I remember last year the winter semester was winding down and I needed to sit somewhere and study briefly before a class. For some reason I was in the Wilkinson Center (not a place in which I often studied because of the noise). This was probably because I wanted to drink some Fresca and munch on some chocolate covered cinnamon bears while I studied (and wasn’t in the mood to sneak some into the library).
That was a pretty consistent study snack. Chocolate covered cinnamon bears are REALLY hard to find outside of Utah, and they’re never really that good unless you’re on BYU campus. I really miss those goodies that are really unique to Utah—chocolate covered cinnamon bears are the tip of the iceberg. Smith’s in Provo has the most scrumptulescent bridge mix (a jumble of chocolate covered goodies, like nuts, gum drops, raisins, etc—you either love it or can’t stand it. It comprised 30% of my diet during undergrad, and yes, I got Harry hooked on it as well). Another thing is that whipped honey—am I the only one who bought it regularly? Amazing. The lengthy list of tooth-rotting things I ingested in college is getting away from the point.
I was sitting there minding my own beeswax when an older gentleman in a wheelchair rolled by, stopped, looked at me and asked, “Do you mind if I eat here with you?” I didn’t recognize him or anything, and he didn’t seem like a professor. I said sure. Then there was that awkward tension of “Well, I’m studying right now, and eating, so do I talk to this guy and be polite or do I just do my thing and read this boring textbook on professional clinical conduct?”
I didn’t have to wonder for long. He started a conversation. He asked me about myself, what I was studying, when I would graduate, was I engaged (which I freshly was!), etc. It turns out he was a former professor just visiting some family in town. He told me that he used to teach Communications classes, and that he and his fellow former Communication teaching buddies still got together to hang out on a regular basis. They called themselves the “Excommunicators.” Ha. Bad Mormon joke? Or hilarious Mormon joke? (Shrug.)
Our conversation didn’t last longer than 15 minutes, because I had to scamper off. I realized when I walked away that that was the only time in my entire BYU career that a male came up to me in the Wilk and asked to sit with me. Yep. Which means I am pretty much the only female to ever have attended BYU who had not been asked out/hit on in the Wilk. If you weren't already aware, many a weekend date and eternal relationship (and everything inbetween) is regularly born in that building.
I once ran into a friend who was entering the Wilk as I was exiting. I asked, “Hey, whatcha doing?” She answered, “I’m going to go get asked out on a date in the Wilk.” I laughed and then realized she was serious, and she assured me she was sure it would take no longer than twenty minutes. This didn’t surprise me; she’s a fox. I responded, “Well, I’m going to class, but will you please text me the minute you get asked out? I really am curious to see how long it takes.” Fifteen minutes later I got a text from her that read, “Got a date for Friday.” Impressive, right?
(Sidenote: I did get asked out by Harry in the very beginnings at a table in the library over a stack of anatomy flashcards. I’m a believer in the 5th floor.)
I don’t know what it was that made me remember these experiences, but they’ve been on my brain. It’s kind of scary to think that I have these quirky, random little stories from college that I might never remember if something doesn’t randomly spark the memory. So I’m putting them here. Because all you people who read this innocuous blog (Mom, Merz, and Elizabeth) are dying to read them, I’m so sure.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Happy Administrative Assistant's Day!
This is the very first gift I have ever been given based solely on my job status. I'll take it.
Behold: the Gardenia Bonsai. I had a coworker get this picture with my non-iPhone.
How did they know I can't get enough of gardenias? And that I wore one in my hair on my wedding day just so I could smell it the whole day and now strongly associate the two?
My guess is ESP, but they're claiming "lucky guess." Whatever.
I will now be googling "Bonsai care" during my free moments. So far I have learned that it is a dwarf variety of Gardenia jasminoides, and is a low growing evergreen plant that bears white fragrant blossoms from late spring through summer. Just in case any of you botany enthusiasts out there happen upon this blog, you'll know that I at least have the scientific name down.
Until next April 21st, fellow clerical workers... ASSIST ON!
Behold: the Gardenia Bonsai. I had a coworker get this picture with my non-iPhone.
How did they know I can't get enough of gardenias? And that I wore one in my hair on my wedding day just so I could smell it the whole day and now strongly associate the two?
My guess is ESP, but they're claiming "lucky guess." Whatever.
I will now be googling "Bonsai care" during my free moments. So far I have learned that it is a dwarf variety of Gardenia jasminoides, and is a low growing evergreen plant that bears white fragrant blossoms from late spring through summer. Just in case any of you botany enthusiasts out there happen upon this blog, you'll know that I at least have the scientific name down.
Until next April 21st, fellow clerical workers... ASSIST ON!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
On Patriotism
I am a firm believer in patriotism. An organization can do more good pursuing a less-beneficial course of action in unity than it would trying to accomplish a "better" goal in the face of division. If you don't agree with me, Abe Lincoln said the same thing. Boo-yah.
Anyway, one result of this belief, for me, is that I try to be supportive of the government, and the current administration, even if I don't entirely agree with all their actions. I think our president, as president, deserves a degree of respect and support that I'm going to give him even if I voted for his opponent. Aside from issues that I am morally opposed to, I'm not typically in favor of obstructionist politics.
So, where is all this leading? Well, we've had some tough times these last few years. Economy has been down, lots of money has been thrown at it to try to "fix" it, my hometown of Las Vegas has fallen into the crapper a bit--suffering some of the worst of the recessionary blues, a big healthcare bill that I'm not in favor of passed, etc., etc.
In spite of all this, I've been pretty supportive of Obama. Despite our political differences, I do like the guy, and do generally believe that he's trying to do what he thinks is best for the country. I didn't vote for him, but I give him that.
But now, he's crossed the line.
I'm officially calling him, at least in a limited sense, bmball. Why, you might ask? [And what is a bmball, you might ask? Well, that's a story for another day.]
Because 40 years ago we put man on the moon, and haven't really been back much.
But did you know that NASA was working to put man BACK on the moon in 2020? And did you know that we were doing that as a stepping stone to putting man on MARS in the 2030s?
I did. And I loved it. And Obama has just pulled the plug on the whole operation.
He's giving NASA more money, not to go back to the moon. That's like when we pay farmers money not to grow crops, or raise pigs (true story, and no offense to anyone fortunate enough to benefit from such non-actions).
Talk about killing dreams!! I am devastated. What child hasn't dreamed about going to the moon, or at least outer-space in general?
Heck, even Ernie and Aaron Neville sung about it on Sesame Street.
So NO THANK YOU, Mr. President Obama. I'm not going to go with the flow on this one, or take it lightly. You just destroyed half of my childhood.
Instead, I'm thinking of seceding from the nation and starting a new business--which apparently there's a big market for now--of not growing pigs on the moon.
Anyway, one result of this belief, for me, is that I try to be supportive of the government, and the current administration, even if I don't entirely agree with all their actions. I think our president, as president, deserves a degree of respect and support that I'm going to give him even if I voted for his opponent. Aside from issues that I am morally opposed to, I'm not typically in favor of obstructionist politics.
So, where is all this leading? Well, we've had some tough times these last few years. Economy has been down, lots of money has been thrown at it to try to "fix" it, my hometown of Las Vegas has fallen into the crapper a bit--suffering some of the worst of the recessionary blues, a big healthcare bill that I'm not in favor of passed, etc., etc.
In spite of all this, I've been pretty supportive of Obama. Despite our political differences, I do like the guy, and do generally believe that he's trying to do what he thinks is best for the country. I didn't vote for him, but I give him that.
But now, he's crossed the line.
I'm officially calling him, at least in a limited sense, bmball. Why, you might ask? [And what is a bmball, you might ask? Well, that's a story for another day.]
Because 40 years ago we put man on the moon, and haven't really been back much.
But did you know that NASA was working to put man BACK on the moon in 2020? And did you know that we were doing that as a stepping stone to putting man on MARS in the 2030s?
I did. And I loved it. And Obama has just pulled the plug on the whole operation.
He's giving NASA more money, not to go back to the moon. That's like when we pay farmers money not to grow crops, or raise pigs (true story, and no offense to anyone fortunate enough to benefit from such non-actions).
Talk about killing dreams!! I am devastated. What child hasn't dreamed about going to the moon, or at least outer-space in general?
Heck, even Ernie and Aaron Neville sung about it on Sesame Street.
So NO THANK YOU, Mr. President Obama. I'm not going to go with the flow on this one, or take it lightly. You just destroyed half of my childhood.
Instead, I'm thinking of seceding from the nation and starting a new business--which apparently there's a big market for now--of not growing pigs on the moon.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Weekend in the city
We had ourselves a wild San Francisco weekend.
On Friday night we attended a work dinner party for a big conference that one of my coworkers was putting on for all the people helping us with our most recent clinical trial. We got to eat at a really neat restaurant in the city. All weekend long I kept wanting to take pictures of what we were doing but it never seemed appropriate-- especially at a company dinner. So, as usual, when I don't get any pictures, I steal from the internet. Here is where we ate:
Then we promptly scampered off to see Citizen Cope a few miles away. We arrived an hour after he was supposed to be on stage, and he hadn't appeared yet, and didn't appear for another 30 minutes, so... good timing for us. We watched him amid a swarming sea of scenesters. We loved it.
He's really good live. Reeeeally good. Easy to watch. Fun to watch. Really gets a crowd going despite the fact that his expression is pretty apathetic.
I also learned a few unexpected things.
1) I have a theory that if Citizen Cope cut all his dreds off, he'd look something like William H. Macy. I don't know if these pictures really do it justice-- am I the only one who sees this?
2) Apparently getting legalized "medical" marijuana has a level of ease tantamount to buying aspirin round these parts of the country. I ran out of fingers to count on when I tried to keep track of all the people lighting up hand-rolled doobies. Without fear of being caught. I also learned that the smell of 15 people within 30 feet of me lighting up simultaneously in an enclosed space results in nausea of the most vicious kind, and I found myself taking every other breath with the fibers of my jacket pressed up to my nose and mouth. Sound stupid? It should, because I felt pretty stupid. Actually I felt kind of like a 4th grade narc. Before you judge me/think that your preconceived notions of my geekiness are justified, just remind yourselves that 90% of the concerts I went to in the past 5 years were in UTAH. A great place for music, with a shocking lack of pot.
We got to sleep in the Japantown part of SF. We found this funky hotel-- it was 0.3 miles from the concert and had a cool vibe. We liked it.
And we decided we would dedicate ourselves wholeheartedly to something we'd failed at before-- eating at Dottie's True Blue Cafe.
Again, didn't seem like a great time to take copious pictures, considering we waited in line for an hour and didn't end up eating breakfast till around noon with a line hungry waiting people still lingering outside. Here's the cafe.
We ate cornmeal blueberry pancakes (they tasted like Winchell's donuts, only pancakes), fresh bacon (not greasy or drippy, more like jerky that had been pleasantly porkified), and french toast stuffed with raspberry preserves and mascarpone cheese. I still feel like I'm digesting a bowling ball. A delicious, sweet, life changing bowling ball.
Then we meandered around town. Not really meandered I guess because we had a destination in mind, but took our time getting there. We went to the Queen of all fabric stores-- Britex.
Four floors of every kind of woven or synthetic fabric/textile imaginable. We wanted to get our feet wet, and then pick projects, and come back for the actual materials. Then I'm going to get reacquainted with our Bernina and play seamstress!
Then we came home, exhausted and ready to be back in our suburbian atmosphere. The city is so much fun but I have to admit I love our quiet little on campus place too. I'm a big home body. Harry said that's how you know your trip went well-- you had a good time, but at the end of it, you're ready to go home.
The End.
On Friday night we attended a work dinner party for a big conference that one of my coworkers was putting on for all the people helping us with our most recent clinical trial. We got to eat at a really neat restaurant in the city. All weekend long I kept wanting to take pictures of what we were doing but it never seemed appropriate-- especially at a company dinner. So, as usual, when I don't get any pictures, I steal from the internet. Here is where we ate:
Then we promptly scampered off to see Citizen Cope a few miles away. We arrived an hour after he was supposed to be on stage, and he hadn't appeared yet, and didn't appear for another 30 minutes, so... good timing for us. We watched him amid a swarming sea of scenesters. We loved it.
He's really good live. Reeeeally good. Easy to watch. Fun to watch. Really gets a crowd going despite the fact that his expression is pretty apathetic.
I also learned a few unexpected things.
1) I have a theory that if Citizen Cope cut all his dreds off, he'd look something like William H. Macy. I don't know if these pictures really do it justice-- am I the only one who sees this?
2) Apparently getting legalized "medical" marijuana has a level of ease tantamount to buying aspirin round these parts of the country. I ran out of fingers to count on when I tried to keep track of all the people lighting up hand-rolled doobies. Without fear of being caught. I also learned that the smell of 15 people within 30 feet of me lighting up simultaneously in an enclosed space results in nausea of the most vicious kind, and I found myself taking every other breath with the fibers of my jacket pressed up to my nose and mouth. Sound stupid? It should, because I felt pretty stupid. Actually I felt kind of like a 4th grade narc. Before you judge me/think that your preconceived notions of my geekiness are justified, just remind yourselves that 90% of the concerts I went to in the past 5 years were in UTAH. A great place for music, with a shocking lack of pot.
We got to sleep in the Japantown part of SF. We found this funky hotel-- it was 0.3 miles from the concert and had a cool vibe. We liked it.
And we decided we would dedicate ourselves wholeheartedly to something we'd failed at before-- eating at Dottie's True Blue Cafe.
Again, didn't seem like a great time to take copious pictures, considering we waited in line for an hour and didn't end up eating breakfast till around noon with a line hungry waiting people still lingering outside. Here's the cafe.
We ate cornmeal blueberry pancakes (they tasted like Winchell's donuts, only pancakes), fresh bacon (not greasy or drippy, more like jerky that had been pleasantly porkified), and french toast stuffed with raspberry preserves and mascarpone cheese. I still feel like I'm digesting a bowling ball. A delicious, sweet, life changing bowling ball.
Then we meandered around town. Not really meandered I guess because we had a destination in mind, but took our time getting there. We went to the Queen of all fabric stores-- Britex.
Four floors of every kind of woven or synthetic fabric/textile imaginable. We wanted to get our feet wet, and then pick projects, and come back for the actual materials. Then I'm going to get reacquainted with our Bernina and play seamstress!
Then we came home, exhausted and ready to be back in our suburbian atmosphere. The city is so much fun but I have to admit I love our quiet little on campus place too. I'm a big home body. Harry said that's how you know your trip went well-- you had a good time, but at the end of it, you're ready to go home.
The End.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Easter baskets, Sarrison style
The Easter Bunny was very good to us this year.
I received my Easter goods in one of these
(Loot pictured below)
Harry received an Easter basket that reflects his true inner self.
A Bad-A Basket for a Bad-A man (we don't believe in actually paying money for the basket part. It's more treats, less basket in this house).
He knows me too well.
I made him hunt for his basket. In this shoe box we live in, it took all of 15 seconds of "Warmer... Colder... Hot! Hot! Very hot!" to track it down.
Apparently the Easter Bunny was a bit dim-witted this year. Both of us wound up with the same album as well as the same Haribo berries.
I received my Easter goods in one of these
(Loot pictured below)
Harry received an Easter basket that reflects his true inner self.
A Bad-A Basket for a Bad-A man (we don't believe in actually paying money for the basket part. It's more treats, less basket in this house).
He knows me too well.
I made him hunt for his basket. In this shoe box we live in, it took all of 15 seconds of "Warmer... Colder... Hot! Hot! Very hot!" to track it down.
Apparently the Easter Bunny was a bit dim-witted this year. Both of us wound up with the same album as well as the same Haribo berries.
Luckily now we have enough treats to last us until next Easter. Clint, can you please fill our subsequent cavities?
Don't worry. We can pay you in John Mayer albums and gummy raspberries.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Bro
What is it about General Conference that makes me so excited for my brother to come home already?
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When the number of missionaries serving in the world was read over the pulpit, I burst out with "One less missionary in two months, boys!"
I have the sweetest, kindest, best brother in the world.
(I'm talking about Eaton brothers here, not Reynolds brothers or guys who married my sisters... they are entirely different things, because only this Eaton brother actually endured the childhood/adolescent pandemonium of his sisters and managed to become a normal person.)
Since he left 22 months ago, his absence has been apparent at every family gathering. But it's all been worth it, and he'll be home before you can say "Where's my freakin' nametag?!"
Only this brother was sweet and thoughtful enough to bring me a Mango Mantra 3x a week with his Dining Plus card without being asked, go boogie boarding with me on Saturday mornings, to jump in the car with me and drive to California with 5 minutes warning for a weekend break from school, to wake up with me at 6 am to make the Thanksgiving Turkey Trot, to teach me how to drive stick when I couldn't get it down from anyone else, and to always be my partner in crime.
And, according to Joe Garlock, he's the white Jay-Z, which is like a HUGE bonus.
And through every discouraging experience on his mission, every week his emails always include some obscure line from Season 2 of "The Office" that sends me into hysterics.
61 days and counting.
.jpg)
When the number of missionaries serving in the world was read over the pulpit, I burst out with "One less missionary in two months, boys!"
I have the sweetest, kindest, best brother in the world.
(I'm talking about Eaton brothers here, not Reynolds brothers or guys who married my sisters... they are entirely different things, because only this Eaton brother actually endured the childhood/adolescent pandemonium of his sisters and managed to become a normal person.)
Since he left 22 months ago, his absence has been apparent at every family gathering. But it's all been worth it, and he'll be home before you can say "Where's my freakin' nametag?!"
Only this brother was sweet and thoughtful enough to bring me a Mango Mantra 3x a week with his Dining Plus card without being asked, go boogie boarding with me on Saturday mornings, to jump in the car with me and drive to California with 5 minutes warning for a weekend break from school, to wake up with me at 6 am to make the Thanksgiving Turkey Trot, to teach me how to drive stick when I couldn't get it down from anyone else, and to always be my partner in crime.
And, according to Joe Garlock, he's the white Jay-Z, which is like a HUGE bonus.
And through every discouraging experience on his mission, every week his emails always include some obscure line from Season 2 of "The Office" that sends me into hysterics.
61 days and counting.
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