Wednesday, May 23, 2007

I Bought a New Purse

Lauren informed me tonight that I need to write a blog post. She was quite right -- I haven't posted anything in over 2 weeks. So although I have hundreds of thoughts swimming through my head, I'll just say this: I bought a new purse. An adult purse. It's bigger than my hand span. I can actually fit more than just my wallet, cell phone, and checkbook in it. I never would've thought I'd buy such a purse. A situation occurred, however, that changed all of that, and it stuck in my head until tonight at approximately 8:50 pm, when I made my grown-up purchase at Target. Here's what happened:

My right front tire had apparently been leaking air. I filled and re-filled it with the free air at QuickTrip about every 2 weeks. Desperate to find out what was causing the leak, I took some time off work one morning to take my car to a mechanic. When I gave the guy at the front desk my key, he said it'd take them an hour to get to my car. "Where will you be around that time?" he asked. Well, I guess I'm really alone in this city right now because I have no one with a car nearby who can pick me up . . . "Just sitting here," I replied.

And so I did. I had nothing to do, either. There was nothing to do. The guy sitting next to me was watching basketball, I think -- I certainly didn't have to catch up on any of that. I think I ended up reading Good Housekeeping or something similar. It was okay, but I distinctly remember thinking, "Hm. I wish I had A Separate Peace right now. I wish I could get some of it read while I'm waiting." That's when it hit me: I need to start keeping a book in my purse at all times, so that at moments like this, my mind won't be stranded with nothing to do. Of course that led to . . . I need to get a bigger purse . . .

Well, tonight I got one. It's not that big, really, but it's a lot bigger than I'm used to. Lauren even said I was growing up . . . I'll try it out for a while and keep you posted . . .

Thing I'm thankful for: Lauren's rendition of "We Belong" on the blow-up guitar I bought her at Target.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Rules of Engagement

Engaging in using office restrooms, that is. This post is inspired by my newlywed friend's recent post, "Potty Talk." I had planned on writing something about this for a while, after Brooks and Jacki and I discussed this very issue about 3 months ago. Brooks said that if he had a blog, this is the kind of thing he'd write about. Well, since he doesn't have a blog, I'll steal his thunder.

Now, without further ado, here are my Rules for Restroom Behavior at the Office:
  1. First rule about restroom behavior: no talking in the restroom! (Before, during, or after.)
  2. No eye contact in the restroom. Everyone is a stranger in the office restroom.
  3. Whenever possible, use the restroom on another floor, preferably one that gives you the most anonymity.
  4. If you walk into the restroom when one of the stalls is obviously occupied, but there is no audible noise coming from the stall, get your business done quickly and wash and dry your hands very loudly to save the occupant some embarrassment.
  5. If you hear your restroom neighbor produce flatulence, get out of there as soon as possible. If she gets her business done first, stay in your stall until she has exited the restroom. There should be absolutely no eye contact or personal recognition in this situation.
  6. If there are only two of you in the restroom, and both of you are quiet in your stalls for at least 60 seconds, abandon ship, and get outta there! Do your business later.
  7. If you are witness to an embarrassing moment for someone else, or someone is witness to an embarrassing moment for you, never talk to this person again.

Oh, how I wish restroom stalls reached from ceiling to floor . . .

I think that's it for now. Can you blog-readers come up with any rules? If so, please leave them in the comment section!

Thing I'm thankful for: the creative outlet that is Blogger.

Tuesday, May 08, 2007

I Got a Gold Tooth!

That's right, folks -- it's my first crown. And it's gold.* I've had some time to prepare for this because other things came first -- you don't just buy a gold crown outright, afterall. There are some things that lead up to it: a chipped tooth, pain, a root canal, a temporary filling, and a temporary crown. This is what I thought about the whole ordeal:
  1. What?!? A crown? I'm only 25!
  2. Wow. This is expensive; now I know why lower-income citizens don't get replacement teeth.
  3. Hm, if we ever had another holocaust, and I was on the receiving end of the hatred (which I would be because I'm LDS), I would probably have to give up my gold tooth.
  4. I definitely live in Atlanta.
  5. I really wish I had a) better dental genes, and b) taken better care of my teeth.
  6. Wow. This is expensive.
I guess it's nice to be able to have something where my real tooth once was, rather than a hole. And I need to get used to all of this because I suspect I'll need more crowns in the future. It's not really that bad, I suppose. It really was just a matter of time before I needed one -- I can remember getting cavities filled by the time I was in Kindergarten. I feel like I've grown up in the dentist's office.

I just wish I had more money. Or more dental insurance. Ah, well. My mom said that teeth are the only things God messed up on; he should've given us a third set. I'll concur.

* Why gold, you ask? It lasts much longer than porcelain, and it's cheaper. It's properties are more similar to real teeth as well, so it doesn't damage the teeth around it. (One of many sources.)

Thing I'm thankful for: modern dentistry.

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

The Arcade Fire, or Noise-Induced Hearing Loss

On Friday, Lauren secured two tickets to see Arcade Fire, and last night we saw them live in concert at the Atlanta Civic Center. They were really good. Just a really good, chill-out band. I don't even know all of their music, but I know I like them enough to stand through a set list of songs I haven't even heard before, which to me is saying something. I think that's the mark of a good band. The bandmembers were entertaining, too. They danced around and climbed on things and maybe went a little crazy, but the crowd loved it.

Despite their fun performance, though, it was still extremely loud. By the 2nd song, I thought, "Wow. I'm really ruining my ears." During the course of the 3rd song, I had moved onto more advanced ponderings: Has concert music always seemed this loud to me? Why can't bands just make everything about 50 decibels quieter? Gee, I wonder what effect such loud music will have on young people of my generation? What will the percentage of Americans with noise-induced hearing loss be?

These thoughts, along with the ringing in my ears, obligated me to be kinder to my inner ears. Going against the natural desire to fit in, especially in the face of young and passionate rockers, I pressed my fingers against my ears. Yes, I listened to one and a half songs in this manner. Yes, Lauren laughed at me and called me an old person. But I had decided not to subject my ears to this kind of damage anymore. I still wanted a hands-free concert experience, though, so I beamed at Lauren's suggestion to use toilet paper as earplugs.

So during the very next song, I went to the ladies' room, grabbed some toilet paper and thought about what would be the best way to inconspicuously plug up my ears with the paper. But when I went back to listen to the band, I decided to forget about my silliness. I mean, hey -- who wants to wear hearing aids by choice? Not me. I may have looked oh-so-slightly funny, but I had just as good a time as anybody else. And who knows? In 30 years, Lauren just might get noise-induced hearing loss, a condition that can be prevented by the regular use of hearing protectors such as earplugs and earmuffs. That's quite reassuring, considering that the National Institute on Deafness and Other Hearing Disorders states that "of the 28 million Americans who have some degree of hearing loss, about one-third can attribute their hearing loss, in part, to noise." Well, I don't want that part to be my fault.

In 30 years, Lauren, we'll see who's laughing last. . . . Or who's hearing last! :)

Thing I'm thankful for: attending concerts with friends.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007

Peeling Oranges

Okay. I have a confession to make: I never peeled an entire orange in my whole life until January of this year.

I think my dad loves to peel oranges. He always peeled them for my siblings and me -- usually for breakfast. He'd get the peeling process started by biting into the rind. Then he'd peel it quickly, without paying too much attention to how much of the skin he'd left on, which was always too much for me. So I'd spend a few more minutes easily pealing the white stringy pieces off, and I'd happily eat my orange slices.

Or not so happily. I wanted my orange perfect every time. It had to be sweet; it had to be juicy. It had to have nearly every piece of albedo peeled away from the juice sacs. I liked oranges, but they weren't my favorite.

For some reason this year, though, I decided it was time I peeled my own orange. I don't quite know why I had decided this, or more importantly, why I hadn't peeled an orange up to age 25. Whatever the reason, I decided to do it. I knew my parents usually bought navel oranges, so I started with a bag of those. I put them in the refrigerator because I like my fruit cold, and when they seemed like they'd be cold enough, I took one orange out, and began peeling.

I bit the rind, just as my dad had always done. I didn't know how bitter and gross that tastes. (I've since begun using a knife.) Then I slowly peeled the whole orange. It hurt my thumb, and I had orange zest under my nails. But it was fun. I had fun peeling an orange. And it tasted better than any orange I've ever had in my life.

Now for my epiphany: I love peeling oranges. I feel like I get some kind of frustration out as I silently work for my food. Working for it makes it more worth it, too, I think. It's the same kind of feeling I get when I eat pistachios. Having to work for my food a bit makes me appreciate it more. I've discovered that navel oranges are most likely my favorite fruit. I'm glad I finally found out!

Thing I'm thankful for: patience.