My Alternate Universe

Proof

2010-04-17T06:46:00.000-07:00

Pictures of Maple Sugaring--okay, let's be honest. Pictures of Quentin.

2010-03-21T15:40:00.000-07:00

Now we're having fun!

Hey dad, bottoms up?

Listen, son, you gotta cool it with the tap water.

Look at Vanessa's juicy mouth! I know I should turn and smile, but I can't...

Heeeey it's been two months.

2010-03-14T19:57:00.000-07:00

HELLO. My life is crazy. In a given week, I work three jobs, work on my Master's degree, go to Rugby practice and Rugby games, socialize, teeter on the edge of insanity, and occasionally find time to sleep a few winksters. So now I'm done excusing myself for not blogging, and will deliver some details about rugby, as I think that's in the highest demand at the moment.
I joined the Boston Women's Rugby Football Club (BWRFC) about two months ago. Winter conditioning was just starting and so it was the natural time for rookies to start. There are probably 5 or 6 new girls on the team that have never played before, myself and my friend-turned-roommate Jamie being one of them. Jamie coaches soccer at Newton North High School, and someone that she works with there suggested that she give BWRFC a try. She didn't want to do it alone, and I'm well-built for rugby, so she asked if I would join with her. We decided that it would be a good way to stay in shape, give us the opportunity to meet a whole new group of people, and push us out of our comfort zones a little bit. So we showed up to the gym at Cambridge Rindge and Latin School, where practice occurs until the weather dries out a little bit, and dived right in.
It was definitely scary for me at first. I haven't run sprints and done big drills like this since high school soccer, and while I've lost 40 pounds since college I'm not in the best shape of my life. I had worked up to running for 30-45 minutes without stopping to walk, but sprints is a whole different matter. The first practice I literally thought that I was going to pass out, and my head got all fuzzy towards 9pm. Luckily I made it through without passing out, and it's just been steady improvements since then. I'm still one of the slowest goobers on the team when we're doing those sprints, but I hold my own. It isn't embarrassing. What is embarrassing, however, is going to the gym and trying to run for distance again, and failing miserably. I need to start doing both more often, and then maybe I'll turn into some albino Flo-Jo.
Onto the action bit. We had our first game yesterday! We went down to Providence to play the Brown University club team, and it was rough. It was POURING rain (Belmont High is closed tomorrow because the school flooded) and barely 40 degrees. The ref decided to cut our game short to only 55 minutes, down from 80, because the conditions were so bad. The visibility was terrible, and it was really tough to hold onto the ball because it got so slippery. Jamie has developed some sort whooping cough, and I have an ear ache. Either way. While the Brown team is supposed to be a little beneath us, they beat us 25 or 30 to 0. Not only are they BIG girls, and the inclement weather severely handicapped both teams, but their game was sloppy, which made our game sloppy. But I'm sure what you care about is how I did. Since it was my first game- and I still don't know all the rules, let alone where the HECK I am supposed to be on the field when I'm not in the scrum- I was truly terrified to play. For some reason our roster wasn't very big for the game, so they told me to be prepared to play, and I went in for the last five minutes of the game. I'm a forward since I can throw some weight around, and they had me flanking. That means I'm on the outside of the scrum pushing the girl on the outside of the front row (my shoulder against her butt cheek) to help the scrum hold our ground and hopefully push the opposing team's scrum backwards. Other than that, I'm not so clear on my duties. So in the three or four scrums that formed while I was on the field, I felt great! But once that scrum broke, I was basically running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Thankfully it was only five minutes, or I might have been tempted to cry on the field. I was glad when it was over, but I was also totally exhilarated and warmed up considerably from running around on the field.
The second the game was over we practically sprinted to my car and stripped most of our wet clothes off, shoved them in the trunk, and blared the heat. It took a good long time to get warm after that. Then, while driving home and fielding all of the excited calls and text messages from people wanting to know how the game went, I went the wrong way on 95 and didn't realize until we saw a sign that said "Welcome to Connecticut." I guess it gave us a little extra time to warm up?
***
Here is my first official rugby portrait. This is Jamie and I in our warm-up shirts, rugby shorts, and rugby socks. I was tempted to cut myself out of it or airbrush Sienna Miller over myself, because I think I look pretty scary, but isn't that what Rugby is all about?

Dear Readers,

2010-01-10T15:11:00.000-08:00

I am so sorry that I haven't been blogging. It came to my attention recently that it's been roughly three weeks since my last post! I can't believe how quickly time flies. Between having two jobs, being in graduate school, and active social life and a grueling gym schedule, I barely fit in time to sleep! I get nervous sometimes when I realize how quickly time flies... this life is so short! But at least life is treating me right, and I'm having a lot of fun. I can only think of a three things I would even improve at all: I wish I were warmer more often (it's cold here!), I wish I made more money (but who doesn't?) and I wish my back didn't hurt. As for the back thing, I fell down my *ICY* front steps on the the way to work about a month ago, and now I have a sharp sharp sharp sharp sharp pain in my lower right back when I bend over or move or sit a certain way. Even crossing my legs can make me go cross-eyed sometimes. I'm suspicious of a pinched nerve, so I'm going to hit the chiropractor when I find time to get things adjusted and see if that fixed the problem.
Here's my favorite picture from Christmas break, which I spent at my parents' house in Los Angeles:

This is me, holding Clare, my 9 year-old cousin. I can't believe that it's been so long since she was born! It feels like yesterday that she was breaking hearts with her chubby legs and curly baby-hair. I pretty much worship her. And here's my OTHER favorite picture from Christmas break:

Now, I recognize that the word "favorite" denotes only one, but I couldn't ignore this picture. This is my dad and my nephew, Quentin. Quentin is my parents' first grandchild, and watching them love him is really fun for all of us. I came down one morning for breakfast and Poppie was nonchalantly holding Quentin like this. It kind of melted my heart on the spot! My dad also loves to sing the Talking Heads song that goes "Little baby, you're just a play thing, I want to make you stay up all night..." to which my sister-in-law good-natured-ly scoffs and takes back baby.
In other news, my good friend Whitney Low got married over break, and is now Mrs. Whitney Erickson. It was a beautiful event, and it was wonderful for me to be able to participate in Whitney's happiness (not to mention shopping for honeymoon unmentionables!!) Congratulations, Whitney!!

Quote of the day and finals

2009-12-14T16:45:00.000-08:00

So I'm blogging. I haven't done it very consistently this semester, because I've been so busy with school. I'm currently knee-deep in finals, which means I should be the busiest I've been semester. Naturally, this means that I'm doing everything I possible can to procrastinate, like: cleaning my room, playing with a purple feather boa, blogging, organizing picture files, eating chips, downloading music, watching funny videos on youtube for the 100000000th time, facebooking every 30 seconds, and calling everyone I can think of "just to say hi." I just completed the world's most hilarious hypothetical research paper ever written, and if my grandparents didn't occasionally peek at my blog I would copy/paste it on here. But I don't want to scare them with my gross humor. Even the title would be too much I think.

Quote of the day:
S: "Miss Palmer, can we go shopping with you?"
Me: "No..."
E: "Please?! But it would be like a mother-daughter date!"
Me: "But I'm not your mother."
E: (Wistfully) "I wish you were."
S: "You'd be a cool mom! My dad used to have a green mohawk!"

No, I haven't grown a mohawk. But apparently I'm equally as cool as her dad's old green mohawk.

Another reason I love my job...

2009-12-04T19:01:00.000-08:00

...I get paid to do this:

Nothing like a little photobooth during the school day to ease the pain of putting someone's hair in a ponytail. The little munchkin I work with wears pigtails EVERY DAY, and is totally inflexible about them. In 5th grade, pigtails aren't so cool anymore. So we're working on introducing ponytails, and right now we can get her to wear them for about 2 hours at a time. But only after she calls me "a mean old witch." No joke.

I like my new job almost as much as I like my new glasses

2009-12-01T19:37:00.000-08:00

So I haven't posted in a while... So sue me! I have a full-time job, I'm working on a Master's degree, and I can't ignore my social life. So, to tide you over, here's two photos of my enjoying my new job and my new glasses:

Please ignore the dust from my scanner.

Quentin's Laughter

2009-11-02T17:36:00.000-08:00

Here's a 30 second video of me making my nephew Quentin laugh. It's the first time that I've heard him laugh, and I loved it. Please ignore how silly I sound. And yes, I do have a life outside of my nephew... it just isn't represented very well on my blog.

I'm unashamedly obsessed.

2009-10-25T14:20:00.001-07:00

Here's Grandpa Carmack holding his Great-Grandson, Quentin. How could you not love them?

Just to share a little wisdom:

2009-10-17T07:38:00.001-07:00

Leftover pizza is infinitely better toasted in the toaster oven than zapped in the microwave. In case you didn't already know.

Tufts Health Plan 10K for Women

2009-10-13T10:16:00.000-07:00

Surprisingly enough, I participated in a 10K yesterday! I use the verb "participated" instead of "ran" because I had a walk a large portion of the course, but I showed up and finished nonetheless. Last week, meaning exactly one week ago from yesterday, I started jogging. I decided that it was time that I started running again: when I was in high school, I used to run 3 or so miles everyday, and not only was it a great workout, but it really improved my mood and emotional well-being. When I was frustrated, I would go for a run and the world would be a lot brighter at the end. I also had great glutes back then, but I won't expound on that for fear someone sees something in their mind that they don't want to see.
So, I made a goal to run 5 times per week. Using google maps (a tool that we didn't have back in my high school days) I plotted out a course in Allston that's roughly 3.75 miles. I go from my apartment, down North Harvard Street past Harvard Stadium to the Charles River, run on the Charles River path to Western Ave, then jot down Western Ave to home. Again, I use the term "run" very loosely... I'm currently on intervals of about 8 minutes of jogging and then 2 minutes of walking. I wish that I could just go out and run the whole thing, but I'm getting there.
One of my big motivations to start my new jogging regime came from the ladies at church. A bunch of my friends are pretty avid runners, completing half and full marathons, doing relay races together, and knocking off various 10Ks and 5Ks. Some friends and I started chatting about getting people together to do the Tufts 10K, and before I knew it there was an email going around with MY NAME ON IT saying look! What a fun idea! Well now that it was sent to 100 people crediting me as the idea-maker, I decided that I had to participate. So with 1 week of jog/walking and 15 miles total under my belt, I showed up at the Boston Common yesterday morning. Feeling like a real idiot for being there at all.
Because I'm so out of shape and under-prepared, I did a really good job of psyching myself out. Luckily, of the 6,020 participants, lots of women walk the entire way. I was far from the last lady over the finish line, as I was envisioning all morning. And the best part of the whole thing, by far, was seeing my friends at the finish line cheering me on. Even though I was so slow, and they finished so far ahead of me, they recognized what an achievement this was for me and duly celebrated for me. I was so excited! It was so fun! I won't enumerate just how slow I went, but according to the official times online I ran this race a minute faster per mile than I've been running at home, and that's only half the distance! Clearly I was motivated and excited, and I'd say I definitely came away with a personal best. This first race was a great one, and I feel even more motivated now to continue with the (fun!) hard work and be ready for the next one.

In December we're running some 5K called the "Jolly Jaunt," and I couldn't be more psyched! By then I'll be able to run the whole distance without stopping to walk, and that's going to be a huge deal for me. This whole thing has taught me a lot, and given me a nice kick in the pants. Good times! I can't wait for the Jolly Jaunt, and I can't wait for the Tufts 10K next year, to see just how much my time improves!

Above is the map of the course for anyone who knows Boston. It was an awesome course with breathtaking views of the city. I love Boston!

Quote of the Day, from a 2nd grader.

2009-10-09T12:42:00.000-07:00

"Whoa! Are you a 5th grader??"
"No..."
"Are you a teacher?"
"Yes..."
"You look like a 5th grader."

Quote of the Day, from a 5th grader.

2009-10-08T19:21:00.000-07:00

"Ms. Palmer! Your name is Lauren?! I just never thought of teachers having names!"

Mini Reunion

2009-10-04T17:11:00.000-07:00

Four of my friends from London Study Abroad got together for conference this weekend. I've been telling everyone for YEARS that Boston is the right place to be... finally they're listening.

Small Moments: Hale Reservation

2009-10-02T21:05:00.000-07:00

“You can do it!” “Go for it!” “Let her have a turn!” These exclamations may seem simply motivational to the average observer, but for me they are evidence of transformation. Usually from the same kids I hear “you’re mentally retahded!” or “he wants to make out with you, because he’s gaaay” while they barrel down the hallways of the elementary school. Oh, fifth grade.
Last week the fifth grade at the elementary school where I work went on a field trip to Hale Reservation, a nature reserve just outside of Boston that functions primarily as a summer camp for youngsters. We spent the day on ropes courses, doing team-building exercises, and playing silly games. Sounds easy, right? Well, as an aide for a 10 year-old girl with autism, I had some apprehension. I was worried about having my little friend scamper up a tree just to freak out 100 feet in the air, and I could just see myself having to climb a tree to retrieve her and being scratched and clawed the whole way down. I had visions of the munchkin being excluded from group activities, not necessarily openly, but definitely passively. But what I saw last Wednesday gave me a new respect for the children at school.

First of all, my darlin’ scampered up those trees and then dove down the zip line like it was nothing. She was much less inhibited than even some of the tough guys in her class. Then what I saw during our next activities was really amazing. The kids had to get from behind a log to a wooden platform several feet away without touching the ground between the two. There was a rope swing that they could use as a tool, and so the plan was to swing, one at a time, from behind the log to the platform. It would have been easy for the kids in the class to send the little lady across first to get her over with, or even to save for the end and hope for instructor aid or for someone to say that they could just call it a day. But they didn’t. They coaxed her across halfway through the class, with cries of “it’s your turn!” “Come across!”
I’m not saying that these kids are angels 100% of the time. They make each other cry practically, and sometimes they practically knock me over in the halls when they’re sprinting to the bus with instruments and basketballs. Perhaps that’s what made the moments we shared so special. To quote Dr. Seuss, my heart grew three sizes that day.

Four Generations of Palmers (missing one link)

2009-09-30T13:19:00.000-07:00

First Interview of this Round... and it's a winner!

2009-09-11T14:47:00.000-07:00

No, they didn't offer me the job on the spot, but they may as well have! I had an interview today with a local public elementary school for a Behavior Therapist position, and I think that it went amazingly well. (So well, in fact, that I promptly put on the Wu-Tang Clan song "C.R.E.A.M." to celebrate. For those who aren't rap aficionados like myself, "C.R.E.A.M." stands for "Cash Rules Everything Around Me." It's a gangsta ode to the dollar bill... several of which I hope to be retrieving soon.) Two women interviewed me as a team, each of whom is in charge of a different position that I am being considered for. Boring play-by-play aside, I knew I slam-dunked when one woman wrote "GREAT!" at the top of my resume. Maybe she should have been sneakier about that little note-to-self, but hey. I'm not complaining. Then, 20 minutes later, one of my old supervisors called to say that they had contacted her for a reference, and she would be giving me a great one. They had back-to-back interviews all day, and they checked my references first! "Dolla dolla bill y'all!"

The New Digs

2009-09-09T20:00:00.000-07:00

One of the extremely scary but convenient things about the internet is google maps. I just google my address, and it totally eliminates the need for me to get off my butt and take a picture of the front of my house for this blog post. Convenient, yes; stalker-scary, of course; eliminates the need to run up and down a flight of stairs, how lovely.

I live in Allston. For those of you not familiar with the area, Allston is like a borough of Boston... it's technically in the city of Boston, but is a big enough neighborhood to have a name of its own on the mail. Serviced by Boston Public Schools, the Boston Police and Fire Departments, etc. Weird thing, maybe kind of like Queens or Manhattan is to New York City. It's also where a lot of Harvard is. I live 4 blocks up the road from the Harvard Stadium, literally on the same street. Pretty sweet digs. It's an incredibly central and convenient location, and teeming with youngsters. I made the move to "Lower Allston," which is just a section of Allston that's a little older and a little quieter than Allston Village. Hallelujiah. I'm loving the new place, and the new roommates. There's only three of us here, as opposed to 4 or 5 at the last place (there were always visitors staying for 3+ weeks at the last place) and there's actually a COMMUNAL LIVING SPACE. My last apartment's closest approximation to a living room was the front steps, but here we actually have couches and a TV. It can get a little crowded in there, though, with our friends crashing the couch all of the time:

One of my roomies has two cats. I don't have much to say about that. Except maybe to point out the piece of paper taped to the couch in the above picture says "Do not sit, Cat pee!"
My bedroom in this apartment is literally half the size of the colossal creature cave at my last place, but it's much nicer and now that I'm actually on a lease and I know I'll be here for a while, I'm unpacking and making myself at home. It starts to feel like I really live here once the art goes on the walls, like this particular wall. I'm kind of proud of the way it turned out... it seems very "me." (And it looks much better in real life!)

As you'll notice, the walls are an intense blue/grey color, kind of like a sea-foam blue. At first I was little put-off by the color, and was going to promptly paint it a more respectable color, but the more I live in it, the more I like it. The particular paint choice contrasts the dark wood of the apartment really nicely, and has actually been working really well with my decorations and textiles as well. Much better than I expected. So I think I'll keep it... which will save a lot of man hours anyway.
I'll be stoked when there is no longer this pile of boxes in the corner:

I'm confident that it will be gone by the end of the week.
I'll just have to take care of it in-between starting graduate school and doing the thick pile of reading that I have to do (classes started today... exciting!) filing for unemployment, and applying for jobs. You see, I broke up with my job this last week over a scheduling snafu. Namely, they told me that I could either work there, or go to school, and not have both. I'm not going to go into the pain and trauma that this caused me... instead I'll mention how insane it is. My classes are twice a week at night, meaning that my schedule would have such a minimal change that no one would hardly even notice. But because of arbitrary rules, like only allowing schedule changes in June (?!) I had to choose a Master's degree that will sky-rocket my career or working at place with AWFUL employee relations and a sketchy administration. No offense, previous place of work, but seriously. At least I'm not mentioning the name of the company in this posting... that would just be in bad taste. So now I'm looking for new work, and feeling optimistic about the future. I'll honestly probably get paid significantly better, probably in a position that fits my qualifications better (aka supervisory) with the strong possibility of an administration that's easier to work with. I applied to seven jobs today! Go team Lauren!

Gripe of the hour:

2009-09-07T15:04:00.000-07:00

My iTunes plays much too much Christmas music for the Christmas-to-normal-music ratio that my library actually maintains. I wouldn't mind this in, say, November and December, but on this Labor Day it's kind of pissing me off. Because I don't happen to be filled with joy, and I don't like being taunted with Christmas joy when it's soooo far away. Bah humbug.

Freak-out of the hour:

2009-09-07T14:57:00.001-07:00

I'M STARTING GRADUATE SCHOOL TOMORROW! The funny thing about it is that I didn't even remember. Tracie* had to remind me. I've spent so much of the day stressing and freaking out about my recent unemployment that I completely forgot that tomorrow I'm starting classes! (Which happens to be the reason for my unemployment, ironically enough.) Thanks, Tracie, for reminding me that I'm starting classes tomorrow! :) I just have one class tomorrow at 5:00pm (real hard to accommodate, thanks ex-job) and then one class at 5:30pm on Wednesday. It'll be very exciting, I'm sure!!

*For those not in the loop, Tracie's my hetero-life-mate in Yuma, AZ who helps me keep track of my brain. Without her, I'd lose it forever.

Dior "Blackout" Mascara

2009-09-05T20:30:00.000-07:00

This is a post for the ladies.
After hearing rave reviews about Dior's Blackout mascara, I thought that I would give it a try. I usually stick to drugstore brands when buying mascara, since you do have to replace it so often. This time, I figured I'd splurge and spend the $18 (I think? Maybe a little more...) since mascara is the most essential tool in my makeup bag. Little did I know that I would get the short end of the stick and lose my job literally an hour after I bought it, but hey. It's all water under the bridge now. So that's how I came to own said mascara.
I've tried it, with the hopeful anticipation that it would give me sex kitten eyes, or at least make me look like someone with phenomenal eyelashes. I was disappointed, to say the least. I liked this mascara significantly less than my previous mascara, which only set me back $7. And now I have to live with it for 3 months until it's time to throw it away. My advice? Next time go to CVS and get the cheap, convenient mascara called "Lash Stiletto." You'll love it.

You know that dinosaur movie?

2009-08-09T18:47:00.001-07:00

Well, I got probably the most original (and mildly offensive) compliment of my life on Friday. A young man, gazing intently into my eyes, said "don't take this the wrong way, but you have, like, velociraptor eyes. you're lying to me if you tell me that you don't wear colored contacts. i mean, seriously." I can't even comment, he said it all.

A list of the random crap that makes me totally PSYCHED TO BE ALIVE right now!!

2009-08-03T18:12:00.001-07:00

In no particular order:
1. Ocean Spray's new powdered beverage that has the same amount of calories as Crystal Light, but comes in all of those delicious cranberry flavors. Especially White Cranberry Peach.
2. Cranberry bogs.
3. Massachusetts.
4. Sales and bargains!
5. Finding really decent furniture FOR FREE on Craig's list. I mean really, who wants to buy a dresser at IKEA when you can get a sturdier one FOR FREE!?!?
6. Classic rock on the way to work. Led Zeppelin, the Rolling Stones, etc.
7. The Lonely Island
8. Friends (the dope, down-a people, not the TV show. I don't have a TV! Ha!)
9. Hot tubs
10. Losing 7 pounds
11. Neon-colored nail polish
12. Starting graduate school in a month... ahh!!
13. My sister and one of my BFFs coming to visit... practically at the same time!
14. My nephew
15. Looking at the Boston skyline whenever I drive anywhere
Seriously, I could keep going... but I'm too psyched! I'm going to pump up the jams and get down with my bad self!

I'm an uncle!

2009-07-14T17:23:00.000-07:00

...or maybe an aunt, if we want to be technical.

But I think it's funny when people ask if you're an aunt or an uncle, in order to determine the gender of your sibling's child. Four days ago, on July 10th, the Palmers welcomed our newest member, Quentin John Palmer. He's the first grandchild of Brian and Lisa, the first son of Megan and Christopher, and the first nephew of yours truly. Both mom and baby are doing well. I have the luck of living 2.2 miles away from the new little tyke, so I've been spending a lot of time cooing over babycakes and taking pictures. Mostly for the sake of my family, but also for those who love babies, I'm posting some pictures here from Quentin's first day out of the womb. Poor guy, he seemed a lot more comfortable surrounded by amniotic fluid.

But as you can see, Quentin is perfect. He has all of his fingers, all of this toes, and all of his internal organs. Being that he was produced by cute parents, he's cute. I've had a tendency in my life to think that babies are ugly, that they look like little aliens with shriveled faces. Maybe I'm biased, but I'd say Quentin is a major stud. Lock up your daughters, America! Here he comes!

When I showed a friend a picture of "Q-doggy-dog" on my phone, she said "FINALLY! A cute baby!" If you were wondering who calls a 4 day-old white infant "Q-doggy-dog," that would be my brother, the baby's daddy. I just call him Scooter if I feel nick-namey. When we get crazy, singing him Snoop Dogg songs and saying "What up, little homie?" to him, baby's mama just smiles and wishes we would shut up. She did a great job birthing him, so we oblige. He is most definitely hers, anyway.

As excited as Megan is about having her uterus to herself, she's absolutely radiant with her son. I don't think anyone is as giddy with the babe in her arms than his Nonnie, the first-time grandmother herself. How beautiful and excited are these women? How cute is this freaking child?

It's amazing how much you can love something so immediately and instinctively. I have only an inkling of an idea of how much this kid's parents must love him, but holding his little body in my arms makes me feel very maternal. Men of Mormondom: take me to the temple! I will gestate!

Vehicles currently parked on my street:

2009-07-14T17:22:00.001-07:00

1 skateboard, 1 unicycle, 3 cars, and 11 bikes. Way to be energy-efficient, Bostonians. Way to be.

Fill in the blank:

2009-07-02T21:00:00.000-07:00

It isn't a true summer in Massachusetts without _______.

And I eat them like this:

Okay, maybe not. Yesterday I had the pleasure of visiting my Uncle Stan's Cape Farm, and he and Ms. Heidi fed me these delicious lobsters. I didn't eat all of them, just one. But look how yummy! Today, when I was at the aquarium with Dave Bennett and I saw this picture, I reminisced. And salivated.

The best letter I've ever received, transcribed for your enjoyment.

2009-06-30T07:09:00.000-07:00

So Saturday was my birthday, and obvs I got some sweet stuff in the mail. My mom sent me some birthday $$$, my two sets of grandparents sent me the same card from two different states, and one of my little sisters sent me a sweet package with a card and a letter in it, among other things (like melted fun-sized chocolate, probably leftover from Halloween.) I know that she gets embarrassed sometimes when I blog about her, so I'm going to let you guess which one of my three sisters sent me this amazing letter. By transcribing it into a blog post, it loses some of its charm; she wrote it in three different colored pens. The punctuation is all in orange, the body of the letter is green, and the salutations are blue. This girl is amazing, as you're about to find out. I'm transcribing it exactly how it is, spelling, punctuation, etc. ENJOY! (P.S., it's necessary to know that this little lady isn't even in High School yet. That adds to the wow-factor of the letter.)

"Dear Lauren-
Happy Birthday!! I hope you are doing well in Boston and are making many friends (I have no doubt in my mind that you are alread immensly popular.) You always have had the funny gift of making such remarks and speaking so indirectly that it feels direct and pierce's one's being in to initial shock, which then is replaced with a quick assuredly to positive liking, and wanting of friendships. You pierce and treat them in such a way that they walk away feeling as though they've known you all their lives and you are a very close friend.
Anyway, as our dull, unfathumness lives continue, devoid of much drama right now (much to my weary relief) I will recount to you things you may or may not have heard. I will be focusing more on the little things because you most likely have heard of the big. To start from the back and move up, I will start that I was slightly pleased and shocked that you were indeed correct about me (I don't mean that offensively). During the last two days of school, which were dull without purpose and should have been cut out altogether in my opinion, we had an award cerimony. The award in which I had the pleasure of recieving was the "Writers with Style" award: which means that I am one of the top 7 best creative writers out of my whole grade. When you commented on my writing as, how you put it "eloquent", I did not believe you, but as it is, my teacher loved my writing. In fact, they even quoted a passage in one of my essay's! The essay was about how in the future the world will come to an end and bla bla bla I'm sure you don't care much about that. The Merill's are here, although unfourtunatly John is coming on Thursday, and Dad's leaving on Thursday! Oh well, I can be patient, and I must.
So, enough with the dull entrieties of our quiet (but it can't be quiet, because we live in California) life. Mother never tells me a whit about you, even when I ask earnestly and tenderly!! So tell me everything that's happened, spare no dirty detail pos favor. I'm longing to see my dear brother, sisters, and soon to be nephew along with the sweet air, and green of Boston!! Oh how I long for it!! But not this year anyway.
Now, in regards of framing the piece I sent you. It would be best if you consulted with Sister Gaz on a proper a good framing store. She told me once of one that does a superb job, but it has slipped my mind, and I fear that I did not soak, absorb, and ponder her ways as I should have, I had just always assumed that she would be there, a quite short car ride away. Please send my regards to her and everyone else. The page lines are against me and I do not want to go onto another page so I will end her, with the small demand that you HAVE to answer my questions somehow, if by email, phone, or letter! I care not.
Everyone sends their love!!"

This girl is fantastic. Don't you love all of the big words she's using, and spells them all wrong? You can't blame her, she's part of the spell-check dependent generation. Love her! No wonder she received the "Writers with Style" award! She even uses the Oxford comma, just like me! Happy My Birthday!

Time to get out the prune juice and metamucil...

2009-06-24T18:23:00.000-07:00

It's my Dad's birthday today!

Happy Birthday, Dad!
How does "old" feel?

remember that time...

2009-06-23T17:32:00.000-07:00

...that I kvetched about bad spelling and punctuation? Today, while facebook chatting with someone and simultaneously reading another website, I accidentally wrote "their" instead of "they're." I immediately blushed, apologized, and self-loathed. Turns out I am still human, in case you were wondering.

Things that make me happy and things that make me sad, with bolded subtitles for easy skimming.

2009-06-13T11:09:00.001-07:00

Things that make me sad.

Bad spelling and punctuation
Or, worse yet, when I notice something that I've typed with bad spelling or punctuation. Like when I noticed that I pluralized something with an apostrophe before the 's.' Something in me dies when that happens.

Not acknowledging that autism exists
For example, this blurb about John Travolta's deceased son:
"In a new development, reports are coming in revealing that official documents concerning the death of John Travolta's young son, Jett, confirm that the boy suffered from autism.
In fact, the report has John himself using the terminology, which is against the beliefs of Scientology.
Within the religion, there are rules concerning the practice of medicine, particularly ailments that are considered psychiatric diagnoses, such as autism. Scientoligists believe that diseases such as this are "fake" and rather than seeking medical treatment, practitioners are advised to stick to a Scientological detoxification regime.
There is no word yet if there will be a backlash against the actor for acknowledging his son's autism, but as a high-profile Scientologist, it is bound to send a stir in the community."

At the last company that I worked for (in LA) we had a client whose parents thought that his autism was really just a demonic possession, and regularly had him exorcised. People, there's a reason your priest can't cure your son. No amount of holy water will reverse a neurobiological disorder.

Blisters
'Nuf said. I went to the track this morning fully intending to run 10-12 laps, depending on my will power, and only made it to 5 because I felt a blister swelling with every thump of my right foot. Dear blister: 1.25 miles is not going to make me skinny. GO AWAY, YOU AREN'T WELCOME ON THE ARCH OF MY FOOT. Affectionately yours, Lauren Kay Palmer.

My boobs
Sorry to anyone who feels uncomfortable with this topic of blog-ersation, but really they're making me crazy enough to remark about them. Who thought it was okay to have 5XL boobs, and yet be a medium everywhere else? It makes buying clothes really difficult, and sports bras REALLY uncomfortable. Anyone want to surgically borrow some flesh from me?

Phew, that's over. Things that make me happy!

People watching
The way Brazilian women dress to go grocery shopping. The way I walk down two blocks in my neighborhood and hear five languages spoken. The way Bostonians dress as if they've earned the right to be shlumpy through their PhD's. Because here, ratty hooded sweatshirts and flip flops aren't just an outfit, they're a way of life.

The little things
Like, for example, buying new razor blades (such smooth legs!) and getting free shaving cream with them (thanks, CVS, even smoother!!)

My 3,000 year-old Chinese landlord, who speaks no English
Except for "pay car now" for parking, and "hellololo" for hello. I love how his face lights up whenever I say "hi" to him (and he says hellololo back) as if no one ever talks to the man. And somehow he's developed some crazy drug that makes roses grow to insane heights and widths. Good job, old man.

Weekends
Because I can sleep in until 10am, sit on my bed with the windows open and listen to the trees rustle, and peruse the internet for hours at a time.

My mom
Happy Birthday!

Sheepishly giving in to the pressures of Pop music
and downloading songs that a person would hear on "JAM'N 94.5" or "KISS 108." I don't want people to know that I just downloaded that song featuring T-Pain, but when no one's looking I'm going to get down and boogie to it!

Photo Thievery

2009-06-07T18:59:00.001-07:00

I went ahead and stole this from facebook, mostly so that my mom could glance at it.

Four pictures from Anne Bennett's wedding reception.

2009-06-06T18:31:00.000-07:00

Unfortunately I didn't take more pictures... Anne looked amazing though!

My brother Christopher and his preggers wife Megan

Dave Bennett and Chase Kimball, brothers of the bride and groom

Megan and I

Mary-Lu Nelson, holding it down at the crêpe stand

Northeastern University!

2009-06-03T19:07:00.000-07:00

Guess who got into graduate school? 2 weeks from application to acceptance... pretty fast, eh?

Greetings from Boston... an e-postcard chock-full of pics!

2009-05-25T08:25:00.000-07:00

My sentiments exactly! I've been back in the grand Commonwealth of Massachusetts for two weeks and three days now, and it's been mighty eventful. I started my new job shortly after I got here, MY CHURCH BURNED DOWN, etc. No trips to the hospital yet, but that's probably because I haven't unpacked my kitchen knives and my blender is MIA. I'll keep you posted. So even though I'm insanely busy, sometimes I get "bored" and I don't know what to do with myself. Usually, said boredom leads to napping or reading. Other times, it's effective enough to get my grad school applications finished and submitted (yay!) Today, boredom yields to blogging, and I think it was about time. For some reason or another, there are crazy people out in the blog-o-sphere who are interested in what I'm up to. So here's a brief glimpse at the crazy world of Lauren Kay Palmer, formerly of 756 Greenridge Dr., now of 20 Greylock Rd.

This is the house I live in. The landlord lives in the bottom, and we live on top. See the door on the far right-hand side? That's our door. Notice the three front-most of the top-story windows? Those are my bedroom windows. That's right, my room spans the whole length of the house. Because I'm gangsta like that. If you couldn't tell from that last picture, the house is painted toothpaste green: and is accented in bright yellow (doors, light fixtures, mail boxes. I don't think you can see the bright yellow in that picture.) It isn't the Taj Mahal, but I'm already feeling attached to my gigantic bedroom and my proximity to everything hip, or "the student ghetto" as some of my friends lovingly refer to it. Dying to see my bedroom? Oh, alright, fine. Here's a picture of half of it (because I had to stand in the other half to take the picture, duh!): and yes, I do actually consistently make my bed, except usually not on the mornings after I've been strangled or otherwise assaulted at work. I'm really tired those mornings. So it's pretty huge, this bedroom! The picture only shows half of it, but the other half isn't special, so I didn't take two pictures. The bedroom being phenomenal makes up for other short-comings in the apartment, like the fact that the only communal living space is the kitchen because the living room is a walk-through bedroom now, or the oven situation. I won't gripe, even though I love to cook and find an oven essential. Instead, I'll just show this picture, which is worth 1,000 words:

That's right, no numbers on that dial. And I'm not very astute at sensing temperature to the degree yet. I may just develop that talent though.
Another downfall (probably literally, at some point)? The stairs.
Some people, especially my family, my dentist, and the kids of my 5th grade class, know that I don't do stairs. Yes, the rug smells as bad as it looks, and yes, I fear for my life whenever I walk down them. I'm just that clumsy.
I don't think I have much more to say about the fast times I'm having in Allston, so I'll just leave you with one more picture, the poster on my front door, which classifies it as an establishment (yes, I live in an establishment.) More fun to come!

xoxo

Houston, we have a problem.

2009-04-25T20:41:00.000-07:00

People, we have a problem. The problem that we speak of regards one of my sisters, and her egregious lack of historical knowledge despite a public education. I'm still nauseous from this conversation:

Both of us- Blah blah blah gasoline crisis in history, blah blah blah.
Her- "they happened during Nixon"
Me- "oh, I thought there were rationings during WWII. maybe there were gas rations during WWII and then a gas crisis during Nixon" (I don't know much about gas crises, so since she was telling me the story, I gave her the benefit of the doubt)
Her- "yeah, they're the same thing Lauren... while Nixon was pulling the troops out of WWII"
Me- "WWII was during the 40's, sis"
Her- "Yeah, and Nixon pulled out the troops from WWII"
Me- "No, Nixon was like the 60's and 70's"
Her- "Oh, uh..."
Me- "Are you thinking Vietnam war? Because Vietnam isn't WWII. Please tell me you weren't thinking Vietnam was WWII (!)"
Her (cautiously backpedaling)- "No, because WWII is Korea..."
Me- "Holy Crap"

ATOM BOMB DROPS ONTO MY HEART

Me- "No honey, WWII is Hitler and Germany, and the 40's. Holy Crap, are you serious?"
Her- "ehhhhhh they don't teach me anything"
Me- "I don't care what they do or don't teach you in school, there's no excuse for you not to know that WWII = Hitler and Europe and the Holocaust. Oh. My. Gosh. H-o-l-y C-r-a-p"
Her- More whining
Me- "NO FREAKING EXCUSE. NO SYMPATHY"
Her- Slams doors.

This really just happened to me. In America. In an affluent suburb. Please someone, if you can foresee more of this in the future, please come to my home and shoot me. In fact, I'll have Rosie the Riveter over, and she'll want to be shot too. WHAT HAPPENED TO AMERICA?

Why I drink Diet Coke...

2009-04-24T14:05:00.000-07:00

...and not Diet Pepsi:

Okay fine, it's actually because Diet Coke is more savory and Diet Pepsi is more sweet. But this cartoon makes me chuckle.

Hasta la vista, Los Angeles

2009-04-17T22:11:00.001-07:00

"The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things."

That line from a Lewis Carroll poem just popped into my head, but it's strangely applicable to what I've been thinking about lately. First and foremost, it's set at the sea. Even though I live in a place that most people associate with the beach, I don't. I've only hit the beach a handful of times since I've been here... as far as that goes, I associate Los Angeles with highways and chaparral-covered hills. I am more apt to associate Massachusetts with the ocean, and I've had it on my mind a lot, because... I'm moving back to Boston!

I don't think that it's a secret that I haven't been a fan of Los Angeles. To avoid offending the few Angelenos that I'm friends with, I'll just say that it's not my scene. That tends to satisfy inquiring minds. I'm an East-coast girl through-and-through, and while I've only ever lived for extended periods of time in London, Utah, Boston, and California, I know for a surety that SoCal is not the place for me. A few more stanzas from the poem mirror my sentiments quite well:
--
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"

"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year.
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.
--
There are a lot of great things about Los Angeles, some of which I don't appreciate. Some of the things that I hate the most about LA are other peoples' favorite aspects of the place. Like the Walrus and the Carpenter, I would love to sweep away those parts of LA life, but they're what gives LA its flavor, and are so intrinsic that they couldn't be removed anyway. I'll just say that Los Angeles will forever be a fun vacation spot, but I will never move back.
I am absolutely thrilled to move back to Boston! I gave my two-weeks notice today at work, so I'm done with all of my commitments here by May 1st, then I make the trek across country before starting my new job on May 11th. It's going to be a hectic two weeks, trying to get everything I own packed up and across country in a time- and cost-efficient manner, saying good bye to family and friends, etc., but it's worth it! I have dozens of friends in the Boston area that I'm still in touch with, my brother Christopher and his wife Megan live in Cambridge, and my Uncle Stan just moved to Cape Cod this week. It's meant to be! I'm going to continue working with children diagnosed with autism and other developmental disabilities at a school in Natick (with 7 weeks of paid vacation,) and hopefully my campaign for admission to graduate school in the area is successful. It's the start of a new, exciting chapter in my life, and I can't wait!

In case you happen to be curious about what kinds of things I have on my extensive "To Do" list, here's a taste:
-Finish up the quarterly progress reports for my clients
-Return the 10+ binders and manuals to work
-Pack up my entire life
-Ship items that won't fit in my car, probably on Amtrak
-Find someone to drive across country with me
-Find housing in Boston
-Make a budget (I have to pay for rent and food now, yikes!)
-Get tickets to Red Sox games
-Be nice to my family for the next two weeks (Caroline told me today in a fit of rage that she couldn't wait for me to leave.)

Let me know if you have any helpful suggestions for how to accomplish these daunting tasks, or if you want to help!

Jack of all trades

2009-04-15T08:52:00.000-07:00

We all know people who are amazing at EVERYTHING they do. You may even be one of those people, but might not openly admit it because you've also mastered the art of humility. I've been 'blessed' to be surrounded by a lot of truly awe-inspiring people, though maybe sometimes it feels more like a curse, and I know how it feels to not measure up. To be seemingly eclipsed by that grandeur. I'll offer an anonymous example: a student accepted to the Ivy League, but decided to go to BYU for financial and religious reasons (quality #1: level-head.) Quality #2: good artist, #3: good musician and in one of BYU's more advanced orchestras, #4: straight-A student in a difficult major, #5: phenomenal athlete, etc. I could probably think of even more intimidating 'Jacks,' but there's no point. We all know them. Maybe we call them by a different name, 'Domestic Goddess,' 'Renaissance Man,' even 'Mormon Diva.' But today, I'm focusing on a different breed of 'Jacks,' those of us whose lives are defined by mediocrity.
Being surrounded by amazing people, I've often looked at myself and seen how I don't compare. I'm pretty good at several things, but I'm not amazing at anything. The fate of being a 'Jack of all trades, master of none' seemed to loom around every corner. I felt like Jack and Jill, who made it up the hill, but didn't have much to show for it. That is, of course, until the Elephant came along. Here's the story of Elephant-butt:
My sister-in-law is pregnant. In the quest to be the favorite aunt (I'm getting a head start,) I've started nesting. I have all of these plans, and one of them was to make a stuffed animal for the fetus. I was a little intimidated by the project, because I haven't done nearly the amount of sewing and such as some of my family members. But I tucked my inadequacies in and shlepped over to Joann. I asked timidly, "do you guys have patterns to make, uh, stuffed animals?" I probably looked pretty dumb, but hey, I got the pattern, I bought some sweet fabric, and I got to work. I wanted to make at least one practice elephant before I made the fetus' to ensure a high-quality product, so that's why this one is pretty feminine-looking. Caroline has announced that she wants it, so I just have to sew on some eye-balls and it's good to go! It came to be named Elephant-butt, don't ask...

So, I could pretend that I shared this experience to give hope to those who feel like they're 'Jacks of all trades, masters of none.' I could pretend that the point is to motivate, to let you all know that if you keep trying, someday you might find something to be proud of. But no, I'm just bragging about my success. So who needs an elephant?

Vaccinations and Autism

2009-04-10T07:58:00.000-07:00

A lot of people ask me what I think about vaccinations and autism (since I work in the field...) and usually I assure them that I'm a Behaviorist, that I can analyze and shape a kid's behavior, but I don't know a thing about Chemistry and Neurology and if giving someone a shot can cook their brains better than scrambled eggs.
Working in the field and listening to a lot of frantic moms, I went through a brief phase of feeling like I wasn't going to vaccinate my children. Then one event changed my mind. It's going to sound totally tacky and weird... get ready... I was watching the HBO series "John Adams" with Paul Giamatti and Laura Linney, and there's an episode where John's away doing something that politicians do, leaving Abigail alone with the kids during a smallpox outbreak. So, strong-willed Abigail calls up the doctor and strong-arms him into vaccinating her family against smallpox- a procedure which at the time was highly controversial. The scene was pretty gross, with the doctor scraping this oozing puss... I'll stop there. Abigail effectively saved her family. What touched me about that scene was how brave Abigail had to be to do something that scared her so badly, but that ended up saving her family. And we have the luxury of doing that for every person in our country, with years of experience and science to understand how and why it works.
This morning I was reading a blog that I really enjoy (dooce - go there and scroll down to the Vaccination post) and my views are almost perfectly reflected by the author's views. I'm going to vaccinate my children, though maybe I'll space the shots out a little more so that they aren't getting 5 immunizations in one visit. But I'm going to do it, so that my kids don't get yellow fever in Africa and kill half of the Elementary school. Oh, and vaccinations don't cause autism.

Help me!

2009-04-09T09:59:00.000-07:00

Who wants to write my grad school application essays for me? They're HARD! And I'm not used to writing anything that isn't data-based anymore! Help!

An Armenian Tale, Chapter One: The People

2009-03-28T18:55:00.000-07:00

It’s a tad facetious to think that someone as unqualified as myself could summarize an entire culture/people in a few paragraphs on an amateur blog. I’m not pretending to do that... I only took two anthropology courses in college. All of the information to follow is a matter of observation and opinion: don’t hold it against me.
If I were to sum up the people of Armenia in three adjectives, they would be: proud, resilient, and generous. Pride often has negative connotations in religious America- we have the handicap of the English language, which only has one word for pride, be it good or bad. If I were writing in French, the word I would use would be “fierté”. That is righetous pride- pride in family, civic pride, pride for your accomplishments, etc. For example, I have “fierté” that I took some pretty decent pictures when I was 15, so I am not embarrassed to include them here. The Armenians have raging pride in their country and their church: when you step into someone’s home, they immediately search for your Armenian heritage. You don’t have any? No problem, they’ll make you an honorary Armenian. They’ll say “oh, but you have a prominent nose, you must be Armenian.” (I almost got offended at that one) “You speak with such a good accent, you must be Armenian.” “You are such a good person, you must be Armenian.” And so you become Armenian. Some anecdotal evidence: when my brother was a missionary in Armenia from 2002-2004, he was in the home of a family with young children. (Side note: my brother is even blonder than I am.) One of the little girls in the family offered to cut her hair to make my brother a wig, so he could look more like them. Because to them, he is Armenian. A fluid sense of ethnicity helps the matter for us blondies that want to integrate: Armenia was formerly occupied by the Soviet Union, which sent lots of Armenians to Russia, and invited some Russians in. Furthermore the borders of modern-day Armenia are a fraction of what they once were, so ethnic Armenians live throughout the Caucasus region. Not to mention, there are more Armenians living outside of Armenia than there are within its borders.
This pride is a symptom of another characteristic: resilience. The Armenians have been kicked around for centuries. Have you ever heard an old Jewish lady talk about the woes of the Jews? That tirade was nothing compared to what an old Armenian could go on. And rightfully so: Armenia’s Mt. Ararat (now within the borders of Turkey) is traditionally where Noah’s Ark landed at the end of the flood. Armenians are very proud of this history, but can’t just go over and hike this holy mount. Turkey-Armenian relations, for those of you who have been living under a rock, are volatile. Armenia was the very first country in the world to accept Christianity as its official state religion. Christianity has flourished, but between the Pagan invasions and Soviet scorn of religion, the Armenian people had to practice in secret. No matter, Armenian Orthodoxy has survived all of that. There is no wonder that Armenia is the land of many churches... that’s what you see. Everywhere. Carved into mountains sometimes. Literally carved into stone. It’s amazing, and a testament to the ability of Armenian people to flourish under oppression. Take that, Stalin!
I saw a lot of day-to-day resilience too, just in my simple interactions with regular people. Armenia, though once a beacon of scholasticism, has an incredible unemployment rate. When I was there, it was at 74%. We complain during the worst recession since the Great Depression that our unemployment rate is high, but it’s less than 10%. I wonder what the recession is doing to Armenia. People don’t let it discourage them that they can’t get jobs: they go to school, get their PhDs, and do what they can for their country. Teachers in Armenia have a monthly salary of $10, and they rarely get paid. But kids don’t sit at home and do nothing, they still get an education, and they still fight to improve their country. I knew a teacher who went to school and taught every day, but hadn’t been paid in months. Of course poverty is obvious on the streets, with people living in squalor and hoards of children running loose. A rich person in Armenia has running water 24 hours a day. My brother knows much more about the economy of Armenia, as he did research there as part of his Undergraduate Honors thesis. You can get in touch with him for more on that.
Even in the face of unemployment and poverty, I have never been among a more generous group of people. I was regularly forced to eat fresh vegetables and succulent pastries until I was past the point of nausea, even though I had no way of knowing if the family would be eating for the rest of the week. And the food is gooooood. Once, I was writing in my journal at midnight after a long day, assuming everyone was in bed already: “Zara’s mom just ran in very cutely and handed me a plate with 4 apple slices and 4 apricots... it was so cute and kind... how could I say no? I ate all of the apples, which are perishable, and 2 apricots to be polite... AH! She just brought me cake too!!” We were constantly showing up in villages where hundreds of people would be there to greet us, thrilled to see strange faces. We visited a small mountain village, and someone let slip that it was my birthday. I had dozens of roses from strangers by the end of the day, and no idea what to do with them all. They were beautiful.
So, here are some pictures of Armenian people, accompanied by journal entries describing them:
“We again went into the oven to watch the preparation of the lavash, where Joanne got to make one and was absolutely pleased as peaches. I also got to make a cake or two of the kind that we had at Aghod... ohh they’re so good.” (Traditional Armenian ovens are kind of like Indian tandoors.)

“Another melancholy stop was the deaf school. Miss Karine translated for the principal as he told us all about their school, and how the children come from as far away as Georgia because it’s the only deaf school around. He took us to their sewing classes and their art classes and showed us the students’ work. It was really quite miraculous to see deaf children learning such life lessons from a school that just replaced lip-reading with signing two years ago.”

“A whole bunch of adorable village girls swarmed around us (including three little girls who I referred to as my fan club, for they followed me around waving and blowing kisses for hours) ...”

“Old ladies, I think, were created to bargain. Short, stopped, wrinkled, mangled, toothless, and absolutely brutal. They are absolutely relentless and so hard to haggle with! One would think, what can they do, gum me to death? But oh geez... it’s indescribable. Thus I never get my mother’s tablecloth at Vernisazh market, but I did get two bracelets for myself (from male vendors: pushovers really.)”

“Eventually we got to take showers in the public showers, one U.S. dollar per hour split to 4 people, and it was beautiful to lose all of the grime. Afterwards Will and I played street soccer with the neighborhood boys, who were absolutely nasty! They were so good.”

Finally, a quote that I came across when cleaning my desk, and for some reason didn't throw away (now I know why...): "I should like to see any power in this world destroy this race, this small tribe of unimportant people, whose history is ended, whose wars have been fought and lost, whose structures have crumbled, whose literature is unread, whose music is unheard and whose prayers are no more answered. Go ahead, destroy Armenia, see if you can do it. Send them from their homes into the desert, let them have neither bread nor water. Burn their homes and churches. Then, see if they will not laugh again, see if they will not sing and pray again. For, when two of them meet anywhere in the world, see if they will not create a new Armenia." -- William Saroyan

The MoTab Expands

2009-03-28T12:29:00.000-07:00

...as does the list of celebrities that I am personally acquainted with. This just in from the Newsroom: "The Mormon Tabernacle Choir announced today that Ryan T. Murphy has been named associate music director. Murphy will assume the associate music director position formerly occupied by Mack J. Wilberg, who was appointed music director in March 2008." (You can find the full article here) Ryan "T-bone" Murphy was my piano teacher for a brief stint in 2003-2004, when I decided to take lessons back up after a brief hiatus. Piano is a love-hate relationship in our family... my previous teacher had required an hour and a half a day of practicing. Do the math? That's over 10 hours a week. Add to that puberty and an active social life, and there were blow-ups all the time at my house over the clavier. My mom had a rule that when we started High School we could choose to quit piano, and I did it without blinking an eye. By senior year, however, I missed lessons which forced me to practice and improve, so we asked the new guy in town to be my teacher (and Caroline's too... I think our old teacher may have been pregnant?)
Ryan was an awesome piano teacher. He was really good natured, and very relaxed. I didn't work as hard for him as I had for Cara, probably because I wasn't afraid of him, but I really enjoyed taking lessons from him. Ryan's also incredibly talented at the piano and the organ. My dad and I had the privilege of a daddy-daughter date to see him play the organ with the Boston Symphony Orchestra. That's dope.
Back to Ryan being good-natured: my sister Caroline is "full of life" and "a spitfire." At least that's how adults describe her vivacity. So Caroline also took piano lessons from Ryan, and she would have been 8 at the time. Well, as many piano teachers do, we had these notebooks that would have all of our assignments for the week written in them. Caroline, for some reason, decided to make her notebook a correspondence log, and would write Ryan little notes that he would find before her lessons began the next week. Here's the first (and probably funniest) of the serious of hate-mail Caroline wrote to Ryan:

Basically, Caroline had the same love-hate relationship with piano that the rest of us did, and tried to enlist Ryan's help in getting out of it. "I want you to tell my mom that I should stop playing peano!" After some increasingly violent scribbles in the book, (including Caroline actually writing "I hate you" over and over again in circles on one page) my mom let Caroline off the hook. She just couldn't take it anymore... she was so embarrassed when Ryan showed her the notes in the book! But the rest of us loved it, including our good-natured teacher. Congratulations, Mormon Tabernacle Choir... you've picked a winner! Good luck Ryan!

An Armenian Tale

2009-03-27T12:20:00.000-07:00

My favorite thing to do is travel. My second favorite thing to do is relish in my travels... look at photographs, chat about cultural experiences, and generally brag. I really like maps with the pins in them for that reason. Much to my chagrin, however, I haven't been able to leave the country since my London Study Abroad in 2006. I know I shouldn't complain about that... but I do. Luckily, (and definitely not by chance) my friend Laura was called to serve a mission for our church for 18 months in Armenia. I spent 3 weeks in Armenia in 2002, and so now I get the chance to reminisce, with the excuse that I'm educating Laura about her future home.
The time that I spent in Armenia has meant the world to me. I learned a lot about the world, humanity, and myself in the short time that I was there. I also learned about the way God works when my brother was assigned to serve a mission for our church there in 2004. It seems like it must be pretty common to go on these missionary excursions to Armenia if I know two people now to do it, but to give you an idea: .5% of all missionaries assigned per year go to Armenia. That's right, one-half of 1%. It's one of the smallest missions in the world. And when the church assigned my brother to go there, they had no way of knowing our family's connection already. I will never be able to deny the hand of God in that.
So why the heck was I in Armenia as a 16 year-old? Well, it turns out that one of the cities with the most concentrated Armenian Diasporas in the world is Boston. Growing up, I thought that everyone was Irish Catholic or Roman Catholic, and knew at least three Armenian kids. Boston is a funny place. So a large group of these Armenians in Boston set up a sister-city gig with Yerevan, the capital of Armenia. And the Cambridge-Yerevan Sister Cities Association (CYSCA... don't laugh if you speak Russian, it was an accident) was born. CYSCA is involved in education, outreach, relief efforts, etcetera, and they came to school and made the call for hosts for Armenian exchange students, as well as the opportunity to be an exchange student. Being culturally aware even at such a young age, I eagerly signed up. Our efforts were funded jointly through the State Department, and we were given the aim to promote "Democracy and a Civil Society" through our efforts with our Armenian counterparts. This little program was deemed so important by the State Department that they funded the Armenian students' entire trip to the U.S., and gave them each a computer for their schools. They also funded half of our trips. There were about 30 students in all, I believe: 15 American and 15 Armenian. This was no small endeavor. (Here's a link to the CIA World Factbook information on Armenia.)
Having the students in our home was fascinating. We weren't allowed to take them to normal malls (in Boston, the Burlington mall was forbidden, and Chestnut Hill would have been punishable by death) for fear of extreme culture shock. They came to school with us, lived with our families, and did some fun excursions of their own. My exchange student, Zara Tepelikyan, was very shy at first, but eventually opened up, showing us her sweet, fun personality. I could share a lot about their trip to the United States, but I'd rather focus on the outbound side of the journey, in the name of educating Laura (and her friends and family) and generally bragging about how awesome my life has been.
This has been a very long prologue to my Armenian Tale, and has taken much longer than I expected. So instead of continuing on with Chapter One right now, I'm going to sign off and give y'all a break, transcribe old journal entries, and scan my old negatives from 2002 and make some pretty pictures for the next post. Stay tuned!

Are you afraid of the dark?

2009-03-25T21:19:00.001-07:00

Much to my mother's dismay, but taking strongly after my father, I'm a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Whether jumping off of bridges on Martha's Vineyard, cliffs in Hawaii, or hopefully someday jumping out of a plane, I love to push the limits of my fear. (That also explains my love for scary movies, although unfortunately most don't scare me anymore.) I started noticing my tendency to scare myself for fun when I was a kid: my favorite movies that I always begged my mom to rent at VideoPlus were Planet of the Apes and Edward Scissorhands.
I also had nightmares about the Ring Wraiths in the Lord of the Rings, but was still totally fascinated by them... because I was a cool kid and read those books in elementary school. Yeaah. Around this same time with the weird Sci-Fi and Fantasy movies and books (I think it was a period between 7 and 9 years old) I also really liked to look at books about spiders in the library, because I was really afraid of them. Most kids are scared of things and avoid them at all costs... I would flip open to the page of the meanest, biggest, hairiest spider in the book and stare at it. Then proceed to have nightmares. I'm really admitting to some weirdness here. Either way, I was totally fascinated by these weird, crazy, scary spiders! Now I'm not afraid of much... I'm really only afraid of things that are poisonous. Hence, some spiders still put the fear of God in me, though not the kind you find around the house. To get to the point, I was looking at National Geographic today at some of the new species that scientists have discovered in Papua New Guinea (where all the good beasties are) and I found this awesome jumping spider:
It's almost beautiful, isn't it? Its body sparkles and shimmers like it's been made out of plastic recycled from princess jewelry! So I was enjoying how innocuous this spidey seems to me, when I scrolled to the second jumping spider they found:
This one scares me! It stirs emotion deep in my bowels, even though it's a 2-dimensional picture on my computer screen. The spiders are probably both harmless, and come from the same family (because they're both jumping spiders, or something) but it still makes me nervous just to look at the picture. So which one do you think I'll be spending more time looking at tonight?

save some green and simplify your life!

2009-03-18T22:22:00.000-07:00

So... I love to organize things. Everything. A lot. When I was kid, I used to have sleepovers with a girl in my class (who I won't name.) She had one of the messiest bedrooms I've ever seen, and I would spend the ENTIRE sleepover cleaning and organizing her room. As like an 8 year-old. It turns out, my best friend at the time would also sleep over and do the same thing. I guess neurotics stick together? Anyway, any shows on T.V. about clutter-busting or organizing definitely catch my interest, like today's episode of Oprah. Part of the joy was, of course, an offer to spend your hard-earned savings on things to help you organize! I thought I'd share the love... since I really love the Container Store. If you need anything, this coupon should make you pretty happy! It's valid as many times as you want to use it for almost a month for 25% off at the Container Store! That's huge!

a wee bit o' the Irish in me

2009-03-17T21:29:00.000-07:00

Happy St. Patrick's day everyone! In honor of the rowdiest holiday on the calendar, I thought I'd share some of my Irish roots. This, on the name "Carmack" (my mother's maiden name):

The original Gaelic form of the name Carmack is Mac Cormaic, derived from the forename Cormac.

The scribes who created documents long before either the Gaelic or English language resembled their standardized versions of today recorded words as they sounded. Consequently, in the Middle Ages the names of many people were recorded under different spellings each time they were written down. Research on the Carmack family name revealed numerous spelling variations, including Cormack, MacCormack, McCormack, McCormick, MacCormick, Cormac, Cormick, Cormyck, Kormack, Kormick, Cormach, Cormich, Cormiche and many more.

First found in Munster where they held a family seat from very ancient times.

Suffering from poverty and racial discrimination, thousands of Irish families left the island in the 19th century for North America aboard cramped passenger ships. The early migrants became settlers of small tracts of land, and those that came later were often employed in the new cities or transitional work camps. The largest influx of Irish settlers occurred with Great Potato Famine during the late 1840s. Although the immigrants from this period were often maligned when they arrived in the United States, they provided the cheap labor that was necessary for the development of that country as an industrial power. Early immigration and passenger lists have revealed many immigrants bearing the name Carmack: Daniell Cormack who settled in Virginia in 1643; Christopher Cormack settled in Annapolis Md. in 1731; Patrick Cormack settled in New York State in 1804.

I found another family crest similar to this one, but it had a motto on it: Sine Timore, which, being translated, means "Without fear." Pretty legit.

In closing, this week's episode of 30 Rock had one on the best quotes about St. Patrick's day I've ever heard: "Passing out and cursing on St. Patrick's day? Is nothing sacred?"

A Conservative Pundit’s Plus-Size Remark

2009-03-16T19:45:00.000-07:00

I read this column in the New York Times, and I was shocked, appalled, and then bolstered by the awesome remarks made by Meghan McCain in response. Some of you know that I've struggled with my weight a bit over the past 3 or so years due to a hypo-active thyroid. I've lost 30 pounds since my peak, and I'm feeling pretty good about myself... sometimes. When I'm in Los Angeles, the land of skinny, plasticized women, I feel pretty fat. Like even though I buy my clothes at regular stores in regular sections (not the plus-sized racks) I'm somehow disgusting. The conversations at work always center around diets, and I often receive unsolicited advice about how I should eat to lose weight. I didn't ask for your advice, but thanks, I'll remember that. This weekend I was in Boston, land of liberal intellectuals and rowdy Red Sox fans, and I felt great about my body. Yeah, it's on the chubby side for me, but it's not disgusting, it's just how I look, and it's not that important. In fact, I thought about the way I looked much less in Boston than I do in L.A. Maybe that's why people are so wicked smaht back home...
Anyway, it's upsetting to me how obsessed our culture is with body image. I know I'm ranting here, I'm almost done. I recognize how dangerous obesity can be for one's health, and think that the world's (and especially country's) problems with obesity need to be addressed. But being a healthy weight, like Meghan McCain, who isn't even overweight in the strictest sense, and still being subject of public humiliation, is disgusting to me. I'm really glad I don't listen to Conservative radio, it would probably give me bloodthirsty rage.

Here's the article, and photographic evidence:

Criticizing a woman’s weight is one of the “last frontiers” of socially-acceptable prejudice, says Meghan McCain, the daughter of Senator John McCain.

Ms. McCain, who calls herself a progressive Republican, was responding to remarks by conservative radio host Laura Ingraham. It all started when Ms. McCain, 24, criticized Republican pundit Ann Coulter for her extreme views in an online column and an interview with talk show host Rachel Maddow. That enraged Ms. Ingraham, who responded on her radio show by mimicking Ms. McCain, using a caustic “Valley girl” voice. (The blog ThinkProgress has the audio.) Among her remarks:

"O.K., I was really hoping that I was going to get that role in “The Real World,” but then I realized that, well, they don’t like plus-sized models."

Ms. McCain, who would be considered normal weight by most standards, responded in The Daily Beast with a highly personal column called “The Politics of Weight.”

"I have been teased about my weight and body figure since I was in middle school, and I decided a very long time ago to embrace what God gave me and live my life positively…. I am a size 8 and fluctuated up to a size 10 during the campaign. It’s ridiculous even to have this conversation because I am not overweight in the least and have a natural body weight.

But even if I were overweight, it would be ridiculous. I expected substantive criticism from conservative pundits for my views…. My intent was to generate discussion about the current problems facing the Republican Party. Unfortunately, even though Ingraham is more than 20 years older than I and has been a political pundit for longer, almost, than I have been alive, she responded in a form that was embarrassing to herself and to any woman listening to her radio program who was not a size 0.

In today’s society this is, unfortunately, predictable. Everyone from Jessica Simpson to Tyra Banks, Oprah and Hillary Clinton has fallen victim to this type of image-oriented bullying. Recent pictures of Pierce Brosnan’s wife, Keely Shaye Smith, on the beach in her bikini raised criticism about her weight and choice of bathing suit — as if the woman should be wearing a giant muumuu to swim in the ocean. After Kelly Clarkson’s recent appearance on “American Idol,” the first commentary I read on the Internet was about her weight gain instead of her singing.

My weight was consistently criticized throughout the campaign. Once someone even suggested I go to a plastic surgeon for liposuction. Afterward, I blogged about loving my body and suggested critics focus their insecurities about women’s bodies elsewhere. On the other side, my mother was constantly slammed for being too skinny, so the weight obsession of the media and our culture goes both ways. It also goes to both parties. Hillary Clinton has consistently received criticism for her pantsuits and figure. Whatever someone’s party, these criticisms are quite obviously both wrong and distracting from the larger issues at play.

The question remains: Why, after all this time and all the progress feminists have made, is weight still such an issue? And in Laura’s case, why in the world would a woman raise it? Today, taking shots at a woman’s weight has become one of the last frontiers in socially accepted prejudice."

Meghan McCain is hot! Look at her, all technologically savvy... I still won't vote for her dad, but I'm loving her! You can find Meghan's blog at McCainBlogette.com.

Uterine Fingers

2009-02-25T22:05:00.000-08:00

So I just posted a thing on Craig's List to hopefully sell my GRE prep book, and it popped up with one of those little confirm-you're-not-a-spammer things where you copy the words in the box and they look all crazy. Well, this time the two words were "Uterine fingers." It's just so funny and weird, I thought I'd share :)

I'm pretty much a pagan.

2009-02-25T21:24:00.000-08:00

So I found this amusing religion quiz on a website called beliefnet or something... you take a quiz, and it tells you what religion your beliefs most align with. Should I be ashamed of myself that I didn't make mormonism to #1? Well, I'm not. Buuuut I think I should feel ashamed that I'm such a pagan (#11) and I think the whole Quaker thing is cool. I'm pretty down with the Quakers.

Here's my results:

1. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (100%)
2. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (92%)
3. Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (80%)
4. Baha'i Faith (79%)
5. Orthodox Quaker (78%)
6. Liberal Quakers (77%)
7. Jehovah's Witness (75%)
8. Unitarian Universalism (65%)
9. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (59%)
10. Reform Judaism (58%)
11. Neo-Pagan (55%)
12. Islam (54%)
13. Orthodox Judaism (54%)
14. Secular Humanism (54%)
15. Mahayana Buddhism (50%)
16. New Age (50%)
17. Theravada Buddhism (48%)
18. Jainism (48%)
19. Seventh Day Adventist (43%)
20. Sikhism (43%)
21. Eastern Orthodox (42%)
22. Roman Catholic (42%)
23. Taoism (40%)
24. New Thought (38%)
25. Scientology (36%)

Salary begets drones

2009-02-24T23:16:00.000-08:00

Maybe it's just me. But at a certain point as the evening progresses, I stop doing actual productive work and switch over to non-productive, time-wasting, not-getting-paid-for-it work. Like google, wikipedia, grad school applications. Okay, no, maybe the latter can't be classified as work, but you get the point. I could choose to do more work, but after 7pm it's just not allowed. I have morals, people! Sometimes the draw is magnetic, but...
Okay, I'm being very vague. Here's what got me on this. It's 11:00pm, later than I usually go to bed. I'm done with any work allowed for the day (I finished at 8:59pm, so 2 hours later than previously specified) and I'm blog-stalking. Meaning, I'm sitting in front of my computer, too exhausted from yoga to walk up the two steps to my bedroom to sleep, reading all of the blogs that are listed on the side of my page, and some of the ones that are listed on the side of, say, my brother's page. Blog-stalk, silly, agreed. SO... that's what I'm doing. It's not work-related, it's a diversion. I considered posting earlier tonight, but I didn't have a good topic to rant on. Shopping? I made a trip today, looking for pants with a 25% off coupon to the GAP. I came home with pliers. So I was content to blog-stalk and get ready to hit the sack.
When suddenly, at 11:08pm, I get an email from work. "I haven't received _____, please email me ____ as soon as possible." Girlfriend, don't you sleep? (Just so you don't think I'm a slacker, I didn't know I was supposed to email it to her. I emailed it to someone else.) So then here's the question: I'm at my computer doing nothing productive, and I got that email when it was sent. Should I feel like "busted! I'd better email that off tonight!" or should I feel like "okay, as soon as possible will be within 24 hours, because I don't work past 8:59pm tonight, I loaf." I'm going to go with the second option, because I don't like doing administrative junk like billable hours (my dad groans with me on that one. But he has the flexibility to BS it, because he's important. I'm not.) I like the nitty-gritty with the kids. So, I go to sleep. Just because you're on salary... don't work all night! Do something fun, like looking up "esotericism" on wikipedia!

(PS, if you're someone from work, and you're reading this, DON'T FIRE ME. I'm not saying anything negative about the company or the people in it. Just mentioning how I value a little unstructured free time.)

Merely a coincidence?

2009-02-23T21:57:00.001-08:00

...or is someone out there in cartoon-land reading my blog? Or looking into our windows when mom's feeling punchy? Because these things don't just happen:

Caroline pointed out that it was very different, because mom doesn't wear the outfit.
And mom said "I'm not the only hip mom!"

The most pimpin' version of the ABC's

2009-02-18T20:20:00.001-08:00

Here's one of my fave bands, Tilly and the Wall, on Sesame Street, tearin' it up.

Tilly & the Wall on SESAME STREET from Team Love on Vimeo.

Magret de Canard au Porto

2009-02-15T17:34:00.000-08:00

For all of the cooking I do, I rarely make forays into French cuisine. Last night, however, was an exception. I had a friend come over for dinner, and given the choice of Indian, Thai, or French, the guy chose French. For all of the cooking I do, I happen to not be entirely comfortable with French cuisine, though I whole-heartedly enjoy it. Since most of the readers of my blog cook, I thought I would share my experiences. I arranged everything very beautifully on a platter and had the table set quite nicely, but I failed to take pictures like I had planned. So, do your best to envision it!
I decided first to make mousse au chocolat for dessert, since I've made it before and I feel pretty comfortable with it. It doesn't take much prowess to melt chocolate and mix it with sugar. It did turn out better this time, however, because I took more care with the eggs. The feature of (real) chocolate mousse that makes it fluffy is beaten egg whites carefully folded into the butter-chocolate-sugar-egg yolk mixture. (Note that some poseurs mix together chocolate pudding and cool whip
and call it chocolate mousse. Impostors.) So, this time I beat the eggs together longer than last time, and as a result my mousse was much fluffier. Muito benne.
The main course was trickier. I pored over my two french cookbooks until deciding on squab, with a back-up plan for rabbit. The trusty internet, which only tells the truth, assured me that the Whole Foods in Pasadena always has a reserve of squab. I learned my lesson about blind trust and foodie blogs...
I walked away from Whole Foods with two whole breasts of duck, a small bottle of Port, a bunch of carrots and a turnip. And a T-shirt, but that was an unrelated impulse buy. It's cute though! And organic! I rallied all of my wisdom when I left the house with my favorite French cookbook, so I had back-up recipes at my fingertips when the dudes behind the meat counter turned down my several initial requests for less-than-American meat. ("No, but we have a pheasant!" Next time, I'm going to get that dang pheasant.) As an aside, I felt pressure to get an exotic game bird for my dinner, because they're contraband. When my parents go out of town, I like to be called "Contraband Kate." Pretty self-explanatory: wearing tank-tops around the house, eating smelly cheeses, and buying the meat of lesser-known fowls with little bones. My mom said to me before she left, "haven't you noticed that I don't serve anything with little bones?!" I laughed and made plans for dinner.
So T-shirt, cheap wine, and root vegetables in hand, I cooked. I roasted the carrots and turnip with two potatoes in olive oil and salt and pepper, but I don't think I got quite enough oil on them, because they tasted a little charred on the outside. Whatever, roasted veggies. On to the "Magret de Canard au Porto." Basically, I skinned the duck breasts, fed the skin to my dog, pan-seared them, put them on a bed of pan-seared golden delicious apple slices, and topped it all with a golden raisin and Port sauce. Sounds pretty good, right? Pretty easy? Pretty flawless? The thing is, magret is technically the breast of fattened duck. In America, we fear fat. We are fat, but we fear fat. In France, they laugh in the face of fat and are skinny. There have been books written on this paradox, but I think it's just one of the cruel truths of the universe: the French shower less, eat butter for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and wear the same outfit two days in a row, but they're still hotter than us. Who knows. But I digress... the duck I got was not fattened, so in pan-searing it, even with a few tablespoons of E.V.O.O., I had hardly any juices to show for it. Meaning, the apples didn't get cooked in any juices. Meaning, "deglazing" the pan yielded no extraordinary results, for there was nothing to deglaze. Meaning, I ended up with slightly charred-tasting duck to match the slightly charred-tasting vegetables. Of course I'm going to be critical of my own food- I'm sure it was pretty good. But next time? I'm just settling for the pheasant.

An Ode to the Belmont Public Library

2009-02-02T17:26:00.000-08:00

So I thought that to absolve my sin of not blogging, I should expound a little bit on what I've been up to instead. Alright, I admit it--I've been reading! Lately I've had my nose in a book more than I had my nose in my "notebook."

Here's a list of what I've enjoyed lately:
"Peony in Love" by Lisa See
--This is just a fun little novel written about a lovesick 16 year-old girl in China, back when foot-binding was sexy. I liked it well enough, it was entertaining and educational, but I think it would have ended better if the novel ended with Peony's death and didn't follow her into the afterworld. It would have been the perfect tragic novella.
"Born in the Big Rains" by Fadumo Korn
--This is the autobiography of a Somali woman. She spent her childhood as a nomad in the steppee, wandering around with camels, playing with cousins, oh- and getting circumcised on a metal bucket, causing extreme emotional distress and rheumatoid arthritis to set in by age 10. Fascinating, beautiful, and educational. She lives in Germany now, and is an anti-FGM activitist.
"Emergence" by Temple Grandin
--Temple Grandin is a woman diagnosed with autism, who happens to be very high-functioning and has a Ph.D. in animal psychology. When she was a little tyke she didn't even talk, just screeched and "peeped." This book gives a fascinating glimpse into the world of an autistic person.

I'm currently reading:
"The Serpent and the Rainbow" by Wade Davis
--This is an anthropological text, which reads more like a novel or a well-crafted memoir by someone very educated that happens upon tangents now and again. It's about Haitian voodoo, which the author calls "vodoun" in order to distance itself from the hocus pocus that a lot of Westerners associate with this ancient African religion. His original point in visiting Haiti was to find a "zombi" poison that voodoo priests used to cause a death-like state in victims, while not actually killing them, so that they would be buried alive and re-emerge as zombies. His backers were hoping to find pharmaceutical uses for said poison, and then the interest shifted from the poison to the secret socities of voodoo.

Next on my list are:
"Catcher in the Rye" by J.D. Salinger
"Lord of the Flies" by William Golding
--Most people have read these books by the time they're my age, but somehow I squeaked through high school without reading them. According to my mother, it's because at my high school they weren't part of the Honor's curriculum. Oh, BHS, what a funny place. I would have loved to add "1984" by George Orwell to my stack at the library today, but the library in La Cañada is DINKY! How could a library not have 1984?! Really?! Never again will I take for granted my belovèd Belmont Public Library, where I spent countless childhood hours.

Millard Canyon Falls

2008-12-27T20:05:00.000-08:00

This morning I finally convinced Caroline to go for a hike with me, after asking every other family member several times. It's the first time I've successfully convinced a family member to hike with me since we moved here; it's as if they're all above hiking, that it isn't up to par for them. My dad thinks only biking at high speeds in realllllly tight shorts, or running on the treadmill in reallllllly short shorts (or Allie in bright pink spandex) is worthy of their time for exercise. Thankfully, Caroline hiked with me. I had been planning on trying out several local trails, since my house is on the beginnings of the slopes of the Angeles National Forest. So we set off, driving 20-ish minutes to the trail head in Altadena. The hike was only 1.4 miles (according to a website I found, Dan's Hiking Pages.) It has lists of several hikes around here. So anyway, Caroline and I jumped up quickly. It was a very pretty hike, fully shaded by trees and following along a small brook. When I felt like I was just getting warmed up, we hit the falls, and the trail stopped. It was a little disappointing two senses: 1, we were just getting started when it ended. 2, the falls were less than spectacular. I should have realized that it was a super-short hike, because the website says it is, but I didn't foresee how un-fulfilling that would be. It's cool though. To add a little depth to our journey, we (I, with a reluctant Caroline in-tow) decided to scale some rock walls to get to the top of the waterfall. Here's Chica coming down a trail that we improvised, since we weren't too keen on scaling back down. Anyway, I would mention for any that would feign to attempt such a treacherous and all-consuming hike, it's pretty crowded (there were 25-30 other people on the trail) and there was a lot of man-made junk around, or at least more than there should be on any hike. All of this man-made junk was of the metal variety, and rusting. I at least enjoyed this random hunk of metal, it seemed... poetic. Please indulge this photo. There wasn't anything scenic on the hike, as far as sprawling vistas go, but on the drive out there was just such a scenic sprawling vista. Here's a photo, labeled for your enjoyment: It'll be a longer hike next time!

Awww... put a ring on it!

2008-12-25T22:52:00.000-08:00

So, some of you might know that my mom likes Beyoncé. In fact, a few months ago she said "Lauren, I need to know more about this Jay-Z. I'm tight with Beyoncé, but I just don't know much about Jay-Z!" It upset her that she wasn't on a first-name basis with her BFF Beyoncé's new hubby. She's the one who informed me for the first time that they had tied the knot.
To back-track a bit: when I was a teenager, I used to think that my mom was like the most un-hip person on the planet. She knew nothing about 311, or the Spice Girls, and she hated my Everlast poster. She tried to make me take it down! But ever since Beyoncé hit the scene, things have been different. I sort of consider Beyoncé the family's ambassador to Pop Culture, and here's an anecdote or two describing why.
I'm not sure why, either just randomly or when she has some secret prerogative, my mom will out with "Single Ladies (Put a Ring on it)" by Beyoncé. If you haven't heard it you must live in a cave. It's all over the place. So anyway, she'll just out with it. But she never gets the lyrics right, no matter how much we try to coach her! Correctly sung, it would sound like "if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it, if you like it then you shoulda put a ring on it, oh oh ohoohohohohohohoh" (I didn't count out how many "oh"s I would need, I just threw them in there). Instead, she sings "if you like it then why don't you put a ring on, put a ring on it." It's funny in and of itself, but then she'll get my dad involved. "Brian, come do this with me" and they'll stick out their ring fingers with their wedding rings, and do this creepy little hip-shakin' dance while my mom sings her version of the lyrics and my dad beams with pride at being part of a spectacle that makes us laugh. A veritable freak-show.
So today we were in the car, and my dad doesn't like the conversation. So he says "aw, put a ring on it!"
When I got home, I had a text message from Tracie that says "now every time I hear Beyoncé, I think of your mom!"
Freak show.

2008-12-21T22:15:00.001-08:00

So... I accidentally died my hair black. Don't ask how, more details to follow.

Oh, there's no place like home for the holidays!

2008-12-18T23:12:00.000-08:00

No matter how far away you roam...
My sister Alexandra is coming home from the Middle East tomorrow for Christmas break (we're all basically peeing our pants in excitement) and my brother and his wife are coming in a little over a week from Boston, so I've been thinking about my most exciting journey home. It's too good a story not to tell.
In 2005 I spent 2 months in Senegal, West Africa on a BYU Study Abroad with the French department. I could write a book about the experience, like how to turn down marriage proposals politely (especially when they're asking you to be the second or third wife...) but one of the most adventurous parts of the whole trip was trying to get home. After the 2 months, a lot of my fellow students and I planned a 3-day stopover in Morocco, kind of a last hoorah before leaving the motherland for the good old USA. We flew from Dakar, Senegal to Casablanca, and then took a 3-hour train ride to Marrakech. Marrakech, by the way, is a very fun place to visit for a few days. We spent lazy hours by the pool of our hotel in the nice weather, walked to some cool mosques and other buildings, and spent a good chunk of our time in the souq (marketplace commonly found in Arab countries) drowning ourselves in the most delicious fresh-squeezed orange juice known to man, narrowly escaping death by crazed henna artist, and even being assaulted by domesticated monkeys (that's a whole new story for another day.) Well, after our pleasant sojourn to transition from third-world conditions in the villages of Senegal to iPods and malls, we had to get from Marrakech to Casablanca to catch our flight home. No problem. Our plane left some time in the mid-morning... maybe 9 or 10:00 am? so we took the earliest train out of Marrakech (around 4 or 5:00 am) to make it to the airport with enough time to check in and board. With a 3 hour train ride and then the hour minimum for international flights, we were cutting in close, and there was no room for egregious errors. But we had no choice, the trains didn't run all night.
So... we got our butts on the train with our 2 months worth of Africa-smelling laundry and souvenirs. No problem there. We had to switch to another train line in the middle of Casablanca to get to the airport, so the train stops, and we all start getting off the train. Here's where the fun starts: half of our group is off the train, half is still on. We're trying to negotiate baggage. The train starts moving, leaving the station. Panic. Our connecting train comes into view, further panic. After the last of us jump off of a moving train, we realize that we have to go down a flight of stairs, under the track, and up another flight of stairs to get to the other platform. Our connecting train is already at the station... we have seconds to make these trips, which would have been a feat with ourselves alone, forget about our baggage! Luckily, Africa is full of friendly, helpful people that contradict our inherently chaotic way of looking at things. A bunch of guys just jumped off the train, looked both ways before crossing the tracks, picked up our bags and walked across the tracks (totally illegal, I'm sure) and got us on the train. Thanks guys! You saved us!
(this says never get on or off the train until it's made a complete stop...)
For some of the travelers, the excitement ends there. Chrissie Tsaturyan can tell you the story of being detained in Salt Lake with a sword herself... as for me, I got to JFK and split from the group continuing West to Mecca (aka SLC) and I just had a short hop to Boston. Funny thing was, it was raining. My flight was canceled. So here I am in JFK, smelling like mother Africa (sweat, dirt, body odor, fruit...) and completely out of money in anything but obscure African "francs CFA" with no cell phone and no way to get home. Hilarious. So, I eavesdrop into what the other passengers are doing. Before I continue, I should note that I'm the person who gets really really stressed out about little things, but things that should worry me don't bother me a bit. So I walk straight up to a group of young professionals, and say "hi, I couldn't help but overhear that you're going to rent a car. Do you think you could drive me to Boston too? You could drop me off anywhere, if I can just use someone's cell phone I'll arrange a pick up." I'm sure I looked like hell, all haggard and unkempt. Luckily for me, someone who looked even more like hell also wanted to solicit a ride (the guy was freaky, I'm telling you) so they took me as the lesser of two creepy evils. Yay! I heard "Holla-back girl" for the first time on that car ride--these accountants on a business trip were amazed at how culturally behind I was. Bah. They dropped me off at the car rental place at Logan, daddy picked me up, (I saw his Jag for the first time) and I got home and took a serious shower.

Mucking around in a spice stall in Marrakech

They keep me around because I ask the hard questions.

2008-12-18T15:41:00.000-08:00

Like:
1.) Are you texting the same person that you're sending a facebook message to right now?

Like you've missed me...

2008-11-30T18:35:00.000-08:00

I haven't blogged in FOREVER, meaning anyone who checks my blog has probably checked enough times without an update that they've probably given up on me. The truth is, I just haven't felt like there was anything blog about! Every time someone asks me the innocuous "what's up?" all I can say is "same old, same old." Boring! I'm aching for something new, but it's just not showing up. Tonight at the dinner table, my mom said "you know what your problem is? You haven't had a good long break." First, I didn't know I had a problem. Second, maybe that is my problem! I like my job well enough, but I find that I have more fun with my 2 hours a week side-job than I do with my real job. Is that bad? Luckily, some change is gon' come. My ultra intimidating regional director told me that this week I'm going to have an interview for a promotion that I'm hoping for. The woman's awesome, but anyone who watches over your work that closely is going to be scary. So that would be cool... I'd go from Behaviorist to Behavior Consultant, basically a position of more leadership, and instead of solely implementing behavior programs, I'd be helping to create them. Pretty cool.
I've also been thinking a lot about graduate school. I'm not positive as yet if the job I have now (which is awesome, and definitely has opportunities for advancement) is a life-job, though I guess nowadays that concept has all but vanished. Even if it is my calling and my end-point, I might still want to do graduate work to supplement what I've already done, for the sheer joy of learning. I'm interested in getting a Masters+Credential in education, or a Masters in Applied Behavior Analysis, or something along those lines. I just don't know what to do! And it can be very frustrating to have these big life decisions in front of me, and I'm just avoiding making them. Luckily I've missed grad school app deadlines for the fall, so I bought myself more time to mull over the possibilities. If only I didn't have to make big decisions ever again... but I know it's good for me. I'll figure it out.

Endurance and Invigoration

2008-11-02T18:40:00.000-08:00

About a month ago I started exercising to supplement my diet in my attempts to get healthier so I can live to see hover crafts replace cars. Or at least to a ripe old age like 80. It definitely started slow... It took some major mental strength to get out the door to have a leisurely walk with my dog down the street. Now I wake up at 5:30am on weekdays so that I can get my hour of exercise in before I have to shower and eat breakfast. As time has gone on, my workouts have gotten more and more intense, with more weight per repetition and higher speeds or inclines or resistances on cardio machines. Only on weekends can I make my workouts longer, and I often do. I've also started doing incidental workouts... I was at Universal Studios last night and a few of my friends and I decided to run up the stairs instead of take the escalator. This is a feat I never would have attempted or let alone have thought enticing a few weeks ago, but we ran up it and giggled at the top feeling each others' pulses and enjoying a rest before everyone else made it up on the escalator. I wanted to look up how many stories tall it is to brag, and I found out that the escalator we ran up is the second longest in the world.
The picture above shows less than a quarter of the whole escalator.
Anyway, that's the endurance segment of our program. To discuss invigoration, I've also noticed with my newfound physical fitness that I feel much more energetic and peppy on days that I work out in the guten morgan. On days that I don't, I feel lethargic and it takes a lot longer for me to become fully awake---I don't feel bright-eyed and bushy-tailed until 9ish, as opposed to 6ish on days I work out. Furthermore, after a workout I feel ready to take on the world, ready to go. It's a great feeling.
Now there's a hidden agenda to my thoughts in this post, that is, to share some of my intensely personal and real feelings about the gospel. As I was sitting in church this morning contemplating the things of the soul, my mind made the connection between physical fitness and spiritual fitness. Just like I have made great strides in my cardiovascular and muscular endurance, so too have I come leaps and bounds in my spiritual endurance from where I was just a few months ago. I had a fabulous spiritual experience in July while mentoring teenage girls at a summer camp in Idaho away from technology and temptation that made me understand that one of the most important things for my salvation will be to read the Scriptures every day for the rest of my life. Now, I don't have a perfect track record, but my commitment to this goal has steadily increased and it's that much easier for me to crack open the good book every morning at 5:30 before I hop on the weight machine. I've also been given an assignment at church that makes it so that I'm in a church building for at least 5 hours every Sunday, sometimes up to 12. Today it was 10. At first I couldn't hack it, I'd skip some of my meetings to go home and take my Sunday nap, I'd complain, and I'd feel dead by the time I got home. Now I don't need that Sunday nap... I've been functioning just fine without it. And while it used to be hard to stay for my second and third meetings of the day, now I can make it to my sixth with no problem and I feel almost giddy throughout it all. Now, going to church is how it should be, and how it long has been for people much better than me--it energizes me and reboots my system for the week to come. I'm thrilled to be there, and I feel like I'm in the right place at the right time doing the right thing. With the increase in endurance came the increase in invigoration, just like with my physical fitness. There is no doubt in my mind that the gospel is true if that's the case. If it weren't, someone as imperfect and nap-loving as me would never make it through.
I know that the Lord loves us, I see it in countless ways everyday. From the children that I work with that are blessings from God, to the opportunities and mercy that I see in my life, there is no doubt in my mind that he is constantly aware of us and intricately involved, if we let him, in the inner-workings of our lives. I'm so grateful for that. Thank goodness for running shoes, and thank goodness for church pews.

...continued

2008-10-26T21:10:00.000-07:00

SO. I did some of that Prop8 calling. Whew. I thought I'd report a bit on my experience.
I was supposed to do 8 hours of calling this weekend, 8 hours next weekend... split into 4 4-hour shifts. So Friday morning I got ready and sat in front of the computer, commandeered the phone line... and started calling. After the first hour, I took a break and did some tallying. In the first hour that I was on the system, I made 22 calls. Of those 22, 4 were wrong numbers, 7 were answering machines, and 2 people told me that if they were to vote today, they would vote "definitely yes" on Prop8. To be fair, no one told me that these calls were going to be easy. But no one said they were going to be hard either! When we had our training meeting last Monday, a girl in my ward said oh she made x amount of calls, and when it was all over she looked at her summary, and x amount were yes-es, and it was so fun to talk to people about it blah blah blah. So I was under the impression that I would make some calls, the end. I wasn't going to have a breakdown from it. WOW was I wrong. One house I called was a happily married lesbian couple who had been together for 23 years before getting married, raising 5 children and now had 8 grand children. She said "I'm so sorry that you're spending your time this way."
I have gay friends. I have friends whose parents are gay. I applaud relationships that last, whether heterosexual or not, because staying together is not easy. So my first instinct was to congratulate this woman, and tell her to please not be hostile, I'm just sharing my opinion. (My adopted opinion.) But I bit my tongue, told her to have a nice day, thank you for your time. Then I wanted to cry. It was just so hard to make those phone calls! I'm a really sensitive person, probably because I'm very compassionate and I just want everyone to be happy all the time, and I never EVER want to offend anyone. So every time someone hung up on me or scoffed at my volunteer efforts, it broke my heart. I only made it 2 out of those 8 hours... but I'll try again next weekend.
I also trekked through this whole thing hoping that I would have some "ah-ha" moment to help it all make sense, or to show me that for some reason it was worth it. Some epiphany to get me through and give me some amazing testimony of Prop8. I'm still waiting for that, maybe if I can do 3 hours next time instead of 2 I'll earn it. My mom did say "you're a good girl, Lauren" which I probably haven't heard since I was potty training (may have been the last time I was behaving myself) and that made 2 or 3 calls worth it.
One thing that I did notice/learn through all of Prop8 is how ridiculous our society has become. As previously stated, I'm generally of a liberal opinion. That worked out great growing up in Boston, but at BYU any discussion of politics (or even my course of study, for that matter) ended my conversations quickly. Questions like "Who are you voting for?" "What's your major?" "What do you think about (XYZ)?" always ended in "oh." The end. At BYU, democrats are regarded as hippies that probably break several commandments a week and smoke pot on a regular basis. I've had people tell me that my opinions are sinful, like for example that birth control is of the devil and how could I think it was okay. Wow. As annoying as that is, being pegged as a hippie/demon and all, I can live with it. What I can't live with is the way that conservative view points are pegged as bigoted and racist. In Newport Beach yesterday, I saw a girl holding a home-made sign that said "Be a racist, be a bigot, vote yes on Prop8." First of all, the issue has absolutely nothing to do with freaking RACE!! That poster screams generalization and intolerance, though that's exactly what the holder probably thinks she's protecting against. If Prop8 passes, same-sex couples will not lose any rights held under domestic partnership. It's simply a matter of a written definition. AND YET, wanting to keep a traditional, conservative sentence in a constitution is BIGOTED and RACIST. It's ridiculous. It's as ridiculous as calling someone a racist for not liking bananas. I remember a few years ago at Belmont High (my drunken alma mater) on "Make a Statement Day" Brittany Wood wore a T-shirt that said something about "it's okay to have an opinion, as long as it's the same as everyone else's" She was making a statement about how hard it was for her to be one of the 2 or 3 conservatives in the entire student body. And the administration made her take of the shirt. What's the point of "Make a Statement Day" then? I've probably been guilty in my time of making assumptions about conservative individuals, but never EVER again.
**
In closing, laughter is the best medicine, so if you were totally depressed by this blog, watch this and heal thyself, foo!

And it goes a little something like this...

2008-10-13T21:23:00.001-07:00

This one's dedicated to Miss Clare Palmer, beloved cousin and new member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints! Saturday we shlepped out to Agoura Hills (a 45-minute drive in average traffic... a journey I had made earlier that day for a client!) to celebrate Clare's baptism. To summarize, it was a fabulous time, and if you weren't there... yikes for you! Now let me break it down for you. When we arrived at the chapel where the shindig was going down, Clare caught a glimpse of me and, as daintily and reverently as ever, yelled "LAUREN!!" and gave me a running tackle-hug in the middle of a crowd of well-wishers. The girl's a rockstar. So after the running tackle-hug, we sat our little tushies in the room with the font, but the crowd was so big (double baptism!) that we had to move into the chapel. From our family, we had Lance and Jen's crew, our crew, Grandmas and Grandpas Palmer and Browning, Mike and crew, and Liz with her little tyke Nathan. Triple that for total attendance...
Anyhow, it was a typical mormon baptism... a talk about the ordinance (by Auntie Liz) and then the dunking. After Lance had said the prayer and submerged an excited little gal, Clare gave him the same tackle-hug RIGHT DOWN IN THE FONT. If he didn't have such giant feet and legs, she probably would have re-baptized him right then and there! Then the other little lady was baptized, and we went back into the chapel. There was a talk on the Holy Ghost and the confirmations, after which Clare tackle-hugged everyone in the circle: grandpas, uncles... but I guess the Bishop and First Counselor didn't feel secure enough on their feet and held her off at an arm's distance. That was another hilarious sight.
A little 9 year-old boy who belonged the entourage of the other baptisee sang a primary song about baptism that I'm not familiar with, and it just about put me in cardiac arrest. My heart popped out of my chest at that little soprano and melted into a puddle on the floor. If he were a little older, I probably would have sponged it up and offered it to him. Take me I'm yours! After the baptism was over, we headed over to a park nearby and had food and chit-chatted and fawned over Miss Clare-bear. Her enthusiasm over her baptism was not only contagious, but utterly inspiring. Why can't I be so psyched to go to church every Sunday? Well, I'm working on it.

PS: Little girls love me.
PPS: Notice the amazing BCBG dress I'm wearing: I got it at TJ Maxx for 90% off the MSRP!!!
PPPS: Notice my hotness. Yes, I've lost 30 pounds. No, it isn't easy to be this ridiculously good-looking.

Lemonade, Murder in the Hood, and some Cray-pas.

2008-10-06T21:17:00.000-07:00

I'm going to go in reverse order of the title and start with the Cray-pas. For those of you who didn't go to Winn Brook Elementary school, you might not call all oil-pastels Cray-pas. I googled the word to get the correct spelling, and apparently it's a brand name of cheap oil-pastels for "junior" artists. I don't use that brand, but I still call all oil-pastels (and all pastels, really) cray-pas. It's like calling all tissues Kleenex... same deal. So lately, since my dad put my giant tub of oils somewhere I can't find, I've been using my cray-pas to assuage my artistic cravings. Here's the latest installment, though be warned that it's a really bad picture of a great little drawing... I took it with my cellphone and it's all weird and distorted. The gunk in the sky are little stars made out of tin foil.

When I asked my notoriously loving and supportive mother what she thought it was a picture of (before the palm tree went on) she said "smog?" Thanks, mom. I guess sunrise isn't too far off... it is pretty smoggy around here!
**
Murder in the hood. Yikes. So after an uplifting weekend of General Conference, I'm thrust back into the harsh realities of life. As I drove to work, there were all these helicopters circling and the gated community that I was in was swarming with Police and security guards. Turns out, a man who was in dire financial trouble shot and killed 5 family members and then himself in his home last night... 2 blocks away from where I work. Here's a news truck that I snapped out of my windshield on the way home:

My mom told me when I got home that the headlines on the local news said "man kills family and self over economic crisis." Oh, the sensationalists. Great.
**
So when I was at Whitney's party ruining my life with some delicious homemade pizza, I talked to one of her friends about "The Master Cleanse" -- a cleanse where you basically flush the heck out of your bowels and intestines and eat nothing, but drink up to 1200 calories a day of a homemade lemonade mixture of fresh lemon juice, grade b maple syrup, cayenne pepper and water. Since I have some pretty gnarly IBS and my internals hate me, I decided to try it. A little over a week after the party (I hadn't pooped since the pizza at this point) I started the cleanse. Every night you drink a laxative herbal tea, then in the morning you drink a quart of salt water (which is like a laxative, only MUCH stronger and MUCH faster) and then you do the lemonade throughout the day, plus water. I'm at the end of day 4 out of 10 at this point, and I'm feeling pretty dang good! I'm not ridiculously bloaty like I am most of the time, and I just feel better in the tum-tum. I've kind of had enough of this whole no food thing, but I can make it a little longer. I've realize just how much I crave WHOLE WHEAT BREAD! All I've really craved is bread bread and more bread, even though I would have expected to crave mostly fruit and diet coke. Nope! Oh well, it's totally worth it. Apparently a lot of people use it as a crash diet, only drinking 500 calories a day of the lemonade and therefore losing 20 lbs in the 10 days. I've lost 2, probably because I'm drinking sufficient lemonade to stay healthy. Seriously people, 500 calories a day IS NOT GOOD FOR YOU! And on those crash diets you just gain it back anyway. Ridiculous.
**
So that's the update, sorry that I talked about pooping. It's on my mind a lot... IBS really sucks. Here's the token picture of Miss Hadley, the love of my life. It was taken during game 2 of the ALDS (GO RED SOX!). She loves to nestle herself in the pillows, and she wasn't about to let Caroline's leg get in her way!

Pics from Whitney's Party

2008-10-01T22:04:00.001-07:00

Well, I went ahead and stole these from facebook. Here are a few pictures from Whitney's party... one of Whitney and I (I'm the one with the red hair, in case you don't recognize me) and one of Whitney and Goose! Soooo fun! (PS> I'm basically in love with Whitney's dress, from anthropologie.)

Heavy Metal on Wall Street

2008-09-30T23:24:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been reading three newspapers everyday -- we've been getting the Los Angeles Times since we moved here, but I find it ridiculously superficial. On one of the early days of the economic crisis, the front page headline was about the Emmy's. So I decided to scan those headlines, but really invest myself in that wonderful source of news, the New York Times. So, I read the Times electronically in the morning, and scan the (subordinate) Times over cereal. That was working for a while, until... Dad decided he had also had enough of the LA Times, and subscribed to the Wall Street Journal. Thus, I read 3 newspapers. Needless to say, though I'll say it anyway, I get a lot of news.
One would never expect the two to go together, but last week I stumbled across the unlikely synthesis of Metallica and the Wall Street Journal. On the bottom of the front page was an article entitled something like "Metallica too loud even for heavy metal fans." I enjoy a dose of Metallica here and there, and I saw them in concert in 2004, so I read on. (AWESOME concert, by the way.) The article explained how lately bands have made their recordings "louder" so that they stick out more on the radio and on iPods. I can't say I had noticed. The article goes to on say that producers increase certain layers of the track at the expense of minute musical details and expression to give the illusion of a louder song, and that the new Metallica album "Death Magnetic" falls prey to this folly.
Well, I was curious, so I determined that when I got home from work I would investigate these vicious felonies -- WHOA! Law and Order SVU took over for a second... that I would investigate these claims myself by comparing "The Day That Never Comes" with an older song, say, "For Whom the Bell Tolls" from the album "Ride the Lightning." Well, being busy, that never happened.
Luckily, my burning curiosity was assuaged today as I sat in my car and the radio so lovingly played what I needed to hear. Though I am by no means a Metallica connoisseur like, say, Ian Ward, I could definitely hear a lack of musicality in the new song. Metallica, whether you like them or not, is a group of pretty fabulous musicians. It's impossible to deny that. And though the song is extremely well written and really fun to listen to, I did hear a lack of depth in dynamics and the balance seemed off... like the bass and the cymbals were too loud. Great album, guys, but I'm guessing your more loyal listeners aren't going to appreciate the cheap tricks...

The weekend in review

2008-09-29T19:41:00.000-07:00

Saturday was quite a busy day for me! I was all over the place seeing all sorts of people, and it was a blast.
***
In the morning, I had a session with my client in Agoura Hills. Her house is always fun for me to be in, because there are 8 kids (3 with autism) and the place is tingling with excitement. Her mom is also really cool, so during down time I love to chat with her. All of the kids want to play when the tutors come over... apparently my client cries if her brother and sister have sessions and she doesn't. It's funny to me, because sometimes she wants me to leave her alone once I'm there. But other times, like on a previous Saturday, she BEGGED me to sleep over, "please please please please!"
Anyway, Saturday we were sitting at the breakfast table, and my client's little sister was demanding that her breakfast show up miraculously on her plate NOW. When mom explained that it was still in the oven, she said "When I grow up, I'm not going to buy an oven!!!!" She's 6 and still can't say her 'R's, which made it that much funnier. We laughed pretty hard.
Then we did some fall-inspired Arts & Crafts, and the same sister made this lovely rendition of me. I'm happy, and I have lips! I'd say it's a pretty good likeness.

It's amazing how kids learn to draw, and what they incorporate to make their own style. By age 6, they've picked up on what their images are supposed to look like -- hair, hands with 5 fingers, flowers are pink and leaves are green. But my client's older sister, one of the other autistic children in the family, has a style all her own. She's much more severe than my client -- she's 4 years older, but has to be coaxed to make any intelligible words; otherwise she shrieks like a bird of prey when she's excited or mad. Like many people diagnosed with autism, however, she has an uncanny ability.
It's almost impossible to see in this picture because of the sun shining on the concrete, but this little gal can draw like nobody's business. I had the girls using sidewalk chalk to encourage interactive play, fine motor skills, colors, drawing, etc., and of course big sister was invited. Well, I did not expect what I saw! She just busted out with these amazing drawings around the poolside. They're very modern in style, women with understated facial features and overstated arms and torsos. I was so taken aback -- I couldn't believe what I was seeing! Honestly, done in watercolors in vivid colors, I would buy these in a gallery. Wow.
***
After work I popped into the Palmer's house in Agoura Hills to visit my Uncle Lance and his 3 little munchkins, who I've blogged about in the past. They all had neon-colored hair from Hudson's soccer game, and they were getting ready for the beach, so I didn't stay long. Nonetheless, I managed to get a little video of Hudson's showing off his newest tat -- a Boston Red Sox strip I brought over that his dad so deftly applied. What a guy.

**
After an uplifting and non-controversial Relief Society Broadcast, I hopped over to Whitney Low's in Simi for her 23rd Birthday Party! I reminisced in the car about my funniest birthday present in June... $50 in singles in a gift bag from my Grandma Palmer. And the only person who thought it was funnier than me: her. Thanks Marilyn, for being in my life :) Anyway, at Whitney's party -- where Whitney was the belle of the ball in a lovely coral anthropologie dress that made me green with envy -- I met lots of new people who I'll probably never see again, and I saw my old friend Gustavo Soares! I met Goose through Whitney at BYU several years ago, and I quickly learned to associate him with good humor and good times. There have been drag races down 9th east, spur of the moment water polo games, and of course the notorious butt shaving incidents. Goose, however, being a young gentlemen, left us to serve a mission in BOSTON! He's Brazilian, so he was called Portuguese speaking and spent time getting to know lots of my old friends. Well, Goose is back from those 2 years of spreading the good word, and it was so good to see him! Whitney's parents made a killer dinner for the party, and it was an evening well spent. Happy Birthday Whitney!

Photo of the day:

2008-09-25T07:05:00.000-07:00

This is my dad.
When my dad is really hyped up about how ridiculous something is, he throws his hands up and exclaims "what's the deal?!"
This is exactly what that looks like.
I wasn't there for this photo, I found it on a link my Uncle Erik sent me of pictures of a little no-kids party that the Aunts and Uncles and Grandma and Grandpa had at Lake Powell. I saw it and I knew exactly what he was saying when the picture was taken... And knowledge is half the battle.

Old McDonald had a pretty pimpin' farm, didn't you E-I-E-I know?

2008-09-24T19:36:00.000-07:00

So let's talk about work. Some people feel dread when it comes to waking up Monday mornings, trudging into the office slurping down a hurried cup o' Joe, wishing they were still warm under the covers.
Not me.
I love getting up to go to the Infant/Toddler program in the mornings, even if I have to leave my house before 7:30am! And I'm here to share an anecdote as to why my job rocks, and it may just make you question your personal career paths.
Every morning after a few minutes of supervised play, and then at the end of the day before sending the kids home, we have 15 minutes of "Circle Time." Sounds simple enough to anyone who went to preschool, but our circle time is a little different. The kids have to have an adult hovering over them at all times to prevent the kind of shenanigans that autistic toddlers try to run on us. They try to jump out of their chairs to do this that or the other thing, or in the case of this morning, one of them tackled me to kiss my arm. But I digress, so here's the long-awaited, fabulous story.
We have one little guy (who I'll refer to by his cartoon alias Johnny Bravo, as to the company privacy policy) who picks Old McDonald to sing twice a day, every day. Heck, sometimes when we're not even doing circle time the kid will run over to where we keep the picture icons and demand to sing his song. Now, his preferences don't end there. We have these knit finger puppets (that look identical to the ones I found on the internet, here)
and every single time Johnny Bravo chooses the pig. You see, each kid gets to choose an animal from the pile to sing about. So Johnny Bravo pulls the pig, screams "pig!" and then proceeds to oink in sheer glee every day, twice a day.
Today, the lead tech in charge of circle time had a great idea. It confused the kids, but it proved for some pretty intense adult laughter! You see, we have some reject finger puppets that don't really work for Old McDonald, and we usually skip them. But the teacher is on vacation this week, and we decided to do something sneaky. So here are the animal options we gave the kids: Old McDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O. And on that farm he had a... (snowman, snail, toucan, octopus, chupacabara, brontosaurus) E-I-E-I-O. The funniest thing about the Island of Misfit Toys remix of our song wasn't the animal choices, but our attempt to make up the noises that these animals make. It wasn't premeditated, so it was a cacophony of strange sounds... if you're reading this alone, or in the privacy of your own home, try to make their noise out loud. TRY not to laugh.
Verily, a chupacabra is a mythical creature and there's a lot of controversy as to what the thing looks like. We didn't have a chupacabra, we had a lizard. But, lizard is boring. So chupacabra it is. In case you were wondering, this is what google makes of the chupacabra:
GORGEOUS.

Tagged by McKenna Lee Lane

2008-09-22T12:21:00.001-07:00

(I think this is how this works... she listed me at the bottom as someone she wanted to tag, so I perpetuate?)
***
8 Things I am Passionate About:

1. Art - creation and appreciation of all types
2. Family and close friends
3. Universal childhood education
4. Understanding of cultures and identities
5. Special Education! And educating folks about our differently-abled neighbors
6. Faith
7. Peace, both internal and external
8. Health

8 Books I Have Read and Enjoyed:

1. The Awakening
2. The Scarlet Letter
3. Anything by Jhumpa Lahiri
4. Miss Rumphius
5. Tristan et Yseut
6. L'étranger
7. L'aventure Ambigue
8. The Poisonwood Bible

8 Words/Phrases I Say Often:

1. That's gangsta
2. ...and a medium diet coke, please.
3. Good try! One more time, then you can have a break.
4. Time to work! ... come here come here COME HERE!
5. Look at Hadley!
6. It's WHAT time?
7. Will you pop me some popcorn?
8. WE NEED FRUIT!

8 Things I Want to Do Before I Die (In no particular order):

1. Get married and have at least 1 child, preferably a girl named Olivia.
2. Eat something really weird in a foreign country, like tempura tarantula.
3. Visit Japan
4. Live abroad
5. Start an NGO to raise awareness of developmental delays in Africa
6. Dye my hair purple
7. Have a vegetable garden with LOTS of heirloom tomatoes
8. Be the "go-to" girl for something, like cooking advice or a shoulder to cry on

8 Things I Learned in this Past Year:

1. Applying to graduate school sucks.
2. I have the patience of a saint... with children.
3. Guys at church can still be disgusting pigs.
4. I don't like nature sounds keeping me up at night
5. I'm deathly afraid of rattle snakes, even dead and beheaded ones
6. I'm a lot more comfortable talking about bodily functions than my family
7. My mom often compares me to Jack Black
8. Even when I express respect for another person's religious views, they still condescend when talking to me about mine.

People I Want to Tag:
1. Christopher and Megan
2. Kristen
3. Heather B. Armstrong
4. Tina Fey
5. Chrissie Tsaturyan
6. Chica

a long overdue update-roo

2008-09-19T19:16:00.000-07:00

So it's funny to me, this blogging thing. I started a blog for the first time when I was in London, mostly because it made me feel cool, and so my mom could read it
(when I reminded her to several times). Then I randomly kept blogging. And yet, it's still novel to me that people read my blog the way I read theirs, that they check back and think "poop" when I haven't updated. So then there's that thing, that if you write all the time you risk sounding mundane with every minute detail of your life. But if you only write once in a blue moon, you're so overwhelmed by the task that you put it off forever. So here's a bulleted list, some updates, and maybe some expansion beyond that.
First, here's the token Hadley picture:

Don't worry, I'll add another by the end of this post ;)

So, I could write about...
*losing 25 pounds, a process that has made me much healthier, and much more constipated.
*the joys and travails of working as a behavior therapist.
*being hired to work in my company's infant/toddler program in addition to my regular clients.
*dying my hair red.
*what attracts me to and keeps me from graduate school.
*Major League baseball... how the Red Sox didn't quite make it, and how I've adjusted to Dodger territory.

So, here's a few pictures of a Dodger's game I went to a few weeks ago! The field shot is when Manny was at bat. I was so thrilled, of course, to support my boy Manny!

The Dodgers played the Diamondbacks, with Derek Lowe pitching an outstanding win of 8-2. Here's a picture of myself and a young chap from my ward, Greg. My face looks oddly distorted, but I'd say it's recognizable.

I also thought I'd post a cute picture of one of the little guys I work with, Tyler P. I'm good friends with his cousin Kristen Rane Lanshe, which is a complete coincidence actually. Anyway, his happy face is a good example of why I do what I do. To reap the rewards of good behavior. Let's just say, I'm his mean task-master, and he smiles when I scare him into obedience.

People always assume he's my son when we're out together. I've also probably been suspected of being his kidnapper, too... once I took him to get a haircut. He has sensory problems that make his neck HYPER sensitive... if you brushed the nape of his neck by accident, he would literally perceive it as pain. So the haircut obviously didn't go over too well... he started screaming expletives and running down the street in a ghetto part of Pasadena, yelling "help me! help me! Oh SH**!!!" I smiled and waved at all of the concerned onlookers with my best Miss America wave while chasing him, hoping to keep him out of oncoming traffic. Well, it all turned out nicely in the end, no harm no foul!

Anyway, here's another picture of Hadley. We told her to dress up, but we didn't realize that she also had gender identity problems. Or maybe it was just rebellion against to bows we make her wear all the time? Either way, we're much more explicit to tell her to put on a dress or a skirt now.

Ciao!

The city is restless; it's ready to pounce

2008-08-20T20:17:00.000-07:00

Welcome home Lauren!! I've been back for a week and a half from Idaho, and I finally have enough time to write a little bloggitty blog post.

Last week and this week I'm working on a farm called "Danny's Farm" here in the Pasadena area with Tyler Penniall--I call him my free-lance client. I'm also working at my regular job with ABC, and let me tell you, it's a party. The farm is just in the middle of a suburb called Altadena; it's on just a lot the size of a residence, with a little corral and some stalls for the animals. We've got pigs, goats, cows, mini-horses and one regular horse, chickens, roosters, and doves, bunnies, sheep, guinea pigs, cats... I think that's about it. It's really fun for the kids! The two weeks that I'm doing it I'm Tyler's 1-on-1 aide, one of the few aides there. All of the children are developmentally disabled, and most have autism. Funny stuff always happens... like Samantha, a little girl with gorgeous strawberry-blonde hair and freckles with Down Syndrome who is OBSESSED with Hannah Montana. She doesn't really talk, but she constantly head bangs and dances like Hannah Montana. I kind of feel like I need to get a Hannah Montana T-Shirt and wear it to see what she does :)
Probably the best joke I've ever heard was from one of the little guys at the farm-- every day he had another one to tell us that never made any sense. He said "What did Batman say to Superman?" "Smash the door!!" And then he would laugh hysterically. What fun!
An interesting thing that happened to me last night from the farm -- it proved that our house is cursed for birds. Someone came and dropped off a baby chick for us, and I took it home so that it wouldn't be alone in the office overnight. We bonded all night... I let Peace (his or her name) walk around the ground to follow me around all over the house, which was so so so cute, and then I put her to bed. Well, when I went to get her in the morning, she was dead in her cage. It turns out that the chicks really need a heat lamp if they're away from the mothers, to simulate the heat of the chicken coop. Well, I was pretty mortified when I had to tell the director of the farm, but then she tells me that she thought it would die. Well thanks for telling me, Lisa.
Well, y'all might be interested to know that I am now a vegan. I have some digestive ails, and I decided to try going vegan to see if it would help me feel better. And I have my life back! I feel much, much better all the time now that I'm eating vegan. It's pretty exciting, and it feels good to be successful. A little story... when I was 11 I was a vegetarian for 6 months until my grandma forced me to eat her Chicken à la King... she cited death by protein deficiency. Since it's a dietary preference and not idealogical, I've also decided that if I'm somewhere that I need to be polite, I'll eat the chicken or fish and just be constipated for a few days. But I don't imagine it happening very often, because if I don't eat at home where I cook my own food, I'm usually at a restaurant, not in someone's home.
Anyway, life's a party over here! Between the tofu, dead chickens, and flesh wounds from out-of-control autistic children, life is good.

A Family Affair

2008-07-10T10:44:00.001-07:00

Ever heard of Stevie Wonder?
We have! On Monday night, mom, dad, allie and I had the pleasure of attending a Stevie Wonder concert... his first tour in 15 years. Here's us, thrilled! before the show starts:
So Stevie played a lot of great stuff. And he's so funny! He's got a really engaging stage presence. So Stevie had all 3 of his kids on stage participating in the show, mostly Aisha as a backup singer/dancer. At one point, Stevie invited Aisha to sing a solo, which she did (it was a love song) after which he said "don't cry bebe" in a funny little accent, then broke right into "Isn't She Lovely" with Aisha right on stage! It was cute. Later, Stevie mentioned the Guinness Book of World Records, and how there are these records for the longest song, and whatnot, and said "but I wonder, how many people have made love to one of my songs?" He then pulled his son (in his 20's) up on stage, and asked him if he ever used one of dad's songs to get a little something-something. He had his son sing it, and then sang it again himself. Mom and Dad did a little cuddling during that part. I wonder...
We had a great time! It was so fun, and the Hollywood bowl was a great arena for the show. Here's a picture before the show and during:
On the second shot, you can see the little screens with Stevie rocking out on the harmonica!! Dad and I got beer dumped on us from behind, but other than that the night was a complete, joyous success.

My Multi-media Message

2008-06-20T21:18:00.000-07:00

Alright folks! Here's my multi-media message, a little posting to share a few great sounds and sights. First, I thought I'd share this great little video that my brother sent me online. It's from the old TV show "Cheers" that we all remember from TV Land, and of course it takes place in the bar "Cheers" in Boston. I don't know if any Bostonians actually go there, or if it's a tourist trap now, but it still gives me civic pride. In fact, on KROQ when they were giving away free trips to a concert in Boston, they played a clip of the theme music to really give a sense of place to the listeners. I wonder who even got it? I sure did...

The rest of my little message is about music. As I'm sure y'all know, I love the stuff. Especially really good indie hip-hop and alternative. So today my recommendations are two great songs by two great little lady-fronted indie alternative bands. The first is called "The Ting Tings," and the song I'll suggest is "Shut Up and Let Me Go." The second is called "Tilly and the Wall," and the song I'll suggest is "Pot Kettle Black." You won't be disappointed. In fact, I was so excited about it that I bought tickets to see Tilly and the Wall in LA next month! Yippee! So get your google on a listen to some great music!

Chrissie Tsaturyan: a gentlewoman and a scholar.

2008-06-18T14:06:00.000-07:00

Today I had the unparalleled privilege to see my good friend Chrissie (with daughter Rose and sister Megan in tow) for a few hours. They happen to be in town visiting grandparents in the valley, and popped over to lighten my life. We ran over to the Huntington Gallery to get out of the heat and yet actually do something... unlike my typical day-to-day life. I was so glad of the company that I probably talked their ears into oblivion.
Here's us on the grounds:

I basically gave a condensed version of the tour I had the last time I went to the Huntington, with my mom and all of her other menopausal friends. We only stayed about an hour, but I think that was plenty for all of us (it is so hot lately... and we forgot the stroller for Rose, so we carried her the whole time!) I made sure to highlight my particular favorites for them, like the William Morris textiles and furniture.
Next we came back to the homestead (which makes it sound like home, home on the range... maybe I should call it the château?) and chilled for a bit, me doing more yakking, etc. Chrissie's sister happens to know lots of Belmontians, the most exciting of which was Collin Beecroft.
Chrissie's daughter, Rosemary Ella Tsaturyan (or Rosalind, as I've taken to calling her) is so cute! I find a lot of babies repulsive, but this one's beautiful. She has really soft skin and beautiful blue eyes like her mom. And, just in case we need to up the coolness factor for her already at 3 months, she's 5/8ths Armenian! Word up!
I really enjoyed their company, and apparently they enjoyed mine. Of course, you can still tell that I'm awkward around babies, since I asked Chrissie, "Will you take a picture of me with your child?" Sometimes I'm just strange, but I've come to terms with that. Last night after an extraordinary Celtics victory and some very easy babysitting, Alexandra and I watched Stardust. In case any of you haven't seen it, it's a fantastic film. It's really light-hearted, totally creative, and Robert DeNiro is TO DIE FOR. If you're a DeNiro fan, get ready!

BORING

2008-06-17T22:17:00.000-07:00

So, my life continues to be monotonous. In fact, this post will probably bore you to tears. I had a pretty good weekend, though I got a little sick Sunday/Monday. I think I was dehydrated or had a little bug or something. That, and I'm COVERED from head to toe with bruises... some are mysterious, but others are from my new client who likes to beat the crap out of me when he doesn't want to work. Who knew malnourished 8 year-olds were so strong??
Wow, there's no point in continuing... I have nothing!

a love letter to doc rivers, paul pierce, and ray allen:

2008-06-12T21:38:00.000-07:00

It doesn't take a genius or a college graduate (though I happen to be both)
to realize that the Celtics are going to win the NBA finals this year. I mean, of course they will, right? We've got the whole Boston sports thing going for us with the ridiculously passionate and loyal fans through thick and thin, and the players and coach to beat them all. Furthermore, we had a record-breaking come back today, and even statistically speaking, the Lakers are screwed. So take that LA! GO CELTICS!!

(There's nothing like a Celtics game to get all of the girls in our house screaming, except maybe a Banana Republic gift card.)

It's official.

2008-06-10T21:49:00.000-07:00

It's official. I've decided that I absolutely MUST purchase a house on Prince Edward Island someday. You see, my sister Allie and I are currently watching Anne of Green Gables, and so I got curious. You can buy a 5-bedroom house on PEI for less than 100,000 dollars!! Canadian!! We used to go to Canada on vacation a lot when I was little, since we were too poor for airplanes and would drive up from Boston. Anyway, fabulous. Imagine me, on an island in Canada, with a giant garden. The eccentric lady in the neighborhood.
So anyway, today I got a breather from working. My client canceled, so I hiked up to my Aunt's house in Agoura Hills and spent the day with her and some of my cousins. I fell down the stairs on my way, which was fun. But the best part of it all was my two little boy-cousins being OBSESSED with the word "buttocks." I asked one of them, Hudson (he's going to be in Kindergarten next year) "what do you want to be when you grow up?" He said, and I quote directly, "I want to be a BUTTOCK maker!!" Then the 3 year-old did a little dance yelling "Buttock buttock buttock!!" It's a joy, a sheer joy.

This is Drewby in the pool. I asked for a high-five, which I got, and which he corrected me: "it was a wet-five!!"
Then there's Clare. She's my bosom-cousin... we have a deep connection. A few years ago she told her mom "Lauren's my girlfriend!" She's going to be 8 in September. She kept introducing me to her little friends today as "my college cousin." She was shocked to learn that I had in fact finished college. She did cut me some roses from her garden though! That was cool.

I won't comment on the Celtics game.
Of course, here's a picture of Hadley! It's her yakking on the phone. Sometimes we can't get her to stop talking! Of course, she doesn't have opposable thumbs, so she doesn't text. But we never know exactly who she's talking to...

The daily doggy dish:

2008-06-05T22:16:00.000-07:00

Imagine 4 or 5 quarters stacked on top of each other. Better yet, STACK 4 or 5 quarters on top of each other. See that? Feel that? A bunch of stones bigger than that came out of my doggy's bladder a few days ago. She came home from the vet today after her surgery, so I actually held one of the things in my hands. I wasn't going to, since it was IN HER BLADDER, but my sister Caroline held the stones out to show me and I was so shocked that I had to touch it and hold it in my hand. It feels just like a smooth rock that you would get on the shores of a lake; the perfect skipping rock. It's sick. Can you believe that? No wonder she kept peeing on the couch!

Today at work a few funny things happened. 7 year-olds are great, maybe my favorite age for kids. They're old enough not to be as obnoxious as they once were or throw temper tantrums, and they're young enough to still be soo soo cute and innocent. To preface my first story, you should know that I call all little girls either "girlfriend" or "mademoiselle." Last summer my little cousin told her mom "Lauren's my girlfriend." It was maybe the happiest moment in my life. So anyway, I kept calling my client "mademoiselle" today, and eventually she said, in utter confusion, "I'm not Mademoiselle! I'm Aminah!!!!" It was really cute. I didn't bother explaining that one today. Later on, she showed me her sense of humor when we were doing receptive animal noises. She knows them all and gets them all right (she's 7 for Pete's sake) so the second time I said what "kind of animal makes this noise?" (ROOOAR like a Lion) she said "YOU DO!!!" I'm such a party animal. For that, I made her get up and do a silly dance with me.

Randomly changing gears, my little sis had her wisdom teeth out today. She lucked out in that she only had 3, and one of the missing one was a bottom one (which are much worse.) She's physically fine. When I had mine out, I started the adventure with outrageous, Valium-induced laughter, went on to vomit my blood, gauze, and guts out, then sat on the couch subdued as my cheeks swelled beyond recognition. I was a little sad from a recent breakup, but I'd say I dealt with my pain pretty graciously. Well Alexandra, who can eat and drive and walk around, is the grumpiest little pissant you've ever seen. My mom said "it's like she's angry at the pain." It's hard to be around. But, I'm so glad she doesn't have to go through what my brother and I did! He cried for two days straight and accused the entire family, in a very passive-aggressive note on the counter, that we were on crack.

Books, art, and more on being an old lady.

2008-06-04T22:04:00.000-07:00

I've used enough Aspercreme on my arthritic hands to be able to type comfortably for a few minutes, so why not take advantage of it? I thought I'd share some thoughts on the three books that I've read recently in the past two weeks. My criteria for really loving a book is that it both touches my soul somewhere deep and agonizing, and it teaches me something shiny and new for my arsenal of useless knowledge. Books that attain neither of these are simply entertaining, not worth much mention or contemplation.
The first book I read in the aforementioned time period was The Secret Life of Bees but Sue Monk Kidd. It only satisfied one of my two criterion: I learned a lot about bees, honey, spirituality (especially non-tradition, personal spirituality) and so on, but I didn't really connect emotionally with the book. I thought it was great and beautifully written, and I would definitely suggest it. I think it would be especially cathartic to anyone with an abusive parent, or a parent that died in childhood.
The second book I read was C.S. Lewis' The Screwtape Letters. This was a great! It wasn't as overtly entertaining as the other two, I'd say, but it has a dry witticism that is subtle and fun. I felt like I gained a lot of really wonderful insights from the book (I used one in church the day after I finished it!!) and that I learned a lot about myself. This one fit both criteria, and I would suggest it to anyone that professes him/herself a Christian. No matter what, you'll understand yourself and your faith better after this one, and you'll get a few good laughs.
The third one, I just finished about 10 minutes ago, was Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See. Oddly enough I chose two books with the word "secret" in the title, and the main character in both of them is named Lily. Don't even ask... I'm trying not to look too far into it. I keep seeing a secret daughter named Lily, and I don't want that happening EVER so--anyway, the book was fabulous! The language was rich and it transported me into another world. I could almost feel my toes breaking as the characters bound their daughters' feet. I learned a lot more about Chinese culture than I ever knew... it's such a daunting task in History class to try to memorize the order and dates of the dynasties that my mind tended to just shut off during China time. Anyway, I felt like I really identified with Lily's pangs of remorse and trying to make a retribution for her wrongs. I've had a lot of wrongs. The beauty and dignity of her suffering were very inspiring. I would suggest this to anyone and everyone, especially men who don't understand women (oh right, that's ALL men!!!), but I wouldn't read it if you're going through a depressed state, or in the depths of a snowy winter.
This morning I went to the Huntington Museum/gallery with my mom and all of her menopausal church-friends. It was hilarious to trot around looking at art with these dentured, permed, orthotic-wearing ladies... they certainly weren't hard to keep up with. The great thing is, whenever I'm out with my mom, everyone always says, referring to me, "is this your friend?" I mean, do I really look like I'm in my 40's? Because that would suck. At the same time, it's kind of fun for us to smile and just say no, we're that great mother-daughter combo that's smart and charming and witty. Okay, we don't say that, but you can see it in our perfect teeth and sparkling eyes :)
Anyway, the Huntington is great! I feel spoiled by all of the museums I've paid tribute to across the world, but they do have a great collection. Among the highlights are pre-Revolution French tapestries, lots of great William Morris stuff, exquisite jasperware, TONS of Gainsborough, and our London study abroad's favorite, Sir Joshua Reynolds. All of the gals that were with me will chuckle in irritated recognition, and will be proud to know that I identified one of his paintings as his before I even saw the placard! Go me, I'd pat myself on the back if it wasn't for my damned arthritis.

Only in California, and How I've Become an Old Woman.

2008-06-03T23:15:00.000-07:00

So I saw a few amusing things the other day when I was out in the valley with a client. I thought I'd share those amusing things:
First of all, "SPEED HUMPS"??? Really? Because everywhere else in the world they're speed bumps. It's just so random and hilarious to me. Second of all, if you look at that sign and put the stress on the second syllable of "contract," it sounds like a miracle pill that allows promiscuity. Maybe I'm just sick, but hey that's what I noticed. Of course, it's a cell phone add, but hey seriously.

Another funny thing that I saw out on a walk through the La Cañada Country Club with my dog was a street sign, kid you not, "Star Trek Dr." That was a good one. I should probably take a picture of that one! I mean really, Star Trek Dr. in a ritzy country club?

As for becoming an old lady, I have arthritis! Can you believe that? I have arthritis in my wrist and maybe in my back, and I have to use "Aspercreme" to be able to use my wrist at all. It's a little sickening. How does that possibly happen to a 21-year-old???

Shalom world!

2008-05-28T22:38:00.000-07:00

I just had to show a picture of my dog... my excuse for not blogging regularly is that whenever I have time to, I always want to lay on the couch with her. She's just so precious! Luckily for all "y'all" (as my Grandma would say) she's stinky and needs a bath. Groomer tomorrow at 8:30am!! She doesn't look like it, but she was attacked by a coyote a little over a month ago in San Diego, and she was inches from doggy doom. Luckily with her IVs and collapsed lung, she didn't go to that warm, inviting light to doggy heaven. Or maybe she remembered seeing "All Dogs Go to Heaven" in her previous life as a French Princess and recalled that "you can never go back!"
---Changing gears...---
So it's been a busy, interesting week. I feel like I'm lying whenever I say that I'm busy since I'm only working part-time, but I'm never just sitting at home relaxing. I guess that will only happen when I retire. College is over, it's time to get serious. I did a lot of sewing of course, since I'm a superstar sister and quilter. I've been working on this quilt that I promised my brother and sister-in-law for their wedding (over 2 years ago) and it's almost finished. Also, Samantha sat on some kind of gunkitty-goo on the metro while holding her little boyfriend's hand and it threatened to destroy her pantalones. So, being an awesome person, I sewed some cute fabric over the stain.

The fabric is a scrap from a quilt that Alexandra is working on, so that was convenient. I bent a needle and a pin beyond recognition, but I make sacrifices for my love. Notice my cute toes to the right of the picture, with the big toe naked as the day I was born, and the other ones alternating white and black. I won't even try to explain what happened with that. Just smile, shake your head, and say "what a hippie." Also notice my mom and dad's sweet new rug.
This week has been loaded with interior design-ness from top to bottom. I went antique shopping with my mom most of Saturday, and she found a few pieces of furniture that were going to be ideal for the house. When my parents moved from Boston to La Cañada in August, there was suddenly a lot more space to cover. So anyway, the most promising was an Empire table, American, 1890, solid Mahogany for the entry hall. It is really beautiful, but of course we couldn't just bring it home because... my dad would probably have a hernia. And believe me, I know hernias. The ladies who we worked with were these spunky, vivacious, slightly tacky 70-year-old twins, Ann & Kay. If you're ever in Pasadena, you absolutely have to go see them. So my mom and I ended up going back for the table on Tuesday, at which point we hit up more antique spots and found more good stuff. So the cycle continues, and some day after dad has moaned and complained about furniture enough we'll get our way. I've never been that exposed to or interested in antiques, but now I'm in love. And even though I don't have my own place to put my own stuff, I saw a lot of potential in the old jewelry. It's funky retro chic is right up my alley, plus I would re-work a lot of it to make it look more modern (and therefore stylish, not kitchy), which feeds my need for working with my hands.
Anyway, after all of the antique business, we went carousing into Culver City, where there's this ridiculously amazing design store (like the size of a small home depot) called "Berbere Imports." Just the name is enough to make an African Studies minor like me salivate, but the inside was practically orgasmic. (My mom's mom would crucify me for that mark... when Meredith moved from "The View" to "Good Morning America," she used the word orgasmic and I heard about how inappropriate it was for a few days.) Anyway, it's all stuff from Europe, Africa, and Asia, and they sell to the trade. They have indoor and outdoor stuff, furniture, textiles, decorations, GIANT DOORS, you name it. They have these amazing, tall wooden doors that should be in the British Museum or something. They look like the doors of Jericho or a fortress in Assyria. I called them the doors to Narnia. So most of their stuff, I'd say, was Indian for indoor and Chinese for outdoor. They had killer Moroccan lamps and stuff, and the whole place was amazing. Well, we bought this cool little side table for the family room, which wasn't easy. You see, we were two lay-people walking into design Mecca, and it turns out that they only really sell to designers. But, we talked a cute guy into letting us have it, and I told him that it was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. That is, after trying to solicit my services to him. I definitely mentioned both having lived in Africa and speaking fluent French, but he neither proposed to me nor hired me on the spot. Such is life!

This table is from India, about the height of my knee, and it's inlaid with either bone or lacquer. It's definitely cool. My mom said "A touch of ethnic is just perfect," to which I replied "a touch of non-ethnic is just perfect," at which we laughed and drove off into the sunset.

une grande dilemme.

2008-05-25T19:27:00.000-07:00

After a fantastic, rather quiet weekend of antique shopping and old-French-movie-watching alone with my mom, my joy was brought crashing down around me as I made a sad realization: I'm pretty sure one of my sisters doesn't love me. We'll call her "X" for anonymity's sake: well I was with X driving to downtown LA to pick up a different sister, and before we were even pulled out of the parking spot X started berating me that I didn't have my cell phone with me. Now, never mind the fact that she didn't have her cell phone with her either, but she was practically crucifying me for not obliging to what she thought was a necessary nicety: how dare I leave the house without my cell phone? She was really honestly upset. So, as an attempt to protect our already rocky relationship, I told her that I wanted her to stop talking about it, that she was being too aggressive and I didn't want to yell at her or say something mean. I thought "wow, pat on the back self. You're being mature in the way you handle this situation." Well, she clammed up for the rest of the ride (1.5 hours) and didn't say a word. Now imagine a flashback from a TV show with all of the squiggly lines:
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When we were little kids, I admittedly treated X like crap. My older brother used to kick me around a whole lot, and we get along really well now, so I kind of took that example on how to treat my other sisters. Turns out, it didn't work. She would tell her friends how incredibly awful and terrible I was to her, and they would in turn tell their older sisters (my friends) about it. Then my friends would tell me I was a total jerk and they couldn't understand how I could be so awful. I was ashamed and humiliated when that started happening, so I decided to be a better big sister. Well, that didn't work because she still hates me.
When I went off to college I had high hopes that absence would help to cure our problems. The first summer I came home went okay, but by the second summer she was telling me that I was a "fat, lazy, cow" and that was 30 pounds ago!! She started having this pattern of not wanting "share" people: if we had mutual people in our lives, she would either lose interest in them all together or become incredibly (and quite vocally) exclusive of them, and tell me how they were hers (in many more words.) Basically, she wanted nothing in common with me. And her personality went from sweet and shy to loud and in-your-face. And we haven't really ever learned to get along.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Back to the present, I have tried for a long time to improve my relationship with her. I buy her stuff, I try to talk to her, I try to spend quality time together, etc. etc., but she still is pretty aloof and cold towards me. And after dinner, after 5 or so hours where she hasn't looked at me or said a word to me, I'm pretty sure that she doesn't love me. I think that she likes me 10% of the time and can tolerate me about 50% of the time, and other than that, we're doomed. Why else would she persist to verbally abuse me every time we meet new people? It makes me look like a giant loser.

Caution: don't let the "happy mormon family" look deceive you.

un grand succès!!!

2008-05-23T16:59:00.000-07:00

So yesterday was a day of successes for me! In the morning, I drove up to my office in Valencia to take Part II of my training test. On Thursday we took the written portion, and then were dismissed to stew in fear of failure at home until the oral portion the next morning. I got in there right on time, and my trainer Mario said that I had been particularly fabulous on the test: one other guy and I had passed with flying colors, and had been especially thorough and had kicked the hard parts' butts. So that was a fist-bump with my ego! Anyway, I took the oral part with the Program Manager pretending to be my autistic student. I had to run a lesson with her and correct a behavior problem, so I did! I definitely felt the pressure, I mean here's the Program Manager testing me, scrutinizing my every move! But it went well, and I got even more praise from Mari-izz-o for using several different disciplinary methods. Go me, fist-bump again. Or, as Ms. LaRoche used to have us do in the 1st grade, give myself a pat on the back :)
I got my schedule right then and there, and I had my first real live session yesterday! So I went to this little lady's house (I can't give any specifics, or I could be prosecuted.) She's almost 8, but has the verbal capacity of a 2 or 3 year-old. But she can read, and she's very sweet and has almost no behavior problems. I think she's going to be a really good first case, since she's pretty easy. I'm so excited! I was 45 minutes late to the house because their street has three segments separated by dead-ends, but it was cool... the Field Trainer didn't seem too upset, and it all worked out well. I'm the bomb, which everyone already knew, but... pat on the back Lauren!!!

Today in the news

2008-05-21T22:45:00.001-07:00

I personally am not good at keeping touch with the news, but I come from a family that's pretty well connected. The only thing I do with the newspaper is the crossword, and when I watch TV it's for the TLC reality shows or ABC dramas. Anyway, a few interesting articles have passed by me lately, and I thought I'd share two. One is for fun and fascination, and the other is for reflexion.
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"Weird Beastie" Shrimp Have Super-Vision"

National Geographic is getting some free advertising from me tonight!! So I saw this crazy freaking picture scrolling through on the homepage of the aforementioned equivalent of ecstasy, and I had to read on. This "weird beastie" is a crustacean called a Mantis Shrimp (it's not a shrimp though), and the cool thing about it is that it can see 12 or 13 primary colors! So we see 3: red, yellow, and blue. This freaking thing can see 4 times the amount of colors we can! Infrared, UV, different wavelengths and polarizations, etc. My favorite part about the article was the ending: "What the significance of that is... not clear." These brazen scientists spent all this money finding fancy colors that they can't even see, for fun! Well, at least they're honest about it.
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"Ex-USC student pleads no contest in dumping of newborn in trash bin"
Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought that USC was a pretty good school, and that you had to have some degree of education and sense to get in. But of course, Miss Holly Ashcraft didn't have enough sense to snap on a condom! This 23 year-old woman has dumped 2 -count 'em 2- babies in her short life-time. And of course, she is serving no jail time after her court hearing today. Once when she was 19 and once when she was 21, this chica has dumped her newborn baby like a sac of rotten fruit. Can anyone explain that to me?
As horrifying as this is, the most interesting thing for me was a reflexion from my mother. She mentioned that people are horrified about a woman dumping a newborn, but most don't even blink at abortion. She was saying this in political neutrality, probably because she didn't want to start a fight with her most flaming liberal offspring, but really it was an interesting commentary on our society. What changes in the 6 months between an abortion and the murder of a born baby that makes us go from apathy to horror? Just something to think about.

On the senses

2008-05-20T23:15:00.000-07:00

If had to lose any one sense, what would it be? Touch, sight, smell, sound, taste? It wouldn't be touch, because I love the feeling of my dog's fur, or the way water feels as it rushes past you in the ocean. It wouldn't be sight or sound, I love those sensations too much and the art that often accompanies them. It sure wouldn't be taste, because I'm kind of obsessed with food. I mean, imagine not tasting British White Stilton cheese anymore? Or Gouda with apples? It would definitely be smell. I could do without smell, especially gasoline, bananas, and Hadley's breath. I'm thinking about senses because of a few things: 1, I'm in pain. I cut a bunch of the nerves in my right pointer finger over a year ago with a notoriously stupid blender accident, and against my greatest wishes from my magic genie that I keep under my bed, they still afflict me. And my back has been hurting from the indentured servitude that began when I moved home. Would I be willing to sacrifice touch in order to never feel pain again? Or do I appreciate pain, because it makes me realize how great not being in pain is? That's sure a sunny outlook... sounds like something an African would say.

Reason 2, my mom just bought tickets to a Stevie Wonder concert! It's pretty awesome, because Stevie Wonder is pretty freaking awesome! For anyone that doesn't know her, my mom is this super classy, proper lady who was raised by strict Mormon parents in Bel Air. She went to Law School, always uses impeccable grammar, is embarrassed to use the word "fart," and won't allow thongs in the house. But somehow, thrown in the mix, my mom LOVES R&B. Stevie Wonder, Earth Wind & Fire, Michael Jackson, The Commodores, you name the 70's black music and she's all over it. I'm not suggesting that this music is unclassy, just that it's an awesome, slightly unexpected facet of her deep personality. Stevie Wonder has been able to work through blindness at a time when it sucked to be a blind man, not to mention blackness in a time when it sucked to be a black man, to be a prolific, versatile, and extremely talented musician/singer/songwriter/long-braids-with-beads-wearer. Our family tends to love his albums "Songs in the Key of Life" 1 and 2, tending more to funky-fresh, less to the sappy old-school stuff of the 50's and 60's. In fact, the ring tone on my cellphone for family calls is his song "Superstition". And now I have tickets. Pretty freaking sweet.
**
Recommended songs:
Superstition, Past-time Paradise, Isn't She Lovely, Have a Talk with God, Sir Duke, I Wish, and Ebony and Ivory. Enjoy!!!

idk, my bff jill?

2008-05-19T20:42:00.000-07:00

So watching that AT&T commercial, where the teenage disaster is texting up the yinyang, I always just laughed and thought it was pretty funny. Like oh, haha, that's funny. Well, that was until I moved home. Now, that isn't funny. It's sadly realistic... My little sisters Samantha and ESPECIALLY Caroline are texting freaks. They text all day! It's gotten to the point that my parents had to officially ban texting from the dinner table. Really, where has common courtesy gone? If my Grandma Carmack, the etiquette queen, lived with us, she'd drop dead. And you know what my sisters do? They sneak texts like little kids dropping their veggies to the dog!
Disgraceful.

So today Samantha was opening her birthday presents (Happy Sweet 16!!!!) and a phone buzzed. She dropped the fresh new clothes from H&M, very concerned that she might have a TEXT MESSAGE, the holy grail of all teenage communication. But "no," my mom said "Caroline's phone farted." Meaning, she got a text message. Which, to the rest of us in such a profuse quantity and while everyone is trying to enjoy togetherness and cake, is just as distasteful.
***
Luckily the evening wasn't a total waste... my mom made the connection between her favorite new adjective, "gangsta," and the Steve Miller Band classic "some call me the gangster of love." She sang it beautifully while folding her unmentionables.

Shouldn't there be a "Creationist" Party too?

2008-05-18T21:36:00.000-07:00

So I've been thinking lately. It's kind of this weird habit of mine, thinking. Well, what are the major problems we face in our society? Some of them in the news right now are the recession, gay marriage laws, natural disasters... Right. So to deal with the recession, we need to create jobs. Heck, I need another job. On the issue of gay marriage laws, we need to decide how we feel about allowing two individuals who can't naturally create life together express commitment and love to each other in the same way that heterosexual people do. Natural disasters? Well, we need to counteract their destruction with creation. And that won't be easy, especially when some countries refuse help. So I guess I look at it like we as a world society need to create in order to save ourselves and each other. And so much in this world emphasizes destruction! It's hard to know what to do. Wouldn't it be cool if the political corporation that is the American Way came together to actually solve some problems? Yeah, that would be cool. But then again, I'm a crazy hippie with kooky ideas.
One way people around me tend to create is to perpetuate their genetic material into some ugly little alien child, who eventually grows up into another person with limitless potential for creation or destruction themselves. Honestly, I haven't been able to like that idea at all yet... there's nothing about gooey alien things that I have to be in charge of that I like. What if my child grows up into someone I don't like? So right now, I'm just trying to create art. I'm not a grand artista or anything, but it makes me feel good. And I like to think that it makes other people feel good. And when I'm creating art, I'm not destroying anything. So that's good. Below are my first dabblings in oil, really my first dabblings in painting at all, just in case.

--**Tulips**--

--**A Lily**--