Friday Ventalation...

Q: Liz, what have you been doing the last few months?

A: Nothing.

Q: Liz, what are you going to be doing in the next 10 weeks?

A: 9 papers = 60 pages = 21,000 words

Reading 8 books on various forms of leadership and management (Yippy!)

Digesting and dissecting 37 scholarly articles

Preparing 2 half-hour oral presentations

Enduring 1 group project




Grad school is bad.
Liz very sad.
No fun to be had.

What’s Playing on Your Radio?

Having been requested to make a post, (even though I have absolutely nothing to say), I’ve decided to make a list of all the bands/singers I don’t like that everyone else on the planet does.

Now, before you read the list, a few disclaimers:

1) This list is not comprehensive. I dislike many more bands, but decided to just stick with 10 so I don’t completely alienate my friends.

2) There is probably at least ONE song from each that I DO like. I just can’t think of it right now.

3) I have no idea why I don’t like them. I just don’t. Maybe it’s me? Maybe it’s them? It’s a mystery.

4) This list is in no particular order. Just wrote it as they came to me.

5) Please still be my friend.

With that, here’s my list for “BANDS OR SINGERS THAT I DON’T LIKE AND WILL CHANGE THE RADIO STATION ON IF THEIR SONGS ARE PLAYED”

1. Matchbox 20

2. Dave Matthews Band

3. Maroon 5

4. John Mayer

5. Jason Mraz

6. Red Hot Chili Peppers

7. Jack Johnson

8. Pearl Jam

9.Bon Jovi

10. Lenny Kravitz

There you go!*

Now, if this doesn’t prove that I have nothing to talk about…






*Please still be my friend.

Liz? Are you there?

No, I'm not.



I'm feeling done with the whole blog thing. And Facebook*. And Myspace**. Etc.



I'm only having small thoughts, now. Enough for a Twitter*** post or two.



And even that's a stretch...

*I've never really participated in this.

**Or this.

*** And I have very particular thoughts on what should be a Twitter post. Is it funny? Weird? Witty? Insightful? Strange? Then post about it.

On My Walk Today…

Jehovah’s Witnesses!


Hurray! The best walk ever!!*




*And I mean this sincerely. If you know me, you know there is nothing I like better than a good Jesus discussion, especially when said discussion is from good people trying to save my soul**! I was only sad that I couldn’t chat with them more, but I was on a break and had to get back to work…


**This reminds me of a post I've been meaning to blog about: my TV pastor! Cause I have one, and I watch him every Sunday. And I've even ordered his book and am on his one month program! I've got a bracelet to prove it and everything!***


***Don't worry, I'm not converting. I'm just trying to understand how people believe what they believe (or don't believe, for that matter). This gives me something to think about when I'm in nursery...

Q: How Big is a Mini Fridge?

A: Not as big as Mary Poppins’ purse. (Despite what my co-workers think.)

____________

So, at my office we have a mini fridge. You know, to hold our lunch. Or maybe an afternoon snack.

But, some of my co-workers get confused by this, and think that it’s for their entire weekly groceries. I mean, why hassle making a sandwich to bring to work, if you can store everything needed to make a sandwich at the office?

This irritates me greatly.

All I want to do is place my DAILY lunch in the fridge, and I have to smash it in there because a co-worker bozo has decided to store an entire glazed ham.

Don’t believe me?

Here are just some of the things I’ve found in the fridge*, hogging up precious space:


1. A gallon of milk
2. 3 heads of lettuce
3. 12 pack of burritos
4. 8 apples
5. A week’s worth of frozen meals
6. A loaf of bread
7. A whole Rotisserie chicken
8. A watermelon
9. A gallon of orange juice
10. 5 lbs. of pasta salad




I tell you, if tomorrow comes, and I can't fit in my PB&J, I’m going to have a Nervy B.**!!!




*Not that I’m keeping track, or anything, out of bitterness…

**Nervous breakdown. Any Georgia fans out there?

How did your day start?

Here’s the 10 step process for mine, in case you want to repeat it (and forewarning, it includes a bad word, and I mean a real one, not like “d*mn” or “h*ll” which are mild four-letter words by comparison. But, I had to include it because it’s a direct quote.):


1. Hit snooze 7 times. (Yes, 7. I know, that’s ridiculous. I’m actually only supposed to hit it 5 times (still ridiculous) which leads to my problem this morning.)

2. Wake up and realize that I’m 20 minutes late because of extra snoozing. (Really, 18 minutes late. Which reminds me: Why is snooze only 9 minutes? Do they think we need a minute to realize what the beeping* is and shut it off?

3. Run around like a wacko trying to get ready.

4. Leave my apartment and drive away while forgetting a) my breakfast I had premade, b) my lunch I had premade, and c) my purse. (Got my keys, though!)

5. Rush to work in a panic (while still observing most of the traffic laws) because I’m late and have an 8am meeting. (I mean, really, who has an 8am meeting on a Friday? That should be against the code of work ethics or something.)

6. Park and get out of my car at 7:59am. (This is also when I realize that I’ve forgotten my purse.)

7. Walk briskly to my building.

8. Get pooped on by a bird, but not notice it.

9. Enter my office, see my boss give me a funny look, think it’s about being late, say “I know I’m late, you would not believe my morning.” And hear her response “Well, if it’s anything like the sh*t you have on your shirt, it must have been bad.”

10. Endure being laughed at by other meeting attendees while I explain why I have a wet spot on my shirt and apologize for being 15 minutes late.




*I actually don’t wake to beeping. I can’t stand that! I wake to the sound of ocean waves which I can hear despite wearing earplugs and having 3 fans on in my room**.

** Have I mentioned that I’m a light sleeper? Slumber parties were NOT my friend. (In fact, I still avoid them for this very reason.)

The Animal World is Conspiring Against Me!

On my walk yesterday…



Me: (Thinking to myself) “Man, that’s a HUGE dog in that yard!”

Taking a few more steps while having a flashback to the time when I was attacked by a dog*…

Me: “Wait. Did that dog just step on to the side walk? He’s not chained up?”

Taking a few more steps…

Me: “Uh-oh, he’s in the street, now. What do I do?”

Taking a few more cautious steps…

Me: “Okay, he’s on the other side of the street. Don’t panic! Just keep walking. Stay your course, Liz!”

Taking a few more steps…then stopping with dread…

Me: “Dang!! I think he sees me!!!! Do I run? Will that cause him to chase me? What would Cesar Millan do? No, no…I must remain dominant! Keep walking, Liz!”

Taking a few more HESITANT steps…

Me: “HOLY CRAP!! He’s running to me!!!!!!! He’s gone feral!!!!!!!!”

Stopping in panic as the Rottweiler JUMPS ON ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: (saying out loud while trying not to lose control of my bowels) “Ahg!!!!! Crap!!!! Get off!!!!”

Stepping back so dog falls off my chest…

Me: (Looking down at the muddy paws on my white shirt) “Really!”

Taking a few more steps forward to try to get AWAY from the dog…

Me: (saying out loud) “Stop licking my hands!”

Taking a few more steps while noticing that the dog is bleeding from his ear…

Me: (Thinking to myself) “Is there blood on my pants?”

Taking a few more steps, realizing the dog is FOLLOWING ME!

Me: “Great. Now what do I do? Clearly he’s injured. But, I have office responsibilities. I can’t hide him in my cubicle…”

Taking a few more steps with the dog by my side…

Me: “I’ll just ignore him. He’ll go away…”

WALKING AN ENTIRE BLOCK WITH THE DOG BY MY SIDE, LICKING MY HANDS…

Me: “Crap.”

Continuing to walk when I notice a mother (giving me the stink-eye) and two little kids…

Mother of Kids: (In a rude tone) “You should really keep your dog on a leash!!”

Me: (Not knowing how to respond without going into a diatribe) “I know.”

Walking ANOTHER block with the dog by my side, NOT licking my hands because I’m holding them up (and looking stupid)…

Me: (Thinking to myself) “How am I going to get rid of him?”

Taking a few more steps, and seeing a stick…

Me: “Maybe if I chuck this stick?” picking up stick and throwing…

RUNNING AROUND THE CORNER AS FAST AS MY CHUBBY LEGS CAN CARRY ME (WHILE THE DOG RUNS IN THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION)…

Me: (heart palpating from physical exertion and mental stress) “Please don’t let him follow me!”

Walking as fast as I can towards my office while looking over my shoulder for the dog…

Me: “Maybe he’s not coming! Yes! My stick throwing diversion worked!”

Still walking as fast I can towards my office while looking over my shoulder for the dog…

Me: “He was kind of a cute dog…maybe I could keep him? What would Flo*** say?”

Entering my office out of breath, covered in muddy paw prints, hair frizzled, and sorta wishing I had a dog…

Me: “I think I’d name him Stanley.”




*I was five, and coming home from kindergarten when I was pinned in the middle of the street by a huge** vicious dog. A neighbor lady witnessed the attack, came to rescue me, and took me to my mom.
**Okay, it was a dachshund. But, HUGE to a scared five-year-old girl!
***My little old lady apartment manager.

On My Walk Today…

Me: (thinking to myself) “Jeez, those squirrels are awfully close to the path.”

Taking a few more steps…

Me: “They’ll probably move as I get closer.”

Taking a few more steps…

Me: “Huh? They’re not moving. What’s wrong with them?”

Taking a few more steps…

Me: “Maybe they’re rabid and planning to attack me!!”

Taking a few more steps… while contemplating the scene I would make as I scream across the field with two squirrels caught in my hair, and what my plan of action would be to dislodge them*…

Me: “They’re only a foot away, now! What the? Oh, wait…looking around embarrassed… they’re having a moment of intimacy.”

Taking a few more steps…

Me: “Great. Now I feel like a dirty peeping tom. Why can’t I ever walk in peace?!”


*Swat at them, of course!

Part Three: How Dumb is Dumb?

So, Thursday morning, as I’m “busy” at the office (Actually, I really was busy. I’m having to do TWO JOBS(!) because my “trainee” of a year(!) is way behind. But, that’s another post…), I get a call from Bank Robbing Bec.

Here’s what happened:

As soon as she met the detectives, they realized that she couldn’t possibly be the woman they have on surveillance. The real Becca is shorter, chubbier (but still cute, Hi Becca!), and wears glasses. (Detective M. said this is why it’s important to always have an updated license photo, because when they questioned a witness of the robbery, and showed him Bec’s picture, he said that it could have been her. (Becca’s license still has her picture from high school!))

Since they had already driven all the way out to see her (remember, they’re from the O.C.) they had her and Cash look at the pictures to see if they recognized the woman. (They didn’t.) And then they told them what happened.

Apparently, after the woman robbed an Office Store employee, she decided it would be a good idea to use the stolen credit cards in the EXACT SAME STORE THAT SHE STOLE THEM FROM!!!! I mean, how stupid can you be!!! And so when she went to the counter, the guy at the register looked at the credit card, read the name of his co-worker, got suspicious (Duh!), asked for her license, and wrote down the information (Becca’s!).

At this point, the woman realized he was on to her (“What? Really? You mean he figured out I wasn’t his co-worker?” Dumb!) and ran. She then proceed to a local liquor store and spent a couple hundred dollars on the awesome(?) stuff all liquor stores have. (Would a liquor store be your first choice to use stolen credit cards? Mine neither. Although, it does explain her stupidness…alcohol may be involved??)

------------------------------------

In the end, Bank Robbing Bec was cleared of all wrong doing, and was admonished to contact a couple of credit agencies to report that her identity might have been stolen.

The mysterious and dim-witted thief is still on the lam, probably getting ready to rob a McDonald’s and then buy a couple of Big Macs.

And my nunchucks still have their strings. (Although, I did put a pair of scissors in my night stand, because if this has taught me anything, it’s to always be ready for a police investigation.)

Part Two: Will the Real Rebecca Please Stand Up…

Meanwhile, I get home from work and see Cash cleaning up our apartment. And not the usual dusting of tchotchkes and fluffing of pillows. Oh, no! She’s hiding stacks of unopened computer paper, piles of new pens, and other office-type supplies while wheeling suitcases into her bedroom.

Yes, friends. You heard me correctly!

Our apartment has been covered in office supplies that I was told came from a “friend” of my mom’s, but now I’m not so sure…maybe that was just a cover story…maybe Becca really DID rob the Office Store…and she and Cash left their suitcases (from their trip LAST MONTH to Asia) in the living room this whole time (despite my protests, I might add) because they KNEW they were going to have to go on the lam with boxes of paper clips!!!!!!!

When I question Cash about why she’s trying to hide the evidence (while secretly assuming she’s Becca’s accomplice), she tells me that, OF COURSE!, it would look strange to the police officers coming to question Bec about a robbery of an Office Store to have paper supplies everywhere along with suitcases waiting by the door! And so she has to get rid of the stash.

By the time Becca gets home, the apartment looks like a crime-free zone. And it’s then that she tells us about her brief conversation with Detective M.

Basically, he wants to some to see her tomorrow (Thurs.) morning to show her the surveillance photos they have and see if she could “identify” (aka: BE) the woman in question. Because the suspect had her exact same name, AND her exact same driver’s license number.

Hmm…

And we also found out that the thief didn’t steal supplies, she stole credit cards and checks from an Office Store employee. (This causes me relief. The office supplies in my apartment DID come from my mom’s friend! (Or did they? (No, they did.)))

Anyway, the rest of the evening was spent in conversation about what we would do if Becca’s taken to the slammer. Who would get her extensive Asian video collection? Who would handle our trip planning? You know, important questions like that!

I end up going to bed bummed that I have to go to work the next day and miss all the action. Cash will be there for moral support (since she’s between gainful employment right now) and will get to witness the conversation (aka: interrogation).


Part Three, tomorrow!

To Cut, or Not to Cut my Nunchuck Strings…

So, as some of you may know, I am a certificated nunchucker. Totally professional about it and everything! (What? I’m serious!)

And now that I’ve advanced to the wood nunchucks (with bruises to prove it), I’ve become a renegade! (The law frowns upon wood nunchucks in California.)

Our (Rachel, Katie, Heather and yours truly) Sensei has joked by saying that if our homes are ever raided by the police, we should have scissors close by to cut the strings so we’re not brought up on felony (I’m not kidding!) charges.

And we would laugh and laugh! As if we would ever have the Po-Po in our homes because of criminal behavior! (Sure, we might if we were robbed or something, but not because we’re law breakers. Ha!)

Well, yesterday my friends, I almost had to cut my strings!*

You see, yesterday my apartment had two detectives (from the O.C.) in it to question one of my roommates (aka: sister Rebecca) about a robbery of which she was the SUSPECT!


::PAUSE FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT AND MENTAL ABSORBTION::


Wednesday, my parents had received a call from Detective M. asking if Becca (or Bank Robbing Bec, as I now call her) “has ever been convicted of a felony, because she sort of could be now, and could you please have her give me a call. Here’s the case number...”

(The detective called my parents instead of Becca directly because as part of her flouting authority, she never updated her driver’s license after moving out. Oh, what a tangled web we weave!)

You can imagine the affect this had on the parental units. (I’ll take “Panic” for 200 hundred, Alex!)

Immediately after hanging up with the police, my parents frantically call B. R. Bec at work, but couldn’t get a hold of her. So, they call my sister Cash (whose nickname is just coincidental…or is it?) who tries to call, but still no luck! So, Cash calls me, (because Bec and I work at the same university), and tells me briefly of the situation and what course of action I need to take: “Becca needs to call the police because she’s the suspect in a robbery of an Office Store**! Run over to her office a get her!!!!!!”

But, since I’m getting ready to leave, and don’t want to walk in the opposite direction to get Becca because I'm lazy, I decide it would be faster to call one of her co-workers, tell her it’s an emergency (without mentioning “jail time” )and “could she please interrupt Becca’s counseling session and put her on the phone!”

I then tell Bank Robbing Bec what I know. She’s stunned. (Or is she?) And eventually calls my parents to get the information.


STAY TUNED FOR PART TWO OF THE CASE OF MISSING POST IT NOTES...



*Instead, I opted to hide my nunchucks in my dirty laundry basket under a pile of my unmentionables.

**Since this is an ongoing investigation, I’m not giving the actual name of the store. I don’t want to have a reason for the police to come back and confiscate my nunchucks!

Is that a Poem in your Pocket, or a grocery list?

Yep, today is National Poem in your Pocket day!!!!

This means that you, yes YOU, need to share a poem with your nearest and/or dearest.

Last year, when I passed out poems to all of my co-workers, it was a great success that produced poetry discussion. Yay!

This year, I’m handing out one of my favorite poems by Dylan Thomas, “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.” It’s a classic, and I love the power of the words. (You can hear him read it here.)

If you need some suggestions, visit this link. Poets.org has done all the work for you!

And, if you don’t have the desire to pass poetry on to others, that’s okay.

Just share it with yourself!

A Question that has the power to change our lives…

1) If you knew you could not fail, what dream of yours would you make come true?

I’ve been thinking about this question for weeks now. Fear of failure stops us from so much in our life, and it’s something I’m working on overcoming.

Now, I have a great life, don’t get me wrong. And over the last year I’ve incorporated a lot more of what I love (and used to fear) into my day-to-day. But, I want more!

So, I’ve been asking myself, if failure wasn’t going to happen, what would I do?

And now, I’m asking you the same thing…

Think of the possibilities!

Would you quit your job and start your own business?

Would finally write that novel? Paint that picture? Publish that poem?

Would you move to a completely different country?

Would you leave an unhealthy relationship?

Sell everything you own and travel the world?

Tell your secret crush that you love them?

Would you cut and dye your hair?



We only have one life!

Don’t let fear rule it…

Do you think I could ask for time off?

Something happened on Monday that has taken me days to come to terms with, and to acknowledge that it ACTUALLY happened:

I got hit by a bird!

On my back!!

A real, live, bird!!!

I literally almost had a heart attack when it happened, and I swear I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder!

Here’s the story*:

I’m out for my daily walk around campus, which I love, because I’m able to enjoy the beauty of nature, college-kiddie watch (which sounds kind of creepy), and contemplate the meaning of life**.

As I was turning the corner past the football field and into the parking lot, I saw something swoop out of the corner of my eye, and then “THUMP” on my back.

My initial thought was “Stupid football boy, hitting an old lady with a ball!”***

But, when I turned around to pick up the ball (and yell out “Finders keepers!” to the offending fella), I saw to my horror, shock, and dismay, that it was not a ball, but, (shudder) a bird!

A little bird! A fledgling!****

When I saw the poor creature, I was overcome with compassion, gently picked it up and placed it in a nearby bush…okay, not really.

I screamed, and started shaking out my shirt to try to get the bird cooties off it, while looking around to see if anyone else had witnessed my attack. (No one had. Praise to the heavens! How embarrassing…)

Then I quickly ran into the bathroom of the science building to see if I had bird blood, feathers, or poop*****stuck to my shirt. (I didn’t. Which was a miracle. Because I totally would have thrown up.)

Once I calmed down, realized there wasn’t any permanent damage to my WHITE LACY shirt (although, there was to my soul) and got a drink of water, I went back outside to view the carnage.

Only…

The bird was gone!! He (or she) had survived!! And its parents******had come to collect him (or her).

And, I have to say, although I was slightly sad to not have proof of my assault, I was relieved to know it hadn’t died by hitting my back fat.

Overall, I’m still greatly upset by the whole thing. The rest of this week, I’ve kept my eyes scanning the heavens, and debated carrying my nunchucks as a visual threat to all others.

But, so far, no other wayward bird attacks.

I’ll keep you posted.



*Oh, how I wish you were here to hold my hand while I re-live this…

**Although, truth be told, on this particular walk I was trying to talk myself out of watching the new season of Tori and Dean. (Don’t judge!)

***My second thought was “Am I always going to get hit by a ball? I thought I left that behind in Junior High, and then High School, and then Community College! I mean, really?”

****Thank you Ornithology class! You didn’t cure my fear of birds, but you did give me the proper terminology to describe it. (P.S. A fledgling is a “toddler” bird learning to find food, water, shelter, and fly while not hitting people in the back, etc.)

*****Another tidbit learned in my bird class. Birds have no control over their sphincter. They poop indiscriminately.

****** Fledgling birds are always watched by their parents. They’re learning, after all.

My Inbox: Where email-chains come to die…

Anyone who knows me, knows that if you send me an email that then requires me to forward it on to 20 people or my arms will fall off (or God won’t love me anymore (or I won’t get eleventy billion dollars)), knows I WILL NOT pass it on and will take my chances that when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll still have my appendages.

In fact, it takes all my effort not to reply to whoever sent me the email with a snarky comment about how dumb they are to think that God is trolling the internet to punish people who don’t forward an email containing scriptures and cats in Biblical costumes.

I mean, really, people.

This Monday morning, I had 3(!) such emails in my inbox. From co-workers. (Who clearly don’t know me.)

And all of the emails had a tagline of “If you agree with this email that [God is great*] [women are awesome**] [America is the bestest***], then forward this on to 6,000 people including the person who sent it to you!”

This is brings me to a dilemma.

Office politics suggest that I reply to the person who sent me the email. You know, so I seem chummy and all. But, then, said person thinks that I’m on the email-chain bandwagon (hurray!) and will send me every email that ever crosses her**** path.

And I just don’t think I can handle that. So, I’m going to have to be the lady who isn’t an email team player, and let the chips (or arms) fall where they may.

What else can I do?



*Agree!
**Agree!
***Agree!
****It’s almost always a “her”, isn’t it?

My Easter dinner started with the Heimlich maneuver…

and finished with my choking Aunt puking on the table.

How was yours?

Things I learned Conference weekend that have nothing to do with Conference, but everything to do with nephew love…

1. There is no successful way to explain to a two-year old why his one-year old cousin gets birthday presents, and he does not. No matter what you say, (even reminding him about the Easter bunny), expect furrowed brows and his reply of “I tell mom!”

2. There is no polite way to refuse an EXTREMELY manhandled M&M when offered to you by a smiling 5 year old boy who says “Here Auntie Yiz, it’s your favorite ca-yor!” You just have to let him plop it in your mouth, and hope your antibodies are paying attention.

3. If a 7 year old has a choice between Conference, and anything else, the “anything else” will win. Every time. So, don’t give him any options.

4. Also, do not put a 7 year old boy in charge of a one-year old boy, if suckers are involved.

5. Conference is way fun-er when holding a 2 month old as long as he’s sleeping or eating. If he’s crying or pooping, not so fun.

Did you read it?

Check out what I thought, and maybe get some free art...

Two Questions and One Suggestion…

Would you ask for an onion bagel with strawberry cream cheese on it?

Neither would I.

But one of my co-workers asks for it every time someone goes to the bagel shop.

And I don’t understand that. Onions and fruit don’t seem to be a winning combination. I've been tempted to ask her about it, but that just seemed weird to me.

So, I keep my judgements to myself...well, to you, and myself.

______________________

Do you know what the following license plate frame means?

“I’d rather be…live… and alone with Melissa Etheridge.”

What I don’t understand is the “live” part. The opposite would be “dead and alone with Melissa Etheridge” and who would want that?

I also thought that it might mean “live” and in “live and in concert,” but that’s a given. I mean, if you’re with someone, you’re both “live,” right? And if you’re alone, can it be considered “live and in concert”? I’m thinking, no. You’d just be “live”.

This whole thing completely confused me, and I spent the rest of my drive in a daze.

_____________________


Okay, and now for my suggestion.

If you haven’t already, stop by the 8th International Art Competition slideshow and see the amazing art from LDS members around the globe.

There’s something for everyone!


And maybe next year, I’ll have the chutzpah to submit something.

And maybe you will, too!

A Random Thought… Really, Really Random…as in, What are you smoking, Liz?

We all have power.

We think we don’t; that we’re just victims of circumstance. Or of some past choice we made that we can’t escape from.

But that’s all a lie we tell ourselves.

And we tell ourselves this lie for two reasons: 1) we’re afraid of change, 2) we’re afraid to fail.

It’s that simple.

Now, as a responsible adult, you’ve made commitments that you shouldn’t break. Bills you’ve agreed to pay, tasks people are counting on you to accomplish, people you’ve covenanted to love, etc.

BUT, that doesn’t mean you can’t use the power within you to change your course. Circumstances don’t have to change for you to change!

The way I see my life from the way I saw it last year around this time is drastically different. And if we were sitting together on my couch, I’d tell you all about it over cocoa. But trust me, I see my world differently. And it’s WAY better!!

I want you to think of one more thing in regards to power:

Power = Perspective.

We get trapped in our perspective. We think that this is the only way to see things. It is our reality. But, our reality is not the Universal truth. And if it’s not Universal, it can be changed.

If you understand that, YOU can change.

I’ve been thinking recently about what “truths” I live by that aren’t Universal, and therefore, aren’t really true. And then, I’ve been trying to get rid of them and alter my reality (without the use of drugs, thank you).

And although it’s hard work, it’s SO liberating!

You should give it a try…

What I learned from my first Sunday in the nursery…

1. Operation “Sunday Uniform” is now in effect. I spent most of the time trying not to flash the kids, avoid having them touch my shirt with their cracker slobber, and wishing I had worn sensible shoes.

2. Whereas before I would sometimes be exhausted from church out of boredom, I now am going to be exhausted by playing “Try to dodge a ball thrown by a 2 year old who has no sense of distance, speed, or momentum, but somehow has excellent aim for the face.”

3. I think I’m going to feel better about the fact that I don’t have children of my own. I’ll get to hug kids, help kids, and get their parents when they need a diaper change. And, I’ll also feel relieved knowing that I can go home and just sit in silence.

4. You can tell a lot about a child by the time they’re in nursery. It was like being in a mini version of “The Breakfast Club.” And I had fun speculating on their futures (while hoping that none of them actually will have to spend time at Saturday detentions when they are in high school).

5. Sometimes a cracker makes things seem not so bad.

Want to know what I thought?

Go here!

They don’t want trash, people!

What I saw in the DI bin when I went to drop off my donation*:


1. Old magazines. And I’m not talking about old Ensigns, but magazines like Better Homes and Gardens from 1994.

2. An old, stained (and I mean STAINED) blanket that looked disgusting. (I wouldn’t even bury my turtle in it.)

3. Old sneakers with a hole on one heel. (Do cobblers work at Deseret Industries?)

4. An obviously used pillow. Eww!

5. A lampshade. (If you could call a frame with threads of fabric on it a lampshade.)

6. Floppy disks. (Really.)

7. A stuffed animal with what looks like puke on it.



Boy, do I feel sorry for the folks who have to go through all this junk. (I wouldn’t touch it without gloves and a mask.)

I left wondering what in the world people were thinking when they piled this crap in the car and hauled it over to the bin. It all belonged in a dumpster, if you ask me.




*If you’re wondering what I donated, (you probably don’t care), it was a dinnerware set (for 8) that was in excellent condition. No chips, no cracks, no scratches. Perfectly re-giftable!

The Universe has my email address!

So*, every day I receive a message from the Universe.

No, I’m not talking about seeing words in puddles, hearing voices in the breeze, or anything else like that. And I’m not talking about receiving emails from Mr. Universe.

I’m talking about receiving daily emails from THE UNIVERSE.

Somehow, somewhere, I signed up on some site that sends me these emails.

Some of them I don’t agree with (theologically speaking).

Some of them I whole-heartedly advocate.

And some of them really make me stop and think about what I’ve been taught to believe, how I interpret what I’ve been taught to believe, what I actually believe, and all the in-between things that I have no definitive belief on or in. (Does any of that make sense?)

And since they give me pause, I thought I’d occasionally share one with you—to get you thinking and reflecting (or bored and leaving my blog, never to return—please come back!).

With that, here’s the first message I want to discuss (and I’m paraphrasing here):

You don’t need to worry. There is time for everything. You were before time, and you will exist after time. You have forever. There’s no dream you have now that you can’t achieve. There’s no challenge you now face that you won’t overcome. Therefore, there is no need to worry. Ever.

What do you think? Do you agree? Yes? No? Sort of?

Worry is a BIG thing for me. HUGE! I worry all the time about things that are absolutely ridiculous. And so I’ve been thinking about this message, and trying to figure out how to interpret it on a day to day basis.

You see, I agree with the statement. I DO believe I lived before this life and I will live after it. So, time really shouldn’t hold be back because I’m not trapped in it. But, I find myself stuck in worry. I’m not “in the moment” as they say. I’m always thinking about what if this happens, or what if that falls apart.

Do you have this same problem? Maybe it’s just me.

To combat this, I’ve been trying a new mantra: I don’t have to worry NOW.

And since it’s always “now,” I should never worry.

So far, it’s not working that well. But I’m trying.

Another thing this statement made me ponder on is time.

I often find myself saying “You too old to do that, Liz.” “It’s too late.” Etc.

And there are things in life that I’ve already made up my mind that I can’t do because I’m not in my 20’s anymore.

But, as with worry, maybe I’m wrong about that too.

Hmm…

Boy, I have a lot to learn, and a lot of hang ups I need to let go of.




*I’ve just realized that I start a lot of posts with “So.” I think because it sounds conversational. You know, like it’s just you and me, shootin’ the breeze and hangin’ out in my apartment. Very casual-like.

Conversations…

So, I work at a university.

And for the most part I love it (except for all the students).

But, every so often, I have a conversation with a student that makes dealing with the other 22 gazillion unhappy ones worth it.

Yesterday, one such tête-à-tête took place.



ME: Hi, how can I help you?

STUDENT: I’m here to turn in this paperwork.

ME: Okay.

STUDENT: I wasn’t sure…[His phone starts ringing, and so he looks at it.] Oh, I have to take this. [Then he turns slightly to the side, (so as to not be looking directly at me), and answers the phone.]

STUDENT: Hello? Grandpa? Is that you? [He’s then silent while he’s listening for about a minute.] Grandpa? It’s me! STEVEN! No. No. STEVEN! No, Grandpa. I’m at school. SCHOOL! No, SCHOOOOOLLLL!!!!

ME: If you could just step to the side of the counter. [He doesn’t appear to hear me.] Sir, if you could just...[He holds up a finger. No, not that one. The index finger which is the universal sign for "Just a second."]

STUDENT: No, Grandpa. Don’t do that! NO GRANDPA!!! DON’T DO THAT!!! I’m not there. I’M NOT THERE!!! I’M AT SCHOOL!! NO, SCHOOOLLL!!!! Grandpa! GRANDPA!!! Put that down. No, DOWN!!! No, this is STEVEN! STEEEVVVEEENNN!!!!!

ME: [Trying not to laugh at what is cleary a family problem.]

STUDENT: Grandpa? GRANDPA? My mom should be there any minute, so just wait! MY MOM! No, DOROTHY! DOORROOTHYYYY!!! Grandpa? Don’t do that! DON’T DO THAT!!! JUST WAIT!!!!

[SILENCE for about 15 seconds.]

STUDENT: Grandpa? Is she there? Dorothy. Yes. Your daughter. Okay. Bye, Grandpa.

[The student now turns back to me.]

STUDENT: That was my grandpa.

ME: Oh, really?



People are funny.

I Am a Childless Child of God…

So, I’ve been thinking of my spinster-ly status lately.

I think because I just had my 34th birthday and I’ve been feeling my age these last couple of days. (Most of the time, I don’t feel my age. I feel about 25.)

And I’ve been thinking about where I thought I would be at 34 and what I thought I’d be doing. (Don’t we all do this to some extent?)

And as you can imagine, I didn’t think I’d be doing the single and childless thing.

No, I thought by 34 I’d be almost done having kids. At the very least, I thought I’d be in the middle of having kids. I certainly didn’t think the closest I’d be to having kids was standing next to someone else’s!

For the most part, this hasn’t bothered me. I’ve loved continuing my education, exploring my artistic side, writing, traveling, deeply studying the gospel, and a host of other activities that I’ve done to create a fulfilling life.

I’ve had opportunities to serve, to love, to laugh, and, thanks to my nephews, to mother.

And I’ve rarely felt bummed at church.

I read a statement in a book by Sister Oaks that perfectly sums up my feelings. It was something like “I signed up for the WHOLE gospel, not the singles’ edition.” So lessons on families, marriage, or any other similar topic don’t offend me or make me sad. I know the church is true—even if at this time, it’s not all “true” for me.

But, there are times when I think of my younger self and all the plans I had of being a wonderful mother, and an awesome (and I do mean awesome) wife. And these times are hard.

And tears are shed.

And “Why not me?” is asked.

And the only thing that comforts me is the spirit whispering that my life is just as valid as the next; that I’m on the Lord’s errand, and that He’s proud of me.

This past Sunday was one of those hard times.

I was teaching my Beehives a lesson on their Divine role as women. I asked them what they thought that role was.

And how do you think they responded?

“To be a wife and mother.” Yep.

And then I asked, “Is that the divine role of all women?”

“Yes,” they answered.

And I followed that with “What about me? I'm not married, and I don’t have children. Does that mean I’m not fulfilling my divine role?”

Silence.




Yep, this Sunday was a tough one.

Go See My Other Blog Children...

Yep, I've posted on my "creativity" blog and my book blog.

So, go check it out!

A Simple Question…

So, do any of you want to join me in cashing in your 401k (while there’s still something in it) and buying a little cottage in a small town (located 30 miles outside a big city—with museums and other cultural-type stuff) where we would spend our mornings in the garden, afternoons selling our “wares” in a cute shop, and our evenings enjoying the sunset while we write or paint or sew or strum the guitar?


Anyone?



I’ll do it if you do it with me…






And yes, it’s been one of those weeks.

Book Begging

In the last 5 weeks, I’ve read 11 books.

For some of you, that may be a lot—for others, a regular occurrence.

For me, I always seem to live in either a state of drought or downpour.

And recently I’ve been putting on my galoshes* and dancing in the rain!

And while I’ve been reading a mix of genres, (political, historical, religious, and memoirs), what I’ve been loving is all the fiction!

It’s been a long time since I’ve lost myself in someone’s made up world and I’ve missed it. (I’ve even found myself liking books I normally wouldn’t.)

But, I’m running out of book recommendations.

So, I’m sending out a public plea to all who stumble upon my blog (whether I know you or not):

What books have changed your life? Altered your reality? What books do you turn to when everyday life is too much? When you need to escape? What classics do you love? What new authors are you raving about?

In essence, what are your favorite books?

Whether you have one or 100, I want to know about them. So please, pretty please, leave me a comment! (Or shoot me an email if that suits you better.)

I need more to read! So I’m begging you for book suggestions…



*I’ve never actually owned a pair of galoshes, but it’s always been a dream of mine. “Galoshes” is one of my favorite words…

Not Your Average Birthday Gang…

So, last Saturday my super terrific friends threw me a birthday party--The Liz Jubilee! (Thanks Rachel and Katie!!)

And it was not your run-of-the-mill party with balloons and cake.

Nope! It was a Beatnik Poetry Slam party!!

That’s right. All the attendees had to present an original poem, read in front of the whole group with a spotlight in their face and bongos punctuating their words. (And in my case, beret on my head.)

Needless to say, it was awesome!!!! (I’d post some pictures, but I, of course, didn’t have my camera. (So, Rachel and Laura, when you get a chance, could you send me some?))

I laughed. I cried. I felt loved and appreciated—exactly what you want on your birthday, right?

And to join in the fun, I wrote a poem to share with the group. The subject of my poem was all the fantastic tidbits of knowledge I’ve collected over these years. You know, the stuff that’s made me really, really smart, and all.

I was asked to post it, so here it is: (Oh, and all the bolded words were sung. Yes, sung. So, sing along—I know you know the tune…)

The Brainless Barrage*
By Liz Wolfe, 2009

I need
some punky power
this hour.
This 3 hour tour with my skipper
and Flipper has morphed
into a
Schlemiel, Schlimazel and
I’m
puzzled.
How many Happy Days, ayyyyyy
have slipped away
as I have filled my mind
with what, what I
could find?
So, let me
rewind, Rerun,
And say, Here’s the story of
a lovely lady,
sailing on the Love Boat
waiting for the Mork
to her Mindy.
Let me just wiggle my nose
and magically expose
my own A-team
for hire, and it’s dire.
Cause I care about
who Joanie loves,
And those on 21 Jump Street.
So, gimme a break,
I’ve learned if you take the good
and take the bad,
what you have
is a mixed bag
where everybody knows your
name, and so
I ask where’s my invisible
plane?
And are you sure a paper
clip, rubber band, and a match
can get us out of here?
Here where eight is enough
and de plane, de plane
can take us out of the land
of the lost,
where we’re
saved by the bell, but
barely.
You say
“Bad news, bears!
It’s a small wonder
you’ve got anything else in
that head of yours.”
And I say what chu talkin’
about, Willis?
Who’s the Boss?
Me!
Let me have my
wonder years,
and dance of joy,
joy that helped me
through my
growing pains of
a full house.
Believe it or not,
I’m walkin’ on air
was not
my theme song
of youth.
Truth?
More like
I prayed for my
highway to heaven
and took it one day
at a time.
So I don’t need
you to worry for
me cause I’m all right.
And like Charles, I’m
in charge, and
in a half hour, all wrongs
will be righted.
You say, “Pleeease,
turn off the TV, and be.”
To that,
I say
kiss my grits!
It’s too late…


*I referenced 36 different TV shows in my poem. Can you find them all?

3 Things I learned from my Office Retreat…

1. It should not be called a “retreat” (no matter what management says) because that implies a fun, non-work related experience. It should have been called “Six-Hour-Meeting-Where-You-Fantasize-About-Plunging-a-Pen-in-your-Eye.”

2. Some people have no idea how to “keep comments under 2 minutes” or “keep comments on topic” or “keep comments from being the stupidest things ever said” or “keep comments from making people want to plunge a pen in their eye”.

3. Never volunteer to be in charge of an office “retreat”. It’s never a good idea. Never, ever, ever!!!!*



*I don't know what I was thinking when I volunteered. I blame it on a high fructose corn syrup delusion...

To Blog or Not To Blog (I’m pretending that I’m the first clever person to come up with this title…)

So, I’ve not been blogging.

If you’ve noticed my absence, thank you! You’re a nice person and I will give you a gold star when I see you. (I really do have some in my purse, so just ask. (And if you’re wondering why I have some in my purse, it’s the same reason I have pompoms in my car: If you prepare for gold star/pompom experiences, they come your way!! (At least, in theory.)))

Why haven’t I been blogging you ask?

Well, there are a million reasons why, but it boils down to one thing: I’ve had nothing to say. (At least not anything that I would be willing to sit down and write about.)

So, I decided to take a little break to gather (or get) some thoughts, and then come back with a bang in the New Year.

Also, I’ve opted not to do a year in review, because I’ve read all of yours, and you make my year look like I’m trapped in my own incredibly less funny and picturesque version of Groundhog Day.

I’ll give you a Six-word Memoir of it, though:

Dreams attempted, successes and failures resulted.*

But enough about 2008, let’s look on to 2009!

I hope you all have something you want to accomplish this coming year.

Something that you’ve never done before!

Something that you’ll talk about for years to come!!

Something that will change your life!!!

(And if you DO have something, could you tell me about it? Not that I’d copy your idea or anything. Of course I wouldn’t do that! Well, unless it was a really fantastic idea…I mean, it’s a free country...so if it’s something I want to do, I’ll do it…you can’t stop me…unless, of course, you don’t tell me about it…but I really want you to…because I don’t have any ideas…so, disregard what I’ve said…I won’t copy you… I pinky-swear promise…well…maybe…)



*What would be your Six-word Memoir of 2008?