Friday

1) Mrs. Markham came to pick up her daughter with a new haircut putting the whispy ends of her medium brown hair just above her shoulders. Where mine used to be. And I wanted to run to the nearest hair salon to make mine the same way. Because recently I've been waking up with my hair wrapped around my face or neck making my non-functional brain believe I'm blind or being strangled. Also, I rarely wash my hair and having less dirty hair may be less offensive to the general public. Something to think about.
2) I gave myself a French manicure on Wednesday. My nails were all long and pretty. Until Friday when I found the Chewy Peps at Kara's chocolates to be in one giant unmoving lump at the bottom of the jar, neglected by the girls who had decided to ignore the closing list all week. So I was left to pry each pep free one by one. And the middle finger's nail broke on my right hand. And so did my spirit. My heart-wrenched cry disturbed a few passersby in the mall and Roger, who was there decorating chocolate Easter eggs.
3) On my way to the car that evening, a hearse was parked near my car. Why? Nobody likes death. Why park death's vehicle at the mall? Certainly, there's nobody inside. Right? But as I passed by there was a coffin. Somebody ditched Uncle Harry in the parking lot in order to catch a sale at the Gap. "I'm going to miss poor Uncle Harry... wait... is there a sale going on? Pull over! Harry can wait!" Maybe Uncle Harry doesn't mind but you know what? I MIND!

The Preshow

The Celine Dion show had a wide variety of people in the audience, most dressed quite formally carrying in their own drinks from the casino. People were dressed well and the new concert hall looked nice and fancy. And walking down the aisles was a woman equipped with a change maker and programs yelling, "Programs! Programs! Get your programs here!" as if she were selling hotdogs at a baseball game. This amused me and so I added, "Peanuts, Popcorn, Lucky Charms!" without thinking (obviosly because Lucky Charms wouldn't have made it through the filter... probably). Suzy and Sarah giggled, the well-dressed drunks around us erupted into laughter. I have quite a knack for entertaining the intoxicated.

And then... this beauty came into my life. This is the message I listened to right before the show.

"Hi Emily. In another nine minutes it is... well... in fact it is... ya... in another nine minutes it will be 8:30 and I'll be thinking of you when you listen to that fabulous show of Celine Dion. (pronounced Seeleen Dee-on) I hope you really enjoy it and I will be looking forward in what you think about it. OK, this is your dad. Mom and I love you. We'll talk to you later. Okay. Bye."

I started laughing and repeated the message to Suzy and Sarah in my best "Dad" voice. He always leaves messages and then leaves off at the end "...oh... and this is your Dad..." as if I'd confuse him with all the other old men that call me to tell me what the weather is like in Provo as compared to Renton and what the wind chill factor is. Suzy and Sarah laughed. But they weren't alone. Apparantly I had suddenly turned into a one woman act and my whole section had joined the audience. The more-than-a-bit-tipsy woman sitting in front of us turned to me and asked with tears of laughter in her eyes, "Are you making this stuff up or did your dad really leave you that message?" I told her (and the rest of my audience) that I was all too serious and explained the odd but simple relationship my dad and I have that revolves around weather predictions and webcams. But my nine minutes were up and my captivated audience shifted their attention to Celine Dion. But it left me thinking that maybe it's time to write that book... it can be like a coffee table book but a bar book instead since apparantly I'm most hillarious to those that have tossed back a few... it will be mine.... oh yes, it will be mine.

A New Day

So I went to see Celine Dion this weekend in Las Vegas with my Sarah and Suzy. I'm taking a big risk here because I'm going to be honest with you all for a change. I love her. Seriously. Her show was incredible. It was created by Dragone who also created Cirque du Soleil (we also went to the O Show... fantastic) which added a certain dreamworld quality. But the fact is, Celine Dion has over the top vocal ability. Huge voice... itty bitty living space. I understand it makes me a dork to admit that I am now a Celine Dion fan. But is this really new information? And it's because I'm an insecure dork that after I dropped Sarah and Suzy off at the airport I went back to Caesar's Palace to buy the live version of her Las Vegas show. (And a copy of her autobiography.) But if you can forgive Kat for watching a Pauly Shore movie on a Saturday then certainly you can find a place in your heart to accept my Celine Dion loving heart... right?

Once, Twice, Three Times a 7th Grader

I went to Northwest Middle School in Salt Lake on Friday to begin my practicum five weeks late. So instead of a two hour block, I was required to fill a five hour block. Lucky me. While visiting this fine facility I was mistaken for a 7th grader not once, not twice but three times.

Tardy
I was supposed to be there at 8am but I hit a snag of traffic so I walked into the front doors at roughly 8:05am. I was late and I was immediately greeted by the front security guard who grunted at me and pointed to the line of students waiting to get their tardy slips from the front office. I started to tell him I was a volunteer but he grunted again so I shut my trap and stood in line. When I finally got to the front, I informed the front desk that I wasn't a student. I was a volunteer. Was there some sort of volunteer sticker I could wear so this wouldn't happen again? No, no... just go on back...

Hall Pass?
Second period was math and just like when I attended middle and high school this gave me the sudden need to use the restroom. I asked the teacher where it was and made the journey across the hall. The hall officer saw me and yelled at me to inform me that I needed a hall pass. I told yelled back that I was a volunteer. He eyed me suspiciously... OK...

Worksheets
Third period was Health and there was a sub. I sat in the back desk to observe for the first half of class. She came around passing out busy work packets and gave me one too. Uh... I don't think I'll be needing one of these....
And why is that??
Because I'm a volunteer...
Oh... sorry... it's just that you look... well... nevermind... sorry...

As I observed these 7th graders, it was great to see that not much had changed since I'd been in their shoes. Notes were passed, teachers were mocked, movements were awkward and emotions ran high. But I think I'll make myself a volunteer sticker for the next time I go...

Tidbits of Tragedy

Tidbits of Tragedy

1. Chubble
As you all know, I signed up for a gym. What you don’t know is that Matt (my tour guide/signer-upper) was strategically sporting a tight, unbuttoned polo shirt, no doubt to display his muscles and unfortunately his chubble. See, Matt apparently has a habit of shaving his chest but had neglected to do so the past day or so which resulted in a type of 5-o’clock shadow at 9am for my never-to-be-the-same-again eyes.

2. Moron Sandwich
I always sit in the same place in Monday’s class. The order goes like this… (BJ=Brian, X=empty seat, M=Em, AG1=Annoying Girl 1, AG2=Annoying Girl 2)
wall BJ X X X M X aisle
Which is what the situation looked like at the beginning of class.
But annoying girl #1 came in 20 minutes late as she always does and again made the risky decision to sit next to me. So now the order went…
wall BJ X X X M AG1 aisle
AG1 is incapable of whispering and she earned her title of AG1 by being both annoying and stupid. She comes in and in a not so quiet voice asked, “So have we done anything yet? Was there a quiz?” She asks millions stupid questions that give me hives. Today was no different. Teacher, “…so we should avoid sending kids to the office.” AG1, “So… should we try to avoid sending kids to the office?” Groan. Shudder. Right before break annoying girl #2 comes in almost an hour late and squeezes past me to sit down. Now the order goes…
wall BJ X AG2 X M AG1 aisle
Then it’s break and I have an important decision to make. Do I stay where I am or move one seat over to sit by AG2? Which is the lesser of the two evils? I finally decide that although AG2’s questions are more frequent they are less stupid that AG1’s. So I move. The order now goes…
wall BJ X AG2 M X AG1 aisle
Then AG1 came back from break, points to the precious X now between me and her life and says, “Oh! Is anybody sitting there?” She took my shocked look of horror to mean, “Sure, have a seat” and sat down beside me. So now the order goes like this…
wall BJ X AG2 M AG1 X aisle
A moron sandwich
Why? Why? Why would you choose to sit right next to somebody when you can easily put a space between you? Especially when you’re on an isle? Why?? Why does she want to hurt me?? So, near panic attack, I began to color my CD labels trying to convince myself I was anywhere else but right there in a moron sandwich. While I had stupid in stereo. AG2, “So, do you have a syllabus for this class?” AG1, “So I see you’re drawing CD labels that say Happy Birthday Dad and Happy Birthday Mom. Is it their birthday?” So I started to ignore them. I had to. Because if I were to utter any response it would have been a cuss word. And it would have been loud.

3. AI Interruptions
I missed most of American Idol tonight because the roomful of people that insisted on coming over to #69 just because they were in charge of FHE lacked the appreciation for the show and didn’t have the respect necessary to shut their traps while the pop star wannabes did their thing. At least I got to hear Constantine do his rock star holler. That was all I needed really.

4. Release my key
Coming back from my lunch break, I pulled into the parking lot, turned my car off and took my key out. Wait, no I didn’t. My key wouldn’t come out. It was stuck. I yanked, pulled, turned, twisted, swore, made sure the break was on, checked to see it was in park, swore, yanked, turned and then drove back home to get my spare key so I could leave my stuck key in the car with a limited risk of the car being stolen (we’ve been there before, right?). When I got to my apartment lot, I tried again. And the key came right out. So I drove back to work and the key came right out. And I was 20 minutes late for work. Again.

Costco Lunch

Costco Lunch

I went to Costco today during the lunch rush. It was perfect timing because all the little ladies with hairnets were out with their mini ovens and paper cups allowing me to try a soup (which I bought), a corndog, a Take 5 Hershey bar, veggie sausage and a low-fat ice cream sandwich (which I didn't buy). It brought back fantastic memories of being a kid and running errands with my mom. I hated running errands with my mom, unless we were going to Costco. Because they fed me. I would spend all my time running from hair-netted lady to hair-netted lady. It was like trick-or-treating without the costume and the cold. And the candy. And the hair-netted ladies always fell for the ol'-I'm-grabbing-an-extra-one-for-my-brother-trick so I could have double helpings.

Some habits die hard. Which brings me back to the gym issue.

H is for Happy

I’m happy. I’ve been smiling all day because I got to see my Heather. And somehow that healed me.

Because only Heather could know how crucial it was for me to sleep in, go shopping and get my first pedicure. Only Heather could know that Donkey Konga could help mend my wrended soul.

I needed her keen fashion sense, her fantastic stories and her ability to persuade me to buy nice clothes and accessories and pink toenails.

Because Heather understands me.

And so I've been smiling all day. I didn't yell at a single student and I was even able to refrain from swearing at Stupid Question Girl who made the risky decision to sit next to me. So it was definitely worth the 20+ hours in the car by myself to drink from the healing spring of Heather.

Also, Heather looks good. Dang good. I'll be joining a gym this week...

Paper and Plastic (And Cans and Glass and Compost and Common Sense)

Kara's got a memo from the mall informing all merchants to seperate their cardboard from their trash and take them to seperate trash compactors. This way, instead of spending hundreds of thousands of dollars each year to have it taken away and put in a landfill, the mall would actually be paid over $400,000 a year if they recycle it. Makes sense, right?

But our little 17-year-old employee doesn't think it makes sense at all and risks the potential fine to our store in order to spare herself the inconvenience of throwing the cardboard into a different bin. I explained to her on Monday that the mall was serious and probably wanted their $400,000. She thought I was kidding, winked and smiled at me and shoved a few more boxes into the garbage bag. "But it's so annoying having to go to both compactors."
"But you only have to go to one or the other each night."
"Oh."
"Ya..."
"But it's still annoying. It's so stupid."
"Recycling is stupid?"
"Ya." She rolled her eyes again. She does that a lot.
"Saving the environment is stupid?"
"Oh gosh! Please!"

I went on to explain to her exactly why recycling wasn't stupid. Clear water, less landfills resulting in more liveable land for humans and animals, less air pollution, the economical benefits...
"Oh, great... what next? The Ozone layer??"
"Ya actually. You think they made that up to scare you into sorting cardboard for their own amusement?"

And then I had to walk away. Because for a moment I hated her.

Valentines Day Disaster

Last week was my first week in a new ward. I loved it. Some girl saw me sitting alone and came over to sit by me and starting asking the typical getting to know you questions. We covered the bases of where I was from, what I was studying, where I was working, blah, blah, blah. Until there was that awkward pause when all the questions have been asked and you still have to sit together. Then she turned to me and in an excited whisper she asked, "Sooooo... are you dating anybody?" And then I was unable to control my sudden burst of laughter. I laughed for three reasons... 1) The way she asked it was hillarious. Like a thirteen year old girl at a slumber party right before you start calling the boys you like and asking, "So, do you like Kate? Do you like Megan? Emily? OK, Bye!" It was adorable. 2) I had just been thinking about how pretty much every thing in my life has been going wrong and if I did have a guy in my life that relationship would be destined for disaster as well and 3) It isn't even possible for me to be dating considering the fact that I haven't met a single boy since August. The last reason is the excuse I gave to the girl to explain my laughter.

In a recent email, Julie suggested that I not overlook the "Shreks." Which I assumed to mean that I need to lower my standards on actual physical attraction.

So, this last Sunday while waiting for Sunday School to start I was looking around the room and thinking about all of these things when I saw him. Shrek. He's not hideously ugly or anything, just not somebody I was attracted to. And I thought to myself, "Self. You're not attracted to this guy. Maybe you should take Julie's advice and go talk to him." And then I smiled a big smile as I laughed at my own joke in my head because that would certainly be icing on my cake of destruction. But as I was gazing off into space laughing at my own dark humor, I just happened to be looking him in the eye which I realized when he winked at me and smiled. I did a quick smile and then looked at the floor. Crap.

There was a valentine on my front step this morning. It was made of red construction paper with a stencil of a teddy bear and heart on it done with a gel pen. Inside, a very clever gentleman made a heart out of @ signs which he had printed out, cut out and pasted inside of the card. Underneath the heart it read, "Your love is where it's at! -Love Bruce"

I frantically searched for a ward directory. Yep, Bruce and Shrek are one of the same. My sweet valentine. Maybe I too am "accidentally in love"... :o)

Letters from Home
Pre-script: My sister's driveway is really steep. Almost straight up and down kind of steep. And pretty long.

Hello Emily,

As we told you, Judy invited us over for a birthday dinner for me last night. When we arrived there, I drove up their driveway so Grandma wouldn't have to walk up the steep driveway. We told her to wait until someone could help her get out of the car. But she got out of the car by herself, fell down unto the pavement, and rolled all the way down the driveway to the street. David came running out of the house to help her.

She was able to get up on her feet with the help of David with just a few scratches on her knees and elbows. She had nothing broken. David helped her walk back up the driveway into the house. I was amazed that we didn't have to call 911. I really believe there must have been an unseen angel that helped her. Can you imagine that a 85 year old woman could get through an incident like that without getting badly injured? Today she is walking around the house like nothing ever happened to her. Could you roll down their driveway without getting hurt? In fact, while she was rolling down the driveway not a sound came from her. I think that I would be screaming for my dear life. Mom, who was in the back seat of the car taking care of the dogs didn't see Grandma fall and wondered how Grandma could disappear so fast. Like where did she go!

Judy thinks that Grandma is a tough cookie.

Love,
Dad

Happy Anniversary

So it was my two year anniversary with my Blog on the 3rd. But I missed it. So today I had to buy it flowers and chocolates and beg for forgiveness. Not only for forgetting our anniversary but also for being a boring, whiney subject. It took me back. And then I ate the chocolate.

Why 2005 may not be my year...

1. I have been homeless 18 of the 31 days
2. I received two tickets within 12 days. (One for parking in Visitor Parking and one today for speeding in West Jordan trying to get to my class "field trip" in time)
3. I'm too poor to graduate this year

Why 2005 could definitely be my year...

1. I might be able to make a road trip to San Diego next month to see Heather
2. I'm going to Las Vegas in March to see Sarah, Suzy, Circe de Sol and Celine Dion
3. I'm working full-time at Wasatch Elementary, part-time at Kara Chocolates, I'm taking grad classes at BYU full-time and I still have a couple friends. Bra, I can do anything!!

Victory

Today was the first day in over two weeks that I haven't been approached with one of the following phrases...

• "Ew, you look how I feel."
• "Are you feeling okay? Because you don't look so good."
• "Maybe you should go home. You look sick."
• "You look tired. Didn't get much sleep last night?"
• "You look... comfortable."
• "Are you sick? Or just really tired?"

Instead, the only similar approach today went like this, "Wow, feeling better today? You look better." Thanks, Mrs. Wilde. I do feel better.

Comfortable

The other day as I was leaving the elementary school for my lunch break, I passed by our P.E. teacher (also my age and going to the Y) who looked at me and said, "Hi Emily... you look... comfortable."

What was wrong with my homeless garb of my black pants and oversized green sweatshirt that I stole from my brother? And maybe I wasn't wearing make-up and didn't bother putting my contacts in. And maybe my hair was pulled back in a sloppy pony tail. What? That's not attractive?

I need to start showering...

Transient Blog: Day 7

Yes, it has been a full week since I've had a place to live. Need I say more? Really?

Dancing on the Threshold of Hell

Life in #303 has been a whole lot less than desirable. I won't go into details because I don't want to. So you'll have to take my word for it. Or maybe you'll understand when you see me in my car with a suitcase in the back with everything I may need in the next week or so. Or maybe you'll get a hint of what I'm going through when you see me huddled on the couch of #69 trying to catch a bit of sleep. Today Karen asked me where it was that I was living now and I told her. On the threshold of Hell.

But tonight, in honor of our Ann-Marie's birthday, I danced here. Well I didn't dance here. Because I don't dance. But I stood around as I watched other people dance here. Right on the threshold of Hell.

In Da Club

I hate it when cell phones go off in class. Why can't they just turn their phones off before class? I do.

But I forgot today.

And just now, in the middle of my tech class, with 40 other people in this class, while the teacher is giving a motivational speech about technology and teaching, my phone rings.

My ringer of choice? In Da Club.

My Mom is Crazy

I love hearing from other people that my mom is crazy because it validates my own opinion and makes me feel less guilty for recognizing the fact. Today I got a phone call that went a little something like this...

J: Hi
E: Hi
J: Your mom called me today.
E: Uh, oh.
J: Have you talked to your mom today?
E: No. What did she say?
J: She said that you're going to finish school early...
E: Maybe...
J: And then move up here and live with me.
E: What?
J: Ya, she said that you were going to move up here and live with me and she told me that she hoped I didn't mind having somebody living in my basement.
E: Uh... I didn't tell her I was moving in with you.
J: You didn't?
E: No, I didn't even tell her I was moving to Seattle. Only that I might be finishing school early.
J: I told her that you were thinking about moving some place else besides Seattle but she told me that you were moving to Seattle for sure now and that you were definitely going to move in with me.
E: My mom doesn't know anything about me. Or my plans.
J: Anyway, I gotta go.
E: OK.
J: Have a good day.
E: OK.

And then I was left alone. With a million thoughts running through my head. Wondering if maybe she had forgotten her pills. Curious about where and when she had written that story and why, with all the things to do, she would decide to call somebody and share it with people outside of her own head. All of this comes from one simple statement to my mother last night that finishing school early was a possiblity and when asked I also said that moving to Seattle was also a "possibility." I think it wise not to tell my mother anything. Ever.

It's funny, too. Because if my mother knew me at all she would know that I have a huge fear of life commitments. I cry every time I have to sign a contract. For anything. I freaked out when I had to commit to a year for my cell phone. Freaked out even more when I had to sign a contract for an apartment. I freaked out when I had to commit to going to school. I never like being tied down to any one decision. Why would I commit to any type of living arrangement for a year from now? That's just not my style.

Winter Wonderland

On Monday I spent $400 on textbooks. I wanted to die. The lady who checked me out saw the mound of books (obviously since she was checking me out) and said, "Are you sure you know what you're doing? This could be the straw that breaks the camel's back." I told her that my classes were chosen for me and that this would definitely break my back considering I had to walk home with them. Then, as I was bagging them (it took four huge bags) I muttered under my breath, "I'm going to have to start drinking..." and the girl next to me who was bagging her single small text book looked over at me with horror in her eyes as if I had just dropped the F-bomb in the middle of General Conference. So I went to the Sev and bought a Double Gulp Coke and drank almost the whole thing. It was 1.9 Liters. But it was good. Real good. The worst part of it is that now I have to read them all. What kind of sick place is this?

On Tuesday I went to my first class. It's a technology class. I was delighted to find that I was sitting directly behind the only girls who hadn't showered since the 7th grade. I mean, I admit that my showering schedule is less than desirable and that we all have busy lives but... come on... it was the first day of class. If you can't find time to shower on the first day of classes then it's never going to happen. I need to find a new seat. On the plus side, our first class was all about teaching us what a Blog is and how to set one up. I went in and opened my Dashboard to show my three Blogs. Mr. Teacher said I could go ahead and go home. I did.

It started snowing last night and didn't stop. I hate the snow. Mostly because it's cold and wet and slippery. Also, it's white which means it's nasty brownish black. I'm also not a fan because since my car heater is broken, it's cold even when I'm in my car. And since when things are warmer inside than they are outside windows get fogged up and since fogged windows are bad for driving because you can't see through foggy windows and since my heater is broken so it can't make the fogginess go away... I had to drive with my windows rolled down... with the snow coming in my car. How long until Spring?

So I bought Napoleon Dynamite. And watched all the deleted scenes. And then watched all the deleted scenes with commentary. And then watched the movie. I was going to then watch the movie with commentary but I had a headache because the whole viewing experience was accompanied with the sound blasting while sitting right in front of the television because my psycho roommate was laying across our couch, having one of her loud seizure-like anxiety attacks and because our clattering washing machine was on. Thank goodness for Napoleon and his ability to make me laugh so hard I snorted. Many times. With a few gasps and wheezes.

Back in Town

I'm back in town. I flew in on Friday. I really, really, really didn't want to come back. I was perfectly content sleeping in the big bed in the Faerber's basement with no worries about work or school or crazy roommates (although I did share a bedroom with the Poopsmith). But with out the details of the fight between my many personalities, the rational one won and I'm here and ready to start the new semester. On the flight home I was sitting next to a young blonde girl who, when we started our descent into the Salt Lake valley, suddenly burst into tears and didn't stop until after we landed. I knew how she felt. Not because I hate Utah or because I wasn't excited to see my friends, but because last semester almost killed me and this semester I'm adding another class to the craziness.

I might die.

Will you still love me when I have 27 nervous twitches, I weigh a much as your mom and I've been without shower and razor for three months? Will you?