Et tu, BYU.

Back during my law school days, the administration brain-washed us--apparently, we would be constructively stealing from the school if we neglected to give just one measly dollar to BYU's Annual Fund. After all, every dollar that we contributed was matched with FIVE dollars by an alumni! As you may have guessed, the law students embraced the administration's urging and turned the whole Annual Fund donation idea into a war among classes. [Law students? Competitive? NEVER!]

Each class, separated into 1Ls, 2Ls, and 3Ls, had a competition to see which class had the most "school spirit" and could have the highest percentage of the class participate. I think the winner was awarded a BYU creamery sheet of brownies or some other random [worthless] prize. By what would be considered my 3L year, I was incredibly busy and rarely at the law school--however, I still received an email from my class representative, asking that I donate at least $1 to the Annual Fund. Waiting 24 hours before responding was clearly too slow for the impatient sender of my email... and my own $1 donation was trumped by some psycho in the class who donated $50 on behalf of 50 members of our class who weren't quick enough with the $1 donation. I thought it would end there.

Some of you might know that I accepted an offer to work at my current company, which was then rescinded during my Christmas vacation after graduation. Luckily, everything turned out better than expected with that situation. However, it gave rise to the following conversation. [AFT = Annual Fund Telemarketer]

C: Hello?

AFT: Hi, Catherine! My name is AFT. I'm calling on behalf of BYU's Annual Fund! I see that you made a donation last year, and that you just graduated from the law school here!

C: Yeah.

AFT: Well, we thank you SO MUCH for your donation last year. And, we're wondering if you would be able to donate this year.

C: Well, I have no money because my job offer has just been rescinded. So, I'm unemployed with a whole bunch of debt that I have no money to pay.

AFT: [stammering] I'm ... sorry to hear that ...

C: Sorry. Goodbye.

Surely, it would end there, right? I was wrong again.

Apparently, "encouraging" students to donate is a ploy to get student information into the Annual Fund database... for yearly calls requesting donations to this Annual Fund. Just this week, in fact, I received another call while I was engrossed in an episode of American Idol.

C: Hello?

AFT: Hi, Catherine! My name is AFT. How are you doing today?

C: Fine.

AFT: I see here that you graduated from BYU! How did you like that?

C: Uh, it was fine?

AFT: I see that you were in the college of Family Home and Social Sciences. That's the school that I'm in too! What program did you graduate from?

C: [realizing the commercial break was quickly coming to an end] Econ.

AFT: That's great! What a great program! What have you been doing since you graduated?

C: Um, I'll tell you what--my wallet just got stolen, so I have no credit cards. If you call me in a week, I WILL GIVE YOU MONEY.

AFT: Well, that's great! Actually, we can send you out a pledge form...

C: That's fine. Ok... thanks...

AFT: ... But we need to get an amount you want to pledge!

C: Okay. Put me down for [dollar amount].

AFT: That's great! Now let's verify your address... and do you have a certain college you want this donation to go to?

C: [thinking... LET ME GET OFF THE PHONE.]

Is it me or could I have filled all that information out myself? In any case, I am now prepared. I wonder if I can program my CB to BLOCK all 801-422-**** numbers. It's definitely worth at least looking into.

What's in YOUR wallet? (and is mine hiding in there too?)

At the risk of detracting attention from the post below (please continue to vote. I still have faith that my choice will win out in the end)... I am sorry to report that I have lost my wallet. Well, actually, I tell people that it was stolen (could be true), which definitely makes me feel less dumb about my current money-less status.

However, let us commiserate for a minute. If you have ever been blessed enough to lose your wallet... and been SMART enough to keep a spare check in there in case of an emergency, you realize the pain and suffering that goes along with trying to identify everything that was in your little money pouch, verify your identity to your card companies, replace your driver's license, and close your checking accounts... with no identification or record of your card numbers.

I present the following questions to you, Mr. Corporation who has my account hostage:

1. How am I supposed to provide my debit card or credit card number to you if I cannot find my wallet? You know that number you're looking for? Well, it's printed on my lost card! Your silly minions got me to sign up for e-statements to save you the $0.41 per month that it costs to send out my paper statement... and when I sign into my account online, you block out my card number. What do you want from me?!?

2. Why, oh why, will you not respond to me jamming "0" or yelling "operator/representative!" into the phone over and over? Since when did you think that "I'm sorry, that is not a valid response. Please choose from the following menu..." was a customer service-oriented response?

3. How am I supposed to present to you two forms of picture-ID when all of the ID in my wallet has been stolen? S-t-o-l-e-n. I-no-have-it.

On the upside, because identity theft is so rampant nowadays, it has become quite easy to add a "fraud alert" to your credit file and stop those theives from opening up a Mervyn's card in your name. Additionally all these phone calls have allowed me to quickly determine which companies have decided to cut costs by sending my call to India.

Mr. Corporation, let me say this: please, oh please, just give me my new piece of plastic so I can join the rest of America and overleverage myself while paying you an exorbitant interest rate. Is that really too much to ask during this recession?

He must decide, he must decide... even though I made him up he must deciiidddeeee

Please, help me.  My roommates and I fundamentally disagree on the answer to the following question--is this Rhino:

a) Running because he wants to look like the unicorn, or

b) Running to get in shape to be with the unicorn.

So far, I have asked three people what they think, and all of them have disagreed with me.  I still maintain faith in my position, however.  Therefore, the question is... what do you think?

Adventures of a Power Ranger

This weekend, went snowmobiling at a place about 30 miles east of Park City, aka "the boonies." The first thing we saw when we pulled up was a beautiful fleet of snowmobiles. Behind that fleet was a giant tent-like structure with an "office" inside (aka a cash register used to precisely determine your ability to pay, then suck all discretionary funds from you), a fake fire in the middle of the room, and a wide array of helmets, goggles, snowsuits, gloves, etc. After donning our sweet helmets, I commented that we all looked like Power Rangers (good guys), while Tom held true to his theory that anyone riding a snowmobile looks like a bad guy. Despite our differences in opinion, we made nice and hopped on the same snowmobile for our adventure.

Before departing on our guided, two hour snowmobiling adventure, I briefly considered using one of the two Port-a-Potties next to the office. However, my queasiness and hatred of all things unsanitary got the best of me, and I determined that I should be safe for the next 2.5 hours or so.

1.5 hours later, we stopped at a scenic outlook. The tour guide mentioned that we could sit inside the "lodge", which was more than slightly suspect and had an interesting 'aroma', or use the "bathrooms" on the side of the lodge. By "bathrooms", the tour guide was referring to the single Port-a-Potty ("chamber") conveniently dumped to the side of the lodge. Grudgingly, I got in line, and tried to pep talk myself into entering the dreadful chamber. When I had only a couple more people in line in front of me, I exited the line, told Tom "I can't handle this emotionally," and excused myself.

Seven minutes later, I found myself returning to the now very-short line, and realizing that using the chamber would be my best alternative given the circumstances. When it was my turn to enter, I realized that the "door" of the chamber was immobilized by piled snow. That meant that you could neither widen the entrance to enter the chamber, nor close it whilst accomplishing the task at hand. [I wonder if a fat person could sue for insufficient and discriminatory facilities.] Additionally, the chamber had three different signs on the outside:

1 - "No parking" within 22 ft or 7 meters, for which I suppose I should be grateful for (given the privacy provided by the open door),

2 - "Clean Portable Restrooms" where portable is certainly true and "clean" is certainly a lie, and

3 - "Hand sanitizer inside", which is also fundamentally untrue.

Let the record show, however, that I am a woman of much strength. I shed all clothing articles that could possibly hang down or inadvertantly become immediately disposable after making contact with the chamber's interior, squeezed my way past the door and two protruding screws whose purpose was to shred any unsuspecting skin or clothing with which they made contact, searched frantically for the promised hand sanitizer, and washed my hands with snow after the deed was complete.

Who would have thought that the most adventurous thing I'd do on a snowmobiling adventure expedition would be to use a Port-a-Potty?

What kind of weed do YOU like?

Actual conversation my friend (F) had with her 5-year old daughter (D):

F: What do you think of those boys?

D: [frankly] Those boys are bad. They smoke weed.

F: [taken aback] What? Do you know what 'weed' is?

D: Mooooommmmmm.

F: Do you?

D: Yes.

F: It's drugs.

D: [shocked] Really? I thought they just picked grass and smoked it.

Alas... the rising generation. Learning so early about weed. Warms your heart a little, doesn't it?

GIVE ME A NAPKIN.

Have you ever been eating at a food court in the mall when you suddenly realized that you desperately needed a napkin?

Have you ever wondered how much more fun life would be if it were a musical?

Wonder no more, my friends, and realize that you are not alone. The following video [click on that video link... watch it... you will NOT be sorry] comes from the rockstars at "improveeverywhere," with the following description:

"For our latest mission, 16 agents staged a spontaneous musical in the food court of a Los Angeles shopping mall. We used wireless microphones to amplify the vocal performances and mix them together with the music through the mall’s PA system. We filmed the mission with hidden cameras, mostly behind two-way mirrors. Apart from our performers, no one in the food court was aware of what was happening."

Genius! If anyone wants to stage one of these "spontaneous" musicals, please advise--I am SO IN.

CB. The saga continues.

I'll be honest with you--I missed my CB when I was in Taiwan. 8 days completely devoid of the cheerful tones that welcome emails and text messages into my life... my old school ringtone not going off for days... actually waiting until I was in front of a computer terminal to respond to emails. I felt like I had practically returned to the dark ages. [Shudder] Despite my apparent removal from my ultra-hip and modern life during that trip, however, I made sure I stopped in my mom's office to respond to work emails at least every 36 hours.

Next month's agenda: Europe. 12 days. 8 days of "vacation" from work.

Eager to remain out of the dark ages, I found myself calling Verizon's Global Department yesterday in an effort to determine my options for my CB Pearl. Brian of Verizon mournfully informed me that since my CB isn't a "global edition phone", I would be unable to get global service. I could consider a rental phone at the rate of $15/day or a global satellite phone ranging from $11.50/day to $75/week, which does not even include charges for phone calls. Believing that my "availability" certainly could not demand that type of premium, I sent the following message to my boss:

"I called Verizon to price out getting email access on my trip to Switzerland/Italy. Verdict: insanely expensive. And, given that I’m backpacking, I’m not going to have a laptop on me. My trip will last 12 days. Are you going to die? Any other suggestions?"

That email spurred the following serious discussion today:

B: "You lazy, why can't you just carry a computer around Europe?"

C: "Uh... buddy? I'm going to be bringing like four shirts for my twelve day trip. I'm so not carrying my laptop."

Boss conceded the point, and asked if I would consider stealing the CFO's new i-phone instead. Always guided by my moral compass, I turned Boss down. We then turned to our head of IT as a last resort, who once again came through.

Good news: I will be borrowing a currently-inactive CB 8830, world edition, and upgrading to a world data plan for my 12 day trip. Wait, what does CB stand for again?

Status Check

comic link

Facebook ("FB") has changed my life.

Initially, I firmly fought joining this social networking website. I pretended to take the moral high-ground by alleging that Facebook was like all the other scandalous and/or silly networking sites on the web (think: MySpace). When it comes down to it, however, perhaps I was truly dissauded by the fear of not having any friends on the site and thereby being dubbed a "Facebook loser". *Gasp*

However, I will admit--the potential to legally stalk individuals while remaining untraceable trumped my moral high-ground, and I joined up.

Now that I have been fully integrated into the FB community, I realize how GREAT Facebook has been in accelerating relationships! Before FB ("BFB"), relationships had a much longer winding up period.

BFB: When my roommates or I found a potential crush ("PC"), we would be forced into complex operating tactics to determine the relationship status of our PC. We would offer up a friendly smile, strike up a "casual" conversation, or... if dire and risky measures were required... break out the "touch the elbow" tactic. Such risky measures, of course, would be followed by the requisite, severe over-analysis regarding the magnitude and content of the response we received from PC. On certain occasions where the response continued to be ambiguous, we would resort to the middle school-esque tactic of cornering one of PC's roommates or friends, swearing that individual to secrecy, and asking if PC was, in fact, single. However, we have taken the leap into a new generation, friends. Introducing: After FB ("AFB").

AFB: FB has introduced something revolutionary--relationship status. Not only can we now specify our own gender (which has become increasingly useful given modern gender-neutral names and the blurred line between what constitutes an acceptable man and woman), but we can also use FB to profess our relationship status to the world! The following categories are available:

1. Single
2. In a Relationship
3. Engaged
4. Married
5. It's Complicated
6. In an Open Relationship

Setting aside for a moment the PCs who list their status as "single" when their current significant others would in fact disagree with that status, and those PCs who leave just enough ambiguity on their profiles (in the form of opposite gender flirtatious wall posts and/or photos), the world is now a safe place for the elbow tactic. Go ahead. Trust that profile. Make a move.

When in France... or in China...

I have been known to be overly dramatic on a prior occassion or two. Friends who know me well will recognize such frequently-used phrases as: "I'm going to poke my eyes out" and, more frequently, "I am going to die" and/or "Please, kill me."

Recognizing the potential effect such phrases could have on my success as a missionary, my oldest brother reminded me before I left for Taiwan that I would need to keep the death references (or requests) to a minimum, for fear that my overly-anxious companion would call the mission president and report my suicidal tendencies.

Mayor Gerard Lalanne of Southern France would scorn my flippant attitude--in response to a full cemetary and an unsuccessful attempt to adjoin private land that would extend the cemetary, Lalanne executed the following threat:

"[a]ll persons not having a plot in the cemetary and wishing to be buried in Sarpourenx are forbidden from dying in the parish... Offenders will be severly punished."

He followed up his decree with stating, "It may be a laughing matter for some, but not for me."

Don't mess with death. Or France. Or Lalanne.

Clearly, this is no laughing matter. But, for those of you who want to go out in a blaze of glory, I hear China's terminating technology is pretty good.

Wanted: Camoflage Sweaters

Last I checked, tigers eat other animals... like pigs. Luckily for these little guys, their ironclad camoflage prevented them from becoming dinner at a zoo in Thailand.

Lesson learned: camoflage works. Just make sure that you find an appropriate sweater for the camoflaged animal when you're trying to introduce a serpent or rodent into your dog pack.

[Also, for all you cynics and myth-busters out there, I'm pretty sure this picture is not photoshopped.]

Finally pulled the trigger...

I am happy to report that I finally made a decision, with the encouragement of a SMOKING deal! Who says recessions are all bad? Now I just have to come up with a name for my new friend. Feel free to cast a vote.

Jaw-dropping (but not-at-all-technically-saavy) features that rock:

1. Push button start with a techie electronic theft deterrent system (the car sounds so cool when turning on),

2. Paddle shifters (not that I know how to use them, but they sure look cool),

3. Heated and cooled seats (though the cold feels a little bit like wind is being blown up your shorts),

4. Touch screen navigation/GPS, complete with full color backup mirror (maybe I'll actually be able to find my way out of a parking lot now),

5. Light that gradually pools from the car doors when you approach the car (to avoid the travesty of, say, stepping in a puddle),

6. Smooth ride that almost makes you question the possibility of quick acceleration, then really good acceleration when you actually push down on the gas.

There really are too many things to report at this time, so I'll keep the list at 6 to avoid too much boredom for my readers. And yes, I'll insert details in small quantities later on down the line :)

I opted for black on black. Admittedly, less practical. But so sleek.

It's gettin' hot in here...

The following is a conversation I had with my boss sometime around lunch a couple of days ago. We pride ourselves on our communication and clarity:

Boss: "Catherine... could you come in here for a second?"

[Catherine, on her way out the door to the water cooler with cup in hand to calm the spicy pasta taste in her mouth, pauses at the door of B's office.]

Catherine: "Sure, what's up?"

B: "Can you review this email on my screen to see if it's offensive?"

C: "Hold on a second... my mouth is on fire. Let me get some water really fast."

[C, upon returning to her office, sees Boss wandering around and looking quizically at her computer.]

C: "Ok, I'm back. My mouth is okay now. Let's look at that email."

B: "Ooohh. You said your MOUTH was on fire. I thought you said your MOUSE was on fire. I came in here wondering how you were going to put out the fire by dunking it in water."

[Note: I use a laptop. I don't even have a mouse].

You call THIS Spring?

On Saturday, Chantal and I blissfully left Provo without our coats (where the then-current temperature was in the 70s) and headed North for her pre-birthday celebration. The weather channel had reported that a storm would be blowing through our area on Saturday, but the 77 degree weather suggested that the meteorologists, once again, were wrong.

By the time we ran some errands in Salt Lake City and made our way past the wait into the Cheesecake Factory in Sandy, two hours had elapsed. Apparently, the storm (in all its fury) had also chosen to arrive by this time, dropping the temperature to 34 degrees, and causing a massive hail/snowstorm outside the protective covering of the factory. Unfortunately, I looked down at my choice of footwear and rued the day I decided to ignore the weather channel.

Running from the Cheesecake Factory to the car, then from the car into the theater to see Jumper (which, by the way, is an entertaining but frustrating half of a movie with tons of loose ends), my shoes proceeded to absorb all the moisture humanly possible within a 5 minute time frame.

If only I had these handy dandy toe umbrellas. Sigh.