In my genes

I feel very inspired to write about a miracle that has taken place in my life; because hopefully the information I provide can help someone else. I don't normally talk about this, but I've been suffering with major depression for the last 14 years. I've been to multiple doctors, therapists, and psychiatrists. I'd be put on a new medicine and feel a little better, and then a few months later I'd feel just as bad or worse. I've tried all the different classes of anti-depressants, with combinations thereof, and nothing seemed to truly work. However, I do feel like they helped, and am grateful that I had access to them, so please don't discount their role in the mental health field. 

One thing that the medicines were never able to wipe away were the constant thoughts of suicide. I know, I used that word that makes everyone (including myself) grimace. For the most part, those thoughts were like gremlins, locked in a room in a corner of my mind. But I could always hear them banging on the door, or screaming to be let out. Sometimes they gott out, where they grew in size and power to resemble a massive monster of an unconquerable nature.

The only way to keep myself from being harmed from this hideous beast was to lie in my bed for hours on end, hoping and praying for it to go away. There were times when I couldn't lie in my bed. Where I'd be at work and something triggered my mind, unlocking those pesky gremlins. It was all I could do to function, let alone put on a smile and give good customer service. (Please note that I've never attempted suicide, but our judgments concerning those that have should be kept in check).  

I tell you these things in depth that you might better understand where I'm coming from and the significance of my miracle. There's so much more I'd love to ramble on about (the tabooness of mental health in our society being one), but I'll try to get to the point. 

About 6 or so months ago, a friend who struggles with infertility posted about finding out she has some mutated genes which may be an underlying cause of the infertility. She then linked to an article about this particular mutated gene, which goes by MTHFR (for real, that's the acronym). I was curious more than anything, and the article said that mutated MTHFR genes are linked to not only infertility, but also severe depression and anxiety, as well as other disorders. I started to research more, and found that those particular genes help in the process of folic acid and vitamin B, which then build amino acids and other sciencey stuff. It also plays a part in the making of things like dopamine and serotonin (chemicals that affect your mood). 

I didn't really understand the hard science of it, so I won't pretend to be an expert here, but I felt driven to figure out if my MTHFR genes were mutated and if it could be a potential clue to understanding my own treatment-resistant depression. I found out that if these genes are mutated, and you can't process folic acid normally, you need the pure form of folic acid, or folate (please forgive me in advance if my science isn't spot on). Folate is found in leafy greens, like spinach. You can also get a supplement, but, and this is important, you cannot just take folic acid tablets that you get at a vitamin store. It will do nothing for you. You actually have to get a folate prescription from a doctor -- they call a medicinal food. There are a couple of kinds, but the kind I started taking is called L-methylfolate. When I saw my doctor, he had never heard of MTHFR, but he was willing to give me the L-methylfolate because well, why not? It basically is just a vitamin. No side effects. 

The second thing I did was to find out if my genes were mutated. Some articles say that you don't have to get tested, that you could start just taking the folate and if that helps then awesome, but I needed to know. There is a company called 23andMe which will map out your genes for $100. They can only give you raw data concerning your genes as it relates to health matters (like if you have genes that mean you are more susceptible to breast cancer, Alzheimer's, etc), but there are sites that help you interpret the data (I'm happy to share all those sites if you're interested). It came back that two of my MTHFR genes were mutated. 

I started take l-methylfolate in June, and found out about my genes in July. And here's the miracle of all of it: I am finally feeling happy on an everyday basis, and even more importantly, I no longer think suicidal thoughts on a constant basis. I feel like it took about two months for the L-methylfolate to really take effect. This has been such a huge deal. I realize it can't be measured like the shrinking of a tumor, but I promise you my life has been changed. Just some examples: I keep my room more clean and am more apt to do housework. I laugh more. I'm eating better. **I exercise (which I also give credit to Luna for). 

Doing this research has also helped me realize there is so much we don't know, especially when it comes to our genetics. Yes, we still have agency, but who's to say the man with the extreme anger problem, or the child that can't sit still, or the teenager that can never be serious doesn't have some sort of deficiency that makes it twice as hard for them to overcome a particular weakness?

In closing, I don't want to come across as offering a cure all. Because it's not. I still struggle and have down days, but overall it's made a big difference. It's also not a solution for everybody -- to those people I pray that you'll one day find your solution. I share because someone else shared their hardship, and I was led to one of the biggest blessings in my life. I thank those who are supportive of me, but especially for a loving Heavenly Father and the quiet encouragement from the Holy Ghost to keep going. And for a loving older brother, Jesus Christ, who suffered for not only my sins, but my sorrows. And if you take nothing else from this, just please try to be a little kinder to all those you interact with.  

If you have any questions, I'd love to help answer them!

*TLDR I've discovered my MTHFR genes are mutated; but by taking L-methylfolate, my sufferings with depression have been significantly reduced. If you are struggling with depression, anxiety, and or infertility, you might want to look into the MTHFR genes.

**A note about depression and exercise. A lot of science has said that exercising can improve your mood, and even cure bouts of depression. While I agree with this, I also believe that there are times when people are so sick with depression that saying they'd be cured if they'd just exercise is a huge detriment to their mental status (read -- massive amounts of unneeded guilt). Or because they choose not to exercise, they obviously don't want to be happy. We don't judge people who are ridden with cancer when they're not pounding the treadmill, so why do we do it with severely depressed people? It takes an incredible amount of energy when your body is in survival mode; the thought of going on a walk would make me weep. Or I'd be starving, but afraid to cook something in the kitchen because there are knives in the kitchen and I didn't feel strong enough to fight that temptation, so I got fast food. Basically, try to be less judgmental of others. You don't know the demons they're fighting. End note.  

But Do You Recall, The Strangest Christmas Songs Of Them All

Like any good Christian, I enjoy Christmas. I love the family time, the presents, the food (sometimes the food more than the family ... don't tell my family I said that), the way people pretend they're at an all time happiness when in reality they're pulling the hair from their noses because the holiday stresses them out. But Christmas definitely wouldn't be Christmas without Christmas music; whether that be hymns or commercialized jingles pointing out special savings (Happy Honda days ... really?). 

Today, I want to point out why some of these songs may have the magic of Christmas, but it's a dark magic. 

Baby It's Cold Outside
Can I just say this is one of the creepiest songs in songville in general? There's a man, I'm guessing he's in his mid-50s, probably rocking a pedophile mustache, singing to a girl who most likely is 17 trying to convince her to not leave his den of iniquity because it's cold outside. All her good common sense is combated with responses like "you'll freeze and it's up to your knees out there." 

How is this a Christmas song? I think it may have started out as a Public Service Announcement showing the dangers of My Space relationships and accidentally was played on the radio after a Mannheim Steamroller rendition of "Joy to the World," therefore cementing into the minds of the listeners that manipulation is a Christmas theme. 

Santa Baby
If there's one thing we learn at Christmas, it's seduction gets you the best gifts. Even old fat Santa can't resist a pouty blonde who "innocently" asks for things like the deed to a platinum mine. A platinum mine. There's one thing this girl will never have to ask for: The entrepreneurial spirit. 

Winter Wonderland
"In the meadow we can build a snowman, then pretend he is Parson Brown. He'll say are you married, we'll say 'No man. But you can do the job when you're in town.'" 

A parson is a pastor. I'm guessing this is about a shot gun wedding in which the local small town pastor denied the couple a church wedding, so they had to wander out to the meadow to make their clergy out of snow. Taking their frustrations out on this cold effigy, they then turn him into a circus clown and watch the kiddies knock him down (notice the dual meaning as it correlates to the woman being knocked up with a kiddie). 

Side note: I used to think the lyrics were "then pretend he is sparse and brown." Then again, I grew up in California and our snowmen, made from tumbleweeds, were sparse and brown. 

The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire)
"And folks dressed up like Eskimos." 
1)Pretty sure the general public doesn't even know how Eskimos dress (think seal skins, animal furs, ivory trimmings. Surprised PETA hasn't banned this song).
2) The only people I've seen dressed as Eskimos were wax figures in an Alaskan museum. 
Conclusion: Folks dress up in gear from Burlington Coat Factory. Sorry that doesn't rhyme. 

My Favorite Things
This also gets the honor of "How In The World Did You End Up As A Christmas Song?" My friend said it's because it has the lyric "brown paper packages tied up in strings." Although in today's world, nondescript brown packages usually contain a bomb. 

But the thing about this song that I really can't wrap my head around is this part: "When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad; I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel so bad."  

You're telling me that you've just been mauled by a rabid dog, your ankle is attached only by a few tendons, blood is geysering from an artery and you have the thought "Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles" and then things magically seem better? 

Granted, I guess I too would feel better if I were on Oprah's episode where she hands out her favorite things, come dog bite, bee sting or the black plague.  

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas
"Dolls that will talk and go for a walk is the hope of Janice and Jenn." 

Well, we do know Santa is an anagram of Satan, and it looks like Janice and Jenn are some devout Satan followers. The top of their wish list is to have dolls that talk and go for a walk; i.e. demons. Corey also asked for a doll that would talk and go for a walk. Here he is with his demon doll on Christmas morning: 

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year
For the most part this song is fine. Except for the line "There'll be scary ghost stories." Wait. I thought scary ghosts were associated with Halloween. 

"And then kids, when the elves found Rudolph, his nose was red. FROM THE BLOOD OF THE REINDEER HUNGER GAMES!!!"  

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus
Dear son, I know you saw me kissing Santa Claus last night. He is only one in a string of lovers I have. I'm surprised you didn't see me kissing Principle Jones on the porch swing or fondling daddy's boss Mr. Matthews in the laundry room. I realize you also thought I was tickling Santa Claus. It was a type of tickling, but a tickling only grown ups do that you'll understand when you're older. And no, daddy would not be laughing if he knew. 
Love, 
Your Mom Who Gets Around

In conclusion, there are some messed up Christmas songs out there. But at least we have Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You," restoring faith in humanity's ability to write good Christmas songs.

Merry Christmas y'all.

28

I daresay it's about time for another post, don't you agree? And what a more appropriate  time than on my birthday.

I am now 28 years old. Why don't we have a looksie at the past year, shall we? (*This will only be a word journey as picture journeys take too long to upload and now that I'm 28 my days on this earth are numbered and I mustn't be bothered with such frivolous things.)

In the past year (and in no particular order) I have ...

○Driven a 45 ft. passenger motor coach
○Had my heart broken
○Been in a car accident
○Been sued
○Been to California, Utah and Alaska (Washington if we count layovers)
○Survived -55 temperatures
○Seen Mt. Denali/McKinley
○Gone to the Anchorage temple twice
○Seen wild: dolphins, killer whales, humpback whales, seals, otters, eagles, puffins, fox, caribou, moose, humans (no bears yet, don't worry, I'm working on it).
○Taken star trail pictures
○Called to be Relief Society president
○Seen the sun at midnight
○Started watercoloring again
○Started writing a story
○Been to the North Pole and sat on Santa's lap
○Slid down a slide made entirely of ice as well as go through a maze made of ice
○Joined the hipster ranks and got an iPhone/first smart phone
○Survived the Mayan apocalypse
○Worked as a copy editor/page designer at the second largest newspaper in the largest state
○Taken at least one photo everyday since Jan. 1
○Sent off quite a few sister missionaries
○Been the victim of a fender bender
○Eaten moose tacos, moose spaghetti, and bison burgers
○Read too many books to even count
○Watched too many hours of Netflix/Hulu that I should never count
○For making new and dear friends (not deer friends, I could never associate with someone with a name like "Bambie")
○Was a bridesmaid at my cousin's wedding
○Got to create some floral arrangements
○Seen the northern lights
○Went to my first Zumba class
○Found my gratitude journal and returned to writing in it daily (...mostly)
○Bought a car
○Found the unfortunate effects of taking too much caffeine
○Lived in three different places
○Navigated through ice fog (easier said than done)
○Grown my leg hairs to stages where it could be braided
○Took a long walk in the pouring rain

Not too shabby of a year. At times a very cold one, but a decent one.

I'm sure there are other things that I'm missing, and I debated whether I should list every time I fell asleep somewhere I shouldn't have, but decided I can't remember because I was sleeping. But out of all of these things, I think the number one highlight of my year is finding happiness from within. Last summer I was happy, but it was because I was surrounded with fun people and fun times. This winter taught me how to find happiness even when I was by myself; which because I worked nights, I was by myself a lot.

My last day of working at the News-Miner is June 27. I'm really excited. I don't know what life is going to bring me next, but I know it's going to be great. Yes, I'm looking for a new job. No, I don't have a specific job or place in mind. If you think of something for me, please send a bird my way. I'm trying to be open to all possibilities.

Until I turn 29 or my next post (hopefully the latter), I say adieu.

Confessions of a body hater

I'm about to do something very uncharacteristic and 1) go off on an epic rant and 2) divulge things about myself that up to this point I've tried to keep secret to most of the world. But I'm tired of hiding and I hope that maybe my experiences and struggles will help someone else, as other people who have shared their struggles have helped me. Just in case you were getting really concerned, I'm not about to confess to being a serial killer or that I'm about to run for office. You can now unclench your jaw and exhale.

I am slightly nervous because what goes on the internet can never be undone, and there will probably be consequences later. And who even knows how this will affect my dating life (then again, I'm pretty sure it couldn't be worse than what it is now -- as in non-existent). I guess that's what courage (or stupidity) amounts to. Sigh. Here I go ...

For most of my life I've been severely depressed. As in go to therapists and take medication depressed. As in think about suicide all the time depressed. Some of you know this; others, this may come as a surprise. Hello, my name is Elissa and I'm a closest depressive. And I'm finally okay with being open about it.

Well Elissa, you may be asking, why are you depressed? You're an amazing person and funny and have accomplished so much. I don't understand. 

Yep, kids, these kind of things don't make a lot of sense. Medical professionals will say there's a chemical imbalance. Others will say it's genetic. Some zealots might say I'm not being righteous enough (let's just nip this in the bud right now -- we all know I'm the most humble person you know). There really isn't one answer.

I won't go into my long annoying history of it all, but suffice to say, there has been one constant. That constant being that I hated myself. I hated that I wasn't enough. I wasn't pretty, smart, kind, spiritual, girlie, skinny, normal, sane, mathematical-minded, popular, forgiving, fill-in-the-blank ... enough. Which led me to believe I was a failure and undeserving of love or happiness.

But if you weren't feeling good enough, I was right there to disprove that. Here's the thing; I honestly believed other people were good, but I honestly believed I wasn't. Logical? By absolutely no means.

There's this voice inside my head (no, I'm not schizo, we all have this voice, mine is just extra voluminous and much harder to shut up) that would constantly tell me I'm not good enough. Think of villains from books/movies who hurt with their words; spouses that are emotionally abusive and leave unseen bruises and marks on the mind -- that's what the voice in my head does to me. I just came to the realization the other day that I have been a victim of abuse. The sad thing was, I was my own abuser.

This voice tries to put me down in any instance.

Got an B on that art project? Well you obviously didn't put enough of your heart and soul into it or you would have gotten an A. You didn't do your best at all.

Sometimes, it's outright  ridiculous and I daresay creative the things this voice tells me. You know, there are children in Africa that have never had clean drinking water. What makes you think you deserve to drink clean water, much less water?

You're right, I'd tell it. I don't deserve to drink or eat today.

For hours, I'd lie in bed, staring vacantly at nothing while I held onto the thought that I was nothing. Thankfully, basic human instinct would usually take over and I'd end up eating and drinking.

Man alive, I still can't believe I'm posting all this. But I digress.

These are just a few examples. If you're ever feeling like there is too much happiness in your life, I'll let you read my journal to help bring you down a couple notches. Or twenty. Actually, false. I probably won't let you read my journal. I don't hate anyone that much.

One of the absolute favorite ways this voice puts me down, is to point out my weight. So much so that I tied my worth of a person to how much I weighed (which, interestingly enough, even when I did lose weight, I wasn't happier). I hated my body. Hated it.

It got to a point where all I'd picture is taking a sharp knife and cutting off my fat (I never did). Because maybe if I didn't have that fat people would love me (people already did love me). Or maybe boys would like me. Or I'd be a more acceptable person.

And this is the real reason of this whole post (I know, longest intro ever). Here I am, almost 28, and just now starting to realize my worth is not tied to my physical appearance. It has been a long and harsh road getting to this point. I am far from absolute love for myself, but I've made a lot of progress, and I want to share that with others. There has been too much shame in my life and I don't want it anymore.

A main reason I hated myself is because I was taught to hate myself.

Which brings me to the part where I rant. We've got to stop putting so much value on one's appearance. Is there an obesity epidemic? Sure is. Know what's a bigger epidemic that isn't talked about nearly as much? A vanity epidemic.
 
Everyone talks about how the magazines and Hollywood perpetuate unrealistic images of what we should be; and yet those magazines are still bought. We crave "beautiful" people. No, we're obsessed with it. Each year, they pick the world's "sexiest person," because one's ability to perform intercourse is obviously a main requirement to be successful.

Whatever happened to celebrating people who are ethical, or quietly charitable? What about people who have integrity or encourages others to be better? These virtues come in all different faces and body types. 

I cringe every time a boy asks (and it's the very first question) about a new girl "is she hot?" Which some of you may say, well you're just jealous you're not hot. Okay, fine. I'm jealous. I admit it. But seriously, in the long run, if the only thing your wife has going for her is that she's hot, I doubt she's going to be there to wipe the drool from your wrinkly, saggy face when you're 84. But hey, maybe you'll be lucky and get a hot nurse to do it, as you lie alone and miserable in the assisted living home.

I remember a boy (okay, there have been plenty like this) who would go on and on about how above all he wanted a girl who was kind. A hot girl (who was not kind) walks into his life, and he forgets all about his priorities because (and I quote) "but she's so pretty!" I've come to terms that those boys deserve what they get, and I sure as hell don't want a man who can't keep his priorities straight.

Now I'm not saying hot people can't be nice. I'm also not saying you can't look for a hot companion, because I do believe that there needs to be a level of physical attraction for love to work. I'm also not saying I'm not guilty of oggly-eyeing fine male specimens. But we've got to get our priorities inline with what makes a person good and decent.

I want to share some of the reasons I believe I'm fat. One, I have this belief that boys only love thin girls, and because I believe I'm undeserving of having someone love me, if I stay fat then no one will love me. It's like my armor and protection from being vulnerable. And don't worry, I know this is a false belief and I'm working on changing it.

Two, as oxymoronic as it sounds, being fat is a way to be in control when you don't feel in control, as well as a sense of rebelling. I don't want to bring up specific people, but I'll just say that in a way I rebelled against people in my life who didn't want me to be fat (please don't think this was some conscious plan that I came up with one night).

Three, for me, I think being fat is a physical reminder of how much I hate myself (remember, I'm in the process of loving myself now). 

Do you see that fat has many more layers (yep, I said layers) than just what someone chooses to eat?

I have been a victim of fat shaming, but I have also been a shamer. I'll admit, I've gotten grossed out seeing obese people (although I don't voice these horrendous thoughts). It's because we've been engrained to automatically judge a person by what they look like. It's what we've been taught, and so a lot of it isn't our fault. For this reason, I forgive others. Especially loved ones who didn't know how much it hurt when they would say certain things. I already have physical baggage, I don't also need to keep carrying around emotional baggage. And if I've shamed you in some way, I hope you're able to forgive me. But be mindful of the things you say about others, even when you're not in their presence.

One last point (maybe, we'll see). I believe God created our bodies. That as spirits we were sent to earth to have a mortal experience. I also believe that Satan was cast out of heaven and denied a body. So does it come as too much of a jump to believe that Satan is the major force driving this skewed view of bodies? That he is rooting for us to hate ourselves and our bodies, or to put others down for their bodies? When we do this, we're really helping him to win.

I also believe that all can be healed through the atonement of Jesus Christ. That he and Heavenly Father love us for who we are and who we can become. Until I can find love for myself, I'm leaning on God's love for me.

So after sharing some of my deepest secrets, I ask a couple things of you. Try to be less judgmental of others. We're all going through our own battles and we all need each other. Try to see others as God sees them. We've all heard this before, but we need reminded of it every now and then.

There's still a ton more I could say. I have biases and beliefs that aren't perfect, but try to take the essence of what I'm saying, and try to change some of your own beliefs. Don't let the vanity epidemic have any more power over you. 

Hello, my name is Elissa, and starting today, I'm loving myself for who I am. 

First world problems

Guess what? I did it. I have arrived. If I were Latin, someone would be throwing me a quinceanera. If I were the daughter of Lord and Lady Grantham, this would be my first London party. You get the idea.

I got an iPhone.

I know, Droids are better, I just sold myself to the Apple power who wants to take over my brain, blah blah blah.

It's my first smart phone, and I am stoked. I ordered it online and it got sent here in 2 days (which is miraculous for Alaska shipping standards). Today, I opened it, and started going through the activation process. After some problems and calling tech support, I was given devastating news.

I can't activate here in Alaska because I have Verizon and Verizon is not America's largest network because Alaska is part of America but Verizon is not in Alaska. Soon they'll be here, they tell me. I meant to tell them "well AT&T is here." But they were actually really nice and helpful so I didn't want to be rude.

I have to ship my iphone home so my mommy can activate it and ship it back up. For a couple of days I will have no cell service. Gasp, I know. The world actually might come to an end on Friday.

In more uplifting news, I've started to write. Like actually write a story. I don't know where it's going to go, but it makes me really happy. It's what I'm supposed to do.

And because I can't really get you all a Christmas gift, this is my gift to you. These are my jams that have inspired and motivated me to write and be happy. You should listen to them.

You're welcome.

In no particular order:

Take A Walk by Passion Pit

This song almost makes me want to take a walk, but then I realize it's -40, so I just take a walk in my head.

 

Madness by Muse

This song describes so much of life. Especially my life. Not that I've been in love, but when I am, I'm pretty sure it will be madness. Favorite part is at 4:10 (on the music video version anyway). Wow. It just builds and you feel the power and you feel like you've been blasted into space.

 

 

We Come Running by Youngblood Hawke

I'm pretty sure there's a kid's chorus in the background and it gives it a unique sound. I really like this music video. Most music videos are like "meh, whatever" but if you watch one of these, it should be this one.

 

Wanted by Hunter Hayes

Okay, this kid is only 21-years-old. I would not mind at all if he sang this to me (and meant it, of course). This video isn't my favorite, but his facial expressions are pretty endearing. I'm pretty picky in my Country selection, but I really like his stuff. 

Now I'm sure you're thinking "what, no female artists?" Not for today's list. Maybe next time.

Some interesting facts about some of the above: Hunter Hayes has Grammy nominations for best new artist, best Country solo performance, and best Country album. Muse's Madness was nominated for Best Rock Song.

My only concern is that these songs are going to get way overplayed on the radio and then it will be like when an Adele song comes on -- you really love it but you can't stand it anymore. Sigh, I guess good music just goes that way.

I love these songs because they make me feel. And I want to write stuff that makes people feel. Whether it be passion, or excitement or sadness. Don't worry, I'm not planning on writing 51 Shades of Neutral or anything like that.

And if I don't write for awhile, Merry Christmas! 

This Post May Be Boring

I made it to Alaska.

In case you were wondering, it's cold and dark.

And I'm lonely.

Maybe this should be my eharmony profile. I'm sure the over protective/jealous/chester molester creeps would come slimeing through the wood works.

I moved into the home of the Maynes', basically my adoptive family up here. He's the first counselor in the single's branch and him and his wife and family are just the greatest. They recently became empty nesters, so I made sure to remedy that situation by moving in.

Unfortunately, Deb's mother passed away in Georgia this past Wednesday, so her and Doug flew down there and will be getting back this coming Wednesday.

They have two dogs, Otter (a chocolate lab) and Ali (a black lab mix), and have so far been my only companions. Right now they're fighting...now they've made up and Ali is sniffing Otter's butt.

The Maynes' home is in the hills of Fairbanks, and has a beautiful view of the valley. One day I'll take a picture. Until then, just pretend how you'd draw "Fairbanks valley in the winter" for Draw Something, and it will give you a fairly close idea.

So it's somewhat isolated, which is nice, but also a little scary. Especially being here all by myself. That's why I take the Dall sheep head that Doug has mounted on the wall to bed with me every night. It in no way shape or form causes disturbing shadows.

I'm sure you're all dying to know how my job is going.

I flew in Wednesday at 11 p.m., and started my first day on the job Thursday at 3 p.m. I figured I might as well follow Will Smith and get jiggy with it. Which, by the way, does anyone get jiggy with it anymore?

Tangent: Because I'm writing this in real time, because I have yet to master fake time writing, I'll tell you that I've been keeping updated on the potential tsunami in Hawaii. Last time there was a potentially huge tsunami in Hawaii I fell asleep watching the television coverage. Looks like they were spared again.

Back to the topic at hand.

I wake up, let the dogs out, eat something, and think about being productive as I mindlessly check Facebook (it is imperative to my mental health to know just how many people liked my status). Then I get ready for the day, take the dogs for a walk, come back and check Facebook again, find something else to eat, count the fibers in the carpet, make a lunch, and go to work.

I work as a copy editor/page designer for the Fairbanks Daily News Miner. I have a desk facing other desks (picture "The Office) with a computer, on the second floor of a building with few windows. I work 4:30 p.m. to 12:30 a.m. There are only about 7 of us there during that time, and because everyone is concentrating on their work, it is very quiet. The only noise comes from the police scanner, which most of the time doesn't come in clearly so it sounds like aliens gurgling mouthwash. I think Van Gogh had the same thing in his studio, and I now know why he chapped his ear off.

Everyone has been very nice and polite to me and no one has yet to question my sanity. We'll see how long that takes.

I open pre-formatted templates and insert news stories accordingly. Sometimes I'll place a picture. Then I make sure all the lines are straight and the i's are dotted and I print it. Two other copy editors look over it; I make corrections to errors they've found and then I start work on the next page. While I'm working on my pages, I'll stop to proof pages from the other editors, because every page gets edited twice.

Towards the end of the night I'll upload stories to the website. Then, once my pages are sent to the press, I sit around until 12:30 or the first paper comes off the press (we then do a quick glance over to make sure there are no huge errors), whatever comes first, and then I go home.  

So besides having to remember 109 different style idiosyncrasies, it's fairly simple and straight forward.

And this brings us to the thesis of this post (I've never been one for nutshell versions).

I'm bored.

And I hate myself for it. Millions of people world over do mind numbing work day in and day out and are content with their lives. They're content that they are able to bring home a paycheck and feed themselves and their families and pay the bills. This is the definition of adulthood. And I can't or won't accept it.

Obviously, I'm probably just an ungrateful brat that needs to embrace the monotony of life.

Coming home from work tonight I was thinking about all of this. What would a life without boredom look like?

Things that would not be boring:
1. Getting kidnapped.
However, this would be terrifying. And you'd miss out on the media coverage, and who wants to miss their own 15 minutes in fame?

2. Epic Disaster.
Also terrifying. And I don't relish the thought of some cannibal wanting to eat me (my Uncle was watching the movie The Road the other night).

3. Running for President.
Purely insane. Would shave 26+ years off your life. On the plus side, you could make the Secret Service play hide and go seek with you in the White House.

4. Doing drugs.
I'd do this, but I completed the DARE program in 5th grade, so I just say no to that option.

5. Being a dog with ADHD.
I think this describes Otter. He always seems so happy.

6. Having short term memory loss.
Also may describe Otter. Only problem with this is what if you were having a a not boring time and then forgot about it? The only remedy would be to date Adam Sandler.

And so, as we can see, there doesn't seem to be too many great options.

That's why I decided to eat an ice cream cone and check Facebook. Because telling your friends about your calorie intake via dairy products is definitely un-boring.

I'm With Child/s!

Many of my friends have kids, have a singular kid, have just been through labor to have a kid, or ripening with pregnant bellies.

Alas, I cannot fit any of those descriptions at this time. Okay, sometimes it does appear that I'm ripening to moldy fruit stage when I'm unmotivated to shower, but that's about it.

No, I'm not complaining. Sure, sometimes I feel like my eggs can be categorized under "fine wine," but it's not like I'm going to rob a sperm bank.

Let's just pretend I didn't type that last thought.

I'm the oldest of 6 kids, so I always felt like I was the second mother. Heck, I was babysitting by the age of 5. Oh, I know that probably shocks some of you, because apparently most people think it's highly illegal if not outright bad-parent-of-the-year worthy.

But you have to understand. Anytime my mom or dad would leave the room with both my sister and I in it, I would consider it babysitting. Had I been able to get my hands on a taxi meter, I probably would have started charging my parents, but there is that obnoxiously great quality of saintliness that I do tend to possess -- so I chalked it up to charity work.

I did a lot of charity work as a child.

But I digress. I wanted to dedicate a post to the things in my life that I treat as my babies, so I can feel included in the mommy and daddy club (obviously I haven't reached Platinum Umbilical Cord Member status).

Baby #1 -- My Nails (totes sounds like a card from Apples to Apples, doesn't it?)
Lately I've given birth to an obsession with finger nail polish, specifically on my fingers. I decided clothes can shrink or you can become too fat for them, but finger nail polish lasts forever. Like diamonds. So technically, diamond finger nail polish would last forever ever, but not in the Taylor Swift ever ever sort of way.

I've purchased lots of new colors to feed my growing habit. It's progression is incredible. The great thing about it is when it's really annoying me, I just take a cotton swab of acetone to it. I don't recommend taking a cotton swab of acetone to real babies. Cotton swabs of breast milk are adequate.

Baby #2 -- Reading Books
People say there is something special about cradling a new baby. Babies even have this "baby smell;" somewhat like a new car smell, although I have yet to see a tree shaped air freshener featuring the new baby scent. Well, holding a book close to your bosom can also be special. And books also have their own great smell, unless they're e-readers, then it just smells like China.

What I'm trying to say is -- there's that moment when you look down on a page of text, getting lost in a world of magic and mystery; and you know, without the cooing noises, that this book loves you back. Until it becomes 5 weeks overdue, and then you want to treat it like a redheaded step child. Which I slightly take offense to.

Side note: just finished reading Brandon Sanderson's The Way of Kings. Uber long, but uber amazing.

Baby #3 -- Television Shows on Netflix
Let's be honest, the movie selection on Netflix leaves something to be desired. But what Netflix is great at is having this insane collection of television shows. So many different choices to get addicted to, so little time. It's exactly like these high tech baby monitors where you can watch your baby as he slumbers. Except for these shows are way more exciting and plot driven than the monotonous in and out breathes that a baby takes during sleepy sleepy time. Oh, excuse me. I forgot to mention the occasional drool.

I spend just as much time, if not more, watching shows on Netflix than a parent does watching their baby on a monitor. Whose a better parent now?

Additional side note: just finished Sherlock on Netflix. Big fan.

Baby #4 -- My Bed (another great Apples to Apples card)
Go on any parenting website and you'll find hundreds of forums and advice/debate about getting babies to sleep. You would think that babies never sleep the way everyone goes on and on. But my bed, my Baby #4, it does just the opposite. It puts me to sleep. And I slumber so nicely. What new parents and I do have in common is that horrible separation anxiety thing. Seriously, each time I have to leave my bed, I just want to throw a fit.

You know, writing this makes me feel so much better about life. I may not have my own bundles of joy, but I  have four of my own unique beautiful babies that I get to enjoy. I'm even considering throwing myself a shower and registering at Amazon. Maybe you'll be lucky enough to get an invite.

Move Over Edison (in your grave!)

I was at my friend's house and she introduced me to this show she's obsessed with. It's called "Shark Tank" and it's about people with random inventions or business ideas pitching to uber rich entrepreneurs. The inventors need funds to mainstream their products and the rich people are always looking for new ways to make money. The rich peeps might offer them money in exchange for shares in their companies.
 
It's an interesting show, if nothing else to see what people come up with. This one lady came up with the "show no" which is a poncho towel that covers you up so you change from your swimsuit into your clothes on the pool deck. In other words, it's a slit in a beach towel.

But, she got like $40,000 from one of the "sharks" in exchange for 25% share. Crazy stupid, right?

So I thought, man I need to think of some ingenious idea that will get me mad capital and make my bank account look more like thousands of fish in an aquarium and less like a dying goldfish in a teacup. Doesn't everyone liken their bank accounts to fish?

And I came up with an idea. I'm going to share it with you because I trust my blog readers and random strangers and spammers from the internet. To explain my ingenuity, I'm going to do it in true late-night-TV-infomercial style.

Black and white scene of frazzled-over-weight-frumpy woman tip-toeing between shoes, toys, general crap, and a couple of cats.

NARRATOR: "Are you tired of tripping over your son's soccer cleats? Have you dislocated your your kneecaps one too many times from colliding with the stray cat your daughter brought home from day care?"  (Sound effect: cat screeching)

Frazzled woman with casts on her kneecaps looks up and nods. 

NARRATOR: "And I bet you've tried all those other silly organizational devices found at your local Bed Bath and Beyond."

Frazzled woman nods more earnestly. In the background, husband stubs toe on one eyed doll lying on floor. This leads him to lean forward and be impaled by toy light saber. Blood spews everywhere. 

NARRATOR:  "I thought so! You need the latest and greatest clutter-gutter out there: Magnetic Ceiling! Instead of having to constantly be picking up and putting things away, just throw them away. No, not into the trash, but onto the ceiling! Our exclusive patented design covers your entire ceiling with a magnetic shield. (Show burly ex-cons bolting metal sheet to ceiling. Have one put a light fixture in his pocket). We then supply you with powerful adhesive magnetic strips that you attach to anything that is tripping you up.

Scene now in color, woman still looks frazzled, but happy as she applies black magnetic strips onto a pair of red high heels. 

NARRATOR: Then, take the magnetized piece of crap and throw it to the ceiling. The patented designed Magnetic Ceiling instantly bonds to the item, keeping it out of and above your hair!"

Frazzled woman starts throwing books, jewelery, blocks, dirty laundry, empty pizza box, and stray cat into the air (cat screeches again). 

NARRATOR: Wow! You sure do clean up nice! It's like you've doubled your square footage! And that's good news in the real estate market!

Frazzled woman no longer frazzled. In a sparkly flash she changes to a super model wearing a cocktail dress, stilettos and pearls.  

NARRATOR: And don't forget, Magnetic Ceiling adhesive strips also work on humans. If your bratty kid is destroying your house, apply the adhesive strips and throw him up! Kids love gaining a different perspective!

Bratty kid smiling and waving down to mom down below. Mom winks back at him. 

NARRATOR: This amazing, one of a kind product is doing a limited edition run before Homeland Security denies it further development based on undisclosed uranium content. So, call now and order your Magnetic Ceiling today! Be the envy of your neighbors and hoarders everywhere!

Super model mom starts dialing on phone. 

NARRATOR: But wait, there's more! If you call now, we'll throw in Outdoor Magnetic Ceiling... FOR FREE!!! Used like an easy-up, you'll no longer have to worry about finding the nearest trash can while in Jellystone park. Just attach the strip and throw! (*NOT RECOMMENDED FOR USE DURING LIGHTNING STORMS).

Screen shows super model mom talking on the phone, shrinks into a box in the corner of the screen while the rest of the screen goes blue to show phone number, price and website. 

SPEED TALKING NARRATOR AT END OF INFOMERCIALS: Not for purchase in the District of Columbia or certain counties of Idaho. Do not use any electronic devices in same room as Magnetic Ceiling. May cause birth defects and symptoms of the Black Plague. All legal matters will be handled in the country of Luxembourg pursuant to the safety codes of the Screen Actors Guild (SAG) union. No refunds or exchanges, except if you're relatives to Krying Karl of the Russian Mafia.

Blue screen disappears and we see the super model mom waving at us, while a piece of cheese from the old pizza box drops off the ceiling and onto the impaled dad.

AND...SCENE.

All Those Ls

It seems that all anyone does these these days is "live laugh love." Whatever happened to the other "L" verbs of life?

-Lose
-Lick
-Lap
-Lend
-Luggle (it's like juggle, but with an L)
-Log
-Lurk
-Lust
-Locust-eat
-Lash
-Lead
-Leak
-Level
-Lock

Wow. After awhile, L verbs start looking very weird.

When I do get married, I will only accept picture frames with the words "Lose Luggle Lurk." It might just have to become my life motto.

There's An App For That

I'm going to share something with you. I don't have a smartphone. Please still be my friend. But if I did have a smartphone, these are some of the apps I would make for it (and then I'd sell them and make $$$millions$$$; but I'd give them to you for free, of course). 

Pregnancy App: Pee on your phone. If it still works after you've done that -- congrats, you're pregnant. 

 

Dumb People Alert: Alerts you as you approach dumb people. Going into public may cause it to work too hard and eventually break. 

 

Get You Hired App: Writes meaningful cover letters targeting future employers. *Must be prepared to show extraordinary skills (like nunchuck skills) to said future employers during interviews.

 

Scratch n' Sniff App: In beta version; works best for things that actually smell like glass or plastic. 

 

Ironing App: Shirt wrinkled before big meeting? This app overheats your phone; press phone to shirt and voila! *One time use app. 

 

Paranoia App: Lets you know when someone's watching you. Then again, we're always watching you. 

 

Hebrew Word App: Translates every word in the bible into Hebrew and tells you how to pronounce it correctly. You'll be the smartest (albeit most annoying) cat in Sunday school. 

 

Happy Bird Game: Colorful birds help green pigs build fortresses while cheerfully singing their birdy songs. Bambi and his alive mother make an appearance.

Where have all the balls gone?

Yesterday I was thinking about things you can't/don't do anymore as an adult. And then I remembered the ball pit at Chuck-E-Cheese's. The mulit-colored hollow plastic spheres of happiness and carriers of undiscovered diseases. The joy of swimming in a sea that you didn't get wet in (if you were lucky). Being able to float on top, or sink to the bottom. The sound that multiple balls make when you move ever so slightly.

That thought led me to the thought that if I happened to be in a situation where I was
1) being chased by bad guys and
2) also happened to be in a place like Chuck-E-Cheese's
would I hide in the ball pit? Because you could bury yourself under a heap of those beautiful balls, but perhaps some would spill over and the bad guys would know exactly where you were. And then you would be cornered, and it's not easy to sprint away from a ball pit.

Three simple truths emerged from these ball-y thoughts:
1) I don't know where the best hiding place from bad guys would be if you were in Chuck-E-Cheese's
2) Most of my thoughts turn to how I'd escape bad guys in any given situation
3) I really want to swim in a pit of balls. Diseases or not.

Fun Things To Do At A Museum

Did you miss me? I was house watching/living in a friend's house that didn't have internet. Nobody knows the troubles I've seen.

Tomorrow I'm going to the Getty Museum with my single's ward. The art nerd in me is super excited. I've been before, but it was five years ago. I wanted to have some sort of fun activity (like a scavenger hunt) once there, but I couldn't find any.

Instead, I made up my own (with some ideas from my brother, Trenton). Here is my list of fun things to do at a museum. I recommend doing almost none of them, but I'll let you know if I'm stupid enough to try them out. 

1. Two people pretend to speak a foreign language or have a deep accent of some sort and argue over a piece of art. Use lots of hand motions. 

2. Look at a painting inquisitively for a really long time then suddenly jump up, clap and say “I get it!” Look very pleased with yourself. Works best with simple art, like a picture of a fruit bowl.

3. Ask a guard/curator “Where is the 21st Century Plumbing Exhibit?” (a.k.a, where is the bathroom).

4. Re-enact a scene from a painting next to the painting. Hold still for as long as possible. Please keep clothes on if scene happens to have nudes.

5. Pretend to be a tour guide. Try to get strangers in your group. Make up believable stories about each piece.

6. Take a painting off a wall and see what happens. Just don’t do it in my presence and make sure someone video tapes it.

7. Go up to someone looking at a piece and while whispering tell them you know it’s a fake, but the FBI doesn’t take your calls anymore. Look paranoid and shift your eyes. Tell them to spread the word, and then disappear as quickly as possible.

8. Pretend to be an art student replicating a painting. Except use your iPad, sketch app and finger.
9. Tell people you’ve lost your seeing-eye ferret. Bump into things. Not statues. Or Greek vases.

10. Tell guards you’re blind and have to touch every painting to “see” it.

11. Ask a guard if he has a lighter for your cigarette.

12. Only converse through song lyrics. This has nothing to do with a museum, but sounds entertaining.

13.Talk to a piece of art as if it were talking to you. Ask others around you what the art seems to be saying to them. Act like the art offended you and walk away.

14. Acting official, go around telling visitors you are taking a survey of their experience. Ask them if they have had any feelings of nervousness, dizziness, headaches, or strong urges to urinate, etc.

15. Survey option #2: Ask questions that have nothing to do with the museum. Like what their feelings are about dogs vs. cats. Nod in interest and mark on random piece of paper.

16. Using your phone or iPod, go up to the information desk and show them pictures from the internet of art you think the museum should acquire. Throw in a couple of pieces by kindergarteners.

17. Stand in front of a painting, then go limp and close your eyes. Start to shake and pretend the spirit of the dead artist has embodied you (think Whoopi Goldberg in Ghost). Rant about the lack of understanding people have about your piece. Call other famous artists cheats and imitators. Start painting in the air.

18. Pretend to be a spy meeting an informant for the first time. Go up to a stranger and say something crazy like: “At what time will the rooster leave the coop?” When they look at you funny, ask them if they are (make up name), then tell them your whole conversation never happened and they shouldn’t tell anyone. Their life depends on it.

19. Randomly turn around, take someone’s palm and read their future. Then apologize for your psychic visions.

Any great ideas to add to this list?

Here's to karma

I was going through some old facebook messages and found this one that I sent to a friend. It's pretty classic.


"My 11 year old brother just got his own e-mail, so he's been introduced to the world of sappy emails that you forward on or karma will punish you. He sent me the one of a poem "written" by a girl dying of cancer with 6 months left to live who will never go to prom or have a family or blah blah blah. Also, it says for every person you forward it onto the American Cancer Society will donate 3 cents to her treatment. I told my mom, wow, I got this e-mail over 8 years ago, so it looks like this girl is still living and probably went to prom."


Tell 10 people about this blog or earthworms will infest your morning cereal. 

Why the rage?

What is up with so many new movies coming out being 3D? Honestly, I live in a 3D world, and it's nice to view things in 2D for a change. It's one of the only reasons I go see movies. I hope this 3D fad dies like the Hansen's music career.

10 Things I'm Hatin' On Right Now

1. Crane Flies. They are like Daddy Long Legs with wings that fly like they're drunk out of their tiny minds. I hate them.

2. The hype over this dumb wedding. 95% of people watching it are women trying to vicariously live out their fairy tale dream wedding/becoming a princess that they believed would happen when they were girls and now live a boring and un-fairy tale life. The other 5% are gay men to see which wedding dress designer Kate finally went with. I hate designer wedding dresses.

3. Allergies. Mother Nature, why you gotta hurt me? I hate coughing like a chain smoker.

4. Micheal Scott leaving The Office. Do you ever get so caught up with characters in books/movies/television shows that you accidentally start praying for them? I hate praying for fictional people.

5. Boring email/mail. It's cruel and unusual punishment to see you have messages in your inbox/mailbox, which gets your hopes up high that someone thought of you, only to find Kohl's bi-weekly ad is one of the most consistent things in your life right now. I hate being let down like a baby giraffe. 

6. Fruit that spoils before it turns ripe. How am I supposed to know that the very green cantaloupe is very rotten on the inside? I hate fruit that can't live up to it's potential.

7. Being woken up from a nap. I hate waking up more stupid then when I fell asleep (examples Here, here , here... you know what- I'm creating a new tab called "sleep stories" and I need to write about the time my sleep caused me to order lots of milk - more later).

8. Fat. The kind that's closer to you then your closest friend. I hate loving food that makes me fat.

9. One year out of college and still no steady income. I hate my dependency on dead presidents (namely Jackson, Grant, Washington, etc.).

10. People who whine on their blogs. I hate that crap.

My Blog, 15 years from now

Let's face it folks, there are a plethora of very cute-puke-on-your-homemade-DIY-cardigan blogs. Women with families that look like they should be living in a catalog tell all about the fabulous lives they live - complete with coordinating Easter outfits; specially themed birthday parties for their three year old with hand calligraphied invitations; hand sewn fabric bunting holiday banners; photography skills, cooking skills, typography skills, sewing skills, and trophy wife skills; with just enough mishaps in their precious lives that they ensure their readers they are actually real people (and if you want links to these blogs, let me know. I have them all on my Google Reader).

It's true, I'm a follower of many of these blogs. I appreciate a lot of nice design and great DIY projects they feature. But because I have some sort of ingrained notion to go against the grain, don't expect my blog to be anything like that when/if I have my own little family. I think my posts would go along these lines:

Recipes:
"How to follow Krusteaz directions and still burn pancakes that are in completely boring circle shapes" 
"Sloppy Joes on stale buns"
"I'm too tired to make dinner find yourself something to eat Dinner Extraordinaire"
"Fancy guest dessert: store bought ice cream with chocolate sauce that has been expired for a month."

My Cute Kids:
Teaching them wrong names for things (i.e. salt is actually pepper, vice versa) so that when they get out in the real world they'll be blown away.
Christmas traditions of associating Santa driving a sleigh of alligators (Seriously. You better not pout).
Photos posted of them wearing haphazardly thrown on and mismatched clothes as their "Sunday Best."
Documentation of how many lice eggs I find on each of their sweet heads

Family Adventures:
Touring the morgue (I'm hoping Lindsey Lohan will still have community service hours there to give us a personal tour. I bet she will).
Going to Home Depot to buy rat traps
A nice picnic in the park (but after the park closes so we can play pinnacle with the bums and see who can run from the cops the fastest).

Etsy Shop:
I'd like to resell my kid's elementary school art projects and describe it as One of a Kind

Lifestyle:
How to organize your stuff so that the camera crew of the TV show Hoarders: Buried Alive can get some nice angle shots.

Exercising:
Sprinting to the stove to put out the fire after someone threw an ice cube into a pan of hot cooking oil.
Squatting to pick the pacifier out of the litter box and immediately placing in baby's mouth (after brushing off most of the kitty litter crystals, obviously).

Tutorials:
Displaying a garage sale find exactly how it looked when purchased
Vinyl wall decorating using colored plastic wrap leftover from Christmas cookie plates
Getting rid of telemarketers by pretending your husband just got done serving time for assault (I actually used this scenario once. True story). 

Party Themes:
White Trash and Luvin' It (including games like knocking your front teeth out)
Evil Clowns (might as well showcase them as they really are)
Cupcake Bonanza (fun surprises in each cupcake - like grandma's dentures or student loan bills (finder gets to pay the bill) ).

I almost wish I had kids now so I could start doing these awesome things just so I can blog about them later. I'm sure once I'm a mother I'll come up with even better ideas. Until then, I'm open to what you'd like to see in my blog 15 years from now.

The Breastfeeding Office

Our single's ward shares a brand new building with only one other ward. My Relief Society President has deemed the mother's lounge as our office. That's where we hold our presidency meetings after church. Those who aren't familiar with mother's lounges are probably wondering why we would hold meetings where babies are fed and dirty diapers are changed. Two words: the chairs. They are comfy recliners, and everybody knows when you are in the service of your fellow man you are in the service of your God which means you deserve to serve from the comfort of a recliner.

Being the uber spiritual person I am, I decided that I need to put this scripture permanently in The Breastfeeding Office:

"And he hath brought us into this place, and hath given us this land, even a land that floweth with milk and honey." -Deuteronomy 25:9

I'm sure Honey Nut Cheerios in the diaper bag will count as the "honey" part.