My little secret

I may not have told you this, and right now it's still kind of a secret until I know I can really, truly do it (I hear it takes 21 days to make a habit, which was true for exercise so I have my fingers crossed), but (whispering)

I'm seriously contemplating becoming a vegetarian. Shhh, don't tell anyone yet - especially Jared's work self, who might just come harass me.

No, don't worry - not a vegan. Certainly not a vegan, because that's just too masochistic. And why? I think those Vegans frown upon eating cheese, and that most certainly will not work.

The first I tried to become a vegetarian lasted one week. Exactly.

A few things prompted me to head down this deep, dark hole of self-introspection, but mainly I can think of two:

• A few months ago, Andy and I studied the Word of Wisdom and I realized I'm not following it very well. I don't eat meat "sparingly," or "only in the time of winter, cold, or famine."
• Also, I'm darn tired of biting into a meat-filled something, for instance a burrito, and chewing a big ol' chunk of gristle. It's just not at all delectable, and I have a hard time getting past it.

Now. This is very difficult to do, especially when you are married, such as I am, to a "meatarian." After Andy and I visited India, we realized that we eat a lot of meat, and that the meat in India grossed us out, and we were going to try to be vegetarian. We bought expensive frozen veggie burgers and everything. But when that turned out to be just Too Hard and most of the stuff was filled with soy, which we later learned can cause infertility in men (um, pass please!), we gave it up and went back to the bacon, a la Homer Simpson - "Mmmm....bacon."

But I just haven't felt right, colonically speaking, ever since I gave up being vegetarian. On the other hand, I didn't feel right when we tried being vegetarian either, and eating no meat. So, I've been pondering the idea for a couple of months now, wondering why. And how (and how!). How could I be a successful eater such that my colon doesn't spaz out on me (thank goodness I can work from home) and that I actually feel full? And get all the nutrients my body needs?

And then: in my inbox a few weeks ago was an email from Whole Foods, the Giant Loving Mother of All Foods Healthy and (mostly) Delicious. And the place where I want to live. The email contained many recipes using grains. Grains that had lots of protein. Like quinoa. And lentils. And other such food-type items that are difficult to both pronounce and find in a regular grocery store, like The Wal-Mart, causing you to go to upwards of two (two I tell you, two!) stores when you go grocery shopping. I am telling you, it takes great amounts of dedication to be a vegetarian.

And I started to think that maybe, perhaps this was what I overlooked during my first stint as a vegetarian: not enough grains (protein-filled). And not enough stick-to-it-iveness. And not enough creativity to figure out how to feed both a (kind of) vegetarian and a (very much so) meatarian.

So, I started again. Except this time, I eat fish. Like when Andy grilled steak on Sunday, I ate salmon. And when we had breakfast burritos for dinner, I strained the pork chunks out of my green chile sauce. I tell you what, I am a very committed almost-vegetarian. Even though my strainer was too small, so there were still a few chunks of meat in there, but I tried to pick them out, so I think it's okay. And when we had Chinese food, I ate only the shrimp in my pan-fried noodles. And a lot of noodles - it's okay! They were not composed of any meat product whatsoever. And when Andy ate leftover Chinese food, I had a BLAT (A stands for avocado). Two, actually. Wait - B is for bacon, which is meat, you say? Crap. So I'm not a perfect vegetarian. But I'm trying.

I'm not doing this because I feel bad for meat that starts out as happy smiling animals (or scared, crazy-eyed animals for that matter). Although I do. It's really sad when you learn how the animals are treated. At least try to eat free-range meat. Meat that was happy and grazing in a lovely meadow before it became the meat on your plate.

And I know the Word of Wisdom says to eat meat "sparingly." (Remember? I mentioned that above - I know it says sparingly.) In fact, I might still eat a little meat, if it sounds good. But for now, it doesn't really sound good, so I'm eating fish, fruits and vegetables, and grains. And M&M's, the much overlooked and unacknowledged other food group.

Someday I'll find the right balance, but for now, I'm just trying to eat in a way that makes my body happy. Colonically speaking, of course.

Thank goodness vegetarians can eat doughnuts! Mmmm...doughnuts.

It's the little things that make the biggest difference

Dear Andy,

Thank you ever so much for taking me to Chipotle last night. I have been craving a vegetarian burrito since Monday. (You remembered!) it was delicious, but please don't ever let me eat after 9:00 pm again. Ever. That was just a bad choice on my end.

Thank you for telling me you think I'm pretty. Some days I don't feel that way, but knowing that you think I am helps. (A lot.)

Thank you for making such wonderful, fluffy, scrambled eggs for my breakfast burrito after I ruined two innocent, unsuspecting eggs in that pan of ours. Eggs are definitely your forte. (I promise to never scramble any eggs for you again.)

Thank you for taking me house shopping. I know I'm picky, and it means a lot to me that you are willing to indulge my ideas of fixing up an old house. (Won't it be beautiful when we're finished?)

Thank you for taking such wonderful pictures. I love the pictures you take. Someday we will do something cool and fancy with them to show them off in our new (old) house.

Thank you for reading my blog. Aren't you glad I'm writing? It is the advice you have been giving me for over a year now. (See? I do listen to your advice!)

Thank you for being understanding of my compelling need to exaggerate and embellish our conversations for dramatic effect when I write about them on my blog. I know you don't always say exactly what I write, exactly as I write it. (But if I didn't exaggerate, my posts would be boring.)

Thank you for being happy and fun to be with. Have I mentioned how much I love it when you're happy? (Well it's a lot.)

Most of all, thank you for being so good to me. You really are pretty darn awesome. It sure is those little things that count. (For me, anyways.)

Love,
Lish

PS: I might just consider living in Brighton. (Seriously.) If we can have chickens.

Dating, or trying to find that ever-perfect match: is it out there?

Tonight, we have a date.

Our friend Dottie wanted so very badly to set us up with him. "You guys are perfect for each other!" she said. One skeptical eyebrow raised (from my face) (in her direction) prompted her to spill out all his perfect qualities that made her to want to set us up in the first place. (Setups? Who needs 'em? Seriously.)

"You're both young..." Here, right out of the gate, she makes a mistake that is often made in our general direction. Married with no kids = young. Ha! As if! My dentures fell into my lap and my hip spontaneously popped out of its socket just to prove my point. We. Are. Old.

"He just got married and his wife is so cute..." I guess, we "just" got married too? Haven't we been married for like 10 years? Oh wait, no. It just feels like 10 years because we're so old. And am I a cute wife? Are we supposed to become fast friends with other newlywed couples sporting cute wives? Now I'm nervous and sweaty - definitely not characteristics of a cute wife.

"He's a member of the Church, and that was just so important to me when I was looking for someone." It's like my friend Marisa says: Just because you're single and someone else is single, does that mean you have to go on a blind date with them? Just because you're Mormon and someone else is Mormon, does that mean you have to be friends with them? Yes, because Mormons are nice and friendly to everyone, of their faith and not of their faith. Jell-O eaters and non-Jell-O eaters alike.

"He's, he's, he's just," she gushed, "he's just so great! You will love him!"

So I said to her, "Dottie, what is his name?"

"Well, his name is Seth."

And I said: "Ah. We have already met Seth. In fact, we had lunch in June, and soon we have a date with him again. Thursday, in fact."

"Oh good!" she exclaimed. "Now I feel much better about your plans."

And now I'm nervous. Are we young enough? Am I cute enough? Are we Mormon enough? I haven't been out on a date like this before. Do we bring flowers? What do we wear? What if we don't like what he has to offer? What if he doesn't like what we have to offer? What if we don't like where he takes us? Is it impolite to ask him to take us somewhere else?

I'm just not sure because we've never been out with a realtor before. I sure hope it goes well and he helps us find a house we like. Because if not, well, that would just be awkward. And who needs another awkward first date story for their dinner party repartee?

Not us.

A few uncomfortable conversations (mostly started by me)

"Andy," I said last night, "When we went home teaching at the H's house and they had that double-wide chair (bigger than a chair, smaller than a loveseat) for us to sit in together...well...did that make you just the tiniest bit uncomfortable?"

"It only makes me uncomfortable when I sit in it with Greg." (Greg was Andy's home teaching companion who recently moved, which explains why I am now his home teaching companion. And with whom he has never actually shared the chair.) "Why? Did it make you uncomfortable?"

"A little bit, yes. But not physically uncomfortable. It made me feel ever so slightly emotionally uncomfortable."

"To clarify: It made my wife emotionally uncomfortable to sit in a double-wide chair so close to her husband?"

"Hmmm...yes. I'm not sure why though, but I am supposing it made me uncomfortable that they just assumed we would want to sit squished in a barely-big-enough-for-two-people chair such that my shoulders would be pushed in and I would have to sit hunched over while my legs fell asleep because it was impossibly uncomfortable to keep crossing and un-crossing and re-crossing them. Or maybe it was because I was marinating in the fresh steak marinade that soaked the front of my dress in the car as we drove their dinner over to them. Anyway. What if we wanted separate chairs? They never even asked. They should have asked. Of course I would have said yes, but that is beside the point. And it's not because I don't like sitting near you. It's because I don't like being uncomfortable - physically or emotionally."

"I'm uncomfortable knowing that sitting that close to me made you emotionally uncomfortable. Let's go get some doughnuts." And we did.

* * *

"I work next Tuesday and Wednesday just so you know. I'm working with people modeling underwear." (Guess who started this conversation. Wrong. It was Andy.)

"I'm uncomfortable with you working with half-naked models all day long. Half-naked and in their underwear."

"I'm uncomfortable with that too. There are going to be half-naked guys there! I don't want to look at half-naked guys."

"So...if there weren't half-naked guys there, you wouldn't be uncomfortable? Which means that if they were all half-naked ladies, you would be completely comfortable?"

"Yes!" (Resounding and enthusiastic.)

"I'm uncomfortable that you're shooting half-naked ladies in their underwear."

"I won't be shooting them."

"Wait! What? Then...you'll be putting microphones in their cleavage?" (Because everyone knows that a woman's cleavage is the best place to hide a microphone. Unless you're me, and then sorry! Mic will be utterly and completely visible. Don't worry, I'm not sad or embarrassed. It's just a fact. Question: Is it okay to talk about cleavage on a blog my mother reads?)

"No, we won't have audio. It's just a photo shoot."

"Then why are you there? You're an audio guy. Are you just going so you can look at half-naked ladies in their underwear?"

"It's really low-budget. So....can you even imagine what these models look like?"

"Just promise me you won't think they're prettier than me."

"Done."

* * *

"My mom said Ethan's baby is super cute." (Andy's brother and his girlfriend just had a baby boy. I'm not at all surprised he's super cute.)

"I'm sure he is. But don't worry, our kids are going to be cuter. I just know it."

"How do you know?"

"Because everyone I know told us we are going to have beautiful children. Someday. And I believe them."

"Well, usually good looking people have funny looking kids." (Which, technically, I know is not true, because we have many beautiful friends with beautiful children. But this does not stop the myth from being Out There.)

"Hmmm... Maybe that's why we'll have cute kids?"

"Did you just call me ugly?"

"Technically, I said both of us are non-cute. Ish."

"Oh. Well. That's really not any better. Let's just go eat our doughnuts." And we did.

* * *

"When we have kids, they won't look like me."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because look at all those kids on Jon and Kate + 8 (I'm obsessed with TV shows about women who give birth to innumerable amounts of children. TLC is a good channel for these shows). They have a white lady mom and a half-Asian dad - just like us! And none of those kids look like their mother! Not that I'm dissing your Asian heritage or anything. I'm not. It's just that the Asian gene is highly dominant, you know." (I didn't really say "dissing." I thought it though. Then I didn't say it because it felt wrong, like when a missionary returns from Chile and sounds weird speaking English with a Spanish accent. Just something sounds...not quite right.)

"I'm sorry."

"I kind of am too. I have some good features that would be nice to see on our kids. Like, I have nice feet."

"And also your face."

That Andy. He sure does know how to save us from my uncomfortable-ness. Thank heavens because that was almost more uncomfortable-ness than a person can stomach in one night.

Are you a Fridge Thief?

While in the breakroom at work today warming up my lentil soup, I caught sight of a menacing letter taped to the giant stainless steel refrigerator.

It read something to the effect of:

WARNING!
There is a Fridge Thief in our midst. I have had several sodas stolen out of my bag over the last few days, and I am not happy about it.

I want you to know that this is stealing, and it will not be tolerated. I will call Corporate Security when I find out who you are.

Even though I am not the Fridge Thief and have nothing to refute, I am thinking I should respond also via a letter taped to the fridge. If I were to write such a letter it would read something like this:

ATTENTION!
Maybe you shouldn't put things in your lunchbag that others will want to steal. This is precisely why I bring lentil soup, apples, dry wheat crackers, and fine foreign cheeses for my lunch (all of which I buy in bulk at The Greatest of All Stores Ever, Costco). No one wants to touch that stuff! Including my husband, who I am forever trying to convince to eat in a healthful manner for his own general well-being in addition to my own peace of mind.

And by the way, I would not tolerate someone stealing my soda either - soda is delicious and lovely to drink while eating lentil soup and dry wheat crackers. Unless you are drinking cream soda (of any brand), in which case I would think you would praise heaven that someone took the wretched poison from your sack.

At one of the many and numerous jobs I have worked in the years since I left graduate school, I was once upon a time a Fridge Thief. I will tell you the story.

I was so very sick and on the verge of going blind and passing out due to the insanely painful migraine that was striking my head, just behind my eyes. I so desperately wanted to avoid this, as embarrassing and unhappy things happen when I pass out, which you will never know unless you call me and ask me. Then, of course, I will be happy to tell you if, and only if, you swear to a vow of secrecy.

Anyway. At this point (the point of being on the verge of passing out, not the point of telling you my passing-out secrets), I remembered two important pieces of information:

• If I catch the migraine early enough, food can help it go away.
• I stored some string cheese in the refrigerator several days prior and I should go eat it, because it was early enough to fix the migraine.

So. I went to the fridge, took the string cheese back to my desk, opened it, and ate it. Upon throwing the wrapper into my trash can, I noticed a first string cheese wrapper already in there.

Of a different brand. Now. I feel it imperative to inform you that I do not make it a habit to purchase string cheeses of various brands purely for my amusement, or actually, at all.

At this point in the story, the pounding had left my head, and I came slowly to the realization that I was a Fridge Thief! I had stolen some poor, unsuspecting soul's string cheese with nary a thought that I had already eaten my string cheese and this string cheese might not be mine. (In case you are wondering, I am trying to go for the world record for using "string cheese" the most times in one sentence.)

Utterly freaked out and unsure of what to do next, I promptly quit my job and started another one, located miles and miles away from the scene of the crime. To my knowledge, I have not yet been reported to Corporate Security. Or perhaps I have been reported, but there is still a warrant out for my arrest.

Which begs the question, are YOU a Fridge Thief?

Sometimes it's hard to know what to do, or should I really buy this?

If there ever was a time in my life when I need a distinct and personal revelation via the Holy Ghost, it is now.

This is because right now I am trying to plan my fall/winter wardrobe. This is because the end of summer has officially descended upon me and after a very thorough review of all contents of my closet, dresser, Rubbermaid full of winter-type clothing (sweaters), and twenty boxes of clothes that no longer fit me and are waiting to be delivered to Goodwill, I recently came to the realization that I have one pair of jeans that fits me, one sweater, and a bunch of T-shirts. And five coats. Because let's be honest, it's really tough to outgrow a coat, as hard as I might try because I really want to get a bright orange wool coat with a hood and cute buttons, and I can't justify buying a new coat as long as I have five working ones in my closet.

So upon great contemplation and much starving, I mean fasting, in my wardrobe's behalf, I have crafted four very specific and distinct questions that I am hoping my forthcoming revelation will answer so as I know how to proceed due to my current wardrobe dilemma and current money fast (have I told you about our money fast? another post for another time).

These most important and hopefully revealing questions are, in no particular order:

1) Am I going to be fatter (perhaps in the midsection area only thanks to a great and long-awaited and prayed-for blessing) anytime soon? Like before the end of the fall/winter season?

2) If the answer to question 1 is no, then: Am I going to be skinner before the fall/winter season really gets underway, due to the excessive amounts of exercising in which I have partaken, and my great efforts at eating only those foods which will make my hair shine, my skin glow, and allow me to be constantly overdosed in folic acid? Oh, and some M&M's, but those don't count because it is during That Week of My Monthly Visitor, which we don't have to talk about, but all know that any and all M&M's eaten during that week do not count due to being excessively depleted in chocolate and sugary minerals during such a strenuous time in a woman's life. And exceedingly sad because I am not yet getting fatter in my midsection only.

3) Should I give in to the fashion craze because it's just so hard to withstand temptation and buy the cute pair of pinkish-reddish-orangeish Mary Jane Crocs that I saw at Costco, mostly because the color is so very happy, and I have a hard time passing up Mary Janes, even ugly ones? (If the answer to this is "yes," I must move fast. Things do not last at Costco.)

4) And lastly, should I buy a bright orange wool coat with a hood and cute buttons?

I know that if the Holy Ghost were any one of my sisters, I would be directed to replace my entire wardrobe and ship the current contents to Bountiful, Utah, whereupon the sharing of much joy and the saving of money would be celebrated amongst the females in my family. Probably by eating ice cream, because let's face it, who doesn't like to celebrate by eating ice cream? Hmmm...this attitude will most likely have a direct effect on the answer to question number 2.

If the Holy Ghost were Andy, I would be directed to clean out my overflowing and abundant closets, dressers, and boxes and deliver the contents to Goodwill to share with those less fortunate than me, and to just choose only those clothing items that would allow his clothing items to breathe and feel at home in their own home. They currently feel like homeless orphans who used to have a whole huge room to themselves and a parent who loved them enough to hang them up and put them away, but now the evil stepmother (me) has moved into the house and displaced them to the dungeon to clean the floors, and to move in all her own frilly girly clothes to take their place, not allowing them to be hung up and put away. What? You didn't know clothes had feelings? It's true, they do.

It must be noted, Andy has never once said anything about the displacement of his clothes. I just know it because his clothes whisper mean things to mine. Like, "Get out of our room, you brightly colored ruffly frilly things! A man needs space to breathe around here, and we feel suffocated! Who needs so many polka-dots anyway?" And other such nonsense as that.

Since the Holy Ghost is neither my sisters or Andy, I wonder what direction I'll be given? Maybe to just hang in there, continue sticking to my budget, and be patient that someday I will be bigger in the midsection area in the way I want to be bigger - the good "I am finally carrying a child and I have wanted to be this fat for such a long time now" bigger.

And maybe I'll be directed to buy bright orange wool coat with a hood and cute buttons. Stat!

Because nothing says, "I've been working my butt off all summer and haven't dropped a size - please reward me" like a bright orange wool coat with a hood and cute buttons.

Choosing an arch-nemisis is never an easy thing to do

When it comes to having an arch-nemisis, you want to make sure you pick a good one. Like those Dalmations. They picked a great arch-nemisis, who really gave those cute spotted dogs a run for their money. Now didn't she?

I only know of one other person (besides myself, of course) who has an arch-nemisis. If you already have one, (publicly proclaimed or secretive), you will be familiar with how to pick a good one. If you do not already have one, allow me to offer you some extremely useful tips when choosing an arch-nemisis. Because we all know that everyone needs an arch-nemisis in order to live a full and balanced life.

An arch-nemisis may or may not, depending on who the nemisis is nemis-ing, have any or all of the following characteristics. When choosing your arch nemisis, please ensure that potential said nemisis has at least two (2) of the following characteristics:

a) A gratingly high voice, much akin to an evil cackle.

b) The propensity to proclaim to one and all throughout the land that she (or I suppose he, if you must choose a he as your arch-nemisis) knows all, when really, you and I both know that she (or he) does not.

c) The incessant need to pontificate wildly about the room each time a public meeting is held. Said pontifications entrance those in her (or his) presence to the point where she (or he) becomes much like The Pied Piper and those in the room are the mice. And they follow her (or him) right off a cliff. Or into a disastorous and expensive business situation and you are left to pick up the pieces with people asking questions like, "Why did this happen? It makes no sense. Such and such said this would work!" When all along you knew that would happen, despite such-and-such's pontifications to the contrary.

d) Is much skinnier than you. Even after having a bazillion children. Or even after not having a bazillion children - it only matters if it matters to you.

e) Asks you to do something and tells you how great you will be at it, and then goes back to redo it just because she (or he) was worried it wouldn't get done right. And then lets everyone know she (or he) did it, confusing all in the land.

f) Responds to your email inquiries with snotty comments that start something like, "This is why..." and ending in multiple exclamation points. And cc'ing your manager or the person in charge, I presume to get you into trouble.

g) Wears a goatee minus the moustache, much akin to Ye Olde Non-Beards that people wore in the Days of Yore when Brigham Young was in charge of the Mormons.

h) The ability to incite in you the desire to wave your fist wildly about in the air while shouting, "I'll get you for this, you evil arch-nemisis, you!" Or some similar exclamation.

i) An evil laugh delivered while steepling the fingers together. The laugh will usually go something like this: "Mwa ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha. Mwa ha ha."

For example, I have several arch-nemises. One displays characteristics b, c, g, and h. Another displays characteristics b, d, f, and of course, h. Yet another nemisis does e and f on a regular basis. I think all three have done i at one point in time. And thus I know I have done a terrific job of choosing an arch-nemisis, because I have not one, dear readers, but three of them!

Now. What if you are having trouble choosing an arch-nemisis because you are just generally an all-around nice person who looks for the good in all humankind? To that I say, "Liar!" Just kidding. If you are having trouble choosing an arch-nemisis then you probably shouldn't read my blog because I choose and even switch them out on a regular basis, much like I used to choose and change the outfits on my paper dolls as a little girl.

And then: What if you choose an arch-nemisis, and she (or he) turns out to really be a nice person, albeit deep down inside? Keep looking - it's probably waayyy deeper than that. Well, that's okay. Even nice people can be someone else's arch-nemisis. In fact, I consider myself to be a very nice person, despite my blog postings of complaint and general unhappiness, and I am fairly certain I am someone's arch-nemisis.

But at least I don't have a weird non-moustache-goatee hybrid.

Do you have a nemisis? What does she (or he) do that made you choose her (or him) to hold that special arch-nemisis place in your heart? Or are you someone else's nemisis? What did you do that made them choose you to hold that special place in their heart?

How to love someone when you really don't want to: a step-by-step guide for overcoming the grumpies

I have a friend who I love. Except for one problem: sometimes This Friend is completely, unabashedly, frustratingly, unloveable. Unloveable, I tell you! Unloveable!

So yesterday I said, "Self, you need to be better at loving This Friend. You need to stop the complaining. And the whining. And the wishing this This Friend was different. And you need to just love This Friend until you can't love anymore." Except we all know that it is difficult, almost completely next to impossible, to run out of loving for someone. Unless they pay with a check at The Wal-Mart. But if they do you could think, "How quaint - paying with a check. They are so Old Fashioned." Then you would love and admire them for being quaint and Old Fashioned. See? I even surprised myself with that one.

Note: While I do not smile upon check-writing, I only frown upon it when people are slow about it. Mom and AnJ, this does not apply to you. Feel free to write all the glorious heart-dotted i checks your tender little hearts desire!

But loving someone when they say mean things to you like, "Woah. You sure look all wide and jiggly (yes, wide and jiggly - super bad combination) in those pants. Maybe you should just stay home in your pajamas instead of going out where people will actually see you." Or, "It's really too bad you tried to cook an amazing exotic dinner of macaroni and cheese, because your homemade sauce turned out a little gluey, which we all know happens when you use too much flour and not enough milk. You usually do better - I'm so disappointed in you." Or even, "Good grief, lady! Why can't you keep up with the laundry so your husband doesn't have to ask you why his clothes are always in the dryer and never make it into his drawer?"

So. This Friend of mine can sometimes be a little tough. But, just in case you have a similar friend, you are in luck! You have come to the right place! Because you are going to find out just how to love such a friend who is not always nice, but maybe sometimes is nice like when they buy a Cranberry-Lime slush for you from Sonic because they know you're having a bad day. It makes it just a little easier to overlook the chronic grumpiness. But still. We have to know how to handle friends like this when they are not buying you Cranberry-Lime slushes of delightful wonderfulness.

Step 1: Find out what your friend likes and what makes her happy. Does she collect red lipsticks in her search to find the perfect one? When she sees fresh bouquets of flowers, does her face light up? Does she absolutely adore Chipotle burritos? Chocolate chip cookies? Tap dancing? Just find out.

Note: You might have to ask lots of questions, or be very observant. This is hard work. Hard work, I tell you! I never said it would be easy-peasy.

Step 2: Give your friend something that she likes and that makes her happy. Maybe all it takes is just your time. Spend time with your friend. Do whatever she wants to do. Even if it is just writing checks at The Wal-Mart and laughing at Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's choice of names for their children.

Step 3: Say something nice and supportive to your friend. Maybe try something like, "Hi Friend. You look so beautiful today! You should wear red more often - it is most definitely your best color." Or maybe, "Dear Friend. I'm sure happy to see you! I know you're struggling right now, but NO MATTER WHAT I am here, and I love you. And you will get through this bout of the grumpies."

Step 4: Give your friend a hug. Or pat her on the back if you are afraid of hugs. If you are afraid of hugs, that is a completely different post.

Step 5: Repeat steps 1 through 4 over. And over. And over.

How will you know you have successfully loved your friend? Well, sometimes you might not know until way later that you were successful. Sometimes, you might not ever know. Ever. But the secret is that you just keep doing it. Even when it's hard and you don't want to. Even when your friend is YOU, and you don't want to be nice to yourself because you're grumpy. Which in my case it often is and let's be honest: only I would be thismean to myself. If I had a friend who was thismean to me, would we really be friends?

Anyway, you should still do it. Because it's what Heavenly Father does for us, and because we are worth it.

All the time.

A suggestion for all you check-writers out there, or one of my biggest pet peeves

Just last week, I made many a trip to The Wal-Mart, otherwise known as The Downfall of Society Today. Or at least I think that's what the people who wear those "No Wal-Mart" t-shirts really think of the giant superstore.

On each occasion, while waiting in line to purchase my goods, the cashier rang up the goods of the shoppers in front of me. On each occasion, the ringing-up took several minutes. Just for your reference: several=more than three, less than 10.

On each occasion, said shoppers watched as their goods were rung (oh shoot, is it rang? ringed? all three look funny) up by the cashier. At the completion of the ringing-up process, the cashiers cheerfully (as full of cheer Wal-Mart cashiers will allow themselves to be) proclaimed the final total for all to hear: "That will be seventy-two twenty three" or "Nineteen thirteen please!"

On each occasion, said shoppers then responded with something like, "Oh! Okay." And then, it was as though a giant light bulb went off and they realized that they actually had to pay. Pay for their goods. No, scanning goods is not just a requirement so The Wal-Mart can track inventory - they had to provide something, namely cash money, in exchange for their basic life necessities, like 20-lb bags of dog food and feminine hygiene products. And Skittles.

On each occasion, said shoppers then (after a good thirty seconds of confused staring), then reached into their purse to pull out a checkbook. A checkbook. One more time: a checkbook. A blank check - that had nothing filled in, by the time the cashier was finished ringing up their purchases, and the line had grown from two people to 10.

Now. I'm all about taking life a little slowly, savoring the roses and whathaveyou. And I have nothing against paying with a check. Nothing. I don't think everyone has to use a credit card, or a debit card, or even cash. But I would like to make one teensy, weensy suggestion to those of you who write checks: Please Be Prepared.

It would help those of us hurrying home if you could start writing your check before the final total is proclaimed. Three to 10 minutes is sufficient time to write the date, the store name, your signature, and start an entry in your check register. Plenty of time. I know this, because I used to be a check writer myself. Then, when the cashier proclaims the final total, you can just zip, zip, zip, write the amount on the line, in the box, and in the column in the register and be on your merry way.

Which means that the rest of us waiting in line will not have to be grumpy at you and the cashier (even though we know it's not the cashier's fault we are now missing the beginning of our favorite TV show). Which means the rest of us waiting in line will not have to sigh loudly and shake our head at your being unprepared. Which also means that the rest of us waiting in line will not have to put the People magazine back, ready to get our order going, only to realize we put it back too early and we could have actually finished reading that article to find out what boy-name-ending-in-X Brad and Angelina just gave their seventeenth adoped son.

Please, check writers: it's just a small request to help make our shopping experience at The Wal-Mart a little more enjoyable.

New

If you don't work in corporate America, you will not know the nightmare hell that is IT Services. Sorry IT readers, but it's true. In my experience, IT Services is most generally extremely very un-helpful.

Where I work now, when I have an issue, I go online and submit a helpdesk ticket. That ticket is routed and re-routed until it ends up in someone's "Crap To Do" pile. Depending on the nature of the issue, it will go to India. Wait, no; it always goes to India, regardless of the nature of the issue.

Then, someone calls me. Now, I do enjoy the people of India. Unless they are trying to get me to ride in their rickshaw/buy their handpainted sarong/get in their cab/give me a tour of a fort/etc. They are a very generous people. But when I speak to an IT person in India on the phone, I have such a hard time understanding him (yes, it's usually a him). We go back and forth trying to resolve my problem, and the ticket is ultimately re-routed. Usually back to India. At some point, we figure each other out and either the issue is resolved, or we don't figure each other out and I realize that living with the problem is easier and much less painful than the conversation I'm having and give up.

So. Wednesday morning I came into the office, submitted my ticket, and prepared to wait it out. At approximately 4:00 pm Wednesday afternoon, I received an e-mail stating that an item had been shipped and would arrive at my desk on Thursday. I assumed it was a new power cord, docking station, or maybe just maybe a new hard drive.

Giddy and light-headed at the prospect of receiving some gift in the mail, I arrived this morning to find a huge box on my desk. After ripping it open and digging through styrofoam and plastic, I shrieked with glee to find a laptop!

Ah, the little things that make my heart go pitter patter. It was new. Brand. Spanking. New. My ticket had been resolved, and I had to just swap out the hard drives. And that was it - I was back up and running in less time than it takes to change a baby's diaper. (Well, for me to change one anyway, because let's be honest: first you have to undress the kid, then do the whole diaper-removal process, then you have to chase after the kid when he runs away from you stark naked. Then you have to apply booty condiments and such, and then you put on the new diaper and clean clothes. Then you clean up the mess he made when he peed across the room...suffice it to say, it takes me a while to change a diaper.)

I guess this is how IT rolls at my office. What is your issue? Your laptop won't start without the docking station? Send a new laptop! Your "H" key is sticking? Send a new laptop! Your monitor is a little fuzzy? Send a new laptop! You have ants marching across your keyboard because they know you eat at your desk and drop cheese crumbs in there? Send a new laptop! Okay, I'm exaggerating, but I did find it a little odd that no one even called to discuss the problem with me. They just placed an order for a new laptop and here it was today.

Just don't tell my boss. She has an ancient laptop and her requests for a newer, faster one have repeatedly been denied. Shhhh...

My commute ain't half bad, if you can ignore the crack

Remember, I commute now because my laptop got fried when the power went out a few days ago. Turns out I have to have my entire hard drive replacedm or whatever is in this giant box sitting on my desk. It seems much bigger than a hard drive. Bigger than a breadbox, even. Until IT opens it and puts whatever is in the box into my laptop, I will be driving into work every day.

Anyway. Even though I was commuting, and sitting in this (in a stick shift, no less), I tried to think positively and focus on the things that were nice about my commute. So, I enjoyed this. And very much enjoyed this. And also these - brand new, and I'll enjoy them all day long, and for a long time after that. Actually, I hope I don't enjoy them much longer because they will be a) too big because I lost weight, or b) too small because I am pregnant. No, I am not saying I am pregnant. Just that I wouldn't say no if the opportunity presented itself.

See? There were lots of nice things about my commute. And then. I tried to avoid it, but drove behind this on a motorcycle for a good three minutes. The guy with the crack, not the little girl with the balloon. Come on - I'm trying to be a *little* tasteful here and not show a real picture of a guy on a motorcycle showing crack. That would just be crude. And okay, I'll admit it - a little bit funny.

All in all, a delightful commute. Despite the crack.

Good news

When Andy and I were dating, he surprised me one day by filling my freezer with Graeter's ice cream. If you are not from, nor have ever been, to Ohio, you may not know the delicious wonderfulness that is Graeter's. That is the best ice cream ever! It must come from happy, relaxed cows.

So imagine my surprise and delight when I opened my freezer, just two years ago, and found several pints of my favorite flavor, Black Raspberry Chip, and a couple of other random, yet equally delicious, flavors. My tiny freezer was filled with love.

On Saturday, we received some good news akin to that of finding my freezer filled with love: Graeter's is now going to be sold in select King Sooper's grocery stores in the Denver Metro area. Hip hip hooray! And to make it even better, we get a free pint. Two pints for the price of one! Have I died and gone to heaven? Or Ohio? Not that they are the same thing - they most definitely are NOT.

What's making me laugh right now

Read these comments about my recent IKEA post. Call me crazy, but it sounds like Karlenn is calling me cheap aaaaaaaand cute. Okay. Thank you?

Time for a change

I originally started (and named) this blog, thinking that it would be about me. And Andy. A+A = Me and Andy. Well. Turns out this blog's mostly about me. Not that Andy's not completely interesting, but he has his own blog to write his own thoughts, so what's it matter anyway?

So. Here I am, changing up my blog, to be about ME (Lish). This is to prevent some man friend of Andy's from happening across this blog and mistakenly thinking they are going to get information about the both of us, and then all the sudden he's reading about struggles with trying to get pregnant and complaining about church callings. I don't think Andy wants his good name dragged through the mud being associated with topics such as that.

So there you have it. Enjoy just lish in all its glorious, girly pinkness.

If you want to know what Andy finds interesting, head on over to his blog. You'll find a mighty fine video that was part of Daniel & AJ's wedding video - we shot it about a month ago. In one of them, I look fat. Fat-ish. And I walk clumpy, and I am a terrible actress. But it's still pretty flipping funny. Enjoy.

Will a hearing aid improve your marriage? It might just help mine.

Andy thinks that when you get married, you lose your ability to hear. Or, to be more exact, you lose your ability to hear anything that comes out of your spouse's mouth. "Not true." I said. He then proceeded to list no less than five examples of our friends experiencing this baffling phenomenon. It took him almost as long as it just took me to write the word "phenomenon." Twice.

Well. Sometimes in a marriage, your husband is right, and okay, today, I realized that mine was right. For today. Yes, our comments, requests, musings, and whatnot have a tendency to fall on deaf ears. On occasion. Take for example, an innocent exchange between Andy and myself via phone this morning:

Him: Did I get any checks in the mail?

Me: Yes, you got one from Dave. A big fat one.

Him: Did you deposit those other checks?

Me: What other checks?

Him: The checks I asked you to deposit. Yesterday. And the other day when I was on the phone with Chris and I said, "I'll have Alicia deposit them."

Me: I have no recollection of that conversation. But you bet your cutey booty those checks will go into the bank today. Along with the new check from Dave. (Okay, I didn't really say "cutey booty," but now at this moment I am wishing that I did.)

Him: Thank you.

Me: Excuse me now, but I have to go into the office. Because the power went out yesterday, my laptop is now refusing to start. Apparently, I need to lock it into my docking station and that is the only way I can turn it on to check MSN, write blog posts, and send emails to Relief Society sisters about our upcoming activity, of which I am in charge. Oh, and get some work done writing training materials.

Him: Okay, goodbye and I love you.

A phone call four hours later revealed that I am not the only one in need of some sort of marital hearing aid:

Him: Are you at home?

Me: No, I'm at work.

Him: Where are you?

Me: I'm in the office.

Him: Oh. I needed you to find something at home for me.

Me: I'm in the office. My laptop wouldn't work - remember? I had to come into the office. Can I take care of it from here, or when I get home?

Him: No, you need to be home. Gotta go.

Me: Okay, goodbye, I love you.

Hmmm...do they make a Miracle Ear for this ailment? I sure hate when Andy's right.

To my friends who are mothers

Dear Friend,

Ho much I love you! When we met, I had no idea what a close bond we would develop. I have loved serving with you, laughing with you, and have so appreciated all the times you were there for me. Especially through those really rough spots - remember those? Yikes. But I made it - thanks in part to you, my dear friend.

Over the years, I have watched as you became a mother. I have loved sharing that experience with you - anticipating the new life, watching your family change, and seeing you flourish in such amazing ways as you fulfill your role as a mother. But I have a confession to make to you, dear friend: sometimes I am happy for you, and at the same time am reminded of my own struggle to fulfill this role. It seems the reminders are becoming more and more constant.

I have several friends experiencing this happy occasion for the very first time, and I must confess, I have not been a very good friend to them. In a little over a month, a new friend will become a mother for the first time. When she first shared her happy news with me last February, I could barely eek out a smile and whisper a tiny "Congratulations." Sadly, seven months later, it is still just as difficult for me to watch her stomach expand and feel happy for her.

I have certainly loved hearing about all the fun, wonderful joys that come with being a mother. I have enjoyed sharing that motherhood experience with you. But with each birth announcement that arrives in my mail, each updated family portrait I see on your wall, I have to wonder - will I ever know what it feels like to become a mother?

I don't share this with you because I want you to stop sharing your motherhood experiences with me. And I don't share it with you because I want you to feel sorry, or tell me that I'll have my turn. and I definitely don't want you to stop telling me about your motherhood experiences. I share this because yesterday I received some news that a very dear friend is struggling - she is in the middle of recovering from a molar pregnancy, and she will be unable to attempt to become a mother for a very long time. When I heard this, I wasn't sure which was worse for me - hearing that someone is pregnant and knowing of my own struggle, or hearing that someone close to me who desperately wants to be is unable to become pregnant.

I'm sharing my thoughts about this to let you know that if it seems as though I am not happy for you, or if I become quiet when the topic turns to children and families, you will know why. You don't have to change anything, just please be patient and understanding with me.

Please know that I love you. I love knowing that you are (or are going to soon be) a mother. I love what that means for you, and I am learning how to have faith that someday, those of us who desire this above all else will get our chance to call you with that exciting news. When that happens, I hope that you will be more gracious with me than I have been with you.

I do love you, dear friend. And I thank you for being so understanding while I struggle through this.

Alicia

Blackout

My morning started out like any other: I got up at 5:30, drove to the track to run with Anna, drove home, and started up my laptop. I had just logged in and opened my inbox, when the power went out. Yep, complete blackout at 7:30 am. Luckily, it was morning, so the house wasn't totally dark, but everything I thought I would do wasn't possible without power:

• I couldn't cook my breakfast in the microwave.
• I couldn't cook my breakfast on the stove top.
• I couldn't take a shower and get ready for the day (unless I wanted my hair to look like a frizzy poodle).
• I couldn't work.
• I couldn't watch TV.

I always knew I liked electricity, but it's been a long time since the power has gone out. After calling the power company, they said they didn't know what had caused it, but over 100 houses had been affected, and they likely wouldn't have the power back on until 11:15 am. Yikes!

So I decided I might as well get out in the sun and go for a walk. Only, I didn't want to carry my keys (we have a garage door code I usually use instead). I had a great walk, and came home to find...I couldn't get into the house. Duh! You need electricity to use the garage code! Then I found out that our gate to get into the back yard was locked. We never lock that gate. And if I could get back there, would any windows be open? I decided to scale the fence and find out.

Luckily, I found an open bedroom window (a tiny one) and squeezed through it. Ten minutes later, the power came on, and I was able to function again. I guess I need to be better prepared next time. And always leave one window unlocked. But I'm not telling which one...

Oh great

We just got news that Andy will be flying to Houston next Monday through Friday. "Umm, isn't that right in the path of Hurricane Ike?" you ask. Yeparooni, it sure is!

Andy has a tough job - he cannot turn down work because he never knows when he'll have it. So. He has to always take the work that comes his way. Especially a job like this that is five days worth of work. Even in hurricane territory, when people are being told to leave or face certain death. Wow. That's exciting, right? Rebecca and Amy: Is it really that bad? Do I need to be worried?

Oh great. Looks like I won't be sleeping until next Friday night when he's safely home.

An apple a day

At the beginning of September, I bought some apples from the grocey store. I decided to buy enough to have an apple a day until the next time I went to the store. I know you're dying to know why I would do that, and why I would post about it. Well, I love apples. They're a delicious, quick, and easy snack, plus they're full of fiber and great for my teeth! And heck, if they keep the doctor away, even better.

But little did I know that September is National Apple Month. I found that out today, and decided I'm going to eat an apple a day for the entire month of September in honor of National Apple Month. Here are some fun facts about apples (courtesy of the LDS Living online magazine that ends up in my Spam folder each week):

• 7500 varieties of apples are grown throughout the world.
• Apples are grown in all 50 states in the U.S.
• Two pounds of apples make one 9-inch pie.
• A survey by the American Pie Council and Crisco found that apple pie is the favorite flavor among one in four Americans, followed by pumpkin, chocolate, lemon meringue, and cherry.
• The term “as American as apple pie” can be traced back to the sixteenth century. Pilgrims brought their pie-making skills and apple seeds from England to the American colonies. As the popularity of apple pie grew, the phrase began to symbolize American prosperity.

My favorites are Gala and Golden Delicious. Sometimes I eat them with peanut butter. My mom likes Granny Smith apples; I think she used to sprinkle some salt on them. What's your favorite apple? Happy National Apple Month! Now go eat an apple.

Me in an SUV

On Monday a whole new world opened up to me: I started driving an SUV. Holy cow! I had no idea how many people drive SUVs until I got in one. Now they're everywhere - I see them! (They must be copying me.) I love being so high up. I love not feeling like I can be squashed in one blow. I love being able to look other drivers in the eye when they cut me off (and I later pass them), instead of turning my head to look up and seeing them look down on me, like I'm some lesser life form. I love knowing I could run someone off the road and be just fine - only if I had to of course. It. Is. Bliss.

Why the heck am I driving an SUV you ask? A few weeks ago I was in a minor accident - a little old man changed lanes and didn't see me. He put a dent in my little Saab's driver side door. Little Saab has been in the dealership since Monday getting all prettied up. I got Big SUV in his place - Big Jeep SUV.

This Big Jeep SUV to be exact; same color and everything. It has been fantastic driving him this week - all of driving it home from the dealership, to Borders, to the Outlet Malls, and back home. That is, it was fantastic until I realized how much gas Big SUV eats - his appetite is insatiable! Little Saab seems to stay full much longer.

Come to think of it, Little Saab has so many good qualities - she is sleek and shiny, not big and cumbersome. She can sneak quickly into places where Big SUV can't even dream of going. Parallel parking is much easier in Little Saab. Hmmm...now I miss her. Not only is she cute, but she costs way less to feed.

Today I get to return Big SUV to the dealership and pick up Little Saab. I hope she missed me as much as I now realize I missed her.

What goes with grilled cheese?

When I was a little kid, I hated tomato soup. Not the Andy Warhol version (which I happen to loooove, by the way), but real, actual, tomato soup. Even when I was a teenager, and then on to becoming an adult, I still hated it. In fact, I hated tomatoes, green onions, squash, green peppers, and milk.

I have very few memories of my childhood, but one of the most vivid memories I have is sitting at Miss Linda's Preschool with her daughter Amber, refusing to eat the tomato soup Miss Linda has so lovingly poured from a can, into a pan, and then my bowl. Tomato soup was nasty. Tomato soup just tasted like watery ketchup.

So, you ask, how can I be sitting at my table eating tomato soup right now WHEN I HATE, HATE, HATE IT?

I think the turning point might have been a couple years ago when I visited Chedd's. Chedd's specializes in grilled cheese sandwiches, and they claim to have the best tomato basil bisque. Well...when you're eating a grilled cheese sandwich, you need something to dunk it in, and I knew that my free cup of water wouldn't do. So I ordered up myself a teeny tiny cup of tomato basil bisque (it was that or some sausage chowder something - gross!) and dipped one corner of my sandwich into the creamy redness. Holy taste explosion! It was awesome. That was a whole new bowl of soup for me, and I was hooked.

And ever since then, I eat tomato soup - even the boring out-of-a-can Campbell's variety when I don't have anything else handy. But only with a grilled cheese sandwich. Of course.

Help! I'm addicted!

I bought these last night at Whole Foods (yikes! look at all those calories!), and I can't stop eating them. I think you might have to come over to my house and pry them from my cold, dead hands. Or not - I doubt I'll die while eating them, but as Andy says, anything's possible.

I bought them because I wanted a snack to eat while I watched Mama Mia!, and the movie theater happened to be across from Whole Foods. I also happened to have to go there to buy Pero for Andy (a post for another day). I knew I liked these, but had forgotten how much I like them. Kind of like gummy Coke bottles. Man, I love those, but for some reason I always forget until I eat one, which isn't often because I don't buy them since I don't remember I like them. But with these, I eat and eat and eat until my jaw hurts and I'm all hopped up on the sugar. Oh, the sugary goodness...

By the way, I do NOT recommend Mama Mia!. Boo. Double-boo and two thumbs down. I have to say: Pierce Brosnan should just avoid singing. At all costs. The one good outcome of the movie: it did make me think back to my youth, when I'm pretty sure I had an album of Erasure singing ABBA songs. I seem to remember hearing them sing, "If you change your mind, I'm the first in line - honey I'm still free! Take a chance on me!" AnJ: am I right? I know you'll know...and if I'm right, do you still have the CD? I want it!

Good news

How appropriate that I hear this news from my Swedish friend Anna. I was beginning to think this day would never come. Oh happy day! Now if only it were here tomorrow...

Run Forrest, run!

A while back I wrote a post about how my mom had inspired me to start running. I tried to be like my mom and run for 20 minutes every day, but once my knees started hurting on the second day, I pretty much quit. So much for that inspiration; it lasted all of three days, and I decided maybe I'm not cut out to be a runner.

Despite the fact that I have bad knees and quit easily, I have always wanted to be a runner. And for a while now, I've wanted to to complete a 5K. I thought about signing up for a couple of them, and even started training using the Couch Potato to 5K training program. For lots of reasons (most of them quite lame), I never completed the training program, and never actually ran a 5K. In fact, the closest I've ever come was a couple of years ago, when Andy filmed a 5K and I rode next to him in the truck so he could film the runners. Now I'm not 100% clear on 5K rules, but I think that's considered cheating. I probably shouldn't have eaten the bagel and banana they provided to all the runners. And I probably didn't deserve the T-shirt. So I pushed the goal of actually running (or let's be honest - I'd settle for walking) a 5K way, way, far back into the nether regions of my mind, where it has sat dormant for several years now.

Then, a few weeks ago, Anna mentioned that she was training to run a 5K at the end of October. Hmmm...should I actually go for it this time? So I loaded up on some Glucosamine HCl (for optimum joint health and mobility), and pulled out the Couch Potato to 5K program. Last week, I officially started the program again. In fact, I specifically drove into work to use the "free" treadmill at the gym there. I say "free" because that's only if you don't count the gas I'm wasting driving 20 miles to use a treadmill.

This morning, Andy had the car, and I couldn't drive into work. So I figured, it was a beautiful fall day, I might as well run outside. Let's just say that was a little rough - running outside is nothing like running inside on a treadmill!

For starters, my watch was broken, so I carried my cell phone to keep time, so I would know that I was running for for 1.5 minutes/walking for 2 minutes. Running for 1.5 minutes/walking for 2 minutes. I guess the tight feeling in my chest and thoughts of dying a slow death being better than running for 1.5 minutes weren't enough of a clue to tell me I was running for 1.5 minutes/walking for 2 minutes. Not to mention the strange looks I got from all the skinny moms pushing their three children in one stroller, wondering why I was holding my phone open while running and panting like some crazed madwoman.

That phone really put a damper on my run; I couldn't carry my water bottle and my phone. I think people thought I was weird, leaning over a big puddle, gulping water for fear of dehydration. It was a little awkward. Those darn judgemental skinny moms.

Without a treadmill, I'm not very good at keeping the same pace, even if it's only for 1.5 minutes. Now that I think about it, maybe the low-hanging tree branch that whipped me in the face while I was looking down to check the time on my cell phone was what slowed me down. Or maybe it was the group of guys playing baseball, watching me run into a tree was what made me slow down. I can't really say for sure.

At any rate, I completed Week 2, Day 1 of training and I am writing this post to put it out there: I will be running/walking into tree branches, I mean in a 5K in October. I wish you could be there to yell "Run, Alicia, run!" on the sidelines.

PS: No, I did not really drink water from a puddle. I was so thirsty, I thought about it though.
PSS: I really have nothing against skinny moms; only when I'm running past them and they look so chipper and carefree, while I am dying a slow death running for 1.5 minutes.

Man on Wire

Because Andy's been so busy lately, we haven't had a chance to really see any movies. After things calmed down a bit, we decided we needed to fit in a couple of movies. Unfortunately, there wasn't really anything out there that we wanted to see that wasn't rated R. What to do? Thanks go Andy so diligently reading reviews for all movies in existence, we learned about a little documentary that was a PG-13 movie with the highest ratings - 100% on Rotten Tomatoes.


Since I was in charge of planning our date night, I decided we'd go see it. Man on Wire tells the story of Philippe Petit, a completely crazy Frenchman who decided to tightrope walk between the Twin Towers in the early 1970's. It was inspiring to watch him and his co-horts prepare and plan for this event, of course only to get arrested when it was all over.


I laughed, I cried, I gasped in terror, and stared in amazement as the incredible tightrope walker executed his lifelong dream. What a wonderful story of following your passion. If you're into documentaries (and French subtitles), I highly recommend this film.

My collection

Yesterday I posted about how I don't really have a collection. Yes, Stephanie, I am collecting the letter A - I'm glad you reminded me. Right now it only has three items, so it's a pretty sorry collection.

But when I looked in the fridge last night to decide what to make for dinner, I realized that I have started a collection of sorts. Apparently, I love and am currently collecting cheese. I have 11 different kinds of cheese in my fridge at the moment. They are, in alphabetical order:

• Babybel mini wheels
• Blue cheese
• Feta
• Laughing Cow light creamy swiss
• Laughing Cow light garlic & herb
• Mild cheddar
• Mozzarella
• Parmesan
• Sharp cheddar
• String cheese
• Swiss

Holy cheese wheel Batman! That is a heckuva lot of cheese. Andy has told me on several occasions that if I drank alcohol, I'd be a wine drinker. When I asked him why, he said because all I need to be happy is some bread, some good cheese, and some chocolate, and wine goes with those things. He's probably right. I don't know that this collection will keep too long - maybe I better look for something else to collect?

44 ODD things about Alicia

I got this in an email, and decided not to spam anyone with it. Anyone who cares reads my blog, so here you go. Feel free to do your own on your blog!

1. Do you like blue cheese? Love it and eat it sometimes, even though it gives me major headaches.
2. Have you ever smoked? No, but does it count if I wanted to at one point in time? Just once, to try it.
3. Do you own a gun? No, but I shot a few guns once and really liked it
4. What flavor Kool Aid is your favorite? I despise Kool-Aid. But back when I drank it, I think I loved grape. It was like liquid Jolly Ranchers!
5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments? Not anymore, but I used to get so nervous that my blood pressure was always sky-high. So many doctors told me to go to the pharmacy and take my blood pressure in one of those machines when I was calm, and call them back with the reading so they would know I'm okay - I always was.
6. What do you think of hot dogs? I love hot dogs at baseball games, and that's pretty much it. Although I did buy a hot dog from the guy at the cart in front of Home Depot a couple of weeks ago - it was delicious!
7. Favorite Christmas movie? Elf and A Charlie Brown Christmas.
8. Favorite thing to drink in the morning? Water - an ice cold glass of water always tastes to good. I guess it's because I haven't had any to drink for the last 8 hours.
9. Can you do push ups? Yes, the girly kind on my knees. I can actually do about 25 in a row, I think.
10. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? My engagement ring - it's beautiful.
11. Favorite hobby? Hobbies? I love to read, love to be outdoors, love too cook, and I watch a little too much TV, although I hardly call that a hobby.
12. Do you have A.D.D.? No.
13. What's one trait you hate about yourself? Like my sister, I tend to have a glass-is-half-empty outlook. That's a tough one to change.
14. Middle name? S. I wasn't given a middle name when I was born, and instead of using my maiden name as my middle name, I just use the initial.
15. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment.1) My stomach hurts. 2) I have so much to do today! 3) I can't wait to get my hair cut this afternoon - I hope it turns out the way I want it.
16. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink? I pretty much drink water, all day, every day. I have the occasional Fresca or Ginger Ale.
17. Current worry? I have too many to list.
18. Current hate right now? Having too much to do.
19. Favorite place to be? In my bed.
20. How did you bring in the New Year? I honestly don't even remember.
21. Where would you like to go? Everywhere - there are so many countries I still want to see.
22. Name three people who will complete this: Karlenn (if she's reading) and maybe Addie.
23. Do you own slippers? Yes, three pairs, although I rarely wear them.
24. What shirt are you wearing? A green short-sleeve sweater. Yay for sweater weather!
25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? I don't know - I've never slept on them.
26. Can you whistle? Kind of, but not very well. I think my five-year-old nephew can out-whistle me. How sad is that?
27. Favorite color? It used to be red, but I think it's changing to orange. It's just such a cheerful color.
28. Would you be a pirate? I am a pirate every year for one day on September 19th - National Talk Like a Pirate Day. Argh matey!
30. Favorite Girl's Name? I have no idea.
31. Favorite boy's name? Once again, no idea.
32. What's in your pocket right now? Nothing - I never put anything in my pockets. I'm bulky enough down there without making it worse!
33. Last thing that made you laugh? I don't remember what it was, but when we were playing cards last night with our friends, I laughed a lot. It felt great.
34. What vehicle do you drive? Saab 93. Everybody comments on it.
35. Worst injury you've ever had? I haven't really had a bad injury. I had a fantastically injured heart a few years ago - that was worse than any physical pain I've ever experienced. But maybe I'm a sissy-la la, as Clinter would say.
36. Do you love where you live? Sort of. I love Colorado, but I'm excited to live in a new house in a new part of Colorado.
37. How many TVs do you have in your house? We have three, but I only really use one. We have one in our family room, Andy has one in his office, and we have one in our workout room that's not even working right now.
38. Who is your loudest friend? Definitely Dottie. I don't think she'd disagree.
39. Do you have any pets? Nope.
40. Does someone have a crush on you? I certainly hope so.
41. Your favorite book(s): Dandelion Wine is always a favorite, The Little Prince, and too many children's books to even name.
42. Do you collect anything? No, but I am currently looking to start a collection of something. Any suggestions?
43. Favorite Sports Team? I don't really watch sports.
44. What song do you want played at your funeral? Seriously? I don't know that I even care what's played at my funeral - it's for all the people left behind, so let them choose something that makes them feel good.