As the World Continues to Turn...

Another week has come and gone. Tyler and I were just talking today, and it seems like the weeks and months are going by like crazy, but the long days at school and work seem to go on FOR-EV-ER. How does that happen?? Well, no matter how it happens, it happens, and here is what happened while it, uh, happens:

Friday we both realized how attractive we look when getting ready for bed now that I have a bite guard (thanks to The Dental Assistant). A romantic date night at its best.

 Saturday night we decided to make PIZZA using our pizza stone from our wedding. Unfortunately, I forgot to read the instructions first and failed to get some necessary cornmeal, so we settled for square pizza in a cookie sheet. Tyler was---shocked? surprised? terrified? creepily happy?

 Just so you can visualize the process...

Mamma mia! It may not look pretty, but don't all parents love their ugly ducklings?

Meanwhile, we listened to the Mambo Italiano Pandora station featuring the one and only Dean Martin. Tyler decided we should spontaneously dance to the cheesy Italian  music, tried to dip me, and then I thudded to the floor like a bowling ball. Needless to say, I am a natural.

On Sunday afternoon, I was ATTEMPTING to take a peaceful nap on the couch with my head on the sherpa blanket, when Tyler decided that I should be completely covered in poofiness. So he got out my wool scarf and hat and attempted to poof-ify me. I look not unlike a sheep. If you ever wondered what the Earleys do on a lazy Sunday afternoon to entertain themselves, think no longer.

Halt the presses!! What you are witnessing before your very eyes is Top Model Tyler (not to be confused with TY-ra) sporting -- AT LAST -- his new Nikes he got for Christmas. After months of uncertaintiy and fear of the weather and of mud and of worms and of grass and of every other thing that just might get them dirty, he decided it was okay to try them out. So we went for a walk around the park. There were a couple of close calls, like when the dog walker in front of us decided not to use the provided baggies, but he dodged it like the top model that he is. He will love that this picture is on this blog, by the way.

And there you have it -- the weekend in a nutshell. What I might add is that in between all of these monumental activities, we spent much of our time doing these life-enriching events (can you guess who was doing what?):

Oh Weekend. How you come too late and leave too soon.

I Am His Daughter

At church, I work with about 8 young women who come from poverty, situations of abuse, neglect -- you name it. As I get to know these young women, I am more and more overwhelmed with their needs, and trying to figure out how I can even begin to help. I know that as a Young Women's leader, I can only do so much for their family situations and other major issues, but I do know that one thing I can -- and should -- do is instill in them a sense of who they are and whose they are. I can see in their eyes when I talk to them, that they don't know. I want them to know that they are so much more than they think they are, and their potential is endless. 

Two years ago I went to a BYU senior recital performance for a friend of a friend in the Maiser Building (my favorite building on campus, might I add). Nicole Sheahan was the graduating senior, and she was just finishing a song she wrote for an upcoming EFY (Especially For Youth) soundtrack. She was amazing, and I got to hang out with her later. Super down to earth. Now she's on a mission in Poland, but her song has come out on the EFY soundtrack, and someone put it to these amazing pictures.

This song just emphasizes the worth of every daughter of God, and I think it's a good reminder to us all.

The Tower of Babel

Today I was sitting in my office and heard some pretty crazy conversations going on outside of my office – and couldn’t understand a word that was said. It just reminded me of how amazing it is to work where I work. In any given day, I interact with coworkers from the Congo, Italy, Mexico, Iran, Nepal, Armenia, China, Iraq, Rwanda, Burma, Vietnam, Peru, Sudan, Eritrea, and Bhutan. Standing in the middle of the receptionist area, it is possible to hear spoken Catonese, Arabic, Somali, Spanish, Russian, Armenian, Korean, Swahili, Vietnamese, Mandarin, MaiMai, Kirundi, French, Keriwanda, Burundi, Sarenni, Burmese, Karen, Nepali, Kinywarwanda, Liberian, Kakwa, Lingala, Ewe, Farsi, Dinka, German, Italian, Romane, Serbian, Kigrinya, Kunama, and Japanese. It’s safe to say that I can hardly ever pinpoint exactly what language is being spoken. I can’t even pronounce many of the names of the languages, let alone any words in them.  The other day I took the elevator with a Nepalese caseworker and her clients and my Peruvian client. I was speaking Spanish to my client, she was speaking Nepali to her client, and periodically we would speak to each other in English. The insanity of it all struck me in that moment. I couldn’t help but smile.

It’s fun to try to pick up bits and pieces of the languages spoken around the office, even if I do butcher everything. When I interned with the Burundi community last January, I learned a little bit of Kirundi and when I see my Rwandan case worker friend, I always say hello in Kirundi. She then asks me how I am, and I reply that I am good. Thank goodness she also speaks English or else our interaction as a whole would be terribly repetitive and shallow. I have a Mexican co-worker down the hall from me. He insists on improving my Spanish, and any time I speak to him in English he quickly replies, “No hablo el ingles. Que me dijiste?”  (I don’t understand English. What did you say to me?) I then have to respond in Spanish. It keeps me on my toes! Although it helps even more to have to speak English throughout the day to my clients on the phone. Sometimes I have such long and frequent conversations in Spanish, that by the end of the day, I basically put up the white flag, my tongue twisted in knots. They think it’s funny. They should be glad there’s a phone between us.

I can’t help but think about how amazing this office is. Despite its MANY disfunctionalities, it is filled with people who are all trying to make a difference, social service case workers (all of whom are refugees themselves) sacrificing so much to help the helpless in their very own communities. If American-born social workers experience burn-out after a few years, these refugee case-workers should have been burnt out after week one. Because they are helping their friends and clients, the work is never done. And despite all they have sacrificed already in their home countries and here as newly arrived refugees, they continue to give so much. It’s inspiring.

Yes, I work in the Tower of Babel. And yes, I partially wrote this post so that at the end of the week, when I’m ready to just throw my hands up in the air and burn my office down, I can be reminded of the good things.

Namaste.

Neighbors and Spring Rolls

Well, I’m sorry to report that when our downstairs neighbors caught wind of our going away party for them, they decided that they had too many friends in the neighborhood to leave, and instead, decided to move back in. I swear that place was stark naked empty when I wrote that last blog post, but now their car is routinely parked in the driveway and there are people obviously living in the studio apartment. The rent sign, however, still remains. It is perplexing, to say the least. We just hope they keep the pot smoking at bay this time, since I feel like we’re finally making progress in our addiction recovery journey.

In other news, Valentine’s Day has come and gone. This was our second Valentine’s Day spent together (precious!). I had mutual (youth group) that evening, so we planned to just go to dessert after our activity was over (to a little French Bakery downtown—we went there last year, but I was so full from the Italian food eaten right before that I thought it was a very real possibility that I would throw up butternut squash ravioli mixed with cheesecake down the front of Tyler). We started the activity at my house, and Tyler, thinking we would be gone by then, waltzed in through front door with a bouquet of red roses and lilies (I love them) and all of the 13 year old girls “oooooh’d” and “awwwwwwww’d.” 

And then one girl promptly announced that she “got a boyfriend yesterday.” I asked if she picked him out yesterday, but she either didn’t hear me, or refused to acknowledge my comment. She then proceeded to show everyone his picture on her cell phone, and throughout the night announced at each 10 minute interval how many more minutes until she could see him. Valentine’s Day: Love was in the air. 


The activity ended up getting done earlier than we planned, and so Tyler and I, being ever so hungry, decided to forgo dessert and go straight for the hard stuff – Café Trang. It’s an Asian café right by my office downtown that I’ve always wanted to try – they serve Vietnamese, Thai, and Chinese food. So we went and ate to our hearts’ content. 

Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that “spring rolls” have shrimp in them, so when the server saw the appetizer plate with little shrimps on the side, he exclaimed, “WHAT WRONG WITH SHRIMP?” I replied that nothing was wrong with the shrimp. I’m sure the shrimp is good, I told him. I just don’t like any shrimp. That seemed to pacify him for the moment and he cleared away our plates. Afterwards, we were so full from the appetizer (san shrimp), soup, and digging into the two main entrees we had, that it appeared as though we hardly made a dent in the food! The server came back and, again, exclaimed, “WHAT WRONG WITH FOOD?” Again, I calmly responded that nothing was wrong with the food, we are just too full to eat it right now. This seemed to calm him down, and as he left, he said, “IF SOMETHING WRONG, I FIX IT!” I did not doubt it. So we went home, trying not to raise any more suspicion of dissatisfaction (because really, the food was very good), and pondering the meanings of our fortunes from our fortune cookies. I had made Tyler a DVD of pictures from when we started dating (I believe our first picture together has my finger going up his nose) until now, so we sat down watched it. We both agreed that if we ever got upset with each other, that we can watch this little picture slideshow. It's a much better alternative to murder. Just kidding!......... Happy Valentine’s Day!

Human Trafficking and Marijuana Addiction Recovery

You're probably thinking I'm going to talk about human trafficking in relation to marijuana addiction recovery. WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD YOU THINK THAT? No, these are two separate and not equal topics.

First of all, my co-worker and I are really trying to get our Anti-Trafficking program going strong in the Salt Lake City community. In reality, we want to spread the world to all of Utah, since we are currently the only Federally-funded program for human trafficking in the state. Unfortunately, however, our budget is small, and I am but one case manager. Nevertheless, I designed these fliers/post cards to hand out to agencies and programs interested in partnering up with us in various ways -- whether it be the Salt Lake City Police Department, the YWCA, the local homeless shelter, etc.

Yesterday we had the chance to hit up the Utah State Capital Building for their non-profit day on the Hill. A handful of booths were set up in the rotunda and we were able to walk around to each one and introduce ourselves to those we thought would be relevant to our cause (unfortunately we passed up the booth for pharmacy school--maybe in a few years I'll be interested...). It was awesome to be in the capital building (my first time, if you can believe it!) and be able to represent such an amazing cause. When we met the women with a Utah domestic violence non-profit, they were beyond excited to see us and talk with us. They want us to go and present to various homeless shelters, in hopes that we can train workers to identify victims of human trafficking who may pass through their program. It was awesome. And I got a free cookie. What more can you ask for?

Now to the marijauana. I have a confession. Tyler and I have been inhaling marijauan for the last six months. Ok, ok. Don't get your panties in a bundle. I use the word "inhaling" because it was really a passive use of pot. Our downstairs neighbors with whom we share the heating system, are big fans of the gateway drug. Oftentimes, we would come home, and our apartment would reek of it, to the point where our throats would get scratchy and our eyes would get a little irritated. Unfortnately I don't think we got any of the positive side effects -- only the ones that made us want to kill those below us. The first time we smelled it, we, in all our experience with marijaunaa, thought something was on fire. But it wasn't just a normal burning smell, nor was it cigerette. We could smell it coming out of our vents. We walked around outside trying to figure out if someone was smoking outside. Nothing. We checked in the basement laundry room. Nada. Tyler texted our landlord to let them know that something with a burning smell was coming from the vent. She thought it could be someone smoking (past experience??) and sent out a text to everyone saying that if they smelled something burning, to please alert her, hoping to passively deter the devious behavior. At the same time, we were still concerned that something really may be on fire and we were about to go out of town. We did not want to come home to find our underwear burned to a crisp. So Tyler decided to go knock downstairs to see if they smelled anything. When the tenent's boyfriend answered the door, Tyler was smacked in the face with a billow of pot smoke. Choking, Tyler said he was just wondering if they smelled anything funny burning, because we could smell it in our aparmtnet. The man, oblivious to the world and everything sane, shurgged carefree-like and said, "No, man. I'm just down here smokin'" "Ok, great! Thanks!" Tyler said to him politely and quickly shut the door.

Over the months, we would occasionally come home to find the aroma pervading through rooms in our apartment. Without a doubt, we were addicted.

Now, our downstairs neigthbor appears to have moved out in the dark of the night. All of the sudden she was gone, and there is a "For Rent" sign out in front of our fourplex. We're planning a going-away party for her and her boyfriend and his bong for anyone who might be interested.

And now we can begin the rehab. I think I'm going to try to replace my pot cravings with M&M's. Tyler hasn't quite decided about his recovery plan. But we'll keep you posted on our progress.

We're on Day One, and I'm already out of the Peanut ones. Dangit.

Oh the Crockpot

So I burn things. And I don’t just mean the food. I’ve been known to burn down kitchens, as well. And no, that’s not an exaggeration. I don’t know what it is, but many times, no matter how hard I try, or how pure my intentions are, something either ends up in flames, or as five inches thick of burnt charcoal at the bottom of a pan. And while I’d love to put the blame on some external source, unfortunately all the fingers point directly at me and my innate inability to cook. I accept it, though! You won’t find me sitting outside on the curb, depressed and defeated, because a pan of cupcakes won our little mini World War III. No. I just need to figure out how to beat the concept of cooking in its own game. I’ve realized that whenever I am asked to bring some sort of treat to Church, I could spend an hour making cookies, only to have them turn out flat as pancakes. But that only causes me embarrassment, and I end up throwing them away, having wasted an entire hour of my life. No thank you. I know how to work my credit card very well, and the grocery store is just down the street. I would assume that people would much rather eat something store bought than something gross, anyway. Right? Right.

Well, one other way I’ve learned to defeat what some might call a birth defect, is with, you guessed it, my Crockpot. I got it two Christmases ago, and recently, it has become my Sunday Savior. It’s an electronic miracle! You just throw everything in one big pot, turn it on, and let it sit all day. When time is up, the food is ingeniously cooked to perfection (no charcoal or rubber) and all I had to do was dump and push a button. Crockpots were invented for me. I have no doubt.

Every Sunday I’ve had the goal of trying a new Crockpot recipe. So far I’ve made shredded BBQ chicken, beef stroganoff, and my most recent concoction – spinach and bean enchiladas (see picture below).

 The enchiladas have been our favorite so far. So full of flavor. So cheesy. So heavenly. We served them with chopped romaine lettuce, cherry tomatoes, radishes, and cucumber tossed in lime juice and olive oil. Now that took me to the border if nothing else. If you want to try the recipe, here is the link. It’s from Real Simple Magazine:

http://www.realsimple.com/food-recipes/browse-all-recipes/bean-spinach-enchiladas-00100000074133/index.html

The food has been amazing, and it has given my kitchen self-esteem a much-needed boost. Forget self-help books, makeovers, or weight loss. The Crockpot has changed my life.

If you have any Crockpot miracle recipes of your own, please don’t hesitate to send them my way. I’m sure my husband will thank you ever so kindly…

PS

PS: For those who noticed, I changed the blog picture again. This picture is from our wedding reception, and I thought it was pretty awesome. I think it fits well with the theme of this blog: Half and Half, with the light only going so far, leaving the rest to be unwritten. Cheesy maybe. But I love cheese. Especially cheddar.

Saturday Adventures

Saturday proved to be a fruitful day for the Boy and Me. Like previously mentioned, we started it off right with a run. We then got ready and headed out the door. We were supposed to go to a group Family Home Evening with some married friends in the evening, and had been assigned cornbread, but Friday night my coworker called and asked if we wanted two tickets to the sold-out Jazz vs. Lakers game. Ummmm...YES! So I made the cornbread in the morning and we took it to my friend Wilson's house. She was brushing her horses when we arrived. We might have guessed as much.

Tyler had also signed us up to donate blood, so we drove to the Red Cross. I was actually, surprisingly, a little apprehensive. It had been awhile since I had donated, since I was Acutane before. But the free snacks pushed me forward. When I was in the question booth talking to the Red Cross worker, he ran my blood and saw my blood type. Turning to me quickly, he said, "O-Negative" and continued to stare at me. I'm not sure if he was reprimanding me for not having donated for awhile, or was trying to instill in me a fear that he now knew where I lived and would come to me in my sleep and drain out all of my blood with his own vampire fangs should I not come more regularly. I felt a sudden urge to protect my veins. Luckily, his creepy act only lasted a few seconds before he left and the phlebotomist came in to finish the process.

Donating blood probably took longer than it should have, because the phlebotomist insisted on talking about clothes. Here is our conversation:

P: Oh I just love your outfit! It's very eye-catching.
J: Thanks!
P: I'm just noticing everyone's outfits today! I can't focus on anything. It's like, 'Oooh. Shiny!'
J: (Silently) And now you're going to stick a needle in me.
P: Do you see that girl over there? I have those same boots, but in camel color.
J: Those are cute boots.
P: But I just don't know what to wear them with! I would think you would need to wear jeggings, but the only jeggings I have are black.
J: Well that girl is wearing jeans with hers.
P: ---and I don't want to have to buy a new pair of jeggings just so I can wear my boots
J: Well you can wear jeans with them.
P: I mean, how many pairs of jegging does one girl need? Seriously?!
J: Good point. Yeah, I don't know what you can do.
P: I guess I could wear jeans with them.

[STICK THE NEEDLE IN MY EYE]

Nevertheless, Tyler and I got the free snacks and sat in all our bloodless glory eating afterwards. We now needed to find some backpacks for our Argentina adventure, so we set out REI and some other outdoor places. As we were on our way, we passed an R.C. Willey (a furniture store in Utah) and Tyler said, "They sometimes have free hotdogs on Saturdays." Suddenly we saw the sign advertising them, and he yelled, "FREE HOT DOGS!" and veered across two lanes of traffic into the parking lot, sending everything in our car flying from end to another. What is it with men and meat? We entered the store, received a free scratch-off prize card, and tried to look interested in buying furniture. Unfortunately, it only emphasized the fact that the only thing we could afford to buy in that whole store was the toupee of the salesman breathing down our throats. We did, however, scratch the card to find that although we were not a winner of a new flat-screen TV, we did win a "prize!" I was trying to think of what it might be -- a new lamp, maybe a rug or a vase. I sent Tyler to the Cashier window to claim whatever greatness we had just procured.

He came back with a tape measure.

And he was giddy! "We won a tape measure!" he exclaimed as we went searching for the hot dogs. "Yeah," I replied, deflated. "Don't we already have one?" I asked. "Yeah!" he said. "But two tape measures makes me feel like a MAN." I had to hold in my laugh as we went searching for the Boy's free hot dogs. We found them, sure enough, and they looked like plastic. But we ate them. Regrettably.  Because they were free.

Later in the evening, post-hot dog, we hit up Energy Solutions Arena for the Jazz vs. Lakers game. We felt sooooo lucky to have gone to TWO Jazz games in ONE week! We love my Thai coworker! Apparently, the Lakers have quite a few fans in the Salt Lake area and we found ourselves surrounded by both sides, holding our breath that nothing would erupt between the two. Sports make people do things they would never do otherwise. Luckily, the fans behaved themselves for the most part, keeping most of their acts to mere yelling and taunting. Although one man did attempt to take off all his clothes in front of the camera. That was disturbing. The arena was CHARGED, and you could just feel the hatred that the Jazz fans had towards the Lakers, especially Kobe Bryant. Every time he got the ball, a loud BOOOOO went through the crowd. It was awesome. I'm not a Kobe fan. The game was amazing, and was close all the way through. So much more exciting than Monday's game against the Blazers. And the Jazz won. You can't beat that!

To celebrate our victory, we stopped at Sonic and got mozzarella sticks and came home, opened up some bottles of root beer, and watched our new show of the moment on Netflix, "Psych." It was a perfect ending to a crazy day.

Now bring on the Day of Rest.

Becoming a Runner: Day 2

Saturday morning I woke up and wanted to do everything else but run. It was blue sky and sunny outside, but I saw the hurricane-like wind whipping through the trees, and I cringed at what could become of me, should I leave my house. Luckily, Tyler was home, so he wanted to go, too, and it got me out of bed. (Although I think he was still asleep/delerious when I got up. He said, "Wait! Let me fart on you. I mean--let me kiss your cheek." Bahaha. He'll love that I just wrote that. But it was too hilarious to pass up.)

Anyway, we got decked out in our warm clothes, I secured my iPod, and we headed out the door. It felt good to be already out the door and it was only 9am on a Saturday. It made me feel like a runner. The run was good. We started from our house and ran to the park, where we ran a 1.5 mile lap. I saw nothing strange. One blasted rollerblader did make me jump out of my Nikes when he went zooming past, though. Isn't it a little too early for him to be out??? The only times I stopped was out of sacrfice for you, my dear blog readers, so I could try to capture the Saturday morning beauty of our neighborhood park:

The run totaled up to almost 2 miles. I'm hoping next week to get up to 3. Come on will power!! And come on weather. Any snow would totally send me backwards to a cup of hot chocolate in my pajama pants. And we can't have that!

Day 2 as a runner. Check!

Oskar the Amazing

On Friday I got to go to the hospital and see my friend Jamie and her new baby, Oskar Brinkerhoff Ackerman. He was born almost two months early and has been fighting ever since. But he is Oskar the Amazing, and is crashing through pre-set expectations like crazy. He was supposed to be in the hospital for 5-8 weeks, and is coming home this weekend (he finally hit the four pound mark), after only three weeks. When I went and saw him, he was just being moved into a private room with Jamie so they could "practice" an at-home scenario for the night. Jamie was obviously nervous and scared, especially because she was there alone -- her husband was out of town. Watching her feed him and hold him was amazing. Just 3 weeks ago she was still like me. And now she's a mom. It was strange, but beautiful to see. Somehow, at least a part of being a mom must come naturally once you have a child. I hope -- for my own sake. Jamie is my first close friend to have a child, and I think she's doing an amazing job dealing with what every family prays not to have to go through, especially with their first. I'm excited to watch the little man grow and just keep getting stronger. And I hope the Ackermans decide to stay in Utah, because I think Oskar needs people to play with. Like me. Go Oskar the Amazing! And go Mamma Jamie!

Becoming a Runner: Day 1

I think if you were to look back over this blog, you would probably find a post similar to this one almost every year. It's as if I have this innate desire to be a runner, but lack the will power to get there. I'd rather have my marshmallow now, thank you. In my past experiences, injuries have slowed me down, as well -- just as I was really making progress. Two years ago I was training for a half marathon and when I had gotten up to 10 mile runs, I developed tendinitis in my foot, as well as knee pain. PERFECT. I thought that might have been a signal to take up, say, crocheting, but for some odd reason, I still want to become a runner. Call me crazy!

I've never been a natural at running. In fact, my family used to make fun of me for my "form" running around the softball bases in Little League. In high school however, I was routinely running 3-4 miles a day in my neighborhood, no sweat. Somehow I did it! It is true, however, that in all of my sports, running was always the punishment. Maybe that contributes to my mentality? Why would I want to subject myself to punishment willfully? (And let me emphasize that in the shape I am in right now, it is punishment). Nevertheless, I want to try again. I want to become a runner (and no, it's not just for the cute running clothes, although that would be a nice plus...)

This morning I had a free morning, not having to go into work until 12, so I took the chance to experience my first day as a runner. I put on my jogging pants, my black windbreaker, my black gloves and my black beanie, and headed out the door with my iPod blaring Black Eyed Peas. I was not only ready for my run, but also could rob any corner 7-11 on a moment's notice. At least I was warm, though. It was a gorgeously cold February morning. The sun was shining through the trees as I headed to the park, and the air was cool and crisp. So crisp in fact, that tears gushed out of my eyes as the wind hit them. I was obviously emotional over my impending run. After realizing that my pants were going to fall down only minutes after running and having to secure them to my body, I took off on a slow jog, determined to keep it up all the way around the park (1.4 miles). I knew that in the process of becoming a runner, it wasn't going to be a purely physical process, but mental as well. I had to exercise my will power like a muscle, and I knew I couldn't stop today until I had reached my starting point again.

It was a nice time of day for the run. The park was quiet. The gangbusters were still asleep. The annoying rollerbladers were nursing their scrapes and bruises at home. I was able to jog (slowly) in peace. The fir trees never fail to remind me of Oregon. It was fantastic. I was feeling great. Just when I thought I could definitely become a lifelong runner, two individuals sprinted past me, rubbing it in that I was going .03 MPH. The more I watched them, however, I was not intimidated, but rather alarmed. The man wore a neon yellow running jacket with his hood up, and on his bottom he had on the shortest shorts known to man. Had his flesh not been so white, you might have assumed his hairy legs were running tights. But this was not the most alarming fact of the scene. There was a rubber chord tied from his waist to the small woman's wrist running alongside him, trying to keep up. My first thought was: Oh my gosh. He has trafficked her as a running partner. And then I quickly realized that I was much too caught up in my job. I decided, after coming up with several other disturbing scenarios, that it was a training technique, allowing each other to keep up with one another's pace. But still, the scene was bizarre, and I questioned, in that moment, whether or not I in fact wanted to become a runner. In the end, however, I decided that Tyler would never do that to me, and so it would probably be okay. And I continued my run.

I'm pleased to say that I finished the run, tired, but completely. I did not vomit. I did not faint. I had a side-ache or two, but nothing I haven't had before. In the end, it was a success. And now I can't move.

Day 1 of becoming a runner. Check.

Life Thus Far...

Since buying the tickets to Argentina, life has been relatively normal (minus the constant supply of Ramen). We continue to march through the week with work and school. I’ve been able to get almost 40 hours for this pay period which has been both a blessing and a curse at the same time. I don’t know how people work 40 hours on a consistent basis!? And Tyler has started going completely car-free to Provo since we got his bike fixed. He now rides to the trax station, takes the trax to Sandy, catches the bus, and then makes it to Provo two hours later. And two plus two equals??? Four hours of insanity on public transit each day. But this at least forces him to study (or sleep – hmmm….)

Friday night we decided to go retro and I met Tyler in Provo for dinner in the Cougar Eat and a Mexican film at the International Cinema. I am such a nostalgic person that being on campus again in all-too familiar places filled with SO many memories almost stung a little (in a good way) and I realized how much I miss it! Of course, I think it’s so much easier to feel this way in retrospect. I’m sure there were days were I sat in that same Cougar Eat, with my L&T wrap, cursing the world away during Finals Week, trying to hit the undersized freshman sitting at the table next to me with a piece of ham. On Friday, however, I was just reminded of the good times. I told Tyler how fun it was to always go to the International Cinema together. Apparently that was a “good time” I made up, though! Whoops! He claims we never went to it together. I think I just went so much that I assumed everyone I knew had gone with me at some point. Haha. Well now I can say that we had our first date at the IC…

Speaking of bikes, when we fixed Tyler’s flat tire, I had to break out Sophie on Saturday. It was a sunny day in Salt Lake City, but over the years I have come to realize that this is completely and utterly deceiving. And this Oregon girl has still not learned her lesson, apparently. I saw SUN and thought BIKERIDE! And then we froze off our noses and fingers as we rode to Blockbuster a few miles away. Nevertheless, it was great to reunite with my loyal and faithful bicycle, the one and only means of transportation prior to my car. I heart her like unto my own.

Another highlight of late was going to the Utah Jazz vs. Portland Trailblazers game on Monday night. My amazing Thai coworker’s daughter is a Jazz dancer and got us free tickets! I was a little confused as to who to root for, since I grew up knowing the Blazers, but wasn’t a diehard fan. And Tyler is a lifelong Jazz fan. And I was wearing purple. So it was an interesting web I found myself in. But when I saw how crappy both teams were playing, I threw up my hands and didn’t care who won, just as long as someone made some baskets and moved their feet! But that’s just me ranting. Did I mention I love my bike?

Well, that’s life thus far! Thanks for tuning in. Until next time, I’ll be taking Sophie for a spin. Please don’t hit me. I haven’t bought a helmet yet.