Slackers R Us

Before you know it, it has been two weeks (13 days) and no post.  To make up for it I'm sending 13 thoughts your way in no particular order:

1.  Glenda thinks she owns me.  Today she informed me that she was technically "My Direct Supervisor" and that my boss wasn't my real boss.  She's insane.

2.  I may have applied for grad school.  In English, my minor.  Because I need to figure out my life and anthropology isn't calling to me like it once did.  And a school not far from here has a laid back program.  And did I mention I need to figure my life out?

3.  Tommy Boy is a lost cause.  He's become the other half of an "item", I do believe.  Loser.

4.  Sometimes I feel like I am in an episode of The Office and I can't escape no matter how I try.  Except there's no Jim to flirt/laugh with.  Just one permanent Angela/Dwight/Michael hybrid who is ALWAYS there, making my life hellish with frightening perfection.

5.  I had a date on Saturday.  He was shorter than me and he tried to kiss me without invitation.  It was weird, turning my cheek like that.  Why are they all so awkward?  Why do I say yes to these things?  Why did betrayal dressed in a friend's clothing think I would hit it off with him?  Should I be offended by this?

6.  Heaven will have large vats of Cafe Rio creamy tomatillo dressing for swimming and such.  Of this I am sure.

7.  Things I will be doing against my will this weekend:  going to see Twilight.  I am a good friend.

8.  I love a good pedicure and believe this should be my reward for suffering through number seven.

9.  There is nothing like a favorite shirt.  The kind of shirt that you want everyone to see you in.  But because you feel delicate and lovely in said shirt, no one will see you in it.

10.  Unless you spill something on it.  Like a large vat of Cafe Rio creamy tomatillo dressing.  Then everyone you've ever known will show up.

11.  I'm still not entirely sure of the purpose of Facebook.  Isn't the point of graduating from high school and moving on in life never having to see those people EVER again?

12.  The baker's dozen is a funny notion.  Do you think that they really just add a pinch onto the total for that 13th bagel/roll/cookie?

13.  In case you were wondering, Tommy Boy's other half is falsely intelligent.  Stupid and shallow but pretends to be deep and enlightened.  She chafed me before this.  Now, I want to take her dark rimmed glasses (a costume) and pseudo intellectualism (or facade) and...I am not a violent person.  But I would try to think of something violent and tough to do to her and I would do it.  If it would mean Tommy Boy would notice me not in a "she's a violent psycho" kind of way.  Because

14.  I love him.  We've talked lately, even texted.  And I love him.  And he doesn't even know it.  Because he is male and blinded by looks and a nice, flat stomach.  

That is all.

Dear Middle Aged White Lady Celebrating Obama's Victory in Grant Park,

I'm glad Obama won too.  That is quite the milestone in American history.  But, I must confess, you have no rhythm.  Please don't dance.  It only makes you more white.  More tragically unhip.

Signed,

Tired of this Election

Do Not Let Me Eat Another Fun Size Piece of Candy

Because I can't seem to my control myself.  It is now officially your job.  And don't tell Jay at 24 Hour Fitness (because I most certainly will not be volunteering any stats--in part due to the fact that I lost count hours ago).

Tommy Boy wasn't at church today.  This was both good and bad.  Good because there is always a certain relief in my abdomen without the nervousness he gives me.  Bad because there was no eye candy to be had.

Must go get stomach pumped now.

Grant and Halloween

Grant is pretty and all.  But he needs to get over his divorce.  And that chip on his shoulder about Mormonism.  Yoda says:  Majorly screwed up in the head he is.  And thus a perfectly good Halloween evening of Papa Murphy's, a bag of fun size snickers, and a redbox was wasted listening to him talk about what an idiot he feels like for getting involved with such a witch (but she ain't Glenda's daughter everybody).  And I totally felt bad for him....for the first fifteen minutes.  And then I got angry at him.  Because he was a pig!  And I knew better.

Oktober-Beer-Fest/Slut Costume Parade was the theme of this party.  Why I really think he called me:  he needed a designated driver.  I had to listen about what prudes (the least offensive of the name calling) Mormon girls are and he can't believe he fell for one who was so frigid.  My theme for the night:  Mercy help me, how did I get involved in this?  

Apparently, after his divorce (and I'm wondering how long after his divorce because it was just six months ago) nobody would give him a chance (poor baby...maybe because of that "I'm a raving lunatic" flag he's flying...but it could just be me?) and he became Mr. Damaged Goods rather than the Mr. Desirable he is used to being.  And then a coworker set him up with a "hot" nonmember and it all is downhill from there.

One down.  Three more holidays to go.  I think I'm coming down with a long and highly contagious case of mono this holiday season.

 

Halloween Sweaters Are Tacky

*Not Glenda (or is it?)

So are Halloween earrings.  Glenda (the not-so-good witch) is wearing both today.  Is it possible this makes her more obnoxious?

So I Get a Text Today

Hey stranger, what's up?  It says.  And its from a number I don't recognize.  

So I respond:  Who is this?  

Grant.  He responds.  Grant is from Ogden, old friend from high school, divorced.  And this was totally out of the blue.

I need a favor.  He says.

Me:  What's that?

Come with me to a Halloween party tomorrow.  I'm in a pinch.  He texts back.

In a pinch, huh?  Why's that?  I ask.  Because I haven't heard from Grant in months.  Months people.  And I hate to be his last option when he's "in a pinch."  The last I heard came in an email divorce "announcement" for lack of a better word.  Which I thought was kind of tacky, but really, how else do you get the word out so that people can avoid that awkward  "Where's your wife?"   "Oh, we're divorced now," conversation?

Please, Harper.  I'm begging.  Which is followed by a picture text of Grant on his knees begging and let me tell you, he doesn't look too shabby, that Grant.  He lost 129 pounds of blonde bimbo and that does a lot for a guy's looks.

So long story short, I am going to Halloween party numero dos tomorrow night.  Why can I not return to my reclusive state?  I am not a bowler.  I am not a party-goer.  I stay at home and enjoy my quiet peaceful life.  I hang with my family and girlfriends occasionally.  I don't go to parties.  Please let this one work out differently than last week's.  I guess it is time for a new pair of wings.

Aloha in T Minus 4 Months

Alisa texted me at work with the following:

That's it!  I've had enough of this.  Let's go to Hawaii.  Tonight.

Which resulted in us wasting work time looking up trips and we found a flight to Hawaii and a package that we both can't entirely afford but we can't afford to pass up either so in February we are going to Hawaii.  Thank you Visa.  Thank you that I'm renting and own little to no stock in my ever-shrinking pitiful 401K and so this economic nightmare isn't killing me in quite the same way it is killing everyone else.

And thank you that everything else is going wrong and I needed something impulsive and Alisa came along and dropped it in my lap.  I am going to Hawaii.

I Skipped the Singles Ward Today

and headed to my mom's ward in Ogden.  Because that ward feels like home and there are no back rubbing idiots there.  And I needed to do laundry anyway.  And Alisa had her cousin's farewell to get to anyway.  So my better judgment took over this morning and I headed to Ogden.

And I remembered how loud the old people in her ward are and how loud the babies and little kids are.  And honestly it felt good that no one was flirting with anyone else except maybe the deacons and beehives in their own awkward way.  I sat in sacrament meeting thinking maybe I should come back permanently.  Until my mom's bishop was so happy to see me and wondered "when are you coming back, you know the primary just isn't the same without you" (thanks dude, but too many years with the CTR 5's can drive a girl mad).  And that is the moment I remembered why I went to the singles ward in the first place.  Because if you are single and mormon and female and go to a home ward then they believe primary is the perfect place for you to be.  Because otherwise, what else could they possibly do with you?

My own private utah is right.  I am on my own little island of reject flying my freak flag high.  My piece doesn't match with this puzzle.

I hope Jen wrote really stupid things to Tommy Boy on the back of her sacrament program.

Guess Who Is Eating Her Own Words?

Me.  You know that whole recluse thing.  Well, what is it about a crush on a boy that flicks that switch to "suddenly social"?

Tommy Boy and his roommate invited folks over for a Halloween Party tonight and Tommy Boy texted yesterday and said I needed to come.  So last minute I searched through my disorganized crap closet to find some wings from an old costume and I tried to throw together some type of fairy(?) costume.  I even stopped at wal-mart and picked up false eyelashes because somehow that makes a costume official.

So I went.  And it was awful.  Too many people trying to impress too many other people.  It was loud.  The food was gross.  My eyelids now itch from the fake eyelash glue.  My left wing got bent somewhere in the night.  And all night Jen, my new enemy in the ward, flirted her cat self (she was a cat for Halloween, of course it was a "not too risque, but a little seductive" cat costume) all over Tommy Boy, who dressed as Buddy Holly (how appropriate is that, full of himself, Rivers Cuomo wanna-be).  And he was all over it, I'm quite sure.  Talking and talking and talking and more talking in the corner.  And she giggled, and he probably giggled.  And I sat with my cup of homemade rootbeer and gross hot dog and wondered how I became this crooked winged loser.

So I gave Alisa THE LOOK and she returned THE LOOK and we left early.  And Tommy Boy didn't even notice when we said goodbye.

This is why I hate social engagements.  I remember now why I stopped all that around 25.

Went to the Temple Today

And suddenly the world feels like a better place.

I love it.  I love the temple.  I love the peace it brings.  My negative me goes away for a while and I really do see things in perspective.

Why can't everywhere be a temple?

Jay, have I told you lately that I hate you?

I hurt.  Everywhere.  Everywhere.  Walking is difficult.  Breathing is difficult.

I have to say it again, Jay at 24 Hour Fitness I hate you.  

To your credit, my pants are actually kind of loose.  But I think I might also be going  down a bra size (great, my one selling feature and I'm paying in agony and pain to lose it).  

That is all.

Bishops and TMI

So, went in to renew the recommend today and had a nice little chat with Brother Bishop.  And somewhere along the line he informed me that "we have such a huge problem with pornography is this ward, you have NO idea."

Great.  I guess I'll continue to pass on the whole marriage thing, then.  Talk about things you suspect but don't want to know for sure.  Please, if there is an justice left in this world, do not let Tommy Boy be one of porn's many victims.

Guess who sat by me at church today?

Tommy Boy.  That's who.  And he smelled good.  And he had another awful tie on.

We wrote notes back and forth on the sacrament program reading as follows:

TB:  Did he really just say that?

Me (not paying as much attention as I should have because HELLO, Tommy Boy sat by me):  Say what?

TB:  That a Tongan family sacrificed all they had, including their house to make it to the temple and when they returned a huge hurricane had hit and wiped everyone's houses out anyway.  Come on, that can't be real.

Me:  No kidding.  Typical cliche chicken soup for the mormon soul story.

TB:  Haha.  Or a really bad email forward.

Me:  Totally!  And the three nephites were at the airport telling them to take a later flight because they just knew the hurricane was coming, of course.

TB:  :)

Yes, I, Harper wanna-be Lee, had a one-on-one conversation on the back of a sacrament program with Tommy Boy and did not say anything too stupid.  And I made him laugh.  The world is a much better place today. 

Alisa Made Me Do It

Alisa called me after work to inform me that we were going out for some fun.  

Fun where?  Bowling.  With ward groupies.  I repeat:  bowling.  With ward groupies.  Alisa feels the same way I do about the ridiculousness of the ward but she buys into it a little more and people tend to like her more.  So she got an invite from her neighbors at her apartment complex.  And she said she was inviting me, and so we went.  Bowling.

And I thought it was girls-only.  Because only girls went to dinner together.  And then we went to the bowling alley only to find guys from the ward.  And not just any guys, but Tommy Boy and his roommate and other faceless, nameless guys I didn't even notice because TOMMY BOY WAS BOWLING WITH ME!

Well, we were all bowling together.  But I was there and Tommy Boy was there and it wasn't just at church!  And for an hour or so we were forced to talk to each other (along with a few other people in our group).

And I know I said stupid things because my nerves were all over the place.  And I always say stupid things when my nerves come into play.  So what I've learned:  Tommy Boy works part-time at a job he hates also (commonality), but he's working on his masters degree in Social Work at the U so it is only temporary (lucky him).  He is originally from the Seattle area.  And he loves nachos with fake cheese at the bowling alley or any other location for that matter.

How lame am I?  I savor these pieces of information like they mean everything!  That is what I gleaned from an hour of chatting together with far too many other people in the room, or alley.

Oh, and he's voting Obama because someone dared break into the politics talk last night.  Let me tell you the truth here--I'm kind of sick of this whole election.  Neither candidate impresses me.  Neither can effect change the way they think they can.  But the truth is I am probably voting for Obama too (another commonality) because I do not agree with Sarah Palin's policy, politics, or former work in the state of Alaska and John McCain is old enough that he just might die in office and she will take over (that was totally a joke and I hope I didn't come off as an ignorant twit in all of that, I've just had it up to here with NPR and every other major news report being filled with presidential election business when it is the local elections that actually impact my life).

Okay, so there you have it.  My brief interlude with Tommy Boy.

Oh, I almost forgot, he also kept saying, "What about you, Harper?" here and there.  But maybe that is the social worker in him, wouldn't want the shy, fat girl to feel left out, now, would we?

Why Guys Can Go Without Showers and Girls Cannot

Because they look incredibly attractive the scruffier they are.  That is why.  Tonight involved Tommy Boy.  I will write more tomorrow.

Jay at 24 Hour Fitness I Hate You

I joined the gym and have been wrangled into a few sessions with a personal trainer while I am at it.

I miss carbohydrates, no FOOD.  I miss not hurting everywhere.

And I am angry that somewhere in the back of my head my dumb girl side says if you lose weight Tommy Boy might just notice you a bit more.  

Stupid Jay.  Stupid Tommy Boy.  Stupid Harper.

I want ice cream but big brother is watching.

Glenda Is Not a Good Witch

My co-worker, we'll call her Glenda, is evil.  And awful.  And stupid when it comes to technology.  She works as the other secretary at work and she is going to be the death of me.

Glenda is the boss' cousin's mother-in-law or some similar version of nepotism.  So because of this relation she thinks she practically owns the place.  Or at least she thinks she owns me.  And she is HORRIBLE at her job!  I don't even know what she does all day.

Why she sucks at her job, a list:

1.  She sucks at her job because she has no freaking clue how to operate a computer so she always interrupts MY work to ask.

2.  She has no idea about customer service.  Seriously, she should not be allowed to answer the phones because she is snippy.

3.  Team Player should never show up on her annual job review.  Ever.  Because she isn't one.

4.  She spends more time worrying about what I'm doing/not doing, than doing her own job.

5.  She is about a million years old and works at a snails pace.

6.  She doesn't work well under pressure and becomes more witchy and snippy the more stress she is under.

7.  She is overpaid (okay, this isn't why she sucks, but she is grossly overpaid).

I hate her.  She is at lunch with the the bosses and I have to write this.  I hate her.  And Glenda is not her real name, but when I googled witch it came up as one of the options so I figured, eh, why not?

Why Selfish People Suck

You can call me doormat.  

It goes like this:  I help people.  I like to help people because it is the nice thing to do and everybody needs help with something at some point.

I happen to know how to work photoshop.  Because of this I've offered help on a few projects, things like wedding sign in books, nothing big.  I'm happy to help people out.  I really am.  I even sort of like creating this kind of stuff (because it is NOT typical cut and paste and glue and stamp scrapbooking, just so you all know I draw the line there, I hate that kind of stuff).  It is on the computer and that is different.

So I decided to help a friend out with her wedding sign-in book.  And it was kind of fun to do.  That is until I spent hours (I mean HOURS) on this thing and she says, well, I like this, this and this, but this page, this page, and this page do not work, and I want more pictures of us dating in there blah blah blah.

WHAT!?  Honey, I made this for you out of the kindness of my heart.  I mean, I understand that this is your wedding and all you ever dreamed of blah blah blah.  But I gave up HOURS of my time.  I did not charge you other than you have to pay for the actual book.  Just who do you think you are?  That is not okay.  It is rude.  If you wanted your book to be something specific, then first off you should have given more direction in the beginning.  And if you weren't quite sure, you should have been paying someone who does this professionally rather than being a cheapskate and relying on your friend's kindness.

Beggars can't be choosers.  Anybody heard of this phrase?

If we are supposed to help out our fellow man and that is being Christlike, then what is the protocol for when they walk all over your kindness?  I guess it is turn the other cheek.  But that is really hard sometimes.  

So, yeah, you can call me doormat.

The Double Edged Sword of Sunday

Work comes but five times a week.  And it starts again tomorrow (gag).  Have I mentioned that I hate my job.  Well, I hate my job.  Secretary-ing sucks.  But debt sucks more so here I am, secretary-ing.  Administrative Assistant my arse, bah, I hate euphemistic terms like that.  Domestic Goddess.  No, you're a stay at home mom.  Flight attendant.  Nope, stewardess/steward.  Live with it.

OK, so I just broke my "no more negativity" promise.  But its Sunday night and it all starts all over again tomorrow and it is hard to be chipper at moments like this.

So church today.  First off, what is it with single mormons and rubbing each other?  Are we that deprived?  Are we all each others' pets?  Sacrament meeting is that strange combination of hit and miss speakers and the petting zoo.  Because that is what they all do:  write messages on each others backs, scratch each others backs, put their arms around each others backs, massage each others backs.  I know this has been parodied in The Singles Ward and I've heard complaints about it before, but come on people!!!!

So, Tom came in late today, as did I.  We smiled the same sheepish "you're late too, huh?" smiles and whispered hi in the foyer and that was it.  The extent of it.  And I prayed he couldn't hear my sweat because that is how it started dripping.  And I kept thinking, Harper, honey, you are too old for this ridiculous crush.  You know nothing about him.  Give it up.  Oh, and his tie was atrocious.  Retro trying too hard atrocious.  Which made him all the more endearing.

Sunday school was fine because Alisa taught and she always does a great job (Alisa is my partner in crime, my sanity, and the one person on this earth who gets me, just so you all know).  Tommy Boy must have gone to another class.

Then it was Relief-a-ciety.  After the first half hour of Birthdays, Friendship Basket, New and Visiting Folks, Good News Minute, Announcements,Visiting Teaching reminders, and 2 opening songs, we had time for a 10, maybe 15 minute lesson.  I think "Why am I here?" every week during relief-a-ciety.  We waste soooooooooo much time on things that don't entirely matter.  

And then I went to Ogden for a couple of loads of laundry at moms and dinner I don't have to cook.  Which was nice because my laundry is done and she even packed me a lunch.  But it is also awful because my brother and his wife and kids come over and its always dote on grandkids (don't get me wrong--I LOVE my nieces and nephews), adore my brother for being her great son, update on my younger sister in Oregon and her pregnancy, and an unspoken serving of "Harper, why aren't you married yet and giving me grandbabies?"  She must have learned it from her tactless mother.

OK, it is late and I'm just rattling off complaints about my day.  

Signing Off,

A Loser In Her Own Private Utah 

What You Do With a Not Quite BS in Anthropology

Work in an office as a secretary feeling miserable for the remainder of your days.  That's what.  Today is Saturday and I'm contemplating the sheer misery of adulthood.  Things aren't as they seemed in adolescence, in college, in my younger days.  Hope has revealed its pointlessness.   

I'm feeling depressed about it all.  I am 28 and this is not how I thought my life would go.  There.  I said it.  I have admitted it.  I am fatter than I thought I'd be.  I am perpetually single.  I didn't finish school (money and laziness in hoop-jumping).  I hate my job.  I have crushes on people who don't notice me.  I live with a roommate I never see (blessing and curse).  

Granted, I have some good friends and decent family.  Even if my grandmother tells me to not let my weight go any further (tactless hag).  That isn't the end of grandma's biting advice, by the way. 

So now the world (or the two people who might read this anonymous blog), think I am a negative, seething and miserable human being who doesn't like her grandma.  This isn't me.  I need a change.  And maybe I'm just feeling the weight of things not working out the way they were supposed to.  This is where I'm supposed to feel gratitude for my trials and see the whole Heavenly Father has a plan in store.  Yeah, yeah, yeah...I need to do what I can do to change things, too.  Heavenly Father can only do so much when our agency is in the way.

I hate this blabbering mess I just created.  But no one knows this blog exists so I might as well hit publish.

Friday Night Bites

What I did today?

Worked at my favorite place:  hell.  Came home.  Went to dinner at Chili's because I have a twisted addiction to their chips and salsa.  Went with Alisa and then to Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist.  It was entertaining, featured some decent tunes.

The whole time I kept thinking that Michael Cera is so freakishly boy-ish I'd feel like Hester the Molester feeling any form of attraction to him.

Thought about Tommy Boy for some odd reason.  Maybe he likes this song?  Maybe he watched this movie?  I'm too old for crushes?  What is my problem?

Ward Temple Night and Tommy Boy

Jordan River Temple.  6:40 session.  Good session, I think?  

Tommy-boy is my ward crush.  Every girl in every singles ward has one.  Mine is Tommy Boy.  He oozes depth and angst and quiet contemplation.  And he doesn't know I'm alive.  He doesn't know that we are soul mates.  He was there tonight and so was I and I couldn't pay attention to any of it because he was there.  Sometimes I'm almost convinced he is watching me but I don't dare make eye contact.  It sucks to be shy and sorta lumpy and soft in all the wrong places.

Dark rimmed glasses wearing, Rivers Cuomo look alike boy of my dreams, why don't you notice me?  

Harper Reveals It All

That's what I might as well call this thing.  I'm Harper.  I'm 28 and mormon and living in Utah so we can all equate these facts to the following:

1.  I am technically a burden on society (Thank Brother Brigham)

2. I might just be a plague upon the land  (Thanks regurgitated crickets)

3.  And maybe, just maybe, I'm a bit too picky (Thanks Ma)  

Not married is a bad status to be in in this state.  But I'm sure I'll reveal my mishaps in near-marriage as we go along.  

Harper is not my real name, of course.  It stems from my near-obsession with Harper Lee who wrote To Kill a Mockingbird.  I love Harper Lee even if she is a recluse.  I guess I am a recluse too.  I guess I'm Boo Radley.  I'd rather stay home than go out.  I'd rather chew my own foot clean off than go on a date.  I hate singles ward activities.  You heard me right:  I said I hate singles ward activities.  I don't do game night.  Torture doesn't even BEGIN to describe these natural disasters.  I don't scrapbook or craft, either.  And my philosophy on break-the-fast:  "I'm here for the food."

Here is my launch.  Here is my story.  Harper reveals it all.