Drop it like it's hot.

Bored? You should head over to www.tmi2day.com and check out why yours truly is everything you thought I was and then some.

Triathlete? Check. Social worker? Check.

....Professional writer? Check!

Caution: May pass out at any given moment.

The source of my sanity.

Work is killing me these days. Every day I go in super pumped for a new day, and I leave exhausted wondering if I actually got anything done. The joy of social work is that there is definitely job security (lots of screwy people means lots of job opportunities), but it also means that no matter what you do, chances of coming up with and implementing a solution are slim to none. That means stress. And requiring a kitten.

Speaking of kittens, we were out finishing our Christmas shopping yesterday and were in Bobby's least favorite store in the world, which is also consequently one of my most adored retail experiences: The Hallmark Store. Bobby claims everything in the store is useless, which is why I love it. The only purpose their merchandise serves is making people happy. While I was paying for my gifts, he spotted a little bowl full of pocket stones. They're little pseudo-coins that are meant to be kept in your pocket and inspire you to be or do whatever the little coin says. They probably cost half a cent to make. Huge profit margin. Anyway, after his soap box about the uselessness of Hallmark's knick knacks, imagine my surprise when he picked one up and said he was getting one for me. It said "Purrrrr-fect" on one side, and had a cat on the other. "Here," he said, "you always say you need a kitten when you've had a bad day at work. You can pet this when you're stressed out."

Cute right?

So I walk out of the store, all happy and pleased with my adorable husband, when he says, "Good. Now you have to stop bugging me about getting a real kitten."

Turd.

Six days until we'll be in Kansas. Rock freaking chalk. Three cheers for vacationing.

Sleep deprivation is the true meaning behind Black Friday.

To be completely honest, I've never been a fan of Thanksgiving. With my family, it was usually awkward because someone would not be talking to someone else, or my mom would make some comment about the food I took, or some fight would break out. Everyone would eat as much turkey as possible so we could pass out as soon as we could and escape familial obligations.

This year, we were invited to a Thanksgiving dinner with our dentist and his family. He's a fantastic individual with a family to match, and was appalled when he heard about our lack of turkey plans for this allegedly fantastic holiday. So come Thursday morning, we made a couple loaves of the famous Brigman chocolate chip pumpkin bread and headed over to Draper, UT to spend the day at our dentist's mother's house with two of his siblings and all of their spouses and corresponding offspring. I anticipated feeling very shy and awkward the whole time and wasn't really all that excited about another Thanksgiving.

IT WAS THE BEST THANKSGIVING. EVER.

You know, it makes a huge difference when you're spending the holiday with emotionally well adjusted individuals that are not therapy-phobic. There was a ton of good conversation, little Jack made me a little baby-hungry because of his freakish adorableness factor, and our dentist's mom made the best freaking jello I've ever had in my life (seriously). Though I made a horrific discovery: pumpkin pie? Not as fantastic after experiencing chocolate chip pumpkin bread. Ah, well.

When it was time to leave, I was actually genuinely sad we had to go. But duty called! It was approaching 6:30, and we needed to make sure to get a good spot outside of Best Buy.

Yes, that's right. We camped out. Again.

For those of you who are unaware, last year we camped out in front of Circuit City for the heck of it. People were huddled up in blankets and in tents to get big screen TVs, laptops, cameras, and we were just interested in getting some cheap DVDs (three dollar iRobot? HOLLA!). We received a few hilarious shocked expressions when we told people what we were there for.

This year was different in a few aspects. For one, we were actually after stuff. I had my eye on a fantastic Eureka vacuum that is pet specific with all the beautiful attachments to get pet hair off of furniture. I was laughed at when we were at Thanksgiving and I told them what I was after, but I'm okay with that. I'm also a total teeny bopper and was excited to get Beyonce's new cd for $8. Our plan after hitting Best Buy was to go to Target to get Juno and 27 Dresses for $6 each, and The Holiday for $4. Once my boss heard my plans, she gave me a shopping list. What's better than spending the night on the sidewalk to get sweet deals? Getting even better deals on more expensive stuff with money that's not yours. She was after a blu-ray DVD player, a Nintendo DS Mario edition, and the Sex and the City movie. Wednesday night we went by the store to scope out the layout so we'd be more efficient in going after things, and there were people camping. On Wednesday. As in, the day before Thanksgiving.

Now, that's hardcore.

This year was also different in our preparation. Last year was kind of a whim decision to sleep in the freezing cold on concrete, but this year we were determined not to become human popsicles. We took our very nice sleeping bags that were bought with Black Friday in mind, and they were totally worth it (mmm, warmth). The other biggest difference this year was that given my inherent inability to produce body heat (yay lack of circulation), we brought Peli. She was my personal furnace all snuggled up in my sleeping bag, and spent our shopping time snuggled up in a pile of blankets in our backseat.

At around 2 a.m. this year, people started packing up their tents. This meant we had to move, which is something we learned last year. When people break down their tents, large gaps are made (typically, people standing take up less room than a tent), and this is when people rush in to cut (the cardinal sin of Black Friday that is not treated kindly). So from 2 a.m. until 5 a.m., when the doors opened, we were standing. In the freezing cold. There was lots of dancing on my part to keep warm.

Around 3:15, Best Buy staff came out to hand out tickets for their big items. We weren't sure anything we were getting constituted a "big item", so we had already planned our attack on the store. Since starting our campout, we decided to take advantage of the great deal on the Garmin GPS they had in addition to our vacuum (which is a freaking SWEET vacuum, don't kid yourself). Our plan was to have Bobby go after the Blu-ray and then grab the GPS. I was going up the other side of the store to grab the vacuum and the Nintendo DS, and then we would reconvene to get the movies and CD. Hot freaking dang, though, we were close enough to the front of the line that we got tickets for both the Blu-ray AND the DS, which meant we didn't even have to stress out about it. As the guy was giving us the tickets, he handed us a map, and when I noticed they didn't have the appliances labeled on said map, I asked if the vacuums were in the same place. He looked at me like I was a freak.

And I'm okay with that. Because it's a freaking sweet vacuum.

While the tickets were being handed out, there was a blonde lady who thought she could get away with sneaking up twenty feet in the line to try to get a laptop ticket. Black Friday crowds, especially the Best Buy variety (there was a cop car surveying the front of the line for a reason) do not take kindly to such behavior. A lot of yelling ensued, and the staff were notified (several times) that the lady was not in her appropriate spot, and she did not get her ticket. Molly Sunshine (as I called her) was not pleased and spent the rest of the time in line pulling staff aside to complain and demand free stuff. Another gal came up from further in back and started protesting the ticket process, stating that it was unfair for the staff to hand out tickets for one of the laptops to the front of the line, and then give the front of the line equal access to the other laptop on sale ticket. Whether that was okay or not, this lady seemed determined to start some sort of protest (/riot) and took the same approach as Molly Sunshine, demanding free merchandise to compensate for her long wait. When she was turned down, she got into her car and left 25 minutes before the store opened.

5 a.m. Insanity.

There was the usual pack of people hanging out right outside of the front door that had just arrived that attempted to get in when the rush began. I wasn't too concerned, because I had my eyes on the prize: The Vacuum.

If you are an employee at one of these stores and happen to be working the morning of Black Friday, I am so sorry. It must be absolutely terrifying (and an employee at a Wal-Mart in NY died this morning because of the rush). However, while I sympathize with what you have to endure, it makes me want to claw your eyes out when you insist that I have to get into the laptop line to get my vacuum.

There were very cranky people in the laptop line.

Imagine my dismay when I realized that standing directly in front of me was Molly Sunshine. A few spots in front of her was a guy that had six lap top tickets. He was there planning to pick up the laptops for himself and for all of his friends that camped with him while they got the other stuff they were in line for. Molly Sunshine saw the abundance of tickets, and threw a hissyfit comparable to a tantrum some of my emotionally stunted children clients throw. While I was close to the front of the line, the line was not moving at all due to some complication with the first group of people getting their computers. Bobby called to tell me he got all the stuff he was after and asked what was taking so long. I explained, refraining from cursing Molly Sunshine's (pseudo-) name for making the ten minutes I was standing there absolutely horrific. The guy with all the tickets was actually a very nice guy, and had started the conversation with Molly Sunshine with the (obvious) intent to give her a ticket after asking her why she wanted a laptop, but when she continued to bite his head off, he explained that he was planning to give her one but her "attitude" made him change his mind (and I couldn't blame him). That escalated everything, so I was incredibly grateful when Bobby called and told me to get out of line because he ran in and grabbed the vacuum after they removed the barricade blocking them.

I ran out, and Bobby had the vacuum, the CD, and a couple of Garmin GPS devices. He couldn't decide which one to get, and after consulting with the employees, we went with the more expensive one (and hoo boy, I'm SO glad we did!). While we're struggling a little financially, the GPS was worth getting simply because Bobby doesn't want to drive the whole 16 hours back to Kansas for Christmas, and after the Wyoming incident, he wasn't completely sure he had any other option (patooey!). Complete and utter lack of a sense of direction? No longer a problem.

We got in line to pay, when Bobby started to whine a little bit. He had gotten a ticket for my Christmas present after he got into the store, and was conflicted because he knew I would see it and my present wouldn't be a surprise. Instead of trying to be sneaky, I just got my present today. FREAKING BRAND SPANKING NEW ORANGE IPOD NANO! I don't think I've owned any electronic device as nice. I've named it Barack (Barack out with your hawk out!).

So we got out of Best Buy with EVERYTHING we were after, and had to chuckle at the large stack of giant TVs that were going untouched (yay for a failing economy!). We headed over to Target and got there just as they were letting people in at six, and waited until the line was almost gone before heading in. I was worried that meant we had minimal chance of getting our super cheap DVDs, but they had about a million (no. exaggeration.), so we got our Juno, 27 Dresses, and The Holiday. We endured some more funny looks as we got into line with our few meager items, but we were too deliriously sleep deprived to care, and with all of my goodies, who was I to complain?

Yay for going to bed at 8 a.m. I woke up at noon to get the Ratatouille Bobby downloaded for me to put on my iPod, and am quite pleased with my spoiling. Working at the domestic violence shelter has really helped me relax a little bit with getting things for me. This holiday was typically spent focusing on what to get other people, and I'm totally and utterly content with getting myself some shiny toys.

Black Friday? One of the most fantastic days of the year.

Today also commemorates the third anniversary of the passing of Brianna Reed, a friend from high school show choir and musicals. You're a beautiful gal, Miss Brianna, and your beauty continues to decorate my heart even with your premature departure. See you soon, lady.

String of burned out kitchen lights.

What is it about the molding process that makes each cookie so different? The same ingredients go in, the oven preheated to the same temperature, and yet something happens. The cookie to the left of another could be the sweetest experience the tongue has ever encountered, or it could be the most bitter ever expected to endure.

My tongue has become tired of trying to guess.

Bombarded with greed and selfishness on a daily basis has become exhausting, and I cringe at the lack of emphasis on "self care" taught at Brigham Young University in their social welfare program. Chronically my web browser is brought to http://cuteoverload.com to compensate for a horrific phone call about someone experiencing domestic violence, or a client will come in and some new roadblock was created in the couple hours since we last spoke.

I miss my cat.

Bobby's therapist is really big into the "should" approach. When we feel like we're failures, it's because we're "should"-ing ourselves.

I've been should-ing myself excessively.

My head is screaming with things I want to paint on large brick walls in fluorescent colors with glow in the dark boarders, but instead I find a little solace in stalking the online classifieds and answering pleas for help with information on resources in the community. Sometimes I hope that I'll be out walking, jogging, biking, and I'll come across a little short hair tuxedo cat, and she'll want nothing more than to sleep on my chest and drip little contented saliva drips as I attempt to read around her.

When I was little, sometimes my mom would come into my room and wake me up by rubbing my feet to make them warm. It seems I've never had good circulation, as to this day my feet and hands are always icicles. She would rub my feet, and then put socks on me. After the socks were on, she would rub my feet some more, and the friction would trap the heat for a little while, and for a few fleeting moments, my toes were warm.

I kind of wish my computer screen gave off UV rays.

To be (dis)continued.

Yesterday morning I received an email from my father, one of the first containing actual words from him since my birthday in June (which was the first contact since February). The email was to let me know that Pepper, our family blue heeler that I had essentially grown up with, was put to sleep that morning.

Last evening, as I was returning from a home visit with one of my clients in the shelter's Avalanche, I was pulling into the transitional apartment parking lot (where we keep the truck to avoid scratches and the like when parked in front of the shelter) when I heard a very audible scraping noise. Not only did I completely destroy two of the panels on the truck, but I took out the intercom used to open the gate to the transitional parking lot.

All I need is my wife to leave me, and then I'm a true blue country song. That would be kind of amusing if it weren't so sad.

Crappy Mormon.

The little scientist living inside of me (her name is Francis) is telling me that it's the shorter days and lack of sunlight that is bringing my anxiety and depression out of hibernation. When they talk about depression in psychology classes, they fail to use one important adjective when describing it: annoying. It's so annoying waking up in the morning and forcing your emotions to move up a few notches just to get to neutral (not to mention exhausting). Hello, chemicals in my brain? I have more important things to expend that energy on, thanks. As strongly opposed as I am to the practice, I may be forced to consider going tanning (le gasp), or perhaps purchase a sun lamp.

Christmas season has been in full swing for several weeks now (in my head), so I'm getting antsy to decorate. To comply with Bobby's requirements for his own sanity, I'm refraining from my tinsel attack on our living quarters until the day after Thanksgiving (which I actually celebrate and look forward to more than Thanksgiving itself). I'm all about the fake stuff at Christmas. I like the lights and the trees and the animated penguin figurines on the front lawn (I'm still trying to figure out a way to convince Bobby we need the ones they have at Target and they're totally worth the storage space). The religious aspect? Well, we got a gorgeous Willowtree nativity set last year the day after Christmas (another sacred day in my book) that I look forward to setting up, but other than that, I'm struggling. These days, I'm a little mad at God.

*Cue screeching tires*

Yeah, I know. It makes me a little sick to my stomach just to type those words, but it's true (and I took vitamins on an empty stomach, which may contribute to the queasiness). It's been a little ho hum between me and the Big Guy lately, because try as I might, I don't like Proposition 8. I don't understand it, it confuses me, and it's not what I signed up for when I took the plunge. The election happened, and then I thought it would all be over with, and then I'm bombarded by crap STILL whenever I sign into facebook. Jimminy Christmas, folks, let it go (says the hypocrite who obviously cannot let it go).

Then Sunday morning, Bobby got a call. It was his mom requesting that we fast for her and Trevor.

Trevor's my ALB (acquired little brother). For those of you who might not know it, Trevor is probably the best human being on the planet. He probably would have been translated years ago if he weren't surrounded by such flawed human beings like myself that Heavenly Father knew could really benefit from his example. Trevor was born with William's Syndrome and as a result, his mom was told many things: he would never understand multiplication, would never be able to go to regular classes, etc. Trevor graduated from high school on time taking regular classes and was on the honor roll. He did better than a majority of people I know (myself and Bobby included). Another kicker for William's Syndrome is that you end up with a shoddy heart. You wouldn't be able to tell from looking at him, but Trevor is a prime candidate for instant heart failure. As I'm typing this sentence, he could die. Years ago, his doctors told Mom that he needed a heart transplant. She decided against it, and he's coming up on the time where he would have needed another one. When I was first told about Trevor's condition, I asked why he didn't just get a transplant. They do it all the time on Grey's Anatomy, and it seems very dramatic, but it's always the victory at the end. Yay! Heart transplant! You get to live! Turns out though that t.v. isn't always an accurate resource when it comes to such things (though I still stand by Grey's Anatomy as far as learning life lessons goes). If Trevor gets a heart transplant, he's going to have to pretty much live at the doctor's. He's going to have to take lots of anti-rejection meds, and his quality of life is going to suck for lack of a better word. Right now, he's kicking it. He's a vivacious bugger who gets excited about Spiderman and the Hulk and Batman and teaches himself how to play songs on the piano. He sits in his room and plays his electric drumset to CDs and without having taken a single drum lesson, he's as good as the drummers in Yellowcard and the like. He goes out with the missionaries a couple times a week. But when they look at his heart, the doctors can't believe he's able to do much of anything, and at the very least won't be able to do a whole lot for much longer. So the doctors have told Mom that she needs to make a decision: heart transplant, or let him live the way's been living until he doesn't.

I know it all. God has a plan. It's not a good idea to get mad at God and question said plan, as Job so nicely shows us. God sees the big picture, I see a teeny tiny picture. There is life after death, there's the resurrection, and families are eternal. But when I'm mad, thinking all of those things just makes me feel like God's saying that it's okay to make things horrible because He'll make up for it later. I know I'm being insanely selfish, but why shouldn't I want my kids to be able to meet their amazing uncle? Growing up, I felt so cheated when I heard stories about my dad's dad. My grandpa died trying to get my grandma out of a car after a car accident. That alone makes him incredible, and I never got to meet him. I know I will because there's life after death, families are eternal, God sees the big picture, I see the teeny tiny picture, but I still feel cheated.

Yesterday, in church, there was a gal talking about missionary work. She said the most effective way to perform missionary work was living your life the way you're supposed to and through the happiness that's inevitable by living that way, you'll draw others to the gospel. That seems like a lot of unfair pressure to individuals who are experiencing something difficult to feel happy in spite of the difficult. As an aspiring therapist, I can tell you the lack of validation for depressed feelings does not inspire the individual to feel happier-- it instead makes them feel isolated and weird.

So between the lack of sunlight, the lack of Christmas decorations, and being mad at God, I'm a little sad at the moment. I would rather enjoy a kitten right now.

It's moustache month, according to Bobby, which means it's also stop-shaving-your-legs month.

Attractive, yes?

So four years ago, I went to the temple to do baptisms for the dead for the very first time. My friend Becky and I were leaving from Manhattan, KS and heading toward Omaha, NE. Becky had mapquested the directions, and as I was driving, Becky asked if it would be okay if she took a nap during the 75 mile stretch. I agreed, and as I drove for the next hour, wondered why all the signs said "W" instead of "N" and why when I was supposed to merge on a major highway, I was in the middle of the country. When Becky woke up, we were just outside Mankato.

Fantastic.

Yesterday, Bobby had a race in Heber Valley. It was cyclocross race, and when he was done, he was very tuckered. We still managed to go out to lunch with one of his biking buddies (who happens to also be our dentist) and go shopping in the outlets in Park City before he was ready to pass out. He gave me directions on how to get home, and then went to sleep. I woke him up an hour later.

"Um, honey? Is Evanston between Park City and Provo?"

Yup. I definitely drove to Wyoming.

Worst. Sense of direction. Ever.

Utah and I are no longer speaking.

This past Monday was October the 20th, which commemorates two things: Peli's birthday (she's one year old!) and something else I'm not allowed to mention, because we "only have one anniversary."

Balogna.

Two years ago this past Monday, I pulled into the 10th Street church building's parking lot on the phone with my mother. It was early afternoon and very sunny out, and we were having a serious discussion about what would later be diagnosed as my chronic depression. I revealed to her what living with my little sister (who my therapist would later describe as "toxic") was doing to me, and she insisted I come home to talk about it.

Screw that, hippie. I've got a conference to run.

It was a Friday, and the reason I was pulling into the church's parking lot was to get everything decorated and ready to go for the institute conference Lawrence was hosting. My complete and utter inability to delegate meant I was a little ragged as the institute president and had a lot of work before me.

A few hours later, the decor was complete (Cinderella, many of the decorations courtesy of Mrs. Stock) and I was in the kitchen with Brother Heiner working on the food. I was just in the photography room with Heidi, watching her giggle with a boy or two (which boys, I'm not sure) and I mentioned casually to Brother Heiner that we needed to find someone for Heidi. Brother Heiner paused, and without looking up from what he was doing, he said, "What about you, Katie?"

Le gasp. It was well known I was waiting for a missionary, and I nervously played with the necklace holding his CTR ring and the key sent me after going into the field (the "key to his heart" for all you cheese fans out there), and said with half a laugh, "Brother Heiner! I already have somebody!" Masking complete shock as I said it, though, because the past month and a half included many hours spent on my knees asking Heavenly Father what to do with the doubt that had been plaguing me. In that time, a friend had died, truths been told, and I had visited the Nauvoo Temple, knowing full well in looking at it that I would be married there (after a couple years of insisting I'd be married in Logan), and while there finding myself completely unable to fill a tape to my missionary.

Brother Heiner stopped his chopping and looked at me. "Katie, he's great. You're great. But you won't be happy together."

I made some kind of joke and then excused myself. Brother Heiner was like a dad to me, but I sitll didn't want him to know the conflict I was feeling recently. That day had marked eighteen months (EIGHTEEN MONTHS! That deserves an applause or something), and without having even hinted at what I was struggling with, Brother Heiner brought it up. After a few minutes in the bathroom checking my makeup smudges (blasted emotions), I went to the lobby area to begin checking in people showing up for the conference.

It wasn't long before a couple of guys showed up that I'd never met before. The name of the boy in the striped shirt and tie stuck out to me: "Bobby." Who's named "Bobby" anymore? When signing in, under gender he wrote "B." He caught his mistake instantly and laughed with his friend, and explained that "B" meant "boy."

The dinner and speaker went smoothly, and with the "amen" at the closing prayer, I scurried out quickly to get the food into the dance. The cultural hall was dark and I was carrying lots of chopped up food (aw, chocolate fountain), and given my grace, I was very focused on what I was doing. As I was walking in the door, that boy, Bobby, was walking out. With my concentration on the little cubes of angel food cake, I was caught a little off guard when this Bobby guy punched me square in the arm. I looked up to see him running away, and I was very confused as to what had just happened (I later discovered he was just as confused with his actions as I was).

The night continued, and I squeezed in a dance here and there between chartering the food in and out. A slow song started, and the Bobby kid walked up to me and said, "Sorry about punching you earlier. Let me make it up to you with a dance." Cheese lines don't typically work on me, but he was cute, and I have trouble saying no at the expense of others' feelings. So we danced, and we chatted, and he commented on how ridiculously sarcastic I was being (yay defense mechanisms!) when at the end of the song, the DJ of the evening made an announcement.

"We've found a CTR ring, so if you lost yours, come on up and describe it." I looked down at my hand and was relieved to see mine, and thought how sucky it was for the person who lost theirs when I casually reached up to my necklace. Where my necklace used to be was a very broken chain with no ring or key to be found. I ran to the stage and described the CTR ring that used to be around my neck, and they handed it over. I looked every where to find the key that night and the next morning at cleanup, and nothing.

The next day, Bobby asked for my number before leaving the conference, and we were pretty much inseperable after that. So I like to remember October 20th because not only was it the day that I met my husband and best friend, but because that day, Heavenly Father was very blunt with me. I couldn't have asked for a clearer indication of His will for me.

And now Peli's puking. Happy Wednesday, all.

Busy, busy, busy.

My job is a beautiful thing. I quite enjoy coming home every single day feeling exhausted, because I know that in that day, I have done everything I possibly can in eight hours to help my clients and help the movement in ending domestic violence. Every day is different. One day, I can be counting up a storm to get the stats done, and the next, I could be in the hospital all day because one of my clients had an incredible low the night before. Probably my favorite day thus far is when my incredible boss said, "Katie, your job today is to make sure that dog is tired before I commute to Salt Lake tonight." She had a adopted a dachshund puppy for her mom unexpectedly, and she knows how much I love dogs, so I got to play with an adorable dog (with a TON of energy) all day. It was a much needed distraction in a very difficult week.

This weekend was also a much needed distraction. Friday night, we went to a mission reunion for the California Sacramento Mission with Bobby's mission president that was released this past May. It was... interesting. Definitely interesting. There was a question and answer session, and it was truly inspiring to see how an individual could be casually speaking and invite the Spirit into the room so quickly. Bobby's president was a well studied, spiritually-connected man. The Q and A was supposed to last forty-five minutes, so with just a few minutes to go, he asked his son (with Downs Syndrome) to give his testimony, and asked his wife to do the same. The spirit was so strong it could've knocked you over. Then he offered his closing remarks. His remarks turned into a 20 minute speech pushing his political agenda (being from California) about the protection of marriage. It was no longer a spiritual discussion, but a soap box declaration that included many misconceptions. It frightened me that someone who had seemed so well versed and so educated could quickly sound so misguided, and passionately so. Light hearted jokes at the homosexual population's expense and explanations that the acceptance of gay marriage leads to the teaching of HIV protection in schools' sex ed programs (in case you were wondering, the demographic statistically more greatly affected by HIV/AIDS is black women, who are by definition NOT gay men), and I struggled to respectfully keep my mouth closed. It's hard for me to remember to be open and tolerant of other people's opinions when their opinion includes a lack of tolerance toward others (I'm a hypocrite. I'm working on it).

There is something that has been bothering me a great deal out here that has increased in its eye-stabbing factor since I began working at the Center for Women and Children. As a part of LDS culture ("culture" should be emphasized, as it is not doctrinally based), college is an opportunity to find a husband and prepare for becoming a wife rather than receive the education and training necessary to find and establish a financially viable career. I understand the Proclamation to the World and do believe in the benefits, both spiritually and practically, of a mother staying home with her kids, and hope to do it myself when the time comes. Knowing that, though, I did not get a degree for the sake of getting a degree, and instead plan to further my education so should something happen, I can support myself and my family. Bobby could get hurt, die, or something crazy could happen. At the shelter, I went into a transitional apartment to get the phones set up, and one particular apartment had Primary pictures all over the fridge, scriptures on the book shelf, and statues of Christ on the counter. Another woman I took to court last week happened to look out the window and began crying, and said it was because she just saw the temple she and her husband were sealed in. So when I was at the reunion with Bobby and he was chumming it up with his old companions, I would make small talk with their wives, and the conversation typically went like this:

Me: Are you a student?
Her: Yes.
Me: What are you studying?
Her: Family and home science.
Me: Oh... what are you planning to do with that?
Her: Nothing. I'm going to be a mom.

The Family and Home Science degree is what I call being a crappy boy scout (you know, "Be prepared"?). That sort of degree means that only one path of life can work out. He'll graduate in something that will make enough money for the entire family, and he'll enjoy his job enough to have it his entire life. He'll never get sick, he'll never be in an accident, and he'll never beat you. It's horrific to think that it's possible someone could beat you when you signed on for eternity, but it's like my client said: "You marry a man because you love him, and you think he's a good person. You don't marry a person and think they're crazy." Other clients' husbands started doing drugs and became violent. For the accident and all that, perhaps the degree teaches you how to find a really good life insurance policy (morbid, eh?). If not, better hope there are some well paying entry level general positions available when you need it.

It just seems like the possession of ovaries is a "Get out of Ambition Free" card. With all of the excitment about Sarah Palin and the alleged big step she's making for womankind, I feel like we have an especially greater duty to step it up to show how un-interchangeable we are.

Anyhoo, getting to go to the first session of conference in the best seats ever (Thanks, Jenn!) was made even better with the announcement about a temple being built in the Kansas City area. It took a lot of self control to not start the wave in the conference center while President Monson was up there, but I definitely peed myself a little out of excitment (I'm part cocker spaniel). I still don't understand the excitement about the Italy announcement, unless I was uknowingly surrounded by a ton Italians/Italian enthusiasts (if so, they weren't wearing their uniforms this time). I'm really glad that we'll have the opportunity to go to the temple often when we come back to Kansas, because we've grown really accustomed to having one down the street here.

Bobby just made me dinner, and is insistant that I eat it "while it's hot." What a fabulous husband.

Canine flatulence.

Bedtime was actually a half hour ago, but it seems my anxiety is up for some reason and isn't allowing me to fall asleep as easily. In that time, Peli has farted probably 20 times, reminding me why dogs eat dog food and not chicken breasts served at work picnics.

Yesterday, I went with our dog trainer, Stacie, to Salem to help her out with a pet fair. She had to set up a booth and distribute information about being a responsible pet owner, and also MC'ed several of the demonstrations. I readily agreed when she asked me to accompany her, because I think she's pretty fabulous and I love all things animal related. We were driving there in her SUV with her pit bull she's fostering in a crate in the back, and Peli was sitting in the middle. The middle seat was down to make room for things, so Peli wasn't buckled in (yes, my dog has a harness so she can be buckled in when we're in the car. I'm protective, not neurotic). Stacie asked if Peli liked the window rolled down, which is actually one of Peli's favorite things in the world. There are two things you can do to make her absolutely wiggle with joy: Go on a car ride (bonus points for a window rolled down) and taking her into the mountains for a hike. Stacie rolled down the window and asked, "She won't jump, right?" Of course not. She loves to stick out as much of her body as she can, but she never jumps. Three dog classes have ingrained some sort of common sense in her, so she would know not to jump out of a car going 40+ mph.

I was mid-sentence in telling a story when Peli was gone.

Stacie immediately pulled off to the side, and before she had even stopped I jumped out of the car and ran into the middle of a very busy street to rescue Peli. Hyperventilating, I automatically imagined finding my little girl lying in the middle of the road, either from jumping out of a car going that fast or from getting hit by a car. Instead, she was standing in the middle of the street, looking around as if to say, "Now what?" I couldn't decide whether to throw up or cry, so instead settled on informing Peli that she will have to settle with just car rides and not car rides with the window down. Ever. I'm pretty sure I lost a few years off my life.

Last night was the shop party for Bobby's work, which was pretty fantastic. It was a big campout in a beautiful part of the mountains, and it was catered by a restaurant that was much nicer than anything we ever go to (going camping with gourmet food that we don't have to pack? Talk about vacation). It was fun watching all the other people from the other shops throwing back, and then observing the Provo boys standing off to the side, sipping their sodas and then going to bed at 10:30 (everyone else was going strong till 2 a.m.). This morning, most of the crew went on a mountain bike ride, and I stayed behind to do what I do best: hang out with the dogs. There were some insanely cute dogs there, and I was in hog heaven. Peli went nuts playing with everyone. One of the guys there went on a hike with his two golden retrievers, and took a large mutt with him (a very sweet dog named Lacey). While they were out hiking, Lacey kept going off the trail (something Peli often does), and would run back, until she didn't run back. The guy taking her looked for a bit then assumed she ran back to the camp site. She didn't. A fellow dog lover and I took Peli out and we wandered around the area, looking for Lacey. It was a huge downer to what had been a really fun experience, and I could only imagine what her owner was feeling. After looking for a few hours, her owner went to the park station to tell them to look for a dog and found that someone had seen Lacey and picked her up and brought her there. Thank goodness for Peli's classes-- she doesn't need a leash when we hike because she always comes back when we call her. Maybe next class she'll learn not to jump out of a freaking window.

The party ended with the owner of the shops handing out a bunch of free stuff, and he let people pick by shop, starting with the individuals the shop managers felt deserved special recognition. After those people all went, he then let the rest of the people working at the shops go, starting with the shop that was having the best year. Bobby ended up being recognized for his hard work, so he got a new roof rack and a pretty sweet jacket. It's a good thing, too, because the Provo shop is doing the worst of all the shops, so by the time everyone else from there went, there were only t-shirts left. The owner was also handing out bib shorts ($100+ a pop) that had the store name on them. Bobby asked if there was a small I could snag, and he gave us one (a huge deal, because he can be a jerk when he's at the shop). I went up and thanked him, and explained that Peli had chewed my other shorts and that they were being held together with a pretty sketchy sewing job, so I really appreciated the new shorts. With that, he pulled out a second pair of bib shorts and handed them to me. Hot dang!

The Lord has really blessed us. We went to the temple last week and have made a goal to be more adament about that, because as Bobby put it, "we don't really deserve the blessings we get no matter what we do, but we might as well try to be a little more worthy of them." My new job is amazing. The people I work with are great, and I have a lot of freedom to make the job what I want it to be. It seems a little unstructured right now, so I want to use the time I have there to create a protocol for the individuals that are in the transitional housing that instills more accountability. Last week, I was in Salt Lake City for a conference and learned a ton about domestic violence. I felt like I knew a lot before, but man, there is always so much more out there. I know I've been blessed with a drive to help people, and I'm working hard to figure out what exactly I'm supposed to do with it. Being in social work isn't enough. I learn more things, and I get frustrated because there aren't enough hours in the day, days in the week, and I'm only one person, so where do I focus my time and energy? I found out there is a huge correlation between domestic violence and animal abuse, and I adore animals-- what can I do to help create more opportunities for survivors to place their animals in a safe haven while they seek safety? Then I learned that the Native American population is seriously lacking in allies (70% of violent crimes against women in the Native American population are commited by non-Native Americans) and that until 1982 (only 26 years ago!) 47% of Native American women of child bearing age were sterilized as mandated by the federal government and the women weren't even told! So many crazy things are happening that need attention, so figuring out where to focus is going to be interesting.

Well, Chuck just snuggled up to me, so perhaps I can attempt sleep again. Tomorrow could be a very long day if I don't conk out soon.

Forgive Peli for eating the hot pocket.

My first week at my new job consisted of a lot of the craziness that comes with starting a new job. I had to figure out what it was exactly that I'm supposed to do and the people I'm working with had to adjust to having a human being doing the things that they've been making up for the past couple months. Each day I'm finding out more and more about how the person before me didn't really do a whole lot, which makes me all the more determined to do everything I can to succeed at this job.

Pretty much, my job consists of maintaining the stats, act as landlord for the transitional apartments, make phone contacts with the aftercare clients and also make home visits. I have a large closet of donations to distribute which makes me feel a little bit like Santa, but I also have to be cold faced when they don't pay their rent and don't file an extension of cure and start the eviction process.

Friday morning, my boss called me and told me to dress for the fair. We took all the kids with some of their parents to the state fair, and it was exhausting. Fun, but exhausting. One of the very small children did not like that I wouldn't let them play the carnie games and took up saying, "You suck! Just kidding." Another small child was three and as we were leaving, I asked him to hold my hand so I wouldn't get lost (he started running ahead a lot) and he told me he was excited to see the ducks again (there were ducks at the entrance to the park). I told him he was very smart to have remembered there were ducks, and he said, "Yes. Big ducks. And they have grey faces. I like ducks." A three year old! I was amazed.

Friday afternoon, we were helping a woman move into a new apartment, and I saw some puppies. Me being me, I went over to pet the puppies. There were three of them, brindle, and were some sort of boxer mix. They were horribly skinny. I was petting them and ignoring a box that was right next to them, covered in flies, assuming it was the apartment's garbage. The owner came over and started to herd the puppies away from me, and I asked her what kind they were. She told me they were boxer/shepherd mixes, and when I said they were really cute, she said, "They're just getting over parvo. That one didn't make it." She pointed to the cardboard box, and my peripheral vision told me that a little, dead puppy was laying in the bottom. When I returned to my office (because I have an OFFICE), I called animal control and gave them the address. The dispatcher told me the puppies didn't have a chance, and the animal control officer couldn't take them to the shelter because then every other dog would get parvo. When I didn't say anything, she said she'd let the officer use his discretion.

When I hung up, I cried.

Other than that, though, I really do believe I can be good at my job (fortunately, witnessing innocent little puppies dying of parvo isn't really included in my job description). Tuesday through Friday of this week will be spent in Salt Lake City for a conference on Domestic Violence, and the keynote person is this lady:

Officially a triathlete.

In the wee hours of the morning yesterday, my husband and myself stirred out of bed and did what no man has willingly done before-- put on our tri suits. For those of you who have never done this, a women's triathlon top is a spandex mastectomy, eliminating any and all curves in an attempt to make you more hydrodynamic (or something). I was sleepy, flat chested, and in a very cold car, preparing myself mentally for the 400 meter swim that was to take place outdoors in roughly 60 degree weather, followed by the 9 mile bike ride and the 3 mile run.

When we got in line for the swim, we were spaced apart according to how quickly we thought we could do the swim. Bobby got in the 11 minute part of the line, and I got in the 14 minute line. The race started at 8 a.m., but my feet didn't touch the water until 8:35. I watched Bobby as he swam through his group, and it was apparent that he was in the wrong swim group. He ended up swimming it in eight and a half minutes. I knew I was in the wrong group when I passed the guy in front of me before the first leg of the first lap. I completed the swim in ten and a half minutes.

After the swim, we had to scurry to the parking lot to transition to the bike. My lovely sense of direction induced a slight panic attack, because where I swore up and down I left my bike, it was not there. Before I required the paper sack to breathe into, I discovered my bike was one row over, and quickly changed into my biking attire. My husband assured me that the ride and the run would be on a flat course. Oh, silly Bobby. The ride started with a very long, moderately steep climb, and because it was a lap course, it was a climb we would have to complete twice. It didn't help that my impeccable sense of direction also sent me going the opposite way the race required, and I had to turn around. Ah, well.

When I finished the ride, I was pulling into the transition area when I saw Bobby. He had already finished the race, and met me while I was pulling on my tennis shoes. The prince charming he is, he ran the first half of the 3 miles with me. We don't have fuel belts (yet), so I was pretty dependent on the water the race staff was handing out after the giant hill in the run. When I got there, however, the water was all gone and instead, there was a cup of ice handed to me. Boo. After the first lap, Bobby complained of feeling sick to his stomach and "tired" (whatever), so I was left on my own for the last lap. We discovered yesterday that people pushed to the brink of death are very friendly, so I had no problem finding people to talk to on the run. I spent a good leg of that lap discussing century bike rides with a lady who had just completed the Ulcer earlier this year, and she gave me some helpful tips on the century we're scheduled to complete later this month (a century is a 100 mile bike ride). She got very tired, though, and I still felt pretty energetic, so I scurried over to the finish line. I finished my first triathlon without feeling like I was going to die, which was my goal after only 2 weeks of training for it.

Bobby ended up taking 2nd for his division, and naturally, because they give medals to the top three finishers in each division, I took 4th. I took 4th out of 8 in my division, though, and it was my first tri, so I'm pretty satisfied. In addition to Bobby's medal, we also took home a couple collapsable coolers, a protein shaker, and a Spoon Me gift card, because we're greedy and patient and stayed after everyone was leaving to take the raffle stuff no one picked up. Bwahaha!

On a slightly different note, I got a call Friday afternoon and was offered the job at the women's shelter that sounds like a dream come true. On Tuesday, I'll begin training to become their Aftercare Coordinator. Three cheers for helping to save the world (and for getting a pay check again). Hip, hip, HOORAY!

Barack chalk (I love Stephen Colbert)

I just finished my jog, and for the first time in a while, I thoroughly enjoyed running. The weather right now is absolutely perfect, and spent a lot of time doing self therapy. It was beautiful and I enjoyed it.

Yesterday was the first Sunday we've been able to actually serve in our calling. We've been Primary instructors for a few months now, with no children to teach. Saturday, we got the phone call that our time had come! We were going to teach three kids. I opened up the manual and made elaborate crafts to follow along the lesson in the book to teach the kids the importance of tithing. I was excited, and it's hard for me to craft without an excuse to do so. At 8 a.m. the next morning, we were in the Primary room with big smiles, ready to go through the lesson. The first two kids were Jack and Eric. Jack has been in Primary before, and had no qualms about sitting in the tiny little chair in front of the table. Eric was a little apprehensive, since this was his first time, and instead wanted to sit on the floor in front of the door. My experience with kids has taught me that if a small child wants to sit in front of the door instead of in a chair, you let him, because that's not really what's important. He feels like he has control over some part of a new situation and will be more receptive to the stuff that counts. So he sat by the door. Then in came Caitlin.

Oh, Caitlin.

First of all, our names are the same (not counting the spelling). She was wearing a bright pink dress, and looked freakishly similar to how I looked when I was little. She was also toting a stuffed duck named Ducky. When I was little, my favorite stuffed animal was a duck named Ducky. Caitlin was very shy, very quiet, and very unsure of the scary new people she was left in a room with. She was me!

Bobby was with Jack and Eric on the piano, trying to get them to sing a primary song, while I consoled Caitlin in the absence of her mother and got her to warm up a little to the idea of being in Primary. By this time, the block was half over, and the kids were not acting like they were ready for my tithing bank and the mites we had so carefully created. Instead, we got some coloring sheets of Jesus blessing the children that Jack and Caitlin worked on while Eric built a fort out of chairs. All in all, very productive, and spending time with Caitlin reminded me of how adorable I was and how adorable my kids will inevitably be, leaving me to reconsider my animosity toward the prospect of life suckers (aka offspring).

Five days from now, we'll be doing a triathlon (hence the running regularly again). Tomorrow, the rec center opens up again so we can get some swim time in. I did a BRICK a couple days ago (Bike, Run, It Can Kill), and the name doesn't lie. Holy pea soup, what a miserable feeling. I only rode 10 miles and then ran 3, and I thought my legs were cement. Fortunately, it's a nine mile ride followed by a 5k, so I know I can do that part... let's just hope I can do all of it after I've swam 400 meters. Blech.

Oh, yeah. How hilarious is this Sarah Palin nomination? Oh, McCain, is dementia starting to set in in your old, old age?

My testing experience.

During the last couple weeks of school, my internship seminar dedicated an entire 1.5 hour lecture to our ASWB licensing exam. Taking this exam and passing would give us our SSW license, and having that license opens up more job opportunities with better pay. It's also beneficial for graduate school application. I did not really know what to expect with the test, and the class discussion wasn't really beneficial ("Do you have any questions?" followed by long spurts of silence). The test was pretty expensive (over $200), and failing means having to pay that all over again to retake the test. I ordered the study guide, took the practice test, and then put my faith in my experience and education.

I was scheduled to take the test at 2 pm at the Salt Lake Community College, and showed up at 1:15. I was told to be signed in at 1:30 for the exam, and used the fifteen minutes prior to study the practice test some more. My stomach was churning, my brow sweating, and when I went to sign in, I was informed that I was the only person taking the test. This was kind of unexpected, but then I realized that I would be able to read the questions out loud, which helps a ton when I'm doing a really long test (this one was 170 questions). We're allotted four hours to take the test, and the study guide suggested taking as much of the four hours as I could stand. I ended up finishing the test in an hour, and spent another fifteen minutes reviewing my answers. We're required to get a 70 to pass, and I was told time and time again not to expect to get much higher than that. I read online several people complaining about having to take the test again because they were a couple points shy. A panic attack later, I finally hit the "quit" button to finish the exam. Because it was all on a computer, I was supposed to get the score as soon as I exited out of the test. Naturally, it's not that easy. A survey popped up about my testing experience. Dripping in sweat, I zipped through the survey and finally got to the last page.

PASSED.

Holy freak. What a relief. In spite of my speed and anxiety, I still managed to get an 84. Hot dang!

Now, if I could just find a job...

I spoil my children.

Yesterday, I rode 62 miles. I'm awesome.

Saturday, I purchased some food for Peli at the pet store (after being stalked and pestered by a guy who wanted me to buy his company's dog food, claiming it was more organic and much healthier for my dog. I was almost sold on it when I realized he lied to me. I asked in the conversation how much it cost, and he said it was as much as the brand I normally buy. What I get is $43 for 40 lbs, and his brand had the same price tag... and when I discovered that the bag of his brand that was $43 was 10 lbs less, I gave him the proverbial "Suck it!" by grabbing my Science Diet while he peered at me with his beady little eyes) and realized that Peli gets a lot of treats and toys and stuff, and we haven't done anything to really spoil Chuck. I contemplated getting him a couple cans of Fancy Feast, but feared he would have the same issues he had before (apparently it makes his poop smell like Fancy Feast, which is an odor he can't resist), so looked at my other options. I found something called Vita Gravy, which is a gravy textured substance that you put in with their dry food that tastes good and has a lot of vitamins in it. He's had a tablespoon of this stuff in his breakfast and dinner since Saturday, so only a few days. Yesterday, Bobby gave him his breakfast, and Chuck usually wakes us up for breakfast because he's so excited to eat. We barely get it into the bowl before he's got a mouthful. This time, though, he just sat there, looking at Bobby. Bobby couldn't figure out what was going on, and I asked if he'd added the gravy. As soon as Bobby put it in, Chuck started chowing down. He spoils so easily.

And now, studying for my licensure exam. Wish me luck.

I didn't fall down.

What a crazy few days it's been. Friday, after being exhausted from our graduation celebration, Bobby insisted that we go to one of the stages for the Tour of Utah. It actually turned out to be a lot of fun, seeing as how I managed to squirm away with a cowbell and motivation to get on my bike more (um, the pros manage 30+ mph for over an hour on a flat, and I'm lucky to keep my average speed at 15), but the coolest part was definitely meeting this guy:



Yeah, he definitely told me in French that I have a pretty smile. This was after he almost swore in French and I mentioned that I took a few classes in that language. Unfortunately, they don't teach us swear words (even at KU), so I wouldn't have had the slightest clue that he was being profane. Bobby got a picture with him, and it was neat being able to put a person to the book Bobby's been reading (Tour de Life).

Saturday morning we got our butts out of bed long before I would have enjoyed (since graduation, I've decided to catch up on all the sleep I didn't get in the past four years) to bike up Sundance. I whined a lot, because we sold my mountain bike because I had decided biking up mountains wasn't fun. What the devil was I biking up this one for? Well, Bobby wanted to watch the fourth stage of the Tour of Utah, which was a climbing stage, and the further up the mountain we were, the better idea we could get of who was going to be King of the Mountain. I whined, and I cried, begging Bobby to please stop before we got to the Sundance sign, and after yelling at each other for a bit, I saw the sign and took off in a sprint. I went from going 4 mph to 12, which was pretty awesome on my part, especially since it means I smoked Bobby. He then yelled at me and accused me of faking being tired. I'm a sprinter, suckah.

Last evening, I received a text from our dog trainer suggesting an impromptu puppy play date. I never turn those down, especially since Peli loves playing with other dogs so much, and I thoroughly enjoy our trainer. After playing for a while, I started talking with Stacie (trainer extraordinaire) about how I was contemplating becoming a dog trainer at Petsmart. She complains constantly about the other trainers who are constantly getting fired or quitting without notice, and I joked about how I should just apply there instead of continuing the dreaded job hunt I've been on since the week prior to graduation (I know, a week and a half, wah me). She told me to apply, and that I would only have to work evenings, and that since she's the one doing the interviews, I'd be hired. This is fantastic because once we move back to Kansas, I need a job I can work that doesn't conflict with classes and internship during the day. Dog training is a few hours in the evening, and will contribute to the money we're going to give to Bobby's mom for food and for putting up with us. I hope it works out.

Today, Bobby again stirred my sleeping body earlier than I would have liked to go on a bike ride. We were going to bike around West Mountain and back, which totals to a little over sixty miles. I was pumped and ready to go, chatting away with Bobby, when about seven miles into the ride, I had a blow out. Not a big deal, since Bobby had a tube and a CO2 cartridge, but he voiced some concerns with it being that early in the ride, and we were left with no tube in case of a flat. The next twenty miles were pretty uneventful, until we were attacked by a plague of grasshoppers. I've discovered that I do not enjoy bugs touching me, and when we're biking at 15-20 mph, it's unbelievably unbearable. At about 30 miles into the ride, where we were so far from civilization that I had no service on my cell phone, Bobby discovered his tire was flat. We saw another cyclist shortly after, and while he had an extra tube to give us (cyclists are so nice!), we had no means for putting air into it. Fortunately, we had rolled far enough along to get cell phone service again, and our landlord was prompted to call us to see if he could go with us to Seven Peaks water park later that day. We were out in the middle of no-where, Payson, Utah, and he hopped into his truck and drove out, found us on a total whim, and rescued us from our flattened fate. He's pretty much the superhero of the day.

Life post-graduation is pretty splendid, what with all the additional sleeping and minimal responsibilities, but finding a job is a lot more stressful than I anticipated. I've had two job interviews so far, and the first one was terrible (they thrust me into a room full of eight people with clipboards, staring at me, asking the WEIRDEST questions) and I understood why I didn't get the job (it was at a mental hospital, and I'm sure they were contemplating admitting me instead). The second one, though, was at my internship, and they gave it to someone who deserved the job a lot more than I did. He'd worked there for a while as a human service worker, which included working the hours of 4 pm to midnight full time at a little over $9/hour. I was offered his position instead. I would feel a little weird about taking a job like that when I was a case manager there just a couple weeks ago, so I've opted to continue my search elsewhere. Fortunately, through my addiction to craigslist, I found a posting for a position at a domestic violence shelter looking for an aftercare social service worker. I don't know what the hours are or what the pay is, but I loved being at WTCS for a year and would feel good about helping survivors of domestic violence again.

So... wish me luck. If this doesn't go through, maybe I can sell an ovary or something. And in case you were wondering, Peli has her click-a-trick graduation on Wednesday, so feel free to send congratulation cards to her for all of her adorable accomplishments.

So I guess this means I'm an adult.

Yesterday was my graduation from Brigham Young University. After spending a whole year at BYU, I decided to participate fully in the pomp and circumstance, and the events went as follows:

Midnight, Wednesday night: Bobby, Marty, Sarah and myself went to Smith's to purchase chips, bread, ham, and cheese. Sarah and I also bought waterproof makeup (for all the tears, right?)

Thursday morning: Bobby and I woke up in a frenzy, getting everything thrown together, and preparing Peli for a day of kenneling while we went off into the world.

Thursday, 10:30 ish: We picked up Marty and Sarah, and then stopped at a gas station to fill the tires with air and to get some delicious fig newtons and a very large diet coke with lime.

Thursday, 12:00 pm: I walked... right into Lagoon, where we spent the day riding amusement park rides, going to the water park, and exhausting ourselves, ending the day with a trip to Salt Lake City just to go to Chipotle (they don't have one in the Provo/Orem area, which I consider one of the greatest sins of happy valley).

I didn't wear the black cap and gown, but I did wear my new cute black and white polka dotted swimsuit. I didn't accept a handshake as I walked across the stage, but I did accept my husband's hand to squeeze the living daylights out of when he forced me to go on a scary roller coaster. Instead of spending a couple hours with people I didn't really know very well, reminiscing about all the year I spent at BYU, I spent an entire day with my husband and our amazing friends creating new memories to reminisce about later.

This whole being a capable adult thing terrifies me, but in looking at my decision for how to celebrate yesterday, I'd say I'm pretty competent when it comes to priorities and execution.

Now, here comes the job application part. That's only mildly terrifying.

Why I Love My Husband

I've been a little wound up lately. With hours of final projects and homework assignments weighing me down, along with the termination of my internship and job, and the prospect of applying for "real" jobs, I've been stressed. My tendency during these times is to turn to all of the flaws I see in myself and rip myself to shreds. My mom's voice starts screaming in my head louder than anything else going on in my life, and I start to revert back to disordered thinking patterns. One morning this past week, it got to be so overwhelming as I looked at the number on the scale, and before I left for my 7 a.m. class, I made notes to tape to the fridge. On three sheets of paper, I wrote, "Have you gone to the gym today?" "Eat a salad!" and "No Sweets. No Sugar. Are you really hungry, or just bored?" Before I left for work, Bobby saw them and asked what they were about. When I came home from work, the signs were covered with his own signs. "You are a daughter of God," "Your husband loves you," and "You are beautiful."

Even after I was the one who begged and pleaded for a dog, he's the one that wakes up in the wee hours of the morning to let her outside. He got so stressed out about money and finances, and then let me get a bunch of clothes from Plato's Closet so I'd have something to wear for my job interviews. And so I can start working as soon as possible, he's given up going to Las Vegas for a vacation, even though he needs a vacation more than anything.

I have the best husband in the world. I know everyone says that, but seriously. He's my everything.

I'm a widdle sleepy.

Last week at the gym, I ran into one of my former coworkers, and we started working out together and talking about what life has brought us since we last saw each other. In discussing the various things we had experienced, she was very quick to tell me that I do not stand up for myself enough. I thought that was interesting, since I'm really the most obnoxious advocate I know for everyone else, but it's true-- I have difficulty doing things for myself.

Saturday afternoon, I went on a bike ride. These are opportune times for me to reflect on what life brings me, because after the first ten miles or so, the music in my right ear bud turns into background sounds and my mind escapes to a place of pondering. I was in this happy place as I was traveling down 89 through Springville when a van drove by and a 20-something male stuck his head out the window and let out a scream. I jumped (as much as one can jump while in clip in pedals) and nearly fell over, only to look to my left and see the 20-something male throw his head back and laugh. Just ahead was a fork where one road went to Spanish Fork and the other to Mapleton, where I typically head down to Spanish Fork and ride the back roads where there are cows (mmm, cows). The van took a right at the fork toward Mapleton, and then pulled into a parking lot of a pawn shop. I started to go left toward Spanish Fork, then thought about what my friend had said. Cyclists generally are not respected in most communities, and I'm constantly getting honked at and almost hit by cars when the law is on my side, so adding people being obnoxious on top of it was really overkill. I veered right and pulled up to the van in the parking lot, where the ever intelligent individual still had his window rolled down. To paint a better picture, I was wearing dark sunglasses and spandex. See: alien secret service agent. This is how the conversation went (oh, and imagine that I'm speaking like my angry mother):

Me: What part of that was funny?
Ape-man: (Mouth hangs open, stares blankly)
Me: Have you ever fallen off a bike?
Ape-man: (mumbling) No.
Me: Have you ever busted open your jaw and shattered all your back teeth?
Ape-man: (Shakes head)
Me: Are you going to do it again?
Ape-man: (still mumbling, possibly urinating) No. Sorry.

You know that episode of The Office where Pam decides she's going to be honest with Roy and not let people walk all over her, and she corrects the bartender and gets a lite beer instead of what he gives her on accident? Yeah, it kinda felt like that. All that weight lifting combined with my mother's tone of voice (see: satanic) made me quite intimidating. How liberating! No wonder people become violent dictators.

So while it may seem humorous to yell something at a cyclist or drive close enough to spank their spandexed bum (which my landlord apparently has done), you have to realize a few things first.

1. Had I fallen and hurt my bike, he would have had to replace my bike. You may disagree, but I know someone who got people to replace all of his gear because their dog chased him, he got scared, and fell off his bike (which I don't really agree with, but if that's all it takes, verbal harassment/vehicular assault will definitely get you to replace my bike). Retail of my bike: $3250.
2. Had I fallen and hurt myself, he would have been responsible for covering my medical expenses. Being the accident prone person I am, I am more than aware of how much a simple trip to the emergency room costs. Dental bills are really, really expensive, and because of my lack of grace, chances are that I'm going to land on my face and break some teeth. Medical bills from an accident (especially if that accident involves me) can get up to $10,000.
3. Had I fallen and hurt myself, he would have been responsible for covering my mental expenses. In a few short weeks, I will be graduating from BYU and will no longer be eligible for their free therapy, and I know for certain that I am a prime candidate for PTSD. I actually experienced it when I had my last bad crash, which is why Bobby bought me a really nice bike and then had to sell it a month later (ride=serious anxiety attack). He would be responsible for paying for the therapy needed to overcome my anxiety induced by the accident, and let me tell you- therapy is not cheap.
4. The settlement. Now, I'm not really a big fan of the idea of settlements and suing and all that jazz (some of it seems like a quick fix to get some extra cash), but I've been to the emergency room often enough to tell you it's one of the most excruciating experiences one can endure. When the shock wears off, you're just in pain, and then the stuff they inject into the site of the wound to numb the pain hurts worse than whatever it is ailing you, and if you're like me, you need new injections every fifteen minutes because your body absorbs it like a coke fiend. With that in mind, and the fact that I've had a lot of medical expenses (see: debt), I wouldn't mind a dumb person having to help me out because of his ignorance.

Cyclists are harassed often. So consider the four things listed above before being an individual that contributes to that harassment, because if whatever you do results in the cyclist getting hurt, they're probably bitter enough to not cut any slack. Some people on bikes are cocky and don't obey traffic laws, making life miserable for people behind the wheel, but there are those of us who actually do stop at stop signs, signal, and ride as close to the side of the road as we can, so remember us before you decide to take your hard day out on the crazy individual wearing spandex on a too-expensive bike.

Why I'm Pretty Awesome.

Yesterday, I completed a fifty mile ride. For those of you who prefer to see the actual number, that's 50. 50 long miles, and the last twenty of them were excruciating. It seems that the cleat on my shoes was a little to far up my foot, and too much pressure was put on my toes. Unbelievable pain. But hot freaking dang, I finished the fifty miles. I may have cried a little bit (see: a lot bit) for the last two miles, but I freaking did it.

My portfolio was turned in last Tuesday, which means that my last undergraduate social work assignment is complete. All I have left is one paper and a test in Book of Mormon, and I'm done. Done done done done. I'm starting my application for graduate school already, though it doesn't have to be in until December. I'm not completely sure what I want to study, though, hence the poll. Initially I went into social work thinking I wanted to do therapy with girls with eating disorders, but most of the facilities that offer treatment are not non-profit, and that's where my heart is. The nonprofit organizations seem to have a better employment atmosphere, and it's hard for my brain to adjust to the idea of greed and power within the field of social work (altruism, what's that?). I think there needs to be more therapeutic interventions for gifted children in the public schooling system, so I was contemplating doing something along those lines, but I really cannot stand small children (well, the obnoxious ones, anyway).

Job hunting has never been a favorite activity of mine. In a few weeks, I'll be a college graduate, and I had put off the whole hunt because we might be out of town until September. Our plans are up in the air again, though, so the pressure's on to find a source of income. It looks like I might be working at a less than ideal situation, though, because I'll be leaving in May, which means I need a job that has high enough turnover that they won't mind.

Peli had her second click-a-trick class on Wednesday, and she has learned how to spin, rewind (a spin in the other direction), and how to die on command. She's pretty brilliant. However, she's driving me a little nuts with the chewing today (what is her fascination with my bras?!?).

Yee haw. Back to cleaning.

I can ride my bike with handlebars.

Today, I completed a 40 mile ride. This is awesome for the following reasons:

• I started my ride at 10, and spent 10:30-10:45 at ScenicView to show off my new bike to my supervisor, who also cycles. This means I was biking during the hottest part of the day.
  
• I brought only one goo packet. I'm not sure what my logic was when I grabbed only one-- perhaps I thought I was going to be super fast, and only take two hours to get the ride done (my typical average speed is 15 mph-- I was feeling overly ambitious/confident?), and a goo is to be consumed for every hour on the ride. At about 2:15 into the ride, I thought my muscles gave up on existing.
  
• I didn't get lost. I have a tendency of doing so, so completing a 40 mile ride on my own is pretty incredible.
• There was a freaking snake sun bathing across the Provo River trail. I've seen plenty of dead snake bodies on the trail, but never a living one. And it was very long, probably about 4 feet. I thought I might poo myself, and I managed to stay on top of my bike.

Next week, I need to up it to 50, and 60 after that. If this is how it feels after only 40 miles, I'm probably going to sleep for a few days straight after the century next month.

A dog's fascination with cat feces.

Yesterday I started looking more closely at the application for KU's social work graduate program as a distraction from working on my portfolio. I figured looking at the application would be good motivation for working harder on my seminar's final project rather than just doing it to get it done, but the application does not require that I submit my portfolio. So much for that.

Last week, I got a couple of good rides in, though they were more eventful than I would have liked. Friday's ride was 26 miles, and at about 10 miles in, I observed an adult male pushing a large jogging stroller in the biking lane. I've gotten used to people completely ignoring the divided lanes on the Provo River trail, so I've given up on saying anything (never mind a cyclist actually broke his neck because someone was in his lane when he turned a corner). I slowed down and went to cruise around him, when just as I was passing him, he turned and spit.

Now, in case you haven't experienced it, guys usually do not spit with just spit. It's not like a bit of water-consistency coming out of their mouth. No, this was a mucous wad that coated my entire right arm, and it was instantly weighed down with the disgust and much too thick saliva. The guy apologized, but "sorry" didn't make the loogie disappear.

Saturday's ride was 30 miles, and it was quite joyful, especially since I managed to find some cows (oh, Kansas, I miss thee). I was headed down 89 toward Spanish Fork and had reached some pretty po-dunk back country. I was riding in the shoulder, and got to a place where a road turned off 89, so the shoulder became the right turn lane. When I got to this point, I looked at the off road and saw a lady in a large pick up wanting to turn left. I looked at her, she looked at me, and because I had not signaled and was not slowing down (I was at about 18 mph), I foolishly assumed she knew I wasn't turning right. I was actually halfway through the quasi-intersection, two feet from the front of her pickup, when she took her foot off the break and started to move forward. Thank goodness for Scott engineering for their women's bikes, because the brake was right at my fingertips and I was able to tap it a few times until the lady got the picture. After swerving and coming as close as I get to swearing, the lady gave me a really confused look and let me by. Ahem.

Yesterday's ride was uh MAY zing. It was only 20 miles, but while on the ride, I saw a mama quail with her little babies, eight squirrels (one baby) running across the trail, and in the middle of the trail at about mile 9, there was a young buck just looking at me. He let me get ten feet from him before he walked away. It was fantastic.

It's official: We're moving back to Kansas next May. Bobby's going to finish in Sport Science at the grand University of Kansas while I am in my graduate program. If all goes well, we'll be able to walk with each other the following May (three cheers for one year graduate programs). I'm not sure how Peli's going to like Kansas, what with her affinity for mountains, but looking at my graduate program instantly starts the butterflies in my tummy, and having Karlee and Trevor to play with every day will help her adjust more quickly, I'm sure.

Well, Bobby leaves for a race tonight after work, and will be gone tonight AND tomorrow night, so I'm going to pretend I'm going to actually be on time for my 7 a.m. weights class so I can leave a little early to spend time with him. As much as I love and adore Peli and Chuck, snorgling with them just isn't the same.

Hey, Sleepy Eyes.

Our anniversary was this past Monday, and it was the most wonderful anniversary you can have when you're a couple of poor college students trying to get by. I have to laugh when I say that, because we really are poor, so what are we doing with such nice road bikes?

After I was done with my classes and internship, we took a ride on said road bikes to a crazy old lady's house who insisted that someone from the bikeshop come take her bike off a trainer she purchased years ago. Bobby's kind of a pushover when it comes to old ladies (silly Eagle scout in him), so that was our destination. We rode to Orem, and then did some climbing to get to a street next to a bunch of sheep, and then headed home. We cooked some dinner, and then saw that "Baby Mama" is in the dollar theatre (which is now really the dollar-fifty theatre) and jumped on that good-times-train. I was worried about it being sold out for the time we were going, but fortunately for us, the Emma Smith movie was in the theatre and everyone and their dog was going to that. Not us heathens!

If you were wondering, "Baby Mama" is a pretty long movie (two hours) given its content (comedies tend to run shorter), so when the closing credits were running through, I was ready to hit the sack (the combination of marriage and my 7 a.m. class means I'm old like that). I was dozing in my seat as we were driving home (Bobby was driving, for those of you who were alarmed) when I noticed we weren't driving to our house. Instead, Bobby was hunting around the streets that go into the mountains and pretending like he wasn't getting lost. Eventually, he parked, and being the romantic I am, I asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

Instead, we walked a little to a cliff overlooking Provo, all lit up like a Christmas tree, and he set up his fancy new phone to play Anberlin's "Inevitable." It's pretty much the sweetest song I've ever heard, so if you're unfamiliar, it's a good way to win points with your spouse/significant other. Bobby took me in his arms and we slow danced, all alone in our own little world. He won a lot of cute points with that.

It's hard to think we've been married for a year already. Time's flying, though I still feel like graduation is eons away (five more weeks, five more weeks, five more weeks...). I'm very fortunate in the sense that I have a loving, fun husband, with an adorable cat who snorgles me at night, and a little dog who looks at me with the most loving eyes whenever I get home. The combination of the three makes dealing with depression a piece of cake. Now, if I could only stop playing with them long enough to do my homework. It's hard to pretend I'm motivated this close to the end.

You know it's the fourth of July when...

Bobby woke up in the wee hours of the morning to head off to the bike shop for the group ride that is scheduled for every Saturday at 7 a.m. When he walked out of the house, one of our neighbors across the street was outside yelling things at our Hispanic neighbors about how they "don't belong" and "don't deserve to be here." When no one showed up for the group ride, he returned, and when he pulled up he saw the same lady being cuffed and taken away. She was yelling something about showing her pride for her country.

On Thursday, my brand new bike arrived, and this morning, I get to go on my very first ride in a very, very long time. Sara is coming with me, which makes my heart happy. She informed me yesterday that I'm never allowed to leave Utah, because then she won't have any girl friends.
Perhaps I can convince her in the mean time that she would actually be much happier at KU. I had to laugh last week at the adoption event when we were volunteering, because this guy kept making loops around the store to where we were. Sara was convinced that meant he really wanted to adopt a dog, so I turned on the sales pitch and started talking to him about all the dogs we had there. Instead, his eyes were fixed on Sara, and he asked her what her necklace meant. She told him it was a cross, and he said, "Yeah, what does it mean?" He was very excited to have found a non-LDS girl in the Provo/Orem area, so I left the two of them to chat while I laughed at her awkward misfortune. Eventually, she found some way to bring up her boyfriend, and the guy quickly departed. Times like that make me especially grateful to be married.

Can I just take a moment to brag about how wonderful my dog is? We went hiking last weekend, and Peli spent the entire time off leash. We passed a lot of groups of people, and several of them had dogs. A lot of their dogs went nuts, barking and trying to run over to Peli. Peli listened to us, though, and never ran over to people or their dogs, and would only stop to sniff the dogs if we stopped. We passed a group of people that were holding onto a couple herding dogs, and Bobby stopped to pet them. He asked if they were Australian Shepherd or Heelers, and the person holding the leash said, "No, but could you stop giving them attention, because they're pulling." It wasn't a request, but a demand, as if it were Bobby's fault that her dogs were not listening to her. Peli goes nuts with everything outdoors because she absolutely loves being out there, playing and running and digging and rolling, but as soon as we call her, she responds. On mornings when we want to sleep in, she stays with us, snorgling with us the entire time. She's pretty much the best dog in the world. Three cheers for awesome landlords for letting us get her.

a few of my favorite things

I love watching the animal cops shows on tv and watching Peli's reaction. When there are dogs howling or barking, she starts watching. She enjoys when I watch the show, not because of the sounds, but because I exponentially increase her snorgling time when I see how some people treat their dogs.

Last night, on a complete whim, I went over to our neighbor's house and asked if Peli could play with their bull terrier, Shadow. Shadow lives in a pen in their backyard, and I gave him some treats earlier yesterday. When he saw us get home from eating Thai, he got really excited, and I thought he could use some play time. Our neighbors, Edward and Myra, came out and we all talked for a long time. They're both from Mexico and have an adorable little girl, and after talking for a long time, we put the dogs away and they invited us in. Myra gave us a TON of Mexican food (some kind of soup) to take home with us, and I just ate some for lunch. Oh. My. Gosh. It is pretty much one of the tastiest things to ever enter my mouth.

Graduation is looming near, and the second I finish my last final, we're jumping into the car and driving to Texas for two and a half weeks. Financially, it may not be the greatest idea (not working for two and a half weeks? Yeesh!) but I could use a break like no one's business. I miss Bobby's dad and step-mom a ton, too, so that will be wonderful (not to mention the oodles of Kathleena time). We're also all going to ride a century together (a 100 mile bike race/ride... Bobby says it's not a race, it's a ride, but I'm not sure I would ever voluntarily ride 100 miles unless it was a "race"). But, Katie, you ask, How can you do a 100 mile road race without a road bike?

Ladies and gents, I present you with my almost bike: The Scott Pro Contessa.
At just barely over 17 pounds with nicer components than Bobby's road bike, I have a feeling I'm going to really like this bike. Just have to keep my chin off the pavement.

Peeling skin cancer.

Today is take your dog to work day. We're celebrating with Peli at the bike shop, because I don't want to have to lock her up for the entire afternoon while I'm at the Boys and Girls Club (apparently they want to avoid potential law suits).

Yesterday, I found the saddest web page ever created. Naturally, I have to share it with everyone in blog world. http://www.seviercountypetadoptions.com/memorialpage.html It's hard to think that Peli was a shelter dog, and that she could have been put down eventually. She's an amazing little girl, and so snuggly. The littlest things make her happy, and all I have to do is rub her belly every now and then, and she gives me everything she has in return.

My internship has been kind of a struggle lately. I'm not sure what the Lord is trying to teach me now, whether it's about the reality of office politics or how I should handle them or all of the above, but I wish I could figure it out quickly. In middle school, we got a talk about drugs and how reporting someone's drug use was not tattling. I'd learned that a friend of a friend was smoking pot, and told the counselor. The friend of a friend didn't seem to care that it was not "tattling," and informed me I'd be beat up after the weekend. Since then, if a peer is doing something that I don't necessarily agree with, I recognize that they are doing the best they can and we all have different ways of doing things. So when I work my tail off for one of the classes I'm teaching at my internship and the other teacher forgets the things I tell her, I deal with my frustration privately and move on. I was naive to assume she would do the same. Rather than remember I told her I would be missing the scheduled classes during June because of my job, and remember the rehearsals we had arranged for outside of class when I could be there, she went to my supervisor to tell him his intern wasn't showing up and the outside rehearsals conveniently fell off her schedule. To try to remedy the situation, I scheduled a short half hour rehearsal, from 12-12:30, and was then yelled at in front of coworkers and clients by the rec therapist because she had an activity at 12:30, and I was committing a "cardinal sin" (her words) and overstepping my bounds.

A good social worker would have asked the rec therapist to join her in her office so they could discuss the matter calmly and inform one another of the facts of the situation. Perhaps the rec therapist did not understand the rehearsal would end at 12:30, and that the social worker had no intentions of taking students away from her activity. Both would leave with respect for one another and the problem would be resolved.

So what did I do? I cancelled rehearsal, left work 1.5 hours earlier than I had planned, and cried while I counted down the days until I graduate. Now when I see the rec therapist, I avert my eyes and scurry out of her path. I know, I know, maybe I'll grow a spine some day. I did manage to take all of this to my supervisor, who explained to me that there were rivalries between the departments, and that I would have to do something really unethical for him to not write me a good letter to get into graduate school.

On a final note, the three kids in the basketball class for the morning program at the Boys and Girls Club were practicing their free throws with good form when two of the kids started digging into each other. "You need blind aids." "Yeah, well, you need hearing aids!" The smallest of the three, whom I call "Scrappy," stood up and said, "You two need RESPECT AIDS."

It made my heart smile.

It's my birthday, and I blog what I want!

First of all, the most exciting news in my life that I am officially allowed to "post on the internet" today is that my older brother and his fiancee are going to pop out a baby next February (February 21st, actually). I'm pretty proud that I was able to guess what it was as soon as my brother said, "Are you driving, or can I tell you something?" For the record, I was driving, and I still made it home without killing myself or anyone else. Take that, stereotype of female drivers. I'm pretty stoked about becoming an aunt (and I'll become an aunt again once they get married, because LeAnne has the most adorable daughter already). I'm already thinking about all the ways I can spoil a child that isn't mine.

We went camping again this weekend, except this time with Marty and Sarah. Sarah is pretty much one of the coolest human beings you could possibly meet, and that's mostly because she's a lot like me (ha!). We can sit and talk about dogs and how stupid breeders are, and also exchange books and book titles because we're both big reading nerds. I feel a lot less lonely when I'm around her (yeesh, thank goodness I wasn't out to find a date out here). The downfall of the camping trip is that my back is a very, very bright red from hiking by the beaver dam (yup, a beaver dam), and I was reminded of why I have usually gone tanning a couple times in the years past. A large sun burn means I'm down for the count for an entire day, because rather than feeling hot and uncomfortable, my body just shuts down. Weird. Bobby's pretty burned too, which is sad, but I'm pleased, because he doesn't really burn easily, and it makes me feel better about myself.

Speaking of feeling better about myself, today is my birthday, and it's the first time in years I'm actually going to have a birthday! My mom usually forgot my birthday, then my 18th birthday was in the middle of competition at nationals for forensics, then my 19th and 20th consisted of a significant other on a mission, and then my 21st was supposed to be it. It was supposed to be the birthday to redeem all birthdays. Bobby was going to take me to the zoo (see? I'm not hard to please), but then my mom called and informed me that she had scheduled my bouquet/cake planning for that day. Today has already been a fantastic day. At midnight, while we were at Marty's watching "The Office," Bobby wished me a happy birthday, and then gave me my present. "I Am America (And So Can You)" by Stephen Colbert, and a book light so I can read at night without waking him up. He's pretty much the most amazing husband on the face of the planet. This morning, we're going to have breakfast at Mimi's Cafe, and then frolic at the animal shelter to play with all the dogs that otherwise might not get the attention. There was also talk of confetti cake, so we shall see. Yay! Happy birthday, Me!

My feet stink.

Something that I have discovered about being an intern is that it's one of the most dreadful experiences of my life. In the few months that I have been labeled with such a (what I have discovered) demeaning title, I have found that such entails being treated as an intern when it comes to judgment of competence (which, let's face it, I agree with that most of the time) so few responsibilities are allotted and observation is expected, but the definition of "intern" disappears when it comes to scheduling expectations. August isn't far off, right?

I have yet to write about my race last Saturday. My brain kind of flies everywhere and I don't really get anything written down other than little tidbits of my cognition, but I'm okay with that. Saturday, we woke up in the wee hours of the morning, got dressed, and went outside to pack up our bikes and stuff. To our dismay, it was raining, cold, and showed no signs of stopping. Park City is a good 45 minute drive from our house, and it would be insanely disappointing to get there to find out the race was cancelled, and with gas prices as high as they are, I was reluctant. Fortunately, when we got there, it had stopped raining, so we weren't getting rained on, but we did have to deal with the results of the moisture on the trails. It was cold, very cold, and we found out it had snowed in Park City earlier that morning. I was pretty excited, still, and got ready behind the starting line for the race. I talked to the other girls in my category (all two of them) and learned a couple of important things. The first was that one girl had been mountain biking for at least 8 years ("It's been about eight years since my last official race") and lived down the street from the trail we were about to race on. The other girl was riding a Specialized Safire. Now, my bike is pretty good, but the Safire is uh MAY zing. I felt pretty confident, though. The race was 7 miles long, and I bike that regularly to work, so it won't be a big deal, right?

They sent us off, and my thoughts were, "I just don't want to be last." The race started with two very steep, very long climbs, and after the first one, my goal changed to, "I just don't want to have to get off my bike and walk." Well, the two climbs were divided by a flat area filled with switchbacks and lots of mud, and I fell down. A lot. When I got to the second insane climb, I got off my bike and thought, "That's okay. I just don't want to have to stop and rest." I made it to the top of the climb, walking my bike, and couldn't even see the next person in front of me. I actually kind of liked that, and resolved to just race against the mountain instead of against the other two people in my group.

The rest of the trail was absurd. I fell down more times than I can count, and one of those times resulted in me landing in a tree. I had no problem pulling off to the side and letting the pro riders lap me (they had to do two laps, while I "only" had to do one). Pretty soon, my goal to not have to stop was abolished, and I decided I just wanted to finish the race. About two and a half miles into it, though, I was actually praying to get a flat tire. If I had a flat, then I could not finish and no one would blame me. If I didn't get a flat, then I had to deal with falling and bruising and crying and screaming, "WHO THE DEVIL DECIDED THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?!" I had to climb a mountain. I had to climb an actual mountain. I got to the top of it, and saw that the rest of the trail was just going back down the mountain on the other side, and became very frustrated with the pointlessness of racing. Why did I climb the mountain if where I need to be is at the bottom? It seemed to me like a complete waste of time. So I made my way down the mountain, slowly and carefully. I had never experienced a switchback in my, oh, one month of mountain biking, and I learned that my lack of skills required me to either get off my bike and walk them, or to attempt the switchback and end up with my entire body on the ground (or in a tree, as an instance would have it). As I was making my way, I heard the announcer at the finish line say into the mic, "Rider, 426!" and I did a little victory dance on my bike for Bobby, who had apparently just finished his 11 mile race (which started 10 minutes before mine, was four miles longer, and here I was, still on the freakin mountain). Not long after, I heard a "click click click click" with every rotation of my tire. I got off my bike and saw a stick in my chain ring. Bobby has told me time and time again to trust my bike, trust my tires, blah blah blah, so if there's something in the trail, just run over it. It's not going to throw me off my bike and kill me. With that in mind, I ran over a stick (more like a branch) and it had tangled itself completely in my chain ring, pushing the chain off the ring. Going down the mountain, this would not be a big deal, but there is a gradual climb afterward to get to the finish line. Without a chain, I can't pedal, and I certainly was not going to walk to the finish line. I wrestled the stinking thing out and had to guess when it came to sticking the chain back on. The wrestling took a good several minutes, but with the finish line so close, I yelled at my bike. "NO! I AM ALMOST DONE! YOU WILL WORK, GOSH DARNIT!" When I got to the bottom, there were some volunteers working the race that were directing people where to go, and they looked kind of surprised to see me. I just laughed and said, "Guess what? I DIDN'T DIE!" and headed off on my way. When I got to the finish line, I saw Bobby run up and start hollering away. Apparently, in the twenty minutes since he had finished the race, he had convinced himself that I was lying dead somewhere on the trail. He gave every first aid person he saw the third degree, asking if they saw anyone in a full face go down. He told me he was proud of me, and yanno, I'm pretty proud of me too. I certainly didn't do well (the person that finished before me finished 37 minutes earlier), but I wanted to quit so badly, and I finished the race. And because I didn't quit, I still got last in my category, but that still meant third place!

After we checked the results to see how Bobby ranked, we went back to the car and Bobby started putting the bikes on the rack. When he got to mine, he paused for a second, and then checked the rear suspension lock. "Oops." When he was putting my bike on the rack that morning, he had to turn the lock on the back so the bike would fit on the rack better, and had forgotten to unlock it. So not only did I finish the race, I rode the entire thing hard tail (hence the many falls) with all of the weight of a full suspension bike. That pretty much makes me a super hero.