I miss my old job

I lucked out in landing the job of my dreams (SLP in a private clinic) right out of grad school, and I got to work there (with fun clients and fabulous co-workers) for nine years.

Now I'm in the school setting, and although it's a better fit for me than a hospital could ever be, it's not private practice. I'm not in charge of my own schedule, and I can't take off a day or two because I feel like I need a "mental health" day. (And in education, I feel like I might require more of those per year than I needed in private practice. Eesh!)

It's also been a hard adjustment having to work on Fridays. I know, I feel like a jerk even writing it, but it's something I got used to real quick, having 3 day weekends every. single. week. Getting myself out of the door on Friday mornings is haaaaard!

There are so. many. meetings. Faculty. Professional development. PLCs. IEPs. More PDs. More IEPs. And another PD or two for good measure. (And, on occasion, three IEPs back-to-back-to-back all in one day, all after contract hours.)

Also, I've gotten sick a handful of times since school began mid-August. I figured I had a stellar immune system, having worked in a pediatric private practice for nine years, but the middle school is, like, a petri dish of germiness, and I seem to catch a good portion of whatever's going around, and it's not cool.

That's not to say that working in a public school doesn't have its perks, though. I have vision and dental insurance, which I've never had in my adult life. (Andy's work pays for our health insurance, but they don't have vision/dental plans.) It's pretty cool to just have a co-pay for these appointments, if I'm being completely honest with you.

As much as I miss my Fridays off, I'm 3 months away from a legit summer break. I'm stupid excited just thinking about all the books I can read, and hanging out with my mom and SIL sometimes (since they're teachers, too) while Andy is at work.

Aaaaand it's nice to be on salary. It's nice to get the holidays off without it hurting the bottomline, you know?

Also--and this is most important--I love the people I work with. I've gotten to know a handful of the English/Language Arts teachers fairly well, and they are awesome people! And I love the crap out of my Special Ed. team. I LOVE THEM. They've been patient and helped me transition into public school life. And the Special Ed. directors at the district level are about as supportive as they can be. I'm so grateful to them!

And as much as I miss my old job, I realize that I'd rather deal with the stresses of this new job here in Logan with Andy in my corner, than to be back at my dream job without Andy. It's been a big year of big changes, but Andy's worth it all. He's been a good cheerleader for me; he's patient and listens to my stresses, and he's literally my shoulder to cry on, and I don't regret leaving it all behind for him.

That face. The one on the right. He makes everything okay.

Also, it's good to grow and challenge oneself in so many ways, right? I'm growing professionally, doggone it!

*vent over

I mean, I wake up to views like this every morning! (Although I think this is just pre-sunset?
But you get what I'm saying.) Cache Valley, you're beautiful!

I mean, really.

...when, seemingly out of nowhere, I got engaged!

Hi there, friends Jill!

I've been MIA for quite some time, which is kind of the norm the past few years, it seems. But I feel like I've given MIA (at least where my blog is concerned) a whole new meaning since shortly after 2015 began.

If we're friends on Facebook or Instagram, y'all know I'm engaged.

It came as a shock to my friends, both Facebook and Instagram, because I've been kind of hush-hush about it all. Not because I'm not completely smitten and ridiculously happily in love, but because...I don't know. We wanted to keep things on the DL until we knew whether or not it was real, y'know?

Anyway, my one reader (hi, Jill!) and I have been friends since the days of our youth...but we've been kind of out of touch (except through FB and IG) the past several years. And she's been asking me to blog about what the what is going on. (She said it much more nicely than that, though; she's a good lady, Jill is.) So I'm here to oblige!

Back in January (MLK, Jr. Day, it was), I met up with Jeans and Tracie for dinner after work. While we were eating and chatting, they got to talking about the app Tinder. (If you don't know about Tinder, read this, because nobody is more charming in describing Tinder than Eli. Also, read this, because it's another Tinder post, and it's funny.) Aaaanyway, it turns out that Tracie had been on Tinder for a little while and she had recently peer pressured Jeans into giving it a whirl. That fateful day, Jeanna and Tracie combined forces and simultaneously peer pressured me into trying Tinder out.

I figured, "What the heck. Positive male attention is hard to come by these days." So right there, in the middle of my soup and salad special at Perkins, WITH MY NOSE IN THE AIR, I downloaded the app and set up an account. (I've been openly skeptical and snooty about Tinder since I first heard about it.)

It was kind of fun (ish) and I matched up with a handful of fellas and even had a couple of dates that were less than exciting for me. (That's another story for another time.)

Now let's fast forward about a month.

I was in Brigham City visiting my family for President's Day weekend when I opened up Tinder that Sunday after church and started swiping when I came across a bearded LDS bloke who likes to hike and fish and camp. I swiped right but didn't really think too much of it until we matched a few minutes later and he started messaging me.

Ooooh boy, I just remembered how long-winded I am. I'm going to try to keep this concise.

Okay, so the guy in question was called Andy, and he was lots of fun to message. I found out he's originally from Idaho Falls (where I'm living), and he lives in Logan (where I went to school, and 30 minutes from where my parents live). We messaged lots and he ended up asking me out for dinner for the following day (Presidents' Day).

I arrived at the restaurant early, but I'd accidentally left my phone at my folks' place, so I wasn't sure when he got there. I sat there, trying not to look too eager. Or confused. Or Tinder-y. Every time someone walked into the restaurant, I counted to three before I looked up to see who it was. And there was a time (or two) that I thought to myself, "Please don't let that be Andy." (I know. Shallow. But there were a couple of times when I met up with someone on Tinder and was totally blown away with how little they actually looked like their pictures.)

When Andy walked in, I thought, "Oh! Well hello there, Andrew!" We sat down and I know we ordered some food and ate, but mostly we just talked and talked. For 2.5 hours, we talked. I had to pee about halfway through that first date, but I didn't go because I didn't want to kill the date any earlier than necessary. (Did I tell you that yet, Andy? I totally held my bladder for you!)

At 8:00 or so, Andy, gentleman that he is, reminded me I had a bit of a drive ahead of me back to IF, so we ended the date and went our separate ways.

Without scoring a second date, WE WALKED AWAY.

But you already know I'm going to marry Andy, so you know there's more to the story. (Yeah, no, I'm not going to be concise after all. You who know me well knew those were false words as soon as I originally typed them.)

I'd left my stuff at my parents' house, so as soon as I walked in the door, I found my phone and I texted Andy something along the lines of, "Thanks for dinner, I had a lot of fun." At which point, he promptly texted back and asked me out again.

Okay, so I'm not going to go through each date to tell you how it all went down. Let's just suffice it to say that we've been on the same page from the very beginning (except that I'd have let him kiss me on the second date, but he was a perfect gentleman), and falling in love with him has been ridiculously easy.

We had kind of talked about vague plans about "if we get married" for a short time (obviously, since even now I've only known him for, like, three months)...and then it all became clear that marriage is what we both wanted, and Andy hit the ground running.

This is the day we decided for sure we wanted to get married.

We looked at engagement rings the day we said it out loud ("it" being "let's get married"), and I found one solitaire that I liked...but even so, I couldn't get excited about actually wearing it. I've always been the simple inset diamonds right in the band sort of girl, so when I told the jeweler that, she took us to the men's section. And that's when I got a little depressed. I have skinny fingers, and she was having me try on size 10 rings, and my imagination just isn't that good. So I showed Andy some pictures of rings that I could actually get excited about. When he went home, he sent me a couple more pictures to see what I thought, and I told him, "It seems like you've got a really good idea of what I like, so I'm going to let you pick."

A couple of days later, Andy talked to a jeweler in Logan and ordered my ring. And planned our honeymoon. And we got going on our wedding announcement. And set a date, and called the temple, and reserved the Lodge for our luncheon. All before I had a ring on my finger.

My dad gave Andy his blessing to marry me, and then...

I headed down to Utah on Thursday, April 23. Ever since Andy happened to me, I always take the long way home and head to Logan before "visiting my family" in Brigham. When Andy got home from work, we made dinner and visited for a while. Then he took me up Green Canyon and we went for a little walk.

And that guy was a man on a mission! We had gone on a couple of hikes before (thank you, mild winter!), and he hikes like he means it, but that day, Andy really meant business. We were walking very briskly up the trail. (Bear in mind, I kind of wondered if I was going to get a ring that day, so I was dressed cute instead of sensibly. No hiking shoes on this ginabean.) That's not to say he dragged me up the trail or anything, though. We were just walking fast while enjoying the overcast skies and dodging the bikers riding down the path.

I have no idea how long we'd been walking, but I knew that the coast had been clear of bikers for a while, and there wasn't another soul nearby, when suddenly Andy asked, "Are you ready to head back?" I said, "Sure," and Andy said, "Okay, but first..." and he pulled me in and kissed me good. Then he said, "I have a question for you, and I think I know the answer." Then he got down on his knee and asked me to marry him. OBVIOUSLY I said yes, and he stood up and put the ring (swoon!) on my finger, and we kissed again and then it started to rain, and my little heart was beyond full. I mean, I know Andy didn't schedule the rain or anything, but does this guy know me, or what? (Yes, yes, the rain added to the perfection of the evening. So much!)

I. love. my. ring.

SO. Andy and I are getting married. I'm moving back down to Utah, and I'm thrilled about it! We've already found a new apartment, and I've already found a new job, AND LIFE IS BLISS!

My future sister-in-law Hailey took our engagement pictures.

Also, I totally love Andy's family. They are down-to-earth and loving, and I scored big with his family when I fell in love with him. #WinningAtLife

Umm, before I leave you, I'll just tell you a few things I love about my Andrew...

From the very beginning, I noticed that Andy is a calm soul. And I can't tell you how attractive his tranquility is to my tightly-wound, passionate, excitable, frenzied heart. I always hoped I'd fetch me a calm man, and I got my wish!

I love how considerate Andy is. He treats me like gold, and he's always thinking about how to make me smile and make my life easier. I don't know how I got so lucky.

Andy has integrity up the wazoo. He loves the gospel and lives his life accordingly. He loves his family and he treats his momma with respect. He's ridiculously cute with his nieces and nephew (swoon).

Also, Andy is funny. He makes me laugh all the time, and he makes me smile when I'm having a rough day. He hates it when I'm sad and does whatever he can to make me happy.

There are roughly one zillion more reasons I'm crazy about this guy, but I've already been rather long-winded, so I'll end it here. We're getting married July 16, and we can hardly wait!

Here's to new adventures with this handsome fella by my side!

my wonky thumbnail

Shortly after the new year began, I noticed a bump on my right thumbnail. At the very center, starting at the cuticle. It was kind of weird, and the bump started growing outward throughout the weeks.

It weirded me out a bit, if I'm being honest with you. Because I hadn't smashed my thumb or anything like unto it, y'know? I hadn't earned it.

Initially, I thought it was, perhaps, a thickening of the nail, so I grabbed a nail file, and I sanded it down.

That. Was. A giant mistake. And rather painful...

As it turns out, it wasn't a thickening of the middle part of my nail at all, but the bump came from underneath the nail itself. Ergo, I essentially filed my nail to almost skin-level down there by the cuticle. (If you don't understand how that feels, go ahead and try doing what I did. But really: DON'T TRY IT. Just take my word for it that it was painful, okay?)

Aaaanyway, I was hanging out with Jami one afternoon (when we were working on my dining room set) and I showed her my wonky nail, and she was kinda freaked out by it and encouraged me to go to the doctor about it.

So I did.

I sought medical help over my wonky thumbnail. And I sat in that doctor's office for the better part of 40 minutes while the PA poured of a medical book or two, trying to figure out what the what was going on with my right thumb.

My thumbnail problem was that weird, folks.

I took this picture a few days after visiting the doc.

When he figured out what it was, he came in to tell me about it.

It's called median nail dystrophy, folks, and there is no known cause. It only happens on the thumb nails, although sometimes it's bilateral. (Sooo grateful it's just my right thumb, I have to say.) Also, sometimes it happens on the big toenails. (Once again, I'm thrilled it skipped my toes altogether.) Starting at the cuticle, right in the middle, the nail either grows out with a bump, or else it starts splitting. And sometimes when it splits, it looks like a fir tree. There's no cure for it; it just grows out.

I was super bummed, because I'm vain when it comes to my nails, I suppose. I went home and googled "median nail dystrophy" and read up on it; in addition to what the PA said, I discovered that when it grows out, there's no exact time table. Sometimes it takes months. Sometimes it takes years.

Then I went ahead and looked at the google images of MND, and I felt sick and kind of depressed. Because the "thumb cracking to look like a fir tree" was simultaneously accurate and inaccurate. Some of those pictures were gross, and I kept thinking I'd have to cover my thumb with BandAids until the nastiness grew out, you know?

Also, I (maybe, a little bit) started praying, since my nails grow fast, that the wonk might not, in fact, last years.

Shortly after I visited the doctor, my nail started to crack.

It's lovely, isn't it?

More cracking.

This picture was titled "March 9"

And this one was titled "End of March"

On April Fools Day, it hit me that the wonk was, in fact, growing out!!

Mid-April...

April 17th

Yesterday

 I can't tell you how happy I am that this...median nail dystrophy...is leaving my body. THE WONK IS ALMOST GONE!

*I totally wasn't going to post anything about this, because YUCK. But now that it's almost gone (yay, hooray!), I'm less sensitive about it. And also: I kind of want to remember this, in case it ever comes back (heaven forbid!). 

I hope that I haven't grossed any of you out too badly. I also hope that median nail dystrophy never graces any of your thumbs...

four and a half months later...

I really and truly had every intention of getting back on the wagon and blogging much more regularly after I got back from my vacation in May.

I'm not quite sure what happened.

A few things happened that I didn't necessarily want to share on such a public forum (although "public" is kind of a liberal term, since I probably don't have any followers any more)...

My summer wasn't even a particularly busy one, once I got back from my trip to sunny California.

I'm not quite sure why I neglected you so efficiently, blog. None of the excuses I might come up with are bound to be very good.

However, I really hope I can experience the personal joys of blogging once again. Not for the readers (that I don't have any more anyway), but for me. Blogging has been therapeutic in the past, and it's been a fun way for me to journal the happenings in my life.

Here goes. A new resolution I'm starting in October for no apparent reason, other than I think I miss blogging.

more annoyed than i should be...

I've had a hankering for a salted caramel hot chocolate pretty much all day, so when I had a cancellation this afternoon, I high-tailed it over to Starbucks and ordered one.

After I'd paid for said beverage, and after Mr. Starbucks had made the cocoa and topped it with whip cream and drizzled it with caramel, he said to me, "Uhhhh...it looks like we're out of salt. Looks like I'll be going to Albertson's on my break."

Can I just say...?

"That is NOT okay, guy! The salt on a salted caramel hot chocolate is at least half the point! Make right thus wrong, mister!"

Of course I didn't say any of this to Mr. Starbucks. I just felt depressed. And then a bit angry. Because? Guys, I'm weird, but I do not care for caramel without salt. (My brother Aaron has called me un-American because of this...travesty? It's weird, I get it.)

No, instead of doing anything productive, or even complaining to the guy, I sulked. And blogged about it.

Badly done, Starbucks...

salted caramel sans salt makes me frowny...

PS I know my little blog isn't super popular (not complaining, just stating the facts), but boy howdy, my last post got a lot of hits within 24 hours! I'm lucky to get 30 hits a day (maybe 50 on a good day?). But you people! I got 152 hits on that one post! It makes me think you (my "friends") like to see me make a fool of myself on such a public forum. And it really makes me ponder my life...

another day off...

I woke up this morning with zero voice again. (FYI: yesterday, my voice did start coming back...sort of. Technically it wasn't my voice per se, but a voice; something you could hear, and something louder than a whisper.) So I went to a church activity and talked a bit (but mostly listened) and came home and...slept badly.

As it turns out, besides the tickle in my throat and the lack of voice, I also have this awful dry cough that gets worse as the day progresses, and it's downright awful when I lie down. So, yes, I slept badly.

And, like I said, I woke up without a voice. For the second day in a row.

I did my "research" (googled laryngitis), because I was pretty dang sure that's what I've got. Wikipedia validated my suspicion, and I texted my mama to see if going to the doctor would be a smart move (because, really, what can a doctor do for an inflamed larynx? I'm smart enough to know that vocal rest is the best medicine). Further "research" made me wonder...is this laryngitis bacterial? Fungal (ew!)? I knew it wasn't from overuse of vocal abuse (I've had no reason to yell and scream and shout lately). Mom told me to call the nurse and ask her if it was worth coming in...and then I let Mama know that my voice was, in fact, less than a whisper. So I just bucked up and went to the redicare. (I was mortified that somehow I'd developed this fungal infection, and that maybe I'd be voiceless for a super long time and turn into a mushroom? I get paranoid and panicky when I'm forced into it.)

The redicare doc said what I knew in my heart (and not in my crazy imagination): I had bacterial laryngitis that I likely picked up from a small child (maybe one of my clients?), and that vocal rest and hot beverages were the way to go. Also, it should last only three days, and if it goes beyond that I ought to run myself to the pharmacy and fill a prescription she'd written out.

"Three days," she said. Today is the second day. But I'm super hopeful that, with all this vocal rest and relaxation, maybe my voice will come back enough that I'll be able to work tomorrow? Because I kind of like work. (And I really like to have money, which comes from working, you see.)

So what did I do with another day off?

Well, I went to work to ask them (kindly) to cancel my appointments.
I went to Target to purchase the new Muppet movie.
I bought a salted caramel hot chocolate at Starbucks.
I watched The Muppets.
I've played Draw Something on my iPod touch.
I've taken a nap.
I've watched an episode or two of Numb3rs.
I've done some laundry (it was time for me to do my whites!).
I painted my toenails a sparkly red color (fun!).
I went to Porters to buy a new wreath for my office door at work.
I cooked some dinner (and ate it).
I blogged. (Well, I am blogging. Currently.)

This movie makes me laugh like a child...

 I mentioned up there that I've been playing Draw Something. This is a totally wonderful app that is way more fun than I'd have ever expected. (Think along the lines of Pictionary, but cooler.)

My problem is that I'm not a wonderful artist.

And my other problem is that I've drawn the wrong pictures. Three times. Within, like, 24 hours. With three different friends. (You get to choose between easy, intermediate, and hard for different points.) It's totally embarrassing, I'll have you know. You'd think I'd have learned after my first screw up, but no. Not this ginabean. (Can I blame it on the laryngitis?)

Anyway, here are a few of the pictures I've drawn:

Not TOO horrible...

I drew a picture before this one of a woman who was clearly EXTREMELY pregnant

I think the stripes helped. Otherwise, it could have been any number of four-legged animals

This is the one that's completely embarrassing.
I've also drawn the wrong thing for Brooker, although I can't remember
exactly what I was supposed to have drawn (I remember drawing meatballs, though)

Fortunately (for me), my friends are better artists than I am...

Here's to hoping for a healthy voice tomorrow!!!

Oh, TSA...

I've been up since 3:30am (MST), so that Jami and I could make it to the SLC airport in plenty of time for our 6:20 flight to Long Beach. Sick, isn't it?

As we were packing and getting stuff together for our trip, I reminded Jami to double check her luggage for knives, because...

BECAUSE: last June when we went to NYC with a few friends, Jami got pulled aside at security. TSA told Jami they had found a pocket knife in her bag; they told her to step away from her bag, and questioned why she even had it. I stood back and laughed (in a concerned way, of course). It turned out okay, though! Jami mailed it home (the pocket knife had been a gift from her dad), and we went on our merry way, and made our mark 0n New York City.

Fast forward to this morning...

As Jami and I lined up at the security checkpoint, Jami told me she made sure her bags were knife-free, thank you very much.

I told her I'd laugh if TSA found something else wrong, and pull her aside again. She told me that it was MY turn to be pulled aside.

Jami was ahead of me and made it throughout without a hitch. And I was happy for her!

When I stepped through the x-ray thing, the computer screen lit up, and I landed myself a pat-down, compliments of TSA. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but the gal was nice enough about it.

After my pat-down, they had to check my hands...they rubbed something over my palms (?) when I looked up and saw Jami, with a look of utter joy on her face, taking pictures with her phone. She was laughing pretty hard, was delighted at my predicament, and was only sorry that she couldn't get her to her phone in time to get a picture of my pat-down. (That's how I know she's a true friend--because she was more bummed out about the missed photo-op than she was that I had my very own special experience with TSA. I love that girl!)

Wuh-oh!

Jami titled this one "deer in headlights"

Maybe we'll both walk away unscathed by TSA next trip?!

Of All the Rotten Luck...

Back in October of last year (3 whole months ago), I did a post about having developed an allergy to mascara (my favorite item of makeup, wouldn't you know).

It was a low blow, I'm not going to lie.

But!

Some of my blaudience came to the rescue and told me of hypoallergenic options.

I immediately went to the store and purchased some Almay mascara, and was quite pleased (and the reasons were threefold).

1. Almay mascara is less expensive than the other stuff I used to buy and love (that I'm not allowed to buy and love any more).
2. Almay mascara made my lashes look lovely. (Maybe I loved it so much because I had gone a handful of weeks without any? But really, I liked the way it looked.)
3. Almay mascara didn't aggravate my eyes! Win/win/win!

Except that...a few weeks ago (just before I went home for Christmas break, I think), my eyes felt that familiar, irritating itch.

As it turns out, I'm allergic to the hypoallergenic stuff.

I know this, because I've gone without the mascara for a few weeks now, and, having changed nothing else in my beautification process (i.e., no new cleansers, moisturizers, etc.), my eyes haven't gotten itchy. The only thing I've changed was giving up the mascara.


It hardly seems fair, don't you think?

As ridiculous as it seems, I still feel like I'm not ready to give up on mascara entirely; I'm bound to find something that works, right?!

So I went back to my original, sad little post and searched the comment section again. ("Searched" is a very generous word: there were only 5 comments to look through--but that's hardly the point.) Eva recommended checking out a place called 100percentpure.com, so I did. I checked it out. And my 100% natural fruit pigmented mascara is on its way.

I'll let you know the verdict after I've tried it for a while. (Just you try and stop me!)

Here's hoping that this natural stuff works!!!

Number Eighteen

A couple of days ago, my friend shared a link on Facebook; a link that listed America's 25 Coldest Cities.

Some of them weren't exactly surprising: Fairbanks, Alaska; Fargo, North Dakota...

But do you know which city made the list?

Idaho Falls, in her subarctic glory, sits in her throne in the number eighteen spot.

Now, I'm not sure how they went about making this list, but apparently the stats for 2009 (a cold year indeed!) are as follows:

Average winter temperature 2009: 24.5 degrees
Coldest day: -16.6 degrees, December 10
Warmest day: 59 degrees, March 28
Days with snow: 42%
(source)

I laughed to myself when I read through the list on Monday evening; of all the places, right?! Because I LIVE HERE!

I was laughing much less on Tuesday morning when I went out to turn on my car, and defrost/scrape the ice off my windows.

We've experienced negative temperatures in the mornings here. And it's still only the first part of December! (Those temperatures are reserved for January, people!) Also, if you factor in windchill, it's felt even colder.

IT'S FELT EVEN COLDER THAN NEGATIVE.

Yipes. Looks like I may go through lots of hot cocoa and hot apple cider in the coming months...

It Hurts Us

I grew up as something of a tomboy. Having grown up with 4 brothers, I've been known to play with GI Joes and cars, go for bike rides with my boys, as well as throw a ball around a bit. (I may or may not have thrown a punch or two in my younger years as well, but I'll never tell.)

Having said that, I'm still very much a girl; I own my fair share of Barbie dolls (all in storage in my parents' attic, of course), I loved playing with my Cabbage Patch Kids, and my mother taught me to cook and sew (although I never really took to sewing). I believe very strongly in personal hygiene, and I have a favorite item of makeup.

It's mascara.

See? A little goes a long way...

I don't usually wear a lot of makeup anyway, but if I'm in a mad rush, I'm sure to throw on a little bit of mascara before I leave the house.

Up until a few weeks ago, at least...

I have developed, it seems, an allergy to mascara.

AN ALLERGY TO MASCARA, people!

The truth is sometimes ugly...

(I told you it was ugly)

When I woke up with swollen eyes (especially that left one), I was very much distressed. I wash my face every night, so I was trying to figure out what the devil had happened--was it a spider bite? Am I allergic to my face wash?

I called my mom to whine a little bit and receive sympathy.

Done and done.

Mom told me that it was probably an allergy to mascara.

I was dumbfounded--and I didn't want to believe her. (Read above: mascara is my favorite!) But what she said made sense...kind of. For, you see, the same thing happened to her years ago, when I was a young lass still living with my folks.

I hoped against hope to avoid that awful fate...but I tried her suggestion: to go without mascara for a week, and then try a whole new kind (preferably a different brand) to see how things went.

To make an-already-too-long story a bit less long, I'll sum up: I've tried three different kinds (each a different brand), and my stupid eyes have rejected them all! (I didn't really mean that my eyes are stupid; I love my eyes, especially since they work really well without glasses. Really, I blame the mascaras of the world. All of them.)

I've heard that Avon's mascara is hypoallergenic...so I'm going to give that a try.

And I'm hopeful that Avon will work for me. And that they'll make my eyelashes full and luscious...

Sans-mascara...

Here's hoping for the best, eh?

I'm just realizing how ridiculous this post is. First I started this post talking about being a tomboy. Tomboys don't talk about mascara. Especially to the length and degree of this very long-winded post. And then there's the fact that I am genuinely bummed about my mascara-free life these days. Yep, I'm a girl...

A Banshee and Goslings...

Once again, life has gotten away with me; last week got to be very busy. Very busy, indeed.

I'm not complaining. Busy is great! Time flies, and I sleep better at night when I stay so dang busy.

Then Saturday came.

Things didn't necessarily get any less busy, but Saturday was a GOOD day! I got up at the crack of dawn to throw some food in the crock pot. Then I went to the park to help out with the Willie Free 5k run (and laughed my guts right out with Janae). Then I skidaddled on over to the farmers market with Lisa and Brookie (where we met up with Brooker and Ryan). THEN...Ryan talked me in to taking a ride on the banshee with him. Then Goose and family showed up to chillax!

Do any of y'all know what a banshee is? It's a 4-wheeler. A Really. Dang. Fast. 4-wheeler. Ryan's told me all about the banshee, and he's been trying to talk me into going for a ride on it sometime. Aaaand this past Saturday I totally caved.

WOW. When he said, "It's the fastest 4-wheeler out there," somehow I still wasn't prepared for our little ride. Not. At. All.

I sat behind Ryan (there's no way I was going to drive!), and held onto his shirt. Kind of like reigns. (Silly Gina!) Ryan said, "I don't think that's going to work; you're going to want to hold on tight." So I wrapped my arms around him tightly indeed (sly dog!), and he took off like a bat out of hell--at which point I tightened my grip.

Like I said, I was not prepared for the banshee. We rode all over the place back in the foothills, and it was dang fun, but it was also scary. DANG! SCARY!

We rode for about 45 minutes or so. I silent-screamed like a coward almost the entire time. When we went uphill, we went fast. Ryan guesses we got up to about 60mph. (60mph seems a lot faster when you're on the banshee, with wind whipping 'round you.) Going uphill was a bit terrifying, especially when it was an particularly steep incline.

But you know what? Going downhill was equally scary unto me. Especially when it was an particularly steep decline.

Silent screams all over the place!

When we were wrapping up and heading back to Ryan's house, he asked me if I wanted to do a jump. I asked him, "I don't know, do I?" He totally invited me to say no, but I was much too proud (with a private death wish?), so my mouth told him yes, while my subconscious screamed silently, wondering if I had just summoned the tragic fate of an early death.

Ryan did what he could to prep me, and long story short: it was all smooth sailing until that last hill, at which point I feel quite certain I experienced whiplash.

Anyway. I made it back in one piece.

Ryan didn't kill me.

I had FUN!

Aaaand I feel like I cheated death. (Thanks, Ryan! For real!)

Pretend that I look cool and sassy
instead of scared and sweaty...

After tempting fate (and winning!), I came home just in time to put the finishing touches on lunch before Goose & Co (Janel, Marshall and Kaylee) showed up.

They mostly came up to go to a reception in Rexburg for a friend of Janel's. Awesome as they are, they decided to head up early and make a day of it with their Ginabean (that's me!). We ate a scrumptious lunch (Greek pita sandwiches--homemade), saw Rio (I may or may not have fallen asleep), and visited while we chased Marshall around and cuddled with Kaylee.

It was magnificent! Oh, how I love my family!

Mr. Marshall

Kayleebug

Eventually, Goose, Janel and Marshall went to the reception while I stayed at home and babysat my sweet little Kaylee. She is such a precious, happy child! She's got this killer smile that's so darn big it almost looks like it might hurt. So precious! -I tried to snap a picture of said smile, but I always failed to capture it...so I stole one from Janel's blog. Behold:

Goodness sakes alive, I want to gobble her up!

Love you, Goose & Janel & Marshall & Kaylee! Thanks for coming up to visit, and for sharing your babies with me!

So yeah...Saturday was a good day. (I'm not going to tell you that my entire body ached on Sunday and that I felt like my neck couldn't support my head all during church because of the banshee ride. Shhhhh! Not gonna do it...)

april fools...

...the joke's on ME.

Yesterday, I headed to Utah right after work to spend the weekend with my awesome family. As I was driving down I-15 past Blackfoot, I noticed my "check engine" light was on. I thought to myself, "Well, I'm headed to Utah, where Goose can take a look at it..." and that's just about as far as my thoughts were allowed to go, because something started smoking under the hood of my car.

This is a real story, folks.

I pulled over, put on my hazard lights, and opened the hood, only to stare blankly at all those parts. I noticed that some sort of liquid had exploded out of...some roundish part at the back of the hood on the passenger's side.

I can handle stress, my friends; but perhaps I don't handle it all that well when it deals with cars. (Okay, there's no "maybe" about it; I hate car stress.)

I immediately texted my brother Goose and another friend who knows cars (shout-out to Mr. Merrill!) to get their feedback...but both of them were busy and unable to respond for a bit.

I started wondering if this had anything to do with Handsome Rob's accident from nearly 2 months ago; I only got Handsome Rob back a month ago (March 1), and this is the first time I had driven him on the freeway since his return.

So I called Dad. It happened at something like 6:02, and I knew my agent would not be in her office, but I called Allstate anyway. Of course she was out of her office, so I called the 800 number to see what the heck I should do (mostly because I was concerned that this might have something to do with Handsome Rob's previous claim from February.)

Now I don't want to give Allstate a bad rap, because they are typically fantastic to work with. Typically. The two guys I talked to yesterday were ridiculously...unhelpful. I told them (both) my situation, explaining from the very start, "I'm not sure what the devil is going on, etc., etc.," and the second guy (who was supposed to be more helpful than the first) said, "Well where did the liquid come from? Your radiator?"

Umm...really? I. Have. No. Idea. I could go on about the unhelpfulness of this fellow, but I won't...

Anway, to make a long story a little less long, I'll just have you know that I called a tow truck (thanks, once again, Eaton Towing!), who will diagnose Handsome Rob first thing this morning. And I called Jami to come bail me out of trouble 25 miles down the freeway. (She is a saint. No, really.) Then we went to Jeff's place where he shared some fruit pizza from his birthday.

Then I came home and had a nice conversation with Mr. Merrill.

I'm still considering my predicament. My uncle Shawn called me last night. (He was one of the first people I called, as he is local, and he is family; but he, too, was unavailable at 6:02.) He offered to drive me down to Utah, as he and his family are headed that way this afternoon anyway. (I told you my family is fantastic. All of them.) So...I'm wondering if I'll wait and hitch a ride with Shawn & Co., or if I ought to just rent a car for the weekend.

And if I do rent a car, you can bet your sweet bippy that it will NOT be an Aveo. I refuse to drive that car ever again. No, no, if I rent a car, it'll be the Chrysler 300, because I know they have one. Of course, it being April Fools Day, that car is probably already rented out...

Anyway, positive thoughts on Handsome Rob's behalf would be fantastic. I've talked to a few guys, and the consensus is that, although it could be number of things, it's likely either the head gasket (expensive!), or it could be something to do with the thermostat (inexpensive!). I guess we'll find out here in a few hours.

click (again. and again)...

i told you my that my phone is on the fritz lately. i never did go into verizon to have it checked out...

as such, my silly phone has snapped a couple more pictures. without my permission. after i've locked it.

what the heck is that all about?

taken sometime while i was in boise last week.
it's a shot of my temple bag.
i'm not even kind of sure about anything else.

this one happened today
while i was running an errand during lunch.
pretty sure the phone had to be in my hand
for this one, but i know i had locked it!

what do you think? IS MY PHONE POSSESSED? i have to wonder...

Rat Tail...

The other night, I was talking to my roommates about yucky hairstyles that guys sometimes try out. Such as: the mullet, mutton chops, comb-overs...

Whitney mentioned rat tails, and I was immediately overcome with the giggles because, because, because, because, BECAAAAUSE!

Story time!

A couple of days after finishing up my Bachelors Degree at Utah State University, and before I sold my soul to graduate school (also at USU), I flew on up to Alaska with a couple of friends to work up there for the summer and have myself an Alaskan Adventure!

I could tell you all sorts of stories, but then this post would run on for days, and that might wax boring unto you, so I'll get back to my point.

Alaska is a beautiful place, people. And I worked at a lovely hotel just outside of Denali National Park.

Most of the other employees there were what can best be described as "seasonal workers." These are nomadic people who travel around to different locations, often state or national parks, each and every season. To work. It's, like, their way of life. And it must be said that seasonal workers are kind of a breed of their own. That's not to say that they aren't fun, lovely people; we made friends with lots of them. Let's just say it was an eye-opening experience for a few gals who grew up in small-town, Utah.

There was lots of drinking and partying, and our new friends quickly discovered that me and my crew weren't the drinking, partying type.

Welp, there was this one fellow whose name completely evades me, but that's okay, because what's important is that he had a rat tail, and Rat Tail is kind of what we called him. (Was his name Bill?)

Anyhoo, Rat Tail totally gave me the heebie-jeebies, but that didn't stop him from sitting across from me and my crew at meal time. (Isn't that part of what makes the really creepy guys ultra creepy? Their persistence and such?) I had a sneaking suspicion that Rat Tail wanted to be the one to get The Mormon Girls to go to the bar and...whatever.

Ick.

One day during breakfast, my friend Jamie was telling me that her laptop was having issues, and Rat Tail overheard her and insisted on helping her fix it.

So. After work, he showed up at our place and got to work. Jamie (dang her!) promptly went next door to avoid Rat Tail and his creepy self and left me to babysit him while she chatted merrily with our neighbors! (She asked me why I didn't join her, and I told her, "Because! I didn't want to give him free-reign to our place! I wouldn't put it past him to find and sniff our panties!")

Yeah. That's the kind of creepy vibe I got from this guy.

Anyway, after about a week or so of trying to get us to the bar ("You don't even have to drink! It'll just be fun for you to see how we all unwind!"), he kind of gave up and moved on to pester another girl.

Another girl who kind of liked him and his creepy ways. (He got her pregnant.)

Okay, so after maybe 3 or 4 weeks there in Healy, Alaska, we noticed Rat Tail was missing during breakfast. Then the story got out.

The story that he was wanted for child porn (ICK! Worst crime ever!!!), and that he was on the lam, working in Alaska because he figured he could run away from the United States government that way.

Because Alaska isn't part of the United States, apparently?

Geez, guy! Clearly, so very many things are wrong with this fella. SO! MANY! THINGS! The silly rat tail was only the beginning...

And here are a couple of pictures,
since you stuck around through the story.
No, none of them are of the infamous Rat Tail.
You're welcome.

Denali
aka Mt. McKinley
standing at 20,320 feet above sea level.

From our Kenai Fjord tour
off the Kenai Peninsula.
Jamie and I got incredibly boat sick,
but that's another story for another time...

click...

My phone's been a little "on the fritz" lately; turning off randomly, "butt dialing" a few people (even when I swear I've locked it and put it safely in my coat pocket), etc. I don't quite understand it, you know? I'm thinking...maybe I should go to Verizon and get it looked at?

The other day, I put my phone in my purse as I walked into work, and didn't give it another thought until later that morning when I pulled it out to read a text that a client's parent had sent.

When I pulled it out, I was surprised to see that my phone had taken a random picture. From inside my purse. After I swear I had locked it.

Weird, right?

click!

That's my shoulder. And my fingers holding onto my purse.

I really ought to get my phone checked out...

update (3.14.11)
my friend jamie g commented that, upon further inspection, it's my elbow, not my shoulder. i clicked on the image to see it bigger (and prove her wrong), and it turns out she's correct! that's my pinky and ring finger, and it's totally my elbow. kudos to jamie g. (it's still a cool picture though, right? taken by my tricksy cell phone?)

PS happy pi day to you all. i've been thinking of pie all day long, and didn't do anything about it. dang me, pi day is the perfect excuse to indulge! with pie! *deep sigh*

that's how it goes...

I've been in contact with the stellar folks working on Handsome Rob (HR), restoring him to his former glory, off and on throughout this whole ordeal. They (Eaton Collision and Repair) have been so kind to both of us (me and HR).

Last week I was talking to Jessica (the gal who always answers the phone when I call), who told me that HR would likely be ready to roll by Monday or Tuesday of this week. (O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!)

I called Eaton on Tuesday to inquire after HR's progress, and Jessica told me some truly beautiful words: Mr. Fix-It was just finishing up the alignment, and that all that needed to be done was to clean HR up a bit.

Jessica called back that afternoon to tell me that my airbag light was flashing when Mr. Fix-It took him for a final ride--and that a flashing airbag light maybe isn't such a good thing (I'm ad libbing here). Ergo, Fix-It had to run HR over to Nissan to see what that was all about. Jessica told me she'd call me the next day (Wednesday) to let me know what they found out.

Yesterday afternoon Jessica called, as promised. To sum up a long, sad story: the folks at Eaton need a part to solve this final problem. The dilemma? It's going to take a few days for that part to make its way to Southeast Idaho. (BOO!) It'll be a quick-fix once Eaton gets the part, and then they'll run HR up to Nissan again to have them do something with HR's computer? This sounds about right...?

I know it didn't seem like I summed it up, but I did; Jessica used a lot of words to describe the current situation with HR. Lemme try this again: I DON'T GET HANDSOME ROB BACK UNTIL MONDAY. Verily devastating news unto me, as I was fully expecting him this past Tuesday. And further devastating because that means I have to drive around this toy-car rental I've got goin' on if I want to go anywhere this weekend. And I do want to go places this weekend! (I may have 3-day weekends all the time, but I keep myself busy, my people.)

HUMBUG, huh? My heart is bleeding a little bit over the situation.

In pleasanter news: I worked out last night, as promised (three cheers for Zumba!), and it felt good.

Something else that felt good was buying myself a frozen yogurt promptly after finishing up with Zumba. And I discovered white chocolate fro-yo! Did you know that white chocolate fro-yo is more than a little amazing?! Especially when topped with fresh strawberries, sugar cone crumbs, and slivered almonds? Well, did you?

So really...how can one complain when there's something as wonderful was white chocolate frozen yogurt in this world?

Question: what's your favorite fro-yo flave?

don't you judge me...

I got an email from Brooker this afternoon, and it totally made me giggle. Behold:

A WOMAN'S WEEK AT THE GYM

Dear Diary,
For my birthday this year, I purchased a week of personal training at the local health club. Although I am still in great shape since being a high school football cheerleader 43 years ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try.
I called the club and made my reservations with a personal trainer named Christo, who identified himself as a 26-year-old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swim wear. Friends seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.

MONDAY:
Started my day at 6:00 a.m. Tough to get out of bed, but found it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Christo waiting for me. He is something of a Greek god-- with blond hair, dancing eyes, and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!!
Christo gave me a tour and showed me the machines... I enjoyed watching the skillful way in which he conducted his aerobics class after my workout today. Very inspiring!
Christo was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, although my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time he was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!
TUESDAY:
I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Christo made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air then he put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile. His rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT! It's a whole new life for me.
WEDNESDAY:
The only way I can brush my teeth is by laying the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot.
Christo was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered other club members. His voice is a little too perky for that early in the morning and when he scolds, he gets this nasally whine that is VERY annoying.
My chest hurt when I got on the treadmill, so Christo put me on the stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Christo told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. He said some other crap too...
THURSDAY:
Butt hole was waiting for me with his vampire-like teeth exposed as his thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help being a half an hour late-- it took me that long to tie my shoes.
He took me to work out with dumbbells. When he was not looking, I ran and hid in the restroom. He sent some skinny witch to find me. Then, as punishment, he put me on the rowing machine--which I sank.
FRIDAY:
I hate that jackass Christo more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic, anorexic, little aerobic instructor. If there was a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat him with it.
Christo wanted me to work on my triceps. I don't have any triceps! And if you don't want dents in the floor, don't hand me the darn barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich.
The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?
SATURDAY:
Satan left a message on my answering machine in his grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing his voice made me want to smash the machine with my planner; however, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel...
SUNDAY:
I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over. I will also pray that next year my husband will choose a gift for me that is fun-- like a root canal or a hysterectomy. I still say if God had wanted me to bend over, he would have sprinkled the floor with diamonds!!!

I'm not sure where this email started, but holy crow, it's funny!

I used to go to the gym like 5 times a week. Mostly because I was getting ready to look good in a swimsuit for my Hawaiian vacation. But then Hawaii came and went, and then Christmas came and went, and suddenly my gumption was gone.

After Christmas comes the New Year; and with it came the resolve to keep going to the gym.

I did keep going to the gym, although it was only typically 4 days a week; and two of those days were with my trainer, Handsome Ben. When my training sessions ran out, it was everything I could do to make myself work out at all. (PS Let it be known that I don't think of Handsome Ben as "Satan" or anything like it; he's a good guy who actually gave me encouragement without waxing obnoxious.)

Anyway...yeah, my "workout regime" kinda took a hit and tapered off there towards the end of January (only one month into the new year! I rock!).

And then there was my dreaded accident. After that, I was sore for several days. Then I got sick. Now I sit here and I realize it's been nearly 3 weeks since I last worked out. I had full intentions of going today...but then my alarm went off at 5:30, and I promptly reset my alarm for 6:30 and fell back asleep.

Why does it take forever to get into the habit of working out, but getting out of the habit is so darn easy? (And, let's be honest, it's much more enjoyable NOT going to the gym as well.) It's irritating unto me...

Anyway, I'm here to make a vow that I'll hit the gym tomorrow. For real. Zumba at Gold's Gym with Lindsey. And so it was written, and so it shall be done.

In other news, it's been ridiculously cold of late here in Idaho, so I'm thinking pleasanter thoughts. Such as...

Springtime. And tulips.

Supposedly (if you live in a part of the world where the weather truly is governed by the seasons--unlike Idaho), SPRING should be here officially in a month...

I Vomit on This Day

I had intentions of doing a fun little update about my fun little weekend this evening, after running here and there and getting some fun little things done.

But then I got in a stupid car accident, and that post was promptly flushed down the toilet. (Well, maybe not down the toilet; that post is still coming, but not tonight.)

Clearly, I'm okay. Physically, at least.

Mentally, I've been done with this day for...several hours, let's say.

It started out great, really, especially for a Monday. Because! We moved back to our original building for work this past weekend! I went in early to unpack and get ready for my first client, and things went well. Plus! All my clients (but for one) showed up! Which means I was busy! Which is good!

Yes, busy days are good. But today also had the distinct odor of a Monday. The stink hovered over everything, and I tried to ignore it.

Okay, so I'm venting, but I'm not going to go into detail. Suffice it to say that I got home later than I wanted to, had to get lots done before going to where I needed to be, and then was frustrated a time or two once I was there.

The icing on the cake, I'm sure.

I did have fun socializing with some good friends while there (including, but not limited to: Jami, Brooker, Keri, Kari, Skyler, Whitney, and lots of other stellar people). I love my friends, and they made the evening portion of my Monday suck a bit less.

And Jami (bless her soul!) had the idea to go to Jeff's house where there resided some cheesecake left over from last night. (Jami is a wizard in the kitchen, people! Her cheesecake was so good I very nearly cried.)

So. We left where we were and headed for Jeff's.

And blah, blah, blah: I got in an accident. It was scary and frustrating and my knees and sternum hurt, but I'm okay. And the other driver and his passengers are all okay.

Really, life is okay. When I think of how much worse the accident could've been, I'm so grateful! Plus, Jami noticed I wasn't behind her any more, and she came back to be my moral support before I could even text her to let her know what happened. Also, the other guy was super nice about it when he could've been a jerk-wad. And cars can be fixed, right?

Aye, there's the rub.

I hate car issues. I don't want to deal with a broken car. The other car and mine hit hard, and there are parts of Handsome Rob (my car) strewn about all over that intersection, is what. (Mostly the front fender, along with a headlight, my license plate, and half of the nose bra. I think that's it?)

But do you know the plastic part that goes up above the tire?

Well, do you?

I think it must be on every car, because Handsome Rob is a good car, and he had some plastic that used to be up above the tire.

It's now wrapped around the tire. Handsome Rob is in no driving condition. The kind, handsome officer called a towing service who came and took away my car. Prognosis: to be determined.

I think I'll take a bath and pray for sleep to take me quickly.

Here's to tomorrow not being Monday!

(This sweet little pouty face
belongs to my nephew Emmett.
It kind of captures my feelings at present...)

A Pancake Story

I grew up disliking pancakes.

No, really.

I wouldn't say I hated them, but I'd rather have had just about anything else.

And the crazy part is that my parents always homemade them from scratch, never from a box. Isn't that spoiled of me? They'd make homemade pancakes, and I'd stick my nose in the air, pretty much refusing to eat them.

How bratty of me...

Sometimes, in all my snooty glory, I'd tell my parents, "I'll only eat them if we have Smucker's syrup." (You know...the berry kinds! Blueberry! Raspberry! Boysenberry! Strawberry! I love that Smucker's syrup!) My dad took the bait, so he'd try to make sure we had my syrupy demands in the refrigerator.

I had to share the syrup with my brothers--even though they liked pancakes fine with regular old maple syrup. And this truly annoyed me.

If the Smucker's was gone, I'd flat-out refuse the pancakes, made from scratch with love. I'd make myself a sandwich or something like unto it...

Lately, though?

Lately, I've been craving pancakes. When I went home for Christmas, I told my dear father, "Dad, I'm really in the mood for pancakes."

Do you know what he did?

He made me pancakes the very next morning for breakfast!

That's love.

And do you know what else? There was even Smucker's Boysenberry syrup in the fridge.

I love the Smuckers!

I think my dad loves me...

And really...I can't get pancakes off the brain.

I think I know what I'm having for lunch...