morning person = hairy

You see, I am a morning person.  Yes, gasp!  I like to get up WITH THE SUN.  I know all you night owls think I’ve flown the coop and cannot fathom WHY I would put myself through such agony.  I feel the same way…why force your body to STAY AWAKE when it’s tired?  See, we think the same…just opposite.

With being a morning person, I like to go to the gym before work.  By the time the afternoon rolls around, I have a hard enough time convincing myself to drive home and the idea of lifting heavy things or running on a stationary object doesn’t sound like as much as fun as a  nice, comfy couch.  If it’s one of those days where I don’t have to go to work…I want my workout, laundry, grocery shopping…whatever chore you’ve got…I want it all done before noon.  Because  at exactly 12:01pm my desire to be productive drops to zero.

My one drawback to the whole morning workout is having to shower at the gym.  Kinda gross, actually…and I try to limit how long I am forced to spend in the community shower-stall to as short a time as possible.  In order to do that I learned I had to cut out the most time consuming part: shaving. 

And that’s not working out so well with consecutive days at the gym.  One day without shaving… ok.  I can work with that.  Two starts getting scary.  We’re currently working on three and alarms have been going off on my skin – warning me of the impending protein iinvasion - since about 7am.  If I don’t do something about it soon, the hair is going to take over and start connecting from one body part to another, like kudzu.  It’s repulsive in an incredible kind of way.  It just keeps GROWING.  I’m waiting for a bird to come and roost on my kneecap, prime real estate right about now. 

I’m not usually one to express the hairy armpit look.  But, let me tell you, I’ve got it rockin’ now.  Give me three days in the gym and I’ll give you a forest.

Why don’t I shave when I get home from work and solve the problem?  

Didn’t I tell you?

I’m a morning person.

on the way home from work today…

Me: You can go [off the phone], I know you aren’t paying attention to me anyway.

Tim: I can fix pictures [on the computer] and talk to you at the same time.

Me: Well, whenever I’m on the computer and talking to you on the phone I never know what you’re saying.  You’ll ask what I want for dinner and I’ll respond with, “Yea, it WAS hot today.”

Tim: I know.

Me: Well, you have that special ability that lets you do stuff like that…

Tim: You mean…multi-tasking?

(actually, I meant the one that got him the nickname “switch” …where he would be dead asleep in his dorm room and his roomies would be in the middle of a lengthy, deep conversation and out of nowhere Tim would wake up and respond like he’d been in the mix the whole time, never missing a beat).

cross dressing…not that kind…

I always wanted to be THAT girl in middle and high school.  The one that walked into to school on the first day with an entourage…the one everyone wanted to be around…she could do no wrong and her makeup was always perfect…the one all the guys wanted to date.

THAT was supposed to be ME.

I tried so hard to figure out HOW to BE her.  I would read every teen magazine I could get my hands on, hoping to find the secret to becoming she-who-walked-on-air somewhere amongst the eye shadow and skirts and boy advice.  How else did you know what to do to earn instant popularity?  It doesn’t just HAPPEN.  Everyone knows that. DUH!

I never did find it…and I was never a trend setter.  Let’s just put it that way.

Actually, I now realize I had it all backwards.  Had I been my geeky, goofy self I would have probably gotten more popularity points.  However, I was too terrified to be anything other than what was the current fad.  I wouldn’t wear anything out of style or dye my hair green or wear crazy socks (unless, of course, they were cool).  I stayed away from anything that had the potential to make someone say “ewww….she’s weird/gross/strange.”  I may not have had much of a “rep” but I surely wasn’t going to tarnish the small one I built.

Because my fear of being un-cool was so immense, I would not step one foot out of my house without makeup or wear pajamas to the grocery store or put my hair in a ponytail unless it was SUPPOSED to look like it was in a ponytail.

My biggest must-never-happen-so-help-me-god-I-would-rather-die-alone?  I refused to wear Nike and Adidas at the same time. Or Levi’s jeans with an l.e.i top. Or Abercrombie and Old Navy together.  In my teenage brain, THAT was CROSS DRESSING.  It was the eighth deadly sin.  One that, if caught, your prospect to be cool went right down the toilet.  I would have been MORTIFIED if someone saw I had TWO DIFFERENT BRANDS PLASTERED ON MY ASS.  I would have rather let out a big, stinky fart in the middle of class than wear Calvin Klein and LL Bean at the same time.  I was certain that once someone realized my fashion faux pas, my picture would end up on posters all over the school with a mustache or horns or one big, bugged-out eye scribbled on my face with a sharpie.  The words above my head would simply state “CROSS DRESSER!”

I didn’t discuss my fear with anyone.  It was uncouth.  It was worse than realizing you’ve worn the same shirt twice in one week.  My only exception was shoes…because I could only wear so much Nike and I never saw a Nine West or a Keds outfit and to keep my self sane I rationalized that no one could see the brand name on my feet, anyway.

At some point, I don’t remember when… but boy do I remember the relief I felt when someone rescued me from my fashion prison and handed me a definition of “cross dressing.”

I could finally mix and match brands. Oh the FREEDOM!

And  I thought I was un-cool before… I think I hear a toilet flushing…

vent!!@#$@$*

I need to vent. Right NOW.  And I will be yelling the whole time, so if you don’t like ALL CAPS then you should stop reading….now.

I JUST WROTE AN ENTIRE POST, CLICKED “SAVE DRAFT” AND INSTEAD OF SAVING IT TOOK ME TO THE LOGIN PAGE.  NO SAVING OCCURRED.

I ALREADY LOGGED IN AND TOLD IT TO “REMEMBER ME” SO I DO NOT HAVE THIS PROBLEM.

APPARENTLY IT FORGOT ME AND INSTEAD DECIDED TO EAT MY POST.

IT WAS A GOOD POST, TOO.

THANKS WORDPRESS.

I learned my lesson.  Type in Word first.  No more typing in WORD(de)PRESS

things i learned in utah

The air is dry – like brittle, cracking, one-hundred year old yellowed paper.  Bring eye drops…and LOTS of lotion or else it looks like you’re peeling from a bad sunburn…and you’re still pasty white…

(not really Utah…but nonetheless) Arizona doesn’t observe daylight savings time (no, I wasn’t aware until we left on time and ended up an hour early).  Thanks Grand Canyon State for going along with the whole “united” states idea.  Really.  Thanks.  We love consistency.

Northern Utah and Southern Utah – two VERY different places.  I personally prefer the cooler, snowy mountain climate to the dusty, hot one…

It’s not a myth – they really do have Mormons – lots of them.  LDS – I get it.

There is a strip of highway that is an 80mph “test zone.”  We liked those miles. It felt like legal speeding.

If you don’t live in a city…well, what exactly DO you DO?  There is nothing out there. Where do you get your groceries??  I never quite figured that one out…

Clouds are awesome in higher altitudes.  They make for breathtaking pictures.  Like the one from Canyonlands in this post.  ALL photo credit goes to my honey – Tim.

You can make a living selling just about anything.  Especially dirt shirts.

I wasn’t really afraid of heights until I stood at the edge of a canyon.  And the wind blew gusted about picked me up and carried me away at 50 mph.

I don’t know where you got your Italians…but bravo.  My Italian husband proclaimed he had the best Italian food outside of Italy.

Everything looks the same when you’re hiking…all the rocks and hills and sand…we got lost…and had to turn and hike all the way back to the beginning of the Arches Primitive Trail…

And we loved every minute.

the pet sitting book

About a year ago, I made a pet sitting book for Maddie.  Originally it was for two girls who worked at our vet.  They were going to be staying in our home and we wanted to make sure we had all the commands and rules and what Maddie can and cannot eat written down.

My mom has taken to Maddie like white on rice.  Maddie feels the same way.  To Maddie, Mom is “Mimi” and we go to “Mimi’s House.”  To Mom, Maddie is her “grand-puppy.”

Before I delve into anything more, you all must understand my mom.  A self-proclaimed Flower Child (aka hippie for those born after the 60s) whose motto is to ‘go with the flow.’  If you don’t know her, you are never she if she’s being sarcastic or serious.  Oh, and she loves a good debate.

Because of this undying affection the two share, Maddie went to stay at Mimi’s House while we went on our trip to Utah and along with numerous toys and treats, I brought the pet sitter book.   I updated it to make sure all of my points were visible and clear.  I wouldn’t say it was harsh…my mom would say it was written by a paranoid dog parent…but I wasn’t sure how my two younger brothers (Troy, 13 and Mason, 16) would handle a dog. 

I think I had “NO BONES OF ANY KIND, EVER“  written down and highlighted a few times.  Also amongst the list of to do’s was,  “Maddie must SIT before going outside, receiving food and getting a treat” and “NO TUG-OF-WAR” and “no human food other than peanut butter, plain yogurt and carrots.”

Last night when we went over to my mom’s to pick Maddie up, Troy was first to see us and instead of “hello,” we got, “I think we un-disciplined her.”  In my head all I can picture is Maddie, covered in mud, barking at everyone and running amok over every piece of furniture within leaping distance. 

We make our way upstairs to the kitchen, my mind preparing for the worst, where she’s eating quietly.  No major infractions.  I see my mom sitting at the table with a few family friends and the first thing she says to me is, “We had A LOT of fun with that book.”  She threw a wedding shower for a friend’s daughter that afternoon and they all apparently had a go with the pet sitting book – finding and blurting out what they perceived was the most ridiculous.  The only response I could muster was, “She wouldn’t be such a good dog without all those rules.”

I think my comment went unheard and she continued on about how she remembered to have Maddie ’sit’ before going outside the first few times…and then she’d have her go outside without sitting…remembering the command after Maddie bounded out the door and then chased after her, hands waving in the air, yelling, “We forgot to sit!  We forgot to sit! We have to sit! Come back!  Start over!”

Eventually she just let her out.  No sitting required.

Maddie, I think, prefers the free-spirit attitude where it is not so quiet, where she doesn’t have to sit all the time, where tigger can go outside with her and she can play and get muddy all she wants. 

On the way home, Maddie sat in the backseat, pouting.  We could hear an audible “humpf” coming out of her mouth every few minutes.  When I’d turn around to check on her, she’d be staring off into the distance.  I swear she was running through the week of freedom, memories of her bounding through the backyard on a perfect sunny day, complete with birds chirping, a water sprinkler running and an unending silver platter of peanut butter.

When we’d make eye contact that faraway look disappeared, the realization of where we were going coming in like an ominous black cloud.

Maddie would look away, dejected.  Her happy thoughts of the past week replaced with, “Shit. Back to Alcatraz.”

umm..those aren’t ours…

We’re staying at Hotel Park City for our last night in Utah and I did our last load of laundry a few hours ago because they have a washer and dryer IN OUR ROOM!  (Obviously, a first for us or else we wouldn’t be so excited)

I just now decided to transfer the wet clothes to the dryer (I procrastinate. I don’t like the laundry. I’m still holding out hope that one day the clothes will just find their way to the dryer and then magically appear hanging in the closet.)

And I pulled out a pair of men’s boxers with red hearts all over them.

Tim only wears gray and navy blue boxers (No other colors are acceptable.  I’ve already been down that road).

I’m guessing someone is missing those boxers right about now.

Well, whoever you are, we found them. 

They’re clean.

lucky penny

Tim always carries a lucky penny in his pocket.  I really don’t know when or why he started doing it… but it isn’t like he’s had the same one for ten years.  He tries to keep the same penny for as long as he can… but sometimes it just disappears – I guess the luck runs out and the penny decides to move on. 

With all our hotel hopping the past week, his current lucky penny somehow didn’t make it from Zion to Park City.  Said penny was a one I had given him months ago.  On our way back to the car from lunch at a local deli, he told me he lost it and asked  if I had any 2009 pennies.  I started rummaging through my little makeup bag turned change purse and came across what I THOUGHT was a real winner.

Me: “I’ve got a REALLY special one for you!”

I plunk the penny down onto the palm of Tim’s hand and wait for his wide-eyed, ecstatic reaction on my find.

Tim: “What’s so special about this?   1964 isn’t even a date of anything significant [in my life].”

Me: “How often do you see a penny from that long ago??  They’re usually WAY out of circulation by then.  Think of all the places it has been!”

Tim: “Think of all the hands that have touched it.  Yuck.”

Me: “Well, when was the last time you saw a penny from 1964??”

Tim: “Not that long ago.  I bet I have one now.”

Me: “Suuure you do.”

Tim begins pulling out loose change from his pocket, looks at the pennies amongst the coinage and starts laughing uncontrollably.  I look at him, completely puzzled.

Then he hands me a penny.

A 1964 penny.

Me: “THAT is the SAME ONE I JUST GAVE YOU!”

Tim, through fits of giggles: “I swear, it isn’t.  Look.”

He then pulls the OTHER 1964 penny out of his other pocket - the one I gave him only moment ago - and hands it to me.

I thought I had given him the prized penny of the century.  One he could proudly and carefully put into his pocket every day, knowing he had one amazing piece of copper.  Turns out, 1964 pennies aren’t so unique.

Me: “Seriously, WHAT ARE THE ODDS OF YOU HAVING A 1964 PENNY when you only had about FOUR pennies in your pocket??”

Tim just shrugged his shoulders, still laughing, holding a metal railing for support in fear of his laughter causing him to fall right off the sidewalk into oncoming traffic.

There went my thunder.

small towns…

I’m not really sure why they say Atlanta has “small town, southern hospitality.”  After what we’ve witnessed this week…I think Atlanta lost that good ‘ol southern charm somewhere amongst the millions of people.  If you’ve never been to Atlanta, let me explain:  It’s like one of those clown cars…the ones that fit like twenty brightly clad people with arms and legs and frilly smocks sticking out every which way.  Somehow they all cram in there…but no one is very comfortable and we’re all trying to push our way out once the door opens.

I get it. It’s kinda hard to be hospitable when you’re fighting for every inch space…

You know you’ve stumbled upon a small town when gossip runs rampant between store owner and patron and restaurants open and close…whenever.  One evening they’re open until 7:00pm and the next closed at 5:00pm.  Like the Peace Tree in Moab.  After a very long day of hiking around 13 miles, Tim and I went to the Peace Tree to get wraps for the next day and a small smoothie to curb our hunger while we showered off all the red dirt trudging through Arches (more to come on that little adventure).

We step out of the heat into the building and are behind a group of about five people ordering various items from the menu.  Apparently, when a large order is placed, everyone at the Peace Tree makes part of the order instead of each person having a specific duty.  After Tim and I had to wait for about….five minutes, the previous groups’ items are completed and we are able to order.  The employee at the register tells Tim, “I’m just going to give you the smoothie for free since you had to wait so long (long?!?  It was less than the time we spend at a traffic light at home).  THEN when he was making said smoothie, he looks over at us with this sheepish, knowing half smile from behind the counter, grabs a large size smoothie cup and says, “Oops…I made too much.”

What would have happened in Atlanta?  We would have waited in line for five MORE minutes and then the person behind the counter would look at us like WE were the reason we had to wait and were somehow inconveniencing THEM by ordering.

On our way to Zion, we decided to go to Antelope Canyon.  Antelope Canyon is in Page, Arizona.  Until that day, we had no idea that Page, Arizona is a town with little options for food, has a road with seven churches in a row (yes, we counted), one high school and their pride and joy: a golf course with the greenest grass I have ever seen.  Because of that, we had to stop at a McDonalds (I say “had” because I refuse to eat their food.  The french fries never disintegrate…they’ll still be here long after we’re gone).  As Tim was eating and I was drinking coffee, we hear a rapid “swish, swish, swish” and then a scrape of a chair and then “swish, swish, swish.”  We turn to look and this little lady is vigorously sweeping every nook and cranny of that place.  When she made her way to where we were sitting, our feet were swept over with her broom and she looks up at us and says, “oopsy!” and continues down the corridor of tables and chairs.  Crumbs had no chance.

What about Atlanta?  I don’t think the floors are ever swept with any consistency, much less passionate gusto…

Thank you, Salt Lake, Moab, Page and Springdale.  We’ll miss you.  

We’ll really miss you.

false kiva…

False Kiva can kiss our kivas. 

That’s all we have to say about that.

If you can find it – more power to you.  Send us a picture.

Oh, and all those footprints you’ll see going in every possible direction…that’s our six hours worth of searching.  If you weren’t lost before, we’ve made sure you’ll be lost now…at least until our footprints are blown or washed away.

Tomorrow we’re going somewhere with a GUIDE.

Our picture

The picture from False Kiva

We were close, higher than we should have been, but close…..