I Got Nothin'
I've been thinking all week about writing a new blog. Something mildly entertaining and yet informative. Some small anecdote that would also allow me to brag about my trip to Hollywood to see American Idol. But I just couldn't do it. It turns out that not only am I not entertaining, I also have nothing of value or interest in which to inform my mass audience. Go figure. And so I resort to lists of events that will be, I'm sure, about as entertaining as my grocery list.
Monday
*packed and dawdled until noon
*drove to Hollywood, CA with Liz and Camille
*stayed in sketchy hotel with a half constructed room and the risk of a construction worker barging in at any time
Tuesday
*slept in, watched the last quarter of Drumline, checked out of sketchy hotel
*drove around Hollywood, hunted for the Hollywood sign and the stars
*walked Hollywood Blvd in the 95 degree weather... ah... summer at last
*went to studio to watch American Idol, sat in the middle section, four rows behind the judges and Gloria Estefan
*watched as Simon poked Paula until Paula turned to him and said, "Stop it!" only to have Simon retort with the infamous, "What? I didn't do anything." This happened over and over. It was like watching two elementary children flirting.
*stayed longer to watch an extra taping of a special episode of American Idol that will air on Monday.
*left for Provo right after we got out, drove through the night
Wednesday
*pulled into Provo around 7am
*showered, napped, prayed for death
*got up around 11am to go to work
*did nothing as children poked me and put things on my head
*talked to Heather, had a delightful conversation. i love her.
*went to heather's birthday party, left early with intention of going to bed early
*stayed up talking until after 1am
Thursday
*woke up early and went to work
*did nothing as children poked me and put things on my head
*stayed after work for some stupid meeting, made stupid comments that made co-workers laugh and supervisor glare, still can't remember what I said.
*moved some stuff from 59 to 65
*went home early with intention of going to bed early
*threw yellow volleyball around living room and giggled my campy giggle
*stayed up talking until well after 1am
Friday
*woke up early and went to work
*did nothing as children poked me and put things on my head
*got off work at 1pm
*moved rest of stuff from 59 to 65, cleaned like mad for check-out
*ate and showered
*went to David and Brandi's wedding reception in Bountiful
*ignored crowd of people outside my apartment with intention of going to bed early
*typing this sorry excuse for a blog instead
*talked to Heather until 2am, had a delightful conversation, had me laughing so hard I couldn't breathe. i love her.
Friday, April 30, 2004
Sunday, April 25, 2004
Squatter Season
It's summer time. And with the season, especially in a college town, comes the inevitable squatters. It's understandable and expected. But shouldn't there be some rules that go along with all this squatting? I mean, some of us are actually paying rent here. Although I have no squatters of my own this year (knock on wood), I feel for my friends who are paying the man and still end up sharing their precious summer space.
Rule #1: This Is Not Your Room
I take you to Turner and Hooch. A classic among cinema giants. Hooch, a canine squatter, arrives at Turner's house expecting a lot more than what he's paying for (which is, of course, nothing). Turner takes the dog by the collar and leads him into each and every room of the house. At each door he pauses and says, "This is the ____. This is NOT your room." For Hooch, he got the laundry room. For our squatters of the human nature, it's any place we can find the space. This is not your room.
Rule #2: This Is Not Your Food
You're not paying rent so you best be buying your own food. Actually, my cupboard is your cupboard... just please, please at least pretend to ask first. And occasionally wash your own dishes. This is not your food.
Rule #3: This Is Not Your Stuff
Squatters, depending upon their dependency, will require the use of your stuff as well as the use of your space and food. Fine, use it. But be nice to it. And by all means, please do not remove all of my things from my apartment, leaving behind only my broken computer that you broke and some random crap you didn't want any more while I was away visiting my family during a break from school and then disappear with no forwarding number. That's called stealing, my friend. And it is not a choice way to pay somebody back for squatting in their home for the past several weeks. This is not your stuff.
Squatting is an art. If done correctly and with enough flair, the squattee will not even know they're being squatted upon.
It's summer time. And with the season, especially in a college town, comes the inevitable squatters. It's understandable and expected. But shouldn't there be some rules that go along with all this squatting? I mean, some of us are actually paying rent here. Although I have no squatters of my own this year (knock on wood), I feel for my friends who are paying the man and still end up sharing their precious summer space.
Rule #1: This Is Not Your Room
I take you to Turner and Hooch. A classic among cinema giants. Hooch, a canine squatter, arrives at Turner's house expecting a lot more than what he's paying for (which is, of course, nothing). Turner takes the dog by the collar and leads him into each and every room of the house. At each door he pauses and says, "This is the ____. This is NOT your room." For Hooch, he got the laundry room. For our squatters of the human nature, it's any place we can find the space. This is not your room.
Rule #2: This Is Not Your Food
You're not paying rent so you best be buying your own food. Actually, my cupboard is your cupboard... just please, please at least pretend to ask first. And occasionally wash your own dishes. This is not your food.
Rule #3: This Is Not Your Stuff
Squatters, depending upon their dependency, will require the use of your stuff as well as the use of your space and food. Fine, use it. But be nice to it. And by all means, please do not remove all of my things from my apartment, leaving behind only my broken computer that you broke and some random crap you didn't want any more while I was away visiting my family during a break from school and then disappear with no forwarding number. That's called stealing, my friend. And it is not a choice way to pay somebody back for squatting in their home for the past several weeks. This is not your stuff.
Squatting is an art. If done correctly and with enough flair, the squattee will not even know they're being squatted upon.
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Moving Day
Today is moving day. Again. Here is a list of places I have lived...
1. Dec 80 - Aug 99....................Parents' Home (Renton, WA)
2. Aug 99 - April 00...................58 Horne Hall (Provo, UT)
3. April 00 - Aug 00...................Parents' Home (Renton, WA)
4. Aug 00 - April 01...................Villa Apt 63 (Provo, UT)
5. April 01 - May 01...................Parents' Home (Renton, WA)
6. May 01 - Aug 01....................Faerbers' Home (Renton, WA)
7. Aug 01 - April 02....................Villa Apt 64 (Provo, UT)
8. April 02 - April 03...................Villa Apt 62 (Provo, UT)
9. April 03 - Aug 03....................Villa Apt 65 (Provo, UT)
10. Aug 03 - April 04....................Villa Apt 59 (Provo, UT)
11. April 04 - Aug 04....................Villa Apt 65 (Provo, UT)
12. Aug 04 - ????.........................No clue
I am now in the moving process between numbers ten and eleven. It doesn't matter how many times I've dragged my crap across the Villa parking lot it still sucks. I've got the process down to a fine art. An art I would have rather left undiscovered. And to make matters more entertaining, the Villa has decided not to compensate us this year for kicking us out of our apartment, forcing me to use my spring break moving everything I own into another one of their trashy apartments instead of sitting on my couch reading The Screwtape Letters and eating my giant box of Rainbow Nerds.
Today is moving day. Again. Here is a list of places I have lived...
1. Dec 80 - Aug 99....................Parents' Home (Renton, WA)
2. Aug 99 - April 00...................58 Horne Hall (Provo, UT)
3. April 00 - Aug 00...................Parents' Home (Renton, WA)
4. Aug 00 - April 01...................Villa Apt 63 (Provo, UT)
5. April 01 - May 01...................Parents' Home (Renton, WA)
6. May 01 - Aug 01....................Faerbers' Home (Renton, WA)
7. Aug 01 - April 02....................Villa Apt 64 (Provo, UT)
8. April 02 - April 03...................Villa Apt 62 (Provo, UT)
9. April 03 - Aug 03....................Villa Apt 65 (Provo, UT)
10. Aug 03 - April 04....................Villa Apt 59 (Provo, UT)
11. April 04 - Aug 04....................Villa Apt 65 (Provo, UT)
12. Aug 04 - ????.........................No clue
I am now in the moving process between numbers ten and eleven. It doesn't matter how many times I've dragged my crap across the Villa parking lot it still sucks. I've got the process down to a fine art. An art I would have rather left undiscovered. And to make matters more entertaining, the Villa has decided not to compensate us this year for kicking us out of our apartment, forcing me to use my spring break moving everything I own into another one of their trashy apartments instead of sitting on my couch reading The Screwtape Letters and eating my giant box of Rainbow Nerds.
Friday, April 16, 2004
Comprehendo?
First Grade Teacher at Rug Time: Good job! Most First-Graders don't comprehendo that. Did you see that class? Most students don't comprehendo that and Chase did it perfect!
Annie: What does "comprehendo" mean?
Teacher: It means "understand" in Spanish... I think...
Austen the Little Spanish Speaker: (shakes his head in confusion and disgust)
Teacher: Or French... or German... (she trails off)
Annie: Why don't you just say "understand?"
First Grade Teacher at Rug Time: Good job! Most First-Graders don't comprehendo that. Did you see that class? Most students don't comprehendo that and Chase did it perfect!
Annie: What does "comprehendo" mean?
Teacher: It means "understand" in Spanish... I think...
Austen the Little Spanish Speaker: (shakes his head in confusion and disgust)
Teacher: Or French... or German... (she trails off)
Annie: Why don't you just say "understand?"
Friday, April 09, 2004
Moment of Silence, Please.
On my bedroom floor lies my Washington license plates. Mt. Raineer in blue on a white background with years and years of tabs pasted into a colorful and careless pile. Bugs plastered onto the front one. They went everywhere with me. Never complained or wanted a soda. And now they lie on my floor, betrayed. In their place? Nasty orange and ugly blue Utah plates. They glisten with their brand-new quality. A shiny single layer of stickers saying that I have paid for my right to drive here.
I had been preparing my car for this moment for weeks. Apologizing. Explaining that my tabs would soon expire. That I had to do this. Pleading with her for weeks to forgive me for what I would have to do. She knew it was coming. But it didn't make it any easier. She's a Utah car now. And it's all my fault. I'm sorry, little friend. I'm sorry.
On my bedroom floor lies my Washington license plates. Mt. Raineer in blue on a white background with years and years of tabs pasted into a colorful and careless pile. Bugs plastered onto the front one. They went everywhere with me. Never complained or wanted a soda. And now they lie on my floor, betrayed. In their place? Nasty orange and ugly blue Utah plates. They glisten with their brand-new quality. A shiny single layer of stickers saying that I have paid for my right to drive here.
I had been preparing my car for this moment for weeks. Apologizing. Explaining that my tabs would soon expire. That I had to do this. Pleading with her for weeks to forgive me for what I would have to do. She knew it was coming. But it didn't make it any easier. She's a Utah car now. And it's all my fault. I'm sorry, little friend. I'm sorry.
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