Pay for your own dang self. You too, Hillary.

I work in the health insurance industry at a company with a commitment to help customers understand consumer-driven healthcare while better spending and saving their healthcare dollars. As luck would have it, healthcare and health insurance are pretty hot issues in the current presidential campaign. While I don't pretend to be an expert on our political candidates for President or their platforms, I do claim to know a thing or two about health insurance.

On the way to work a few days ago, an analyst on NPR reported trends in voting for different demographics in the recent Iowa primary--apparenty, in the democratic race, younger voters favored Obama, middle-aged voters were split between Obama and Clinton, and elderly voters strongly favored Clinton. Clinton's support is easily explainable by the dollars she throws into ads directed towards the eldery, as well as her policy stance on health insurance.

[Disclaimer: I do not claim to be an Obama supporter. I am, however, a Hillary hater.]

Clinton supporters are attacking Obama for not proposing a federal mandate that every American buy health insurance--Clinton's proposal, on the other hand, prohibits insurers from giving price breaks to the young. What does that mean to us? Well, chances are good that if you are reading this blog, you're probably relatively young. Young people, aged 18-34, generally need minimal amounts of health care ($1,500 a year, on average, according to a Commonwealth Fund study). In most states (with New Jersey [I'm ashamed] and 4 others being the exception), your health insurance premiums are directly tied to the payout a health insurance company expects to make on your behalf. Therefore, if you are young and healthy, you'll have a significantly lower premium than someone older or with health issues.

In other words, Clinton's mandate "would force the young to subsidize the heath tab for the middle-aged generation. This subsidy would come on top of the payroll tax younger people already pay to support today's Medicare recipients. This is contrary to a fundamental American principle. This nation has always believed in making life better for its children, not exploiting them". (For more info: The Truth About Mandatory Health Insurance, Betsy McCaughey, WSJ, Jan 4, 2008).

My response? I'll show YOU exploiting. Call me selfish, but I say... Hillary, pay for your own dang self.

Love me, but don't show me

Last year while I was Christmasing in Arizona, my brother and his kids introduced me to High School Musical. My life, at that moment, changed forever for the better. I am proud to report that my brother's family pulled through again this year, and introduced me to something equally as grand as High School Musical--Sons of Provo (whose starring cast I will refer to as "the boyz").

You might recognize the frontman, Will Swenson, from the Singles Ward... or, if you are more spirichally in tune, you'll remember him as Captain Moroni from the CES seminary videos. Will does not disappoint in his performance in Sons of Provo, which recounts the rise and fall of the biggest LDS Boy Band that never really was.

While I recognize that sitting through the whole movie might be difficult for some, selections from the lyrics of three of my favorite songs written and sung by this boy band simply must be shared with the world via this blog.

Recognizing the unique dating patterns of Provo (the location for this movie), the Boyz sing about the difficulties we face as we try to remain on the straight and narrow during courting, and the unreasonably long length of time during which we're expected to hold strong:

Love Me, But Don't Show Me
These two weeks together have been the sweetest of my life,
My hearts prayer was answered when you agreed to be my wife.
Your love's like a cancer, girl, cuz I got no resistance,
There's only one answer girl: You got to keep your distance!

Love me, but don't show me.
I want our wedding night to be right.
Miss me, but don't kiss me.
If we start to makin' out girl, You won't be wearin' white.

After each date with you, I'll fight with all my might,
To treat you like a gentleman, and shake your hand goodnight.
I'll breathe in your perfume; it's fillin' up my lungs,
But don't you even start to try to use the gift of tongues.

Moving on, the Boyz serenade us with a moving ballad about the sweet spirited girls we all know and love:

Sweet Spirit (a ballad)
She... doesn't turn your head when she walks down the hall.
She... may not be the slender beauty fair and tall.
She... has some acne scars that populate her skin.
But she has beauty emanating deeply from within.

Ooo, sweet spirit, You're so.... [dramatic pause] niiiiiccceeeee.
You may not appear it, But your soul's a pearl of great price.
You're such a good person, Sincere and true.
You'll never hear her cursin'
You're such a special person,
I hope your looks don't worsen,
Or you'll never say... [another dramatic pause] "I dooooooooo."

And, lastly, the Boyz present a song which causes us to reminisce about many-a-testimony that have been shared in our singles wards:

Spirichal As Me
I like to take notes in Sacrament Meeting
But I'm not just some regular guy.
I've memorized the names of every Prophet and Apostle
And I've never told a lie.
When I'm eating lunch in the school cafeteria
I bow my head and pray out loud.
I'm so humble and meek,
And possessing such heavenly qualities makes me proud.

Maybe, someday, You will see
You could be as Spiritchal as me.
And maybe, someday, We'll just see
That you could be as Spiritchal as me.

I relate every topic to my mission, And the baptisms I had.
When I think of how lost Some people are, It honestly makes me sad.
If you follow my lead, let me be your example,
Then maybe someday you'll be, As virtuous, lovely and of good report- As spiritchal as me.

I'm so bless-ed for living like I do
Spreading my light to people just like you.

Realizing that the true magnitude of these lyrics simply cannot be felt without the beautiful musical stylings that are to accompany the words, let me extend this invite: if any of you were as moved by these lyrics as I was, feel free to contact me--my brother was kind enough to give me the blessed DVD as a Christmas present, and I would be more than happy to watch Sons of Provo with you. Again and again.

Christmas "vacation"

My Christmas was quite entertaining and included ice skating, family bonding, gingerbread house making, steak and dim sum eating, racquetball playing, pedicuring, movie watching, etc. Unfortunately, my vacation was also marred by a cold I caught shortly before Christmas, and a virus that invaded my body about 5 days ago before I had gotten over the original cold. I'd like to pay tribute to our capitalistic society which has made the following product inventions possible:

NyQuil. Anyone who has had the opportunity to take this stuff knows of the blissful coma it can create. Unfortunately, I am told that NyQuil can be addicting and affect your sleeping patterns, so I have been trying not take it two days in a row. I am sorry to report that despite my diligence, NyQuil has recently lost its effectiveness--last night after taking 2 Advil Cold & Sinus and then tossing and turning for a few hours, I finally gave in and took another NyQuil. It took me another 2 hours to fall into an altogether too-conscious sleep.

Select Comfort Intralux Pillow - Contour. This pillow is pretty much the awesomest thing ever made for head comfort. And, especially when you're stuffed up to the point of not being able to breathe, the contours in this pillow open up your airways much better than normal pillows.

Halls Cough Drops. This picture (with "Sugar free" prominently displayed across the front of the package) is not illustrative of the non-sugar-free cough drops that I in fact purchased. However, as great as these drops have been on soothing my throat and attempting to manage my cough, I regret that decision to buy sugar-filled cough drops as I have slept with cough drops in my mouth for the past two nights. I suppose a trip to the dentist to drill out cavaties is yet another happy result of the virus that plagues me.

With that said, if anyone can give me an effective suggestion for controlling my cough at night so I can actually get some sleep, I would be forever grateful...

Cookies for sale

So, my niece Natalie is actually quite cute, and well behaved for your average almost-four year old [pictured at age 2 to the right]. Her vocabulary and ability to formulate sentences is also well beyond her years. However, I've realized that hanging out with adult roommates and business people all day has not helped me relate to kids in a kid-friendly manner.

As I was sitting on the couch with my laptop working away, Natalie was eating "cookies", aka sucking on small plastic links. She allegedly doesn't understand my distaste for spit. In any case, Natalie proceeded to tell me about her cookies as she brought her bowl of spit-ridden plastic dangerously close to me. This is the exchange that ensued shortly after Natalie dropped the bowl:

N: "Can you help me get them?"

C: "No. They have your spit all over them."

N: "It's just water, you silly goose. Do you want a cookie right now?"

C: "No thank you."

N: "You get what you get. Don't throw a fit." [as she drops the spit-ridden piece of plastic on me.]

The plastic lodged itself in my pants. I am defeated. However, someone else who preceded me must have also been defeated... what three year old can already say "don't throw a fit?"

Victory is MINE!

Don't you love it how customer service reps who make $6 an hour (and, more often than not, can't speak fluent English) go on power trips, fight with you, and say repeatedly "there's nothing I can do?" when you've been wronged? I've learned very quickly to say "may I please speak to your manager?" Unfortunately, I think the big companies have caught on to my little game, and hired a whole army of individuals who make $6.25 an hour with the title "Manager."

Let me explain. I have a Washington Mutual savings account. I almost closed my account shortly after opening it (as Pattie did) when my initial deposit was held for longer than the federally-mandated maximum. However, due to their 5.00% APY interest at the time on their e-savings account, I convinced myself to be patient. On a different occasion, one of my coworkers complained to both WaMu and me about their holds on his deposits--apparently, when he went into a branch to deposit money into an account, the money was made immediately available. However, when his wife went into the same branch and deposited the same checks (signed by him) into the same account, the money was subject to a 2-3 day hold. After he talked to a number of different WaMu representatives and accused them of sexism, the money was magically unlocked.

Fast forward today: I recently got charged an "excess activity fee" of $10.00 by Washington Mutual. I called the customer service number and asked (nicely) what that was for--apparently, if I make more than 6 transfers out of my savings account, I get charged $10 for "excess activity". Having never been informed of this "$10 fee", I figured a quick conversation would remedy the problem as I'd be given a "one time courtesy credit for being a good customer." That always happens, right?

Unfortunately, the first level customer service rep was of no help, so I asked to speak to her "Manager". Manager Jason (who actually sounded like he wanted to die and hated his job the whole time while he was on the phone with me... shocking) told me that the fee was federally-mandated, and that the bank could not and would not credit my account back. After some worthless discussion with Jason, he suggested that he could have a "Senior Manager" call me back within 24 hours. He hung up on me just as I was asking him to tell me his last name.

Senior Manager Jaime called me back today, and I discussed with her my situation. Following the same script, Senior Manager Jamie also told me that while she appreciated my business, the fee was federally-mandated and could not be credited to my account. I expressed my shock and indicated that in working with many different banks in the past, I had never run into a situation where the bank refused to credit back a fee that was, for all material purposes, undisclosed. She once again faulted her inability to credit my account on the "federal mandate".

In response, I explained that I work in an industry that deals extensively with Federal Banking laws. I asked her to point me to the regulation the WaMu employees seem happy to reference and blame for their inability to give me my $10 back. As she was skimming the member agreement and trying to give me a page that the regulation/policy was on, I indicated that I was not asking for the page of the member agreement that referenced her fee, but the actual regulation upon which she was basing her communication with me (I was careful not to call it an "argument"). Additionally, I asked Senior Manager Jamie if the $10 fee that the federal agency was so intent on charging me was in fact returned to that federal agency. She said that a portion of it was. [So false.]

After a few minutes of searching, Senior Manager Jamie triumphantly said "it's based on Regulation D". I then pulled up Reg D and asked her to explain where the Federal Mandate was within that section. Senior Manager Jamie then asked if she could put me on hold to see if there was anything else they could do for me. A few minutes later after I had skimmed the regulation and someone else's angry blog in response to WaMu's $10 excess activity fee, I was informed that since I had no other charges on my account and since I was a good customer, Senior Manager Jamie's manager, (I assume that would be Senior Senior Manager, right? Or maybe this even rose to the DIRECTOR level!) allowed her to credit my fee back even though, as a policy and because of that federal regulation of course, WaMu never credits back that fee.

As a sidenote: Regulation §204.2(d)(2), which defines a savings account, indicates that "the depositor is permitted or authorized to make no more than six transfers and withdrawals, or a combination of such transfers and withdrawals, per calendar month or statement cycle (or similar period) of at least four weeks, to another account (including a transaction account) of the depositor at the same institution..." If the depositor (me in this case) violates that, the bank must either:

"(a) Prevent withdrawals or transfers of funds from this account that are in excess of the limits established by paragraph (d)(2) of this section, or

(b) Adopt procedures to monitor those transfers on an ex post basis and contact customers who exceed the established limits on more than an occasional basis."

Interesting. Ex post basis totally sounds like charging me $10 at the close of the cycle, right? And... I'm assuming that my one incident counts as a "more than occasional basis" which prompted WaMu to "contact me" by charging me, right? Excellent logic. I'm glad WaMu is so intent on following Reg D. It's a good thing that WaMu's Senior Senior Manager chose to credit the $10 back to me.

Also, for those of you that may not know me so well, you might be asking yourselves, "well, was the $10 really worth it?" For all those that know me well, let us all speak at once... "TOTALLY!"

Professional Eater? Anyone? Anyone?

I have this unconquerable obsession with good food... luckily, my friend Wendy shares in the obsession and can relate to me. A couple of nights ago, I distracted Wendy from studying for finals by listing out the best things to eat in Taiwan. She added some food items that I had forgotten, and we compared our lists for over an hour.

Wendy then realized that she should change majors and professions (who wants to be an engineer anyway?), to which I suggested that she become a food scientist or nutritionist. Not satisfied by these suggestions, Wendy instead expressed her interest in becoming a professional eater. [I thought she was making that up too.]

Apparently, the participants in the International Federation of Competitive Eating, or I.F.O.C.E. as it is better known, are lobbying to have competitive eating be recognized more widely as a sport. The photo on this post is known as the "Black Widow" of competitive eating--her records include:

1 - 11 pounds of cheesecake in 9 minutes in 2004
2 - 8 pounds and 2 ounces of Weinerschnitzel Chili Cheese Fries in 10 minutes in 2006
3 - 9 pound "Big Daddy" cheeseburger in 27 minutes in 2006
4 - 44 Maine lobsters (11.3 pounds of meat)from the shell in 12 minutes in 2005
5 - 552 oysters in 10 minutes in 2005

She's 40 and weighs 105 pounds. How is that biologically possible? And, how do I sign up for that metabolism?

After you, madame.

The guys in our ward hosted a dinner for the girls--complete with sparkling cider, a catered meal, and different individuals stationed to greet us, open our car doors, and escort us to our tables.

When Chantal and I pulled up to the church building and parked in the pre-designated area, we were startled by a guy running towards us in the dark through the parking lot at great speeds. Apparently, his job was to open our car doors for us in a very gentleman-like fashion.

Unfortunately, Chantal didn't respond well to the surprise. Since her car has a manual transmission, she proceeded to pull up her parking break very quickly and jump out of the car before recognizing the friendly face coming to open our door. In her haste, Chantal also proceeded to lock the doors of her car before slamming her door shut. I, on the other hand, recognized CJ, and closed my door while still in the car so that he could do his job of opening my door for me. After I unlocked the door and CJ let me out of the car, I shut the door.

I noticed something strange, however... apparently the keys were left in the ignition and Chantal never turned off her car in her flight. Luckily, my slow reaction to the man running towards us in the dark parking lot was a good thing, since without that, Chantal would have locked her keys in her car with the car still running. I'm pretty sure she was slightly embarassed as she headed towards her car to turn it off and take the keys out of the ignition... with CJ watching us in confusion.

Forward Ho.

Have you ever clicked "reply" to a forward recounting personal information that you knew your friend wasn't supposed to share with you... and instead of replying to the person who forwarded you the email, replied to the sender who was then irate that his/her information was being forwarded on to random people?

I have definitely experienced the bad end of that stick with personal emails; for the first time in recent history, I have been the unintended victim of someone else's lack of attention to detail while clicking "forward" on an email in a work setting.

Working with insurance companies is, in general, a nightmare. The attorneys who choose to work for insurance companies (present company excluded, of course) have this insane OCD attention to detail that is unparalleled in any other profession. Every 't' must be crossed, and every 'i' dotted... and each step of every licensing and application process imagineable must be detailed and accounted for.

Generally, our company will be performing services for one of these insurance companies (we'll call them "ABC Insurance Company" or "ABC" for short). I have had the breathtakingly fascinating opportunity to create a series of attorney opinion letters that explain how we really are qualified and licensed to do what we say we can do--from every perspective imagineable. I have a pretty good working relationship with our "Relationship Manager" (Bob) who handles most of the wheeling and dealing between our company and ABC--we even engage in a bit of sarcastic banter from time to time. What I did not anticipate, however, is that my sarcastic banter would be unintentionally forwarded to the opposing party.

After I wrote a letter detailing what had been explained to ABC innumerable times, I was quite happy when Bob forwarded me a response from ABC stating the following:

"We can consider this issue closed. Thanks for working thru this process to make everyone comfortable with the licensing piece. Talk to you soon."

My happiness turned to panic-slash-frustration-slash-surprise-slash-disbelief, however, when I scrolled down to the bottom of the email and noticed my original text to Bob on the stream that was sent to ABC--

"If you EVER had ANY lingering doubts that we needed to be licensed as a TPA in order to perform the functions outlined in our contract with ABC, let this letter be your guide. I realize the letter is extremely repetitive, but ABC doesn't seem content with anything more efficient and less detailed."

Oops. I guess I won't be getting a job with ABC in the near future... it's a good thing they're only our biggest client.

Trashed

Despite vacillating back and forth over whether or not to blog this experience, I have decided that this story simply must be shared with the world notwithstanding the effect it has had on my pride.

I have always considered myself to be a relatively athletic person. I fought tooth and nail during high school to be able to play field hockey, since my mom mistakenly thought that cross country was the only appropriate sport (in time commitment and intensity) for her children. Until I became out of shape and slow, I was also pretty good at basketball. And, to this day, I still pretend to be an outdoorsey person, though my New Jersey version of outdoorsey-ness does not compare to the hard core granolas that grew up in the Mountain West. In short, I have been under the mistaken impression that I am coordinated.

Then, there was "the incident".

After purchasing a new queen sized bed set, I carefully read the instructions that were attached to the mattress--Serta suggests that I throw away the plastic that protects the mattress and box spring immediately after removing it. Always one to follow instructions, I proceeded to roll up the plastic into a big ball. I went into the garage with the equivalent of a tank top on, since I didn't want to get any dirt from the plastic on my white sweater.

Let me explain the logistics behind throwing the plastic out.

1. Our garage has three cement steps down from the level of the house to the base of the garage.

2. A plastic bannister is built on each side of the cement steps for "safety".

3. Our garbage can sits to the left of the steps and plastic bannister, and opens perpendicular to the steps. Therefore, when we want to dispose of our trash, we open the door to the garage, stand on the steps, lean over the bannister to the left, open the trash can, and throw the garbage out.

4. The garbage can is provided to us by the city--it is one of those huge black cans with a square top. The hinge mechanism on the backside of the can attaches the lid to the trash can's body.

Realizing that the big ball of plastic would take more effort to dispose of than a normal grocery store bag filled of trash, I firmly planted my feet on two different steps. I then proceeded to lift the lid to the trash can with my left hand, and throw the plastic ball in the garbage with my right. Though we had just emptied the trash can a couple days earlier, the plastic ball remained at the top of the garbage can. Thinking that something was artificially causing the plastic not to descend to the bottom of the can, I realized that I'd need to apply force to the plastic ball.

To do this, I leaned over the bannister and continued to hold the lid up with my left hand. I shifted my weight to my right hand to push down on the plastic. Unfortunately, the silky top I was wearing had no friction against the plastic bannister, and my feet were not level or steady. I lost my balance quickly when the plastic gave way faster than expected--my belly proceeded to scrape against the banister [there is still evidence of a "banister burn" all the way across my stomach]. My right hand continued to descend into the garbage can, which was followed shortly thereafter by my entire upper body. Being halfway into the garbage can, with my legs clearly detatched from the ground, my right armpit got lodged against the edge where the garbage can meets the lid [once again, there is still evidence of this "incident" in the form of some serious redness in that unfortunate area]. Lastly, my left hand of course came crashing down, which caused the lid of the garbage can to slam down, and crash onto my lower back which was, by that time, at the top of the garbage can.

Quickly, with my pride hurt, I removed myself from the garbage can, ran into the house, and lied on the ground to wait out the stinging pains. You'd be surprised how much pain this incident caused me on many different levels.

In the poetic words of my friend and confidant, "I got owned by the trash can."

The very hand-crafted labor of love

Wendy, my roommate and avid longboarding fan, has asked me to go longboarding with her many times. Historically, I have denied her without fail for two reasons:

1. Longboarding is for punks, and I ain't no punk; and
2. My only real longboarding experience was a tragedy. I was heading down the Provo Canyon trail at night a couple of years ago in pitch black darkness, by light of my headlamp. On that fateful night, I couldn't figure out how to stop. As it turns out, being able to stop is actually pretty important to the whole longboarding process. I finally gave up and coasted down the canyon by sitting [not standing] on the borrowed board. Unfortunately, that sitting position did not prevent me from accelerating to unnecessary speeds, which of course caused the board to shake, which then led to me tumbling head first into the mountain along the trail. Ow.

Needless to say, I have had solid reasons to avoid longboarding altogether. However, being a good roommate, I finally gave in one night recently and used Wendy's borrowed longboard to coast down Provo Canyon. Wendy (always the great teacher) taught me how to slow down and stop quite effectively, which has opened up a new world of possibilities to me.

Having coasted around the neighborhood and down Provo Canyon a couple more times since that night, I quickly realized that I need to buy my own longboard. Being the technical enthusiast that I am, I proceeded to choose a longboard solely based on how pretty I thought the board was. Thanks to Nick and his connections, I got quite a steal of a deal on this pretty board. Note that this board is quite special--each board is custom made by a Barfoot employee, in a process that is apparently "the very hand-crafted labor of love."

To my dismay, I received the board on Friday and haven't been able to ride it yet because of the mound of snow, rain, and ice that has been dumping all weekend in Provo. I also dare not board down my driveway, considering the fact that it is a solid sheet of ice resulting from our lack of shoveling.

On the upside, look forward to future posts reporting my injuries that are sure to follow. Oh, and while I can change my preferences for activities, I cannot change my principles as quickly. I still think longboarding is for punks, which makes me a punk, I guess. At least that's how I explain the dirty looks the neighbors give my roommates and I when we've gone cruising around the neighborhood on our cool boards.

Transportation woes... solved.

For all of those out there who are suffering from sleepless nights and trying desperately to find the perfect Christmas gift for me, look no further! (Lyndsay--credit to you for this spectacular find.)

I am sure many of you are aware of my amazing sense of direction. On more than one occasion, I have stopped somewhere along a four-way intersection to get gas, and found myself lost as I exited the gas station. As a direct result of that phenomenon, I have also flipped many an illegal u-turn in my day. That aside, I am a firm believer that if I move at a slightly slower rate of speed, chances are good that I'll be able to orient myself better and develop a better sense of direction.

Enter: The Bicycle Forest Treadmill Bike [Deluxe]

I know what you're thinking... a treadmill? PLUS a bike? Yes, my friends. This invention really is THAT good. Amazingly enough, the rugged design of this Bicycle Forest allows me to "bike" through evergreen forests and along country roads. While my commute in the snow, on an interstate highway, and up steep hills that cut around mountains might be slightly more taxing than the evergreen forests contemplated by this bike's design, I am confident that this invention will make the perfect commuting vehicle. Additionally, as the video states, the Bicycle Forest also allows me to be outside in nature, while still "protect[ing] myself from dirt and other contaminents commonly found on the earth's surface". All I can say is... wow.

Now, I know what you MUST be thinking--there is no way that this sort of perfection can be cheap, right? If you order now, you can purchase this for only 2,500 Canadian dollars! Unfortunately, our exchange rate has taken a beating lately (seriously? Canadian dollars are worth more than US dollars? Who should we be speaking to about this?). But, don't let a shabby exchange rate stop you. Just watch the video below--and let that be your guide.

The Bike Forest Video Extraordinaire

Note: if you do end up purchasing this for me, make sure that you "add some bling bling to an already sweet ride with a pair of deuce extreme spinner rims. Fo shizzle." I'm pretty sure that comes on the "Deluxe" model.

Catherine, Comedian or Bum.

I spent some time with Kent and his family over Thanksgiving. We enjoyed a combination of family bonding activities--good food & shopping. After stuffing ourselves silly daily and finding quite a few steal-of-a-deal purchases, we got to the occasionally-discussed topic of what I should do with my life.

Keep in mind that Kent is the oldest child. According to birth order studies, he is the natural leader, take-charge person, and most financially successful sibling. Most Presidents of the US were first borns (including George W. himself)... and while I don't think Kent aspires to any type of political candidacy, he definitely fits the bill of an oldest child.

On the flip side, as the youngest child, I am allegedly the dreamer type who wants to change the world, as well as the most financially irresponsible member of the family. (Apparently, positive net worth isn't necessary to change the world. Good to know.) And, amusingly enough, most famous comedians are youngest children... though I don't consider myself to be a comedian, I am told that I definitely have characteristics of being the youngest child.

Imagine my surprise when, after I expressed disatisfaction with my current social situation, the outcome of that conversation was Kent pointing out that I have no expenses. What follows, of course, is that I should just take a few months off, bum around, live somewhere for free (or cheap), and get into a new and possibly more interesting social situation. After all, I have the rest of my life to work, right? I countered with the argument that I am in my upper 20s and need to concern myself with funding my 401k and doing other adult-like things. I was negated by not only Kent, but also his wife, sister in law and brother in law.

So, now I am in the process of considering saving up some money, taking off a few months, and bumming around. I wonder if that's a bad idea. And, uncharacteristically youngest child of me, I wonder if I can handle that decision that seems to be so irresponsible. I suppose you only get to be young and free once, right?

Gobble gobble

Following up from that bad-attitude-Halloween post, I figure I should probably spread a little holiday cheer. I actually like holidays... despite my family's opposition to celebrating them. Who doesn't like the combination of fat happies, family time, presents, and paid time off work?

This past weekend, in order to fully demonstrate our above-mentioned holiday cheer, we created a small turkey army. The process was intense, and some turkeys had to be incubated in the fridge for a long period of time in order to survive. This problem was compounded by the fact that there was melted chocolate EVERYWHERE. I am sad to report that all turkeys weren't so lucky--a few of the turkeys got into a battle, which resulted in a fatality. (See picture, left)

As for the fate of the remaining 40+ members of the turkey army: half were consumed at our ward Thanksgiving party, and the other half will be consumed by Chantal's family on Thanksgiving. Barbarians.

To punish and enslave...

In theory, cops should be patrolling roads to make the world a safer place. Isn't their duty to protect and to serve or something? Shouldn't cops be targeting dangerous drivers and people who cause accidents? Even better, shouldn't they actually be helping people? Or arresting criminals? Apparently, small town cops don't seem to understand these principles.

I've been pulled over twice in my life, which has led to two tickets both graciously written out for me by Heber cops. They are the bane of my existence.

Two years ago, I was commuting to Park City to meet with my boss--during that commute, I got pulled over for the first time ever coming out of Heber in a speed trap. The entire canyon was 65, except for the 2 mile stretch coming out of Heber. Tricky. I got clocked going 69. Once I started driving with my $100+ ticket in tow, it was less than 100 feet from where I was stopped to the sign that increased the speed out of the speed trap from 55 to 65. So lame.

Fast forward to a couple days ago. A great deal of construction has recently been completed in the canyon that allows me to travel from Provo to Park City. The old two lane highway has turned into a wide, four lane highway with cement poured along the mountain to prevent rockslides and a concrete median in many places. Theoretically, this construction has made the canyon road a much safer place to drive, correct? Unfortunately, as construction was completed, the Grand Powers That Be decided to DECREASE the speed limit in the canyon to fifty. Fifty miles per hour on a not-too-frequently traveled, four lane wide highway road. Ridiculous.

Two days ago I was apparently clocked at 67 mph coming down a large hill in the canyon on my way back to Provo with no other cars in sight. The highest my speedometer read during that descent was 62 mph. Strange. Additionally, may I please make the argument that 62 mph with no other cars around me on a wide, four lane highway is totally reasonable? And, are you kidding me with the 50 mph speed limit?

In any case, I discussed the situation with a couple of my coworkers the next morning. They laughed, told me not to try to go to traffic school, and to just consider the ticket to be a tax/toll/revenue and a necessary part of using the canyon road. For the record, I object. Additionally, I think that Heber cops are total weasels, since their only task is to park in dark and wide-open areas, lobby to lower the speed limit in the canyon, and pull unsuspecting commuters over.

The Transformers bad cop car is pictured above--enlarged, the back of it says "to punish and enslave..." I couldn't have said it better myself.

Weekend delights and fat happies

This past weekend was a delight... and filled with fat happies and Nintendo thumb/shoulder/ wrist/arm™. For all those within the sound of my "voice", check out the following recommendations:

1. Shabu. Park City, Utah. The silly website programmers created an all-flash site, which makes it impossible for me to post the very pretty logo of the restaurant. The freestyle sea bass was amazing, as was the 5 spice white chocolate shabu shabu dessert. That meal in and of itself was almost worth the drive up, even factoring in my dire hatred of driving. AND, even though I then drove home to Provo and made myself another meal at 10pm because the portions were clearly insufficient to satisfy my ravaging appetite, it was totally worth it.

2. Happy Sumo Sushi. Provo, Utah. I have been to Happy Sumo a number of times. I went on temporary strike and cursed their name when they changed their Surf & Turf roll from steak and tempura shrimp to steak and crab [talk about a weasly cost saving mechanism. Hello, you're charging me $12.95 for a tiny roll of sushi... spring for the single fried shrimp]. On Saturday, however, I took a major plunge. I decided to not try to spend a reasonable amount of money and leave the restaurant hungry, but instead to get what I actually wanted. [Heather... I credit you with the assist in making this decision]. The Ahi tuna dinner, which I just happened to discover on Saturday, is delicious... and, dare I say, pretty reasonably priced. The Sunset Roll (on Shiloh's suggestion) was also tasty... and Wendy was kind enough to let me sample her Agedashi tofu appetizer. Little bits of fried tofu swimming in a pool of tempura dipping sauce and sprinkled with green onions? Yes, please!

3. Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory. Provo, Utah. The picture above does NOT do these apples justice. Three words--Apple Pie Apple. Long ago on a cheery winter day, Chantal happened upon these RMCF apples. I thought they were a rip off, until I had one piece... immediately, my taste buds started firing and my mind started dreaming of rainbows and Care Bears. Both Wendy and Heather doubted our suggestion to get the apples for dessert. After they tasted the goodness, however, they strongly regretted purchasing only one and sharing the coveted apple. [That'll teach people to not fully trust my food suggestions].

4. Kneaders. Lindon, Utah. All you can eat freshly-baked cinnamon french toast for $4.95. Oh, also, the accompanying "syrup"? Yeah, it's caramel. How can you go wrong with that?

And, moving onto the Nintendo thumb/shoulder/wrist/arm™ phenomenon:

5. Guitar Hero III. This game for the Nintendo Wii is the awesomest game ever. There were about 10 people at our house on Saturday night watching some real life metal rocker dude conquer the game on Expert level. He's a real life hero. Oh, and if I do say so myself, I have committed myself to conquering the game, and I'm doing pretty well. All those years of violin and piano practice have given me a much-needed edge. Warning: Extended play will cause serious Nintendo shoulder/wrist/arm strain.

6. Super Mario Bros. 3. Not to be outdone by new, fancy technology, I downloaded this game onto my Nintendo Wii. Many hours have been spent in a frog, racoon, and hammer man suit. If anyone can tell me how to get back to the boards where I can kick the goomba out of the green stocking shoe, then travel around in said shoe, I will be eternally greatful. Warning: Intense play has caused really painful Nintendo thumb.

As bad as Brit

I have road rage. It's true. I used to yell at my brother for the same tendencies. Whenever a car around him did something stupid or cut him off, he would yell. I would attempt to point out that my brother's yelling affected only him and me (and other passengers in the car), while not affecting the offending party who cut us off. My pleas always fell on deaf ears.

Over the past few years, however, I have started to mimic my brother's bad habits. I'd like to say that I'm as a patient as the next guy [well, girl]... but when people (1) drive 65 in the fast lane or carpool lane, (2) don't signal, (3) cause you to drop 50 mph for unnecessary breaking during traffic hour [Oh no! Look! Some conjestion! Better jam on the breaks!] and then immediately accelerate to initial speed, (4) cut you off and then drive slowly, (5) never look in their rearview mirror etc., I'll admit--there is usually yelling.

Wendy and I recently drove to Salt Lake City together. On the way there, a number of the aforementoined incidents occurred. As a result, we were already on edge during our drive home.

During that drive, we managed to squeeze by an Expedition which was raised to a possibly illegal height with a driver who couldn't manage to keep all four wheels within the boundaries of one lane. For the record, I believe that anyone who defiles their car by raising it, putting lights underneath it or otherwise "souping it up" should actually be able to drive said car with some degree of skill. I know, I know. I ask for too much.

In any case, after passing that Expedition, we were then cut off by a Corolla, which caused Wendy to jam on her breaks and decrease her speed by 10mph while she was driving in the fast lane. Wendy and I proceeded to say "are you KIDDING me?" to each other in concert, after which Wendy zoomed around the Corolla. I managed to give the Corolla driver the look of death, after which Wendy retook her spot in front of the offending Corolla in the fast lane.

I realized when I looked at the driver and passenger in the Corolla, however, that both individuals were male with short haircuts, and were clad in white shirts, ties, and suits. While I didn't have enough time during the "death glare" to glance down at the guys' pockets and confirm their identity, all evidence (including the sheepish grin of the driver) points to the fact that we had just whizzed by and applied the death glare to two missionaries.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell as a result. Unfortunately, I still don't think I've learned my lesson. I'm assuming Wendy hasn't either--after I told her that missionaries were driving the Corolla, she responded, "well, they have to learn too!" I own the road, don't I?

Strike... Strike... Strike... Strike...

I'm sure you've probably heard that the Writer's Guild is going on strike. Maybe the poor writers who have destroyed House will stay on strike... FOREVER! One can only hope, right? Regardless, one of my buddies who works at a network television station received this well-thought out email. Since this email was probably composed by an attorney, I have provided a translated version of each paragraph for your convenience.

"Please be advised that The Writers Guild of America will be conducting a large strike rally with between 2-4,000 participants outside the Studio on Friday, November 9 from 10:00AM until 12:30 PM. Rallies such as this are considered normal when a union is on strike. We anticipate the WGA will continue hosting rallies such as this at other studio locations in the weeks to come."

Translation: When dealing with riotous masses, realize that said riots are normal, and of course, expect more riots.

"If there are large gatherings of people around Lot or Plaza entrance gates, please remain calm and courteous as you enter the facility. We fully expect entrances to remain open, however, carpooling is highly encouraged due to potential traffic concerns."

Translation: Remain calm and courteous among yelling mobs, and try really hard to get to work even though mobs are filling the streets. Oh, additionally, travel in numbers for "convenience" (not protection, of course).

"If you are blocked from entering the Studio Lot, or if you feel threatened, do not attempt to enter and call Security for assistance."

Translation: If you are caught up in a swell of mobs or protestors, remain in said mob. Use your handy-dandy cell phone to call 555-rent-a-cop to "protect" you from screaming mob after being threatened.

"Please remember that only authorized spokespersons may provide public statements about Company matters, or may initiate contact with members of the media about network matters. If you are contacted by any member of the press, you must immediately refer that individual to [name edited] in Corporate Communications."

Translation: Above all, DO NOT TALK TO ANYONE.

Here is a quote from a great book that relates very well to the above email... "and I saw them gathered together in multitudes; and I saw wars and rumors of wars among them; and in wars and rumors of wars I saw many generations pass away." Eep. Glad I don't live in Southern California.

Luckily, I live in Utah, where the following comic accurately represents my daily routine:

Tagged

I've been tagged. I'm not really sure that I understand the purpose behind this whole "tagging" business. I also realize that responding to said tag cuts against my whole "don't disclose any personal information over the world wide web that isn't merely limited to sarcastic or painful stories" mantra. Nonetheless, I will do my best, Queen Lyndsay.

What is the best thing you cooked last week?
Chicken pesto pasta with artichoke hearts [thanks Shiloh].

If money, time and babysitting were no object, where would you go and who would you go with?
Well, given that I have no children who require babysitting, a reasonably relaxed job, and the delusion that I have a bit of money in my bank account, I'll consider this a realistic question. Answer: Taiwan [with an undetermined travel buddy] or Europe, more specifically, Italy [subject to Chantal and Karen agreement].

When was the last time you cried?
A more difficult question would be--when was the last time I got through a day without crying? Man. I can't remember. So many things make me cry... happiness, sadness, pain, excitement... but to answer the question, I'll say right now. Writing posts really brings out the emotion in me.

What are 5 things you were doing this month 10 years ago?
1. Swearing at ETS for miscalculating my SAT score
2. Shoveling wet, foot-deep snow off my driveway
3. Playing a field hockey tournament game in hail with kitty litter on the ground to "dry out the field"
4. Auditioning for a state orchestra and probably crying after the completion of the audition [see previous question]
5. Attending early morning seminary as the sole student in frigid morning weather

What are 5 things on your to do list today?
1. Attend the BYU basketball game
2. Eat Dippin' Dots and/or cotton candy
3. Play guitar hero and defeat the undefeatable "hard" songs
4. Answer entirely too many legal questions about statutes and contracts
5. Catch up on what I missed on Monday's episode of "The Hills"

What are your 5 favorite snacks?
1. Twix
2. Cheetos or any other processed cheesy snack
3. Yellow fruit snacks (taken from the little pouches of generic branded fruit snacks only)
4. Chips + salsa
5. Edamame

What are 5 bad habits you have?
1. Online shopping
2. Not blinking whilst playing Guitar Hero or other video games
3. Regularly misspelling shoes [shews], music [musak], with [wif], and birthday [birfday]
4. "Dancing" while listening to teeny bopper music
5. Grinding my teeth while I sleep [This habit isn't actually confirmed. But, my jaw has been kind of sore over the past few days, and this may be the culprit.]

What are your 5 favorite foods?
1. Prime rib
2. Costa Azul steak salad
3. Sushi
4. Creme brulee
5. Ice cream
[editorial: I should probably be obese]

Where are 5 places you have been?
I'm assuming we're talking locations here...
1. Taiwan
2. Hong Kong
3. Mexico
4. Canada
5. The EC

What are 5 of your favorite memories?
1. Collapsing from exhaustion after assisting a teammate score in double overtime of a tourney game... then getting piled on by teammates
2. Enjoying the look on my brother's face when he was forced to eat a second mini-sized full squid [complete with eyeballs, ink, innards, etc.] because none of the relatives saw him eat one the first time
3. Watching Chen Qiu Man get baptized on the last day of my mission in Taiwan, a week after her mom and brother
4. Leaving my hot chocolate by my bedside the first night home from my mission, knowing that I would find it the next morning without any dead, floating bugs
5. Zipping through the jungle on the "canopy tour, on crack", relaxing on the beach and/or poolside, sipping pina coladas, and getting a wicked tan in Mexico after taking the Utah bar

[Lyndsay, I hope you don't mind--I adjusted some of the questions. Didn't you learn anything about parallelism from Stoddard?] Now, to share in this joy... let me tag the following: Shiloh, Nicole, Jeff, Paige, and Pattie. To the rest of my friends--start blogging!

I'm totally a fraud.

For all of those [including myself] who were momentarily fooled by my pretty red work bag, let me now make it crystal clear for the record that I, in fact, am an embarassment of a "professional".

I was sitting in my office on Friday when the VP of People called my boss into the CFO's office. I could hear the CEO of the company join on the speakerphone, where I knew he was joining the COO, VP of People, CFO, his assistant, and my boss via phone. I figured there was a serious employment decision going on, and I hoped I wasn't in the process of being fired. Moments later, the assistant came and got me and indicated that the group needed my expertise on a recent deal that we had been trying to get out of. I grabbed my computer and headed into the room.

The CEO then said, "Catherine, we need you to chime in on this--we need your expertise here. Apparently, this [client's name] deal won't die. We've spoken with the executives over there, and they say it allegedly has something to do with your recent swearing in and admission to the bar." I was confused momentarily, but my confusion turned to pure embarassment and horror when our entire executive team started singing "for she's a jolly good fellow..." I felt my face turn BRIGHT red, my hands came to my cheeks, and all I could do was look down and laugh while saying "Wow. I am SO embarassed."

The COO gestured to a present sitting on the desk. After my seranade was over, I took the gift and tried to escape from the room, but the VP told me that I needed to open the present in front of everyone. I opened it--and it was a beautiful Mont Blanc pen with leather case that all of the people in the room had pitched in as a congratulations-for-being-sworn-in present [I'll be honest... I don't quite understand the appeal of a $200+ ball point pen... but the thought behind it was so nice. And hey, now I have a hoity toity pen. Rock on.] The assistant then pointed me to the card, and I said--thanks guys, that is so nice of you! I proceeded to grab my computer and leave the room quickly. As I left, I heard people laughing and saying "she's so funny", as to guise their true "what the crap is she running away from" feelings of confusion. In my defense, until I saw everyone filtering out of the room, shortly after I left, I was still under the impression that they were HAVING the business meeting. Apparently, my little artificially-cut-short-surprise WAS the "meeting". Oops.

The VP then came into my office to congratulate me, and laughingly suggested that next time anything like this happened, they should just line up outside of my office and individually come in, shake my hand, and congratulate me. Have I mentioned how embarassed I am? Oh, if only I could go back in time...

I have no problem arguing a point, presenting a theory, or defending a position. Public applause and compliments, however, apparently merit sincere fear and cause an uncontrollable flight response.

Attorneys. We pretty much rule the world.

I have been sworn in... I am officially an attorney.

Wendy came with me to the "swearing in ceremony" to function as my Asian mom--which means that she kept repeating: "I so ploud of you. You be best lawyer! You be numma one! No numma two! Jus numma one!" How nice.

The ceremony, for those interested, was delightfully entertaining. Since I was blessed to sit admist all of the dark suit jackets, Wendy and I didn't get to sit next to each other. And, it's a good thing we didn't, because that may have caused an immediate character/fitness sanction. Apparently, both of us were individually laughing quite a bit through the whole thing... if we had been sitting next to each other, there is a good chance our laughing would have amplified.

During one part of the ceremony, each new admittee stood up individually when our name was read; after everyone's name was read, we all stood in the middle of the banquet hall at the Salt Palace while the rest of the room applauded us. And, as if that wasn't enough, we were then directed to "follow tradition" by turning outward, and applauding all those who helped us achieve this monumental accomplishment. Seriously? I'm sorry, did we all just conquer the universe or something?
Luckily, I did at least come out of the grand occasion with a good soundbyte. Background: my family has two doctors, a dentist, and an attorney. People always ask me why I didn't choose to go into the medical profession, and I respond by saying that I can't handle blood [see "Don't Try This At Home" post]. However, what everyone fails to realize is that I, in fact, chose the much more noble and accomplished profession. So, to all those doctors out there... please pay attention to the following, as stated by Chief Justice Durham:

"While YOUR predecessors were still treating people with cobwebs and leeches, MY predecessors were writing the Declaration of Independence."

And the truth shall set you free.