Snow Part 2!

Hey, sweetie in the cute boots, the reason your feet are cold and wet and you're slipping is that your boots are stupidly cheap.  I know you're a starving student, but maybe next year, you could invest in some practical boots that are waterproof and warm.  Put some money aside, watch the sales, and please take care of yourself.  Cold wet feet are the worst, and I feel bad that you're hurting and miserable.

Also, tell your boyfriend to stop whining about how cold it is and wear a real coat instead of his gray hoodie.

Snow!

OH MY GOSH DID YOU KNOW IT SNOWS IN UTAH?!?  HOW CRAZY IS THAT??!?!1!1?!

Hey.  I spent most of my childhood in a very small town in one of the Big Square Counties in central/eastern Utah.  Our street wasn't paved until a couple of years before we moved.  We didn't have sidewalks.  We had to go to the post office to get our mail (imagine!).  I remember one year it snowed so much that the buses couldn't get from wherever they were stored and to our town, so school was canceled.  I remember one time coming home from somewhere, and my dad's old Dodge spun on the freeway, flipping us around so we were going the wrong way.  Fortunately, there was a break in traffic at that time and we didn't run into anyone or have trouble getting turned around.

When we moved to Orem, it snowed there, too.  I remember my wet hair freezing while I waited for the school bus in elementary school.  I think there were a couple of times it was so cold we weren't allowed outside for recess.  I took piano lessons from a neighbor who lived a couple of blocks away and since the lessons were in the morning before school, I mostly walked.  There were times it got pretty slippery.  One winter, the snow was deep enough, and the wind was strong enough, that we had really deep drifts in our side yard--I think one of my siblings made a snow cave--and church was canceled a couple of times even though our building was two blocks away.

I've had snow put down my back, I've slipped and fallen, I've been dumped in the snow, I've been so cold it hurts, I've had to leave my keys in the ignition and my car in neutral because it won't shift out of park when it's cold, I've had to wear fingerless gloves at work because I worked next to a drafty automatic door, but I've never been in a snow-related traffic accident.  Mostly because I drive like an old lady in the winter (unless the roads are clear and you're in front of me going 30 mph when you CAN and SHOULD be going 60 you jerk).

When I took Driver's Ed in high school, I went out on the driving range a couple of times, but didn't actually schedule my road training until Mr. Allred (rest his soul--he was a good teacher) called me out of the blue the winter after Driver's Ed and told me it was time I got in some road work.  In the snow.  And the ice.

So that, combined with learning from my dad's training as a long-haul trucker and my mom's extensive winter driving experience, has made it so I'm pretty ok driving in snow.  (Remember that one time I drove on Highway 20 to get from Highway 89 to I-15?  In a pretty good snow storm?  On an inch of ice?  In the dark?  Without a cell signal?  In the NIGHT?  It was pretty epic.)  (Seriously, Google Map it.  It's a cool drive.)  It's not so bad, really.  I (mostly) don't drive when conditions are obviously too dangerous, but I know how to handle a car in the snow.  I used to tell college friends from California or Oregon three simple rules:  If there's snow, always assume there is also ice; cut your speed in half; and give yourself twice as much time to get anywhere. If they wanted more tips, I would add the following:  if you slide, steer into it and don't slam on your brakes; the car's natural momentum is more useful than hitting the gas really hard when you're stuck; heavier cars generally are easier to drive (I drove a '78 Buick LeSabre and a '78 Chevy station wagon in high school, so I know); don't panic if you get stuck; if you can control your slide, steer into a ditch or onto a lawn because that's better than hitting another car; if you need traction, head for the snow or slush and not the smooth ice; be patient if you get stuck; and, bringing us to the rant, TURN ON YOUR STUPID LIGHTS.

Honestly.  Never assume that, just because you can see, others can likewise see you.  If you're driving a small dark car, it's really hard for other drivers to see you coming.  Just turn on your lights.  It's a little switch, right there next to your steering wheel.  Turn it.  It's not hard.  Unless you don't have arms, you have no excuse.  Even if you don't have arms, use your feet.  Turn on your lights so I can see you in the blinding snow, fog, and spray from trucks.  Holy cats, people.  Turn on your lights.

Have I made myself clear?  Turn on your lights. 

Gosh.

Also?  Everyone?  Calm down about all this snow.  Yeah, it's hard to shovel, and you might miss some work, and your power might go out (which is hard), and your furnace is dying, and you might slide off the road (which sucks, please don't get hurt) and you're going stir-crazy, but remember how everything was on fire last summer after that unnervingly mild winter?  Remember that?  Remember how half a MILLION acres burned in Utah alone, and there was ash in the air and Colorado Springs almost was no more?  Remember how we almost ran short of water to put out the fires?

Me too.  I'm grateful for the snow.

Small October Rant (in which I abuse parenthesis!)

Besides the fact that, apparently, October and I are best frenemies (forever!) (more on that later) (maybe), I have a couple of rants.

Remember That One Time (I really should trademark that) I was kind of glad last winter was pretty mild, but only because my car never had a problem shifting out of park because it wasn't very cold?  That was a relief, but the weather was too dry and caused a lot of problems this summer (2012:  The Year Everything Caught On Fire All The Time).  As it gets cooler, I look forward to crazy snow storms and below-freezing nights, but then I remember that I have this car with a rebuilt transmission (known as a tranny in the trade, and not what you might think a tranny is, although sometimes--like right now--I might think it's funny to give my transmission a drag queen name), and the rebuilt transmission doesn't like to shift out of park when the temperature drops below 20 for any appreciable amount of time.

The technical reason is that the shifter rod that engages the gears when you push the little button on my shifter, is a little too short.  Plastic shrinks in the cold, and when it's too cold, my shifter rod doesn't QUIIIITE engage the gears in the 6-year-old transmission.  The part is no longer manufactured by Ford (just one of many reasons to never buy a 1995 Taurus, much as I like my car most of the time) and a transmission guy I talked to said he could jimmy a part, but I decided not to do that because I figured eventually I'd be able to buy a new car.

Nnnnnope.

Life got in the way, and I haven't been able to afford a new car, so I'm stuck with my trusty Ford (which EVERY mechanic who looks at is says is a great, solid, car with a good engine, and to whom I usually reply with a sardonic laugh and the reminder that it's only a good car because I replaced the transmission, which is worth more than the car is) for the time being.  I dread the coming of winter, because I know that I'll either have to leave the keys in my car and the car in neutral, or start it as soon as I get out of bed and leave it running while I shower and get dressed in the hope that it will get warm enough that it will shift the heck out of park.

Luckily for me, no one wants to steal my car.

But, man, I really wish I could get a new car.  A new car with a good transmission (possibly named Feathers) and good door panels that happen to be insulated (unlike mine) against road noise and a better stereo.

Maybe I can get one of those "Overhaulin'"-type shows to glam up my car.  Then again, who wants to see a glammed-up 1995 Ford Taurus?  (But I'm really curious to see what they could do to make it cool; maybe turn it into a Dodge Challenger?  That would be magic!)

Also, why were Mustangs SO DARN UGLY in the 80s?  Is there any logical explanation for that?  Because, really.

I liked it first!

So apparently rose gold is trending now.

I am angry about this.

Because!  I liked it first!  And I HATE IT when something I like suddenly become popular and people are all over it, because then I feel unoriginal and boring.

Remember That One Time I bought myself a pink sapphire ring for my 30th birthday?  And wore it as my engagement ring for a while?  And then decided that I didn't really want a diamond ring because I'm so terrifically bored by the vast majority of boring white gold and diamond engagement rings?  Even though I probably think yours is super pretty and perfectly suited to you?  Remember that time?

Also, remember how pink has been my favorite color since I was born?  Remember how I like pink sparkly things?  And how I want something pink for my wedding and engagement rings?  And how I've been looking at rose gold, pink sapphires, morganites, pink diamonds, pink topazes, and pink beryls for the last, oh, 10 years?

Stop stealing my ideas, media!  Stop it! 

Fine.  I'm going to like these things anyway.  I liked them before they were trendy, and I'll like them for the rest of my life.  I've spent a LOT of time thinking about this, guys, and I know that I will never regret my choice.  I will never buy into something just because everyone else is.  I only like things because I like them.

So there.

Birth Plan: Addendum

Please don't misunderstand me.  If you want a home birth and you have an awesome (and experienced) midwife, that's awesome!  Go you!  It is absolutely your right to choose that, and I applaud you. 

Birth Plan

I read a lot of blogs.  A LOT.  Some of them have to do with giving birth, and the majority of those involve home births.  I've also read a lot of horror stories about home births--stories about unlicensed midwives, women calling themselves midwives with no actual formal training, mothers who are so anti-Western medicine that they refuse to go to a hospital, midwives who don't call emergency services when the mother's labor extends more than 24 hours, babies who die, mothers who die, mothers who are so hung up on their perfect birth plan that they can't handle the idea that something might (and often does) go wrong.  I've read about awesome home births and tragic home births.  I've read about educated, caring, professional midwives who know when something is beyond their abilities, and I've read about midwives who insist they're right at the expense of a life.

Here's the thing.  Even though I'm not married nor am I pregnant, I am automatically going to have a high-risk pregnancy just because of my age.  I'm in uncharted territory at this point.  My cousin a couple of years older than me had her last baby (now 1 year old, fat and sassy) at great risk to him and to herself and will not be able to have more children.  My direct female relatives were done having children for various health reasons by the time they were 35.  I have no idea what is going to happen when I'm pregnant.  Things could be smooth and wonderful, or I could end up on bed-rest for six months.  I could have four healthy children, or one child with a birth defect, or none at all.   

I won't know until it happens.

My response to all those heartfelt (and sometimes psychologically/emotionally bullying) birth plans I read about is short and simple:

My birth plan, should I be lucky and blessed enough to actually have one, is to bring a baby into this world alive.  I will do anything it takes to bring a living, healthy baby into this world.  If that means my mom moves in with me while I'm on bed-rest, so be it.  If that means I'm in a hospital for eight weeks, hooked up to all kinds of equipment, consider it done.

And don't you dare try to bully or shame me into thinking I'm somehow a bad person for making this decision.

Hoooo boy...

I am so tired of people making assumptions about Mormon women based on flawed, sexist, and bigoted stereotypes.  I could go off for DAYS about how society is so messed up and true feminism is so misunderstood and how pr0n has infiltrated almost every aspect of our lives so we expect/assume certain things.

Right now, though, I won't.  It's enough, today, to say that sometimes I want to go totally off-grid and raise my future family in a yurt in the Montana wilderness to protect them from this horrible world.

PSA: Tights vs Leggings

I will not elaborate on my opinions of this trend, but I will give you a handy tip:

If you insist on wearing leggings/tights, after you pull them on in the morning, have someone take a picture of you with a flash.  If you can see through them, they are not pants and you probably shouldn't be wearing them alone.  And, believe me, even if you think no one will notice, WE DO.  You would not believe the number of women I've seen who are wearing nothing more than opaque tights under their too-short skirts or shirts.

Here's a good rule:  If you'd be uncomfortable wearing that skirt/top/dress without leggings underneath, maybe you shouldn't wear it.

A case of the grumps

I hate the phone.
I hate entitled attitudes.
I hate being hungry.
I hate, um, spiders.

Huh.  I was going to write an exhaustive list of things I hate today, but I kind of ran out of steam there.  I suppose that's a good thing, right? 

Maybe I'm just hungry, which makes me irritable.  Time to up the old blood sugar.

Let me just clear this up for you.

I know we all love to hear the "Marilyn Monroe was a size 14 so there you chumps!" schtick.  It's kind of empowering to think that one of the most beautiful women in the world was a size 14.  But.  Let's get this clear.  A size 14 in the 1950s is equivalent to a size 6 or 8 today.  Even at her heaviest, sweet Marilyn was still pretty small, although curvy.  What I think a lot of people don't understand is that movie stars (then and now) tend to be shorter than we assume and thinner than average.  People also don't understand that sizing has changed a lot in the last 50 years.  If it makes you feel awesome that Marilyn was a more voluptuous sex-symbol than many celebrities today, that's awesome, but don't kid yourself.  She was never considered "plus-size".

Don't even get me started on the number of old Hollywood stars who had drug addictions and eating disorders.  It's a sad, sad thing, isn't it?

I'll just get this out of the way right now

1. I don't want to find a new place for my master key at work.  The place I've hidden it for the last few months has been great, but this morning I came in to find the clip on the floor and the magnet nowhere to be found.  I ask you, how hard is it to put things back the way you found them?  How do you lose a big magnet?  Now I have to find a new place for my key because, without the magnet, I can't put it where it was.  Fun.
2. Maybe I'll just keep the key with me at all times.  That'll show 'em.
3. At least I was able to find a parking spot.
4. We're out of water bottles for the water cooler.  My quest to stay hydrated is thwarted!  Thwarted, I tell you!
5. I don't understand how someone can be kind, generous, and thoughtful, and yet wildly immature at the same time.  It's a paradox.
6. If you've had a bronchial cough since Thanksgiving, you should probably get that checked.
7. You know how sometimes you hate yogurt but there's nothing else quick and convenient?  It's been like that for the last couple of months.  It's all I can do to not gag while eating it.
8. At least I can listen to Paul Simon's Graceland online.  That's very helpful.

Wrong question!

Asking me "where do you see yourself in 20 years?" is not conducive either to my mood at work or my desire to keep working here.  Here's the short answer:  If I'm still at a job like this in 20 years, I may or may not be suicidal over it.  Just don't ask, ok?  We'll get along much better if you don't ask me about my future.

Klassy with a K

In retrospect, I suppose I should have known I'd get a call from a frustrated mother, and then accidentally hang up on her while trying to answer her question.

I had a late rehearsal last night and by the time I was done my stomach was hurting so much I had a hard time standing up straight.  I'd been awake for 19 hours and apparently hadn't had enough to eat and my stomach was NOT PLEASED with me.  I got home, took off my makeup, had some toast, and put away two days' worth of clothes before reading a little and sleeping.  I thought I'd given myself plenty of time this morning to get ready, but I had a couple of things leftover from last night I had to do, and ended up leaving my house with enough time to get to work but not enough time to brush my teeth or put my sunscreen on.

So I brushed and sunscreened in a work bathroom. . . after parking in a VIP spot at the risk of being ticketed because there was NO parking in my lot, and having to move my car right after I checked in at work.

Klassy with a K.  That's me.

I Will Never Be an Expert, Even When I'm an Expert

I curse the internet for this.  I curse it.

You know how you study and work for years and years to know about the things you're interested in?  And how some upstart reads one book and is suddenly an expert because he or she has a Blog with Opinions?  And then how you are terribly discouraged because you have put in so much effort to know things, but no one believes you know them because you don't have a Blog with Opinions or a degree in the subject?

Maybe that's just me, but there are days I really hate Wikipedi@ and the awful bloated glut of information, often misinformation, out there.  There are so many fashion blogs and history blogs and vintage blogs that I feel displaced.  I can't swim against the current when everyone assumes (based on faulty research) that 19th century women had their ribs surgically removed, for instance.  Or when they buy a couple of vintage dresses and now they know all the mores and motivations behind WWII "make it do" fashions. 

Granted, there are some people who really do know what they're talking about, but finding them amongst the flotsam is hard.  In this age of instant expertise (I read it on Wiki!), how do the dues-payers cope?  I don't know everything even though I've always thought I know quite a bit, but public opinion seems to be against me because I don't have a cutesy blog with kooky pictures of myself wearing vintage dresses with ugly boots.  I fear that even if I DO get a masters in the area of clothing/textile history, I'll still not be taken seriously.  I'll be dismissed because I won't accept most research at face value.

On the other hand, if I really do this (if it pans out as planned), should I CARE what some 20-year-old wannabe sartorialist says or does?  Should I CARE that people will always take for granted what they've been fed out of poorly-written books?  Should it bother me at all that some people will never take me seriously because they dress like teenagers? 

I probably shouldn't care or be bothered, but more often than not I want to reach through my monitor and throttle people who don't know what they're talking about.

Let's get the new year started with a rant:

Does it really take that much effort to respond to a text?  Does it REALLY take too much time out of your precious day to push some buttons?  DOES IT?

Because this little black duck is tired of it and is thisclose to deleting a couple of people from her phone, her Facebook, and her life.

It's the classic "I thought we were friends" line going around and around in my head, but I won't actually say it out loud, because it sounds so junior high and immature.

BUT.

HONESTLY.

The only reason I'm keeping one of these people in my phone is so that IF This Person calls/texts, I will know who it is before I answer, but it's starting to feel like a very thin reason.

I'm so tired of this crap.

Things I Hate Today

People willfully perpetuating the stereotype of the "good Mormon wife" by making broad assumptions about my hobbies.

People calling me a Utah Mormon.  Yes, I'm Mormon; yes, I live in Utah; what of it?  I'm neither close-minded nor intolerant.  I don't live in a bubble.  Deal with it.

Too may conversations happening at once.  I can't focus and it makes me cranky and tired.

Losing a digital copy of a huge project.

My mattress.

Uncertainty.

Hey, LISTEN.

I think I'm going to adopt the practice of not talking to anyone until their stupid ear-buds are out of their ears and their stupid MP3 player is turned off.

Does that sound good to you? Good.

Reminders

If I say I don't have something, it is really not in your best interest to look for it FOR me. I've probably already looked. Several times. I don't just say I don't have something. I don't lie.

So, you know, thanks for believing me the first time. Also, thanks for apologizing when you find that thing in your pile of stuff after accusing me (indirectly, of course) of not being responsible.

2010 Political Statement

If you think someone might be an idiot, do your research, track down the sources, put it all together, and prove him or her wrong. Sometimes you can't. Sometimes they're right. Just because you didn't think of it or don't agree doesn't make that person an idiot.

If you don't agree with a pundit, politician, or spokesperson, that's fine, but don't paint everyone with the same brush. That's neither fair nor mature.

I am sick TO DEATH of hearing the same thoughts parroted over and over again. You don't have to agree with everything the Popular Kids think--that's why you have a brain. Don't parrot; think, research, listen, and then say something if you must.

I'm tired of anyone who isn't an official spokesperson of my church making public statements about my church. That means ANYONE: columnist, pundit, politician, friend, author. Knock it off. This is why there are still so many misconceptions about my faith, and this is why I've stopped reading certain blogs/zines (*cough*Segullah*cough*).

Why doesn't anyone remember the rules anymore? Remember how it used to be considered impolite to discuss politics or religion with people you may not know well? Sometimes I curse the internet for the false sense of intimacy and the easiness of anonymity.

Remember who you are. Remember what you believe. Remember that IT'S OK to speak up for those things in this country. Allow others the same rights you demand from them, and exercise your right to walk away or change the channel or, even, take a break from your social networking.

And, sometimes, it's better to keep your mouth shut and your fingers still and not ruin friendships.

This is just stupid. Or it's just me.

I'm getting into some bad sleeping habits again. Habits that hearken back to that one time I was afraid to sleep and was terribly sleep-deprived for over a year because of the exhaustion and horrific nightmares and the very weird phobia of sleep itself.

I get worked up by something and can't settle down, so I start to worry about not sleeping, and the worrying works me up even more, and I worry more, and I get more and more tired, and by the time I finally convince myself that I'm NOT going to have nightmares about people murdering my family, it's after midnight (see? ugh) and my alarm goes off around 5:30. Now, I'm not a wimp, but the accumulated months (maybe years?) of weird, restless sleeping is doing a number on me. I power through, but I really hate this. Maybe I need to start taking a melatonin supplement or something. Or finally bite the bullet and buy a new mattress. blar.