Wipe Out

Still doing respite care and getting a feel for my new neighborhood. While sitting in the front room interneting and such I repeatedly hear a motorcycle screeching by.

I look out the window. Dude zooms by on a white dirt bike. A few seconds later dude zooms by again. And again. And again. And again. He's wearing cargo pants, a t-shirt, baseball cap and a bluetooth earpiece. Curiously I spy some more.

At first I thought he was just trying to learn how to ride, then I noticed he was lifting the front tire off the bike. Just a small lift, then a little lift, a bit bigger now. He's gone. He's back. He's gone. There goes a pedal-pusher, poor sucker because my dirt bike friend is back.

It's mildly entertaining, moderately annoying, and hella trying to impress the cute blonde that emerged from the house next door.

There she stands. Here he comes. Up goes the front tire. Down goes the seat. Off goes the boy. "Ouch!" goes my mouth.

There goes the girl. There goes the boy and bike.

Silence.

Surviving Sugarhouse

Status update: I'm currently doing respite care for one of my clients. Meaning I'm spending a great deal of time in her house, an older house with charming vegetation. Beautiful tulips, a large pink blushing, blossoming hanging tree, blackberry bushes and more. Most of the windows lack screens and that alarms me.

Coming from Lamar, CO, capitol of bugs, I wince at the thought of anything with six or more legs. Even four can be too many. Screen doors, screen windows, screening phone calls...all important as they keep the unwanted away. Luckily Salt Lake lacks the bug population of Lamar, but it doesn't lack in the creepy crawlers.

Spiders. Eeek. I have an irrational fear of them that sprouts from an unfortunate watching of Arachnophobia. My dad called it family bonding, I called it torture. As it turned out I was right, being plagued with nightmares for years.

Those nightmares came crashing into the foreground tonight when I walked up the narrow steep stairs to the attic bedroom I'm sleeping in. Thank you Flowers In the Attic for my irrational fear of attics. So there I am facing fear of attic when I flip on the light to face fear of large black spider speeding towards my toe. I suppose I'm thankful that this was a freeze fear and I was unable to scream. I did mutter some strange guttural sounds in gasps.

I grabbed the first shoe I could find (I only feel right about killing spiders with shoes. They offer enough distance and usually you can't see the guts afterward.). Then I jumped on the chair close to the spider, which by now had a not-so-irrational fear of me, and talked myself into throwing the shoe with a skilled and marked aim. Success! The little sucker curled up into a dead spider position.

Failure! Something soft a furry slid onto my foot at the exact time and I screamed to tears. Up in the attic, locked away, where my mother would never see me again.

I looked down to see a pillow grazing my foot and my dead eight-legged friend still curled up in despair. He deserved a solid beating. I picked up the shoe again.

What happened next may have been savage, but it was necessary.

My Little Psychotic

With a new engagement and a wedding looming many people ask how we met. It’s fun or embarrassing to admit that we met when I was a lowly intern and he a hot-shot editor, that is the black and white story. Some stories have more depth, more daring, more delusional psychotic history.

Recently we hooked up with our new landlord at a bakery. Instead of ordering a pastry or treat, we just sat there in a semi-awkward silence. It was weirdness we had noticed when we’d viewed the apartment. Skip’s usual ice breaking tactics didn’t not work, but they didn’t really work either. As we left the condo we both commented on the social differences. And by differences we meant that they lacked in being cool, and quite possibly they had a similar thought about us.

Leave it to me to really ponder this, I went as far as placing one spouse on the Autism Spectrum Disorder (eye contact is important people!). So when I found myself sitting across from the husband while Skip read and reread and signed and read the documents it seemed like I should investigate. I attribute this general curiosity/nosiness to my mother. After he asked about my engagement and wedding I turned those same questions on him; well not exactly but I asked how he and his wife met. ICE BREAKER.

“We met in a psych ward. She was a nurse and I was a patient.”

Wait, what. That’s how my parents met! I wish I could say I played it cool and listened to his story but I started hyperventilating, choking on water as a sputtered out my laughter. Back in their BYU days my parents worked at the psych hospital. And while they both worked there my mom gives that same line to people who ask how they met.

“I was a nurse at the psych hospital and your father was a patient.”

My new landlord told me story after story of the kids he worked with, he did more recreation therapy, something current in my own job history.

When we left and Skip encouraged my social skills (usually he’s doing the talking and I’m politely silent, that does not mean I don’t know how to interact) I decided that every woman must have their own little psychotic to love.

From now on when people ask how we met I will say, “We met at a psych ward. I was a nurse, he was a patient.”

Closing Day

Instant recap: It's taken oh-so-long for me to learn how to "snowboard". In fact, depending on the day and who's feeling sorry and loving towards me it can be said that after 3 years I still don't know how to snowboard.

I do know how to fall with style, just ask the guys at the Canyons. I slipped off the lift and hung suspended in air for a bit until my shoulder popped, dislodging me and I proceeded to do flips and ninja my way into a standing position. I even offered a few fist pumps into the air. It seemed appropriate for the applause I received.

Now at the end of the season I have a wonderful thing to tell. Yes, I still struggle to point the board downhill—speed is not my thing. Yes, heights terrify me and I have a few choice words for cat trails, steeps and people flying by me. Yes, much like fusball Heelside is da Devil! And linking turns for me means coming to a stop and switching directions. I think I can hear my family weeping softly in their homes wondering how I lack all athletic skills.

Good news family. While I'm a dork strapped into a board and failing around in my straight jacket, I fail beautifully in any direction. I have no dominant foot. I profess to be goofy footed but really can ride switch just as well (almost). And on the last day of this season I had a rare moment of courage, also known as stupidity.

I pulled some tricks. My Ollie ain't bad, and it ain't good either. More impressive was my jump. I launched into the air and feeling nostalgia for my brief cheerleading career threw my body into a spread eagle. It worked, I totally landed that...on my stomach pancake-style. After carefully grooming the trail for the next kid I did my patent ninja twist onto my back, then back onto my stomach because that's how I get up. Slight concussion? Perhaps, but I prefer to think of it as exhilaration after conquering the mountain.

Definition of conquering the mountain: getting beat up while beating up the snow and doing a victory dance afterwards, even if no one is there to see it.

Scandaluminious

This actually happened a week ago, but I'm about to be faced with the same dilemmia of using my cell phone while watching a movie in the dark abyss of a dollar theatre.

Probably you as the reader and fellow champion of law abiding behavior scowled and rolled your eyes over that last comment. Who does that?! you thought unwilling to read further and unable not to quit. I do that just as you most likely check a text when watching a semi-interesting movie in the darkened comfort of your home entertainment center. 

But you are right about one thing  it was wrong. So wrong, in fact, that a movie steward a.k.a. Hater of FUN instructed me to turn of my phone. I immediately jumped and threw my hand toward her face, for all I knew the Shadow Man from the Disney movie had somehow found my unaware. 

And before I could comment on the fact that there were exactly two people in the theatre, my companion and I, the moviemonger manager had disappeared...into the SHADOWS.

So I'm going back tomorrow and if I am one of two people in the theatre I will pull my phone out and use the flashlight as a warning to the staff.

You Don't Know Me

I'm about to blurt and you're about to read it. He's trying to engage me, not in the ceramics-painting-art-is-fun-way or the you-will-learn-to-snowboard-without-injury-way but in the lifelong-teamwork-have-my-babies-way. I blame my cousin Kellie's farewell where he developed baby lust after looking at my little cousins. Just glad he didn't try to take one home.

So in this new life adventure I'm supposed to help procure the most amazing jewelry commitment. A ring I will wear everyday for the rest of my life. It's got to fit every situation and outfit, not only for my current lifestyle but for all fashion and career choices in my future. Terrifying task. I know diamonds and gems are timeless now but in 10, 20, 30, 40 years will that hold true? Probably, it's the golden anniversary I'm worried about. I'll be creeping on 80 and the last thing I'll want is a huge slab of weight on my finger, instead I'd like a cozy crocheted knuckle warmer.

This one decision has kept me up long nights and given me ulcers, until I stumbled on a ring quiz developed for the guy who wanted to capture an unsuspecting girl. I figured I'd let the professionals find my perfect ring and all I had to do was answer four simple questions about me.

Who knew I'd fail? I took, retook and mathematically tried every possiblity ((f)x:4!). Each time a beautiful diamond ring I'd slit my wrists over flashed before me like a punishment. He took it one time and sent me proof of his A+, a ring nearly identical in design to what I'd said I liked.

Question one: dream getaway? outdoor adventure, uptown venues, beach. Umm...what is it I like. I've done them all and loved them all so I sat stumped. It's not like there was only one such getaway that I spent my savings on.
His correct answer: beach

Question two: shoes she always wears? athletic kicks, stiletto heels, bare feet. Hmm. Love heels. Barefoot gives me blisters. An athlete I'm not. I tapped my Vans covered toes on the floor debating between bare and heels. Never mind the brown skate shoes I take off every time I go to someone's home.
His correct answer: athletic.

Question three: favorite concert? loud wild boy music, soft slow snoring music, or Breezy music. I got this one because in the example they listed one band whose concert I've been to and another that I have both alblms of.
His correct answer: Underground indie.

Question four: celebrity style? casual, trendsetter, fabulous. No clue. I don't know what my lack of style is. So I decided that all the Gap clothing forced on me by my sisters years ago defined me—casual. Wrong. And those designer gowns I strut around in made me feel fabulous. Wait, no longer in high school trying on prom dresses. Instead I take cues from rock stars who throw on weird accessories and dark colors.
His correct answer: trendsetter.
The Ring

Finally an approximation to the perfect ring. But it's not because I had already found my perfect ring. Others might not see the 4c's but those who know me will fall in love with it (for me).

Maybe you do know me.

Dear Body

You seem to have forgotten some basic rules so I'm refreshing your memory on "normalcy".

When fifty blankets cover you it is OK to stop shivering,. Really, midnight is not the time to burn the extra calories.

Speaking of calories, I'm fine with leaving food in the digestive tract for digestive purposes for two or more hours. It takes more than that for you to grab the nutrients and use them accordingly. I find you, you gain strength. Anything else is unacceptable.

Water rentention is welcomed in the desert...I'm just saying.

The retainer straightens your teeth. It is not a jaw-locking mechanism.

Bloodshot eyes do not become you. Right back to that whole hold in the moisture thing we were talking about. Oh and maybe the late nights begat early mornings thing.

Just a reminder that you will be here in 50 more years and there will be more chats if you don't control yourself.

Love-ish,

Bre