"I'm in love. Can you believe it? I'm finally in love, and I feel great..."

I started a new job today at BYU. BYU is weird. No no, it's a fine academic institution and all of that. In fact, so far as academia is concerned it's top notch....I'm sure. I'm considering (read as "likely getting") my MA in English here eventually. Thus I feel BYU is worthy to provide such sufficient knowledge for me to carry through into my even more ambitious future plans of getting a PH.d, and eventually becoming Professor of English something or other at (insert houghty University name of choice here - or say Cambridge) where I will ultimately concentrate on writing novels and essays, campaigning for a porn free Internet option, taking up gardening, and feeding and grooming my 5-7 house cats. I dream big. I'm so used to not mixing "church and specific (or "perceived as" religiously biased) theological viewpoints (read LDS) seen as intolerant and unacceptable to the very "tolerant" and accepting University of Utah community", that it will take some getting used too. We (me and boss) opened orientation with a scriptural anecdote a la Book of Mormon, and then I was promptly presented with the book of the month for the company book club, "An Infinite Atonement." Cool. Just...different for me (and most I would assume). So I guess it's more...peculiar...than weird.

My new "boss", also called Andrea, is a deliberate talker - as in she talks very deliberately - putting emphasis on r's in each word. It's a deep, guttural R in fact...like you almost have to couple the r's together in any sentence to get the phonetics of her speech just right "Rright in herre...therre's Joseph in marrketing...he's black and therreforre we are diverrese. Do you see?" She didn't say that. But you get the point - and Joe IS black. A brrotha. I'm glad for this because Utah doesn't boast a large African American community - and I feel the state is the lesser for it. Vote Barrack. I don't know if that helps - but my mind made the connection. You know, black, to under represented minority gropus, to African American Presidential Candidate hopeful (hello adjectively heavy title!) Barack Obama. Keep up now...

I was only at the new job for a couple hours. Mainly, I went in, got my book (and a t-shirt!) - met a few fellow co-workers, and then was sent about BYU campus to take care of the odds and ends of acquiring a new job: parking permit, PHONE (I get a business phone -ANY phone - I'm thinking something red, paper thin, fancy, and that sings the time), benefits orientation set up (to be followed by benefits orientation March 17th), things of this nature. During my little "orientation to working at BYU" with the cutsey little front desk Provo-bopper, it was mentioned that all employee's must follow the honor code...(wayward look at my green streaked hair)...with no extremes in piercing or hair color (pointed noticing of my green streaked hair) accepted. I know I know. I bought a box of hair dye labeled "Saturdays Conformity Ritual" and it's waiting for me before I actually BEGIN said BYU job on Monday. Sheesh. Nice engagement ring by the way - do you know there are some companies that allow the first 5 years of engagement ring payoff interest free? True story. Remember to tell your sucker hubby that when he gets off the grave shift at job #2 and before he begins studying for the MCAT. He'll find it noteworthy.

This round about of walking events only took about an hour - most of my stops consisting of me finding out I need "this and this" from my employer before I can do "that and that." I wouldn't have minded finding out these extra little steps that will ultimately span into "real" Day 1 of new job - but the fact it was bitter cold outside discouraged me! Sigh. No! Don't worry I won't rant about the frigid wind that made me want to vomit - because it does happen to be very nice outside right now - but really, winter makes people lazy and unmotivated. I didn't WANT to walk to my car in Visitor Parking again and get my vehicle registration. Why? Because it's cold. I'll do it Monday. Plus, I'm hungry.

After leaving said "errands" and heading towards CP80 - I stopped and got crumb doughnuts and a Diet Pepsi. What? A little pick me up doesn't hurt...twice in one week. Psh. I ran 4.5 miles the other day I'll have you know! So it's hard sugar and caffeine (really, the doughnuts weren't as bad as I thought - 360 Calories and 16g of fat per package - there's six doughnuts in that package! Not too bad!) - I find this a winning cocktail in the AM. Come to find, however, I've entered a new stretch of "I'm hungry and NOTHING sounds good - take it away - I can't eat it" period (as in the time frame not the...whatever) again. Weird. It happened last month too. I just plain didn't want to eat anything. I was hungry, but couldn't stomach the thought of food (hunger, stomach the thought of food, ha ha -so clever). Cliff and I had JUST started going out during this "no want to eat" time so folks would diagnose my lack of desire for food as "oh cute - you can't even eat you like him so much..." Uh...no offense baby ;), but I can't think of anything or anyone I've liked THAT much to not EAT. I loves eating! In fact, I probably would eat MORE given that situation. I plan my meals each day and get excited when the appropriate "eating times" approach. The night before instead of planning my outfit (okay, not instead of - more as "companion to") I think "mmm, breakfast. I love cereal." After throwing away my salad dish or empty Teriyaki Bowl at lunch I think "I wonder what I can eat for dinner?" I like food - thus why this newly acquired disorder in my life is so distressing. Last time, I think it was 2 weeks before I could stomach the thought of FOOD again. Two weeks of hungry. How do you do this Mary-Kate Olsen? Hunger is NOT comfortable. Ask Africa! That entire continent is hungry all the time. And here I am, food before me, and I just CAN'T make myself do it...take the plunge...make the commitment. This is what I'm entering again. I know this because after the doughnuts (which were "eh" and slightly "forced" - completely strange to me) I wasn't thinking about lunch. 1:30 comes and I realize I'm actually getting hungry. So, I walk to "the hole" (aka- the food court for this barrage of look-alike office buildings housing a variety of office job "what nots" and "whos who"), and consider a salad. I want to keep it light because the boy and I are eating out later. Mmm, later. So I construct a meaningful salad, but keep it small. I take out the Sedaris to start my read and eat lunch ritual - and find myself pushing the greens around to begrudgingly find the most appealing parts of the toppings - they being the garbanzo beans and bacon bits - and forcing them in my mouth. Chew. Ick. Chew. I can't do this. Swallow. I'm done. A couple forkfuls of bacon flavored garbanzo beans swimming in Italian Light does me in. Weird. But the David Sedaris Essay was perfect...

I read "A Shiner...Like a Diamond." This particular essay is found in "Me Talk Pretty One Day" - one of several humorous anthologies he's released describing his dry, wickedly funny, clever, and dark takes on family, politics, Christmas, and the pets we go through over our lifetime. I recommend it. Cliff gave it to me for Valentines Day. He wanted to be responsible for starting my Sedaris canon - it's like I'm his convert and he moves up a literary level every time I recommend it to someone; "Oh it's awesome. Cliff started me on it and I just love it. You should really read it." He may be responsible for tens of hundreds of people's Sedaris interest via me. The irony is, I "kinda" knew who David Sedaris was from 1. Working at Barnes and Noble (holla! I miss you! I give myself paper cuts just to remind me of the good days) and 2. I'm "pop culture" aware-ish. Weak reasoning on #2 - it's mainly #1 that's responsible for my knowing at least his name. This isn't the irony - the irony is after Cliff had mentioned him and given me said book - I was watching Letterman one night and his first guest was one Amy Sedaris. "What ho?" I thought to myself, "Could this be a relation to one David Sedaris the acclaimed humorist?" I consulted Cliff and he confirmed that Amy Sedaris is in fact sister to David Sedaris. This was very apparent anyway as I watched her small stint on Letterman (and ya know - they share a last name). She's completely random, super cute, and drop your pants hilarious. If you didn't know - that means damn funny...hella funny even! "A Shiner...Like a Diamond" is an essay describing a bit of Amy Sedaris's character through David's words. A combination of this essay, seeing her on Letterman, and now being more acquainted with her brother, I've decided I really want to be friends with Amy Sedaris. Best friends. Seriously. Only Sedaris can describe Sedaris (catch that?) well enough to continue with my blathering explanation of why I want to be her friend...so here it is,

• " Nothing seems to stick to her (Amy), partly because she's so rarely herself. Her fondness for transformation began at an early age and has developed into something closely resembling a multiple personality disorder. She's Sybil with a better sense of humor, Eve without the crying jags, "And who are we today?" my mother used to ask, leading Amy's "Who don't you want me to be?""

This women at the age of 12 had her Dad believing he was talking to one of her mothers friends about her ficticiuos failed marriage over the phone, and furthermore, solicited him for an extra-marital affair after continuing this "impersonation game" over a number of weeks. How seriously cool is that? Oh, her father politely declined her offer - thank goodness. Think of the therapy. Amy's kept this love of "make-believe" throughout her adult life. Maybe it speaks of some deep-seeded identity crisis that has never been resolved, or a psychological fear that if she were to discover who she truly was - it might turn out to be wicked, coarse, shallow or worse - incredibly boring. Whatever the reason - I'd love to be her friend and watch (even participate!) in some of the antics she comes up with just for "coming up with's" sake. Admittedly - I would also make an appealing target for her "theatrical whims" because I'm a ridiculously gullible person. Sigh. And I just told the Internet that. Be gentle. However, it is a sacrifice I'm willing to make in order to witness others reactions to her "fatty suit" and walking around the city with her face painted up to look like a sorely beaten women. When some audacious stranger would ask her what happened to her face, it looking bruised, yellowed, and grotesquely "stitched" up she'd exclaim "I'm in love, can you believe it? I'm finally in love, and I feel great!" You can't buy comedy like this. Or, wait...I guess you can.

(Oh, and I'm sorry if I scared anyone (or got anyone excited - Mom?) with that title...like Cliff. Sorry. Actually, I thought it was a clever rouse to get you people thinking you were reading something sappy. SUCKERS! (don't take offense readers - trust me still - and keep reading me too. I like it when you read me...tell your friends.)