The Engagement

For the past few months I have been kind of a nightmare toward Andy. I dropped several "subtle" hints about how it was about time to get married and how much I would like to get married...so on and so forth. Little did I know that Andy was way ahead of me. He had a plan that was carefully thought out. This is our story:

April 19, 2008:

After a day of golf (Andy) and a relaxing pedicure/manicure (me), Andy and I met at Hopper's (a local brewery) with our dear friend Brett to have a delicious lunch. Upon finishing said lunch, Andy and I went home and proceeded to fall asleep for 3 1/2 hours.
I woke up very drowsy to the ever-present sounds of NBA playoffs. Bleh. I plopped on the couch and Andy asked what I wanted to do that night. I shrugged, still very sleepy and a little put out that I was awake. "Want to go to a movie?" "No" "Want to go for a walk?" "No" "Want to rent a movie and bring it back here?" "No" "Want to go for a drive?"..."ok"
Andy got into the front seat and began driving toward Emigration Canyon, a popular place for a drive, and, the place of our first date....but did I think anything of it? Nope. We made our way into the canyon talking of very little in particular. I had mischievously winded the conversation toward a wedding. We began asking each other questions such as "do you believe in traditional vows or writing your own" and "what kind of music would you like played during the ceremony."
The conversation continued on in this manner until Andy pulled off at "our place." This was the infamous turnoff that four years ago I bullied Andy into a commitment (after knowing me for a week) and we became a couple. When we reached the sacred piece of pavement there was another car there. We sat in the car and continued talking until the unwanted visitors became annoyed with our presence and left. Andy pulled around to the place with the best view and the exact place where we sat that first night. We reminisced about how much had happened in four years and how excited we were for the next four years.
Andy shut of the engine and asked if I wanted to get out for a while. The answer was yes...I prefer being outside despite the howling wind. We leaned on the car and continued our mushy and thoroughly enjoyable conversation. Andy turned to me and said, "Do you love me?" This is a very normal statement in our relationship. I smiled and answered as I always do,"Yes. Of course I do!"
"Do you want to marry me?" Again, not out of the ordinary. I asked this question of Andy countless times.
"Yes, I do."
"Ok, I need your hands."
"Shut up"...that's right folks. Those words made it out of my mouth purely out of shock.
Andy took my hands and kissed them. He got down on both knees.
"Will you marry me?"
By this time I was sobbing inconsolably. I was not weeping...I was sobbing with hiccups and all. I eeked out a 'yes' and hugged Andy still sobbing and laughing at the same time. Minutes later I realized that he had put a ring on my finger. Only then did I bring it to my line of sight and see the most beautiful ring I have ever seen.

Andy had picked out and purchased the ring while I was in Calistoga with my sister, Mom and Grandma. He picked it up from the jewelers a week later and has been keeping it in his sock drawer for two weeks. Andy told me he looked at it while I was at work and held it when he called my parents on Wednesday. Andy had already talked to my parents, my sister, his parents, and close friends. It was perfect and beautiful.

Chivalry is alive and well in Salt Lake City

In honor of a co-worker's birthday, our doctors ordered us lunch from Cafe Rio. I volunteered to pick up the 20 meals ordered; however, no one was available to go with me! At 11:15 I ventured out the door to pick up the meals (which were to be finished by 11:40). I pulled into the parking lot of Cafe Rio, walked through the door and was informed that the meals were not yet ready. Foiled!
I ordered a drink, sat down and proceeded to make phone calls. Waiting in silence is just not my style. After pleasant conversations with my sister and parents, I noticed that it was far past my pick-up time. I approached the counter and inquired about the large order.

"It's not ready yet," the lady behind the counter said matter-of-factly.
Slightly put out, I checked my clock...it was 30 minutes late! I patiently waited with arms crossed, lips pursed, tapping my right foot perhaps too quickly.
Finally, the lady behind the counter reappeared with fifteen bags. Hmm. I hadn't thought this through. "I'll just take two trips," I thought.
As I began filling my arms with bag after bag (thinking that maybe I could make it in one trip), I hear those wonderful words, "Can I give you a hand with that?" I turned around and was face to face with the sweetest old man you've ever seen. "Thank you," I replied. The man began removing the bags from my arms and managed to burden the rest as well. He followed me to my car and put the numerous bags into my car.
"Thank you very much for your help," I said again.
"Oh, you're welcome, young lady. I was finished with my meal and felt like I needed some exercise...so, thank you!"

My personal soap box

Last night I had the opportunity to listen to one of the most beautiful concerts to ever grace Salt Lake City. This opportunity was thwarted by the mindless minions that congregate and defile all that is beautiful.

Andy was invited to sing at the Cathedral of the Madeline with the University of Utah Choirs. They were performing the Monteverdi Vespers. The choir was amazingly clean and the soloists superb. This was a truly beautiful concert. The music was so touching and so inspiring...it makes me irate to think how it was received, at least by the people who were sitting around me.


First and foremost:
I DO NOT CARE WHAT YOUR FAITH IS, when you are in a place of worship, regardless the religion, you treat the building and the people in it with respect and reverence. Nothing makes me more frustrated than a person expecting others to show respect in his/her church when he/she refuses to do the same in another. How hypocritical can people be?

General Rules of Etiquette (all of these behaviors were present at the concert):

1. Do not speak audibly to your neighbor for two straight hours.
2. Do not allow your bratty child to bring his noisy game boy, psp, whatever, then proceed to tell him to turn down the volume while the concert is in performance.
3. Do not suck face during a concert, in a cathedral, or anywhere in public. Seriously. It is tacky and disgusting.
4. Do not use the pews or the kneeling benches as foot stools or lounge couches.
5. Do not make fun of names found in the program and proceed to laugh about it loudly.
6. When a performance ends, applaud. Whether you liked it or not, a lot of people put a lot of hard work into the performance and at least deserve to be recognized.
7. Do not grab the bible from the pew and make fun of the language in which it is written, laughing with your friends about the word 'ass'.
8. Do not sprawl your body over the pew to show how bored you are.
9. Remain seated during the performance. Do not get up and down, up and down to go answer your phone, go to the bathroom, and God knows what else. If you are over the age of 6, you have the ability to sit still for an hour.
10. Do not complain about how boring the concert is, how you want to go home, how long the concert is, what you have to do that is better...leave. Seriously. Complaining about it will not make it go faster, and you are ruining the experience for people who aren't as retarded as you.

I was deeply disgusted and disappointed in the behavior I witnessed at the Madeline on Sunday night. I was hoping that people had a little more class than what was presented. Instead, I saw an inexcusable display of ignorance. I was thoroughly ashamed and embarrassed by the audience at the Madeline.

On the road to Wellville (Calistoga style)

I had the opportunity to explore the beautiful resort town of Calistoga, California. Calistoga is a quaint little town full of inns, bed and breakfasts, and several treatments promising to relax you, rejuvenate you, and reveal the inner 25 year old. My mom, grandma, sister, and I were able to spoil ourselves with said treatments. This is my tale: 'On the Road to Wellville'.

April and I had our treatment at the same time. The treatment was titled "The Works" and I'll be damned if they didn't mean it. The receptionist showed us to the dressing room where we were instructed to replace our comfy sweats with a short, thin robe. We were then directed toward the mud room. The room was very sultry and filled with naked women. Weird. Upon entering the room, we were stripped of our robes and pushed into a shower. After the shower we were told to step into a large vat of mud. We lowered ourselves into the sludge laughing out of embarrassment and awkwardness.

As we sunk into the unknown goop that smelled amazingly like rotten eggs, the ladies covered us with more mud and asked if we were comfortable. I'm pretty sure I didn't answer because I was trying desperately to relax in a swamp that never seemed to settle. I tried to NOT image lots of little bugs running all over my body. I tried to NOT think of all of the places t
he mud was going (and probably where it shouldn't be going). The ladies placed cucumbers on my eyes (which soon fell off...apparently I have an oddly shaped face) and a soothing mask on my face. Just then, the worst thing imaginable happened. My nose began to itch. With much effort, I freed my right arm from the bog of eternal stench and was able to itch my nose (leaving a very attractive brown mark). Just as I was getting used to the squishiness between my toes, we were informed that our ten minutes were up.

The ladies instructed us to wipe off as much mud as possible and go take another shower. April and I stood and began laughing at each other for looking like a mirror image of Creature from the Black Lagoon. I will spare you the gory detail of the shower. Suffice it to say, I had about two pounds of mud lodged where it was invisible to the naked eye. Beauty.

The next step in "The Works" was the whirlpool. The whirlpool was nothing short of heaven. It felt so nice to be in your own personal jacuzzi. As I was relaxing and sipping my ice water, I noticed a few things about the room. It was set up like a military triage constructed out of a former circus tent. Because they used old fashioned claw foot tubs, they had to sort of make-shift jacuzzi. The lady told me to sit on a plastic board. I noticed that the plastic board had little holes in it and was jimmy-rigged to a vacuum hose. This encouraged bubbles to escape through the holes in the board and push upward to create an imploded fart. I highly recommend it.

A heavenly steamroom followed the bubble board followed by three cups of ice water and the blanket wrap. The ladies instructed us to lay down on a bed(again, completely nude, exposed, on a halved bunk bed). Upon laying down, the ladies wrap you in a blanket...the feeling is somewhat cacoon-ish. The blanket wrap is pretty much a 20 minute nap. Quite delightful.


After the short snooze, I was woken up with news that my massage therapist, we'll call him Bruce, was ready for me. I entered the small room and had the massage of a lifetime! He contorted me into strange positions all the while commenting on how 'bendy' I was. He singled out knots and had this amazing ability to pop them like zits. He was wonderful. Kudos to you, Bruce! You are the best! The fabulous massage lasted for an hour, and that was the end.

Moral of the story: if you are naked long enough, you won't feel bad about yourself when you put on a bikini. Hooray!

With Karate I'll Kick Your Ass...

Trouble ensued today outside of the Sugarhouse Chipotle.

For Ryane's last day she decided to grace the office with the delectable treats offered at Chipotle. At 11:15, we donned our coats and made our way to get lunch. We chatted on the way to Sugarhouse, passed the time, and parked in front of the dining establishment.

We entered and paid for the food. As we were exiting Ryane was approached by a very dirty man(I am assuming he was homeless and crazy). He considered her existence in a blatant "Dirty Harry" stare. The man then decided that Ryane was the devil and
Karate commenced. He began waving his arms around while saying "Whoo-ah!". The man approached Ryane with legs flying. He hesitantly approached her with all of the grace and stealth of a truck driver.

Ryane looked at me and got in the car.

"Were you fighting that old man?" I asked.

"No, but he was scaring me," said Ryane.

This was a very close call. Ryane will live for another day.

Steppin' to the Bad Side...

After the messy audition and callback process and a two year break from the stage, I have been cast as Mary Jane Wilkes in Big River!
My very talented friend, Josh, also got an awesome role and I just can't wait to do another show with him!

PS- we are not doing the show in sign language (I don't think)

A Masochistic People (part 2)

The callback.

The callback is a second audition. The first audition is used to weed out the people who can be of no use in the show and the callback is used to fit those left standing into the roles of the show. The callback is possibly worse than the audition...

The fact that you have made it past the first stage gives you hope that you can live through the second. You carefully plan your outfit (keeping in mind the "light movement" in which you will have to participate) and try to ready yourself mentally. Unlike the audition, there is really no way to prepare for the callback. The callback consists of three seperate stages: cold reading, learning a dance, and learning music from the show. The music is not handed out prior so, unless you memorize the entire score, it is pretty much a guessing game.

As you approach the gymnasium used to handle such an event, you see your competition for the first time. You immediately realize that you should have worn the other outfit you were considering and you definately should have put on more makeup. You keep breathing and wait for the shindig to start.

Before you know it, music is thrust before you and you have about two or three minutes to learn it before you have to perform it in front of the 30+ people at the callback. You go slowly, one note at a time and everyone seems to be learning it at some super-human rate. After a few minutes, you are directed to sing it one at a time. As others go before you, your eyes remain glued to the foreign music in front of you and hope that you will have a random spark of brilliance. Your turn: you do your best, sing through your croaks, and realize that you don't sound half as good as the people who have gone before you. But it is over. End of phase one.

Phase two consists of some "light movement." And by "light movement" I mean a dance audition. Some of the girls had to remove their various heels (smartie me...I wore t-straps!). You learn the clumsy steps and perform them in groups of three. This was by far the easiest of the three phases. No problem (although, I am a little ashamed to say that I was quite winded by the dance routine. More gym for me!).

Phase three was a struggle: cold reading. Cold reading is the devil. You are handed a scene, given no direction, and expected to read it with some accuracy. Funny. When you walk up to read for the director (bear in mind you are always performing for the 30+ people there) your feet feel large and clumsy, your hands just can't seem to hold the script straight, and everything you say seems overdone and melodramatic. Nerts. However, the cold reading is short lived and soon you are free. Until the director decides to go for a bonus round...

An unexpected round four has reared it's ugly head. Another piece of music finds its way into your sweaty hands...but this is different. You know this song. You have heard it. All of the sudden, your confidence is restored and you praise Jesus that you have one more chance to prove that you aren't a spaz. You take a few minutes to look over the song, you decide the style in which you want to sing it, and you patiently listen to those who go before you. You step out and use your final moment of the callback. You do your best and your try your hardest.

The director thanks everyone, and you leave.