It's inevitable, isn't it? Whenever I go on a trip, the preceding week is bound to be crazy.
I sat down to write this post with three closed doors separating me from our handy smoke alarm, throwing its token tantrum because I decided to cook myself a hot meal for lunch. (A pizza sub, to be exact. Delish.) I feel like one of those moms who says, "Sometimes you just have to let 'em cry it out," because I was not in the mood to damage my hearing while fanning the thing off with a broom for several minutes. There was actually something oddly satisfying about saying, "You can beep all you want. I'll be in the office when you're feeling calm enough to behave yourself."
Months ago, when Chad and I got our car insurance, we realized our Camry was not technically ours. My Dad gave it to me over two years ago when I moved to Alabama, but never actually signed the title over or did anything official. The insurance company said we could have 30 days to get the title transferred and the car registered in my name, or we'd have to list my Dad on the policy. Of course, 30 days came and went, and I completely forgot about that little agreement I made with the insurance people.
So now, several months later, I get a letter from them ("We understand your time is valuable, however. . ." Yeah, my time is valuable, but mostly I just forgot.) asking me to fax them a copy of the registration in my name within 15 days. (er, proof that it's registered in my name? ahem. why of course I can send you that...maybe by day 14 if I'm lucky.) Miraculously, the letter came while my parents were in town, so we were able to get our signatures notarized on the application form for KY.
Yesterday, Chad and I went down to the sheriff inspector to get the mandatory inspection done. I wish SO BADLY that I had a picture of this establishment. You'll just have to trust me when I say it was ghetto. It was on the backside of a building, and the door had several (WAY TOO MANY) signs on it, one of which said, "Please only knock once." Chad didn't see it apparently, and knocked several times before I could hiss, "Chad, stop!". When the sheriff lady came to the door, she had the most foul look on her face. I felt like saying, "We're here to see the wizard!" But I didn't. She instructed us to get in line. ("Which line?" we asked, because we felt like we were in the middle of a parking lot with cars everywhere and no visible "line" of cars. "Whichever one's shorter," she said gruffly, and shut the door in our faces.) We found the line though, because we're smart.
Then we waited. Got the documents and our 5 bucks ready. She came and took our stuff, wrote down the mileage, circled around to the front of the car, and then came back to the driver's seat window and handed me my papers and money back. "Can't do it. Windshield's cracked." And without any further explanation, she walked away. What?!
Okay, it was pretty darn cracked, but the crack(s) don't obstruct my line of vision. Which is why I haven't fixed it since it happened two years ago. And we thought maybe she was just a grouchy person, and wondered if we should just try and find a nicer sheriff inspector. But we called around and found out that the state of Kentucky won't allow a car with a cracked windshield to be registered, no matter the shape or size of the damage.
The awesome part of this whole thing is that my insurance covered the windshield repair because of some waiver they have in KY (probably because of all this crazy strictness about not having a broken windshield in this state). So I got it fixed today. Hooray! The not-so-awesome part is that on Friday, Chad gets to go back and visit our sheriff friend again so we can take care of the registration before our trip. Gotta love government bureaucracy!
Oh yeah, 'cause we're leaving Friday. In three days. On vacation. To Philadelphia. And ARUBA. Remember?
Showing posts with label ranting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ranting. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
Thursday, September 27, 2012
INFECTED.
I had kind of a scary experience yesterday.
I've been fighting off what I figured was some kind of minor urinary/kidney infection for the past week or so. (I won't go into details, but I've had some experience with them before. I was experiencing some of the unpleasant, but minor symptoms. They're not really that bad.) Anyway, by Saturday, I had a pain in my lower right back that got more intense as the day went on. I took some pain reliever and was feeling better by Sunday.
Monday, I felt sort of off.
Tuesday, I started feeling feverish and achy, like I had the flu. And my lower back was killing again. I kept drinking water, and added cranberry juice to my regimen (a true sign I was taking things more seriously, right?!). By Tuesday night, I was a sweaty, shivering mess. I could not get warm all night but I was sweating through my clothes. It was awful. So yesterday, I called a few doctor's offices and, after being unsuccessful at picking up any last minute cancellations, I resigned myself to go to the urgent care center. Oh, the horror.
I'd been to an urgent care center once before, and I felt like it was a total waste of time and $60.
But, I was feeling pretty desperate. So off I went, still feeling feverish and ready to get a prescription written for some antibiotics. Of course, this wouldn't be a blog post if I had simply gone to an urgent care center and had a prescription written. BORING! So stick with me. I had the usual vitals taken and had to give a urine sample, and then chatted with the doctor. She said I had a pretty nasty infection, a high fever, my pulse was extremely elevated, and I was dehydrated, and so she suggested a fluid IV to get my system "flushed out."
I had never had an IV before. They sat me in my own little room with a TV, and put the IV in. They also gave me some blankets, because they said I might be cold because of the water pumping into my system. But the scary part was, I got really, really cold. And I could not stop shaking. And it went on for at least half an hour. I had this horrifying feeling I might die in that room alone, but I sat there watching dumb shows on afternoon TV. When I saw the bag of water was about half empty, I decided to get up and go to the bathroom. I had to wheel the IV thingy with me, which made me feel like a really sick person. One of the nurses saw me in the hall and asked if I was okay, because she noticed I was shivering. I just told her I was really cold. She brought me some tea. It actually helped.
The nurse took my vitals again and my temperature was at 103-something. Yikes! I don't think I've ever had a fever that high. Granted, I was drinking hot tea and covered in multiple blankets, but I was terrified to go back into shivering-shaking mode so I begged them to let me keep the blankets on.
The best part was when Chad came. He had finished his test at school and gotten my text about my needing to cancel appointments with clients and not having their numbers, and he called. He came walking in with his student doctor name tag and his scrubs, earning instant credibility with the nurses, who made jokes with him and let him look after me. He always looks handsome when he comes home in his scrubs, but sometimes he just looks amazing. And having him show up right then was such a huge comfort. He was also able to give me a Priesthood blessing. I felt so grateful for him and everything he does for me.
I was supposed to go home after the first liter of water, but my temperature wasn't going down so I got a second IV. I was already feeling better--in large part because Chad was there, and we were making dumb jokes and watching cooking shows and . . . I dunno, it was just more fun after that. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention the part where I got three shots IN MY BUM!! Wow, I can't believe I almost left that out.
The doctor and nurses who helped me were so kind and if I knew they were on duty next time I needed a doctor's care, I would definitely go back to the same place. And in the end, I did get a prescription for an antibiotic--isn't that what I went in for? Only took me 5 hours, a couple of IVs, three shots, and some lame soap opera TV to get it. :) I'm already feeling a lot better, although I have been commanded to act "like a noodle" for the next couple of days. I won't complain about that!
I've been fighting off what I figured was some kind of minor urinary/kidney infection for the past week or so. (I won't go into details, but I've had some experience with them before. I was experiencing some of the unpleasant, but minor symptoms. They're not really that bad.) Anyway, by Saturday, I had a pain in my lower right back that got more intense as the day went on. I took some pain reliever and was feeling better by Sunday.
Monday, I felt sort of off.
Tuesday, I started feeling feverish and achy, like I had the flu. And my lower back was killing again. I kept drinking water, and added cranberry juice to my regimen (a true sign I was taking things more seriously, right?!). By Tuesday night, I was a sweaty, shivering mess. I could not get warm all night but I was sweating through my clothes. It was awful. So yesterday, I called a few doctor's offices and, after being unsuccessful at picking up any last minute cancellations, I resigned myself to go to the urgent care center. Oh, the horror.
I'd been to an urgent care center once before, and I felt like it was a total waste of time and $60.
But, I was feeling pretty desperate. So off I went, still feeling feverish and ready to get a prescription written for some antibiotics. Of course, this wouldn't be a blog post if I had simply gone to an urgent care center and had a prescription written. BORING! So stick with me. I had the usual vitals taken and had to give a urine sample, and then chatted with the doctor. She said I had a pretty nasty infection, a high fever, my pulse was extremely elevated, and I was dehydrated, and so she suggested a fluid IV to get my system "flushed out."
I had never had an IV before. They sat me in my own little room with a TV, and put the IV in. They also gave me some blankets, because they said I might be cold because of the water pumping into my system. But the scary part was, I got really, really cold. And I could not stop shaking. And it went on for at least half an hour. I had this horrifying feeling I might die in that room alone, but I sat there watching dumb shows on afternoon TV. When I saw the bag of water was about half empty, I decided to get up and go to the bathroom. I had to wheel the IV thingy with me, which made me feel like a really sick person. One of the nurses saw me in the hall and asked if I was okay, because she noticed I was shivering. I just told her I was really cold. She brought me some tea. It actually helped.
The nurse took my vitals again and my temperature was at 103-something. Yikes! I don't think I've ever had a fever that high. Granted, I was drinking hot tea and covered in multiple blankets, but I was terrified to go back into shivering-shaking mode so I begged them to let me keep the blankets on.
The best part was when Chad came. He had finished his test at school and gotten my text about my needing to cancel appointments with clients and not having their numbers, and he called. He came walking in with his student doctor name tag and his scrubs, earning instant credibility with the nurses, who made jokes with him and let him look after me. He always looks handsome when he comes home in his scrubs, but sometimes he just looks amazing. And having him show up right then was such a huge comfort. He was also able to give me a Priesthood blessing. I felt so grateful for him and everything he does for me.
I was supposed to go home after the first liter of water, but my temperature wasn't going down so I got a second IV. I was already feeling better--in large part because Chad was there, and we were making dumb jokes and watching cooking shows and . . . I dunno, it was just more fun after that. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention the part where I got three shots IN MY BUM!! Wow, I can't believe I almost left that out.
The doctor and nurses who helped me were so kind and if I knew they were on duty next time I needed a doctor's care, I would definitely go back to the same place. And in the end, I did get a prescription for an antibiotic--isn't that what I went in for? Only took me 5 hours, a couple of IVs, three shots, and some lame soap opera TV to get it. :) I'm already feeling a lot better, although I have been commanded to act "like a noodle" for the next couple of days. I won't complain about that!
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
I WILL have the last word.
Sometimes it is so, so very difficult not to have the last word about something. Thank goodness for my blog.
I have found myself in a situation with a superior of mine at school (let's call him Superior #1). Basically, I have a deadline coming up for my thesis--it is July 11th. I defended my thesis on April 30th, but passed "with revisions," meaning that I wasn't completely done until I finished those. Well, I took it easy after I defended, knowing I would get it done in time for the deadline, but desperately wanting to escape the thing for a month or two. Which is exactly what I did.
Shortly after I came back to working on it just a few weeks ago, I had a frantic email from this superior of mine. And many frantic emails which followed the first. You see, Superior #1 had assumed I would quickly finish my revisions (without communicating this to me; and actually, he had suggested I "take my time" so that it looked like we had given due diligence to the suggested revisions which came from another person), and he had failed to properly manage his own time and various personal projects he had going on. And unfortunately, he had failed to communicate with me that another superior (we will call her Superior #2), who also needed to approve the revisions, was leaving on vacation and had hoped to be done reviewing my thesis a full 10 days prior to the actual deadline.
Let me say here that had I known about these secret time constraints, I would have been respectful and compliant. I would have bitten the bullet and gotten it done. But as it was, I was happily enjoying my summer and preparing to get it done in time for the deadline.
Well, everything came to a head last week when Superior #2 informed Superior #1 that Friday was the last day she would look at my thesis before she came back from vacation--after July 11th. In other words, if she didn't have it by Friday, I wouldn't graduate this semester. Which would mean I would continue to be a "BS Intern Therapist" next semester wherever I find a job, and any hours I accrued would not move me towards licensure. It would be a big blow, especially for someone who actually defended earlier than all of her classmates.
Anyway, Superior #1 and I kept sending the thesis back and forth last week--every time I sent it, I thought maybe I had made the final revisions; every time he would send it back with more suggestions. (insert: Superior #1 is extremely self-conscious and has actually applied pressure to me by saying that he can't have Superior #2 thinking he doesn't know how to chair a thesis. Interesting, because he has done very little to actually "chair" my thesis, other than this frantic craziness in the last couple of weeks.) Finally, I sent if off late Thursday night, hopeful it was complete. Knowing this might not be the case, however, I asked Superior #1 to please, please call me or text me, as I would be driving to Kentucky the following day and would need a heads-up to get to a place with a computer/internet if I needed to change something.
No word from Superior #1.
I called; no answer. Left a message.
I texted; no response.
What would you do? Probably forget about it! Which is what I did. I enjoyed the weekend with Chad. We unpacked my stuff and went camping and had a glorious time. Sunday I arrived home to frantic emails from Superior #1. "Cammie, I don't want to assume what this silence means. I still have not heard from you. Please tell me if you are working on the thesis and making the revisions." Emails from Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
Aaaaaarrrrrgh!! I wanted to scream. Instead, I picked myself up, went to campus at 9:00 at night on Sunday, and started pounding away at the new set of suggested revisions. In walked Superior #1. I was calm, but I asked him, "Is your phone broken? I have called and texted. And did you not read my email where I asked you to please call me?" He gave a weak excuse about his phone being on silent (for the past 3 days?!) and proceeded to tell me about how I had picked the worst time for this. (Excuse me, I did not choose the deadline.) He had a book chapter due yesterday, and he was going to have to make some excuses tomorrow about why it wasn't done. (Why is this my problem?)
His advice to me: "Cammie, I was in to see [Superior #1] on Friday since I hadn't heard from you [suppressed scream of frustration] and she said she absolutely did not want to see anything but the final version. We are going to be very lucky if she will take the time to read it Monday or Tuesday before she goes on vacation. If I were you, I would write her an email, tell her you know this is all your fault. And then tell her you know you are at her mercy and that you are confident if she will just take the time to read a few pages of your discussion, she will see the document is high quality."
My response: "Okay." (what the freak? all my fault? can you say "DESPERATE ATTEMPT TO SAVE FACE?")
And then, I said, "You know, if I would have known things were going to be so crazy for you, I would have acted differently. You could have told me you needed this done early."
His response: "Yeah, well you're in your own little world. You're thinking about yourself. It's okay."
AAAAAAAAARGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[sorry, this is the longest post ever]
Anyway, I sent the thing to Superior #2 Sunday night. And she told me, in a kind but not very reassuring way, "I will do my best. I am very busy. If I find an extra hour at some point, I will definitely read it." (Oh, great. . .)
I sent an email to Superior #1 letting him know what had happened. I said something like, "I finished the revisions and sent it to Superior #2. I really hope she will find time to read it, although she wasn't terribly reassuring. If she doesn't get to it, I will have to move to Plan B. I will arrange a meeting with the head of the department. Surely, in a situation such as this, he could "sit in" on my committee or appoint someone else to do so. I don't think it is fair for me not to graduate because of what has happened when I was not clear about there being an early deadline." And then, "Anyway, I'm probably getting ahead of myself. Hopefully Superior #2 will find time to read it."
The good news: Superior #2 found an "unexpected extra hour" and read it, said it looked great, and she was signing the papers.
The infuriating news: I had a patronizing email from Superior #1 this morning, telling me how glad he was it had worked out for me, that Superior #2's reading the thesis Monday was really our last hope, and that sometime he would explain to me why the suggestion I had made in a prior email (the one about going to the head of the department) would have never worked.
This man HAS to have the last word. (And he's already telling co-workers and other students about how irresponsible I was--he chooses all the right details to paint that picture, believe me.) I wanted to shoot back an email, saying, "That's nice. Interesting you think it wouldn't have worked--I think you are just relieved I didn't expose your incompetence to the head of the department. Let's please skip that conversation." But I didn't say that. I haven't said anything. I am saying it here. I feel so infuriated but so limited because I really can't afford to make an enemy of Superior #1. My lot is to smile, nod, and bite my tongue while enduring a barrage of patronizing comments about how selfish I am, how thoughtless and irresponsible, how fortunate at the mercy of Superior #2, etc.
And the follow-up email this morning from Superior #1: "Both Superior #2 and I would like a bound copy of your thesis."
That'll be the most begrudged $50 gift I've ever given, I can assure you.
Oh, I am so bitter. Please, please don't hate me for being such a bitter wreck right now. I will cool down, really. But right now I am just mad.
I have found myself in a situation with a superior of mine at school (let's call him Superior #1). Basically, I have a deadline coming up for my thesis--it is July 11th. I defended my thesis on April 30th, but passed "with revisions," meaning that I wasn't completely done until I finished those. Well, I took it easy after I defended, knowing I would get it done in time for the deadline, but desperately wanting to escape the thing for a month or two. Which is exactly what I did.
Shortly after I came back to working on it just a few weeks ago, I had a frantic email from this superior of mine. And many frantic emails which followed the first. You see, Superior #1 had assumed I would quickly finish my revisions (without communicating this to me; and actually, he had suggested I "take my time" so that it looked like we had given due diligence to the suggested revisions which came from another person), and he had failed to properly manage his own time and various personal projects he had going on. And unfortunately, he had failed to communicate with me that another superior (we will call her Superior #2), who also needed to approve the revisions, was leaving on vacation and had hoped to be done reviewing my thesis a full 10 days prior to the actual deadline.
Let me say here that had I known about these secret time constraints, I would have been respectful and compliant. I would have bitten the bullet and gotten it done. But as it was, I was happily enjoying my summer and preparing to get it done in time for the deadline.
Well, everything came to a head last week when Superior #2 informed Superior #1 that Friday was the last day she would look at my thesis before she came back from vacation--after July 11th. In other words, if she didn't have it by Friday, I wouldn't graduate this semester. Which would mean I would continue to be a "BS Intern Therapist" next semester wherever I find a job, and any hours I accrued would not move me towards licensure. It would be a big blow, especially for someone who actually defended earlier than all of her classmates.
Anyway, Superior #1 and I kept sending the thesis back and forth last week--every time I sent it, I thought maybe I had made the final revisions; every time he would send it back with more suggestions. (insert: Superior #1 is extremely self-conscious and has actually applied pressure to me by saying that he can't have Superior #2 thinking he doesn't know how to chair a thesis. Interesting, because he has done very little to actually "chair" my thesis, other than this frantic craziness in the last couple of weeks.) Finally, I sent if off late Thursday night, hopeful it was complete. Knowing this might not be the case, however, I asked Superior #1 to please, please call me or text me, as I would be driving to Kentucky the following day and would need a heads-up to get to a place with a computer/internet if I needed to change something.
No word from Superior #1.
I called; no answer. Left a message.
I texted; no response.
What would you do? Probably forget about it! Which is what I did. I enjoyed the weekend with Chad. We unpacked my stuff and went camping and had a glorious time. Sunday I arrived home to frantic emails from Superior #1. "Cammie, I don't want to assume what this silence means. I still have not heard from you. Please tell me if you are working on the thesis and making the revisions." Emails from Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
Aaaaaarrrrrgh!! I wanted to scream. Instead, I picked myself up, went to campus at 9:00 at night on Sunday, and started pounding away at the new set of suggested revisions. In walked Superior #1. I was calm, but I asked him, "Is your phone broken? I have called and texted. And did you not read my email where I asked you to please call me?" He gave a weak excuse about his phone being on silent (for the past 3 days?!) and proceeded to tell me about how I had picked the worst time for this. (Excuse me, I did not choose the deadline.) He had a book chapter due yesterday, and he was going to have to make some excuses tomorrow about why it wasn't done. (Why is this my problem?)
His advice to me: "Cammie, I was in to see [Superior #1] on Friday since I hadn't heard from you [suppressed scream of frustration] and she said she absolutely did not want to see anything but the final version. We are going to be very lucky if she will take the time to read it Monday or Tuesday before she goes on vacation. If I were you, I would write her an email, tell her you know this is all your fault. And then tell her you know you are at her mercy and that you are confident if she will just take the time to read a few pages of your discussion, she will see the document is high quality."
My response: "Okay." (what the freak? all my fault? can you say "DESPERATE ATTEMPT TO SAVE FACE?")
And then, I said, "You know, if I would have known things were going to be so crazy for you, I would have acted differently. You could have told me you needed this done early."
His response: "Yeah, well you're in your own little world. You're thinking about yourself. It's okay."
AAAAAAAAARGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
[sorry, this is the longest post ever]
Anyway, I sent the thing to Superior #2 Sunday night. And she told me, in a kind but not very reassuring way, "I will do my best. I am very busy. If I find an extra hour at some point, I will definitely read it." (Oh, great. . .)
I sent an email to Superior #1 letting him know what had happened. I said something like, "I finished the revisions and sent it to Superior #2. I really hope she will find time to read it, although she wasn't terribly reassuring. If she doesn't get to it, I will have to move to Plan B. I will arrange a meeting with the head of the department. Surely, in a situation such as this, he could "sit in" on my committee or appoint someone else to do so. I don't think it is fair for me not to graduate because of what has happened when I was not clear about there being an early deadline." And then, "Anyway, I'm probably getting ahead of myself. Hopefully Superior #2 will find time to read it."
The good news: Superior #2 found an "unexpected extra hour" and read it, said it looked great, and she was signing the papers.
The infuriating news: I had a patronizing email from Superior #1 this morning, telling me how glad he was it had worked out for me, that Superior #2's reading the thesis Monday was really our last hope, and that sometime he would explain to me why the suggestion I had made in a prior email (the one about going to the head of the department) would have never worked.
This man HAS to have the last word. (And he's already telling co-workers and other students about how irresponsible I was--he chooses all the right details to paint that picture, believe me.) I wanted to shoot back an email, saying, "That's nice. Interesting you think it wouldn't have worked--I think you are just relieved I didn't expose your incompetence to the head of the department. Let's please skip that conversation." But I didn't say that. I haven't said anything. I am saying it here. I feel so infuriated but so limited because I really can't afford to make an enemy of Superior #1. My lot is to smile, nod, and bite my tongue while enduring a barrage of patronizing comments about how selfish I am, how thoughtless and irresponsible, how fortunate at the mercy of Superior #2, etc.
And the follow-up email this morning from Superior #1: "Both Superior #2 and I would like a bound copy of your thesis."
That'll be the most begrudged $50 gift I've ever given, I can assure you.
Oh, I am so bitter. Please, please don't hate me for being such a bitter wreck right now. I will cool down, really. But right now I am just mad.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
In Which I Remember How Much I Struggle to Like Salespeople, and an Update about the Jam
 |
| this is him and my friend Lauren eating the cheesecake he made for my birthday. I hope he likes jam as much as we liked that cheesecake. Let's just say it wasn't around for long. |
She was available right away, and I went over to her house. We actually had a great time. She made me look really pretty and we had a great time getting to know each other. Of course, our interest in each other was somewhat cheapened by the fact that she wanted to sell me lots of makeup AND convince me to throw a makeup party AND someday become a makeup saleperson just like her. But aside from that, we had a genuinely nice conversation.
Anyway, as is often the case with me, I am bad at saying no to people, and when she asked me to help her with a "mock interview" the next day I stumbled to think of any reason why not. She assured me this was just an opportunity for me to help her out; her supervisor was going to be in town from Virginia and would come tell me about their company and my new friend would sit and observe. This was only a training tool, my friend assured me. I gave no firm answer, but said I would let her know if I was interested. However, on the day of the "mock interview," my friend called several times and even had her supervisor call twice (I googled the area code from the unknown number and gasp--it was a VA number). Finally, I answered the phone. I gathered my courage and weakly expressed my disinterest in becoming a salesperson. Again, I was assured there would be no pressure of the sort.
The funny part of the meeting was when my friend was trying to win me over by talking about me to the supervisor lady, while I was sitting right there. I sat there while she told her supervisor about how I was getting married next month in Utah, and then said to me, "And just tell her what you told me about why your fiance says you guys won't ever move back to Idaho or Utah!" She said this as if what I had shared was the most fascinating secret. The supervisor lady chuckled and said knowingly, "Oh, I can only imagine. . ." I halted, confused. "Um, well, we won't move back there because there are too many dentists. We're Mormon. I guess there are lots of Mormon dentists." I hadn't thought that was particularly interesting when I mentioned it the day before, so I was surprised to be asked to repeat it.
At another point in the "interview," the supervisor lady mentioned that one of the great benefits of being a consultant for this particular company is that you get tax write-offs as a business owner. I nodded. This signal of comprehension was yet another cue for her to talk about how amazing I was. ("Now, I'm going to say this right in front of Cammie, but you probably notice I don't need to go into a lot of detail with her. You really don't have to go into a lot of detail with people who are very educated like she is.") I was trying so hard to fight the eye-roll reflex.
Anyway, I learned that 1) I am interesting because I'm not moving to Utah or Idaho, and 2) I am smart because I can act like I know what a tax write-off is. I'm not sure whether to feel elated or insulted. But no matter: I am happy with my purchases, I successfully convinced two ladies I was not interested in joining their team, and I've got some funny stories to show for it all. Have a lovely Tuesday!
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Hopeful
My, oh my. Bothered that the new blogger isn't allowing me to separate my paragraphs out.
96 days til the wedding. I just checked.
I have been working NON STOP on my thesis. Well, as non stop as I've ever worked on it, anyway. Something crazy came over me a couple weeks ago and I decided it was time to set a date for my defense, and when I mentioned this to my major professor, he suggested we shoot for April 30th. Even though I knew it was crazy, and I'm pretty sure he pulled that date out of nowhere, I decided to go for it. I need to have it submitted to my committee by this coming Monday, so I've done a ton of work on it these past several days. The whole thing (the thesis, I mean) has really transformed, even since I thought I was getting close with it last week when I sent it to my major professor. And the project is consuming--for as much as I've put it off so many times, I just love reading all the comments and remembering who said what and making connections and just...being there. (quick update: my thesis is from when I went to Aruba a few summers ago and did focus groups on marriage/relationship education).
In a weird way, it'll be a little sad to be done with this project. It keeps me feeling connected to a place and people I love so dearly. But overall, I will be SO HAPPY to be done. I've got final projects due because the semester is ending, and I'm about to be done with my thesis. And then it will be summer. This summer is going to be great--it will consist of long-ish Tuesdays at the clinic (just like always), Wednesdays and Thursdays at my internship, and...that's it. No readings, no class, just clients at school and my internship, and supervision meetings (meetings about my therapy with my supervisors). This is fabulous. AND NO THESIS. It will be done!
In less than 2 weeks, I will see Chad. He has a week off because his semester is ending, too, so he's coming down for a few days. We already have a beach/camping trip planned with some friends. I'm so excited for my first beach trip of the summer. And more excited to see Chad. I just can't quite get enough time with him. Once my thesis is done, I will probably launch into full-blown countdown mode. Countdowns to trips, and the countdown to the big day. I can't believe how fast time has already gone--we've been engaged for 3 months, already! Goodness.
The day Chad leaves, I fly out to visit home for a week. I get to see Emma graduate and give her Valedictorian speech! I also get to see her either sing in her last choir concert, or play tennis at the Colorado state tournament. Or maybe both? I'm so proud of her! I can't wait to hang out with her and the rest of my family.
This post is probably a little more boring and ME-ish than usual. I think I morphed into journal mode as I was writing tonight. It feels good to get some thoughts out, though. Good times. And tomorrow is Sunday! There is nothing like the anticipation of a nice, relaxing Sunday.
Good night, world.
Monday, June 6, 2011
News Flash: I love the post office
No, there is not a trace of sarcasm in that title. I really do, if for just a day, LOVE the post office.
Normally, I hate the post office. I feel like the employees are often slothful and apathetic, as if deliberately trying to drive me mad. (It doesn't help any that I don't generally designate adequate time to get in and get out. Generally, I manage to forget the slothful and apathetic way in which my visit will undoubtedly be received, and then, inevitably, I am forced to painfully remember as I wait there in line for who-knows-what to get done so I can hand over my package and some money and be done with it.)
Today was different. Let me be clear--the employees seemed lethargic as usual, a state likely aggrandized by the fact that closing time was only a few ticks away. However, once to the counter, I had a much better experience than I had anticipated.
Allow me to backtrack: I was coming from the apartment manager's office, where I had been patronized by a woman in a twangy, condescending tone, "Don't you remember, sweetie? When you were here to sign the lease we told y'all that you'd have to go pick it up from the post office." (Actually, the same woman had instructed us to come back on Monday to get it from her, which is precisely what I was trying to do. Another roommate, also present for the original exchange, had tried to do the same thing but 20 minutes before, unbeknown to me.)
Allow me to backtrack even further: We misplaced our mail key last week. I called and left a message at our apartment manager's office on Memorial Day, asking what we would need to do if we lost our mail key (uh, hypothetically, of course). Our lovely management promptly called the post office and ordered a new mail key and informed us it would cost $15, although in the interim between my leaving a message and speaking with the management again, we had found the original mail key. But, too late. They'd ordered a new one, and it was too late to cancel, as they discovered in calling the post office.
So we're done backtracking. There I was, at the post office today, 5 minutes before closing time, there to pick up a key I didn't really want but desperately needed because our mail lock had been changed. And I was gonna have to pay for it. The man went to look for the mail key. He brought not one, but three mail keys, which means one key for each of my roommates and myself, instead of one clumsily-passed baton that gets dropped and/or forgotten to be hung on the hook in our kitchen. When he brought out the keys, he said, "Has this already been paid for?"
"Uh, no. I don't know. Does it look like it has been?" I said.
"Uh...not really. Yeah. Uh...I'm just gonna give these to you."
I signed off on the deal, and he asked to verify my ID. "Have you ever watched CSI Miami?" he asked, alternately studying my face and then the picture gleaming up from my license. "You look exactly like that girl, Poppi Monroe. The girl on that show." I hadn't seen the show, and I didn't know who she was, but I figured it was flattering to have someone think you look like a movie star. I came home and googled her and decided it was, indeed, a compliment.
So, in summary, I walked away with three times the amount of product for infinitely less price than I expected, and I looked like a movie star while doing it. Boo-yeah.
Normally, I hate the post office. I feel like the employees are often slothful and apathetic, as if deliberately trying to drive me mad. (It doesn't help any that I don't generally designate adequate time to get in and get out. Generally, I manage to forget the slothful and apathetic way in which my visit will undoubtedly be received, and then, inevitably, I am forced to painfully remember as I wait there in line for who-knows-what to get done so I can hand over my package and some money and be done with it.)
Today was different. Let me be clear--the employees seemed lethargic as usual, a state likely aggrandized by the fact that closing time was only a few ticks away. However, once to the counter, I had a much better experience than I had anticipated.
Allow me to backtrack: I was coming from the apartment manager's office, where I had been patronized by a woman in a twangy, condescending tone, "Don't you remember, sweetie? When you were here to sign the lease we told y'all that you'd have to go pick it up from the post office." (Actually, the same woman had instructed us to come back on Monday to get it from her, which is precisely what I was trying to do. Another roommate, also present for the original exchange, had tried to do the same thing but 20 minutes before, unbeknown to me.)
Allow me to backtrack even further: We misplaced our mail key last week. I called and left a message at our apartment manager's office on Memorial Day, asking what we would need to do if we lost our mail key (uh, hypothetically, of course). Our lovely management promptly called the post office and ordered a new mail key and informed us it would cost $15, although in the interim between my leaving a message and speaking with the management again, we had found the original mail key. But, too late. They'd ordered a new one, and it was too late to cancel, as they discovered in calling the post office.
So we're done backtracking. There I was, at the post office today, 5 minutes before closing time, there to pick up a key I didn't really want but desperately needed because our mail lock had been changed. And I was gonna have to pay for it. The man went to look for the mail key. He brought not one, but three mail keys, which means one key for each of my roommates and myself, instead of one clumsily-passed baton that gets dropped and/or forgotten to be hung on the hook in our kitchen. When he brought out the keys, he said, "Has this already been paid for?"
"Uh, no. I don't know. Does it look like it has been?" I said.
"Uh...not really. Yeah. Uh...I'm just gonna give these to you."
I signed off on the deal, and he asked to verify my ID. "Have you ever watched CSI Miami?" he asked, alternately studying my face and then the picture gleaming up from my license. "You look exactly like that girl, Poppi Monroe. The girl on that show." I hadn't seen the show, and I didn't know who she was, but I figured it was flattering to have someone think you look like a movie star. I came home and googled her and decided it was, indeed, a compliment.
So, in summary, I walked away with three times the amount of product for infinitely less price than I expected, and I looked like a movie star while doing it. Boo-yeah.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Trust in Me
Why, I wonder, is it so hard to trust people?
Today, I got a $30 parking citation. This was given to me in a Visitor's Lot on BYU campus, after I had spoken with the parking attendant girl at the booth, and she had asked me if I was a BYU student. No, I told her, I wasn't a student. She asked me if I had graduated previously (the answer is yes), and if I was a grad student at BYU (the answer is no), and then she gave me a temporary Visitor's pass for my car, as well as a razor blade to try and remove the ridiculous Y lot sticker that I can't get off my windshield. (Maybe that was what made her think I was a student in the first place.)
Anyway, I got out of my car with my backpack, ready to hit up campus for some work on my research project, and when I came back out two hours later there was a $30 citation. On the bottom of the ticket, in girly handwriting, were the words, "See parking booth attendant to avoid ticket." Turns out the ticket was issued by the same girl who had given me permission to park there in the first place, and she thought I was a liar all along.
Why would I even park in the Visitor's Lot at 8 in the morning in the summer, when I could have my pick of all the student lots around campus? Also, how weird that the girl wouldn't have just verified my non-student-ship during the initial interrogation.
Oh, well. I'm over it. I gave her my ID, and stood there somewhat smugly as she called someone to verify that I wasn't afilliated with the school. I guess it's just hard to trust people these days.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Musings on Marriage
So, I usually don't write about things like this on my blog, but I was feeling contemplative today as I walked home and just felt like getting some of these thoughts on paper. (or on screen, I guess.)
I have changed a lot throughout my college years with regards to my desires for marriage and what exactly I think I am looking for. I think I've always wanted to be married and have a family, but my expectations and dreams have changed quite a bit over time.
When I was 19, the mystery of marriage to me was that two people could want to be together no matter what. I actually remember telling people that I hoped to be poor with my husband for a time when we were first married. Something about clinging to one another while living in a shack and barely being able to put food on the table (temporarily, of course) was appealing to me. The idea that two people could be so enamored with each other despite destitute circumstances (even poverty, which I happen to believe is anything but romantic, now), seemed very romantic to me at the time. I also remember fantasizing about living on a farm. I have never lived on a farm, so I don’t know where this idea came from. I just wanted to be in love. And if I could be in love with a man whose one desire was to come in after a hard day’s work to a home-cooked meal and a sweet wife, I was pretty sure life would have reached its peak. At this time I was a sophomore in college. As some of the girls I was acquainted with got married—and some even quit school to get married—I had some secret hopes that I too would be married before I graduated, so I could move straight from student life into wife life.
Over the next while I realized that I wanted to be appreciated for more than just my abilities to cook and clean. I wanted someone who would see me as being smart. And even if I still ultimately aspired to be “just a mom,” I wanted to know that I could have done ANYTHING. I began to develop plans for graduate school, but I felt I’d probably abandon them if the chance to marry the right person presented itself. Junior year in college—20 years old—I remember announcing to a boy that I wanted to go to graduate school and become a therapist. He laughed and said, “Wow, you actually have, like, a plan!” It felt good to hear him say that, and I realized I wanted someone who would appreciate my ambitions, education, and ability to be self-sufficient and even provide for myself or a family if I needed to.
My ideas about my personal purpose in life continued to change as I was given repeated opportunities to learn and grow. I spent time in Mexico volunteering in an orphanage, served a mission to Puerto Rico, let myself become fascinated with my studies in Marriage, Family, and Human Development and really started to dream of the difference I wanted to be able to make as a therapist. It became something that I really wanted to do. It stopped feeling like a backup plan. I started wondering what I would do when I finally did get married, and wondered if I would relinquish my career as readily as I had once imagined.
My most recent project in Aruba was sort of empowering. Sometimes I think about what it would be like to move to Aruba—or anywhere!—and just become a part of the place. Our stake’s theme this year was “I can make a difference in my own life and in the life of others.” And it’s true! Part of me just wants to spend my life traveling the world, or just lay down my roots in some remote part of the world and do amazing and wonderful things for people. I’ve spent the last two weeks imagining places I could go and things I could do. I could just blend in, and really help people. Maybe as a therapist, or maybe implementing some sort of marriage education program based on the research we did, or maybe just really being that missionary I’ve always wanted to be.
And it hit me today, as I walked home, that it actually might be more convenient to never marry or have kids. I might be able to get a whole lot more accomplished. I could travel more, maybe pursue my songwriting interest, and even teach people what I know (even with no personal experience of my own) about how to be happily married or how to raise their kids. I realized that I would be giving up a lot of exciting opportunities if I decided to have a family. And I was a little shocked at the thoughts going through my head, especially when I considered how vastly different they were from a few years back.
But then I kept walking and I did a bit of personal inventory. I realized that in the way-deep-down part of my heart, I’d still pick a family over career, travels, and adventure. Any day of the week.
And this may seem unrelated, but my taste in men has changed over the years. My expectations have gone up, and as I walked home today I wondered in what way my last six-or-so years of experiences have influenced that shift. Have I come to understand myself better and what is really important, thereby coming up with a clearer picture of what I am looking for in the person I marry? Or am I more clear in what I am looking for only because I am becoming increasingly more picky and choosy, or more demanding? I just don’t know. But I do know that while several years ago I used to wait for someone to sweep me off my feet and convince me to put aside my dreams and aspirations, I feel much more inclined to hope there is someone out there who will walk with me and help me achieve some of my crazy goals, and let me take part in his as well.
And I don’t know if anyone will read this, because I’m not even in Aruba anymore. As much as I hope someone out there can relate to these thoughts, I’m okay if this post was just for my own reflecting.
I have changed a lot throughout my college years with regards to my desires for marriage and what exactly I think I am looking for. I think I've always wanted to be married and have a family, but my expectations and dreams have changed quite a bit over time.
When I was 19, the mystery of marriage to me was that two people could want to be together no matter what. I actually remember telling people that I hoped to be poor with my husband for a time when we were first married. Something about clinging to one another while living in a shack and barely being able to put food on the table (temporarily, of course) was appealing to me. The idea that two people could be so enamored with each other despite destitute circumstances (even poverty, which I happen to believe is anything but romantic, now), seemed very romantic to me at the time. I also remember fantasizing about living on a farm. I have never lived on a farm, so I don’t know where this idea came from. I just wanted to be in love. And if I could be in love with a man whose one desire was to come in after a hard day’s work to a home-cooked meal and a sweet wife, I was pretty sure life would have reached its peak. At this time I was a sophomore in college. As some of the girls I was acquainted with got married—and some even quit school to get married—I had some secret hopes that I too would be married before I graduated, so I could move straight from student life into wife life.
Over the next while I realized that I wanted to be appreciated for more than just my abilities to cook and clean. I wanted someone who would see me as being smart. And even if I still ultimately aspired to be “just a mom,” I wanted to know that I could have done ANYTHING. I began to develop plans for graduate school, but I felt I’d probably abandon them if the chance to marry the right person presented itself. Junior year in college—20 years old—I remember announcing to a boy that I wanted to go to graduate school and become a therapist. He laughed and said, “Wow, you actually have, like, a plan!” It felt good to hear him say that, and I realized I wanted someone who would appreciate my ambitions, education, and ability to be self-sufficient and even provide for myself or a family if I needed to.
My ideas about my personal purpose in life continued to change as I was given repeated opportunities to learn and grow. I spent time in Mexico volunteering in an orphanage, served a mission to Puerto Rico, let myself become fascinated with my studies in Marriage, Family, and Human Development and really started to dream of the difference I wanted to be able to make as a therapist. It became something that I really wanted to do. It stopped feeling like a backup plan. I started wondering what I would do when I finally did get married, and wondered if I would relinquish my career as readily as I had once imagined.
My most recent project in Aruba was sort of empowering. Sometimes I think about what it would be like to move to Aruba—or anywhere!—and just become a part of the place. Our stake’s theme this year was “I can make a difference in my own life and in the life of others.” And it’s true! Part of me just wants to spend my life traveling the world, or just lay down my roots in some remote part of the world and do amazing and wonderful things for people. I’ve spent the last two weeks imagining places I could go and things I could do. I could just blend in, and really help people. Maybe as a therapist, or maybe implementing some sort of marriage education program based on the research we did, or maybe just really being that missionary I’ve always wanted to be.
And it hit me today, as I walked home, that it actually might be more convenient to never marry or have kids. I might be able to get a whole lot more accomplished. I could travel more, maybe pursue my songwriting interest, and even teach people what I know (even with no personal experience of my own) about how to be happily married or how to raise their kids. I realized that I would be giving up a lot of exciting opportunities if I decided to have a family. And I was a little shocked at the thoughts going through my head, especially when I considered how vastly different they were from a few years back.
But then I kept walking and I did a bit of personal inventory. I realized that in the way-deep-down part of my heart, I’d still pick a family over career, travels, and adventure. Any day of the week.
And this may seem unrelated, but my taste in men has changed over the years. My expectations have gone up, and as I walked home today I wondered in what way my last six-or-so years of experiences have influenced that shift. Have I come to understand myself better and what is really important, thereby coming up with a clearer picture of what I am looking for in the person I marry? Or am I more clear in what I am looking for only because I am becoming increasingly more picky and choosy, or more demanding? I just don’t know. But I do know that while several years ago I used to wait for someone to sweep me off my feet and convince me to put aside my dreams and aspirations, I feel much more inclined to hope there is someone out there who will walk with me and help me achieve some of my crazy goals, and let me take part in his as well.
And I don’t know if anyone will read this, because I’m not even in Aruba anymore. As much as I hope someone out there can relate to these thoughts, I’m okay if this post was just for my own reflecting.
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