Rocking the High Heels

So about a week and a half ago I was out running on a trail in East Kaysville with my dog, Chuck. We'd been going for about a half mile when I came around a corner to find there was a bunch of loose rock. And lucky me, I twisted my ankle. It didn't really hurt so I didn't think much of it and continued on my run. The next day, I went out again. This time I did about three miles with a quarter mile sprint at the end. No problem. So on Sunday I put on heels to go to church and that just about killed me! My ankle started to swell and eventually it was no longer an ankle . . it was a cankle (for those of you that don't know, a cankle is when your calf just blends into your ankle, making your leg the same diameter all the way down to the top of your foot). But it really didn't hurt to walk on - unless in heels - so I didn't let it stop me. I went to St. George on the following Monday afternoon to go rock climbing in Crawdad Canyon for a couple days. And then I came back and continued running, doing yoga, going to spin classes etc etc. Nothing stopped me until I went to church again the next Sunday and again, the heels made for a very long three hours. So at the pushing of my friends I went to the doctor on Monday and because of where it was tender he was concerned and took xrays. Luckily, nothing is broken and it's just a bad sprain, which is was I suspected. So he gave me this very sexy ankle brace to wear (since I plan on hiking to the summit of Mount Timpanogas on Saturday). But don't think for one second that I allowed the brace to stop me from rocking the heels. See attached photo.

Have you ever wondered . .

about directions on food packages that say things like, "please tear along line"? Really, why so polite? Are they afraid people might be insulted and feel like they're being forced into doing things they don't want to do if they aren't asked nicely? Did they receive one too many comment emails saying that people felt their directions were too forceful and 'direct'? Or maybe they're afraid of renegade patrons running a muck and tearing the packet vertically rather than horizontally and spilling their ramen noodle flavor packet all over the counter instead of in the noodles . . . I've really got no direction with this. I'm just saying that I find it a little strange . .

Awkward Dude

So I had to go to the post office yesterday to send a package. It was virtually empty except for the woman working there, the woman she was helping and myself. I'd been standing there for about a minute holding some bills and a very small package that I was mailing when a man in his late 40's walked in. At first I didn't think anything about him until he got into earshot. He wasn't humming, he wasn't whistling, he wasn't mumbling lyrics under his breath like most of us do. Nope - he was singing! Full out singing a song and it wasn't one of those things where he was listening to his iPod and singing along, he was just giving us all an up close and personal concert. Everyone turned to look at him but then tried desperately to not actually stare. It's funny the details you notice when you try to avoid eye contact with someone else. For instance, were you aware of the fact that the post office is selling Frank Sinatra commemorative stamps? The best part of the awkward dude was the fact that he didn't stop singing when we all looked at him, he finished the last two verses of his song. He actually looked at me like he expected me to sing along - maybe even do a little dance, High School Musical style.

When he finish (with a flourish, I might add) he turned to me, with a sly smile and a very unsubtle up and down, and said, "Looks like you've got your hands full." To which I could only respond with, "It's a tough job." And the whole thing made me wonder, was that really a performance or more of a serenade?

The Road Trip P.S.

After a week on the road with my bro and his family I got back to my car in the long term parking and found that I was missing a hubcap. Guess we didn't get it back on tight and I lost it along the way. It's going to cost me about $50 to replace it but it must be done . . . driving around without a hubcap is like walking around with only one shoe. It's really hard to act cool when you look lopsided.

The Road Trip

My mom is nothing if not supportive. She once said to me, “I’ve never met anyone in my entire life that has the luck that you do. In your world, if something can go wrong, inevitably it will.” Thanks for the encouragement, Mom. And the bad luck continues . . .

I woke last Wednesday morning frazzled and hurried knowing that no matter how prepared I was I would be in a rush all day long. I was on my way to Seattle to help my brother and his family pack up their things and move to Denver where my brother is starting grad school. I was almost done packing the night before but it never seems to be enough. I watered the plants and put my dog out and put all of my luggage into the car and then headed off to the airport with plenty of time to spare. I was only about two miles from my house when something flipped up and hit my undercarriage. I was on the phone with my credit card making a payment for the month before I left town and didn’t do anything more than glance in my rear view mirror to see if I could tell what it was that hit me but I didn’t see anything so I just continued on my way. Less then ten seconds later my front drivers side tire didn’t blow – it just went flat. It was the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. After a few choice four letter words I basically hung up on the credit card lady and pulled off to the side of highway 89. I started pulling all of the luggage out of my trunk and moving my camera equipment and laptop into the front so that it was sitting on the side of the highway. Just as I was pulling the cover off my spare tire a good Samaritan pulled up and offered to help, so I let him. He went to pull out my spare and realized that it too was totally flat. Good times. He offered to take my spare to the gas station up the road and fill it up while I made the phone calls I had to make to the airline and to my brother that was suppose to be picking me up at the airport in Seattle. He was back within a matter of minutes and said that there was nothing that he could do because there was a big hole in my spare (do you now understand what my mom was getting at?).

See, last November I ran over a piece of loose concrete in the drive thru at the back that had been left there from some recent construction. So I put on my spare and just bought all new tires because they were all getting pretty bald anyway. Anyway, turns out that they put on new tires and instead of putting my spare back in my trunk, they tossed it (brand new tire, by the way) and left the old one with the hole in it in my trunk.

So I called my friend Wendy to come pick me up so that I could take my spare back to Goodyear and get things figured out. We tossed it into the back of her mini-SUV and headed back into town. It took them about 15 minutes to figure things out because of course they didn’t want to take responsibility but eventually they fixed my tire and gave me back a new spare. Wendy called her husband to come change the tire so that we wouldn’t have to since he just worked up the road and he met us at my car on the side of the road. In a matter of minutes I was back on the road and headed to the airport. I still missed my flight but was able to hop the next one and still get to Seattle. But of course . . my sister-in-law got stuck in major construction traffic and was over 20 minutes late picking me up so I got to hangout in the Seattle airport with the other unwanted riffraff. One day I’m going go on a trip and not almost die. Sigh.

Blockbuster

I’ve got issues. It’s okay, I’ll admit it. And it’s common knowledge that the first step to recovery is admitting that you’ve got a problem. So, here goes . . . I cannot go into Blockbuster alone. I always feel like an idiot walking around places like that by myself. I know that no one even notices that I’m there but I can’t help feeling like everyone is staring at me and thinking, “Aaww . . . how sad. She has no friends.” I know that it’s no big deal and that no one is going to look at me twice or even pay attention to the fact that I’m there but it’s my own insecurity.

When I go into a grocery store I always wear my iPod so I look distracted and can avoid eye contact with people I don’t know. That way they won’t notice how uncomfortable I feel about buying all of that food for no one but myself. I’ve never eaten at a restaurant alone, I’ve never been to a movie theater on my own. I don’t like going to the mall without company and I’d rather pay delivery charges then go into a restaurant to pick up takeout. Yet, when I’m at home, I hate having people around. It’s nice to occasionally have someone over to watch a movie or for dinner or whatever, but for the most part, I’d rather hang out solitary. My roommate is nice enough and we're friends and we have a good time together but I relish my nights alone when she goes out of town, not because she's gone but just because I can spend some time alone.

I’ve been told time and time again that I need to get over my fear of PDA’s (Public Display of Aloneness) and just accept it and in all honesty, I believe I have. Just not in the way they want me to. See, the problem is, I’m in no hurry to get over my issues. Because with recovery I might one day be comfortable being solo in public, but then I’d still have go into Blockbuster alone.

Irony?

So last week I was driving down probably the second busiest street in Layton after making a stop at the Home Depot for replacement sprinkler heads (of which I fixed and replaced myself, thank you very much. Yes, I'm one of those kind of sexy self-reliant girls). Anyway, on my way down the street I got stuck behind a Chevy Tracker doing at least ten miles under the speed limit. Under normal circumstances I would have just given it a little gas and passed them illegally on the right and cut them off to make my left at the light but I'd just been helped by a very sweet old man at HD and felt that maybe I should spread the love. So instead I rode along behind them rocking out to a Low Book Sales commercial and going less than 3o miles and hour down Main Street and holding out for that left hand turn lane. At the last second the aforementioned Tracker cut into the lane in front of me making me immediately regret my earlier kindness.
However, as soon as I stopped behind them at the light I changed my mind again. I love puzzles and this was one. When it comes to people and their cars I normally expect their decorations to portray something in their personality. You see a guy with an apple sticker and you expect someone artistic and maybe a little geeky. You see a man with huge smoke stack looking things on their truck and you expect to see an egotistical cowboy. You see the blond with the Mardi Gras beads and you expect to see breast implants. You see a bald man in a convertible and you expect . . well, you get the idea. Anyway, when I saw the tortoise of a Tracker, I didn't expect to see the Jeff Gordon Nascar license plate frame! But alas, that is exactly what was there. I began to ponder about the story behind this confused mini-SUV. Was it stolen? Borrowed by a less rednecked friend? Lost? Insecure about it's horsepower? Seriously, what was up with this? I was less than two miles from home but I debated on the possibilities the entire way there. I came up with many, many ideas (that I won't bore you with here) cuz my mind is just quick like that (unlike the Tracker).
When I got home I was still pondering the quiz and told my roommate the story. Apparently, the snail car isn't the only one being powered by confused drivers in Utah. She said that just the week before she'd been on I-15 and passed a sports car doing about 55 in a 65. But the best part of that one isn't that it was a sports car. It was the personalized license plate. I'm not sure if they were saying it because they thought they were fast or or because they knew they were slow but the sentiment works either way. The sporty plate said a very simple, "See Ya." Go figure.