Some Kind of Wonderful

I don’t think it’s a very Christian sentiment, but the highlight of my weekend was watching BYU football give UCLA an absolute thrashing. I mean, 59-0 is the best possibility you could even imagine in terms of improving national rank (which was a wash last week, even though we beat Washington fairly. But whatever. I’m not bitter or anything.) If it weren’t for the fact that we needed to redeem ourselves after a lucky win at the Vegas Bowl last year, I would have considered the win almost embarrassingly easy. Somehow, though, scoring three touchdowns in something like 6 minutes made it pretty easy to quickly shelf any sympathy for the Bruins.

In retrospect, it might have been a case of overkill but I already used my Christmas wish this year – all I wanted was a complete shutout. And so help me, it came true. This is my testimonial of Christmas wishes; I’m going to need all of you to make a similar wish for the U of U game come November…

The only, only, ONLY downside of the game was that I arrived without my best friend SPF 80. Which led to these unfortunate photos of an undocumented person being taken on Sunday. Whoever she is, she must feel pretty stupid. And hot. And burn-y. But you know, that’s pure conjecture.

Bonneville Salt Flats

This past weekend, Hilary and some girls she knows, Amy and Denise, and myself decided to make a quick overnight 'camping' trip to the Salt Flats near Wendover, NV. I use the word 'camping' only because I don't know what else you would call a 14-hour walking-and-sleeping-only excursion. Luckily, Denise brought along a 72-hour kit and Hils had hot chocolate to share for the next morning when I got up (not woke up, I didn't sleep) on the brink of freezing to death. Although when I think about it, there is probably nothing more dramatic or romantic than dying in the desert when one can see the bright lights of Wendover on the horizon, welcoming arms inviting to the land of $4.99 buffets and geriatric gambling.

We left just before 10:00 on Friday night and drove for about an hour and half before I thought I had found the road we wanted to ditch the car on and walk for a while. Not surprisingly, the road was not in fact the correct one and instead led us to this sign:

In case you can't tell, the sign informed us that we were in fact on a closed landfill. In the desert. On the Utah-Nevada border where it was sure to be full of toxic waste. It was awesome. Amy jumped out of the car and almost collapsed laughing when she realized that we were truly heading nowhere good.

Also, I don't have the picture but we definitely considered parking at the entrance of the speedway and might have been sleeping ON the track when the speed tests began first thing on Saturday morning. I'll admit that I am a little bit disappointed that things didn't go that way - it would have been interesting to be roused by the sounds of motorcycles driving 209 mph just for fun.

Eventually we found a relatively lonesome spot after walking a couple of miles and set up the camp/tarp. Notice how everyone else was prepared with blankets, hats, gloves? I uh, wasn't.

Hils and I tried to take a decent picture but the cornea-scorching brightness of the camera flash made it impossible.

Honestly, I can't complain about being so cold that I couldn't sleep because I was awake to see the sun rise, something that hasn't happened in some twenty years. It looks like this at 6:00 in the morning:

After the sun was high enough to thaw everyone out, we each went our separate ways to do some *ahem* business and then began the walk back.

Yes, I'm pretty sure my car was in view the entire time. It is no-joke flat out there.I was glad to find that Kenni (with an i) had taken some time to reflect. And collect that many rocks because man, it must have taken some time.

After stopping to talk to the race-coordinators at the raceway, we hit the road at around 9:00 with only one quick stop to take a picture of the WHITE salt flats where we should have been in the first place.

It was a good time. Anyone up for round 2?

Such a Dilemma

Torrey pointed out to me today that it has been more than a month since I last posted.

Which is lame.

But in my defense, I unfailingly find myself in the same predicament every time. Everyone knows that I don't often take the time to complete one task before I start another - I'm a multi-tasker like that. So I have all of these drafts of posts that I started with tentative titles like "But Why a Ukelele?" and "Buddha Must Hate Me" that I NEVER FINISH. By the time I re-visit, I've forgotten where I was going with the story, why it was interesting, what I was talking about, etc. I've decided that maybe I will start mixing and matching these unfinished stories because that will make about as much sense as if I had finished in the first. So let it be written. So let it be done.

A Good Story: That Damn Duck

Once when I was a child my mom and aunt (to the best of my recollection, I was a small child after all) took me on a 'fieldtrip' to Wheeler Farm. When you've spent your growing years in a super-suburban city where it is a rarity to see cattle, sheep, horses and the like it is exciting and somehow enticing to spend time not only near but in a chicken coop. Also to touch a cow on the nose through a fence and practically declare yourself a cowgirl at the experience.

But I digress.

The fact of the matter is that I was spending some quality "down-home country" time and was wandering and in particular, following a goose that stood as tall as my shoulder at the time. Unlike Sara I don't have a particular fear or dislike for birds and actually find them interesting, a truth that would later surface in preschool when I would be scolded for chasing/harassing a duck. Just because I could. Somehow as I was wondering a field or meadow or something I came in contact with a very large goose (maybe it was tiny, I was only a child!) that instead of getting out of my way decided that it would be a jerk and bite me instead. Only it wasn't a normal animal-type bite where the thing takes a quick nip and then back away, it was bite to my earlobe that just never ended; the dumb thing took grasp and wouldn't let go. Imagine me as a 2.5 foot tall kid, hunched over like Estelle from the Golden Girls, and weighed down by a possessed goose hanging on for dear life to my head. And let that be the image that comes to your mind as you stand to give a talk in sacrament meeting, because that's what happens to me every time.

Wherein I Prove Myself a Moron

As I spent last evening alone at my parents house I pursued the one course that would leave me nervous and jumpy for the entire night: I began watching a television show modeled after a horror film. Now, don't get me wrong - the plot was weak, the acting below grade, and it was less than an hour long.

But.

The storyline that included the living dead and pouding violently on locked doors was concerning as I began to hear little creaks and baby-pounds throughout the house. The basement is currently destroyed for remodeling which means that there was no sound insulation between the safe upper floor and the basement level of death, naturally. The only logical conclusion I came to during my hours of being too freaked out to sleep is that a zombie (of the living dead variety) had come into the house because I had probably left every single door unlocked (open? who knows!) and I would soon hear my dog running down the street in fear while I was left to fend for myself using only a pillow sham and an alarm clock of questionable quality.

And this is why I look the way I do every morning.

Rules of Engagement

Today I received my unofficial invitation (no pun intended) to get out of Provo - a wedding invitation from a stranger.

Unlike some post-BYU and still single girls, I really like getting announcements for upcoming weddings. It's interesting to see who looks more grown up, who looks younger than when you last saw them. Learning the names of your friends parents who you have never met, noticing whether the chosen font is unique or some unfortunate form of papyrus or lucida handwriting, whether the future newlyweds were instructed on appropriate hand placement in their photo(s) or if they are soon to be submitted here. Overall - I enjoy checking out annoucements and invitations.

After scanning the names of the bride or groom's parents on the return address label this afternoon with no recognition, I opened the envelope and wasn't able to recognize either names OR faces of the betrothed. What? The name of the girl is really different, there's no way that I would simply forget or get her confused with any run-of-the-mill named girls I have met here in the last 3 years. The guy is unfamiliar - I am certain that we've never met, and boys send out fewer announcements to their platonic friends in the first place .

So there it sits on the bookcase, the possible addition to the already crowded refrigerator, primed for a congratulatory card and gift (but not attendance to the reception, obviously.)
I've officially been bested on this one - Provo has won, I daresay. I've met enough people, been in enough wards, and attended enough parties. I'm tired. And worse, I'm curious.

Maybe Next Year

Big Brown,

I thought that this was your year - I had such high hopes! And your jockey was wearing stars, aren't those supposed to be good luck? This was it you know; you were supposed to be the triple crown winner, the first in thirty years... I guess as a consolation you can just remember that your net worth now is greater than what I'll ever make. Hats off to you, pal.