Happy Halloween

Tonight my Mom is making homemade donuts and we're having friends over. Actually, I'm inviting one friend. The rest are Mom and Dad's. I'm hoping lots of people bail or get caught in a snowdrift so that I can eat all the donuts. Will take pictures!

We're prepared for the trick-or-treaters, but they'll have to be a hardy lot since there is snow on the ground and it's supposed to be really cold tonight. On Sunday it dumped 8 inches during the 2 hours we were in church. Madness. There is a ward trunk-or-treat and Halloween carnival at the church tonight, but the word on the street is that the Young Women (ages 12-18) aren't going to be helping out because they want to go trick-or-treating. Tell you what, I don't think I'll be giving candy to any 15-yr-olds. I wanted to get a bag of something gross like Tootsie Rolls or those awful pink blobs of bubble gum that taste like asphalt and come in the yellow & blue wrapper. Does anyone know what kind I'm talking about? Anyway, I would keep the crap candy available for people past the age of trick-or-treating.

Now I should confess my shameful secret: I'm totally into Christmas already. I know I shouldn't be, but it's been snowing and there are rosy-cheeked children sledding in the backyard and I've just burned all my mom's Christmas music and I am in The Zone. Plus I found this book at my notjob and had to bring it home with me.



Do any of you already know Robert Sabuda's stuff? I'd never heard of him but the man is pretty much a genius. Look at this! The pictures don't really do it justice. I had been looking for kids' Christmas books at Jenny's request and came across this one. As soon as I opened it I knew I wouldn't be giving this to small children. Ever. They can have board books like regular children-who-just-eat-their-books-anyway. Jenny thinks I'm a jerk for not giving it to her kids, or to her, but that's just because she thinks all presents should be for her. But to show her that I am a loving big sister I will let her look at it when her kids are asleep.

I love it when things are all about me

This last weekend was our stake conference, and Dad came home from the priesthood leadership session on Saturday afternoon with news. The word from Salt Lake is that this year one of the main focuses for the Church is going to be the Young Single Adults. Specifically it's going to be about finding them, re-activating them, and retaining them. The numbers say that of all the members aged 18-30 only about 30% are active. It's the most at-risk age bracket in the Church.

This, to me, makes sense. It's easy to fall through the cracks when you're away from home for the first time and trying to figure things out. Plus that's just a generally turbulent time--we've got school and jobs and relationships and growing up and all kinds of stuff. And it's likely the most nomadic time we'll ever have. With all that moving around, it's even easier to drop off when the wards you move to don't make you feel included and welcomed and needed.

Example: I moved to Loughborough last year as a university student and attended a family ward. After some initial standoffishness, the ward members made friends with me. I got a calling (working with the nursery kids). I got home teachers and visiting teachers. I was asked to speak in Church. I felt like I belonged there and I was sad to leave.

However, a friend of mine moved into a different ward in the same stake. Her experience was not good. No one tried to befriend her. She never got a calling even though she asked for one. I don't know if she ever got home teachers or visiting teachers. It was a 45-minute walk to church each week. She said when people talked to her it was usually to ask when she was leaving. She could so easily have stopped going, and it's possible that no one would have noticed.

Luckily, she was not a brand-new 18-yr-old away from home for the first time. She was older and had a strong testimony, and church attendance was important to her even if the other members ignored her. Plus she was only going to be there for a year. But what if she had been a brand-new 18-yr-old away from home for the first time? What if she had been feeling lonely and homesick and shaky in her testimony? Do you think she would actually stick that out for three years of college? I don't think so. She would be out of there--and if no one cared enough to go after her she might never come back.

So yes, that kind of junk needs to stop. We are worth being welcomed and fellowshipped and it's not fair to write off students or young single people as "temporary" members of the ward. Instead people need to recognize that by ignoring and failing us they are damaging the future of the Church. I hope my friend's experience is the exception rather than the rule, but that doesn't make it any less of a serious problem.

I'm encouraged to see that the Church's stated focus is on finding, reactivating and retaining the YSAs rather than just telling us to get married. Again. Some more. Yes, marriage is important and it needs to be emphasized, but if the YSAs start to feel like they don't belong unless they're married then they won't stay. I think the Church recognizes that and is trying to move the focus on what members have to offer as individuals, rather than trying to lump everyone into categories.

Dad said they also announced that no new singles wards or branches will be created. The ones that exist will stay, but that's it. I wonder if this is the beginning of the end of singles wards. That wouldn't bother me too much, actually. I don't think they could get rid of them in places like BYU or other universities where there is a huge LDS student population, but in other areas they could.

I guess my final thought here is that I'm glad to be a part of a Church that thinks about these things. The basic doctrines won't ever change, but the Church actively looks for ways to adapt to the needs of a rapidly-growing membership, of whom single people of all ages and circumstances make up a rapidly-growing segment.

There you have it.

One more reason to miss England

Only I never saw this one coming.

While in England I ran out of deoderant and went to Wilkinson to buy more. From what I can tell, the UK is big on roll-ons, whereas here in the US we go for the sticks. After much deliberation I chose Palmolive Citrus Fresh Roll-On with Aloe Vera. It was funny to be buying deoderant from Palmolive, since I associate them with dish soap.

Anyway, I loved it. It smelled great, it never gave me marks on my clothes, it worked really well, loved it. English friends, you should really try this stuff. It's fab.

Anyway, I just ran out. It was a sad day. I had to go to Wammart to get more but knew I would not be able to replace my beautiful citrusy wonder. While I agonized over my choice in the deodorant aisle, I chatted with the lady next to me who was also agonizing over her deoderant choice. She didn't know what kind to get. I told her I didn't know either. She said it's insane to have so many choices, and I said that what's even more insane is that now you have all those rumors about the aluminum in anti-perspirant leading to Alzheimer's disease.

It was a mistake to have said that, because then she got really worried about it and started looking at the backs of all the deodorants, only to find that they all have it as an ingredient. I tried to tell her that it's probably just some Internet rumor, but she was adamant that she did not want to get Alzheimer's. So I made that poor lady's job even harder.

My final choice (after more deliberation than is healthy or normal) was Dove Cool Sensations Anti-Perspirant Deodorant with Cucumber & Green Tea Extracts. It also contains moisturizers. Because my whole life I've been walking around wishing that my underarms were moisturized. I though the whole point of antiperspirant was to remove moisture from the area, but what do I know? Also there was a little soap attached, because one day I will run out of my Lush "Honey I Washed the Kids" soap, and then I will weep bitter, bitter tears.

Anyway, we'll see how this new stuff turns out. If men begin stopping me in the street to tell me that my underarms are the most beautiful ever, I will know the moisturizers are working. My Wammart friend chose the same thing I did, and we said we would compare notes if we end up back at the same aisle once we've run out.

Not that we'll remember each other if the rumors about the aluminum are true.

ps. Oh my gosh. I just read the label on the back and it says you need to talk to your doctor before using this if you have kidney problems. What the heck? My poor friend probably read that and had a heart attack. Do anyone else's deodorants say that???

Yay, it's snowing!

We only have an inch or so, though, so it isn't a true Alaska snowfall. That's the kind that dumps one foot of snow each hour and then steals your car and calls you fat. But it's beautiful. Last night I watched the snow fall under the street lights, which always makes me start humming Christmas music. And it's a good thing I'm leaving before the bliss can wear off.

On the way home from doing errands, we saw our first snow-related accident of the year. Someone lost control on a completely flat stretch of road in our neighborhood, went off the road, and plowed straight through someone's back fence. We didn't see the accident, we just saw the tread-marks and the big car-sized gap in the fence. Apparently that happened last year, too.

I think a good thing to do if I were the owner of said fence would be to just dispense w/the fence and instead put up a barricade of spears that point out at the road like on Braveheart. Then you wouldn't have to put up a new fence every year and I bet people would drive more carefully by your house. Just a thought.

Compulsion, conshmulsion

I prefer to think of it as a keen interest.

The notjob is going pretty well. The book sale is in a couple of weeks and my understanding is that I will be praying for sweet sweet death at the end of it. Also that people will try to steal books and will whine about the prices. Because they deserve to be smacked with a bookshelf.

The rule is that we can take books home to read as long as we bring them back before the sale. If we decide to buy said books, we can just give our supervisor the money. What I've noticed is that each day I'm coming home with a bigger and bigger stack of books. I did a round-up this morning and here's what I found:



The Harry Potter is to replace my brother's missing copy. And there are three of those Ladies Detective Agency books for Mom. I won't keep all of these, but at the rate I'm going there will be three stacks just like this before long. That's what Media rate shipping is for, right?

Good things about fall

1. Autumn leaves, until a nice windstorm blows them all away in the middle of the night and suddenly you're living in a barren wasteland that seeks to crush and destroy you. I've heard.


2. Fabulous brown shoes made by the good people at Mudd. They're to go with my absolutely darling brown knee-length skirt with really cute pleats and trimming at the bottom. The best part is that I found it at Wal-Mart (or Wammart as it is generally known). Had no idea they sold cute clothes there. Way to be, Wammart.


3. Hallowe'en decorations in people's houses and yards. My mom even has a Halloween tree. Some of the neighbors have strings of pumpkin lights going up their front steps, or those jack o' lantern trash bags stuffed with leaves in their front yards. Others are going slightly overboard with 6-feet-tall inflatable ghosties and pumkins. But still, they're getting into the spirit of the thing.


We also have people who have decided to just bypass the whole Halloween/Thanksgiving thing and started putting up their Christmas decorations--like, weeks ago. Some have just put up their hanging icesicle lights, which Mom says they do because it's too flipping cold to be putting up lights in December. Others have put up those blue Christmas lights. I really dislike blue Christmas lights. They're like sci-fi Christmas.

The clear winner, though, is the house with an entire plastic Nativity scene assembled on the front porch. When the trick or treaters come round they're going to trip over the baby Jesus. But then, maybe the creche is meant to announce that there's a God-fearing family living inside and there will be no observance of Satanic holidays at this house thank you very much.

Singleton Svithe

Daltongirl, Sakhmet, and Cicada are my Circle of Truth. We've been sending each other group emails for years. They're the ones I tell my absolute most embarassing/pathetic/paranoid stories to. We get excited over little triumphs and big ones, such as Daltongirl's victories in parenting and yard-saling, Sakhmet's grad-school change-the-world coups, Cicada's fab new job which pays her to exercise and be creative, and my not getting trampled by moose yet.

A few weeks ago Cicada started a discussion of how we stay positive (or don't) when it comes to being single and having no romantic prospects and facing a lifetime of dried-up spinsterhood. Daltongirl isn't single anymore, but she was for a long time--and a single mother at that. She and Sakhmet both had wise things to say. Here was my contribution to the Dying Alone Eaten by Cats issue:

For some reason, over the last couple of years I have not felt as anxious/bitter/depressed about the whole thing as I have in the past. It has manifest itself in other ways, though, to be sure. Like the part where I kept dating WR even though we were both miserable because subconsciously I thought this was MY CHANCE, DANGIT!!!! Little things like that.

Part of me was afraid to go to England because if I didn't meet anyone there that would mean at least 2 or 3 more years before I could conceivably meet someone, date, and get married. But I think being away from UT for a little while actually helped. Not that I think UT is bad, but for a year I wasn't continually confronted by evidence of my supposed failure to find someone and get married. I didn't have to watch what seemed like every other person in the world being all schmoopy and married and dating and together. And the year before that I lived in a ward made up of amazing single women in their mid-to-late 20s who were gorgeous and talented and smart and doing fabulous things with their lives. So when I looked them I thought, "Okay. These girls are SO not pathetic. Being single like them does not make me pathetic either."

And even though I was not as global-minded as the fabulous [Sakhmet--who talked about how lucky she is compared to women in places like Darfur], I know that there are women who have it a lot worse than me. There are women who through phsyical or mental disabilities or poverty or illness or any number of other reasons will not only never get married but will also not get to have the kind of life as a single woman that they want. I am blessed because I'm not limited in that way--I can get the education, I can pick up and move, I can support myself, I can travel. The only real limitations I have are the ones I impose on myself, either through fear of failure or worries about "will this make me even more intimidating to men?" etc. So yeah, I don't feel justified in complaining too much about being single.

I also found that complaining about men & singleness makes me unhappy. I mean, don't get me wrong, I still do it, but I think I've gotten a little bit better about it. I feel better when I let myself feel optimistic that there is someone out there for me. And when I hear about deserving friends who are dating/getting married to nice men I've gotten better at thinking, "See? That proves there are good guys out there" rather than, "GAH!! The pool is shrinking, SHRINKING!!!! There will be nothing left for me!!!" Having experienced both, I would have to say that hope feels nicer than despair.

So. There are my tangled thoughts. I hope I'll be able to hang on to such admirable optimism when I leave the Land of Lumberjacks and head back into the dating scene.

One less thing to feel guilty about

A little while back Daltongirl wrote an excellent post about homelessness in which she drew on her experiences as One Who Serves the Homeless Community. So if you want to read something eloquent and thought-provoking and faith-in-humanity-inspiring, go read that. If you don't, you can read my post about homelessness, which follows below.

Anchorage has homeless people. I think it would be a very bad thing to be homeless in Anchorage because of how cold it gets in the winter. A few people freeze to death every year.

(And before the Alaskans can grab their pitchforks, I'm sure they have homeless people freezing to death in Minneapolis and Boston and all those other places that are in fact colder than Alaska. I get that. So you can just settle. And this is my blog anyway. And I'm leaving. Neener.)

When mom and I drive into Anchorage in the mornings we go through the Seward Highway/Lake Otis Blvd intersection, and nearly every single time we see several people on the corners begging for money. One is an elderly Native Alaskan man who may believe he is holding up a cardboard sign, but there's actually nothing in his hands. Still he stands there as though holding up an invisible cardboard sign for us to read. I have no idea what it says. Other people have shopping cards, actual cardboard signs, and all the usual stuff.

Yesterday, though, a man at the intersection was waving around these huge stick-looking things and shouting at the passing cars. Turns out he was selling whale baleen. Which is a thing I never supposed I would see when I left the house this morning.

Mom told me that Anchorage recently passed a city ordinance that fines people who give money to panhandlers. She didn't know what the fine was. You can give them food, or you can buy their whale baleen, or you can tell them where the soup kitchen is, but you can't just hand them money.

So. Remember that when you come to visit.

Under construction

This might look messy for a little bit. Just pretend like nothing is amiss.

My mother kisses me with that mouth?

This morning my mom and I drove into Anchorage together. She drops me off at my notjob on her way to her actualjob. She asked me how the notjob was going and said that if she lived in Anchorage she would consider volunteering there as well.

Me: You could volunteer at the Eagle River branch, though.

Mom: Chuh. I'd have to get immunized before I could volunteer there.

On the way home we had this exchange after the big truck in front of us took its sweet time getting out of intersection, leaving us trailing behind as an easy target for other large assault vehicles or animals.

Mom: [general expressions of annoyance at the slow person in front of us]

Me: He has a handicapped sticker.

Mom: Oh, whatever. Just about anyone can get one of those things now. If he were really handicapped he would be driving one of those special cars.

Me: [blink]

As I opened my mouth to tell her I was going to blog that, she said, "And you can blog that. I don't even care."

So. Strong words, friends. If you're going to be having a handicapped sticker on your car you'd better make sure there's a forklift attached to it. Or something else to show my mom that you're not faking.

Also, Happy Late Birthday to my mother. She looks about 15 years younger than her actual age, which I must either attribute to great genetics or to the bathing in the blood of virgins by moonlight.

I'm not judging.

Good News

In my parents' ward the dear Relief Society sisters do this thing called "good news" along with the announcements and such before the lesson starts. Anyone who has good news is invited to share it, and so far it's been stuff like "my son got his mission call" or "my daughter is 2 weeks pregnant and I'm going to start announcing it to the world NOW because I just can't hold it" or "I went one more week without killing my teenager" (not that anyone has actually said that last one, but I know they're thinking it.)

I had some good news myself but chose not to share it. My good news is this:

I'm getting out of here!

Thing is, people in Alaska are really sensitive about their state. And when someone doesn't want to live here they kind of take it personally. It starts like this:

Alaskan: So, are you looking for jobs up here?

Me: Not really, no.

Alaskan: Why not?

This is the part where I used to say that I don't want to live up here.

Alaskan: Well why not?

Me: It's too cold for me.

Alaskan. NO IT ISN'T! THERE ARE PLACES IN THE LOWER 48 THAT ARE COLDER! I WILL LIST ALL OF THEM TO YOU NOW!!!

So now I just tell them that there are no libraries in Alaska and that it breaks my heart. They accept this.

Or I tell them that I'm not getting any younger and must move where I can find me a man before my eggs turn black. They accept this. And encourage it. It's not like they have any sons to offer me.

I should say, though, in defense of the Alaskans, that everyone has been wonderful to me since I've been here. No one has given me any crap whatsoever about being single. People I haven't seen since high school tell me that I look beautiful. This is probably because I looked naff in high school, but still. It's nice to hear such things. And they ask how England was and seem generally interested to hear about my plans and stuff. So yes. They are cool and supportive. I'm still leaving, though.

I'm moving in with Jenny & Ed. Like she said over on her site, they're moving back to Provo at the end of October and have found a great three-bedroom apartment. I will pay them some rent and babysit their children, and they will cook for me and give me a big bedroom and a bathroom to share w/Savvy. And even though I've really loved hanging out with Mom and Dad and being spoiled and eating good food, it's time. They were taking bets weeks ago on when I would leave, anyway.

Good things about moving back to UT, even if it's possibly only temporary:

• It's easier to go to job interviews when you're not living in flipping Alaska.
• My stuff! Yay, my stuff is there and I get to have it back! Yay!
• My friends! Yay for my friends!
• Boys who are not 8 years younger than me
• Lots and lots of cheap college cars for sale
• My course-testing job, which should be enough to cover rent
• Lack of moose
• Lack of waist-deep snow
• Coney's Frozen Custard

I'm flying down on November 6th, right after the big book sale to which I am commited. Can't wait to see everyone!

So how important ARE things like principles, exactly?

One of the debates going on in the NextGen librarian world concerns the starting salaries of entry-level librarians. Lots of them are very low compared to other jobs that require graduate degrees. So here's the argument.

Side A says that new librarians need to stop accepting jobs that pay less than $40,000 a year, and then the Powers That Be will have to start raising salaries if they want to hire anyone.

Side B says that's all very noble and good, but new librarians have student loans to pay and families to feed, so they don't have the luxury of holding out for more. They're having to compete hard for the crappy jobs as it is.

Then we have me. I've been looking (albeit halfheartedly) for library jobs for the past couple of months. Most of what I'm seeing is in the 30K range--and some of these do require previous experience. Yesterday, though, I saw a position for an Assistant Library Director in L***n, UT. It's at a small public library but looks like a great job description. Lots of experience, lots of responsibility, and you get to put the word of "Director" on your resume, even if there's an "Assistant" in front of it. At the end of the description I see the salary range: $23,000 - $27,000 per year.

Now---

See---

Uh, yeah. Is it possible that what they're actually looking for is an Assistant to the Library Director? Because that's about what a secretary would make. I was sure this had to be a typo. They meant to write $33K - $37K. They had to have meant that. That's still low, but it's not insane. There is just no way.

I called my L***n-dwelling sister and told her about the job and the salary and how that can't even be right.

Sister: "Is it a City job?" (She works for the city.)

Me: "Yes"

Sister: "Then it's right."

She says that L***n has possibly the lowest cost-of-living in the state, and that's why the jobs pay less.

But still.

So I called the library director to confirm the salary, and she was very nice. She said that actually is correct, and she realizes it's very low. And she's sorry. But that L***n is a beautiful place and it does have a very low cost of living and it's a nice library and she's a really nice boss. The poor lady must have people calling her up multiple times a day to ask if this is a joke.

I told her I would still be interesting in applying for the position and she seemed surprised. "Really? Oh! Okay, great!"

If I even get an interview from this, which, let's face it, doesn't always happen, the question of whether a criminally-underpaid job is better than no job will become slightly more important to me. Or if a criminally-underpaid job that gives me much-needed library experience (and includes beautiful scenery, good coworkers, low cost of living, and close proximity to family & friends) is better than a well-paid job at Borders Bookstore or in something else completely outside my field.

Important questions, friends.

These things happen to me because I am a winner

This morning I woke up after both my parents left for work. Because they have jobs and I don't.

I could hear the dog barking persistently in my garage, which killed the sleeping-in buzz. Finally I staggered out of bed and let her in, which made her ever so happy and loving and "Oh my gosh you're just my most favorite person in the world even though I wouldn't have anything to do with you last night when you wanted to play!"

On the kitchen counter I saw a loaf of banana bread that a neighbor brought over last night. It was about half gone so I cut a couple of slices and ate them for breakfast. While I ate I got on the computer and my dad IMed me.

Dad: Did you find the dog in the garage?

Me: Yeah I did. She wouldn't stop barking.

Dad: I came home earlier to get my cell phone. The little bread [the neighbor] brought over was on the floor in the family room half-eaten. That's why I put her out.

Dad: Hope you didn't eat any bread.

Piece of crap dog. No wonder she was all happy and excited and "please let me sleep on your feet while you read because I am Just. That. Devoted." And now my stomach is cramping up and I'm probably going to die. Excuse me while I go drink Listerine.

Things I am learning at my NotJob

As mentioned previously, I've been going in to the main library in Anchorage to volunteer a couple times a week. They have me working on organizing books for the upcoming book sale. I have impressed them so much with my skills that I've been promoted from being an assistant volunteer in the nonfiction section to She Who Rules over Fiction. I will also be managing about 10 cadets from a local military school when it comes time to set up for what is gearing up to be a massive book sale. I am told the cadets will call me ma'am. I approve of this.

Anyway. Fun tidbits from the Dungeon (for that is what the underground room with all the books is called):

First off, these books are a steal. The hard-backs are $2, the nice big "Oprah" paperbacks (the kind you see in airport bookstores, which normally sell for $12 - $15) are only 50 friggin' cents, and the ratty little trade paperbacks are 25 cents. They need to be charging more for those Oprah books, I tell you. Nearly all of them are brand spanking new.

I can steal books from the shelves and read them as long as I bring them back before the sale.

People in Alaska (or possibly just the US in general) really, really love Nora Roberts. I've never read her. I don't know how anyone can write that many books--there is an entire section just for her. I bet she doesn't even write them anymore. She probably uses a computer program that takes material from the first 15 novels and then spits out a new one. Or perhaps, like VC Andrews, she is actually dead but still has books published in her name. In support of this theory, I noticed a sticker on one paperback which guarantees that it's a brand-new Nora Roberts novel. Readers must be noticing how familiar the stories seem.

Other people with their own shelves: Clive Cussler, James Patterson, Danielle Steel, John Grisham, Robert Ludlum. Meh.

There are entirely too many thrillers out there.

What is the difference between a thriller and a mystery? To me if it's about cops or detectives and uses the words "gritty" or "racing" or "explosive" in the description, it's a thriller. But I have no way to know if that is true. Is any kind of whodunit a mystery? (Note: I just did a Google search for the difference between mystery & thriller and found this helpful list. The lady could be talking rubbish, though.)

Some mistaken volunteer has been putting chick lit in the romance section. My brain nearly exploded. I caught the error in time, though. Chick lit is SO not the same thing as romance. For one thing (and this is how I explained it to the rest of the staff) it costs more. I'm probably earning the library a whole 5 bucks by moving those books back over into the Oprah category.

Another volunteer (the one I'll be replacing as She Who Rules over Fiction, because she's moving) and I spent all afternoon bundling up sets of books with a pretty yarn bow and a cute li'l dangly price tag. It was her idea. The sets were things like:

• 4 Oprah book club reads
• 4 books by Nicholas Sparks
  
• 4 books by Anita Shreve
• 4 Booker Award books
• 4 books by Pulitzer-prize-winner authors
• 4 of the same book (book-club sets)
• 4 books-made-into-films
  

I wanted to go crazy with those sets, actually. I could just see the potential, and the books were all there, stacks and stacks and stacks of them:

• Chick Lit sets (BJD, Shopoholic series, Nanny Diaries)
• Near Eastern Writers
• A.S. Byatt (I did do this one, actually)
  
• Irish Writers (Frank McCourt, Roddy Doyle)
  
• Writers Who Move to Europe and Buy Old Homes and Eat Fabulous Food (Peter Mayle, Frances Mayes, etc.)

But I eventually had to stop. Maybe I'll do some more this week. And so help me, if people try to switch out books during the sale or dismantle the sets I will go all Soup Nazi on them. "No books for you!" I mean, seriously. They are paying 2 dollars for $40 worth of books. It couldn't get any better.

Like Sands through the Hourglass

I'm possibly starting to lose it. It's possible. Most of the pretty autumn leaves have now blown off the trees and all I see before me is dark, dark despair. But to keep my mind off that I will write about the things I have been enjoying lately.

These are in no particular order, but let's start on the hygiene front. This way maybe I will be better about remembering to attend to such things rather than staying in bed muttering words like "There's no point, anyway . . . ":

I love me some Cetaphil. I use the cleanser and the moisturizer. My skin loves them too. With their help I have mostly managed to dodge the "moving to a new climate" bullet that loves to wreak havoc with my face. I say mostly because I did in fact have a chin zit so large and persistent that it actually made my head tilt to one side if I wasn't careful.

For my 27th birthday I asked for anti-aging eye cream, which my sweet mother (the Mary Kay sales rep) gave me. I use it faithfully now in the hope that I will not turn into a wizened crone before my time--at least not on the outside.


Please say hello to "Honey I Washed the Kids" soap by Lush. I bought it back in England ages ago and finally started using it last week. (Note: I did use other soaps during the interim.) It's pretty much a honey & toffee-scented slice of heaven. If I were 7 years old I would probably say cuss words on purpose to get my mouth washed out with this stuff. I have to make it last because it costs something shockinawful like $8 a bar here in the States.

Oh, how I missed my Nutty Bars. Little Debbie is my friend. I like to separate the layers and eat them one by one. That is the true way, I feel, to eat a Nutty Bar. Although I did just see my dad smash one up in a bowl of chocolate ice cream, which also looks valid. Will have to try that when my parents get back from the grocery store bearing foodstuffs. They are also bringing me Hunts Snack Packs of chocolate pudding. My love for pudding packs caused me no end of confusion when I got to England where suddenly people referred to nearly any dessert as pudding.

British Friend #1: "So what's for pudding, then?"

Nemesis: "Yay, I love pudding! You have pudding here??"

British Friend #2: "Yes, it's apple pie with custard, me duck."

British Friend #1: "Ooooh, lovely. Can I have mine warm?"

Nemesis: Brain implodes

(Note: They don't have chocolate pudding in England. So don't even ask.)



Thanks to the good people at Blockbuster Video we have been watching the first season of House this week. Now that handsome devil Dr. House and his beautiful blue eyes have me even deeper in his thrall. He was in my dream last night, where he struggled valiantly to hide his feelings for me, because that is his way.

Also, after watching all the episodes at once I now have a deep and abiding fear of lumbar punctures. And MRIs. Because nothing good comes from those things, I can tell you.

We're now waiting anxiously for someone to turn in the second season so we can check it out. Even though I appreciate them for supplying me with House, those Blockbuster people are nonetheless on my crap list for not having Cold Comfort Farm so that I can introduce my mom to the joys of seeing something nasty in the woodshed.

I wanna be a supermodel

Here are the promised pics from the bowling-alley shoot. I liked the shirt, even if it did smell like cigarette smoke. The pants . . . I will probably not be wearing them again so much at all.


This is me and the Eyebrow of Death. And the shiny green Shoes of the Dance.


This is me possibly looking as though I have a flat bum and terrible posture. Only that's the magic of camera wizardry, because I have neither of those things, okay? My bum is cute. I do, however, have a stubby pinky, and even Ed's magic could not hide that.

You can see more of his photography, which I think is pretty much the best ever, at his website. If you can look at that first picture without yelping "PRECIOUS!" then you are stronger than I. Or possibly the goblins came in while you slept and replaced your heart with a piece of crumpled garbage.

It has been lovely knowing you

Meet my doom.

It approacheth.

I think someone should buy me this

Or this:
Aren't they cool? They're stickers that you put on your laptop. I would very sassy and cool with those things, I think. To be precise, I think Dell should buy me one. Or both. I deserve both. I've mailed my laptop in for them to replace the hard drive. So now I am laptopless and feel so very naked and cold and alone.

Y'all remember the Troubles I'd been having with it? Well a couple of weeks before the dissertation was due, I realized that the thing was actually kind of behaving. It hadn't given me any blue-screen errors or hissed at me or stolen my things while I slept. I decided that this was probably Heavenly Father's way of blessing me so that I could finish my dissertation, and that as soon as I was done it would probably burst into flames and throw itself out the window. Which was fine by me. I believe I was right, too, because two days after I finished it started misbehaving again with a vengeance.

Dell had me reformat the hard drive the other day and that didn't work. So I told them it was now their problem because I was done doing things. They agreed and sent me a box. In about 5 business days it should be back and working properly. And if it gives me any lip I will put it outside for the huge moose that gave me a heart attack yesterday when it jogged past the living room windows with its calf.

And THEN those Dell people will be sorry.