How I got busted riding UTA* in SLC**

OR How my blond hair saved me.

*UTA Utah Transit Authority
**SLC Salt Lake City

Some might argue that my blond hair got me into the pickle in the first place. Meaning Blond = Airhead. I'll be the first to admit that what I did was pretty silly. I'll take responsibility but there were some factors working against me, i.e. snow lots of snow.

Here is how it happened:

It was a dark and stormy night and it was 5:45 pm. I had 13 minutes to get to the U for a dress rehearsal. We live one mile away from the U so any NORMAL day I would have been right on schedule. I would have had:
2 minutes to look for my keys
5 minutes to drive
5 minutes to park and walk
2+5+5=12 + 1 Bonus minute to spare!

But like I said it was a dark and stormy night and in snow all elements of the commute double in length. I convinced Spencer to drop me off thinking I could save time by eliminating parking. We slid out of the drive way and halfway across the street. Our car inched along. I think it was the thought of the steep hills that lay between us and our destination that prompted Spencer to say "We should just put you on that bus behind us. It goes strait to the U"

Thirty seconds later I was getting out of our Focus hailing the bus driver and stepping onto the bus. I only had time for a quick briefing from Spencer on how to scan his free bus card on the newfangled card reader system. This was new to me.

As I entered the bus I tried to look nonchalant like I knew what I was doing. This façade lasted 2 seconds: the time it took me to enter the bus, walk past the card reader and jam my card into the dollar bill acceptor. Wait, something is wrong! I grabbed the card just before it got sucked into the machine and held it down to keep it from advancing.

“Ooops” I said to the driver. “I think I put my card in the wrong place”

“What did you do?” asked the driver, an 80 year old white haired man.

“I accidentally stuck my card in the bill acceptor instead of scanning it. I guess I just got confused.” I tried to act like this was no big deal and ANYONE could have done it. He didn’t buy it.

“I never seen anyone do that before.” he said looking at me like I was the dumbest woman he had ever seen, blonds included. This says a lot considering the normal UTA clientèle.

Meanwhile Spencer had circled back around in the car. Looking into the bus windows he saw me standing in the front of the bus with the driver obviously involved in some kind of commotion. I knew he was worried. He thought that our little scam had been busted and the driver was taking away his card and maybe writing me a UTA abuse ticket or WORSE!. I couldn’t even wave to him as my hands were occupied trying to keep the card from being sucked down the dollar bill acceptor. I made huge sweeping motions with my head trying to convey to Spencer that he should keep driving. The bus driver looked at me strangely and said “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” I shot back “I just need to get my card. Can you help me?”

The machine thought the card was a dollar and was trying to suck it inside to scan. I couldn't get my fingers underneath the card to pull it without risking having it disappear forever inside.

Fortunately this bus driver carries a knife. He whipped out the knife and warning me to keep my fingers clear he slid the blade under the card allowing me enough space to lift up a corner and get my fingers under far enough to pull my card free.

Whew! Saved!

Once I had the fully in tacked card in my hand I casually reached over to the scanner and slid it across. Easy as pie. I decided to revert back to my casual nonchalant state and took a seat. I could tell from the looks the people in the bus that they also believed I was the dumbest person they had ever seen. My attempt to look cool act had totally backfired. Luckily no one bothered talking to me.

We continued onward through the snow. I estimate that my card jamming error took about 7 minutes. Then another 10 to the U and 3 to walk in. I ended up being 5 minutes late for the dress rehearsal. BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

My husband drilled a hole in my finger.

A few weeks ago I was closing my trunk with my left hand. Unfortunately for me the middle finger of my right hand was still in my trunk when I closed it.
"AHHHH" I screamed in pain. I panicked. I tried to pull it out. I pulled and pulled but my finger was stuck and the trunk had locked.

I looked around for someone willing to help the damsel in distress. I was alone. I pulled my finger again and it didn't budge. The pain was excruciating. I used my left hand to fish around in my purse for my keys. This was not easy but finally I managed to open the trunk and pull my finger out.

Immediately a big red spot of blood began filling up under the nail where the trunk had pinned it. By the end of the night the entire nail was a silvery black color.

Anytime I bumped it or moved it pain shot throughout my entire arm. I had no idea that a little fingernail could be so painful. I couldn't sleep so finally after 2 days I called my Dad who is a physician he said, "You didn't puncture the nail to relieve the pressure?"
"huh? Am I supposed to?" is this common knowledge. My dad then preceded to tell Spencer how to puncture my fingernail to relieve the pressure. My dad explained that you should get a needle and heat it on the stove. Spencer didn't look at all excited to operate until my dad said the word "Drill." Suddenly Spencer had a light in his eyes. "Yeah I've got a drill." A what? did my Dad tell Spencer to use his drill? On my finger?!? I was only listening to one side of the conversation. "Spencer still rambled on with my dad. Yeah drill bit, yeah okay got it.


apparently my dad felt that a drill bit would penetrate the nail easier.
The operating scene.Spencer changed into a different shirt to do the drilling. This shirt had a monkey with two bandaged arms and a chain saw and tag line that read "Don't juggle chainsaws." Yeah it gave me lots of confidence.


I was freaked out of my mind. The pain was so intense that I was agreeing to go along with the drill my finger thing, but naturally I was afraid that Spencer would drill too far and nail my finger to the kitchen table.
We cleaned everything with rubbing alcohol.
On the count of 3 Spencer was going to drill into the finger like planned. We counted to 3 several times which always resulted in my pulling my arm back before Spencer could do it. This continued for a half an hour. I realize that I am very dramatic but I think anyone would have done the same.
Finally I let him drill. The whole thing took a tenth of a second. Spencer pressed the drill bit lightly into my finger nail and soon blood was squirting out like a geyser. Immediately it felt better. So much better that I sat and squeezed blood out the hole and played with the skin and took all of these gruesome pictures.


After he drill my finger looked like this. Do you see the perfect hole his drill created?
A week later some of the blood came back my finger looked like this.
Finally the nail fell off and now it looks like this. People always ask me what happened. I'm tempted to tell them that I flipped someone off and God smote my finger but I don't. I slammed it in a car door. Then everyone precedes to tell me when the lost their finger nails. I just want it to grow back before my next birthday. Thanks for reading.

Busted for reading Twilight.

I teach at a school that emphasises teaching using classic literature along the lines of Don Quote, Les Miserables, Crime and Punishment, etc. For example this school uses books like Charles Darwin's Origin of Species and Steven Covey's Seven Habits of Highly Effective People as textbooks. Time is allotted to every student during the school day to read from the classics. Classics are taken very seriously.

I've read allot of classics. I've also read Twilight by Stephanie Meyer. I have to downplay this fact for fear of loosing my job like some of my colleagues. Well this morning I got totally busted for reading non-classics literature. In fact my manager asked me point blank if I'd been reading Twilight. Here is how it all went down.

During the assembly this morning Mr. Andrews leaned across the table and said, "Have you been reading Twilight?"
"Yes." I said chagrined.
"I can tell" he said. "You wrote Jacob Black on the list of students to be transferred into choir. Did you mean to put Jacob Grey?"

I nodded. My other co-workers all around me were laughing like crazy. I tried to act somewhat cool. "Oh did I put Jacob Black? I totally meant Grey! I can't believe I did that..."

Acting cool didn't work. I was Busted with a capital "B" Mr. Andrews admitted afterward that he too had been reading Twilight. It could happen to anyone Grey - Black is their really such a difference? Also I never realized this before but my student Jacob Grey and Jacob Black DO have some similarities. They are both Native American, both have shaggy dark hair and dark eyes, lots of confidence, and both are high school students. But that is where the similarities stop. I've seen Jacob Grey do skateboarding tricks to impress girls in the school parking lot but I've never him phase into a werewolf. But now that I've seen the similarities I am going to be on the look out.

I'm a dork.

I think some people blog so that all the world (the blogging world) will know how cool they are. This is not my goal. I gave up being cool on the blog the first time I posted pictures of Spencer and I dressed up in strange football attire. Cool people spend their Sunday afternoons doing much cooler things like going to parties or something. Yes I lean toward the non cool side and here is proof.

The other month I went for sushi with a long time friend Jim. Jim and I have been eating sushi together for years. My husband has come on occasion but everything about sushi grosses him out so I leave him at home most of the time.

At the end of the meal I realized that my wallet was in another purse. I assured Jim I wasn't dodging the bill. I didn't want Jim to be stuck with it so I scrambled for other options. Luckily I found my check book but no amount of digging yielded my missing wallet or I.D. I figured Jim was more likely to accept a check minus I.D. than the Mikado. So I wrote him one for my half of the meal and then some.

Now here comes the dork part: Instead of writing the check for the $24 I owed Jim I wrote TWENTY FOUR THOUSAND. I wrote it out. I wrote the word thousand on a check. Now least you think that I always do this I don't. Only once in my life have I written thousand on a check and that was for a car.

Jim, trusting me took the check and only later realized my mistake. Now it is a good thing that Jim and I are such good friends. What if I'd written it to someone who likes me less? I assure you a check for $24,000 would never have cleared my savings account. But still this is not a mistake I can afford to make. So least you read my blog and get some false impression of my coolness level...let me assure you that I do the craziest things.

The gang

At first glance this seems like a group of normal people enjoying an evening but at second glance I think all of my readers will realize that Yes, Yes indeed, this is a gathering of mafia hit men and women. This pack under the direction of Big Pappy Jimmy has been causing terror in various parts of the world for years. Names have been changed as part of the internet protection program.

Big Pappy Jimmy sits in his lush pleather arm chair with his long polyester sleeves covering a slew of tattoos none of which are innocent enough to say "mother." Many myths surround Big Pappy but almost everyone is certain that he tattoo's the names of each of his victims on his right hip bone.

Meg the aloof (Yellow sweater beaded necklace) is Jimmy's right hand woman. Don't let the blond hair fool you. This woman is no Suzanne Summers. She speaks several languages and is working under cover right now in the D.C. Public school systems buying and selling narcotics, 3 minute zum nackdenken packets and expensive hair products to America's Youth.

Traci the terminator works as a team with Christian the "Killing Kind" Underneath her Argyle sweater is a bullet proof vest she never leaves home with out. Beware those who cross her path. In her spare time she likes grows an herb garden and makes grape juice.

Her husband Christian the "Killing Kind" is sometimes seen sporting a handle bar mustache. The most mysterious of the pack after Big Pappy, the "Killing Kind" is known to take it personally any time "bonsai" tree is incorrectly pronounced.

Heinz "the smiling fool" just found out that he was actually going to replace Meg the aloof as as Jimmy's right hand man. In the picture after this (not shown) Heinz slips into Meg's tight yellow sweater and beaded necklace.

...and me "sausage lost" the name may seem mysterious. It involves our last job securing and then misplacing 1 lb. of expensive Italian sausage at a coffee shop in the metro area. Don't worry, we lost the meat but our identities were not compromised. Until next time...

Dog on Roof

I'm not sure when I developed a sense that my family was different from other families. When you grow up in a certain environment you just expect that that is the norm. It seems perfectly normal to say "Blast off the dishes" rather than the traditional "start the dishwasher." And really I thought all people had a song for every family event from fathers coming home to brushing your teeth.

Then somewhere in elementary school or maybe by the time I hit young womens I realized that some people are popularly considered "normal" run of the mill and some people are not. You know the type I mean. If these people were pennys they would be shiny enough to be noticed but not flashy enough to be considered exceptional.

These normal people talk about boating and going out on the lake. Their children always have their hair parted and their shoes shined. Their car's are always clean and they would NEVER eat a picnic dinner on their front lawn. Come to think of it they don't eat on their back porch either. These people's houses do not have objects like lamps, book cases and vacuums which were at one time abandoned by their previous owners and adopted back into household circulation.

What is more these people don't go exploring. Everywhere I have lived my parents have made it a policy to go explore the neighborhood. I think one of the main reasons my father didn't enjoy our Phoenix neighborhood was because it was too normal. Suburbia without a forest near by to explore or a river around the bend to throw rocks into.

My family has NEVER fit into that perfect Mormon family mold. I think I might have begun to realize that in 4th grade. My church group (we were called merry misses I think....so cheesy) of all girls hosted a 50's dance Daddy daughter type deal. All of us 10 year olds wore poodle skirts with scarves in our hair. We created a juke box out of card board and were so excited! On the night of the dance everyone's father came wearing a suit. Except my Dad. He got the announcement that this was a 50's dance and he didn't want to be left out of the fun. He wore jeans and a white tee-shirt with his hair slicked back and a pack of cards rolled up in his sleeve like some smokes. I think he tried to put a fake cigarette behind his ear but my mom told him no so he replaced it with a comb.

We moved a lot my entire life growing up. I didn't really mind. I liked meeting new people and moving gave everyone a chance for a fresh start. Sometimes I wistfully imagined that the forth coming move would turn us into the "Normal" family. None of us would ever wear mis-matching clothes. We would buy fancy new furniture etc.

I moved to a small Utah town just before my junior year of high school. Once again this was a fresh start. For the first time in my life my family bought a beautiful house in the towns wealthiest neighborhood. All of our neighbors were "Normal" people. They all had yachts and took them to a near by lake every Saturday. Now my family has never been one to keep up with the Joneses but my dad thought we should have a boat too. He went to the local pawn shop and purchased a shiny red canoe. Now we were part of the neighborhood.

Except we weren't. We've never been. Now least you think I'm complaining or feel myself deprived in any way realize that I would not change my upbringing for the world. What boring lives those other families must have. They have never explored abandoned box cars mere miles from the front porch or canoed down countless streams a yacht would never dare to go. Can they entertain themselves with round upon round of "Dead Armadillo"? I think not! I do realize I'm bias but our family had so much more JOY. Why did none of the other fathers go all out with a 50's costume to support their 10 year old daughter? I had it so good! So we didn't have matching furniture but we did travel all over Europe including Israel and Turkey. We read lots of books and had hundreds of adventures.

SO how does this apply to dog on roof? Well my family once again moved over Christmas. They moved to the Indian Hills behind Provo and once again none of their rich neighbors would ever use an abandoned vacuum no matter how it sucked.

No one has any intentions of trying to be "Normal" but at least we make an effort not to seem too eccentric. The first few weeks in the house it seemed the plan was working. Until a neighbor knocked on the door to ask us if we were aware we had a dog on our roof.

Apparently Max the family dog didn't realize that we were trying to be incognito. With in a few weeks at the new house Max realized that he could jump from the balcony to the railing and onto the roof. Perched on the roof he could bark at bikers past or see into all of the neighbor's back yards. Never before had Max exhibited any signs of "Cat like" behavior such as roof sitting. I've seen it myself with my own eyes. I drove down to visit my family and when Max heard my car pull into the driveway. There he was wagging his tail 12 feet above me looking down.

We realized the cat was out of the bag on our "normal status" when a police officer knocked on the door one Saturday afternoon. (I guess Saturday afternoon is a pretty low key time for Provo police) My father opened the door.

"Sir do you know you have a dog on your roof." The police officer said.
"Is it illegal to have a dog on your roof?" My father responded.

Instead of answering my father's question the cop explained "Some of the neighbors have called and are concerned about the safety of the dog."

Apparently THEIR dogs never realize how much fun a roof can be. So much for Normal.

I am a U of U fan

and this is how it happened.

I NEVER paid the slightest attention to football before I got married. I'd been to 3 football games in my entire life and I never had the slightest idea what was going on. Now I'm becoming quite the connoisseur of football. I can follow every thing which is shocking even more shocking is that I enjoy it. No one ever would have guessed.

One thing has always confused me about sports fans. How do you pick YOUR team? Okay I can understand routing for the home team, but how else do you develop a die hard affiliation? You think the QB is hot? You like the logo? You met one of the players once and liked him? You play on that team?

Spencer makes fun of me all the time because although I'm happy when our team wins (Broncos) I always feel a little bad for the losing team. Also when players don't catch the ball or don't kick the field goal my heart can't help but go out to them (they are going to have horrible weeks looking at all that film.) I realize that most people are just happy when their team is up and don't waist time feeling bad for athletes who are already making millions of dollars a year (NFL)

How does this relate to being a U fan?? I'm getting to it. Spencer and I both went to the U of U however our mothers both went to the U's main rival Brigham Young University 30 miles south in Provo Utah. Spencer grew up being a BYU fan and his affiliation didn't change even thought the U had given him his degree.

I graduated from the U barely realizing they had a football team. (I was into music remember) However when I married Mr. Football I started to hear about the U's football team. And I realized that every time Spencer got excited that they lost I would feel bad for them. They were my school. So I decided I was a U fan.

My father flipped out. Both my parents routed for BYU and my father took it as a personal insult that I changed teams. Every week I would get some email telling me of the evil ways of my fellow U fans. I tried to explain that I wasn't against BYU per say I just wanted the U to win too. He didn't believe me.

So come November, day after my birthday and time for the big U of U vs. BYU game. My whole family turned out to watch. The first part of the game was boring but the end made up for it. The U had been leading for the forth quarter and it looked like they would win when at the last minute BYU scored a touchdown and scored the victory.

My family was screaming. Spencer was screaming (I was sitting in his lap) and then the weirdest thing happened which I did not anticipate:

I burst into tears. My family was screaming and yelling so excited to have BYU win and I was sobbing.....SOBBING. Me sobbing over silly football! I was shocked to realize I was crying which only made me cry harder. Sitting on Spencer's lap, sobbing into his neck over a football game. Weird weird weird! I've never cried at football before. I only became a fan this season! I'm going to blame my ultra dramatic reaction on girl hormones.

Any normal day I wouldn't have shed a tear but for that day with my family all routing for the opposing team and laughing in my face it just became to much. Anyhow, I guess it is true now. I really am a Utes fan.

You would think my father would be excited that one of his 5 daughters finally knew what an onside kick was but no...not when she has gone to the dark side.

Week One

I never knew. I never had any idea. Before I married Spencer I had no idea the excitement and energy that went into football. It’s like a religion. I’d heard people talk about football weather. (Fall right?) I knew they had helmets and shoulder pads.

Basically I was clueless to everything concerning football. The only words I know were:

1. Quarterback:
(important player)
2. Linebackers:
(the big guys’ right?)
3. Cheerleaders:
(little skirts big smiles)
4. Touchdown: (points)
5. End zone:
(where the touchdown happens…I think)
6. Offense:
(something to do with football)
7. Defense: (opponents of the offense)

I had no idea when football season began and ended. I heard people talk about the super bowl but yawn yawn yawn SO many better things to do on a Sunday.

Then I got married to a man who is OBSESSED with football. Slowly he began teaching me. His favorite story before we were married is when he was explaining bye-week to me and I said “They have to BUY a week?” Amazingly enough he didn’t give up.

Slowly I began to catch on. Now I can name all the positions on the football team. I know what 2^nd and Goal means and how exciting that point is in the game. I know what 1^st down is, and that 4^th down is a bad place to be if you haven’t scored a touchdown and aren’t in field goal range. I know what the QuarterBack does and what it means when he is sacked. If this happens then it’s possible to have 2^nd and 17 (for example).

I know that special teams kick field goals and punts the ball to the other team after the offense fails to reach the 1^st down. Field Goals are worth 3 points as opposed to that other time during the game when the ball gets kicked. That is just the extra point option after the touch down. I can define so many more special terms like: line of scrimmage, running back, fullback, tight end, linebackers etc.

So do I love it? It is growing on me. I can see why people love it. And when we just watched the Bronco’s game I admit the last 4 minutes were pretty exciting as Denver kicked a field goal with no time on the clock to gain a 1 point lead over the Buffalo Bills. WOW!! Of course I wasn’t as excited as Spencer who was writhing around on the floor yelling and slamming his fist down.

So now having survived one very exciting Sunday and one Thursday night my verdict is: it is kind of fun. I’m not sure I would watch it on my own, but I’m glad to watch it with my sweet husband and share in one of his many obsessions. What do you think Dad? Did you ever think it possible?