Farewell old friend

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again:  Though the body and mind are all going south, the one attribute that has never let me down is my hair.  Remember this?

So I say:  CELEBRATE THE HAIR!  Sure, you may be sick of me mentioning it, but when it’s the only thing you’ve got, you just have to GRAB HOLD OF IT.

I see my hair dresser every six weeks for a trim and a color BECAUSE… I am going pretty gray.

There.  I said it.

To the naked eye my hair appears blond.  Upon further inspection you will see significantly darker hair underneath.  AND YET, that is not all – apparently there is a third color she uses to cover my gray.

So I often get asked, “What is your natural color?”  To which I reply:

I have no idea.

Whenever my hair dresser starts chatting up the amount of gray in my head I say, “Less talking!  More coloring!”

As I’ve said, things are starting to go sour a lot in the mind/body region of my life.  For example, today when I took a shower and washed my hair, I got out, dried myself, took my hair out of the towel, and as my face was feeling rather tight, I generously applied lotion all over my face.

No I didn’t.

THIS is what I put on my face:

You can see my confusion, right? I had just taken my hair out of the towel you see, and then I …

Oh forget it.  There is really no satisfying reason I did this.  But I must say…

My face is very smooth.

Example 2:  I’m a pretty impatient person generally – at least when it comes to eating.  And drinking I guess.  I just want to be DONE with it.  So I hurry.  And I have developed…

A drinking problem:

I swear I always have a wet spot on my chest.

OH – a follow up to the colonoscopy (a SURE sign everything is going to crap):  I told my doctor that my husband’s doctor told him he had the colon of a 20-year-old, “And we’re very competitive.”  He said, “Yours is 19.  Maybe 18.”

COUNT IT.

Anyway, since the rest of me is falling apart, I embrace the fact that my hair grows well.  And I have been letting it.

Because I can.

And…it’s getting rather long.  Now, keep in mind I am NOT tipping my head back (I kind of wish I would have…this photo almost looks like I’m looking down.  THE POINT – my hair is long).

I believe it’s time to quit and return to a more normal length.  Why?  You might ask…

Weird things are happening.

Like, I’m starting to find food in my hair at the end of the day.  (Notice – NOT hair in my food…though that happens as well – gross.)  Not “cool” food like broccoli or broiled chicken.

More like… Ice cream.  Peanut butter.  Melted chocolate.  Honey.

So I’m binge eating.  Don’t judge.

It’s also getting stuck in weird places.  Like when I work out and it’s in a pony tail, it sometimes gets stuck in my armpit.  And I have to pull it out.

I’m not joking.

When I sit in a chair or on a bench, I lean back and it gets stuck behind me and I can’t tip my head forward.

So, I realize, that just as my body/mind is abandoning me, so must my hair depart.  Not because it has let me down, but because I have let it down.

Farewell long tresses.  Monday, it’s back to normal.

P.S. You may think I have no arms.  Oh yes I do.  They are fat.  Therefore, they are in front of me.  Also, I will still have long hair. Just losing about 4-6 inches.

Sucker punch

I feel the air whoosh right out of my gut when my sacred beliefs are mocked.  Truly – physically painful.  I can’t help but wonder, Can they do that?? Can they SAY that??  It just seems so…wrong.

I watched the Tony Awards last night – a bloated affair of self-congratulatory narcissists who pride themselves on their open-mindedness.  Look, I love musicals.  And plays.  And movies.  I buy into the admiration of those who pretend for a living.

But there was just this icky feeling about the entire show, from the first song (Not just for gays anymore) to the celebration of the grand success of Trey Parker and Matt Stone’s The Book of Mormon Musical, I just felt so squirmy and uncomfortable.

No – I haven’t seen the musical.  But from the moment I heard about it, I felt that sucker punch in my gut.  Apparently it is the most vulgar and crass production ever on Broadway.  49 uses of the f-word.  In one play.

Awesome.

When I see the actors portraying missionaries with the symbolically significant name tags on their white shirts – it hurts.  I have had three missionaries serve the LDS church, and I know how sacred those tags are to them.  Once a missionary has been released from his mission, the name tag is tucked carefully away, precious to the one who wore it.

Once one of my younger boys wanted to be a missionary for Halloween and asked his older brother if he could wear his plaque.  The older brother explained its sacred significance and the plaque remained tucked away where it belonged.

Weird to those who don’t understand, but the plaque is sacred.  Precious to those who’ve worn it.

But I have to wonder…Is there a purpose in this?  Will the success of the Best Musical 2011 The Book of Mormon bring more good to the LDS Church than it does pain to my heart and the hearts of millions who believe?  Think about it – who would have ever thought the word “Mormon” would be said at the Tony Awards EVER?  Now think about how many times it was said – 14 nominations and 9 awards.  This can be good, right?

There is a quiet non-LDS outcry amidst the critical outpouring of love for the musical.  How can the mocking of religion be so warmly embraced?  What if it were The Koran, or The Torah?  Can you imagine?  And from what I’ve read, the portrayal of Ugandans is blatantly racist.  Some suggest that Ugandans have a greater reason to be offended than Mormons.

So, the LDS church has non-LDS support.  What about those who see the play who wonder – what is this all about?  Someone suggested on another site that the mission president in New York should have missionaries standing outside the theater handing out copies of the Book of Mormon:  “You’ve seen the play, now read the book.”

Why does that sound rather appealing to me?  I would never want one of my boys subjected to the kind of crudity they would undoubtedly encounter in such a situation, though.

But…good thought.

Michael Otterson wrote an amazing piece in the Washington Post from the Latter-day Saint perspective.  My favorite part – when he pointed out that the creators of The Book of Mormon Musical spent seven years writing it, and Otterson listed what the church had done in Africa during those seven years.

Here’s the really weird thing – during the Tony Awards, one of the songs from the musical was performed.  The actor portrayed a missionary who was struggling with his faith.  The song is called “I Believe.”

Don’t judge me, but I kind of liked it.  And to be honest, most of what was said was fairly accurate about what and how I believe.  Of course there were mistakes in theology, but surprisingly few and surprisingly minor.

But pay attention to the parts where the audience laughed at what this “missionary” believed.  At his faith.  At what the audience perceived as outrageous beliefs.  And this is where I struggle:

When did standing by that which is morally sound become something to laugh at?  How crazy can it be that I believe that one shouldn’t lie or steal or cheat on one’s spouse or have sex before a legal commitment to marriage or that I should treat my body as a temple – a gift from my God?  For that matter, how is it that my belief in God, in His word, His creation of man and earth, and that I am His child makes me blind, a sheep who stupidly follows, ignorant and downright crazy?  And how can volunteering to serve the needy at my own cost be a bad thing?

Let’s look at a few of the more outrageous events that most Christians believe:  Water into wine, the parting of the Red Sea, Jesus Christ died and was resurrected, Lazarus rising from the dead , a virgin birth… Shall I go on?

So is it so weird to believe that the gospel of Jesus Christ was restored in the latter days?  That the word of God was written on gold plates and buried until the world was ready to hear these words?  That God would assist His righteous people to flee a destroyed Jerusalem?  That God speaks to his Prophet today?

Really, if you look at Christianity literally, isn’t it all a little hard to believe without faith?  Without prayer and personal revelation as to His truths?

The problem is this – the play mocks those who believe – as if we are told to “just believe” without any thought or personal prayer.  Apparently neither missionary in the play has even read The Book of Mormon.

Yep.  That’s what we teach all right.

So what do you think?

LATE EDIT:  Remember Proposition 8 in California and all the negative press the LDS church got for supporting it?  According to Elder Ronald Rasband (who lives in my ward) church membership is exploding there.  Draw your own conclusions.

Bachelorettes and Boobs

Could I even go a Bachelor/Bachelorette season and not comment?  Hmmm?  Um, nope.

Seriously, you have to admit, it’s just too juicy this time not to jump in.  And ABC, COME ON!  What’s with the Utah hate?  Can we PLEASE get a normal person on the show?

Answer:  No.  Normal people aren’t on The Bachelor/Bachelorette.  Period.  End of story.

ABC has found its idiocy nirvana…Salt Lake City.  And for the lucky candidates, you’ll be glad to know that the franchise is having a casting call downtown this Saturday.

Mark your calendars.

Until then, grab a beverage and get comfortable peeps, because this is going to be a looong one… (recognize the “dot dot dot”?  Ah, Bentley.  You first class tool.)

Before I begin I should set the record straight:  I have been mispronouncing Bachelorette Ashley’s last name this entire time in a very hayseed kind of way (as is my wont).  Herbert…not herrr-berrt, but ay-BARE (I previously put this as air-BAY – WHAT IN THE WORLD??).   Go Ashley…three steps forward on the “cool” meter.  Francaise si vous plait.

First we must examine why people watch this show.  Is it because we believe in love and want to root for true love for someone else?  Are hopeless romantics? Because we think that this one lucky girl or guy will truly find their soul mate on national television with zillions watching their every move and listening to their innermost thoughts being spoken to a camera?  (Seriously guys, keep some of that to yourselves…please.)

If you watch for any of the above, you are a fool.  Those who participate – if you truly think you are going to find true love, you are an even bigger fool.

How many success stories have their been?  One?  (Trista and Ryan)  Maybe two?  (Jason and his runner-up – which makes the experience a fail anyway)  Face it – this formula is not a recipe for romantic success.

So why do we watch?  Well, I’ll just speak for myself:  The Bachelor/Bachelorette is a fascinating study in absurd human behavior that is like watching an approaching train wreck without the strength or ability to turn away.  I … can’t … look … away.

Even when I am squirming at the incredible awkwardness.  Can’t do it.

Let’s discuss the giant elephant/tool in the room.  BENTLEY.

I can accept that ABC editing has made some of the stuff he’s said and done worse than it really is.  As has been suggested elsewhere by a friend of the guy, when he said, “tickle my [beep]” and everyone assumed the word bleeped was a phallic symbol that rhymes with “tickle,” he may have said “back.”

When he talked about kissing Ashley and said it started out “okay” and then got worse and worse, he could have been talking about when they were dancing as a male troop with the Jabberwockies instead of when he and Ashley were kissing.

When he said he was going to make Ashley cry and then said, “I hope my hair looks okay” right after, I can accept that perhaps those two sentences may not have been said together.

On a certain level, I have to admire Bentley because he’s the only one of the men on the show being completely honest.  He said from the beginning, “She’s not my type.”  “She doesn’t have what I’m looking for in a wife.”  “I’m not attracted to her.”

Listen, most of the guys on that show are liars.  West?  The one whose wife died in the bathtub?  She was a drug user who used then passed out in the tub and drowned.  Her family accuses him of introducing her to the partying lifestyle and still holds him responsible for her death.

Jeff?  Mister masked man?  Who knows what he’s really like…I do know this:  DUDE – don’t ask people to judge you for what’s inside when there’s nothing inside.  You were better off leaving the mask on and staying novel, because your personality was DULL.  “Hi.  I’m Jeff.”  EW!  Jeff.  You’re weird.

William – did he show his true colors when he “roasted” Ashley and said they were all hoping for Emily or at least Chantel?  Dimples don’t make the man, and fool many a woman.  Who knows what this guy is really like?  And Ashley – what in the world were you thinking to give this guy another chance??

As a friend posted on her facebook page:  “Roasting a girl you’re trying to impress? Bad idea. Note to self.”

How about a few more guys tell Ashley she’s flat?

Were the roasting comments real truth disguised as humor?  Who knows.  There is no way one can get to know a person for real in the bachelor/bachelorette setting.  Throw one person in a crowd of 25 of the opposite sex, toss a few or a hundred drinks at them, and then see what happens.

Love?  Please.

Ashley, I’m sorry, but as Jimmy Kimmel said, “You shouldn’t even be allowed to order off the menu.”  Did you really think you’d find love?  Did you really fall in love with Bentley after two weeks?  How could you really know or trust what you thought you knew in such a short period of time?  Did you really think your husband was in that room?  And you seriously thought it was BENTLEY of all people?  After two weeks?

One hundred ZILLION steps backward on the “cool” meter.

How in the world did you get into dental school??

Who is more to blame?  The rejects who clamor for the love of one person of the opposite sex, or that one person who really thinks he/she can use their instincts to find love in this most unnatural setting?

SO, for these reasons, I am not sure I can completely fault Bentley on all counts, since he was, at the very least, honest with the camera.

But this I will say, Bentley is cruel.  And ugly on the inside.  And I don’t need to see any more than I’ve seen to be able to determine that, with or without editing.  He seemed to really enjoy hurting another human being.  “It’s so annoying to be holding a girl and she keeps crying and crying and crying.”  Nice.

It’s totally okay to not hit it off with someone of the opposite sex.  It happens.  To everyone.  No one expects a “connection” with everyone. (Except reality show people for some odd reason.)  But there is no excuse for his complete un-Christlike behavior.  For a Mormon or an atheist.

He is a narcissist without thought or concern for the feelings of another human being.  He sadistically played a game for sport just to win it.  And to top it off, I honestly don’t think he’s all that good looking.  No matter how much time he spends on his hair while mask guy is sitting on the toilet two feet away from him (what the WHAT??).

DUDE.  You are a tool.  And thanks for embarrassing everyone in Utah and everyone Mormon on the planet.

And Ashley…seriously.  SERIOUSLY?? I have no more words.

Change the oil, check the tires

HOLY CRAP!! I know…I know.  Here’s the deal…I am a creature of habit, and I TOTALLY got out of the habit of writing blog posts.  Plus, you know, I was bored with my own life so I didn’t want to bore you.

You are welcome.

Although…there really has been a lot of stuff… A … lot … of … stuff … that I may or may not blog about.

Anyway, as the days went on and on, I felt super pressure to make my “come back” post really extraordinary.

So here’s the thing…I will never live up to my own expectations, much less yours on this post.  It’s likely going to be an average post, and I apologize right at the start.  But I really have to start somewhere.

This month I’m going to be 51-years-old.  I know, right?  I’m as thrilled as you might expect.  Let me tell you about my birthday month.

Last week I had a physical.  Changing the oil and checking the tires.  I told the doctor that I am getting more and more worried that I am losing my mind.  Everyone around me laughs and thinks I’m hysterical, but I want you to know – I seriously am worried. I am forgetting some really important things.  Like, entire conversations.

“Remember?  We talked about that last week?”  “Remember?  I went with you to look at reception centers last year.”  “Mom.  Mom.  We already prayed.  Duh.”

I actually saw a physician’s assistant, who is a woman, (go women!), so I am going to just call her “her” from now on for the sake of confusion.

So, I asked her about my memory loss.  She asked, “Are you losing your car?”  “No.”  “What does your family say?  Are they worried?”  “No.  They laugh at me.”  “When they stop laughing we need to start worrying.”

I like that litmus test.  Good one.  So…just know, that I am watching for the laughing to stop.  Don’t stop laughing, okay?

‘Cause then I’ll be worried.  Or, more worried.

She did have me do the sobriety test in the exam room, and sadly, I had a little tiny bit of trouble on the walking a straight line heel to toe.  I passed, but you try it.

It’s kind of hard.  I’m just sayin’.

Plus there are the hot flashes.  Worse.  Not related to working out anymore.  Pretty much related to ovaries that are shriveling and dying right inside my body.

Grossed out?  Moving on…

Then I told her that I think I’m going deaf.  I do enjoy my Q-Tips.  I sure do.  After every shower I clean out the old canal.  And yes, I do put the Q-Tip in my ear, but just barely.  I twist and I twirl around the outer edge of just barely inside my canal.  Some people call this experience an eargasm.

That’s all I will say about that.

Lately, though, I feel like I’m going deaf, and I worry that I’ve poked in too far.

Now, having this in mind, you will appreciate this next story just a little more.  Yesterday I was shopping at Costco (YAY COSTCO!) and I saw some ear wash.

And I thought YAY!  I can wash out my ears instead of poking the wax deeper into my brain!

Then I looked just a tad closer.  The ear wash is for dogs.

Bummer.

Okay, so, back to my month.  Monday, I am having my first colonoscopy.  (Spell checker says that’s wrong – WHAT?  I have no idea how to spell that.)  I can hardly wait!  (Yes, I can.)

Apparently the worst part is the prep, which is tomorrow.  So I’m super looking forward to that.  Leaving all my insides on the outside.

As an aside…spouse had his done at 50 and was told, “You have the colon of a twenty-year-old.”  Why does that make me so happy?  I guess it’s just good to know that with all the OTHER parts of our bodies going south, the old colon is super spry.

Come on.  That’s funny.

THEN, the next week I’m having my yearly mammogram.

And that rounds out my birthday month.  Don’t you wish you were me??

I know you’re jealous.

And again, sorry about the massive blank spot on the blog.  I’ll try harder.

P.S. Also had a tetanus shot and my arm is still killing me PLUS I have to do blood labs this week that will check hormone levels as well as WHY AM I SO FLIPPING TIRED ALL THE TIME??

WHEW! I am NOT a racist!

Since practically everyone who is Caucasian is now a racist if they ever say anything negative about someone who isn’t Caucasian, even when, and sometimes especially when, what is said has nothing to do with race, but rather, say, political policy or something insignificant like that, imagine my great surprise to find out that I have just enough minority blood in me to allow free speech.

It is a fact:  I am 1/16th Cherokee.  And proud of it.

I always wanted to be a Native American when I was growing up.  (Back then Native Americans were called something quite racist – apparently – but in actuality is simply a geographical mistake perpetuated by that horrible Caucasian Christopher Columbus, who I honestly don’t know if he was racist at all, since I don’t know him personally, but I choose to call him geographically challenged rather than racist – and honestly, I can’t find my way out of a paper bag myself, so I truly can’t call Columbus geographically challenged on a sliding scale since I’m the worst at directions and rely heavily on my in-dash GPS and sometimes don’t even trust that to get me where I’m going.  Just saying.)

ANYWAY…I read a lot of Westerns growing up and I thought the white man was despicable.  So I was thrilled to find out my true heritage when I was around fourteen years old.

100% 1/16th Cherokee.

Now.  I look really Caucasian.  So some people might be confused by my heritage.  So I have to point it out to them now – since discovering this fun fact:

Ashley Herbert is the new “Bachelorette.”

Yes.  Let’s all take a moment and yawn.

Eh.

Anyway, the show has been accused of being racist because they don’t have any minorities as kings or queens (the pickers).

Let me just say this about that:  Whatever your ethnicity, be glad if you choose to skip this experience.  You are the better for it.

But when I read the Deseret News article detailing the accusation, I saw this quote:

In the Entertainment Weekly interview, Fleiss said he believed the new “Bachelorette,” Ashley Hebert, was one-sixteenth “Cherokee Indian, but I cannot confirm. But that is my suspicion.”

YAY!  Finally, being 1/16th Cherokee has its benefits!

I should apply for minority funding on something.

A word about personal space

I am just too old for close talking.  Within a foot I simply cannot see you.

You’re blurry.  Blurry blurry blurry.

Might I suggest you back up a foot?

What is it with people who invade personal space?  There exists an invisible bubble at least 18 inches all the way around me.

I’d appreciate it if you’d honor it.

Unless I approach you for a hug.  Hugs are okay.  I’m kind of a huggy person.

Which makes this whole personal space issue kind of weird.

But…there it is.

I was at Kohl’s returning something at Customer Service not too long ago, and this lady parked herself right on my bumper.

For your visual pleasure:  If I were to turn right or left, while standing in the same place, I would have hit her with my shoulder.

There were only about three of us in line for sobbing out loud.

Lady.  The line will go NO FASTER with you sitting in my back pocket.  And I promise, I will not let you lose your place.

Yeesh.

I almost gave her the NBA back/lean push-off.

The NBA push-off is socially acceptable when creepy people invade personal space.  No one can really fault a person for a little NBA shove in this instance.

No one.

Speaking of the NBA….  Remember those great Jazz seats?  Yeah, sorry to keep talking about them, but stuff keeps happening to me whilst I’m in them, hence, the repeated blog ref ad nauseam.

Anyway, those seats are, as I’ve stated before, rather pricey.

Therefore, I don’t think it’s asking a lot to be able to actually watch the game.

Agreed?

This was my view at the last game I went to:

This view occurs when the person (in this case, bald guy) leans forward in his/her seat, thus blocking the view of the poor unfortunate on the other side of him/her.

MUCH rather watch the game instead of this guy’s sweaty head.

Just sayin’.

Plus, he encroached upon my seat border:

Oh my GOSH!!!

Makes me want to punch someone in the FACE!

Rather than participate in any aforementioned Neanderthal behaviors, I’ll just blog about it.

Consistently inconsistent

Okay. Well I suck. I do realize this. As my therapist friend says, I am very self aware. 

I don’t know why I’ve been so awful at blogging. Because, believe me, I have a lot to say. And I’ve thought a lot about what I WOULD say if I were to write, but I just haven’t.  

Written.  That is. 

A couple of things have happened, including being gone a lot. Maybe that’s it. 

And a thought on being gone a lot…does anyone else find it kind of gross that every housekeeper at every hotel folds the toilet tissue into a point after they clean the bathroom?

I understand the why…it’s just that the last thing in the world I want touching my tender parts is a tissue that’s had someone’s toilet cleaning hands on. 

So I always unroll a lot of tissue and throw it away before I use it. 

Just sayin’.

Maybe it’s that I am obsessed with thoughts about Mini’s future, which is kind of a hot button right now. 

It’s good future, btw, not bad future. Just kind of scary for a mom who would seriously put little Mini in her pocket and carry him around for the rest of her life if she could. 

Maybe I’ll blog about that one day. Not today. 

Maybe it’s because I sort of got my butt chewed by someone I don’t know about a post I wrote about a stranger to me but who happened to be this butt chewer’s uncle.  

And I’m kind of afraid he might read this post as well. 

Because he was really angry. 

Like a lot. 

Needless to say, I offended him. The post wasn’t all that great in the first place, plus, gosh, I am too much of a “blue” personality to ever be okay with someone not liking me. 

Plus it kind of really scared the crap out of me. 

So I immediately deleted it.

So for those who make fun of me for remaining as anonymous as I am able to pull off, I will now accept your apologies and say to you, 

“SEE?????”

Yikes. 

The post was an “in the news” post. Ten points to whomever guesses which it was. 

Not you Anna. 

In the meantime, I will try to be better at being more consistent. 

For the sake of all mankind. 

Diarrhea is smart

It knows where I live.

Discuss.

You can take the girl out of the trailer park…

I’ve mentioned before that we have some pretty amazing Utah Jazz seats three rows off the floor that my husband shares with a colleague (for business networking purposes OF COURSE).  Because of this prime real estate, we rub shoulders with a rather impressive crowd.

Our seats are right next to Masha Kirilenko, wife of Utah Jazz forward Andrei Kirilenko.

You know, the NBA wife who is famous for allowing her husband one “free” affair a year. 

Just reporting the news folks.  No editorial comments here.

One time Carlos Boozer winked RIGHT AT ME.  Then I realized his wife was sitting behind me. 

Or maybe it was Michelle.  Not sure.

Anyway, great seats.

I try super hard to keep it classy and not drool for no apparent reason and keep my mouth shut when I chew.

It’s the least I can do.

One game, I kind of fell in love with Masha’s shoes and asked her if she minded if I took a photo of them.

She was kind enough to allow it.

I heart them.

Moments later, as my legs were crossed with my left foot leaning toward her, I joked, “Would you like to take a photo of my shoes?”

You could not possibly be surprised to know that I was, indeed, wearing cowboy boots.  This time, in pointy brown:

She was generous enough to say, “I LOVE cowboy boots!”

Nice.  Then she said, ‘Where did you get them?”

Without hesitation, which, I probably should have thought a little bit more about it and made up a better answer, I said, “Reams.”

For the non-Utahn – Reams is a grocery store that sells Wranglers and pretty nice cowboy boots.  And looks and smells pretty ghetto, to be honest.

I simply could not be any cooler.

Are you sure that wasn’t Monday??

This is what happened to me yesterday:

I got up early (for me – give me a break) and went to the gym to work out with my buddy J.  We did our cardio and then decided that even though we hate doing legs, it was going to be a leg day. 

First machine:  Squats.  I did about four squats when something in the right lower back quadrant went OW.  I was puzzled by this…because I was doing legs.  And I’m not that smart.  Because apparently they ARE related.  So I did two more squats.  Goodness – still OW.

So I tried something else.  Then I said to J, “I think I’m done.”  We both seemed too happy about that.  But that’s only because we hate the gym.  We like each other, but we hate the gym.

So I left.  And seriously, my back really hurt (and still does – what the what??).  I’m limping and hobbling like an 80 year old.

So when I get in my car to go home I check my phone and I have two messages:  One from my husband asking if I’d seen the registration renewal for his truck, since he’d just gotten pulled over for being expired.  I hadn’t.  Weird.  First fire.

I went into my husband’s office to look for the registration card.  I didn’t find that, but I DID find Mini’s registration card for the car HE drives, and guess what?  EXPIRED as well.

What the what??

Got the registration for the truck paid because it didn’t need emission and inspection, but Mini’s car does.  Can’t do his just yet because he DOES need emission and inspection…

Second fire:  Number three text messaged, “Have you paid tuition?”  GAH!!  No I had not.  It was due the day before.  And if you don’t pay by the due date they drop all your classes.  FIRE!  FIRE!  FIRE!!  Somehow I got it paid without him dropping classes.

Whew.

I got ready for work.  I work once a week and I can pick the day.  Even though it was snowy outside I continued getting ready for work, because it was, you know, Tuesday, and I usually work Tuesday, and to be honest, once I’m dressed and ready, the decision is done.  I mean, who wants to change clothes once you’re in them?  Huh?

Back in the car.  And my back still hurts.  Grandma movements all the way.  I drove down my street and almost slid into a brick barrier on the way out of my neighborhood.  I thought, “Hmm.  Maybe I shouldn’t go out in this?”

But again – I was, you know, dressed.  So I thought, hey, I’ll just drive carefully.

And I did.  Super slow.

I got to a red light and stopped with PLENTY OF TIME AND SPACE before the intersection and I waited for the green light.  I was about 3 miles into my trip to work.  I was on the phone with my sister-in-law so I wasn’t paying attention to my rearview mirror.

Which was probably a good thing, because BANG!!  I got rear-ended.  By someone who did NOT leave enough time and space to make the stop.  I’m glad I didn’t have the stress of watching that happen…

“I just got hit.  Prolly should call you back.”  Sigh.

So lady-who-hit-me and I pulled over.  She came out of her car with handicapped license plates, and pretty much just drug her left side as she walked toward me with her cane.

Her entire left side.

So then, I felt really bad for her.  And I started apologizing to HER because she hit me.  And to top it off, she was just coming from the dentist, so double crappy day for her.

So I went to the back of my car to see how bad it was (kind of bad…) and realized, MY REGISTRATION IS ALSO EXPIRED. 

For crying out loud.

We called the police and the NICEST policeman I have EVER met dealt with our little issue.  I mean, I kind of have a crush on this guy.  He kept saying, “We all make mistakes.”  Super cute!

He cited her for driving too fast for conditions, didn’t cite me for an expired registration, and after one hour of sitting in the snow, I decided, I can change my clothes for sure, and I went home.

And got in my PJs.

BUT, I had a Young Women (church thing) event that night that I really wanted to go to, so I got dressed AGAIN and went to hear what *I* thought was going to be a motivational talk (which I needed) but ended up being a talk about how much I have vs all the starving children in the world and why am I not doing anything about it because I waste so much money on useless things when I could really be helping to build schools in Haiti.

All true.  But not what I dragged myself out of bed for.  I wanted to feel motivated, but all I felt was sad.  And guilty.

And, my back STILL hurt.

Home.  Bed.  30 Rock on Netflix.

I’m going to try again today.