Chinese Take-out

Last week I had a crazy craving for lettuce wraps so I stopped at a local Chinese restaurant on my way home for some take-out. As I sat at my desk touching up jewelry pictures and chowing down on my cashew chicken, I pondered what words of wisdom my sweet/crunchy/yummy fortune cookie (Which I've always felt would be better if it came dipped in chocolate. Who's with me?) may have for me today.

As you probably know, the last couple of months have been very up in the air and confusing for me. I've been feeling, what you may call, "a little lost" - but I digress.

Don't get me wrong - I really don't take much stock in fortune cookies (like my men, maybe I'd find them more trustworthy if they were smothered in chocolate). Honestly, who is going to believe the drunk Chinese guy in the back room with a typewriter anyway, right? But, I don't think I've ever found a fortune cookie more exciting than this one:

My mind went into hyper drive! What could this mean? Will I find the most amazing job ever? Will I make a decision about going back to school? Will I win the lottery? Will meet some amazing guy (who has already won the lottery)? The possibilities are ENDLESS.

I'm hoping that for once, the old Chinese guy got it right and this cookie wasn't actually intended for the gray-haired lady ahead of me in line - but the fact that the waiter gave me three cookies instead of just one in my Styrofoam container made me debate the randomness of the fortune cookie delivery system.

I sat there daydreaming for a good five to ten minutes - jewelry photos be damned - until I started to think about fortune cookies past and that one fateful (or not so fateful) lunch so long, long ago (imagine wavy time travel lines here as we head back to that restaurant in Provo) . . .

It was a warm day in the summer of 1997 (No, I'm not making up the facts. My memory is just that good.) and I sat across the booth from my roommate and her boy of the week. We'd just picked him up and decided that lunch was a necessity. I had the sweet and sour chicken and McKenzie had the broccoli beef (okay, that part may be made up). Nobody cares what the BF had because he's be out of the picture for a very long time now anyway. The food was satisfying but not overly impressive - which explains why I have no clue as to the name of the restaurant. When the waitress brought the check, we followed the custom and each took the cookie closest to us. I have no recollection what the fortune cookie gods said to the rest of the table, but mine made quite the impression. And to tell you the honest truth, I've still got it taped in an half-finished journal somewhere. I was dating three different guys at the time (none of which knew about any of the others) so I was a little confused when I read out loud:

Which one do I choose? How do I decide? Yeah, and we see how well that one worked out for me. Side note: If I recall correctly (and again, I know I do) this is the lunch where I came up with the "old drunk Chinese guy in the backroom with a typewriter" theory as to how fortune cookies are written.

Now, I know you're dying to do it, so say it with me, "Don't worry. Your problem gets better next month . . in bed." There are so many ways that this could go (I actually had a pretty good list started here) but I've decided that I'll leave the creativity up to you, my loyal cyber-stalkers, rather than getting myself into trouble at the embarrassment of my family and friends (or at least my Mother) who thought I had more tact than that.

Good luck on thinking about anything else for the next 15 minutes. You're welcome.

The Girl in the Social Bubble

This is going to be one of those pity party posts that I just have to get off my chest. But in all honesty, I would prefer it if no one actually reads it so why don't you all just give up and navigate away . . now.

For anyone still reading this - you suck. Of course, I'm a rambler anyway so you'll get bored and leave soon anyway so I'm not really worried.

As most everyone knows, about a month and a half ago my company did a mass layoff (they've now lost more than 40% of their staff through lay offs and quitting in the last 12 weeks) and along with 14 other people, I too lost my job. Now don't get me wrong, I'm actually quite okay with it. I was in a bit of a creativity and career rut working there and I had been semi-job hunting for a few months before that anyway and this has just given me the push that is forcing me to move on. Plus, with my tax return, severance, vacation pay and unemployment I'm good for a while so don't be freaking out thinking that I'm going to be living a van down by the river any time soon (but I could end up in my parents basement which is part of my concern and reason for this post). However, I am selling my house so that if/when I do find that perfect job I won't have anything major tying me down that I still have to take care of.

My second major topic for this post is my ward status. For anyone who is an avid reader of my blog (both of you) you know that I was kicked out of my singles ward due to my age. They announced that this was going to happen back in August and that we had until the end of the year to find somewhere else to go - but the only real option they gave us was the family wards - hello nursery*. At the time there were 64 people in my ward that were being put out to pasture and I know of at least four more that were passing their shelf date before New Years.

And within those two stories lies my issue . . I go to a ward where the closest I get to social interaction are the blank stares of disapproval I get from the rest of the ward when I don't sign up to feed the missionaries and the old man that calls me Sister Larsen - he's the Executive Secretary, for Heaven's sake. Guess I won't actually be getting any callings any time soon. Imagine that conversation:

"I need you to call Sister Hansen to come in and meet with me."
"Who's Sister Hansen?"
"The blonde that got kicked out of her ward."
"I don't know who you're talking about."
I believe it ends with "Who's on first?"

And then I stay home all day, every day. My roommate gets up and goes to work, often before I'm even really considering the idea of consciousness and until she gets home at night, I don't hold a single two-sided conversation. I say two-sided because I often talk to Chuck the Wonder Dog but he's not much of a conversationalist and has some really unusual political views, so I try to avoid that all together.

Melissa (previously mentioned roommate) isn't much of a night owl, and I'm not a morning person so we keep very different hours and she's often passed out and talking in her sleep before I've even had dinner which means that I can often go a full day without ever having had talked to anyone at all. Now, to be totally honest, I'm really okay with this. I'm not as social as I once was (okay, I know I've never really been social but for the sake of the post, just go with me on this) but I think this may be becoming an issue. Don't get me wrong, in the past few weeks I've spend quite a bit of time with my BF's because they've been kind enough to come help me on my house, A LOT! Which I totally appreciate and it's been a lot of fun to have them around. But they're all married and don't really live very close and they have many other priorities besides conversing with me. So since I was kicked out of my ward, and thus all single based activities and laid off from work, I've also lost almost my entire social network and I've developed a bit of a social bubble. And by bubble, I don't mean that I'm unaware for what's going on around me. I mean that I feel like the boy in the plastic bubble (thank you John Travolta for blessing the world with that cinematographic masterpiece) where I'm being kept from the rest of the world like I have leprosy or some other horrible contagious disease.

Seriously, this is more action than I've had in much longer than I'm will to admit. Unfortunately, my plastic bubble doesn't allow for making out, unless I'm allowed to start macking on the bag boy at Smith's since he's often the only boy I see for days at a time.

So I ask you this, what am I supposed to do about it? I've discovered that it's much easier to make friends, if you already have friends. No one wants to hang out with someone that has no one else to hang out with - you seem clingy and needy when they ask, "What did you do on Friday?" and all you can come up with is, "I sat at home by myself crying to my dog because you didn't return my call." And unfortunately, friends is something that I don't really have - at least not any single ones. So aside from internet dating (which I am totally against so don't even think about suggesting it), what on earth am I supposed to do to rectify the problem? However, in reality, it's not even a dating thing. Aside from a few wild and crazy (and starving) college years, I've never been much of a dater either. But I've almost always had a large group of friends that were around whenever I needed them. And since it would appear that both joining the ranks of a television sitcom where all we do is hang out at a coffee shop and marriage aren't really options, I seriously think it may be time to get out of Utah and start over somewhere that they don't ostracize people for being single. Next decision . . where to go. I guess that depends on finding a job - or winning the lottery, which sounds a whole lot more fun and less time consuming.

*If I were actually ever called to the nursery, I may have to convert to Catholicism and become a nun. At least then I'd be married to Jesus instead of being "in that situation".

Kitchen Reconstruction

So for the past week and a half I've been covered in paint EVERY dang day. For the first time in nearly two weeks I wore a different pair of jeans yesterday and I found myself wiping butter down my thigh. Guess wearing paint covered clothes has helped me develop some pretty bad habits that I've got to break. I haven't been in the gym in nearly two weeks but I still feel like I haven't stopped moving.

My hands hurt, and not only the joints and all of the places I hit myself with the hammer (I hit my left thumb three times on ONE nail. Seriously. Issues.) but also my skin. It's dry and cracked and ugly from washing over and over again and all of the unnatural chemicals and I'm in serious need of a manicure because most of my nails have broken or ripped off. But that's so beside the point.

Poor, poor Chuck the Wonder Dog has been afraid to navigate through the kitchen for DAYS and he's only been walked three times in the last week.

The good news is, I'm FINALLY DONE (note obsessive use of caps tonight)! The hinges were an issue. I had to drill new holes because the hinges that were on the cabinets were really weird and out dated. But Melissa helped me and we got the last of them up this morning. So, here you go. Before, during and after. Looks pretty good, huh? ALMOST makes me wish I weren't selling. Almost.

And just so you know, every plant like item in my kitchen is an actual living plant. It's been spring in my house for the past six or eight weeks. Check out that tree?!? It started blossoming (is that what trees do? Blossom? Bud? Sprout?) in October! Weird, I know but who am I to argue with Mother Nature. Oh, and be sure to check out that freakin' awesome thing on my dining room table. It's a bulb my sister gave me for Christmas. It's HUGE and really cool looking.



Oh and I've got to thank Marion, Maria, Melissa and my parents for helping me get this all done. I'd probably still be down there working instead of posting about it right now if it weren't for them.

Potty Dance

I'm sorry, but it's got to be said.
I don't think I've ever seen anything more wrong than this.

Customer Service

So yesterday during the mondo-huge snow storm, my satellite went out. And since I'm currently unemployed and sit at home all day long, I was a little bit bugged so I called Dish Network to see if it was an everywhere thing, or if I was just special.

After talking to the guy and getting it figured out he started harping on the fact that I mentioned that it happened frequently. When I told him it goes out randomly, about once every couple of weeks but I just play with the settings until it comes back, he decided that it was his duty to go above and beyond on the call of customer service. He made me run all sorts of tests and read all different kinds of messages to him (at high noon on my cell phone, mind you) so he could figure out why it frequently went out. It's a satellite, dude. If a bird flies through the signal, it goes out. I've learned to deal with it and so should you.

Keep in mind this took much longer than it should because he felt the need to dumb down everything he said, "Press the menu button, scroll to 7 and press select," and "Highlight yes, and press select." So eventually he has me run some test that says that I'm only getting half the signal I need and has me save some setting. Suddenly, I only have the local channels instead of all of the channels which I'd had just three minutes prior to that and now he's got to schedule a technician to come out to my house.

"He'll be there tomorrow between noon and five. Please let us know 24 hours in advance if you need to reschedule."

"So, like right now?" I questioned him. To which he brilliantly replied, "Huh?"

"You said to let you know 24 hours in advance if I needed to reschedule but you just scheduled him to come out exactly 24 hours from now. So you need to know right now if I need to reschedule the appointment you just set up for tomorrow? Right?"

Honestly, when the conversation ended and I finally hung up, he still didn't get what I was asking him. So I figured I was on my own. I played with the settings, changed a couple of things I didn't really understand and ran the same test again until I got all of my channels back and saved the day. So the moral of the story is - don't bother with customer service. Just run random tests until you get the result you're after on your own. Take the reins and be your own hero, damn it!

PS After all of that, the technician didn't even show up today. But did they didn't bother to call me 24 hours in advance to reschedule? You know the answer so say it with me, "Huh?"

The Singles Ward Part 3: Ward Hopping

Due to lack of other options, I attended the family ward again today. Before I went I planned on ditching out of Relief Society because my home teachers from my old ward called Saturday night and asked if they could come over after church and I had some cleaning to do before I had company. I know, I'm not perfect. But I will never again admit to saying that. I will deny it until the day I die.

So I snuck into the back of the chapel just as they were starting the meeting and I saw the bishopric's heads slam together so fast that I'm surprised more than one of them didn't go home with a concussion. I could almost hear their whispers from the back of the chapel questioning who I was and wondering if anyone knew me. You know, the typical "get your hooks into them fast" kind of attitude. Okay, so that's a little pessimistic and I know that's not what they were thinking but it makes the story more effective and seem more pathetic and thus elicits more sympathy, so just go with it for now.

When the meeting ended I picked up my bag, grabbed my coat from the back of my chair and before I managed to throw it over my arm, there was a member of the bishopric at my side. He just snuck right up on me. My eyes shot to the front of the chaple so I could quickly gauge the distance and calculate how long it should have taken him to make it from there to the overflow area. Seriously, I think this man must have had super powers or something! There's just to logical explaniation as to how he could have gotten there that quickly. Either that or he used his linebacker type physique to mow down little old ladies with their walkers.

So he introduced himself, shook my hand, made some awkward chitchat and said that the bishop wanted to meet me and asked if I'd go with him to the front so he could make the introductions. He had me backed into a corner. So I followed him as he weaved around children and canes. He told the Bishop who I was and where I lived. To which he asked, "Why is this the first time we've met you?" Uumm . . because I was in the Single's Ward. Duh. "So who are your parents?" Kendal and Sharon . . ever heard of them? "Are you related to the Hansen's here?" Somewhere along the line, I'm sure I probably am.

Two uncomfortable conversations down, many many many more to go. While I was being bombarded by odd questions a women walked up whom I assume was the Relief Society president. Honestly, I'm still unsure so we'll just call her that for now. And she started all over with the exact same questions. Only this time she threw in, "Not married?" uumm . . Nope. Hence the Single's Ward. So due to other obligations, the bishopric passed me off to the RSP like a football in a championship game. I was lead into the Gospel Doctorine class and she proceeded to make the introductions as there were only about ten people in there. This is how it went, "Hey everyone, this is Janis. She's decided to start coming to our ward because she was kicked out of her ward because she's too old." How does one respond to that?!?! Being the big mouth that I am, I said the first thing that came to mind, "Thank you for announcing that to everyone." We laughed it off and she left to go to some meeting she had.

I then started the same conversation ALL OVER again with a whole new group of people. Turns out that I'm still not related to the local Hansen family. Imagine that. There was an old man that was sitting next to me in class. I couldn't decided if it was cute and endearing or annoying but he whistled when he talked. I've decided that it was kinda cute. He cracked me up.

So because of the prior engagement with my home teachers I ditched out after Sunday School. I was gathering a bunch of stuff to take out to the trash when I saw some of my neighbors pulling into the parking lot after church so I knew I didn't have long. I loaded up one arm, opened the door and went to grab a pile of empty boxes, when my doorbell rang. It was the RS president.

She said that she felt that she had to come by and give me a hug. Really?? She thought that I had ditched out of class because she had offended me. I laughed it off and assured her that I mock my own situation enough for everyone and it would take a lot more than an awkward comment about my marital status to offend me. "We have a lot of young women in your situation in our ward." What exactly is my situation?? Is it common to be thrown out of your ward like last weeks newspaper?

On a happier note - I went to a "midsingles" pot luck dinner in Kaysville this evening. The place was packed. There were easily 80-100 people in and out of there throughout the night (and they all took their shoes off at the door, hence the picture). I talked to a couple of girls I know from my old ward who invited me to go to a SLC ward with them next week. They seem to really like it so I think I may try it. I'm sure I'll have an update for you next week. Stay tuned.

When I Create My Own World . .

there will be NO allergies. As I stood in the bathroom getting ready for bed this evening I realized that I may have an addiction . . . to breathing. I started with not one, but two different kinds of nasal spray because, according to my allergist Asteline and Flonase actually work better together. I then moved onto the ear drops that look suspiciously like skim milk for the ear infection I have. Again, thanks to the allergies. Sidebar: who gets ear infections in their 30's anyway? After that, it's the eye drops for those dry, bloodshot eyes (you guessed it .. allergies). And finally, it was the Xyzal and the cough syrup so that I could get through the night without coughing my lungs up - that one I blame on a combination of a cold, the inversion and yup, the allergies. So standing there staring at my pathetic arsenal of medication I realized that I put something in every possible place that I could in order to get a handle on these allergies. Seriously? Should breathing really be that complicated? I think not. So, as I said before. When I create my own world there will be no allergies.

Oh, that and there will be tiny Pegasus that fly around like birds (because no one wants horse poop on their windshield) and poodle sized giraffe that will make excellent pets.