Ugh, stop stealing my money!

 So I've been frauded. Again. Some more. Is this because I'm a Utah Mormon? Thing is, I wasn't approached by someone at church who wanted to include me in a righteous and holy business venture to build my own wealth and by extension The Kingdom. Nope. Nothing so exciting. Somebody got a hold of my credit card numbers and used them.

A couple of weeks ago GH got a call from Travelocity to ask if he really for sure wanted to purchase a ticket through Bankok Airways. He did not. That was our American Express card. We called up, canceled the card, put a notice on our credit report, all of that.

Yesterday, I found a $100 charge on my Wells Fargo debit card for something called Dr. Jays clothing, where one may purchase sneakers, jeans, and urban clothing. There was also a $68 Paypal transaction. Got to call Wells Fargo and go through the drill. "Yes, I promise that I didn't buy anything from Dr. Jays. And that I didn't use my debit card to make a Paypal transaction. I don't generally use my debit card online. And no, I didn't hand my debit card to anyone and tell them to go shopping with it either. I'm not that nice."

I am not sure how it happened, but that does seem like kind of a coincidence, don't you think? I am very grateful that Wells Fargo and USAA are not holding me responsible for the fraudulent charges. But I'm a little peeved that people are going to steal my money and identity and then do something so . . . pedestrian with it. Buying a pair of Nikes? Seriously? Let's review.

2002: Three envelopes containing checks written by me were stolen out of our (unsecured) apartment mailbox. They were washed and re-used. One of them was cashed at Ream's grocery store and was used, if the memo line is to be believed, on "smokes and pants for dad." My angry response to that: "As IF I would be buying cigarettes and Wranglers!!!"

2011: The charges were all in small amounts for small airlines--Bankok Airways, EasyJet, etc. Better than Wranglers, but still kind of small potatoes.

Also 2011: $68 for something online and $100 on hoodies or whatever. I know I should be grateful that they didn't go nuts, but part of me wants to go, "Ugh. Way to dream big there, @$$holes."

There was, though, the 2004 episode. I got a call from my bank asking if I happened to be in Italy. I, alone in my Provo apartment kitchen, most certainly was not, but that did sound quite nice. An unauthorized party was using my credit card to buy Italian shoes, Eurail passes, and expensive dinners. I poured myself a cold drink and sat back while asking the bank representative to go very, very, slowly through every single charge while I closed my eyes and murmured appreciatively.

Because at least somebody with illegal access to my money knew how to live, dangit.

Image: Pixomar / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Two things

Thing #1:

I bought milk at Costco yesterday and checked the box to be sure it came from "cows not treated with rBST*" (a bovine growth hormone to increase milk production). And, as I always am, I was irked afresh at the message following the "*". ("No significant difference has been shown between milk derived from rBST-treated and non rBST-treated cows.")

Will you please tell me where else in the world a company who is trying to promote their own product is legally obligated to ALSO provide advertising for their competitors?

Does the Mexican Coke made with sugar have to slap a label on their bottles that says, "Not that there's anything wrong with corn syrup! Corn syrup is awesome! You could buy that too and I'm sure you'd love it!"

Do the yogurts who use beet juice as a coloring agent have to backpedal and say, "But I'm sure Red #40 is also great!"

Do the soy sauces and soups made without MSG have to qualify their "No MSG" label with "Not that there's anything wrong with that!"

Does creamy peanut butter have a label that says, "Not that we're saying crunchy is bad! Just because we chose to be creamy that doesn't mean there's a problem with crunchy!"

No. No they don't. But for some reason it's just really, really important to some people (coughMonsanto-who-created-rBST-and-then-sued-the-first-dairy-who-dared-to-put-a-label-on-their-milk-stating-that-they-were-not-using-it) that no one be allowed to get the idea that it might be more desirable to have less chemicals involved in the creation of your food. And somehow it's the dairy farms who don't want to use chemicals who are responsible for sending out that message. The FDA doesn't require the extra disclaimer but does recommend it (see above regarding the part where Monsanto will sue you if you don't provide them with free advertising).



Yes, it's true that there may be no significant difference when you test the milk. But there is a significant difference in the cows that are injected with the synthetic hormone--they experience much higher rates of lameness and mastitis (udder infections, as in pus in the udder where your milk also is). Because farmers were having to cull so many of their sick cows (as per Monsanto's recommendation), some decided that the production gains weren't worth it and just produced the same amount of milk minus the expensive drugs and pus and killin's.

Anyway. That disclaimer bugs me. For all those reasons. That was Thing #1.

Thing #2:

I leave for the Shakespeare Festival tomorrow (yay!) but was thrilled to learn about a little something that will be waiting for me when I get back.



Rufus Sewell (also known as your boyfriend and mine) is turning up on Masterpiece Mystery this Sunday in Zen, a new three-part miniseries about an Italian police detective. I am guessing you might want to make some time for this.

Just strangle me with the string already

Even with Tivo, I swear I have seen the commercials for that new No Strings Attached movie approximately eleventy billion times. And really? I could do without them.

My first awareness that such a film existed was in a theater where I saw one of those life-sized cardboard cutouts of the movie poster.


My response: "Wait, what??? Natalie Portman? And Ashton Kutcher? Are you kidding me? Natalie Portman who gets nominated for acting awards and does ballet and is multilingual and went to Harvard? Natalie Portman is in a stupid sex comedy with Ashton Where's My Car Kutcher??? Ugh. That is so disappointing. I think my brain is leaking out my ears right now."

GH: "Uhhhhh . . . . "

Yeah, he didn't seem to react quite so unfavorably to the poster. Wonder why that is. . . . And now he doesn't get to watch any of the eleventy billion commercials either, because I'm always there, huffing like a water buffalo and fast-forwarding through them.

Blah.

So, to take my mind off stupid movies who shove their commercials in my face all. the. time, here instead are pictures of a baby so precious that he craps rainbows. (And occasionally some other stuff up to his armpits but we won't get into that here because this is about the cuteness.)




(precious monkey hat made by Jeri)

A tiny little request

Hello out there, computer-savvy people.

If you're going to take it upon yourselves to hook up Mom/Grandma/Grandpa up with an email account and a Facebook account and every other thing under the sun that you think they should be using, could you do me a big favor?

Could you please:

1) Make sure they have the computer skills to actually navigate said programs. Walk them through things several times right after they sign up so that they don't try to log in on their own 6 months later because they know there are baby pictures waiting for them in the computer but they don't remember a thing about what you told them to do.

2) Not sign them up with a Yahoo mail account because, hi, gross.

If you ignore #1 and #2, then you should be prepared to move into their home with them. This way, when they run into difficulties and start looking around with the Bambi eyes, wanting someone to magically be able to fix it all for them and tell them why they can't get their messages and what is their username and why is Facebook is asking for a mobile phone number when they don't even have a mobile phone, they will be looking at YOU. They will not be in the library looking at me.

I may not have a satisfactory answer for them (sorry, I really don't know what your Yahoo ID is), and like I want to spend any more time dealing with stupid Facebook than I absolutely have to. My response to people, when I'm feeling brutally honest, usually goes something like this.

"You're having problems because Yahoo sucks bricks. Get Gmail instead. You're welcome."

"I'd just quit Facebook if I were you. You don't know how to use it and you're just going to get your email hacked and your identity stolen. Especially since your email is through Yahoo, which, see above."

Thank you for your kind attention in this matter.

Now that my vision has cleared

On Saturday we moved into a different apartment. (Same complex, but different apartment.) This was not one of my absolute first choices under Ways to Resolve This Smoking Situation. Higher-ranking items included.

1. Get steel-toed boots and take up kitchen-floor clogging.
2. Start playing Beatles Rock Band at 2am on regular basis.
3. Flood downstairs neighbors out in some supersneaky way.
4. File a public nuisance lawsuit as provided for in the 1997 Utah Code.
5. Wait till one of us developed smoke-related health issues, then sue.
6. Wait to give birth to flippered baby, then sue.

See how good all my ideas were? Unfortunately none of them would offer any sort of timely resolution to the problem. And I was kind of needing the timely. I already have sexy genetically built-in shadows under my eyes, much in the manner of one of those Cullen kids, but once they start getting even shadowier then we're in dangerous territory. I don't need that kind of storage space.

So we decided to transfer to a different unit and just wait out the 4 remaining months of our lease. And yes, it did suck having to move. What did not suck were all the people who showed up to help out. They were angels straight from heaven. And the part where they had to duck under smoke clouds and then go exerting themselves with heavy lifting will, I hope, make them even more blessed for their service. I'm also very sorry about the part where GH called and left frantic messages on all of their phones a few hours later because a box containing the Tivo, Blu-Ray player, and Wii equipment had gone missing. I'm really sorry about that, guys. Turns out I'd set it on the washing machine--and then closed the sliding "laundry area" door over it and forgot. Woops.

Last night we finished cleaning the old apartment, not that it SHOULD be cleaned on account of its stench means it's never going to be inhabitable by humans again. I probably should have just pooped in the middle of the living room and called it good. Except it turns out that you don't really get to move your bowels any more once you're pregnant. So your ability to make dramatic scatalogical statements is somewhat diminished. I did, though, leave the black widow I found in the window there. I might have even whispered to her that there was a really good party downstairs that she might want to check out.

Newsflash

Your dogs don't belong in the library.

Really. They don't.

This is not a park, it's not some rural tavern in France, it's a library.

Just thought you might need somebody to clear that up for you. I know it's hard to keep stuff like this straight.

I feel like Percy the Prefect over here

I made a complaint with the apartment complex about little Cujo. So we shall see. I feel all aflush with power now.

My next mission? The cigarette smell under my bathroom sink. Am pretty sure it means a neighbor is using his/her bathroom as a secret smoking spot. (And no, residents are not allowed to smoke inside the apartments.) Last night I could smell smoke the second I stepped into the bathroom, and I made GH get his crippled body up out of bed to come in and sniff the air to verify that I was not losing my mind. He could smell it too. He didn't care in quite the rabid way I do, but that's because he hasn't actually gone under our bathroom sink in the last two month cuz, you know, cripple.

So I'll be going over to the people who live on the other side of the wall and pulling a Meryl-Streep-as-Mrs.-Fox: "If what I think is happening . . . is happening? It better not be."

Whoo hoo! Anyone else have a problem they'd like to sic me on?

Letter to my neighbor

Dear Neighbor,

I am normally a dog lover. I do not, however, so much love your dog.

I do not love the way that it growls and rushes at me every single time our paths happen to cross. I do not love the way that you, sitting up on your balcony smoking (which, by the way, appears to be the only thing that you do, in life, ever) just call down, "He won't hurt you!" Cuz guess what? Being barked at and growled at and hounded by a miniature doberman is actually annoying enough without actual pain. I'm just saying.

This morning it was snowing. So I carefully made my way down my slushy apartment stairs, balancing several items in my arms, and about 5 steps from the bottom I heard the tell-tale bark and growl of your nasty little alpha rat. That animal followed me from my steps out to my car, growling all the way and darting around like it was going to go for my ankle.

You might have heard me repeating aloud the words of "I will kick you in the face, I will kick you in the face, I will kick you in the face." When I got close enough to your balcony for you, smoking in a Slanket, to notice, you just called out "He won't hurt you . . . sorry."

Here's the thing. I almost wanted your dog to nip my ankle, because then I would have had the satisfaction of lashing out with my massive, prehistoric Danskos and possibly breaking something. And I'm a dog lover!!!

Also? This is the third time your dog has harassed me. I can only assume he does this to everyone, which would include children and people who have a legitimate fear of dogs. Clearly, your animal does not belong off a leash when there are people around (or even the possibility of people, which, in a large apartment complex, is pretty much a given). And you can hold a leash and a cigarette at the same time, lady.

Will be wearing heavy shoes from now on,

Nemesis

So, friends. Here's where I need the advice. Do I just accept that I'm having a cranky day and let it go? Do I call the office and make a complaint against her and her little dog too? Do I tell her that I'll be making a complaint if her dog bothers me again? Or, you know, that I'll be kicking her dog in the face?

What to do?

Perfect Timing

When you're out, minding your business, running errands on a sunny Saturday and then all of a sudden the sky fills with dark clouds and it starts blizzarding sideways and you are firmly resolve that there is NO WAY you are going home until you've brushed the snow off your car and completed your errands, that is the perfect time to discover that the sole of your cheap years-old pair of stinky Payless flats has a big ol' crack in it.

So every time I got out of my car and scampered through slushy parking lots my left shoe filled up with ice water. This culminated in a moment at Nordstrom where I had to bring my sodden lint-covered trouser sock out of my nasty shoe in order to try on a pair of boots and realized that the horrible smell in my nostrils was not coming from a raccoon carcass someone may have dragged in and deposited nearby (as I desperately hoped) but was in fact the product of my foot.

Sigh.

As if the perfumed, MAC-wearing Nordstrom employees needed yet more proof that I don't belong in their store.

I ended up buying a pair of boots in part because I felt so bad for putting them through the indignity that was My Left Foot, and also because I didn't want to go home to think about it and have them sell out. But now I'm having second thoughts. They are Danskos, very comfortable, and very discounted. (And yes, Oprah. I wear Danskos. While you may have a problem with that, I'm not actually in a position to buy $200 flats like some people. I think we all know now the kind of flats I can afford. So don't you be giving me looks.) I very much like that the heel on these is tall enough to make me look less stubby, but not stiletto-y enough to kill me. I'm still not sure about the two-toned thing, though. It's like the shoe is having an identity crisis, or is maybe too trendy for the long haul. (Because hi, if I'm going to spend actual money on them, they need to be long-haul boots.) What do you think?

Clearly I missed the memo

There was one day last week wherein there must have been some sort of signal rising up from the library, Batman-beacon style, which telegraphed a message calling all crazies, drunks, over-tired children, and inattentive parents to the library.

"Tonight's the night! Come do your worst!"

This happens every now and then and we just deal with it in our various ways. My way involves locking myself in the janitor's closet with liquor. And also threatening to call the cops when a patron won't leave and wants to stand there defending his right to use the f-word to other patrons because if you look at the word's German origins it's really not that bad. I'm Day 1-ing it, dude. You do not want to dance with me, because nothing would give me more pleasure right now than to END YOU.

Anyway. Stuff like that happens. And I kill people and glory in the slaughter.

I don't think any of us, however, expected that night to find HUMAN POOP on the carpet in the children's section. Thankfully it was child-sized poop, although I suppose a perusal of this book could have helped us with identification. We found it in several different places, which was extra joyous. No one claimed responsibility. This was just after learning that an entire wall in the bathroom had been sprayed down with urine. It was all I could do not to stand up on a chair and bellow, "Which one of you let your child flipping CRAP ON THE FLOOR!!!" (Day 1, you remember. Not a safe time. For anyone.)

So, yeah. Apparently not only was it Bring on the Crazy Night, it was also National Library Defecation Day, and I didn't even realize it. If I had known, I could have put up a display or something.

I think Yasmin and I are fighting

So despite my best sunscreening efforts, I have to face the fact that I am to be again accompanied this summer by the sheer awesomeness that is Melasma, aka The Mask of Pregnancy.

So help me, I'm starting to look like Adolph Hitler.

Now, I could be wrong here. But isn't the point of birth control to actually reduce the similarities you share with pregnant women? Because I kind of thought that was what it was for.

Here's an awesome pic of last summer's version. And I bet you just thought I had a wicked 5 o'clock shadow . . .

Kept waiting to see this woman's grisly death reported in the news

On Friday we drove downtown to try our hand at the Wicked lottery. Again, some more. (Fourth time, if you're counting.) GH dropped me off so I could at least get my name in while he parked. And then without me seeing him in the crowd, GH made it with one minute to spare and was the last one to put his name in the cauldron. Some lady right by the front snipped, "Well, HE'D better not win." Except, um, why shouldn't he win? Because he didn't stand there as long as she did? I wish I'd been with him so I could have given her the Eyebrow and started something.

Only guess who did win? This lady. She won and proceeded to do this hysterical witch cackle laugh that may or may not have been an affected mannerism (although, considering what's to come, it wouldn't surprise me if she taught herself to laugh like that.)

And then? Three names later her daughter wins two tickets. And Witch Lady cackled some more. At which point the crowd sort of good-naturedly grumbled that it wasn't fair for two people in the same family to get tickets. Which is when Witch Lady announces that not only has she already seen the show three times, but she actually already has tickets to see it during the Salt Lake City run.

Seriously.

Not sure how she thought that little bit of information was going to endear her to the empty-handed crowd of people who were just hoping to see the show once. That's when they actually starting booing at her. She then shrieked, "No, you don't understand, I have a Wicked blog!!!" Which, I guess, means that she deserves to see it 8 times at the expense of other people.

Because she loves it more.

Someone deserves a trout slappin'

So . . . remember that one time when it was sunny and delicious and springy around here? Yeah, that all went to crap. It is now snowing like nobody's business and I'm sure all the daffodils are dying. Which, Snow, I hope you're happy, since you are now pretty much the same thing as a baby killer. I'm glad I made the most of the nice weather on Saturday--we went to the park for a picnic lunch and lounged around watching people flying kites and walking dogs. It was heaven.

Then on Sunday I was struck by what is possibly the largest architectural stupidity I have come across in recent days. I'm trying to think of what would be dumber, but all I'm getting is maybe multi-level hospitals (or nursing homes) without elevators.

In our chapel, as in many LDS chapels, there are three sections of pews separated by two aisles. There is one center section of longer benches, then there are two sections of shorter benches against each wall. For some reason, the designers of this building must have put someone in charge who has possibly never attended one of our worship services--or perhaps never did so while in the company of small children. Because the short benches (read: where the smaller (read: younger) families sit) are not flush up against the wall, but instead have this 18-inch space between the pew and the wall. A sort of mini-aisle, if you will.

Now, clearly this is too narrow to be used by adults. Wanna know who it's perfect for, though? That would be the small children. The small children can slip out of arm's reach, make a break for that opening and then stroll (or race) up and down the entire length of the chapel to their heart's delight, while taunting their parents with their eyes and giggles. Seriously, why not just build little doggie doors at the end of every aisle that lead out into the hallway?

I can only assume that maybe the person responsible for the space thought it would discourage sleeping in church by people who would otherwise lean their heads against the wall and doze off. (Probably the reason why my Alaskan chapel growing up had some sort of prickly burlap knotted fabric covering the walls--if I tried to lean against it I'd get my ear snagged and possibly torn off.) Only you know what's worse than someone quietly napping? A suddenly-free young child cackling in delight while her single mother tries unsuccessfully to lure her back to their bench without causing a scene. Sure, it's fine if you have TWO adults--one to block the entrance to the main aisle, and another to guard the entrance to the mini-aisle, but if you only have one parent there, and if the parent has learned from sad experience that chaining the kid to the pew or stapling them to the parent's lap is not ideal, then you have the makings of a lively 70 minutes. There's one little sassy 4-year old moppet (imagine a Hobbit child) who makes a break for it every chance she gets, while her sweet mom does her best to keep her sitting and entertained. GH loves watching this little girl. I don't think he would love it as much if he had to be keeping track of her.

But seriously, way to make life just that much harder (and church that much more stressful) for the single mommies, architect. Everyone gives these moms a pass (or they should) because hi, what are you even going to do? An idiot designed the building. I'm surprised they didn't include a jungle gym in the back while they were at it.

Sunday highlight (like, very high) and lowlight

On Sunday it was our stake conference, which is when several adjoining congregations (wards) meet together and listen to talks and counsel meant specifically for our area or "stake." It was a very good meeting, and the night before there was an adult session, also good, with an emphasis on missionary work (like, the kind that we civilians are supposed to be doing) which only made me feel slightly wrenched with guilt as opposed to greatly.

The highlight, aside from the v.g. talks that made me feel re-motivated to make more time for things of the soul, was when an insanely tall gentleman passed in front of us. I elbowed GH and nodded over in the guy's direction so he would notice the way his head was practically hitting the lights. Which was when I heard the man next to me whisper to his wife that the tall guy was retired basketball player Shawn Bradley and that he thinks he's the Elder's Quorum President over in the such-and-such ward. This means that I am somehow a few degrees closer to Bill Murray, I think. Also, according to his Wikipedia page, Shawn Bradley and I were born in the same town. Because we are both awesome, even though I prefer do my awesomeness from a sedentary position a little bit closer to the ground.

The lowlight was when I learned what is apparently an unwritten rule in my new town. As I now know, choir performances = time to start chatting with your neighbor. These ladies behind me (and one of their husbands) whispered and talked during every single musical number and hymn and also during the talk of the one woman who got up to speak. Which, do not even get me STARTED on that because I will whip off my bra right here at my desk and burn it and it will be the tiniest fire you ever saw but it will be a meaningful fire, people. But yeah. My ears for some reason cannot tune out the whispering and I was just dying to turn around, give them the Eyebrow, and say, "Excuse me, since I can't actually pay attention to the speaker, do you mind if I just listen to you instead?" Except GH would have died of embarassment, as he always does when I Remind People about Manners.

I'm putting him on notice, though: Next time, it's on.

Because I always love a good courtroom drama

A little while ago fellow blogger April gave me this post idea when she suggested, "You could finally reply to your annoyed commenter and answer that life-changing question:

If you were accused of being a Mormon, would there be enough evidence to convict?

This question was posed by an anonymous commenter who didn't care for my attitude (I was being snarky about something that happened at church, I think) and suggested that I do a bit of soul-searching. Her question put my back up partially because I really don't enjoy the dramatic platitudes. Because I'm not 14 anymore. Also I think it's funny when someone attacks me and makes all kinds of assumptions about me in an effort to show me how wrong it is when I attack and make assumptions about others. Kind of like somebody who decides to teach me about the dangers of road rage by hitting me with her car. But she does bring up an interesting question, one that I would like to discuss here.

So. Let's say I do the self-evaluation and decide how the evidence for me (or is it against me? I don't even know) would stack up in terms of Mormonness in the (highly likely) event of such an accusation.

Membership
Baptized member of Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints: +10

Identify self as active member of LDS faith when asked about religious affiliation: +5

Now, that right there? For some people that would actually be enough. But I'm guessing the prosecution will looking for a bit more when they ask this question. So let's take it further.

Church activity
Attend church every Sunday: +5

Attend all three hours: +3

Fulfill Church assignment as Gospel Doctrine teacher: +2

Am making real effort to stay focused on the Savior during the sacrament: +2

Get inordinately irritated immediately afterward about my ward's practice of only scheduling 2 speakers during sacrament meeting, which means that each person talks for approximately 11 hours: -3

Spend too much time noticing who is texting and/or playing games on their cell phones during church meetings: -3

Sometimes mentally critique and even rewrite other people's talks and lessons. ("Let's see, if we removed the 15 minutes of the chemotherapy and bone marrow transplant description that is currently making me sick to my stomach and replaced it with a discussion of how his family came together and was strengthened during this difficult time, then we'd really be on to something, I think."): -2

Word of Wisdom Observance
Abstain from coffee, tea, illegal drugs, and tobacco products. +5

Extra points for not drinking caffeinated soda. +2

Loss of extra points because I eat so much chocolate. -2

Eat meat sparingly, except when cheeseburger cravings hit. NEENER. +3

Have fresh strawberries in my fridge right now, so kind of failing at the "every herb in the season thereof, and every fruit in the season thereof" part. -3

Will eat food cooked in alcohol: -2

Will not eat food cooked in cocaine: +3

Temple worship
Carry current temple recommend: +5

Attend the temple at least monthly: +2

Have been known to doze and/or hallucinate during a session ("Wait, he said what about the flying puppies?????"): -1

Miscellaneous
Attended BYU: +5

Graduated from BYU unmarried: -2

Did not serve a mission: -5 (or +5, if you're talking to one of those misogynists with attitude about sister missionaries)

Am not a registered Republican: -20 (oh wait . . . that's not actually one of the baptismal covenants . . . )

Do not watch R-rated movies: +3

Do read R-rated books: -3

Married a Mormon: +5

Am not yet pregnant by his righteous seed: -3

Utah Mormonry
Live in Utah while being a Mormon: +5

Am a Mormon blogger: +4

Enjoy living in Utah, for the most part: +3

Love the musical Wicked: +3

Have had teeth bleached: +2

Have done it more than once: +1

Have not done it lately: -2

Do not refer to areas outside of Utah as "the mission field": -2

Do not resent having my tax dollars go toward education in a state with the highest rate of school-aged children per capita: -10

Stand by the Church's stated position of "not [objecting] to rights for same-sex couples regarding hospitalization and medical care, fair housing and employment rights, or probate rights." -4

Think Chris Buttars, who helped kill all the bills addressing these rights in their tracks, just before he went on to say awful things about gays and lesbians, should be mauled by wild dogs, for lo, he is a Butt-arse: -2

Care about the environment and the fact that you can't actually breathe around here: -3

Have no plans to create unique baby names by combining elements from mine and GH's names (or any other people's names, for that matter): -3

General Mormon Niceness
Am generally a very nice person: +4

Except for when I'm not:-3

I don't know what the grand total here is or how my conviction is faring. And yes. Sometimes I am not nice. Sometimes I do not give people the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes I care more about being funny than I do about being kind. I am working on that. But it doesn't make me a bad person or a godless hypocrite. It just makes me human.

So the question of "would there be enough evidence to convict?" (thank you, whichever EFY speaker came up with that, by the way) kind of depends on what kind of Mormon you consider to be a convict-able one. That might just mean, "Someone who sees the world in exactly the same way you do and does not ever think or do or say anything you disagree with." Which . . . good luck finding those.

Can anyone think of any rubric items I'm forgetting?

I want pepper-spray as a baby shower gift now

Attended my sister's hard-core cooking group last night at the lovely Jeri's house (she of the redesigning my blog fame). Got to gasp in awe at the food storage bunker that came with the house, with its multitude of shelving. "Old people lived here before us," she said by way of explanation.

The theme was aphrodesiac foods, and we've decided that men had to have made the list of supposed aphrodesiacs, because only a man could imagine that looking at phallic-shaped foods would be a big turn-on for women. (You know, cuz we're all about those.) I could, however, absolutely imagine a guy seeing a cake shaped like boobs and having that work for them. Maybe I'm wrong. But I digress. The food was amazing, even if it did not result in us having one of those Victoria Secret pillow-fights that the commercials think we have.

Because most of the group consisted of women with small children, the conversation at one point turned to Insane Things Those Small Children Have Done. Have now resolved never to have little boys, because it turns out that they do things like shake out entire cartons of orange juice on the living room floor, and ruin people's vintage furniture, and dump out gallons of chocolate milk on living room carpets, and pee under couches, which, how is that even possible. Or maybe I should go ahead and have boys, but remove everything of beauty or value from my home first. And get disposable couches. Maybe the inflatable kind. And install carpet made of paper towels.

And then the conversation turned to People Who Walk up to One in Public and Criticize One's Parenting. Now, I'm sure there are lots of mommies who feel that I fall into that category. I don't, though. When I draw a parent's attention to something going on with their child it is either because a) Mom is busy using the public library computer and has seemingly forgotten that she owns a child and so said child is placing his body or life in danger, or b) the child is ruining my life, or the lives of others. Those are the only times. Also most of those times occur in the library where I'm just doing my dang job, people.

But Jeri talked about how she finally resorted to putting her likes-to-dart-into-traffic daughter into a kiddie harness so that she could keep her alive. And people would walk up and say things to her all the time about what a bad parent she is for doing such a thing. Some guy walked up and was all, "Do you really think it's appropriate to leash your daughter like some kind of animal?" And bless her, she replied, "No, what I think would be really appropriate is if I let her run into traffic and get killed." She should have kicked him in the face while she was at it, but she was trying to wrangle two kids at the time, including the kamikaze one. We thought another good idea would have been to say, "Do you really think it's appropriate to walk up to a complete stranger and offer unsolicited parenting advice about children you don't know at all?" (And then kick him in the face.) Or maybe, "Actually, this harness is just a screening device to see who the complete suckwads are. Congratulations!"

I came home and told GH that if he ever gets a call that I've been arrested, it'll be because I was out with our children and somebody talked smack to me. And then I stabbed them.

There's definitely a market

The Christmas Post is coming, but first I have to address the steaming pit of filth that is my apartment, now that I'm actually back to living in it after all the Christmas travel. Am currently trying this recipe to unclog the bathtub drain because the experience of dry-heaving at the sight of all the backed-up body hair has become wearing unto me.

So here's a little something to hold you over:

A coworker and I were talking this morning about all the unattended children we were seeing run around. One 5-year-old's mom was over the the computer area (which does not offer visual access to the rest of the library) and the little girl kept roaming over to the Children's desk to ask for coloring pages (okay), crayons (okay), scissors (not okay), and princess books (fine).

Me: You know, we should make some sort of bib or smock to stick on kids when we find them wandering around by themselves. Then when their parents bother to catch back up with them they'll find their kids wearing a smock with "Perv Bait" written in big letters across it.

Coworker: Or "I Was Just Touched by a Stranger."

I think I like hers best. We're thinking of getting shirts printed.

So y'all do that here too, huh?

Remember that one time I had to write a letter to the parents of L****? Well. I'm getting the mailing list together for Salt Lake County.

GH and I decided to class it up on Saturday by attending a high-school production of the Disney's Beauty and the Beast. We, for the most part, both really like going to high-school plays. They're cheap, they're usually pretty good, and you get to support a local high school drama program, thereby ensuring that another generation of choir/drama geeks will go forth with their penchant for gathering around pianos to sing at parties.

I know, of course, that when I go to a high-school play my expectations have to be modified. I expect that it won't be a professional production, that there may be some bad acting, that the audience will be extra vocal in its support of friends/family in the cast. But there's also a fun kind of energy about all of that, I think.

There were a few things I didn't expect, though. I did NOT expect that the couple behind us would carry on a non-stop dialog with their 5-year-old son.

"Look Timmy, it's the woods!"
"Oh, see how the scenery is changing?"
"Oh, look, he's walking up the stairs now!"
"Look, it's Belle!"
"See, he just went through a door!"

Um, is the kid blind? Because if he is then bringing him to a play is actually kind of mean, I think. Both to him and to us. We soon learned that the kid wasn't blind. Encouraged by his parents' style of narration, he began and maintained a steady stream of questions throughout the entire first act.

"But where did the Beast go? Where did the Beast go Dad?"
"Is he in the woods? Is he in the woods now?"
"Are they going to sing a song?"
"Is the Beast mad?"
"Is this the castle now?"
"Why are they singing?"
"Is he a candle?"

Now, I get the part where if you're a little kid and you're seeing a play for the first time, these will be things that occur to you--how CAN you tell if the scenery has changed, and where are people going when the leave the stage, and why is it that the characters look different from the way they are in the movie? All valid questions. Except the best time to talk about these things is really not during the play when everyone else is trying to watch it too. Mom made no attempt to shush him, or to tell him to wait and she would answer his questions when it's time to talk again.

I turned around eventually and looked pointedly at her. The woman on my right turned around and gave them a "shhh." The woman on GH's left turned and asked them to please be quiet.

Nothing. It never, never, never let up. Between that and the guy on the left of us who kept bringing out his cell phone to get a text update about the UofU/BYU game, I was losing my mind.

And I don't want to hear anyone bringing out the, "Hey, what's the big deal, it's only a high-school play and you only paid $7.50" excuse. Because that doesn't fly. Those students and their teachers worked hard putting that play together, and they have friends and family members in the audience who came to see and hear them, not some kid who is not yet ready to attend plays or the electric-blue glare of 8 million cell phones.

On the third offense I turned to the cell phone guy and mouthed that the light from his cell phone was quite distracting and could he please turn it off (it's kind of hard to switch out of librarian patrol mode when I'm off the clock, I'm finding). GH tried desperately to prevent me from doing this. He wanted to give the guy a pass for being at a play with his daughter instead of being at the game. Which, yes, is valid, but that doesn't mean he gets to blind me. I mean, maybe there were times during the play when I wanted to shriek like a monkey. Did you ever think about that? But I didn't. Plus, because there were so many people using cell phones it interfered with the wireless microphone system. So the sound at several points was quite bad. Can't believe they didn't think to make an announcement about that before the play started.

So by the time intermission hit, we were both done. We had planned to just move to some open seats during the break to get away from the kid and his parents, but the more we talked about it we realized that neither of us were that enthralled with the play. The girl playing Belle was great, but she was kind of the only great thing. You couldn't hear anyone who didn't have wireless mikes on, and there weren't enough mikes to pick up the sound from the big chorus numbers. So we came, we donated to the program, my brain exploded out my ears, and then we went home.

Today's very important lesson

When you bring yogurt to work, do not use one of the work spoons from the break room cupboard to eat it.

Because maybe whoever washed that spoon last time did not so much get all the coffee taste off of it. And so when you're eating your yogurt you're wondering why it tastes so very disgusting and coffee-like and if THAT'S the trade-off you make when you choose non-fat yogurt sweetened with fruit juice rather than sugar. Because if so, you're heading right back to Yoplait with their high fructose corn syrup and their artificial colors made from crushed bugs (not even kidding). Only once you take the spoon out and and give an experimental lick at the carton with your tongue you realize that it actually tastes fine. And that you can keeping living the non-sugar, non-bug-guts yogurt dream.

Happy Friday!

Wanna hear something that does not so much make my day

I mean, unless I want my day to be full of reminders about how we seem to be sinking as a people.

The other day I walk out from the staff workroom after storytime to head back and take my seat at the Information Desk. As I approach I realize that there is a toddler at the desk tugging at and playing with the book scanner next to my computer, which is a $400 piece of equipment. I rush over and am like, "Heeeeeeey little guy, let's find your mom." Because this did happen at my old place. Moms would take their eyes off the kid for approximately .0043 seconds and the next thing you know the kid is in my vacant chair, scanning books and blogging and answering reference questions. Then mom rushes over to fetch said child and we share a chuckle about how darn speedy these tykes are.

This time, when I looked around for mom, I saw her standing there there next to my desk, holding an infant. In response to The Eyebrow she looked at her son and started saying words like, "Okay, now, you can't be back there. . . . . I need you to come out from there . . . . Sweetheart, I need you to come with mommy." All while not making a move towards him.

Which, yeah. We don't play that.

So even though I try to be careful about the whole "touching other people's kids" thing I leaned down, grabbed him nicely under the armpits, hauled him up and dropped him next to her, and then turned my back on the both of them to keep from giving the lady more Eyebrow.

I mean really. Is it easier to just grab your kid or to pay for broken electronics? Was she afraid that she was going to damage his self-esteem or somehow shame him socially if she simply took him by the hand and led him away? I have no idea. My only guess is that she was somehow strung out on allergy medication and was therefore in some sort of fog state.