Livin' in the City

Moving is an arduous business--especially for a girl who seems to have acquired a significant library of her own. I moved to Salt Lake a week ago Saturday--fourteen boxes total, and anyone who knows me can guess the exact number of boxes that had books in them.

Living in Salt Lake has proved interesting so far. My older brother insists that my roommate and I have moved into a third-world country because there seem to be a plethora of Hispanic people in the small apartment complex we have moved to, but my roommate has actually lived in a third-world country and insists that we live in a second-world country. (Meanwhile, I'm having serious difficulties reheating food without a microwave . . . )

The move has brought me closer to a huge library, so if I said I was sad--obviously, I'd be lying. I'm greatly looking forward to the day the postal service delivers our first utility bill, because that will mean that I have enough proof of residency to get a library card from said huge library. My parents seem to think it dangerous--me living so close to a library--but they ceded their position today at dinner when I pointed out that loaning books from the library is free and that it would be much more dangerous if I lived that close to a Barnes and Noble or Borders, where I would be tempted to spend massive amounts of money on the written word.

Also, the move has caused massive amounts of prayer on the behalf of our parents--who, I hope, feel gratified by the fact that we stumbled into the correct student ward for us this morning--quite unconsciously. Of course, my parents weren't feeling quite so entertained when I recounted my adventures of Friday in getting to work on public transportation (Jehovah's witnesses attempted to convert me on my way to Trax, I almost plowed over a rabbi getting onto Trax, and then I endured catcalls from two half-drunks Mexicans, followed by some Spanish laments "Ella no tiene corazon" and some others that I wouldn't repeat, on the off chance anybody reading this had a grasp of Spanish).

I told my dad about my adventures yesterday when he took me out to lunch, and he found them entertaining. But my boss insists she will feel much better about my travels to and from work if I had some pepper spray or something, and my mom is inclined to agree with my boss. So . . . in the interest of humoring people who care about me and who I also care about--does anybody know where a girl can get some pepper spray??