i signed up for an independent study class last april. it's been over a year and i'm still not finished. thank goodness for extensions. yesterday i buckled down and finished up three lessons and got them all gussied up with a blue cover page and a manilla envelope so they would be presentable (and gradable) for the teach (that's short for teacher). because i live conveniently close to the independent study building, i decided it would be financially beneficial for me to drop off the lessons instead of mailing them. so, this morning, i hopped on my plush scooter seat and drove up to the building (no more bikes for me until i get a better pump.) pulling up to the drop box, i made made a complete stop and swung my right leg over the bench to be reunited with my left leg on the left side of the scooter. using my abnormally large foot, i put the kick stand down and stabilized the still-running machine. i could see it was vibrating enough to cause my tires to rotate ever so slightly. pulling harder on the handle bars, i tired to shift more of the weight on to the kick stand. feeling satisfied, i took off my backpack and pulled out my manilla envelope. silly me! i didn't seal it. with my back turned to the scooter, i licked the self-adhesive strip, pressed it shut, and slipped it into the box. before turning back around, i made sure of the pick-up time: 8 a.m. "Gee, I hope no one rams into the mail box and steals my lessons before tomorrow," i thought to myself. that was the least of my troubles though. as i looked back at my scooter i saw it tumble helplessly to the ground. as it rocked to a halt, the engine sputtered and held on. i ran over to its side and hit the kill switch, putting it out of its misery and cursing under my breath on the way. "Oh FREAK! You've got to be joking me! Dangit, stupid piece of hud..." i'll spare you the rest, the little one's don't need to hear that kind of language. with the amazing strength of ... one woman, i lifted the scooter back up on its wheels and inspected the damage. the left brake handle was curved strangely, more like folded back on itself. there were several more scratches added to the collection, but these ones evened out the other side. the two other times the scooter has fallen it was on the right side. luckily, my mirror didn't break this time. however, there was gas spilled onto the asphalt. "What the --?" i tried to locate the leak, but didn't see any cracks. everything seemed to be in working order-- or at least it was after i wrenched the left handlebar back into place and tested the functionality of the brake. i hesitantly started the engine, feeling like i was about to cut the red wire of a bomb. but what if i was supposed to cut the blue wire!? as i revved the engine, i watched the gas gauge to see if it would suddenly drop. as i took off through the parking lot, i sighed in relief that i hadn't been blown to smithereens by an exploding gas tank. apparently the red wire was correct.
that poor scooter. i have a feeling it will end the same way my first car did--with a broken axle and a long trip to the junk yard. of course, if that were to happen, i'd be on my long trip to the funeral home. shoot.
[Yesterday] With the help of a friend, i changed the oil in my scooter. it was only 400 miles over due and the oil was not completely black, so... not bad, not bad.
[Today] I decided to clean up my bike and take it out for a spin. BIG -- MISHTAKE! as i took off across 9th East, i could tell it was going to be the bike ride from hell. away from the shade of my gaudy 1970s apartment building, the sun had burned through the clouds and was radiating in all it's late-May glory on the black asphalt and bouncing up at me. in other words, it was hot. my tires seemed to be melting to the ground, but glancing down quickly i realized it was because i apparently don't know how to pump up a bike tire correctly. (it doesn't help that i have the cruddiest mini-pump ever made). i glanced up in time to avoid hitting the curb, but i didn't feel inclined to turn around and fix my slightly deflated tires. reasons for this include the following: i was already across 9th East and didn't want to wait to cross back over; people were walking on the side walk and driving by me so they would be watching me as i tried to turn around (whoever said "it's like riding a bike" obviously had never ridden a scooter for 8 months and then tried riding a bike. i was three inches from ramming into another car when i reached for the brakes on the handle bars and realized they didn't exist. i was supposed to some how push backward on my pedals to stop myself while still staying up right. what the heck?!) and the last reason, i am an impatient, lazy person and i didn't want to climb the two flights of stairs to retrieve my pump. so, i pushed along, my sadly out-of-shape legs crying out at me to stop. "STOP THIS! Go sit on your plush scooter seat and have the 4-stroke, 150 cc engine carry you up the hill effortlessly!" Then, in response i shouted back at myself, "No! I refuse to look like any more of fool that i already do! i refuse to turn around. Deal with it!" Obviously, i won the argument.
i made it to the Wilk parking lot and hobbled off to the side of the metal bike racks. my heart was going crazy and i could feel the sweat working its way to the surface, just moments away from soaking into my shirt and causing embarrassment in several forms. i fumbled to lock the chain, push my sunglasses up further on my nose, and avoid looking like i was in an immense amount of discomfort.
Remember those lists you made in Young Women's about what you wanted in a husband? The first list I wrote out was when I was about 13. I don't know where it is now (probably stuck in between pages of one of dozens of journals at home) but I do remember some of things I wrote down. For example, he had to be a good kisser. He also had to make me laugh and like kids. He had to be an RM. He also had to love me for me. In seven and a half years, some "requirements" have changed but many have stayed exactly the same (good kisser is a must.) Here's my new list, just for kicks and because I have no plans for tonight. (Man, if I don't start flirting more and getting asked out, I won't have any need for these lists...)
1) Active member of the Church in every sense, both on Sundays and every other day of the week.
2) Talks with me and sits silently with me if no words are needed.
3) If he doesn't like everything I like, he'll at least appreciate my interests and passions.
4) Hard worker, no matter his profession.
5) Likes kids.
6) Loves me for me, not just for my ridiculous good looks.
7) Is a good kisser.
In return I will:
1) Be an active member of the Church in every sense, both on Sundays and every other day of the week.
2) Talk with him and sit silently if no words are needed.
3) Appreciate his interests and passions (and even listen to him explain them in detail!) even if I don't like them as much as he does.
4) Be a hard worker, whether I'm a mom, career woman, or both.
5) Like kids.
6) Love him for him, not just for his money and ridiculous good looks.
7) Be a good kisser.
8) And, of course, try my hardest to be what he wants me to be (within reason) while not compromising my individuality and sense of humor. (Puns are good, but life isn't worth living without wit.)
Ok married people, what else is there that I am painfully ignorant of?
it's hard to imagine these kids (Noah and Amber) came from...
...this beautiful woman. (Aunt Pattie)
Grandpa Dick and Grandma Deon at Amber and Evan's wedding reception.
They got lost for about three hours driving around Utah County looking for the reception. They arrived just in time to see everyone leave and get some food. I don't think they really minded, or maybe they're good at hiding disappointment like my mom.
ok, ok, i give. these are some pretty awesome books. i finally read the first three and am now anxiously awaiting what comes next: the fourth book being released in august and the movie (oh my gosh, the movie) coming out in december. thanks for convincing me to read them catherine. ;o)
p.s. i realized after my 4 day obsession and completion of the books that the love story, or rather, the relationship, is very shallow. not the whole, "i love you for eternity" thing, but that all they do is talk about vampires and werewolves, watch bella get hurt, and then kiss. isn't there anything else to their relationship? come on. and yet, i love these books. what can i say, i'm a shallow, lustful person. i trip over my own feet too. so now where's my edward?
There and back again. And I've learned some things about myself. First, I can't sleep on planes. Second, I don't like the city as much as I thought I did. And lastly, I really miss forests and overcast skies. But I digress... I think.
The musical ("Wicked") was amazing. It's crazy how easy they make it seem. Their voices are so powerful, plus they mixed a love story in there too. Pretty much I will like any play or musical ten times more if there's a good love story in it.
Me and Deon left Long Island around 4:45 and parked across from Gershwin Theatre at about 6:40. We walked down the street and got some Tai-Chinese food and had enough time to run back to the theatre, go to the rest room and be in our seats by 7:50. I didn't even have time to look at the Play Bill.
After the wicked awesome show, we spent 25 minutes trying to find our way back to the mid-town tunnel and back to Long Island. We didn't get accosted or mugged, just very confused by the one-way streets, thick accents and tall buildings.
It was a fun trip, but I'm glad it was a trip. I can't handle the city. Long Island was beautiful and Deon will have a lot of fun there with her boys. As for me, I'm glad to be back in the bubble that is Utah Valley.
Deon was pretty excited to be driving in the city.
This one's for you, Kelsey. I think it might have been a porn theatre, but oh well.
Outside the Gershwin Theatre on 51st Street, waiting for our car. It's still technically Broadway though.
In our seats at the Gershwin.
In the lobby of the Gershwin. The lady that took this picture had a Canon SLR, yet she couldn't find the button on my camera to take the picture because she was holding it upside down. I'm not surprised that she cut the dragon's head off in this picture. ;o)
I flew into the JFK airport this morning. It was 3:30 a.m. Utah time and 5:30 a.m. New York time. Holding one of two little boys for the entirety of the flight in a seat that reclined a maximum of 3 inches I obviously got no sleep. Neither did Deon, and she deserved it more than I did. She's a mom, therefore is naturally entitled to more (though they rarely seem to get it), plus I was flying on her ticket--wait, that's a confusing pun. I mean, she and Dillan paid for me.
We hit some "bad" turbulence (admittedly, I've only experienced average "unsteady movement of air or water", so who knows how bad it really was). We jolted, sunk, and shook but I wasn't nervous that we would suddenly drop out of the sky. In fact, I had a very different sensation: I felt like I was on the Indiana Jones ride at Disney Land. If I closed my eyes I could see the huge stone rumbling towards me with Harrison Ford dangling above a pit of snakes. Instead of thinking about my impending doom (yes, I'm exaggerating), I ignored all feelings of reality and considered it all a game. This could be a bad thing; I could be so connected with fiction that I have no concept of what real-life survival instincts feel like. But this could be a good thing; I don't take life too seriously and instead find creativity in every day situations.
I guess I'm over analyzing it. I just thought it was funny that I was getting a theme park experience along with my transportation to New York. Both for free. Thanks Deon. ("One day, one day, one day!! Do the one day dance!")