tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33726164496248985692024-03-14T03:37:44.221-06:00Since you asked...Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-44398206823907117352010-07-14T01:47:00.000-06:002010-07-14T01:47:42.578-06:00A new blogBecause I write so much on this one. Ha! Not really.<br />
<br />
But I did decide to keep track of all the hobby-like pursuits I either want to try or am finally getting around to trying <a href="http://fledglinghobbyist.blogspot.com/">here</a>. Come check it out and give me some advice, specifically about growing tomatoes :)Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-86918304779562577022010-06-27T21:24:00.000-06:002010-06-27T21:24:31.586-06:00DC excursion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>*Warning: picture-heavy post and shameless travelogue follow below* <br />
<br />
I "had" to take a trip to the DC area for work last week, and since the fabulous Arntz family offered accommodations and company at their place, I decided to stay an extra day to explore with them. I had such a good time, you'd never know I worked two full days! {but I did...just to clarify in case any co-workers or bosses are reading :) }<br />
<br />
I arrived on Wednesday, but apparently forgot the existence of my camera until Friday because I'm awesome like that. (I didn't forget the camera itself - I carried <i>that</i> around with me the entire trip; I just forgot to use it for 48 hours.)<br />
<br />
First stop: picking up the rental car at Reagan National Airport. I have to say, I was a little worried about navigating/traffic in the metropolitan area, but with a little help from the GPS, I did pretty well. I did, however, have a bit of trouble figuring out how to turn on the car. It was a no-key hybrid, so you just push a button to start it, and it's so quiet I could never tell if the engine was on or not until I tried to drive.<br />
<br />
From there, I met up with Rebekah and Stephen (former carpool-ie and her husband) and they took me here for dinner:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxQTy0HVXH9rTc_Y3QMMVE_MzpneJmDlqUKiFU8UjyTlzexuio3kPvuSZyHWCUvyuF8lD6odLeVnsuZ7pJe0WTohOENurjF0OlqZ_b-lhvOMjNyel7QItID3Ygja2HOipyebfgfdfRXY/s1600/Coastal+Flats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbxQTy0HVXH9rTc_Y3QMMVE_MzpneJmDlqUKiFU8UjyTlzexuio3kPvuSZyHWCUvyuF8lD6odLeVnsuZ7pJe0WTohOENurjF0OlqZ_b-lhvOMjNyel7QItID3Ygja2HOipyebfgfdfRXY/s320/Coastal+Flats.jpg" /></a></div>I figured I should have some seafood so I tried the crab cakes...yum.<br />
<br />
After work on Friday, I met up with Katie (amiga from my Salt Lake days) and her husband Spencer in DC. It only took me 9 years on the metro to get there (seriously, it was like an hour and a half where I started at last stop on the yellow line). But it was well worth the trip to check out a bit of downtown I hadn't seen before, eat a delicious mahi mahi sandwich, and conversate with great people, here (not my pictures - this is all during the non-picture-taking 48 hours):<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxpCGt-7z3KAnKCrAem5CE1QsPQonGOlcxvMetahdi1nt8cGP_E6Bz-pykY9rTckZjrEKrewfEaaMyCsyfsnCnkPnlxegO5grNniH8Tgua1nh9bCeM_3h9mvxBBZ-O9H6IKlRAZO-uxc/s1600/Busboys+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVxpCGt-7z3KAnKCrAem5CE1QsPQonGOlcxvMetahdi1nt8cGP_E6Bz-pykY9rTckZjrEKrewfEaaMyCsyfsnCnkPnlxegO5grNniH8Tgua1nh9bCeM_3h9mvxBBZ-O9H6IKlRAZO-uxc/s320/Busboys+2.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66Mp3ocSfkeiveJU7AqoJhe5c6S4UK0locjvFeMzCILqR9F92qrlqm_Rys5rV9kzhr7MQr6xwKLg95BW4hhsYw7gfzBOblmlA2yCK09dF8z3q3-lBovEOObCJzmcQcrdh7H3G0a4xelc/s1600/Busboys+and+poets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66Mp3ocSfkeiveJU7AqoJhe5c6S4UK0locjvFeMzCILqR9F92qrlqm_Rys5rV9kzhr7MQr6xwKLg95BW4hhsYw7gfzBOblmlA2yCK09dF8z3q3-lBovEOObCJzmcQcrdh7H3G0a4xelc/s320/Busboys+and+poets.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
After walking around the area for a bit, we took the metro back to Katie and Spencer's {amazing} summer living quarters. They let me walk home with them (past the local marsh - we had to dodge cute little frogs the whole way) and gave me a lift back to my car so I didn't have to ride the scary metro all the way to the edge of DC by myself at night ;)<br />
<br />
Friday, Rebekah, Stephen, and I trekked through the Manassas National Battlefield Park, site of the first and second battles of Bull Run (or Manassas, depending on whether you had Union or Confederate ties in the 1860s), and where I remembered I had a camera - woohoo!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_lRmhpBVTAmMQuF4UhLJKVQ4Vw07InQ15sLrkFtG8NSxfss59JXk4s-NWpheKfd8Hh_LkP7m9Iv9EBzZc7IJCl3a3dfhhDcQZRkLO0QcLv20qDEnwSRRSS5wCI0mJBOCbRHH-aa9YW4/s1600/DSCN1851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_lRmhpBVTAmMQuF4UhLJKVQ4Vw07InQ15sLrkFtG8NSxfss59JXk4s-NWpheKfd8Hh_LkP7m9Iv9EBzZc7IJCl3a3dfhhDcQZRkLO0QcLv20qDEnwSRRSS5wCI0mJBOCbRHH-aa9YW4/s320/DSCN1851.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifhvjHMBFusg-0djGSvmPLZ2jC4ax0ED30_clNWS3L3nFIHg9nkMdQjFtCXF9yZxXO27p_2U8hwAgNiMdCQ8u7AsjMmQI0K9pxrS2PiHE2BaLJ2WWztIfA5fnhTsoe1EgSZXL42LJ_HGE/s1600/DSCN1850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifhvjHMBFusg-0djGSvmPLZ2jC4ax0ED30_clNWS3L3nFIHg9nkMdQjFtCXF9yZxXO27p_2U8hwAgNiMdCQ8u7AsjMmQI0K9pxrS2PiHE2BaLJ2WWztIfA5fnhTsoe1EgSZXL42LJ_HGE/s320/DSCN1850.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyFc96mK4CIOZQqyrZNSBaVKw8GtVkMDbbv_OuVFLAWleNnjes-9CjZY8CYwDd8K4qt44-u70903ghehLdRFBQdQQc1w_RK8848iMdcz3851BG3XC6QYEQGXauEIbhkBvf186PYgCN1yI/s1600/DSCN1852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyFc96mK4CIOZQqyrZNSBaVKw8GtVkMDbbv_OuVFLAWleNnjes-9CjZY8CYwDd8K4qt44-u70903ghehLdRFBQdQQc1w_RK8848iMdcz3851BG3XC6QYEQGXauEIbhkBvf186PYgCN1yI/s320/DSCN1852.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0OpTQwbXSJsJ_g5KNFeTB7kYmFxAwWBcxd_Py81etCj_kYnEqP3fJ16N0SI6DNTRWyJIKn7OOLoKjpC61c9N5CW6YNFg3EYTAEcC7LB2urPueIHZN14syfvp3VaY4D_SET0IN6o2ZToI/s1600/DSCN1849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0OpTQwbXSJsJ_g5KNFeTB7kYmFxAwWBcxd_Py81etCj_kYnEqP3fJ16N0SI6DNTRWyJIKn7OOLoKjpC61c9N5CW6YNFg3EYTAEcC7LB2urPueIHZN14syfvp3VaY4D_SET0IN6o2ZToI/s320/DSCN1849.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
During our walk around the Henry Hill Loop, we realized we had a lot of questions, both about the battle and the war in general (were the first and second Bull Run battles really at the exact same spot? how far could a Civil War cannon shoot? what, exactly, are the cannons made of? why were the Confederate soldiers wearing blue uniforms? you know..the usual). We set a date with Wikipedia (I know more now. Still not an expert. Anyone want to recommend a good book?).<br />
<br />
Also, I discovered a nest in one of the cannons (not sure if that's a common occurrence or I just happened to look down the barrel of the one cannon harboring bird eggs) and there was a beautiful sunset.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWSx-xsmN5jdiwgMoa3zZHmCEYihfNPyK6UAEPXfGpb8U7OGRveuM-VQA6UrM-DO66S8HEqYrMfICYqfIajhVbKrQJWAQguEHUgCwDOg5VS9m7tRc387LnA9QfXYMEYHgUKCg0DT7Dj-A/s1600/DSCN1862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWSx-xsmN5jdiwgMoa3zZHmCEYihfNPyK6UAEPXfGpb8U7OGRveuM-VQA6UrM-DO66S8HEqYrMfICYqfIajhVbKrQJWAQguEHUgCwDOg5VS9m7tRc387LnA9QfXYMEYHgUKCg0DT7Dj-A/s320/DSCN1862.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNpv1wpPims7-eSrxYl0j9k2gHEdH9582chqhoBYg4Jo_e7c5JYyXBnSit1WxEJ3YkZrDs_ePhY86VT7zcGuV154JmVikrrO2U6zfEvoHXcGa8cJcy2iZ9-CSFGvVB2EhBtcV3qbqMFL0/s1600/DSCN1857.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNpv1wpPims7-eSrxYl0j9k2gHEdH9582chqhoBYg4Jo_e7c5JYyXBnSit1WxEJ3YkZrDs_ePhY86VT7zcGuV154JmVikrrO2U6zfEvoHXcGa8cJcy2iZ9-CSFGvVB2EhBtcV3qbqMFL0/s320/DSCN1857.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Saturday was hot and humid, but that didn't stop us from covering several miles on foot (or it felt like several miles at least). We started at the Old Town Alexandria Farmer's Market:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4GveQLqzAN5S31Y8kwgF4CnYRFsAHiu6PlvMdhyiri0DR4fgRVnKRcct3HcbZPq2-lyhs8TMV7DvPVc7lwJ8D7nKIONI6yVGtS3R81XBCHNfxm3_ZZECvVdqVIp5gn8LhNXk3QjVW0Is/s1600/DSCN1867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4GveQLqzAN5S31Y8kwgF4CnYRFsAHiu6PlvMdhyiri0DR4fgRVnKRcct3HcbZPq2-lyhs8TMV7DvPVc7lwJ8D7nKIONI6yVGtS3R81XBCHNfxm3_ZZECvVdqVIp5gn8LhNXk3QjVW0Is/s320/DSCN1867.JPG" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEvnJji0HQw-95GW-z-etOiggB_yq5LsmduuJ0Iti3z7OLD8cM6f4dH61J1Rjb2oMKgdfE_Ihpc7sLzGnpc3J6upakvnWgDPYtZYFwJ-quv2f2LrckdrDO7gdlk73-ZPE8MFg8XxsktD0/s1600/DSCN1869.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEvnJji0HQw-95GW-z-etOiggB_yq5LsmduuJ0Iti3z7OLD8cM6f4dH61J1Rjb2oMKgdfE_Ihpc7sLzGnpc3J6upakvnWgDPYtZYFwJ-quv2f2LrckdrDO7gdlk73-ZPE8MFg8XxsktD0/s320/DSCN1869.JPG" /></a></div><br />
After a walk down King Street (where we saw the awesome glass musician in the video below - sideways because, again, I'm awesome), we opted to take the ferry to Mount Vernon and finish exploring Old Town in the afternoon.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_wd4HKci0KCKwMiPLrxtxe3dgK1yUfOivhs8CVwjn06kY36ujjY0SwgSMXld71TWrnQ25yQWUnV3gWqQSpThtx9_BXsUFRKM_c5SHN4nUYdWSph-Su7IwQH5kpiTi4p5Mw4xcT42JJ64/s1600/DSCN1877.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjpvCqTtJ1IV3J3HNGCHyIVHClw_yOjUiYRw2Dldps8iSrPchAS45RdczA6OrmEZfWOm_K4IskddvGS0dpqhw5ZiSJrCRp3uAB8PpSBj4F9t-Rf0uB0zpK9iEea45D97MJ2O0P-EqLDE/s1600/DSCN1877.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjpvCqTtJ1IV3J3HNGCHyIVHClw_yOjUiYRw2Dldps8iSrPchAS45RdczA6OrmEZfWOm_K4IskddvGS0dpqhw5ZiSJrCRp3uAB8PpSBj4F9t-Rf0uB0zpK9iEea45D97MJ2O0P-EqLDE/s320/DSCN1877.JPG" /></a></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxLTTAma7FOE8Gew06wpwsfweRQC1TMqU3NUl-ayv_n8Fwp5ryAnr0oKYMD3EHE-LdD3ETuGFvaotrSS_Np' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJjGZ7kwGoRf6PvMBM-ZThpFqUQc2qEkVxDVUgqwYolwEHPXFuNXDDCw3JWLhgCljgpbxBOvIC1RedqbjLaGy0IzqHmjaoBVaGV1o5d7ojOstogb0LdhWQaeO3JADWaj7EKA-_Mjz_7mk/s1600/DSCN1898.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJjGZ7kwGoRf6PvMBM-ZThpFqUQc2qEkVxDVUgqwYolwEHPXFuNXDDCw3JWLhgCljgpbxBOvIC1RedqbjLaGy0IzqHmjaoBVaGV1o5d7ojOstogb0LdhWQaeO3JADWaj7EKA-_Mjz_7mk/s320/DSCN1898.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhELrIyNCSNskkn1eDycSDenFI41BwAppfDI-suuqn6W8LNd4JFhW4Pu_KS-0kkXvZTRIrtfNyEPT5QuWAkm_34kKqxonVPWPwb5QK8D56NQUjhyphenhyphenIXQdco_nz_CiMgsacf0h_UFMuVAMu4/s1600/DSCN1893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhELrIyNCSNskkn1eDycSDenFI41BwAppfDI-suuqn6W8LNd4JFhW4Pu_KS-0kkXvZTRIrtfNyEPT5QuWAkm_34kKqxonVPWPwb5QK8D56NQUjhyphenhyphenIXQdco_nz_CiMgsacf0h_UFMuVAMu4/s320/DSCN1893.JPG" /></a></div>That last tree is one planted by President Washington himself at Mount Vernon!<br />
<br />
It was a great trip - thanks again, Virginia friends, for showing me around!<br />
<span id="goog_44467338"></span><span id="goog_44467339"></span>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-58805547277554734802010-05-23T17:00:00.006-06:002010-05-24T21:29:39.899-06:00With a name like Sherald's, it has to be goodSo. On our way home from Moab this weekend, Steve, my mom and I stopped in Price for some ice cream (or those of us who are lactose-tolerant did - the rest of us just stopped in Price). We had some kind of small-town shake-shack in mind, so we figured we had hit the jackpot when Main Street led us to Sherald's.<br /><br />The line started behind two teenage/early-20s guys ordering burgers. I don't know what these guys do for a living, but I sure hope nobody's life is depending on their ability to make quick decisions. It sounded something like this:<br /><br />Guy: "Now what comes on the bacon burger?"<br /><br />Sherald's Employee: (actually, I couldn't hear what she said; she was inside the window. But I think we can safely assume she described the condiments on the bacon burger)<br /><br />Guy: "Hmm...and what about the cheeseburger?"<br /><br />Sherald's Employee: (again, assuming she listed the condiments. Besides cheese and bacon, I can't imagine the two burgers really differed that much)<br /><br />Guy: "And what about the pickles? Do I get those too?"<br /><br />...this continued for a good three minutes at least. Poor kid probably broke a pretty good sweat worrying about ketchup, onions, and lettuce. I guess if you're craving a really good burger though, you don't want to screw it up. Or maybe this was his last burger before going on a meat-free diet. I have no idea, but he was taking it more seriously than can possibly be healthy.<br /><br />Anyway, he finally decided on something (and then went to his car to worry about it until they actually brought it to him, I'm sure) and we ordered. (Well, Steve and my mom did.) Steve got a large Reese's Peanut Butter Cup shake and my mom got a small chocolate shake. They told us it would be "a minute" as they were "a little backed up." I'm not sure what was going on in there, since the only other people in sight were the burger duo and two other girls waiting for milk shakes.<br /><br />Anyway, about 10 minutes later they brought the shakes out - they were both the same size (which I assume was a small), but we were pretty sure she only charged us for two smalls and we were tired of waiting, so we hit the road. Steve was driving, so I broke out the spoon to help him eat. By this time, we were well on the way to the freeway.<br /><br />I dug the spoon in for the first chocolate-peanut-buttery bite...but only saw white.<br /><br />Me: "Huh, I don't see any Reese's yet."<br /><br />Mom: "I saw her unwrapping some in there so I know she had some."<br /><br />Me: "OK, they must be deeper inside I guess..."<br /><br />So I crushed up some Oreos we had in the car to flavor up the first few bites. But after a few bites, all I was seeing was still white - with a few Oreo crumbs here and there. So I dug around a little more. Still nothing. It was barely even vanilla - it just tasted like milk. I added more Oreos thinking maybe the chocolate was all at the bottom and hadn't gotten mixed in right. But by the time enough of the shake was gone that I could really dig around, I was confident there was NOTHING in that shake but milk and a little vanilla ice cream.<br /><br />But don't worry - I found something eventually! At the very bottom there was literally 1/4 of a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Just a quarter of it, sitting on the bottom of the cup in two pieces. Nice.<br /><br />So be forewarned if you're ever in Price and craving a good milkshake...unless you like to eat a lot of milk-flavored shake with one small bite of chocolate flavor at the very end, Sherald's may not be the place for you. There is, however, a McDonald's across the street.<br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />(Note: I really do promote patronizing mom-and-pop places like Sherald's. And it may have been that girl's first day. Or maybe she just figured she could stick it to the out-of-towners and eat the rest of the Reese's, who knows. )</span>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-29019599114796175572010-04-30T18:17:00.009-06:002010-04-30T18:30:04.771-06:00Snack time<span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">Friday </span>night is usually our date night. I came home tonight and asked Steve if he wanted to go to dinner.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Sure, but why don't you have a snack now and we'll go later?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Because I'm hungry now. Aren't you hungry?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"No," (sheepishly) "I had a snack."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Really? Right before dinner?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Sorry."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"It's okay. What did you eat?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">(looks at his feet)</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">This is when I remember we made bison burgers for dinner last night.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Did you eat the left over burgers?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Nods.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Both of them?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"Well...they were kind of small."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"So by, 'I had a snack,' you meant 'I ate dinner.'"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">(still looking at feet) "Yeah...I ate dinner."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">My husband cracks me up! So I'm currently looking for a "snack," and anticipating a lovely <span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0);">Saturday </span>night out :)<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFDCRciOfziG8Ml6SFoO3Yl4p-CT_tjiM4KCmU1Fa_CGvxib9pvyAiklcL6BCRseNJP289wEK47py79Hzu0We_xCnPBkteXJ2D4cx_sLD2EgOaAxTGobsjr467364CHQRj-6DrAf0ntc/s1600/hamburger.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFDCRciOfziG8Ml6SFoO3Yl4p-CT_tjiM4KCmU1Fa_CGvxib9pvyAiklcL6BCRseNJP289wEK47py79Hzu0We_xCnPBkteXJ2D4cx_sLD2EgOaAxTGobsjr467364CHQRj-6DrAf0ntc/s200/hamburger.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466091502197257138" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /></span>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-68674983187846733532010-03-21T20:43:00.005-06:002010-03-21T20:51:21.044-06:00AmbitionI have a dream that someday I'll be one of those women who shows up with amazing homemade goodies for every function they attend (and sometimes for no reason at all). And the recipes will be my own inventions too. For our Primary training meeting tonight, I supplied a bowl of microwave popcorn. I guess I'm not quite there yet.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeXDrUijC3BoEu2EKGqlew0KaaChpZYbbu7WD_vrpyYnJx9v2WzV1dK730WLZSZcv0d7qmSI1VK5CS6SYvoAQxzZCNFxHRqa9PX5pK9Y3Wylha4CRVPcRhoTRU_hE-34t7QGcN1odF3pQ/s1600-h/popcorn2007.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeXDrUijC3BoEu2EKGqlew0KaaChpZYbbu7WD_vrpyYnJx9v2WzV1dK730WLZSZcv0d7qmSI1VK5CS6SYvoAQxzZCNFxHRqa9PX5pK9Y3Wylha4CRVPcRhoTRU_hE-34t7QGcN1odF3pQ/s320/popcorn2007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451285007219410050" border="0" /></a>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-51486018417062666182010-03-07T11:49:00.004-07:002010-03-07T12:00:30.165-07:00Up and at 'emI've been in sort of a winter funk. Haven't worked out, haven't spent much time outside, really haven't felt on top of my game. I can't remember the last time winter got me down so much. But the good news is, I think I've put those winter blues behind me (whether Provo decides to warm up or not)! I got back on the work-out wagon and after a week of depressing, barley-over-one-mile-before-I-think-I'm-going-to-die running, I'm back up to three mile stretches and registered for the Utah Valley half marathon in June. It is a ways from 3 miles to 13, but at least I'm back on track :)<br /><br />So now I need some assistance. My running tunes have gotten old and I need some new ideas. I like really upbeat music when I work out (Shakira, Abba...you know, stuff that makes you want to move). What do you put on the iPod when you want to step it up?Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-54232166358250878282010-01-28T22:06:00.006-07:002010-01-28T22:12:38.447-07:00Ain't nobody gonna slow me down (...oh no, I got to keep on movin...)Last week, I tried to remove my flash drive from my computer only to get this message:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >The device 'Generic volume' cannot be stopped right now. Try stopping the device again later.</span><br /><br />You go, 'Generic volume,' I will not try to undermine your awesomeness again. I only wish I were having a day like that.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-35557152398483042402010-01-16T10:34:00.003-07:002010-01-16T10:42:28.967-07:00ConfessionI am having a ridiculously lazy Saturday morning. Not just that though, it seems that <span style="font-style: italic;">most</span> of my Saturday (and Sunday) mornings have become absurdly lazy recently. After spending all summer waking up long before dawn to get miles and miles of running in before the sun warmed up, I'm not sure if it's refreshing or disheartening that I've spent most of the winter sleeping in (in a way I haven't done since high school) and then don't seem to get out of my pajamas until I'd normally be thinking about an early lunch. If I'm honest I might admit it would feel less depressing if I were still running miles and miles every week. Sigh. Can anyone guess what my New Year's resolution might be (or had better be)?<br /><br />What about you? Does anyone have good ideas for getting yourself up and moving even when you know it's freezing outside and the nasty air will probably kill you faster than laziness (and when you also happen to loathe treadmills)? And do you believe in alarm clocks on Saturdays (those of you without children)?Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-86929070318413124442010-01-13T09:11:00.003-07:002010-01-13T09:40:58.743-07:00A Chance to HelpI'm grateful this morning that family in Haiti is safe. I'm also touched to be reminded of how in a world that can seem so dark at times, we still stretch our arms around our brothers and sisters in need. Please help as you choose - here are a few ideas.<br /><ul><li>From the White House Blog:<br /><br /><em>For those interesting in helping immediately, simply <strong>text "HAITI" to "90999" and a donation of $10 will be given automatically to the Red Cross</strong> to help with relief efforts, charged to your cell phone bill.<br /><br />Or you can go online to organizations like the </em><a href="http://newsroom.redcross.org/2010/01/12/disaster-alert-earthquake-in-haiti/"><em>Red Cross </em></a><em>and </em><a href="https://donate.mercycorps.org/donation.htm?DonorIntent=Haiti+Earthquake"><em>Mercy Corps</em></a><em> to make a contribution to the disaster relief efforts. </em><br /><li><a href="http://providentliving.org/content/display/0,11666,6944-1-3685-1,00.html">LDS Humanitarian Services donation page</a>.</li></ul>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-83446077519452554892009-12-20T10:31:00.007-07:002009-12-22T21:43:38.102-07:00Where I've been...and Merry Christmas!<p>...well, here, really. But I've neglected the virtual world for several reasons.<br /></p><ol><br /><li>I took the GRE (yes, after nearly a year of talking about it, I finally just buckled down and did it. It wasn't so terrible after all.) </li><li>Took a fabulous trip to Florida with the husband and mother - it was a mostly relaxing week with family spiced with one brief segment of fear-facing adventure, but more on that later.</li><li>Interviewed for and got a new position in training and development at work (yay!), and then did two jobs for a couple of weeks until my replacement could be trained (yeesh).</li><li>Family time at Thanksgiving - I love family. And cranberry sauce, I love that too.</li><li>Picked out and put up a Christmas tree. This year that meant me sawing off the bottom of the trunk with a hand saw in my kitchen and getting locked out of the house without shoes on when I went to empty the pine-needle-filled vacuum. (You know, that week it was 2 degrees in Utah? That's when I decided to lock myself out.)<br /></li><li>Edited lots and lots of papers with Steve leading up to finals week.</li><li>Steve's laptop finally exploded (yes, an actual explosion, including smoke and mysterious black ooze), making us a one-computer family, and during finals week I went completely Internet free after work.</li><li>Threw a successful surprise party for Steve's graduation (thanks everyone who helped keep it a secret)!</li></ol>I also stopped doing a lot of things since my last post - like exercising and eating sensibly. Which brings me to my next point - MERRY CHRISTMAS! To prove I have at least <span style="font-style: italic;">mostly</span> found the holiday spirit, here's that tree I worked so hard on. It makes me happy.<BR><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOsFowMzzjQNRmXNojtYtDni-4YfKO91yQYP99_XqB8H5qGrqEDCuQxke4YQK9gqHh0izggHfNwLrVDxUP2qIuQ_IjcqS7S8VOpcY86w138ABjYvZ8Z8PD6QJOQCcfzoj7m2zXQfVnII/s1600-h/DSCN1581.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOsFowMzzjQNRmXNojtYtDni-4YfKO91yQYP99_XqB8H5qGrqEDCuQxke4YQK9gqHh0izggHfNwLrVDxUP2qIuQ_IjcqS7S8VOpcY86w138ABjYvZ8Z8PD6QJOQCcfzoj7m2zXQfVnII/s320/DSCN1581.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418287397293908194" border="0" /></a>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-20406957546357619812009-10-13T17:55:00.010-06:002009-10-13T18:32:44.096-06:00Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinnZwKY496U0pvxbxpXaH9F1zqylLHMR_ShYf2kcVstCLBle4APPrHcHYMv9zyUhy8VCcVdfR8154DOlQyvGyBCGgLWXHTTykDHZDu-k8X4wPHMW-oeEvzGesKp6Z4OaIxMQ7zzSSZv64/s1600-h/Alexander+Page.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinnZwKY496U0pvxbxpXaH9F1zqylLHMR_ShYf2kcVstCLBle4APPrHcHYMv9zyUhy8VCcVdfR8154DOlQyvGyBCGgLWXHTTykDHZDu-k8X4wPHMW-oeEvzGesKp6Z4OaIxMQ7zzSSZv64/s320/Alexander+Page.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392246447872533570" border="0" /></a><br />This morning I overslept and my favorite pants weren't clean so I was late and I had to wear the black ones that gather lint. I hate being late.<br /><br />At work I was scheduled to move to a new desk, close to the window, with one short wall and a glorious view of the outside world. They got my PC and phone moved and I had started unloading my boxes when someone showed up with a bunch of tools and informed me no one was allowed to have short walls anymore. I had to stand by and watch the glorious sunlight be slowly and surely obstructed from my seat. I hate dark cubicles.<br /><br />Then I had to scrunch all my belongings to one corner while they disassembled my entire desk to put up the new walls, even though no one has been sitting there for weeks and they could have made the change long before all my things had been moved in. I had a lot of work to do and none of it got done because I spent most of the day without a desk or computer or phone. I hate wasting time.<br /><br />When it was finally time for lunch, I was excited to eat a turkey sandwich with honey mustard. I love honey mustard. When I asked for it, the server told me there was no honey mustard today, only plain old mustard. I'm sure they never run out of plain, stinky mustard. I hate plain mustard.<br /><br />Then I was late for a meeting, my pen ran out of ink, someone ate the last chocolate, and when they moved the shelf in my cubicle all my books fell on the floor.<br /><br />I finally got my desk back, sat down, and saw that my phone extension had been changed. They changed it back but acted like I didn't know what I was talking about. I hate when people act like you don't know what you're talking about.<br /><br />When I got home, the house was cold, I remembered I hadn't cooked chicken to make soup, and I had to eat lima beans for dinner. I hate lima beans.<br /><br />It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. But I guess some days are like that. Even in Australia.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYdeOXd486UQw9jucht_YL1iS6rYrJOdMNxErJkiJiWpWJ9TQcqGAxfXkCQctkuFLu3mgPO9UWT1KBxtUv8cDmnEOnmVORTUK0ltSxoK9t5Bu9CCMpEmxOA-EnQ-ZFGFjAX5PxJ-LjZ7s/s1600-h/Alexander.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYdeOXd486UQw9jucht_YL1iS6rYrJOdMNxErJkiJiWpWJ9TQcqGAxfXkCQctkuFLu3mgPO9UWT1KBxtUv8cDmnEOnmVORTUK0ltSxoK9t5Bu9CCMpEmxOA-EnQ-ZFGFjAX5PxJ-LjZ7s/s320/Alexander.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392246583509118050" border="0" /></a>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-49760310577141297632009-10-05T18:54:00.005-06:002009-10-05T20:00:40.403-06:00I did it!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2KXzF71r8YyHehwMO6XhIpFDfQZHAxJfMSPcgaqueZzFo_2k7zjwH1QYc1LwVaFb0TR36CdpwOIbFPf_gSotvcZ2LTR_ZIYMpmplPjrgOi4YMJPQGis_uNnkr8shc9j9awEpU06axKek/s1600-h/St+George+M.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 69px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2KXzF71r8YyHehwMO6XhIpFDfQZHAxJfMSPcgaqueZzFo_2k7zjwH1QYc1LwVaFb0TR36CdpwOIbFPf_gSotvcZ2LTR_ZIYMpmplPjrgOi4YMJPQGis_uNnkr8shc9j9awEpU06axKek/s320/St+George+M.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389299761429032434" border="0" /></a><br />On Saturday I ran the St. George Marathon. It was my first marathon, and I entered the race lottery mostly because I didn't think I'd get in this year. I wasn't really convinced a marathon was something I wanted to do. I love half marathons, but pushing your body 26.2 miles is a whole different level of crazy. I did get in (obviously) and I spent the first two months of training looking for an excuse not to run it. But after running the TOU half in August, I got my race motivation back. I spent the next month worrying that I <span style="font-style: italic;">wouldn't</span> be able to run. (And naturally, because I'm a hypochondriac I found 900 things wrong with myself. I was sure I had a stress fracture when my calf hurt during one run and that I was getting swine flu when my allergies flared up one day.)<br /><br />I expected a marathon to be hard, but it was even tougher than I expected.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span> I'm kind of proud of that, because I know part of what made it so much more difficult than my past races or training runs was that I pushed myself. So much so that when it was over I didn't have anything left - I just planted myself on a random patch of lawn until I could walk again. But I made my goal of running the whole time - no walking - and I shattered my "reasonable" goal of a 4:15 time. I even broke my "ultimate" goal of 4 hours and finished in 3:53! It was physically painful some of the time and I had to play mental games to keep myself motivated, but I did it. There's such a sense of satisfaction that come from conquering truly tough stuff.<br /><br />I've had a couple people ask me if I was disappointed in having missed qualifying for Boston by mere minutes (well, 13...that's kind of a lot to shave off, but anyway...). I'm totally not. First of all, 3:53 is way better than I ever expected to do and you bet I'm proud of myself. But second, if you qualified for the Boston Marathon, wouldn't you feel like you should run it? I'm glad I ran this one, but I'm definitely not planning to make a habit of it. Now if you're looking for a half-marathon buddy on the other hand...give me a few weeks and let me know :)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaVtPZKoI0o-pOmYHGSwR8qVEm1aswdzSsh3IuItrSl1WJ4OU7RE950QEXfiqfeP_n4NmCuQGOnQRtNNsBDH-IEHAVosuuneesdfL8AFtJPI2geko8mVivO_UuhgbpO3CMiPaDN4BcGfA/s1600-h/DSCN1389.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaVtPZKoI0o-pOmYHGSwR8qVEm1aswdzSsh3IuItrSl1WJ4OU7RE950QEXfiqfeP_n4NmCuQGOnQRtNNsBDH-IEHAVosuuneesdfL8AFtJPI2geko8mVivO_UuhgbpO3CMiPaDN4BcGfA/s200/DSCN1389.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389300837406062098" border="0" /></a>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-63214673287155888312009-09-29T19:55:00.004-06:002009-09-29T20:08:30.692-06:00Pink ribbon and kissing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVk2MEFg_c2DVr692OggukRvtpblX4PzhDLkTXQxIKpyw9R2XSGcstl2KipulwG3O4pYMUouww8WUgU6B6mJT0ZzwobVk4ds0ylWQ-1C5KGqmlh7zZFsFf20ib_GGVl1UAFu6UXKAOP2g/s1600-h/pink_ribbon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVk2MEFg_c2DVr692OggukRvtpblX4PzhDLkTXQxIKpyw9R2XSGcstl2KipulwG3O4pYMUouww8WUgU6B6mJT0ZzwobVk4ds0ylWQ-1C5KGqmlh7zZFsFf20ib_GGVl1UAFu6UXKAOP2g/s200/pink_ribbon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387076543042456130" border="0" /></a><br />OK, so I haven't actually <span style="font-style: italic;">taught</span> a Primary lesson yet, but I'm completely in love with my class. There's nothing like hearing little voices belt out the first verse of "How Firm a Foundation" (yes, they're like 5 years old) to win your heart. We're going to be just fine. Thanks everyone for the kiddo advice. As a side note, this week the kids taught me that parents <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> to sleep in the same room because their beds are stuck together. And apparently some parents KISS! Oh the scandal.<br /><br />Finally, I bought pink ribbon for my hair today and am now officially ready for my first-ever marathon (gotta have that bow)!Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-59367465712219082942009-09-14T20:52:00.003-06:002009-09-14T21:04:39.390-06:00HelpI was just thinking the other day about how comfortable I've gotten in the grown-up world. It seems like ages since I worked as a nanny (or any kind of babysitter) and the days at the orphanage in Ecuador seem more a part of my college life than my current one. I have a grown-up job, go to a grown-up ward where I teach a grown-up class...and I like it. I've gotten very comfortable in my adult environment.<br /><br />...and then they called me to teach Primary. And not just the kids who are practically teenagers already, but the ones who just came from Sunbeams (the youngest kids in Primary). They're 5ish (some are 4 I think) and I am feeling way out of my grown-up realm. For someone who babysat as my high school job and immediately after college ran off to Ecuador to teach some more kids, I'm feeling ridiculously new to this kiddo thing.<br /><br />I used to be really good with kids. A lot of them even listened to me. But all of a sudden I'm afraid I'll be a total failure and my class will be flying off in all directions out of control and when their parents ask them what they learned in Primary they'll just stare at them blankly.<br /><br />So, um...ideas for calming wild kids (in English)? Best way to bribe a 5 year old? I never thought I'd be the one to ask advice for teaching a class of pre-school aged kids. I mean, I (mostly) successfully wrangled at least 10 at a time in a certain South American country, right? I'm searching desperately for reassurance here, somebody throw me a bone!Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-55293155517092577862009-09-12T11:30:00.004-06:002009-09-12T11:46:56.175-06:00Mailbox<span style="font-weight: bold;">Dear St. George Marathon</span>,<br /><br />BRING IT.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br />Kate<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">For the weather gods, fortune, luck, etc. etc.,</span><br /><br />Please don't jinx me for the above throwdown. I'm well aware the outcome of this race rests on a lot more than my ability to run like a crazy person/utter lack of common sense</span>. <span style="font-size:78%;"> I'm just sayin', barring any injuries, catastrophic weather, food poisoning, etc</span>...I AM READY.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Hugs and kisses (and whatever else will prevent ridiculous wind or an ankle twist),</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Determined Runner Chick</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dear friends I've made from the running club the past couple weeks,</span><br /><br />You rock. Thanks for reminding me how fun running is and pushing me to run faster and farther. And for keeping up more than your share of conversation after mile 15 or so to keep my mind off my legs. Keep running, cheering, pushing, and may all you crazies who want to do this in Boston make your goal.<br /><br />Thank you,<br />That One Girl You Ran With That One TimeKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-38052351701222998832009-09-01T18:30:00.004-06:002009-09-01T18:53:09.660-06:00A plea to city planners everywhereAbout once a month at work, I spend a couple of hours addressing birthday cards for our employees. This means I get a very close look at hundreds of addresses, mostly in Utah, and I'm noticing an alarming trend. There are several streets/cul-de-sacs/avenues/etc. that are using multiple types of street identification (for lack of a better term). For example, I would expect to see "Horsetail Trail" or "Horsetail Lane," but "Horsetail Trail Lane?" That's just redundant. What gets really ridiculous is when some city planner (or whoever the heck comes up with this stuff) gets all long-winded naming apartment complex roads. And it's even worse when it's so far south that the street number alone is unusually long. And THEN, the complex comes up with some absurd numbering system<br /><br />For example:<span style="font-weight: bold;"> 126077 South Wasatch Rim Trail Avenue #13766 - D</span> (not someone's real address but based on an actual pattern). Are you kidding me? It barely fits on the envelope (and looks really weird if the person's name is something tiny like Cal Brown). And are there really 13,766 units in this complex? Doubtful. Even if there were, I don't think adding the letter "D" is really going to help anyone find it.<br /><br />People. Coming up with a longer name for your street doesn't make you sound richer or smarter or better educated. If we change the above to <span style="font-weight: bold;">126077 S Wasatch Rim #12</span> will anyone go to bed hungry? I thought not. Based on the...unusual...habits about naming children we see in Utah, I'm thinking this is a regional thing, am I right?<br /><br />I realize this is kind of a weird thing to be bothered by, but I think it reflects an unfortunate lack of self-restraint in our modern culture of grammar and naming conventions. Also, I don't want to someday have to buy a ridiculously large mailbox just because I live at 543210 West Crimson Sunset View Point Lane Road.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-59966156158283903692009-08-24T18:09:00.012-06:002009-08-24T18:39:23.284-06:00Blonde bridge blunderEarlier this month, Steve and I drove to Arizona for a friend's wedding. We decided to go the Vegas route and check out the strip since I hadn't been there in years (and I probably won't go back for years - I know the rest of Vegas is probably a lovely place, but I maintain the strip is just bizarre...like a cracked-out Disneyland). We stayed the night to break up the drive and early the next morning we headed over Hoover Dam and on to Phoenix.<br /><br />There was construction everywhere, especially driving near the dam (of course during which time I heard every "dam" joke Steve could concoct) where they are building a new bridge. Steve, having passed that way more often than I have, knew all about the bridge construction. When you read the conversation below, you'll understand why, following said conversation, Steve told me I had to blog it. It's only fair, since I have called out some of his more impressive moments here.<br /><br />Steve: Wow, that's going to be weird to drive over.<br />Me: What? The bridge?<br />Steve: Yep.<br />Me: Drive on that thing? No way! It's way too steep - they can't have cars drive on that!<br />Steve: Um...<br />Me: Seriously! You'd never make it up the side.<br />Steve: Yeah...so that's the support for the bridge. They're going to put the actual bridge on top.<br /><br />Oh.<br /><br />Yep, in my foggy early-morning daze, I thought this was the actual BRIDGE (sorry for the weird angle - we were driving):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCR85t427E04KMBZBmyAQFhTvzifpt7I8tvsF0GxnxcYyPePTDzp55t5uZj_cxWFPSto04Og_aApkKfXI__tAuX2HkM4EIlEIbIIFXc3b9a83ItpREplQYWRya5gRSn4xoVBd3oFxrrdA/s1600-h/DSC01431.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCR85t427E04KMBZBmyAQFhTvzifpt7I8tvsF0GxnxcYyPePTDzp55t5uZj_cxWFPSto04Og_aApkKfXI__tAuX2HkM4EIlEIbIIFXc3b9a83ItpREplQYWRya5gRSn4xoVBd3oFxrrdA/s320/DSC01431.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373690163895111234" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Good thing I'm not an engineer. You can see my concern though, <span style="font-style: italic;">were</span> this the actual bridge, yes?Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-31671492561924834852009-07-11T14:03:00.002-06:002009-07-11T14:12:32.645-06:00Bragging rightsFor what a hard time I give Steve about cooking, I really haven't cooked much lately either (and by "lately" I mean "since we've been married"). We do lots of quick meals, which I don't think can be considered "cooking." So I love it when something I do make becomes a new family favorite.<br /><br />Thursday night when I came home from girl's camp, I was ready for someone to take me OUT to dinner, so we went to one of my faves, Zupa's. I got my usual - a fruity salad and the Yucatan Chicken Tortilla Soup. Steve tried the soup, but when I offered him more he made a face and said "no thanks."<br /><br />"You don't like the tortilla soup?"<br /><br />"Ew. No."<br /><br />"But you like tortilla soup when I make it."<br /><br />"YOUR tortilla soup is stinkin' good!"<br /><br />Did I just out-soup Zupa's? Yes, ladies and gentlemen, at least in the eyes of one man, I did.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-63216316121590165902009-06-24T22:16:00.005-06:002009-06-24T22:31:07.926-06:00Briefly...<ul><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Yay!</span>: Steve doing all the dishes and cleaning the kitchen before I got home.<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Whoops</span>: Realizing he's used one of our nice (and seldom-used) place mats as a dishtowel.<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wahoo!</span>: Coming home to see the very tidy results of Steve pulling approximately 1.3 million weeds from our yard and mowing the lawn.</li><li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Um...</span>: Coming home to realize he has also pulled the one thriving plant in the yard - a beautiful, purple, flowering...some kind of bushy plant I can't recall the name of. It was glorious though, and had survived from my garden last year. Alas, now no one will believe I actually grew something without killing it.</li></ul>It's good for me to be reminded about having a sense of humor sometimes. But that plant did NOT look like a weed. . . .I'm just sayin'.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-50045366845693500812009-05-30T08:08:00.023-06:002009-05-30T12:02:13.948-06:00*Warning* lengthy travel post ahead<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfi4WRSd25utQFlwmbB1JWr7qoqecij-axFArZ1qTUHxZCBHlNyEuqG1HBeEGSYOqBl274Hir0Fp4gWn01Y4bGRfyuYfPCll-p0z-0ZlA-RrWpA1NPB9OFM3B58_Xbto0kdRWBWBvspM/s1600-h/DSC00695.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfi4WRSd25utQFlwmbB1JWr7qoqecij-axFArZ1qTUHxZCBHlNyEuqG1HBeEGSYOqBl274Hir0Fp4gWn01Y4bGRfyuYfPCll-p0z-0ZlA-RrWpA1NPB9OFM3B58_Xbto0kdRWBWBvspM/s320/DSC00695.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341670429707548050" border="0" /></a><br />In spite of my good intentions to keep my blog updated while traveling, there just wasn't enough time to sleep AND write. When there's a contest between sleep and almost anything else...sleep wins. The sad part is I know there are 100 funny stories I probably won't remember. But if I had been sleeping all day and writing all night, there wouldn't have been any stories at all. You see the dilemma.<br /><br />For those of you who don't know, Steve and I just returned from three wonderful weeks in Europe. Well, the Mediterranean, to be more precise. We spent about a week in northern Italy (Venice to Rome), and the next two between Greece and Turkey (Istanbul and Kusadasi/Ephesus). Since Turkey is part of the Asian continent, that means I doubled the number of continents I've been to in less than 3 weeks!<br /><br />This was my first trip to Europe. It was also my first trip to a country (or countries) where I don't speak the language. Italian and Spanish are close enough that we did fine, but Greek...that was a bit of an adventure. You know it's going to be rough when the alphabet isn't even the same. I at least managed to learn a few phrases, which is more than I can say for Turkish. After half a week in the country, I was still limited to "hello" and "thank you." (Although I at least mastered the pronunciation enough that one store owner started speaking to me in Turkish. When I just stared back at him blankly, he laughed and said in English, "I thought you were Turkish! You said 'Merhaba'!" Probably just flattering me. It worked.) Luckily, almost everyone we met in Istanbul spoke at least some English.<br /><br />I'm sure I'll share some more detailed stories in the next week or two, but for now I'll just sum up a few highlights in a lovely bullet list.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDxhc8DqOneMwqyp7iVaQLEQFzrP9jWNPSBT8sCZ_ZVGMV9vLH1KKYKmQXOS-fA9F7k5ptCzHg9DxzZL0dT0RBMRc3p2XJ29ayZy2lCYJGCuxYBXjzTg7OOGTqOyvuBXUzjtjeRUtXk8/s1600-h/DSC00442.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghDxhc8DqOneMwqyp7iVaQLEQFzrP9jWNPSBT8sCZ_ZVGMV9vLH1KKYKmQXOS-fA9F7k5ptCzHg9DxzZL0dT0RBMRc3p2XJ29ayZy2lCYJGCuxYBXjzTg7OOGTqOyvuBXUzjtjeRUtXk8/s320/DSC00442.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341674552980328706" border="0" /></a><br /><ul><li>Most memorable piece of art: Hands down, Michelangelo's David. I love art, but I'm not any kind of an expert, so when I heard people talking about what an amazing sculpture this is, I figured I'd think it was cool, but I didn't know if I'd understand enough about it to get the major "wow' factor other people talk about. I was not expecting the reaction I had when I walked into the room. I'm not sure how to describe it, except to say that I just felt like it was perfect and inspired. Art is a lot like writing in that when something is "finished" is sort of arbitrary. There is nothing arbitrary about the David - it is certainly complete and to have added or omitted anything would have diminished it. It's probably good that we weren't allowed to photograph it - no picture could capture what it was like to be in that room.<br /></li></ul><ul><li>Best site for historical ruins: This one is tough - we saw a LOT of Greek and Roman ruins. Ephesus definitely stands out though, particularly the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Celsus_Library">Library of Celsus</a>. The Colosseum was, of course, incredible as well, and it was unreal to walk where Paul did - Mars Hill and Ephesus again.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXHqKbBwygYC86Yb8nHywuqJ4ECdwyfn3FxN62qq0xpfHwZCng3XNkDUxexq7we1_WZuhkB82c7hXEYPgqxaMGr7sONZlHe7Ogm1yeECqDvct7LeVZ8yA8U6-wnUkifkAjQEdYg0pcLcw/s1600-h/DSC00950.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXHqKbBwygYC86Yb8nHywuqJ4ECdwyfn3FxN62qq0xpfHwZCng3XNkDUxexq7we1_WZuhkB82c7hXEYPgqxaMGr7sONZlHe7Ogm1yeECqDvct7LeVZ8yA8U6-wnUkifkAjQEdYg0pcLcw/s320/DSC00950.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341675021816912418" border="0" /></a><br /></li></ul><ul><li>Most fun: This is a tough one too. I'll go with crusing around Santorini on a scooter (which we lovingly dubbed Kermit).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8Jwl8angyKQVvoJBKJ5vDmMf4hZtHTq6t0ifGEWp6TU7xqyO2hTuBBAA652XBbZIcMbMaYXJB6mi_wOmMpoNv7UlB4wV_DqNRfCCFRAoN2WxoYW1lfJvzoE1wAXj34BQPZImGJlJ9a0/s1600-h/DSC01039.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk8Jwl8angyKQVvoJBKJ5vDmMf4hZtHTq6t0ifGEWp6TU7xqyO2hTuBBAA652XBbZIcMbMaYXJB6mi_wOmMpoNv7UlB4wV_DqNRfCCFRAoN2WxoYW1lfJvzoE1wAXj34BQPZImGJlJ9a0/s200/DSC01039.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341652780840828306" border="0" /></a></li></ul><ul><li>Most stressful to navigate: Athens. I guess you could also call this one "Most adventurous travel." Inaccurate subway maps, limited information on city-to-city transportation, "information" employees unwilling to help you, stretches of non-functioning railway. Also a slight communication barrier and lots of people who said "I don't know," even though we knew they did. Oh, and even when you have the directions, good luck finding a street sign.</li></ul><ul><li>Most picturesque: This is a toss-up between Venice and Santorini. Venice was beautiful, but a little strange because everyone there is a tourist. It almost felt like a very beautiful and historic Disneyland.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeprRlWWaUUE4OtvlWebSdU2hFWBztLyacIC078FfSxNdRRq7T9lKNR3_743X1QL7KkleximsRQxvId-1QyhrfEGl6XFFmz69Y610hJT5wreKg2oi_Tu4Vfy5cf1tJBLsO1LbZdgkoDUc/s1600-h/DSC00420.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeprRlWWaUUE4OtvlWebSdU2hFWBztLyacIC078FfSxNdRRq7T9lKNR3_743X1QL7KkleximsRQxvId-1QyhrfEGl6XFFmz69Y610hJT5wreKg2oi_Tu4Vfy5cf1tJBLsO1LbZdgkoDUc/s320/DSC00420.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341675675123657906" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArXNuYh1t8hKwYo9iPsfkftOuXKpZ0PWHwKwlBAFMNCkHRTn6EHlFlKj5Tr3lxhopopggnRWj6qoTMXeDa78LHRI7uPqEjOzkNR-RmOqLjjMLD23q1mND44WZ9negh9m4nRJGPS6fk5w/s1600-h/DSC01041.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhArXNuYh1t8hKwYo9iPsfkftOuXKpZ0PWHwKwlBAFMNCkHRTn6EHlFlKj5Tr3lxhopopggnRWj6qoTMXeDa78LHRI7uPqEjOzkNR-RmOqLjjMLD23q1mND44WZ9negh9m4nRJGPS6fk5w/s320/DSC01041.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341676250363342082" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></li></ul><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><ul><li>Most relaxing: Greek islands. After two weeks of running our feet off, it was incredible to cruise around on a scooter without any agenda except finding good beaches and great food.</li></ul><ul><li>Biggest surprise: Geting a 52 Euro bill (about $75) for two plates of sea bass, a Coke and a Fanta. If you order fish charged by weight, be smarter than us and make sure it's in a unit of measurement you understand!</li></ul><ul><li>Biggest food obsession: For Steve, Italian gelato and European Coke. For me, Italian pastries, Greek salad and Fanta.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2_mvGUqqHetTkkgCoKfF4C6kB-ebYrhhoQNze5XAPCgB5puHw7S9LqA9986crf_X1C8Wcom5RJsVMBGATKcguPvUeM7883Zag5F9Ft4XU3ZufnqnT0kZNSh_dY7QfP37Ddu5wRSdWclE/s1600-h/DSC00756.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2_mvGUqqHetTkkgCoKfF4C6kB-ebYrhhoQNze5XAPCgB5puHw7S9LqA9986crf_X1C8Wcom5RJsVMBGATKcguPvUeM7883Zag5F9Ft4XU3ZufnqnT0kZNSh_dY7QfP37Ddu5wRSdWclE/s320/DSC00756.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341677069056752434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></li></ul><ul><li>Least favorite food: Honest-to-goodness Greek yogurt, unflavored. The picture on the container leads me to believe it was sheep yogurt. I will NOT try it again in a few years to see if my taste buds have matured.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwVXzpCRUXXxd0dWXEGKRqms7IrNn4uNDLOhmoqZnrKA59fX5qlaBqhoDnzn2JywoT2vk4xpD8JP9yOlbpN_-JEn83CyyyH3Ez4dpDWctrd4fkBNrHNU4CYJx0h3hRRFxz6ujqWPSRq1s/s1600-h/DSC00757.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwVXzpCRUXXxd0dWXEGKRqms7IrNn4uNDLOhmoqZnrKA59fX5qlaBqhoDnzn2JywoT2vk4xpD8JP9yOlbpN_-JEn83CyyyH3Ez4dpDWctrd4fkBNrHNU4CYJx0h3hRRFxz6ujqWPSRq1s/s320/DSC00757.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341677443424114386" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></li></ul><ul><li>Most amazing moment: Sitting between the Haiga Sophia and the Blue Mosque at dusk and hearing the call to prayer from 5 different mosques.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpFIoTQBCHlHz787HH532FVilRaymWlFi9x811A0VMnAU5IzrhK_TH1pLm7r-ckYWM-JlbsnDUo1SqcXcOZPS87EWpAac-Bj5rXu4-CFbQjIXUf6NTYDKMKTB5d9-L5rwBk1grK4cw28/s1600-h/DSC00903.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtpFIoTQBCHlHz787HH532FVilRaymWlFi9x811A0VMnAU5IzrhK_TH1pLm7r-ckYWM-JlbsnDUo1SqcXcOZPS87EWpAac-Bj5rXu4-CFbQjIXUf6NTYDKMKTB5d9-L5rwBk1grK4cw28/s320/DSC00903.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341677980881116034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></li></ul><ul><li>Best sunsets: Santorini.<br /></li></ul><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr6x2bNOsxPc1Fr_1Sb56S3W3JDJcPdQ6ArK510vxb7CkK7ahMbVRhNRe4W4LlrLzc_2ChR1dCq34IrBl0l-rOWc_1kevm63-ppKkEWgcuu1Gkb8fTw4CDWaLl8Vs45ptkTDMje2GZHlY/s1600-h/DSC01111.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr6x2bNOsxPc1Fr_1Sb56S3W3JDJcPdQ6ArK510vxb7CkK7ahMbVRhNRe4W4LlrLzc_2ChR1dCq34IrBl0l-rOWc_1kevm63-ppKkEWgcuu1Gkb8fTw4CDWaLl8Vs45ptkTDMje2GZHlY/s320/DSC01111.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341672330045597922" border="0" /></a>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-80666588380469346542009-04-21T20:27:00.004-06:002009-04-21T20:38:33.144-06:00Physics question<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-iJ_E5BLSPIcccgNXkyDkT9XrLxvBu7m29yy797rkjS3AtMwoYkIWkmrXftzwaRlwpYKfi0Bb5zKPQnyeHje68rhz7rtyFAVAoa0FVBaF5l_ZaJbMnGVyhDN7gQ1Gx5ctUEsH6coWf-4/s1600-h/Choco+chips.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 136px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-iJ_E5BLSPIcccgNXkyDkT9XrLxvBu7m29yy797rkjS3AtMwoYkIWkmrXftzwaRlwpYKfi0Bb5zKPQnyeHje68rhz7rtyFAVAoa0FVBaF5l_ZaJbMnGVyhDN7gQ1Gx5ctUEsH6coWf-4/s200/Choco+chips.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327339525371318658" border="0" /></a><br />We had crepes for dinner on Sunday. A few with ham and turkey (just so we could reasonably call it "dinner") and then several delicious fruit and dessert crepes. At least, I had several. Mmmmmm....<br /><br />Anyway, I melted semi-sweet chocolate chips on the last crepe I cooked and ate it in the kitchen (because who are we kidding, I am for sure not enough of a grownup to eat in the living room without spilling). I then took the bag of chocolate chips into the living room where we were playing Monopoly with some friends. And that is the full disclosure of my chocolate contact for the evening.<br /><br />I should note before continuing that I was wearing a mid-calf-length dress so my knees were covered for the duration of the Monopoly carpet-sitting.<br /><br />When I was getting ready for bed later that night, I found melted chocolate BEHIND MY KNEES. Nowhere else. Not on my hands, not on my dress, not even on my face. Also not on the carpet or the kitchen chairs. Just melted into the creases behind my knees. And it wasn't just a little bit of chocolate. I had to get in the bathtub to wash it off.<br /><br />Can someone please explain how that's even a little bit possible?Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-62992236261806509612009-04-15T19:01:00.004-06:002009-04-15T19:28:56.617-06:00WTH? Again?For those of you not familiar with Utah slang, "WTH" would be "What the heck?" And before I continue this post, I just want to clarify that I am not pregnant. Because apparently, when your brain totally craps out on you, that's the first thing people assume.<br /><br />If you've visited SYA before, you may remember a recent post about me leaving 4 hours early for a baby shower less than 5 miles away. (I'm not linking to it, just look down. It's like 2 inches below this.) Well, I've already topped it. And it hasn't even been a month yet.<br /><br />One of my dearest friends from high school is getting married next month, so a few of our other friends threw a bridal shower for her (naturally). I looked forward all week to seeing Katie and our other high school gal pals. And I had a super cute present for her. So I told Steve to make plans with the guys and planned my day around the shower.<br /><br />And then on Friday, Steve picked me up from work. We ran some errands, went to dinner, and then he dropped me off at home to hang out with my sister in law while he went out with the guys. And I totally FORGOT to go to the bridal shower. WTH?!<br /><br />I woke up Saturday morning and saw the invitation on the fridge and that's when it dawned on me. I missed it. Totally, 100 percent failure. I almost cried (yes, that's true and no, for the second time, I am not pregnant).<br /><br />And that's it, that's the story. I lose :(Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-84954906127974773972009-03-18T19:17:00.001-06:002009-03-18T19:19:39.786-06:00It's arrived!Have we all noticed that <span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);">S</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 51);">P</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">R</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">I</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 153);">N</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">G</span> is here? Well my allergies haven't yet...shhhhh....Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-46388075037329760262009-03-16T18:45:00.004-06:002009-03-16T19:12:09.201-06:00Somebody get this girl a planner<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxtqv6HVm_3pbsJ1nhAMCZex0FdYWsxm_NLsdXHiw9_odKq4ctXk8AndqjhzCW8fyvwz5PVFTNUhCtuBxNYQuC1u_oJcOWrZbMfTNq0RUaahVdzKqde4Gu7ccZXuiOcc65enUk9-3C7A/s1600-h/Ring+ring.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 136px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggxtqv6HVm_3pbsJ1nhAMCZex0FdYWsxm_NLsdXHiw9_odKq4ctXk8AndqjhzCW8fyvwz5PVFTNUhCtuBxNYQuC1u_oJcOWrZbMfTNq0RUaahVdzKqde4Gu7ccZXuiOcc65enUk9-3C7A/s200/Ring+ring.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313958229543130546" border="0" /></a><br />On Saturday, I went to a baby shower for one of my college roommies (because EVERYONE I know is having babies right now - but that's beside the point). I hadn't seen this particular roommie in almost a year, so naturally I planned my day around the 10 a.m. shower. I set my alarm for 9 (you know, just in case I had a particularly late sleep in), but in my early morning grogginess, I set it for 9 a.m. <span style="font-style: italic;">Monday - Friday</span> and didn't even touch the weekend settings.<br /><br />I woke up at 9:30, noticed the time, and promptly began panicking. I jumped out of bed, sent Steve to run an errand for me, showered <span style="font-style: italic;">fast</span>, wrapped the present (well, put it in a purple bag. Apparently I used all the tissue paper at Christmas or something. Whoops.), waited for Steve to get back with the car, and then dashed like a mad woman out the door. Half way to the car I turned around to get the invitation (and accompanying address). Scanning for the location, I noticed the phrase "from 2 until 4 p.m." Um...what? That's right folks, not only was I <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> going to be late, I was going to be 4 hours early.<br /><br />Steve gave me the "you are silly" look, and fair enough, because this isn't the first time that's happened. (Yep, TWO stories in one post! Brace yourselves.)<br /><br />We went to Cancun on our honeymoon. I <span style="font-style: italic;">knew</span> our flight home left at 7:00 a.m., and since it was an international flight and we had a long shuttle ride to the airport, I scheduled the pickup for 4:45 a.m. We packed everything the night before, showered, and layed our clothes out so all we'd need to do at 4 a.m. was stumble out of bed and put some shoes on.<br /><br />We arrived at the airport close to 5:30 and got in line to check in for our flight.<br /><br />"I'm sorry, we don't have you booked on this flight."<br /><br />"Um...what?" (Maybe that's a common phrase for me. So what?)<br /><br />After some severe panicking and a bit more research, we discovered that we were, in fact, booked on a flight home, just not <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> flight (which, btw, wasn't even going to the right state). Our flight left at 11:00 a.m. and we couldn't even check our bags in until two hours before.<br /><br />Why I was so certain our flight left at 7 is beyond me, but we had to tote our luggage around the tiny Cancun airport for nearly 6 hours. We ended up buying ridiculously overpriced breakfast just so we could sit in the restaurant for a couple of hours. I should mention that because we weren't allowed to check in and clear security yet, there were <span style="font-style: italic;">no chairs</span>. There was floor, and there was ridiculously priced restaurant seating. So after nearly an hour of people looking at us like we were hobos, we opted for the latter.<br /><br />I was pretty sure any husband of less than a week would contemplate leaving a girl right then and there, but Steve was a good sport about it. We did agree though, that on future vacations HE would be in charge of our travel itinerary.<br /><br />I have to admit, I thought it was a fluke at the time. But after a repeat performance I'm not so sure. Turns out it might just be...me. Is that a personality flaw? Or can I get away with just being a little quirky?Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3372616449624898569.post-27559129507443816222009-03-03T18:15:00.007-07:002009-03-03T18:40:46.473-07:00Welcome to the club part IIOne of the quirks I tease Steve about (besides bachelor-style cooking of course) is his tendency to over-explain situations. He's a friendly guy, which is one of his best qualities, but sometimes it leads him to let complete strangers in on a little too much detail.<br /><br />Once, we were out at a nice dinner and couldn't finish our meal. We both had to get a to-go box and our plates must have looked basically untouched to our waiter. I probably would have said something like, "We weren't as hungry as we thought we were." But Steve, not wanting this man we'd never seen before and will probably never see again to think we didn't like the food, narrated our entire afternoon, including feeding times.<br /><br />"...and we were really hungry earlier, so we had some sandwiches, and then ended up coming to dinner sooner than we thought..."<br /><br />Like I said, friendly. He knows the look you get when you've over-explained though. The one that says <span style="font-style: italic;">I'm not really sure why you just told me all that, but I'm too polite to comment about it.</span> And when he gets the <span style="font-style: italic;">look</span>, he invariably turns to me and says, "I over-explained, didn't I?"<br /><br />A little.<br /><br />Well, today at work I resolved a minor billing discrepancy that I had mentioned to my boss earlier. I walked all my paperwork down to my boss's desk and proceeded to explain to him exactly what the error had been and how it had been resolved. When I finished and looked up from all my show-and-tell material, the <span style="font-style: italic;">look</span> was unmistakably present.<br /><br />"Um...that's fine...I trust you to do your job..."<br /><br />Translation: "I really don't need to know every tiny detail of what you do every day. 'It's resolved' would have been fine and then I could have had those 5 minutes of my life back."<br /><br />Yup. I have to say though, if it's between being being constantly hovered over (as in my previous work situation), or occasionally getting the <span style="font-style: italic;">look</span> because now I'm trusted with *gasp* my actual job, I'll settle for the latter.Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01982063320469110141noreply@blogger.com3