Shout-Out to Amanda at Sorelle Spa

amanda: I'm Amanda, I'll be working on you today. Is your massage a gift?

me: I actually won it during a fundraiser almost a year ago.

amanda: Oh, well congratulations! Have you had a massage before?

me: A few. Its been a while.

amanda: OK. Strip down to your comfort level and slip between these sheets. We'll start face down. See you in a second. [leaves...comes back] Is there anything in particular you want me to work on?

me: No, not really. I actually prefer a softer massage.

amanda: Sure. Something all over relaxing? OK.

From that short conversation, I got the massage I've always dreamed of. It seems its usually a massage therapist's natural tendency, if they even sense that you might have a knot, to work it out through whatever means necessary, whether you want them to or not. They're sadists. I put massage therapists on the same level as Steve Martin's orthodontist in Little Shop of Horrors. Really, I'm just looking for someone to rub my cold, dry, wintery skin with their warm, oily hands.

Amanda did just that.

And you know what else I loved? Amanda rubbed my cold, dry, wintery skin with her warm, oily hands without trying to befriend me. She didn't ask where I was from, or if I've been to Sorelle before, or how her pressure is. She especially didn't try to explain, as she was digging her finger tips or knuckles or elbow into my back, that it might hurt a little now, but if I give it a couple of days and drink a lot of water, I'm going to feel a million times better. (Lies.) Amanda rubbed in silence while I ecstatically drooled all over her face cradler thinger. Even when it was time to roll over, she instructed me to do so in a barely audible whisper.

OK, I didn't actually drool. But I could have, if I wasn't paying enough attention not to. Amanda's massage is that good. Moral of the story is, I just found my massage therapist. I'd go so far as to say she's my massage soul mate. Amanda, I love you.

Honey Buns Update

My mom got me a box of the Little Debbie's Honey Buns. They're smaller than I remember. Or maybe I was smaller, so they seemed bigger. And I swear they came out of the freezer when I was a kid. But, after microwaved for 30 seconds, they are warm and gooey and taste exactly as I remember. Yummers! Thanks, Mom!

Overheard at Big Lots

mother, yelling angrily at her 4-ish-year-old: That is NOT in the spirit of giving!

Heaven

Today I got on I-80 at 1300 East, and then I got off of I-80 at 1300 East.

Feats of Strength

The other day I saw a dude carrying a pallet while ride his bike. One arm straight up over his head holding the pallet behind him, the other arm steering the bike. That's what I call impressive.

Remember These?

I woke up in the middle of the night to pee, and as soon as I stood up I thought, "Oh my god! A gooey, melty, straight-out-of-the-microwave Honey Buns sounds so good right now." Then I peed and went back to sleep.

When I woke up, I remembered having the craving, but I could not for the life of me remember what they were called. I had to ask Mom. Luckily she knew. We used to eat them when we lived in California. 17 years ago. Why I craved one last night is beyond me.

But now I'm dying to know if I can find them somewhere...

Overheard in the Freeze Aisle at (gasp!) Wal-Mart

renee: I want this.

renee's mom: No.

renee: Why not???

renee's mom: Because your pancreas doesn't work.

renee: Well, can't you fix it?

A Cause for Cozy

Remember last year when I realized that I fell in love with snow? I'm still in love. I can't stop staring at this:

100 Faces

You know, I've heard a million times since I joined Mary Kay that "it works when you work." I knew it was true. But now I can say it for a fact. Mary Kay works when I work.

I finished those 54 faces I needed in October. In fact, I finished 57. I got to pamper and spend some time with friends I haven't seen in forever. I got to make some new friends I never would have without Mary Kay. I shared some new tricks with all of those friends that they can use when taking care of their skin. I moved $2,543 in product off my shelves. I taught 7 people about the business opportunity Mary Kay offers and got three new team members. And I had SO much fun doing it! I love my job.

Thanks to all 103 of you who have helped me out since July 1. I'm going to really enjoy my front row seat at Fall Camp and take full advantage of my Jump-to-the-Front-of-the-Bathroom-Line pass. I can't wait!

Dear Blog

Dear Blog,

I'm sorry I've been neglecting you.

Last year, when I went to Fall Camp (the 2-day Mary Kay training for my national area at The Canyons), I was sitting in the second to last row, starving, and realizing I still had two hours to go. All of the sudden, everyone on the front row was eating popcorn and drinking soda and I was painfully jealous. At that point I decided I would do whatever it takes to get on the front row next year.

Next year has come. And what I need to do is put my product on 100 faces by the end of October. This challenge was issued back in July, when it would have been easy to complete. 100 faces divided by four months is a mere 25 faces per month. I don't like to do things the easy way. If I learned anything in college, its that I prefer to wait and wait and wait, and then cram in the giant project at the very last second.

So October came. I had done 46 out of the 100. I sort of gave up. But then I heard one of my girlfriends say she had 60 faces to go and nothing was going to get in her way. So I made the decision to go for it come hell or high water.

Doing 54 faces in one month is no small feat. I've had to beg and plead and bribe people to help me. But its been fun. And its been worth it. Today is the 23rd. I have 22 faces to go by next Friday. Well, Thursday, considering Dave and I are going to see the Odyssey Dance Company's Thriller on Friday night. So I have 22 faces to go in 8 days. And I feel so confident that I will do it. I mean, I have four parties this weekend. I'm blowing this contest out of the water.

So my point is, Blog, I'm sorry I've been neglecting you. I've been busy succeeding. Hallelujah.

Love,
Jessica

P.S. Blog, will you please tell my dear friends who have let me borrow their faces this month that I say, "THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK!!"? Thank you. I appreciate it.

Birthday Greetings

Here are the birthday cards I got in the mail this week...

This is actually from someone I know - my Mary Kay Sales Director, Debi. But its totally computer generated and has this weird little baby on it. I don't get it.

This one is also from someone I know. Granted, I know her because she refinanced my condo for me. I did know her before that through the Murray Chamber Women in Business, but I doubt she would have sent me a birthday card before the refinance. What I like about this card is that its the only one that is hand-written and feels personal. Thanks, Nona!

This one is from the fine folks at AppleOne Employment Services. They hand-signed their first names, but no personal notes...

This one is the funniest. The outside says, "Hotel Alpha Papa Papa Yankee Bravo India Romeo Tango Hotel Delta Alpha Yankee." The inside says, "That's fancy aviation talk for 'Happy Birthday' from all of us at Rapid Rewards." If you're a Rapid Rewards member and Southwest has yet to send you your birthday card for this year, I'm sorry to ruin the surprise.

This one is the prettiest. Its pink. Guess who its from... Yup, Mary Kay corporate. Those guys are so thoughtful. Or they have a really good system for keeping track and taking care of their 1.7 million consultants world-wide. Either way, they never cease to amaze me.

That's it. Nothing from aunts or uncles or out of town friends. I'm not complaining. I'm just amused. And thinking I should make more of an effort to remember peeps' birthdays and send actual cards. But I'm not making any promises.

Mosaic of Me

1. What is your first name? (jessica)
2. What is your favorite food? (crown burger)
3. What high school did you attend? (brighton)
4. What is your favorite color? (pink)
5. Who is your celebrity crush? (will ferrell)
6. Favorite drink? (tropical punch kool-aid)
7. Dream vacation? (tropical beaches)
8. Favorite dessert? (cake)
9. What do you want to be when you grow up? (comfortable)
10. What do you love most in life? (the way he makes me laugh)
11. One word to describe you? (happy)
12. Your Flickr name? (knickyb)

Photo Credits: 1. freedom 2. crown burger 3. super styled that tash 4. spotted or striped anywhy...fashion 5. little anchorman - ron burgandy 6. fever for the flavor 7. the arrival of a rainstorm 8. sweetie pie 9. sea of green chairs 10. a day alone (in the metropolis) 11. jumping all night long...day 26 / year 2 12. knicky

I loved Ali's Mosaic so much, I had to make my own. She (and I) learned how here.

Define Sanctity

I'm not often a soap box stander oner, but today I'm going to be. Just for a quick secy. Bear with me.

Everyone once in a while, when I need a break from work, I indulge in a hint of the Tyra Show. Yesterday's episode was about open relationships, and its been bothering me since I saw it.

There were these four people, right? The two in the middle are married. To each other. The girl on the right is the husband's "lover." He also has a girlfriend. The guy on the left is (I missed the beginning, but I think) the wife's boyfriend, who the husband claims to love as his brother. Did I mention the wife is bisexual? The husband and the wife have children who have relationships with all of the characters in this story.

I don't know. I just feel like there's something wrong with all of this. These people are allowed to be married, and have all these other flings and relationships and lord knows what. However, people who have been in loving, committed, monogamous relationships for years upon years with someone of the same sex are not allowed to get married because, according to some religious and political leaders, they will destroy the sanctity of marriage.

So, define sanctity. Because I obviously don't understand.

The Comforts of Home

I'm in love with live music. This week alone, I've seen Arcade Fire, Erykah Badu, and Los Lonely Boys. And I've finally discovered my favorite venue. My living room. Seriously.

I've seen them all without shelling out a single penny for a cover charge or a brewskie. I've seen them all in high def, which is more clear than if I were standing in a smokey bar. I've seen them all without standing on my tippie-toes. I've seen them all without standing, period. I've seen them all without being shoved by a drunk, smelly hippie. I've seen them all at a volume that I find comfortable and doesn't leave my ears bleeding. I've seen them all and have still gotten into bed no later than 11:00 p.m. every night.

And there's plenty more to see On Demand. Whenever I so desire. Today I might see Beck. Or The Who. Or the Wu-Tang Clan. How will I ever decide?

Spawn of Satan

When Brad and Maeve asked me to come help them weed, I had no idea what I would be getting myself into. I pictured sitting on the ground with one of those weeder-thinger-ma-bobs I used to use to help mom in the garden when I was younger. The weeds in Brad and Maeve's yard are no match for a mere weeder-thinger-ma-bob.We were up against weeds as tall as me, complete with really sharp thorns. Weeds that are the spawn of Satan. I was given a left-handed glove with holes in the fingers, and a right-handed heavy-duty work glove that I was instructed not to get muddy. We had to grab on, pull, tug, yank, and if the weed still wouldn't come out of the ground, start rooting around with the weeder-thinger-ma-bob.
If I'd known this is what I'd been dealing with, I would have worn full leathers. I mean, there were thorns in the gloves, in my sleeves, in my shoes. My left nostril was chock-full of pollen. There was even a point where I was bent over, rooting and tugging, and when the weed finally gave, I fell flat on my ass. But I managed not to get the work glove muddy.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. I just found the whole situation funny. And if Brad and Maeve need help again, I'll do it. I'll wear thicker clothes and bring my own gloves. I'll pull weeds. Especially if there's some Crown Burger and an orange Fanta in it for me.

Ham: Meal 4

Fried Rice with Ham

Fine. You got me. I used a fork. I'm retarded with chopsticks. Its true. I'll admit it.

The Legacy MIRACLE

I have my Mary Kay Success Meetings in Kaysville at 6:30 on Tuesdays. I usually leave The SLC at 5:15 to get there on time. If you've never been on I-15 at that time of day, you should know that traffic leaving downtown heading into Davis County is a b*@#h. Last night, my MK girlfriends and I met for our carpool as per usual, not really thinking about the fact that the new Legacy Highway opened on Saturday. We got to Bountiful without slowing down once. We were so happy. We got to Farmington, still doing above freeway speeds. We couldn't believe it. The freeway was almost a ghost town! We got to Kaysville 45 minutes early. Shut the front door! The Legacy Highway is my new best friend. For reals.

On My Lonesome

Dave noticed that I listed the number of wake-ups until he gets home (currently 8) when I made the omelet, but he was shocked that I didn't explain where he is.

OK, OK. Maybe not shocked. Probably more like curious as to why not.

Well, he's in South Carolina. Not the glamorous beachy part. The inside of South Carolina. Specifically, Spartanburg. I'll spare you all of the details, but you see, Dave's mom was in need of some physical therapy to rebuild her lower body strength and quite literally get her back on her feet, and since Dave is a physical therapist... Do you see where I'm going with this?

As I explained it to Sarah, Dave went to his parent's house for a few weeks to walk his mom. He'll be back soon.

Ham: Meal 3

Ham and Potato Casserole

This recipe was soooo sinfully simple and soooo devilishly delicious and decadent, that I'm going to put it directly into the naughty category. No ifs, ands, or buts.

Well, on second thought, some butt might be inevitable.

Actually, It IS My First Rodeo

I went with some dear friends to the Utah State Fair last night. Turns out cows are much larger than they look from the highway. I was a little afraid standing near them. And while the deep-fried PB&J was warm and gooey and everything I could have hoped for, my first rodeo experience was not. In fact, I found it to be a bit shocking and disturbing. Here are a few of the things that you probably already know about the rodeo that shocked and disturbed me:

• Parents put their children, as young as TWO-years-old, onto the back of a sheep and encourage them to hold on for dear life while the sheep hauls ass out of a pen. The child inevitably falls off and slams into the ground. They call this "mutten busting," but I'm pretty sure the only thing that ends up busted is the child.
• Bull riding. Just in general. Shocking and disturbing. Did you know that in order to get the bull to thrash around like that, they tie a rope around the parts that make it male? I'd be pissed off and try to gore you with my horns, too. Plus, it looks terrifying to be the dude that tries to hold on for 8 seconds. I spent this entire event suffering from an anxiety attack.
• The rodeo clown was neither funny nor entertaining. But he was Canadian. That's not really disturbing. I was just surprised by it.
• The announcer dude announced into his microphone to the whole arena, "We need an EMT in shoot 5, pronto. Looks like a lower extremity wound." Um. Can you say HIPAA violation?
• This mother was pulling her baby through the throng of exiting "rowdies" in a wagon. As Nate pointed out, a stroller might have been a bit too ostentatious. The thing that shocked and disturbed me was that she slowed down to have a kicking fight with her daughter. They were giggling and having fun - nothing to report to DCFS - but come on, lady, we're all trying to get out of here in a timely, organized manner. Stay focused.
  

I'll admit, the barrel racing (I think that's what its called - the one where the babes ride their horses really fast in tight circles around three barrels) was really cool to see. But as for an overall rodeo, I think I've had my fill for this lifetime.

Ham: Meal 2

Ham and Cheese Omelet

P.S. Believe it or not, this is my first attempt at an omelet. I'd say I did a good job.

P.P.S. 17 wake-ups until Dave comes home. Not that I'm counting.

Ham: Day 1

Potato Soup with Cubed Ham and Little Sourdough Breadlettes

Winner Winner Ham Dinner

I like turkey slices. Sometimes on a sandwich. Sometimes rolled up with a slice of white american cheese, also known as a "turkey doobie" thanks to Doug Heffernan.

My turkey of choice is Boarshead Oven Gold. Smith's has been running a promotion with Boarshead lately and every time I bought some turkey, they made me enter this raffle. Today, they called me to tell me I WON! Oh my god! "What did I win?" I asked. "A hat and a ham, I think," was the answer.

I went to pick it up and it was true - I won a hat, a ham, and some glaze, in this lovely display box...
The presentation was a lot better when it was one whole ham. But I had to have them slice it so I could freeze it. I got more sandwich-sized slices than I can possibly eat, and a ton of thick slices for cubing. The girl at the deli suggested au gratin potatoes with ham. I think I'll try to recreate the alfredo from Este. And I'm open to suggestions for the rest...

Baby's First Walk

Remember how a year ago I ran a half marathon? I'm not entirely sure what happened, but I became incredibly, unbelievably, embarrassingly lazy after that. Hardly a workout. It got to the point where, a couple of weeks ago, when Dave and I hiked the Albion Basin Trail, I became incredibly, unbelievably, embarrassingly nauseous. I mean, come on.

So I decided I would work walking and yoga into my weekly plan for my new life. This morning I went over to Sugarhouse Park for a couple of laps. I was quickly and surprisingly (or maybe just quickly) out of breath. But, after two days of rain, rain, rain, the park was sunny and beautiful and peaceful and quiet. And they even provide you with this word of encouragement:

Wowsie Wowsie Woo

Rainy days and Sundays always get me down. Or maybe its just the rainy Sunday that Dave leaves for three and a half weeks. Yesterday was a total waste. I thought a good rival to the rain (and issues of abandonment) would be a rousing game of Mexican Train Dominoes, so I invited the girls over and made a pitcher of margaritas, but that ended up totally falling through. So instead of finding something else to do, I moped. I ate crappy food, watched crappy tv, drank the afore mentioned margaritas, and became totally addicted to Collapse (high score: 11158).

I did manage to end on a high note - I enjoyed the thunder, lightening, pouring rain, and cool temperature snuggled under a big blankie and watching Talk to Me, about 1960s radio DJ Petey Greene. It was really, really good! I highly recommend it.

I went to bed feeling like I was going to wake up energized and ready to take September by storm. But that didn't work out so well. Its 6:00 p.m. and I'm still in my jammies. My hair is still gross. And there's an America's Next Top Model marathon on. Shit. I guess I'm done for the day. I did vacuum my entire one-bedroom condo, in an attempt to not feel like a complete waste.

Before Dave left, he did remind me that Monday is a holiday, so technically I don't have to start kicking ass until Tuesday. Well, Tuesday, brace yourself. I'm coming for you.

Bitter Sweetness

I left my office yesterday for the last time. I didn't expect to be so sad or feel so weird about it. But it was weird and sad. My desk is no longer my desk. Britta is no longer my office mate. Sheryl is no longer right outside my door. I'll miss them tons.

On the bright side, I officially work for myself, from home, and earn my living having girlfriend time. I guess things aren't all bad.

Overheard in My Office, Part Two

me: I wish my phone knew how to spell telekinesis. I don't even know how to spell telekinesis.

britta: t-e-l-e-k-i-n-e-s-i-s. Telekinesis. Oh man. I miss spelling bees.

I'm going to miss Britta.

Downsizing? Seriously?

Britta is full of good stuff today. She always reads the internet during her lunch, and came across this totally incredible article about Aaron Spelling's widow's house.

Britta says to me, "Guess how many square feet Aaron Spelling's widow's house is?"

I said, "49,000!" thinking that was like the size of Rhode Island, and there couldn't possibly be a house that large.

Britta says, "Nope. Fifty six." She pauses. "Thousand. Thousand." She explains that it has a wine tasting room, a bowling alley, and a well-known gift wrapping room. Well-known. Whatever. I've never heard of it. Then Britta proceeds to tell me that Mrs. Spelling is downsizing to a condo. A 16,000 square foot condo.

Of course I grab my calculator. "So what you're telling me is that you could fit 22.86 of my condo into her condo. What do you do with that much condo?"

Britta says, "How many of your condo can you fit into her house?"

80. Almost 81.

Man. I'd be happy with two of my condo. Share the wealth, Mrs. Spelling.

Overheard in My Office

britta [to herself, while clicking all over the internet looking for corporate funding information]: Nationwide, why aren't you on my side?

Systematic

I'm trying to be organized and stay on top of everything, right? So, gmail users, you know how you can "label" your emails, and they get sorted off to the left side there? Well, I did that. You know, a label for "Reply - Mary Kay" and "Reply - friends" and "Use this idea" and other such labels I thought would help me stay prioritized in my Mary Kay business. The problem is, I put emails into these folders, and then don't really look at them again. Dangit. I've stayed pretty on top of answering emails from my customers, for obvious reasons (I hope they're obvious, anyway). But the friends emails....eesh! I'm embarrassed to admit that there were emails in there from May 6* that I had not answered. So much for staying organized.

*If you emailed me on May 6, I'm terribly horribly incredibly embarrassingly sorry for not writing you back!!! Please still be my friend.

As Seen On 400 South and 900 East

Dave and I were stopped at the light heading up to my folks' house. (Happy Birthdays, Mom & Dad!) This dude was crossing in the crosswalk. He looked normal enough. White tee, jeans, maybe a little bit straight-thuggin', but nothing over the top.

Then he did this crazy knee raise with a fist-to-chest bump.* At first I thought, maybe he tripped, although it seemed a little stylish for a trip. But then he did it again. OK, he's got moves. On the third knee-raise-chest-bump I deemed it "tourette's-walking." He tourette's-walked his way all the way through the cross walk and across the lawn at the Village Inn. I wondered if he was meeting a buddy, or going to work.

But, no. He started digging through the ash tray outside of the V.I., pulling out half-smoked cigs, all while shimmying his shoulders. Dave said, "Don't stare. Its not polite."

I replied, "But he's still dancing. While digging through the garbage." (He had moved from the ash tray to the garbage can, still shimmying, which in my mind, made it appropriate to stare.)

Dave said, "And there doesn't appear to be any apparent music, does there?" At which point the light turned green and we had to forge on.

Damn you, light. I was watching that.

* Edit: Dave just asked what I was doing, and when I told him I was blogging about the tourette's-walker, he found this clip from Cadence and said, "Isn't this what that guy was doing?" It is.

Small Lake City

This is crazy. Brad and Maeve were telling us at dinner on Wednesday about their friend Christy who was rafting and happened upon a plane crash. I couldn't imagine. So I read her account.

Then today I was catching up on Trav's blog, and came across the same story!

Turns out Trav and Christy float rivers together. How random.

Frustration

What is up with the internet? Is it the rain? I just spent some valuable work time updating my layout to include a blogroll of my friends, complete with RSS feed so I know when there are new posts and can make a better attempt at keeping up with everyone's stories. But it doesn't appear to be working. Is it working for you, my dedicated fans?

Internet, stop being a tool.

Big City Living

I've always wanted to live somewhere with good public transit. And last night I got to experience what it might be like. I had my Mary Kay unit meeting in Kaysville, but that tanker thinger fell off that big rig, so the freeway was closed. So I decided to take Front Runner. I knew I was cutting it close time-wise, and of course that's the time when I can't find a parking spot. I finally found one and ran for two blocks in high heels to get to the station. So big city! I got there as people were getting on, and smooshed myself into the train right before the doors closed. Sardine style. I guess a lot of people decided to leave their cars downtown for the night and just get themselves home. The train was super-di-duper crowded. But I loved it. I think I'll use Front Runner more often.

Long Overdue Post: Dave's Drill

Dave moved in, right? And then I used his drill. And of course I immediately spilled beer all ...over? ...into? ...it. I thought I was going to get in so much trouble. But instead of freaking out, Dave said, "Well, dry it off. Does it still work? [it did] OK, then." Phew.

The great thing about it was I got to turn this:and this:
into this:and this:

Overheard at Harmon's, Your Neighborhood Grocer

bagger girl: I'm looking forward to some rain this evening!

damon yauney: You'll have a better chance tomorrow.

lady in line in front of me: Its supposed to rain today?

bagger girl: It looks like it, but he says there's a better chance tomorrow.

lady in line in front of me: What does he know?

bagger girl: Well, he is the weather man on TV.

lady in line in front of me: Oh.

Regarding Breakfast

Dear The Bagelry,

Why you want to leave me?

I'm so sad. Sometimes, when a girl forces herself to stay up until midnight working, and then she wakes up at 7:00 to go to her J-O-B, she really wants to stop for a delicious garlic, onion, and sea salt bagel. But you were the only bagel shop who made them. And you closed. And that makes me so sad. Other bagels in this valley pale in comparison.

Jerks.

Hungrily,
Jessica

A Question of Socially Accepta...bility...ness?

As I was leaving for work this morning, I passed this dude who was walking his dog on my street. He was what you might call "large and in charge." Which is fine. But clearly, bending over was a bit of an effort for him. I say this because I noticed him come up to a tree that was hanging lower than he was tall, and rather than duck under the branches and go on with his life, he started breaking off the branches so he could walk under them without bending. And then he was dropping the branches in the tree owner's yard. Which made me wonder...

• Is it socially acceptable to break someone's tree?
• Who is responsible for the portion of the tree hanging over the public sidewalk?
• Is it socially acceptable to leave the broken branches in someone's yard?
• Or, if the city is responsible for the sidewalk portion of the trees, should you throw the branches in the street, which the city, I assume, is also responsible for?
• But if you throw the branches in the street, and the city people come by and see them, does the owner of the house now look like a littering dipshit, and do you want that on your conscience?

So tell me, what is the socially acceptable way to deal with a tree or bush or other form of plantlife that is encroaching on your walk? As someone who prefers the sidewalk over the street, I've spent many a walk or run wondering about that.

Overheard at the Bees Game

Dave and I went to the Bees game Saturday. There's always an interesting crowd. Including big, leather-clad, ponytailed biker dudes. One of them was wearing a vest, and the image on the back prompted this conversation:

jess: What is pow mia? I've seen that vest before and always wondered...

dave: Its an acronym that stands for Prisoner of War Missing in Action. See how it says, "you are not forgotten" at the bottom. Its referring to the Prisoner of War.

jess: Oh. I always thought that image on the back looked more like a prison.

dave: Prisoners of War are in prisons.

In case you haven't met me, I'm an idiot. Thank god Dave loves me anyway.

We're Famous . . . at Least in the City Weekly

Sports | Kickin’ It Old School: Adult kickball leagues relive the days of recess—only with beer

By Geoff Griffin
Posted 06/19/2008

The remarkable growth of the Utah Capital Division of the World Adult Kickball Association (WAKA) is pretty easy to explain according to league president Beau Brosius: “It’s like having recess and then having beers. That’s the whole appeal.”

On Thursday evenings in the spring, summer and fall, more than 200 men and women on 13 teams—mostly singles in their 20s and 30s—gather at Liberty Park and Bennion Elementary School to play co-ed games of kickball complete with uniforms, refs and team names such as “Little Lebowski Urban Achievers,” “Crazy Pitches” and “Multiple Scorgasms,” before heading off to The Woodshed, the division’s “official” bar.

And yes, they play the kickball you’re thinking of, the same game you last played in fourth grade where somebody rolls you a big red rubber ball, you kick it and then run the bases under pretty much the same rules as baseball. The big difference between fourth grade and now is what happens after the game, which includes what beverages you can obtain and the increased knowledge about the opposite sex you’ve gained (or maybe not) in the 20 years since you last played.

WAKA, the national organization the Utah league plays under, claims nearly 50,000 players in divisions in 27 states. WAKA, which bills kickball as a “co-ed social sport” with a playing pool made up of 50 percent of each gender, sends out press releases touting all of the married couples produced by kickball (the Salt Lake City league recently produced its first engagement) and emphasizes that one of the ingredients for the sport’s growth is “a whole lotta beer.” Every division is required to have an official bar, and part of every player’s registration fee goes toward paying for beer at the end-of-season blowout party.

A significant number of players in the Utah Capital Division are transplants whose work or education brought them to Zion. For them, kickball provides the answer to the eternal question: “How do you meet people in Salt Lake City if you don’t go to LDS Sacrament Meeting?”

“This is sort of the transplant, non-LDS magnet,” jokes Hanna Huegel, the league’s social chair. She moved from New York City to Salt Lake City where, “I didn’t know a single person”; now, “all of my friends are from kickball or one degree removed from kickball.” She notes that the Salt Lake City league “has a different dynamic” in that relationships developed through kickball tend to extend to other areas, and there are more friendships between teams.

WAKA began in 1998 in Washington, D.C., and gradually found its way to Utah in the fall of 2006, when a former D.C. player moved to Salt Lake City, put up flyers and a posting on Craig’s List and had enough people respond to form five teams of 15-22 players. That group included those who’d already been gathering as friends for several years to play “pick-up” kickball games. In less than two years, the league has expanded to 13 teams, and there is talk of forming a second league in Sandy in the near future. Players can sign up as individuals or in small groups to be assigned to teams.

Just like recess back in the day, kickball games begin with a rock-paper-scissors throw to determine home team. Each team has 11 players in the field, and at least four of those have to be of one gender or the other. While there is definitely a power component to the game that favors those with a Y chromosome, Heugel says, “a lot of times it’s easier to bunt and keep the ball low to the ground. The size of the ball, bunts and speed even things up pretty quickly.

“It’s one of those sports where guys aren’t necessarily better than girls.”

Clarence “The Head Ref” Willardson says telling your co-workers you play kickball can often draw snickers, “but once they come out here and see it, they ask, ‘How can I join?’” Brosius reports that every season, the league picks up new recruits from people who just happen to walk by and see the games in progress.

“You don’t have to be all that athletic to play it,” Willardson says. “A lot of people come for the friendships. There are some guys who are all about the game, but there are some teams that can’t wait for the game to get over so they can get over to the bar and grab a beer.”

Although the league has a traveling trophy—sort of like a mini-Stanley Cup—things rarely get too competitive because, as Huegel puts it, “Nobody played in college. Nobody had a kickball scholarship.” And at the other end of the spectrum, “There are no kickball power-parents.”

Whoever ends up being better, Brosius says the end result is always the same: “We compete against each other for five innings, but then everyone goes and sloshes beer mugs together.”

WAKA Utah Capital Division Kickball.com

A Letter to the Parents Who Think it is Socially Acceptable to Take Their Children to see Iron Man

Dear Parents,

I don't mean to be a Complainy McWhinerson, but why do you bring your children to movies? I love children. Everyone who knows me knows that. But I prefer them not at movies.

I mean, Iron Man is loud and action packed. Babies might not like the loudness. In fact, it might make them cry. And then you have to walk back and forth in front of everyone. And that's just not very polite.

And if your children are of talking age, but the things they continue to say throughout the entire movie consist of, "what's that mean?" and "what's happening now?" and "is he dead?" then they might not be old enough to handle a movie like Iron Man.

I'm just saying. There are probably plenty of teen-aged girls in this valley who would be willing to babysit for a few hours for not a lot of money. And netflix is pretty affordable, if you insist on watching movies with your kidlettes. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I'm nearly positive that the Larry H. Miller theaters have specific movie times when you can bring your kids with you. Maybe try that. I would be so grateful.

Appreciatively,
Jessica

Long Overdue Post: Baby Mouse

Dave doesn't think I blog about him enough. So I will. A while back, Dave read an interview in Esquire with Kelly from The Office where she talks about the ten things men don't know about women. I guess this is a regular feature in Esquire - where a famous girl says the ten things she thinks men don't know about women. Or something along those lines.

Anyway... Dave read Mindy Kaling's list and really took to heart the suggestion that you nickname your girlfriend something smaller than a bread box. He's taken a particular liking to "Baby Mouse."

And so have I.

For example, it was raining when we were leaving for Vegas and I was complaining about having to walk through the parking lot and Dave said, "I'll just put you in my pocket and protect you from the rain, Baby Mouse." How cute is that? For reals.

Long Overdue Posts

I just want you all to know that in the past few whirlwind-ish months of my life, I have been neglecting my blog not for lack of blog fodder, but because I had neither the time nor energy to type anything that was unrelated to Big Brothers Big Sisters of Utah. But life appears to be slowing down, and I have a list in my brain of the things I've been meaning to blog about.

For example, on rainy May 1, I was driving from one meeting to another, and saw this:Dos Equis. All over the road. I guess this is what happens when you forget to close the back of your beer truck. My favorite part of this scene was the crazy looking, toothless, homeless lady who parked her shopping cart in the gas station parking lot to help the pony-tailed, incredibly distraught looking beer truck driver pick up the bottles off the road. He was trying to pick up a box, fill it with as much broken glass as he could, and sweep the rest to the gutter with his foot. She was picking up one half bottle at a time, and carrying it over to the driver to hand it to him. Hilarious. I was actually thankful the long red light for once.

With Much Appreciation

Dear Este,

Thank you for making pasta. The fusili with alfredo and ham is my favorite. Because I'm silly.

Love,
Jessica

Overheard on the Lazy River

boyfriend: Hurry up!

girlfriend: Its the lazy river - you don't paddle!

Overheard at the Bayside Buffet

german mother, to waitress: We would like two orange juices and two hot chocolate milks.

young boy, angrily to mother: NEIN!

german mother, to waitress: We would like three orange juices and an extra glass so we can share them between the children.

Five Days in Vegas

Ahhh... I finally feel relaxed...

Dave and I just got home from five days at Mandalay Bay. It was glorious. Our daily routine consisted of:

1. Waking up.
2. Putting on sunblock.
3. Stopping by Starbucks.
4. Getting to the pool around 8:00 a.m. to enjoy the perfect, sunny, mid-80s to low-90s weather.
   
5. Setting up our loungers with three towels each - one to protect you from the chair, one for a pillow, and one for ...whatever - and a small chair in between, which served as a table. (I highly recommend the back side of the lazy river. Quiet, low traffic, minimal amount of tough guys and dirty girls.)
   
6. Lounging until sweaty.
7. Taking a lap around the lazy river.
8. Lounge. Lap. Lounge. Lap. Lounge. Lap.
9. Heading inside about the time that all of the Smokey McHungoveredsons got to the pool and started blowing their smoke and aggravating my allergies.
   
10. Napping, showering, eating a late lunch. (Diablos, attached to Monte Carlo, is the bomb. They have a wheel that they spin every 30 minutes from 3:00 to 6:00, and whichever drink it stops on only costs $3.00 for that half hour. And the club quesadillas were to-die-for delicious.)
11. Checking something out. I.E., the Miracle Mile shops at Planet Hollywood, New York New York, the Paigow Poker table at Bally's.
12. Seeing something. I.E., Zumanity (so totally amazing!!!!!!), Jubilee (pretty amazing, but slightly overshadowed by Zumanity - I recommend seeing Jubilee first).
13. Late dinner and/or dessert. (Nine Fine Irishmen, at New York New York, was so so yummy and had a live Irish rock band with an Irish dancer. I loved it.)
14. In bed by midnight in order to be well rested for tomorrow's lounging.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Vacation's my favorite.

The Dream Brought on by Eaters Remorse

So, I'm back at the W.W. Not in my dream, but in real life. I knew it was time when I reached my original weight watchers starting weight and was down to two shirts and one skirt that fit. But yesterday I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and had an awful day and let me emotions drive right through the Burger King Drive Through. Then I drank a couple of beers after kickball. Then I had an ice cream sandwich for a bedtime snack.

Then I dreamt that I had had surgery. Not like a gastric bypass, but ...well, I don't know what. In my dream I was in a lot of pain because I had all of these little 1-2 inch incisions on my stomach and legs, where they were sucking out the fat, presumably. Anyway, I was wearing normal clothes - like jeans. And the jeans were rubbing on my incisions. And it hurt.

Moral of the story is: Although a BK TenderCrisp sandwich is delicious, it is not worth the pain and suffering.

But the beer is.

Reason to Love Rana #8675309

For those of you who may be unfamiliar, goodreads.com is a myspace-ish networking website for book nerds. Unless your Rana. Most of my friends on goodreads have like 100 books and a few friends. Not Rana. Rana has 0 books and 5 friends. Rana doesn't even need to think of a book to be awesome on goodreads. Rana is just plain awesome. End of story.

I Know This Church Is True

And I say these things in the name of Snoop D-O-Double-Gizzle. Amen.

Rapper Snoop Dogg converts to Mormonism

By Aaron Nichols
CNN

DIAMOND BAR, California (AP) -- In what some may consider an unexpected move, rap artist "Snoop Dogg" has reportedly converted to Mormonism after nearly a year of study with the fast-growing, Utah-based faith.

Snoop Dogg says he "can't get enough of the Book of Mormon."

In a statement, a spokeswoman for Snoop Dogg -- whose real name is Calvin Broadus -- said he considers himself extremely fortunate to have discovered such a deep sense of spiritual fulfillment at this stage in his life.

“Mr. Broadus is also very pleased to find that his family is as enthusiastic about attending church services as he is,” the spokeswoman said.

However, Snoop Dogg has not been enthusiastic about publicly sharing his experience and declined to be interviewed by CNN for this article. In fact, he reportedly informed producers of his E! reality show "Snoop Dogg's Father Hood" that this particular aspect of his family's life was off-limits to the cameras. Still, he left open the possibility of addressing the subject in future episodes.

According to the Associated Press, Snoop Dogg was first introduced to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, as the Mormon Church is officially known, after attending a Gladys Knight concert in an LDS meeting house in Los Angeles.

Knight, who very publicly discusses her conversion to Mormonism several years ago, invited Snoop Dogg to what is known to the Mormon faithful as “Family Home Evening,” a church program that encourages families to set aside Monday evenings for gospel-centered lessons and family togetherness.

Though Snoop Dogg has been hesitant to publicly discuss his recent spiritual journey, he commented on the experience of attending his first “Family Home Evening” in a recent interview with People Magazine.

“I was hooked from the start,” Snoop Dogg said. “We talked about the purpose of life, played Mousetrap, and ate brownies. The kids thought it was off the hook, for real.”

In what Snoop Dogg now thinks was anything but a coincidence, Mormon missionaries had knocked on his door just one week before the Knight concert. He said he had initially turned them away because of what he knew about the strict Mormon health code, which prohibits members from smoking, drinking alcohol, and using drugs.

“Y’all know me,” he said grinning broadly. “There were just certain things the old me -- the "natural man" -- needed to do. And these young guys are telling me that God’s not down with disrespecting ourselves. But it’s cool now.”

Snoop Dogg said his conversion marks the end of his old life, one that included frequent run-ins with the law. Snoop Dogg was convicted in 1990 of cocaine possession and charged with gun possession after a 1993 traffic stop. In 1997, he pleaded guilty in exchange for a lighter sentence.

In 1996, Snoop Dogg was acquitted of murder after a purported gangbanger was killed by gunfire from the vehicle in which Snoop Dogg was traveling.

Snoop Dogg dismisses critics who claim his conversion is intended to placate a Salt Lake County judge, before whom he is appealing an alleged probation violation.

“Listen, the haters will say what they will,” Snoop Dogg said. “I can only do what I feel is right.”

Miles Jay's Birth Day

8 pounds 3 ounces.

21.5 inches.
Lots of hair.
A great big voice.
Congratulations Maeve & Bradley!!
Thank you for my beautiful, perfect, amazing nephew.

The Dream Where Miles Was Born

My nephew, Miles Jay, could be born any second.

Last night I dreamt that he was born, and he was an itty bitty, teeny tiny, kangaroo-like baby. Kangaroo-like in that he was only a couple of inches big and would just kind of cling/crawl on you. But he was shaped like a human. He was so tiny and cute and everyone loved him and everyone wanted to cradle him in the palm of their hand.

It really doesn't make any sense though, because, no offense to Maeve, but she is enormous. Not in a bad way. In a mesmerizing, there's-a-person-in-there way.

A Prayer

Dear Saint Patrick, please give me the strength to avoid the candy jar, full to the brim with delicious treats, so that I can protect the seams of my favorite green sweater on this, the most holiest of holidays. Amen.

Mysteries of Life

Why is it that whenever you're in a hurry, every light is red, but when you want to put your lipstick on, every light is green?

Ebony and Ivory

Friday. The day before the big event. I was so proud of myself. I had planned out my day perfectly. I felt so prepared for Bowl for Kids' Sake. I even left my office at 4:00 to pick up a few last minute raffle items and do a couple of last minute spreadsheet touch-ups at home before making dinner and hanging out with Dave. Then I locked my keys in my car. I spent 1 hour and 10 minutes freezing my tooshy off and writing a long, whiny blog post in my head.

But on my way home I saw a long haired, long trench coated, big cross necklace wearing, dressed in all black, goth guy cruising through Sugarhouse...on WHITE ROLLERBLADES. And I new the world was right again.

Guess What I Did ALL Day

Answered email. Seriously.

I know, I know. You were hoping for something more scandalizing. Or at least a teensy bit interesting. But I didn't do anything scandalizing or even a teensy bit interesting all day. I answered email. From 9:30 a.m. until 5:45 p.m., except for when I was microwaving my lunch, I answered email. It was coming in as fast as I could get it out. But at 5:45 I left my office without a single email in my inbox. Thank god.

Want to place bets on how many new emails I'll have when I get in tomorrow morning? I'm guessing 18.

Overheard in the Restroom at Ikea

little girl voice coming from the stall next to me: Mom, listen...
[singing] she hit the floor
next thing you know
shorty got low low low low

I came out of my stall and she came out of hers. She was this little red-head, maybe around five or six. I laughed. I couldn't help it. Her mom says, "She really loves that song."

In case you're not familiar, she was singing 'Low' by Flo Rida.

Studs-R-Us

My phone didn't say I missed a call. There are no random numbers in my caller i.d. But I just got this voicemail:

This is Arlo of the studmuffin delivery service. We had a narrow window to deliver your studmuffin to L Street, and we can't find it. Can you call us back and give us directions?

I'm sorry. What?

Happiest Valentine

The UPS man just came into my office and said, "Looks like someone got flowers." Then he tried to tell me they were for me. Yeah, right. The only time I ever got flowers was when my dad was out of town for my 12th birthday and sent a dozen roses. But alas...the box was addressed to me. On the outside of the box was a note that made me thankful I hadn't put my mascara on yet. It took three of us, "awww"ing and "oh my god"ing to get this out of the box:

Thank you, Dave!!!

The Master Cleanse

Dave mentioned that he wanted to check out the 10-day Master Cleanse. After trying on practically every pair of pants in my closet and having none of them button successfully, or at least comfortably, I thought, "maybe he's on to something." So I agreed to try it with him. Here's why I wish I hadn't...

Day 1

• I hardly slept last night because I was sooo nervous about living on lemonade and sea water.
• I'm ravenous, and craving things I hardly ever eat. Spaghetti and meatballs from Fiddlers Elbow? Chicken noodle soup?? Creole pork chops with red beans and rice???
• I have the worst splitting headache of all time.
• Dave said, "So far not even one hunger pang!" Bastard.

Day 2

• The headache is still splitting.
• I'm still hungry. And dying for Cafe Rio.
• My mouth tastes disgusting.
• I'm a raging bitch and want to kill everyone in my path. Dave, meanwhile, as far as I can tell, is skipping through a field of flowers. Bastard. ( Just so you all know, I might call Dave a bastard several times over the next 8 days, but he's really really not. And I really really like him. A lot.)
• I'm perpetually on the verge of tears. For example, my eyes welled up when I saw a McDonald's bag on the sidewalk outside of Skyline High School. My route back to work from Skyline takes me past Dave's work, and I started crying because its been five hours since he's texted me and I'm afraid that in an effort to be a supportive girlfriend and do this cleanse with him, I've actually turned into such a negative whiny brat that he hates me. Then I decided I should probably tell my office mate what I'm doing, since I'm being such a bitch today, and explaining it to her got me all teary in kind of a mad way, and I had to go hide in the bathroom for a few minutes.

Day 3 ~ OK. Maybe this cleanse thing isn't so bad. Dave came over last night so we could enjoy our last glass of lemonade for the day and our bedtime herbal laxative tea (you heard me) together. He spent an entire episode of "House" massaging my head, sweet thing that he is (but don't tell him I said that...he likes to think he's an asshole). This morning I don't feel nearly as hungry, and my head only hurts in waves and not nearly as much. And I lost four pounds. BUT, I did have to use all of my restraints to not pull into the 7-11 and get a cup of coffee. I want a warm cup of cozy coffee SO bad!

[Later in the day I did have an emotional breakdown, but that was more because my job sucks ass than because the cleanse sucks ass. Note To Self: No matter how confident you are that you can leave work at 4:00, be sure to have enough lemonade to carry you through until 6:00.]

Day 4 ~ My knees feel swollen and throbby. Is that a detox symptom?

Day 5 ~ I felt fine all day. Seriously. Weird, right? And then this conversation happened...

stupid coworker: Hey Jess, are you still doing that crazy lemonade diet thing?

boss: WHAT is she doing to herself???

stupid coworker: She's starving herself for 10 days.

boss, to me: You are??? Do you think that could make you cranky?

Not anymore than five bowling events and a gala. Or that question.

Day 6 ~ Fine. Mercy. I give. I want to chew on something in the worst way. I'm bored of quote unquote, lemonade. I think the acid from the lemons and the cayene pepper are burning a hole in my esaphagous. I'm caving and drinking orange juice.

Day 7 ~ I have what I can only assume will be the best vegetable soup EVER simmering on the stove right now!! I can't wait to try it! Tomorrow I can have a salad for dinner. And I'll be back on regular foods Tuesday. Only nine pounds lighter. Ahh...its over. And I don't even feel bad about cutting it short.

An Apology to My Fans

Dear Readers,

I know. I know. Chances are high you've already given up on me. And I apologize. This is the time of year for me when hours blur into days blur into weeks blur into months, and before you know what happened, its May. Also known as Event Season. Just to give you an idea, these are the events I'm currently planning:

• March 1: Bowl for Kids' Sake Corporate Bowls (we've increased from one 2-hour session to four. FOUR!)
• March 8: Bowl for Kids' Sake Community Day (this would be a fantastic day to see me - register online at bbbsu.kintera.org/bfks2008)
• March 15 (I think - its a long story and I don't want to talk about it): Heber City Bowl for Kids' Sake
• March 29: Saint George Bowl for Kids' Sake (if Shrimpie* is born while I'm in Saint George, I'm going to have an emotional breakdown that my coworkers will not be happy about.)
• April 12: Ogden Bowl for Kids' Sake
• May 15: Chef & A Child: A Night of Excellence gala and auction

And I'm going to do my damnedest to successfully fill in the cracks with a Dave, a Mary Kay business, and the training for a half marathon I want to run on April 19. Which doesn't leave a lot of time left over for blogging. Or sanity.

I'll let you know how it all goes sometime towards the end of May. At that time, I will also plan to read your blog so I can figure out what you've been up to for the last five months.

I'll miss you.

Sincerely,
Jessica

*Shrimpie is my un-born nephew who will actually be named Miles Jay. I am dying to meet him!

My Favorite Memory From Jam Cruise 6

We just got home from a grueling day of laying on the beach on Roatan Island, Honduras. And by "home" I mean, cabin 8123 on the Paganini Deck. We all were dying to shower, but our cleaning lady didn't leave us any towels. Dayna opened the door to see if anyone who could help us was in the hallway. They weren't. But Ivan Neville was. He poked his head into our door and said, "Hey ladies, what are you all doing?" I said, "Hi Ivan! We're just relaxing." Dayna told him our woes of the missing towels. He asked us if we thought the beach was as amazing as he did.

Suddenly, Sean Powers popped out of the bathroom. Ivan was caught off guard - he didn't realize there was a dude in our cabin. Sean said, "Hi man, I'm Sean." Ivan said, "I'm Ivan," and excused himself to head up to the pool deck.

Dayna closed the door. She, Rana, and I started freaking out. "Oh my god! Ivan Neville stopped by to chat!"

Sean said, "That was Ivan Neville? And that's how I talked to him?"

A few minutes later, we all went up to the pool deck, and there was Ivan Neville sitting in with Toots & the Maytals. Man I love the Jam Cruise.