Thursday, March 27, 2008

Only if I get a cut

Flashback: Sometime last year I got an urgent email from Camille on her mission in Ohio* asking me to find out the lyrics to a song that she and her companion listen to all the time but couldn't make out the words to the chorus. So I googled the guys who made the CD, found their web site, listened to the song, agreed that it was very mumbly and left a comment asking them for the lyrics. They were very helpful and prompt.

Fastforward to today and I get an email from them saying that they have a new CD out and would I please click on the link and listen to it and recommend it to my bishop as a gift to the moms in the ward for Mother's Day., I won't. Does anyone else feel like it's a little tacky to solicit bishops? Or a lot tacky? For a tradition that can sometimes get out of hand? Or do you think it's okay? I feel it's a little bit like going through the stake directory to find people to sell Amway to. Plus, I'm listening to the music right now and it's all folksy instrumental versions of hymns, like something that would be playing in the background at a historical shop in Nauvoo where the sales clerks are in authentic pioneer costumes** and are selling horehound candy (bleh!). Not something I want to subject the moms in my ward to. Lots of mandolin strumming and banjo plucking, which are great in most things but not so much here. Ooh, and a very mellow flute just showed up. Man, I wish you were all here to make fun of it with me.

And sidenote to Rac: Guess who's playing the violin. Yep. If it had worked out between the two of you that could have been YOUR mellow flute playing.

*To the person who reads my blog living near Medina, Ohio (thanks, statcounter!), Camille's in your mission! She went to Medina for Easter dinner. Small world.

**Does anyone remember that fireside in Claremont where a Mormon Battalion re-enactor came and spoke to us and to prove how authentic his costume was he put his foot up on the stand to show us he was barefoot, because most of the men marched without shoes. And people wonder why I stopped going to firesides.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Sixty Pages

Dear Ayn Rand,

Sixty pages? For reals? You had one man speak for sixty pages? I mean, I think that 6 pages is a little too long for a character to talk but 60? That's pushing it, even for you. I hate to say it but I had to skim through most of it, mostly because you had spent the last 1000 pages explaining everything already. I got it. Socialism is bad. Just ask the Russians who are still using 1 ply toilet paper.

And while we're on the subject, and you're a captive (albeit, dead) audience, why don't I share my feelings on long books. I'm not afraid to read long books but I do get tired of them, no matter how great they are. Yours was pretty terrific (you got a "like", which is high praise my friend.) but even so, I felt like I had my fill and wanted out. But I couldn't get out until I finished. You see, I am a very loyal reader. I only read one book at a time. And I'm a slow reader. I like to soak it all in. So you can see what a commitment a big fat book is for me. That means that for weeks I can't read another book. And I spend all my time thinking about finishing it because I just want to know how it ends! So I keep reading and reading and reading, as fast as I can but not so fast that I miss everything and trying not to get discouraged that page 600 is only the halfway point.

Which brings me to another problem I have with long books. One of the things that makes me an 80 year old is my miserable memory. I can read a book and a week later I won't remember a thing about it. I like to think that in the eternities I will have a glorious memory and I will be able to recall all of the plot lines of the Anne of Green Gables books without Katie having to remind me, but for now that is just not possible. So it's pretty simple math that if I'm reading a book that takes about 4 weeks to get through the chances of me remembering what happened on page 200 or 400 or even 600 are about as high as me remembering my 7th grade locker combination. By the time I finished the book I could basically remember that a train was built through Colorado and that it was destroyed. It's not you, it's me. But you see what I'm getting at, right?

In conclusion I would like to say that I loved the book although you're slightly misguided in your philosophies. But that's all I'm going to say on that subject because, even though you're cold in the grave, I'm a little scared of you and I think your editor was too because there is no way a fully functioning editor would have let that speech go any longer than 10 pages.


Sunday, March 23, 2008

Prepare the bagpipes

Two things that will be the death of me by the end of today:

1.) All those Easter lilies. My allergies are staging a revolt. They're armed with muskets and are charging the walls of my sinuses.

2.) Eating my weight in Easter candy. I haven't had this much chocolate since that one Easter when Amanda and I went a teensy bit overboard with the baskets and ended the day lying in a pool of chocolate drool with green plastic grass stuck in our hair.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Teacher of the Year

I was sitting in the fiction section at the library the other day, reading page 12,573,477 of Atlas Shrugged, and I overheard about 5 minutes of a tutoring session wherein the tutor discussed the following topics:

Biblical disasters
The Wright Brothers
The Smithsonian
Amber harvested in Denmark and Puerto Rico

Hottentots! Awesome.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

How about free? Does that work for you?

Dear Nice Employees of My Gym,

You're all friendly and cute gals who are just trying to do your jobs. I get it. But when I say that I don't have a job and am not receiving a pay check and therefore all of my money is going towards things like rent and food and gas and that I couldn't possibly afford to have a personal trainer or renew my membership at the present time, what I actually mean is that I don't have a job and am not receiving a pay check and therefore all of my money is going towards things like rent and food and gas and that I couldn't possibly afford to have a personal trainer or renew my membership at the present time. I don't think I could be any clearer. And so I would really love it if you would stop asking me if I want a personal trainer or to renew my membership. Because I can't. Really. Knocking $50 off the renewal price is not going to help. I'm serious. No, really, I mean it. Yes, I understand that the "special deal" is for today only. But as I explained to the last 4 women who have called and every person who has asked at the front desk and that trainer who comes up to me at least once a week when I'm on the elliptical, even while wearing head phones and focusing intently on Regis and Kelly, to ask if I'm ready to sign up for a training session, it would be financially impossible for me to do it right now. If, say, you made the renewal free, then I could do it. But anything above free is not going to work for me.

And maybe you could come up with some sort of system so that I don't have to explain every time I go in. Maybe stickers or something. Or sweatbands. That's it, color coded sweatbands. Green for, "Interested. Ask again later." And red for "Back-off!" Mine would be red, if you hadn't guessed already. I like you. I like working out. I like that my renewal isn't until October and that I don't have to worry about renewing just yet. But I also like having breakfast and electricity. You understand, right?


Saturday, March 15, 2008

A Little Bit Rock and Roll

Add to my list of Things I Want To Do Before I Am Actually 80 Instead of Just Saying I Am:

Play the keytar.

This came about because Katie and I, we were watching a little bit of the Osmond Reunion on PBS (Oh, like you weren't tempted when you passed by it.) and Donny busted it out when he sang Soldier of Love. It's like he's BEGGING me to put him on a stocking. Well, Donny, you got it. But you'll have to get in line. Richard Simmons is next.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Let's be friends


Hi complete and total strangers! Do we know each other? You show up a lot on my statcounter. Not necessarily you but people who link here from you. Yeah, that's right, I'm totally calling you out. In a cordial, extend the Handshake of Friendship, let's be pals kind of way.

I appreciate all the referrals. I know that a lot of companies give out promotional stuff for referring others but I neither am a company nor have promotional stuff, unless you count all those personalized pencils my Aunt Pam use to give me as a child (Thanks, Aunt Pam! I love seeing my name on stuff!). I wonder how much it would cost to make promotional Rachel Says So pencils. Hmm. Something to look into if I ever get a paycheck again. Anyway, I could give you one of those pencils as a thank you, or I could make you cookies (here's a tip, go for the cookies. I'll think more of you. Not that I think less of you now but if you chose a pencil with someone else's name on it over a cookie, my estimation of you would go way down.)

What I'm saying is, you should introduce yourselves. I promise, people will love you.

Hugs and kisses,

P.S. I do not take offense that when I try to click on your blog it says that I haven't been invited. I understand if you have wee children to protect, or possibly tragically disfigured noses to hide. We can still be friends.

P.S.2 I did not pass out at the gym today. Celebrate!

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Where's my fainting couch?

Things you should know about me before we go any further:

1.) I'm borderline anemic (meaning that I've been refused more than I've been accepted when trying to donate blood. It does nothing for my self esteem).
2.) I'm all out of iron pills
3.) I'm all out of Cream o' Wheat, which is my go-to source of iron when I'm out of pills.
4.) When I don't get enough iron I am prone to dizzy spells
5.) I am frequently dizzy
6.) I worked out harder than usual on the elliptical machine this morning.
7.) The track at the gym was flooded so I did not get to cool down like I normally do in between the elliptical and the weights.
8.) While on the elliptical I was watching a woman who had to be at least 118 (remember what I said about the Middle of the Day being when the elderly come out to play) hobble along on the treadmill and I had one of my little imaginary scenarios of what would happen if she passed out and broke her hip and thinking that that would be a really horrible thing to happen at the gym, to pass out, because you just look so bad when you're there. What if they call 911 and send the cute paramedics? Are there paramedics who aren't cute? With my luck they would send the cutest ones they had. All single and Mormon and rich, and there I am looking sweaty and gross with greasy hair that I haven't washed in 2 days but meant to wash as soon as I got home. I promise! Oh, please don't let me pass out at the gym!

So what did I do? I passed out at the gym. Totally swooned. And they didn't call the paramedics. Rejoice!!! I had just gotten off of one of those machines that works your hamstrings and gluts, the one you have to lie down on, and I probably got up a little too fast and combined with the reasons in the list above, as soon as I sat down at another machine I suddenly had this feeling that I was falling backwards into a dark hole in the ground. The lights and the music and the voices in the room gradually got softer and farther away and all I was left with was the thought, "Don't pass out! They'll send the cute paramedics! Don't pass out!" I put my head back on the chair, closed my eyes and focused on the only two things that I was aware of - music playing somewhere very far away and the feeling of something on my forehead (it was my hand but I didn't realize that). Everything else was gone. And then those two things were gone and the next thing I remember was the music coming back on and a very tingly feeling on the top of my head, like the feeling you get when your foot has been asleep. I was out of the hole and I was relieved to see no cute paramedics staring at my sweaty face.

There were, however, two other women in the room who could not get over how pale my lips were. "You're lips! They're so pale! I've never seen lips so pale! Have you seen lips that pale? I never have." Yeah, I get it. Pass me some lip gloss and let's move on. They asked if I was okay and gave me a bottle of water and watched to make sure that color came back to my face, and lips, which it did. They made me sit there for about 10 minutes and after the room stopped spinning and my legs didn't feel like lead anymore I went home and had a big meal with plenty of iron. And the Bluebird of Happiness has returned to my heart. It has brought a head ache. I think I need a nap. Maybe a day in bed. Oh, if only I had a pink silk robe with lots of feathers and slippers with heels.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

The Middle of the Day

Dear People Who Work On Weekdays:

There's this thing called the Middle of the Day and it is pretty fantastic. I use to be one of you (gosh I hope I get to join you again. I miss going to the movies.) and didn't realize that there was life outside of the office at that time of day. Well, let me tell you, there is. And it is completely peopled with the elderly. Which means that I fit right in. Seriously, I had no idea there were so many old people. But there are! And they're all at Sprouts at 10am, blocking the aisles.

In the Middle of the Day you can do things like laundry and working out at the gym and writing your congressman and filling out dozens of on line applications that ask the same 30 questions, without any kind of pressure to get it done before you collapse into bed. Because the Middle of the Day is huge. There are a lot of hours in it. Hours with more sunshine and less traffic. The Middle of the Day is awesome. So are paychecks. Any ideas on how I could have both?

Hugs and Kisses,
Rachel =)

Monday, March 10, 2008

Of music and cookies

I love people like this. People who clearly have a sense of humor. Because how hysterical is that - to start up a really horrible orchestra. Maybe I'll start one too. I could play the organ. You would not believe how bad I can be on it. Actually, if you're in my ward, you can. I did a real number on the songs yesterday. As usual, I blame the time change. My brain was thinking that it was 8am and when have I ever played at that time? Never. Anyway, wouldn't this be so much fun? I'm sure half of you took some form of music lessons in your childhood and have a dusty clarinet in your closet. If I were the conductor I would make us play songs by Queen.

On the cookie front (which I know you all were dying to know about) my mom, sainted woman, picked up a box of thin mints and a box of samoas for me when she saw them at Costco. Thanks, Mom! And it looks like the Samoa people (the cookies, not the islanders) have spoken. I'm going to write the Girl Scouts to let them know the results. I'm also going to let them know that I think they could do a better job at selling them because I couldn't possibly be the only person who doesn't know a girl scout and had to resort to driving through grocery store parking lots in the hopes of spotting one. (No luck. But I always heard rumors of them. Like a flock of Dodos.)

Thursday, March 6, 2008

"His legs flail about as if independent from his body!"

For Liz's birthday I told her that if she wanted one, I'd make her a stocking the likes of Dwight and The Hoff, but she had to come up with the moderately famous person to go on it. We all sat around in silence, pondering the options and suddenly Laura yelled out, "Michael Flatley - Lord of the Dance!" Liz happily approved and I got to work. Laura is truly inspired:

Some close-ups:

You can see my inspiration here. I changed it up a bit (the tattoo was too hard and whenever I picture Michael Flatley he always has a headband on.) but the essence (meaning - the lunging) is all there.
This was a tough one because 1.) it's not a very natural pose, 2.) all of those letters, and 3.) all of that sparkle. You can't really tell from the pictures but that's a beaded belt. And that gold thread I used on all the letters is made by Satan himself. He handcrafted it using gold foil floss and the souls of people who kept Full House on the air for so long. What I'm saying is that it was not that easy to work with. But it was totally worth it because it made it look fantastic. Although my plan is to eventually sell these (maybe not always as stockings. How about pillows or book bags?) so I'm going to have to modify it a bit because I think I may have developed a brain tumor from using it. If someone wants to pay $1,000 for a stocking ($5 for materials and $995 for the CAT scan) I'll think about it. But for Liz, anything. Mostly because I know that she'll visit me in the hospital and make me laugh hard enough for the IV to pop out and the nurse to come in and shush us.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

What was I saying?

I was going to write all about how I went to the Ducks game last night and how I know absolutely nothing about hockey but really like going to games because it's so action packed and fast paced and really cool to watch and the fans are CRAZY. And then I was going to write about how I got to have lunch with Gloria today and how it's nice to have friends who have known you so long -- long enough to remember those days of really bad hair and still want to spend time with you. (Happy birthday Tammy & Gloria!).

But all those things got pushed to the side of my brain because Ben the Blessed Nephew, the Golden Child, Heir to the Knecht Family Silver and Part Time Winston Churchill Impersonator has returned from his sojourn in the Frozen Tundra. And he brought his mom Stacy with him. There are few people funnier than Stacy. It's a good thing she made it into our family. She'd be wasted anywhere else. We spent the evening watching Ben do amazing things like crawl and drool and gnaw on the doggie bed. He's a genius.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

I want my cookies

Dear Girl Scouts,

Okay, so I know that your cookies aren't on my "no processed food" diet plan. But that should not stop you from coming to my door. I have every intention of buying them. As I was explaining to Katie yesterday, Girl Scout Cookies are like Christmas. We only get them once a year and missing them would be like missing Christmas. And who wants to miss Christmas?! Not me. So hurry up!

Oh, and, not that it's your fault or anything, but why did you change the names. Tag Alongs are Peanut Butter Patties, Do-see-dos are Peanut Butter Sandwiches, and Samoas are Carmel DeLites? As in Carmel by the Sea? Where Clint Eastwood was mayor? Did his agent pay you to rename it that? I don't get it. And, I object on the grounds that the Girl Scout Suits are illiterate. But my principles don't run that deep. I'll still buy at least 3 boxes.

I wonder what the number 1 cookie is. My guess if for Thin Mints, and not just because they're my favorite. They seem to be a universally loved treat. How about I do a poll? I'll send you the results when you bring me my cookies. Oh, and I'm using the real names, not the poorly spelled or made up ones. And I'm going to leave some of them out because, honestly, I don't want to know that any of my friends, when given the opportunity to buy girl scout cookies, choose the Cinna-Spin 100 Calorie Pack. Clearly, those people don't get it.

Hugs and Kisses,
Rachel =)