Science Rocks!

So, are you like me, and are a creature of habit?
While sitting at your boring job at your boring desk, do you have a favorite ceiling tile you like to stare at?
At your place of occupation, do you have your favorite stall in the restroom?
I do.
And yes, I get irritated if someone else is occupying it when I walk in the door. I tend to choose my favorite stall very logically, and usually based on location (i.e., you never want your favorite stall to be one close to the door).
But at my current job, I based my decision on geology.
I guarantee that 99% of women that go into this stall don't even see this, because in real-life it is about the size of my pinky fingernail.
And who knew that bathroom stalls these days were even made of actual rock, and not just a combo of particle board and formica?
But anyway, it's my special treasure.

Sufferin' Until Suffrage

My how far we've come.
A few weeks ago, I started the next journey in my life-- the MBA program.
So far, so good. It has been AMAZING. My brain has missed the stimulation.
In my current class of about 65 students, there are 8 of us women. It makes me think back to my mother going to school here 40+ years ago and taking her math classes. Sheesh. A little male-dominated much?
I started feeling a little underrepresented, a little insignificant, a little... you get the picture. That is, until it came Break Time during class. Once a break time had been announced, all the students poured out of the doors into the hallways for drinks, snacks, pit stops, etc (it happens when the class is 8 hours long). I walked over toward the bathrooms and saw a gathering of men. I made chit-chat, smirking something about how apparently the men's restroom was the COOL place to be. Then it dawned on me. They were all in line, out the door, to use the restroom.
And the sight has been repeated every day of class since then.
It makes me so joyful to see. For ONCE these guys can comprehend a LITTLE how I have felt at every sporting event, every concert, every movie I've ever needed to use the restroom at ever.
And, at that moment, I felt an equalness in the universe.

Dam Lesbians

Tonight has finally come. The anticipation is killing me. It's once again time for the Indigo Girls concert to come to Salt Lake.
I freaking LOVE the Indigo Girls. Their voices, their harmonies, their lyrics... It's all good. My sister equally loves the Indigo Girls. One year we saw them in concert up at Deer Valley, and feeling out of place among all the lesbians, we shrugged our shoulders and decided to join 'em, and spent the rest of the concert with one arm over the other's shoulder.
This memory triggers a story not told too often; perhaps not often enough.
Back in 2003 my sis and I went on a road trip to Phoenix and on the way we decided to stop at Hoover Dam. We were walking around and about 10 yards in front of us there was an old man being pushed in his wheelchair by perhaps his son. As they got nearer the old man yelled "STOP!" to his son. I swear his wheels SCREECHed to a hault. The old man pointed with his decrepit crooked finger at my sis and me and says, very matter-of-factly, as if this was an educational lesson not to be missed, "NOW THOSE ARE LESBIANS!"
My eyes grew wide. I looked at my sis and she looked at me, and we just smiled and walked past them with our arms around each other.

This Old Airport's Got Me Down

Incase I have not mentioned before (Oh, I know I have. See Holiday Inn? post), I have the WORST luck when traveling.
Over the past couple years of flying, I've sort of given up on assuming flights will be on time, etc.
In May I flew to Vegas to visit friends. Due to my flight being delayed, I was forced to take a taxi from the airport to the Mirage. I got in the taxi (my first solo experience) and the driver says "Do you wanna take the Freeway?". Thinking and thinking, I say "Um. No. Isn't it just right over there? Just take the surface streets."
I was daydreaming that I had really jumped into the Cash Cab and Ben Bailey was starting to drill me with random pop/cultural trivia and I'd get every answer right, and I would get money AND a free cab ride. As I awoke from my daydream, I realized the cab driver was taking me DOWN THE STRIP. UUGGGGGHH. I HATE driving the strip. Even when I'm in my OWN car, let alone when I have to PAY for the ride. I looked at the cabfare counter, and I said to the driver in my lack-of-assertive way, "Oh, I don't care to be on the strip. You can take whatever back streets to get me to the Mirage". I didn't want to sound like a cheapskate. She said that she couldn't get off the strip now because of construction. Ay, dios! Twenty-Five bucks and a tip later, she lets me out at the Mirage. So just FYI: if you are a taxi-virgin like I was, have your course planned out, and TELL the driver what streets you'd prefer them take.
After making myself comfortable on this trip, it was time to drive back to the airport (I sigh... wondering what problems will occur this time around...). Well, we were on the other side of Hoover Dam, and holiday weekend traffic held us up on the damn dam for over 2 hours. Hence, I missed my flight back. Which, I know according to Murphy's Law, had to have been on time, had little turbulence, and landed with grace as a skeeter on water. No, I had to pay extra for the next flight out in the morning.
Fast forward 2 weeks.
Last minute decision to fly down to Vegas again. Many things happening that weekend. A buddy's band, a comedy show, a trip to the lake, etc... At 4:35 on Friday afternoon I decide to book a flight down departing at 6:00 pm or so. Well, that flight was an hour and a half late so I just barely made it to see my buddy's show (1/3 of the reasons I flew down in the first place). The tardiness of flight was soon forgotten and I had a wonderful weekend. Monday morning my friend and I were sound asleep, and at 4:00 AM I was awakened by a phone call. Ugh. Who calls at 4 AM?! NO WHERE IN THE WORLD would it be ok to call a person at this time. I almost didn't answer it. It was an unknown number. But then I decided it might be some emergency or whatnot. So I answer. It's an automated message saying that my flight had been canceled. Not delayed. Canceled all together. I look at my friend in the pitch dark and I know we simultaneously rolled our eyes, then laughed hysterically. I couldn't even be surprised. Or mad. This is just my fate I've accepted. So I "pressed 1" to talk to a live agent and rescheduled my flight. I made it back in one piece, and called the airline customer service hotline demanding some sort of credit for my inconveniences. Now I have $125 to spend on a flight, but now my dilemma is, do I dare even use it?

I find the lyrics to "In the Early Mornin' Rain" perhaps deeming itself my "Travel Soundtrack".

Get your MEK on

Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls. Hold on to your hipsters.
Well over a year ago, I decided to try a brand new type of jean. They were superbly long, a dreamy combo of stiffness and stretchnessitude... They were my first MEKs.
Yes I splurged. You can't find decent pants that fit me on the clearance rack at Sears Roebuck.
I wore these jeans faithfully. They filled me up without letting me down.
I even have a girlfriend so fond of them that she wears them when she comes to town, or when I bring them when I go to visit her.
I (and my friend) wore these jeans so often that a hole started to wear in the butt pocket. It broke my heart. Domestically, I patched it.
Two weeks ago, two new holes wore through. I was crushed. My favorite pair of jeans lay lifeless, draped over my radiator until I could decide what to do with them. maybe I should cut them up and make a woobie out of them?
Then I decided that I spent way too much on these jeans to just let them "fade-out" (pardon the pun) of my life. So, I headed to the store with them in tow to see what they could do for me.
While en route, I was receiting my story to tell the sales clerk when I arrived. I wasn't making anything up; I just needed to get all my facts correct and in chronological order.
I walked in to the store to find a wonderfully cheerful salesclerk eager to meet my needs. I took a deep breath. *Ahem*. "Well, you see... I bought these pants a while ago..."
The girl didn't care. "Oh, ok!" says the girl. "Go pick out a new pair and we'll exchange them".
"Really?", I question. "So I haven't washed them since wearing them last. Should I take them home and wash them before I bring them in to exchange?"
"No, don't worry about it. Just give them to me and go over and pick yourself out a new pair".
"Well, so it has been probably at least a year since I bought these. Is this going to be ok?"
The salesclerk realized I felt uncomfortable and a little apprehensive about the whole situation. So she walks me over to the jeans section, and proverbially holds my hand while I pick out a new pair.
And boy did she pick a pair.
At the end of this experience, I was told that if I ever wanted to exchange these jeans for any reason-- maybe I get more holes in them; maybe I just get a little thicker in the midsection and they no longer fit-- just bring them in and exchange them.
You can't even get that great of a guarantee on Carharts!!
I am so impressed. Bravo, MEK. You have a customer for life.

Honk Honk!

This morning I was kind of in a groggy mood getting to work. I don't seem to be getting enough rest that my body is requesting, and all these meds I'm taking for my sinus and ear infections makes it even harder to get up in the morning.
So I got in my car to get to work today, and was grumbling about not wanting to go to work.
I got in the left turn lane to head up toward the U, and something was coming up the road to prohibit me from making my turn.
What was it?
(*squint* *squint*)
I sure needed my glasses, but had left them on my kitchen table.
Whatever it was, it was definitely running the red light.
If it was pedestrians, they needed to get out of the middle of the road and use the crosswalk!

Oh.
hee hee.
It made my day a lot better. :-)
Has anyone seen geese this big before in their life?????

Dave Patton, I hardly knew you

I started my amazing new job almost one year ago to the day.
Among every perk under the sun for working with the current department, was the aspect that i worked with the DREAM TEAM of co-workers. It has been the first place I have worked where there are no office bee-otches, no back-biting, no manipulation, and no higher-than-thous.. I love everyone I work with.
And with that statement, comes the inevitable: When you ARE that good... other places need you and want you more. So in the last 6 months I have lost (occupationally) 2 of my favorite people EVER. My old supervisor Shelley (left to help her husband's booming business), and Dave Patton, my fatherly workforce friend.
I insisted that when Dave left, I needed to have a funeral because I feel like everyone I love is dying off.
So we did.
We publicly announced we would be having a farewell party for Dave, and secretly announced that it would be more of a "Wake" (funeral party).
So although I am losing some of my favorite coworkers in my history of coworkers, I survive the hard times with pictures like these. ha.