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.

The Shuffle Function

It's one in the afternoon and I've been working since nine this morning. Well, if I'm honest, it hasn't been a real "productive" four hours. While trying to edit fifteen interviews into one story I have IM-ed my best friend in D.C. about her man troubles, talked to my mom about my sick husband, looked on craigslist for a forsaken bike, talked to my sister about becoming a mom, heard a rather lame joke from my dad, talked to a man called my husband, who I think came home last night at two, and snacked on every carbohydrate that isn't nailed down in my house. It's been a remarkably busy and unproductive morning. (And I still have no replies to my inquiries on craigslist.com)

During this exciting morning I have had my Ipod on shuffle. I think the function of shuffle is so interesting. After four hours I have come up with the following conclusions and questions:

1. It literally takes you on a roller-coaster of self-esteem as some songs make you feel instantly cool for having such great taste, and then in a second exposes you as a total dork for bobbing your head to "Gettin' Jiggy With It."
2. Some days it seems like your Ipod is mad at you and insists on putting together the worst shuffle. The other day I was caught in a 10,000 Maniacs, John Grisham book on tape and Aerosmith mix. It was awful...and I had no one to blame but myself?
3. Only the very confident can have their Ipod on shuffle around other people. I have tried this a couple of times and after apologizing with the phrase, "Ha, ha...this is a guilty pleasure," too many times to count, I have stopped opening myself up.
4. How come your shuffle seems to always play the same songs? My Ipod is in love with "Tripping Billies" by Dave Matthews and this battle song from the "Braveheart" soundtrack. (don't judge)
5. Lastly, I have found that shuffle is a magical function. I can't even explain how many times I have been listening to my Ipod and some song comes on I have never heard. It's truly magical.

Okay, I'm getting back to work...after one more bagel. I heart carbohydrates.

LOTOJA...the untold story

I know this looks like a shameless attempt to celebrate myself - but I just found these pictures on my madre's computer and decided to document them for all posterity.

In 2004, I decided to ride LOTOJA. According to Wikipedia LOTJOA is: "...one of the longest single-day road cycling races in North American, if not the world and is the longest race sanctioned by USA Cycling or the United States Cycling Federation." The race is always held on the second Saturday of September, starts in Logan, Utah and finishes in Jackson Hole, Wyoming and travels 206 miles.
I started the race at about 7 in the morning. The skies were very overcast and after about ten miles it started to rain. After about fifteen miles it started to downpour. What you see above is all I was wearing when I started the race. After about forty miles I thought I was going to die. I remember coasting into the first feeding zone and finding my sister. I was shaking horribly from the cold and I kept saying, "I can't do this. I can't do this." My sister, being the absolute bad ass that she is, just replied, "Shut up, and get back on your bike." Which I did. As the ride continued, people started to drop out, and I started to steal clothes.
This poor guy rode with our group. He took a wrong turn and rode an additional 30 miles to get back on course.
The entire race is sort of a blur. If I wasn't freezing, I was having to pee from drinking so much water. I remember one time my sister pulled up next to me. I was about ten miles away from the next feeding zone and I thought my bladder was going to explode. She tells the story that I was almost crying and saying, "I have to pee so bad." I typically deny this story, but now four years later, I think there might be some truth to it.
My sister was the absolute reason I finished this forsaken race. At every feeding zone she had peanut and butter sandwiches made, she would rub my legs down, got the most amazing chicken McNuggets in all of Wyoming, and would constantly say, "You are going to finish this race." I have never been colder in my entire life (Mongolia included) and yet, her words truly made me go forward.
This was one of the last feeding zones in the race. In order to move on from this zone you had to be checked for frost bite and hypothermia. I remember some lady grabbing my face and watching my eyes. I was shaking so bad, but held it together as she examined me. She then said, "If you are crazy enough to go - I'll tell you that the next pass is snowing. It's up to you." Again, I don't know what I was thinking, but I shook my head and clipped in.
This is me at the top of the last mountain pass. I look happy because I thought Jackson was only twenty miles away. (My odometer shut off after hydro-planing down the pass into Montpelier, Idaho...so I was guessing based on my watch). Unfortunately, I had about forty miles to go and the sun was setting.

After riding in the dark for about two hours I crossed the finish line. Again my sister saved me. I remember she followed me with her car so I could see the road and blasted Bruce Springsteen to push me the last mile. As soon as I crossed the finish line they took down the sign and started to pack up. Unfortunately, for the 300 or so riders behind me their times were never recorded. I ended up finishing in a little over 13 hours and was 1 of the 13 girls who actually finished.

The legacy of this ride: 1. I hate riding when I have to pee 2. My knees have never fully worked since 3. I still want to go back and do it again...even though Dan won't let me.

The Look into the Future

Last week our ward had it's annual Primary Presentation. For those of you who aren't Mormon, the Primary Presentation consists of a lot of restless children, singing deeply out of tune and regurgitating gospel principles their teachers have written out. It's sort of a mix between absolutely adorable and slightly creepy. "Adorable" because who doesn't like watching a bunch of kids sing "I'm a Child of God" while picking their noses and waving to their parents in the audience. "Creepy" because it always strikes me a little strange to listen to these kids recite gospel doctrine like little robots.

Anyway, I chose to write about this event because in the past the Primary Presentation has meant nothing to me other than an hour off from listening to otherwise typically boring talks. However, this time the Primary Presentation made me think - not anything about the gospel, but what kind of kid will I be adding to this madness? Will I be adding the spit fire who sasses up to the microphone and screams "I KNOW the CHURCH is TRUE!"? Or will I be adding the boy who can't seem to figure out where he is and why in the world he isn't sitting with his parents? Or lastly, will I produce the Korean girl, who not only gave a dissertation on the "Dead Sea Scrolls," but after speaking sang a solo. A solo! Seriously, it was insane. I felt so bad for the other parents. This kid literally made all the other kids look like morons.

So, I don't know what kind of child I'm going to produce, but after watching this little scene I've come to term with a couple of things:
1. There's a very good chance my kid is going to be a moron because we aren't Korean and I can't carry a tune.
2. There's a good chance my child is going to be the incoherent screamer into the microphone because I'm sort of that now.
3. There's a very good chance that my child will be able to beat up that Korean girl...because I was sort of that little girl.

911...not so responsive

So today was an interesting day...no it doesn't consist of actually showering (yes, it's almost four in the afternoon)...I did brush my teeth. Sorry this is not a hygiene report, but if you were asking I do smell quite good. (okay, so I hugged Dan when he got out of the shower and his deodorant got all over my arm...I still smell good)

ANYWAY...today I decided to register my car. Sure I've been living in California for almost a year and a half, and I've been driving around with an expired registration for the past couple of months, but I'm not what you call a "conformist," "someone who follows the rules," or "someone who pays for things before walking out of stores." I'm my own person...so no judging. Who am I talking to? Sorry I'm feeling feisty today, or maybe it's because I smell like a man.

Again, ANWAY...in order to get my long awaited registration I had to go get my smog check. (yes, I am going to walk you through every painstaking moment of my registration process). As I was driving down Lincoln (a very busy street for you non-Santa Monicans) I was stopped at an intersection. For almost five minutes our light didn't change. At first I wasn't too concerned, but then I got a little worried when I watched Paco try to cross the intersection as cars were flying across. Many cars started to follow his lead, and I feared I was about to see a very nasty accident. So, being the good citizen that I am, I decided to call the police. Who else do you call in a situation like this? Anyway, I dialed 911 and waited as it began to ring. I don't know if any of you have called 911, but I suggest if you are being murdered this is probably not the best route. I couldn't believe how many times it rang until an automated voice came on and said, "If this is an emergency, please press 1." 1? So, you are about to get killed, and not only do you have to wait on the phone, but you also have to have the ability to find the number 1 on your phone. Because I was not being murdered, I pulled the phone away, took a deep breathe, scratched my cheek, looked out the window and pressed 1. Again, more ringing. Are we serious? So let's say you have managed to get away from the person who is trying to murder you, you pull your phone out and dial 911. You wait, you find the number 1 and then you...wait a little longer. I think this is the point where the camera actually moves into a tight shot around your face, the music gets more intense and behind you is a creepy hand. Anyway, finally a very "friendly" voice barked, "911 what is your emergency?" My emergency? Hmmm...911 isn't working so well? My friend died about ten minutes ago, but thanks for asking?

At this point, I then feared I had called the wrong place, because was a broken traffic light really an emergency? However, I was in (I had placed 1) and so I blurted out, "I'm on Pico and Lincoln and the traffic light I think is broken." Good delivery I thought. A little lacking in confidence, but I said it. The operator then responded, "Hold please." (Which made me wonder is making me hold because I'm not really an emergency or because this is their typical procedure?) Unfortunately, I didn't really find out because then I was hung up on. Again typical procedure? Anyway, two seconds later the light turned green, so something must have happened in the magical world of 911.

So lessons for the day: 1. register your cars on time and don't hit Chalynn in Santa Monica when she hasn't eaten lunch...she sort of sucks. 2. Don't call 911 if you have an emergency. Just keep running until you trip and fall in the forest...you really have no other option.

Be Cool or Be in Pain

There are moments when I just don't feel my ripe age of 29. This morning would have to be one of those moments. At sixteen I got my braces off and was given a nice little retainer as a parting gift. For about eight years I was incredibly faithful about wearing my orthodontic gear...and then one night I decided I had had enough. I was 24, a college graduate, a return missionary and too cool for a plastic piece of torture. Consequently, for the past five years I have been recklessly sleeping with no protection. A couple of days ago I was going through our pictures from Italy and I noticed something...my teeth looked completely out of place. I don't know if this was a result of the time change or a severe case of jet lag, but something didn't look right. Therefore, I was left with only two choices: 1. Continue feeling cool at night and allow my teeth to become "Summer Teeth" (suma here and suma there) or 2. Strap back on the dork gear. After a moment of reflection of what my teeth used to be before braces I realized there really was only one option. Therefore, two days ago, after scrubbing with toothpaste, mouthwash and paint thinner my retainers were placed back in their rightful home.

This morning I woke up to my phone ringing. Without thinking I flipped open my phone and croaked a very lispy and saliva enhanced "Good morning." As my mom was saying "good morning" back, a rush of pain swept over my mouth. At first, I thought I had been punched or kicked accidentally in the mouth the previous night. Yet, when I went in search of what was causing so much discomfort to my mouth, and so much drool, I remembered my fateful decision to reintroduce my retainer. I had no idea something so small could cause so much pain.

So there I sat, 29, feeling like a complete dork, covered in spit and clutching my mouth. There's got to be a point when your teeth stop moving, and you can feel like a real adult. Right?

This Gallery is Free

As opposed to writing out my entire trip I thought a photo gallery of the highlights would be better.

May 5
Our trip began flying into Milan at about 8:30 in the morning. We decided to take the metro over to the Duomo. Talk about a cool way to begin the trip.

May 6
After a few hours of being in Milan we took the train to Cinque Terre. We ended up staying in a quaint beach town called Monterosso.
The following day we hiked a little over seven miles through the five towns that make up Cinque Terre.
The trail would take you right down into each town. After hiking we took the train back to Monterosso and fell asleep on the beach.

May 7-8

After Cinque Terre we took the train to Pisa and walked to the Field of Dreams.
These pictures were taken illegally. (Right after we were kicked off the grass).
From Pisa we got back on the train and went to Florence for two days.
In Florence we saw The Birth of Venus, The David, went to the Pitti Palace Gardens and climbed 483 stairs to the top of the Duomo.














This was Dan's best idea for a picture inside the Duomo.
It was meant to look like we were seeing a vision, but now it looks more like aliens are beaming down and stealing our faces.

Dan wanted to kneel down, but I thought we had been sacrilegious enough for one day.



























May 9-10

From Florence we went to Venice. Probably the coolest part of Venice (outside of scoring free tickets for the boat from and to the train station) was where we stayed. It was a little apartment just behind St. Mark's Square. The bottom floor was completely untouched, and on the second floor our room looked out to a canal.
The second coolest part of our trip to Venice was finding these hats...and listening to Dan say (with a very heavy lisp) "Come here Sailor Boy." (This also was an illegal picture. After we took these pictures we saw signs everywhere that read, "No Photos.")
The third coolest part of Venice was walking around for an entire day. We had planned on taking a sleeper train to Rome that left Venice at midnight...consequently, there isn't a canal or little street Dan and me haven't walked.
After walking for six hours we decided to get the biggest pizza we could find and eat with the pigeons on St. Mark's Square. (This again is an illegal picture because later we saw a sign that said, "No eating on St. Mark's Square." ...Tell that to the pigeons.)

May 11
From Venice we took a night train to Rome. I will never forget coming out of the metro from the train station and seeing the Colosseum at seven in the morning. The streets were virtually empty and the sun was just rising over this incredible site.
Since we arrived so early in Rome were one of the first in line to see the Colosseum. (And the ones who had to wake up half of Italy to get into our hotel at seven in the morning).Before we left on our night train back to Milan we took some pictures of the Colosseum at night.
Me with Rick Steves (my Italian crush...and guidebook) inside the Forum. I'm standing on something really old.

After a little nap we went to the Pantheon and scored a free explanation from an American guide. The description of the Pantheon = fascinating. The 150 Euro ticket he received to give it = more fascinating. (Apparently, you aren't allowed to talk loudly in a church.)
Our first night in Rome ended with an awesome meal from a huge Italian named Michelangelo, a walk to the Trevi Fountain and more gelato.

May 12
As I mentioned in a previous entry Dan was able to find us a private tour guide for the Vatican. In four hours we saw the private gardens of the Pope and went into St. Peter's Basilica and the Sistine Chapel without waiting in a single line or paying for a single ticket. The magical phrase was, "We're with him."
The entrance to the Private Gardens of the Pope.
A piece of the Berlin Wall was given as a gift to the Pope. (It was just sitting behind the summer home of the Pope...funny that's exactly where I would put my Berlin Wall also.)
While we were in the Sistine Chapel Feliche demanded that we take a picture of the ceiling. The picture isn't great, but you can see Feliche pretending to talk to me as we shielded Dan from the 20 guards who were there to stop idiots like us. Italian Guards - 0 Dan, Kate and the mastermind of Feliche - 1.
I know after the Vatican I should be raving about the magnificent art and history we saw...but what's just as cool was the best pizza I had in Italy. (It was a little place just outside the Vatican walls...and yes, it was a religious experience.)
At night we hung out at the Spanish Steps for a while. There were a bunch of German students there singing, dancing and getting drunk...it made me sad for college.

May 13
The last day we were in Rome it absolutely poured, yet in spite of the rain we had a very eventful day. One, I tried to talk an umbrella seller into giving me an umbrella for 1 euro (not because I thought he would do it, but more because it was sort of fun to see him get all frustrated.) Two, we found the best gelato in the world...cinnamon...I still dream of it. Three, we stumbled upon this angel in the last church we entered. I know it's a strange way to end our little photo gallery, but I think it sums up how we were feeling by the end of our trip...
Do you notice anything funny about this angel's hand? If not...well, then you are more mature than I am.

May 14
After a night train from Rome, we flew to New York and then to LA. I think in total it was over 30 hours of traveling.

A Shell, A Bird and A Black Man

Well I'm back from the great land of Italy. I'm not sure how to sum up the trip in one entry on this blog...sooooo...be prepared for constant installments of our exciting adventure.

To begin with, we were gone for ten days, saw six towns (well, really seven because we got kicked off a train in Bologna) ate a couple of liters of gelato, took over 300 pictures and shot three hours of footage. It was in a word - amazing.


Probably one of the coolest things we did was our tour of the Vatican. We had scored a private tour with a man named Feliche Noveli, who has the prestigious position of holding the Pope's chair. For those of you (yes, I'm acting like I have numerous readers) who are Catholic that might mean something. To Dan and I - well, I'm not sure if we gave him the proper respect. I think we both said something like, "Oh, really? That's great." I don't know if that was like spitting in his face, but what can you expect from two Mo Mos.

Our tour with Feliche started outside the Vatican. Immediately, after shaking his hand he started to tell us the significance of the obelisk we were standing next to. I felt like I was back in Mongolia listening to some old woman tell me about her sheep. I could barely understand a word he was saying. As he turned around, I shot Dan a look and mouthed, "I can't understand a freakin' word." From that point on, poor Feliche must have thought Dan and I were a little "slow" because after every explanation Dan would repeat what he had just said so I could understand. It was truly like a bad game of "Telephone" or "Whisper Down the Lane." (whichever you prefer)

Anyway, as Dan was translating for me, one of the funniest things took place. While we were standing in the Pope's private gardens, Dan asked Feliche what was the current Pope's emblem. (It was a valid question because throughout the tour Feliche kept pointing out the different emblems of past Popes). To answer Dan's question, Feliche stopped and said, "The current Pope's emblem is a: shell, bird and a...black man." Immediately, I looked at Dan to translate what I thought I had just heard. Dan looked back at me, and repeated to Feliche, "So the current Pope's emblem is a shell, bird and a 'Black Man?'" Feliche, without any hesitation, said, "Yes, a shell, a bird and a black man." Holy crappers - I completely lost it. I had to turn around and shield my face because I thought I was going to erupt. I kept picturing a bronze emblem of a shell, a bird and some guy with an afro, holding a boombox on some beautiful statue. (sorry that's the image I saw...I know not very PC).

Anyway, after I recovered from that comment we toured the private gardens, walked in through the back door to St. Peter's Basilica, watched Feliche elbow every tourist imaginable and ruin just about every Asian's picture, walked into the Sistine Chapel without paying and took a picture of Michelangelo's masterpiece while Feliche stood in front of the guards. It was the total VIP tour.

My Mom Learned a New Word

Oh my mother...where do I begin? The woman is so refined and yet can be so freaking hilarious.

This past week I was in Utah for The B.Y.U graduation and work. On Monday night my mom and I decided to stay in and watch a little TV. I suggested we watch "The Bachelor" because it's always fun watching incredibly ridiculous TV with my mom because she, like me, loves to rip on the people. I would go on and explain the procedure of "The Bachelor," but then again those of you reading this blog hopefully are well versed on the show. If not, stop reading and go read a book or something.

Anyway, at the end of the show the Bachelor took the girl he didn't choose to this bench and sat her down to explain why she just wasn't marriage material. (That he had, of course, determined after two dates and on a reality TV show - it sounds like I'm judging and I'm not.) In the middle of his lame explanation the girl responded by saying, "I just don't understand how you could lead me on." (seriously, even I felt the chemistry) He then again tried to explain why he chose the absolute sex kitten, and then she cut him off by calling him a douche-bag. Now we didn't actually get to hear her say this because they bleeped it out. My mom then turns to me and innocently asks, "What did she say?" There I sat trying not to laugh, but wondering how could I explain to my sweet mom what a douche-bag is. Finally, I said something like, "Oh it's this new derogatory term that is catching on with teenagers and people my age." She accepted that definition and we continued to watch the show. A couple of seconds later, the Bachelor walked the unchosen girl to the limo. (Of course, this is the part where they break down and try to tell America that this is why they have relationship problems and where their walls come from. And we, as viewers, try not to laugh.) Anyway, apparently my mom wanted to get to this pathetic part and while they were walking to the limo my mom yells out, "Come on douche-bag, put her in the limo." Needless to say I absolutely erupted. It was a perfect execution of douche-bag and I was never prouder of my dear mother.

A Real Accomplishment

I always thought I was a Rock Star, but today my sister-in-law did something I couldn't even imagine doing...SHE RAN THE FREAKIN' BOSTON MARATHON!! Unfortunately, she didn't get first place. Apparently, some Kenyan, Ethopian, Ivory Coastan (some very skinny man who can run way too fast) took first, but my girl was right behind. I can't even say how impressed I am.

I think it also rocks that her girls were able to see their mom accomplish such a huge goal. I hope when I have three kids I'll be taking on races and kicking some butt. A Marathon!!! It makes my knee hurt just thinking about it.

I suppose I find it such a feat because of my following day: I haven't showered yet, it took me until 1 in the afternoon to brush my teeth and my biggest accomplishment was that I not only made my bed as soon as I got up, but I took my vitamin. I don't know why that is so hard, and I why I feel so accomplished when I take my vitamin. I guess I feel like an adult with all that extra iron and calcium running through my system...even when I'm sitting at my computer pretending to work in my pajamas.

CONGRATULATIONS G. LOVE

Mormons Don't Swear

For some reason wherever my husband goes trouble seems to follow.

Last night we had our last lacrosse game of the season against USC. This was already going to be a heated game because the following season they beat us in overtime by one goal, we were coming off a fabulous showing of 17-0 loss against UCSB and, and, and well we were in the hood of LA where heat and violence reigns. (okay, so I couldn't think of a third reason).

Anyway, I had asked Dan to stand behind the goal and take pictures of our seniors. Next to Dan was one of our player's boyfriends, who decided his mission of the game was to make the opposing team's goalie cry. Therefore, every time someone scored, this classy boyfriend would yell out some derogatory comment in regards to her "lack of saving ability." I had noticed this going on, but to be honest, I found it a little funny and wasn't in the mood to make it stop.

Fast forward to the second half and all of the sudden USC starts to come back. Eventually, the score gets to be 10-7 and we haven't even gotten close to scoring for fifteen minutes. Outside of getting too cocky, our offense was having a hard time hearing the plays, and of course, when left on their own our team doesn't display much creativity or initiative. Therefore, I grabbed Dan and told him I needed him to stand behind the goal (inconspicuously of course) and call out our plays. (I would give him a signal (1 finger, 2 fingers etc.) and he would call them out. ) I thought this was full proof.

The first time our girls came trucking down the field I held up two fingers and Dan yelled out, "Bomb!" Immediately, the USC coach screamed that he wanted Dan off his sideline and called for security. He started screaming that Dan was swearing at his goalie and players. I ran over, with the refs, and tried to get the coach to settle down. I kept saying, "He's my husband and...we don't really swear." The USC coach would not listen and a cop had to come over and calm everyone down. I don't know what was the funniest part:
1. Dan being almost kicked out of our lacrosse game for yelling one word.
2. Dan being accused of swearing at a 19 year goalie.
3. Watching the USC goalie try to tell the coach that it wasn't Dan.
4. The game coming to a complete stop.
5. Me trying to convince everyone in a heated moment that Mormons typically aren't allowed to swear due to it being unbecoming and effecting our ability to feel or be susceptible to the spirit.

Anyway, we won the game. Go Waves!