Update: My econ professor said I cannot retake the test.
I went into a job interview today dressed like R2D2.
I went to work at 6am, and spent three hours feeling nauseous with nervousness for my 9:30am interview. I got to the interview early, and saw that everyone else who was in line for the interview had dressed up like business executives.
Ron from Oregon Icecream was very nice. He politely told me I wouldn't get the job.
He said I'd be a good fit for research and development. My two ideas I was too nervous to say:
1. Chocolate chip cookie icecream. It wouldn't have chunks of cookie dough, rather the icecream would taste like cookies, and have chocolate chips in it.
2. Melted ice cream drink. I like to leave the ice cream out to melt and then drink it. They should sell it premelted. They could sell it to people who want to get fat.
I'm still feeling a little nauseous, but also a little sad. I think I'm going to get some icecream.
Update: My econ professor said I cannot retake the test.
When I was little, Halloween was cool because it was all about sugar. I dressed up in that year's ballet recital costume, visited every house I had the energy to walk to, and came home with loads of free candy. Simple. Fun. We should have done it every week (I actually tried it out one summer; my next-door neighbor sent me home).
But the genius wore off when I grew up and figured out how money works. Knowing it took less energy for me to just buy a bag of candy that I really wanted (instead of getting token Smarties mixed in with the good stuff), took the novelty right out of trick-or-treating.
Good thing I found another sugar-laden practice to substitute. My friend recently starting selling the most amazing bakeware. I bought some. I made brownies. And then I decorated those brownies like spider webs. And I'm taking a big plate of them to my parents' house to share with my little cousins and younger siblings. As if they won't get enough sugar.
Brian parked his car in a paid parking spot. During the Obama rally, it was stolen.
Only one conclusion can be reached. McCain used his combat training to take out the guard at the car lot and then he hot wired Brian's car.
I told him that next time he should do what we do, buy a car so crappy that no one wants to steal it.
Last Friday, we went to my sister's first ice-skating performance. Wow. Anne hasn't been at this very long and she's already tearing the rink up—tearing it up so much that I didn't even manage to get a decent picture. Good thing my dad brought his camera, too.
The weird thing about the performance was that I spent most of it trying not to cry. Leave it to me to get emotional about a Halloween ice skating recital. Reasons:
1. When I ice skate, the potential for falling and breaking my tail bone hovers as long as I'm on (or within 15 feet of) the ice. Those kids went out there, knowing that they might not only fall smack on their butts, but do so in front of hundreds of people. Somehow, their risk made their performance compelling, even though nobody did a triple lutz.
2. I would never take that risk. But a girl with down syndrome did. Sure, she may never go to the Olympics, but does that matter? She's braver than I am.
3. When all the skaters came back on the ice at the end to take a bow, Anne took a little while getting out on the rink. Why? She was helping a younger boy—one in the beginning level skating class. She held his hand and went slow, even though she can cruise on her skates when she gets going.
Yeah, that's my sister.
Sometimes I feel like I can only blog about the happiest things, making my life look perfect (at least to the internet). I'm resisting that notion today:
I've felt like crap lately.
I have. It's been painful to get out of bed. My head and my stomach have hated me since last Tuesday. The medicine I had to take made me even more sick. And I almost cried about it in one of my professor's offices. I wished I could take my body off for a while, just to take a break.
But here's the thing. If you wake up as sludge every morning, you NOTICE the morning when you don't. You notice the way your muscles move. You notice how fast you can walk down the street. You notice how lovely sunshine feels. You notice individual leaves on trees that changed color so much since the last time you noticed.
You discover that feeling icky helped you pay attention today.
And somehow, that's great.
I procrastinated taking my econ. test until the last day, only to find that I was a day late.
Instead of taking the test on Saturday, I went shopping with my wife, and worked 8 hours.
But I wouldn't have traded this experience, because it gave me the excuse to write this email to my econ professor:
Professor Pope, If this were any other class in the entire world, a student's failure to pay attention and to do what he was supposed to do would have been punished accordingly. But this is Economics, taught in the U.S.
According to U.S. economics, if someone really important screws up, we bail them out.
A student may not be considered important enough to bail out. But at BYU, we understand that every student is a child of God with infinite worth.
Also, this isn't just economics, this is agricultural economics. In the U.S., we not only give a large chunk of subsidies to farmers who grow things, we give huge subsidies to farmers who don't grow things. If all farmers grew to capacity, prices would plummet.
Even so, if I would have taken your test and aced it, test scores would have risen and you may have appeared to be an 'easy' teacher.
You can thank me by allowing me to take the test late. Or, if you prefer, by sending a $700,000,000,000 check to:
I sent this to him just a minute ago. I'll let you know when I hear back.
We don't have any cute, funny kids of our own to blog about. So, we have to write about other people's kids. Good thing we went to nursery today. I think that one of the girls in our class may have watched too many Disney videos. In our lesson, we asked the 3-year-olds what they could do to be more like Jesus. Ellen said, "Kiss." And then she scooted over to sit a little too close to one of the nursery boys. Speechless; I didn't even know what Jesus would do with that answer.
Today I understood why old people talk about their ailments. I spent an hour at the doctor's, and I want to tell everyone about it. I imagine if I went to the doctor once a month, and took nine different meds, I wouldn't be able to think of anything else.
I've had some funky looking bumps on my elbows for a few weeks. I sprayed it with some different chemicals in the house: tinactin, formula 409, windex, etc. None of my man remedies worked. Then I saw an ad in the paper about psoriatic arthritis, and decided to go to the doc.
I told the doc that I think I have psoriatic arthritis. He said, yep, looks like it. Then he charged me ten bucks.
Hurray for chronic inflammatory diseases! My wife has one too, but a different one. This means when we have kids, they will not only be albinos, but chronically inflammed albinos. They'll look like swollen zit babies.
Two years ago, I ran a marathon. Today, I ran a finger across my fat, hairy belly, and realized I wasn't in shape. I've decided to take up the 7 year old girl workout: jump-roping.A coworker said that jump-roping isn't a 7 year old girl workout. She said in elementary school she watched a video about athletes who jump-rope.
I said, "So when you were a little girl in elementary school you learned that jump-roping is a good workout?"
I work and go to school. With that kind of time-crunch working out has become a dilemma between being fat and smelling good.
If I work out, I'll stink, but I'll be in shape. If I don't, I'll smell good, but be fat.
The worst part is, for the first few months, I'll be fat and smell bad.
Too bad our society places so much emphasis on smelling good. Fortunately Kathy has a terrible sense of smell.
Last night, Christopher and I rode Sundance's ski lift. They don't have enough snow for skiiing, but that's not why we went. We arrived at 9:30, bought tickets and hot chocolate, and bundled up in our blankets to ride the lift up the mountain and back down.
The moon's full about now. The mountains are lovely. And snuggling with your favorite person in the moonlight while cruising over the treetops can't be beat.
Kathy and I watched John Adams the movie with her parents last night.
It definitely made me feel proud of my country, without portraying the founding in a phony, cheesy way. It wasn't afraid to address the darker moments, and it portrayed the other side in a fair and balanced way.
The Founding Fathers were portrayed as great men, but men nevertheless.
Here's an excerpt:
Labels: check it out
This picture of my grandparents was on the side bar. I posted it here, because I imagine our blog will one day serve as a photo album for our children.
I tacked so much crap on the sidebar that it drove Kathy nuts. In an effort to clean it up, Kathy accidentally deleted our list of other people's blogs.
I also removed the video of the Obama Song, though Kathy and I still fully support him, even though he's probably a secret Muslim homosexual terrorist who wants to destroy America and rename it the Great Satan.
They seem like decent enough guys though, right? Wouldn't be so bad.
My professor Dr. Lynn Ogden invented Fizzix, a carbonated yogurt made by Yoplait.
If you buy Fizzix, some of that money will go to BYU. If you buy a whole bunch, like $200,000 worth, some money will go to Dr. Ogden.
Dr. Ogden invented it, but has not yet received a penny. I don't really understand why. I think it's because the first million goes to BYU, and then after that Ogden gets his cut.
He's a great guy. Buy Fizzix and make him rich.
Here's a mom's review of Fizzix.
Abbie had a good suggestion: include a weekly eavesdropping moment on this blog. Because I so firmly believe in eavesdropping, I wholly agreed with her. And I thought it would be easy.
But it hasn't been.
For over a week, I've been waiting to hear something delicious or funny. Nothin'. What does it mean when everyone I hear on campus says that the reflection in the MARB's windows makes her thighs look fat, or discusses the consistency of the brownies she baked her crush for his birthday, or talks SO LOUD into his cell phone about his Friday night plans to drive all the way to Orem? I worry that the people around me are growing more inane daily.
I almost wanted to post some of the interesting conversations my witty friends or my smart husband let me in on. But those feel like they don't actually qualify.
Maybe next week.
Recently, the news depresses me. The election distresses me.
Even writing bugs me.
So I made a list of happy things today. So that I'll remember that I'm not just tired and full of headache. Things that make me happy:
1. The fruit smoothie Christopher made me for breakfast.
2. Sunday afternoon with my family.
3. Dinner with friends who cook well.
4. Dinner with friends, even if I don't cook so well.
5. Sleeping in 20 extra minutes.
6. My hair doing what it's supposed to, even if I've slept in 20 extra minutes.
7. Good books.
8. Google reader (when I'm on literary overload from too many books).
10. Huckleberry ice cream cones from Spotted Dog Creamery that turn into miniature ice cream cones after you've eaten all the way to the bottom.
(9. Forgetting number 9 because I'm too excited to get to number 10.)
On my walk to campus this morning, I ran into a friend from the mission. We both learned Portuguese four years ago; today, he took advantage of the opportunity to practice. I understood everything he said. But could I speak? Oh dear. I'm—how do you say in Portuguese?—a little rusty.
I spoke it soooo well in Brasil. I even learned what all the obscure words in the Brasilian National Anthem meant. But today, I felt sufficiently chastised. It makes me want to pull out all my Portuguese books and read them out loud. Might as well get on that right now. I have some reading up to do. Tchau!
I found what I want to be for Halloween:Unfortunately it's sold out everywhere. So this year for Halloween I think I'll just hide under my bed and cry, because my dream has been crushed.
What will you be for Halloween?
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