La Bohème + one

Joys of Teaching

2012-01-27T11:50:00.000-08:00

Strangely enough, I've actually really been enjoying my last several weeks of teaching before baby Eleanor finally arrives. Well, everything but the constant smell of pot coming from the kids in my morning class. With pregnancy hormones further fine-tuning my already keen sense of smell, I can basically tell people what they had for breakfast with 98% accuracy. The last 3 weeks have been obnoxious as nearly every morning, someone comes in reeking of reefer. Instead of doing what I wanted (call out the entire class and shame them endlessly for forcing such foulness on a pregnant woman, I instead pulled aside the likely culprits. Yes culprits. There are multiple students who would rather wake up early and get high than sleep in 15 more minutes. I really don't get that. Well, the smell got better, and even had 2 days in a row without pot smell. But then came yesterday. Schmelly central.

Near the end of class, I mentioned that I only had 2 weeks left and in the general moans, students expressed a desire to put on a baby shower for me. I saw an opportunity and took it.

"What would you get my baby?" I asked, perplexed. "She can't smoke pot."

The class gasped unanimously.

"Oh, you guys think I can't smell it on you everyday? Seriously guys," I said pointing to my nose, "this thing smells everything."

I then starred directly, one at a time, at about 4 students who all shrunk before me.

"Guys, I'm pregnant. Really, I'm not going to preach to you about screwing up your lives, but please don't disrespect me and make me and my baby breathe in that stuff. I love you guys, but really? Come on."

Class=Chastened

A few students hung back after class to give personal apologies. I don't think they had realized they carry the smell with them. Hopefully, my last 2 weeks brings cleaner air. Here's to hoping...

I really do love them, though. And I will miss them. I will miss teaching in the classroom (looks like I'll be teaching online post-baby). I will miss getting my kids who've always hated school riveted with The French Revolution, The Civil War, and Magna Carta. Yeah, Magna Carta. I know. Weird, right? I will miss starting debate on whether the A-bomb should have been dropped on Hiroshima and students on both sides of the aisle getting fired up.

I will miss thug guys coming in to my class at 20 years old, 3 high school credits and forcing them to wear sparkly stickers that say "good job!" on them when they do well on assignments and then threatening them if they don't keep it on all day long.

I'll miss seeing those same thugs not only getting the first "A" in their life, but having the highest grade in my class because they suddenly realized that they actually could. I will miss seeing kids turn their lives around.

Sure my kids look like this:

And not this:

But I wouldn't have it any other way.

I thought that I'd be ready to kill students my last weeks teaching, but I'm not. Don't get me wrong, I'm uncomfortable. And tired. And I have to pee ALL THE TIME. But it's like I'm trying to cram in everything I'm going to miss. I'm even adding to my curriculum this next week (I have 2 weeks left officially). I'm showing them Manchurian Candidate (the original one with Sinatra and Lansbury) after our extensive study of the Cold War. I have pretty bright students and I finally feel that I have a class whose minds will be blown entirely by this film. I love blowing minds. But I'd rather blow them with Manchurian Candidate than by telling them that "New England" is not it's own country, but actually part of the US (True story. Sad story. Needless to say, I incorporated map activities and quizzes into my curriculum after that day). Anyways, so excited about introducing them not only to a brilliant movie, but also Angela Lansbury, the embodiment of fabulous.

I guess I feel like I've really got this stuff (teaching history to low-SES, high risk teens) down and suddenly I'm going to be devoting my life to doing something about which I AM CLUELESS minus all the books I've been reading about infant care. That wobbly head thing still scares me. I'm told that "holding a baby is natural" but it still freaks me out a bit. And diaper blow-outs? I can't even wrap my head around that.

3d Ultrasound

2011-12-19T17:23:00.000-08:00

I always vowed that I would not be one who just blogs about my kids and puts up pictures of my kids and talks about how cute and wonderful my kids are. But considering I'm not even a parent yet and what follows, I'm off to a really bad start.

I just had a 3d ultrasound and I have to say, despite not entirely clear images, I am convinced my child is going to be so stinking adorable. I'll admit, I was nervous that my kid might end up funny looking. I mean, we've all seen newborns that look more alien than gerber baby. But my 30 week old babe is so downright gorgeous. I know. Biased. But look at her chubby cheeks (which will no doubt plump up further) and her button nose! I also think she has James' gorgeous plump lips. If she gets his blue eyes, forget about it. She'll kill me with cuteness.

Here she is sucking her thumb with her other fingers spread across her face. I'm praying this means her sucking instinct is fabulous and that she'll be a good latcher AND also a self-soother.

While we're on the subject, how weird is that that we can see facial features before our babies are even born? Do you think it's cheating? James sort of does. And I get that. But frankly, it warms my heart to unreal degrees to see the little thing that's been kicking my ribs incessantly and giving he crazy acid reflux 24/7. It makes all those uncomfortable things so worth it and makes me not so freaked out about childbirth (and there is plenty to freak out about--google is not your friend when you're pregnant) because I'll get to meet her.

29 weeks

2011-12-12T16:09:00.000-08:00

While I try and avoid putting up pictures that make me look like a beached whale, I have to say that being pregnant makes it IMPOSSIBLE to put up pictures at all with such limitations. So for all who'd like to see me preggo, here goes:

Yeah, those would be my ONLY pair of maternity pants. I thought I'd get away with doing stuff like this:

And I did for a while until I stretched the hair ties to the limit and felt like my pants were about to cut me in half. I then pretty much relied on dresses and skirts until it actually FINALLY got cold here. Then I was stuck wearing running tights underneath my dresses. I've become really cheap and the thought of buying any more maternity clothes does not make me happy. But I am really getting sick of wearing the same things. But I broke down and bought a pair of pants. It's been HEAVEN. I wonder why I waited. That big ol' elastic band is nothing short of miraculous.

Here's a close up of the belly. The stripes aren't doing anything for me, I know. When I wear this shirt my students always say it makes them hungry for peppermint.

Highlights

2011-11-09T15:45:00.000-08:00

This last week has been great for a number of reasons.

REASON #1: WE STARTED CHRISTMAS

I know, it's a little early. But why put a time limit on joy and happiness? It's been months of negotiation to work out November as the legal time frame to begin Christmas celebration. I was shooting for October, but James shot that down pretty quickly. Halloween apparently deserves the whole month. [eye roll]

While he did bend quite a bit for November, he's since really come around as the sound of Christmas music in the air just makes one merry. Our tree is up and decorated, and we have watch "Elf," "A Christmas Story," and the classic "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" (cartoon version, OF COURSE). We're pretty happy people these days.

Yesterday evening, I listened to Christmas music on my run and it was PURE MAGIC. It was like running on sugar plums and dreams. I kept looking around the neighborhoods and expecting to see Christmas lights, but I'll still have to wait a few weeks. Not everyone feels as festive and I do.

REASON #2: IT'S FINALLY COLD HERE

I actually have to turn the car heater on in the morning on my work. The BEST. It's even been rainy this week, which is seriously magical. This summer was very painful. One of the hottest on record paired with crazy morning sickness = really unhappy and crazy Erin. I wanted to punch the brutal AZ sun in the face.

REASON #3: FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YEARS, I'M PROUD TO BE FROM AZ

Yesterday, citizens of AZ district 18 voted to oust the bigoted and corrupt politician, Russell Pearce. I can't go into all the reasons without having my blood pressure go through the roof, but here are a few resources if you want to know why he is bad news:

http://www.azcentral.com/video/1215608827001

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UrHDlUNomLY

He made me sad.

REASON #4: I'M FEELING THE BABY KICK A LOT

Which is just super fun. And kind of weird, too. But more fun and reassuring than weird. I am a worrier by nature so it's really nice to have this constant reassurance that baby is there and doing well.

As a side note, this is the toughest guy I think I've ever heard of. He tells the story of what he just went through totally straight-faced, but then chokes up when he talks about how his predicament could have endangered someone else. What a stud.

End of an era

2011-10-30T16:53:00.000-07:00

After more than 4 years, I've decided to leave facebook. I'd been contemplating the move for over 2 years after hearing a talk by Elder Bednar at a CES fireside, but it's taken a while for me to come around. One friend immediately left facebook after the talk, but I just wasn't ready to give it up. In fact, I thought she was insane. However, since that time, I've realized that it's time to say goodbye.

Maybe it's being pregnant and feeling the sense of change that's about to occur that has prompted me to move on and "re-fresh" things. I guess I just realized that facebook doesn't add to my life in any way. One thing that kept me from making this move was staying in touch with friends around the world I've collected over the years through university, the mission, and my internship in Israel. However, I realized that though we are facebook friends, we certainly are not "in touch" with one another. It's a false sense of closeness.

Here are some of my reasons, in no particular order:

1.) It is a complete waste of time (in my oh-so-humble-opinion). Okay, maybe it is appropriate that this in number 1 because even though I don't spend much time on facebook, every second that I do is a second that I can't get back and has added nothing to my life. That's the major issue for me--IT ADDS NOTHING TO MY LIFE.

2.) I don't care what [most] people ate for lunch/are going to do this weekend/think of Obama/want to happen at the game tonight. Unless that burrito was particularly delicious and you are bringing to my doorstep, call me calloused, but I don't really care. I don't need to know what crosses people's minds all day. I can barely register what is crossing my own all day. While knowing the minutuae of other peoples' lives may interest some, it adds nothing to my life or relationships. I also tire of what I perceive to be close-minded (sometimes uneducated) political rants. I don't see much fruitful political dialogue on facebook. It's either bashing or compatriot back-patting. The closemindedness that I see on facebook (from all political ideologies) actually frusterates me a great deal.

3.) For me, facebook is a communication catch-22. Because of the [lack of] privacy settings, I'm hesitant to post anything. I rarely post pictures anymore or post on people's walls, photos, etc because I don't want my business broadcast to everyone. But the whole purpose of facebook is to communicate and stay in touch, right? Instead, I feel like Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window, a voyeur watching the mundane lives of unsuspecting neighbors.

Now I admit that I have found it fun to look through people's photos and see what they are doing these days, however, it's a false sense of being "in touch." While I view happenings in friends lives, I am really no closer to them nor have I built my relationship with them. In this age of information overload, I feel that I am overloaded on people's lives without really being in their lives or having them part of mine.

4.) I've instead decided to focus on building relationships with people I am in touch with. I've decided to spend more time making phone calls, sending e-mails, and yes, blogging. I also plan on staying up with the blogs of people in my life. So expect lots and lots of posts. I'd rather have fewer real friends than 853 pseudo-friends.

Once I made the decision, I've actually been SUPER excited. It feels like rearranging my bedroom furniture or getting a brand-new hairstyle. I wont have my account officially deleted for a few days because I want to make sure I can get in touch with the handful of people who don't have my e-mail or blog info and who I would like to stay in touch with. Once I delete my page, every trace of my facebook presence will be erased. At least that's what facebook has said...

So stay tuned for regular posts!

I'll be fine when the weather cools off

2011-10-23T11:36:00.000-07:00

I know, it's about time I posted. The problem is that once you've gone forever without posting, you feel the need to have something ultra important to say, or else it's not worth breaking the silence. And let's be honest, I rarely have anything important to say.

A lot has happened. Here is a basic update with several random thoughts and interjections:

I'm pregnant, which was hopefully obvious by the last post. I'm 22 weeks along, feeling good (though chubby).

Just a side note to people: Please be careful what you say to a pregnant woman. Saying "Oh, you don't look pregnant at all!" when they can no longer fit in any of their clothes and have found stretch marks on their belly is just saying "Oh, you always look fat!"

Also, do not comment on facebook photos from a pregnant girl's honeymoon about the "cute baby bump" that she has. It's not a baby bump. She was a year and a half from a baby bump. It was a fat bump or possibly a food bump.

Luckily, I have a very kind and loving husband who does a good job at soothing the blows people ignorantly pass out. He'll even turn around immediately after walking in the door from work to get me ice cream when the first words I say as he enters are "Baby needs Breyer's Mint Choco Chip." Maybe he's an enabler. But I call that a good husband.

I've continued running through my pregnancy which has been WONDERFUL. I had to wait till

the fires of hell stopped burning in AZ (i.e. AZ summer) to start back up in earnest, but now that the temperature is finally under 100 degrees, I try a run a few times a week. I go at a slow pace, but it feels so good to be running. I'm also running in the vibram 5-fingers which I highly recommend. I'll have to do a post on minimalist running soon. I'm really a fan. I think I've decided to run another marathon. Every time I run one, I tell myself that I will NEVER EVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES succumb to the pull of the 26.2, but I think I might put aside that promise and go for it. I think I keep telling myself that maybe one day, they wont hurt like crazy. I'm probably fooling myself.

In any case, I need something to force me into really great shape post-baby. James already said he'd do a 10k with me next May. Then I'll do a half-marathon in the Fall (best distance ever) and go for a full enchilada early 2013. Maybe the Phoenix Rock'n Roll.

Anyone interested in doing a early 2013 marathon? Anyone? Bueller? I'm not opposed to some traveling.

This is the sexy maternity belt I wear while running to keep my paunch from bouncing around so much.

Maternity belt + 5-finger shoes = weirdest looking runner on the canal.

By the way, James has been miraculous through this whole pregnancy thing. He goes running with me. And he doesn't like running. Despite being fat and pregnant, I still beat him running and his ego takes it, no problem. While he does many things much better than I (e.g. cleaning, being nice, organizing, waking up early, keeping his cool under pressure), he has no problem when I do something better than him. Just yesterday, some speed walking ladies were giving him a hard time saying "Pick up the pace! Your wife an baby just smoked you!"

While the normal guy would feel bruised and either kill himself running just to beat you (because many men can't handle being beaten athletically by a girl), or never run with you ever again, he just responded with his big smile "I'm just here for moral support! She's the runner, not me!" I love that man.

Here he is before presenting some research from his doctorate at a conference in San Francisco. The glare on the picture is funny. I'm not photographically gifted. We can add that to the list of things he does better than me.

As for work, I'm still teaching at the alternative high school. So basically, my life is like Michelle Pfeiffer's in Dangerous Minds except I don't give them candy or teach them karate. I make them learn about history and to not talk when I talk. I also don't let them pee whenever they want because as far as I'm concerned, if I can hold it with a baby bouncing on my bladder, so can they. It's my second year there and I'll be finishing this year in February with my maternity leave. It's been a really wonderful growing experience and I know I've been able to do a lot of good, but I'm not sure I've got another year in me at this school. That kind of makes me feel like a failure, but I've got to be realistic.

It's been the most emotionally and physically draining, time-consuming, and intense thing I've ever attempted. You can't do this job without being ready to give give give. Your time is pretty much owned by the school--the administration (an inspired bunch--the school really is amazing) demands it. But frankly, after having a baby, I don't know that I'll be able to give that much anymore. I'm looking for something part-time and a bit more low-key after the baby. We'll see how things shake out. James is ready for me to be done at my school. Ever since my 3rd week there and some kid took out his rage in the form of $2000 a damage to my car, James has been concerned for my safety. I'd be lying if I said I was never concerned. I love the kids I teach, but most of them are heavily involved in drugs and I don't trust anyone's judgement and actions when under the influence. And at least half my kids are gang-affiliated. I hate gangs. I mean, nobody "likes" them, but it makes me livid to see what they do to these poor, bright, kids who feel like they don't have options.

So we'll see how things shake out for me. My baby will come first and I only want to do something part time. I'd love to get into non-profit work as a museum-school group liaison or something. We'll see. Open to suggestions.

Coming Feb 2012

2011-07-18T20:52:00.000-07:00

Water Fight

2011-05-08T11:01:00.001-07:00

I have 10 more days of actual teaching left before a long-awaited summer break. I have Alice Cooper's classic "School's Out For Summer" ready to be played the moment my students take my final exam and exit my classroom.

Despite the difficulties of this year--and there have been many, let me assure you-- it has been a wonderful growing experience for me.

One of the best days ever happened just this last Thursday. We had a school-wide water fight. Yes, you heard me, a teacher planned, school wide water fight. Happens every year at this school.

At some point in the last 6 weeks of school, students will be standing outside on their afternoon break, waiting to go back to the last hour of class when all of the sudden, a teacher starts hosing hem down from the roof of the school. Teachers told me that I'd get completely soaked. They assured me it was great fun. Somehow students (many of whom I cannot stand) pelting me with water balloons and pouring buckets of water over my head didn't sound like much fun.

But, oh, how wrong I was.

I knew the waterfight was coming. I had luckily been forewarned by the lead teacher. SO I dressed in a way that is I was soaking wet (a) no one was getting a show and (b) my clothes would not be ruined. I pumped myself up for it that morning telling myslef it was just one more hoop to jump through. I was no looking forward to it.

But flash forward to when I suddenly had an arm full of water balloons, student were walking around oblivious having no idea what was about to befall them, and lo and behold, my favorite students were right there. I started pelting. I was amazing. Then they poured buckets of water over my head. It was so fun. I was dripping wet for an hour and half. Despite the crazy AZ summer heat, the students never let me get dry. It was amazing.

It broke down barriers. One students who has been DRIVING ME INSANE refused to get wet. In full revenge mode I sent about 15 girls armed with buckets of water after him. I really did feel better. Then he poured a bucket of water over my head. So dripping, I gave him a huge bear hug. Then suddenly, this kid who had legitimately made me want to punch walls and scream profanities was talking to me like I was his aunt, telling me about his health issues and what's going on in his life as we both stood there dripping. I told him about when I got my tonsils out (a procedure he might undergo) and how much it hurt. It was a beautiful moment.

I'll try and post pictures soon.

Sheryl = amazing

2011-04-01T13:19:00.000-07:00

PLEASE check out my friends new spot on Mormon.org. I am proud to call her one of my besties.

The Other Night...

2011-03-22T17:31:00.000-07:00

Our neighbors were fighting. While I don't like to eavesdrop, the amount of noise and angry swearing made us nervous there may be violence. So I put a cup to the wall and listened.

I know. Bad Erin. Then, when the guy went out the front door (visible from our peep hole) I too had to follow. I saw (through the door peephole) him shirtless, drunk, angry, and trying to take a huge couch down the stairs. It was a sort of I'm-drunk-and-crazed-I'm-leaving-and-taking-the-couch kind of move.

We live on the second floor so as he drug the couch down the stairs (ripping the couch in the process and creating enough noise to ensure that the entire complex was listening) she ran out after him, crying, and begging him to stay.

It was very noisy for a while and then it appeared that he left and she left shortly after. I wasn't quite sure, because the peephole only gave me so much visual information. But I wondered about the couch. There was NO WAY IN HECK that he could get that in a car by himself and leave. So shortly thereafter, I went outside and down the stairs to see if there was a couch in the middle of the parking lot. Instead I found two police cars instead of a couch.

I talked to them. Confessed that I was curious. Got some info. Apparently several people in the complex called the police. Then I went back upstairs.

SO THE NEXT MORNING at 4:30 am we heard the two of them (apparently they made up) trying to get the couch up the stairs. Had it not been spring break, I would have walked outside told them they were insanely rude and that people needed to wake up early to work. But since I wasn't one of those people, I stayed in bed and just got angry to myself instead. When James and I left the next morning for errands, the couch was halfway on the stairs, halfway on the walkway. We had to squeeze to get past. Hours later, it was still there.

So I decided I had had enough and went to the front office to tell on them. I walked in, and Rennee (the manager, whom I adore) comes out somberly from her office.

"So, you probably heard what happened last night."

She nods, still very somberly.

"Well, Mike still has yet to move the couch."

"Mike?" she said confused, "But they said it was YOU!"

Yes, so people in our complex thought the entire ruckus was caused by James and I. Apparently, they didn't look out their peepholes. And apparently, they really don't know my sweet James at all. If anyone was to be shirtless, crazed, and to angrily throw the couch down the stairs, it'd definitely be me.

So our question is: Do we knock on everyone's door and say "It wasn't me. It was THEM!" and point to apartment 232? Send out a flyer?

We have no idea.

Frozen

2011-02-21T17:33:00.000-08:00

I think I may have given up on living just a little. Today at the grocery store, instead of the tons of produce I normally buy, I bought a bunch of frozen pizzas and frozen individual dinners. Szechwan chicken, spicy fajitas, and of course, salisbury steak. Sorta gross, but sorta necessary too if I want to feed my husband.

While I felt pathetic, life is just way too crazy to cook these days. I'm at work about 9 hours a day and then come home to plan and work as long as my eyes are open. It doesn't leave much time for cooking. In fact, it doesn't leave much time for anything (except complaining, which I excel at).

I've tried. In fact, I'll call James up and ask him how he'd feel about whole wheat pasta with a creamy homemade tomato garlic sauce, fresh parmesan chicken, and a nice salad with juicy grape tomatoes and my homemade balsamic vinaigrette. He'll get excited, quite naturally.

And then I'll call him up about 15 minutes before he's set to get home and enjoy the above meal and say, "I've just put a frozen pizza in the oven."

He's so sweet about it too. No complaints. He just happily eats whatever I give him (expect tofu pasta-- a mistake I will not repeat). I just hope I feel like cooking again one day.

Please, if you have easy and FAST recipes, please send them my way! erinthornhillreeder@gmail.com

I've Gone Private, Kids

2011-02-16T16:25:00.000-08:00

After school a couple days ago a student asked me if I had read his comment on my blog. Jaw dropped and wide eyed, I turned around, ran straight to my computer and made my blog private. Sometimes I hate google. But only sometimes.

Disclaimer: The comment is sweet and full of errors for which I will take VERY LITTLE responsibility because I am, of course, his history teacher and not his English teacher. He may spell things wrong but he can tell you perfectly the causes of the Civel War and give detailed descriptions of the battles of Gettiesberg, Vixberg, and Bool Run. Just ask him.

Car

2011-02-01T10:13:00.000-08:00

I got my car back yesterday. I finally feel like it's all over. Mostly.

On Friday, about 11 days ago, a kid (gang member) who I had written up for flagrant disrespect and disrupting my classroom was expelled permantently from the school. He was so angry that the principal called me and told me to keep my classroom door locked all day and not leave the building for a few hours. It was my prep day as school is only M-Th and kids come in Friday for make-up work. This kid showed up for make-up and was told he'd been written up and that it was the last straw. His stack of office refferals was too high and he was already on a behavior contract.

It was all a little intense and crazy. I called James and left a mssage telling him about my exciting mornng and that I had to be locked in the building. By the time he called me back, everything had changed. A couple hours after the incident, I went to my car, and found the handle ripped off & dents ALL OVER. I was stunned. Anger and then the tears. So many emotions. Fear being one of them.

The police came. I filed an insurance claim. I took my car in. Got a rental. Blah blah blah...

The weekend was crazy. I was afraid of what was going to come. Would this kid try anything else? Would my former gang bangers flip out and go shoot him? I was nervous to go back to school on Monday. I even had a dream that my rental had gotten vandalized and that one of my favorite kids was lying dead next to it. A bit scary.

Reality was that nothing happened. Teachers and staff kept it low key and so students dropped it quickly. I have gotten back into the groove of teaching and I really love the vast majority of my students. It's been so wonderful since then, actually. I just am extra careful when I get in and when I leave.

Pantless

2011-01-14T17:12:00.000-08:00

My pants actually started coming off in front of my morning American History class on my 9th day of officially being a real life teacher. Needless to say, I've retired the pants. My husband told me after I shared the incident with him that he " always hated those pants" and that they were "way too baggy."

Thanks, James. Information that would have been helpful that very morning while getting dressed.

So I'm in class. By the way, my new job is teaching at a really awesome charter high school. It's a school full of former gang members, kids from crazy sad backgrounds, high poverty, all sorts of crazy business...and these kids are awesome. I love it. Challenging, but I leave everyday feeling like I make a real difference.

Anyways, it was jersey day for spirit week so I wore my Liverpool F.C. jersey, some old baggy trouser pants I've had for years (and loved) and red chuck taylors. These pants had previously given me trouble cause the zipper was starting to not stay up at all and I would constantly find my zipper wide open. A normal person would have retired those pants once this problem started, but clearly "normal" is not in my resume.

Well, I'm in class and all of the sudden my kids start dying. I mean, rolling on the floor laughing.

"Tell her man."

"You tell her."

SOmething no one wanted to tell me. Hmmm....the baggy pants...crap. I look down and not only is the zipper down, but the button is not fastened and me pants are actually falling down. One wrong move, they would have slipped right around my ankles.

I turned around amidst an uproar and zipped up and buttoned the pants realizing that (a) my entire class saw my g's and (b) that I really wasn't embarrassed at all. I was actually a little in awe of how NOT embarrassed I was.

I quickly just drove them on to the lesson and the next thing on the docket.

One student asked why I wore grandma underpants. I told him that I wasn't going to waste my sexy stuff on them.

I love my school!!!!!

Blessings from Heaven

2010-11-11T08:23:00.000-08:00

I was coming home from my run this morning when the heavens, quite literally, poured blessings down on me. Maybe "chucked" blessings would be a better word.

In any case, I had just ran across the main road near our home, dodging a big white truck when I heard the distinct noise of lots of crap getting thrown into the streets. Living in a neighborhood where the residents normally fling whatever trash they have from their passing car or as they peddle their bike, I was at first super crazy ticked. I have spent A LOT of time picking up trash in the street and on the sidewalk near our house. I hate people who litter intensely. Almost as much as I hate the person that leaves the coupons in my mailbox, but that is an entirely different post.

So I turn around to see boxes of Special K snack bars in the road. My eyes then turned to the truck speeding off and the large crate of similar boxes. The guy had no idea that he had lost boxes. As usual when I see stuff in the road, I scurried to pick it all up before the next wave of traffic hit. Another man with a buzzed head and few missing teeth was also running towards the mess to help me in my efforts.

"He has no idea he's lost these!" he declared.

"And he wont know until he's gotten to wherever he's going," I started.

We both paused, our loot at our feet as we stood on the sidewalk.

"Wanna split them?" I said said with a smile.

Needless to say, he was all about my idea and we both parted with grins the size of footballs, though one was noticeably less toothy than the other.

Now James I are are pretty dang poor at the moment (see earlier post) and have actually had a hard time affording any groceries after our bills have been paid. It looks like I have a full time job starting in January (more on that to come) with a salary and benefits, so this is certainly temporary, but I have to admit, we've struggled to make ends meet and put food in our bellies. Seriously, this was such a huge blessing!

As you well know, James and I live in the ghetto. While I would normally look at food strewn across the street as something to avoid, I actually watched the boxes fly from their crates in the back of this truck and watched them fly across the street. It's like it was timed perfectly so that I would pass the exact right spot at the exact right moment. It's like the heavens tapped me on the shoulder and said: "Hey, want a snack?"

I haven't been home 30 minutes and James has eaten two bars already.

Sick

2010-10-26T08:34:00.000-07:00

At home sick, ding the following activities:

1. Knitting James a tie for Christmas. He never reads this, so I'm not worried about spoiling the surprise here. What'll probably spoil the surprise is that we live in a 600 square foot apartment. It's hard to keep secrets. And, by the way, the tie is amazing. Looks a lot like this:

2. Popping Zicam every three hours.

3. Watching every episode on hulu.com of Modern Family, The Office, 30 Rock, and Community. I'm so grateful we don't actually have TV. I'd get nothing done.

4. Not writing my Master's Thesis and not trying to figure out standard deviation for my data therein.

5. Trying unsuccessfully to not eat all the super cheap Halloween candy we bought for trick-or-treaters.

Other than being sick and stressed (see number 4) life is pretty dang great. James is absolutely lovely. He really is. I never wanted to be that cheesy blogger who is like "My hubby is so amazing blah blah blah my life is so great blah blah blah my kids are so cute blah blah blah" so I guess that's why I haven't written lately. Because my hubby really is great. And it makes my life pretty great, despite stress and a totally blown immune system. Being sick isn't so bad when you've got someone who wakes up with you every time you do in the night trying to make you more comfortable and gets you medicine or tea or whatever, even though he has an 11 hour work day waiting for him when he wakes up and then visits with the elder's quorum presidency. He's adorable. But I'll stop now.

I have been knitting up a storm. I just learned and have been making pretty rad stuff. I'll post pictures soon (or not soon, let's be honest). We're pretty poor right now until I start making $ after my master's and student teaching stuff is done. So we're making our Christmas presents. We don't want to give crappy cheap gifts (what we can afford) so we're going to make stuff. And while the recipient might find them "crappy," homemade crap always trumps store-bought crap. No contest.

We're living on love and James' intern salary. He's a school psychology intern at a school here in Mesa. He is basically the school psych there, but gets paid like a 16-year-old working a summer job at Baskin Robbins. He'll finish his doctorate in May (ish). I'm finishing student teaching and my thesis (in theory...). I'll graduate with my masters December 16th from ASU. I've heard it said that a diploma from ASU is like monopoly money. So there you go.

Happy October!

Amen, Brother

2010-08-08T15:31:00.000-07:00

http://www.cnn.com/2010/OPINION/08/07/jackson.same.sex.marriage/index.html?hpt=C2

How grateful I am for voices like this in the midst of the nasty voices so prevalent these days.

And I'm back...

2010-07-07T12:21:00.000-07:00

I've been a little MIA as of late. A lot has happened. I got married and then started some crazy rigorous masters classes. It's been a little nuts. But luckily I married a guy who can handle my kind of crazy.

So here's the full update on everything:

This is the man that made it all happen.

Friday April 30th was the day before the wedding and that evening we had the groom's dinner. There were so many important people there.

The amazing Nicki Preece and Megan Boud. I'd fight flood waters for you guys any day.

The most magnificent and talented Nicki Schmidt (who made my BOMB anouncements), Jessica Leilani Harris (who taught me how to wear makeup and can make my retarded eyebrows look fabulous), and Holly Hansen (who is the only person who ever rock climbs with me anymore).

I love Sheryl. She came a really long way to see me. And all because I was clever and made her promise years ago while we were driving across the country that she would be at my wedding and dance at my wedding reception. She came through o all counts. Dancing like Michael Jackson at the wedding. Watch the video and experience the magic.

May 1st

Then we got married. And I don't really have pics yet. But James' AMAZING friend Rob made this incredible video capturing everything in about 7 minutes or so.

The Honeymoon--Carmel and San Fransisco

Us at the beach in Carmel, the lovliest little place.

Alcatraz

Alcatraz again. And I'm actually wearing James' pants. I sort of had a lot on my plate before the honeymoon and wasn't totally smart when packing. I didn't bring anything but a couple pairs of shorts and a dress even though it was super freezing. So the morning we were getting ready for alcatraz, I was despairing until I noticed James getting dressed.

"Hey babe, you're not going to wear your black pants today, right?"

The picture doesn't do them justice. I folded the bottoms up and they were adorable on me. We have magical traveling pants that miraculously fit us both.

James took me to see Wicked (my 4th time and his 1st) and it was MAGICAL

The end of the Honeymoon

So I accidently hurt my husband when we were packing the car up at the airport in Phoenix coming back from the honeymoon. I closed the hatchback of my Mazda3 on his head. Yeah. Lots of blood. Pouring down his face. I was freaking out, tearing through my luggage looking for anything to stop the bleeding.

Since he refused to use my dress to sop up the blood, I was forced to frantically flag down one of those economy parking buses--you know those buses that don't stop for anyone unless you are at one of the designated stops. Well, turns out they stop if you run in front of it flailing your arms. Just so you know.

The driver reluctantly opened the doors (as I must have looked insane--I was a little upset thinking I had killed my very new husband) and I ran in and started explaining what happened and that I needed a first aid kit or something. At this point everyone on the bus looked at me and then turned their gazes to James who was at this time, lying back on the VW bug parked next to us, blood running down his face, and then back to me. A man from the back came up to help me as the driver spoke very little english.

"So what exactly happened?" he asked

I answered like a blubbering idiot mumbling something like "honeymoon...hatchback...didn't mean to.." while he nodded understandingly, like this was something that happens to everyone. He then calmly asked the driver for a first aid kit. Once the driver located it, he handed me 2 knuckle band aids. I pushed him out of the way and grabbed the entire stock of gauze and ran out of the bus to aid my wounded husband.

We jumped in the car and I was sure that James would need stitches so he called his dad (a doctor) and told him that he'd been hurt. Naturally his parents were concerned. Luckily the bleeding stopped and when we got home, I was carefully cleaning up the blood caked in James' hair searching for the actual gash.

While I expected something grander, the gash was about 1-2 mm in length. So it really wasn't a big deal at all.

But the next day, we went to his parents and they wanted to know what happend. So i confessed to having been the culprit.

At his big family reunion in CA this weekend, people would come up to me and ask to tell the story when I almost killed James.

Basically, we're off to an awesome start.

Whoa

2010-04-29T00:45:00.000-07:00

I am getting married in approx 63 hours. Insane.

Super Sunday

2010-04-19T11:56:00.000-07:00

I can't seem to decide what was the best part of yesterday.

It started out a little rough as I awoke to realize that the entire order of pasta from Cheesecake factory the night before was still in my stomach. But then James and I went to our soon-to-be new ward and it was lovely. Very diverse ward in both age and ethnicity and we're super excited. And so is the bishop. He pretty ran up to us right after the meeting and when we said we're new he gave a relieved smile and basically told us that he had prayed us there. Very nice experience.

But then we had peach cobbler for dessert WITH ice cream. Suddenly the title for "highlight of Erin's Sunday" was up for debate. Peach cobbler and ice cream basically has the ability to turn any day into the best day of my life.

And then I made some really rockin individual serving freezer lasagna for James and I felt pretty dang amazing for being so Betty Crocker. And it is super healthy lasagna--whole wheat pasta, super lean turkey, soy cheese, skin ricotta. I was feeling pretty dang amazing after that proving that I have a domestic side and that I can cook delicious healthy food (my confidence was a little shaken after a bad experience with some tofu pasta--don't ask).

Sounds like my day was pretty fantastic up to this point. Can it get better you ask? It did. Watching my mom laugh so hard she cried while watching Albi the Racist Dragon.

Our bomb photographer

2010-03-05T10:44:00.000-08:00

We just got our engagements done and our photographer is AMAZING. Before viewing our photos, you should first understand that James is finishing his doctorate in psychology and is obsessed with his record collection. Also, I apparently cannot ride a bike very well. The pics will make more sense now.

It was so fun too. So let me know what you think of them!

Isn't James adorable? And isn't his hair ridiculously amazing? Oh, it is. Trust me.

2010-02-15T12:15:00.000-08:00

I finally got a ring. And sorry to sound so cheesy, but I have the best fiance. Ever.

Honesty may or not be the best policy

2010-01-25T11:21:00.000-08:00

You can always trust an Israeli to tell you exactly what they are thinking. As Americans, we think awful things about people, we say awful things about people (behind their back, of course), but we would never ever say exactly what we thought, right when we thought it, and right to the person's face who we thought it about. We think that would be rude.

But other people, thank heaven, are different from Americans. Other people like my Israeli friends Dina and Eli, an older couple who run a Mexican restaurant in Phoenix. We've been good friends for a few years now. I've even cleaned their house in exchange for humus and pita.

Today I went in to share the news of my engagement. I walk in am greeted by Eli who forgoes "hello"entirely and expressionlessly says "You lost some weight."

"Yeah, I lost a little weight. So anyways (flash ring), I'm engaged!"

"You lost weight," Eli repeats in accented English.

By this time, Dina had come out from the kitchen, takes one look at me and says, "You lost weight. And in all the wrong places too."

She then told me that I need to eat more machacha so I can get my chi-chi's back.

By popular demand

2010-01-18T19:33:00.000-08:00

and an influx of questions, I have decided to shed a little more light on the last post. I kind of sprung it on all you folks, but trust me--it sprung up on me too.

And yes, it's for real. On May 1st I am going to marry the man I love in the Mesa, AZ temple. I am completely and utterly thrilled. I'm also about 99% sure I am the world most annoying roommate right now. My happiness is absolutely disgusting. I fully admit it. And really cheesy things have been escaping my lips as of late. And I'm becoming something that sort of resembles "tender" and "sweet." It's very very weird and my family is still in shock from the transformation. What's weirder still is that it feels so natural to be so cheesy now. Creepy, huh?

So this is James Clayton Reeder (and me, of course).

And I love him. I am absolutely in love with this guy. He's 30, from Mesa, went to BYU for his undergrad and is in his last year of his doctoral program in clinical psychology. And yes, sometimes I AM afraid he is going to psychoanalyze me. He's incredibly kind, incredibly smart and very genuine. In fact, at first, I wasn't sure I could date him because he had no "jerk" in him at all. I found myself in completely new territory and basically didn't know what to do with him. I met him in my singles' ward and my dad met him first (temple recommend interview) and yes, he approves. In fact, a couple weeks ago he basically told me to "not blow it" with James.

And yes, things happened a little fast. A lot faster than the next three months is going to feel. Of that I am sure.

So I'm engaged

2010-01-17T20:03:00.000-08:00

I know. I stop posting for a little bit and look what happens.

My life=complete

2009-12-10T20:26:00.001-08:00

I had Panda Express today and it was free. My company had them cater our dinner tonight because we are all working overtime to do the company inventory (I worked 13 hours today and will do the same tomorrow). So I am all done with this semester--there is no homework haunting my spare time--and I got to eat FREE Panda Express. To top it all off, my Christmas shopping is all done. If someone told me that season 4 of Arrested Development was about to start production, I would probably die of happiness.

2009-12-09T22:16:00.000-08:00

I have officially finished my first semester of grad school. And all I can think about it how badly I want Panda Express.

Oy Gevalt

2009-11-30T21:16:00.000-08:00

I know it's strange, but I have a fear of not being able to speak Yiddish. That, snakes, and forgetting to put on pants when I leave in the morning pretty much sum up my greatest fears in life.

The fear isn't simply that I cannot speak Yiddish, but specifically, I fear that I if I were to run into Mel Brooks at, oh say the supermarket or movie theater, I would not be able to speak to him in Yiddish and tell him how amazing I think he is and I would feel like a total shmegege.

That being said, I've decided to pick up trying to learn Yiddish again.

Giving Thanks

2009-11-25T18:54:00.000-08:00

I should publicly express gratitude with great frequency and not need to hide behind a holiday as an excuse to do so. But I never said I was perfect.... so in honor of the holiday, I figured I'd share a few things that I am especially grateful for right now. Especially after the last blog entry I wrote. I now feel the need to prove that my life isn't totally awful. In fact, it's pretty dang awesome (minus the boot cast).

So here goes. I am thankful for...

1. First and foremost, my family. My whole entire Big-Fat-Greek-Wedding-times-seven family. They are everywhere I go. Seriously. I mean, I have a HUGE family. These people alone make coming back to the AZ worth it. I had a lot of people I needed to get close to again.

2. Dreyer's seasonal ice creams. Pumpkin rocks, but seriously, I could eat Peppermint ALL DAY. Good thing they are just seasonal or I'd have to buy bigger pants.

3. The Tierra Rica Spanish branch. I started going in addition to my n

ormal single's ward because I felt like I needed to get my spanish solid. Best decision EVER. Suddenly, I have weekly dinner invites, a tummy full of tres leches cake, and invitations for Mexican weddings and Quinceaneras all over my fridge. All that=happiness.

4. My roommate Amy, who brings with her a total of 0% drama. And she's clean. And really funny. And gives me lots of healthy recipe ideas. And she like The Smiths. She's basically the perfect roommate.

5. My friends. I have the most amazing friends ever. That seems like something Paris Hilton would say in an interview with People magazine, and as much as that makes me want to hit the backspace key, I can't. I really have amazing friends. A lot of you guys reading this fall into that category and I hope you know who you are and know how much I love you. If I've ever read you my journal, bawled uncontrollably in your presence and you still speak to me, or flown somewhere to see you or be your bridesmaid, if we ever stayed up really late chatting about life and such, shared a twin bed, camped together, wrestled in water spilled on the kitchen floor, went to the desert to burn a hateful hateful calculus book, or burned anything together (yeah, I'm a bit of a pyro), driven across the ENTIRE country together, or imitated bagpipes while strolling through France, you fall into this category. And if you have (or your mother has) ever cooked for me, you DEFINITELY fall into this category (and so does your momma). Thanks for being there for me guys. Even though you are spread out all over this planet (which is so lame), I am so grateful to have had you in my life. And I really miss you.

6. upcoming vacations

7. lovesacs

8. Arizona winters

9. imeem.com & pandora.com. If you don't know what either is, just go. Right now. Just go and check them out. Trust me.

10. caffeinated crystal light. I may owe a master's degree to you one day...

11. DEEP-FRIED FLAVOR-INJECTED TURKEY. We Thornhills do not mess around with our meat.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

This is my life...

2009-11-22T09:24:00.000-08:00

I've avoided updating my blog because I haven't had much in the realms of happy news to report. But hey, if news channels waited for "good" news to air, we'd be stuck watching reruns of Law & Order 24/7 and never getting a daily dose of that silver fox Anderson Cooper that we all (i.e. me) seem to need to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

So here goes. My update:

I got the swine flu. It sucked. It was especially ironic that just the morning before I came down with it, I was musing over the fact that it had been a decade since I'd had the flu. I still went to school to take a final. I had a fever and was shaking while I took it. Before you judge me for infecting everyone, any of you guys paying for your own school would have done exactly the same thing. To add to my list of reasons I hate Wal-Mart, I managed to get in a fender-bender in the Wal-Mart parking lot. I guess there's all sorts of things you should do when you get in an accident...get their insurance information, not admit guilt...I basically did none of these things. Luckily for me, I hit the nicest old couple in this country. When they called to tell me the bill would be over $1000, and I proceeded to cry (in between classes), the husband told me to "just not worry about it" and there was too much good in life to get bogged down by something so trivial. The next day they told me that they told the insurance that they didn't know who hit them and just had me pay the $200 deductible. They said I just had way too much life ahead of me and they didn't want this little thing hanging over my head. I left bran muffins on their doorstep a few days later with a thank you note for being so lovely and the day after that, when I got home from work and class, there was a thank you note that they had dropped off, thanking me for the delicious muffins. These people singlehandedly restored my faith in the general goodness of man. They'd have to be absolute saints to thank me for those muffins.

Rock climbing has been my vehicle for dealing with stress these last several months. With full time grad school and work and attending two wards on Sundays (I attend my singles' ward and a spanish branch and have callings in both), life has been really insane. THe kind of insane that I like, but nonetheless, insane. Rock climbing is what kept me balanced and brought me great joy. That is, until I managed to land wrong when I jumped down from reaching the top of a bouldering route. It began swelling immediately and I couldn't move it or put any weight on it. I iced it and could only lie there until I didn't feel like either vomiting or passing out (which took about 45 minutes). I then drove myself home. The next day I woke up and couldn't put any weight on it. So I went to the doctor and, as fate would have it, I fractured my fibula and had either a bad 2nd degree sprain or a 3rd. In other words, my life was sucking pretty bad at this point.This picture was taken not even 24 hours after the accident. A couple days later, my foot was this gorgeous purple and blue. It also swelled up much larger. I felt like elephant man. I kept wanting to exclaim: "I am not an animal! I am a human being!" (skip to 2:30)

So the doctor stuck me in this equalizer boot that I was going to have to wear until the possibility for me to bear children had passed. My life felt over.

However, after about 2 weeks in the boot and no follow-up doctor visits (screw that, I thought), I decided that my fibula was no longer fractured and my ankle no longer messed up. I stopped wearing the boot. I went to the gym to try and lose some of the 10 lbs I managed to gain in the two weeks of inactivity and subsisting entirely off of Dreyer's peppermint ice cream. I even did some rock climbing. Life was good.

That is until the doctor's office called and said they found more stuff on the x-ray and that I needed to see a podiatrist asap. So I went to a podiatrist who told me that I could either wear the boot for a few more weeks, then wear a brace for three months and do intensive physical therapy--or I could have surgery and a lifetime of issues. The choice was mine to make.

To my discredit, it took 45 minutes of Dr. McKay lecturing me and another 5 hours of weighing out the pros and cons of both sides in my mind before I actually decided to put the boot back on.

After the doctor's lecture, he then proceeded to try and set me up with a former patient.

No joke.

Confused

2009-11-04T10:55:00.001-08:00

I'm confused. Since when did the "dia de los muertos" become "dia de los slutty costumes galore?" I mean, really. Ladies and gents. Really.

My facebook newsfeed has been streaming loads of Halloween pictures from people I know--people who any other day of the year appear quite unlike the aspiring porn stars they portray in these photos. I'd say a solid 3/4th of the images I've seen fall into this category. People who would never say "hell" and "damn" dressing as Victoria angels and speedo models. Confusing.

All I can say is that when I have children, I'll be spending October 31st with my hands over their innocent little eyes.

Bag lady

2009-09-23T23:19:00.001-07:00

My conversation with a co-worker today:

Me: Geez Chris, I need to find a way to get more sleep. Check out the bags under my eyes.

Chris: What bags?

Me: What do you mean what bags?

Chris: Well, you've got that make-up under your eyes.

Me (getting super confused): What are you talking about? What make-up? Is my mascara running?

Chris: You have all that black under your eyes. All that eye shadow.

Me: Um, Chris, those ARE the bags under my eyes.

Chris: Holy crap. Erin, you need to get some sleep. You look like someone gave you two black eyes. I thought it was makeup.

Me: Chris, why would I use make up to look like a complete mess?

Chris: [silence]

Needless to say, full time work, full time grad school and an internship are all catching up to me.

Bad idea of the day:

2009-08-12T10:52:00.000-07:00

Eating bluberry yogurt over 2 months after the expiration date. Bad, bad idea.

A dose of perspective

2009-07-22T08:26:00.000-07:00

I spent two hours in the hospital yesterday getting a much better perspective on my life. This happens from time to time. Occasionally, I leave the very small place that is my world and get a better idea of what all this is really about.

While just hours earlier I was distressed about my woeful love life or something else equally trivial, I sat there comforting a mother whose 19-year-old son was in very critical condition--in ICU since a July 10th back surgery from his neck to tailbone--and was now having a violent reaction to too much morphine.

Suddenly, I did not have any problems worth mentioning. As I held my arm around her, praying for both this poor kid and his remarkable mother, but I could not help praying that I would never be sitting in her chair, helplessly watching over my child suffer through years of unspeakable pain.

To all those strong enough to be that mom, I salute you.

Most disturbing thing I've heard in a while

2009-06-18T15:28:00.001-07:00

I'm certain that these sort of conversations are not overheard at Neiman Marcus, but until the day that I can afford to even touch a catalog from that store, I will continue to experience such gems as this:

I'm standing in line at the Ross Dress For Less today, cart full of towels, a rug, shower curtain and other miscellaneous home stuff that I've managed to go years without owning thanks to very kind roommates and my knack for mooching. The lady in front of me is trying on the reading glasses that are sitting on the counter, temping the geriatric impulse buyers that seem to saturate my state.

The woman was there with what must have been her daughter. They both shared either an unawareness of their size when getting dressed in their neon spaghetti straps and acid wash booty shorts or a deep desire to show off the square footage of their ample flesh. Whatever the case, the mother stood trying on reading glasses while the daughter was purchasing more of the aforementioned clothing. The piles on the check out counter suggested she thought a nuclear holocaust was impending and she would be prepared to ride out the storm always dressed and ready for a NASCAR event.

"These 'uns here must be for people who don't see too good up close," the 40-something woman said removing a pair and grabbing for another brightly-colored pair of glasses. As she put those on she turned to her daughter.

"I can't see past the !$%* hood of my car when I drive, but there's no way in hell I'm gonna pay some crook to get some glasses."

The burly security guard waiting at the entrance a few feet away looked over at me. We exchanged frightened glances.

I was mind boggled as I tried to decide what was more disturbing: the fact that she was basically driving blind or that she thought that glasses she bought at Ross were going to correct her vision issues. Yikes.

Getting Old

2009-06-16T11:59:00.000-07:00

Things I've learned on my latest road trip:

1) Contrary to popular belief, I can actually drive long distance without a red bull. Not pretty, but possible.

2) Arizona is hot. I mean, we all know it's hot, but it's sick crazy hot here. Watching the temperature on my dashboard drop 50 degrees en route from Phoenix to Provo was not comforting considering we are only halfway into June.

3) Delvine Jackson is a husband stealer. There were many more things I learned about the people of Kanab, UT from reading what was written on the bathroom stalls of the local service station. However, while the other things were rather informative, this was the only revelation appropriate to make the list.

4) I can no longer finish an entire order of french toast from Magleby's Fresh, let alone get my money's worth from being all-you-can-eat. Sad sad day.

5) I am getting old. I am no longer a crazy college kid. I like going to bed early. I drink herbal tea and never ever drink soda. I am very concious of my fiber intake, I like NPR and have absolutely no idea why girls are wearing headbands like this:

Kickboxing

2009-05-21T19:10:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, I was sitting with my dad and two sisters in a theatre at Gilbert Community College waiting for my mom's voice recital to begin.

I sat reading Slaughterhouse-Five when suddenly I overheard my sisters conversation which was basically a discussion of the value of punching someone in the throat or the face and which one would cause A) the greatest damage and B) the greatest pain. I put Vonnegut down, turned to my sisters and asked them what in hell's name they were talking about.

"Well," explained Vanessa quite factually, "if you punch someone in the throat it hurts waaayyy more. I mean, haven't you ever wanted to punch someone?"

I sat and thought and realized that, in fact, it was just that morning that I had consciously thought how much I wanted to punch the person right in front of me right in the face.

I hit up the yoga and spin classes regularly at my gym, but have wanted to start going to kickboxing. I had always really liked it before, but since moving back to AZ, I hadn't been able to go very often. In fact, the one time I went, it left me sore and whimpering for days. But, not one to be beat, I attended another kickboxing class last Saturday morning.

I walked in and expected to just do my thing, channel my inner Billy Blanks and call it a day. But the teacher was so unbelievingly irritating, I had to use all my strength to keep myself for just walking out of the class during the warm up.

She was your typical gym bunny: 70 pounds, massive fake bosoms, super tan skin, long blond streaks, and a high squeaky voice that'll make your toes curl. Now, I am not one to judge. I was fully prepared to like her immensely, but the moment she started screaming "HI-YAAAHHH!" as loudly as possibly INTO HER MICROPHONE headset every single time she kicked, I gave myself permission to hate her just as much as I wanted.

Those who know me know that I am practically deaf. But I kidd you not, there were times in that class I just had to just stop doing whatever we were doing, cover my ears, and find my happy place. It was so annoying.

So class continues and at one point she starts dividing everyone up into pairs for some "sparring." She chose me as a partner. Just my luck. So she started punching at my face and I was supposed to dodge. At this point, not only was she yelling RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, but she was now yelling and trying to punch my face. I'm still repenting for the violent thought that began racing through my brain at this moment.

Then it was my turn. I was supposed to try and punch her face while she dodged. Oh, how my luck instantly changed. At that moment in time, there was no one in the world (besides Robert Mugabe, Nadya Suleman, Nancy Grace etc) that I wanted to punch and here she was actually screaming into a microphone and telling me to hit hard and faster.

Of course I didn't hit her. But I did really want to. And because of that, I've decided that kickboxing makes me an angry person and that I'm just going to stick to yoga and spin classes.

New Car

2009-05-13T21:29:00.000-07:00

While totaling my car wasn't fun, it's turned into a blessing in disguise. I got a new car. Not that the Civic was all that bad, but it's nice to have a car that I can roll the windows up when driving over speed of 20 mph. And when going up hills while traveling on interstate highways, I will no longer get passed by these:

I like my new car. It looks like this:

And, in case you are following my bad luck, US Airways sent me a travel voucher and a check for my lost baggage. Not perfect, but much much better.

I love these things

2009-05-11T16:52:00.001-07:00

You've gotta love the French...

2009-05-06T20:16:00.000-07:00

Today my dentist office sent me a text to confirm an upcoming dental appointment.

I love technology.

"I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose." Woody Allen

2009-04-23T21:56:00.001-07:00

A good friend once told me that when life throws hard things your way you can either laugh or cry it all out. Since I really hate crying--my eyes get all puffy and I basically look like a punching bag--and I'm trying to be more like this particular friend (the most excellent, Nicki Preece), I've taken to laughing a lot more. When the plane came down on the Hudson months ago, my coworkers and I discussed how we each would have reacted if in the same situation as the passengers. I imagine that I would have either begged the hot guy next to me to make out with me before we both plummet to our deaths, or actually explode from my insides freaking out so much.

My mind then wondered how Nicki would have responded if in such a predicament. Suddenly, in my minds eye, I saw Nicki, standing there on the wing of the plane with everyone around her somber and shaking in the frigid waters. No doubt, if she was in such a situation she would ponder her bad luck for a moment, then burst into her crazy deep and penetrating laugh that makes you either want to start laughing with her or smack her silly for finding everything so dang funny.

Nicki laughs at everything because she seriously find pretty much everything absolutely hilarious. That's just the kind of person she is. Just happy all the time. A definite cup half-full kind of person. I tend to laugh when I go into shock and lack the ability to do much of anything else.

Like 2 years ago when I started mountain biking, I went on a ride with my far-more experienced little brother. He zipped around the desert landscape, dodging cacti as he wound along the hilly, curvy bike trail. Less adept than he, but refusing to be shown up, I followed as closely as I could and felt that every sharp turn was going to take me face first into a prickly giant cactus and zillions of sharp little rocks. Minutes later, my fears were realized, but bloodied and ego-bruised, I got back on the bike refusing to give in. We continued on the trail and suddenly my brother disappeared as he zoomed down a very steep hill. I followed, my bike speed increasing, control lessening, and my blood pressure sky rocketing.

Then, before I had any idea what was happening, I rode straight into the biggest, thorniest, most gnarly 9 ft bush on planet earth. As I pulled myself out, I could feel the flesh on my arms ripping against the merciless thorns. My arms looked as though they were used as a cats' scratching post. It was pretty sick/cool. My legs too were bloodied up and I was about to black out. I sat there until I felt like I wasn't going to pass out and we started riding back to my car, taking a short cut. I started chuckling to myself on the ride back as I imagined how I must have looked just zooming, without braking one bit, straight into the unforgiving bush from hell. Staggering like a drunkard as I hopped off my bike, I tried helping my brother get the bikes back on the rack. But the chuckling soon became hysterical laughter. I sat on the asphalt next to my car because a) I was still on the verge of passing out and b) I was laughing so hard that I couldn't really stay upright. Tears were running down my face and I was shaking from laughing so hard. I'd stop breathing for bits and then burst into more maniacal laughter.

Since my brother didn't drive stick, I had to drive home, still bloodied up and laughing like a complete lunatic. He said later that he'd never been so scared in his entire life.

That was kind of like this morning.

At 7:30am, as I sat down at my desk--luggage STILL lost after 3 and half weeks (with mission scriptures, jewlery, and over $2000 worth of clothes and stuff--oy, I feel sick thinking about it), i-pod stolen, hamstring pulled, and car just totaled 45 minutes earlier--I started laughing. It was the kind of quietly delirious laughter that prompts co-workers to turn and look at each other with eyes that say "Yep, it's finally happened. Erin has completely lost it."

"Here, Erin, have some cake," said Jolene, dishing me up some pinapple upside-down cake she had made for the shipping guy, Carl's, birthday. She knows me very well. I told her I felt like vomiting and couldn't possibly eat the cake. But thanks, anyway.

Five minutes later, I had downed two pieces and I don't even like pineapple upside down cake.

Herbert Spencer was definitely on to something.

2009-04-12T00:06:00.000-07:00

Call me cruel and insensitive, but sometimes I really think that we should embrace the whole "survival of the fittest" concept. Let nature take its course, and save the rest of us a few headaches.

Case in point: this.

Newest Creation

2009-04-08T23:04:00.001-07:00

I just made the coolest reusable grocery sac/tote ever. No really, it is. Pictures don't do it justice. I made it as a "thank you" for a friend in DC who pretty much bent over backwards for me while I was there a couple of weeks ago (don't worry Sheryl, I've got two in the works for you and Leah). Like another one I posted a while back, it's made entirely of repurposed grocery sacs. It's the sturdiest I've yet made. I dig the color combo and the handles running along the side (made from GAP bags). It's for a guy and I'm hoping it's manly enough for a guy to carry groceries in. What do you think? Manly enough?

Holy Moley

2009-04-06T08:30:00.000-07:00

I never believe people when they say that they don't care what people think. Maybe that's just because I am lying through my teeth whenever I say it.

Don't get me wrong, I try not to care what people think. It just doesn't work all the time. And it's not like I am a slave to the whims of those around me, but I'm pretty sure I could have gone my entire life without having heard my name, "Enrique Iglesias," and "mole" in the same sentence.

So last Friday, I had the offending mole removed. I had never really thought the mole noticable or unsightly, but one comparison to Enrique was enough for me.

Needing assurance, I asked another friend if my mole was really ugly or noticeable. She refused to answer and instead encouraged me to not care what people think. Which was all good advice until she started talking about how I could be a role model for children with massive birthmarks or disfigurement obscuring their faces.

Needless to say, my signature mole is gone. I feel sort of naked. This was one of the last moments before the mole was removed (btw, my nose is not that big).

2009-04-02T23:06:00.001-07:00

Still no bag :(

US Airways, Chris Brown and Robert Mugabe all belong in Hell

2009-03-30T20:05:00.001-07:00

Never check your bags with US airways. You may never see them ever again. This is, unfortunately, my situation right now.

Coming back from my DC/NYC trip, I checked my bags, filled with my favorite clothes and shoes (including an amazing pair of red wedge slingbacks I had just purchased in NYC), my tourquoise necklace I had made in Jerusalem, my macbook powercord, my cell phone charger, my chi flat iron, my new puma and nike running clothes (bought for the marathon), new Gaultier perfume, perscription meds...the list goes on and it's all gone gone gone. All in a brand new samsonite roller. I've felt like vomiting for days.

When I told my cousin who works for the airline about my predicament, he said that I'll probably never see my bag again especially if it went through Philadelphia. He said the disgruntled workers have routinely set fire to bags or thrown them in the river. Needless to say, I felt fantastic after talking to him.

When I brought up "the Philadelphia issue" with a US airways employee who has been helping me, she became very silent and then said, "Ma'am, the situation in Philadelphia has gotten much better as of late." She then told me more horror stories about what the workers did to bags. I couldn't quite figure out why because the more she rambled on, the sick feeling in my stomach grew and the more certain I became that I would never, ever see my bag again.

It's been three days and there is no sign of my bag anywhere. Please pray they find it...I'm really freaking out.

2009-03-26T14:45:00.000-07:00

I think that I may end up in Washington D.C. afterall. My initial timing was just a bit off.

Last Saturday, I ran the national half marathon there and as I ran with the hordes past the capitol building and the Washington Monument (all the while praying that I would regain feeling in my hands and feet), I began to fall madly in love. It was like a void that I didn't know could be satisfied was beginning to be filled by being in this amazing city. The love grew as I ran through Columbia Heights and past the wonderfully rowdy residents with tables of free cups of beer for the runners and the happily bundled people cheering from the sides carrying signs that said "Your feet only hurt from kicking so much a--".

These people are so great it brings a tear to my eye.

The museums, the people, the food (Ben's Chili Bowl)---just the overall vibe---I can't get enough of it. It was 5 days of soul-satisfying goodness. So after my masters program, D.C., here I come.

Humbled

2009-03-11T21:03:00.001-07:00

Remember that one day in high school, the one where you go to the doctor and he's like "you have acne--let me give you drugs?" Well, that day never came for me as the perpetually clear-faced teenager. It came last Friday.

After achieving real adulthood--actually having medical insurance not offered by a university--and after vowing to take better care of myself, I decided to go to the doctor to check out some moles. Being as it is that cancer runs in my family and that I have worshipped the sun for the last 25 years, the responsible thing to do would be to have my skin checked out. And since my life seems to not be going at all as planned, I figure skin cancer is the logical next step for me.

So after a good 30 minutes in the waiting room, another 15 in the private room in which I was placed by the nurse, Dr. Benton walked in as I was sifting through his cabinets and looking behind his jars. He began asking the routine questions, looking through my medical history, and listening to my heart and lungs. When the reason for my visit came out as "skin," without skipping a beat he said:

"Well, as you are well into your childbearing years..."

That first blow came suddenly and without warning. The second was to follow without even starting a new sentence.

"it would not be wise to put you on acutane." He was intently inspecting every inch of my face with his eyes and fingers as he continued, "But I have several other options for you that should take care of your acne."

He then proceeded to prescribe me three medications and dole out instructions for using them. When the initial shock wore off, I regained enough composure to ask about my moles. He looked me over for about 15 seconds and said "Oh, you're fine."

I asked him about the mole on my right cheek. I asked about having it removed possibly.

"Right, right," he said in an understanding tone, "It IS awfully prominent isn't it. We can take care of that." And he proceeded to describe the procedure.

A few moments later I was scheduling a couple follow up appointments to check on the efficiency of the acne meds and another to have a mole removed. I came into get my skin checked for cancer (what I thought was a very adult, "real person" thing to do) and left feeling like a pimple-faced teenager embarrassed by her visage and just hoping and praying that her acne would clear up before the prom.

In high school I was so grateful for my clear skin. I thought that I had cheated the system somehow. Little did I know that my awkward ugly stage wasn't in my past (well round 2, anyway), but awaited for me in the future. I hope this means I get to "blossom" at some point. I'm still holding onto that high school hope that there is a growth spurt waiting to happen in my chest. Fingers crossed.

say you love me

2009-02-09T15:28:00.000-08:00

The IT guy at work hates me.

It's not like I enjoy sending daily e-mails listing any number of problems that my computer is having at the moment--frozen monitor, inability to print, possession by demonic spirits. Or paging him over the company intercom when he ignores my e-mails.

He should love me. I equal job security.

All in the hair

2009-02-05T19:44:00.000-08:00

So I'm back to square one with the whole life plan thing. Well, not exactly square one, but they cancelled my Masters program due to our state's little financial woes and massive budget cuts--massive cuts especially in the realms of education. Brilliant move guys. Brilliant. Way to let an economic recession penetrate as deeply as possible for years and years to come. Maybe we should just shut down the universities. That'd save loads of money. We could build sweat shops to employ everyone not going to school and really start competing in the world economy. We'd sure give China a run for their money.

Don't mind me, I'm just a little bitter.

So I'm open to suggestions about what to do with my life. I think I'd make a killer lion tamer. Or maybe I could just go into politics. I'd have to move to Chicago, though. I mean, if they'll elect Rob Blagojevich as governor, I'll have no problems getting somewhere in that state. I just need better hair. Let's be honest, he may be a horrible human being, but you've gotta hand it to him for having such amazing hair.

Realization of the day:

2009-01-31T12:25:00.000-08:00

Amazing bargains or really hot shoes can pretty much solve whatever problems one is facing. Today, I got both. Life is good. And may Last Chance never close its doors...

Where I am and what I'm doing (and don't get excited and think it's anything cool--that chapter of my life is basically closed until further notice

2009-01-20T15:24:00.000-08:00

It's about time I've updated the blogosphere as to what I'm doing these days. I've avoided it for a long while because, frankly, I didn't really have any answer other than "I'm in limbo, and yes, in the Catholic way."

Basically, when I graduated last August from university, my plans had all sort of gone down the drain. I had worked so hard and shmoozed my fair share (e.g. my entire internship at the US Embassy in Israel) and I had all my plans set only to suddenly feel awful about carrying out them out just days before graduation. It pretty much sucked.

Now, I'm sure you're just thinking it was nerves and that it was normal to have reservations about making such a huge step in my life, graduating university and moving to DC to work for an NGO and all that. You may be right, but nerves never made me feel as though I was making the biggest mistake of my life and that God was about ready to smite me from the heavens. In fact, I love adventure and I love change. I wanted to go to D.C. so badly--I wanted the fruition of that dream so badly-- but I knew that I was not supposed to go.

Unfortunately, my one track mind left me sans a "Plan B" so I went to the last place really on earth that I wanted to go and that was back home. To Mesa, AZ.

I wont go into detail, but I was basically dreading coming back. I dreaded seeing people, moving in with my parents, and most of all, I dreaded getting "sucked in" and changing who I am. I was assured by one friend who had taken a job and moved to Mesa after he graduated that I would "definitely not fit in."

So I came back, worked as a minion at the aerospace manufacturing company that my father used to own (he now is considered a "consultant, but he owns the buildings so nepotism still works) doing really boring stuff while I saved for a month-long European adventure (which I did Oct-Nov of last year) and re-grouped and started making plans to move to NYC, or Portland, or Seattle, or...anywhere really. I just knew I needed out and that I was merely in AZ on a pit stop to something much grander.

Well, I was basically lost and miserable and felt pretty much forsaken. Try as I did, I couldn't make plans that I felt good about. This lasted about 4 months and then I decided that I was going to move to D.C. anyways and that I was going to ignore that "want to vomit" feeling and just get on with my life.

And then it hit me. I came to me quite suddenly and forcefully and I knew what my calling in life was. I'm going to try as hard as I can to not sound cheesy and cliche, but what came to me really was cheesy and cliche. I need to be a teacher. A high school history teacher. A far cry from my dreams of law school, being a diplomat, living around the world, one day becoming Ambassador (I mean who wouldn't want to be called "her excellency?") but for the first time in A REALLY LONG TIME, I felt peace about what I was planning. I even felt so good about the masters program I was going to apply for at ASU that would give me both a masters and teaching certification.

So not only am I choosing a profession I thought was gender-stereotyped, cliche, and certainly not for me, I am staying in Arizona for the next few years. And guess what? I'm so happy. So so so happy. I have great friends and a really full life. And I have what I've missed so much this past year: peace of mind in knowing that what I am planning is what I am supposed to be doing.

I've taken a full-time permanent position as a planner at the aerospace company and have committed to work while I attend school. I have benefits (so I'm finally medically insured and can, as my dad says, and now get cancer), which I guess, is something I dreamed of. And I know where I'm going to be for a while.

I've opened myself up to so many things that I had before shunned like The Plague. Things like playing card games, watching football, buying furniture, and quitting swearing. It's great!

Anyways, I excited for the new plans. I am really excited about teaching and even going to ASU. I am REALLY excited about a masters.

But if I don't get into the program, I'd like to be able to say that my new perspective will allow me to go to a plan B or C, even, but I'll probably just give up completely and become one of those people that stalks movie stars.

Kevin Spacey. Definitely Kevin Spacey.

"Maybe"

2009-01-01T22:20:00.000-08:00

I was on a nine-mile run in the desert today pondering a great many things (what one does on a nine-mile run in the desert on the 1st day of a new year when the previous one was INSANE) and I came to a startling realization: my generation cannot commit to anything. And I am, unfortunately, as guilty as can be.

Now, I am not just talking about relationships, though that is most assuredly true. We don't date as much because somehow, in our minds, committing to 2 hours with someone equates with picking out wedding colors and baby names. But it's not just that. We can't commit to much of anything. Just take a look at facebook.

When invited to an event of some kind we are given three options. We can hit "attending" and electronically commit to showing up some party, wedding reception or hugging a filipino on a specified day. Or we can hit "not attending" and refuse the afore mentioned activities. We are then given a third option, necessary for our current predicament of widespread indecisiveness:we can hit "maybe." And honestly, how many times do you hit "maybe?"

So instead of straight answers or accountability, we weasel our way around and casually respond "maybe." There are many reasons for the "maybe" we see so much these days. One is that we are always looking for a better option. Don't even try to deny it, you know you are. In our career choices, social events, dating pool---whatever---we are always looking over the head of what stands before us to what just might pop around the corner and give us reason to ditch what is currently tempting our time. We don't want to say we'll do something because a greater opportunity just might arise. Jason Bourne might end up at your doorstep slightly battered and

in need of some TLC and someone to give a hair cut. A rich relative you didn't know existed may call you up and invite you to cruise the French Riviera on their yacht (where, as chance would have it, Daniel Craig spends his time between movie gigs acting as the pool boy).

But the more common reason, I believe, is our inability to say "no" to things. Once again, we weasel around a bit. In our desire to never disappoint right off the bat, we rarely say no to a person's face. Whether they ask a favor we don't feel like doing, extend and invitation we don't feel like accepting, or recruit for some cause we don't feel like joining, we give them that half answer void of any sign of true character. We refuse to commit one way or the other and instead we drag out the disappointment. We can rip off a band-aid quickly or slowly and we tend to tug as slowly as possible under the pretense of "not wanting to disappoint." I really think Jack Johnson hit the nail on the head when he said "maybe, it pretty much always means no."

So why don't we just say what we mean?

I just took a look at a few events I was invited to on facebook and I basically feel very validated. One girl created an event asking for phone numbers from friends because of a damaged phone. Fourty-seven people responded "maybe." Maybe what? Maybe you'll give her your number, you've just got to think it over? Maybe you have one? Maybe nothing. Give the number or don't. But by all means, don't spit in someone's face with a "maybe."

While pondering these things, I was forced to recognize just how guilty I am in this whole mess. I hate saying "no" right out and yes, I do in fact hold out for Jason Bourne and his sassy scissors.

So I think that one of my resolutions this year is to be more decisive and accountable. To say "no" when I mean it, even if I will disappoint, and "yes" with the confidence that I will follow through come rain or shine because my word is my bond.

This is my resolution. At least it might be. I still need some time to think it over.

Scrooge no more

2008-12-06T14:26:00.000-08:00

I'm notorious for giving super crappy gifts for birthdays, Christmas etc, that is IF I actually remember to do anything. But I am turning a new leaf. I've even started my Christmas shopping already. I know, so thoughtful, huh?

I've been trying for a couple months and here is something cool I made my sister, Vanessa, for her birthday in October. It was given late, but don't judge me.

It's made entirely out of recycles grocery sacs or plastic sacs from stores ironed together to make a thicker plastic material that I could then sew together to create this sac. All is plastic except the handles, which are part recycles plastic and part fabric (I line them so they are more sturdy). I used bags I collected in Costa Rica and Israel this year. The side panels are the poka dotty stuff. I've made a few before, but this is pretty much the coolest thing I've ever made. It's to carry groceries. So you are seriously limiting waste here. Tight, no?

My trip

2008-12-03T18:53:00.000-08:00

As requested, I'm posting a few pictures from my most recent wanderings.
This is Kerstin, my German friend who put up with me for five days. She was my trainer on the mission. She remembered that during those first two transfers I pretty much only ate this chocolate candy disguised as the best breakfast cereal ever (it was cold and life was hard, what can I say?). She had a box waiting for me when I got to her apartment. Love her. So much.
This is Lucy, a gorgeous brazilian, and her boyfriend from Portugal. I can't remember his name but he is wonderful. He drove me from Geneva to Annemasse to get my luggage and then to the Geneva train station. Love these people. We had just eaten a HUGE brazilian meal with Joelma, her baby Estaban and Lucy's equally fabulous sister, Lucia, who refused to be photographed
This was in Rome. Apparently they ride the short bus there.
This is a view of Paris from Sacre Coeur. Yes, my hair is hideous and in desparate need of a cut in this photo.
My little french cupcake, Christelle. Her aunt, who was out of town, let us (plus her fiance Stephan) crash at her Paris apartment for a few days. It was really tight.

Me in Salzburg, Austria. It was freezing. And that is my new coat from Mango. It's totally awesome. Too bad I live in AZ at the moment...
Salzburg once again.
A "new" Mel Brooks musical? In like 1968.
Trevi fountain. Geraldine and I were people watching for a long time. We sat staring at these two guys arguing about whether they were gay or not. One guy looked in his mid thirties or later and was very attractive. The other guy looked about 15 and had his head on the other guys shoulder. No way, I said. It's his dad. My brother never put his head on my dad's shoulder like that, she countered. This went on for about 15 minutes until they started kissing. Geraldine-1, Erin-0.
Crappy picture of me in from of the coloseum. Rome. Abdout 10 minutes later some creepy kids tried to take advantage of us. Love Rome.

Switzerland somewhere between Geneva and Zurich. I fell in love with the country all over again. I will live there...again. Gorgeous place.
Gareith (a girl I found and taught who is now getting ready for a mission) and I had just left the church building when we witnessed a totally Jason Bourne-type car chase. The guy was in a sports car and was driving like a maniac weaving in and out of cars at about 100 mph. A solid 15 second later, 6 police cars followed. Several minutes later, the police had come back. The guy had totally lost all of them. Which is why the Jason Bourne car chases are so improbable. There wouldn't even be much of a chase. The foxy JB would lose those european cops in no time at all. No doubt in my mind.
Strasbourg, France. I lived just a couple minutes from here.
My door. It always smelled of pee and booze. It was the favorite hangout of the bums.

Lessons in the City of Light

2008-11-24T19:17:00.000-08:00

Riding around the Paris metro last week, I was taught a valuable lesson about life. Did this lesson come from an encounter with a wizened beggar, a refugee, or a courageous single mother? Or perhaps a particularly poignant philosophy about the meaning of things written on the walls in black permanent marker?

No, my friends. The source of this priceless piece of wisdom came by way of an advertisement for McDonald's. It seemed to be everywhere and whenever I saw it I couldn't take my eyes off of it. The slogan was "Venez comme vous etes" which means simply "Come as you are." It's basically a way of saying the becoming fat and diseased is for everyone. They don't discriminate. All are welcome at MacDo.

In any case, on these advertisements are several pictures of people from various lifestyles. Notice especially the picture below in the top right corner. We see that guy all the time. A nasty biker guy, right?
No, wrong. All the pictures happen to be of the same guy. He's just dressed differently. So now please direct your attention to the fox below to the left (or right depending on your particular taste).
All I can say is that I am definitely looking at all the hairy biker guys I work with MUCH more curiosity and wonder.

Reality check

2008-11-19T20:49:00.000-08:00

After roaming the planet my fair share this year, I am staying put. At least until next year. And I've decided that I am actually finally ready to contribute to the world and settle down. Maybe.

I feel that today, while I was going through customs today in Washingtin Dulles International, the customs official managed to put my life in perspective for me.

There were two customs officials screening US citizens and we were being seperated into two different lines just before we got to the counter. I was put in the line of the tall, well-built man with salt and pepper hair, glasses and a completely expressionless face. I noticed this guy seemed to be taking an extra amount of time with each person for while the short latino woman would screen through three people, yelling "NEXT!!!" after each one, Mr. Stare-into-your-eyes-to-see-if-you-are-lying-to-me would only screen one person. I was a little nervous because I had, in fact, snuck something I wasn't supposed to into the country. Frommage de Chevre. Well, actually Crottin de Chevre which is basically the best thing ever: french-made goat cheese.

When I got up to the counter, he eyed me suspiciously. I just hope he doesn't ask if I brought any food into the country, I thought. But instead he asked me the purpose of the trip.

"Vacation," I responded.

"Where did you go?"

"Uhhh...France, Switzerland, germany, Austria and Italy."

He gave me a quizical look and then asked what exactly took me to those places.

"Well, actually," I started. I thought for a moment and decided to give him the completely honest answer. "I graduated university and had no clue what to do with my life. So I figured 'Europe. Why not?'" Boyfriend could have been a psychologist. I might as well have been lying on a couch.

"And who paid for yout trip? That must have been expensive."

While he probably thought maybe some drug or human trafficing cartel was footing the bill, I took it a little differently considering what was bearing on my mind at the moment (becoming a real person with a real job in my own real apartment) .

"Listen," I said. "My dad did not pay for it. Okay, so I worked for his company for a couple months to earn the money, but it was me who earned the money."

In other words, I was begging to be respected even though I pretty much don't do anything. Clearly, he hit a nerve.

He continued to flip through my passport and ran over the various stamps and visas.

"Jordan, huh? What took you there?"

"I was doing an internship for the US embassy in Israel and I hopped over there while I had the chance."

Then came th look that drove it all home. His look clearly read: "So you have clearly had some amazing experiences in your life and yet here you remain jobless and directionless in search of your 'true calling' when in reality my dear you have to get a job and just do it like me for instance sitting here in this little booth you think i dreamed my little heart away about stamping peoples passports when I was a little kid but look at me this is what I do and it pays the bills and puts food on my kids table you little ungrateful brat who epitomizes what is wrong with the rising generation."

Meanwhile, the efficient latina had screened at least 5 people while I stood feeling like a parasite. All I can say in that guy should get a raise. Tough love. Very Hebrews 11. I finally feel ready to halt my gypsy ways for a moment and figure out my life. And as chance would have it, not 45 minutes later, waiting for my connecting flight to Phoenix, I ran into a lady from the Congo and started speaking lingala. She loved me immediately, which is not a feat with the Congolese: they love easily--especially if you speak lingala and will sing in lingala in busy airports. But turns out, Mrs. Decked-out-in-Marc-Jacob's husband of 26 years, an American, is the Vice President of an international NGO that is currently in 45 different countries. They have lived all over the world. She is convinced I was meant to work for them.

So we'll see...Maybe I can still be a gypsy AND have a real job.

Three days and counting....

2008-11-16T07:17:00.000-08:00

To say that the last week or so has been insane would be the understatement of the century. But I am reporting alive and reasonably well from an internet cafe not far from a Paris train station. I arrived this morning firm Munich on a night train. That was three hours late. So I got to share a little moving room with two strange europen women, one of whom ignored the statment that on night trains, "you are expected to wear your day clothes." She didn't wear her day clothes--or any clothes for that matter.

Right now I'm just killing time until 19h59 when my french friend, Christelle, will be showing up with her fiance. The three of us are going to chill for the next three days and then I will once again return to the land of nice teeth and customer service.

So that's two hours to kill and this internet is pretty cheap. At least it seems to be. Sometimes they gouge you at the til, but I'm at the end of caring. I just want to sit here and type away and not walk around aimlessly since being Sunday eveing, everythng is closed. I did my darnest while visiting church today to secure a dinner appointment for tonight, but instead I got one for tomorrow night. That works too. A lady from Ivory Coast is going to make me African food. I am pretty happy. I probably could have wrangled something for tonight, but as usual these days, a creepy guy with bad breath was "leaning" and I decided to split right after the meeting was over.

Oh, I saw Holiday on ice the other day in Nurnberg. I was afraid I wouldn't enjoy it, but frankly, it was awfully entertaining. Fruitiest dang thing I have ever seen in life. I got to see a group of men wearing skin tight clothes in magenta and baby blue adorned with 50% of the world's sequins pranicing about in ice and taking themselves very VERY seriously. It was so great. I was so entertained. Inspired, even.

Stuck in the middle

2008-11-09T11:23:00.000-08:00

Thanks to the fantastic work ethic championed by the Italian people, I am stuck in Rome. Transportation strike. Yea.

But on the bright side, I am walking distance to some pretty amazing gelato. That is what I will be doing all day tomorrow. Eating gelato. And looking at the beautiful men this country has no shortage of.

Reason number 5 why I love europe: trains and staring

2008-11-02T14:13:00.000-08:00

To say I've had a great time in France and Switzerland would be a gross understatement. I am about as in my element as possible. I just go around some of one of the most beautiful places in the world all day and see people I adore. And they feed me.

I also get to ride trains AND stare at people. These are two of my favorite things in the whole world. When you combine the two, it's pure ecstasy.

So the other day I was on train from Basel to Bern and I was sitting across the aisle from the most fascinating man ever. He was dressed in older clothes, his pants dirty, and his shoes worn in a great deal due to his severe pronation. He was tall, his hair a wild mess and was surprisingly good-looking. He had his breifcase opened before him on the empty seats he faced. The case was full of what looked like the free magazine ads that come with the newspaper. He was pouring over stacks of them. Next to him were a few scattered plastic sacks and a roll of brown packing tape.

This guy was one strange cookie. He moved seriously and in sharp, jerky motions. I was assessing the smattering of very random objects were strewn across the seats around him when suddenly he broke out a huge pocket knife and I began to see this ecentric man as exactly the kind of guy that would blow up buildings, eat his own clothing, keep journals of everything that left his body, and certainly reach across the aisle and stab a travelling American with a swiss pocket knife. I could practically see the news coverage. CRAZY MAN STABBS YOUNG AMERICAN TOURIST REPEATEDLY WITH POCKET KNIFE, TRIP ENDS IN TRAGEDY FOR DIRECTIONLESS AND NOW MANGLED COLLEGE GRADUATE.

I thought that maybe I'd better move. But it was as though he had cast a dark spell on me and I was glue to my seat and could do nothing but stare as he started cutting up the magazine ads. "This is how I'm going to go. This is really how I'm going to go," I thought. "Stabbed in a train in Switzerland."

He got up and ran to another car and I saw what looked like a nudy magazine on the seat where he was. At least I gathered that from the picture of the woman on the front with no clothes. But this IS Europe. It could have been advertising socks or bicycles.

"This is my chance," I thought. But like I said, the spell was cast and was fated to watch as his work unfolded. Even though he was no longer in the seat, i couldn't rip my eyes from his strewn belongings, from his tattered coat (totally a serial killer coat) to his German computer magazine.

When he returned, he looked right at me and I about peed my pants. Not wanting to provoke Mr. Crazy's attention, I gathered all my strength and looked away. I started staring out my window, but in reality, I was watching him through his reflection in the window so as not to appear that I was staring. He was messing around with the brown packing tape and cutting up the plastic bags into small peices with a pair of scissors. Wearied by his effort, he pulled from a sack at his side a kronoenburg beer and started chugging. Putting down his drink, he began wrapping the plastic bag fragments into rolls and wrapping them further in the brown packing tape making licorice length tubes. He cut them into little pellets and then proceeded to light each one on fire with a little lighter he had. Blowing each out after watching them a burn moment, he eventually tired of that and pulled out his laptop and began surfing the web until the train arrived at Bern.

It was like watching performance art. I couldn't have been happier.

Dear France,

2008-10-30T23:34:00.000-07:00

It's so good to be back. I heart you.

Erin

Prop 8/Prop 102 and why it's really not all about you

2008-10-19T11:10:00.001-07:00

I need to get some stuff off my chest and what's a blog for if not to get stuff off your chest?I don't present myself perfectly, but let me begin by offering to open a dialog with anyone who wishes (evthornhill@gmail.com).

There is a great deal of misunderstanding concerning the supporters for both the California Proposition 8 and the Arizona Proposition 102 and I cannot sit by another second and let close-minded and ignorant people spit out rhetoric dripping with hate and disdain. So many of these noisy opposers to the propositions cite hate for gays as the motivating force behind these proposition. But guess what people? It's not all about you. In fact, in my opinion, it's not about you at all.

It's about protecting our rights and not allowing others to impede on them under the banner of "tolerance." I will tolerate quite a bit, but the moment my rights are under attack, I will most definately react.

Let me first say this: If you are gay, that really truly doesn't bother me one bit. No really, it doesn't. Not even a little. I don't feel the need to dictate how someone else should live based on my beliefs. It's quite against my beliefs, in fact. If you don't believe me (that I could feel this way and be an active proponent of said Propositions) I'm happy to open up a dialog with anyone who wishes to do so. I have gay friends who I love because they are great people. We don't agree on everything, but friends don't always agree--they just continue to love each other regardless. If you want to share your life with one person, that's fine by me. It doesn't affect me and it's not in my agenda to force my beliefs on anyone else.

And that's the key to my stance on this issue: forcing someone's agenda on someone else and altering their life without their permission. Let me explain.

If these propositions don't pass and gay marriage is legalized, the effects of such things are far greater than what is one the surface. I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and my religion is essential to me. The Gospel of Jesus Christ and the Church I belong to has been the source of my happiness. I'm not trying to get all right-wing religious fanatic, but I'm just being honest with you. Not only has it brought me incredible happiness and peace in a world that I'm just not sure about sometimes, but I have seen first-hand its same effect on thousands of people around the world. Many people see organize religion as destructive ( my shout out to Bill Maher), and as a student of world history, I can certainly see why. But my church really is different. But that's not what I am hear to talk about. So let me continue.

Because The Church will not perform gay weddings in the temples (sacred building where worthy members are able to be married "for time and all eternity"), someone could sue the Church for discrimination and the temples would be shut down for not being in compliance with new legislation. The Church (and many many others) would lose their tax-exempt status and I don't doubt that law suits destructive to peaceful religions and people would be filling up and spilling over the sides of our judicial system.

Some might say, "This is a good thing. We've got to stick it to those horrible intolerant religions" (like my buddy Bill again, for example). But that is projecting the ideals of a group of people on everyone if this is to happen. I mean, what happened to freedom of religion? Freedom to teach you children the values you cherish?

I'm going to close with an essay written by a retired judge that fills in a lot of the gaps in the points I am trying to make. But once again, my support for these propositions is so that I can safeguard my rights, beliefs and values--value that are so essential to me. It's not about stopping anyone from living their lives, but it's about protecting really everything I hold dear.

Please read this article. Thanks for hearing me out.

Erin

GENDERLESS MARRIAGE: A BRAVE NEW WORLD?

by William T. Garner

Judge of the Los Angeles County Superior Court, Retired

It is no exaggeration to suggest that when California voters go to the polls in November to select a new president, they will also decide another issue at least as important. A "yes" vote on Proposition 8 will create a state constitutional amendment allowing marriage only between one man and one woman. A "no" vote will allow same-sex couples to marry.
What is the benefit and what is the harm of recognizing genderless marriage (marriage without a gender requirement)? Aside from being able to call themselves "married," there appears to be no benefit to same-sex couples that did not exist at the time of the 4-3 California Supreme Court decision of May 15, 2008 legalizing genderless marriage. Section 297.5 of the California Family Code already provided that persons who register as "domestic partners shall have the same rights, protections and benefits as married spouses." However, the harm of official recognition of such relationships as "marriages" may be irreparable.
Although we cannot foretell the future with certainty, if a genderless marriage remains lawful, then so must a polygamous marriage be. The California Supreme Court effectively changed the traditional definition of marriage by holding that an individual must be allowed to establish a marriage with a person of either sex with whom the individual has chosen to share his or her life. If the person chosen is already married to another and all parties agree, in light of the court's language, how can the state refuse to recognize a three-party marriage, or indeed place any limit on the number of marriage partners? We have recently seen in Texas and elsewhere that there are many people who want such a marriage, and it appears that choice now trumps tradition.

Many personal freedoms, including the free exercise of religion, may well be diminished or lost if the amendment is not adopted. Although the free exercise right is provided in both the U.S. and California Constitutions, because genderless marriage has now been held to be another constitutional right, who can doubt that there are judges who will decide that the marriage right must prevail over the religious one? Consider the following:
In Boston, the Catholic Charities recently closed down its adoption program because the state of Massachusetts insisted that every adoption agency must allow same-sex couples to adopt. Thereafter, an affiliated agency in San Francisco did the same.
A Methodist group in New Jersey lost part of its tax-exempt status because it refused to allow two lesbian couples to use its facility for a civil union ceremony.
In Albuquerque, a wedding photographer was ordered by the state's Human Rights Commission to pay $6,637 to the attorney for a gay couple because she declined to photograph the couple's commitment ceremony. She had explained to them that because of her religious beliefs she photographed only traditional marriages.
What of the effect on education? Section 51890 of the California Education Code requires teachers to instruct children as early as kindergarten about the legal aspects of marriage. The state's position that same-sex couples are equivalent to opposite-sex couples will in all likelihood require changes in school instruction to ensure that a homosexual relationship is not treated differently from a heterosexual one. We can anticipate that the princess in a children's story will be as likely to marry another princess as a prince. Differences between sexes will be minimized or ignored. What confusion will that create in the minds of young boys and girls?
If a parent objects to the teaching of homosexuality in the public schools, there is probably little he or she will be able to do about it. A federal district court in Massachusetts has ruled that parents may not prevent an elementary school from teaching their kindergarten and first-grade children that homosexuality and same-sex marriage are moral and acceptable, even though contrary to the parents' sincere religious beliefs, and that the parents are not entitled to notice of any such instruction or to opt their children out of it. That decision has been affirmed by the First District Court of Appeals. Incidentally, in that case a first grade student was required to listen to a teacher read the book King and King, a story of a prince who falls in love with and marries another prince. (Parker v Hurley)
In England, a Catholic school has been prohibited from firing an openly gay headmaster. In Quebec, a Mennonite school was informed by the Ministry of Education that it must conform to the official provincial curriculum, including teaching that homosexuality is an acceptable alternative lifestyle, or be shut down. The Mennonites say they will leave the province. A similar government position can be anticipated here.
A loss of free speech rights is likely. In Canada, the Alberta Human Rights Commission issued a ruling forbidding a Christian pastor from making "disparaging" remarks about homosexuality. Expect the same in California.
Opponents of Proposition 8 ask the public to discard the wisdom of centuries by giving official approval to same-sex marriage. But at what price? The mere fact that a practice is old may not make it right but neither does it make it wrong. We have already witnessed the loss of important rights, and recent history suggests that defeat of the proposition will bring others.
Let us hope for the triumph of reason over emotion.
William T. Garner
Judge of the Los Angeles County Superior Court, Retired

Brilliant

2008-09-30T19:37:00.000-07:00

This is hilarious.

Ear Coning

2008-09-19T19:19:00.000-07:00

If you have never done it, I highly recommend it. At least if you are the kind of person that takes much joy out of popping zits.

You basically light a special candle, stick it in your ear, and *viola* a few minutes later, this special "ear candle" has sucked out all sorts of nastiness from your cranium. You even get to see this nastiness. It is basically amazing.

I just did it and I swear that I hear so much better than I did before. And before you go thinking that I must have had some abnormally mingin' ears, I must say that I clean my ears with a q-tip everyday. So I'm pretty sure an ear cone would basically change your life too, no matter how clean you think your skull is.

Okay, so I'm about 99% sure that this post is what Michael Scott would call TMI (too much information) so I will stop and spare you a description of the post-use ear candle. But if you are interested, go to hi-health or Sprouts (or probably any health food store) and pick up your own set of ear candles. You wont regret it. Promise.

Jordan Knight in my heart forever

2008-09-14T01:40:00.000-07:00

My dream from 4th grade has finally been realized. And what a blessing it truly is.

When visiting my friends' homes as a child--friends with parents that didn't think video game would automatically make their children social outcasts--I would slobber over their nintendo systems. If they had a tv in their room with a nintendo attacted to it, I would be jealous beyond words. I would try to be as endearing as possible to the parents. I would begin cleaning their homes hoping they would notice how helpful I was and adopt me so that I too could have nintendo in my room.

I wanted nintendo SOOO badly. I begged my parents. But all of my pleadings fell on deaf ears. I mean, my father didn't break down and buy a computer until flat screened monitors became a standard feature in basically every household. He was convinced that computers and video games make children dorky. Like we'd get picked last in kickball if he kept up with technology. Well, guess what? I didn't have video games or a computer growing up and I was never any good at kickball (I did, however, kick trash in four square).

But as I mentioned, recent events have changed my life for the better. Thanks to kind neighbors who gave me their old super nintendo instead of throwing it in the trash, my mom trying to get rid of an old TV, and a dorky friend good with technology, I now have super nintendo set up in my bedroom. I played super mario for a solid 15 minutes today. From the comfort of my bed. It's just about the greatest thing to happen to me since New Kids on the Block busted onto the scene and changed my life forever.

Oh, and get this: the TV has a VCR attached to it. Classy.

BTW

2008-09-05T19:07:00.000-07:00

Gaucho pants are never a good idea.

Oh, the Injustice

2008-09-01T15:23:00.000-07:00

Gas prices are far too high. The inhumanity of it all is just mind-blowing. I mean, P.Diddy has been forced to ground his private jet and sit among the miscreants in first class due to the extravagant fuel costs.

Poor guy.

But this is P.Diddy we are talking about. Far from stupid or resourceful, he has taken the burden of lowering fuel costs on his very capable shoulders. He just made a video proving to the people of the world that gas prices are way too high. He also pleads with his "Saudi Arabia brothers and sisters" for free fuel so that he can be up and flying again in his private jet on his arduous commute to and from NYC and LA to pursue his acting career.

Frankly, there are so many places I could go with this and I'm at a loss of which direction to pursue. Should I talk about the environment and poverty and explain that there are much better ways to be spending both his time and money? Should I join him in begging his Saudi "brothers and sisters" for free fuel so he will no longer pester the innocent and unsuspecting passengers of his regular American Airlines flights? Should I recommend that he take an economics class to better understand that high fuel prices are not intended as a personal affront on ego-tripping, multi-bazillionare a--holes?

Well, Diddy, like you, I am at a loss.

Arts and Crafts

2008-08-19T20:37:00.000-07:00

Given the fact that "La Boheme" is now crashing at her parent's house (and yes, by "crashing," I mean "living at until she figures out what she's doing with her life") I figured I had better change the name of my blog to "the Mooch." It'd be false advertising otherwise.

And yes, I am a mooch. I own up fully to this fact. What can I say? I like free things. I've realized that out of the 4 cell phones that I have owned, I have only paid for one of them. The stereo in my car? Free. A healthy portion of my wardrobe? Free. All the mints in my purses? Free (thanks to those big bowls full of them sitting by restaurants doors just waiting for greedy hands and large purses).

I've pretty much spent the entire year, up to this point, mooching off the goodwill of those around me. I've crashed on a couch in Provo, a spare bedroom in Tel-Aviv, and now I'm in the guest room at my parent's home in Mesa.

But enough of all that. I want to share what I did today. I'm quite proud of it. I mod-podged a lamp shade using little things that I saved from my first trip to France. I was 18 and absolutely nuts--I just bought a ticket and went by myself. It was a pretty pivotal experience for me and was probably pretty instrumental in creating the nomadic lunatic that I am today.

So I now have a lamp shade to remind me of that amazing experience. Ticket stubs, maps, and brochures now adorn a lampshade on a really cool lamp I bought today at Goodwill for $4.99. While I do not easily part with my money, this was well worth it.

UPDATE

2008-08-04T21:13:00.000-07:00

1) I've decided that the only way to keep myself from a building ledge or walking into oncoming traffic is to leave. So come rain or shine, this girl is heading to Washington D.C. September 1st and is fully prepared to sell her soul for the right salary.

2) I am a reject of rejects. I sat for 1 hour waiting with the poor people or Provo to sell my body (plasma) only to find out that while the plasma of the smelly guy next to me was perfectly acceptable, mine was not. I've visited not one, but THREE countries on the malaria scare list. But with fibromyalgia, the technician said I could never donate regardless of where I went. They'll never want me. I was crushed. Sixty dollars a week extra would have made it possible to stop mooching rides, food, postage stamps, and laundry detergent from roommates, friends, and on occasion, complete strangers. But at least the guy let me take a juice box and bag of crackers (i.e. dinner) for my time.

3) I finished the last paper I'll ever write as an undergraduate and handed it in. It felt good. So good I might have actually leapt through the hall as I left Dr. Green's office, and incidentally frightened the guy coming around the corner.

Peer Pressure

2008-07-28T16:59:00.000-07:00

I just applied for a job that I'm 98% sure that I don't want. Why, you ask? Peer pressure. Plain and simple. I'll do just about anything short of selling my organs if adequately convinced. And it probably doesn't take much to convince me.

So I work at the MTC (Missionary Training Center) as a French teacher and teaching evaluator. I absolutely love my job. But I am graduating in a couple weeks and have been very much looking forward to saying goodbye to this part of the country. And when I say "very much" I mean that the only thoughts that are keeping me sane at this point are thoughts of me driving away from this place and starting a new life far far away.

Which is why I am surprised that about 10 minutes ago I just completed an application for a job that if I got, I would be expected to stick around another few years. Oi.

So here's what happened:

Basically, my boss has been encouraging all his employees with a pulse and an ability to string coherent sentences together to apply for his job. I have been resistant and resolute in my decision to NOT apply for the job since even before I left for Israel. But strangely enough, I've felt actually really good about applying for the job that could potentially destroy all my dreams. So naturally, I've tried to fight such self-destructive feelings. But today, on the very last day the job was open to applications, I sat down with my boss and somehow, he convinced me to run home and apply for his job.

And I did. And I think I might just throw up.

Plummeting

2008-07-07T18:57:00.000-07:00

I'm preparing myself for rejection on a titanic scale. I'm beginning the application process for just about every job opening in the Greater DC area that sounds interesting. And when I say "every job" I really do mean it.

I read something online that said to apply for all the jobs you are interested in, even if you don't necessarily fit all the qualifications. Usually hopelessly realistic, I took the advice seriously and have applied for positions that no one in their right mind would give me, but sound exciting. Regional Representative for the World Adult Kickball Association? It's only 10 hours a week. And what wouldn't I do to be able to say, "Why yes, I am with WAKA." An executive with the Royal Bank of Scotland? You can bet I applied for that one. The very thought of coming in daily contact with men in suits speaking with scottish accents is enough to make the rigorous process of writing 15,000 cover letters worth it. I can't imagine how annoying it will be when I actually have accomplishments to toot my horn about.

I have a place to stay in DC, rent-free, till I get on my feet with a job and such, so I'm significantly less worried about my future. Since I have a tendency to play worse case scenario with my life, this eases my mind quite a bit. By playing "worst case scenario," I mean that every time I walk down stairs, I see myself plummeting to paralysis. When someone doesn't return my call in a timely fashion, I assume that they have decided to hate me and form groups (with others who don't return my calls) dedicated to discussing all my negative qualities. When I plan to visit a foreign country, I figure a plane crash, political coup d'etat, or nuclear holocaust will make my plans impossible. I basically assume that everything that could possibly go horribly wrong will do just that. But hey, at least I'm never disappointed. Just pleasantly surprised that I have once again evaded failure. Hey, it works for me. It keeps me upbeat.

The End

2008-06-30T23:30:00.001-07:00

Today I started freaking out.

Not only did I write the last check to my university I will ever write, but I potentially found housing in Washington DC. Exciting, yes. Initially, I was ecstatic, but the absolute reality of my situation sat staring me in the face. This college experience (that I have managed to drag out over the last 7 years, taking time off to live in Switzerland, France and most recently Israel) is all really going to be over and that real life really is just around the corner.

Oh and by the way, if you or anyone you know has connections to a job in DC that wouldn't involve me wearing a shirt with my name on it, working with anyone that calls coworkers "champ," or selling my soul to the devil, please let me know. Connections, like spare car keys and leather, are things one can never have too much of.

Memories

2008-06-25T12:53:00.001-07:00

It's the end of the month and you know what that means: Police quotas.

My 7 year ticket-free streak officially ended Tuesday when I was pulled over in Cedar City Utah by an officer in shorts and a bright yellow polo. I don't profess to be pure in the area of traffic violations. In fact, any member of my family will tell you (as they just love to remind me) that I've had my fair share of run-ins with traffic enforcers. I admit it--I did have my license revoked for the last half of my senior year. But seriously, most of the tickets were totally the result of some power-tripping police officer. I mean come on, rolling through a stop sign at 11:30 pm in the middle of nowhere? A 35 mph in a 25 mph zone? They were angry men out to prove something. But I had put that behind me and have enjoyed a clean record the past few years.

Which is why when I got pulled over I started crying. I have never cried when I've gotten pulled over. My friends all tell me stroies about faking tears and getting out of tickets, but that has never worked for me. In fact, the thought always made me a little queasy. I usually am so ticked off (because it's something stupid), yelling is the only thing I want to do. One time, an officer asked "Do you know how fast you were going?" (I had been 10 over, rushing to get to track practice) and I had to use all my self control to not answer "No but you do, doncha'? Just give me the ticket and get on your merry way."

The one exception was my junior year when I zoned out for a few seconds (something I do regularly) and ran a red light and hit a car with an old lady driving. Don't freak out, she was not infirm or elderly. She was a pretty saucy lady, in fact. She jumped out of her car and started swearing at me and telling me I was stupid. I was bawling on a curb a while later holding my head in my hands and muttering "my dad is going to kill me" over and over again when the same lady came and put her arms around me and told me everything was going to be okay. The police just felt sorry for me and issued me the lowest possible infraction for the accident. Let's face it, I was pretty pathetic.

In all my other encounters with traffic-enforcing police, however, they were less than pleasant and I was far from teary. Tuesday's officer in Cedar City, Utah was actually a really nice guy. He was probably the kindest cop I had ever encountered. Which I found odd because if I was forced to wear a bright yellow polo and little shorts, I'm about 98% sure I'd have a chip on my shoulder. In any case, amidst my tears, he dropped the infraction from 17 mph over to 10 over, which cut the ticket in half. And these tears were genuine, make no mistake. All I could think of was increased insurance premiums after 4 months of an unpaid internship and nothing but high hopes for a job and "good plans" for this fall. Considering my vivid imagination and propensity to play the "worst possible case-scenario" with my life, at that moment, I was sure this ticket was about to ruin my future. I'd be even more penniless and vagrant. Since I already beg for food, I was frightened at the prospect of potentially even less money.

Looking back, I realize it isn't the end of the world. But it does take me back to a dark time when traffic violations defined my life. I'm being forced to relive some awful moments in my life. I see the faces of cops, faces smirking with the knowledge of their power over me as their pens move across their pad of paper, hell-bent on destroying me. I feel the shame of having to bum rides off everyone for the last part of my senior year of high school. And out of the haze of my memory, I see a wiry old woman, arms flailing as she barrels toward me with expletives spewing from her mouth. And I am afraid.

McKenna

2008-06-22T15:20:00.000-07:00

I love my little sister for a lot of reasons. Of course, one reason is I have to--she is my sister. But she's actually a pretty enjoyable person. A little quirky (can't be sure where that comes from...) and always surprising.

When she was nine and I was in my junior year at university, we were talking on the phone when she informed me that she had begun naming all the cars belonging to my family members. Amused, I asked what she would name my SUV (which was amazing, by the way, and I sometimes tear up thinking about how nice it was and how crappy my current ride is).

"Well, that depends," she said with a serious tone, "is it a boy or a girl?"

"Oh, I dunno," I responded, "and I'm not quite sure how to figure that out."

As though it was the most logical and simple solution ever, she exclaimed, "Just look underneath it!"

This is how my sister thinks. Or thought. That was five years ago--and she was nine. But while rummaging through my little sister's purse Sunday in search of a mint, what I found reassured me that she is still pretty funny. When I asked her why exactly she carried around six containers of hand sanitizer, goggles and a pack of baby wipes in her purse, she responded simply looking me right in the eyes and shrugging, "You just never know."

Later, I found her purse and photographed the contents. Evil, I know, but I couldn't help it. I just had to know exactly what she had in there. So here's what I found:

1 gold wallet

8 bottles of fruity-smelling lotions

6 bottles of antibacterial hand sanitizer

1 pen

1 yellow highlighter

18 lip moisturizers

1 tub of vaseline

1 candy bar from England

1 pair of orange socks

1 pair of swimming goggles

1 pair of sunglasses

1 tin of mints

1 package of baby wipes

I told her later what I had done. I had to because I wanted to know why she carried around all that she carried around. Her response, "I just do. You never know."

Right. One must always be prepared. You never know when you are going to be trapped in a dirty elevator with a bunch of people with really really dry skin and lips and you get cold feet and a hankering for chocolate. And when that happens, you can bet she'll be prepared.

Petra

2008-06-13T06:38:00.000-07:00

Road tripping through Israel with my parents and my older sister has been an interesting experience. Despite being a few weeks shy of 25 and my sister being 27, we still know how to push eachothers buttons in a way that merits our parents screaming at us from the front seat. I thought we'd all grown out of this, but apparently I was mistaken. I find myself saying, "But Vanessa started it," way too much. It's a little unsettling, actually. This and the fact that everyone in Israel think I'm 18 has led me to think that the only thing that will make me feel like an adult would be to move to the other side of the country and get a real job.

Well, I've got to say, the Dead Sea was a heck of a lot prettier than I imagined something called "dead." The white you see, however, isn't sand. It's rock hard salt deposits. Hey, can you imagine jumping in with cuts all over your body? That'd really hurt. And that's all I could think about as we were at the sea shore. While my family was commenting on the beauty of the sea, I was thinking just how bad it'd hurt to jump in with sores all over my body.Crossing the border from Israel into Jordan was quite an experience. Here Vanessa and I are waiting for our visa clearance into Jordan. This is my new hair cut.

Petra was AMAZING. I highly recommend going. To be honest, I really like Jordan as a whole and I hope to go back after a few arabic classes. Petra is about 44 square kilometres. We had to hike about 2.7 km into the city through these amazing cliffs. It was quite breathtaking when lille horse-drawn buggies weren't flying by full of bedouins hellbent on running us over and tourists with looks of panic glued to their faces.

My dad is probably one of the biggest geology dorks I have ever met and he was basically in heaven. For my dad, Petra was a geological dream.
This is the first facade you see coming into Petra. It was pretty incredible. The only thing that could have made it better would have been a younger Harrison Ford with the fedora and the bullwhip.
Against my will, the Jordanian tour guide (who didn't like that I was way too out-spoken) grabbed me and dressed me up. I think the store owner really hated me. First off, I put up a fuss about having to get dressed up in his store(I don't like being touched or dressed by strange men--weird I know) and second I gave him a really hard time about the prices. My israeliness was at a peak here.

Me: 12 dinar? Are you kidding me? Look at that little stain. And that one too.

Him: Fine. Go get another scarf.

Me: But I like this one and it's the only one you have.

Him: Fine. 10 dinar.

Me: And what about this bracelet?

Him: 6 dinar.

(the guide mumbles something to him in arabic)

Him (now more disgruntled than before): Fine. It's free.

The guide: He's my cousin.

(while checking out)

Me: What a minute Chachi, how much are you charging me fore the scarf?

Him: 12 dinar.

Me (moving closer and pointing at him): But you said 10.

Him (losing his cool and imagining himself strangling me with the scarf): But then I gave you the bracelet for free.

Me: But you said 10. Are you going back on your word, friend?

Him: Fine, 10.
Here are some bedouins on camels riding through Petra. Actually, up until the 1980s the bedouins lived in the rock rooms carved out of the cliff walls of the ancient city. I walked into one of the rooms and by the smell of it, I'd say I found the one they used as the restroom. I'm 95% percent sure.

Dead to Red

2008-06-11T12:58:00.000-07:00

Today was pretty eventful. I:

1. saw about a zillion camels.

2. went to Masada, hurt my foot, and sat staring at tourists for about a half-an-hour.

3. started hating passionately American tourists with loud voices and southern accents.

4. decided people should read much much more

5. got my hair chopped short in a hotel bathroom thanks to my sister, a really great hairdresser who never makes me pay and who I convinced to bring her scissors.

6. touched the Dead Sea. It's really salty.

7. decided to return to Provo earlier than I anticipated.

We're currently in Eilat, right on the Red Sea and tomorrow we're off to Jordan (where I will ride a camel, if the Fates smile upon me).

With all that talent, they were bound to be weirdos

2008-06-10T09:06:00.000-07:00

I've just come to the realization that there are far too many excellent songs with really weird and slightly creepy music videos.

1. The Hardest Part by Coldplay. I mean, am I the only one uncomfortable watching this?

2. Somewhere Only We Know by Keane. The music video is, in my opinion *cool,* sorta fairytale like, Big-Fish-esque--that is just up until there are odd glowing little tree alien things staring back at the band. I had seen parts of the music video before but just recently saw the whole thing. I was following them right up until the creepy alien things. They totally lost me there. And then, bam, the music video is over. It's sort of how I felt after watching "There will be blood." I followed right up till then end, enjoying the movie (as much as one can). Then the last minute left me unsettled and staring blankly at the credits with a dropped jaw and a queasy feeling in my stomach.

Okay, I said "far too many" and I only came up with two. I'm lame, I know, but I'm sure there are more. I just can't think of them at the moment.

Jerusalem continued

2008-06-08T23:37:00.000-07:00

So let me continue my story from where I left off while my buttocks were suffering. Geraldine and I had just come back from Al Pasha, a middle eastern food place in Jerusalem. Assad deposited us back at Jaffa Gate where our ghetto hostel was. Little did we know just how ghetto is was going to be.

We has dropped by earlier in the day to drop some of our stuff in the room and take some pictures of the cool view from the upper levels of the hostel (see below--the Dome of the Rock is just hidden by the building on the right). Staying in the Old City, I figured the ghetto-ness would be a fair trade for such a cool experience.

So we arrive back around 11:30pm and Geraldine goes back up to the private room that we booked while I stay in the common area on the main floor to use the WiFi and my laptop to retain what little connection I have to the rest of the world. I follow her up a few minutes later t find the door open all the lights off and Gerladine sprawled dejected on the bed. Or at least I think she was sprawled and dejected on the bed. The lights were out, so I couldn't tell. I go to flip on the lights and she announces to me that they aren't working.

This can't be true, I thought. No way. Not happening.

I run down and try to find someone that works there or call someone who can put the power back on, but to no avail. The workers had gone home, the pay phone wasn't working, and the hot guy from Paris didn't have a cell phone I could use. I raced to think of the way out--how we could fix this, but it was too late to find another place, the power box was locked shut, and we had no way of contacting the people that worked at the hostel. Geraldine comes down soon and, completely exhausted and a little irritable, we realized to our horror the truths of the moment: and we were going to have to suffer through the burning hot night with no power and in a sketchy place.

This is how people die. Or get raped. It's like we were in the first 30 minutes of a scary film. This is where the unsuspecting innocent girls expect fun-loving adventure and instead due to chance and bad luck are placed at the mercy of a psychopathic killer. I could practically hear the creepy music beginning.

We slept with the door open most of the night, which was most awkward for me because anyone who walked by saw only me lying on the bed, while Geraldine was hidden from view. But I was past caring. It was either be exposed to the world or die of over-heating. I chose being exposed.

By the next morning, our anger at the establishment was more muted and we left in reasonably good spirits before the workers arrived at noon or whenever they decided to show up and do their job (that was probably, according to Geraldine, a very American thing to say). I did leave a note on an envelope I found behind the desk detailing our discontent with their establishment. I wanted to say that unless they "want both toe-curling reviews on every website advertising their hostel that would insure that no normal human being stays there again and it to be my personal mission to destroy them," they should refund us the money. But instead, I watered it down considerably and some diplomatic crap like "should you wish to remedy the situation and improve our feelings towards our experience at you establishment..."

I still haven't heard from them. I'm already drafting the most awful reveiw humanly possible. Several actually. I will review their hostel as many times as it takes. As different people. With different experiences. Cockroaches crawling from the shower drain, sewage backing up, serial killers, Islamist terrorists hiding out--I have a few ideas. All I can say is they messed with the sleeping habits of the wrong person.

Maybe I have become a little scary...

Our bathroom. My favorite was a sign above the toilet that said: "Please do not flush tampons, pads or TOILET PAPER down the toilet. Please put them in the trash."

We didn't entirely comply.
The master deluxe private suite at the Jaffa Gate Hostel.
Okay, so as promised, the camel picture. Assad had taken us to a place where one could get a different view of the Old City. We got their and while Geraldine, awed by the veiw, discussed it with Assad near the ledge, I was mesmerized by the massive camel just hanging out. I take a few pictures when a young American guy comes up to me and asks me to take his picture with it. He said they normally charge for pictures, but the guy with the camel was out cold, snoring in the corner. So we shot a few pics. On the left side of my head, you can see the Dome of the Rock and in the bottom left, you see the Arab Sleeping Beauty. His rest would soon be interrupted when his boss comes and starts yelling at him for sleeping while we were freely taking pictures and playing with his camel. Poor guy.
Completely unrelated picture, but I wanted to post it. Last weekend I went to the Bah'ai Gardens in Haifa and it was amazing. Absolutely breathtaking and the people were real gems. Very calm peaceful people. I love the Bah'ai.
This is my last blog from the Aroma Cafe on Rehov Sokolov. My parents and my sister V arrive tomorrow morning at O'Dark Hundred (5:30am) and so I'll be all over the place for the next couple weeks traveling. I go to Petra on Thursday and I have to admit, I'm pretty pumped. I hope I get to ride a camel.

The Internet Thief

2008-06-06T13:25:00.000-07:00

It's 11:26pm and I'm sitting on a metal bar outside the cafe with WiFi (it is closed) and it seriously smells like pee. My bum is now starting to hurt.

A lack of comfort aside, I figured I'd fill in on the past few days. Last night we stayed at a hostel in Jerusalem that was pretty dang ghetto. But, I figured it was part of the experience. And oh, what an experience it was.

The hostel was right in the Old City, so we bused into Jerusalem early (from Tel-Aviv) and checked in and threw some stuff in our private room (I'll post pics later, PROMISE). We then went out and roamed the Old City and haggled with the sometimes sleazy dealers at the market. Luckily, we met a really nice guy who was selling gorgeous jewlery from his fathers store. He made Geraldine a fabulous necklace on the spot as I chatted with him in Hebrew/English. After she handed over the mula, he told me how much he liked me and said I could pick out any pair of earrings I liked as a gift from him. Never one to turn down free things, I picked a really nice set of earrings. I love them. Both because they are good-looking and because I tend to love anything free. Especially food.

So we roamed the city and at about 5pm, Assad, a really fabulous Palestinian guy who worked for the US Embassy came and picked us up to take us around. I've talked about him before. He is wonderful. Anyways, he knows the manager of the BYU Jerusalem Center (his old school chum) so he got us a special tour outside of hours. Then he showed us some really cool stuff and I took a picture with a camel (great story I will tell later when I post the pic). We then went to a local arab restaurant which was AMAZING. We were there for about 3-4 hours. No joke. We had a little drama-rama too when a large groups of Assad's friends came in and saw him eating with too very non-arab girls (e.i. us). We got some strange looks. That sat right next to us and listened in (quite obviously) to our conversation. He denied it, but I think he'll have some explaining to do...

Well, I really wanted to go on, but my butt is really hurting from this metal bar. Well, the left side hurts, the right side is basically numb.

WARNING:

2008-06-04T09:42:00.000-07:00

This is just an advanced warning to those who are going to see and interact with me in the next few months. Turns out, I've become far more Israeli than I realized. And when I say Israeli, I mean unpleasant.

Geraldine, my Swiss friend, arrived yesterday and it's been a real blast hanging out with her. However, she's alluded to the fact that I've become a little cold and no-nonsense. Being cold and no-nonsense, I really didn't let it get to me.

But that's a lie, because in the end it really did after I though about it. I've come to the realization that in adapting to my surroundings in order to survive, I'm just not quite a sweet and outwardly kind as I used to be. Or rather, I'm more or a jerk. When I first got here, and someone would give me the wrong change at the grocery store, I'd say, ever so sweetly and with a darling little smile, "Excuse me, but I think you owe me five more shekels..."

They would then look at me like I beat puppies just for kicks and not say a single word. I'd then continue, this time showing them my receipt and my change, "See...you gave me the wrong change. I gave you a twenty and..."

This would continue till I finally got sick of it and left.

But not too much later, I got wise to the way these people work. The next time someone gave me the wrong change, I got awfully testy and said loudly with big hand motions, "What the heck!?! This is 3 shekels short? Where's my money?"

The cashier quickly and without expression gave me the three shekels. It's not that I was being rude, I was just acting like the rest of the people here. If you don't act that way, people will walk all over you. Seriously, that's the way it is. I learned that quickly and so basically what I'm trying to say, is I'm an even bigger jerk than I was before. So sorry. In advance. I will try and be better, but I'm not going to make any promises.

So back off.

Coming to you live from a cafe in Ramat HaSharon

2008-06-03T00:52:00.001-07:00

So I've actually moved. It's a really long story and I wont get into it, but yesterday I moved into an apartment under Karen's house in Ramat HaSharon, a really happenin' suburb outside of Tel-Aviv. Right now I'm sitting in a cafe using their WiFi. I didn't have to pay to use the internet, but I felt like such a mooch just slapping my laptop down and going to town without so much as purchasing a bite-sized muffin. So I picked the smallest juice I saw and didn't look at the price. A dixie cup full of juice just cost me 16 shekels. That's nearly 5 bucks. Guess, I wont be eating dinner tonight...

So as I sip my very pricey juice, I'll fill you in on what's going on in my very weird life. Let me begin with the apartment. One of the windows doesn't shut all the way and certainly doesn't lock. This is a little unnerving since I will be spending several nights alone in the apartment, though today I will be joined by my Swiss friend, Geraldine Canonica. In fact, I need to get to the airport soon. Actually, come to think of it, I need to figure out first how to get to the airport via the most confusing bus system on the planet. Oi.

So, in any case, I point out the busted window to Ofer, Karen's husband, when he comes down to make sure everything is okay in the apartment. He said, "Oh yeah, that is broken," and then (true to his Israeliness) shut the blinds, then with a huge smile on his face said, "See. All better."

I wasn't convinced that shutting the blinds would keep out thieves, mass-murders, or rapists, but I wasn't about to trample on his hospitality by pointing out his faulty logic. So if I don't get back to you in one piece, you'll know why.

But other than that, and the mold currently waging war on the bathroom (and winning), the place is pretty great--it has cable. Ofer came and set it up for me.

Three weeks and counting

2008-06-01T09:21:00.000-07:00

Today was a pretty eventful day. I stepped in vomit.

I was on the bus home from the Israeli Ministry of Interior where I had to extend my visa here in Israel. I had an appointment for 10:30, showed up right on time and made my presence known as there was no one other soul waiting to be seen in the waiting room. they told me they'd call me in as soon as they were ready. I then watched as the three women working in the office surfed the internet and complained about their children and husbands for the next 30 minutes (apparently they didn't realize that there are some American who actually do speak Hebrew). I reminded them of my appointment and sometime after 11:00, one lady finally agreed to process my visa extension. Feeling quite put-out by the way the country is run, I hopped on the bus headed towards my home. I gave my 5.30 shekels to the yarmulke-wearing bus driver and made my way towards the back of the bus. A whiff of something foul hit my nostrils, but I thought little of it, since buses full of people, especially in foreign countries, tend to be a little on the ripe side (in my experience, at least). I bee-line straight for a large empty space in the middle of the crowded bus. I thought I was so smooth, stealing such a prime spot before someone else could get it. Before I could feel too pleased with myself, a young Israeli soldier pointed at my feet. I looked down and saw my feet in the vomit that was strewn across the floor and across one seat. Suddenly it became very clear why no one was in the big empty space in the middle of the bus. Luckily, there was only a little vomit that ended up on my shoes and I managed to wipe it off on a clean part of the floor. The soldier just sort of stared at me pitifully.

As I stood there, feeling stupid and on the verge of dry heaving, I wondered what kind of country I was in that would leave a large pile of vomit in the middle of a public bus. People around didn't seem near as disgusted as I. It was just a small inconvenience as it took up space in an already crowded bus.

Needing reassurance that I wasn't the stupidest person within a 5 km radius, I stood watching as the bus stopped and opened its doors to the unexpecting masses, secretly hoping that someone would daftly step in the vomit just as I had. To my great dismay, of all the 50 or so people that entered the bus before I got off, not one even came near the vomit. It was as though they expected it upon entering. I mean, why wouldn't there be vomit on the floor of a city bus in a Tel-Aviv suburb? It seemed common place and normal. These people were roll-with-the punches kind of people and it made me nervous.

I had just waited nearly 45 minutes at the whim of the all powerful Israeli visa counselors to get my visa extension approved. The week before, I waited for well over two hours to even get the appointment I had today. All because I want to stay in this country. As I stood in the sweaty, packed bus wreaking of vomit and body odor, I wondered why exactly I did that. Why was I subjecting myself to all this!?!

The doors then opened and I exited the bus and was about to head home when I noticed the fantastic little shwarma/shnitzel place near my home. I smiled recounting all the delicious meals I'd enjoyed there.

And quite suddenly, all the waiting and even the vomit became worth it. Man, I love schnitzel.

The Pilgrim's Progress

2008-05-29T07:24:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my last day the embassy. And to be honest, I'm feeling a healthy dose of melancholy settling in. I'm going to miss it here. I really truly am.

Granted, I've been looking forward to this for quite some time. I've been anxious to move on, but looking back, I've really loved my time here. I mean, who doesn't like sharing gloriously awkward moments with co-workers on a daily basis or accidentally mixing 2-4 languages in one conversation? But seriously, I've made some really great friends here. I realize today just how close I've gotten to people at the embassy. As I sat in my adopted office, several people dropped by, as they usually do, just to chat or talk business. The others in my section have really trusted me with some difficult work and told me time and time again that I have been their best intern by far (apparently, they've had some real screw-ups).

I've come in 5 days a week for the last three months and worked full days. I've worked hard. This has been my life and I've grown to find comfort in it. I had to prove myself to all these people and now I have to leave and do it once again. I have to start over somewhere else. I've had some incredible experiences, met some incredible people and seen some incredible things.

That being said, however, I have been anxious to move on and finally settle down a bit (this makes my mother very happy). After all, I've lived in over 14 different places, in 4 different countries, within the last 7 years, and I've spent the entire year of 2008, thus far, crashing at other people's homes. Essentially, I've been living out of a suitcase for five months now. Over the years, I have purposely kept my possessions to a minimum because I know full well that everything I own needs to be able to fit into my '99 Honda Civic, Ruby.

I daydream and fantasize about one day owning a coffee table (or any furniture, really), having a complete matching set of silverware, and having a magazine subscription. This signifies several things:

a) to own furniture, especially a coffee table, you clearly have to have money to buy the furniture and live somewhere where your furniture is necessary (e.i. living in your own place) b) you can afford a year's worth of National Geographic Adventure or The New Yorker and

c) you live at one residence for 12 straight months

These traits have eluded me completely, but mark my words, these things will one day change as I finally get a big-girl job in that mystical place known as "the real world." And hopefully, this day comes soon because I feel like such a nomad. I keep having flashbacks from elementary school when I learned about the nomadic hunter-gatherers, the primitive peoples that gave way to more stationary agriculturally-dependent peoples. As a child learning about these things, I imagined hairy cavemen walking around picking grass and berries and hitting animals over the heads with clubs. I then imagined the pilgrims, cute, clean and picturesque, building their little homes and planting their fields with the bright future of modernity shining upon their cheery faces like a rising sun.

It seems that now, my childhood imagination has resurrected into disturbing visions with me as the oafish caveman, wandering clumsily through the wilderness, club in tow. I then see my contemporaries as adorably precious little pilgrims, primly-dressed and bright as they toil on their land.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to be a pilgrim. I'm done with being a caveman-hunter-gatherer. I want to start farming. Okay, not farming literally, but figuratively. I want to settle down. And by settle down, I mean, get a real job with a salary, stay in one place for a year and maybe, just maybe, get a magazine subscription to National Geographic Adventure to sit upon my second-hand coffee table.

And so tomorrow, as I finish my internship, I'm going to metaphorically throw out my club and hairy toga, don my crisp clean pilgrim's bonnet, grab my land cultivating tools and build up my life.

That is, after I run buck-wild throughout Israel and Jordan for the next three weeks. Come to think of it, maybe the pilgrim Erin is just going to have to wait a few months. Maybe September.

Africa Day (i.e. The Greatest Day of My Life)

2008-05-26T06:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, as I was on the bus taking me downtown to attend the massive "Africa Day" party in Tel-Aviv, I was really super excited. I was looking forward to speaking a great deal of French and even busting out some of my most polished Lingala phrases (like "your hair is so nice" and "my dad is from the Congo"). I was anticipating wild dancing and a whole lot of the blessed African food that comforts your very soul.

But then I remembered how crestfallen I had been upon entering the St. Patrick's Day "party" at the Irish ambassador's residence. Let's just say it wasn't as I had invisioned it. No drunken singing, no Cheiftans, no Jonathan Rhys Meyers and no fun.

So I came down from my little cloud of high hopes for the evening and was grateful to have chosen my smart little black dress and heels that wouldn't leave me standing out as I had at the St. Patrick's Day event. Can't go wrong with a black dress (even though I think I probably looked like a nun). I was ready for whatever was coming.

Well basically, turns out it was ALL I hoped for and much much more. I think I even used the word "paradise" several times throughout the evening to describe it. At this massive bash at a hotel in Tel-Aviv all the embassies from Africa joined together to party like it was 1999. And oh, did they.

Bernadette, a wonderful French FSN who works at the US embassy (she immigrated from France when she was 22 and holds both French and Israeli passports) managed to secure me and invite to the event (she used to work for the Togolese embassy) and I'm probably going to name my first born after her because last night was that great. I forgot what it was like to be around warm, inviting people. I've never had a hard time making friends, but it's been difficult getting close to people here (absurd Englishmen and crazy hot-blooded Italians aside, of course). And last night, I had at least two proposals for marriage (when I told my mom she said, "What, did you finally wash your hair?"), several invitations to people's homes (including the ambassador to Congo Brazzaville), and made about a zillion friends.

Did I mention that I love Africans?

I held my camera up during a really crazy dancing performance and took a shot of the crowd watching the performance. The little lady in the bottom right looking at the camera is Rose, a diplomat from the Ghanian embassy who was so sweet to me despite the fact I turned into a silly little 16 year old in the face of all the excitement. I was loving all the amazing dresses the women were wearing. My safe little black dress made me stand out just as my loud green dress made me stand out on St, Patrick's Day. I guess I can't help it. I stand out. Especially in these pictures. Standing next to these Africans, in combination with a really bright flash, completely negated the tan that I swear I really do have.

This is the ambassador of Congo Kinshasa's wife. She was a very regal lady. But when I told her I could sing in Lingala and began singing "yesu ndecko na bolingo," she definitely started singing with me and we finished the song together clapping and swaying. Freak, I love Africans.

Here I am in a Conglolese ambassador sandwich. On the right is Brazzaville and the left is Kinshasa. Yes, there are two Congos. I'm partial to Kinshasa because that's where a lot of my friends are from, but the Brazaville ambassador did invite me to his home and that moves Brazaville up a little. I met ambassadors from all the countries, but I am very partial to Congo in general, for whatever reason.
Okay, now this is Victor, the Togolese driver for the Nigerian Ambassador. He was pretty funny and introduced me to a lot of people. And after the party was over, he took the ambassador home and came back in the smokin' hot armored Mercedes and took me the thirty minutes home to Herzilya Pituach. In the car we talked about politics, the American Civil Rights', Israel and a bunch of other things, which was really pushing my French. I probably came off sounding ridiculous in trying to sound intelligent in a language I don't speak much these days. In fact, Hebrew words kept slipping in. I think I'm lingually retarded. I cant keep any language straight for every long anymore. I mesh them all right now. If I'm forced to speak multiple languages in the same setting, I become completely incomprehensible. And my poor father thinks I'm so smart...

Anyways, while we were stopped in front of my house and I was about to get out, he complimented me very generously and ended by very seriously saying, "If I wasn't married, I would definitely marry you. Why wont you gave me your phone number?" I just laughed and refused for the 12th time that night to give him my phone number. I told him I didn't have a phone because the embassy took it away. And it wasn't even a lie.

God bless computer geeks

2008-05-22T10:20:00.000-07:00

Thanks to a group of people devoted to outsmarting Steve Jobs and sticking it to the man, I have been able to transfer nearly 30 GB of music from my iPod (which had music from a friend's computer) onto my new macbook. Thirty gigs of music is like, oh, a billion dollars worth of CDs or iTunes downloads that I can simply not afford to buy (two words: unpaid internship).

And it was incredibly easy. Easy enough that I, one who cannot work any microwave made after 1979, was able to transfer the music with ease. I can now jam to all the Lady Sovereign, Shiny Toy Guns, Joshua Radin, and Frank Sinatra that my little heart desires. I was even able to fill in the gaps in my collections of the Beatles, AC/DC, Dave Matthews, Van Halen, Sean Paul, Regina Spektor, Muse and Ella Fitzgerald (just to name a few).

My happiness is unimaginable. Thank you Senuti.

New Hair

2008-05-22T00:52:00.001-07:00

So I'm thinking of chopping my hair off and I need to know what you think. I'm thinking of doing this:

And by "this" I mean cutting my hair like Victoria Beckham, not becoming anorexic and marrying an flaming-hot international soccer star (though I wouldn't mind the latter).

So I need some opinions. Should I keep it around my shoulders, or chop it? I need some ideas.

Good News

2008-05-21T00:43:00.000-07:00

Turns out a sewage pipe broke and that's why church was cancelled. Stewart Tuttle, the spokesman for the embassy here and also a counselor in the branch presidency just described the foul scene to me while I was wasting time talking to Karen about how I'm going slightly out of my mind.

But the good news is that church is on for this Saturday (shabbat is on Saturday here) and will probably be at the Tuttle's house. Which probably means there will be food. And the good news doesn't end there, folks. As luck would have it, Alan (the FSN here who I love--he gives me food and introduced me to his daughter who has become a good friend out here) is out of town this week (and next) and offered his office to me while he is away. This means no more Harold. I never have to be stuck in an office, listening to his tourettes and mindless banter while having to stomach the foul stench from his burps EVER AGAIN. Turns out Harold is a gassy little feller.

That is unless by some cruel twist of fate this blessing is ripped from my fingers just like my cell phone. Oh, the embassy issued me a cell phone shortly after arriving. It was just for incoming calls and emergencies, but just having it was heaven. Being alone and secluded out here, it was my one connection to the friends I do have in country and any semblance of a normal life. Plus, it had a clock on it and as I don't have a watch and have to take buses, it came in very handy. However, just over a week ago, they decided to take the phone away and give it to a paid employee. It was a big bummer. My one consolation is that the people I work with who found out were furious and shook their fists angrily at the administration and ranted on about the injustice of it all. Which I found comforting. So even though I don't have a phone, transportation, or a hot Israeli boyfriend, I have a solid group of people out here in my corner and that made me feel good.

More good news is that I actually adore a bunch of people here. Bernadette is this wonderfully crazy French woman who works upstairs and always comes in to gossip and complain about something rather dramatically. She worked for the ambassador from Congo and just may have wrangled me an invite to a huge African party this weekend with all the African embassies in Israel. For those who know me well, getting an invitation to a massive African party (full of Congolese) is like winning the lottery. I just might be able to die happy now. Needless to say, I'm already polishing the Lingala (the dialect form Congo-Kinshasha) that I know. I am fully prepared to bust out singing "Yesu Ndecko na Bolingo" for anyone that will listen. Oh man, the Congolese love that song. While in France, I met a guy from the Congo at a bus stop and mentioned that I knew some Lingala and then proceeded singing that song. I didn't get two lines into it before he started singing along and clapping. All at the bus stop. It was great.

Irit is one of the most capable people that work here. She is very tough and very smart. I was a little afraid of her when I got here because she will tell you like it is, even if that sends you into therapy for the next few years. But yesterday, she bought me lunch, listened to my life story, and told me that she thought that I was about as great as it gets, the best intern they've ever had, that I had a really great head on my shoulders, and that I was going places. This was a welcomed surprise/compliment because I go through extended moments of feeling rather pathetic. It felt good coming from someone who I respect a great deal professionally. And there are several other people here who've really saved my life by taking me in and treating me like one of their own. Overall, I'd have to say that even though I'm anxious to see the end of my internship and move on, I really love this embassy and will have warm memories of most of the people.

Harold excluded, of course.

Slightly Disturbing

2008-05-20T13:10:00.000-07:00

I have been doing market research on medical device companies in Israel and today, while researching a company, I came across this perplexing and potentially disturbing photo. Featured in this photo is equipment used in endoscopic surgery. When I saw it, I felt really weird--something was seriously amuck with this picture. What, for instance, is that sitting on the plate in the upper left hand corner? I slice of thinly sliced (raw) meat? Umm, that's kind of weird on multiple levels.

a) Food and surgical equipment never mix. I picture some surgeon scarfing down a sub sandwich in the operating room. Food and surgical equipment go together like popular kids and the goth freaks in a high school social scene--they just don't.

b) Considering that when one thinks of surgery (minimally invasive, or not) one thinks of human flesh and scalpels. Placing a slice of what looks like raw meat on a plate next to objects that are inserted into peoples bodies is twisted.

c) Most disturbing is that this is clearly deliberate and not a simple oversight. Which leaves me with more questions like, was the plate already there, a snack waiting to be consumed, and they just thought "what the heck, throw that thing in the picture--it'll balance it out" or was it intentionally prepared for the purpose for the photo shoot?

These questions baffled me for the rest of the day. And even now, I'm puzzled as ever. And a little disturbed. Maybe even a little hungry.

Lots of days

2008-05-18T12:15:00.000-07:00

I haven't been too consistent on writing lately. I guess I've been feeling a bit scattered. But let's face it, when am I not scattered? So I've decided to just to write about what's going on in my life and in my head. I promise to be better about keeping the three people that read this good and updated.

First off, they cancelled church yesterday. It was so weird. I mean, how can you just cancel church? It was the first time in my nearly 25 years on this planet that church was just cancelled. But apparently the sewage was leaking in the building where we meet, so I guess there was good reason.

As a result, we decided to tour some more of Israel. We went to Meggido. It totally sounds like the name of a castle lair where a bad guy like Skelator would live. But no, it was a piece of land covered by a bunch of really old stones. In other words, it was just like the rest of Israel.

But actually, there is some serious biblical significance to Meggido. If you are not into the Bible/Torah, that's totally fine, but this might not really interest you. I did Jewish Studies and I'm Mormon, so this stuff actually interests me on multiple levels. First off, the city of Meggido was in the area of Israel inherited by the descendants of Menasseh--meaning the descendants lived there. Basically, Israel was divided up into lands of inheritance for the 12 tribes and this portion was alloted for Menasseh. So, going by the Book of Mormon, one could assume that Lehi and his family lived in the vicinity before taking off. Kinda cool.

This is Sabe and I at the museum in Meggido. It was pretty uninteresting minus the dioramas that lit up at the push of a button.

Meggido was also where Josiah, one of the kings of Judah, was killed by the Pharaoh-Neco. And yes, it's "Neco like the candy."

Now for a little Hebrew lesson. This place was called Har Meggido, "Har" being the Hebrew word for mount. So it was Mount Meggido, Har Meggido, or as it's variation Har Meggidon--Armageddon. So, according to the Bible, this area is also where the battle of Armageddon is set to take place. Kind of interesting, no?

Actually, other than the "gee whiz" quality of the tour, it was actually quite boring. A little like my life right now. I'm finding myself bored out of my skull most of the time. Even at the embassy. I've got 10 days left there and I'm definitely counting down. Ten days seems like a lot of days right now. I'm not sure how much crap I can take from Harold before I seriously snap. He's started burping so much that it stinks up the office so that it smells like pickles. So gross.

Put a fork in me, cause this girl is done. My life is like a vacation and I'm craving the action and stress of a normal life. Don't get me wrong, this has been an amazing adventure full of realizations and growth. I've spend uncountable hours pondering my life, where I'm going, where I'm headed, Salman Rushdie, humanity's capacity to love and hate, the powers of love and hate, the effectiveness/ineffectiveness of US diplomacy, insane government spending, the arab-Israeli conflict, what I really want out of life and about a zillion other things.

And I've gotten a pretty great tan too. But I'm feeling pretty pumped to make my way back across the Atlantic. Two weeks of work, three weeks of traveling and this girl will be back in the States driving a car, hanging out with my family and old friends, and eating cheap Mexican food. But geez, five weeks seems like a lot of weeks.

Of course I realize that once that happens, my heart will ache for the things here that I love--the Tel-Aviv branch, Sabriel and the Harris family, the Mediterranean, and really really good humus and schnitzel. Schnitzel Tzion, the schnitzel place by the embassy, is proof that there is truly a God who loves us.

I feel a bit like I'm in a daze. Like I'm being sucked into some weird vortex and becoming increasingly listless. I haven't even washed my hair in 8 days now. It's a new record for me. Tomorrow marks day 9 and I may or may not succumb to pressures to look presentable. My problem is that a brilliant friend of mine (Patricia) taught me this trick a while back that if you put baby powder in your hair, it sucks up the oil. It works like a charm. I just think I'm really pushing it.

After all, nine days is a lot of days.

Thanks but no thanks, Mr. Bush

2008-05-13T13:35:00.001-07:00

I just realized that I will not be getting an economic stimulus check and I feel very slighted.

The Daily Grind

2008-05-12T11:01:00.000-07:00

My days are starting to repeat themselves. It's becoming something like Bill Murray's life on Groundhog's Day. Same stuff everyday.

Today, I was royally annoyed with Harold because he was wearing way too much of his awful cologne and insisted on eating lunch at his desk and making every possible disgusting noise as he sloppily chewed his sandwich and slurped his juice. His meal also managed to stink up the office for the rest of the day. This happens EVERYDAY. But hey, on the bright side, he didn't ogle at my chest.

Then I got caught in the bathroom popping zits on my face by some lady on my floor. This also happens a lot lately. I should learn and stop doing it, but I'll be washing my hands in the restroom and I'll be looking in the mirror when suddenly I see something sprouting on my face and I just can't resist. I though puberty was supposed to be over by now.

I feel like my life is becoming just a series of awkward moments that just keep lining up, one after the other. Or maybe it's always been that way and I'm just now noticing.

Misc. Update

2008-05-11T12:08:00.000-07:00

Today we went to Jerusalem and toured the tunnels near the foundation for the Western Wall. This is what the wall looks like from the tunnels. It was pretty wicked cool.

We also went to the Holocaust Museum in Jerusalem. It was an interesting experience because we went with some extreme Zionists who cried at the museum and were very expressive in mourning the tragedy that befell humanity because of the unrestrained hatred of the Third Reich. They then proceeded to imply that all Arabs were horrible people and were not to be trusted by virtue of their race. They even refused to walk through the Arab quarter of Jerusalem. Sometimes I really wish people could really see themselves and hear themselves talk. This kind of attitude made me really angry when I got here, but now I just feel pity for those that hate. Being here and seeing a lot of hatred has just made me want to love more to try and balance the scales. I just want to go out and give everyone hugs.

This is what I see every weekend and some weekdays when I can escape work early and just chill at the beach next to my house. I love my nalgene bottle. Never without it. I even inspired an FSN at the embassy to go out and buy a bottle.

I'm getting tan. I think I look tan in this picture. TannER at least.

These are just some of the people in my branch here. I seriously love them so much. These people are just so full of love. They tell me how wonderful and beautiful I am--they will be really hard to leave.

Things to remember while skinny-dipping in the Mediterranean:

2008-05-08T12:07:00.000-07:00

1) Undertows at night are scary.

2) The freaky little glowing things that fly across the water are just fish.

3) If you stay in one place, the waves actually start pushing you to the shore so you think you are in one spot, but you are actually nearing the shore. Naked.

4) Don't wear a suit with lots of weird straps because you will never get it back on.

Raindrops on roses

2008-05-07T10:32:00.000-07:00

Being as it is that Harold is in Bangkok this week, I though I might go a full week at work without having an extremely awkward moment. But, as usual, I was wrong.

So my mom sent me a package of really amazing sugar cookies here to Israel. My mom seriously makes the best sugar cookies I've ever eaten and getting a box of those brings all the comfort and happiness one could really ask for in life. They got me through the tough spots on the mission. If I were to start singing about my favorite things during a thunder storm, these cookies would so be one of the first things I mention. But the cookies always come with a caveat: I have to share them or no more cookies. This is not always easy for me, but I do it because I want more cookies. I'm selfish, but I'm no idiot.

I decided that I would share with some of my favorite people at work. Since most everyone is gone this week to conferences in either Istanbul or Bangkok, I couldn't have planned it out better. Fewer people to share with. I work with a fabulous woman named Karen who is originally from LA but immigrated here when she met her now husband, an Israeli named Ofer (who is amazing and definitely worth immigrating for, if you ask me). I have worked a lot with her and she is an absolute blast. She seriously keeps me sane and I really love her. So after much thought, I went into her office and gave her a cookie. She deserved it. She tried the cookie and, of course, loved it. She finished most of it, but a small piece if it remained when she had to take a phone call. I went back to my little reject desk a few doors down and started working when a few minutes later this really crazy woman I work with, Orly, came into my office holding a baggy with a piece of one of the sugar cookies my mom had sent. She came in with a disgusted look on her face and exclaimed while holding up the sugar cookie, "This is disgusting."

My first reactions were 1) confusion that this crazy woman (and oh, she is crazy--I've got stories) somehow got her hands on one of my precious cookies 2) absolute rage that this beloved cookie was being wasted on such a unappreciative nut bag and 3) shock that someone wouldn't like the cookie in the first place.

She continued in her rant.

Orly: "This is disgusting, Erin. This is poison."

She dramatically threw the cookie in the trash can near me. I sat silently with a shocked and slightly crazed smile across my face as I fought every urge to bolt across the room and tackle her the ground and pull her arm across her back until she took it all back and apologized for being so rude.

Orly (still grimacing): "This is disgusting. Where did you get that thing?"

Me (holding back the rage): "Wh-where did you get that, Orly?"

Orly: "Karen had it on her desk and I took it while she was on the phone. Where did it come from?"

Me: "My mom."

Orly (stammering a bit now): "Oh, I thought you got it upstairs of something. But who made it?"

Me: "My mom."

Orly (feeling awkward and confused and looking for a way out): "Well, how did you get it?"

Me: "I asked her to send them to me because I love them so very much. It's hard to be alone in a foreign country and her packages bring me great joy."

At this point, any normal human being would feel so stupid that they would somehow apologize, mutter something unintelligible while leaving the room as fast as they could. Oh, but not Orly. She needed to justify herself and continued:

"Erin, this is poison. You should tell her to stop sending it to you."

Excuse me? She said this as if everything that was wrong with me was somehow linked to this piece of a cookie she was pointing to in the trash. It was like I was some self-inflicted mutant on a daily diet of toxic waste. I felt defensive and a surprised by her rudeness.

I wanted to dig out the last remaining piece, shove it in my mouth right in front of her and say, "If this is poison, well, kill me now!" I wanted to point out that at least I wasn't crazy and weird (hey, no comments on that one, guys).

It was like that moment in the movies when all these fantasies begin to flash in the main character's brain about how to really "show" the offending person who's boss. But like in the movies, I never manage to do or say anything that really merits a really great theme song and a close up shot of my confident and triumphant face. I usually just stammer a bit and try to escape the situation.

Instead, I put on my sweet smile and sincerely thanked her for her "care and concern for my well-being" and assured her that I would manage "just fine." She opened her mouth like she was going to continue in her rant, then the awkwardness of the moment FINALLY hit her with all the force of a grand piano falling from the sky and she left as quickly as she could muttering something unintelligible.

I turned back to my computer stunned into a motionless state. I continued working and tried to forget what had just happened. I had to run into someone else's office and left my office a while later and passed Orly in the hall. Orly was so visibly awkward as she passed me and smiled uncomfortably. Then it dawned on me. If I act like nothing is wrong and act super nice to her, it'll drive her nuts. So I smiled a friendly smile and waved a little cute wave. It killed her.

So it's become a little game for me. The nicer and sweeter I act towards her, the more unnerved she becomes.

It's great. Making her feel awkward is quickly becoming one of my favorite things worthy of singing about. Forget whiskers on kittens and warm woolen mittens. Give me my mom's sugar cookies and control over a large dose of awkwardness and I'm one happy camper.

Note to self:

2008-05-05T06:03:00.000-07:00

If you are really hungry, but don't take a lunch because you have to make a bunch of calls before you leave work and (in any case) you want to horde your precious shekels for a pair of Aladin pants, then finally make it home light-headed and quickly snarf 2 pita (which are more like plates because you left them out and they got really hard--but you are too hungry to care about such things) and large amounts of humus you are probably going to feel really really sick afterwards.

Becoming

2008-05-02T07:09:00.000-07:00

Today was a breakthrough. I had my first truly Israeli conversation. I mean, sure, i've had conversations in Hebrew, but I'm still an American speaking Hebrew. But today, even if it was for just a moment, I was Israeli.

The conversation went something like this:

Nitzan (annoyed): Where were you this morning?

Me: I was at the Ambassador's Residence. Working.

Nitzan: Where's Karen?

Me: I don't know. What do you think, I'm her mother?

I felt so Israeli.

Jackpot

2008-04-30T07:40:00.000-07:00

Part of my job right now is approaching American companies in Israel about sponsoring the big 4th of July event at the ambassador's residence this year. We have to raise at least $70,000. We went to a bunch of companies and were trying to think of more. So we decided to approach Crocs. I know, I know. Ugliest shoes ever, right? But EVERYONE in Israel wears them. No joke. When my hosts made a list of things to bring to survive Israel, they included "crocs" to the list. I was skeptical. But I got here and everyone seriously wears them. I've seen orthodox Jewish people wearing crocs. No joke.

So I found the number for the Crocs rep here in Israel. Karen called and got an appointment with the head honcho to sell him the sponsorship. And she sold it. They are in for big bucks AND a healthy dose of schmoozing got us some serious freebies. Karen got a sweet tote bag that hasn't even been released herein Israel and I got a pair of awesome shoes (that go for 400 shekels, roughly $114). They are leather on the outside and super comfy.

Life is good, my friends. Free things bring me unspeakable joy.

My office mate

2008-04-28T12:26:00.001-07:00

I'd like to introduce you all to my office mate here at the embassy: Harold Stromford.

Harold is a 50-something FSN (Foreign Service National) is from England who immigrated to Israel about 15 years back. Harold is unique and never lets a not-awkward moment slip by.

Harold is small bald little man with beady eyes and a bad case of tourettes. I've observed closely and realized that every time he comes rushing into the room (which happens about every 5 minutes) he sits in his chair and says "$h!t" very loudly before then going back to work. He'll then move on to more colorful words as he sits muttering to himself as he works frantically.

Also, he spends a great deal of time staring at my chest. Which is remarkable because, let's face it, there isn't much to look at. I assure myself that it's my blinding beauty that keeps him from spending more than 2 seconds at a time looking at my face. The embassy must be full of unbearably attractive women because he just can't look at any of their faces. In fact, Sharon, the secretary in Commercial says that when he comes into use the fax machine (right in front of her desk) he just leans against the wall and stares fixated at her chest for minutes at a time as he waits for his faxes to go through. As unfortunate as this is for her, it made me feel better.

When not talking or swearing to himself, he likes to tell me how rotten his marraige is to his Indian wife of 14 years. And how beautiful I look.

"My marriage is %^$*. You look very lovely today. Did you do something new with your hair?"

That's a direct quote from this morning.

Harold isn't always what you would call *with it.* After spending three weeks preparing the flight, hotel and travel arrangements for my boss to go to a conference in Dubai, the week our boss was at the conference he swept around the offices barking at people.

"Where is John? Where the *&% is John?"

"Harold, he's in Dubai."

"Why the %#% is he in Dubai?"

Blank stares.

"Harold, he has that big conference there. You know, the one you've been planning for the last three weeks?"

Pause. A moment of reflection.

"Right. Right....Have you eaten yet?"

He then rushes back into his office, swearing and muttering all the way.

Just the other day we heard a baby crying in the hall for nearly a minute. Where a normal person would ask "Whose baby is that?" after over a minute of the newborn's sobbing, Harold seemed surprised when he suddenly declared, "There's a baby!"

Moments later, a colleague stepped in and began to speak to Harold. This is what I heard:

Office girl: "Martine brought in her baby today."

Harold: "Who the #$%!! is Martino?!"

Office girl (annoyed): "Martine. It's Martine's baby."

Harold: "Oh, Martine."

While Harold can't seem to look me in the face, I can't seem to keep from looking at his. When I first met him I couldn't place what exactly was amuck, but I quickly found his quirk. Harold has a pencil goatee that should look like this:

But instead he looks like this:

As crude as my drawing is, it's quite an accurate description of his goatee. I wasn't sure if I was the only one who noticed. That is until I saw Doug, the Deputy Commercial Officer (the #2 guy in charge) with a black marker in hand which he used to point to the big pad of paper which he was showing Harold as they both stood in the hall. As I approached, I saw that Doug had drawn a picture much like the ones I drew above and was explaining to Harold quite visually what was wrong with his appearance.

Harold defended himself saying that he didn't want to wake his angry wife in the mornings so he didn't turn on the light as he shaved. Doug just stared for a moment before suggesting that he "turn on the lights next time" because he looked like an "absolute mess." I though that the nasty goatee would be gone forever after that admonishment, but I was mistaken. The next day, there was no change to his crooked goatee.

But my favorite Harold incident involves my friend Sajeda, an Arab-Israeli girl who works at the embassy and is sassy as can be. She was in our office talking to our other office mate, Eitan, with her back to Harold. Suddenly she felt Harold behind her. Right behind her. She then felt his hand placed directly on her right bum. Needless to say, she flipped out. MAJORLY. He insisted it was an accident--that he was trying to get into his file cabinet, but she made it clear that if he even speaks to her, she will see that a) he never uses his arms again and b) he will be unable to reproduce.

Which leads me to my favorite part of the day, when Sajeda comes in to say hello. If Harold was fidgety before, you should see when Sajeda walks in the room. He usually darts out the door immediately. Or if he is outside, he loiters outside the office muttering to himself till she leaves. I love awkwardness. Just as long as it is someone else's.

Christian

2008-04-27T03:35:00.000-07:00

I know I've been totally awful about posting pictures of what has been going on here in Israel. So I'm going to just post a few pics of one of the most special and incredibly cute kids out there.

I know what you are thinking, at least if you are anything like me. I know most everyone tends to think their kids are the most adorable things in the whole entire world and will plaster their blogs with images documenting every moment of their children lives' to prove it. I'd like to think I wont be that kind of person, but things aren't looking good. I'm not even related to Christian Eden and here he is making up for 80% of the pictures I've posted in the last month or so (I actually have no idea if that statistic is acurate--but it feels acurate).
I love this kid. I guess it's because he is just spilling over with personality. And he really likes me and let's face it, we all like to be liked. Christian was born in Mexico with a severe medical problem (spina bifida, I think) and was adopted by the Eden family, an incredible family from Utah that is living here in Israel as the father works for Ford.
These pictures were all taken at BYU Jerusalem's amazing auditorium on Mt. Scopus. The stage in front is backed by a massive window (instead of a wall) that's looks over Jerusalem's Old City. Gorgeous. We were just waiting for district conference to begin and Christian wanted to take some pictures.

Technologic

2008-04-23T12:25:00.000-07:00

I've never been what you call "technologically savvy." If it has buttons, I usually try and avoid it. But seriously, I was bred to be this way.

The microwave that is still in my parents home was made sometime in the 70s and has a turn-dial. It's the only microwave my parents have ever owned in their married life (29 years). I grew up microwaving things for "about" 3 minutes since you could never be certain. When I went away to university and was forced, for the first time, to see how far microwave oven technology had come, I felt like a viking trying to figure out how to sail a yacht. The other girls in my dorm would look at me with confusion and pity as I would just punch random buttons till the microwave started to cook my hot pocket. They would ask, perplexed, if I had ever used a microwave before. Sure, I'd say. Just never one younger than me.

By the end of my freshman I was proud to say that I had learned to use a modern microwave without getting strange stares from anyone else in the common area of my dorm. But it left me with a serious complex with computers, digital cameras, ipods, and cell phones.

When I returned home from the mission in France, my parents had moved into a new house full of fancy gadgets that I couldn't work. I couldn't work the oven, or any of the entertainment centers controlled by a massive remote control with a computer screen on it. I couldn't even figure out how to watch TV. In fact, I was told not to even try because my family was certain I'd screw something up. Luckily, I could still microwave leftovers. I found much solace in that turn-dial microwave.

To this day, I can't really work a cell phone without lots of coaching. When the embassy gave me one to use here, it took me a day to figure out how to change it from Hebrew to English then another week or so to figure out how to program numbers in the phone and send a text message. My cell phone makes me feel stupid. I've given up using it and just give out my e-mail to people.

Which brings me to my point. Despite my shortcomings with everything else electronic, I actually love my macbook and everything that comes with it--especially the amazing world that is the blogosphere. You don't have to be savvy anything to enjoy this wonderful place. I mean, you've read how capable I am when it comes to these kind of things and look, I can manage a blog. These things are idiot-proof and allow incompetents like me to feel like they are somehow harnessing the latest technology and are an active part of the 21st century.

In addition to validating my button-pushing capacities, the blogosphere also accounts for a great deal of my daily reading (in fact, click on themeanestmom to read my favorite blog ever) and keeps me feeling like I'm not so far away from the people I love.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that even though I can't use most of it, I join Kip in boldly declaring that I love technology.