One Month Later

Well, it has been a month since I last blogged. And apparently I'm a compulsive liar, as well. How many times have I promised to be better about writing? Oh, only three million. Alas, here I am. And here is a glimpse into life so far on our side of town.....

Med School
It is finally official! After longggggg months of applications, essays, money on the Visa, interviews, anxiety, disappointment, and literal insanity, we finally know where we will be for the next four years. Do you remember that post I did referring to the place with the cows? You know it. We are headed to Lebanon, Oregon, people! (As in the town, not the country.)

Western University of Health Sciences

His soon-to-be outfit

And you may find it fascinating to know that Lebanon (the town, not the country) is home of the World's Largest Strawberry Shortcake. Does it really get any better than that? The University of Utah, who so ignorantly rejected the one and only Dr. Curly, has nothing on the shortcake. I also read that the annual Strawberry Festival features the Strawberry Royalty Court. I'm hoping that my stint as homecoming queen (in my pre-grey haired days) gives me the added edge I need...

What I aspire to...

But in all seriousness, we are extremely excited to be moving to Oregon. If you were to read back through my blog, you would sort of notice that I am an Oregon freak. And by marriage, so is Tyler. We look forward to many long days hiking, running through the tide at the Coast, shopping in downtown Portland, and -- wait a minute. Let's get real. Tyler will spend his life in a lab dissecting bodies and memorizing antibiotics. And I will be preparing for the Royal Strawberry Court. We are planning on going out there the first weekend of June to find a place to live, and then come back to Utah for a short stint, before loading up the U-Haul and making the long Oregon Trail trek to the boonies. And we could not be happier. Tyler will do an intensive anatomy course from June 18 to August 3, which will potentially -- and hopefully -- lead to a TA position in the Fall. I will be working at the world famous Body of Health Clinic under the skilled, back cracking Doctor Jason Young, and then seeing where life takes me. Our future is as open as the cow pastures we will soon be running through.

Festival of Colors
We made like Hindus and went to Spanish Fork for the Hare Krishna Temple's annual Festival of Colors! It was my first time and Tyler's second. Our friends Bethany and Christopher joined us and we had a dandy time pelting each other with perfume-scented corn starch and partaking in the love fest. If only for a second, I thought I had experienced, even in just a small, Utah way, what Woodstock must have been like. And I loved it.

Pre-party

Post-party

Hare Krishna Temple, Spanish Fork

St. George
We recently went on an "Earley" vacation (haha -- get it? yeah...) to St. George over Easter Weekend with Kelly, Annie, and the always fabulous Brady-licious. We got to visit the St. George temple and then the next day explored Snow Canyon Park. It was warm, it was pretty, we played tennis, and it was a much needed break to the insanity that is our life right now. Thanks for the great trip, In-Laws!

Argentina
We continue to inch forward towards our impending adventure to the South. Yesterday we finally bought our backpacks, and a couple of weeks back we made our painful purchase of the domestic flights between Cordoba and Ushuaia. And we continue to eat Top Ramen.

School
Tyler is in the midst of his finals and has already taken two! He has three more to go and then can finally be done with his undergraduate education FOR-E-VER. We're gonna party like it's 1999. Today as we were walking in the park, he looked pensive and suddenly said, "I think I'm nostalgic right now." I asked him what about and he replied, "About BYU." Thinking back to my own graduation last year, and how I mulled over my unforgettable experiences prior to picking up my diploma (N'SYNC music videos in the bathrooms of the dorms at 3 in the morning while high on NyQuil, sleeping soundly in the chair by the window in the library every day of my freshman year, meeting random men in the parking lot and proclaiming them to be Harry Potter for the day, complete with the lighting bolt on their forehead drawn in eyeliner) I replied with a sigh, "Oh yeah. It's definitely a time to be nostalgic. What are you nostalgic about, exactly?" He paused, and then looking a little sheepish, said (and he was completely serious by the way), "Not getting to access peer reviewed articles on Pub-Med." Ladies and gentlemen. This is my husband. And he is a nerd.

Human Trafficking Conference
I just spent the last week at an international conference on Human Trafficking here at the Salt Lake City Hilton. We were invited by the Department of Justice to attend, not because we were experts on the subject, but more because there was no one else in Utah who could go. Nevertheless, we felt extremely humbled to be at a conference boasting such bigwigs as Cindy McCain (in her Prada suit, no less), attorney generals, federal prosecutors, lieutenants of vice units of major cities, famous social workers and highly renowned academics. The Department of Justice paid for them to all come to to Salt Lake City for the week (to which every single person we met asked, "Why Salt Lake??" and we could only respond, "They have bowling conventions here, too. We don't know.") in order to pick their brains about what to do about human trafficking in the United States. We just tried to be as fly-like on the walls as possible as passionate people spoke about the issue and brainstormed solutions. Nevertheless, it was an amazing conference and I learned more than I bargained for. It was one of those events in life that you experience and then feel under obligation to never let your life go back to exactly the way it was before. I'll be looking for ways to get involved in the fight in Oregon.

Right Now
Well, right now Tyler is making spaghetti and my stomach is making disgusting noises, so I will bid the blog goodbye and devour the meal so graciously prepared (seriously, he was dancing while he was stirring the pot. Unfortunately, it was not actually graceful -- I would say it was more...a la William Hung. But that's a story for another day.) Goodbye blog. And may I write more frequently.

Spring reminds me of...

Next week holds the first day of spring! – the first day of hope for a warmer tomorrow, of the bloom of a flower, of the beginning of new life, of the promise of sunnier days. It says saranara to winter and buenos dias to better times. I love spring. And while fall is by far my favorite season (for obvious reasons), spring just makes me happy. It’s been nice for the last few days (in the upper 50s, low 60s) and I can’t help but smile a little more, breath a little deeper. Since it is Utah, however, I try to not get my hopes up too much, since we can all mourn the Spring of 2011, when in April, students went to BYU classes in shorts and flip flops, only to be hit by a freak blizzard in the afternoon. Cruel and unusual torture at its best. Nevertheless, no matter where I am at, the oncoming of the spring season never fails to bring to my mind memories of the past. For some reason, the onset of this fabulous season – the birds chirping in the morning, the dull warmness in the morning with a slight breezy undertone, the sunlight peaking through the clouds, the promise of blue skies later in the afternoon – always takes me back to two specific places:  Camp Hancock, sixth grade and Buenos Aires, 2008.

Camp Hancock: In May of my sixth grade year, I had my stepsister painfully braid my hair into cornrows, packed my backpack with cheezits and hit the road in a caravan of 100 sixth graders, teachers, and parents to a small outdoor camp in Eastern Oregon. I threw up on the way, barely missing my classmate, and luckily making the insides of a grocery bag that, upon my insistence that I was going to vomit my morning’s Fruity Pebbles, made a prompt appearance. After what seemed like days, we arrived at, well, the middle of nowhere. We moved into long bunkhouses and were introduced to our camp counselors for the week. Over the course of our time there, we awoke early each morning and ready to take on the activities of the day, which included, but were not limited to, various nature hikes, thunder egg hunting/polishing, rock wall climbing, live bird demonstrations, campfire songs, and I do believe that I ate an ant. Actually, I’m sure of it. In particular, I remember one hike – and this is what current springs remind me of. It was to be the biggest hike of the week. We all got up at 5am and went to the dining hall to pack our sack lunches. By this time my braided head was badly sunburned and itching. But that’s irrelevant. Just know that I haven’t cornrowed my hair since. Anyway, I remember very distinctly setting off on our long, epic journey as the sun rose. Everything was so quiet, minus the seemingly millions of birds chirping throughout the red rock mountains and sagebrush. A few owls even braved the early hours to say hello. I remember taking a deep breath and falling in love with it all. And then I ate an ant. It tasted like a lemon.

Buenos Aires: I arrived to Buenos Aires on January 2, 2008. I left Utah’s 24 degree temperatures and snow-covered mountains and stepped off the plane into a literal sauna. I remember almost choking as I walked off the plane. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Bienvenido a Argentina. After going through many whirlwind activities, I was eventually dropped off in the small suburb town of Pacheco with my Costa Rican trainer, at our small apartment located over a loud, very boisterous old mechanic’s garage. The next day, I put on my short sleeves, forgetting the sunscreen, and headed out for a loooooooong day of walking the streets. By the end of the day, I looked like a land-locked lobster and every part of me hurt. As we went by to see some people, they gave me an entire aloe plant to help with my sunburn. Being a child of liquid aloe vera, I kept the plant as a pet and named him Fred. Our apartment bedroom was small and had very large wooden-framed windows that had huge gaps of space to the outside, even when closed. We had no air conditioning, our fan was broken, and none of that would have mattered anyway, since the power went out almost every night. Consequently, we had to open the windows at night (no screens) to allow for some airflow, even if it was actually hotter outside than in. We also, as a result, suffered the wrath of 1.2 million mosquitoes. The first morning I woke up I could have sworn that death was upon me. Malaria was imminent. Thankfully, however, I survived, and have since become an anti-mosquito activist. What reminds of me of spring, however, is not the retched mosquitoes or the acute likeness to Sebastian, but rather waking up in the early mornings, with the windows wide open, before the full onslaught of the sun had come upon us. 6:30 am always came too early, but there was something magical about it.  I could hear the foreign birds gawking and chirping outside my window. A rooster was nearby cock-a-doodling. The sun was beginning to come up through the city haze, peaking out over the palm trees and metal roofs. I felt like all of this gave me the daily strength I needed to tackle the obstacles and events of the incoming day. It reminded me that I was living in beautiful and exotic Buenos Aires! Somebody pinch me! And then I would take a cold shower and curse everything Argentine. But for those sacred 30 minutes between 6:30 and 7:00am, spring feelings were ever present.

I know it is supposed to possibly snow this upcoming weekend. And because of announcements like that, I, like I said, will not allow my hopes to be rise any higher than a daily level of optimism. Because once it snows, I will not be reminded of good times eating ants, or sunrises and palm trees. Instead, I will be reminded of the dentist chair, of stubbing my toe, and of getting a speeding ticket. So let it not snow.

El fin

Life Updates

*We still continue to anxiously wait to hear from Utah School of Medicine. Meanwhile, we put our second deposit down at Western in Oregon. The wait is excruciating! From what we hear, they will notify everyone by March 31 with their statuses: Accepted, Rejected, or Waitlisted. If Tyler is waitlisted, they could technically pull him off anytime up to the first day of classes. That is just sick.

*We had a shindig on Friday with my roommates plus one! It was just like old times. Bethany and I combined Crockpot power and made the bean and spinach enchiladas (see past post!) and we spent the long evening playing Farkle to our hearts’ content. Dewey only thought she was going to win…oh wait. Dark Horse introduced her Dark Pony to us. They will have Dark Puppies should they ever get married. Her birthday is coming up this month and she reminded us of this time last year, when we carried Cheesecake Factory cheesecake, incense, and candles into the Orem cemetery and celebrated her birthday in true, dark style. Oh the memories. I love those girls!

*This last Saturday was GEORGOUS and we took advantage of the beautiful weather and went and played tennis at our always lovely Liberty Park. We played for an hour and my arm hurt for a week. We decided that if we can get to a point where we can hit it back and forth more than three times in a row without messing it up, it just very well could be a sport we would enjoy playing together. I kept getting distracted by the eight year olds in the court next to us playing like mini Agassis. It inspired us to want to take lessons.

*On Monday we went to another Jazz game! Our Thai pal is so good to us. We watched them beat the Detroit Pistons in a great game. So far, they are 5-1 with us in the crowd, standing in as human symbols of good tidings. They have only lost to the San Antonio Spurs. And I’m pretty sure it’s because we had guests with us. When you start to add other branches to the human symbol of good tidings, it becomes complicated.

*We continue to plan our Argentina trip, and I’m beginning to think that it can’t come soon enough! Tonight I purchased the tickets from the province of Cordoba, down to Ushuaia, and then back up to Buenos Aires. We will now not even be eating top ramen until we depart. I think dinners will have to be at Costco at the sample booths. But it will all be worth it when we bite into that first ham and cheese empanada. I’m already salivating. We’re also in the process of reserving a handful of hostels in both Buenos Aires and in Ushuaia. It’s getting real!

There you have it. Our highlights. Meanwhile, life continues on in its normal, mundane path. I continue to work. Tyler continues to study and work. And we manage to see each other late at night and on the weekends due to his four hour commute each day. We consider it great practice for med school!

Dear Gold's Gym

Dear Gold’s Gym: You ain’t nothing but a hound dog.


I was originally sucked into your death trap in the summer of 2010. For the first time in my collegiate career, I was stuck in Provo during the most glorious months of the year, and Utah weather is not exactly Roseburg’s banana belt. It became too hot to run outside. You therefore lured me in to your building with a “Bring your friend” week, cardio theater, and air condoning. You just happened to be four blocks away from my apartment, as well. I went for a test run, and you talked me into joining, even though I said I would only be able to do it for a year. You said, “No problem! We’ll put in your file that the contract is just for one year.” From the get-go I knew you were lying. But I allowed you to continue to take advantage of me because of my flab and my boredom. When the year mark rolled around, I ended up not moving after all, and decided to keep going to the gym. I knew I didn’t even need to contact you about extending my so-called one -year contract for another year. Those notes were never in there in the first place. My theory was proven correct when I was allowed to continually waltz through the doors of your Salt Lake location day after day, without as little as a nod. Things weren’t too bad while attending your gym. For the most part, I always found a machine available. The trainers looked like overly tan, steroid-filled buffoons, but that is to be expected. The Salt Lake location even provided me with a little more variety than the Provo gym – more tattoos, piercings, and midriffs.

And then February rolled around.

My April end date was quickly approaching. At the end of April I would free of any contract or any monthly fee with you. And with us possibly moving to Oregon, I had already made up my mind that I would not be renewing my contract. Even if we stay in Salt Lake, I would prefer to find an establishment that doesn’t try to suck me dry of everything I’m worth. The first time I went to the gym in February, the front desk attendant scanned my card, and then apparently reading a command to ask me if I would be renewing my membership, asked if I would be doing so. I kindly told her I would not. “OK!”  she replied, cheerfully. So far, innocent. The next week time I went to the gym, I was asked again by a different attendant if I would be renewing my membership. Again, I told her no. The next time, it happened again, and I asked if she could put a note in my membership or something, so that I didn’t get asked every time I came to work out. She said she would. The next week, I received a call from member services asking me to renew my membership. I told the woman that I would not be renewing my membership because we would be moving (I didn’t say that it may just be across town). She said she would put a note in my file. Wasn’t there already a note? Two days later, I was at work and got a call from an unknown number. It was YOU –again. For the millionth time I was asked if I would renew my membership. I told the same story. Not 15 minutes later, the same lady called and made the same introductory presentation. I told her, “Um, I think you just called me like 15 minutes ago and I told you I would not be renewing my membership.” She responded confidently, “No, I didn’t.” Ok, whatever. I again told her that I would not be able to renew my membership. She said—as usual—that she would put a note in my file. Two days later, I entered your gym, scanned my card at the front desk, and headed for the elliptical machine, thinking I had finally escaped your annoying wrath. Suddenly however, I heard the girl at the counter snap and call to one of the ladies in tight spandex standing by the entrance to the cardio room. Without having to look, I know she pointed at me. Spandex Woman ran over to me, almost physically stopped me, and asked in a cheerful voice, “Will you be renewing your membership with us?” I wanted so badly to snap those spandex pants and send her flying. I replied, “No.” And then I said, with no more patience, and with much exasperation, “I have been asked this every time I’ve come in for the last month, and I have had people calling and calling. Everyone has said they were going to put a note in my file. Can someone PLEASE put a note in my file?” Two guys at the counter looked at me and must have finally decided that I had reached my breaking point, because one of them replied, “Yeah, we can do that. I’ll do that right now.” Since then, I have had no attacks and have finally been able to focus on my workouts, instead of my karate reflexes in defending myself against you.

Dear Gold’s Gym: I hope you know you ain’t nothing but a hound dog.

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.

VAMOS!

We finally took the plunge! No, we took that plunge in August. This is a slightly less drastic plunge, but one that has broken our pocketbooks just the same. VAMOS A ARGENTINA. Dale!

We’ve been talking about it forever. I’ve been talking about it since I was down there, promising everyone as I said goodbye that I would be back. And ever since Tyler met my family, he’s been involved, since I do recall my mom asking him on the first day he met her if he would be willing to take me to Argentina (because she as heck wasn’t going). We had only been dating for two months at that point, but I suppose it’s never too early to plan! We originally planned to go in December over Christmas break, and go for just two weeks. It didn’t work out so well, however, as travel started adding up for med school interviews (because of course I had to go along to every singe one!) So when both of us realized that May could be our only window (right after Tyler graduates and possibly just before he starts again) we started planning and watching airfare. We watched and we wept as prices remained higher than your Uncle Ned’s hair transplant operation. And then they began to increase ever so slightly, day by day. That’s when we knew we needed to set a deadline and then buy on that day no matter what! D-Day was scheduled for Tuesday January 24. It was do or die. Unfortunately, however, that day passed and we had  still not bought the tickets! Last night, however, we decided to it was time to stop being chickens, close our eyes, and push the buy button on Expedia.com. I was holding my breath. I can even recall Tyler gripping my arm tightly. It was intense. We recovered quickly, however, from the almost deadly gash in our bank account and began to get excited for the trip. It was finally real! We. Were. Goinggggggggggg.

Not more than 15 minutes later Tyler got a phone call from his credit card’s security company saying they noticed he had made smaller purchases earlier that day, and that all of the sudden there was a large amount spent to LANS Airlines. That makes sense, because if I were of the criminal mind and stole someone’s credit card, I would definitely flee to South America and hide among the already hidden Nazis on the run (although they’re probably in wheelchairs at this point). It was funny. And we felt protected. Thank you VISA.

So…what will be doing for a month?? Allow me to give you a rough itinerary. Those who know me will know that by the time this trip is planned, we’ll know where we can stop to use the bathroom (and whether or not it’s clean). But for now, I’m trying to let myself live a relatively normal life before becoming completely consumed in the obsession.

On Saturday May 5, we’ll leave SLC and have stops in Los Angeles, Lima Peru, and Santiago Chile. It will take over 20 hours, but we actually chose the three stops, because it was the only way to afford Peru and Chile in this trip. I’m sure we’re in for a riveting cultural experience in the 1 hour we’re in each airport. I bet we can even find a McDonalds. We’ll be arriving on Sunday morning around 10:30am, at which point we’ll hunt down a cheap shuttle to take us into the city to a hostel.

Buenos Aires

The next day, Monday, we’ll sightsee and then plan on taking an overnight bus to northern Argentina (17 hours, thank you very much—one way) to Igauzu Falls, recently declared one of the Wonders of the World. The falls border Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay. We’ll stay the night and then take the overnight bus allllllll the way back to BsAs, probably hating life but happy to have saved a few hundred dollars by not flying.

Igauzu Falls

We plan on making a trip to Uruguay. We’ll either go just for the day to a small town called Colonia (the Ferry is only 2.5 hours from Buenos Aires) or if my friend from the mission moves to Montevideo, the capital city of Uruguay, we’ll take the bus further into the city and stay with her. TBA.

Colonia

 We’ll make sure we see everything we want to see in Buenos Aries (I only got to see ONE famous place in Buenos Aires during my time there since we weren’t allowed out of our areas…) and everyone we want to see in Pacheco (the small suburb I was in just outside of the city), we’ll take the bus to a province northwest of the province of Buenos Aires – Cordoba. My two Argentine companions live there. My last companion was Argentine and she was my favorite Latina. So it will be good to hear her sarcasm once again. The capital of Cordoba is also supposed to be pretty awesome. So we’ll check that out. 

Cordoba

After we’ve worn out our welcome in Cordoba, we’ll catch an (expensive—dang Argentine airlines) flight to Ushuaia, where we’ll spend the rest of our trip between it and Rio Grande, living our lives in bliss, oblivious to the world above us. We’ll be too busy looking at the penguins (and swimming with them, as Tyler plans to do. I quickly told him that may not be his brightest idea yet).

Ushuaia 

Rio Grande

 At the end of our time in Tierra del Fuego, we’ll take a flight back up to Buenos Aires, possibly down some last minute hot dogs, and then take the very long flight back to SLC. We’ll arrive home on Friday, June 1, absolutely exhausted, and one day short of having been gone for an entire month.

It’s very possible that we may just pick up and move to Oregon upon hitting U.S. soil, but that is yet to be determined. Until then, we’ll just dream of the tango, and futbol, and big chucks of ice floating around in the arctic waters. And meanwhile, we’ll be eating Ramen noodles every night until August, when we’ll get student loans to allow us to once again nourish our bodies, starved due to a lack of money. But that’s okay, because our souls will still be overflowing with the words of the great Madonna sung from the balcony to her people in Buenos Aires:  Don’t cry for [us] Argentina! And then we’ll die a painful death due to scurvy. But at least we’ll die happy.

Madonna as Evita