Tax season. Some people dread it, which I can completely understand. But my life is fairly simple -- no real estate, stocks or bonds to speak of -- just the occasional deduction that needs itemizing. Up until two years ago for every year of my adult life, I did my own income taxes. Starting on February 1, I got all the forms from the post office, then spread everything out on the table making a mess of papers, and struggled through reading and re-reading each line of legalease to squeeze every last dollar out that I conceivably could. It would take the better part of a long evening to complete both state and federal returns. That's how my mom did it, and that's how I assumed it needed to be done since I'm too cheap to pay an accountant to do it for me.
A couple of years ago I figured there had to be a better way and started using TurboTax. Best thing ever. Instead of laboring through small print trying to figure out which lines I could use to my benefit, this lovely invention cuts my tax prep time by about 75%. And it's most satisfying to be able to breeze through it on a slow day at work, which is what I did today. Unusually delinquent on my part, but e-filing takes the guilt away for postponing it for a few weeks.
Anyway, now that I'm filed and just waiting for the money to automagically appear in my checking account, my mental plans for how to spend the money are underway. Last year the bulk of it (no pun intended) went to a weight loss clinic -- a very worthwhile investment. This year, I think a bit more frivolity is in order.
Two things on my list are virtual skydiving and hang gliding with my sister at Point of the Mountain. I don't have any big-ticket items for purchasing in mind yet -- I usually do, but can't think of any fun toys I feel are missing in my life. So maybe for the time being I'll just save the rest of it. Couldn't hurt, that's for sure. But the idea of a little extra cash -- so FUN to think about! It leaves my wallet salivating -- for what, I don't know yet, but I'll figure it out.
Meanwhile, Happy Tax Season! Many happy returns to you and yours. (Hee -- I crack myself up! )
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Wendy, This One's For You
No need to call Scotland Yard -- I am alive, safe, sound and well. I've just been taking your words to heart and trying my best to explore the city. Remember? The other day when we were talking you said, "It's evening in London. Why aren't you out exploring and making the most of everything???" So, that's what I've been doing.
Mary Poppins on Tuesday night was fantastic, er, wait -- scratch that. It was practically perfect in every way. I absolutely picked the right show to see. It took me awhile to find the theater -- Soho is full of windy little streets and few of them are posted with names, so when I got directions to the Prince Edward theater, it sounded easy enough and looked navigable on paper, but walking through Leicester Square and trying to find Old Compton Road was not as easy in practice. But find it I did (nearly on accident), then got a bite to eat at The Stewpot, a nice little restaurant with a cranky waitress. The French onion soup was made with a cream of mushroom base and didn't have goops of cheese, but was passable, then I had a cheese and apple salad that was mostly coleslaw and carrots. What is it with the British and mayonaise? I watched a woman eating her salad with salmon and each bite got smothered with the stuff. Yuck.
Then I did a little souvie shopping. I didn't get anything for you, but it was productive.
The show was fantastic. It's more true to the books than the movie is, and that makes for a melancholoy end to the first act (Mary has to leave because the children are not ready/willing to learn how to control their tempers), an exciting beginning to the second act (Mrs. Banks engages Mr. Banks's former nanny, The Old Battleaxe or something horrible like that) with a fabulous nanny duel, won by none other than Mary Poppins. The big character development and lessons learned is by Mr. Banks who learns how to let go of his horrendous childhood courtesy of the old battleaxe, remember the magical bits of it courtesy of Mary Poppins, and learn how to love his own children and wife, making it no longer necessary for Mary Poppins to reside at No. 17 Cherry Tree Lane. There are wonderful effects, lots of flying, a little bit of dancing on the stage wall and ceiling, and many sweet tender moments.
Yesterday after work Anthony (if you're reading this with a british accent you must not pronounce the "h;" it is "Antony.") and I set out to try and find The Disney Store on Regent Street, which is still listed on the website as existing, but the cab driver said he hadn't seen it in awhile. He was right. There is instead a huge toy store called Hamley's in its place -- not unlike a huge and chaotic FAO Schwartz. We did not stay long since it was, as already mentioned, a bit of chaos and not the organized type. So we walked down Regent Street to Picadilly Circus then onto Picadilly Road to Waterstones, which is supposably Europe's largest bookstore. It's certainly the largest I've ever been in with six stories to it. And that, dear friend, is where I got the present I'm bringing home for you from London. No, I'm not telling you yet what it is; you'll just have to wait with everyone else to find out next week.
Today's adventure will be a trip to Lutterworth to see the distribution center. Lutterworth is famous for being John Wycliff's home and where the first English translation of the Bible was done from Latin. I don't know if we'll see any of those sites as the train actually goes to Rugby, not Lutterworth, but perhaps there will be something to see commemorating that.
It will be an all day adventure and I plan on being well armed with iPod and book so as to not be driven crazy by Antony's personal auto-conversations during a 2 hour train trip.
So as you can see, all is well here in London. It's a bit cold (freezing actually for my poor thin blood), but certainly bearable and I am doing my best to soak in everything and enjoy each moment.
Mary Poppins on Tuesday night was fantastic, er, wait -- scratch that. It was practically perfect in every way. I absolutely picked the right show to see. It took me awhile to find the theater -- Soho is full of windy little streets and few of them are posted with names, so when I got directions to the Prince Edward theater, it sounded easy enough and looked navigable on paper, but walking through Leicester Square and trying to find Old Compton Road was not as easy in practice. But find it I did (nearly on accident), then got a bite to eat at The Stewpot, a nice little restaurant with a cranky waitress. The French onion soup was made with a cream of mushroom base and didn't have goops of cheese, but was passable, then I had a cheese and apple salad that was mostly coleslaw and carrots. What is it with the British and mayonaise? I watched a woman eating her salad with salmon and each bite got smothered with the stuff. Yuck.
Then I did a little souvie shopping. I didn't get anything for you, but it was productive.
The show was fantastic. It's more true to the books than the movie is, and that makes for a melancholoy end to the first act (Mary has to leave because the children are not ready/willing to learn how to control their tempers), an exciting beginning to the second act (Mrs. Banks engages Mr. Banks's former nanny, The Old Battleaxe or something horrible like that) with a fabulous nanny duel, won by none other than Mary Poppins. The big character development and lessons learned is by Mr. Banks who learns how to let go of his horrendous childhood courtesy of the old battleaxe, remember the magical bits of it courtesy of Mary Poppins, and learn how to love his own children and wife, making it no longer necessary for Mary Poppins to reside at No. 17 Cherry Tree Lane. There are wonderful effects, lots of flying, a little bit of dancing on the stage wall and ceiling, and many sweet tender moments.
Yesterday after work Anthony (if you're reading this with a british accent you must not pronounce the "h;" it is "Antony.") and I set out to try and find The Disney Store on Regent Street, which is still listed on the website as existing, but the cab driver said he hadn't seen it in awhile. He was right. There is instead a huge toy store called Hamley's in its place -- not unlike a huge and chaotic FAO Schwartz. We did not stay long since it was, as already mentioned, a bit of chaos and not the organized type. So we walked down Regent Street to Picadilly Circus then onto Picadilly Road to Waterstones, which is supposably Europe's largest bookstore. It's certainly the largest I've ever been in with six stories to it. And that, dear friend, is where I got the present I'm bringing home for you from London. No, I'm not telling you yet what it is; you'll just have to wait with everyone else to find out next week.
Today's adventure will be a trip to Lutterworth to see the distribution center. Lutterworth is famous for being John Wycliff's home and where the first English translation of the Bible was done from Latin. I don't know if we'll see any of those sites as the train actually goes to Rugby, not Lutterworth, but perhaps there will be something to see commemorating that.
It will be an all day adventure and I plan on being well armed with iPod and book so as to not be driven crazy by Antony's personal auto-conversations during a 2 hour train trip.
So as you can see, all is well here in London. It's a bit cold (freezing actually for my poor thin blood), but certainly bearable and I am doing my best to soak in everything and enjoy each moment.
Monday, November 5, 2007
My Long, Long Friend, the Tube
I know why they call it a "red eye" flight. There is nothing like that gritty, painful feeling in the eyes from trying to sleep on a plane against all physical instincts. You know you're supposed to because of the whole time/date change thing you want to overcome so's you can be at your best upon arrival, but your body really doesn't want to because it's not time to yet.
All things considered though, the flight and my handling of it went as well as could be expected. I slept for a few hours, though not contiguously, my legs didn't get as swollen as they did on the hellish Shanghai flight, and I somehow wound up in Economy Plus seating without having to pay the extra upgrade fee this time around. I'm not exactly sure how I managed to swing that, but it was lovely, especially since I didn't have to pay for it out of my own pocket.
My seat mate and surrounding friends were friendly fellows, all on their way to Sheffield, England then ultimately to Russia -- they're roadies for Alice Cooper. I just checked his web site, and they're doing 10 shows in England over the next 12 days. Anyway, they were nice guys. I thought about asking them if there was any truth to the rumor that Alice Cooper is LDS, but decided against it. I needed my sleep more than I needed that conversation.
We got to the hotel at around 12:45, but the rooms weren't ready yet, so we walked up to a little restaurant that the concierge recommended, Maggie Jones. Since today is Sunday, these little restaurants all have a set "roast" menu. It reminded me of Sunday dinners growing up -- we had roasts frequently on Sundays, and I love thinking about the hundreds of years of traditions that have gone into a nice family sit-down dinner that made it into my little family in America in the 20th century.
Anyway, the restaurant was small and adorable -- it was reminiscent of an old farm house with small rickety stairs, a thick rope for a hand rail, hardly any room to maneuver in, old sturdy wood furniture, and excellent food. I had a venison pate for a first course, then roast lamb for the main course. I haven't had lamb since I was a kid, and I loved the familiar taste of the meat with a little bit of roasted onion and potato, topped with a bit of mint jelly. DE-licious. Dessert was an apple crumble with cream. The apples were perfectly tart, with the crumbly crust sweetened just enough to take the bite out of the apples, then a thick cream over it all to cool it off.
At this rate, I am not going to do very well weight-wise this week, but the airplane food was scant and less than delicious, so it's okay to have one really great meal today, right?
The rooms were ready when we got back, so I lightened my backpack load, armed myself with my camera, and went next door to Kensington gardens and palace. I hadn't planned on visiting the palace proper, probably simply because I didn't realize it was a possibility, but I did end up spending 12 pounds to see the parts that are open to the public. There was a lovely homage to Princess Diana, since she was one of the recent royal occupants, then Apartment 1A where Princess Margaret and Lord Snowden lived during the 60s-70s, then the older stuff about William, Mary, a bunch of the Georges, and even a little about Queen Victoria. It was all very grand and lovely and palatial, as one would expect a, well, a palace to be. It lacked only the cold stone mortars of medieval castles, but I guess that's why it's called a "palace" and not "castle."
Then I walked around Kensington Gardens and got a bit into Hyde Park. It was perfect late afternoon autumn lighting and the trees are all beautifully changing colors. People were out in full force rollerblading, jogging, walking dogs (never once saw one on a leash. Is it possible that British dogs are all as well-behaved as British humans? If they would speak, would it be also with perfect accents and elocution? I imagine so), playing frisbee, feeding the birds, feeding the squirrels (can't wait to upload photos of the cute old man who literally has squirrels eating out of his hand. Charming!), riding bicycles -- it was the perfect, idyllic family Sunday afternoon. It made me happy just being there to see other people's happiness and joy.
It started to get cold and dark at about 4:00 p.m., so I headed back to the hotel where I've been ever since relaxing, ordering room service and watching TV. The show selection is as minimal as I remember it being the last time I was here nearly a decade ago. The majority of the channels appear to be perfect for the typical Arabic or Muslim guest, which I am not, so there are approximately four channels with potential to interest me. I am now watching "The X Factor," which appears to be similar to "America's Got Talent," and the only thing it's helping me to accomplish is wondering why Simon Cowell is so very critical of the American Idol contestants but does not have a bad thing to say to any contestants of this home-town show. Is this British elitism at work? I believe so. There are performs who would get heartily mocked by him if it were American Idol, yet are heavily praised by him on this show. It's all quite perplexing and bewildering, and I mightily hope that there is another viewing option available to me soon.
Sadly, the DVD players are not compatible with my DVDs that I brought, and I don't feel like watching anything on my laptop, so I will continue to complain about the dismal viewing selection.
The good news is that if I can hold off going to bed for at least two more hours, I will have a fine chance of beating jet lag and being ready to tackle on the many meetings that await me tomorrow.
All things considered though, the flight and my handling of it went as well as could be expected. I slept for a few hours, though not contiguously, my legs didn't get as swollen as they did on the hellish Shanghai flight, and I somehow wound up in Economy Plus seating without having to pay the extra upgrade fee this time around. I'm not exactly sure how I managed to swing that, but it was lovely, especially since I didn't have to pay for it out of my own pocket.
My seat mate and surrounding friends were friendly fellows, all on their way to Sheffield, England then ultimately to Russia -- they're roadies for Alice Cooper. I just checked his web site, and they're doing 10 shows in England over the next 12 days. Anyway, they were nice guys. I thought about asking them if there was any truth to the rumor that Alice Cooper is LDS, but decided against it. I needed my sleep more than I needed that conversation.
We got to the hotel at around 12:45, but the rooms weren't ready yet, so we walked up to a little restaurant that the concierge recommended, Maggie Jones. Since today is Sunday, these little restaurants all have a set "roast" menu. It reminded me of Sunday dinners growing up -- we had roasts frequently on Sundays, and I love thinking about the hundreds of years of traditions that have gone into a nice family sit-down dinner that made it into my little family in America in the 20th century.
Anyway, the restaurant was small and adorable -- it was reminiscent of an old farm house with small rickety stairs, a thick rope for a hand rail, hardly any room to maneuver in, old sturdy wood furniture, and excellent food. I had a venison pate for a first course, then roast lamb for the main course. I haven't had lamb since I was a kid, and I loved the familiar taste of the meat with a little bit of roasted onion and potato, topped with a bit of mint jelly. DE-licious. Dessert was an apple crumble with cream. The apples were perfectly tart, with the crumbly crust sweetened just enough to take the bite out of the apples, then a thick cream over it all to cool it off.
At this rate, I am not going to do very well weight-wise this week, but the airplane food was scant and less than delicious, so it's okay to have one really great meal today, right?
The rooms were ready when we got back, so I lightened my backpack load, armed myself with my camera, and went next door to Kensington gardens and palace. I hadn't planned on visiting the palace proper, probably simply because I didn't realize it was a possibility, but I did end up spending 12 pounds to see the parts that are open to the public. There was a lovely homage to Princess Diana, since she was one of the recent royal occupants, then Apartment 1A where Princess Margaret and Lord Snowden lived during the 60s-70s, then the older stuff about William, Mary, a bunch of the Georges, and even a little about Queen Victoria. It was all very grand and lovely and palatial, as one would expect a, well, a palace to be. It lacked only the cold stone mortars of medieval castles, but I guess that's why it's called a "palace" and not "castle."
Then I walked around Kensington Gardens and got a bit into Hyde Park. It was perfect late afternoon autumn lighting and the trees are all beautifully changing colors. People were out in full force rollerblading, jogging, walking dogs (never once saw one on a leash. Is it possible that British dogs are all as well-behaved as British humans? If they would speak, would it be also with perfect accents and elocution? I imagine so), playing frisbee, feeding the birds, feeding the squirrels (can't wait to upload photos of the cute old man who literally has squirrels eating out of his hand. Charming!), riding bicycles -- it was the perfect, idyllic family Sunday afternoon. It made me happy just being there to see other people's happiness and joy.
It started to get cold and dark at about 4:00 p.m., so I headed back to the hotel where I've been ever since relaxing, ordering room service and watching TV. The show selection is as minimal as I remember it being the last time I was here nearly a decade ago. The majority of the channels appear to be perfect for the typical Arabic or Muslim guest, which I am not, so there are approximately four channels with potential to interest me. I am now watching "The X Factor," which appears to be similar to "America's Got Talent," and the only thing it's helping me to accomplish is wondering why Simon Cowell is so very critical of the American Idol contestants but does not have a bad thing to say to any contestants of this home-town show. Is this British elitism at work? I believe so. There are performs who would get heartily mocked by him if it were American Idol, yet are heavily praised by him on this show. It's all quite perplexing and bewildering, and I mightily hope that there is another viewing option available to me soon.
Sadly, the DVD players are not compatible with my DVDs that I brought, and I don't feel like watching anything on my laptop, so I will continue to complain about the dismal viewing selection.
The good news is that if I can hold off going to bed for at least two more hours, I will have a fine chance of beating jet lag and being ready to tackle on the many meetings that await me tomorrow.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Hallo, London!
I know why they call it a "red eye" flight. There is nothing like that gritty, painful feeling in the eyes from trying to sleep on a plane against all physical instincts. You know you're supposed to because of the whole time/date change thing you want to overcome so's you can be at your best upon arrival, but your body really doesn't want to because it's not time to yet.
All things considered though, the flight and my handling of it went as well as could be expected. I slept for a few hours, though not contiguously, my legs didn't get as swollen as they did on the hellish Shanghai flight, and I somehow wound up in Economy Plus seating without having to pay the extra upgrade fee this time around. I'm not exactly sure how I managed to swing that, but it was lovely, especially since I didn't have to pay for it out of my own pocket.
My seat mate and surrounding friends were friendly fellows, all on their way to Sheffield, England then ultimately to Russia -- they're roadies for Alice Cooper. I just checked his web site, and they're doing 10 shows in England over the next 12 days. Anyway, they were nice guys. I thought about asking them if there was any truth to the rumor that Alice Cooper is LDS, but decided against it. I needed my sleep more than I needed that conversation.
We got to the hotel at around 12:45, but the rooms weren't ready yet, so we walked up to a little restaurant that the concierge recommended, Maggie Jones. Since today is Sunday, these little restaurants all have a set "roast" menu. It reminded me of Sunday dinners growing up -- we had roasts frequently on Sundays, and I love thinking about the hundreds of years of traditions that have gone into a nice family sit-down dinner that made it into my little family in America in the 20th century.
Anyway, the restaurant was small and adorable -- it was reminiscent of an old farm house with small rickety stairs, a thick rope for a hand rail, hardly any room to maneuver in, old sturdy wood furniture, and excellent food. I had a venison pate for a first course, then roast lamb for the main course. I haven't had lamb since I was a kid, and I loved the familiar taste of the meat with a little bit of roasted onion and potato, topped with a bit of mint jelly. DE-licious. Dessert was an apple crumble with cream. The apples were perfectly tart, with the crumbly crust sweetened just enough to take the bite out of the apples, then a thick cream over it all to cool it off.
At this rate, I am not going to do very well weight-wise this week, but the airplane food was scant and less than delicious, so it's okay to have one really great meal today, right?
The rooms were ready when we got back, so I lightened my backpack load, armed myself with my camera, and went next door to Kensington gardens and palace. I hadn't planned on visiting the palace proper, probably simply because I didn't realize it was a possibility, but I did end up spending 12 pounds to see the parts that are open to the public. There was a lovely homage to Princess Diana, since she was one of the recent royal occupants, then Apartment 1A where Princess Margaret and Lord Snowden lived during the 60s-70s, then the older stuff about William, Mary, a bunch of the Georges, and even a little about Queen Victoria. It was all very grand and lovely and palatial, as one would expect a, well, a palace to be. It lacked only the cold stone mortars of medieval castles, but I guess that's why it's called a "palace" and not "castle."
Then I walked around Kensington Gardens and got a bit into Hyde Park. It was perfect late afternoon autumn lighting and the trees are all beautifully changing colors. People were out in full force rollerblading, jogging, walking dogs (never once saw one on a leash. Is it possible that British dogs are all as well-behaved as British humans? If they would speak, would it be also with perfect accents and elocution? I imagine so), playing frisbee, feeding the birds, feeding the squirrels (can't wait to upload photos of the cute old man who literally has squirrels eating out of his hand. Charming!), riding bicycles -- it was the perfect, idyllic family Sunday afternoon. It made me happy just being there to see other people's happiness and joy.
It started to get cold and dark at about 4:00 p.m., so I headed back to the hotel where I've been ever since relaxing, ordering room service and watching TV. The show selection is as minimal as I remember it being the last time I was here nearly a decade ago. The majority of the channels appear to be perfect for the typical Arabic or Muslim guest, which I am not, so there are approximately four channels with potential to interest me. I am now watching "The X Factor," which appears to be similar to "America's Got Talent," and the only thing it's helping me to accomplish is wondering why Simon Cowell is so very critical of the American Idol contestants but does not have a bad thing to say to any contestants of this home-town show. Is this British elitism at work? I believe so. There are performs who would get heartily mocked by him if it were American Idol, yet are heavily praised by him on this show. It's all quite perplexing and bewildering, and I mightily hope that there is another viewing option available to me soon.
Sadly, the DVD players are not compatible with my DVDs that I brought, and I don't feel like watching anything on my laptop, so I will continue to complain about the dismal viewing selection.
The good news is that if I can hold off going to bed for at least two more hours, I will have a fine chance of beating jet lag and being ready to tackle on the many meetings that await me tomorrow.
All things considered though, the flight and my handling of it went as well as could be expected. I slept for a few hours, though not contiguously, my legs didn't get as swollen as they did on the hellish Shanghai flight, and I somehow wound up in Economy Plus seating without having to pay the extra upgrade fee this time around. I'm not exactly sure how I managed to swing that, but it was lovely, especially since I didn't have to pay for it out of my own pocket.
My seat mate and surrounding friends were friendly fellows, all on their way to Sheffield, England then ultimately to Russia -- they're roadies for Alice Cooper. I just checked his web site, and they're doing 10 shows in England over the next 12 days. Anyway, they were nice guys. I thought about asking them if there was any truth to the rumor that Alice Cooper is LDS, but decided against it. I needed my sleep more than I needed that conversation.
We got to the hotel at around 12:45, but the rooms weren't ready yet, so we walked up to a little restaurant that the concierge recommended, Maggie Jones. Since today is Sunday, these little restaurants all have a set "roast" menu. It reminded me of Sunday dinners growing up -- we had roasts frequently on Sundays, and I love thinking about the hundreds of years of traditions that have gone into a nice family sit-down dinner that made it into my little family in America in the 20th century.
Anyway, the restaurant was small and adorable -- it was reminiscent of an old farm house with small rickety stairs, a thick rope for a hand rail, hardly any room to maneuver in, old sturdy wood furniture, and excellent food. I had a venison pate for a first course, then roast lamb for the main course. I haven't had lamb since I was a kid, and I loved the familiar taste of the meat with a little bit of roasted onion and potato, topped with a bit of mint jelly. DE-licious. Dessert was an apple crumble with cream. The apples were perfectly tart, with the crumbly crust sweetened just enough to take the bite out of the apples, then a thick cream over it all to cool it off.
At this rate, I am not going to do very well weight-wise this week, but the airplane food was scant and less than delicious, so it's okay to have one really great meal today, right?
The rooms were ready when we got back, so I lightened my backpack load, armed myself with my camera, and went next door to Kensington gardens and palace. I hadn't planned on visiting the palace proper, probably simply because I didn't realize it was a possibility, but I did end up spending 12 pounds to see the parts that are open to the public. There was a lovely homage to Princess Diana, since she was one of the recent royal occupants, then Apartment 1A where Princess Margaret and Lord Snowden lived during the 60s-70s, then the older stuff about William, Mary, a bunch of the Georges, and even a little about Queen Victoria. It was all very grand and lovely and palatial, as one would expect a, well, a palace to be. It lacked only the cold stone mortars of medieval castles, but I guess that's why it's called a "palace" and not "castle."
Then I walked around Kensington Gardens and got a bit into Hyde Park. It was perfect late afternoon autumn lighting and the trees are all beautifully changing colors. People were out in full force rollerblading, jogging, walking dogs (never once saw one on a leash. Is it possible that British dogs are all as well-behaved as British humans? If they would speak, would it be also with perfect accents and elocution? I imagine so), playing frisbee, feeding the birds, feeding the squirrels (can't wait to upload photos of the cute old man who literally has squirrels eating out of his hand. Charming!), riding bicycles -- it was the perfect, idyllic family Sunday afternoon. It made me happy just being there to see other people's happiness and joy.
It started to get cold and dark at about 4:00 p.m., so I headed back to the hotel where I've been ever since relaxing, ordering room service and watching TV. The show selection is as minimal as I remember it being the last time I was here nearly a decade ago. The majority of the channels appear to be perfect for the typical Arabic or Muslim guest, which I am not, so there are approximately four channels with potential to interest me. I am now watching "The X Factor," which appears to be similar to "America's Got Talent," and the only thing it's helping me to accomplish is wondering why Simon Cowell is so very critical of the American Idol contestants but does not have a bad thing to say to any contestants of this home-town show. Is this British elitism at work? I believe so. There are performs who would get heartily mocked by him if it were American Idol, yet are heavily praised by him on this show. It's all quite perplexing and bewildering, and I mightily hope that there is another viewing option available to me soon.
Sadly, the DVD players are not compatible with my DVDs that I brought, and I don't feel like watching anything on my laptop, so I will continue to complain about the dismal viewing selection.
The good news is that if I can hold off going to bed for at least two more hours, I will have a fine chance of beating jet lag and being ready to tackle on the many meetings that await me tomorrow.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
God Works in Mysterious Ways, or
...."Why I Probably Need to Get A New Exercise Bra" or
"Yeah, Not Quite As Well-Endowed As I Thought"
A friend of mine was over at my house the other day. She used her cell phone, then I noticed that she stuck it back in her bra. At least, that's what it looked like. So I asked her, "Did you just put that phone back in your bra?" because I'm nothing if not subtle. She confirmed that's what she had done and said it stayed in there really well and that's where she put it when she goes running.
Huh, I thought to myself, because I don't bring my cell phone with me when I go running, but I could see why that might be a good idea.
On Friday night I had a chance to see how well this idea works for me. I was going to go for a run, and since it was nighttime -- I usually go running in the morning, which doesn't cause me that much concern for my personal safety -- so it seemed like a good idea to have a cell phone with me. I tucked it into the side of my bra by the shoulder strap, put my iPod headphones in and took off.
After a bit, I noticed that the phone was slipping around a bit, but the bra was doing its elastic-y best to keep me and the phone in their proper places. At one point I noticed that it had moved over to the center, and it seemed to be nicely wedged between the girls and I thought for sure it would be totally safe there.
At one point my iPod died, but intrepid girl that I am, I kept right on going. It bugged me though, because it should have had a pretty good charge to it since I had only used it for an hour the day before at the gym.
A little less than halfway through the run, I turned down a side street. Since it was a bit darker there than on the main street, I figured it would be safe to make sure I knew where my phone was. I put my hand to its last known location and it wasn't there. No biggie, I thought; that just means that it's moved back to the side. Nope, not there either. Now both hands are in the action -- checking the back strap, the side straps, the under strap -- no phone. I was a little panicked, thinking that since it was so dark and a lot of grassy areas, busy intersections, etc., depending on where I had lost it, it might be smashed, or worse -- someone else may have seen it and picked it up and was now having a grand old time calling Jakarta ... or wherever it is that phone thieves call. I was already imagining having to get a new phone, cancel this one, trying to remember what the last legitimate call was that I had made and received -- you know -- all that good panicky stuff you go through when something like that is lost.
I figured it had to have fallen out before my iPod died, otherwise I would have heard it fall out, so I turned around and started retracing my steps. I kept a sharp lookout for it just in case, but didn't think it would show up before that point. Sure enough, when I got to the intersection that I had passed just before the death of the iPod, there was the phone laying in the street. The back cover had fallen off and the battery was about a foot away, but once I put it all back together and turned it on, it worked just fine.
It seemed dumb at that point to have gotten mad about the iPod when it stopped working. If it hadn't, I never would have had any clue about where to begin looking for my phone. So God does work in mysterious ways, even if it is to protect dumb people like me from permanently losing their phones.
The other lessons learned:
I am not as well-endowed as my friend and thinking that my bra is a good place for my phone was dumb.
...Or I could just get a new bra that fits better. I'd be willing to try the experiment again, but with more caution about making sure I know where the phone is. Hard to do that without looking like you're groping yourself, though.
Pockets. Yeah, pockets. That works.
"Yeah, Not Quite As Well-Endowed As I Thought"
A friend of mine was over at my house the other day. She used her cell phone, then I noticed that she stuck it back in her bra. At least, that's what it looked like. So I asked her, "Did you just put that phone back in your bra?" because I'm nothing if not subtle. She confirmed that's what she had done and said it stayed in there really well and that's where she put it when she goes running.
Huh, I thought to myself, because I don't bring my cell phone with me when I go running, but I could see why that might be a good idea.
On Friday night I had a chance to see how well this idea works for me. I was going to go for a run, and since it was nighttime -- I usually go running in the morning, which doesn't cause me that much concern for my personal safety -- so it seemed like a good idea to have a cell phone with me. I tucked it into the side of my bra by the shoulder strap, put my iPod headphones in and took off.
After a bit, I noticed that the phone was slipping around a bit, but the bra was doing its elastic-y best to keep me and the phone in their proper places. At one point I noticed that it had moved over to the center, and it seemed to be nicely wedged between the girls and I thought for sure it would be totally safe there.
At one point my iPod died, but intrepid girl that I am, I kept right on going. It bugged me though, because it should have had a pretty good charge to it since I had only used it for an hour the day before at the gym.
A little less than halfway through the run, I turned down a side street. Since it was a bit darker there than on the main street, I figured it would be safe to make sure I knew where my phone was. I put my hand to its last known location and it wasn't there. No biggie, I thought; that just means that it's moved back to the side. Nope, not there either. Now both hands are in the action -- checking the back strap, the side straps, the under strap -- no phone. I was a little panicked, thinking that since it was so dark and a lot of grassy areas, busy intersections, etc., depending on where I had lost it, it might be smashed, or worse -- someone else may have seen it and picked it up and was now having a grand old time calling Jakarta ... or wherever it is that phone thieves call. I was already imagining having to get a new phone, cancel this one, trying to remember what the last legitimate call was that I had made and received -- you know -- all that good panicky stuff you go through when something like that is lost.
I figured it had to have fallen out before my iPod died, otherwise I would have heard it fall out, so I turned around and started retracing my steps. I kept a sharp lookout for it just in case, but didn't think it would show up before that point. Sure enough, when I got to the intersection that I had passed just before the death of the iPod, there was the phone laying in the street. The back cover had fallen off and the battery was about a foot away, but once I put it all back together and turned it on, it worked just fine.
It seemed dumb at that point to have gotten mad about the iPod when it stopped working. If it hadn't, I never would have had any clue about where to begin looking for my phone. So God does work in mysterious ways, even if it is to protect dumb people like me from permanently losing their phones.
The other lessons learned:
I am not as well-endowed as my friend and thinking that my bra is a good place for my phone was dumb.
...Or I could just get a new bra that fits better. I'd be willing to try the experiment again, but with more caution about making sure I know where the phone is. Hard to do that without looking like you're groping yourself, though.
Pockets. Yeah, pockets. That works.
Friday, July 27, 2007
I Hate You, Sol
I can't stop looking at my butt. It's not that great of a butt, and as I lose weight it's becoming flatter, which is good, but it's not a shape I'm used to seeing. I kinda wish it were a bit more round. In other words, I don't think any rappers are going to be singing songs about me having back any time soon. But it's smaller than it was two months ago, which is such a new phenomenon I can't keep my eyes off it.
I'm starting to remind me of a girl I used to work with, Soledad, or Sol for short. She started losing a bunch of weight and was looking really great. People were complimenting her and you could tell her self-confidence was increasing. But the more she lost, the more she needed those compliments -- to the point where if she didn't get any she would start her own conversation with the victim nearest her about how great she looked, her new diet and lifestyle and how much weight she had lost. Naturally, no one really wanted to pursue conversations with her because no matter who initiated it or what the subject matter was, it would turn back around to her new body and weight loss. It got to the point where if you saw her coming down the hall, you ducked into someone else's cubicle and made up something to talk about until the coast was clear.
Examples of the obnoxity include:
"Well, this new diet my trainer has me on is very low carb which is totally hard for me to do because you know that's what I grew up eating was all that rice and bread and stuff but it's totally worth it because look how much weight I've lost and don't I look great???"
"When I started this I was a size 12 but now look at me I look great I'm a size 0 at first I thought I was a 2, but then I just got this pair of shorts aren't they cute but I have to go exchange them because I thought I was a small but these are too big so I guess I need an extra-small I sure do hope they have some in stock not a lot of people carry that size but it's because I'm a 0 now and I need the extra small aren't they cute?"
Yes, she really did speak like that -- with no audible punctuation and super fast -- almost as though she knew if she paused for breath the opportunity would be siezed to turn and run the other way. It always made me think to myself, "I hate you, Sol." It wasn't jealousy that made me think that, it was the idea that she had no self-awareness to see how blabbing incessantly about herself and how great she was was completely insensitive, rude and obnoxious.
So yes, I've been on a lower carb eating program and yes I've lost weight to the point where it's noticeable and people are starting to compliment me. I like to think, though, that if it's not noticed, I don't get offended. I'm certainly not bragging about it in an unsolicted manner. Well, at work at least I'm not.
Home is a different story. Home is a safe haven, so I feel a little more entitled to longer glances in the mirror (at my new and improved butt), not to brag but mostly in astonishment that it's noticeably smaller. This, of course, results in me making observations to anyone in the room about the new size clothes I'm fitting into and laments regarding all the clothes that I've outgrown and will either need to donate to Goodwill or have altered.
I honestly don't want to descend to the same level of obnoxiousness that Sol did on a daily basis, so I'm trying to keep my audible observations to a minimum. The cats are a good audience for that, but they act disinterested all, "Whatever, dude. Feed me," so obviously my weight loss is not in the forefront of their feline cares. In trying to be sensitive to not becoming like Sol, I said to Linda the other day after moaning about having no clothes to wear, "I don't want to be like Sol. Please let me know BEFORE we get to that point so that I don't alienate anyone or make you hate me."
Skinny Linda responded, "Oh, you can brag about it all you want. Until you get to a size 8 then you're not allowed to talk about it anymore."
I said, "Why? Is that because you're a 10 and don't want me to be smaller than you?"
"Yep."
Good to know. I'll never be bragging/complaining about having to exchange that super cute pair of shorts from a size small to an extra-small because I'll never be an 8. Not just because I've never been an 8 (I think I went straight from a toddler's M to a junior's 11 or 13 in adolescence) but because I don't want to risk the sanctity of body-size proportions in the home. I've always been more of the Papa Bear size in the house and I can understand that anything other than that jeopordizes that delicate balance.
More than even that, though, I don't want anyone to look at me and whisper to themselves, "I hate you, Sol."
I'm starting to remind me of a girl I used to work with, Soledad, or Sol for short. She started losing a bunch of weight and was looking really great. People were complimenting her and you could tell her self-confidence was increasing. But the more she lost, the more she needed those compliments -- to the point where if she didn't get any she would start her own conversation with the victim nearest her about how great she looked, her new diet and lifestyle and how much weight she had lost. Naturally, no one really wanted to pursue conversations with her because no matter who initiated it or what the subject matter was, it would turn back around to her new body and weight loss. It got to the point where if you saw her coming down the hall, you ducked into someone else's cubicle and made up something to talk about until the coast was clear.
Examples of the obnoxity include:
"Well, this new diet my trainer has me on is very low carb which is totally hard for me to do because you know that's what I grew up eating was all that rice and bread and stuff but it's totally worth it because look how much weight I've lost and don't I look great???"
"When I started this I was a size 12 but now look at me I look great I'm a size 0 at first I thought I was a 2, but then I just got this pair of shorts aren't they cute but I have to go exchange them because I thought I was a small but these are too big so I guess I need an extra-small I sure do hope they have some in stock not a lot of people carry that size but it's because I'm a 0 now and I need the extra small aren't they cute?"
Yes, she really did speak like that -- with no audible punctuation and super fast -- almost as though she knew if she paused for breath the opportunity would be siezed to turn and run the other way. It always made me think to myself, "I hate you, Sol." It wasn't jealousy that made me think that, it was the idea that she had no self-awareness to see how blabbing incessantly about herself and how great she was was completely insensitive, rude and obnoxious.
So yes, I've been on a lower carb eating program and yes I've lost weight to the point where it's noticeable and people are starting to compliment me. I like to think, though, that if it's not noticed, I don't get offended. I'm certainly not bragging about it in an unsolicted manner. Well, at work at least I'm not.
Home is a different story. Home is a safe haven, so I feel a little more entitled to longer glances in the mirror (at my new and improved butt), not to brag but mostly in astonishment that it's noticeably smaller. This, of course, results in me making observations to anyone in the room about the new size clothes I'm fitting into and laments regarding all the clothes that I've outgrown and will either need to donate to Goodwill or have altered.
I honestly don't want to descend to the same level of obnoxiousness that Sol did on a daily basis, so I'm trying to keep my audible observations to a minimum. The cats are a good audience for that, but they act disinterested all, "Whatever, dude. Feed me," so obviously my weight loss is not in the forefront of their feline cares. In trying to be sensitive to not becoming like Sol, I said to Linda the other day after moaning about having no clothes to wear, "I don't want to be like Sol. Please let me know BEFORE we get to that point so that I don't alienate anyone or make you hate me."
Skinny Linda responded, "Oh, you can brag about it all you want. Until you get to a size 8 then you're not allowed to talk about it anymore."
I said, "Why? Is that because you're a 10 and don't want me to be smaller than you?"
"Yep."
Good to know. I'll never be bragging/complaining about having to exchange that super cute pair of shorts from a size small to an extra-small because I'll never be an 8. Not just because I've never been an 8 (I think I went straight from a toddler's M to a junior's 11 or 13 in adolescence) but because I don't want to risk the sanctity of body-size proportions in the home. I've always been more of the Papa Bear size in the house and I can understand that anything other than that jeopordizes that delicate balance.
More than even that, though, I don't want anyone to look at me and whisper to themselves, "I hate you, Sol."
The Bond We Share
On June 29, 1984, I was at a youth conference session at BYU. Due to the attendance numbers, they had put some of us in overflow off-campus housing. I was staying at the Riviera apartments with my three roommates. One day we came home from some classes and there was a note on the apartment door from my (now ex-)brother-in-law. "Laura Jane, your sister just had a baby and we're across the street at (the birthing center). Come see us!"
One of the advantages of staying off-campus was realized at this moment. There was no one to monitor our comings and goings, so I took my three roommates and we traipsed across the street to go see my sister and new niece. My roommates were amazed that my sister was coherent and sitting up and gracious enough to accept visitors. I was amazed that they were amazed; I expected nothing less from the woman who had already had two children and helped another sister with at-home deliveries.
Ever since that day, the family joke has been that Coralee, my niece born that day, and I shared an immediate bond because "Laura was the first loud noise she heard." It's true that we've always been friends, despite the large age difference (17+ years) between us. It has been a joy to watch her grow and mature and I love the opportunities I get to see her.
The most recent joyous landmark in her life happened on June 29, 2007. She was married in Bountiful, Utah to her new husband Zak. No coincidence on the date; it happened to fall on both of their birthdays.
Here's the beautiful bride, my niece. Best wishes and congratulations to you both!
One of the advantages of staying off-campus was realized at this moment. There was no one to monitor our comings and goings, so I took my three roommates and we traipsed across the street to go see my sister and new niece. My roommates were amazed that my sister was coherent and sitting up and gracious enough to accept visitors. I was amazed that they were amazed; I expected nothing less from the woman who had already had two children and helped another sister with at-home deliveries.
Ever since that day, the family joke has been that Coralee, my niece born that day, and I shared an immediate bond because "Laura was the first loud noise she heard." It's true that we've always been friends, despite the large age difference (17+ years) between us. It has been a joy to watch her grow and mature and I love the opportunities I get to see her.
The most recent joyous landmark in her life happened on June 29, 2007. She was married in Bountiful, Utah to her new husband Zak. No coincidence on the date; it happened to fall on both of their birthdays.
Here's the beautiful bride, my niece. Best wishes and congratulations to you both!
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