They haven't always been on the best of terms, those two. Let's be honest: they've always been on horrible terms until the last few years, when they were forced to reconcile somewhat. In the beginning, I believe it might have been a jealousy--my dad works an IT director and has always had the latest "toys."
She, on the other hand, well . . . let's just say she only agreed to the creation of an e-mail account when we told her it would help her with her family history work. And even then, it took two years before we convinced her to attempt attaching a picture to an e-mail. And I think the Post-It note with step-by-step instructions for that only disappeared from her desk last year.
This is the woman known to says things like: "Who's URL (pronouncing it "Earl")?" and "There are faster methods than e-mail?" and "What's a blog?"
Except I'm now officially floored: she has actually visited a blog. (Doesn't visit mine, I don't know if she even remembers I have one) But she visited a librarian's blog. Because she heard it mentioned on Good Day, Utah. Though her source isn't exactly outstanding, I'm proud!
My techno-impaired mommy is growing up!
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Credit Card Companies: Killers of Hope
I don't like credit card companies, though I do have two credit cards. (I find them to be something of a necessary convenience, something I could write an essay to explain at some time that is not right now . . .)
This is why: they mock me. I don't get any mail, with the exception of the gas and utilities bills, at my apartment. No cards or letters or anything real--because I didn't want to forward my mail from my parents' house when I still come home for dinner practically every Sunday.
They mock me, because I come home and see stacks of mail. And I get excited. Only to find that 96% (this is an exact statistic) of those envelopes are evil-demon credit card offers.
This is why: they mock me. I don't get any mail, with the exception of the gas and utilities bills, at my apartment. No cards or letters or anything real--because I didn't want to forward my mail from my parents' house when I still come home for dinner practically every Sunday.
They mock me, because I come home and see stacks of mail. And I get excited. Only to find that 96% (this is an exact statistic) of those envelopes are evil-demon credit card offers.
The Reality is Paler than the Dream
That's what I told one of my best friends when I first moved to Salt Lake; I was having a difficult time because my roommate frequently found herself venturing to other corners of the state due to family concerns, former-mission-comp concerns, and other such concerns. I wasn't mad at her, but I was lonely. Very, very lonely.
In addition, I felt isolated: no car and no real knowledge of anybody who lived remotely near me. And I felt apathetic: no urge to explore, to randomly talk to people on the train or bus. And my job, not so hot then. (Honestly, not the best now, except they gave me a 30%+ raise, and I couldn't leave after that)
But when I told her that, everything turned around because I started doing something I hadn't done with consistency since I'd graduated from college: I started writing poetry again. Granted, some of it is very, very bad. And will never see daylight until I revise the crap right out of it.
But some of it is good and has helped me retain my sanity. Story writing, while fun, has never offered me this type of catharsis. It has been escapist, certainly, as stories by nature are--but it has never been this cathartic.
I think that's why some of it is so bad--because it was so cathartic. But now that I'm writing it for more-than-cathartic purposes, I hope it's getting better. Because I'll need something to keep me sane . . .
In addition, I felt isolated: no car and no real knowledge of anybody who lived remotely near me. And I felt apathetic: no urge to explore, to randomly talk to people on the train or bus. And my job, not so hot then. (Honestly, not the best now, except they gave me a 30%+ raise, and I couldn't leave after that)
But when I told her that, everything turned around because I started doing something I hadn't done with consistency since I'd graduated from college: I started writing poetry again. Granted, some of it is very, very bad. And will never see daylight until I revise the crap right out of it.
But some of it is good and has helped me retain my sanity. Story writing, while fun, has never offered me this type of catharsis. It has been escapist, certainly, as stories by nature are--but it has never been this cathartic.
I think that's why some of it is so bad--because it was so cathartic. But now that I'm writing it for more-than-cathartic purposes, I hope it's getting better. Because I'll need something to keep me sane . . .
Sunday, September 16, 2007
I'm a Schemer
But only when it comes to good things. My roommate made Savior of the World (she's going to play the part of one of Mary's cousins) and I am now machinating with HRAFR on how we can pleasantly surprise her this Friday with a "congrats" party/cake/etc. My portion of the scheming involves selecting the locale, creating the guest list, and deciding which cake to make. His portion involves figuring out where to take her to dinner and then asking her.
This bodes well for their relationship, should it develop any further--he's good at working with me to make her happy. And he can keep a secret.
This bodes well for their relationship, should it develop any further--he's good at working with me to make her happy. And he can keep a secret.
What I Learned in Church Today
If anybody asked me about the top three things I remember from church today, they would be the following:
1. It's unwise to joke with anybody about getting engaged, and then forget to tell them you aren't kidding. My Sunday School teacher did this to a co-worker of his this week, and it resulted in an angry call from his mother--who was demanding why she knew nothing about the girl he was choosing to marry.
2. We, as members of the Church, should be educated about sex. But not in a bad way.
3. Honeybees are a microcosm of how functioning society works. And one of the reasons society is not working so well anymore is because honeybees are finding it difficult to find their way back to the hive.
1. It's unwise to joke with anybody about getting engaged, and then forget to tell them you aren't kidding. My Sunday School teacher did this to a co-worker of his this week, and it resulted in an angry call from his mother--who was demanding why she knew nothing about the girl he was choosing to marry.
2. We, as members of the Church, should be educated about sex. But not in a bad way.
3. Honeybees are a microcosm of how functioning society works. And one of the reasons society is not working so well anymore is because honeybees are finding it difficult to find their way back to the hive.
Adventures in Hiking
Last week, my roommate and I ended up on a double date. Sort of. Not really. It only seemed that way in numbers and not in relationships. A couple of weeks ago, a few of us "newbies" in our student ward talked about going on a hike. The ultimate conclusion: we should go on one. And the conclusion stayed there until the middle of last week, when one of the guy newbies called my roommate to see if we were still game.
That was how we got invited to go on a night hike for last Saturday. Several other people were supposed to go with us. They bailed, and that how is my roommate and I ended up on a night hike with two guy roommates--and, in the course of things, had some interesting conversations. I shall refer to one as Stodgy Roommate, because that's the only word I can think of to properly describe him--he seems wounds just a little too tight. The other one I shall call Hilarious Random and Fun Roommate (hereafter abbreviated to HRAFR), because he was.
Anyway, starting at a hike at 9:00 PM on a Saturday with two wussy flashlights leads to adventure: I can't see many tree roots in the light, but in the dark . . . I'm hopeless. We ended up walking in pairs, because each guy had a flashlight. I ended up with Stodgy and his flashlight, while my roommate ended up with HRAFR.
The conversation wove this way and that, and when Stodgy found out I enjoyed literature, I was-er-treated to one of the most lengthy analyses of the Wheel of Time series I've ever heard. This progressed into a lengthy analyses of Lord of the Rings, citing all of the Christian overtones that appeared in the works despite Tolkien's statement he didn't purposefully include obviously Christian elements.
My roommate walked behind us, and she and HRAFR were laughing. I envied them. The conversation segued when Stodgy walked too far ahead of me and I had to pause for the other two. Stodgy, looking back, said, "Sorry. I guess it helps when you can see." It earned a fit of giggles from my roommate when I shrugged and said, "I'm normally used to it, but the dark doesn't help in situations like this."
As we continued hiking, Stodgy and I somehow managed to get ahead of HRAFR and my roomie, and I paused to ask if we didn't want them to catch up. (All of the truly entertaining stories were being traded between the four of us--how Stodgy fell flat on his face in a humiliating fashion in front of the first girl he ever dated, how HRAFR broke his arm snowboarding, how my roomie had never broken anything but had been embarrassed--she promised!--and how I've broken the same arm three separate times in a variety of dumb ways). Stodgy sagely shook his head no and said we were "giving them an opportunity."
Unfortunately, they began catching up to us quickly then because otherwise I would have asked if his roommate would have LIKED an opportunity . . . especially since she's smitten with HRAFR because, well, he actually has a personality.
My favorite part of the evening, though, by far was when Stodgy drifted away to a different outcropping of rocks once we reached the summit to be by himself. HRAFR, my roomie, and I spent twenty minutes tracing new constellations. In the form of Disney characters. And rearranging the cosmological workings of the universe . . .
Also, I found it hilarious this week when my co-worker noticed an excesses of bruises on my legs and asked if the boys had, um, hiked nicely? The boys were nice to me--the rocks, not so much.
That was how we got invited to go on a night hike for last Saturday. Several other people were supposed to go with us. They bailed, and that how is my roommate and I ended up on a night hike with two guy roommates--and, in the course of things, had some interesting conversations. I shall refer to one as Stodgy Roommate, because that's the only word I can think of to properly describe him--he seems wounds just a little too tight. The other one I shall call Hilarious Random and Fun Roommate (hereafter abbreviated to HRAFR), because he was.
Anyway, starting at a hike at 9:00 PM on a Saturday with two wussy flashlights leads to adventure: I can't see many tree roots in the light, but in the dark . . . I'm hopeless. We ended up walking in pairs, because each guy had a flashlight. I ended up with Stodgy and his flashlight, while my roommate ended up with HRAFR.
The conversation wove this way and that, and when Stodgy found out I enjoyed literature, I was-er-treated to one of the most lengthy analyses of the Wheel of Time series I've ever heard. This progressed into a lengthy analyses of Lord of the Rings, citing all of the Christian overtones that appeared in the works despite Tolkien's statement he didn't purposefully include obviously Christian elements.
My roommate walked behind us, and she and HRAFR were laughing. I envied them. The conversation segued when Stodgy walked too far ahead of me and I had to pause for the other two. Stodgy, looking back, said, "Sorry. I guess it helps when you can see." It earned a fit of giggles from my roommate when I shrugged and said, "I'm normally used to it, but the dark doesn't help in situations like this."
As we continued hiking, Stodgy and I somehow managed to get ahead of HRAFR and my roomie, and I paused to ask if we didn't want them to catch up. (All of the truly entertaining stories were being traded between the four of us--how Stodgy fell flat on his face in a humiliating fashion in front of the first girl he ever dated, how HRAFR broke his arm snowboarding, how my roomie had never broken anything but had been embarrassed--she promised!--and how I've broken the same arm three separate times in a variety of dumb ways). Stodgy sagely shook his head no and said we were "giving them an opportunity."
Unfortunately, they began catching up to us quickly then because otherwise I would have asked if his roommate would have LIKED an opportunity . . . especially since she's smitten with HRAFR because, well, he actually has a personality.
My favorite part of the evening, though, by far was when Stodgy drifted away to a different outcropping of rocks once we reached the summit to be by himself. HRAFR, my roomie, and I spent twenty minutes tracing new constellations. In the form of Disney characters. And rearranging the cosmological workings of the universe . . .
Also, I found it hilarious this week when my co-worker noticed an excesses of bruises on my legs and asked if the boys had, um, hiked nicely? The boys were nice to me--the rocks, not so much.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Apologies to Any People who Read This
I've been remiss in my blogging. Tragically true, but I had a few weeks where I was otherwise occupied. And I don't have a lot of time right now to type anything. Also, I desperately need a nap. But here's a teaser for things to come: half-blind girl (me, of course) on a night hike.
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