Filed under: All about me
Today I am thankful for the following:
- Good friends, the kind who listen to the ugly cry and/or tell you the hard stuff you have to hear.
- Family members who withhold judgement, and just love me.
- That last one is huge, actually. And kind of a new realization for me.
- A fulfilling job that I am both good at and rewarded by.
- Late-night chats (well, late for me) and laughter.
I had about 27 other items on this list, from the trivial (airplanes, running car with heater) to the more trivial (cell phones, egg nog), but I think that the above really suffice and cover the most important things right now.
I know it’s not Thanksgiving yet–the traditional blog-day to write your Thankful Lists, but I don’t really care. Tuesday is a good enough day to be thankful. What are you thankful for today? From the Big Things, to the Trivial Things?
Filed under: Utah: Life Elevated
In Mandarin Chinese, the character for America is supposed to resemble a buffalo. Kind of. If you squint at it a bit and pretend it’s a stick-figure buffalo. Somehow this always makes me smile–America, land of all sorts of things, is represented by a quickly fading icon of the American West.
Have you ever seen a buffalo in real life? Not at the zoo, but in the wild? I have, but I happen to life Out West where buffalo roam freely. Ok, that’s not entirely true, but there was a family who raised buffalo in my hometown and I would gawk at them all the time. They’re just SO BIG and HAIRY and WOOLLY MAMMOTH looking! They are bizarre. But, looking at buffalo in a pasture in the middle of a neighborhood is a bit different than seeing them in the wild for reals. But, on Antelope Island–the largest island in The Great Salt Lake–there is a fairly giant herd of buffalo, and I have gone to visit them twice now. The first time was for an Environmental Science class field trip when I was in high school, and the second was for another field trip of sorts to watch the sun set over the Great Salt Lake from the shores of Antelope Island.
It was just a week or two after the Buffalo Round-Up and I was hoping to see a lot of the herd. I did not. I only saw one, lone buffalo, minding it’s own business and being very bison-like; you know, eating and grazing and ignoring the raving idiot 20-somethings that were gawking at it. Quite bison-like.
We parked on the east side of the island and had a bit of a walk to get around to the west side before the sun set. The hike was lovely, I sometimes just can’t get over the natural beauty of my state. There was a faintly marked trail meandering through some fairly intense rocks, and after an hour or so we made it down to the water.
The Great Salt Lake is somewhat infamous for “Lake Stink”, which is this overpowering stench of sulphur that wafts over the Salt Lake valley if the wind is coming in right. It’s horrible. It comes from decaying brine shrimp on the shore of the lake. Brine shrimp are not something you would eat with cocktail sauce, they are minuscule little buggers that I am quite certain only live in the Great Salt Lake. Lucky us. That being said, Antelope Island does not smell like sulphur. In a few places if you disturb the crusty salt surface you get a whiff of it, but for the most part it is just lovely. The “main-land” smell is stinky, the island is delightful.
I haven’t watched the sun set for a long time–I was amazed at just how gorgeous it was. I took something like 47,000 pictures and a thousand more mental snapshots. The water of the lake turned pink, which doesn’t show up with my little point-and-shoot but was perhaps one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Sigh. Le Gorgeous.
Filed under: All about me
In the last two weeks I have had these infinitely bizarre cravings for foods that I have never in my life craved. Things like steak with bleu cheese, teriyaki chicken, miles of sushi, perfectly grilled bratwurst, a juicy burger smothered in bacon, bacon smothered in bacon. People, I think this is a disease.
I find myself at an interesting cross-roads; a few weeks ago I finished The Omnivore’s Dilemma by Michael Pollan which discusses, among other things, where exactly our grocery store beef and chicken come from. We’re talking details, people. It was horrifying. I am still horrified. I have actually stopped purchasing meat from the grocery, organic or not, it’s still slaughtered the same way and that is horrific. I make exceptions at restaurants because, well, I’m two-faced like that. I just can’t read the label “Tyson” or “Private Select” and not think of all the facts Pollan delves into regarding these companies and their treatment of animals. Really, it’s absolutely appalling. Chickens and beef cattle are literally fattened at the expense of their health and their overall body function, kept in squalor, and then sent to your local grocery store. The cows are fed corn (cows are not made to eat corn, it messes with their insides), and the chickens are fed corn (they aren’t made to eat corn either) and both are fed the leftover bits of each other to fatten them up as well. Cows eating chicken bits, chickens eating cow bits…apparently we stupid humans eventually figured out that when cows eat cow bits they get Mad Cow Disease…so they stopped that, but still…ew. (“Ew” doesn’t even come close to being able to describe it, actually, but I’ll refrain. Some of you may be planning on eating sometime in the next 48 hours.)
Ok, I didn’t really mean to go off about that. I’m sorry if any of you were planning on having steak or chicken for lunch. But here’s the thing, after reading this book I not only appreciated my food more, but I was more repulsed by it. If SuperSize Me turned the nation off to fast food (in theory), then The Omnivore’s Dilemma will turn us off to mass-produced meat.
For the last two weeks I have been pretending to be a vegetarian. Vladd and the family he/I live with are vegetarians and I have been cooking all Vladd’s meals, and they are all vegetarian. Here’s the scoop–I am just as disgusted with meat substitute as I am with corn-fed chickens raised in 10″ square cages. I just don’t understand how something that processed–it is cut and colored and odored to resemble bacon–can be healthier for you. Bacon is delicious, but it takes a pig to get bacon. Not a mishmash of protein cells doused in Eau de Bacon with a good dip in Red 40. That’s not bacon. That’s fake. Like bologna.
So now I find myself in an odd middle-ground. I don’t want to buy meat at the grocery store. I don’t live on a farm where I can get fresh meat on any kind of regular basis. I cannot stomach the idea of the fake-meat vegetarian option.
Where does this leave me? Well, yesterday after a grocery store run it left me with a small baggie of turkey from the deli, which I ate unceremoniously and as quickly as possible just to taste meat. (Ew, that sounds so barbarian! Me! Meat! Now! It’s so, Mannish!) I will admit to probably being protein deficient in the first place, which may have a lot to do with my snorking of the sliced turkey while hunched in the drivers seat of my car. I am ashamed. I could have at least waited until I got home, put it on a little roll, added a little cranberry sauce, made a little sandwich, you know, acted like a civilized human being instead of a crazy person.
What about you. Are you a vegetarian? Are you vegan? (I could never be vegan, I need cheese too much. Yes, I said “need”.) Are you a meat-and-potatoes-every-day kind of person? Do you ever think about it seriously? I’m genuinely curious, because obviously I can’t continue with what I’ve been doing (pseudo-vegetarian with occasional meat-binges), it’s just too sad and pathetic.
Filed under: Love 101
During my teenage years I was part of a girl group that got together once or twice a week to talk about the Super Important Things in Life. Ya know, Life, God, Who We Are, Where We’re Going, Lip Gloss, The Latest From Lisa Frank, Leonardo DiCaprio, How to Marry Prince William, and Boys In General.
It was Awesome. Clearly.
I vividly remember as part of these girly giggle-fests we would make lists that were importantly titled “Requirements for Future Husband” (what, like you didn’t do it too). Fifteen years later I don’t think I could list more than two or three of those oh-so-important requirements, but I can almost guarantee that the “Tall, Dark & Handsome” trifecta was on there somewhere–which probably had everything a lot to do with my decade-long crush on B. who was tall, gorgeous, with dark hair and dark eyes. The extent of this crush was really quite pathetic, and I am convinced that any “Requirements for Future Husband” list I wrote was (heavily) skewed to lead me to believe that B. was the only boy I could ever marry.
(For any interested parties, I did go on one date with B. when I was a Junior in high school, I asked him, it was horribly awkward and that was it. Now we are Facebook friends and I still think he is gorgeous, in an appropriate “he’s married to someone else” kind of way, of course. Ahem.)
Time moves on and I think there are only two or three of those giggly girls who are still single. Single and Fabulous. No question mark. I don’t know about the others, but I have edited my “Requirements for Future Husband” list considerably. For example:
Requirements for heidikins’ Future Husband List (circa 1996)
- Tall, Dark, Handsome
- Preferably Royalty
- Or At Least Own A Castle Somewhere
- Like on A Tropical Island
- Actually, He Should Own The Island Too
- Must Think Guinea Pigs are Adorable
- Must Play the Saxophone (see: fit list to B’s qualities)
- Must Want To Watch My Favorite Movies All The Time
- Must Tell Me I’m Pretty Approximately 738 Times Per Day
- Must Play Soccer (B. was a soccer player)
- Must Be Super Manly
- Should Bring Me Breakfast in Bed Every Day
- Would Never Make Me Fold Socks, Because I Hate Folding Socks
- And Dusting. I Hate Dusting.
- In Fact, He Should Do All The Laundry and Housework
- Must Have A Private Jet (To Fly To His Island Castle, Obviously)
- Must Like Taking Me To Big Fancy Balls and Costume Parties
- Must Love Ponies
- Must Think Mel Gibson (my creepy old man crush at the time) Is Amazing
- ……….(ad nauseum)
In retrospect, this looks more like job requirements for a man-servant or a cabana boy, not a husband. Thank heaven’s I’ve learned a few things, for example; Breakfast in Bed is rarely a good idea because you get crumbs in your sheets and syrup on your pillow case. Now, I am still a sucker for brown eyes, but blue or green eyes are no longer a deal breaker like they were back then. My current list looks something like this.
Requirements for heidikins’ Future Husband List (circa 2009)
- Must be kind-hearted and honest.
- Must love God.
- Must never hurt me (or others) on purpose.
- Must be hard-working.
- Must be willing to work on our relationship (most people call this “communication”).
- Must be willing to put “us” first*.
- Must be sensitive enough to recognize an awkward, uncomfortable or harmful situation, and man enough to do something about it. I don’t want a fence-sitter.
*I realize at times work requirements or other commitments needs to be first priority, temporarily. I understand project deadlines and other time-sensitive issues that need to be dealt with immediately. However, I don’t want a relationship that always comes after work, after friends, after the gym. I need more than that. (The short of it is I never want to have the conversation that ends with “I’d rather have season tickets to [redacted sports team] than be happy with you.” again. Ever. I am worth more than a damn baseball team.)
I am well aware that there are more components that are required for a successful relationship; certain levels of chemistry should be in place. There should be mutual interests or hobbies. Similar feelings about the future, family, money, etc. However, in the Big Picture way of things, my current list is what matters to me. The rest is just details.
Do you/Did you have a list? Does your current Significant Other fit most or all of your requirements? What are your deal breakers? What can you not live without?
Yesterday I did something really scary that I have never done before. Yesterday I hit a deer.
My new job is in a tiny mountain town that has herds of deer in every possibly open space. They hang around in the fields, and people’s yards, and on the grounds of the resort. In fact, there are so many deer here that every other neighborhood is named after them. There’s Deer Hollow, Deer Meadow, Deer Glen, Deer Hills, Deer Humbug…ok, maybe not Deer Humbug, but there’s Deer Everything Else. Yesterday Vladd and I were driving home from the grocery store and it was already pretty dark. I grew up in a deer-abundant town and am aware of their wily ways (and their complete denial of cars having the right of way) so I was driving carefully. I had my brights on, I was paying attention, I was going under the speed limit. I didn’t want to be surprised by a deer popping up in front of me.
Well, Surprise! All my precautions turned into a Big Fat Fail.
Mr. Deer popped right in front of me and in the split second before I heard a horrific thud I saw head, neck and antlers directly in front of the steering wheel on the driver’s side (and one eyeball…I can’t get over the eyeball). I screamed. And I maybe swore. And then I apologized (verbally) to Vladd–who is deaf, remember–even though he didn’t hear either the thud or the scream or the swears. (Thank heaven’s he didn’t hear the swears…because I could probably be fired for the string of profanities I let loose.) (Ok, probably not, but it was a really sweary string.) It took me another few seconds to realize that he hadn’t heard my apology, so I quickly signed if he was okay. He nodded, eyes a little larger than usual, but otherwise he seemed fine.
When I got back to the house I took Vladd inside, got him situated for a bit and then went out to check the damage. I am missing one driver’s side mirror, my windshield and driver’s side window have all sorts of, um, goo on them, and what was once a small rock chip is now a crack the height of my windshield. And my driver’s door handle has fur on it.
That last bit was what got to me the most. Fur. On my handle. Where I have to put my fingers to open the door. Not that I’m blaming Mr. Deer for this or anything, quite on the contrary. I am the one who hit him (although it could be argued that he was on my road, although I doubt that is an argument I would win in any situation where either PETA or the ACLU are involved).
I didn’t really know what to do. I called the highway patrol and let them know the approximate location of the accident and told them everything that had happened. They thanked me and said they would look into it. If Mr. Deer is “napping” on the side of the road in the morning I will be heart-broken. I ran over a kitten once in high school and I cried for several days. Admittedly, I am not in any way attached to Mr. Deer like I was to the fluffy kitty, but even so, it’s one of God’s creature’s–a majestic one at that–and I fear I may have killed it.
Please bless Mr. Deer is just missing a bit of fur on his right side, with perhaps a bruise from annihilating my side mirror. I really just feel sick about the whole thing, despite my hopes and fervent prayers to Mother Earth (who, I think, takes care of creatures like Mr. Deer in the event they get slammed into by a vehicle) I am afraid Mr. Deer is going to the Happy Hunting-Not-Allowed Ground in the Sky.
(Also, please bless that any PETA people, or other animal fanatics out there realize this was a complete accident and I did everything I could do to avoid it–I was paying attention, going slowly, had my brights on. I called the police. I may erect a memorial to Mr. Deer. I already feel horrible, please don’t call me a Bambi killer just to rub it in, okay?)
On a scale of One to Detest-with-the-Fury-of-Ten-Thousand-Suns-and-Two-Bottles-of-Tabasco, Math is somewhere close to 9,847-Suns-and-One-Bottle-of-Tabasco. Math and I are not friends.
So it should come as a surprise to everyone involved that I actually sat down and did some hard math last week.
On average, in the last year I have earned approximately $100 dollars per month (ok, this is totally not true, but for the sake of this argument and making math a little easier, let’s just say this is true, okay?)
On average, for the last year, my living expenses are approximately $98.50 per month.
This leaves me about $2.50 left over for things that are not essential. That’s not very much, no matter what you do with it.
$2.50 is not enough extra money for shoes, and plane tickets, and spontaneous road trips.
***Okay, let’s take a break from the hard math for a minute, shall we?***
A few months ago I started a job that I thought was going to be amazing and perfect and wonderful and….well…unfortunately it didn’t really work out that way. If any of you are keeping track (and I kind of hope you aren’t), this is exactly the third job this year that didn’t work out all that great for me, for whatever reason. (Corporate downsizing, general corporate asshatery, and now just plain corporate blah.) That being said, I stuck with it because it was something and in this economy (see “hard math” above) something is better than nothing.
A little over a week ago something amazing fell into my lap. Something that is 17 different kinds of wonderful. I had a marathon 4-hour interview last Sunday and started a new position on Monday morning. (Job Count: Four in 2009…don’t judge.)
I’m still not sure how much of this I feel comfortable putting on the internet, but I think I can at least summarize.
For the last decade I have been more-or-less in sales. I am good at sales, but I kind of hate it. Correction: I really hate it. My new position has absolutely nothing to do with sales, or business, or anything I am familiar with. And, before I go any farther, let me just say that I absolutely love it.
I am the full-time caretaker for a 51-year old Vegetarian, Autistic, Deaf, Diabetic man. Vladd can take care of his personal needs, I don’t need to help him shower or get dressed or anything, but he does need someone with him all the time, someone to monitor his blood sugar levels, carefully plan and cook his meals, take him swimming and to the library and on walks, go to the doctor with him and talk to him. I am learning American Sign Language, I have started dabbling in the world of vegetarian/diabetic cookery, and I have really loved seeing the things that I do every day make such a huge difference for someone else. Vladd is a really nice guy–he always opens the door for me and laughs at my pathetic attempts to learn all the foods at the grocery store in ASL. I think we will be friends.
***Let’s go back to the math…shall we?***
I work 15-hour days with Vladd, my shift starts at 7:00 am and finishes up about 10:00 pm.
My “office” is a solid 45 miles from my home (and, coincidentally, at least 25 miles from any kind of real city).
To avoid the two-hour daily commute, I stay overnight for the 5-days in row that I work.
I have my own bedroom (a NICE bedroom, with classy modern furniture and a schnazzy chocolate-and-lime color scheme), bathroom and kitchen.
I get paid approximately $400 a week.
A WEEK!!
Not really $400, but for the sake of our conversation, let it be known that I am now making in ONE WEEK what I have been living off of for an entire month. My income has quadrupled.
I’m sure it’s uncouth to talk about money this way, but this is the BEST NEWS I have ever had. 2008 was a rough year for me financially, I made approximately 60% less than I earned in 2007, and 2009 has a similarly dismal statistic.
Until right now. Qua-Drupled. I hardly know what to do with myself. I feel like I have oodles of extra cash and now only have 8 days per month in which to spend it.
I feel like my bank account will be sending me a box of chocolates and a new pair of shoes shortly to show it’s appreciation for the increase.
I am done gloating, I promise. I have made a solemn vow–confirmed by Google–not to complain about this job, the hours or giving 5 shots a day, or the language barrier. Because people, I am out of the proverbial financial woods. Finally. And the sense of relief is palatable. In fact, I am so relieve that I actually of my own free will and choice sat down and did some tricky math just to be able to write this post….well, that and to remind myself just how damn lucky I am.
heidikins: one lucky girl (who still hates math, even when the end result is a new pair of shoes…I’m thinking these in red.)
I have another crush. My last crush was on a vast expanse of salt, and while I still have strong feelings for the Salt Flats, at this point they have been momentarily moved aside for a 400-pound bundle of joy.
Zuri, the baby elephant at Utah’s Hogle Zoo was born almost 3 months ago and is perhaps the cutest thing I have ever seen in my entire life (she’s not really pink, lest you were confused by the title). She will melt your heart in about 3 seconds and can wrap you around her (proverbial) little finger and keep you there forever. Don’t believe me? Spend the next 3-minutes of your life falling in love. Seriously. I’ll wait.
Did you watch it? Do you have warm fuzzies? Did you hear me squealing laughing in the background? I apologize for the squeals, but she is just so stinkin’ cute! Do you agree?
Britt went to see go baby elephant peeping a month ago and I’ve been wanting to see Zuri ever since. My friend Fred needed to interview a zoo worker for a class project, and I jumped at the chance to go check it out. And, if you’ve been a good boy/girl like I told you and watched the video clip, you will want to immediately jump in your car, on your scooter, on your bike, or strap on your rollerblades and go see Zuri.
(I was there in the early afternoon, about 1:30-2:30 or so, and she was super playful. Just do it.)
You’ve heard talk of the proverbial corner, right? The one that, miraculously, will solve all your problems once taken advantage of? (No, this is not that kind of corner, nor that kind of advantage…keep it clean, people.)
I’m talking about the little baby steps that we must make to keep our lives running more-or-less smoothly. I don’t think there is one Big Corner of Life that, upon turning it, all one’s problems will be solved. I do, however, believe in many little corners, small hurdles, and quiet victories.
People, I have come to one of those corners; and you better be darn sure I turned it. I turned it right up. I did not pass Go. I did not collect $200 dollars. I turned the corner.
Finally.
I realize this is not the first time I have announced this statement for all the Internets to scoff at–but this time it’s more true than last time. And it’s Awesome!
I have finally found myself in a position that not only challenges me, but also puts to good use the talents I enjoy the most. I have found a position where I am needed and appreciated. Things are still brand new right now, but let me put this into a little bit of perspective for you: I just finished working a 15-hour day, I have another 15-hour day tomorrow, and I am happy as a clam. Ya know, if there were scientifically based evidence that clams are, in fact, happy.
I have yet to figure out how, exactly, to talk about this here–but I am so excited about the turn of events I couldn’t not share. Next week will have a lot more information, I promise!
Happy Friday!
Filed under: Bloggy McBloggerson
The following post was not written by me, it is part of the lovely Blog Share organized by -R- from And You Know What Else. I have an anonymous post published elsewhere on The Internets (but I’m not telling you where, it’s a secret) and the post below is from an anonymous BlogFriend. From the sounds of things, it looks like she could use a little support, please leave some comment love. For a complete list of participating Blog Sharers (is that even a word?) check the bottom of this post.
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I hate my job. I know I am supposed to be grateful that I have a job. I would rather have my job than no job, but I don’t think that means I have to like it or that I can’t complain.
My friend’s wife is pregnant with their third kid. My friend’s boss told him not to tell anyone at work that his wife is pregnant because management won’t think my friend is dedicated to his job if he has “too many” kids.
The men at my job are supposed to have kids because it makes them look well-rounded, but I guess they aren’t supposed to have more than two kids, and they definitely aren’t supposed to actually spend time with their kids.
My friend who worked during her “maternity leave” and traveled to speak at a conference on behalf of our company during her “maternity leave” was told when she came back from leave that she didn’t seem dedicated to her job and will not be promoted.
Our pay was cut, but we have to work more hours.
I know three senior men who are currently have affairs with junior women who work for them. The official policy is that these kind of affairs are not allowed. One of the men having an affair was recently promoted.
I had an interview at a different company two weeks ago. Today I got a call that the company wants me to come back and meet with a few more people. If I don’t get this new job, I am going to be devastated.
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Check these out for more Blog Share posts:
Not the Daddy
O is for Olson
Red Red Whine
Rediscovering Me
Reflections in the Snow-covered Hills
The Reluctant Grownup
Sauntering Soul
Serendipity Now
Snarke
So, This Is a Treadmill
Thinking Some More
Time for Change
Together They Come
Wondering and Pondering
And You Know What Else
Andrea Unplugged
Arctic-ulate
Bright Yellow World
Bwildered
Catheroominations
Did I Say That Outloud?
Dispatches from the Failed Mommy Club
Full of Snark
Hot Chicks Dig Smart Men
Just Below 63
The Little Goat
I know that Halloween is sooo last week and most people are already talking about Christmas, but I did want to give the vast realm of The Internet a peek at my self-made costumes. I don’t really do the scary, dripping in blood and oodles of white cakey goth-makeup costumes, but I do love the cute ones.
Exhibit A: Alice in Wonderland, a bit grown up; this was for Friday night at a fantastic Halloween party. The dress was from Ross or T.J. Maxx a year ago and I wear it all the time, although not usually with stripey tights or an apron.
Exhibit B: Little Red Riding Hood, a bit grown up, for Saturday night. My mom actually made the cape (which has a hood, btw) when I was four or so. Granted, at the time it came down to my lower calf and now it hits me at the hip, but I decided that I couldn’t not wear it. I made the pink skirt and apron and carried a little basket full of snacks, keys, phone, etc. It should be noted, the curly hair thing is definitely a new move for me. Admittedly, it takes a solid hour and half a can of hairspray to make my naturally stick-straight hair into something resembling Shirley Temple or Goldilocks, the final product was completely worth it.
