Today, I turned the big 2-5! I had a fabulous couple of days and decided to share the joy with all of you! The celebration started Sunday, since it's a bit easier to get the family together then. For my birthday dinner, my mom made fettuccine alfredo and homemade breadsticks. There were also yummy green beans that my mom had bottled on an earlier date. We had cheesecake for dessert, which was delicious. My brother, Bret, gave me a Frank Sinatra CD and a box of Oatmeal Cream Pies, which I love (and I super love that he gave me something kind of random). My parents gave me some kitchen stuff: cake pans and stuff as well as flour, sugar, etc. Afterwards, I went to work, which was lame, but what can you do?
Fast forward to Monday, my actual birthday. I started the day by sleeping in (awesome). Around noon-ish, Amanda (one of my BFFs) and I went to LDS Employment Services and ending up doing what we could have done at home online. It was good, though, because we were forced to sit down and complete our profiles on the website. We're hoping that we'll be able to get wonderful new jobs soon. After that visit (and a short wandering around the DI), Amanda and I went to lunch at good old Firehouse. Unfortunately, there was some sort of serving snafu, and we sat for about twenty minutes without seeing a server. I had to get up and go ask the hostess for our server (don't worry; I was very nice about it). Our server still wasn't very attentive, but the food was good and we had a nice time chatting.
Later that day....I went to FHE with the ward. We did some yard work for an elderly couple and I got to wear my so-hideous-they're-fabulous gardening gloves. They have these intense orange and red flowers and lime green elastic cuffs. I pulled grass and weeds out of a flower bed while having a grand time with the girls in my ward and the ward we've joined with for the rest of the summer (incidentally, my old ward). It rained on us for a few minutes, but that only added to the fun. After the yard was done, we gathered at the park next door and enjoyed some delicious homemade ice cream and frozen yogurt. A girl in the ward even got everyone to sing "Happy Birthday" to me and Brad, a guy in my ward who was also celebrating a birthday.
Even later that day....I went to a double party for me and Brad. There was a lovely cake that said "Brad + Michelle = 55". It was beautiful. Afterwards, there was a hockey game on the nearby hockey rink (at the house where the party was, actually) that we all watched and cheered for. A girl there gave me the responsibility of taking pictures with her camera while she played, so I did my best, even though the camera was uber-fancy. Also, a girl who just happens to be my visiting teacher brought cupcakes that spelled out "Happy Bday B & M". I made sure I got to eat my "M" cupcake. It was delicious.
So, to summarize: lots of fun, lots of food, lots of fantastic.
Happy Birthday to me!
Monday, July 26, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
I'm a real boy! ...or am I?
So I was doing some price changes at work today, and I noticed that the description on one of the pieces read like so: Faux Girl Pendant. I wondered to myself what the point was of pointing out the fact that the pendant was not an actual girl. Does JCPenney really think that someone will come by the jewelry department, see the pendant and think, "Oh my gosh, there's a very very small girl suspended by a loop of gold inside a palm-sized leatherette box in that case! Pull her out and set her free!", to which the associate will reply, "No, dear customer, that is not a real girl. Try to calm yourself. Get off my counter, you will break the glass!" The helpful jewelry girl will then pull the box out of the case and show the panicking customer the tag. "You see, it is a faux girl. She's not real." Closing their eyes, the customer will sigh with relief. "Oh good, I was so afraid that JCPenney had suddenly become some sort of underground leprechaun slavery operation. I'm so glad that she wasn't real. She looked so realistic!"
Now, friends, I've regarded this charm for several years (since we've had it for as long as I can remember) as the most hideous jewelry piece of my acquaintance. The "faux girl" charm bears absolutely no resemblance to an actual, human girl. First, the girl is made of gold, not enamel or plastic. Also, the facial features are barely recognizable as facial features, and the limbs end in rounded stumps. To top it off (literally) the girl has these ridiculous looking pigtails that look more like two extra harms than a hairstyle.
I'd also like to mention that there was a "faux boy" next to the girl. Imagine the riots that would ensue if JCPenney had not taken the care to spell out that these children are, indeed, not real. Thank you, JCP. Thank you.
Now, friends, I've regarded this charm for several years (since we've had it for as long as I can remember) as the most hideous jewelry piece of my acquaintance. The "faux girl" charm bears absolutely no resemblance to an actual, human girl. First, the girl is made of gold, not enamel or plastic. Also, the facial features are barely recognizable as facial features, and the limbs end in rounded stumps. To top it off (literally) the girl has these ridiculous looking pigtails that look more like two extra harms than a hairstyle.
I'd also like to mention that there was a "faux boy" next to the girl. Imagine the riots that would ensue if JCPenney had not taken the care to spell out that these children are, indeed, not real. Thank you, JCP. Thank you.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Why I Don't Play Sports: A Tale of Humiliation and Woe
Red Rover, Red Rover, send Michelle right over...
Of all the phrases that elementary school students hear, and they hear a lot, no phrase was able to strike fear into my heart in such a way that these eight little words did. Besides the fact that the emphasis was inevitably placed on the wrong syllable of my name, hearing this evil chant was the signal that within a few seconds I would look like the greatest fool in the class. Upon hearing my name, I would run as fast as I possibly could towards the waiting chain of arms on the other side of the field. I don't know why I even bothered to run; I never made it through the wall of hands, arms and torsos. I guess it made me feel less foolish if it looked like I was being a good sport about it. I wasn't, though. I hated it more than anything else. The worst part was that the humiliation was far from over. After becoming part of the opposing team, we continue the game by calling a classmate over. This classmate would, far more often than not, choose me as the weakest link and choose my poor, weak arms to break through in order to avoid the same fate that I had unwillingly succumbed to. You would think this was enough, but no! The very next round (or maybe a few rounds later) I would get called to run at the team that I had started on. I would of course be held from breaking through, and from then on I would be caught in a vicious cycle of running at other teams and having other teams run at me. My arms would be incredibly sore by the time recess/gym class was over and we returned to the safe haven of knowledge and learning that was the classroom.
But Red Rover was not my only schoolyard torture: perhaps you have heard of a little game called dodgeball? Well, I have. The technique for this game was a bit different. Since no one ever saw me as a threat, none of my classmates even attempted to get me out during the heat of the game; instead, each team picked off the strong members of the other team. I was left until the very end, when every other viable player had been placed in the prison and could no longer pose a threat. It was at this point that each player on the opposite team would throw their various foam dodgeballs and air-filled kickballs at me....and then I would be out.
There is, I suppose, a deeper reason for me not liking sports-playing. Apart from the whole being haunted by my past thing, I also tend to avoid situations where there is a chance of me looking like a fool. I'm not really comfortable enough with myself to look downright, ridiculously stupid. Now, those of you who know me may say, "But Michelle, you look like an idiot all the time. You constantly trip on your own shoes, and I've seen your dance moves. You dance like a crazy person!" To you I say, you are absolutely right. I do look like a fool on a regular basis, but this is different. I know, when going into a dancing situation, that I will look dumb. I have accepted that I look dumb, but the main point is that I'm having fun. There is no fun is sports. I hate running, and I hate losing, which always happens when I play sports. I'm not especially competitive, but I only like to play games that I can win. Well, maybe I'm a bit competitive. The point is, I don't play sports, and that is that.
The end.
Of all the phrases that elementary school students hear, and they hear a lot, no phrase was able to strike fear into my heart in such a way that these eight little words did. Besides the fact that the emphasis was inevitably placed on the wrong syllable of my name, hearing this evil chant was the signal that within a few seconds I would look like the greatest fool in the class. Upon hearing my name, I would run as fast as I possibly could towards the waiting chain of arms on the other side of the field. I don't know why I even bothered to run; I never made it through the wall of hands, arms and torsos. I guess it made me feel less foolish if it looked like I was being a good sport about it. I wasn't, though. I hated it more than anything else. The worst part was that the humiliation was far from over. After becoming part of the opposing team, we continue the game by calling a classmate over. This classmate would, far more often than not, choose me as the weakest link and choose my poor, weak arms to break through in order to avoid the same fate that I had unwillingly succumbed to. You would think this was enough, but no! The very next round (or maybe a few rounds later) I would get called to run at the team that I had started on. I would of course be held from breaking through, and from then on I would be caught in a vicious cycle of running at other teams and having other teams run at me. My arms would be incredibly sore by the time recess/gym class was over and we returned to the safe haven of knowledge and learning that was the classroom.
But Red Rover was not my only schoolyard torture: perhaps you have heard of a little game called dodgeball? Well, I have. The technique for this game was a bit different. Since no one ever saw me as a threat, none of my classmates even attempted to get me out during the heat of the game; instead, each team picked off the strong members of the other team. I was left until the very end, when every other viable player had been placed in the prison and could no longer pose a threat. It was at this point that each player on the opposite team would throw their various foam dodgeballs and air-filled kickballs at me....and then I would be out.
There is, I suppose, a deeper reason for me not liking sports-playing. Apart from the whole being haunted by my past thing, I also tend to avoid situations where there is a chance of me looking like a fool. I'm not really comfortable enough with myself to look downright, ridiculously stupid. Now, those of you who know me may say, "But Michelle, you look like an idiot all the time. You constantly trip on your own shoes, and I've seen your dance moves. You dance like a crazy person!" To you I say, you are absolutely right. I do look like a fool on a regular basis, but this is different. I know, when going into a dancing situation, that I will look dumb. I have accepted that I look dumb, but the main point is that I'm having fun. There is no fun is sports. I hate running, and I hate losing, which always happens when I play sports. I'm not especially competitive, but I only like to play games that I can win. Well, maybe I'm a bit competitive. The point is, I don't play sports, and that is that.
The end.
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