Huh. That's odd. I can't see!

So, I work in a bakery, right? Well, among other things, that means opening and closing oven doors all day. We have a HUGE walk-in oven at work. No joke. Huge. Well, I was getting something out of the oven the other day and it was set at 400F. About average. But this time, for some reason, I got a big blast of hot air, which hurt my eyes, so I closed them. When I turned away from the oven, I went to open my eyes, my eyelashes were STUCK TOGETHER! My mascara had MELTED!!! Now, that's just not normal, right? I've worked in the industry for years, worked at Snowbird 1 year, and that's the FIRST time that's happened. What the heck? And who else would that happen to but me? No one. Exactly. Weird.

The Car Gods Must Be Angry.

So, as you've probably seen in one of my past posts, I recently purchased a Chevy Blazer to enable me to drive to and from work safely. Good plan. I love it. Except...the whole idea of me buying a vehicle with 4WD was to be able to use 4WD when the roads up the canyon were bad. WELL IT'S NOT WORKING!!! Last week, I kicked into 4WD at the top of the canyon cause there was a few inches of snow on the road. The past few times, I did it, it was like the car jarred a bit when it kicked in, but then it was fine. This time, it was like I was going over a bump every few seconds, when I wasn't. Bad sign. I told my dad and we took it in to have it looked at. Bad news. Apparently, there is supposed to be oil in the transfer case and it was bone dry. It's not like if leaked out...it was just never there. At least, not as long as I've owned it. Awesome.

So, my dad, being the Knight in Shining Armor he is, he went to the dealership where I bought my Blazer and made them aware of the situation. As far as the warranty, well, there isn't one. It was a trade-in and it had 135,000 miles on it, so, yeah. BUT it seems I had found the one honest dealership in the world. Well, not really. I suppose they're not ALL as sleazy as they seem. Heh heh. Anyhoo, Smith Family Motors is a very honest, very moral, family-0wned place to buy a car. Because when they heard what happened, they offered to help. They aren't required to do so, but morally, it's totally justified. They didn't know there was a problem, but neither did we. So, it looks like I'll be paying $300 instead of the original estimate of $737. An improvement in price, but still...ugh. *sigh* Stupid car.

This is what I do.

Hi, everyone. I don't really have any thoughts to share, advice to impart, or anecdotes, but I do have a fair amount of pictures of stuff I've made at work. Wanna see? Good!

The above picture is of a Pumpkin Roulade. Pumpkin sponge cake spread with a mascarpone filling. It had a lot of rum in it. haha.

This here is a Lemon Meringue Tart with blackberries, raspberry sauce, and candied lemon zest. We did this for a very VIP group. VIP= pain in the butt, in my world. Haha.Key Lime Pie

Honey Lavender Creme Brulee

Graham cracker crust topped with a cream cheese mousse and fresh strawberries. Pretty much Cheesecake-in-a-glass.

A close-up of a petit four tray we did. We used Chocolate-covered strawberries, meringue cookies, Espresso truffles, Milk chocolate raspberry truffles, and one other truffle I can't remember.

This is the full shot of the petit four tray

A pomegranate and mandarin orange tart with fresh mint. Very VIP.

Chocolate hazelnut torte with a mandarin orange compote, chocolate sauce, and a pantella stick.

Chocolate Cream Pie. Super rich.

Key Lime Pie.

New York Cheesecake.

If this didn't make you salivate, then I haven't done my job. ; ) Hope you enjoyed it. Or hate me a little for not having any to share. Haha.

The Perfect Fit!! And a bag to match...

This past Monday in the late morning, I ventured out in search of 2 things: jeans and a new purse. Simple, right? Hm. In concept, yes. In execution, no so much. First of all, I am not one of those girls who owns many, many pairs of jeans in different styles, colors, fittings, etc. I usually own one, maybe two, pairs of jeans at a time. I’m very loyal to my jeans. Once one pair starts to show signs of wear, I buy another pair from the same store in the same style, same color, same size, everything. Why fix what’s not broken, right? Well, that formula stops being effective when the store CHANGES the style, sizing, or whatever. Stupid Old Navy. So, what’s a girl to do but search out for a new loyalty? Ugh. I dread it. Really. You know how it is. They’re too short, too wide, too high in the waist, too already “worn”, they make my butt look big, my knees too knobby, my hips too wide. There are a thousand different reasons with one result: the wrong fit. At this point, I’m looking forward to those shiny silver jumpsuits everyone supposedly wears in the future.

So, it seems this time around, I waited a little too long to order a new pair of jeans (Old Navy does carry a long inseam in the stores in my size, therefore I usually order them online, which is fine by me). When I finally did, I ordered what I thought was the same pair I already owned. Haha! Ahem, apparently not. They arrived and I tried them on. La dee da. Soooo not the same. Wrong color (too dark), wrong size (that was my bad), and the wrong style. Since when did the “flare” style remain fitted until mid-calf? Um… never. Back to the store you go, stupid pants. They refund me everything except the $7 for shipping. Whatever. And yet, I still remain pants-less.

Days go by, my pants being held together with iron-on patches and my desperate prayers that I won’t bend over one day and expose my underpants in public. Or in private because THEY’RE MY ONLY PAIR!!!! So after much whining and avoiding, it was finally time to do it. Find new jeans. Again, ugh. Where to go? There are only so many stores that carry jeans for women with *ahem* curves. My last and, pretty much, only prayer was a store called Torrid in Fashion Place Mall. It’s like Lane Bryant except for people who have a sense of style. I kid, I kid. It’s not that bad. Torrid is more my age, though. Now, I’ve always been a little wary of that particular store because they sell a lot of items with skulls on them. No lie. Why is that fashionable, I don’t know. They also sell lingerie. Awkward. I had to give them a chance, though. I literally HAD to.

The worst thing about finding jeans at an unfamiliar store is the sizing. You never know how they relate to sizes at other stores. A 6 at one store could be an 8 at another (yeah, like I’m a 6. HAHAHA!). Anyway, that has to be established before the try-on stage, because it’s super embarrassing to yell over the door to the lady and say, “Um, this 10 isn’t working. Can I get a, um….16?” Yeah. That’s not awkward. So when the sales lady asked me what size I normally wear I told her, adding the “long” or “tall” or “freakishly tall” or whatever they call it there. She’s like, “Oh, cool. I wear the same size. I’ll just show you some of the pants I love and we’ll go from there.” Huh. Pretty good plan, actually. Once I got in the dressing room a.k.a. “the moment of truth”, I pulled on the first pair and…TA DA!!! They fit!!! It’s a freakin’ miracle!! Not only do they fit, they look pretty flattering. Pretty fantastic. Pretty perfect, actually. Second pair was a huge letdown, and so on. So…I bought the FIRST PAIR I TRIED ON! That NEVER happens!! It was weird. But good weird, you know?

On to item number 2. La purse. There’s a story there too, and I just know you’re dying to hear it! As it so happens, I am just as loyal to my purses as I am to my jeans…but they seem to last longer. And it’s harder to replace it with the same since I somehow keep getting bigger ones to suit my needs! My first gotta-have-at-all-times purse was green camo from Old Navy (shocker, I know!). It was just the right size and really cute, but didn’t really “match” with, well, any of my clothing. Ha, oh, well. I had that purse for 5 years until it seemed too small and was falling apart. I replaced it with a slightly bigger black one with white polka dots that was, no joke, $1. Seriously! One of the best purchases I’d ever made. Buuut, at some point, the zipper broke and once again, seemed too small. That one lasted about 2 years.

Onward and upward! I found one at Payless Shoesource, of all places, and it seemed perfect! The right size, cute, plain black (seemed more professional or whatever), and had a divider in the middle to contain my assorted crap. I can’t do the huge one-huge-pocket purses where everything’s mixed together. Too much chaos for me. Anyhow, this new pursed worked well for a few weeks…until the strap started to split where it was sewn together. I now know to look for purses with straps that don’t have that. You live and learn. Once the other strap started to split, I took it back with the receipt for a refund. Of course, the sales lady tried to get me to exchange it for the same purse (yeah, right) or another questionable purse of the same value. I just asked for the refund and she seemed pissed off. What? I don’t want your freakin’ purse!! Thanks anyway! Jeez.

On that same trip, I was on the search for the perfect purse! Not an easy task, since at that point I was very anal about what I wanted. Ready for my description? Mmkay. Black. Not too big, not too small. Divider in the middle. Stands up on it’s own (don’t want it to slump over). Small pockets inside and pockets outside, if possible. Fits over my shoulder. Reasonably priced. In depth, huh? Yeah. I warned you I was particular. Well, I looked in every possible store that could carry purses in Fashion Place Mall…and nothing. What?!? I was getting desperate. I had borrowed a purse from my sister and it was the basic sack kind. No pockets. Cute, but not gonna cut it. Crap! As last resort, I stopped by Shopko on Redwood Road. Jackpot! They had semi-designer purses on sale 40% off!! Score! But being me, it took me a good 45 minutes to decide. But I found one!! As close to perfect as possible. *sigh*. I hate shopping. But I love getting results! So, it was a pretty good day.

I know that was waaaayyy too long. Sorry. Hope it was at least entertaining. ; )

8 Things About Me

Here are the Rules:
1) Post rules on your blog
2) Answer the six '8' items
3) Let each person know by leaving them a comment


8 Favorite TV Shows

1. Gilmore Girls!
2. CSI:NY
3. The Big Bang Theory
4. Monk
5. Psych
6. Supernatural
7. Angel
8. The Black Donnellys

8 Things I Did Yesterday

1. Woke up at 6am (A feat in and of itself. ick.)
2. Drove to and from work (45 min each way. again, ick.)
3. Sliced tiramisu.
4. Made Green Tea Mousse for a banquet
5. Made Flan for the same banquet
6. Showered. (Glorious!)
7. Watched "Privileged"
8. Tried Thai-ish food.

8 Things I Look Forward To

1. Draper Temple open house this Saturday
2. Finally, a Saturday off!!
3. GNO with my sisters!
4. Payday (always!)
5. Going Bovine (a book) by Libba Bray
6. My new digital camera coming in the mail! (Hurray, hurray!)
7. Twilight Movie on DVD
8. New jeans without holes. Yippee!

8 Favorite Restaurants

1. Cafe Rio
2. Wingers
3. Olive Garden
4. Cheesecake Factory
5. Carrino's
6. Del Taco
7. Panda Express
8. Thaifoon

8 Things on My Wish List

1. EUROPE, EUROPE, EUROPE!!
2. To have all my debt paid off
3. A boy. ; )
4. For my new camera to come!!
5. Actually have a savings account again.
6. Get better at the guitar
7. Learn to ski/snowboard. (All in good time...)
8. Have my own place eventually.

8 People I Tag

1. Lindsey Christensen
2. Hilary
3. Shantel
4. Anna
5. Lindsey Lambert
6. Kathryn
7. Sharane
8. I'm all out!!

R.I.P. Oliver

1999-2009

NEW CAR!!!! YIPPEEEE!!

Well, if you've read any of my previous posts, you've probably noticed how often I gripe about how bad my car is in the snow. It was pretty much a suicide mission every time I tried to drive up to Snowbird in the snow. So, the original plan was to get snow tires and possibly snow chains as well. But the more I thought about it, it didn't make sense. Even if I had both of those, my car is so low, I would be able to get out of more than 3 inches of snow. Maybe not even that. Pathetic.

So I talked to my parents and they agreed with me. I started looking at used cars online and trying to figure out how much I could afford. (Not much, by the way.) I set the maximum at $4,000, which is hard, but not impossible, I found. After much research, I started calling around and looking more into the 4WD vehicles I was interested in. I looked at Ford Explorer, Nissan Pathfinder, Chevy Blazer, Dodge Durango, Jeep Cherokee, and many others which were in my price range. I also had to inquire at the bank to see if they would even give the money for a car. I was pre-approved. Yay!

Then came the hard, horrible part. Going to dozens of used car dealerships. Luckily my dad was willing to go with me, otherwise, I'm pretty sure I would have been screwed. We went to one dealership when I had seen an ad online for a 98 Blazer and we took it for a drive, but it was just...no good. We drove a white Durango at another place that didn't have a console in between the seats because it was a cop car and they removed it to make room for the computer and all that business. It was okay. Those were the only ones we drove out of all the crappy, scary, shady car lots all along State Street. And, by the way, for the most part, everything you hear about used car salesman is true. Seriously. *shudder* So, after about 2 1/2 hours of misery, we headed home for dinner and to warm up a bit. I had a whole list of other cars to look at, but hardly the energy nor the resolve. My dad and I decided we would look at one more that night because it looked pretty good.

The last place we went to was Smith Family Motors in Draper. I had seen an ad for a 2002 white Chevy Blazer for $3,695. Not bad, eh? I called ahead to make sure it was still there and off we went. Let me tell you, this dealership was a whole other species of dealers. It was clean, the car was clean, the salesman (named Rustyn, by the way) was super nice and helpful. He was nice even though we showed up 15 minutes before they were supposed to close. He let us take it for a drive and told us there was no need to hurry and he explained the repairs that they had done on the Blazer and why they were done. Very upfront about everything. Nothing shady, thank goodness. They specialize in Lexus and Toyota, so the Blazer was a trade-in. No biggie. Rustyn and his brother Corbin had both worked for Larry H. Miller dealerships and then they each opened their own dealerships. Years later they decided to combine the two and make it a family business. They're last name really is Smith (of Smith Family Motors). He told us the whole story while he drew up the paperwork, so obviously I decided to buy the car. It was everything I was looking for and more. I had a really good feeling about it. It's a 2002 Chevy Blazer. White with beige interior. I love it so far. I've had it all of 24 hours, though.

So, besides the blasted sales tax and dealers rip-off fee (required, I find, at even the best of dealers), I'm happy with the result.

And now to pay for it....Grr.

That Dang Meringue

This is a picture of the lovely meringue cookies that I made. But not without some difficulty. You want the whole story? Okay. So at work, we have a prestigious party in the middle of November which includes many trays of petit fours (which translates to "small cakes"). Although, we're not doing actually cakes. Mostly just cookies and chocolates and whatnot. Anyhoo, these meringue cookies are for that party. So I planned on using the Italian Buttercream recipe we use, but it makes quite a lot, even if you're not adding the butter. I then decided to just quarter the recipe because I had done it before. Not hard, right? Ha! Well, I gathered all my ingredients and off I went. I whipped the egg whites and cooked the sugar to 245F. Next step, pouring the sugar into the egg whites while the mixer is running. A little precarious, but done with little difficulty. It looked okay, but sort of like there was more than usual in the bowl. Eh, oh well, I thought. I then started piping the meringue with a pastry bag, to create the cute little cookies in the piture (at that point it looked a little airy to me, but whatever). Well, when I tried to pipe them, it looked...wrong. Very wrong. And for the life of me, I could not figure out why. I tried whipping it longer, but that didn't help. So I figured I would just add 1/4 of the butter in the recipe and make some buttercream. As I added the butter, it started to liquify. Um, what? Exactly. So, at that point, it was clearly trash. Soupy meringue. Yum. Not. As I was throwing the ickiness away, I started going through the ingredients in my head. Sugar, water, sugar, egg whites...wait. Egg whites. How many did I do? Um, so apparently, I add 1/2 of the about from the recipe instead of 1/4. HUGE difference. Well, at least I know I made the stuff correctly, I just had my brain on pause when it came to amounts. So, to make a long story short (which isn't possible at this point,but...) I screwed up the first time, but got it right the second. The picture is proof of the second batch. The cookies in the the background were sprinkled with cinnamon, the front ones left plain. Looks pretty good, eh? Well, I just thought I would share one of my failures, for some reason. The end, I suppose.

And so it begins...

Hey, look! That's my car!! But wait, what's that white stuff on it? Oh, yeah. That's snow. Yup.

It has officially snowed for the first time at work. Today is October 11th. I am so not ready!! Did Fall just start? Shouldn't we have a little time to adjust? Yeah, right. So, it started snowing the second I got to work and it continued to do so off and on all day. It was seriously blowing at times too. I know all this because there is a window that looks over a patio right outside the bakery. It's a pretty good view too. I enjoy it. There was a time today, thought, that the snow was honestly blowing sideways. No joke. The trees were all bent over and stuff and I could see the clouds settling in. Really cool looking, but a little scary.

Anyway, with all this snow going on, you know it had to be cold, right? Yeah, well, it WAS!! Honestly, I walked into the bakery and my co-worker, Matt, had 2 of the ovens open for heat. No joke. With that, it felt pretty good. There was a point in the day where I had to be in the freezer for 5 minutes straight and, let me tell ya, I just about lost my fingers. Obviously I'm exaggerating, but still, I really couldn't feel them. So, besides the freezer business, I just went about my business making strawberry shortcake and whatnot. Matt left before 1pm and after that, I just finished up stuff and then typed recipes into the computer. Super exciting, I know. At one point, though, I was finishing up the dishes and freezing my butt off, still, when Mikey, a guy who works in the main kitchen, came over and asked me, "Can I stand in your oven for a few minutes?". Haha! And he was totally serious. We do actually have a "walk-in" oven. We put sheet pans of whatever on tall racks that we roll into this big oven. Yup. So, yeah, I said Mikey could stand in the oven. Set at 400F. Don't worry, he didn't burn himself or die or anything. He stayed in there for a minute, shut the door, and said "Thanks". And that was that.

I headed home soon after that. I took that picture just as I was getting to my car. I am kinda nervous about driving the the snow. And for good reason. I've gotten stuck twice since I've worked at Snowbird. And that was in April and May! Ha! Should be interesting....

...and I helped!!!

Now, don't get too excited. I didn't do the cake itself. But I did put the flowers on, with some help. Anna, my boss, did the actual cake and finished it on Friday along with another cake, but she doesn't work on Saturdays so she asked me to do the flowers. Not a big thing, right? Right. See, the problem is I always seem to overthink things. I agonize over what looks good and what doesn't and what happens if the bride doesn't like it or if my boss doesn't like what I did or if I somehow screw up the cake itself....the list goes on and on. So Emily, my co-worker/boss, told me to just do it. So I had to stop thinking just stick the stupid flower in the cake. And I did. And with some help from Emily, it turned out pretty good. At some point, I hope to do wedding cakes myself, so watching Anna and doing little things every once-in-a-while can only help. In the past, I've made the cake for a wedding cake, not the decorating, but that will come soon enough. I'm looking into buying some equipment from a lady in my parents' ward, so I'm working on it. Wish me luck!

Cupcakes!!! Yay!!

Hey, all. I just thought that after that really uplifting previous blog, I should probably give you something a little more entertaining. So, here it is! Some really yummy cupcakes I decorated at work the other day. The furthest ones were pumpkin with cream cheese frosting and topped with pecans. The others were yellow cupcakes topped with vanilla or chocolate buttercream and then decorated with various items. It was way fun. One of the most fun things I get to do at work, even though it doesn't happen very often. This time, I used chocolate sprinkles, colored sprinkles, coconut, raspberry sauce, kiwi-lime sauce, caramel sauce, and the aforementioned pecans. In the past, I've done rocky road (choc frosting with marshmallows and almonds), Almond Joy (almonds and coconut), choc and caramel sauce swirled on top, and lots of others. I love it.

I enjoy the other aspects of my job, but some can get a little monotonous. Like now, for instance. Now is the time for Oktoberfest (and yes, I know it's not yet October. The whole snow thing causes us to move it up.). So, here in the bakery, it means hundreds of both German Chocolate Cakes and Apple Streudels. Oh, yes, indeed. Three layers of cake, two of german filling and ganache, buttercreamed (yes, I just made that a verb. yay!), and then frozen for later use. To finish, they get ganached (yes, another non-existent verb. yay!), covered with more german filling on the top and then cut. We do at least 35 of these each weekend. Now, the streudels are not really my department, for which I'm grateful for. The Sherpas handle most of that. The process starts with tons of sheets of puff pastry (which is used for making danishes and other desserts and even savory stuff) and these sheets are cut into 4 inch strips on each long side. The apple filling is made and added to the middle and then the side strips are folded over the filling, made to look sort of like a braid. They are brushed with an egg wash and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar and then baked for about 1 1/2 hours. Yup. That's how the magic happens. The drunks down at Octoberfest just love it. Apparently.

Speaking of drunks, every time we have to take either of these items down the hill to the huge tent, we pass dozens of these sort of people. And they all think it is hilarious to stumble up to us and slur something like, "Oh, gimme some!" or "Cool, you brought me some dessert!" or "Wow, for me? Thanks." Yeah. Almost funny the first few times, but the last few hundred start to wear a little thin.

But hey, only 2 more weeks of Octoberfest left! Yay!

But, besides that, I really do enjoy my job. The occasional cupcake decorating, experimenting with new desserts, working with fun people, listening to music, learning new things, it's all good.

*sigh* Well, I'm getting a bit sleepy, so goodnight.

Migraine, anyone? No? Hmm.

So, in case not everyone knows this about me, I suffer from severe migraines on occasion.
Sounds pretty awesome, doesn't it? Yeah. It's kinda like someone trying to over inflate
a balloon inside my skull while having thousands of photographers all firing their flashes
simultaneously. Oh, yeah. It's quite the party, alright.

I remember the first time I had a migraine. I was about 9 or 10 and it was one of my first sleepovers with my best friend at the time, Chasidy. She only lived about 6 houses down and across the street, but it was super psyched about it! I don't remember much about the whole evening, but I just remember looking at one of her books and not being able to see the whole title. I just thought, "Hm, that doesn't seem right." My parents have both had migraines since they were young. My dad told me that the first time he ever had one was when he was playing peewee football. In the middle of the game, his vision started to go wierd. And then this amazingly horrific headache came. After the game, he said he just layed down on the livingroom floor, still in his full football gear, and stayed still for hours. He honestly thought he had a tumor or something. He later described this to his mom, my grandma, and she explained.

So as I was at this sleepover, I was thinking about my dad and what his experience was and I just knew what this was. It scared me, so I reluctantly said good-bye to Chasidy and had my mom pick me up.

After that night, every once-in-a-while I would get migraine. It always started the same. I would be looking at something or somone, and it just didn't look right. I always tried to suppress the thought, trying to think positive, but it came anyway. Every time it happened, a weird, flashing, crescent shape would appear in my vision. The look of it is hard to describe, but the closest thing I can compare it to is sort of like snow on a tv screen. But so, so, so, much more distracting and annoying. If this happened while I was at home, I would just lie down in a dark, silent room and wait for my vision to return. Sleeping was always the best thing, but not always possible. Anyhoo, after the crescent-shape disappeared, then came the horrible, horrible headache. The balloon analogy still applies, but it's also like my brain is too big for my skull and any movement of my head made the dull, pounding ache increase exponentially. And to make it so much better, the dull ache remains for at least 48 hours following. Awesome, right?

Another way to describe it is having what I would imagine to be the most incredible hangover after a long night of tequila shots or something. Which is exactly why I will never, ever drink. Ever. I mean, why would I want to have that experience if it could be avoided? I wouldn't. Because that would be incredibly stupid.

And on top of the vision thing and the headache, migraines make it so I'm super, super sensitive to light and smells and sounds and everything. I normally have a sensitive nose anyway, but even smells I like or don't notice can almost make me puke. Oh, wait. I haven't mentioned the nausea yet, have I? Well, lets add that to the mix. When I was younger, I pretty much always ended up getting sick after a migraine. But luckily I usually felt better after losing my lunch, or whatever meal it is that applies. Now that I'm older, that doesn't happen so much anymore. To make the nausea at bay, I usually just have to avoid strong smells and breathe evenly and keep my head mostly level. Yeah, that doesn't work so well when I'm at work or something. I actually had one my first day of work when I was working at Provo Canyon School the Summer of '06. I normally try not to show what an invalid I become when this happens until I have at least worked there a few weeks, but alas. It happened on my first day. Now I think that maybe that was a bad omen because that job was terrible. Really, really sucked. Really.

The reason I bring up this whole subject is because I somehow developed one of these said migraines this past Thursday at work. It started at lunch time and I can still feel some of the headache even now. But luckily, I like this job and my boss and co-workers are very understanding, so it's not all bad. I somehow live through it. *sigh*

Well, I guess I should share the good news. I have been taking this medication for a while now that seems to prevent my migraines. That wasn't the prescription's original, purpose, but I'm not complaining. Nowadays, if I ever accidentally miss a day of taking my drugs, I most likely get a migraine, which i obviously try not to let happen because of the aforementioned reasons.

So, that's my goal. NO MORE MIGRAINES!!!

Ahem, so thanks for reading this, if you actually made it all the way through.

p.s. I hope no one else ever finds himself or herself in this situation, but if it ever should happen, at least now you'll know . Right? Right.

Well, it's late. Bon nuit, mon ami.

And the wheel of life turns on...

It's my birthday. Yup. I'm the big 2-2, officially at 11:03 pm. But as I celebrate the anniversary of my birth, the other side of the spectrum rears its ugly head. My grandpa died today. We all knew it was coming. He's had Parkinson's for a few years and it came to the point where it was almost cruel to just keep him here. His mind was mostly gone and his body was deteriorating, so it was just a matter of time. He was in his 80's. He lived a long, full life and knowing what we know of the next life, it isn't such a tragedy. It's still hard, though. He slipped into a coma last Tuesday and never really regained consciousness. I'm glad I went to see him yesterday. The last words I said to him were "Goodbye, Grandpa." I really didn't think it was going to be the official goodbye, but it was. He didn't know I was there, but I'm glad I got to say goodbye.

My Grandma has been taking care of him mostly by herself since he got really bad. You'd think she'd see him as a burden, but a while ago she put him in a home just for the weekend and she really missed him. I know it's going to be really hard for her. For all of us. My eyes are tearing up just typing this. They had been married for, I think, almost 58 years. Now that's devotion. I want that some day.

We got the call that he was gone at about 5 or so and we headed right then to be with Grandma. I'd never seen a body that hadn't been embalmed or so close after they passed. It was strange to look at him and know that he has taken his last breath. I know that he has been release from the prison that has been his body this last while. I know he's probably looking down and wondering why we're all so sad. But now I can remember him as he used to be. Whole, joyful, and full of life. So, goodbye, Grant Blackhurst Morrell. I'll see you when it's my time. I love you.

<--[Look! It's a ski bum!! And no, that isn't Jesse, who I speak of lower down in this blog. I found this on Google Images under "ski bum". It made me laugh.]

Good evening, ladies and gents. So, remember that other snow story I was going to divulge the next day? Yeah, well, it’s only been a few days, right? Plus, I did say I was using the “tomorrow” loosely, right? Well, anyway, this second encounter with the horrid snow occurred about a week after the first. Apparently, Mother Nature didn’t get the memo that it’s MAY!! Not January. Nonetheless, I made my way up the canyon very, very carefully through the possibly treacherous roads up to Snowbird. I passed Entry 1, 2, 3, and finally ventured down Entry 4, knowing that it was not a good idea. I made it about half the way down before my back tires slipped to the left, almost to the point where I was perpendicular to the road. Scary? Uh, yeah. Somehow, I managed to ease my car so it was heading the right direction and veered to the right of the road, parked, put on the “E” brake, and put on my hazards, which I had never used before, by the way. I called what I thought was the number for the bakery, but all I got that weird sound and some chick saying that the number was out of order. Awesome. Luckily, I had my boss’ number and luckily she was working that day and answered her phone. I informed her of my predicament and she said she was gonna send two of my co-workers, Jesse and Jonas, to come to my aid. Too bad the whole damsel-in-distress thing is so passé. In my case, it was just embarrassing. Twice in a week and a half? At this point, it’s becoming to be more my fault than the car’s. Besides, you’d think that I would be smart enough not to drive on these sorts of days, but no. Anyway, so as I sat in my car by the side of the road, I watched all the people pass by with their 4-wheel drive and snow-equipped cars, giving me looks of pity. I know they’re all thinking, “She tried to get up here in that? She’s crazy!!”. Yeah, well, join the club, dude.

Well, eventually I see someone coming from the direction of the Cliff Lodge, where I work, and it looks like they have checks on (which is what we call our checkered chef pants), but I’m not sure. He (well, I think it’s a he) has a hoodie on and with the hood up and it’s also snowing at this point, so visibility isn’t at it’s best. Also, I thought it would be 2 guys, so, you know. Well, the person eventually got close enough that I could see their face and it happened to be Jesse, my co-worker.

Now, at this point, let me interject a quick note about Jesse. Jesse is a ski bum, in every single sense of the phrase. Not that there’s anything wrong with that because almost everyone who works at Snowbird is a ski bum. Their whole purpose in life is to ski and party. And they only get jobs so they can earn enough money for the skiing and partying. Jesse will take the early shift (which is 5am, by the way), work until 1 or 2 pm, ski for a few hours, party until the early morning, and then repeat. Don’t know how they do it, but somehow they do. A lot of them even move from far away just for the snow during the winter. In Jesse’s case, he came from Palm Beach, Florida. This past winter was his second season at Snowbird, so he pretty much had the routine down and already knew everyone. I came in just at the end of the official season, so we only worked together for about a month. I came to realize what sort of person he is in this short time. On the whole, he’s a pretty good guy. We just don’t have that much in common. He’s all about the ladies, the snow, and the parties. And I’m…not. I couldn’t tell you how many stories he has related that included someone getting drunk. Always lovely.

Anyway, back to the story. As Jesse approached my car, I rolled down my window and greeted him with a “Hey” and an embarrassed look. He asked if I just wanted him to drive my car for me and I was all for that. So I think he was waiting for me to get out of the car or something, but I just decided to scooch over to the passenger’s seat and only when I opened the drivers’ side door for him did he realize I had moved. So, he gets in and I tell him he can adjust the seat if he wants and I’m pretty sure I blabbered a little cause I was nervous. Crazy. So, he puts it in drive and the second he takes his foot off the brake, we start to seriously slide. He says “How did you get up here like this?” My response, “ I have no idea.” Just then he realized the emergency brake was still on, which is why the sliding was so bad. He then explained to me that braking in any form while heading down that hill will cause my car to slide. Awesome. Well, then it’s good I didn’t try to get down the hill alone cause I totally would have died, or at the least, hit another car. Ah, the glories of snow. So Jesse makes it down the hill and heads to the right toward the Cliff Lodge. He drops me off and tells me he’s gonna park my car on the 4^th floor of the structure, which is underground parking, but it’s above ground. You know what I mean? Yeah, so I’ve never parked in there. Once I got off work, I headed there, but it took me a while find the friggin’ stairs. A sign said the stairs were out of order for maintenance, but I took them anyway. I think it was just because there was a leak somewhere and ice had frozen on the stairs, banisters, everywhere.

Well, it was a pretty eventful day on the whole. One that I really wouldn’t care to repeat, actually. Hope you enjoyed my account of it. I’ll try not to wait so long between blogs, but no promises. Ciao.

That's IT, snow! I've had ENOUGH!!! I'm sorry...we're done.

(This picture is not of my car but this is just to give you a visual of what I will speak of further down.-->
Keep readin'!)

Well, since I haven't blogged since my surgery 2 months ago, I'll fill you in a bit. Ahem, so the surgery went fine. The most annoying part was having my wrist wrapped for 2 weeks and not being able to remove it or shower without a plastic bag involved. However, I became quite good at doing things with my left hand. Yay, me. Anyhoo, so after that, I started to search for jobs again and after a long and unproductive online search, I finally found one that peaked my interest. Baker 1 at Snowbird Resort. Super! I applied, blah, blah, blah, had an interview, yada yada yada, second interview, doo da doo, and I got the job. FINALLY!!! Yes!! I swear, the worst part of being unemployed is the job search. It's very stressful.

Well, I finally started work on April 2, and all was going well. Long commute (45 minutes one way), but I didn't mind. And then, the dreaded event occurred....it snowed. In the mountains. Right where I work. And, let's just say, my car is less than "snow-worthy". It's a Ford Taurus. Very low. Very long. But otherwise, just fine. However, heaven forbid I try to drive to work last Thursday. The road itself wasn't bad, but the parking situation was...less than ideal. Let me give you a picture of Snowbird. It's nearly at the top of the canyon, with only Alta beyond it. The first sign of Snowbird is a sign stating "Entry 1". Anyone unfamiliar with it would be like "What? There's more than one entry? WHICH DO I TAKE?!?". Ahem, well, there are 4 "entries", depending on where you are headed. I take Entry 4 to work and there's a pretty decent hill going down toward the Cliff Lodge, where I work. That particular Thursday, I got down okay, but my usually parking area was blocked. Well, for anyone else, no big deal. But for me, once I find my groove, I NEVER leave it. Better to know where you've been, I say, than the unknown. So, I'm forced to bypass my usual parking, turn around, and venture for some other parking. I headed back up the Entry 4 main road and ended up parking along there. Not so terrible. BUT, there was already at least 8 inches where I was parking. Brilliant. I get 3/4 into the parking space before I seem to find myself...stuck. No going forward, no going backward. Stuck. *sigh* Fine. I just put it in park and went to work. Defeated.

While I was working...it continued snowing. Shocker. At some point during the day, I called my dad to inform him of my predicament. Well, once I got to my car at the end of the day I was --what, ladies and gentlemen?--still stuck. Now, why would I think that MORE snow would allow my car to maneuver more easily? Dunno. Not only did it snow, but the plows and made a few passes cementing me in even WORSE! The snow was higher than my license plate. Needless to say, I wasn't driving out of this without help. Well, my dad decided the best course of action was to come up and dig me out. Mmkay. So, as I waited, I listened to music, chilled, called my mom to tell her what happened, and then texted Kathryn just to vent and to give her a laugh. As I was in the middle of doing this, the sun came out. Only to mock me, I assume. I believe it was saying "Oh, were you waiting for ME to come out? Whoops. I guess you're stuck cause I'm late." I swear I heard it chuckle at me. But, lo and behold, my dad came and I was maneuvered out of it's pile o' snow. When I finally get home, I'm seeing grass. It didn't even friggin RAIN!! It's hard to imagine being stuck in the snow when you're seeing green grass. Stupid frozen precipitation.

Well, I have another anecdote to share about the cursed snow, but it's gonna have to wait until tomorrow (using the term loosely). ;)

Say goodbye to my right hand....

Ahem. So…surgery. Yeah, not a lot of fun in general. My latest will occur in…14 hours and 36 minutes. Sure, it’s just on my wrist, but I’m still just a little bit nervous. For all who would care to know, I sort of developed tendonitis in my right wrist after doing several types of repetitive motion through cooking school and employment in the food industry. At first, cortisone shots did the trick, but my body then began to be immune to it or something. El sucko. So, it was either physical therapy, which takes forever and I would still be doing the work that caused the pain, or surgery, long recovery, but definitely most permanent. So here I am, about to lose the use of my right hand, which includes writing, typing (which means this will be my last blog for a while), eating, and every other thing that I do using my right hand. Showering should be interesting. Makeup, too. And blow-drying my hair. Gall, am I gonna look like crap. Not to mention the difficulty in dressing myself. Yuck. As much as the recovery is gonna suck, the surgery itself is freaking me out too. I trust my doctor and stuff, but going under anesthesia in general is scary. I don’t the like the feeling you have when you come out of it. You’re all groggy and confused and stuff. *sigh* Well, enough about that crap. Let’s talk about something else.

So, I moved back in with my parents this past weekend. Sort of. All of my stuff is there, yeah, but I still haven’t sold my contract to my apartment down in Provo. It’s a problem. You wanna throw another dilemma into the mix? I just heard from a job I applied for about a month ago that I really wanted. I had an interview last Monday and I think (hope) that it went well. What do you think the odds are that they'll wait a month for me to be able to work? Any takers? No clue. So….what if I get the job and I’ve sold my contract? Screwed. But if I get the job and don’t sell my contract, I still have to pay rent for the month or so where I’m still recovering at my parent’s house. And I’ll have to move all my stuff back to my apartment.

Man, I didn’t mean for this blog to be such a downer. Sorry. Ah, well. Once I can type again, I write about something happy. Later, peeps.

WEAR A RING, why don't cha!?

To the left is a picture of the Eleanor Rigby statue found in Liverpool, England, as and homage to The Beatles song and also because apparently there was an actually grave for a woman named Eleanor Rigby. Now, why would I have a picture of this besides the fact that one day I will visit it? Well, no worries. I'll get to that.

Ahem. So, I've been out of school for about 2 months and unemployed for longer than that, so I've been staying at my parents' off and on. Whenever I'm there on weekends, I go to the family ward where I was a member from infancy until I moved for college. Anyway, when I started going more regularly, I noticed the low numbers of single people (guys in particular). I was bound to notice this since I've been going to college/single wards for the past 3 years or so. It was slim pickings in this family ward, but I did happen to notice one guy who was there almost every week and always sat alone. He looked to be in his late 20s, tall, and pretty attractive. So one week, my mom mentioned something to me about him. His name is Jordan "Jory" Dalling and he lives in the basement of someone in the ward. She said that he used to come every once-in-a-while with his girlfriend, but she hasn't seen her in a while. Huh. Intrigue. So....single? Not sure. I didn't want to discuss this with my mom, so I just listened and gathered info whenever possible.

Over the next few weeks, my mom would write me a note or just mention to me that he was the guy she had pointed out a while ago. Of course, she didn't know that, yes, I did notice that he was there and, yes, did remember you telling me about him. I am nothing if not observant. But what did she want me to do? You'd think she'd know that I don't just go up to guys. I did, however, smile if we ever locked eyes or say hi if we crossed paths. Yup. That's my idea of flirting. Maybe that's why I don't really date.....*sigh*. Anyway, I hadn't been to that ward for a while, so when I came this past Sunday, I was hoping to see him there. And see him, I did. He was actually on the stand and it looked like he was speaking. YES!!! This means that one, I can find out more about him through his talk and two, I can stare at him without drawing suspicion. Everything's coming up Anika. Score! My mom, once again, pointed him out to me and I waved it off, hopefully saying " I KNOW MOM!!". My sister, Alex, did notice that there was a new girl sitting all alone and she thought that she might be his girlfriend. Or sister, she said. Well, you never know. Nothing's set in stone.

So after the first speakers he was up to bat. He seemed nervous (so cute!), so he made a sort of joke and played it off. He was speaking on Repentance and he had a different approach, which is always good. All in all, I nice talk. As he was wrapping up his talk, he casually mentioned that HE WAS MARRIED!!!!!! Um, exsqueeze me? WHAT THE EFF??!!!?!? Well, apparently, they've been married 2 weeks and no one knew he was dating someone, let alone engaged or MARRIED!! How was I supposed to know? He wasn't wearing a ring and I didn't really care to check the finger of the supposed girlfriend. So, I just glanced at Alex and we both bust up laughing because the guy my mom has egging me to talk to is--what, ladies and gentlemen?--married. Huh. Well, that's that. So decided to do the decent thing and nitpick about his new "wife" in my mind. Fake-baker. Bad posture(ha! good one, Anika). Ears are lopsided. Yeah, that's all I got.

Once sacrament meeting was over, I hoped that I would be free of him/them. But, no. We had Sunday School in the chapel with, who, do you ask? Yup, them. They sat one row ahead of us and a little to the left, so I got a nice shot of him putting his arm around her and them whispering to each other. Grr. So I spent most of class with my eyes closed, going through the guitar chords of a song I've been learning. It helped, thankfully. But, then it came to Relief Society and guess who came? Her. And how was she addressed? "Sister Dalling". Yeah. Let's twist the knife a little more. Thanks. Gah. *sigh*.

Anyway, I'm really tired and a bit depressed, mostly because I've been listening to The Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby" nonstop for an hour, hence the picture.

(Verse 3)
Eleanor Rigby died in a church along with her name
Nobody came.
Father Mackenzie wiping the dirt from his hand as he walks from the grave
No one was saved.

Ah, look at all the lonely people.
Ah, look at all the lonely people.

Alas, good night (or morning, I guess). We lonely people gotta get some sleep.

The Sky is Falling!!

I have a very active imagination, mixed in with a generous amount of paranoia. I always have. When I was younger, maybe 12, my parents would leave me to look after my younger sisters for a few hours occasionally. They would give me a time, say 9 pm, when they would probably be home. I was totally fine the whole evening, unless they happen to not be home on or before 9. Then, all bets are off. My mind ran wild with irrational thoughts like, maybe they were in an accident or there was a plane that hit the building they were in. Maybe they were held hostage in a robbery or ANYTHING that could go wrong outside the safety of home I would imagine was going on. They always came back, clearly, and my fears were always calmed, but every once in a while I will still get fear that something is amiss. This usually happened really late at night while everyone else was asleep. I could SWEAR that someone was trying to get in through my window. Once, I even had my dad check it. Each time this happened, I would like awake, extremely still, trying not to alert these invisible "robbers", and listen for any sound that would prove my theory correct. I even thought that someone was in the basement. I tried to find a makeshift weapon (a steel wire brush, in this case) and searched the basement, then the whole house and all the locks and windows. I then proceeded to take that weapon with me to bed. I swear, I just need to by my own baseball bat just for my sanity.

Wow, this really makes me sound like a nut job, huh? See, this is why I don't divulge these kinds of fears. I swear they've got a padded cell just waiting for me somewhere. There is an actually reason for these frobbery fears. We were robbed before, though never at night. Somehow they did it during the day and got away with it. How is that possible? I'll never know. My brother's Jeep was also broken into and because he was in Iraq and no one drove it, it wasn't noticed for at least a week. This kind of crap does happen, unfortunately.

Anywho, there is a point for this background story. I have been recently working at a bakery in a Reams in Layton. So I get to work at 6 am (oh, the horror, the horror!) and notice that no one is there. My boss, Mark, usually shows up around 5 am to get things jump started. This particular morning, however, it looked like all the breads, donuts, and rolls were already done. Curious. I looked around everywhere for Mark or anyone, but not a soul was in sight. Not even the people who cut up the meat next to the bakery (p.s. there is a whole other world going on behind the scenes of Reams that I had no idea about. Crasazy!). So, I just started doing dishes that were left from yesterday. In the back of my mind, however, I had this illogical thought that maybe all the other employees were being held hostage somewhere in the store and I just barely missed the guys with guns taking people away. It totally burst my horrid thought bubble, though, when I was one of the employees walking past. Yup. I'm just nuts. Another bakery employee showed up about 6:30 and she found a note on the counter from Mark that he had worked through the night so he could get other things done during the day. Yeah...so I completely missed the note because of my unnecessary panic. Moron! I totally need to get my head examined.

p.s. I also had another crazy thought, though almost as scary, that my married boss was having an affair with the 65-year-old Hispanic bakery employee and they were hiding in the walk-in fridge waiting for me to leave so they could come out. I AM ABSOLUTELY NUTS!!!!!! Seriously. Also, not a pretty image.....

p.p.s. Christmas music is meant to get you in the spirit and make you all merry and stuff, right? Ahem, yeah. Listening to countless bad versions of once-loved Christmas songs 8 hours a day for 5 days actually has the opposite effect. It's made me very Grinch-like and crabby. Just thinking about it makes me want to flog EVERY SINGLE ARTIST who made me listen to their stupid songs. If I hear "The Christmas Song" one more time, I'm gonna hurl, scream and viciously attack the singer simultaneously. Won't THAT be a pretty sight. Ick.

Adventures in Babysitting

Direct your eye gaze slightly to the left and you will see an adorable pic of my niece, Addy, who is trying to avoid the lens of my camera phone. I must say, 2-year-olds are incredibly funny. I ended up babysitting last night and it was anything but boring. And so it began. Shantel (my sister) and her husband, Joe, (said parents of 2-year-old) had just left for a business dinner, so I was in charge of feeding myself and Addy. I took the lazy way and reheated mac and cheese and microwaved spring rolls. Yup. (My fellow culinarians have scheduled my flogging for next Thursday). Addy so adorably asked for a movie, so we watched "Meet the Robinsons" on my laptop (I had downloaded it on Limewire a while back. Don't tell!) while we ate. Such a simple dinner somehow lasted over an hour, mostly because Addy was so enthralled by the movie that she would forget to eat, meaning I had to prod her every few minutes to "take a bite". She also has a tendency to fill up on milk, so I had to monitor her milk consumption as we watched the movie. Following dinner, Addy asked for some chocolate, which her dad had promised she could have if she ate (plus, you can't deprive a girl of chocolate. It's inhumane!).

Anywho, after dinner, we ventured downstairs to play. Addy is pretty good about keeping herself occupied, so I decided to check my e-mail and stuff. I would glance over every few minutes to make sure she was still within sight and not destroying anything. She mostly played with her toy kitchen, Barbie tent, and strange tunnel that resembles a large spring covered in pink fabric. At one point, she was walking around inside the tunnel and, unable to see, she did a spectacular face-plant right in front of me. I had to laugh. She's resilient, so I wasn't worried about her being hurt. She just laughed it off. Unfortunately for me, I decided to get inside the tunnel and "hide" from Addy. I promptly got stuck and somehow appeared to be an intruder to the dog, AJ the Black Lab, who barked incessantly, even after I had managed to extract myself from the tunnel. Since the barking continued, I, forgetting I was in the presence of a 2-year-old, said to the dog, "AJ, SHUT UP!". Addy quickly said, "You said 'shut up'", which in the Van Wagoner household, is a "bad word", or phrase, in this case. Bad aunt. Bad, bad aunt. I did, however, seem to say "the bad phrase" once more, again to the dog. Once again, I was caught by the ears of the 2-year-old. Bad aunt.

After that, Addy decided she wanted to play Foosball (sp?), which of course, she doesn't really know how to play. She was standing on some boxes of Christmas decorations on one side and I was on the other. To Addy, the point of the game was to place the ball directly in front of one of the players and give it a tap. However, any time I attempted to actually "kick" the ball toward the goal, she felt the need to pick up the ball. No matter how hard I tried to tell her to keep the ball on the table, she continued to pick it up. At that point, I just started to keep the ball away from her by "kicking" the ball back and forth. Did I mention I'm a bad aunt? Messing with a child. Horrible of me. She did manage to catch the ball one time and she decided to toss the ball into the air and let it land on the foosball table. However, as she was tossing the ball, she promptly fell into the box she was standing on. I laughed, of course, while I was trying to see if she was hurt (Shouldn't it be the other way around?). She was fine, fortunately. It's a good thing she doesn't bruise easily...

Next on the agenda was another movie. "Cinderella", she decided. A classic, so I consent. Once again, I find myself in the realms of the internet, while keeping an eye on Addy. I have been reading the blog of the author of the trilogy I am reading, Libba Bray. She is friggin hilarious and such an incredible writer. Her blog makes me laugh out loud at times and I did so a few times as we were watching the movie. To Addy, my laughing was a signal that something funny was going on in the movie, meaning she should laugh, too. It was a fake and adorable laugh that only made me laugh harder. Goll, I love her! Tel and Joe returned later, raving about the restaurant they went to, Bucca de Beppo's. Sound good. I can't imagine what the appeal of pork with blueberry sauce is, though. As Joe was talking to Addy, she unexpectedly decided to use the previously mentioned "bad phrase". The question is always, "Where did you hear that?" and I remained silent. Bad aunt.

And so, there is my evening with the cutest, funniest, most adorable 2-year-old ever. I hope I'm not a bad influence on her.... ; )

p.s. Libba Bray's blog has made me want to write more on here, so you haven't heard the last of me.

Bear Lake

My Sister, Ashleigh, and I