an insight into the life of spouseman

"You can't stab me right now! I'm being CUTE AND AFFECTIONATE AND ADORABLE!"

Later, when I told him that I intended to blog his quote, he went silent for a minute, pondered, and shrugged. "It is fairly symbolic of our relationship, you know."


take that, management.

The fake-management would like me to obey employee policy and wear a name tag.

In a throw-the-girl-a-bone move, they said I could use the label-maker all by myself, even! (Wow! Thanks! I must be a big girl.)

So I gave in, and I made one.*

Hi, my name is BestServerEvah, and I'll be your server tonight!

*And when I say "I," I mean "I coerced a younger and more impressionable employee to do it for me. "


public service announcement to my coworkers

I will admit that I think is is vaguely adorable how you guys all hug each other upon arriving at work. And offer to rub each other's shoulders, and give supportive side hugs when a customer is rude, and braid each other's hair after the lunch rush, etc.*

But, seriously, as I politely told one of you yesterday, I'm really not a toucher. Thanks, though.

No. Seriously. Stop touching me.

Also, I will admit that I do not think it is amusing when you take my request as a challenge. I've been a non-toucher for over two decades now, and no amount of subtle arm rubbing is going to make me a hugger, a back-rubber, a side hugger, or a hair braider.

Are you serious? I said stop.

You know what, I changed my mind. You're right, co-worker(s), you can make me into a toucher. The next time you start rubbing my shoulders, I will punch you in the face.

Have a nice day!

Love, (and no hugs, and no kisses)


*Everything but the last item is based on real events.


i am going to tell you a story...

That makes me look like a bit of an idiot. But oh well. Spouseman is at a Scout Camp, and I'm not quite ready to start my abandoned female ritual of stress-sewing. It's only fun when you start a project at 11:30! So that when things do not go as planned, you are sufficiently crazy and willing to start chopping fabric and tearing seams erratically!(Still want me to teach you to sew, Gurrbonzo?)

Anyway, the sewing bit is the perfect segue into my little Friday Night Anecdote. Here we go.

Once upon a time, I was staying up late to sew using a pattern I had borrowed from my friend, kept for weeks, and had yet to try. Dan, being the 8 year old he secretly is, had already gone to bed. (He has been trying our entire marriage to convert me to his 9pm to 6 am sleep schedule.)

I decided I needed some company while I sewed. Being caught up on all my trashy television, and having watched all my Jane Austen novel adaption films recently, I decided to watch Medium. My mother watches Medium while she sews, so I figured I would follow tradition and watch/listen to some blonde chick solve mysteries while I solved the mystery of the blind stitch.

I watched a few episodes, everything was going well, until I realized something. Medium was officially creeping me out. No one told me Medium is scary as hell! It never seemed scary when my mother watched it at 2 in the afternoon in broad daylight! Holy shit! Did that ghost just gouge out that girl's eyeballs????FREAK.

I decided to keep sewing. At this point it, it was 1:00 am, but I told myself that if I just finished the pattern, my productivity would uncreep my brain, and I could go to bed.

By 3:00 am, I had made two completely awesome bags, and had completely lost my mind. I desperately wanted to go to bed, but I was convinced that ghost-man eye-gouger was hiding in the hallway from my sewing table to my bedroom.

I could not convince myself to walk down the hall. I also convinced myself that I could not turn off the lights, (those girls only got their eyes gouged out in the dark). Plus, Dan was going to wake up in 3 hours anyway. Maybe I could just wait out the night...

Or, I could call my husband repeatedly on my cell phone until he woke up, demand that he walk down the hall to retrieve me, escort me past my caffeine-sewing-Medium fabricated delusions of eye-gouger man, and take me to bed.

I'll let the audience decide which option I picked.



long weekend.

My parents have been gone less than 24 hours and I have already lost my 14 year old brother.


Furthermore, my responsibilities concerning my sister are still the same.

I don't know where she is, either.


like being reunited with an old lover.

Today I got to drive up to the University of Utah to take an astonishingly simple education test* that will render me "highly qualified" to teach English Literature (according to No Child Left Behind). Did you know you don't even have to have any sort of English experience to teach English? Not even a minor? Nope. All you have to do is take the test. (Mind you I think this is wrong, and I at least did minor in English).

Anyway, despite the test, I was very happy to see my beloved University of Utah again. I love the U. I got a hell of an education there, and my time there was one of my happiest. I learned not only about the history and literature of the world, but a lot about myself as well. And I met my spouse there, so not too bad.

A few months ago, I had an encounter with a very snotty relative who kept mentioning how her child went to a college with classrooms "that look like a CEO's boardroom, unlike the buildings at the U, which are basically falling apart." At the time, I was in my second semester at Westminster, taking classes in very fancy buildings, and not learning nearly as much, but I didn't say anything. Although should the incident be repeated, I will have no problem mentioning that any school with facilities good enough for Mario R. Capecchi are probably good enough for me.

After slaughtering the English Praxis Test, I took a few minutes to wander around the campus, feeling all nostalgic and lovesick, even calling Dan to tell him I was cheating on him with a University, and that I was walking past the building where I took Gothic Literarture. Remember that? No? How could you...

Then I left my beloved campus and headed off to my fake job at the restaurant. But not before realizing one thing: I need to be in a classroom again. I don't care if I'm teaching 7th graders Utah History, or going back to school to turn that English minor into a real degree, I need to go back to school.

The U taught me to love learning, and the old cliche is true: You never forget your first love.

* I'm not kidding you. A lot of questions contained passages from books most people read in High School, and most of the passages either directly referenced the book's title or author, and then asked the test-taker to identify the book. One passage/question section even used this extremely popular passage from an American Literature classic:

"His parents were shiftless and unsuccessful farm people--his imagination had never really accepted them as his parents at all. The truth was that Jay Gatsby of West Egg, Long Island, sprang from his Platonic conception of himself. He was a son of God... and he must be about His Father's business, the service of a vast, vulgar, and meretricious beauty. So he invented just the sort of Jay Gatsby that a seventeen year old boy would be likely to invent, and to this conception he was faithful to the end."

is it

a. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
b. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
c. Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
d. None of the above.

Even if you aren't an English person, I bet you can figure out the answer. Hmmmmm. And yes, that is a direct question from the test.


whats up internets?

Nothing very exciting to report here. My fake restaurant job is kind of taking over my life, and I don't know how I feel about this. Restaurant recently changed locations, and went from being a complete hole in the wall cafe that could seat 15 to a huge restaurant that can seat 75 and serves real food. People were waiting 45 minutes for said food, which befuddled me until I took a look at our clientele-

Turns out our new restaurant attracts every Chi-O* past and present, their moms, and their snotty husbands. More specifically, these are people who are perfectly willing to wait an hour to be seated at Cheesecake Factory. Guess what else? Our food is only slightly less mediocre.**

Anyways, I wish I had more to report to you, but the only things I have been thinking about lately are how I think Seminary is sort of a waste of time (blasphemy, and something Spouse and I disagree on)*** How I really need to fold the enormous piles of clean laundry I had squirreled away all over our house because I didn't have time to iron/fold it all before my Grandma came into town to inspect her house, and how I am very tempted to use my next paycheck to buy stacks and stacks of adolescent literature.

So if you want to hear about any of that, let me know, I guess.

*I'm mostly joking about the Chi-O thing (Chi Omega sorority at the University of Utah) I know some very nice Chi O people. And only one of their husbands was really snotty, and I'm sure the moms are probably nice in real life. But I can spot them a mile away. Please don't send your new pledges to toilet paper my house. I AM TOTALLY JOKING. WE ARE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER.

**Except for the fruit tarts. Those 4 inch pieces of goodness are worth the $6.40. And the macaroons. And the Turkey Club Pannini. And if you totally know where I work now, please only visit me if you are a normal.

***Shocker. We are united only in our love of raw fish and religious association.


families are forever

So my Grandparents temporarily returned home from their mission in New Mexico to attend the much anticipated wedding of my cousin Lindsey.

Upon seeing me at the wedding, the first thing my Grandmother said to me was:

"You know, you CAN actually be pretty if you fuss a little. You should fuss more. You COULD be gorgeous."

Um. Thanks?

Edit: If you have crazy relative stories-share.

sometimes i experience massive surges of feminist rage*

like when I drive down to BYU for a professional development class, and see "for rent" signs advertising "Girl's Housing" and "Men's Housing."

or like when my fake-boss at my fake-job orders t-shirts for us to wear, and the women's size extra large, when tried on by yours truly, is like unto an ace bandage wrapped around my chest. Do I work at Hooters now? wtf.

or like when my preferred feminist rage luncher decides to move to damn Iowa. Abandoning me in my rage.....

*edit: I forgot my asterisk and forgot why I had one in the first place.


add moment of the weekend

I think I ran into (and had a complete conversation with) an ex-boyfriend at the gym. My only excuse for not recognizing him is that:

(if it was him)

a. We didn't date for very long.

b. I've never been great with faces.

Regardless, it was weird.


twilight according to stephanie, not stephenie.

First, be aware that I totally think the way Stephenie Meyer spells her name is weird. My way is infinitely better.

Secondly, I hesitate to tell you this because it makes me seem like either a drug addict, or somehow psychologically disturbed, but oh well, it is my last day of subbing, why not throw caution to the wind.

Last night I had a Twilight dream. I will conjugate the levels of weirdness as follows:

weird: Dreaming about Twilight.

weirder: Dreaming about Twilight in claymation form. I'm not kidding, everything was made out of clay. Who dreams in claymation? What does this mean?

weirdest: In my version, the vampires had not decided to become "vegetarians" and were quite content to suck blood and mangle the little clay bodies of all Bella's friends.*

and in a tie for weirdest: Bella was tolerable in my dream. I'm fairly certain her little clay mouth didn't produce a whine once in my REM cycle.


*Just as I believe my spelling of Stephanie is superior, I believe my rendering of her vampires is equally superior. Seriously.


hi. hi. HI.

Is anyone there? Anyone?


I think I forgot how to blog. Does that mean I forgot how to be a complete egomaniac? I don't know. I did start reading/commenting on other blogs during the hiatus, and isn't it very funny how much easier it is to listen to other people when you shut the hell up occasionally? Hmm.

Right now I'm subbing for Mentor A, not to be confused Mentor X, who we know I hate. I actually enjoyed Mentor A as a mentor, which is why she has never been mentioned previously. No good stories with Mentor A, just good advice, helpful tips, and a kick-a letter of recommendation.

Anyway, I'm telling you this is because since I'm subbing, I'm also watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off,* which makes concentrating on the internet kinda difficult. That movie never gets old. So THAT's how things are in their family...

So. Anyway. What is new with you? Here is what is new with me:

1. I'm fake-employed. Subbing is fake because I used to be a real teacher. Also, I work, occasionally, at a restaurant I worked at back when I was at the U. That's right. I'm the most well-educated restaurant worker ever. More on that later. But let it be understood that I also consider this fake-employment.

(I have only two requirements for employment to be considered real. It either offers health benefits, or provides me with all-I-can-drink-diet coke. Yesterday said restaurant got rid of the soda machine, thus rendering it fake.)

2. Speaking of health benefits, I'm applying for a job teaching 7th grade next year. If you had told me a year ago that I would be excited to teach 12 year olds about the history of Utah, I would have completely ignored you as a psychopath. But whatever. The job market sucks this year for History/English teachers, so I am taking what I can get. And if you are a Math and/or Science teacher just wallowing in the difficult decision of which,oh which, of the MANY jobs you have been offered throughout the general Salt Lake area to take, well, shut it. Seriously. Don't. Talk. To. Me.

Math, pshew. I haven't done any Math since freshman year and look how well I turned out! A fake-teacher-restaurant-employee who is completely addicted to caffeine! Who needs math?

Anyway. That is about it. Are you happy I'm back? I am.

So seriously, what is new with you?

*I know I have previously expressed anger at teachers who allow their students to watch stupid movies. But hey, the AP test is over, there are three days left of school, and I've been out of teaching long enough that my standards have totally atrophied. Happy summer!