor and then the guy in charge of the meeting I was supposed to be going to. He told me that another co-worker of mine was coming up from Utah County. I called her and she said she was just leaving Alpine and would swing by on her way. She also told me it was 6 degrees out.
I called the guy in charge of cars to tell him I got a ride and he told me that my stalker co-worker was coming to get me. He said that I needed to stop the stalker from coming. After multiple attempts to contact the stalker at this desk, on his cell, and at the front desk, I gave up (later found out the front desk tracked him down and stopped him).
I sat in the cold for another 30 minutes. Luckily I had my down jacket and wool socks on. But no matter how well dressed you are, when you just sit in the cold, you get cold.
The moment the tow truck called, my co-worker drove up. I frantically tried to tell him where the car was, leave the keys according to his directions (Ok, I'm sorry, the car is dead and not going ANYWHERE, so why hide the keys?!), move the files from one car to the other, and write a note for the highway patrol stating "tow truck enroute" all while my fingers where nearly popsicles.
We made it to the meeting and my adrenaline finally wore off. I did the training for the new workers. I handled an "emergency" situation for a new co-worker as she refused to get off the phone with help desk because she locked herself out of the computer (a family had stopped by to drop off paperwork and just needed copies, yeah not what I would call an emergency either).
I drove my co-worker's car back to American Fork where she told me another co-worker was and would be driving back to Provo. I get there and it turns out she never asked the other co-worker if he could take me and she didn't even know if he was still there. She had me walk into the building she thought he was at and start looking into windows. With no other choice, I did. Luckily as soon as I walked into the building and turned left he was there and he said he could take me.
I spent the next 15 minutes following my co-worker's crappy instructions of where to park her car. With a few choice words I thought I found it. She was bugged when I called her again to make sure I was in the right place.
I had to sit through my ride's meeting and then he took me to Provo. However, he drove from American Fork, back up to the Alpine highway. I thought he knew a short cut, but it halfway there he said "I go this way because it's the only way I know". 20 minutes later we were on the freeway to Provo.
I made it back to work and caught myself up on what I missed. Called my supervisor and gave him updates.
The sad thing of this all is, is crap like this happens to me all the time and I'm starting to get used to it. I was just glad it was me and not a car full of DCFS kids. I'm also glad I can go home to my bed and warm (or slightly warm because I'm cheapskate) apartment and I don't have to sleep in a freezing car.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
This is Halloween
I'm not the biggest Halloween fan. I hate scary movies, I don't like masks, and I think that once you turn 18 you shouldn't have acne and it's NEVER ok to wear costumes to work. The only thing that saves Halloween for me is the candy.
I thought I was going to get away from not celebrating Halloween this year. Nate had class until 8:30 at night, and I planned to work overtime, as not to be home alone. I did however take advantage of the day, and wore a black and white striped shirt that I think isn't business-y enough to wear to work, but considering the lady in the next office over was wearing a giant bee costume, no one would tell me otherwise.
I made sure I left the house looking like no one was home. I went to work. Nate brought doughnuts and went with me to pick up my car from the shop during the middle of the day (the windshield wiper stopped working in the middle of a rain storm on the freeway. I can't make this stuff up!). I thought I would just sneak home and leave the lights off and eat the candy that I had bought.
Well when I came home I found this.
Yes, that is a perfectly unwrapped Reese's in the middle of the bag. Now, normally when food is unwrapped when you buy it you shouldn't eat it, but I took this as a tender mercy that God knew I needed candy at that exact moment without having to unwrap one. And yes, it was delicious.
We had two groups of people stop by. Both had English as a second language and when I opened the door, I opened it to silence. I stood waiting for the regular "Trick-or-Treat!" which didn't come. So I said "Trick-or-Treat!" and they responded "Happy Halloween!" and then I thought "No you're supposed to say Trick-or-Treat and I'm supposed to say Happy Halloween".
Our neighborhood was swarming with kids dressed in costumes, but those were our only Trick-or-Treaters. So I get to eat the rest of my Kit Kats and Reese's.
When we got up the next day, Nate went out to his car to get change to do laundry. This is what he found:
The pumpkin we didn't ask for was smashed and we had to clean it up. To add insult to injury, someone (probably the same group of teenagers, man I sound old) broke into and made a mess of Nate's car. They stole his knife, his bicycle light, and his caffeinated gum that was 3 years old. Not the worst thing that could have happened, but still violating.
Happy Halloween!
I thought I was going to get away from not celebrating Halloween this year. Nate had class until 8:30 at night, and I planned to work overtime, as not to be home alone. I did however take advantage of the day, and wore a black and white striped shirt that I think isn't business-y enough to wear to work, but considering the lady in the next office over was wearing a giant bee costume, no one would tell me otherwise.
I made sure I left the house looking like no one was home. I went to work. Nate brought doughnuts and went with me to pick up my car from the shop during the middle of the day (the windshield wiper stopped working in the middle of a rain storm on the freeway. I can't make this stuff up!). I thought I would just sneak home and leave the lights off and eat the candy that I had bought.
Well when I came home I found this.
Now to the untrained eye it may seem like a nice gift someone gave us. It is/was and the intentions weren't malicious, but the power struggle behind it is years in the making (and I'm not even going to start on that story here).
I left it outside and worried about all the people who had stopped by my house while I was at work because who would leave a jack-o-latern lit outside of their house with real candles and not be home?! So then I hurriedly put the candy in a bowl and look what I found:
We had two groups of people stop by. Both had English as a second language and when I opened the door, I opened it to silence. I stood waiting for the regular "Trick-or-Treat!" which didn't come. So I said "Trick-or-Treat!" and they responded "Happy Halloween!" and then I thought "No you're supposed to say Trick-or-Treat and I'm supposed to say Happy Halloween".
Our neighborhood was swarming with kids dressed in costumes, but those were our only Trick-or-Treaters. So I get to eat the rest of my Kit Kats and Reese's.
When we got up the next day, Nate went out to his car to get change to do laundry. This is what he found:
Happy Halloween!
Saturday, October 19, 2013
"The Business of Being Born"
This movie is a must see for anyone who has/wants to have kids and/or knows someone with a uterus. I gave it 5 stars on Netflix, and that is not something that happens very often.
http://youtu.be/4DgLf8hHMgo
http://youtu.be/4DgLf8hHMgo
Cut it Off and Make Some Guacamole
Six months ago when I went to the dermatologist, he asked to take off a mole on my face. I wasn't ready to let go of it. So for the past 6 months I have been making my peace with my face and the mole. And today, I let go.
Apparently moles that sit in "bad places" can lead to being itchy. One this time sat "conveniently" in my fat roll.
I love my dermatologist because he's just as paranoid about moles as I am. I honestly leave his office chopped up, every time. This time I told him that I could still feel the scalpel even after he injected me deadener. He pumped it again with juice. From then on I just didn't tell him I could feel it, because it went faster if he didn't stop. I read somewhere earlier in the week that if you cough when you get a shot, it's supposed to make it not hurt. That's not true at all, I tried it today. I told that to the dermatologist as he looked at me funny when I coughed randomly. He said that he uses ice cubes to numb the area for kids and then they don't feel the shot. So he had his nurse grab an ice cube, and I looked really high maintenance to the two other assistants who came in the room to watch. If you are wondering, ice makes no difference on your face. But the best part was that I got him to re-promised me the next time I have to get stitches, I get to do them.
Please excuse the really creepy face I'm making in this photo. It's very had to take a selfie in the mirror when you are taking a picture of your eye. And no, I don't have a smart phone (it saves us $600 a year by not having one, not that I needed to defend myself).
So for those of you who don't know why I may choose to have a potentially cancerous mole on my face, please let me explain. My baby sister and I look a lot a like. A LOT alike.
We even have/had the exact same mole in the exact same place next to our right eye. Like, a freaking same mole in the same place.
So besides the fact my middle name is Ann and her first name is Annie, and we are pretty much the same person 8 years apart, I had to cut off a piece of myself that was yet another thing that connected us.
Not impressed? I had three other moles taken off. Two of which were in such inconvenient places for taking a photo, I didn't even bother. And the one on my belly, I couldn't get the camera to focus and not cast a shadow.
I love my dermatologist because he's just as paranoid about moles as I am. I honestly leave his office chopped up, every time. This time I told him that I could still feel the scalpel even after he injected me deadener. He pumped it again with juice. From then on I just didn't tell him I could feel it, because it went faster if he didn't stop. I read somewhere earlier in the week that if you cough when you get a shot, it's supposed to make it not hurt. That's not true at all, I tried it today. I told that to the dermatologist as he looked at me funny when I coughed randomly. He said that he uses ice cubes to numb the area for kids and then they don't feel the shot. So he had his nurse grab an ice cube, and I looked really high maintenance to the two other assistants who came in the room to watch. If you are wondering, ice makes no difference on your face. But the best part was that I got him to re-promised me the next time I have to get stitches, I get to do them.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Cops and TSA Wannabes
Every Friday night is date night. Except now that we are married and don't need to impress each other with witty stories and marathon nights, it usually just ends up being just dinner (at Carl's Jr., Smokehouse, Zupas, or Slab Pizza).
Last night I had the idea to go to dinner and then drive the Alpine Loop. Nate quickly shot me down because he had "too much homework". Once he realized my disappointment at the only idea I've had in months that I actually wanted to do, he stated "I bet it's not even open because of the shut down and the state parks...".
So I helped him with his homework, which included posting posters about the pro bono clinic UVU was sponsoring. We spent almost an hour on Friday night running around to the different government buildings.
The cherry on top was the last stop on our "tour". The fourth district court. When you walk in the door you are handed a plastic bin and told to put anything metal in it and walk through the metal detector. There were four (yes four) security guards standing at the metal detector watching us empty our pockets and walk through. I had already emptied my pockets and was taking my sweatshirt off (I think I've been to the airport too many times) before Nate had time to reach for the bin. As I'm walking towards the detector the cop holds up my keys by my pocket knife and says "Are you planning on bringing this with you?!". I responded "Yes" and kept walking. He said "You can't". I thought he was joking and stated "What am I going to do with it?! Stab someone." Nate picking up on the fact that I couldn't go in with it and that I wasn't understanding said "Yeah, you can't bring that in". I told the officer "Well, can you just hold it for me and I'll get it from you when I leave?". "No!" answered the guard. At this same time Nate pulled out a handful of thumb tacks he was using to put up the posters and asked "Am I ok to bring these in". The same guard said "Yeah, you're fine". I retorted "Seriously?! He can go in with those but I can't go in with my 1inch pocket knife? What are you the TSA or something?!". None of the officers were amused at my joke. Not even half smiles! The officer on the end wanted to know what Nate had that I thought was dangerous and when they replied "tacks", he said "Well if she thinks it's a threat, we shouldn't let him in either". Meanwhile it was 5 minutes until they closed.
I choose to remain by the door while Nate went in and posted the posters. Once he was out of sight the officer that refused to let me in said "I think someone came in here yesterday and already posted those." He then pointed to the wall where the poster we were trying to post was displayed. I asked "Was it a heavy set girl who came?" as Nate's new co-worker (and the one actually in charge of posting the posters and the only thing I know about her is that she is too large for a chair with arm rests so she had to trade for Nate's arm restless chair two days earlier). That question was the only time I got a smile out of the guards. "No she wasn't" was the reply. Nate came around the corner and said "Some one already posted them here" and I answered "I know."
It was such a romantic evening.
Last night I had the idea to go to dinner and then drive the Alpine Loop. Nate quickly shot me down because he had "too much homework". Once he realized my disappointment at the only idea I've had in months that I actually wanted to do, he stated "I bet it's not even open because of the shut down and the state parks...".
So I helped him with his homework, which included posting posters about the pro bono clinic UVU was sponsoring. We spent almost an hour on Friday night running around to the different government buildings.
The cherry on top was the last stop on our "tour". The fourth district court. When you walk in the door you are handed a plastic bin and told to put anything metal in it and walk through the metal detector. There were four (yes four) security guards standing at the metal detector watching us empty our pockets and walk through. I had already emptied my pockets and was taking my sweatshirt off (I think I've been to the airport too many times) before Nate had time to reach for the bin. As I'm walking towards the detector the cop holds up my keys by my pocket knife and says "Are you planning on bringing this with you?!". I responded "Yes" and kept walking. He said "You can't". I thought he was joking and stated "What am I going to do with it?! Stab someone." Nate picking up on the fact that I couldn't go in with it and that I wasn't understanding said "Yeah, you can't bring that in". I told the officer "Well, can you just hold it for me and I'll get it from you when I leave?". "No!" answered the guard. At this same time Nate pulled out a handful of thumb tacks he was using to put up the posters and asked "Am I ok to bring these in". The same guard said "Yeah, you're fine". I retorted "Seriously?! He can go in with those but I can't go in with my 1inch pocket knife? What are you the TSA or something?!". None of the officers were amused at my joke. Not even half smiles! The officer on the end wanted to know what Nate had that I thought was dangerous and when they replied "tacks", he said "Well if she thinks it's a threat, we shouldn't let him in either". Meanwhile it was 5 minutes until they closed.
I choose to remain by the door while Nate went in and posted the posters. Once he was out of sight the officer that refused to let me in said "I think someone came in here yesterday and already posted those." He then pointed to the wall where the poster we were trying to post was displayed. I asked "Was it a heavy set girl who came?" as Nate's new co-worker (and the one actually in charge of posting the posters and the only thing I know about her is that she is too large for a chair with arm rests so she had to trade for Nate's arm restless chair two days earlier). That question was the only time I got a smile out of the guards. "No she wasn't" was the reply. Nate came around the corner and said "Some one already posted them here" and I answered "I know."
It was such a romantic evening.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
OW
There's a movement among Mormon Feminists. It's called the Ordain Women Movement or OW. I've stayed quiet for a long time on this, but I know wish to express why I support the movement.
My father has changed for the better. When I was young, he thought and taught that women belonged in the kitchen. We were supposed to make dinner and clean up after. We were to clean the house while the boys did the yard work. Girls danced and boys played sports.
It pissed me off royally. I remember countless extended family dinners where my sister and I would be stuck washing the dishes while my brothers played nintendo. We would complain to our dad that we had peeled all the potatoes and now had to do dishes. I remember when my sister was allowed to go outside and pull weeds. I hurried with my house chores so I could pull them too. We gave up our ballet shoes for cleats and sneakers when our teacher moved to Florida (we tried another studio, but I cried the entire time because there were boys in my class).
I'm not sure if it was the constant complaining that I am just as good as a boy, or my constant aggressiveness towards showing my dad that I can do what any one else could, but my dad's opinion of me changed. I've been known to be the only girl helping take down chairs after meetings, often carrying 4 chairs and wearing high heels while other men carry one. My father made me be independent. When I was 16 he told me I wasn't allowed to come home without a job. When my car would break, he would stand next to me and teach me how to fix things.
I remember being in my awkward phase (which unfortunately lasted for WAY TOO LONG!), sitting in the church pew angry as a turkey that I wasn't allowed to pass the sacrament. Why were the boys allowed to do something I wasn't?! No one had a good enough answer, but I trusted in the "women are to be mothers" philosophy the church taught.
I held tightly to this idea, until 2011 when my OBGYN told me I wouldn't be able to have kids without medical assistance. I did what any normal person would do, I acted like nothing was wrong as my OBGYN tried to console me. I told her I had complete faith in medicine and she looked concerned at my lack of concern. And then, once safely in the car, I cried like a baby. And then I called my mom. She didn't answer. So I called my bestie. She didn't answer. So I went to the temple. I bawled the entire time and the lady in front of my probably thought I had just lost my parents. I finally got a hold of my mom and she did not believe my doctor. She demanded another opinion. So I consulted another OBGYN who told me not only would I be not be able to have children on my own, but if I went off birth control my chances for uterine cancer increased exponentially. Thanks mom, I really needed cancer added on to all of this.
So why the tears? My whole life I had trusted in the fact my entire purpose relied on the idea that I was meant to be a mother. Now I must digress, I've always wanted to adopt, but when you are taught from the womb your PURPOSE is to pop out more things like you, it takes a toll. It made me feel broken. I felt obligated to tell those I seriously dated that I was dysfunctional. And it may be the people I dated, but it wasn't always well received. So what was my purpose now?
Now don't give that "it takes a village" BS. I've made a career of connecting with people with special needs. I have had callings in nursery (which is a great form of birth control by the way). But it isn't enough to fill the 'purpose' I am supposed to have. Don't give me that "next life" shenanigans either. The fact I may be blessed in another life does not help the fact I can't fulfill the purpose I am supposed to fill right now.
The gender roles supported by the LDS church are not equal, obviously. I'm not looking for equality, I'm not looking for fairness. I'm looking for a better purpose. Women who never get married, those who can't have kids, and all those with other "issues" are indoctrinated to feel worthless. Now you may argue differently, but may I ask "Have you ever been in this situation? How did you get out of the situation? And because you're no longer in the situation, can you really objectively argue differently?"
Many, myself included, argue that "Blacks" and the priesthood is on the similar level that women and the priesthood are. The revelation of 1979 came only after much publicity, pressure, and protesting. Did you know that people picketed and boycotted BYU games? Am I implying that the revelation wasn't from God? In part yes. I think it came from God but I think the political pressure played a greater role in the timing than most are likely to admit. Just like the pressure from the government and social society preceded the end of polygamy.
So why is no one picketing BYU games? I think it may be because women's issues aren't on the same playing field as civil rights. I also think the church has polarized itself. Too many are putting women's rights along with gay rights. I think all should have rights, but I'm not getting on this soap box right now.
Now I'm not burning my bras; heaven knows I need to lock and load the girls. I'm not even wearing pants to church, even though it would be a lot easier because I wouldn't have to shave my legs (which I usually don't anyways). What I want people to get from this, is to understand the background and not just the stance.
The idea that virtue is tied to whether a person has worth teaches people that if they make a mistake or if they have been abused, they are worthless. The idea that your purpose is tied to your ability to have children, is flawed and perpetrates the idea of worthlessness. I should not be defined by what comes out of my uterus, because that would make me a bloody mess right now.
I believe there needs to be a change. I don't know if women having the Priesthood is the best option, but I think movement is better than the stagnant worthlessness the church is currently teaching.
My father has changed for the better. When I was young, he thought and taught that women belonged in the kitchen. We were supposed to make dinner and clean up after. We were to clean the house while the boys did the yard work. Girls danced and boys played sports.
It pissed me off royally. I remember countless extended family dinners where my sister and I would be stuck washing the dishes while my brothers played nintendo. We would complain to our dad that we had peeled all the potatoes and now had to do dishes. I remember when my sister was allowed to go outside and pull weeds. I hurried with my house chores so I could pull them too. We gave up our ballet shoes for cleats and sneakers when our teacher moved to Florida (we tried another studio, but I cried the entire time because there were boys in my class).
I'm not sure if it was the constant complaining that I am just as good as a boy, or my constant aggressiveness towards showing my dad that I can do what any one else could, but my dad's opinion of me changed. I've been known to be the only girl helping take down chairs after meetings, often carrying 4 chairs and wearing high heels while other men carry one. My father made me be independent. When I was 16 he told me I wasn't allowed to come home without a job. When my car would break, he would stand next to me and teach me how to fix things.
I remember being in my awkward phase (which unfortunately lasted for WAY TOO LONG!), sitting in the church pew angry as a turkey that I wasn't allowed to pass the sacrament. Why were the boys allowed to do something I wasn't?! No one had a good enough answer, but I trusted in the "women are to be mothers" philosophy the church taught.
I held tightly to this idea, until 2011 when my OBGYN told me I wouldn't be able to have kids without medical assistance. I did what any normal person would do, I acted like nothing was wrong as my OBGYN tried to console me. I told her I had complete faith in medicine and she looked concerned at my lack of concern. And then, once safely in the car, I cried like a baby. And then I called my mom. She didn't answer. So I called my bestie. She didn't answer. So I went to the temple. I bawled the entire time and the lady in front of my probably thought I had just lost my parents. I finally got a hold of my mom and she did not believe my doctor. She demanded another opinion. So I consulted another OBGYN who told me not only would I be not be able to have children on my own, but if I went off birth control my chances for uterine cancer increased exponentially. Thanks mom, I really needed cancer added on to all of this.
So why the tears? My whole life I had trusted in the fact my entire purpose relied on the idea that I was meant to be a mother. Now I must digress, I've always wanted to adopt, but when you are taught from the womb your PURPOSE is to pop out more things like you, it takes a toll. It made me feel broken. I felt obligated to tell those I seriously dated that I was dysfunctional. And it may be the people I dated, but it wasn't always well received. So what was my purpose now?
Now don't give that "it takes a village" BS. I've made a career of connecting with people with special needs. I have had callings in nursery (which is a great form of birth control by the way). But it isn't enough to fill the 'purpose' I am supposed to have. Don't give me that "next life" shenanigans either. The fact I may be blessed in another life does not help the fact I can't fulfill the purpose I am supposed to fill right now.
The gender roles supported by the LDS church are not equal, obviously. I'm not looking for equality, I'm not looking for fairness. I'm looking for a better purpose. Women who never get married, those who can't have kids, and all those with other "issues" are indoctrinated to feel worthless. Now you may argue differently, but may I ask "Have you ever been in this situation? How did you get out of the situation? And because you're no longer in the situation, can you really objectively argue differently?"
Many, myself included, argue that "Blacks" and the priesthood is on the similar level that women and the priesthood are. The revelation of 1979 came only after much publicity, pressure, and protesting. Did you know that people picketed and boycotted BYU games? Am I implying that the revelation wasn't from God? In part yes. I think it came from God but I think the political pressure played a greater role in the timing than most are likely to admit. Just like the pressure from the government and social society preceded the end of polygamy.
So why is no one picketing BYU games? I think it may be because women's issues aren't on the same playing field as civil rights. I also think the church has polarized itself. Too many are putting women's rights along with gay rights. I think all should have rights, but I'm not getting on this soap box right now.
Now I'm not burning my bras; heaven knows I need to lock and load the girls. I'm not even wearing pants to church, even though it would be a lot easier because I wouldn't have to shave my legs (which I usually don't anyways). What I want people to get from this, is to understand the background and not just the stance.
The idea that virtue is tied to whether a person has worth teaches people that if they make a mistake or if they have been abused, they are worthless. The idea that your purpose is tied to your ability to have children, is flawed and perpetrates the idea of worthlessness. I should not be defined by what comes out of my uterus, because that would make me a bloody mess right now.
I believe there needs to be a change. I don't know if women having the Priesthood is the best option, but I think movement is better than the stagnant worthlessness the church is currently teaching.
Friday, October 4, 2013
So Bring on the Rain
I remember a few years back one of Young Women's leaders made a comment about how she wants to move back to Utah because they actually have seasons there. I believe I told her she was crazy and Jess told her to move back to Utah, or maybe it was the other way around.
So for all of you who thinks Utah has seasons, you are wrong, and here is proof:
Notice there are a few leaves that are changing colors, but NOTHING like Washington. However, the reality of the situation is the fact there is snow on Oct 4.
October is a month for fall in the northern hemisphere. And snow is for winter. Looks like Utah once again missed fall.
So for all of you who thinks Utah has seasons, you are wrong, and here is proof:
Notice there are a few leaves that are changing colors, but NOTHING like Washington. However, the reality of the situation is the fact there is snow on Oct 4.
October is a month for fall in the northern hemisphere. And snow is for winter. Looks like Utah once again missed fall.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Show Me Your Teeth
A couple of weeks ago, I went in for my routine dentist checkup and I was told I needed six fillings. 6. But don't worry, I haven't been going crazy with the candy. Apparently, my teeth are too cavernous; my ridges too deep.
Now if you're like me, you'll think that's just a bunch of crap made up to get money out of someone. But this is the 3rd dentist who has told me this. So I did what any self-respecting person with insurance would do, and I scheduled to have them all filled at once.
When I showed up for my appointment I was told that they only had time to fill four of them that day. Why was this an issue? Now I had to go back again instead of sleeping in my next day off and by sleeping in I mean at least 10:00 am. We went ahead and they numbed the entire left side of my face (I have to have the block numbing because the localized Novocain doesn't work for me).
The doctor walked in and started talking to his assistance about the root canal he was working on the in other room. The young boy's tonsils were so swollen they were worried his airway was going to close. He sat down next to me and I said "You don't have to worry, I don't have tonsils". He was amazed to find out that I had mine removed when I was five.
He finished all four within 20 minutes. I walked out of the office to pay my co-pay and I was hit with a $250.00 bill. You read that right. I nonchalantly asked "So my insurance didn't cover any of it?" as not to appear poor. "Oh no," said the male receptionist who doesn't know he's gay "your insurance will only cover the cost of the metal fillings and the $250 is the amount remaining to cover the rest for the white fillings."
Awesome.
Don't worry, I still have two more to fill and pay for.
Now if you're like me, you'll think that's just a bunch of crap made up to get money out of someone. But this is the 3rd dentist who has told me this. So I did what any self-respecting person with insurance would do, and I scheduled to have them all filled at once.
When I showed up for my appointment I was told that they only had time to fill four of them that day. Why was this an issue? Now I had to go back again instead of sleeping in my next day off and by sleeping in I mean at least 10:00 am. We went ahead and they numbed the entire left side of my face (I have to have the block numbing because the localized Novocain doesn't work for me).
The doctor walked in and started talking to his assistance about the root canal he was working on the in other room. The young boy's tonsils were so swollen they were worried his airway was going to close. He sat down next to me and I said "You don't have to worry, I don't have tonsils". He was amazed to find out that I had mine removed when I was five.
He finished all four within 20 minutes. I walked out of the office to pay my co-pay and I was hit with a $250.00 bill. You read that right. I nonchalantly asked "So my insurance didn't cover any of it?" as not to appear poor. "Oh no," said the male receptionist who doesn't know he's gay "your insurance will only cover the cost of the metal fillings and the $250 is the amount remaining to cover the rest for the white fillings."
Awesome.
Don't worry, I still have two more to fill and pay for.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Redemption
Two Sundays ago I decided to make cookies to take to my grandma's house. Once I started I realized I didn't have butter. So I made the decision to use the Country Crock Spread we had in the fridge. I also had to use our "storage" oats because we ran out of the oats we usually use for cooking. Not a problem right, because I can be flexible.
As I'm stirring the "butter" with the ingredients, it looked really funny. It was chunking up and not mixing. I just thought it was because it was still cold and would mix in with the dry ingredients. Well, it did and I finished up the cookies and started baking them. I put the first batch in the oven and started scooping out the second batch when I tasted it. I gagged. Why did it taste so bad?! Then I realized, I forgot to put the sugar in. I had two choices: add the sugar at the end or throw the whole thing away. I decided to at least try to add the sugar since we were out of oats. It tasted a bit sweeter, but still tasted like a rabbit's cage. The cookies came out flat, crispy, and sticking to the parchment paper. Anything that sticks to parchment paper scares me. We decided to throw the whole batch out and go to Grandma's empty handed.
It freaked me out! How could I forget the sugar of all things?! I mean I could understand not putting in salt or baking soda, but SUGAR?!!! I felt like I was turning into my mom.
I was talking with my cousin's wife about my cookie fail. She said that she thinks my oats were bad because of the rabbit food taste. Well, I went home and did a little dumpster diving and it turns out our oats were 6 months expired. Yum.
So yesterday came my chance at redemption. I made sure I took everything needed for the cookies and placed them on the counter. When I had added them, I put it away. I halved the recipe so that we wouldn't be eating stale cookies for a week, and if I messed up it wouldn't be too big of a deal. The dough tasted amazing and the first batch came out a little under done. So I did what anyone would do and put the next and final batch in for an extra minute. Well I didn't take into account that I was using a different kind of cookie sheet, and I burnt the entire batch. Seriously. So much for redemption.
Then came dinner and the canned jalapenos I planned to use for our enchiladas was a bit bulgy. We played it safe and since we didn't have onions or jalapenos the enchiladas tasted more like lasagna. Better luck next week?
Sunday, September 15, 2013
R.E.S.P.E.C.T Find Out What it Means to Me
Those of you who know me well know that I have problems. Problems with authority, problems with having to be right, and problems with speaking my mind.
I grew up as a feminist in what I thought was a patriarchal society. And yet, my parents taught me to state my opinions, back them up, and know that I was loved even if they didn't agree.
My husband is born and bred Utahn. I didn't really have a problem with it because he wasn't a Jazz fan. I wanted the court house wedding and he wanted the whole sha bang. We balanced each other pretty well.
However, he grew up in an extreme rightist patriarchal society. One in which for the first year we were married his father never called on a female to bless the meal. Or on pie nights, the women would make the pies, eat after all the men had ate, and then cleaned up everything. How my husband turned out the way he did, is still a mystery to me.
Life was manageable, until we started going to his grandparents' every week which was the family norm. Every one would sit around the room and discuss whatever they thought, but since they all thought the same way it was almost crazy. I remember once that Facebook came up as a point of discussion and how girls were doing this thing called "Facebook stalking" and wasting precious hours on the internet that they could have spent indexing. I sat quiet not wanting to rock the boat since I have a tendency for the dramatics and pushing people's buttons.
It wasn't until politics came up that things got ugly. Word spread like wildfire that I was a "democrat" and the barbs started flying. "How could any good standing member of the church be a democrat?" his uncles would yell as they stared into my face. I was quickly outcasted and would often shake with fury. I let Nate have it in the car on the way home. See I have a thing about making people feel stupid when I know that they can actually comprehend what I am saying, but when ignorance is so engrained that you know it would be like talking to a brick wall, I won't waste my time.
Another uncle starting leaving the room every time we would come over and then would come back in and ask everyone a question, person to person, and then skip over Nate and I, and then leave the room. Or ask everyone who's bag he was holding, get to point where he would ask me, look me up and down, and then turn around and walk away.
Honestly, I've never been shown so much disrespect in my life. AND it was from people who were building a bunker for the end of the world, home schooled their kids, and ate gluten free despite the fact NO ONE IN THE FAMILY is a celiac.
Anyways, almost a year into our marriage my husband decided that he no longer believes in the church or God for that matter. We decided to tell his parents because he's nephew's baby blessing was coming up. Guess who got the heat for it? The democrat feminist wife. Yes I completely ruined their perfect little boy. Me, the one who still drags him to church, but do they know that? Nope.
His family doesn't know how to associate with people who aren't members. We went about 3 months where I was the only one who would ask questions and it would be answered by the fewest words they could possibly think of. So I decided I had had enough. I made Nate in charge of conversation. We started going on hikes and doing extracurricular things so people would have more to talk to us about besides our church standings. But yet, no one asks us anything. No one knows about my job changes, Nate's school, what we like to do for fun, why my toenail is purple, etc. They don't ask, even when we bait them with "We hiked Timpanogos yesterday" "Oh?!" Then they change the subject to something about church. Wait, let me be honest, his dad does ask me one question about once every other month "How's the new job? Still better than the State Hospital?!" Seriously. That's it. His dad won't even look at us when we are at the dinner table. He leaves the room as soon as dinner is done and then comes back in when he knows we are leaving.
My family talks things out. On her last trip here I sat my little sister down and asked her straight up why she doesn't like me. She didn't have any answer, but she didn't care to make things better. So there it is, it's out in the open and I can move on with my life. Maybe this isn't the healthiest way of dealing with things, but it's how I like to deal with things. But this new situation, lifestyle, I don't even know what to call it, whatever it is that I'm in, NO ONE will talk about it. So I'm blogging it, in hopes that I can some how get it out of my system.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Mount Timpanogos
Something I've never had a desire to do I actually did. I climbed Mt. Timpanogos. Grace, Nate, and I started this adventure at 1:00 pm on a Saturday and didn't finish until 11:00 pm that night. We made it to the top with relatively no problems.
What no one will ever tell you, is that up isn't the problem. It's down. My right big toe took a good beating on a couple of rocks. It felt a bit weird, like the toenail was ingrown, but I persevered. It wasn't painful, just a weird pressure. I mentioned it to the group, but decided not to be a baby and only to worry about it if blood started seeping through my shoe.
My knees were KILLING me! I clenched to my hiking pole like a grandma clenches to her cane. I was hunched over and shaking every time I had to climb down rocks. You know it's bad when you are glad the trail is going uphill inside of down. It was hurting so bad and I was going so slow that Nate refused to let me be the caboose. I started crying and tried hiding my tears, and saying "I'm fine, nothing's wrong" when Nate caught on to my sniffles. But he took my pack and watched as my knee muscles literally and visibly shook with every step.
We were in a constant race with a group of extremely annoying boy scouts. It was dark, I was tired, and in pain and we followed them onto what actually wasn't the trail (Grace had said "I don't think that is the trail" but I was so incoherent I fired back "I don't care!"). 10 minutes through the bush later we had to turn around and hike back. I started yelling "I can't do it" "I'm going to kill someone" and Nate quietly and collectively pushed me back up the hill.
We finally made it and we literally slept the rest of the weekend. When I got home, my toe was a bit swollen like the rest of my body, but nothing too bad.
Well one week later I still can't walk down stairs normally. And my toe looks like this:
I'm told by numerous people that I'm probably going to lose the nail. At least I wasn't being a baby for no reason right?
On the bright side, at least I have a legitimate reason to not run/exercise.
My knees were KILLING me! I clenched to my hiking pole like a grandma clenches to her cane. I was hunched over and shaking every time I had to climb down rocks. You know it's bad when you are glad the trail is going uphill inside of down. It was hurting so bad and I was going so slow that Nate refused to let me be the caboose. I started crying and tried hiding my tears, and saying "I'm fine, nothing's wrong" when Nate caught on to my sniffles. But he took my pack and watched as my knee muscles literally and visibly shook with every step.
We were in a constant race with a group of extremely annoying boy scouts. It was dark, I was tired, and in pain and we followed them onto what actually wasn't the trail (Grace had said "I don't think that is the trail" but I was so incoherent I fired back "I don't care!"). 10 minutes through the bush later we had to turn around and hike back. I started yelling "I can't do it" "I'm going to kill someone" and Nate quietly and collectively pushed me back up the hill.
We finally made it and we literally slept the rest of the weekend. When I got home, my toe was a bit swollen like the rest of my body, but nothing too bad.
Well one week later I still can't walk down stairs normally. And my toe looks like this:
On the bright side, at least I have a legitimate reason to not run/exercise.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Timpanogos Cave
My dad, mom, and younger sisters came in town to drop my youngest sister off at college. They were here for a week and our final hurrah we went to Timpanogos Caves.
Let's just say once again Nate told me it was an 'easy' hike. It wasn't. I was worried my mom wasn't going to make it.
Besides being overcast, everyone overfull from Cafe Rio before the hike, and a squirrel nearly jumping on Nate's head we made it there safely.
The caves were really cool. Not just in temperature (because I actually thought they were very cold) but something I think anyone who is not morbidly obese should do some time.
If you go in the caves now and smell something awful, it won't be the sulfur. It will have been from someone in my family. Just something to always remember us by.
Let's just say once again Nate told me it was an 'easy' hike. It wasn't. I was worried my mom wasn't going to make it.
Besides being overcast, everyone overfull from Cafe Rio before the hike, and a squirrel nearly jumping on Nate's head we made it there safely.
The caves were really cool. Not just in temperature (because I actually thought they were very cold) but something I think anyone who is not morbidly obese should do some time.
If you go in the caves now and smell something awful, it won't be the sulfur. It will have been from someone in my family. Just something to always remember us by.
I'm not hunched because I don't want to touch the walls, I'm freezing.
The heart of Timpanogos.
Grace photo-bombing.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Lake Blanche
So when I'm not sick I try to be proactive. I try to exercise. I've found a new form of exercise that is just up my alley. Hiking. You can go slow and no one judges you. But I met my match yesterday.
Lake Blanch. I was told it was a 2.5 mile hike comparable to the hike we did two weeks ago (up Timpanooke until the first rim). Well, it was 3.7 miles (each way) all up hill and climbing over rocks. 1000x worse than Lake Annette when I was 16 years old. And I didn't even have a back pack on.
In all honesty there were about 5 times I stopped because I thought I had started wheezing. I thought I was having athletic induced asthma. 4 of those times Nate didn't notice that I stopped and I was too winded to call out his name. 2 of those times I honestly thought I was dying, and apparently I looked like it too because Nate kept saying "We should turn back, we should turn back". Those 5 times were before we were even half way done.
An hour and a half up the mountain a couple coming down told us there was about a half hour left until the lake. A half hour later another couple told us we were "almost there!". Well, they lied. Because almost to me is within 1000 feet. It was another 25 minutes of rugged rocks until we got there.
Most couples enjoy nature and talk about amazing things while they hiked. Most of our hike I was livid at Nate because he wouldn't talk about why he raised his voice at me in the car, and then I was hiking up a freaking mountain for no real reason other than Nate wanted to and it just fueled the flames. Meaning, most of the hike we were both silent and I gave one word answers to his attempts to make conversation.
When we finally reached the lake, I was almost attacked by a pot gut. Nate kept throwing it food, despite my nagging him not to have wildlife dependent on us. It jumped a gully and ran straight for me. If it wasn't for my cat like reflexes, my large body, and my child like scream, I don't think I would have made it out alive.
On the way down there was a 7 year old hiking up by himself. He was trying to catch up with the group that was about 20 minutes a head of him. He told us his parents were "just behind", but 20 minutes after seeing him, there were no parents in sight. I almost turned around and hiked with him to the group he was looking for (as they had not idea that he was trying to catch up to them and that he was by himself). Nate told me "He'll be fine" and another 10 minutes passed and his parents were on the trail. They didn't even ask us about him. I told Nate that it was a classic DCFS case of neglect. I can't even get away from work on a mountain!
We made it down as the sun was setting (we were stuck in traffic on the way up there and were about 45 minutes behind what Nate planned) and went to Carl's Jr for dinner (at 9 pm). By that time even the Pop Tart Ice Cream Sandwiches looked good. Today I have a charlie horse in my left leg, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to sleep through my alarm tomorrow.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
U.T.Me?
So last night we calculated. I've had 14 raging (and clinically diagnosed) UTI's in the last year and a month. So what's the problem? They still don't know.
Yesterday I got up to go to my besties house to help her clean/move. I decided to use the restroom before going and then had the extreme urge to void again. I told myself it's all in my mind, so I drove over to her house, whilst counting down the minutes (literally) until I could use the toilet again. When she opened the door I said "I think I have a UTI, can I use your bathroom?". Sure enough I was voiding blood at this point and a phone call to my doctor (after being on hold with them for 7 minutes all while being curled up in the fetal position at her dinner table) I was on my way to the doctors.
When I'm in situations like this I use 10 minute increments to survive. I tell myself "In ten minutes I'll stop at the next restroom" and when 10 minutes pass I tell myself "In ten minutes I'll stop at the next restroom". All the while I'm praying like crazy to help me get there without peeing my pants or getting a ticket.
When I got to the office, I had to wait for about 10 minutes. I practiced my la maz breathing. I'm sure the people in the waiting room were concerned as to why I was bent over and breathing funny, but I could have cared less what other people thought of me.
The nurse called me back and apologized for the wait. I told her "No, I'm sure you've been waiting all day for this." And then she cathed me. The catheter she used was about 3 times larger than the one I had at Instacare 3 weeks ago. It was larger than a straw and hurt going in and especially coming out.
She came back in and told me it was "most likely" an UTI since there was "tons of blood and some white cells". They always say "most likely", love the political correctness. I was hunched completely over and holding myself and asked "Can I use the restroom before I leave?" She responded by laughing and stating "I emptied you!" She then tilted her head to the side and said "I want to take your temperature before you leave". Which she did and it was "normal" and then I used the restroom.
She sent me downstairs to the pharmacy, where I was told there was a 20-25 minute wait. I went in and out of the bathroom 3 times during the wait. At one point the pharmacy tech asked me if I was Amy. I responded "No, but if there are narcotics, I can be Amy". That was one of the few times everyone laughed at my jokes.
When they called me up for my prescription, the first thing the pharmacist told me was to avoid the sun since the medication would make me extremely sensitive. I said "You mean other than being really white?" I should have better screened myself because he was a balding redhead who didn't think it was funny. He then told me to stop taking my vitamins because the medication would stop my body from processing them. I asked if ice cream was still ok (because it has calcium in it). He said ice cream was fine. I breathed a sigh of relief and he raised his eyebrows. I told him the last medication I was on I had to wait 2+ hours to eat ice cream and it wasn't good. He then repeatedly instructed me to only take the antibiotic on a full stomach. I wanted to take it as soon as possible, so I grabbed the $0.20 Charleston Chew next to me and asked "How many of these are considered a full stomach?". He said "You're going to have to do better." I replied "Is a Snickers better?" and he said "That's getting there". I bought a overpriced Snickers without a coupon (I've forgot to mention I'm completely addicted to couponing). On my way out he said "See you later" to which I responded "Hopefully not anytime soon" and he finally laughed.
I made a pit stop in the restroom where I ate my snickers and took my medicine and prepared mentally for the 10 minute cycle. I tried calling my mom but she didn't answer.
I drove back to Katie's house and when she opened the door I said "I'm going to use your restroom and then I'm going to clean your house."
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Thursday, January 17, 2013
I Hate Pie
I hate pie. I always have. Yes, I may eat it because you made it and you swear it doesn't taste like cheesecake. It always does.
So, when you are saying sorry for crashing my car, that you didn't have permission to drive, NEVER buy me a pie and think that counts as a sorry. Because it doesn't. It pisses me off more because I hate pie and it just shows that you don't care about my car or about what I actually like.
Why the anger? Let me go back to give you a full picture.
We went to Seattle for Christmas. We needed a ride to the airport. Nate's family lives in Orem, and since all my friends were out of town, we had someone in his family drive us (in our car) to the airport. It's a weird custom his family has, this drive someone else's car thing, but that's not even the issue.
Before we went to the airport, I had a bad feeling about the car. I told Nate about the bad feeling and how I wasn't comfortable with his family driving our car while we were gone. He doesn't believe in bad feelings. He reassured me multiple times that no one would drive the car. But after my persistance, he told me that we would take my car so that his family would know not to drive it. I said "Fine, but only your mom can drive it". The deal was set and 5 minutes before his mom was supposed to take us she said "I've been dizzy all day, so [Nate's sister] is going to take you". I gripped Nate's hand tightly and he said "What can we do?" and I said "Nothing". She drove us to the airport and I prayed and prayed she would make it home safely. She did.
Through out the next couple of days, I continued to have bad feelings. I nagged and nagged Nate to call and make sure no one was driving the car. He ignored it. On Christmas, when he called home, I made him ask if anyone was driving the car. His mom said "Nope, it's sitting outside, waiting for you to get back". I got the "I told you so look" and I finally trusted my husband.
The next day I had a very serious voicemail from my father-in-law asking me to call him back. I did, and was informed that my sister-in-law, had taken my car to go sledding because her car was in the shop. My father-in-law had recommended she take my car because she "was a good driver" (he repeated that about 6 times throughout the phone call). She had got in a fender bender, freaked out and called him. Minimal damage. Then when driving away from the fender bender, slid through a stop sign and wrecked my car, causing $1000 less than the total value of the car. She is willing to pay our deductible, Nate's dad said.
I flipped.
To add more salt to the wound. The day after we took my car to the shop, Nate's car wouldn't start. So we had to drive his parent's car until it was done. Well, because we couldn't wait a week for the part, they had to buy another one for double the price, all so that we could have a car. The total cost of his car was the exact amount of the budget we had set to go to Vegas for my birthday. "Small inconveniences".
The anger? It's not about a car. It's about trust. Trust in Nate's family and ultimately trust in Nate. I'm not a trusting person to begin with, and this just reaffirmed the fact I hate and don't trust people. I like to talk through things. I like to beat dead horses. But Nate's family doesn't. This has been swept under the rug, like it never happened. And, while everyone else is moving on with their lives, I come home from work and crawl into bed. I sleep the days I have off, and I have extremely high blood pressure.
I'm going crazy.
Then tonight, when Nate told me his sister wanted to talk about it, she came over gave me a pie, said "I'm sorry" and "I hope this makes everything ok?" and "I'm really late" (she was on her way to work), and left. I was prepared to talk about it and get it off my chest. Sweep, sweep, sweep.
So, when you are saying sorry for crashing my car, that you didn't have permission to drive, NEVER buy me a pie and think that counts as a sorry. Because it doesn't. It pisses me off more because I hate pie and it just shows that you don't care about my car or about what I actually like.
Why the anger? Let me go back to give you a full picture.
We went to Seattle for Christmas. We needed a ride to the airport. Nate's family lives in Orem, and since all my friends were out of town, we had someone in his family drive us (in our car) to the airport. It's a weird custom his family has, this drive someone else's car thing, but that's not even the issue.
Before we went to the airport, I had a bad feeling about the car. I told Nate about the bad feeling and how I wasn't comfortable with his family driving our car while we were gone. He doesn't believe in bad feelings. He reassured me multiple times that no one would drive the car. But after my persistance, he told me that we would take my car so that his family would know not to drive it. I said "Fine, but only your mom can drive it". The deal was set and 5 minutes before his mom was supposed to take us she said "I've been dizzy all day, so [Nate's sister] is going to take you". I gripped Nate's hand tightly and he said "What can we do?" and I said "Nothing". She drove us to the airport and I prayed and prayed she would make it home safely. She did.
Through out the next couple of days, I continued to have bad feelings. I nagged and nagged Nate to call and make sure no one was driving the car. He ignored it. On Christmas, when he called home, I made him ask if anyone was driving the car. His mom said "Nope, it's sitting outside, waiting for you to get back". I got the "I told you so look" and I finally trusted my husband.
The next day I had a very serious voicemail from my father-in-law asking me to call him back. I did, and was informed that my sister-in-law, had taken my car to go sledding because her car was in the shop. My father-in-law had recommended she take my car because she "was a good driver" (he repeated that about 6 times throughout the phone call). She had got in a fender bender, freaked out and called him. Minimal damage. Then when driving away from the fender bender, slid through a stop sign and wrecked my car, causing $1000 less than the total value of the car. She is willing to pay our deductible, Nate's dad said.
I flipped.
To add more salt to the wound. The day after we took my car to the shop, Nate's car wouldn't start. So we had to drive his parent's car until it was done. Well, because we couldn't wait a week for the part, they had to buy another one for double the price, all so that we could have a car. The total cost of his car was the exact amount of the budget we had set to go to Vegas for my birthday. "Small inconveniences".
The anger? It's not about a car. It's about trust. Trust in Nate's family and ultimately trust in Nate. I'm not a trusting person to begin with, and this just reaffirmed the fact I hate and don't trust people. I like to talk through things. I like to beat dead horses. But Nate's family doesn't. This has been swept under the rug, like it never happened. And, while everyone else is moving on with their lives, I come home from work and crawl into bed. I sleep the days I have off, and I have extremely high blood pressure.
I'm going crazy.
Then tonight, when Nate told me his sister wanted to talk about it, she came over gave me a pie, said "I'm sorry" and "I hope this makes everything ok?" and "I'm really late" (she was on her way to work), and left. I was prepared to talk about it and get it off my chest. Sweep, sweep, sweep.
