Lys

One of the people I love most in this world is leaving tomorrow to serve an LDS mission for 18 months in Romania. (Why she is leaving me http://mormon.org/) Instead of going on and on about why I might not survive her absence, I will give you a small taste of why most people need Lys in their lives.

Yup, I am really, really going to miss her.

The Curse of Pigeon

Gather round everybody. It’s story time.

Once upon a time there was a pigeon toed girl who was afflicted with a terrible curse. No matter what piece of technology the girl touched or even breathed near, her curse would cause it to malfunction. The severity of her curse was not fully realized until one very hot day.

Pigeon woke up early on the very hot day to make herself as presentable as possible for the arrival of the King and the Prince. The King, Paul Bisaro, lived in a far off land called New Jersey where he made important decisions concerning his subjects living all over the globe.

(Paul Bisaro, King of Watson Pharmaceuticals)

Prince Herbert lived in a very large palace in Utah where he was trying to learn what to do after the previous Prince went to China as an ambassador.

(Prince Herbert)

It was very rare for the King to travel to the village where Pigeon worked and everyone who worked in the Salt Lake Village was very anxious about his arrival. Everyone wanted to look their very best, as did Pigeon. Pigeon, however, was a very silly girl who was always running at least five minutes late and always seemed to forget things. Her preparations took much longer than they should have on that fateful hot day and Pigeon was left running out the door without a lunch in hand. When Pigeon arrived at the village with her belly full of strawberry frosted mini wheats that her sweet cousin had gifted her, she reasoned she would be able to survive for 8 hours without food. How very, very wrong she was. Poor Pigeon is also afflicted by another debilitating curse known as, “common senseless”.

Pigeon and ten other young apprentices got to go to a special meeting with the King and ask him questions about his ascent to power. The King turned out to be a very good man in Pigeon’s opinion who did not flaunt his power as many other Kings do. He even told Pigeon she asked a good question. Pigeon will likely be promoted to Vice President of the Kingdom of Watson Pharmaceuticals very soon because of this. She will maybe even have an office that she can have her space heater on in all the time and a big window for her to stare out of. After meeting the King, Pigeon’s stomach started to sound like an underwater musical production of “Cats”. Pigeon decided she would go to ask the Baker at Subway for a 6-inch loaf of goodness. Just as Pigeon was about to pay her plastic sickle for the loaf of goodness, the Baker said in alarm “Oh no. The computer has gone down. This has never happened before” It took Pigeon a minute or two to realize why the computer had gone down. Pigeon’s curse had already taken many victims that week. Pigeon’s carriage, Old Yeller, one of the victim’s of the week was getting fixed in the magical carriage shop. Pigeon had accidentally broken the RA scanner, printer, and even microwave for a while. Her phone fairy was on strike and refused to give Pigeon her messages and kept trying to download firmware. Could Pigeon’s curse possible go as far as to break Subway’s computer. Alas, it could. A few minutes started to go by and some of the Baker’s customers began to turn into mean witches and warlocks. After twenty minutes, the customers had turned into a vicious Beast hunting mob with no Beast to hunt but the poor baker. In her angst, Pigeon turned to a very rude elderly customer and said “It’s not their fault you know.” Pigeon stared back at the old man’s fiery gaze and realized with a start how correct she was. It was not the Baker’s fault, but her fault. Her curse had taken another victim and now innocent blood was being shed. Panicked, she looked at the Baker and hoped no one would recognize her as the girl with the technology curse. The Baker merely returned her gaze with ptiy and instead of throwing her out on the streets hungry, he whispered for her to take her loaf of goodness (for free) and leave. As soon as walked out of the door, she heard the familiar ring of a cash register behind her. The curse had lifted from Subway and was on its way to claim another victim. Beware of the curse of Pigeon my friends. Beware.

Aliens & Being Anti-Social

I am the recipient of an overwhelming amount of kindness: my family, fiancée, friends, strangers are constantly going above and beyond what I could have ever imagined. At this point in life, I would expectedly be less surprised when people are charitable. Despite the truly millions of instances of kindness I have received, I continue to be deeply humbled by others. You will hear plenty of stories of altruistic heroes who risk life and limb to save another being. Those stories should undoubtedly be told and re-told. Yet, it is rare to see a publicized story about a selfless father who gives absolutely every ounce of himself to his two (sometimes difficult) daughters and lovely wife. Or a co-worker who brightens everyone’s day with a friendly hello and a far too frequent treat. Or a man who waded into a river to retrieve a stranger’s Frisbee. These instances of selflessness might not receive publicity, but they unfailing leave an impressive mark on my heart. To think on all I have been given by the loving hand of another brings me to tears.

I fail, as some often do, to be as appreciative to those who show me the most kindness. Let’s start with my friends who I never talk to. I am absolutely awful at talking on the phone/texting/emailing/facebook-ing-you name it. Growing up, my parents were severely concerned with my social life. They would “casually” walk into my room where I would be playing with my imaginary friends or reading and suggest I go knock on so and so’s door to see if he/she could play. I would suddenly have a stomachache/ headache/ hemorrhaging limb that would prevent me from knocking on so and so’s door. They would get frustrated at my refusal to be a normal child and threaten to ground me if I didn’t go play outside. I would pretend to be distraught at this unjust punishment and become unruly and difficult. They would deliver the line, “Fine. You’re grounded young lady!” To which I would pretend to cry about and then gleefully pump my fists in the air in triumph as they exited my room. Gotcha parents! Now back to my imaginary friend time. When I got older, it was still a battle to be social. At school, it was wonderfully convenient to be social. It didn’t require effort to ask someone to eat lunch with you. Potential after school social gatherings were limited due to cross or mounds of homework. I liked doing things with people as long as it didn’t require any planning effort on my end. Back in the day, when the weekend rolled around my parents were back to the same worry of “What to do with our Anti-Social Daughter”. Conversations would go a bit like this.

L: Mom, Mom, MOM! Guess who just finished all their homework?! (commence victory dance around the kitchen table)

Mom: That’s great honey! Do you have any plans for this weekend?

L: Nope!

Mom: You should call ______and see if they want to do something.

L: Um, they are probably busy

Mom: Did you call them?

L: No. But I bet they are.

Mom: It never hurts to ask.

L: Except for it does. I am pretty sure aliens are tapping my phone and trying to steal secrets about earth life. Mom, do you really want me to put my friends’ lives in danger of an alien abduction?

Mom: (Looking heavenward and attempting to inhale deeply whilst mentally trying to tally up the number of times I landed on my head as an infant) Fine. You’re dad and I are going out and your sister is painting the town red with her friends numbering the population of Lichtenstein.

My poor parents. They are two individuals I will never be able to show enough appreciation for. My younger sister either (who is currently staying at Buckingham Palace trying to persuade the Royals to grant her land for her and her ever growing population of friends to occupy. Lichtenstein will no longer house her large number of admirers). In conclusion, my current friends are always shorted by my terror of picking up a phone. I love them though. A lot.

26.2 & Ostriches

Running a marathon has become a less unique thing than it was twenty or so years ago. I bet you can find at least three people you talk to regularly who have run a marathon. As of Saturday, I can be counted as one of the three or more people you know who have run 26.2 miles in one go. To say running a marathon is easy pretty much defeats the purpose of running one. Of course there are those crazy ultra runners or the despicable 17-year-old boys with 0.5% body fat who can run one without any training who will call it easy, but the majority of those who chose to run a marathon are not doing it because it is easy. Running for that long on Saturday was not easy, but oh boy oh boy was it fun. It was an absolutely stunning course (of course it was because it was in Utah= most beautiful state in the nation) through the canyon and the weather was perfect. You know the saying it takes a whole village to raise a child? Well a modification of that saying applies to this experience in my life “It takes a small army of angelic like individuals to help L finish a marathon”. This is the point where I will now brag for an extended amount of time about all the angelic like people who helped me through the marathon. First, would obviously be Sel. This sweet fiancé of mine sacrificed so much to help me do this. Helping me through the six months of training, waking up at 3AM to drive me to the bus the day of, driving all over P-town at 3:30AM to find my favorite powerade (Sour Melon), carrying all my junk around for me, sacrificing a whole day of studying, rushing from mile 21 to the finish line to cheer me on, hugging me after the race even though I smelled like a sweaty corpse, helping me take my ice bath afterward, giving me an hour and a half muscle rub down with icy hot and the roller stick thing, letting me take a nap on his lap for an hour, and finally not punching me in the face when I was grouchy, demanding, or annoying. Sel is the nicest man I have ever met in my entire life J I love him. Now on to Kit. Kit went out and bought five bags of ice to fill my bath tub, put sheets on the spare bed for me, didn’t attack me when the alarm clock went off at 3AM, let me use her shower a whole bunch, didn’t complain when I left me nasty wet cloths in the bathroom, and woke up early on Saturday with Pam to come cheer me on. The Milks also deserve a whole truck load of thanks. They woke up super early on Saturday to be at the finish line, took photos/videos, Mikey ran about a half mile with me at the end, and are pretty much just too fantastic to ever properly thank. My parents deserve a big old thank you for buying me shoes, helping me through the grueling 18-miler training run, buying me nice running socks and a bunch of Gu, and for their moral support for the past six months. Sel’s parents also deserve a shout out for helping me so much with the pivotal 20-miler run, buying me all of the energy items, really fantastic mis-matched running socks (which I wore), letting me borrow the GPS watch, and for all their moral support. (whew, see how overwhelming this list is getting?) My two wonderful aunts sent me a marathon prep box for my birthday full of anti-blister socks, power bars, and a whole bunch of love. Public Thank You’s to the Radom Runner Friends I made : The sweet couple I met on the bus who lent me their emergency blanket, a pair of gloves, a fuzzy head band, and a poncho during the frigid two hour wait for the start because I am a genius and decided I wasn’t going to need a jacket. My awesome new 70-year-old friend (running his 21st marathon) who ran with me for eleven miles of the race and is my official new idol. The random, hilarious girl from Colorado who made me laugh for two miles of the race. My freshman ward bishop who rode alongside of me for three of the miles and let me drink from his waterbottle. The four burley fisherman in the lake who waved at me and told me I rocked. The new mom on her eighth marathon who ran with me for the last four miles. My 60-year-old mustache rockin co-worker who ran up two of the massive hills with me. The ostriches who ran along side of the fence for ¼ of a mile and frightened me severely by repeatedly jumping against the wire fence while I was running by. The 10-year-old boy for being an annoying twerp and psyching runners our for a high five (the motivation to finish the race and go back to where he was so I could high-five him upside the head was fantastically helpful). The people who made me feel like a barn animal by ringing cowbells and shouting “Go! Go! Go!”. The hillbilly lady in the white car who kept cussing and honking at runners and flipping off volunteers as she tried to drive along the clearly gated of road. To Dobby, for letting me use your Dad’s neon fanny pack from the early 80’s to carry my Gu around it. To Pam, Kit, Sel, and Dobby for going up the canyon at night to roast smores in celebration. Finally, to Johnny for being there for me at mile 3 and at the finish.

The famed Powerade Sel searched all over for

What Kit and I did while the menfolk built a fire

The manliest men you ever did see

Nothin like high fructose corn syrup on a stick :)

He is avaliable for all you interested ladies (and men if you so desire) out there ;)

L

Como? Crabs?

First off, I’m not pregnant. Second, I don’t have crabs. Third, I also don’t have Chlamydia. Now that we have those three points established, I can begin retelling the adventure I had at Planned Parenthood this week. I have spent a lot of time at work reading Adverse Effects to contraceptives. Guess what? Some seriously awful things happen to people when they take medication. Granted, the more gruesome reports I read usually don’t involve healthy 21-year-old females developing massive blood clots and dying when they start birth control. My amazing ability to be irrational, dramatic, and paranoid, however, have kept me from rushing to the doctor’s for a prescription. It turns out I wouldn’t even have a doctor to rush to anyway because I am homeless. What does a homeless, poor college student do otherwise? Go to Planned Parenthood. Worst. Idea. Ever. Everything started off well enough. I told the smiling receptionist what I needed, sat in a comfortable chair, and started filling out some paperwork. Just as I was starting to feel comfortable about everything, a teenage girl came in, whispered something to the receptionist, and then started sobbing. Loudly. Guess where she decided to sit? Right next to me. Two seconds after she sat down, a lanky 18-year-old boy came in and requested an H.I.V test. I have never looked at a piece of paper with so much determination. There is a social rule somewhere that states you are not allowed to look at people when they are crying or are waiting for results on whether they have AIDS. There is, however, no rule against staring mouth agape at fourteen-year-old couples who come into Planned Parenthood asking if they do abortions. When they finally called my name, I almost cried with joy. The woman I met with walked me into a room, shut the door, and promptly asked me in her thick Hispanic accent if I need a test for crabs.

Me: “What? No! I just need birth control”

PP Woman: “You don’t have Chlamydia?”

Me: (tone of hysteria) “No.”

PP Woman: “We have emergency contraceptive you know. It isn’t an abortion, just a pill that kills sperm”

It took me ten more minutes to finally get her to realize I didn’t need to be tested for an STD, take the day after pill, have a pap smear, or get a years’ supply of condoms. Which than launched us into another conversation of joy

PP Woman: When did you last have sex?

Me: Never. I am a virgin

PP Woman: (Raises her eyebrows) Does your partner use condoms?

Me: No. We’ve never had sex.

PP Woman: Everything you tell me is confidential you know

Me: Okay. Here’s the thing. I realize you must see endless teenagers claiming their pregnancy is a result of immaculate conception. But I’m not lying. I just need a prescription for birth control.

PP Woman: Okay. Make sure your partner keeps wearing condoms.

I have never wanted to strangle myself more than in that moment. After the fun ordeal at PP, I drove to Provo and unleashed my overdramatic self on Sel. May I just say what a remarkable man that fellow is? He is much to patient with my outbursts of how my life is ending when one silly thing goes opposite of the way I feel it should. My mom is also a great fellow JWith the aid of my dear mother, Sel, Sel’s mother, and chocolate I managed to realize I just need to learn to speak Spanish so I will be able to better communicate with my friend at PP.

Chest/Back Hair Design Inc.

My chromosome donors are big entrepreneurs. My dad has dappled in a few different career choices over the years and has excelled at all of them. The one he has by far had the most success in is writing horror novels. He also had notable success as a certified house cat masseuse. My mom appeared to be involved in multiple careers throughout her life, but each one was a cover for her actual involvement as a spy for the C.I.A. They are reaching an age now where writing fantastical horror novels and shooting bad guys takes a bit too much out of them. They have been talking about a more low key, yet extremely promising business for years now and have finally gathered the necessary documentation to live their dream. My parents’ new business is called “The Kings’ Chest & Back Hair Design Company Inc.” Bet that just gave you shivers. When is the last time you heard of a chest/back hair design company? That’s what I thought. Customers will be offered a wide range of possible designs at unbeatable prices.

$5.00: Animal Art, Super Hero Symbology, Standard Geometric Patterns (Repeating & Solitary).

$6.00: Celebrity Facades, Mythical Creatures, College Mascots

$7.00: Fictional Characters, Democratic Political Figures, and Rainbows (+$0.50 for a Double Rainbow, +$0.75 for a Triple Rainbow).

$8.00: Republican Political Figures, Will Ferrell’s Face, and The Abominable Snowman

My younger sister is one of the few females I know with excessive body hair. Even while taking her medication, her back and chest hair still add about three pounds to her overall weight. While females with similar conditions exist, the majority of the female population is chest/back hair free. To avoid the accusation of being a sexist, my parents have signed a contract with the local homeless shelter. They will pay willing homeless men for their facial hair by the pound. They will then combine this facial hair with a few yards of hair plugs and an ounce or two of our gender confused bunny rabbit’s fur. The final product will be attached to the female customer’s chest or back with no extra cost. If the customer wishes, however, they may have their chest/back hair highlighted for an additional dollar per highlight.

I technically am not allowed to reveal this yet, but they are also perfecting the chest/back cheat sheet design. This will come in a few varieties. The package is called the A + Homeless Back Hair Buddy. On top of facial hair donations, my parents contract also entails using the back hair of homeless men as a template for academic purposes. Say you have an upcoming test you are bound to fail and need someone to sit in front of you with all of the answers on their back. Simply bring in equations, notes, etc. and my parents will shave whatever you need into the back hair of the homeless person of your choice. The homeless person will than accompany you to school or the testing center and sit in front of you. You might be asking yourself how exactly you are going to sneak a shirtless homeless person into the testing center/school with you. Well, here is the continuation of pure brilliance. My parents offer two (technically three) fool proof options. The first is to break both of your legs and confine you to a wheelchair. Our in-house doctor will write you a medical note granting permission for a constant wheel chair pushing companion (our homeless associate). We also have the option of pretending you are deaf and having a homeless associate act as your translator (this is our most expensive option considering we will have to teach our employees sign language). The third option involves pouring sulfuric acid on your eyeballs causing you to go blind and then assigning you a seeing eye dog who has the cheat sheet of your design shaved in its fur. This is complicated because you will be blind and will have to design a cheat sheet in Braille. This option is called “The Furry Helen Keller”.

I know. I know. Calm down. Yes, it is the most exciting thing you have likely heard of in your entire life. My parents are certifiable geniuses.

Bravo parents. Bravo!