What Happens When You Take Steve to Joann's

I am the kind of person that has a million sewing projects going on at the same time (like my eternal quiet book pages project), but I haven't worked on any of them since school started because my brain turned into this:

I usually do some sort of blanket when my sisters have babies and Steve goes to the store with me to help me pick out fabric (I think he might also come to prevent me from coming back with $100 worth of fabric).  I told him to pick one boy fabric and one girl fabric and this is what he chose:

When I asked about the science fabric he said it was for the nerdy kids.  It is still unclear why he thought baby Godzilla was a girl fabric.  At the cutting station I asked him if the Godzilla fabric was really for me to make a blanket for someone else or if he wanted to keep it for himself.  He wants to keep it.

RIP Rocky Raccoon

I always get upset when I see roadkill, unless it is a snake or armadillo.  Those animals are disgusting and I feel better knowing there are less of them (so run over all you want, especially near my apartment).  I know that raccoons are mischievous and infested with rabies, but they're so cute (in my mind the cuter the animal the more sympathy it gets).  How can you look at that face and not feel bad you just ran over it? (Unless you are Steve and then I already know how you feel.)

Steve took me to the airport last Tuesday early in the morning when it was still dark outside and while changing lanes I heard him hit a huge rock that sounded like an explosion. I may have shouted a little bit, but in my defense it was only because I thought he blew out our tire (on my side of the car, of course).  I told Steve he should have been paying attention to a huge rock and then he said it wasn't a rock, but that was all he said.  I asked him if it was a raccoon and he said, "Yes."  So then I asked, "Were you not going to tell me it was a raccoon until I specifically asked if it was so that you wouldn't have to tell me and you wouldn't technically be lying?"  And this was his response: "Yes, but in my defense it was already dead.  I just hit it again."  What a sicko.  He has escaped my murder charges this time, but he may not be so lucky in the future.

She Was Right

I often take shortcuts or ignore things Megan says because I'm efficient (not because I'm either too lazy or I just want to do things my own way). The most recent case was one night when I was preparing the next days lunch for myself, part of which included cheese, meat, and crackers ("big boy Lunchables", yeah I'm that mature). I decided I was going to just throw the crackers, cheese, and meat all into one baggy (to save the environment, because I care.) Megan told me it was going to make the crackers soggy, a risk that I told her I was willing to accept.

The next day I pulled out my lunch to discover I was not prepared for the nastiness that is soggy Triscuits. I did not expect such a relatively minor loss in crunchiness to result in such a dramatic change in taste. I forced the first one or two crackers down. I thought to myself, "I can just throw these away, I brought other stuff in my lunch, and Megan will never have to know." Then another part of me thought,"No, she will know. I don't know how she will, but she just will. She always does." I spent the next 15 or so minutes choking down every last morsel, determined to live with the fate I had chosen. And then she never ended up asking about it, but I confessed anyway.

Here are some unrelated pictures of our trip to San Antonio yesterday.

Top: view of the Riverwalk. Left Bottom: an old church. Mid Bottom: Us in front of the Alamo.  Right Bottom: the slight step above mall cop: Park Police for the Riverwalk.

Put Your Big Boy Pants On

For those of you who are easily offended, this is not the blog post for you.  To those of you who may have been expecting a humorous or entertaining post, you will be disappointed.  And if you find yourself getting offended while reading, you'll recover so walk it off and suck it up.  My stance on your offense lines up with Rhett Butler's feelings, so don't expect sympathy from me because you will get none.

Generally when I vent, it is to Steve in the privacy of our own home, but I would like to be perfectly clear and honest with those of you who constantly bitch and berate those that were born and raised in Utah like you are somehow better or more "enlightened" than those of us that did.  You're probably wondering what may have influenced this post.  I generally enjoy my ward here in Texas, but this week was not the first time people (teaching the lessons, no less) have felt the need speak with derision towards "Utah" Mormons simply because we grew up differently.  Please note that I did not say easier or harder, as it was neither.  It was simply different.

If I told you that when devil gets to the borders of Utah he stops and says, "Well.  I'm not allowed in there, so I'll just have to turn around" you would call me an idiot.  And I would be if I believed it, but that is more or less what you are implying when you say that it was somehow easier for us that grew up in Utah.  I can assure that it was not and none of my siblings would contest my stance.  We were no more immune to pain and suffering than the rest of you. When you say, "Oh, those Utah Mormons" like we somehow have a monopoly on "that" type of people, you're wrong.  In fact, I have never been to church in another state, or country for that matter, where I didn't see those very Mormons you are so quick to identifying as being "from Utah."

Ignorance is a choice you make REGARDLESS of your geographic home, not because of it.  Nor does growing up outside of Utah make you tolerant.  Tolerance is something that you learn; it is not an gift that God bestowed on you simply because you arbitrarily were not born in Utah.  

I find that one of the most common complaints is about how Utah drivers "are the worst drivers ever." I am uninterested in your anecdotal opinions and it is worth noting that our car insurance went up when we moved to Texas. Truthfully, Steve and I have found that the ones that complain the most often have less than stellar driving skills and records themselves (I'm trying to be generous here, but don't test me. I will name names).  If you were so foolish as to insult me while I am driving you may find yourself suddenly walking home.  I don't make threats I am not fully prepared to keep (Steve can vouch for that). If you are interested in actually finding out how your state as a whole ranks, do some research (or you can keep living in willful ignorance because it's easier than taking back your unfounded accusations).  In fact, for you lazy ones at there, I've already done some for you:
http://www.thedailybeast.com/galleries/2010/09/22/the-worst-drivers-in-america.html#slide1
http://www.insurancenetworking.com/news/Auto-insurance-state-rates-rankings-30054-1.html
http://www-fars.nhtsa.dot.gov/States/StatesCrashesAndAllVictims.aspx
http://www.usnews.com/news/slideshows/the-10-best-states-for-teen-drivers/3
http://www.usnews.com/news/slideshows/the-10-worst-states-for-teen-drivers/11
http://www.allstatenewsroom.com/channels/News-Releases/releases/where-do-american-cities-rank-in-eighth-annual-allstate-america-s-best-drivers-report

And my favorite of all is when people continue to demean Utah and its residents even after they go to school, work, and marry people from there.  It's not like BYU is twisting your arm saying you have to go there.  There are other members of the church at other schools in other states, so it's not like you have zero chance of ever getting married if *blasphemy* you go somewhere else.  If you hate Utah so much, DON'T GO THERE AND STOP WHINING ABOUT IT, because, surprise, surprise, we don't care.  If you don't like it, stay in your own state.  No one is forcing you to be miserable, so stop victimizing yourself and blaming your misery on a state.

Do not be fooled into thinking that I feel any obligation to be nice to you while you berate my home state and talk to me like you are somehow better than me simply because you grew up in a different geographic location.  Stereotyping, while sometimes true, is always incomplete.  Church is NEVER an appropriate place demean and berate others period.  If you really are interested in creating unity within the church, you should start by checking your over-generalizations at the door.

When you are ready to talk about an individual's actions or behavior, then I will listen to what you have to say.  But if you insist on making assumptions without any data of substance to back it up, I will probably rip you a new one.

Something Wicked This Way Comes....

Growing up I was a little bit of a scary movie junkie and now it seems as if all those movies are catching up with me.  I finally got Steve to watch "The Birds" this year and for as cheesy as a movie made in the 60's is, it could really happen.  I have been telling people that the birds are coming to peck our eyes out for years and here's my proof that I only speak the truth (threw that line in there for you, Lys).  We came out from Wal-Mart two weeks ago and the parking lot was COVERED in birds.  Since they crapped on our car in at least ten different places a few months ago and Steve thought this was his moment of vengeance.  Steve decided to drive all over the parking lot honking at them.  It wouldn't be untrue if I told you he was laughing a little maniacally and probably having too much fun doing it.  You know it's a sad day when I have to be the voice of reason telling him that although there were two other cars doing the same thing, we should probably leave before someone reports our license plate number to PETA.

I made Steve drive slowly so that they didn't break through our windshield.

See, THEY'RE HERE (5 points to whoever gets that reference that is not my dad). You should all consider wearing goggles to your car from now on.

Steve TPed the cat to make him a mummy against my wishes, even if he was using our toilet paper from Costco.  I'm sure you can tell by Charlie's eyes that he is not happy.  Steve just feels the need to humble him every now and then.

I have to show you the back end so you can see how committed Steve was to  wrapping up Charlie.  I still think we should have him stuffed when he dies and pull him out every Halloween as part of our decorations.  If for no other reason than to gross my mom out.

Fuzzy Slipper Sign

As Megan and I were at the drive thru at Taco Bell on Saturday we watched and listened as the person in front of us yelled and berated the people through the intercom because they were not putting her order on the screen by the speaker. Watching someone explode like this over 99 cent tacos made me think of something I learned on my psychiatry rotation.

In medicine there are certain signs that go hand in hand with certain diseases. For example, Murphy's sign is positive when the examiner puts pressure under the patients liver and as the patient is inspiring they suddenly stop. It is associate with Cholecystitis, or inflammation of the gallbladder.

When I was on my Psychiatry rotation, I read a lot about a condition called Borderline Personality Disorder. It is characterized by a set of dysfunctional personality traits including unstable personal relationships, black and white thinking, problems with self image, self cutting, mood instability, and impulsiveness. This disorder is fairly common and you may know people with it: they tend to be manipulative, overly dramatic, sometimes overly hostile, and hate you one second love you the next second kind of people. It is exhausting and at times enraging to deal with them.

One of the residents on my psych rotation told me about the "Fuzzy Slipper Sign". She said that if a patient presents to the psych hospital and she is wearing fuzzy slippers, then they have Borderline Personality Disorder. Turned out the first patient I met with this was wearing pink fuzzy slippers and leopard print pants. I guess the Fuzzy slipper sign is true.

Confessions of the Glenn Household

1. To whoever decides to steal my wedding ring one day: HA HA (in Nelson-like manner).  Joke is on you, sucker.  That's how much it's worth.

2. I still watch my dad's movies that are recorded on VHS tapes.  Mostly from the 80's.

3. I have tried to get Steve to sit through episodes of "Charles In Charge."  He didn't even make it through one. (When I typed "Charles" the first time I wrote Charlie-Freudian slip.  That happens to be the name of my cat who thinks he is the boss.  Speaking of boss, does anyone that is not my sibling remember "Who's the Boss?"  What ever happened to Tony Danza?)  I thought he was a real babysitter for longer than I should have.  Random side note, he was also in "Diagnosis Murder," which I watched religiously for years after TGIF was over.

4. Steve wants me to bury him in the cheapest casket they sell at Costco.

5. Steve rickrolls me on a regular basis (out of all the 80's songs to know all the lyrics to that is the one he chooses).  He even does the voice.  But unlike the computer, I can't turn him off.

6. We probably eat our bodies' weight in treats every year.  It is a little sad, but I think I may still choose death over diet.  So maybe Steve will choose my casket instead.

7. When people appear shady to me usually my first thought is "I hope this guy isn't the next Norman Bates." In fact, I regularly use Hitchcock and King movies/stories to judge everything.  I know that birds will probably not peck my eyes out, but I feel the need to prepare myself just in case that clown is here to kill us all (FYI, this is a totally rational phobia).

8. Steve thought I made up the DSM-IV early on in our dating relationship.  Even after I proved that it was a real book I am still proving that I'm not making stuff up on a regular basis 3 years later.  Using APA citation guidelines is nothing after documenting my sources all this time.

9. I thought Steve was a dork in high school.  When I told him that he said, "Well, so were you."  Proof that Steve occasionally sinks to my level.

10. Steve said that he would consider letting me have a pig one day.  I feel the need to document this in case he tries to go back on it.  HERE'S MY PROOF.  I may need to get this blog post notarized. He also said that we could get a chocolate labradoodle (when we have money, so maybe never).

11. I love Twinkies (plain, frozen, roasted, and fried).  Who cares if I'm eating sweetened whipped lard?!  The breakfast of champions.