Finn

This weekend was an absolute blast from the past. As I mentioned before, on Friday I hung out with my old teammate Ashley, who may be back with Mr. Eckhart - sooo, I still might find the answer to my burning question about Godly Sorrows. Also, after I saw Ms. Wick, my best friend and teammate, Finn, happened to be in Santa Monica as well. Therefore, after a nostalgic run with Ashley, Finn and I hung out and she finally met my Danny.
Finn, like Ashley, is another fascinating person from my past. I first met Finn on my recruiting trip at Duke. I remember talking to her about how much alcohol they were probably going to make us consume that night, while we sat and watched the football team get destroyed. I think I told her I didn't drink so she offered me her lemonade. (I guess she figured I was going to be dehydrated that night). Anyway, over the next four years we became extremely tight. She helped me through some very difficult times and made me laugh more times than I can count.

My favorite time with Finn would have to be the last night we were together as roommates. It was an extremely depressing time because the previous day we had not only graduated, but we had lost in the second round of the NCAA tournament. (This could be an entirely different blog entry, but take my word for it, I've been heartbroken only a couple of times and this was definitely one of those times).

I remember we were sitting out on our porch for the last time, and again, going through the miserable game. Underneath our apartment lived two men lacrosse players. I had known these morons since I was a freshmen and I held absolutely no love for them. The night before our game and graduation these rocket scientists had thrown a party that went until the morning. I remember looking out my window at about three in the morning and seeing a bunch of guys with no shirts on throwing a keg over the fence. I think it was some kind of ritual to show how gay they were? (I'm rusty on my ritualistic practices). Anyway, that night we didn't sleep a second, and I still believe, they were responsible for our demise on the field. I know I should let it go, but I still hope they all die. (too much?)



Anyway, as Finn and I were discussing the game, we could hear underneath us another party beginning. After an hour of drinking, dancing, wrestling and shaving a couple of heads, the party moved to another house. All that was left was a skipping CD playing "Brown Sugar" by the Rolling Stones. As we heard the door close Finn and I got up, went to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of milk, a bottle of wine, some ice cream and pickles. We then went downstairs to break into their apartment. Unfortunately, the door was locked, but we could see their patio door was open. So, we walked around the complex and from the woods we threw the carton of milk, the bottle of wine and the ice cream into the apartment. I can't describe the pleasure and joy I felt as I heard the milk splash onto the floor. Sort of like when a child laughs - It was beautiful. We then climbed into their apartment and emptied the rest of our contents onto the couches, beds and kitchen counters. We then found eggs...eggs can be so much fun. For the first time since losing our game I couldn't stop smiling. Finn and I were absolutely out of control. I think my favorite scene of all was in the middle of this disaster Finn walked over to the CD player, pulled out the CD, broke it in half and while screaming, "You A-HOLES," flung the CD into the kitchen.

The next morning, our landlord came over to check our apartments. Surprisingly, those guys didn't get their deposits back.

My Ordinary Friend

So, last year I had this teammate who was dating Aaron Eckhart. Mr. Eckhart (some fun facts for you) used to be Mormon, was in my brother's mission, starred in one of my favorite movies of all time, Godly Sorrows, left the church, starred in Erin Brockovich, Thank You for Smoking and the new Batman movie. This guy is a big time actor, and how did I find out my friend was dating him? Oh, you know, saw her at the Golden Globes with him.

Anyway, because I have no pride, I called her up and said, "Um, Ash, are you dating a movie star?" She, having more class than I do, nonchalantly said yes, and then said that she was coming to LA to visit him and wanted to know if we wanted to get together for dinner. Dinner with an old teammate? Uh, yeah sounds great. Dinner with a freaking movie star? Tell me where.

We ended up going to this awesome restaurant and the entire night I kept wanting to ask him one question. No, not what is Julia Roberts like, or how much money he's worth. But, I wanted to know what was the sin that caused them to call off their temple marriage in Godly Sorrows. As missionaries we always speculated, but never knew.

Anyway, now a year later, my friend is no longer dating Mr. Eckhart and she wants to get together tomorrow. Is it bad that I'm not as excited as I was a year ago? Does that make me a bad person? Do you think I should ask her if he ever told her about the secret contained in Godly Sorrows?

How Come...?

Lately, I have been having an eery feeling that I'm surrounded by morons. Not Mormons, but morons. I just got back from trying to get an Odometer reading so I can buy my car. You would have thought I was asking for the cure of cancer. These "leaders of the pack" kept asking me if I needed a smog check. I guess I should give them the benefit of the doubt - odometer and smog do sound a lot alike.

I apologize for the sass, but lately I keep finding myself saying out loud, "What is wrong with people?" At first this was more of a rhetorical question, but now I really want an answer. What inspires morons to blow a blow horn at a biker? What drives a woman at 11 at night in the grocery store to start yelling at people for not following the right lines? (that wasn't me) And what possesses a person to bend over and not be somewhat aware of the massive thong riding up their back? Come on, I really want an answer.

Below are other questions I want answers to. Feel free to add your own. Actually, I encourage (again I'm pretending I have a wide readership) no I'm implore you to write your own list on your blogs or any other publication. Maybe if we ask enough times, we'll start getting some answers.

For example:
1. How come no one speaks English in California?
2. How come some people make it their mission to sit in the left lane with no intention of speeding up?
3. How come the bank I go to (that is notoriously slow) always has one person standing in line muttering to no one in particular, "I swear this is the worst bank." How come these people don't go to another bank?
4. How come the people, who don't live in our building, always park in the good spots?
5. How come some people think their children are cute...when they aren't?

That's all I got for today. I could get into why the trial run every month when we aren't planning on having kids for another ten years? (Or 19 years in my case.)

My Limit

Mom, I love you, but you might not want to read this entry.

Over the past five years I have ridden thousands of miles on my bike. I've weathered snow in Idaho, rain in Hawaii and the sweltering sun in Utah. I've been stranded in West Jordan with a flat tire and no cell phone. I've flipped off the front of my bike after almost being hit by a car. I've been thrown down into a railroad track after my wheel got caught, and I've fallen at the intersection of 4th South and 1300 East when I couldn't clip out in time. In all these experiences I kept my cool. I dusted myself off, cleaned off the blood, pimped myself out to get a ride home from West Jordan and called it a day. No cussing. No birds. I was restrained and I was in control.

However, Saturday I fear I finally reached my limit.

This weekend Dan had to work, and so I decided to go out for a ride alone. I chose a route I've done many times and set out to enjoy the day. After twenty miles I turned around and started to head for home. I was cruising down a hill at about twenty-five miles an hour when a truck flew by and blew a blow horn right next to me. The sound absolutely scared the crap out of me and set a jolt through my body. Once I got a hold of myself I instantly thought, "Now, this was a perfect opportunity to give these guys the bird and AGAIN I hesitated." I know, I know I've been discussing the pros and cons of the finger for way too long. (I suppose this blog will have to be re-titled "The Assessment of the Middle Finger (Colon) It's Complicated" - that was a reference to The Soup - one of the best shows on TV).

Anyway, once I stopped my inner discussion on the finger, I looked ahead and saw the diabolical (I love that word) truck ahead of me stopped at a stoplight. Instantly, I decided these guys didn't deserve the finger, but a good ol' tongue lashing. Immediately, I tucked down and sped to the stoplight. (This is where I would say I sort of "blacked out" because I'm not sure what happened. From what I can gather from the horrified faces inside the truck I must have been pretty "angry.") I remember screaming something like, "Are you kidding me? Are you trying to kill me? Do you think that's funny? Are you both complete idiots?" All my questions were met with a very sheepish 18 year old muttering again and again, "I'm sorry." I think this is sort of where I went a little too far. As I was screaming the stoplight changed to green and they started to inch forward while closing their window. Ahead was a carnival so they had no where to go. Therefore, I took this opportunity to pound on their window and scream, "I'm calling the cops right now and reporting the both of you!"

Now, for those of you who really know me, you know I suffer from a very acute learning disability. Okay, this actually hasn't been officially diagnosed, but I'm terrible with letters and numbers. I just don't remember them and I don't hear them. One summer, as an intern, I had to answer phones for a PR department. People would rattle off their names and numbers and I would write on a piece of paper, "R-O-3-8." (Of course that would be "Rob" "383-6115") Anyway, again this learning disability struck at a very inopportune time. As I was screaming that I was going to call the cops and report them, I was trying to remember the numbers and letters on the license plate. All I had in my little brain was 89B. DAMN YOU UNDIAGNOSED LEARNING DISABILITY!!

Eventually, the truck was able to escape and all I could do was hold my phone out and pretend I was calling the cops. (yes, I was typing 89B). I'm such a loser.

Fortunately, the ride did end on a good note. As I was riding through Venice, I got stopped at a stoplight. While waiting on my bike, a black guy holding a cigar/cigarette (I wasn't sure - It was brown and had a little "mouthpiece" on the front of it) came up to me, and while his girlfriend/wife (with the coolest hot pink extensions I've ever seen) waited, asked, "Hey do you have a light?" A light? Um, yeah, I just lit up a few lights back...hold on a second.

So, friends, I ask: Do I go with the finger or the maniacal ravings, and do I start carrying a lighter? Help a sister out.

SCHWINNNNGGGG

I have officially declared this summer to be a "No Car Summer." I hereby declare that I refuse to get in a car unless I'm going to church or anything beyond 20 miles of my home. For those of you not from California, gas prices are drawing very close to 5 dollars a gallon and I'm havin' nothing of it. Now before you get worried this is not going to turn into political diatribe because, let's be honest, unless the government takes away my DVR and my Russian music site, where I buy songs for 20 cents, I'm pretty much apolitical. Yet, as apolitical as I am I'm also deeply frugal, and therefore, I'm riding for the rest of the summer. Therefore, my new friend is my new commuter Schwinn bike. It absolutely rocks. I love riding it so much I even signed up for doing some service for a girl in my ward just so I could fly by traffic and ride to the other side of town. Heck, I might even do my visiting teaching this month.

Come on people - get on your bikes!! And email me if you want to know the coolest site for downloading cheap music. (I Heart Mother Russia)

Darn Postal Service

Remember how thoughtful my Dad was on my birthday? Remember when I called him and he didn't wish me a Happy Birthday until I told him today was my birthday? Well, my Dad had another moment of love.

Sunday was Father's Day. So, like a good daughter I called my Dad and wished him a heartfelt Happy Father's Day. He was suffering from some food poisoning, and so after a report on his latest up chuck, I told him to have a great night. Yesterday, he called me and said, "Katherine, I need to apologize." I then responded, "What did you do?" He then said, "Yesterday, I was mad at you, but then today I got your Father's Day card and so I'm not mad at you anymore." I then said, "Um, sorry I couldn't get the card to you on Sunday...you know that darn postal service." My Dad then said, "Yeah, maybe next year. Anyway, thanks."

No Daddy...thank you.

Karma Can Be a...

For the past four days, I've been down in Orange County living large with Dan's family. This forced vacation has been great because I haven't been able to work a second and managed to ride over 85 miles. However, the real highlight of this trip was the fact that I was able to accomplish a major goal I set for myself. A couple of entries ago I discussed the disappointment I felt in myself for not being able to properly flip someone off while riding my bike. I then set myself a goal that the next time a motorist harassed me I would properly give them the bird.

So, on Friday I was riding along the beach, listening to my Ipod, minding my own business when a van passed by full of high school boys. As they rode by one stuck his head out the window and yelled...(Okay to be honest, I don't have a clue what he said, but I'm sure he was trying to be funny and yelled out something derogatory - Or at least, I hope that's what he did because, without even thinking, I looked up at him and gave him my best middle finger. Now looking back I fear I might have been a little too overzealous to accomplish my goal. For all I know he might have been yelling, "Hey, watch out there's a murderer behind you!" "Hey, you look like a great rider!" "Hey, I hope you are having a great day!" At any rate, I did it. Someone yelled and I flashed them my best finger. Mission accomplished.

The only problem from this was that as soon as I gave him the finger my confidence started to waver. I'll admit it's fun to give the finger and then drive off in the opposite direction, or jump on a plane. It's another thing to give the finger and then continue in the same direction as the person you just flipped off. For the next ten miles I kept waiting to see some van pulled over to the side and a bunch of high school students, with brass knuckles and baseball bats, waiting for me. Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened, but the following day karma cashed in its chips.

While riding again, in the same spot as the previous day, Dan and I went to make a left hand turn through a busy intersection. Because I love my husband, and I promised not to say anything, "something" happened and while muttering a choice word I went straight down. As I laid there, still clipped into my bike and praying that on-coming traffic would notice my mangled body, I had a thought. Accomplishing goals are very important, but I think I might be giving the finger a rest. I don't think I can handle the universe's response.

Sister Soulier

If you look closely you will see the name tag does indeed read, "Sister Soulier." I would like to say that this picture was taken after I was dragged into an alley and severely beaten. However, to be honest, I think I remember thinking I was looking particularly good this day. I was going home in two months and I think "looking good" had become a relative term.

Anyway, I post this deeply revealing picture for two reasons: 1. There's a very funny story behind it...

So, I was sort of starting to date Dan and I hadn't met his parents yet. At this time, his dad was working at the temple with a couple who had served in Mongolia. They got to talking, my name came up, and a couple of days later, this delightful picture was sent to my future father-in-law. He like, any smart individual, decided to use this picture to his advantage. He wrote Dan and said he had a girl all lined up who he wanted Dan to meet. Dan said he wasn't interested, but his Dad kept talking up this really "accomplished" girl. Therefore, to appease his dad, Dan said to send on the picture of this "amazing girl." Dan's dad then sent on this infamous picture, and Dan had to study it for awhile to realize it was indeed the girl he was dating. I guess the only thing that is good about this picture is that no matter what I look like in the morning I still can't look worse than this picture.

The second reason I post this picture is because my sister just forwarded me a couple emails I had sent her while I was on my mission. They are in one word completely "manic."

Below are a little snippets of my delirium:

"Well, I had better close. I have neglected to write anything spiritual. In about two weeks I get to train for the first time. I’m so excited. I’m going to teach her how to do snot rockets, (completely allowed in this country) and throwing food out the window when the investigator isn’t looking) other than that, I’m not sure what I have to give."

"I got a huge package from my coaches, mom and dad of course came up big with hot chocolate and pretzels. (you know your life priorities are all out of wack when all you wanted for Christmas were pretzels, hot chocolate and a book on the temple)."

"Alright let's stop talking about this, well, actually here's another funny story. i was teaching the law of chastity to this woman. she is a single woman, with the craziest child in the world. at any rate my companion first teaches, and says from now on she may not sleep with anyone. she gets all scared, and says, "but soul, i really want to. i mean i miss it." i get completely awkward, and tell her it's okay. but she won't stop. she starts to ask me about it. i'm like, "hello, lady, read the tag!!" this job. oh man."

A Lesson Learned

Saturdays...they are by far my most favorite day of the week. They remind me of P-Days on my mission because they are not days to be wasted. Every moment is planned and every food craving is fulfilled. I wonder what kind of missionary I would have been had I planned the other six days like my P-Days? Oh well...no need to dwell on the past.

Anyway, this past Saturday was another great one. It started off with a delightful sleep until ten in the morning and then a drive to the store to get breakfast (with no bra on - I don't know why I love just putting on a sweatshirt and walking around in public. It totally reminds me of Freshman year Calculus. I don't think Noble and me ever wore anything but a "sweatshirt.") Anyway, after consuming a bowl of cereal and some waffles we started the mad dash to buy a bike for Danny. (With the prices of gas becoming completely ridiculous we have decided to invest in bikes.) For the past month we have been searching craigslist.com for a deal and finally at about eleven we found one. The bike, like usual, was a little worst off than the description and picture led you to believe, but after a little negotiating we still ended up paying the asking price. (That was supposed to be sarcastic - we aren't exactly great "negotiators.")

So, now that we had a bike for Danny we got suited up in our matching Duke kits and headed out for a ride. At about mile 25, while we were riding along the beach, a man yelled from his car, "Nice matching outfits you homos!" Homo? I just got called a homo? I just looked at the guy as I was riding by and tried to give him my most, "seriously?" look. As I continued to ride I got more angry about the situation. 1. I was really upset that he was making fun of our cool outfits and 2. that he called me a "homo." However, as I thought about it longer I was most upset at my reaction. This guy deserved the finger and all I gave him was a LOOK. I was disappointed and embarrassed with my actions.

Dan, on the other hand, is someone to be admired. This man, who I love, can be talking on his cell phone, eating a sandwich and down-shifting on his bike AND still manage to get his finger up in a beautiful salute to obnoxious drivers. Unfortunately, in this case he didn't hear the "homo" part, but I know, if he had, that guy would have been properly dealt with - not just looked at. Geeeeez, I'm still embarrassed.

So now, from this experience I'm setting myself a goal - next time I'm honked at, yelled at or almost hit I'm raising that finger with not only confidence, but with conviction.

No Thank You Service

I come to you all in a very heighten state of utter frustration. Since I can remember I have been taught the principle of service. I have been taught to help those in need, lift up the weary and feed the hungry. However, today I learned another part of service...the part they don't really teach you in Relief Society.

Yesterday, after talking to a girl in my ward, who has had a very rough month, I decided to make her dinner tonight. Being the suspect cook that I am, I decided on an easy recipe of homemade mac and cheese and set off to change the world. After screwing up the recipe (mind you this recipe is for idiots) and dumping the entire thing down the drain I should have known this was not going to be a good idea. Finally, after a quick restart, I dumped the concoction in a pan, covered it, wrote a nice note (yes, I'm amazing) and set off to...well, change the world.

As I was pulling out of my driveway (which has a slight incline) the concoction started to seep out of the pan and into my car. Now this is the only part I'm proud of...I didn't swear. Not even one word. (That will actually come later). I did scream and beat up my steering wheel - but no choice expletives. Now that my car was smelling like cheese and milk, I pulled over, pulled the pan out of the car and took it back into my apartment. Because I was dropping it off I didn't cook it all the way (hence, the seepage) and so now I decided to cook it so it would be easier to transport. Thirty minutes later and slightly deflated, I packed the pan up again and headed off to her house.

After a "quick" stop to pick up a chicken at the most geriatric store I've ever been in (I swear every person in there was buying prune juice, depends and using every coupon they had found in the Sunday paper). Anyway, with the chicken in my car, the warm mac and cheese in my pan I thought I had finally done it. I pulled up to the compound (Dan and I's nickname for the place our ward lives) pulled out my goods, walked up to her apartment and knocked on the door. Here's the best part: she wasn't even there. I called her about ten times on the way there, when I got there and when I was pulling away...nothing.

In desperation and anger I called my busy husband and told him of my predicament. I asked him (as my last ditch effort) to check the address and make sure I had the right one. When he said, "201" that's when I finally cracked and said, "Shit, I'm at the right address."

So, here's what I learned today about service. Not so cool. Not what it's cracked up to be. And I don't know when I'll be jumping on the next service bandwagon. Amen.