Ravin' at my Writing Desk

I've finally done it! Life goal accomplished!

Remember how my only professional ambition is to get a desk where no one can see my computer screen other than me? Well mission accomplished, because I am now sitting behind a desk in my own little corner at the top of the stairs. Have been for several months now.

You may think that sounds dreary, but there's a window...
Plus, I'm sort of a vampire when it comes to my preference of dark and cave-like surroundings.

You can also thank my recent re-emergence in the blog world for this advancement. If I had remained downstairs as a lowly cashier, my efforts to write entirely meaningless posts about random thoughts/happenings in my life would have been thwarted.

Now I'm free to type away.
I know you're real happy about that.

Granted, I do have a small heart attack every time someone pages my phone.
Why I think they can somehow see what I'm doing continues to confuse me?...

Regardless, I must have an incredibly guilty conscience. Why? I do not know.

It's not like I'm doing anything illegal.
Blogger is a safe site, right? I hardly think my computer's integrity will be compromised.

And the owner can't expect me to sit here and do nothing once I've completed my daily tasks, can he? Well... he probably can. But the point being: I'd rather pretend to be incredibly busy all day long by dividing my workload into littler pieces that are separated with small bouts of Facebook browsing and Blogger updates.

Genius, no?

And, I hate to brag, but I've pretty much perfected the 'pretend messy desk'.

(This duality is the source of all my problems.)

Granted, the 'piles' of paperwork are already completed and lie in neat little stacks that I try to place haphazardly. Not exactly the easiest scam for me to pull off successfully, but it seems to be working beautifully.

So there you have it. I'm calling my professional endeavors a huge success.
One, because I am able to fool everyone else into thinking I'm busy and two, because I just wrote this entire post at work.

Wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am.

Phantom Vibrations.

Have you ever heard of amputees who are able to feel their limb even after it has been removed?

ABC News discussed the matter back in 2007.

"It's like wearing a tight sock all day," they explain. "When you take it off, you still feel it there on your foot."

Interesting analogy...

Apparently having your arm chopped off feels like you're not wearing socks. Who'd've known?

Likewise, have you ever felt your cellphone buzz in your pocket only to pull it out and realize that it actually never had?..

These two problems may seem entirely different almost to the point of no comparison, right? But at the same time, phantom limbs and phantom cell phone sensations are both very real problems.

"It's an interesting technological statement about society that our machines are becoming part of us.", it states.

I, for one, freely admit I suffer from 'Phantom Cell Phone Syndrome'.
Quite frequently I feel my smartphone vibrate in my pocket when in all actuality, it isn't even in my pocket.

Spooky...

Apparently I've trained my brain to respond to external stimuli through repeated over-usage of electronics devices. They know this because rats do the same thing. (Anyone else just imagine rodents carrying around small cellphones?...)

Their solution?
Stop carrying your cell phone around in your pocket.

BRILLIANT.

Except for, now that I'm so attached to it and all, I don't know if I can.
Easier said than done, ABC News. Easier said than done.

On an semi-related topic, my cell phone sounds like a goose when it vibrates. And when I receive a call, the person on the other end can hear the final 'honk' when I pick up.

So when my mom called yesterday and all I heard was quacking on the other end, I wasn't especially amused. She was.

The point being: I don't mind living with imaginary honking.

The real question is:
Would you still love me if I had a smartphone as a hand?..

Crack-a-'Shellac'in...

I'm in love, I'm in love and I don't care who knows it!
With whom, you might ask?

A little product I like to call Shellac.
Probably because that's what it is called, but no matter.

I was never one to religiously paint my nails until rather recently.
Granted, I did go through an acrylic nail phase in high school, but it eventually broke the bank and I quickly reverted back to plain ole' man hands.

You think I jest, but no.
My nail beds suck, I am prone to continual hangnails and I can't grow any semblance of a nail without it immediately tearing off for the life of me.

But in an attempt to hide the problem (and inspired by Lacy-Hacy's shiny black polish) I resorted to painting my nails every five to seven days, with touch-ups in between.

It was painful, agonizing torture, I tell you.
No sooner than I applied a perfectly gleaming coat, I would be enlisted to wash dishes or file paperwork and all of the majesty would be destroyed.

But then my genius sister, Jenny, made a discovery that would change our lives forever. Enter... Shellac.

A product that you paint on like polish, set in place with a black light and then stop to wonder how you ever lived without it.

There are a plethora of colors to choose from and the price is reasonable, granted more expensive than cheap-o polish, but well worth the end result.
No chips, cracks or dullness.

I can get my nails shellaced and not need another set until an entire two weeks later. It's a wonder of science, I say!

"Where can I get this magical-ness??!", you might ask, and my response to you is: I'm not sure.

You see, my beloved sister Jenny gives me these manicures free of charge in exchange for, well... I dunno. Being the goddess that she is.

And if I didn't love her before, I certainly do now.
Uhh... that came out wrong.

Just know that I'm full of appreciation.

And that I very well may die Sunday (my usual appointment day) because she is currently vacationing in Cancun and won't be back until Tuesday.

*deep breaths*

Major 'Croc'.

Last Friday, I toured the county jail with the BF, Gem, Lacy-Hacy and her sister. It was a pretty craysee experience.

We heard all about security measures, suicide watches, TV dinner style meals, extraditions, bail/bonds, transports and the likes. We also learned why their underwear is dyed brown.

Don't ask.

Needless to say, it's not a happy place.
I aptly re-named it 'Corinner-Elly's Private Hell'.

How people live there baffles me. It appears sterile while feeling completely grimy at the same time. I would do anything and everything in my power to never go back.

Then again, I would do anything and everything not to go in the first place, but you catch my drift.

Regardless, I learned two things for certain:
1) I never want to go to jail. (Breathe a sigh of relief, Mom.)
-AND-
2) Crocs are meant for inmates.

I've always been confused/repulsed by the unexplainable popularity of the rubbery gardening shoes known as 'Crocs'. Why people insist on wearing them in public baffles me.

Actually, why people insist on wearing them at all baffles me.

But after watching several inmates shuffle past in neon orange Crocs, I knew it was a match made in Heaven. I mean, it's almost like a punishment on top of a punishment.

Not only are they locked away for a pre-determined period of time, they're forced to wear one of the most ridiculous clothing items ever made.

Just the humiliation itself would reform me.

So there you have it.
I've solved one of the world's greatest mysteries.

Feel free to thank me in person.
Unless, of course, you happen to be incarcerated at the moment.

You and your Crocs scare me.

14 Days of Valentines

I'm sure you've probably heard of the '12 Days of Christmas' before, but have you ever encountered the '14 Days of Valentines'?

Truth be told, neither had I.

The idea is that you give your significant other a gift a day for the 14 days leading up to Valentine's Day. There are several website that have printables with corny little phrases like "Valentine, how about you 'chew's me?" on a pack of gum, but after throwing up in my mouth a little, I decided to go the more personal (and hopefully less nauseating) route.

And so, without further ado, the BF's '14 Days of Valentines':

Day 1:1 love poem.

Made the card myself. :) I was rather pleased.

The next morning, I crept up the stairs and taped it to his door.
It was terrifying.

I kept imagining that he'd be leaving early for school or that someone would hear me and peek out their window or that a homeless bum would see me do it and steal my love note.

Needless to say, I don't handle administering surprises very well.

One thing's for certain, though.

I'm sure glad his last name is so easy to rhyme with.

Day 2:2 movie tickets.

Wasn't in the swing of things quite yet (in addition to my extreme terror when it comes to being sneaky - see above) so I forgot to take a picture. Suffice it to say, we saw Tower Heist, which is not exactly a great classic but worth seeing once.

Day 3:3 lemon squares.

By this time, the BF was practically darting out after waking up each morning, to see what surprise I had left for him that day. Little did he know that his presents wouldn't always be taped to the door.

Oh, ho-ho, no.
On this day there was a gleaming plate of lemon squares waiting on the stove.

Which looked a little something like...

I was late, okay!?

Just know that they were beautiful and delicious.
And that the BF finished off the rest of the pan the next day.

He loves those things, man.

Day 4:4 pictures of us.

After buying the BF a new wallet for Christmas, he commented that he needed a picture of us to put inside. So I figured, might as well kill two birds with one stone, eh?

Pretty self-explanatory.
But what you must know is that it is almost impossible to get a picture where both of us are smiling our 'normal' smiles. The BF thinks he's somewhat of a photo-bomber.

The turd.

Day 5:5 Cinnabons for my cinnabuns.

Okay, so I suck at remembering.
No picture again.

I also was guilty of forgetting it was fast Sunday and tempting the BF and his roomie with freshly baked cinnamon rolls, after which, they quickly caved.

 I'm going to Hell...

Not to mention my semi-corny pun.
Just know that it's an inside joke derived from a hilarious comedy sketch by Demetri Martin. ("Excuse me, are you Cinnamon Buns?” “You bet your sweet a** I am.")

Day 6:6 Sangrias.

In case you didn't know, Sangria is a Mexican soft drink the BF happens to love.

He almost left the apartment without finding his surprise that day. Which would have been a tragedy considering I'd left him 6 cold Sangrias in the fridge.

Day 7:7 minutes in heaven with 7-Eleven.

Get your mind out of the gutter!
It doesn't have to be dirty...

Also, I'm still amazed that there are sour punch straws that you actually USE as a straw! Mind blown.

Day 8: 8 songs that make me think of you.

Posted to his Facebook wall in a sappy display of lovey-dovey-ness.

All of which were country.
What is happening to me?...

Day 9:9 conversation hearts.

Which I plastered all over his car and he re-purposed to use on me for Valentine's Day.

Don't think I didn't notice. ;)

Day 10:a 10 finger massage.

Once again, harmless.

And administered in the most chaste way possible.

Day 11:11 ways to say 'I love you' texts.

My favorites included "I'll love you 'til the zombie Apocalypse. And even then, if I were a zombie, I'd never eat your brain." and "If feelings were Legos, my love for you would be the Death Star."

We're kind of nerdy. Get over it.

Day 12:12 sticks of peppermint gum.

I don't know why anyone would choose peppermint when spearmint exists, but the BF does. What a weirdie.

Day 13:13 kisses (chocolate and...).

If there were ants inside, it wasn't my fault.

I'm just saying, they may or may not have invaded the rest of my room in search of those delicious caramel centers. But I'm talking sugar ants here. They're tiny.

And you probably wouldn't even noticed if you'd eaten one...

Did I mention I love you? :)

And FINALLY.

Day 14:14 Subway subs.

You cannot even comprehend how much this present is fitting.

You might think gift cards are lame, but when you have a boyfriend who eats Subway for lunch literally everyday, it's practically the best gift in the world.

I am not even joking, he can sense the next Subway within a 50-mile radius.

So there you have it.
I spread out the love over fourteen days and he showered me with gifts for one.

I think they're are pros and cons to both methods, but in the end...

only one thing matters.

Death & Taxes.

The only two things in life that are certain, right?

Well, that and my mom's unexplainable desire to force feed me every food I hate the minute I walk through her door.

I don't know how many times I've told the woman I detest squash, lentil soup and chili, but they seem to be her only offering the minute she sees my face.

"What did you make yourself for dinner?", she'll ask.

"Some broccoli cheddar soup."

"WHAT!!? There was perfectly good lentil soup and chili in the fridge and you made that!??.."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this, mom. I hate lentil soup AND chili."

"Why!?? They're delicious!"

"Mom! I don't have to think they're delicious. Not everyone has to like what you like!"

"They would if they loved me..."

And so, I repeat.
Only three things in life are certain: death, taxes and matronly guilt trips.

Thus, I had the inexpressible joy of filing my taxes last night.
First year I've done it entirely on my own.

I mean, I've always been present to show emotional support to my dad when he's helped me these past four years. ('Emotional support' here meaning looking on with a blank stare when he asks me questions that I have absolutely no idea what he's talking about then cowering in fear when he uses his 'stern' voice.)

Either way, it's not an experience I look forward to.

My one consolation is that I usually get a good chunk back, seeing as I've been a full-time student during the fall and winter and therefore only able to work full-time in the summers. This equated to big buck tax returns.

But this year, I was sadly disappointed. Because I earned a full-tuition scholarship my last two semesters, I was sucker-punched in the tax gut.

Why am I being punished for being successful?..

So I guess the old adage is true: life sucks and then you die.
Or more aptly, mothers guilt trip, taxes suck and then you die.

Inspiring, eh?

Television Torment

Watching cable TV is torturous.
But I'm not talking 'The Bachelor' torture.

Because when Lacy-Hacy insists on watching a bunch of skanky bimbos pretend to fall in 'love' with a complete stranger, I am in my very own private hell.

No, no. I'm talking about a different kind of torture.
The kind of torture that takes place when you decide to watch 'Diners, Drive-ins and Dives' at 10 PM and suddenly have the urge to eat something wrapped in bacon and deep-fried.

That show is so deliciously addicting. I can't help but watch it every time it's on. And Guy Fieri? He's my hero. I want his job. So, so much.

If you're unfamiliar with the program, he pretty much travels around the US, visiting odd or unique little eateries that have been submitted as the best in the country and taste-tests all of their delicious food.

He's been to Utah several times: to the Red Iguana, Blue Plate Diner and, my favorite, Ruth's Diner up Immigration Canyon. It's the perfect place to eat after you visit the zoo. I highly recommend it.

As if that weren't torture enough! Every other commercial during the break is for Popeye's chicken & biscuits. Or at least, that's what it feels like.

And there's only ONE in Utah. At Hill Air Force Base, which is only accessible for those associated to military personnel.

This is cruel and inhumane treatment, I tell you.
Sure. Taunt viewers with delicious crispy goodness and then tell them that they can't have even if they wanted to.

Someone should put an end to this villainy.
That, or I could just stop watching cable...

*psh*

Let's not be ridonkulous.

I Love Me a Good Parody.

I'm sure we've all seen the poster that optimistically encourages you to 'keep calm and carry on', whether it be on Pinterest or the cover of a small book inside a gift shop in Scotland's Edinburgh Castle.

I've seen it both places.
(I may or may not be rubbing in my awesome travels.)

Regardless, I was immediately drawn to its clean design and simplistic look. There were several different pocketbooks to choose from, each featuring a unique variation of the phrase.

Naturally, I chose the more realistic route (for me at least) and purchased a small book of quotes documenting the pessimistic side of life.

It was a wise purchase. Now it sits in my living room, practically begging someone to pick it up and feel depressed.

But what you probably haven't noticed was the explosion of similarly worded posters since this clever little beauty was created. Some of my favorites include:

People never cease to amaze me with their cleverness.

That is, until their 'cleverness' becomes so cliche that I begin to hate whatever it was that was so cool in the first place.

Facebook tends to have that effect.

I mean, come on people. At least try and be original.

But I guess if all else fails...

Not So Hidden Talents.

I have very recently received a complaint from one of my favorite (self-proclaimed) blog stalkers for not posting frequently enough. He claims that he can't creepily stalk me if I don't write on a regular basis and that without doing so, all purpose has been driven from his life.

I had no idea I was causing such anguish.
I apologize.

That being said, I'm not exactly sure what you'd like me to be writing about Phil? I mean... unnamed stranger...

I have an amazing post planned for the 15th, complete with many-a-picture, documenting the 14 Days of Valentines I am currently doing for the BF.

But that probably doesn't appeal to you...
Much too gushy.

However, I may have just had an epiphany.
Involving last night and my ward's 'un'-talent show.

It was (how shall I put it...) interesting?.. Special?..
A 'unique' assortment of 'unique' talents from very 'unique' people.

Yah. We'll go with that last one.

Let's just say there were plenty of 'cat-lady' and 'wheel-house' performers.
If you know what I mean.

In any event, it was definitely an experience.
My question is this: At what point does/should a person realize whether or not they are talented enough to perform successfully?

Personally, I learned very early on that, though talented, I have an extreme aversion to flaunting said talents in front of large crowds.
It inevitably leads to disaster.

Yet... not everyone has this little inner voice telling them when they need to give up the dream and stop embarrassing themselves...

Apparently.

Because for a good majority of the show, we were writhing in pain.
Or at least, the BF was. It was a probably a bad idea to sit front and center.

Because no amount of nudging/whispered threats could keep that boy from making the 'expression of death' at whoever the offending performer was.

I think eventually he just went to his happy place in that fantastical brain of his and started thinking about the trap doors and hidden rooms he's going to build in our future house.

I however, remained attentive.
Trying my best to squeeze any ounce of appreciation for these people's 'talents' that my soul could muster. It was exhausting, I tell ya.
Sucked the life right outta me.

And like any good audience member, I clapped for every performer.
More enthusiastically for some then others, but that's allowed.

Maybe that's why I like blogging so much.
I can display my talents quietly without being subjected to the pity smiles and polite applause that I would undoubtedly receive in person.

Yep. I'm smarter. But then again, I am memorializing all of my weirdness for the world to read forever...

I guess some people never do learn.