Mrs. Claus

We went to our ward's Christmas Party last night, and it was a lot of fun. The food was great, and the desserts were even better. :) The best part of the evening, though, was Scott came in walking in with a loud, "Ho ho ho! Mehhhh-rry Christmas!" Yep, he was Santa Claus. It was awesome. He was really nervous - he didn't know what he was supposed to say - but I helped him practice by sitting on his lap and telling him what I wanted for Christmas. :)

I guess it worked - he did great. He's probably going to kill me for posting these pictures, but I have to.

This kid looked rather frightened.
(it's funnier if you click on the picture and view it full-size)


But most everyone loved him...


Even the teenagers. :)

And Here It Is!

I'm done! After 6 scheduled hours of final exams yesterday, I finally finished. The semester is over and I'm so excited. It still hasn't sunk in that I have no more school until January 24th. I love school, don't get me wrong, but I'm ready for a break. And here it is!

The first thing I did with my break from school was go to see the Festival of Lights at the DC temple with Scott. It was gorgeous! And the musical performance was a group from Annandale High School, and they were AMAZING. I was very impressed. We took a friend of mine, Jasmine, because I knew she would enjoy the lights and the international nativities. She seemed to have a good time, except when too many sister missionaries tried to convert her. I was a little frustrated with that. I know that's what the missionaries are there for, and as a member of the church I appreciate the importance of the gospel message, but I felt that they were too pushy. And my intentions for inviting her along were simply for her to see the lights, because they're so beautiful. I didn't bring her to be converted.

But for anyone who's thinking about going to see the lights this year, I recommend it. They're beautiful. But I still don't understand why the live nativity only includes a live Mary and Joseph and not live wise men or shepherds. It looks a little strange.

The First Snow

There aren't a whole lot of things that I miss about Utah, but snow is one of those that I do wish we had (along with mountains). Mostly Maryland gets ice and slush. When it snows, it often melts before it even hits the ground, or immediately upon contact. But the other day we got the first snow of the season, and it actually stuck! It was only a couple of inches, but hey, I'll take what I can get.

It makes me more excited than ever to go skiing for the New Year.

Brian Regan

My new Brian Regan DVD came in on Thursday! It was all I could do to wait for my husband to come home from school that night; he has class until 9:20 on Thursday nights. I put the DVD in the other room so that I didn't have to look at it! It's not as good as the old DVD, but the new movie is still awesome. I recommend it to everyone. Brian Regan is simply hysterical.

A cute call

This post is on my new blog, here, but I thought I'd post it on this one too.

My sister-in-law, Leslie, called Scott on his phone yesterday afternoon - but he didn't answer because he had left it at home (we were on our way home from the library). My 2-year-old niece, Sarah Ann, said to her, "Now I talk Aunt Tith." (That's how she pronounces my name.) Leslie responded, "Well, why don't we call Daddy?" But Sarah Ann was adamant. "No. Aunt Tith."

So Leslie called me and told me that Sarah Ann really wanted to talk to me, and I laughed and agreed. I could hear Leslie prompting Sarah Ann's responses in the background. I also got her to sing the ABC song and "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star", all by herself with no prompting from Leslie.

My niece is so cute.

"And we're going to Disneyland."

So "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare: Abridged" is over. Finished. Kaput. I have mixed feelings, of course - I'm sad for it to be done, but glad to have my life back. Mostly, though, I'm glad. I'm exhausted and very sore - every muscle in my body aches from the final weekend of the run and Strike after the last show. I'm sure that in a few days I'll start going through withdrawals, but for now I'm very excited to have the Thanksgiving holiday to rest (as much as will be possible with my adorable nieces and nephews jumping all over the place, yelling, "Aunt Tarythe! Aunt Tarythe! Come play with me! Okay, you be It..."). And pumpkin pie...mmm...

The last show went very well. The size of our audiences increased as the show went on and word spread. During the last show we not only had the seating area onstage full (it was meant to be a small and audience-interactive show), but the balcony was holding quite a few more people. It was wonderful.

After the show we had Strike, where the whole set gets taken apart nail by nail, board by board. Costumes and props get put away too. It's quite the process, and usually requires a good amount of people. I stayed to help the stage crew and the Coordinator of Theatre Operations (the big big boss of the department) was so impressed by my hard work that he offered me a job at the theatre! Even though it usually takes a few months for the application and paperwork to go through, he said not to worry - that he would personally make sure the process was "expedited" for me.

In related good news, an adjudicator from the American College Theatre Festival came to judge our show last week and she nominated me for the Irene Ryan Acting Scholarship.

Facebook

It's official. Under peer pressure, I caved in and...created a Facebook account. For so long I was proud to not have a blog, to not be on Facebook. And look at me now - 2 years with a blog, 36 hours of Facebookness.

But it's great to be in touch. I went through and found a bunch of people I used to hang out with - at school, work, church, whatever. I did this by going through my friends' friends lists. "Oh I know that person! Add friend? Why yes, please." Click. It's so good to know that now my friendships with these people are official, secure - well, we're friends on Facebook, so our relationship must be stable. Oh, good. Now I can sleep better at night.

It's amazing to me how much time can be spent on Facebook; I think it's going to be my undoing. I should have waited until the end of the semester! I'm also somewhat concerned with how excited I've been to watch my friends list grow, as people accept my request to be their friend on Facebook. It's a great way to realize the superiority you have over other people who don't have as many as you do. :)
"Scott, I have 7 friends!"
"Honey, I now have 21 friends! That's more than you."
"Hey, guess what - I have 56 friends - no, make that 58. It's great being so popular."

It's rather pathetic.

Opening Night

Opening night was on Friday. And it was awesome. We had a great crowd; most of the seats were filled, Scott came to support me, and the audience was very enthusiastic (the play relies very heavily on audience participation, so this is crucial). Towards the end of rehearsals, when you're running the same lines over and over again without an audience there to react to you, it gets frustrating. It's easy to lose motivation when you're reaping no immediate reward. But on Friday, I was loving it. "This is what I've worked so hard for these past couple of months!" I told Ruben during intermission. I love the adrenaline rush that comes from connecting with the audience and seeing your hard work pay off. It makes those long hours and late nights all worth it.

Tech

Yesterday was a long day. Saturday's play rehearsal was canceled due to some scheduling conflicts, so the entire tech weekend was set on Sunday instead. All 12 hours of it. Tech is that wonderful time where all the technical designers, actors, stage crew, director, etc. come together and we try to do the show exactly the way it will be on opening night - with lights, sound, set, costumes, and props. Coordinating all of that is harder than it might seem...even though the first time we ran through the show we went cue-to-cue (which means that we skipped all dialogue that didn't require a costume change, light cue, or sound cue, so we could get timing right) it took us 6 and a half hours to get through the 90-minute show once. And then we did it again. Faster this time, though. :)

It was certainly an entertaining day. We ran into many a problem - actors' pants falling down multiple times, both onstage and off (not mine though, thank goodness), props falling apart in the middle of a scene, a piece of scenery knocking someone (me) in the head, actors not being able to change costumes fast enough and missing their entrances (or coming out with only half of their costume). And we open in 3 days.

How I love the theatre.

death of an Object

I never thought I could get so attached to an object. I've never been the obsessive type. But from the moment I received my laptop the Christmas prior to attending BYU, I was hooked. Addicted. Absolutely entranced. My fascination was bigger than the novelty of it, greater than the coolness I felt owning my own computer. It was an escape; a freedom.

As long as I had my laptop with me, I was never bored. I could always read, write, or design whatever I wanted. There were always settings to be played with: backgrounds, fonts, and colors to be changed, new tricks and shortcuts to discover. "Hmm, I wonder what this so-called 'button' does?" My laptop offered me a chance to have something truly my own, changeable at my will. Nobody could tell me what picture to have on my desktop, or how to organize my folders - the computer wasn't theirs, it was mine. And yet, that something of mine could be shared. I had a commodity, a convenience for others that I was sure could be traded for friendship. I felt so...needed. "Hey T, could I borrow your computer for a minute?" my BYU roommates would ask. I loved saying yes. I relished in the fact that I had something they wanted; not because I felt superior in any way, but because I could provide a service to them. If not for my computer, my roommates might have had to walk all the way to the library! How useful I felt. It validated my existence in some odd way, and made me feel like even though I was a burden to live with, I was at least partly making up for it.

Of course, owning my own computer whilst at college was simply practical as well. No need to spend hours at the library on their computers, and - not that this was a good thing - no need to write papers before midnight the day before they were due. How convenient. I brought my laptop with me to school nearly every day, relying on it for note-taking in my classes. The downside? Sometimes I would connect to the internet and even chat online during class. I know, I know - no need to tell me how much better my grades would have been had I paid better attention and shown up to class more often. I've learned my lesson.

This all has a point, really.

A week ago Wednesday my computer died a terrible death, one of hard drive malfunctioning. Oh how I mourn! The greatest misfortune isn't the now-gone black casing or bright screen or pretty buttons, but the megabytes of data I've involuntarily relinquished. Without a working cd-drive, I never backed anything up. Stories, poems, papers, pictures. All of them gone. Documents of funny things my roommates used to say, songs friends and I wrote, crazy videos we made when we were sleep-deprived and somewhat delirious. A folder on my desktop entitled "Random Folder of Documents to Clean Up the Screen Because Christine Couldn't Handle It Anymore". I kept every email of importance that I ever received, every IM conversation. I loved going back and rereading them, remembering funny things people said. So many memories - 4 years worth - lost. My husband says that we'll just have to make the upcoming years even better and more worth remembering. He's sweet.

The most pressing issue right now is that I'm in the middle of midterms. Not only have papers from semesters at BYU disappeared into oblivion, but midterm and final projects from the current semester are gone as well. I have a lot of work to redo, and my rehearsal and class schedules don't lend themselves to much redoing of work.

The small consolation for this is that on Monday I will get a new computer, with a working D-drive and Windows Vista.

Pumpkin Carving

I just wanted to post a couple of pictures. The other day a couple in our ward invited our newly formed group of young couples to come carve pumpkins at their new (bigger) apartment. I haven’t carved a pumpkin or roasted pumpkin seeds in quite a number of years, but Scott and I have been having a great time hanging out with the other young couples in our ward and decided to go. Here are the results:

Our pumpkin: cleaned out by Scott, carved by me (with the help of a stencil).

The group of pumpkins. I think we should go pro, don't you??? :)

Unexpected Call

It was certainly one of the most random pick-ups ever (though definitely beaten out by the Russian who, out of nowhere, flat-out proposed to me on an airplane once). It started in my American History class last Thursday.

"Hey, can I borrow your cell phone for a quick sec?" A guy leaned over to me in the middle of class and asked this in a whisper. "Uh, sure." I said. "Just take it outside to use it."

He did, and came back into class very shortly afterward, handing my cell phone to me with a "thank you". I thought to myself that it must have either been a quick conversation, or he didn't reach whomever it was that he was trying to get ahold of. "No worries," I replied and went back to taking notes.

This morning I received a voice message from a number I didn't recognize. I've been waiting for a call from someone named Dan, who is supposed to fix the huge hole in our roof, and thought it might be him. But it wasn't; it was the guy from history class (whose name I can't pronounce). Apparently his "quick conversation" consisted of him using my cell phone to get my number. I nearly choked on the carrot I was eating when I heard the message, and then burst out laughing.

I debated whether I should call him back right then, or wait until 2:00 when we had class together and talk to him face-to-face. Neither option sounded particularly tantalizing. Hoping for a voice mailbox, I opted for the cowardly technique of calling him. Unfortunately, he answered. The conversation was short and as awkward-less as I could make it; I told him that I was flattered but I was also quite married.

I didn't see him in class today; I hope it wasn't my fault.

The Play's The Thing

I was really nervous about the auditions, but I left feeling like I did pretty well. The question was: is "pretty well" good enough? I went in competing against people of quite varied talent level, and some of them I wasn't worried about. But there was a group of guys who knew the director quite well and had been in the Theatre Department at PGCC for at least 2 years. The other trouble was that the show consists of only 3 parts - 3 male parts. The director had said she was willing to accept females for a mixed-gender cast if she found the right ones.

And I got in! The play is The Complete Works of William Shakespeare: Abridged, and it's hysterical. 3 of us do all of Shakespeare's plays in 90 minutes, switching out roles and condensing the plays until there's nothing left but the funny parts.

The best part is that I get to play Hamlet...you can just picture it, can't you? :)

Pride of the Police Force

It had already been a long day. I had taken a Sister in my ward to the hospital at 2:45, and now it was a little past 9pm. We sat in the drive-thru at CVS, waiting for her prescription to be filled. A cop was parked near us, in the small and dark parking lot around the side of CVS that the drive-thru was on. He seemed to be having fun playing with his car - fiddling with buttons and knobs, flipping the lights on and off, and inspecting the decals that said "Police". His buddy drove up. The second cop's car was identical to the first's, but the two officers went through the whole fun process - again - of examining the features of their cars. Their conversation went from their cars, to inappropriate comments about some girl they know named Emily, back to their cars.

"Hey, man, I tried the lights yesterday. I turned 'em on, just to see what people would do, and zhoop, zhoop (imagine this sound accompanied by hand gestures indicating cars pulling over), all those cars pulled over!"
"Yeah, it's great, isn't it?"

The two looked extremely impressed with themselves. The pride of the police force then proceeded to turn their flashing lights on, backed up few steps to admire their handiwork, and began practicing whipping their guns out of the holsters reminiscent of the Old West. I rolled my eyes.

I admit I was tempted to get out of my car and confront the second cop about my feelings on his bragging about his misuse of authority entrusted to him by the city (or county, or state - I can't remember which level of government his car revealed that he worked for). But I didn't - even though I did confront some random guy in traffic the other day and told him I thought he was a jerk (I walked up to his car while he was stopped at a stoplight). But he couldn't arrest me and didn't have a gun.

I doubt that criminals who were in mid-crime last night realized how lucky they were that these two officers in particular happened to be on duty.

Remember to Breathe

We've officially lived in our new apartment for a whole week now. Sure, we've had furniture and stuff in this place for a good month now, but moving in has been a slow process. I've been holding my breath from the beginning, wondering if everything was going to go as planned.

I started packing in the middle of July, and did that for 2 weeks. The third week I was in Utah. The fourth found me frantically cleaning the old apartment for inspection, moving carloads of stuff to our new place - box by box, bag by bag - and unpacking what I could. The next week and a half Scott and I were in Texas. But last Tuesday we returned home, and, aside from a new (used) futon from Salvation Army and a $5 bookshelf (we were so lucky to find it - nothing around here is that cheap!) from Value Village, not much in our apartment has changed. But only now do I finally feel settled.

It's nice to let out the breath I've been holding for a month and a half! I think my face was turning purple...

An All-Too-Familiar Face

We went to church twice that day. First to 9am sacrament meeting at the local LDS chapel, then to St. Christopher's Episcopalian church for 10:30 mass with my father. Scott had not remembered ever going to an Episcopalian service before, and afterward he peppered my dad with sociological questions about the structure and policies of the church. Thank goodness there was no mention, and therefore no debate, about the actual religion.

I was looking forward to attending the LDS meeting, and for once Scott and I made it to church on time. (Why is it so difficult to do when we're at home?) We walked in right as the bishop was welcoming everyone to church on that lovely Sabbath morning, and settled in to the last row before the music started.

And then I saw him. Sitting at the sacrament table, dressed in white shirt and tie, was a man who was the spitting image of my stepfather - plus 15 pounds and 10 or so years. I froze. I finally tore my eyes away, and to keep myself from looking back at him I forced myself to stare straight ahead. The whole thing was extremely unnerving. A few minutes went by and I couldn't hold my gaze ahead any longer. I glanced back at the mystery man. I swear, it's him. Could it really be? No, of course not - but, sacre bleu, it looks just like him, only there are more wrinkles (stress, or age? very hard to say) lining his face. But he's got Richard's same brown hair, the same mustache, the same sad, tortured eyes. Even the way he holds his hands in front of him is the same. Oh, please, Lord, don't let him look at me. But the man did look. I turned away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by the hymnbook in my lap. I stole another glance. He caught me, and again I looked away. It became almost a game - I would stare at him and study his every feature, comparing them to Richard's, until the man would catch me watching him - and I would look away and pretend that I wasn't. Every time I looked at him panic would rise in my throat; it was like a horror movie that I couldn't help but watch, though it made my stomach churn to look.

This went on for a good 10 minutes. Only once was I not fast enough in glancing away, and our eyes locked momentarily. I very nearly vomited. The man stared at me curiously and I thought I saw (though very well could have imagined) in his eyes the very same fear and inner turmoil that was Richard's. I physically could not tear my eyes away, and I thank the Lord that the man broke the gaze first. Oh the panic I felt! It was all I could do to not run, shaking and in tears, from the room. But I stayed, and let the anxiety flow out of my fingers as I gripped my scriptures until my knuckles turned white.

I survived one Sunday but I don't know if I could handle much more than that. If I lived in Killeen I would go inactive pretty quickly - or attend church in a different area. I know that sometimes people stop coming to church because they don't like certain people in the congregation - but has anyone gone inactive because somebody looked like a person that they didn't like?

Not What I'd Planned

The look on the dentist's face as he examined my x-rays was not one that any dental patient would want to see. It was the look of one bearing ill news. He sucked air quickly through his gritted teeth and said frankly, "Well, it looks like you're in an awful lot of pain." "Yeah, it feels that way too," I laughed weakly. I was trying to be brave but was terrified, for good reason, of what he might say next.

A root canal was the order of the day - that very day, in fact. The dentist insisted that I have it started within the hour, hoping only one operation would solve the problem. I began to cry. All the pain that I had been trying so hard to hold back was released, mixing with tears that signified my terror at facing the root canal.

The bad news: they wouldn't, though I begged, put me to sleep for it.
The good news: they promised that it would all be over by lunch time.

Lunch time? I think I can handle that, I told myself. But I cried all the same. For the next hour while I waited I sat in silence, only speaking when spoken to and certainly not drawing out my answers. "This isn't how it's supposed to be!" I thought indignantly. "I'm on vacation! Why am I stuck in a dentist's office?"

For all my crying and worrying, it went pretty well. My mother-in-law sat with me the whole time for support. She's wonderful. The dentist and his son (who actually did the root canal) were both very kind, and did everything they could to make me feel comfortable. Of course, no matter what, root canals aren't exactly comfortable - but they did the best that they could. Only a few times during the procedure did my knuckles turn white from clenching the chair arms and did the pain squeeze silent tears from my eyes. I'm sure there have been worse root canals in the history of the world. :)



Honestly, it was the feeling ill and vomiting from the pain medication for 3 days afterward that really got to me.

A New Toy

I get the best birthday presents ever. Last year my husband gave me a LoveSac, and this year I got the Primary Songbook and....

A Dwight Shrute bobble head!!! It's a lot of fun and has provided minutes upon minutes of entertainment so far.

Everyone has my permission to be jealous.

It's not really a fire

One of the things I'm looking forward to the most about moving to a new apartment is the likelihood of getting my peaceful Sunday afternoons back. I haven't had them for a while. Most weeks it's the guy downstairs blasting his deluge of random music (I've heard both Reggae and ABBA) at wall-shaking volumes, but yesterday something else woke me from my attempt to catch up on sleep lost at Girls' Camp.

It was the (very loud and obnoxious) fire alarm.

"Oh, no" I moaned, as I slowly rolled out of bed. Scott checked the hallways but there was no sign of smoke, so we decided it was a punk kid pulling the alarm for fun. I called 911, explained the situation, and the volunteer fire department came out to turn it off. Unfortunately, the guy had broken the alarm when he'd pulled it, so it took the firemen 40 minutes to disable it. Stupid kid.

Prank alarm-pulling happens a lot in this complex (not a single person evacuated the building quickly, they only left after about 20 minutes when they couldn't take the noise anymore) - but then again so does arson. There has been a rash of fires recently, and the sign in my stairwell put up by management asking for information about the arsonist has been burned at the edges by a lighter. Someone thinks they're funny, apparently.

I don't.

Off to Camp

There are reasons I'm looking forward to Girls' Camp this next week, and reasons I'm not. I'm super-excited to using my new tent and sleeping bag for the first time, but not looking forward to the muggy weather. Although I can't wait to get outside and just enjoy nature, I'll miss hot showers. Bed bugs surely won't follow me all the way to camp - but ticks, mosquitoes, and spiders will gladly take their place in eating me alive. Also, I'm not sure how I'll survive without my computer for a week. Or my husband.

I leave in 30 minutes - here's to hoping I make it back alive. :)

Long-Lost

"Hey. This is Jessica, your - with all sarcasm set aside - long-lost best friend. I'm really really tired of hearing about your life through a mass email. So call me, so we can talk...or something. 'K bye."

With the accident having happened earlier that evening (see post below), I had gotten more phone calls than usual - which is never very many. "Wow, I'm suddenly popular," I said to my husband as I realized there was yet another missed call and voice message. I dialed my voice mail and started walking to the kitchen to get some food. When I heard Jessica's voice, though, I stopped dead in my tracks. I couldn't believe it.

Jessica and I had become best friends right away, as far as I can remember. I can't think of a time when I knew her that we weren't. We were like all best friends should be. Rarely apart, Jessica and I never ran out of things to talk about. We knew how to push one another's buttons, which facial expression meant what, how to cheer each other up, and when we shouldn't try. I trusted her with nearly everything. We were there for each other through some of the most difficult times in our lives. We cried on each other's shoulders - perhaps as often as not. Those days when I couldn't stand being home anymore, Jessica was the person whose house I would go to. I would show up on her doorstep, tears streaming down my face, and she would let me stay. Sometimes my stepfather would try to keep me from going, but I would push past him, citing my mother's permission. I always paid for it the next morning though, and sometimes for days afterwards. My stepfather did not like being crossed.

When I left for BYU Jessica and I kept in touch at first, but as I have never been good at that sort of thing, I quickly fell behind in my communication. I know I made her angry, and hurt - and after a while I assumed she never wanted to speak to me again. I figured that if I was wrong, she would contact me. Apparently we were both figuring the same thing for 2 years. But it was she who took the first step and called me, and I'm so glad she did. I'd missed her.

On the Way to the Gym

The evening started out great, and actually ended pretty well too - but there was a slight disturbance somewhere in the middle. Around 5:30, to be specific.

I-270 is never a fun road to be on, from what I hear, especially in the evenings. But I was on it, during rush hour, heading up to Rockville to the climbing gym to try out rock climbing for the first time. (side note: it's FANTASTIC.) I passed an accident on the side of the road, and as I glanced over at it a second accident (a pretty bad one too) occured 2 cars in front of me. The man right in front of me slammed on his brakes, as did I - only I couldn't stop in time, and I hit him. Not very hard, but hard enough to roll him a few inches forward. I swore. Two minutes later we heard another accident happen nearby, and one of the police officers on the scene swore. A lot. It looked to be a long night for him. The gentleman I had hit and I were lucky enough to be the only 2 involved in our little portion of the chain reaction, so we could exchange information and be on our way. Simple enough. Neither of us were hurt, but were both a little shaken - it was both my first accident and his.

Now I can never again say proudly that I've never been the driver in an accident. Sad. It was kind of like losing my virginity - only not as much fun.

PDL

I don't mind PDA. I think it's lovely when people display their affection publicly - with a kiss, a kind word, or a service such as holding the door. I smile when I see a man leading a woman by the small of her back, helping her out of the car, or giving her the larger piece of cake even though she pretends to not want it (citing excuses about her almost non-existant waist). I laugh merrily when I see a woman being oh-so-patient when her husband has gotten them lost, or graciously acknowledging and accepting a man's act of chivalry. I think to myself that I hope they are as happy with their loved one as I am with mine.

When Public Displays of Affection turn into Public Displays of Lust, however, my stomach turns and I wonder what the world is coming to.

Woman #1 got onto the plane first and sat down next to me. We made eye contact and exhanged hello's. Woman #2 boarded the plane about 10 minutes later, and, upon seeing Woman #1, said, "Well hello pretty lady. What's your name?" This sent Woman #1 into fits of giggles - but I failed to see what was quite so funny. (She used this joke 6 more times during the flight, and Woman #1 dissolved into giggling hysterics each time. Unbeknownst to me, this joke doesn't get old.) It quickly became obvious that the two 40-year-old women were more than just friends, and it seemed as though they were both on heavy doses of Viagra for women - because they couldn't keep their hands off of each other. The biggest tip-off of their relationship, though, was when they started feeding fruit pieces to each other and sucking on one another's fingers in the process (complete with sound effects). Only a part of my intense nausea was due to the bumpy flight - it was 5 hours of illness and awkwardnes.

Where was I when the word "decency" got cut from the English language?

Going hungry

Normally, I don't have a weak stomach. I have heard many a repulsive topic discussed at the dinner table and not flinched. I grew up with my father's friends, after all. I suppose I pride myself on this somewhat - I enjoy my qualities that make me less than 100% girl. But right now my stomach is churning and I don't think I can eat anything, though my belly is also growling for want of food.

I have few problems with bugs, snakes and spiders - as long as they stay out of my house. The exception is cockroaches. Unfortunately for me, they thrive in DC - especially in apartment buildings like mine - and at first I would gasp and freeze every time I saw one in my kitchen. Scott would come to my rescue as I squealed and closed my eyes (not some of my prouder moments). I grew used to seeing them, though, often more than one at a time and of greatly varying sizes. I became ferocious in my attempt to eliminate every bug that I saw, setting out homemade traps (none of which have worked so far, but I'm not done trying) and squishing every visible insect with great zeal. I'm pretty sure I growled sometimes too.

This morning didn't start out being the best morning ever, but it was decent. I got my Nutrition homework finished, emptied the shower water with a bucket (our bathtub won't drain), and went to get breakfast. I was really excited to eat my bowl of Frosted Flakes and banana. I picked up the bag of cereal and emptied some of the contents into my bowl, which I then picked up. Before I could even get the milk out of the refrigerator, 2 cockroaches came crawling out of my cereal bowl!!! I screamed and dropped the bowl on the floor, spilling cereal and more cockroaches all over the floor. I think there were about 8 of them. After a couple of minutes of panting in the corner, afraid to move, I cleaned up the cereal off the floor and threw the rest of the bag away - but I refuse to go back into the kitchen.

I also don't think I'll be eating anything soon.

Maddening

In my profession, politeness is a must. Smiling is a constant, care and understanding the expectation. In my profession, the "extra mile" isn't extra. In my profession, the customer is always right. But...what if they're not???

I wasn't supposed to be working the registers today - but Chris Wallace needed a lunch break, so I agreed to cover for him. The man whom I will call Ali (his real name is much longer and I can't even pronounce it, much less remember it - but 'Ali' is in there somewhere) walked into the store and inwardly I groaned. "Not again," I thought. I tried to keep a grimace off my face.

"What are we returning today?" I asked, with as much politeness as I could muster. This man returns *everything*. He has bought thousands of dollars worth of stuff and returned almost all of it. After he's done using it, of course. Ali is meticulous about keeping all of his receipts, but everything he brings back is very used or broken in some way. He complains about the quality of the products and, since he has his receipts, gets back the full amount he paid for it. That's the thing - REI has an exceptional return policy that unfortunately leaves us vulnerable to people such as Ali. And there's nothing I can do about it.

"Is there anything our sales staff can do better for you? It would seem that nothing we recommend works out for you." He mumbled something in reply about how he's just looking for quality products, and that his stepmother buys everything from Germany and it lasts for 12+ years. I really wanted to tell him that from now on he, too, should buy everything from Germany and never come back to REI - obviously he's not finding the "quality" that he's looking for here. I also wanted to mention that none of our other customers seem to have a problem with everything they buy breaking on them - we do sell quality products.

"Do you guys have an employee of the month award?" he inquired, out of the blue. I replied that we did. He had the nerve to suggest, "Maybe you should have a returner-of-the-year-award." "You'd certainly be winning," I quipped, frustrated that I couldn't say more. He knows we know what he's doing, and knows we can't do anything about it!!! We've been tracking his returns in a logbook (perhaps, when we gather enough documentation, there *will* be something we can do), and when I was finally finished with him I logged another $150 worth of stuff. That jerk. He gave me another 20 minutes of work, recording his returns and tagging all 8 items with "Damaged" and a description of the problem.

The next time I see him, I'm going to tell him that he can take his sorry butt somewhere else and never step foot in my store again.

Well, I would - but we don't say things like that in my profession.

Last Day

I was happily working two part-time jobs until an opportunity came up at REI that I couldn't pass up. A higher-paying, specialized, full-time position with great health benefits and paid training in Seattle and Boston. A nice side perk is the 7-minute (as opposed to the 45 that it takes me to get to Baltimore) drive to work every day. Although I love the Maryland Science Center, I just couldn't refuse REI's offer and gave my two weeks notice exactly two weeks ago. Today was my last day.

Things I will miss: my colleagues, Science on a Sphere shows, lunch in the office with Wendy, Dave, and Janine, conversations with Christian.

Things I won't miss: bratty children who think they don't need a chaperone, the tempermental SpaceLink closet door, exhibits that break.

Piano

Here she is...my new love. It took Scott and I months to save and find a piano that we really liked, and finally we did. I play Phantom of the Opera or Les Miserables, and Scott fills our home with beautfiul classical music. I'm so happy.

Mispronounced

It started out as an okay day. It wasn't great, but I had little choice but to live it. A couple of nights before I had fallen ill - my body's way of reminding me (in case I'd forgotten) that I am a woman and not pregnant. I was still feeling the effects two days later.

I clocked in at the Maryland Science Center at 9:15 - the usual time - and was met with a frazzled boss, who began, by way of greeting, telling me that some school groups had scheduled science programs for next week at the last minute, and that Lauren wouldn't be back by then, and that Chris would be busy with something else, so could I please please please substitute for her? I agreed, but only because for once she had said please. Shortly thereafter I ran into Joel, who informed me that his dying mother had eaten applesauce and had a Pepsi yesterday but refused to take her medication, while the day before she had taken her medication but eaten nothing, and how he was going to sue the rest home for their lack of caretaking ability.

The day continued with both its ups and downs. And while some of the day was tolerable, for the most part the minutes crawled by like years, in much the same way that Tortoise did toward the finish line. I couldn't wait to get home - I had an evening of REI shopping and basketball watching planned, which I knew would take my mind off of my pounding head and aching body. Oh, how I wish that my body reacted kindly to drugs! I was glad to reach 2:30 and the beginning of my Science on a Sphere show - I enjoy doing the shows and knew that when it was over I would only have 2 more hours of work. I began my show with a small audience of four: a 4-year-old boy and a 6-year-old girl, and two adults that I correctly assumed were their parents. The children were very interested in the information I had for them about Earth, our moon, and Mars. I cut my show a little bit short, though, making sure that they would have time to get to the Planetarium show at 3. We ended with questions about whether or not humans would ever live on Mars - an interesting prospect, but not a feasible one anytime soon. Either we need to give Mars an atmosphere, or we ourselves have to evolve into a non-oxygen-breathing species.

I turned off my microphone and turned around, ready to reset the Sphere and lock up, when I felt a little hand tugging on my shirt. "Excuse me," the 4-year-old boy said. I turned back around, saw the little boy looking up at me, and bent forward, expecting a question about space and hoping it was something that I could answer.

"Grassy-ass."

He said this very determinedly and distinctly; he was obviously pleased with himself. He watied for a response. I blanched, and tried to formulate a sentence with which to respond. My efforts proved in vain. My mind was instead occupied wondering if I had heard him correctly, what precisely he was implying about my derriere, and how exactly I was meant to handle that comment. I tried to look for help in his mother's direction but my neck muscles failed me and I stayed staring at the boy. Despite all of those thoughts racing through my mind at once, each vying for attention equally voraciously, my face must have looked blank, because the boy said, "It means 'thank you'."

Suddenly a light with the brightness of Alpha Centauri went on in my brain, and understanding dawned. The little boy was speaking Spanish! I laughed, very much aloud, and was grateful to now know what the appropriate response was for his comment. "De nada!" I replied, and the little boy beamed.

My afternoon was definitely made better by that exchange of words, and judging by the brightness of the boy's smile as he walked away, so was his.

Comb-over Over Done

It's hard to tell in this picture, but April and I saw the most wonderful (and when I say that I mean the worst) comb-over in the history of comb-overs. We were walking along in the National Air and Space museum, laughing at Ted as he ran from space shuttle to Russian missile to the Hubble like a kid in a candy store - wide-eyed and giggling - when into our vision sauntered an Asian man who hadn't taken his Rogaine that morning. The odd thing was that his hair was missing only from one side of his head - the other side seemed to have no problem growing hair, since he had tucked back behind his left ear the hair growing out of the right side of his head. It came loose a couple of times, and he flipped his hair back (reminiscent of a blond cheerleader with a sultry look on her face), carefully tucking it back safely and securely behind his left ear.

I turned to April, grinning, and saw immediately that she had noticed him too and was just fascinated as I was. "I want a picture of that!" I whispered. She laughed, "Me too!" and off we went in search of a good photo opportunity. Unfortunately, the man never seemed to turn around at the right moment and walked away from us very quickly. We eventually lost him in the throng of people and gave up, but not before April had snapped this one picture, to be cherished forever.

A Decade Later

"Hello, Fritz."

"Hello darling," he said, hardly even looking up from the paper in his hand as he walked quickly past, mumbling to himself. He looked very busy and important - a favourite pastime of his. "How are you?" I asked, a little more loudly so as to make him stop traveling the direction in which he was - away from me and out of the room. This time he looked up. "I'm fine, thank y--?!!!" The end of his sentence dropped off. He had finally realized who he was speaking to. The next 3 seconds of his stuttering speech are not appropriate to repeat here, as they would have made a sailor blush. He then picked me up and hugged me tightly, still unable to form complete sentences. I had done something very few people could - I had actually shocked Fritz into stutters and stammers. Close by us Jack Warren, who had also realized my identity, just stood staring. And when they found out I was married, I thought they were both going to faint.

The last time I had seen Fritz or Jack was about 10 or 11 years ago - when I myself was about 10 or 11 years old. Fritz was living in North Carolina at the time, where he and my dad shared a house, and Jack was a good friend of my father who I saw on occasional weekends. Fritz used to make me eat my vegetables, tell me not to run in the house, and forbid me to go outside in the winter without socks or shoes. I also tried to use him as a scapegoat when I got in trouble.

"I think Fritz did it," I would confidently tell my father. "Are you sure?" he would ask me with raised eyebrows. "It was Fritz who took your fresh green beans and dumped them into the trash can?" "Oh, yes," I would reply. "He thought they looked yucky - not very fresh at all - and he threw them away so I didn't get sick on wilted vegetables." I smiled and patted my father's shoulder, hoping that would help. "But don't get mad at him, daddy. He was just trying to protect me." I was banking on the fact that fathers always forgive those trying to protect their favourite daughters from dangerous, wilted vegetables. Needless to say, it was me, and not Fritz, who received the spankings that night - not for throwing away my green beans, but for lying.

It was great to see Fritz and Jack this weekend, catching up and laughing because Fritz hadn't changed a bit in the last 11 years. We reminisced with stories like the one about the green beans, and about the summer when I begged my father for a dog and told him that for the times I wasn't around to take care of it (which was all but 8-10 weeks of the year), Fritz had happily volunteered. He of course had done no such thing. While we chopped vegetables and stirred the apples and stewed plums, Jack inquired after my mother's well-being and updated me with the recent developments in mutual friends' lives - none of whom I had seen for years.

In the end both Fritz and Jack kissed my cheek, wished me well, and swore to let my father know of his grave mistake. He had failed to inform them of their little girl's marriage.

Simple Words

"I want to go, but I'm not worthy," I told my bishop tearfully, looking down at my hands which were folded in my lap.

His face was kind, but he spoke seriously and I knew the words were not really coming from him. "Yes you are. Please don't punish yourself for the past anymore. Know with a surety that your Father in Heaven loves you." He made me look him in the eye as he emphasized his last point. "You are worthy."

I've been needing to hear that for 6 months. How can I possibly doubt?

God and Science

She might have been crazy. One of those loud-mouth-make-a-scene-holier-than-thou-look-at-me-I'm-a-Christian types of crazy. I'm not sure how to deal with those kinds of people.

The girl walked into the first day of 'Astronomy 101' 25 minutes late, which is never a good way to start a class. She had already missed most of the syllabus and the introductions. Professor Suarez asked her to do what the rest of us had done - say our names and why we were taking Astronomy. She only had one rule. We couldn't say, "Because it's a requirement" or"Because it's the science that takes the least amount of math". Even if those are the reasons, it shouldn't be very difficult to make up something like, "I want to learn how to find my way around if I'm lost in the woods."

"Well, because I have to." The girl flicked her hair back and her large, dangly earrings jingled. "I hate science but I have to take one." Prof. Suarez started to argue with her that her answer was expressly not allowed, but decided to not fight that battle and start talking about the history of astronomy instead. She began with the Big Bang, 15 billion years ago, and continued until she reached the launch of the Hubble Space Telescope in 1990. At the end, crazy girl stood up and announced that she was dropping the class because she couldn't believe in God and the Big Bang at the same time, and she believed in God. She walked, or rather sauntered, out of the room - flipping her hair on the way out.

I just don't understand it. Who says that God and the Big Bang can't exist at the same time? Who says the two terms are mutually exclusive?

I don't believe or disbelieve the Big Bang Theory. But this is what I know: The Universe is held together by natural laws that just are, that just exist. Gravity is an example of one of them. The Bible tells us that God works by natural laws; so why couldn't He have been the author of the Big Bang, using the 'ways of the universe' to create His magnificent works? God and science don't have to be on opposite sides.

Sick

"You don't make a very good sick person," my husband said to me last Sunday morning as he countered my efforts to get up and make breakfast. "Just lie down; I'm making you breakfast." Although I was slightly frustrated that I couldn't do what I wanted to, I was grateful to have a husband who takes care of me so well.

Inventory had been that weekend, and I'd volunteered to take the Saturday night shift. 30-40 of us went through the whole of 'REI at College Park' to count every single item on the floor and in the warehouse. It was quite the ordeal. A lesson on using the scanner guns began at 7pm, all the customers were out of the store by 8, and by 8:05 we were set to work.

"Beep! Beep! Beepbeepbeep!" went the scanner guns from all across the store. If you were standing too close to someone (about 7 feet away or closer), it was difficult to tell whose gun was beeping. That became a problem if you weren't sure whether you had actually scanned the item in your hand, or if it was your neighbor's gun that had beeped. I had to recount 117 pairs of socks twice because I got to the end and was off by 1 or 2 pairs. Talk about frustrating. There were bags and bags of candy at the front of the store for general consumption (to keep us awake), and the food from Chipotle came around 10:00.

By 2 am or so everyone went home except for 3 of my managers, Julie, and me. We stayed and recounted some of the items that someone had obviously miscounted (eg: the computer showed only 2 kayaks having been scanned that evening, yet we could clearly see 4 hanging on the wall). We wanted the count to be as accurate as possible. Julie and I finally left and I got home around 4 in the morning. Scott had gone to sleep around 2:45 and had just gotten back up to wait for me some more, so we both crawled into bed exhausted.

Sunday morning dawned bright and way too early, and I couldn't believe the way I felt. I'd made myself sick off of too much candy and caffeine on Saturday night in an effort to stay awake and working. The idea seemed like a great one for awhile, until Sunday morning when my body simply crashed. The good thing was that it didn't take very long to recover - I just slept it off and was fine.

But now I'm ill once again, only this time it wasn't self-inflicted so I deserve all available sympathy. I'm plagued with a stuffy nose, a congested chest, fits of coughing, a headache (a little worse than the usual one), a sore throat, achy muscles, fevers that come and go, and an 8-hour-a-day work schedule. I drink a water bottle full of orange juice a day and then some, sleep as much as I can, and eat healthier than normal. Tonight's ice cream cone was the first bit of sugar I've had in 4 or 5 days. Scott helps out as much as he can and takes great care of me. He does most of the housework, plus makes me food (and makes me eat).

I suppose that's his job; besides being my husband, this time it was he that got me sick.