Be Grateful When You're Dating

On Saturday I had the opportunity to participate in running a Christmas carnival for young adults with special needs. I helped a girl with various activities at the carnival. During the course of the event, she kept pointing out different guys who were volunteering me and telling me she thought they were cute and wondering aloud (if not asking them) whether or not they were dating someone. She told me that she wanted a boyfriend more than anything, and when "Santa" arrived, that's what she asked for.

It made me feel guilty to think that I have the opportunity to date and I don't use it. I'm much more likely to find a boyfriend than a girl with special needs, but I take it for granted. I shouldn't.

My roommate got a super-awkward text from a boy. He told her she's beautiful and he wants to go on a date with her Saturday night. She's gone on a date with him before but said it was uncomfortable and isn't interested in pursuing a relationship with him. Tonight he cornered her at a musical performance and asked her to go see Christmas lights in the city. She reluctantly agreed.

I heard her talking to other girls in our neighborhood about boys they've gone on dates with and experiences they've had and I realized I haven't gone on any dates since September, and that was with a guy who told me he wouldn't have asked me normally because he likes to watch girls for two weeks to see if they're someone he can envision himself with. Creepo. But the realization I haven't been going on dates, what with how I'm young and beautiful and talented and all that jazz, was sobering to me. I started feeling bad.

I was walking by the laundry room reflecting on my single-ness when a boy came up the stairs and spat towards the ground when he rounded the corner. Only he didn't see me, so it hit my leg. Lovely. He glanced at me and said "Oh, sorry" and kept walking.

Then I felt like a complete loser.

Why can't we be grateful for the opportunities we have to date? Why do we complain bitterly when someone asks us on a date, especially when the activity is something many other girls would love to do, and the guy is someone many other girls would love to go with? Be grateful, gosh darn it.

I'm Pretty

Incentive

This week and this week only, the company I work for is giving its employees $.75 for every appointment we set. It's like getting a small bonus or a small raise. Ideally, we should be setting about seven appointments in a 4 1/2 hour day. That's an extra $5.25. I'm tempted to stay later and work longer (I need to do that anyway to save hours for Christmas) in order to cash in a little on the offer. The downside is calling people after 7:30pm their time is often disastrous, and we'd be doing some of that. Maybe it'd be better to come in two hours earlier. I'd just need to find a ride...

Lost and Found

In Relief Society a few weeks ago they passed around a paper asking if we could trace our family lines back four generations. I honestly couldn't, so I marked no. And I felt really bad about it, especially when my roommate got her mission call and one of the things she's supposed to bring is her four-generational pedigree and family stories. I knew someone in the family must have that knowledge, but I didn't, and after all the talks on doing temple work and redeeming our own family's dead, I thought I should hop to it, lazy daisy!

I began by pushing my tree as far back as I could. This took me two days, and most of my ancestors (our ancestors, I should say, since only Rachel and Liz ever read this) can be traced as far as the 1600s, some even earlier. Did you know we have a great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother named Tame Doe? She was Cherokee, or at least grew up among them.

Then I went back and started to fill in the holes, especially focusing on the ancestors who don't go that far back. For instance, Alpheus Bulen didn't appear to have a wife. I found a record of Eliza Jane, who he listed as his wife and beneficiary if he died in action. (Good thing, too--he kicked the bucket in Arkansas in 1865 during the Civil War. I think it must be his poster-thing hanging in Grandma Trudy's living room.) Then I went on and found the action record of his marriage:

Bonus points! It lists Isaac Brown and Sally (other census records indicate she might have been called Salina or Selira, but handwriting wasn't so good back then) as Eliza Jane's parents. Now, because the marriage was in 1848, Eliza just missed the boat on the 1850 US Federal Census, but it's okay, because all of Isaac and Sally's other children made it. For these records, I searched for Wisconsin as their residency and was quickly armed with their birthplaces as New York (Isaac) and New Jersey (Sally), in addition to their respective birth years. Unfortunately, there were a lot of people named Isaac and Sally in those places at that time, so I haven't been able to trace them back further--yet.

So I began to explore Isaac and Sally's other children, like John Brown, and I found a lot of names. I added Americus (what a name!) and his children, and then I added Byron's family and turned to Jay's.

To find someone's family, I start by looking up their name, birth year, and place of birth so I can find them in at least one of US Federal Census. I try to give a few years in the birth range, like 1886-1889, since they were often estimates and fluctuated. Jay appears to be born in 1887 or 1888, depending on the record, and of course was born in Wisconsin. Here are some of the results I got for Jay Brown:

You'll notice in his first record (1900 census), Jay has the middle initial "S."

In the 1910 census record, he is Jay L Brown. I chose to go with this variation because it was more recent and because he is referred to as Jay L in a later record (keep reading and you'll see what I mean).

By 1920, Jay appears to be married and has joined her family. I am really excited by records like this because it lists not only Jay and his spouse, but also his spouse's family so I know her maiden name. Two questions: Where's Pomerania? Where's Hesse? Keep reading!

Here's Jay L Brown in the 1930 census. For a moment I had doubts, but there's someone (a possible relative?) rooming with them who has the last name Gaske. And Helen is a far cry from Herma, but then again, it's basically impossible to read the record that supposedly says Herma (trust me, I looked at it closely), so I think it's a win-win. And if you had any doubts...

Here's the 1940 census, and Christine Garski is listed as mother-in-law (1920 was Christina Garske, so I think we have a fit). It also appears Pomerania is Germany. There's a little bit of a discrepancy in age, but that happens. And the children's names match the 1930 census. I think we've found a family that was previously lost.

So now I search for census, birth, and marriage records for the Garske/Garski family to try to add Jay's wife Herma/Helen/Helene and all of her family as accurately as possible. And Jay and Helen's children, Leslie and Virginia, will be added soon, too.

Isn't this fun?

And look, I found Helena Albertin Garske's birth record. And it even has her mother's maiden name: Seipp. Isn't this fun!

As it turns out, there's already a match for her in the system! I added Helena Albertin Garske, and it turns out her baptism, confirmation and initiatory were done in the Nuku'alofa Tonga Temple in 2003 and 2004. However, her parents' work has not been done, and she still needs her work finished, and maybe soon she can be sealed to her parents, siblings, husband and children.

The Only Conceivable Way

The only conceivable way I can see Mitt Romney winning the presidential election is if people are afraid to admit they're voting for him. It turns out there's a name for this: Shy Tory Factor.

Essentially, this means that, when polled, people are afraid to admit if they're voting for a candidate who might be perceived as less-popular. Obama was so ridiculously popular in 2008, some people could hedge when it comes to admitting they're throwing support behind a Mormon candidate. (I'm sure there are other reasons they wouldn't vote for Romney, but I'm making a quick generalization because my macaroni and cheese will be done in a minute.)

I read an article from the Wall Street Journal's website stating Romney will win, and this comment sums up what's been on my mind:

All of the polls, local and national, presage a Romney victory. At least they do after a simple adjustment for a factor that has been largely ignored in the press, but will be recognized of surpassing importance for the polls in this election once the returns come in tonight. That factor is known as the "shy Tory factor" (google it for the history), where a poll respondent is unwilling to admit that he/she is voting for a particular candidate or, and more likely now in 2012, is voting against a particular candidate. Particularly in the heavily Democratic swing states which came out so heavily in favor of Obama in 2008, I would suggest that perhaps 1 in 10 of the poll respondents indicating a preference for Obama are saying so because they will not admit, until they hit the voting booth, that they are voting against the historic first black president, voting for the rich guy who would have bankrupted the car makers, voting for dirty water and air, voting not to finish what Obama started, etc. The Obama campaign has so glorified its candidate and so demonized its opponent that this less-than-truthful reaction is almost inevitable and on a significant scale. If it is one in ten, that translates to a 10% overstatement of Obama support and a corresponding 10% understatement for Romney in most state polls. Even halved, these adjustments would easily put Romney well over the top in every swing state.

As an illustration, think of Prop 8. Without looking up polling data (think of my macaroni!), I seem to remember that more people said they would vote against it than for it, but it still won by several percentage points. Granted, this was a single state and only one issue being voted upon, but I wonder if the same thing might not happen with the current candidates.

That said, I don't care who our president is for the next four years. That said, I still voted.

Pam Pot

This morning I heard my roommate spray something in the kitchen, which can only possibly mean one thing: Pam. The two frying pans (egg-sized and normal-sized) and pot belong to me, so I hurried to see what she was doing. She had sprayed Pam into the pot and was rubbing it around with her finger. I asked what she was doing, and she explained she was going to boil water for noodles and she didn't want them to stick.

This sounds kind of dumb, but you can almost make sense of it when you realize that my pot had a non-stick surface before some ignorant person I live with scraped up the bottom of the pot by stirring it with a fork or similar metal instrument. So now things can stick to it and it cooks unevenly as more heat comes up through the uncovered, un-non-sticked patch.

But it wasn't a good plan, especially if you still intended to cook with the pot. Not unless you want Pam-flavored pasta. I told her to use the pot like nothing was wrong with it, even though it's kind of ruined. One of these days I'll buy a new pot and frying pan (probably the same ignorant person warped it by putting it under cold water while it was still hot) and not let anyone else use them. I'm just irritated that the ones I had lasted two full years with my old roommates and were ruined in under two months by my current ones.

She Wants A Gentleman

I remember seeing SWAG on my cousin's Facebook page. It stood for "she wants a gentleman," which I thought was funny because her boyfriend looked like a freaky-punk-goth kid.

My roommate's really interested in this guy she met through one of their mutual acquaintances. Apparently they have a lot in common, and she's never had a guy pay so much attention to her so flirt so outlandishly. He gave us a ride to the store last night and when we got to the car he opened the door for both of us. I told him that was great, because a true gentleman doesn't only open the door for his date--he'll open it for his date's friends! But it was a mistake. When we got to the store, he pulled into a parking spot and I started to unbuckle my seat belt. "Wait, stop!" he said. (Shouted, more like.) I felt guilty because I was taught at some point growing up not to unbuckle your seat belt until the car's engine had been turned off, but then he whipped out of the driver's seat and came around the car to open our doors. "Oh no you don't!" I said and I flung my door open before he could reach it. Then we got into the STUPIDEST mini-argument about how he wanted to open my door but I can open it myself thanks God gave me fingers and I wasn't going to sit there waiting for him to come around when I could do it myself and what if there was a fire, I might burn to death. He told me that I wasn't letting him be a gentleman and that all I had to do was wait in the car and that I wasn't giving him the opportunity to serve. What an idiot! I think I really just had a problem with him telling me to STOP when I was letting myself out of the car.

But what thoroughly depressed me is that my roommate sat quietly and facing forward in the passenger seat and waited for him to open the door for her (after our mini-argument) and then quietly said to me "He was just being a gentleman and I like that." I don't ever want to marry someone who won't let me let myself out of the car. That's not being a gentleman, that's being a chauvinist. There are other ways to show respect for women. Enough doors are closed to us and if only men would get out of the way, we could open them.

That Can't Be Right

I was watching Sailor Moon Stars on YouTube. In episode 174 at the 3:40 mark (when the scouts are joining different clubs), Ami prints out a paper and says "Here you go! I downloaded a document from Columbia University library's site concerning space engineering." The nerd who takes it says "Thanks a lot! I'm not very good at English..." Ami must have been banking on that, because what she actually printed were lyrics to "Danger Zone" from the movie "Top Gun."

Almost Boo!ed

A week ago my neighbors put a paper in their window that at a glance looked like a page from a coloring book. I saw there was a ghost drawn on it, anyway.

Then today at the Activities Committee Meeting, one of the co-chairs asked if I'd continue Boo!ing peoples apartments as part of the service sub-committee. I didn't know what she was talking about. She said "Oh, you know, like how you Boo!ed us... right?" and I just looked at her blankly. She explained that someone had left treats on her doorstep with a note saying "Boo! You've been Boo!ed! Hope you enjoy these treats! Now it's your turn... Make some treats and leave them on someone's doorstep with a sign like this. It'll be fun! P.S. - put this in your window so people know you've already been Boo!ed." She said my name was written on the upper-corner. As soon as the meeting was over I went and looked at her kitchen window (she's my next door neighbor). I felt sick and sad when I saw the note and realized that it had been meant for me. Someone tried to do service for me two weeks ago and it had gone astray, to my neighbors. And now I have the assignment to keep Boo!ing people in the ward until it goes around to everybody.

I explained what must have happened (really, who would Boo! someone and write their own name on the note--how full of myself do they think I am?) and asked if I could have the note and I made them a new one. Then I pulled out my box of happy notes from my old ward and found a handwriting match. So one of my well-meaning friends meant to leave me treats. My neighbors said the Oreo brownies were delicious. I know it was a mistake, but I feel really hurt by the confusion, least of all that my friends don't know where I live now, most of all that my neighbors took brownies meant for me (my name was on the note!) and told me just how delicious they were. And now I'm supposed to keep it going.

"One of God's Chosen"

These are excerpts from a letter someone wrote from the MTC following President Monson's announcement that the age requirement for missionary service for women had been lowered from 21 to 19:

"I'm not sure I have ever felt like I was part of a divinely historic moment before, but on Saturday, I did. When President Monson announced that YM could serve at 18, the room exploded with the spirit and we all gasped and had giant grins on our faces. Then, as soon as he said they had thought about the sisters as well, it got absolutely silent. It was amazing. NO ONE expected the age requirement for sisters to drop so drastically. But when they said 19 yrs old, we all stood and cheered. And I don't mean all of us sisters, I mean all 2500 missionaries in the MTC. It was as if the Spirit flooded into the room and God's army did a war cry because we knew that the biggest and the best, the strongest and brightest of God's warriors had just been called to the ranks. I so wish that every person in the world could have felt what we felt and known what we know. This is the beginning of an epic era. The gospel is going forth to the whole world and no one can stop it. God needs the mothers of His children to be return missionaries, and now that is more possible. Since then I have heard comments like "Every girl I know back home is wanting to serve now." and from one return missionary I met at the temple this morning, I heard that all of the Preach My Gospels are sold out at BYU and the Provo Deseret. I got chills up my arms when I heard that, because it meant that it wasn't just an exciting moment, but that the youth are actually taking action.

I am so proud to be one of God's chosen, going forth to make way for the tidal wave of missionaries coming behind me. The missionaries have the truth and the whole world is going to have the chance to hear it."

I made bold the lines I have the biggest concerns about. I'm afraid that in the excitement of the announcement, people might be mistaking their excitement for the Spirit. I don't know that they are, but I think it's possible and something to be wary of. I have talked to girls who decided they would go on a mission without even praying about it because of how they felt when the announcement was made. There's a girl at my work whose friend found a front-row ticket to the Saturday morning session of general conference and gave it to her and so she was there when the Prophet made the announcement and she took it as revelation from God that she's meant to go. And maybe she is? I don't know. But there are many girls who seem to have the idea that they need to go right now, which also isn't true (unless they received revelation that they should, and I don't know if they did or not). It was stressed at the press conference that just because the age has been lowered to 19, not everyone is expected to go--or should go--at 19. You go when you're ready. And you prepare yourself before going so that you can be a more effective missionary. There are many girls who have never prepared for a mission who decided on a whim (however spiritual the whim might have been) to go. Maybe they should begin preparing and then submit their papers, instead of the other way around. But that's my two cents.

And what's this about the "biggest and the best" and "the strongest and the brightest" being called to serve? What, the 19-year-old girls are now better than all those who've gone on before? And what's this about having been "called to the ranks?" NO SISTER IS REQUIRED TO SERVE. This is not a call to serve as it is for the men. This is the opportunity and the invitation to those who are worthy, able, and most importantly to those who have the desire.

God loves when girls serve missions, I'm sure. And I know it will only bless their future families. But to say that "God needs the mothers of His children to be return missionaries" says to me that I shouldn't be having children, God doesn't need me if I haven't served a mission. And that's simply not true. But it's what this sister missionary is preaching.

Not all girls want to serve a mission. There are many who are talking about it and are preparing and are excitedly going forth, and good for them. But there are many of us who do not have that desire, and I feel like a piece of shoe scum by not belonging to the supposed universal gaggle of girls who are now "God's chosen." I guess God didn't pick me?

I don't have the desire to serve a mission, and I never have. I can think of a whole host of reasons why I shouldn't serve or don't want to serve, but ultimately the reason why is I don't have the desire. And that should be okay. I have other righteous desires, like getting married in the temple. But statements like these make me feel like I'm worth less, that I'm inadequate, that there's something wrong with me. I suppose there's a spirit everyone felt that I missed, that I'm not one of God's best, that I'm not a chosen one, that I'm not going to be a good mother since I won't be a returned missionary, that there's something wrong with me since I don't have the desire.

The worst part of all is my roommate posted this on her Facebook where within 2 hours, 23 people "liked" it and two asked if they could re-post it.

To me, the biggest blessing of the change--and perhaps its purpose--is more sisters will be able to serve before marriage. I had two roommates who had a strong desire to serve but met their spouses before they turned 21. Now, girls who are worthy and able and who have the desire will be able to serve missions before marriage. Fewer will have to decide between marriage and a mission because they won't have to wait as long to go (and consequently will have less time to date and find the one they want to marry). Women who have the righteous desire will be able to serve and not have to wait until they're old to go. This will allow for an increase in sister missionaries serving, blessing the world many times over.

I'm trying to ignore what people are saying. They don't mean to be insensitive and I don't think they realize how their words are coming across. Instead, I'm trying to focus on the words of President Monson in general conference and President Holland at the press conference. A mission isn't for everyone. Sisters aren't expected to serve. And just as sisters who don't serve aren't any lesser than those that do, sisters who do serve aren't any better than those that don't.

Boys (or Lack Thereof)

Some time ago a friend was bemoaning her lack of a boyfriend on Valentine's Day. You know the acronym for Single's Awareness Day is SAD, right? So is "Sarah Appreciation Day." Anyway, the other day I was thinking about relationships that don't work out and how often we begin calculating our worth with our dating or marital status as one of the main variables. Why do we do this to ourselves? Let's live lives that don't revolve around whether or not there's a man in them! Sure, I need a guy to be a wife and a mother, but I don't need a guy in order to wake up early, exercise, eat nutritiously, read a good book or write an even better one.

They Want to Meet Me!

Yesterday my team lead said clients were asking their agents where I was because they wanted to meet me after speaking to me on the phone. That's pretty neat. Looks like my sparkling personality shines through and through. He also asked what kind of reward I'd like for being consistently awesome. My first thought and consequential response was candy. He suggested a gift card to Subway, which kind of deflated my happiness and made me suck in my stomach. If he asked me again today, I'd probably say a raise.

He Tried to Kill It

I went on an eight mile hike on Saturday which was kind of dumb because I probably haven't walked eight collective miles this whole summer. But I really wanted to go. Not even a quarter of the way up the mountain (so we're talking about 1 mile in) I realized just what a bad idea it was. I'm not in very good shape and my shoes were flat and worn out. I was the slowest of the group, and I was amazed how I kept apologizing for being slow, the other hikers would assure me it was perfectly fine but minutes later mention how it was taking longer than they remembered. That's because I was the bowling ball chained to their feet. Oh well. I saw a pheasant and a deer and right by the top we heard a rustling and I saw a rattlesnake right by the path. It was probably three feet long! Most of us continued on, but one guy with some kind of manly vendetta against innocent wildlife tried to kill it and instead only partially crushed it. So beware the angry, half-dead snake if you plan on going up there any time soon. We reached the summit right at sunset and found a hiker who had climbed straight up the cliff face and was consequently lost because he couldn't climb down it in the dark and he wasn't aware there was a path. He called 911 but they told him they wouldn't rescue him unless he was injured, so he's lucky we found him. Especially because he was to give his farewell talk at church the next day as he's about to leave on a mission. It would've been kind of awkward if he went missing instead. I think the descent took less time than the climb, though it was dark and I was talking to the rescuee and focusing so hard on not stumbling that it's hard to say for certain. We passed two people walking their dog but their dog was big and black and I saw it before the people so I shrieked and jumped and the dog growled but an instant later we saw its owners and we laughed and the dog wagged its tail. Dogs are smart. What an adventure. Only my legs are really stiff and sore and I need to buy groceries today.

Fifteen

I set fifteen appointments yesterday, folks! That's the most I've ever set in a day! My previous record was fourteen. And I was split-dialing for five of them. I was telling the new guy that I was doing unusually well and not to think it was normal because I've seen other people set five in an hour and he said "Yeah, you just did." Still, not my typical performance. Actually, I've gotten 10, 11, and now 15 this week, which is probably higher than I got in the last two weeks combined. I seem to have started doing less-well once I made friends and was flirting (a little) with Sheep Boy. But now that I sit in isolation beneath the freezer--excuse me, air conditioning--my stats are way up. I credit the window. Yesterday I saw a double rainbow and a lightning storm. Oh, and the air conditioning was broken, so I thought I might die.

North Pole

They switched teams on us again. I've been relocated to the North Pole, or at least it feels like it! I sit right under the air conditioning vent. My nose started dripping thirty minutes into my shift. On the plus side, I have a wonderful view of the mountains. I just have to slouch far enough down in my chair to use the window frame to hide the scenic sewage treatment plant that fills the bottom half of the landscape.

Flop

Institute flopped like a failure fish. There were five of us and no teacher, so we left after about twenty minutes. I hope people show up next week, it's kind of important I attend or else I'll not be able to live in student housing. Though I keep wondering why I'm still here. I think it's because I didn't know where else to go. I feel kind of useless, work-wise. My English degree isn't worth much, what with my lack of experience, and my most meaningful occupation has been at call centers. Why didn't I work in college? I know I felt unqualified for most jobs even then, and the fact of the matter is I'm lazy. I'm sad to admit it. But I sure don't want to stay where I am for too much longer. It's easy, true, but it's also easily frustrating and a waste of my intellect or talent. I think I'm capable of a lot more. I just don't know where to start.

Schedule Change

I changed my work schedule so I can go to FHE and Institute. I start an hour earlier than before, but get off two hours earlier Monday and Wednesday and one hour earlier on Friday. Just in case if I get asked on an 8:00pm date and the time is not negotiable. I suppose if it's any earlier I'll have to decline. I'm just proud of myself for asking for the change because now I might be more social and possibly even more happy.

Thumbtack in my Shoe

My team lead was like "Okay guys! Throw your shoes into the middle of the floor! It's No Shoes Day!" She kicked her foot, sending her flip-flop sailing a few feet to the land in the middle of our aisle of cubicles. Three girls followed suit. I was wearing Converse and bent to untie mine to add to the pile, but I told her I was concerned I might step on a thumbtack and get tetanus. She scoffed at my worries and commanded I remove my shoes, and who was I to argue? About an hour later the staff leader walked by and said "What the heck!" at our pile of shoes but didn't make us put them back on. Another hour later my foot was getting cold so I put my shoes back on. Fast forward to later at night, I'm walking on the sidewalk and my shoe isn't going down flat because there's something stuck to the bottom of it. I'd noticed it intermittently throughout the day but hadn't given it much thought. I got to my sister's apartment and sat down to check the bottom of my shoe and lo and behold! it was a purple star-shaped tack that had been on the wall of my cubicle. At some point during the day I'd stepped on it at work. Luckily it was when my shoes were on and it did not give me tetanus. I just want all you people to know I'm not paranoid, but instead rightfully cautious. These things can happen.

Chips

This doesn't have anything to do with anything, but once I bought a bag of Lay's potato chips and won $20. It was folded with a paper and sealed in plastic, some kind of promotion, I think. But I remember wanting to take the $20 and use it to buy more bags of chips, from which I imagined winning $20 each. In no time I'd be fabulously wealthy. Instead, I bought a few bags of chips and only won $5. So my scheme wasn't the greatest ever. To this day it surprises me that they put cash into the bags. I wonder if they sold all of those chips, or how much money was thrown away with the unsold chips. I would've volunteered to open the leftover bags and remove the money, so I don't think they would've been interested in my offer unless I was donating the money to charity. More likely I would've used to it buy Digimon card booster packs.

Dated

So I'm feeling rather old, being 22 in an apartment with five other girls under the age of 20. I was surprised when one of the moms started chatting to me like a chum. I wanted to say "Hey, treat me like your daughter! I'm still young!" But at that moment her daughter was complaining about how her clothes wouldn't fit in the closet (first world problem) and decided I don't want to be in league with People-Who-Bring-Too-Much-Crap-With-Them-To-College. On the plus side, my room-roommate likes Spider-Man almost as much as I do. I almost died when I saw her bedding was Spider-Man themed. She had a similar reaction when she saw mine. She says it's like destiny. I'm glad destiny is little more than matching a fixation over a fictional character. Oh, and I went on a date last night with one of my coworkers. I didn't know it was a date until my team lead told me he told her that we went on a date. I didn't know it wasn't a secret until then, either. I was hoping everyone at work would discuss my dating activity and shoot me glances and giggles any time Sheep Boy happens to talk to me. My life is made.

Bitter

I realized that I'm filled with this awful bitter resentment towards everything and everyone, most of it undeserved and even that which is deserving shouldn't have gone on for this long. I look at new people and new experiences with distrust or disdain. I pretend it's because I'm mature but I think it's really just because I'm afraid. I'm afraid of making mistakes and being hurt and it's holding me back and has really been a big fat unhealthy part of my life. I want to smile and feel confident about myself and look forward towards to the future, not down at my feet at all the dirt I've collected.

Misfit and Sheep Boy

A few days ago at work I was relocated to the Island of Misfit Toys, officially designated as "The One Who Hates Everything." Next to the annoying girls who say "um" every other word while they're on a call or feel the need to shout everything. Maybe I'm only a buffer from and not a resident of that island. One can only hope. But then there's a guy who was setting a million appointments and I told the girl next to me that it must be because he has a nice voice. And then clients started telling him he was breaking up, so he called my extension to ask my opinion. I said his voice was all soft and nice like a sheep you'd want to fluff, and now he's been labeled "Sheep Boy" by the supervisor and team lead. Oops. He turned around once to say his voice still sounded fuzzy and everyone said "Like a sheep you'd want to cuddle!" I never said that, they're misquoting me. I hope I didn't embarrass him. I'm pretty sure I embarrassed myself.

I Think I'll Live There

Good news! I won't be homeless! I'm going to move across the street to an apartment even more ghetto than my current residence. But I'll be the first one to move in so I'm taking the least-ghetto spot in the least-ghetto room. And I'm going to sneak my bed from this apartment into that one, since I love it so much. Wish I could also move the couches. Wonder if I'd get in trouble for that? They all belong to the complex, as far as I'm concerned, so who cares which couch is in what apartment? I care. And the new tenants won't know what they had, having never had it. Hoohoo.

Ti-erd

I'm tired, which would be spelled tierd if we had any sense. It's been a long day. The billing company for my apartment complex charged me twice for rent and I need to call them tomorrow and accuse them of stealing my money and demand an immediate refund. And I still haven't found a place to live, I am beginning to think people only pretend to be selling their contracts because it makes them feel important.

I Keep Forgetting

So I was sitting around when I remembered a story idea I had last week that I'd forgotten about. It makes me wonder how many stories I forget regularly and how many of them were actually good ideas and how many I'll ever actually finish. If the idea is so forgettable that I don't remember it a week later, maybe it's not worth writing.

I Don't Want to be Homeless

I'm having a really hard time finding a place to live! I would stay where I'm at but I've been here for three years and I need to avoid someone. I wish I had a friend I could move in with because I feel silly staying around here when I'm not a student and my job doesn't pay well. I could live anywhere under these conditions. I could move to Oregon. What am I doing here?

Oh, the Humanity!

It's not quite the Hindenburg disaster, but the candy bar bar has been raised to 15 appointments. On my best day I've gotten 14. Looks like no more free candy for me. Luckily I have a job and make money, so I can buy candy, but still.

The Best Ideas

I think a lot of our best ideas come to us when we're taking a shower. If more people practiced good hygiene the world would be better twofold. We'd be oh so clean and inspired.

Political Correctness

When did it become okay to bash religion? To make fun of faith? Somewhere along the way we've abandoned gay slurs and racist remarks, but religious intolerance is suddenly popular. I was chatting with a friend when he made some insensitive remarks, beginning with answering the door the moment before the pizza delivery man knocked and mockingly calling it a prompting from God to saying that it's weird that people in Syria say "God is great" when they're fearing for their lives. To an extent we can't help who we are--maybe we're born black or born gay--but wouldn't that make it so much more important when we choose to be a certain way? Why are people so critical of choice? Why are they critical of choosing to believe? If I have faith in God, how dare anyone be contemptuous of what they themselves don't understand.

The Spider That Just Wouldn't Die

I was sleeping with my hand under my pillow when I felt something crawl across my fingers. NO! I thought. It was already morning and there was enough light to see by, so I turned over my pillow and there was a spider crawling across it. Not all of my synapses are firing that soon after sleeping so my first impulse was to try smushing it against my pillow. Using my thumb. Can you believe this didn't work? It just kept crawling along as if I'd attempted to towel off the dog after a bath. I carried my pillow to my dresser where I had a tissue and tried to pick up or pinch the spider; it took me several attempts. I gave it a death-squeeze and carried it to the toilet, where I dropped it in. And looked. It was still alive. I flushed the toilet and it's probably now gleefully swimming around the city sewers and trying to find its way back under my pillow.

It Always Rains

There's a guy I know who has a projector and likes to have outdoor movie nights where he projects the movie on the wall of the building opposite his. The funny thing is that every time he has done this, without fail, it has rained. Tonight was no exception. He put a tarp up in advance preparation, and had an umbrella handy in case if there should be any wind. With 30 minutes left we saw lightning, and right as the climax started it began to pour. He's going to Texas to begin his Ph.D. program in 2 weeks. If he keeps having outdoor movie nights he can end the drought.

Competition

I think two of my greater weaknesses are jealousy and competitiveness. Jealousy is never good, it makes you feel bad about yourself and bad towards others, but sometimes competition can be healthy. Sometimes. Probably not when you're only at 7 appointments when your neighbor makes her 10th and you begin to wonder what's wrong with you. The good news is I ended the night with 11 so I still got a candy bar. The other good news is she's quitting next month. I wish my competition in dating would also quit, but maybe instead I should try to do better and be better myself. Only in the case of setting appointments, we're not competing for individual clients. We call whoever appears on the screen. In the world of dating, most of us are interested in the same guys, which makes it seem okay when you feel bad about yourself for not setting appointments (dates) with them. Especially when your neighbor does.

I Tried to Leave

I was feeling depressed and overwhelmed and inadequate during church today so I got up to leave. My plan was to quietly slip out the back door. It was locked. I was immediately irritated, because if there'd been a fire or a gunman or any kind of emergency we'd only have one escape. My course of action foiled, I was left with two alternatives. One was to stay, which was unbearable. The other was to go out the front. Everyone had already seen me walk up the stairs, and now they got to watch me walk back down and around the chorister (the ideal time to leave is during a hymn, assuming the back is open). Unfortunately I made eye contact with the bishop and he sent Brother and Sister B. from South Africa after me, and they convinced me to stay for the remainder of the meeting. It was awesome to be watched yet again by the entire ward during a talk as I was escorted back inside and seated smack-dab in the middle of the front row so people could stare at the back of my head and wonder what was wrong with me and why my hair was so frizzy. I met with the bishop later and talked for about an hour. He didn't minimize or trivialize the things I've been going through, or draw a stick-figure-me with arrows pointing inwards. Instead he gave me some encouraging advice and I am starting to feel hope for the future. I'm doing a lot better now.

How to Fall in Love

I watched the Hallmark Channel Original Movie World Premiere of "How to Fall in Love" and learned it only takes eight steps! Now we're in business! Or we would be, if I could remember what the eight steps were. Not that I need them, because I'm clearly an expert at relationships. After learning from all the mistakes I've made, how could I not be?

Moolah

Today I got my first paycheck. $84! I'm filthy rich. That more than doubles my bank account. It was also my third day on the phones. My evil blonde arch-nemesis was back. She finished with about 120 dials and 10 appointments. I ended with about 160 dials and 13 appointments. How awesome am I? I got a Kit Kat for getting over 10. My average is still down from hers (she got 10 her first day, while I got 7 and 9 on my first and second, respectively), but if I do better than her on Monday I'll totally be winning. Not that she knows we're in competition. She doesn't even know we're arch-nemeses.