Allison's Christmas Gift Classification

So another Christmas has come and gone and as such it is time for the first ever Gift Classification Guide to help you interpret what all of those gifts from neighbors, friends, and family mean. Gift giving is hard, and it is definitely an art that I have yet to master, but I am pretty much an expert analyzer, so here goes:

1. The George Costanza AKA the Charity Case: This gift usually comes in the form of small card saying that so and so has donated to a charity in your name. Although charities are great, receiving this so called gift is overwhelmingly disappointing...especially if you've put a lot of time, effort or money into a gift for that individual's gift. But hopefully the charity you've been forced to support is for a good cause and actually exists.

2. The Creed Bratton: Is your gift wrapped in a plastic bag? Is it four sizes too small? Is is smelly or old? This is the type of last minute gift where someone has forgotten all about getting you a present and digs something out of their closet. Receiving nothing would be a better gift...

3. The Martha Stewart: This is a gift not of love, but of labor. The Martha Stewart gift giver is known to distribute projects that require some kind of do-it-yourself component. Often this type of gift giver is overestimating your abilities or in my case my time management skills needed to set apart enough time to make that batch of cookies in a jar...

4.The Overachiever: The overachiever gives gift of guilt: these homemade presents make you feel guilty that you didn't put enough thought into your store bought present.

5. The asked for gift: the gift that you asked for from Santa and finally got. Can sometimes be a bit of a let-down, especially if you've been asking for it for a while. Why is it that anticipation is almost always more fun than actually receiving? Or perhaps anticipation isn't all that great, but we just don't know what to do with something once we actually get it.

6. The Twins aka Doppleganger: Receiving the exact same present as someone else: not a great feeling.

8. The D.I. (thrift store) gift: ever got a present and you immediately knew you hated it but couldn't return it and decided to send it straight to a thrift store?Then you've received a D.I. gift. These are often white elephant presents, but can turn up in deceptively appealing places as well (such as under your tree Christmas morning).

9 Cash: This gift is more ambiguous than it may appear. While cash is a pretty universally appreciated gift, I have some sort of mutated responsibility gene that makes it almost impossible to use Christmas cash for something fun and spontaneous. Rather I feel like I need to use that cash to help build up my stock portfolio or pay off my student loans. Oddly enough, returning a gift and receiving cash in return doesn't seem to inspire this kind of shoulder-Angel bickering as simply receiving cash.

Future Nobel Prize Winner

So, I don't share this with just anyone (mostly because its fairly obvious), but I'm pretty much a genius.

Now this genius is as much a burden as it is a blessing. I had to constantly look over my shoulder in high school because I wrecked the curve on every single test in my psychology class, acing every exam. It got to the point where I was afraid my fellow students were going to be in a "grab your torches and pitchforks" mentality. Lets just say there was a lot more negative attention than positive attention over my achievements.

Fortunately the emotional scars from this high school experience are pretty much healed, which is why I feel it is now safe to air my genius to the public once more. And my ideas are so wonderful that I'm pretty much a shoo-in for a Nobel Prize.

Here are some theories and definitions and ideas that the idea wheels in my head have been turning out:

1. Freshman theory: in singles wards in the LDS culture, guys, no matter their age will go after the freshman girls. It's pretty sickening to see a 28 year old go after an 18 year old, but I've seen it happen quite often.

Now I haven't researched this one out enough, so I'm not sure if this occurs simply because the freshman girls are fresh meat or if there's a protect the little naive girl mentality, or what. Also, this theory is inherently flawed seeing as how I was once a freshman and no guys flocked to me, and also girls of all ages do end up getting guys...but still this theory definitely has some merit.

2. Height Barometer: Some people's arthritis can feel storms blowing in, my height is a social barometer measuring awkwardness. I am 6'1" and usually stand about a head taller than everyone around me. I've discovered that I am not always conscious of this vast height difference though. But I have noticed that when I am aware of my height in social situations, that I am feeling awkward and uneasy. Whereas when I am not aware of my height, I feel comfortable and easy-going.

3. Marital Amnesia: A phenomenon occurring more often in woman than men, but in which a person, after getting married, forgets what its like to be single, and starts saying stupid and insensitive things to their still-single friends.

Also, there's an offshoot of this affliction that I would term as "I don't need to do anything social or to have any friends or because I have a husband" and which is pretty self-explanatory.

4. I've decided to hire a writer to follow me around and come up with snappy comebacks for me.

This is an excellent idea for two reasons. First, I can rarely say what I want to say when I want to say it. About two days later is when a brilliant retort comes to mind. With my writer sidekick I would have access to brilliantly crafted replies at my fingertips.

Secondly, on those rare occasions when I have been able to say what I wanted to say at the exact moment I wanted to say it, I felt about 2 seconds of triumph, which was
subsequently crushed by a disabling sense of guilt. Having a writer, would hopefully dull that sense of guilt--because they are not technically my own words. I have a huge guilt complex so this would be very helpful.

My guilt complex is kicking in right now, so I think that I should point out that I would only use this writer's responses for good. I don't wish to go around cutting people down, but there are definitely times in my life that I wish I had a writer around to help me come up with witty responses.

5.I've invented a new day to celebrate: December 23 is now Kazoo day!!! I will be playing my kazoo all day, announcing my entrances into various rooms in my house, serenading family, and just being awesome...it just might be the best day ever.

It also might be the day I die, because my family might kill me...but it's a chance I'm willing to take. The world needs more kazoo music, and I will not be silenced!

15 Random Things about Me

1. I hate strawberries.

2. When I speak to people with accents, I unconsciously absorb their accent. This spring when I was in California, I was asking for directions from the receptionist of a museum, who just happened to have a British accent. I unwittingly responded to something she said with a British accent as well. She asked me where I was from, I replied (in my normal accent), "Utah." She stared at me for a minute, and then said that she thought I was from England.

That was probably one of the proudest moments of my life, because I love England and would love to have a British accent (or more accurately fall in love with a man with a British accent, but either one would be awesome).

This is not the first time that I've parroted back people's accents: I've also unconsciously had an Australian and a Indian accent. Unfortunately these are short lived, and I also feel like a jerk, because it looks like I'm making fun of them. I'm not doing it intentionally, it just happens.

3. I absolutely loathe ferris wheels. My parents would take my sisters and me to a local amusement park about once a year. On the giant ferris wheel there, my father would not only spin the cart we were sitting in, but would rock it as well. I would like to attribute my fear to these instances, but honestly I think that I've just become more of a scaredy-cat with every passing day.

4. I love quotes. I am constantly writing down quotes. I'm not very organized though, and haven't discovered a very good system for storing and utilizing my quotes, but I have several displayed on my walls and in journals.

5. M&M's are not all created equally. From best to worst flavors: Peanut Butter, Coconut, Pirate Pearls (a special edition white chocolate version that came out of the Pirates movies came out) Peanut, Mini's, Crispy (which they sadly no longer make) Mega-size, almond, and original.

Although I have (obviously) overanalyzed M&M's, they are not my favorite candy. No candy really holds that high distinction, rather it's just whatever suits my fancy. Although I will admit that although I loved all sorts of candy growing up, now that I'm older anything without chocolate is pretty much just a waste of my time.

6. I'm a snob when it comes to movie adaptations of books. I haven't seen all of the Harry Potter movies for instance. I understand that its a different medium than books, and that movies can't include all of the detail that the books can, but I love the Harry Potter books because they have it all: action, humor, romance...The movies seem to completely bypass the humor that helps round out the characters and provides a nice balance to all of the Voldemort action going on.

I still have friends who haven't read the Harry Potter series, but they have seen the movies. This is just sick and wrong on so many levels to me...

7. I love high heels. I don't wear them hardly ever though because A) I am the complete opposite of graceful and can barely walk without tripping when I'm NOT wearing heels and B) I am 6'1'' and already tower awkwardly over everyone. I really don't need the extra inches.

8. I love all things pineapple. Fresh pineapple is pretty much the best thing on the planet! Also, I really love the show Psych (where there's a pineapple in each episode) and subsequently my cousin and my sister and I got into the habit of giving each other random pineapple-related gifts...it's pretty much awesome.

9. Chuck Bartowski is pretty much my perfect man. He's a fictional character in the television show Chuck. But he's tall, handsome, smart, sweet, funny, he has his priorities straight (friends and family above everything else...)he can sing (he hasn't sung on the show, but the actor who portrays Chuck, Zachary Levi is an amazing singer), and he is nerdy. Sigh...

10. I love history...actually I love learning. Period. If I had a million dollars I would travel the world...and I would become an eternal student. Of course I realize that there is value in real-world education, but I love going to classes and learning from more experienced people.

11. I love to laugh. I especially love comic strips. I think that its an under-appreciated art form.

12. I am definitely a jeans and t-shirt girl, but I think its fun to get dressed up. Although my coworkers love Casual Friday, I like wearing my dressy professional clothes.

I would love to go to a really fancy black-tie type of affair. Its fun to get dressed up and get fancy once in a while, especially in a society where sloppiness and too-casual dress is rapidly becoming the norm.

13. I loathe Nicholas Cage. He is the worst actor ever. I don't know how he keeps getting roles. In my film class that I took my last semester of college I found out that he had won an Oscar for Best Actor. I really can't comprehend this. This new piece of knowledge that I learned really made me lose a lot of my faith in humanity (or at least the dunderheads who make up 'The Academy').

14. I'm a magnet for weirdos. I don't know why this is, but its been a recurring theme throughout my entire life.

15. Growing up my mom used to say that I was cold-blooded. This is because I am practically always cold. Year round I have a minimum of 5 blankets on my bed.

I Think My Roommate is Trying to Kill Me

My roommate H is ...hmmm. how to put this nicely...very concerned about finances. And as a graduate student that is very understandable. But lets just say that she is very Gestapo-like about household finances.

Which is why I don't understand why she always has the thermostat turned up past 80 degrees. I am not joking. And the heater has been on since last August! And its been an unseasonably warm year!

I really think she is just trying to cook me in my room, and faithful blog readers, if I end up a victim of cannabalism after being roasted alive in my room please direct the police to my roommate and get some justice for me.

Turning down the heat and dressing in sweaters and jackets, and piling my bed with lots of blankets is how I grew up, and how I survived at college: saving money AND keeping warm at the same time, who would have guessed! The gas bill is expensive, but there's also a lot of ways to cut costs in the winter. But H doesn't seem to get it.

Growing up I was always cold. Even in the Summmer I would have at least five blankets on my bed. My mom would always joke that I was cold-blooded (which secretly I've kind of resented because I feel like it puts me in the same category as snakes, which I absolutely loathe, but at the same time I also secretly liked it because it was kind of like a special little joke between me and my mom. Yes, I realize I am insane!).

Growing up, it seemed like I was constantly in a near-frost-bitten state because the thermostat would be at the outrageously low temperature of 72 degrees!

I would dream of cranking the thermostat up to 90 degrees and sit comfortably in my house in shorts.

Well, that dream is now my living nightmare. I'm wearing shorts right now, and have turned the heat off, and I'm still sweating. If I open the window it gets too cold, so I just have to wait for the house to slowly cool off (and hope that my roommate doesn't wake in the middle of the night and crank up the thermostat, as she is prone to do).

But seriously guys, I really think my roommate is trying to kill me, because based on encounters with her throughout the last 4 months, there's no way she would willingly crank up the thermostat at all and have all that money just blow through the vents and out of the bathroom window which my two roommates constantly leave open.

Save me...

Deck the Halls: A True Christmas Tale About How I Wanted to Punch People

I went to Wal-mart today after work to pick up some groceries, and was immediately reminded of why I get all of my holiday shopping done before the month of December.

Practically every aisle was an obstacle course filled with pallets of marked down would-be gifts, and with people milling around and stopping right in front of me and then positioning their carts so that they are impossible to move around.

Can anyone say 'fire hazard'?

Granted I'm sure these people don't do it on purpose, but at the same time, its nice to be aware of your fellow shoppers and be courteous to them and let them pass you as you try to decide between two types of Christmas goodies...when you know in your heart that you will get both, and you also know that you should be watching your children instead of debating which item to purchase, so that they don't dart out in front of a fellow shopper's cart when said fellow shopper finally finds a break in the aisle blockage and attempts to make her escape.

So because of all the aisle blockages and human walls, I had to make a lot of detours (and quick stops as I tried to avoid running over the unsupervised children darting in front of my path), and then I got in the slowest moving line...so I went to shorter, more promising line and was reminded of my special talent of getting behind people with food stamps who take approximately, oh, let's see, FOREVER to run 3 different cards and then pay partially with cash. So my quick trip into the store took approximately 10 years...

I still need to figure out a few simple gifts for coworkers and such, but I'm thinking that my sanity is more important than their Christmas gifts. Maybe I should just hold off on the shopping for a bit and they could be the first people ever to receive Presidents day gifts.

I Used to Be Smart

So I'm pretty sure I've gotten stupider...either that or I have a brain tumor. Neither of these options is very appealing.

My memory is terrible nowadays, but I'm pretty sure I used to be smart. I'm not sure what happened, but apparently stupidity is contagious because lately I've had a hard time coming up with ordinary words like "snow globe" and "validation" and have turned to using primitive hand gestures to try to communicate my point. I feel like I've reverted back to cave man days. Which is a problem as well because its hard to come up with a hand gesture for words like "validation." I guess I should be glad that people are as adept as I am at just smiling and nodding as someone else (in this case me) babbles on making incoherent speech.


Hopefully this trend ends soon because not everyone gets my gestures, and communication is a pretty vital part of society. Also, I liked being smart...emotionally I am not coping well with being this idiotic.

Fear of Commitment

So a while back one of my sisters told me about the website Pinterest and how cool it is. So I checked it out, thought it was really cool and subsequently requested an invitation to join their site. I immediately got an email confirming my request, but a month later that was the only communication I had from them. It was a little frustrating, and I figured that Pinterest and I just weren't meant to be.

Last night I finally got an email that allowed me to officially sign up for the site. I started pinning all of the crafts and recipes and design ideas I have on my internet browser's bookmark bar. It was really fun!

Then I checked my email...there was an update from Pinterest telling me that my cousin had found out through Facebook (which you have to use to sign up to Pintererst) that I had joined had started following me. The next time I checked my email that night I had probably five emails from Pinterest telling me that people have repinned my pictures. Every time I open my email, my inbox is now filled with several new notifications from Pinterest.

Guess what Pinterest! I DO NOT care about random strangers repinning the stuff I like! i do not need to be informed of it. I don't like having my inbox filled up with useless stuff like that. I haven't even been a member for 24 hours yet and its already driving me crazy!

I thought it was bad enough that Facebook sends out emails when someone else comments or 'likes' the same thing you've already 'liked' or commented on, but I'm not on Facebook all that often, and have limited my comments and use of the like button because of the huge commitment involved in doing so (i.e. having your inbox filled up with a dozen useless emails

I really like Pinterest, but if I had known the level of commitment involved in it, I probably wouldn't have joined. Also, the whole process of requesting an invite, waiting a month to be able to join, and then having to use Facebook (which I've been seriously considering canceling) are all points against it. So put a pin in that Pinterest!

I Say Potato...

I guess I need to work on my communication skills.

Last night my home teacher called and asked if he could stop by sometime. I was super excited because my home teachers haven't come in probably a year and a half, and even then it was just the one time. I haven't had consistent home teachers for probably about three years now. So of course I said, "yes" and he decided to come by tonight.

As I walked into my front room after work, my roommate H was sitting in the living room doing her homework on her laptop. I told her that I just wanted to give her a heads up, that I would be having a few people from my church over a little later to come visit me. She responded by telling me that I didn't need to ask permission, since I live here too.

um....I fail to see how my trying to give her a heads up about my need for the living room to be unoccupied and cleaned up could be construed as my asking her permission...but as is my policy in most situations I held my tongue to avoid a long, drawn-out, typically pointless conversation.

The good news though is that my home teacher came and the room had been cleaned up, so even though H probably thinks I'm an idiot for 'asking permission' things worked out fine.

One Tough Turkey

Fortunately this Thanksgiving post is not about terrible food which has been the topic of my most recent blog posts. Rather it is about an absolutely amazing book.

I love children's books. My mom would take my sisters and I on weekly pilgrimages to the city library, and we would come home with out arms laden with books. One of my favorite books was "One Tough Turkey" by Steven Kroll. It's a humorous take on the first Thanksgiving. I remember my Mom reading this book to us...it never got old or boring. I think that that is the ultimate test of a great book: you can read or listen to it a thousand times over and its just as good as the first time you read it. And even though you know what is going to happen, you still experience those moments of anxiety, happiness, sadness, and anger that you felt when you first heard the story. "One Tough Turkey" is definitely such a book.

Thanksgiving doesn't seem to have quite the market on good books, music, and television specials, and movies as Christmas does...but it does have "One Tough Turkey" which is so amazing that it more than makes up for this fact.

I'm grateful for a mother who read to me and fostered a love of reading in me. I still love to listen to my mom read stories to me.

Dressing and Why it is Dis-gust-ing

Dressing is not all bad. I personally think that people should be fully dressed the majority of the time. (I especially think that my roommate should be fully dressed when she's hanging out in my living room, but alas, this situation has yet to be remedied).

Dressing as in stuffing as in Thanksgiving dinner trimmings is bad though. Its REALLY bad. As in one-of-the-worst-things-that-could-possibly-ever-be-made bad.

I love Thanksgiving. I love the warm, fuzzy feelings it emotes, and the family get-together, and I especially love the food. I love it all...turkey, yams, rolls, mashed potatoes, gravy...yum...although I have two major exceptions: Orange Jell-o with carrots, and dressing. (Also, I'm not the biggest fan of the jellied cranberries, I hate marshmallows on my yams, and then there were the two tragical years when one aunt brought cheese-whiz filled celery, and when another aunt used rancid shortening to make her pies...but these are all beside the point.)

I don't see any redeeming qualities about Thanksgiving dressing. It's soggy bread, soggy celery, and other soggy, unidentifiable items (which being unidentifiable makes it in and of itself undesirable). The taste AND the texture are both vices and unlike the carroty jell-o it isn't funny.

For now I guess its just something nasty that I'll have to keep passing off to the rest of my family.

I do have to say that one of the biggest benefits of being an adult is that you get to load your OWN plate with your own portion sizes and own choices of entrees and thus never get stuck sitting at the table for hours after everyone has left it staring at nasty soggy dressing that your parents want to you eat---don't they realize its even less edible two hours later than it was when it was first placed on the table?! (not that it was ever edible in the first place though...).

Orange Jell-o

So, in honor of Thanksgiving this week, I thought I'd write about it because it is one of my favorite holidays. Just think in just a few days the table will be covered with turkey, yams, mashed potatoes, homemade rolls, pumpkin pie, and orange jell-o with carrots.

Yes, orange jello with carrots. Don't ask me why, I don't have a clue why it shows up at Thanksgiving dinner. I'm not the biggest fan of jell-o, but I'll eat it on occasion. I'll even choke down less desirable flavors like, oh, say orange, if only to promote family harmony. But I draw the line at eating already nasty jell-o when stuff is added to it. Even bananas and other fruits in jell-o, which by all accounts makes more sense to show up in jell-o than carrots or other vegetables, makes jell-o less appealing to me than it already is.

I am not a fan of jell-o, and apparently neither is the rest of my family because year after year my grandmother's infamous Thanksgiving jello goes pretty much untouched.

I really don't understand the carrots and orange jell-o combination. The only thing I can think of is because they are the same color, but that explanation pretty much defies all logic...although at a funeral luncheon in my home ward someone was kind enough to bring in green jell-o with celery and green olives, so that gives some support to my color theory. This story also helps me to feel better about my own family's jell-o quirks, because orange jell-o with carrots is soooooo much better than the green veggie variety.


Its become a little joke in out family about the re-appearing jello. Seriously
Family, stop taking pity servings of the stuff so that Grandma will STOP making it!!

Actually this year we are not going to my grandparents for Thanksgiving and I think that I am going to be sad if there's not any jell-o.

Up Next: Dressing and why it is dis-gust-ing. Blech

Chapped Lips, Chapstick, and Things Like Chemistry

Hi, my name is Allison, and I'm an addict. I use probably more than twenty times a day--and that's probably on the low side. I've been using all my life, but it didn't develop into a full-blown addiction until late high school. My 'drug' of choice is chapstick.

Whew. That feels good to get off my chest...but honestly I probably have bought half of the Chapstick Executives Spanish villas. My old roommate would make fun of me, because I'd always have at least two chapstick tubes under my pillow, and another couple hiding elusively under the bed, only to appear when she was there to laugh at me.

I love chapstick, and its not an exaggeration to say that when I forget my chapstick that I'm in for a bad day (Seriously, why don't they stock vending machines with something useful, like, oh, I don't know...chapstick?)

My love has also been made manifest in blog posts (not including this one) and poetry--both were for school assignments, but I chose the topic.

I've joked about having a chapstick addiction before, but today was the first time that I thought that it might actually be true. You see, my habit has become so bad that I have built up a tolerance to the blue-tubed variety of Chapstick. I'm not joking. I've had to move on to harder stuff because my normal go-to brand of Chapstick is no longer cutting it.

Nivea products are now my drug of choice--but although the relieving 'high' it produces is awesome, I miss my old blue-tubed friends. The Nivea tube is too fat to fit comfortably in the pockets of my pants. Also, the cap is longer, so it's less enjoyable to snap on and off (and I'm beginning to realize that I had a behavioral addiction associated with my Chapstick: I used to snap the cap on and off, on and off, and with my new Nivea product my hands don't know what to do with themselves). Also, the flavor is a bit off--it's just not the same. Sigh.

And now you must excuse me, because during the fifteen minutes it has taken me to write this blog post, my lips have become excruciatingly dry, and I guess its time for my 'fix.'

Sitcoms, Soap Operas, and Telenovelas

In a brief conversation with a coworker today, she commented that her life was like a soap opera. I jokingly asked if it wasn't actually a Spanish Novela. She laughed and responded that her life was a soap opera, and that another coworker who was walking towards us was the one living a telenovela. All three of us had a good laugh over that, but in reality they both have a lot of drama in their lives, and there was truth in the conversation.

Thinking about their television-like lives, I began to wonder where my life would fall in TV Guide. I think that I would classify my life as a sitcom. But not a vulgar one like is so common on TV today, nor one with a cheesy laugh track. I'm thinking my life would be sort of like the 'Cosby Show', but funnier, and less cheesy, and with better wardrobe.

What I really would like the TV show of my life to be like is 'Psych'or 'Scrubs' but I guess I'm not as goofy as Shawn and Gus or Turk and J.D., or perhaps I just haven't found the right companion yet to do goofy, crazy stuff with...

Anyways, my life is like a sitcom because there are problems that arise constantly, but not a lot of drama. Things are usually resolved after a few episodes. I've been really blessed in my life, and although I've had trials, some of which are still not resolved, overall, my drama can be laughed away.

My life is also like a sitcom because there's a lot of humor, and even more failed attempts at humor (that totally fits me!).

Although I don't have a theme song, I love Kronk from 'The Emperor's New Groove' and it has always been on my to-do list to come up with my own theme song. Also, I usually always have a song stuck in my head, and bonus, about .999999% of the time it is the perfect song, fitting perfectly with what is happening. So I think that more than qualifies as a soundtrack.


I also have constant inner dialogue, similar to documentary style interviews conducted on shows like 'The Office.'

Although I think my sitcom is pretty awesome, my sitcom life will probably never win an Emmy, so I'll have to write my speech here:

"I love being a sitcom, and I know that the reason why my life is lacking in serious soap opera type drama is because I've been taught correct principles and have made covenants that keep me safe from the heartache and frustration that those living soap-opera type lives endure.

"There have been so many people who have made my sitcom a success, and many supporting actors who are far funnier than I will ever be, so because there are too many thank, I would just like to unthank a few people: you know who you are."

I Almost Bought an I-Phone

I've held out on buying a smartphone because I'm super cheap. I think that cell phones and phone plans in general are pricey, and that the phone companies have a huge profit margin and they rip people off. Even worse they get away with it because they have created a product that most people feel like they cannot live without. Smartphones have all of these same problems but on a whole different exponentially-multiplied level.

So despite the fact that I will never own a smartphone because they are overpriced and people who own them are super annoying, and texting is quickly becoming the bane of my existence, if I had a fairly godmother who decided to give me an I-phone paid for my phone bills, then who am I to reject such a generous gift?


As in most cases though, people who deserve special things like I-phones, such as myself, and who would not misuse or abuse the privileges associated with such an item, do not actually own said items. I-phones and other such coveted things seem to only be in the hands of evil people who do not use these things for good.

I've been training in my new position for the past few weeks, and as frustrating as learning a new job is, this experience is even more frustrating because my trainer keeps texting throughout the day! Its unprofessional and rude! She should be training me on how to work, not on how to text.

Every time her phone goes off, my blood starts to boil. Today I was even more perturbed by it than usual and was ready to grab it out of her hands and smash it on the floor and jump on it, two-year old tantrum style.

Fortunately for her (and the I-phone and my wallet) I was able to constrain myself.

I make no guarantees about tomorrow though.

I Made a Scarf

I love argyle, and when I found a blog with a tutorial on how to make an argyle fleece throw, I knew that I had to make one of my own.

So, today I bought the fabric and spent the better part of the day working on my new argyle fleece throw.

I got a little distracted from my blanket project...and I made a scarf. One of the fabric remnants was the perfect size and length for a scarf, so I grabbed some embroidery floss and made a cute design and now I have an awesome new scarf!

I feel so accomplished having started and finished this today. Its a great feeling to be able to create things and it reminded me of this awesome talk by Elder Uchtdorf, titled 'Happiness, Your Heritage.' I love this talk, it makes me happy.

Hopefully my awesome blanket will be finished soon, but for now I'll leave you with more pictures of my beautiful scarf.




Please note that the pictures are blurry because my photography skills are not as amazing as my embroidery skills (yet).

My OTHER Roommate Acts as if She Lives Alone: The Sequel

My roommate just walked out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel. Unfortunately this is not the same roommate who had to cover up her derriere when I walked into the apartment a few months back. Yes, apparently BOTH of my roommates like to act as if they live all alone.

I've been feeling like a loser lately because I've become a hermit and spend most of my time when I'm at my apartment shut into my room. I'm beginning to see that shutting myself off from my roommates has been a good thing.

I really do not understand people who have absolutely zero respect for their fellow apartment dwellers (aka Allison). If they had any respect for me they would always be fully clothed (also, they would do their dishes). I don't enjoy having these awkward run ins with them, and the way they act when I catch them tells me that they don't particularly enjoy it either, so I'm not sure what it will take to get them to stop acting like they live by themselves.

I'm a magnet for creeps and weirdos. Perhaps this magnetism is one of my talents? It's gotta be right? Because I have zero musical, artistic or athletic ability...

Spelling

My friend posted this on Facebook today:

"...My ego is prego :) Aaron and I are expecting...June 7th, 2011"

I had to re-read this at least three times in order to determine that she was pregnant and her ego was not in fact growing larger.

Also, that's a pretty important announcement. Do you really want to announce the birth of your first child by quoting a lame movie about a weird pregnant sixteen year old? Let alone misspell the thing terribly and put the wrong year?

Animals

I like animals. Not only am I big fan of the cute and fuzzy talking Disney creations, but I also like real animals as well. I've seen sea turtles out in the wild and it was the most amazing experience of my life. I like going to zoos. I'm so grateful that my Heavenly Father has provided such amazing and diverse animals for us, his children, to enjoy.

I also really like shelters that keep animals outside. Yes I like animals, but I don't like them near me. And truthfully I'm not too keen on reptiles, they freak me out more than a little, and I really think that this world could do without snakes.

If you don't have pets and never want to get pets or be in houses with pets people automatically equate this fact with you being an evil person. The fact that I do not want a pet and think its gross to have them in my house does not make me a bad person. I personally just think that animals are not clean, and don't like petting or sitting on furniture that people's pets have occupied. In fact, I feel an almost desperate need to immediately take a shower and wash my clothes after doing so. I don't understand why people let their dogs or cats sit on the couch, let alone sleep in their bed with them. I don't equate these pet policies with the pet owner being evil though, but the pet owner, when they find out I'm not particularly fond of "Sparky" or "Fluffy," tends to assume that I am a horrible person.

Because pet owners seem to make up the vast majority of society, and people do not take kindly to me when they discover my views about animals, I have taken to hiding my views about pets from most people. Sometimes I feel like I'm hiding some horribly grotesque secret, and yet its not. Its perfectly normal and its not hurting anyone. I'll still pet your dog and even let you cat climb into my lap while I'm over at your house, but I'm completely outside of my comfort zone when I do this.

One thing that I absolutely cannot abide is when people treat their pets (it seems to happen more often with dogs than other types of animals) as children. Its a sickening and grotesque practice. That is way more disturbing than my desire to keep pets outside. I think that pets are good for people who are lonely and need a friend and a companion or even someone to look after. But pets are not people, and they should not be treated as such.

As I am now revealing my true feelings, it should also be said that inspirational animal posters are not cute or inspiring. On the contrary they are creepy. A while back, my coworker knew I was having a bad day, (and obviously not having shared with her my views about animals) she sent me a picture of a cat to cheer me up. I've provided the link (here: http://www.roflcat.com/i-eated-a-butter-cat.php) so that you will be able to see why I was disturbed, rather than comforted (although this picture is doubly disturbing because of the bad grammar.) Her misguided attempt to cheer me up did not go unappreciated though because I did find it sweet of her to trying to make a bad day better.

I just want people to know that I am not an animal hater..(I'm just an animal-avoider)...Just to prove that I am not an animal hater I will provide a more extensive list of animals I like:

-Animal from the Muppets (although truthfully, not my favorite Muppet, far from it).

-animal crackers

-stuffed animals (the toys not the taxidermied kind)

-'Animal' the song by Neon Trees

See, I'm not a hater, I just am extremely picky in what I like.

Shopping PTSD?

I suffer from a serious affliction: I cannot find things in stores.

The way that grocery stores are configured is especially confusing. I'm a pro at finding staples such as bread and milk, but when I need to purchase something that is not something I normally use, like say, corn syrup, its never where I suppose it to be (really grocery stockers, you placed it by the maple syrup?!). In instances such as these, the item in question is literally in the last place I look, only because it is the LAST possible place to look.

Some might call it stupidity but I feel that I am a highly intelligent person. Thus, although my affliction will not be found in the DSM-IV, I feel like it is a great oversight that the DSM-IV does not include the inability to find things in stores, ever.

This affliction is enhanced by the fact that the staff are never available when I need them, typically passing by before I am looking for the elusive item on my list (and I am definitely not a plan ahead type girl. Also, despite recognizing that I have this inability to find things in stores, I am in deep denial of this fact and always think that this time I will be able to find it). Or more likely. I fail to ask the employees where an item is located when they do happen to pass because of my crippling fear of people (its a rough life I lead, but some of the employees are grumpy or scary looking or both...). This means that I spend a great deal of time at stores searching for random items placed in even more random places throughout the store.

Yesterday, I decided to immerse myself in a shopping trip in search of several odd items needed to help create my awesome Halloween costume. The trip was successful in that I found the items I was looking for. It was less successful when looked at from a productive-use of time point of view. I wandered up and down the aisles multiple times, walked across the store, walked back across the store wandered the aisles again and so forth because along with my inability to locate items in the store, I also have a terrible memory and kept remembering stuff that I needed to pick up and then I had to go locate the problem.

Despite these stressful afflictions of lackluster finding skills and a poor memory, I'm pretty good at keeping cool under pressure. I'm also an expert at giving up, so I don't get too down about leaving empty handed...because obviously I have bigger issues to deal with than finding ALL of the ingredients for a new recipe I wanted to try out

Observations

If you think you are funny, you probably aren't. Confesssion: I think I am funny.

Putting a giant flower/bow on your infant's head tells me that your child is so ugly that you felt the need to put that gaudy monstrosity on your child to draw attention away from its face.

LOL is an acronym that is used far too often. I think that as a society we need to cut back our usage. And by this I mean everyone needs to STOP USING IT RIGHT NOW!! I die a little inside each time time I hear or read those three little letters. Nobody in their right mind has ever said to someone that they are "laughing out loud" so therefore it is not appropriate to use the acronym for this never-used phrase.

"Bless You's" are not universally applied. I have been in classrooms or in the work environment where when one individual sneezes someone responds with the customary "bless you," but ten minutes later I'll sneeze and I get no such courtesy. It happens people. I'm missing out on these blessings because for some unknown reason when I sneeze people rarely follow social graces and say something after I sneeze.

Showering is not just something you do to take care of yourself. Its really a gift for the people around you. Think about that court patrons.

"Your" and "You're" are two different words. Many people in society fail to recognize this though, so I am often confused why I get invitations saying "Your invited." My what is invited?Grammar is important.

Texting and Facebook have made people into socially ignoramuses (bonus observation: that was a fun word to use.) While I do use both, they frustrate me so I try to limit their use. I want to form real connections with people face to face, not via a screen! Although I say this, the real interactions that I do have are abysmally disappointing and sometimes frightening, and make texting and Facebook more appealing. Its a real catch-22.

Guys aren't actually like the ones portrayed in books and movies.

You can be psychic when your roommate is a flaky person and always canceling plans with you.

Bumper stickers are lame, but a good warning about people you don't want to hang out with

and....

Argyle is probably the best design ever.

Twins

I have an identical twin! My twin's name is Stacy and yes she is very good looking. She's also two years older than me, and not actually my twin. Apparently we are dead ringers for each other, well at least according to Joe Q. Public (who just sees that we have the same hair color and are the same height, so he concludes that we are in fact the same person).

Growing up in the same-size shadow of my sister I resented her because people always confused our identities. It was bad enough growing up with four sisters and being used to being called "Ja-Kri-Jul-Sta-Allison" by my parents...but my parents at least knew that I was the fifth child, even though they had a hard time remembering my name. Having people in the neighborhood calling me by my sister's name was thus beyond irritating. When I went to college I was excited to forge a new identity, but alas my sister also went to that school and I did have a passerby on campus call me "Stacy."

After graduation I got a job in Salt Lake, where my sister also lived. I figured that living in this big of a city, rather than the small town where we went to school, would help me to have my own identity as Allison, and not Stacy. Alas, I inadvertently moved into the same ward as my sister, and am not known as Allison OR Stacy, but as "Stacy's sister."

This "big" city has once more proved that I am destined forever to be known by my sister's name. Today at the grocery store, a pint-sized voice behind me called, "Hi, Stacy." Because 99% of the time people calling me by that name are indeed referring to me, my Pavlovian response was to turn and see who was talking. A young girl around 4 or 5 years old was indeed talking to me. My sister was a preschool teacher, and I'm assuming that this girl was one of her former students.

Because it is often easier for me just to assume my sister's identity for five seconds and say "hi" back, that is what I did. But then the girl kept walking by the aisle with a new greeting for me each time.

I'm not going to lie, it is still extremely irritating to be confused with my sister. Especially because I apparently can't avoid it. This instance was so unexpected and outlandish that it is slightly amusing as well.

There is some good out of having a "twin" though. If I ever decide to revert to a life of crime, I know who I am going to frame...

By Gum, I Think Its Gum!

My sophomore year of college I lived with my cousin and four other girls. On at least five separate occasions I walked into our small kitchen to find chewed green gum on the linoleum. The first time it was lying near the trash can. Disgustedly, I armed myself with a paper towel and disposed of the nasty thing. The next four times I encountered the chewed up gum, the story played out the same, although sometimes the gum was in the middle of the room, far away from the trash can. As much as I love cleaning up after my roommates, I felt that this was a recurring problem and it was vital to happiness and sanity that the gum situation be stopped.

Amazingly, the first roommate I confronted was the culprit (and by the by, it was NOT my cousin, she was as affronted by these disgusting discoveries as I was). My roommate told me that it wasn't like she was purposely leaving the gum on the floor. Inwardly rolling my eyes (its kind of hard to understand the instance happening that many times, and finding the gum in the MIDDLE of the room simply as an accident....), I responded that she just needed to be more careful when throwing her gum away because I didn't appreciate having to pick it up for her. I think I found her used gum one more time, but considering how often I had found her gum, I consider this a success. Needless to say, I did not live with this roommate for longer than one school year.

You may be wondering why, at least 3 years later, that I am bringing it up again. First of all, I am still scarred by the event. Secondly, I just found a chewed up piece of gum in my current apartment's bathroom. Either this is a common problem among gum-chewing adults, or I am just a magnet for these types of people. I'm inclined to believe that it is the latter....

My New Favorite Thing

I love pizza. Its always been one of my favorite foods, and working at a gourmet pizza restaurant one summer during college, as well as eating it a ton as a poor, busy college student, I would also consider myself a pizza aficionado. Pizza is amazing because it is so versatile; I really think I could eat it for every meal for the rest of my life and be content. No, more than content: happy, ecstatic even.

As often as I consume this glorious food, I have never owned a pizza cutter. When I make homemade pizza, or cook a frozen pie, I usually just hack the thing into slices with a knife.

Well, this neanderthal pizza cutting method is out because now I have THIS:

Yes, this pizza cutter looks like a power saw. I've never regretted not having a pizza cutter, but when I saw this little beauty, it was love at first sight. Its funny and quirky and awesome, and now I have a new excuse to eat pizza!

Honestly when I first saw it I thought that it would be a great gift for my dad because he's a tool guy...but he doesn't really cook and I do. Maybe I'll buy a twin pizza cutter for him anyways though, because really who wouldn't want one of these?

Befriending the Friendless

So, the Home Evening Leaders in my ward did something pretty callous. They had the girls divide up in teams and then the girls picked which boys to have on their teams. I felt so bad for the boys. I would have been mortified! The boys who were picked last were the ones you'd expect if you've ever attended the torture known as P.E.

At the activity I made a concerted effort to talk to, and be friendly to, the boy who was picked last, because that's what I would have wanted someone to do for me if I had been in his shoes. Also, I've been feeling like I have no friends and so I've been thinkng that instead of wishing for someone to talk to me, I would take the initiative and be the first to speak to people.

Turns out taking the initiative is about as fruitful at making friends as sitting around waiting for a friend. The guy was socially awkward (surprisingly, even more so than me) and the conversation was brief. This, unfortunately, is not a unique experience. I've been trying for a long time to extend myself in this ward and while everyone is nice, they are not very friendly (example: will engage in small talk with you if you speak to them directly, but will not remember you name, and sometimes even your face, or any details about yourself the next time that you see them).

I don't regret being nice and for being the first one to speak, but I'm getting sick of it. I feel like I'm the only one trying to reach out to others. No one else even seems to be making an effort, they are all too complacent and comfortable within their own circle of friends.

And if the guy who is picked last won't even give me the time of day, then what does that say about me?!!

Roommate Acts as if She Lives Alone: A Dramatic Play in Two Acts

ACT I:

The Scene: It was a dark and stormy night (literally). A small apartment near downtown Salt Lake City where three young women live is the focus of this story. Roommate S is at the computer in the corner of the living room.

Enter: Allison returning home from a night of being ignored at her ward Family Home Evening.

Allison: "Hey S, how's it going.....?" (The end of the sentence trailing off as Allison realizes what her roommate is wearing: A blue t-shirt, and ONLY a blue t-shirt, which her roommate has pulled down to cover her posterior.)

S: "Good"

S exits stage right, down the hall and into her bedroom, pulling down her t-shirt as she walks. Allison avoids eye contact, and in fact turns head to avoid looking in that unpleasant direction.

ACT II:

The scene: It is now two months later and Allison's lease is finally up and she is living anywhere else.

fin

Ok, it's not Shakespeare, but I think that the final act is brilliant. It nearly brought me to tears thinking about it.

Web of Lies

Today is my roommate H's birthday. Last night she invited me to go to a movie with her and her boyfriend and my other roommate S. Fortunately I was able to avoid this awkward social situation because I had an institute class.

Around 11:30 pm, decked out in my pj's, with a head full of soft purple curlers, H knocked on my door. Embarrassed because of my appearanc I reluctantly opened the door. H informed me that her family was coming over, and that she was going to tell them that I had gone with her and S to the movie instead of H's boyfriend. This is odd, but not as odd as it may seem, as H is an international student from India and is secretly dating a man whom her family would not approve of. Actually they are quite traditional, and would not approve of dating anyone.

I stared confusedly at H as she informed me of this and wondered if she really thought that I would rush out to the living room as soon as her family arrived (unexpectedly, and unwelcomed) that late at night and tell her family all about the wonderful night H had enjoyed with her secret boyfriend. I felt like her informing me of this was unncessary becauseI don't particularly like my roommates and have resorted to living as a hermit in my room to avoid them. Thus I am the last person who is going to go out in the living room and chat up her family and drop the boyfriend bomb on them. And yet she felt the need to search me out, afraid that I might reveal her secret.

She really needn't have worried though, and not just because I've become a hermit, but also because I'm really an eighty year old at heart and go to bed really early (and when she informed me that her family was coming over it was all I could do to keep my crotchety 'but its so late' remarks to myself).

I also wondered why I had to be dragged into the web of lies at all? Why not just omit the boyfriend and just tell them she had gone to the movie with S? Why did my name have to be brought up at all? Actually I've been wondering ever since I was first informed of her secret boyfriend why she didn't just rip off the metaphorical band-aid and save herself all the grief that it takes her to conceal her boyfriend. Especially since her family tends to drop by unexpectedly and her boyfriend apparently dislikes having to hide when the family shows up at H's door (which I find completely odd....NOT!). I understand that it would make her family upset, but she told me that she has no intention of ever having an arranged marriage like her mother and sister would like her to have, and she flat out told me that she doesn't like Indian guys. I doubt that these prefences are likely to change, and as it has started to adversely affect my life, I really think she should just tell the truth and let the cards fall where they may.

I was too tired to give any sort of intelligent response to H when she knocked on my door last night, so my people-pleasing pathology forced out an "ok" and I slowly closed the door on her. We haven't really discussed it, but I'm not going to lie for her. I'm not going to purposely reveal her secret, but I am definitely not comfortable with all the subterfuge, especially if she wants to use me as an alibi, or even worse if she decides to ask me to hide her boyfriend in my room like apparently the last roommate did for her (um, that is NOT going to happen EVER!!).

H just seems to have a special talent for making me feel like a jerk, because I feel like a huge one now, and I didn't do anything except for cower under my sexy curlers and gawp at her strange request.

Move out date t-minus four months. Sigh. I only hope I last that long, she is driving my crazy!

Such Great Heights

My roommate mentioned how sometimes you need to tread lightly with some short people because they can be sensitive about being short. I felt like she was leaving out another special group of people that are often overlooked in society (although not literally overlooked like short people sometimes are, because tall people stick out like sore thumbs). Yes, the group to which I am referring to, and to which I belong, is tall people. I have issues with my height, but society doesn't deem it necessary to tread lightly when dealing with me, as they do with those individuals with Napoleon complexes.

As a member of this exclusive club which only passes its genes on to their own children (we’re selfish like that…) I can attest that we are indeed looked up to. Which is great in theory, but then the looking up becomes staring and then gawking. Which is just awkward, and let’s face it girl in the public library who gawked at me with your mouth formed in a perfect “O,” just rude. Tall people have feelings too, and being stared at in this manner is a crushing blow to one's already fragile self-esteem.

Also, tall people have a greater chance of bumping our heads, such as when we are entering or exiting cars, or while passing through low doorways, injuries which are easier for short people to avoid. Its a hard life we tall people lead.

We are often asked to retrieve items on tall shelves for vertically challenged people. So, you should just feel sorry for us no matter what, because we are stared at, we are at higher risk of a head injury (probably even more so than a football player because football players get to leave the field, but I’ll never stop being tall) and having to retrieve items for short people is pretty much just the same as telling me that I have only slightly more value and purpose in this life as a chair or step stool.

Also, as the voice for tall single women, you should feel especially sorry for us because A) everyone assumes we played basketball even though it is fairly obvious that some of us can barely walk without causing physical harm to her person, and thus are not coordinated enough to have ever played sports (ahem...not that that bears any resemblance to me, I loved to make all of those touchdowns when I played basketball in high school), and B) apparently tall guys like to feel especially tall as they all seem to go after the girls who are only considered tall enough to ride roller coasters when they are wearing their six inch heels.

I like being tall. I just don't like how everyone around me is so much shorter...Personally I attribute my height to being a more evolved person. Some of my former roommates weren't too keen on this scientifically proven fact, but that could just be due to the fact that they are less evolved than me.

Space Invaders and Cheetos

So tonight we had a Stake YSA Family Home Evening. It was called "Screen on the Green" and we watched What's Up Doc? on the lawn outside of the church (well, sort of...half way through the sprinklers came on, and half the audience got wet, which fortunately didn't include me as I probably would have frozen to death as I was already freezing. We then moved to the cultural hall where we finished the movie).

I was excited for this activity because I really liked the movie choice, and its always fun to watch movies outside. So, even though I didn't have anyone to go with, I decided that it would be worth it going Han style (Solo....Yes that is a super lame joke and yet it is so awesome at the same time).

Now I need to preface this next part with the fact that I have some pretty strict personal space issues. I should probably start wearing a sign declaring to the world what expectations I have of them when they are in my personal vicinity, because honestly most people don't seem to get it.

I got to the activity early and found a nice spot with a good angle to view the screen. I laid out my blanket and pillow and had a nice strip of grass around the four sides of my blanket. I left my stuff and went to go get some snacks. When I returned there was a blanket set up right next to my blanket. In fact it was TOUCHING my blanket. Needless to say, my blanket and I felt very violated.

The offending blanket's owners were not there, but it made me feel uncomfortable knowing that complete strangers would be lying down right next to me. Ugh!

Things only got worse...my personal space was invaded...and I couldn't perform a battle attack against these invaders because they are my fellow children of God and I need to be nice (and also because I try to hide my crazy and try not yell at people and start hitting moronic individuals who put their feet on my blanket. Even though they totally deserve it.)

The original space invader is actually a member of my ward, but we've never met. As the movie finally started, space invader #1 started talking with space invader #2 (the girl directly behind me, and one of the feet-on-Allison's-blanket culprits--yes, there was more than one!). Subsequently ten mintues later they were asking each other what was going on in the movie (huh, yeah, it is hard to follow a plot when you're NOT PAYING ATTENTION!).

As I was enjoying some of the Cheetos that had been provided for the activity, space invader #1 blurted out "Cheetos!" I thought that he was going to ask me for some of my Cheetos, which I thought was weird, but hey, Cheetos are good so I couldn't fault the guy too much.

I was mistaken.

I now have a new nickname: "Cheetos"

He wanted to ask me what was happening in the movie, and he knew that if he shouted out "Cheetos" he would get my attention. Unfortunately for me, it worked...he did get my attention as well as the attention of two other girls (and the offenders of the 'nobody's feet on Allison's blanket but Allison''s rule) who started joking about how he had called me "Cheetos." (Yay--Look Mom, I'm making friends!)

As a Jane Austen addict, and also because I am currently re-reading Pride and Prejudice and even read the Darcy proposal scene today, I couldn't help but think that this type of situation would never have happened in the days of Pride and Prejudice. Even at his most prideful, Darcy was always civil, and he respected people. Also, my little nickname christening tonight would never have even happened back then because people didn't interact unless they were properly introduced. It would have been awesome if the guy had tapped me on the shoulder, introduced himself and asked for my name, and then asked his questions about the movie.

I do realize that Pride and Prejudice is fictional. I don't expect the world to be like how Jane Austen portrayed it in her novels (although she did have great insight into human nature). It would be nice though to move back to people having manners.

On the plus side, maybe I can work out a part-time mascot gig and start endorsing Cheetos. I'm sure that Chester could do with a vacation...

Sugar Shock

I’m pretty sure that one of the worst pains that can be experienced in this life is when you are trying to catch Skittles in your mouth and they bonk into your teeth.

Granted this is coming from someone who has never borne a child, but I don’t feel like categorizing Skittles-induced pain in this manner is an exaggeration. Perhaps I should contact the candy companies and get a warning label put on the packaging:

Warning!: This product can cause tooth aches in the following ways: 1) cavities 2) extreme pain in the event of you trying to catch the candies thrown at you by your friends or self, and 3) being punched in the mouth by a deranged person trying to steal the product in order to “Taste the Rainbow.”

My Roommate Doesn’t Hate Me, Yet

Unfotunately this blog post is not indicative of some kind of childish prank that I pulled on my roommate that she has yet to discover. Rather, this is a derivative of a direct quote by said roommate one morning. And as my roommate has no semblance of a sense of humor, I am sad to say that she was quite serious in expressing this sentiment.

Why did this rather rude statement arise? Rent is due on the 5th of the month by 6:00 pm (she probably thinks that this fact is all my doing and my fault). For the month of September, the 5th fell on Labor Day. I had been out of town for the long holiday weekend, during which I remembered that rent was due on Monday. I wrote out a check so that I wouldn’t forget to drop it off at the manager’s apartment when I returned home Monday night. That evening, I arrived home and unpacked and tried to unwind. By a stroke of luck I remembered to go pay my rent. The next day I found out that both my roommates had forgotten to pay, and unfortunately for my roommates, the manager’s decided that this month would be a good month to crack down on late payments (which is really terrible considering that the fifth day of the month fell on a holiday) hence my roommates were hit with a hefty late fee of $75. On hearing this (and also that I had already paid and had avoided the late fee) my roommate H was angry. I felt bad about the late fee, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it, so I escaped to my room. The next morning I got the full story:

She called the managers (way after hours) to complain about the late fee. She was able to talk them out of it (a feat which my other roommate S was not able to do). I was informed that since she didn’t have to pay the late fee, that she didn’t hate me, yet.

H told me that we needed to remind each other about rent being due, and then said that on the 4th that we would put up notes reminding people to pay (my mother offered a brilliant suggestion to this: start a countdown three weeks early and every day say: 25 days till rent is due….24 days till rent is due….)

I felt bad when I learned that they had been given a late fee; I felt even worse the next morning when I had that lovely little roommate discussion. She made me feel ike it was completely my fault—and it’s not! Yes it would have been courteous of me to remind my roommates--but they are in fact adults (even if they don’t act like it) and honestly it didn’t cross my mind because H is so anal and is always bossing me around and telling me what to do and when that I assumed that she had already taken care of it.

Other than taking on the blame which H decided to dump on me, I have some other issues with this morning’s encounter:

1. The wording: She doesn’t hate me, yet. Really? So she’s planning on hating me at some future point? I guess I’ve lasted a whole month without earning her complete and utter loathing, so maybe I can feel good about that fact.

2. The fact that I care that she’s apparently on the road to hating me. Which shouldn’t matter as I find her annoying and blunt and while I don’t hate her (yet) I am leaning past indifference into active dislike.

3. The fact that she was able to talk the manager out of the late fee. That she was able to do this while the pleas of my other roommate fell on deaf ears is a testament to H’s complete and utterly annoying obnoxious personality. Only her incessant whining and complaining could wear down the manager.

4. I understand that money is tight, and that the late fee was expensive, but that should be even more motivation to PAY ON TIME. Learn to be an adult. If it’s hard to remember stuff, write it down! I’ve only lived here a month, but it sounds like paying rent on time is a difficult thing for my new roommates. H needs to grow up, because I don’t want to mother her (especially since if I did my ‘child’ would be older than me).

5. The fact that I didn’t want to mother her and tell her when and how to do grown up things made me question if I could ever be a mother. This one really bothers me and is obviously not my roommate’s fault--but this crazy thought did cross my mind. I honestly had to reassure myself that it would be different when I had my own children (if only because my children will actually be younger than me).

6. It made me feel like a jerk. She made me feel like a terrible person because I didn’t remind her to pay her rent. I think that we are both at fault (with the teeter-totter of blame tilting towards the ground a lot more on her side than on mine). I could have been more courteous and asked if she had paid rent. She could have paid her rent (Problem solved).

7. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if she had actually had to pay her late fee. I really think she might have killed me….

Maybe along with ‘stranger danger’ we should also be teaching the rising generation “roommate danger” i.e. don’t move in with psychos!

Piece of Paper

During my first week of institute, one of my fellow students, while introducing himself, decided to go off on a tangent about how he had decided that going to a university wasn’t for him, so he had dropped out of school after two years. He told the class that he believed in self-education and didn’t need a piece of paper to prove that he was intelligent.

Um, excuse me, but I have a diploma and I don’t use it to prove I’m intelligent (I use it to prove that I am hardworking and diligent and can achieve my goals, which are all talents that I used to earn my diploma...). A diploma doesn’t show that you are intelligent, it shows that you are educated (and by his antics, this fellow student showed me that he is neither intelligent or educated).

Perhaps I’m just a little sensitive to this subject since I just recently earned this so-called ‘piece of paper’ but I truly wanted to slap this guy. I’m not putting this guy down because he didn’t get his degree; I’m putting him down because he put down my degree in order to justify his own life. I find the derogatory use of “piece of paper” in place of the word “diploma” highly irritating, if not out-and-out offensive. I worked hard for my degree, and I learned a lot through my courses as well as through self-directed study. My diploma is literally a piece of paper, but it is symbolic of hours of hard work and of the many lessons and principles learned. So, I truly despise when people try to diminish my efforts in achieving my goal of earning my diploma by calling it just a piece of paper, because it truly is so much more than that.

Also, I worked for my degree not to impress other people, but rather to better myself and to grow as a person (impressing other people is just a bonus. And in today’s world a diploma is almost a necessity in getting a decent job).

A college education opens many doors in society, and I highly believe in education so I would encourage everyone to get their education, but I don’t look down on this fellow institute student because he doesn’t have a degree. I don't look down on anyone for not having a degree. Throughout his little tirade I felt that he was protesting too much about formal education, which makes me think that perhaps he is insecure with his decision to drop out of school and is trying to justify it in every public (and probably private) venue where he can find a soapbox to preach from.

My New Diet

My coworker told me that she was going on a vegetarian diet in order to lose weight. Like many other diets, I have quickly decided that this weight loss option is not for me. Unlike other diets this one was not rejected simply based on my lack of self-control.

I could go on a vegetarian diet, but it would be completely pointless, because my guilty pleasure foods are lacking meat already: brownies, ice cream, potato chips….

Meat is not my dietary pitfall. In fact, I don’t eat meat that often—especially if I am the one doing the cooking. I am by no means I vegetarian, but I have an aversion to touching raw meat, so I rarely prepare meat entrees for myself (I’m definitely more of a carb girl anyhow).

I guess that I could show off to people that I too am on a vegetarian diet, but then in a few weeks they’ll probably be asking why I’m gaining weight.

Crazy Ward

A few weeks ago I ward activity. This was my second week in this ward and I decided to attempt being sociable. I went up to a guy I recognized from my apartment complex and introduced myself as his neighbor. One of the first things out of his mouth was, “then why don’t you come to church?” which was said with a biting tone.

Sometimes I don’t know why I even try. Actually most of the time I wonder why I even try. Some people are so dumb, and rude, and so not worth the time or effort it takes to talk to them.

Needless to say I was more than a little taken aback by his comment, wondering why that would be any of his business as well as if he only found people worth associating with if they went to church? I kindly informed my new neighbor that I had just moved in, holding back all my snarky comments about how I’d been to church every week and then asking him why he hadn’t noticed me before (withholding from him that while I had been to church in this ward every week, I had only been there for two weeks…) and also resisting the lie that was forming on my lips about how I was inactive and had only recently begun attending again but after a condescending greeting like that I was thinking of not coming back…ever.

Thankfully, our conversation soon ended. I’m pretty sure though that if he ever does talk to me again, this great missionary will be asking me my name and why I never come to church, because there’s no chance that he will remember meeting me. I hate guys that like. I feel like a lot of guys at church, and other places, only feel its worth their time getting to know a girl if they are attracted to her.

Do Not Touch

I am no priceless painting. In fact I probably fall closer in the realm to street graffiti. Despite this, if things continue on as they have at work I may have to get myself a personalized museum plaque to wear as necklace warning people, “DO NOT TOUCH.”

I have been at my current job for less than a month and already I have been rubbed on the back by no less than 3 different persons! I can’t believe that this sort of behavior is happening in the workplace. We are all on friendly terms, but I do not like to be touched. Also, the touch sends the message of a superior/insubordinate relationship, with the receiver needing to be comforted. And guess what: the person being given the unwanted back rubs is not the superior…

Don’t get me wrong, I am a closed off person and would not like these types of back rubs from near-strangers ever (some people might argue that my coworkers are not near strangers-but that still does not make the back rubs appropriate, ever. And also, these people would be WRONG, because really how well do you know your coworkers? With my coworkers I know a little about their life and family, but rarely do we get beyond small talk: thus they are near strangers).

Also, because I am a closed off person, if you are trying to be my friend by giving me a friendly backrub then you are approaching this situation all wrong, because it is deeply irritating, not to mention super AWKWARD, thus, not the best approach to becoming my new BFF. Also, if you can’t read the signals that you are making me incredibly uncomfortable such as my shoulders hunching up and me trying to escape into the floor, I question your IQ level and probably don’t want to be friends with you anyways.

So folks, hands off and do not touch. This no touching policy* is not limited to back rubs, but includes pretty much all forms physical contact, and perhaps most especially hugs.

*Policy is not as strictly enforced when it comes to close friends and family and most especially to attractive persons of the opposite sex.

Hijacked Lunch

I generally like my coworkers. Some are more annoying than others, but I get along well with them all. Although for the most part, these are not individuals that I would choose to hang out with after work…or during work… or ever….

One woman today tried to cross that line. I was sitting in the break room waiting for my yummy leftovers (fetuucine alfredo) to finish their circular journey inside the microwave when my coworker sat down across the table from me. This was my own fault as I had not prepared myself for an enjoyable lunch hour by spreading out my purse and water bottle and book across the table, marking my territory as I typically do. In fact my book was still in my purse, and once she sat down I felt like too big of a jerk to pull it out and start reading (although I’m not sure she’d get the hint even at that point that I would prefer to be left alone).

Now I am not so anti-social as to never want to eat lunch with anyone, but my lunch hour only lasts 60 precious minutes. Minutes which go by at least three times faster than regular minutes, so really I only have a 20 minute lunch, so I’d rather have it planned out before hand that we are going to eat lunch together. Actually, its not so much the fact that I have no time to prepare for this type of social situation, as it is the fact that the conversation (a word I am using VERY loosely here) was centered solely on her. In fact she just told me stories of her past, with me nodding and “hmming” every once in a while. As she relayed her past without ever once asking me anything about myself, I was nearly to my breaking point, and considered stabbing myself with my fork (which would have been less painful than hearing all of her stories).

Fortunately I didn't have to impale myself with a fork to get her to stop. My unwanted tour down her Memory Lane ended abruptly when she had to get back to work, having started her lunch a half hour earlier than me.

I'm generally a nice person and I will willingly listen to your (probably stupid) stories, for hours on end, but it would be nice if people at least pretended to take some interest in hearing some of of my (most definitely stupid) stories as well. I feel like conversation is about give and take, but most people just focus on the giving (and this is the one case in which giving is not a selfless act). In my coworker's case she not only focused on the giving part by relaying her past experiences , but decided to bestow this gift on me repeatedly by retelling the same stories within the same half hour period in which she hijacked my lunch break.

The art of conversation has truly become a lost art. A fact which I attribute to texting and the rise in narcissitic behavior in society.

Sleep is Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I like soft beds and warm blankets, I like nighttime with stars peeking out from a dark sky. I like sleeping in. I like naps. I like the contented, restful feeling I have after a good night’s sleep.

With that said, I have a confession to make: I resent the fact that I have to sleep.

Fun fact: Humans sleep away a third of their lives. Not so fun fact: Humans sleep away a THIRD of their lives. That means that the typical 90 year old will have slept away 30 years of his life! I resent that 1/3 of my time that I could be doing anything else has to be devoted to sleeping. That’s why I delay going to sleep. I love to stay up late, and while I'm typically not the kind of girl who bounces out of bed at 4 am, I also refuse to sleep in too late in the mornings, because I hate wasting my day sleeping.

Its weird that I resent sleep because its not like I have anything pressing or exciting that I need or should be doing during my night time hours, but in a way I guess I feel like having to sleep is making me miss out on something, even if it is probably only late night infomercials (which can be very entertaining…I think I’ve seen the Magic Bullet infomercial about a thousand times and I still find it hilarious).

Chivalry isn’t dead…its just never directed at me

I love it when guys open doors for me. I think its very respectful and classy. I am not exaggerating when I say that it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside and puts a smile on my face. I do have some exceptions though for when I don’t fully appreciate guys opening the door for me.

Some guys are extra chivalrous and if they spot me, even if I am 20 yards away, they will patiently hold the door open while I cross that distance. I appreciate the effort, but I don’t want them to have to wait for me to walk to the door, and so in this situation, I’d prefer it if they would just let me open the door myself.

In high school as I was walking into the building, one young “gentlemen” was walking a few steps ahead of me. I’m not the kind of girl who insists on having the door held open for her, and I certainly don’t expect it (because there are so many guys who don’t even bother) but I was watching this guy to see if he would hold the door open for me. He didn’t disappoint—but not because he opened the door for me, rather because what he did do was so off-putting that it was entertaining. He walked through the door, kicked it, so that it would stay open a little longer and continued on his way without pause. I have never forgotten that. I thought it was funny and wondered why he even bothered. Holding the door open for a girl is a sign of respect and his way of holding the door open was certainly not respectful, so I’m wondering why he even bothered to expend the energy he did to kick open the door for me.

The most common door opening mistakes that I’ve noticed are centered around the car door. I love when guys hold the car door open for me to get into the car—but I hate when guys want to open the car door open for me to get out. Waiting inside the car is just awkward, mmkay?

Speaking of car door opening etiquette (Allison’s version, which means that it is the CORRECT AND ONLY VERSION TO BE FOLLOWED!!), the other day I inadvertently became the third wheel to my roommate and her boyfriend. Usually I am extremely crafty and can avoid and get out of these situations. This particular situation was particularly sticky and I was unable to extricate myself. I survived (barely) and also came away with fodder for this blog (lovely). My roommate’s boyfriend opened the car door for my roommate, walked past me, around the back of the car and got in the driver’s side door. Opening the door should apply to ALL women—not just the ones you are dating or are interested in dating. If I’d been on the other side of the car I probably wouldn’t have cared as much because I could have gotten into the vehicle sooner than having to wait for him to come open the driver’s side passenger door for me, but he was RIGHT THERE by my door and should have opened it for me. I know that I would have been impressed with him, and if I had been in my roommate’s shoes I definitely would have liked my boyfriend to have done that for my friend.

Hair

I hate hair. Let me specify. I hate that I can’t do hair and I am jealous of pretty much every other girl’s hair. Usually I can tolerate my hair, so that’s actually not quite what I am going to write about. I have been losing an exhorbitant amount of hair lately. Unfortunately, I am not kidding. All day long I am pulling stray strands off of my clothing, and when I brush through my hair with either my fingers or my brush there are literally handfuls of my not-so-golden locks (by the by, I just watched Tangled in the park tonight, it was fun, but I hate how they portray Brown hair as unmagical. I told that to my cousin the first time we watched it, because although I had really enjoyed the movie I was a little put out by the whole brown hair is not magical or special. My cousin told me that only I would ever think of something like that. I’m not sure if that was a compliment or not…I was slightly pleased with myself at the time, but now I just feel slightly crazy for overanalyzing everything.)

Anyway, if there is anything that I can tolerate LESS than my treacherously messy and uncontrollable locks is when they are no longer attached to my head. Hair grosses me out. Ugh. I think that I’ll have to come up with a new number one thing on my list of qualities my future husband must have. I need someone who is not afraid to snake the drain—because, let’s be honest, I am too afraid and grossed out to do it, and at the current rate I am losing hair I really need a guy who will have the courage to stand up to the sludgy grossness clogging up my tub.

Hair on my head: fine. Hair off my head: gross, hair off of other people’s head: I need to vomit.

I don’t know why hair grosses me out so much but it really does. I also have issues with facial hair. Obviously I dislike it on me, but I am really opposed to almost all facial hair on almost all men. Obviously there are exceptions, but I think that we can all agree on doing away with the full beard. Not attractive on anyone, and I had a psychology professor who shared the horrific tale of how he grew a beard, maintained it really well, but had to shave it off soon after because it had an ODOR. SICK!!!

On the other hand, I find it creepy when people shave EVERYTHING. Exhibit A: Swimmers, more specifically male swimmers (Men should not have smoother legs than me!). Apparently there is a fine line between having too much hair and not having enough, but it’s an issue that is troubling enough for me to write a blog post about it, so obviously it is a fine line that everyone needs to learn how to walk. So I expect all two* of my readers to go out and either get a razor or Rogaine and attempt to walk that line.

*Although the incidents portrayed in this post are 100 percent accurate and truthful, I cannot determine for sure how many readers I have , but would guess that the true number lies at about 0ne, unless it is considered acceptable to count my various personalities, who are all as fastidiously groomed as I am and are as freaked out by hair as me, because we are in fact the same person.

Silent Treatment

If I was technologically savvy I would have had a seemingly blank post with a link at the end that would lead you to the text of this post, but alas I am technologically impaired and so my cute little joke to go along with the title of this post will not come to pass.

The silent treatment is great in theory. And actually works quite well for some people, who can convey years’ worth of anger and resentment into literally nothing at all (well maybe some glares and other petty behavior). When I was younger I would get really angry over really important issues like global warming and scumbaggy politicians, NOT over minor, unimportant things such as somebody sitting in my spot on the couch after I had specifically proclaimed, before going to the kitchen, “I get my spot back!” My attempts at the silent treatment seem ridiculous now for several reasons including the fact that apparently my sisters are DEAF as my spot was almost always occupied when I returned, as well as for the fact that it is almost impossible for me not to talk. And it’s not that I have that much to say, and I truly do believe that sometimes silence is golden, rather it’s like when you’re told not to think of something and you can’t stop thinking of that particular thing (don’t think of a purple elephant). The same thing happens to me when I attempt to give someone the silent treatment—I suddenly have so much to say to them.

Anyways the reason that I’m writing this is that I’m pretty sure my sister is gi ving me the silent treatment, although its hard to tell for sure since we live in different places and her not responding to my text could just be because she didn’t hear the phone, which is ALWAYS on her person. But I just kind of feel like it’s petty and lame and really stupid if she IS giving me the silent treatment.

I’ve discovered that my compulsive need to talk to someone while I am giving them silent treatment also works in reverse: I really feel the need to talk to her, and mainly just because I believe she is indeed giving me the silent treatment. Ugh. I really am insane.

Driving Miss Roommate

I am certifiably insane and have no spine. These facts have not been verified by any sort of medical or psychological professional, but as far as self-diagnoses go this one is far more accurate than the diagnoses that hypochondriacs discover through the aid of Web MD. I know that this self diagnosis is accurate because I constantly find myself volunteering to do various things which I don’t actually want to do and then get stuck doing things I’d rather not be doing. And I know that this is a symptom of my insanity because I KEEP DOING IT! And I can’t stop, even as the words spill from my lips I’m thinking, “Wow, that was a really stupid thing to offer to do. I hope that they don’t take me up on that offer.” And yet I continue to make offers to help people. (Don’t get me wrong, I love to help people and service is great, but my offers go over and beyond the call of duty when it comes to helping people, getting me into awkward, sticky situations). The spineless part is because I can never say no (ok I can say no to really bad stuff like drugs and other stupid things like that, but I am a roommate pushover and I avoid confrontation with people like the plague.)

So, I am insane and spineless which is how I came to teach my roommate how to drive. My roommates drive me crazy, so it makes sense for me to return the favor and teach them how to drive….a car. My roommate is from India and never learned how to drive. I’ve lived with her for about a week, and we are still getting to know each other. She was talking about how she had her learner’s permit and how hard it was to get people to take her out driving, which is apparently like crack to her: she loves to drive. She told me that her boyfriend and sister refuse to take her out driving (um, excuse me, but that’s a major red flag that you need to ditch that guy who won’t take you out driving because he “likes his car .”) and so she’s been asking pretty much everyone she knows to take her out driving. There was an awkward pause in the conversation at this point, and her not-asking me to take her driving was extremely loud in that silence, so I squeaked out an offer to take her out driving, while at the same time praying silently that she wouldn’t take me up on the offer. Which is how I found myself out on the busy streets around sundown the next night mentally and physically bracing myself as I let this near-stranger and extremely new driver behind the wheel of my car.

Actually, it went very well. My car received no damage, and my nerves will eventually repair themselves (right?). The experience wasn’t too bad. I only “pushed" my imaginary brake pedal three times, attempting to stop the car as I sat petrified in the passenger seat. It was actually kind of fun and a good bonding experience. While it obviously wasn’t a good opportunity to talk, the many near-death experiences which we survived together helped me to feel more comfortable being around her and I feel more optimistic about this new roommate situation.

Surrounded by Crazy

I heard a bit by a comedian on Comedy Central where he asked the audience something to the effect of, “Have you ever felt like you’ve met enough people?” My daily answer to this joking inquiry is a resounding ‘yes!” I definitely feel like I have met enough people.

In the past when I have discussed this with some individuals they have responded with, “but you haven’t met your husband yet.” To which I’ve replied that I’ll just have to sort back through all the jerks in my life and hope “the one” has changed (or hope that I am acquainted with this hypothetical future husband only in passing…because really there are so few people in the recesses of my memory that could even qualify as somewhat acceptable husband material).

To these somewhat (by which I mean totally) negative responses to my complaining about how I am sick of people and never ever ever ever want to meet another human being, I’ve decided to clarify that I am sick of meeting CRAZY people (although experience shows that crazy people make up approximately 99.99999999999% of this world’s population so this correction is really not all that helpful.).

Inarguably, I definitely have my own brand of crazy. Unfortunately my brand of crazy appears to be petty and jealous and doesn’t get along well with most other types of crazy. My crazy, thus, would rather be a hermit than deal with all the other types of crazy out there. Since that’s kind of Unabomber-ish, and unrealistic, (at least until I can save up enough to buy a mountain cabin … whatever, if I was going to survive as a hermit there would definitely have to be some sort of Caribbean beach involved.) I’ve decided to create this blog to document my various run-ins with crazy (my own as well as the craziness of other people and events). Mostly this blog will be about documenting my random thoughts and venting about my strange encounters with human kind… because let’s be honest I am surrounded by crazy.