before and after

Gee, I really wish I had the photos. But I was stupid enough not to take them. Just like I'm stupid enough to miss the exit I need for the airport three (count them, THREE) times. I'll never forget that I-80 is the freeway to be gotten on. You wouldn't think driving to the airport would be that hard. But apparently it is. Or it was for me this morning. (Sorry Lindsey! Let's laugh in twenty years. Right now, I'm still in pain over it.)

But let me paint a picture with words:

Imagine a crockpot. I put in some curry stuff (very descriptive, I know) to cook in said crockpot. Later on, I came home, excited to cook the rice to go with it and EAT (which I love doing, can I just say that?), and saw not what I put in the crockpot, but rather, its charred remains. A solid mass of black, burned to the edges of the crockpot, burned to itself. Sending up killer odors instead of the delightful (although strong) scent of curry.

This was a week ago. After alternately soaking, washing, scraping, Bar Keeper's Friend (thank you, Sarah), and oven cleaner (with overnight action), an additional washing (all occurring over the ensuing week period, approximately), I think it might be salvaged.

Glory be.

I didn't think it was possible, but apparently, miracles do happen.

P.S. Do you ever do really stupid things? But then it ends up being ok?

I have an announcement

I like spaghetti.

once upon a time

A high school friend recently posted a status on Facebook that said

" J____ loves a kicking baby."

I really love reading things wrong.

I read "J____ loves kicking a baby."

Delightful. Mostly because I'm fairly positive she is a good mother, and a kind human being, and certainly, if she weren't, she wouldn't broadcast the fact on Facebook.

Which blog to blog?

I didn't know where to post the Christmas tree lauding, so I decided to do both (via a reference on this blog to the oft-neglected married-person blog)!

Here's the link:
http://timandarowan.blogspot.com

I'm not shy about drawing attention to this in all the ways I can think of (Facebook, other blogs, etc.). I'm mostly hoping that someone will really appreciate my bloggage. And that somehow, I'll know they appreciate it. When people comment on my blog, it makes me feel so good.

And tell me please: Why is that the case?

Chicago!

This post may not be what you think it is. Mostly I'm talking about the Chicago Manual of Style. You know, the orange bible?

I've been having this problem of late, so I decided to ask Chicago about it (via their Q+A).

I even composed a rhyme--a sort of rain dance--for good luck:

Got a burning grammar question, or maybe two.

Chicago, I'm counting on you to pull through.

(Q+A, Q+A, Q+A, rah-rah-rah!)

Here it is (If you have any thoughts, please tell me.):

I know that 6.123 says that a question mark should never accompany a comma or period because it is stronger than these punctuation marks. But what about a colon? I have several times wanted to compose a sentence with a similar structure to the following:

"Which of the two following phrases is more correct?: 'our house, mine and Tom's,' or 'Tom's and my house.'"

I don't know how to punctuate this sentence. (And on an unrelated note, I'm not sure how to avoid awkwardness when it comes to joint possessives where one of the possessors is a first-person personal pronoun.) Is there a way to do this easily? Or do I need to rewrite?

kitty?

I've never really been a cat person, but there's this little kitty crying on our porch, and has been for a while.

See, we came home, and it ran around the corner of the porch, and appeared, and I said "Hi Kitty!" And then it responded to that, and came over to me, and rubbed against my leg, and the like. And then all of the sudden I was kind of sympathetic to this creature who was so needing attention of some kind.

So then it followed me inside. And I thought, "Why not let it stay here?" And I have always thought, "I never want pets." (Maybe not always, but I think I can safely say, all of my married life.) So I'm not sure what's happening here.

Tim had to pick the cutie up and take it outside. And it's been on the porch ever since. Meowing and crying. And my heart is pained by that.

redesign

i should learn more about html, css, and such, because it would be cool to know.

future, uncharacterized

Maybe this is selfish of me, but I think that I like the sound of a job where usefulness is immediate and not removed. Where people ask you questions and then you give them answers, and then you have the satisfaction of knowing that you've filled someone's need, no matter how small it was.

Someday, I want to be a librarian. I think. I'm not really sure what this entails. I am not sure what "information science" is about, really. All I know is that I like working in libraries. I have worked in a couple. I like the environment of openness that seems to accompany the places: openness of people (we all stand around wanting to help people when we work there, as well as do other things), openness of knowledge, and openness of learning. (Because they are both available and accessible.) Even the building is open, usually. Unless it's a certain kind of library maybe (one less appealing).

I also think that a place where you feel like you're doing something to improve the place itself, because you have some sense of initiative and creativity, and you can find ways to improve the way things go, is so incredibly great.

And libraries are so integral to the community they are a part of. I want to be a part of building this, because I have come to a realization that I don't much love the corporate model. The one (there may be many, and maybe this isn't one) where you are confined to cubicles for the better part of your living days, and where you stare at a computer screen, and you don't interact with humans much, and where you're just trying to make money, and where other people just want to make money, and it's all about accomplishments and authority and position.

This is all well and good, but I want a part in something bigger than that.

I wish I knew more about these things.

Fact: Computers make for less good pyschotherapists.

My friend K (who married an Italian, remember her?) posted this website on her Facebook recently. I thought I needed someone to talk to, and I decided to try it out.

I have had this pressing problem of late that I really needed to figure out. So why not give it a go, I thought?

Well, the following is proof that computers really have different functions than human beings (If that was in question.):


P.S. Most of this is a joke . . . except for the part about Tim calling me Jackie Chan. That part is true.

Cool.

ool.

Find others like it here.

P.S. I have been learning a little bit of HTML and CSS lately, and I was happy to know how to adjust this drop cap letter image even a little!

politics

An old friend and I were chatting online. This friend is into politics, and I'm not really . . . so I always feel kind of dumb talking about it, because I kind of don't really care. Though I probably should. I probably shouldn't think this way, but I mostly feel like the methods used to acquire a certain end are not necessarily important, as long as the end itself is worthwhile and the means are reasonable. And I also think that I don't really have much involvement or control. And I don't realize, probably, how these things affect me on a fundamental level--but they don't seem to.

I know this is horrible, and I have a lot of friends who think otherwise. And kudos to them, because they probably know a lot more than I do.

But the whole point of this is to point out what I thought was a clever pun.

When my friend had to go, I said, "I am sorry for being a 'lame duck.'"

HAHAHA! Tell me that isn't clever.

It is a sad day when . . .

. . . people stop blogging. Or when people don't blog at all. Also, sometimes I forget to read private blogs because they don't have an RSS feed, so I don't know they've been updated.


All of these things makes me feel like this:

:(


I'm going to call a few people out now:

Cousin Jen. Husband Tim. Rachel Brown. Shaela and Tyler. Andrea and Luke.

People, I miss your bloggage.

Oh mamma!

My mom bought me this shirt that I probably wouldn't have bought for myself, but which I like anyway. It's one of those that has the tightness in the upper area and then tons of material after that, if you know what I'm talking about. Poor description, but when I wear it I feel like I'm wearing a maternity shirt.

It doesn't look like it really because apparently those types of shirt look normal on non-pregnant women, but today I looked at the tag and it said "Oh mamma!" and I'm pretty sure that proves that this shirt was made as maternity clothing.

Score!

Embarrassing.

Oh my goodness. This is an embarrassment. Here I am spouting about my new job (as a professional editor), and spelling words wrong ("by" for "buy").

I'll admit that I sometimes spell words with some incorrect homophonic variation quite frequently.

And yes, I did look up "homophonic" in the dictionary. Yes, it is a word. Yes, I did use it appropriately.

Technically, there probably should be a comma after the word yes in the phrase "Yes folks." That too.

Misadventures in Cooking

Well, I'm nearing the end of my first week of full-time employment in the professional world. It's deadening and good at the same time.

For one thing, my time spent with food, thinking about food, preparing food, is drastically reduced. With this advent, I have noted a need for advanced meal planning, grocery shopping consolidation, and even advanced meal preparation.

Whereas before, I'd browse the internet, come across a recipe that I liked or wanted to try, go to the store and by necessary ingredients (if needed), and then cook. Then eat. That was my life, people.

So don't blame me when yesterday, in preparing chicken alfredo (for the following day, mind you), I grabbed the spice bottle with a grinder top, and later smelled, to my confusion, CINNAMON. Yes folks: instead of a mixed peppercorn grinder, I had indeed grabbed a cinnamon sugar grinder.

Deadening, you see? Welcome to the world of work, Amanda. But I'm still happy to be here.

my best friend married an Italian

While the title to this post is true (and sounds like a good title), it is completely irrelevant.

What I really want you to know about is this:

I was grocery shopping yesterday. I made my circuit from Costco, to Sunflower Market, and then to Buy Low.


You may not find this strange, but I thought it odd that I saw the exact same woman in all three places checking out slightly before me. She was pregnant, had blond hair, and wore a green tank top.

Strange, don't you think?

Gnome, anyone?

So the other day a gnome appeared on our front porch. I have no idea where it came from, but here is a picture of the beaut:




I'm just wondering, what do we do with it now?

Relief!

Folks (if anyone reads this blog), I have an announcement.

I now . . . duh duh duh . . . tentatively have a job! Details pending. I'm waiting for the reality to sink in. Because 2 months and counting, I have been waiting for this moment. And it's hard to believe it's gotten here, because I've already arrived at the point where joblessness becomes both a defining life quality and personal characteristic.

book group

I have a strong desire that has only recently developed. I want to be a part of a book club. It sounds too difficult to start one myself, though (see Oprah's preliminary questions here). I also would like to be a part of a writing group.

My reasons for this? Well, first of all, I want to be motivated to do these things that I love but don't do very much because I'm a lazy dud (or something). Also, I think collaboration of ideas is an enlightening and broadening venture, and what better forum than a semi-formal discussion group where no one is getting grades? It's like your favorite English course without the stress, or something. And maybe you could develop connections with your fellow group-members. As I am often cloistered alone in my apartment (the fate of the jobless?), this sounds appealing to me.

Of course, I don't really know anything about book groups, and I don't know if it would actually be as great as I imagine it to be. I just hope that it is whenever it comes along, because it will come along. And when it does, watch out!

magical

Today I was riding Trax in Salt Lake City. I got to the end of the line. A machinated woman's voice came on saying, "This is the end of the line."

Then in a rather mystical voice, she added, "As far as we go . . ." as if we were coming to the end of a long, arduous, and undoubtedly magical journey.

fourf of fuly

Am I the only one who doesn't really like fireworks? What's the appeal? It's like, you seen them once, you seen them all.

I'm going to admit to you that Tim and I were in Salt Lake on the Fourth and hiked (on the wrong de-trailed side) up Ensign Peak where several people were staking out a prime spot for the upcoming display. But instead of staying ourselves, we hiked back down on the side with a trail.

biker atm

I rode my bike to the drive-up ATM. For an unseasoned biker, this seemed just slightly odd, until another guy on a bike rode up behind me and proceeded to wait.

I want a job.

To get a job, I've decided it is necessary to have friends or family who will get one for you.

Thus, I'm still gainfully unemployed, and still searching. I have enormous amounts of free time, which is super-frustrating after the first four hours or so, but if you want to know what I've been doing with it (at least today), see my married-person blog, "This One's Still Kicking" (The name belongs to Tim).

The light at the end of the tunnel.

Dear readers,

The end of my undergraduate career is in sight. I have 2 hours left of class time and 2 finals to take. Then I'm done. 

What's weird is I'm kind of emotionally numb about this. Shouldn't I be jumping up and down for joy? I think about a week ago I had a sense of nostalgia, thinking that I wouldn't really be a "student" anymore. I've been here for four years now. I'm familiar with it. It is my life.

And on that note, it is my life. So without, I have virtually no life. Job? Thanks, but no. I have applied for several, but nobody seems to be hiring. On that note, I don't even really know what I want to do career-wise. It'd be nice to make more than minimum wage, though (which is my current salary at Orem Public Library--but other than that, it's a great job!) . . . 

I swear I'm worth something. I swear.

NOW IT'S PRINCIPLE!!!!

I'm a little bit miffed here.

After going to talk to my professor and e-mailing her repeatedly, she finally said she would submit a grade change for me if I "took responsibility" and wrote a letter of explanation. I did so. After continuing to bug her, she finally submitted the grade change, which was finally processed.

She changed my grade from a D+ to a C- (even though she said it would bring my grade to a solid C, not teetering on the edge of D-dom), which I don't really find satisfactory. Nor does it make any sense.

Still the worst grade I've ever received. But I'm not dealing with this lady anymore.

A Blog-Worthy Incident

Thanks to this post by Sam, I was reminded of a blog-worthy event (blog-worthy events feel rarer to me these days):

I was in church about a week ago and a lady's cell phone started ringing during the lesson in Relief Society. Very loudly. As if that didn't draw the attention to her enough, she pulled the cell phone out of her bosom.

She was also wearing platform white sneakers. I'm glad that her cell phone rang so that I could note her awesome shoes.

the art of karma

Maybe not so satisfying when I received a D+ in the class.

Pooh.

Student Ratings

I'm sorry, but it felt so good to write and submit this student rating. Too bad there are a couple of mistakes in it. . . I was feeling harried when I wrote it, I guess. I have really disliked this class this semester:

Ten percent of the grade is based on class attendance, yet the roll was kept on a legal pad and seemed to be passed around inconsistently. She didn't seem to care or notice when people were there, even though the class was small. She definitely had favorite students, and made it clear by the way she responded to student comments in class. She did not use any methods of involving the entire class in discussions, yet based the entire judgment of the student on whether they were vocal in class and whether they said things that she deemed intelligent. When she asked questions, she did not wait for students to answer them, but simply spoon-fed the answer and continued her lecture. There was no measurements for progress: no assignments given, no feedback. The only feedback given was during in-class presentations, when she openly criticized students during their presentations, embarrassing everyone. It would be much more effective if she gave a written response and grade on the presentations, if she provided criteria. There were very limited criteria on the final paper project as well and she did not indicate when feedback would be given even though the grade is basically determined by this paper. She did not give quizzes on assigned readings. Assignments for discussion classes were not graded or turned in. There was no measures in the course to evaluate progress. She was very disorganized and did not seem to care about whether certain students did well or not. The readings that were assigned were extremely outdated and not representative of the available literature in language and gender studies. She openly criticized She is a smart woman, but a poor professor. If she takes more accountability for the class, maybe the students will take more accountability too.

comments = love

Amanda, my name, is of Latin origin and means "fit to be loved, lovable."

I have always been uncomfortable with appellation. Get the hint?

P.S. I understand the pathetic vulnerability of this post.

The idolatry of this nation!

Yesterday I saw a piece of masking tape on the sidewalk on my walk to school.

It said, "IDOLOTRY."

What an indictment.

Love it.

I don't know why I love this. Maybe because it's Russian. Maybe because the caption says "elderly" and some of the people are clearly not that aged. Maybe because there is ice on the river and the people in it are dressed in bikinis, (beanies,) and speedos. Maybe because they don't have the best bodies. Maybe there are many reasons.

spring?

It seems some people are confused about the weather. There are some on campus dressed like it is winter. Are they right? No one knows . . . maybe this spring-like oasis is only a mirage.

elevator

Riding in elevators is like riding in buses. Strange things happen. People seem to suddenly feel comfortable talking to strangers. It's like the laws of social interaction are momentarily suspended in public transportation settings (elevator = public transportation).

The last two times I've had food on the elevator (today, I munched on sunflower kernels; the other time, an apple), some other elevator passenger has commented. Which makes me wonder: is there something wrong with elevator-eating? Maybe this is an example of how, for me, laws of social interaction are perpetually suspended.

Today, it was a professor, I assume, who commented. He asked, "Eating lunch?" And I said, "I know. I'm poor. I can only afford to pay sixty cents for a meal."

He replied sympathetically. "You poor thing."

"No, not really." (As in, it's not really my lunch.) "But I'm just eating this to get by until my next meal . . . I don't know where it's coming from . . ."

"That's why you're so skinny," he says. "I should start doing that." Yes. Everybody should start being poor. And then we'd all be rich. (I've solved the economic crisis!)

I'm becoming a thief.

Even though my condition is not Aladdin-adventure worthy, I wish I had a monkey-friend to help me get food. I am hungry and starving too.

So in the attempt to tide me over until my next meal (who knows where it will come from), I bought some Easy Mac from the vending machine for one dollar. One dollar. Normally, I would be morally against such measures (who knows where that stuff comes from . . . ), but my starvation was in a desperate state. I had only eaten a granola bar more than six hours prior. Upon microwaving it, I began to consider where I might obtain a utensil. I felt that I didn't have much time, therefore I didn't want to walk across campus to the Wilkinson Center to obtain a fork from the Twilight Zone or the Cougar Eat. I meandered into the FLAC (Foreign Language Activity Center) in order to ask the secretary there for pity. (See the state of desperation I'm reduced to?) There was no secretary at the desk, so then I returned to the vending machine area, retrieved my Easy Mac from the microwave (somehow pasta that cooks in three minutes seems highly suspicious to me), and went to the fourth floor.

I went to the work room of the English Composition Office. Really, it's an area that employees only should frequent, but since I'm a former employee, why not? In the drawer labeled (I think I may have even labeled this drawer) "knives and utensils," there were no plastics to be found. I therefore spirited away with a metal spoon. (Not the utensil of choice, but beggars can't be choosers.)

Then I went to a different floor, ate the Easy Mac, washed the spoon in the bathroom with hand soap and hand sanitizer, and replaced it in the drawer. Meanwhile, the unknown secretary didn't notice a thing.

I'm not sure how I feel about all of this. I'm not sure which part of it makes me uncomfortable: is it washing dishes in a bathroom (although, I think, probably sanitary)? Is it the fact that I ate Easy Mac with a spoon? Is it the fact that the ingredients include many things unidentifiable to me? Is it the unappetizing quality of the meal? Is it the fact that I am now wasting much more time blog-confessing rather than doing the thing that I originally felt time-pressed to do? Or perhaps, is it the moral deprivation of my thievery?

There are so many things wrong with this picture.

Happy Birthday, Jon.

My brother Jon likes to think that I have gas. Despite my general lack of flatulence (I'm pretty sure I'm mostly normal in this respect), he likes to make fun of me in front of people and tell them I'm gassy.  (He makes fun of me for other things, too, but that's another story for another day.)

Scenario 1: I didn't go to Sunday family dinner (which has morphed into dessert night and appetizer night in various phases, to the point where I'm just not sure what to call it anymore) this week because I "didn't feel good," which could any number of things, except, probably, that I have gas. I have never once excused myself from any function due to gassiness, at least in my recollection. But Jon decided to tell the group that was my reason, anyway. 

Scenario 2: In Costco yesterday, Jon found some Gas-X while I waited in line.  In another ennobling gesture, He shouted, "Amanda, Amanda!" My attention, along with the attention of the rest of the Costco-member store-goers (or maybe just those behind us in line), was had. Then he said, "I found some Gas-X! Do you want some?" 

I love my brother. Happy 26th, Johnny-boy.

Lemonwater gone wrong.

I recovered my water bottle from the BYU Lost and Found. I was slightly concerned that it wouldn't be mine--I figure I wouldn't be able to tell among the masses of water bottles that must be stored in there. And I have seen similar water bottles on campus.

When the girl brought out the pink Camelbak I had described, she asked, "Was there something in it?"

"Is that a moldy lemon wedge?"

It just proves that it's mine.

The lesson I have learned is that lemons smell good, but moldy lemons do not.

singular

Riding in the elevator turned out to be a good example of why my blog has its name. As soon as the doors closed, I was unexpectedly submerged in complete blackness. Before I had much time to react, though, the lights came back on. No sweat. I pushed the button. But it didn't light up. The elevator was dead. 

I waited for a few minutes and finally pressed the call for help button. Then I sat on the floor and listened to the voices outside. So close, yet so far. Did they know someone was in the elevator? Were they trying to use it? Was someone going to put an "out of order" sign on the outside, apathetic about who was inside?

The elevator eventually came unstuck and operated in emergency mode. Just FYI, the only difference I could perceive was that the doors opened very, very slowly in emergency mode.

drivers license

I finally got the real drivers license in the mail. And it's really disappointing. Somehow I don't look half as freakish. 

your chance to participate in a real democracy

Regardless of the fact that my last name is wrong in the URL, please refer to this blog and comment. I'm feeling like democracy is the way to go with this thing.

Is this normal?

Sometimes I see people, people whom I know, and people whom I like, and I avoid them.

I'm not sure why, and it's a bit bothersome. I'm sure it would be more enjoyable if I just did what I want to do: say hi, be friendly. Why is it that this seemingly simple gesture is at times so extraordinarily difficult for me?

Is it the feeling of unpreparedness always accompanied by a mild sense of awkwardness? I am not sure what to say or do because I didn't plan for it, and didn't expect it . . . ?

Or is it the personal commitment that I have made to myself to always under-perform? To compare and even create scenarios that I have no intention of fulfilling or improving upon?

You know, I just don't know.

update

Exhibit A: Tim and I snowshoeing. We are happy.

Exhibit B: The ring that Tim tastefully chose. (Good work, Timmy boy.)

The Story:

On New Year's Day, Tim brought over a dozen red roses and french toast from Kneader's for breakfast. We planned on going snowshoeing that day after breakfast. We were going to rent from Sundance, which has trails and a rental place. Amber Naumann happened to be in town that day, and I had talked to her about hanging out. I asked Tim if she could come with us, but he insisted that we needed to go snowshoeing alone, which was suspicious. So we went rock climbing instead with Amber at the indoor climbing gym. By the time we were done climbing, it would be too late to go snowshoeing because the rental place at Sundance was closing at 5 p.m. Tim seemed disappointed (also suspicious), but we rescheduled for the next day. Friday (the next day) came, and we went. We didn't rent, even, because his roommate happened to have snowshoes we could borrow.

We drove up to Aspen Grove and started on the way. We finally found the trail to Stuart Falls and snowshoed up to that place where there is the big circular concrete structure. I suggested we climb on top of that, but Tim wanted to go up to the left a ways to see if there was an outlook with a view. There was. I was taking pictures or something. It was very beautiful. Then Tim told me he loved me and pulled out the ring, and asked, "Will you marry me?" The ring was nice. He picked it out himself, but it was very similar to one I'd shown him that I liked. So when he asked, I held out my hand to grab the ring, first. "Wait! You have to say something first," he told me. "Okay!" I replied. Then he let me take it, and I let him put it on my finger. Yeah . . . It's cool.

We called the Mount Timpanogos temple and scheduled the ceremony for the 21st of March at 2:00 p.m. Weird, huh? It's pretty neat-o, I guess!