So, shoplifting is ok now?

I was recently in our neighborhood Ann Taylor Loft purchasing some fantastic summer wear. As I was shopping, I noticed a somewhat sketchy looking individual skulking around the store. When the employees greeted her, the woman announced that she was waiting for her friend.

After browsing, I tried on my items and headed to the register. As I was checking out, the shady character left the store, setting off the alarm. All of the employees looked toward the door, sighed, and shook their heads.

“Isn’t anyone going to go after her?” I asked.

“No,” responded the lady at the register. “We aren’t allowed to do that. We could get sued.”

I considered that. “You know, I’ve been stopped at Target for setting off the alarm. I waited at the door until an employee came to search my bag.”

The woman snorted. “Well, I would tell you to sue Target.”

So, I’m confused. What is the point of an alarm if there is no consequence for stealing? I thought it was common knowledge that you will be stopped or pursued if you set off the alarm.

Summer Magic

For years now Andy has been telling me about a horrible Disney movie called “Summer Magic”. This movie came one year before Mary Poppins and I am SO glad Disney learned their lesson. I suppose I would call “Summer Magic” moderately entertaining because it provided excellent mocking material.

The talent: Whoever decided that Hayley Mills should sing should be horsewhipped. It was also shocking how yellow the mother’s teeth were. I understand the movie was made in a time when cigarettes were the height of sophistication but seriously folks. Those chompers were urine yellow. Burl Ives made the movie bearable because he has that “jovial fat man” look which seems to inspire a feeling of happiness. And then some greying man comes in at the very end of the movie and makes a pass at 15-year-old Hayley Mills. Gross. I obviously do not grasp the differences of socially acceptable behavior in 1963 vs. now. And no Disney movie would be complete without the whiney kid who constantly squints his eyes and vomits the one liners that I guess are supposed to be endearing.

The plot (or lack thereof): The movie is reportedly based off of a book and I am tempted to visit the library to prove it. If it is based off a book, it must be a picture book. Andy put it succinctly when he stated, “Summer Magic is a vehicle for reject Mary Poppins’s tunes and stock footage from Disney’s Classic Nature Documentaries.” Somehow, songs get thrown into Summer Magic that have nothing to do with the plot and are so unbearably boring that I got up and made dinner just so I didn’t have to watch it. Some of these gems include, "Beautiful Beulah", the title song "Summer Magic", "The Pink of Perfection", and Ugly Bug Ball. All of this is forgivable until you reach the song “Femininity”. This song deserves its own section.

Femininity. Let’s take a look at the lyrics, shall we?

You must walk feminine
Talk feminine
Smile and beguile feminine
Utilize your femininity
That's what every girl should know,
if she wants to catch a beau

Dance feminine
Glance feminine
Act shy and sigh feminine
Compliment his masculinity
That's what every girl should know,
if she wants to catch a beau

Let him do the talking
Men adore good listeners
Laugh, but not too loudly (Haha)
If he should choose to tell a joke
Be radiant, but delicate
Memorize the rules of etiquette
Be demure, sweet and pure
Hide the real you

You must look feminine
Dress feminine
You're at your best feminine
Emphasize your femininity
That's what every girl should know
Femininity, femininity
That's the way to catch a beau

I have nothing to add to this. It makes me laugh and cry at the same time. My personal favorite is the last line of the verse: “Hide the real you.” What a great message for young girls. Here is the link to the song if you really must watch it. Be warned, it is performed by Hayley Mills. Ugh.

Well done, Disney. Well done. I look forward to finding a worse movie than this. I have a sneaking suspicion I'll find one. Perhaps "The One and Only, Genuine, Original Family Band"?

Douche Capes.

I do a lot wrong. My best way of coping with my many, many mistakes is to own it—take it in stride, really. I enjoy self-deprecating humor and believe that if you can’t laugh at yourself then you are kind of a sad person. I occasionally read through the posts I wrote years ago and enjoy reading about my wacky antics and silly slip-ups.

This post will be no different.

I was chatting with a group of coworkers about silly, inconsequential things (as we often do). Somehow the term “douche cape” entered the conversation and I found myself trying to explain what a douche cape was. After a few moments I said, “You know what? I’ll just send you some pictures. That will be easier than trying to explain it.”

I went back to my computer and searched for the optimal images to accurately depict the “Douche cape” (or a cape/shirt worn by a douche). Here are a few of those images:



I copied the images to my email titled “Douche Capes”, typed in the email addresses and confidently hit the “send” button. I continued with work with the full expectation that I would receive emails back from the recipients. The only response I got said:

“Who is Scott Smith?”

The world began spinning as I realized that name was not that of the intended recipient. I stared at the name and tried to flip through the rolodex in my head and remember who that was. Was it a work associate? Was it a doctor? Was it a committee member? Then I realized it.

It was the parent of one of the kids I know at church.

Holy crap. I sent the “Douche cape” email to a person from church.

Moral of the story: ALWAYS check the recipient line before you send an email. I am sure I won’t learn from this experience (since this was not the first time this has happened and definitely won’t be the last). But you might. You might learn from my mistakes.

Big stall v. Little stall

This post is random, so bear with me.

The ladies restroom in my place of employment has two stalls, a large one and a small one. After four months of working here, I realized that I never use the big stall if the small one is open. As I think about any public restroom, I don’t believe I ever use the big stall if a small one is available. I can attribute my actions to two possible reasons:

1. I’m lazy and don’t want to walk the extra three steps to the big stall—this very well could be. I have nothing else to say about this reason.

2. I am somehow guilted into using the small one in the off-chance that a handicapped person will need the bigger stall. This is incredibly irrational but true nonetheless. It’s irrational because our building never gets patients or visitors, and we have no handicapped employees currently. But what if a handicapped person happened upon our tiny building and needed to use the restroom? What then? I wouldn’t want to be the heartless person occupying the big stall so they would have to wait.

After thinking long and hard about the psychology involved with choosing a stall, I asked my office mate her opinion. “I always use the big stall,” she responded. “Not only does it give you more room, it has the seat covers.”

So. Now I’m neurotic.

I took this situation to a few other coworkers. Interestingly enough, they habitually chose the large stall over the small. I don't believe any of them are heartless...I believe I am just special.

Not like this matters at all, but I found it interesting.

Remembering Grandpa Parker

Grandpa Parker (Andy’s Grandfather) passed away last month. He was 98 years old. I had the honor of spending some time with him (twice) and cherish that time. He was an incredible person with fantastic stories, beautiful memories, and invaluable advice.

Here are a few things I will remember about Grandpa Parker:

• He and his dog “Stump” would steal watermelons from his neighbor’s yard.
• He experienced Southern California before it was overpopulated and polluted.
• When asked what his wife did that drove him crazy, he responded with, “She never did anything to drive me crazy. She was perfect.
• He loved to dance when Andy played piano. He really cut a rug to “Old Adam” by William Bolcom.
• He loved watching a DVD we made for him (of his grandkids displaying their talent).
• He carved wood brilliantly, even after his eyesight failed.
• He was very interested in when Andy and I were going to start a family.
• He loved poring over maps to understand where he was and how far he was from everyone else.
• He was married to his best friend for 73 years.
• He couldn’t remember my name but came up with some awesome substitutes.
• He enthusiastically embraced one of my family’s Christmas traditions and wore the pajamas I gave him for Christmas.
• He had a special magnifying glass with a light attached to it so he could read.
• He was dedicated and loyal to his wife his whole life. As her health faded a few years ago, he never left her side. He stayed with her until the end.
• He insisted on doing the dishes. Also, his way of doing the dishes put me to shame.
• His wonderful smile and contagious laugh.
• He was patient and maintained an optimistic outlook on life. I never heard him complain.

My only grievance is that I didn’t know more about him; I didn’t hear enough of his memories. I rejoice that he has returned to his wife. I rejoice that he is no longer suffering from old age, blindness, or any other ailment of which he never complained. I rejoice that he was ready to leave this world and did so with peace and dignity.
But I feel his loss. I mourn what the world has lost. And because of that, I still feel sorrow.

Grandpa Parker, you were an extraordinary person. Thank you for sharing your stories and self with me. It was an honor to know you, if only for a short while. I will strive to see the world as you saw it. You are not forgotten and will remain in our hearts always.

Who pulls a bus over?

So, my darling coworker told me a quizzical story that I had to pass along.

She commutes daily on the fast bus from Orem to Salt Lake City. The fast buses are really nice: coach style, easy to sleep on, smooth ride, etc. She enjoys the fast bus for many reasons and has taken it for some time now.

During her commute two weeks ago, her bus was pulled over. 70-something passengers watched in mild rage as the cocky police man walked to the bus, boarded, and left.
People were silent as they tried to figure out what the issue was. Tail light out? Possible. Improper use of signal? Who uses a signal in Utah anyway? Speeding? My coworker mentioned there were several cars passing on the right.

No one knew and no announcement was made.

All that was certain was that there were 70 people who were either late for work or missed their transfer. I would be pissed.

The next day my coworker learned the bus driver received a speeding ticket.

So here are some questions I had:

• WTF? Who pulls over a bus?
• I would have assumed the police department would have some agreement with UTA to take a license number or something rather than delaying the route and passengers. Even to just save face for UTA.
• Who pays the ticket?
• I feel that tax payers are paying for the cop to pull the bus over AND possibly for the resulting ticket. That thought is frustrating and stupid.
• What is the consequence for the driver?
• Was the policeman just trying to meet his quota for the entire month with one vehicle?
• Did he feel that he had to pull the largest vehicle over to prove manhood?

I don’t know. I feel that the whole situation is ridiculous.

Traditional Wednesday Depression

I am a huge fan of Travelzoo.com. They have provided some of my favorite vacations and typically have really good deals. If you are ever able to take advantage of their offers, you won’t be disappointed (at least, I haven’t been yet). Every Wednesday they send out a “Top 20” list which features the best deals on travel for that week. This list incorporates deals from local to international, from hotels to full vacation packages. It’s a wonderful list to read, plan your next getaway, and dream about the possibilities.

DISCLAIMER: Part of me hates Travelzoo because they send their Top 20 list on Wednesday morning. WEDNESDAY MORNING. Why would they send it halfway through the work week? Why would they send it when I’m tired from the first two days of the week but know full well that I still have two full days left? It’s cruel to send these dreams to the average worker.

I hereby present you with my Wednesday tradition (which generally leads to mild depression):

• Open the weekly "Top 20" deals email from Travelzoo
• Daydream at my desk of going/being somewhere cooler than here
• Pick my favorites and send them to Andy
• Get no response from Andy (because he ignores my email)
• Remember that there is no cool vacation in the near future (and no reprieve from the 27 degree weather and inversion)
• Buy an ice cream sundae sprinkled with Reese’s peanut butter cups or a large order of French fries to ease the pain
• Go back to work

This is a typical Wednesday. Thanks, Travelzoo.

Pause. The Flashmob.

I had the opportunity to participate in a flash mob this morning. It was a Zumba flash mob at a nearby mall. Being part of a flash mob has always been pretty high on my bucket list so I was thrilled to be part of it. The song (and dance) was "Pause".

I put on a long sleeve t-shirt and jeans so I could appear to be a mere unsuspecting shopper. I donned my Sorel's (as it was snowing) and arrived at the mall with 15 minutes to spare. I met my friend there and we stood nervously wondering how this whole thing was supposed to work (this flash mob was not particularly well organized).

11 o'clock came and went and my friend and I wondered if this flash mob would even happen. Sure enough, at 11:12 the song "Pause" began blasting through the mall sound system. My friend and I ran to join in on the dance.

I'm a show off by nature and enjoy being front and center. I ran to the front and began busting a move. About 10 seconds into the dance I realized a serious problem. My long sleeve t-shirt was inching up. Keeping up with the dance I desperately tried to pull the shirt back into place. It refused.

For a while I tried and tried to keep my shirt down. Then, I shrugged and stopped tugging it down. How bad could it get? Then I realized that the shirt had made it's way up to my bra. Awesome.

Ever aware of the many onlookers with cameras and other recording devices I tried to decide what would be worse: Self consciously pulling my shirt down or being proud of my personal "Truffle Shuffle".

Before I could reach a decision, the song ended. I hope everyone enjoyed watching my belly bounce in the opposite direction of the rest of my body. But this experience will serve as a great motivation to start running again.