I never thought I'd say this...but Hitler really gets it here

This weekend I shamelessly flirted with a 21-year-old

I am 25, practically 26 (October 12th), and this weekend during a huge stake service project, I met a young strapping lad with whom I passed the morning with happily. There were about 300 people present at said event from our Stake, and we were divided by respective multi-colored wrist-bands that indicated what service we would be providing for the surrounding community that day. I, having a yellow wrist-band, joined the "painting group" and commenced painting a lovely little house in the Rose Park community with other happy singles. On the roof of this house is where I found this strapping boy, about 6'3 respectively (for some reason I've been into the "tallish" ones as of late... I'm sure it will pass) reaching the "hard to reach" places with his little paint brush. I climbed the ladder leaning on the house near his roof perch and we began interacting as singles tend to interact... personal jabs, clever little remarks, and all smiles. Oh and naturally when there is paint involved, it's an easy way for dudes to utilize the opportunity to put paint on you. How coy. ;) The dances we dance.

So, upon some interaction with boy I first thought he might be around 23 or 24 - which was fine and dandy with me. In fact, besides the "tall" factor, I've started to prefer fella's my age or a "little younger" when it comes to the dating. I know that seems a little weird (aka non-traditional), and there's no pattern in my dating life that would indicate any sort of cougar-esque tendencies (QUITE the opposite) but for some reason, younger seems better. That does seem to be the trend these days... the cougar part. Though I might add if any of you dare call me a cougar I will of course, think you are referring to that team down south and will subsequently hunt you down with my Ute SPEAR! You have been warned.

Anyway... a few cheesy and pukey paint fights and shameless flirtatious remarks later, I find that this young boy with innocence gleaming from his eyes is, in fact, 21 years old and has been of "the mish" for 5 months. Alrighty then. 21. Immediately my mind pounces on three facts:

1. I have a little brother older than him

2. I have a second little brother his same age serving a mission now and

3. I have a third little brother who's as close to his age as I am.

Wow. I'm gross.

Upon further interaction it was very clear his age fit him. Example: he still has a continued zeal for life and the mucho energy to be such a flirty little monkey. And really, it was awesome. Lets be honest, it was a nice refreshing reminder of how fun it used to be to date and be around the opposite sex. Remember those days? When we used to ENJOY the game? When it used to be fun to spot a nice looking boy with his heavy backpack, cherub cheeks, and missionary haircut sitting in his little corner of the Institute building working on his Math 1050 homework? Aw. Those were the days... alas. Now I differentiate ages by tense.. "what is your major" vs. "what was your major." Oh like undergrad? Yes... he asked me my current major. Well son, in Grad school it's a little different. How about you? Undecided? Ah well... you're only a... cough... sophomore. Plenty of time. Yeah I think minoring in the language you served your mission in is a super great idea (... ... ... ...).

But again, it was refreshing to meet a cute little fellow who still has his "find a girl-dar" activated and in essence, TRIES. In my own "age-bracket", well, here comes my honesty again, every woman is bitter and every dude is set in his ways (aka going nowhere fast). Ha. Alright. Not EVERY woman nor every man 25 and older is in the afore mentioned general categories, but many are. And many start getting that taint at about... well... 25! As for myself, I'm working very hard to NOT become that girl with the "I already hate you because you're a man and men are tools" look lasering from my eyes. And what better way to keep myself young and full of hope then shamelessly flirting (no really... it was sort of sickening and almost pathetic) with a cutsey little 21 year old fresh of his mish? Eh??? Nothin! It was fun. He was a nice boy, and I'm a short girl that probably looked about 21 too. He even said I was cute and funny. Aw. I've not heard that I was cute and funny... well... I can't remember when (or if) I've been told I was cute or funny (to quote "the funniest girl ever!") in a long time... or ever.

Lesson learned: young boys still like girls - and aren't tainted by them. And I would wager it's the same on the other end - young girls still like boys - and aren't embittered towards them. We all want a little love... but how can you expect to get some love with that ugly scowl on your face sister? Or by not asking anyone out... EVER, Mr. "Cool"? Seriously. Sometimes we seriously sabotage ourselves. Though of COURSE I know it all "gets old" and we all grow weary of the game and the bad experiences, but be of good cheer! Smile! Dare to have that hope again like you did as a young fresh-faced 21-year-old and even then if you don't find the eternal companion of your heart, I bet you'll feel better anyway. Go ahead! Flirt with the 21 year old!

As for me, I'm not ashamed to stand up and say "This weekend I shamelessly flirted with a 21-year-old... and I'll do it again!!!" Well... maybe when I turn 26 I'll shamelessly flirt with a 22 year old. That doesn't seem as pervy. And dudes, anything with "teen" in the age is ALWAYS too young and forever unacceptable. That needed to be made clear in case any of these words come back to haunt me ;) Double standard? Sure a little - but maybe the trend will shift from cougars back to pervs again soon. You never know.

10 Ways You Know You Are Back in School

10. You are always tired.

9. You are always hungry.

8. If you remember to eat... you eat this.. 7. You drink a lot of this

6. You regret everything you eat and drink

5. You start talking to yourself out loud - mumblings and some twitching even.

4. You snap at people who by all accounts don't really need to be snapped at(i.e. the Library attendant or grounds maintenance guy), because you don't know "why the hell THEY'RE SO HAPPY!!!"

3. Your eyes tear when you see someone sipping their cooling beverage and enjoying a novel... sniff.. a NOVEL in the park that they CHOOSE to read for entertainment and not for extensive analysis and critical review.

2. You walk slightly hunched even without your backpack on and hiss at people walking by in case they're getting any funny ideas about talking to you while you're trying to STUDY! Dammit! My corner! Find your own hole!

And the number 1 way you know you're back in school...

1. You can fall asleep in any position, on any piece of furniture or slab of carpet, at a moments notice, no matter what time of day, where you are, and who might be sleeping in the library lounge chair next to you.

4 Days in San Diego - Sigh - Let's go ahead and call it "this years" San Diego trip

A belated post about a little vaca I took to San Diego last week. Well, almost last week. My good chum Heidi and myself found some ridiculously "do not pass this up fools!" round trip tickets to San Diego a few weeks ago for $140 round trip respectively (compliments of Southwest). That awesomeness coupled with a free place to stay near La Jolla and a 4-day Labor Day weekend preeeeeetty much solidified that much needed, but "sure feeling it now", vacation. Sold. Done. Purchased. We left last Saturday morning, and returned last Tuesday.

In between there was much beaching, and also some beaching, and we also went to the beach. Those activities were interspursed with eating, and then some more beaching... and a little shopping. Yes. I have just described the ultmate chick vacation and oh my, I love chick vacations. There was only ONE little draw back - turns out Grad school is a lot harder (and MUCH more demanding) than my undergrad. That, and I'm still in the "done at 5, do what I want on the weekends" mentality instead of "oh gee sorry awesome friends and cool ideas, I can't participate in that sweetness because I have frakking homework and reading and an MPA to acquire" mentality. Psh. Stupid transition. Regrets? Me? Well... we'll see when it's all said and done. I would like you to know that I DID read my textbooks on the beach and subsequently submitted an assignment from a Barnes and Noble WiFi connection (of course we hung out in Barnes and Noble on vacation... you act like that's weird) late Monday night. Sigh. Homeworking and not being able to read a novel on the beach were the only "kinks" in the relaxing San Diego Vaca 2009. I add 2009 in the hopes it will start a pattern... an annual pattern. Mmmm, annual patterns. Oh, the other unpleasentness was the $&^%*@ truck driving flooosey girl who pulled many a ridiculous traffic antic that ended in some very unlady-like but completely justified hand (finger) singals from both Heidi and I (on Sunday no less. Gasp! Worse!). Listen all states but Utah; "everyone" knows that Utah is always complain central for driving. Apparently we (cough, Utah county) fail at driving. But I might happily add California on the list after THOSE 4 days of cruising around the 5, the 163, and the 15. It was like a bunch of escaped monkeys were driving cars! Bleachy haired leather skinned truck driving escaped monkeys at that! Grumble...

But lets not talk about San Diego coupled with homeworks and idiot monkey drivers... but rather...

And

Might I just say? Next San Diego trip, I shall spend at Coronado the. entire. time. Seriously. Beach cruised on some beach cruisers (logically) around the island. Picturesque all-American diners complete with the world's greatest oreo shake, and a non-crowded, sandy beach for the basking, romping in the waves, and body surfing.

And naturally...

Speaking of body surfing. I had been doing said activity for about 30 minutes and as any of you body surfers (or attempters) might know, there's much of being tossed about by waves and laying on your stomach on the board. Well... I had a little strapless swim suit that day and though I had secured the "removeable" halter strap as a precaution, one or two beach goers may or may not have gotten a bit of a show from me at one point. Whoopsy! One of the ladies may have slipped a little more than half-way out the top of my suit. Even little mosquito bites are a bit scandelous when exposed. Te he he... blush blush.
So... this might be a good time to post THIS picture... and prove I really am a good "covered" girl! Ima good gurl I am!Alas, though I love my SLC and adore my Utah, I think I could find a place in my soul reserved for San Diego always. Or at least... annuallly. Cheers to San Diego Vaca 2010 and hopefully, a little more discretion when it comes to the homeworking (mumble, stupid, mumble, crappy, %&*#^, grad school...), and the body-surfing swim suit choice. Ahem...

Lila and the Curious Case of the Wall-Poo

I would like you to look at a picture:
Do you see those little brown blotches on the upper corner of my wall? Here, let me zoom.

Do you see now? Do you see those little brown patches and smear of what seems to be... could it be?
YES IT IS! It's poop! Cat! Poop! And HOW - might you be wondering at this moment - did little cat poops happen to find themselves almost 6 feet up my wall? WELL! I've asked myself that EXACT same question over the last few days.

Picture if you will, a lovely evening at home vegging in front of the tube. It's been a time since you just sat for a hour in your apt mulling over what current media has devised to entertain you. I believe I was watching something like, "America's Got Talent" when I started to smell a smell of what my roomie and I have deemed "atomic poo." Lila, bless her furry little heart, once in a great while, produces an atomic poo. This poo is so rancid, so fraught with death and destruction, one wouldn't be surprised to witness tangible green fumes rising out of her litter box to poison all who come within 3 blocks of our apartment building. It's that strong. Happily this does not happen often and I'm not sure what changes that makes her "atomic poo" every couple of months. All I know is she does and oh my, it's the kiss of death.

SO! Back to the wall-poo. I start to smell the atomic smell and begrudgingly get up to scoop the offender from the box and take it directly outside. I get under the sink and grab her designated poop bags, grab the scoop, and walk towards her box. Upon arriving at her box, I notice something glistening on the ground just outside her box on the carpet. Yes. It is a piece of atomic poo. On the carpet. WHAT? Sigh. I figured she must've been a little sicky in the tummy and had an accidental escapee before making it to her box. We can all empathize right? Right? Ahem. So I scoop that and wipe it down with a Clorox wipe first... all the while trying not to breath... at all... for fear of retching at what now is starting to feel like toxic gas wafting into my nostrils. I then turn my attention to the box. And... sift around with the scoop a bit. Huh. Nothing. I had JUST cleaned her box not 2 hours before anyway, so there wasn't any "leftovers" and... no atomic poo. Could that tiny little carpet squirt have been the only culprit? That's a serious smell for one squirt.

As you know... this was not the case. I stand up, glance up (for no reason then to glance) and see those two offending poos happily sitting almost 6 feet up on the wall. My jaw hit the ground in unbelief. Immediatly I start going through every possible scenario in my head. If you look at the pics carefully, you will notice there are no pieces of furniture high enough for her to climb and subsequently butt-squirt. There's nothing she could have done, in this world of gravity and logic, to have put her poo on that wall. Unless of course (theory #1), she began by jumping from the back of our couch located a solid 4 feet away from her box, stopped mid-air, turned about so her furry butt was facing the wall, squirted, THEN (here comes the REALLY weird part) turned back around facing the wall, turned the corner inside the closet frame, did another 180, squirted TWO MORE atomic poos around the CORNER 6 feet up on the wall (true story), and subsequently land strait into her box. Uh-huh. Weird.

So... there's THAT impossible possibility, OR there's this (theory #2). Do you see the "tail-end" of the framed picture seen in the above picture #1. Do you see the latter half of a framed white cat with its tail sticking up? WELL! The wall-cat could've launched that poo nicely onto the wall. Could have! It's got the angle. Yes, I am aware it's a picture, but that would only leave me to accept theory #3.



Theory #3: I have a phantom poo'ing cat living in my apartment. Clearly ghost-cats could float in the air and pretty much do anything a human ghost can do. And if a ghost-cat wanted to poop on the wall (or take REAL poops from a litter box and place them on the wall as ghost-cats would logically have ghost-poo), they totally could! There's more evidence to support my theory of having a ghost-cat. A week prior, I was fluffing in the bathroom and Nik was in her bedroom, and we suddenly hear this CRASH! BREAK! I come out to the main area to see what it was, and a vase had fallen from the top of our bookshelf and landed with amazing accuracy on the bottom edge of the bookshelf, smashing it to pieces. Why is this weird? WELL! As I glanced up the bookshelf to see which book had fallen over and knocked that vase to the ground (aka "the reasonable explanation), no book had fallen. All was in its right place. I know the vase had been pushed towards the "middle" of the shelf and thus well away from the edge (clearly to prevent such a happening). And yet... ahem. We of course chose to ignore this instance, picked up the pieces, and never spoke of it again. Until... the curious case of the Wall-Poo. Given these two happenings, I feel a ghost-cat is the more reasonable explanation than having an embodied poo-flinging super-cat flying around my apartment squirting walls with her butt. Honestly, if you have anything else by way of reasonable suggestions - please - by ALL means. In the meantime, I maintain that we have a phantom-cat living in our apt. Though, I'm still going to choose to ignore these two instances and never speak of it again. If you ignore it, it goes away. Right? Right. Scooped. Wiped. Trashed. Forgotten. So let it be written...

The Happiest Place on Earth – On MY Special Day!

Once upon a time, I heard a wondrous rumor that Disneyland gives you free admission on your Birthday! This was hard for me to believe. I mean, yes there are the usual known “freebies” on your Birthday. Some places give free gobs of ice cream with a spitting sparkler of death, some places sing and clap and dance until you want to throttle whatever schmuck friend you have that TOLD these fools it was your Birthday, and some send you 15% discount coupons good only on your Birthday and only on these two over sized ugly items if they happen to be in stock. All gimmicks used by restaurants and retail stores to try and make you feel special on your special day, when in fact, you can see the disdain shooting like phaser beams from their eyes “So it’s your Birthday. Big deal. Who the *&^%$ cares.” Wow.

Thus, when I heard that Disneyland gives you free admission on your Birthday, I was enamored with the idea. I dared not hope! I dared not DREAM! Could it really be? Could I really get into Disneyland, the happiest place on earth, for FREE on my Birthday! If this proved to be true – it would be the best Birthday freebie any corporation has ever offered anyone with a Birthday ever. EVER I tell you!

Well my friends, the rumors are TRUE! Today I officially registered to enter Disneyland, the HAPPIEST Place on EARTH, on Monday, October 12, 2009 (aka, my 26th Birthday) for FREE!! What better place to feel young again? What better place to celebrate the day you entered this world than in Disneyland???? What birthday party could ever top riding the Indiana Jones Adventure ride, or sailing through Pirates of the Caribbean, OR sitting in your coffin through the Haunted Mansion? (Do you realize that they change the Haunted Mansion to Nightmare before Christmas in October? I KNOW!!!! Win win win and WIN for me). What’s also fairly incredible is that my Birthday lands on Fall Break… so I won’t have to worry about missing class or any such thing to accommodate my dream Disneyland Birthday excursion. I will, however, have to find some great friend to go with me. Any great friends out there who love some Mickey Mouse and Cinderella as much as I do? Eh??? Check your calendars! I need a Disney-buddy to really make this dream a reality. And remember…

When you wish… upon a staaaaaar. Makes no difference… who you aaaaaaare… anything your heart desires…. Will cooooooome. TOOOOOOOOO. YOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUuuuuu….

If you would like to register to go to Disneyland on YOUR Birthday for FREE - go head and click here.

500 Days of Summer - and I had my last this weekend.

I spent a rousing weekend in Moab with my Ward. What what! It was a river rafting trip down the Colorado and boy was it good times. I had some times in the “big raft” and some times in the “rubber kayak”. I brought my camera but not on the river. I’m hoping for some “facebook tags” from others who took pics and then I can post them for your enjoyment. I know how you like to look at pics of a bunch of people you don’t know having a Ward activity. At any rate - all in all – I vote it a great final summer trip. Why final summer? WELL!

I am starting school in a week and a half. I’m starting school AGAIN. I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it yet – though I have bought some textbooks here and there and am starting to adjust my schedule accordingly (aka making Frisbee really count this Wednesday and finishing up me “leisure reading” for the next 6 semesters… sniff sniff). Soon, my free evenings will be inundated with reading texts and writing papers and studying for tests. Honestly, I’m looking forward to being in a classroom again and have hefty goals to really fly through my MPA program as fast, but as effectively, as possible. Fall 2011. That’s my graduation goal. We shall SEE!

I also saw a movie last week I think deserves more than a “sidebar” mention; “500 Days of Summer.” Excellent film! Excellent soundtrack (already downloaded and being enjoyed thank you). This is one I highly recommend if you are tired of gimmicky blockbuster smash-em-ups and cliché romantic hoo-haw. Yes, hoo-haw. There are many things I liked about this film, and only one thing I didn’t.

First, what I liked: the girl and the boy. Both quirky and flawed in their own human ways. Both aren’t your drop dead gorgeous untouchables – but humanistic – realistic – you can put yourself in their shoes or at least – it’s plausible that you could date one of them given whatever sex you happen to be. There’s a chance! It’s funny and tragic. It’s unexpected but not ridiculously so. What do I mean by that? Well, you know how movies try to play the “unexpected” by killing the hero or making the quirky best friend the blood thirsty murderer? Ya know, the ones that just come off stupid and ridiculous rather than genius and was clearly intended for “shock value?” I personally think it’s VERY hard to “kill a hero” and do it well. You’ve got to have purpose in the death of the hero, or the boy and girl not ending up together, or the quirky best friend ripping everyone’s heart out (literally) or it just plain doesn’t work. I can’t say I’ve seen it done well very often. It’s a delicate procedure – a risk in movie-making – but this movie does it and does it realistically. Bravo!

I must also add – this movie hit very very close. Brilliantly and heart-wrenchingly close. Not only do you feel you could interact with either of these characters in a real world scenario – but there story is one of real-world proportions [warning: spoilers to follow…]. Example: one of my favorite moments in the movie is when they create a split screen of Tom (the boy) going to a party Summer (the girl) has invited him to; one side entitled “Reality” and one entitled “Expectation.” At this point in the movie they have loved, broken up, Tom has wasted away in heart-wrenching depression and bitterness, and then they reconnect several months later at a mutual friends wedding. They have a great time – and she invites him to come to this party. So Tom has expectations of how it will go – and in the split screen scenario his expectations are viewed slightly ahead of what reality gives him. And reality is always harsher. It all starts out close to his expectations… and then falters… and fails… and eventually he’s crushed into disappointment and despair again. Reality has killed expectation… again. The reality of the situation is thus: first, we all have had expectations that reality has brutally shattered. We’ve all had that hope that something will follow the plan we want it so badly to follow… and then doesn’t. But even more so, Tom wasn’t unfounded in his expectations. Tom wasn’t being overly zealous or ambitious or “reading into” anything. Tom’s expectations were plausible – like many of our expectations are – but the lesson is – it doesn’t keep them from still being crushed by reality.

Hits so very close…

Many girls I’ve talked to actually identified with Summer – not believing in love and maybe even bringing a few poor wretched souls along with them for the ride until they finally decide to cut them loose. Heart-breakers. Indecision. Immaturity. I, on the other hand, identified with Tom. And I think we could all place ourselves in either of their shoes – neither being the bad guy and neither being the hero – but it all happening just the same. You should go see this movie. Move it up to the top of the list, you know, ahead of GI Joe and The Time Traveler’s Wife. It will be a worthy switch I promise you! I’ve dedicated a POST to it haven’t I? Sheesh! It’s not like these posts are free! Except that they are… cough.

Oh, and what I didn’t like? That the chick at the end Tom asks out when he has finally healed and decides to believe in love again is supermodel gorgeous. Seriously! It didn’t fit with the movie at all. Summer was pretty – but in a quirky real kind of way. This girl snapped me back into “oh yeah this is still a movie” mode and lead me to believe that the casting director had to find a spot for the uppity producers brain dead hot niece who moved to Hollywood to be an aspiring act-ress. Eye roll. Or it was just poorly casted – but at least it was only the last 7 minuets of the movie. It’s good enough to let that one moment of complete Hollywood cliché slide… I suppose…