If it's not one thing, it's another. If it's not that, it's the Chinese

Seriously, are the Chinese known for being an emotionally cruel people? Play with this fortune, add whatever ending you want....there is no way it can be done that doesn't dig that 'you will be single forever' dagger deeper.

Just what I wanted with my Mooshu, a little dose of cruel reality.

The Chinese must have been in communication with my mother and/or therapist, or they just have a painfully hard grasp of irony.

Things as they are, and things as they should be

This past week I have been off of work. While I am sure that my ever vigilant students have been working on their research projects, in all fairness, I am going to explain my activities by showing you two lists. (I am sure you can see the direction this is heading.)

Things as they SHOULD have been:

• Spring Cleaning in my bedroom and the extra room.
• Toss out old clothes
• Sort out clothes viable to be donated
• Take the Dog out for a jog (experimenting on my newly healed knee)
• Or at least get exercise in SOME fashion that does not include merely playing with an adorable gigantic newborn.
• Tie up all the loose ends from CSUN
• Get my fat arse off the couch before 11 am at least 2 days in a row.
• Wash Car, get oil changed, check out the transmission slipage that has recently raised its ugly head.
• Get my ticket taken care of.
• Marry the prince and live happily ever after.

Things as they ACTUALLY were

• Got up before 10 am exactly twice.
• During one of those two early mornings, I had the opportunity to attend a friends Relief Society Birthday party where Sister Chieko Okazaki spoke. What an amazng woman she is. I love her! She always speaks Directly. To. Me. I went kicking and screaming. I left humbled and inspired to do more, fight harder to be happy, and to accept that there will sometimes be hardship.
• Did not a single stitch of laundry.
• For some reason felt inclined to log onto ldslinkup again for some reason.....and spent a shameful amount of time wandering around there.
• Spend time in very hard and intensive retail therapy.
• Sat in my robe until about 2pm on more occasions than I care to admit.
• Didn't even THINK about getting gas in my car, washed, or checked out for transmission issues.
• Bleached my teeth to near fluorescence.

With all of these nonaccomplishments...the one that really bugs me is the fact that I didn't even get gas. That means I have to pump gas at the crack of dawn.....and that really puts a damper on my snooze button plans. Meh.

I'll take more Sunday's

As luck would have it this was my week to teach the Young Women. Obviously, I was not looking forward to it being that as of late I have been...hmm...full of funk. The thing is, it's not the Gospel that is the problem...it's the organization that I don't feel particularly tied to. I realize that one can't be completely separated from the other, but nevertheless, there you have it. Anyhow, being that Easter and General Conference fall on the same Sunday, the topic for my lesson was regarding the several days leading up to the Crucifixion. In my stumbling around various talks and such, I came across this address from Elder Wirthlin. He talked about how dark and forsaken Christ felt in the Garden, how that Friday, the earth was rent and twain with sorrow and grief. But Sunday came....and it always will.

I liked that. Funny the timing of how we find these things.

Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again. We will all have our Fridays.

But I testify to you in the name of the One

who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.

No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, Sunday will come. In this life or the next, Sunday will come.

Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin

October 2006

Don't quote me on this...

Holly Golightly (and a fellow blogger I stalk) nailed it when she expounded,

"I don't have the blues. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?" ?"

I've got the reds. The mean, mean reds. Do you ever feel like the rules that you grew up with and live your life by don't seem to make so much sense anymore? Like they weren't designed with you in mind. They make sense in theory and on paper, but in reality you seem to have grown out of them...they just don't seem to apply to any of the situations that you find yourself in. Your choices are to continue to peddle your bike with training wheels, even though you have been riding that bike for YEARS. Long, lonely, years.....but in all fairness, there has been a crap-ton of fun during certain points of the ride. Or you are shoved into the swinging senior singles bus simply because you both have unadorned ring fingers. Again, just to be fair, there are some wonderful people on that bus, but just not 'my people.' In each situation you feel more and more juvenilized. More often then not, I feel as though I am being placated, and verbally pat on the head. (I am sure you can imagine how well I take to being patted on the head, literally or verbally.) I appreciate the sincere encouragement that most people toss out which well intended, I am sure. But seldom does it serve the speakers intended purpose, "Buck up lil' camper. Things'll get better. Look at Sister Dew!"

(For the record, I have never found that as anything other than completely terrifying.....never even a little bit comforting)

I guess this might just be some cruel cosmic teaching opportunity meant to help me relate to my fictional and mythical teenage children. I do, in fact, know how they feel. But I've got the message dude. Now I just feel like we are beating a dead horse....and sadly, I feel like I actually am that horse. Yes, indeed, I know now how those angst ridden teenagers feel when they stomp their foot and shout, "You don't understand!" Now I get where their angst comes from. I also know that the problem is mine. My attitude needs to change...but plain and simple I am out of ideas as to how to go about that. I've tried all the usual suspects and fixes. Honestly, they leave me feeling worse than I did when I began. You may want to step away so the lightening doesn't strike you, but I can't think of a more lonely place on Earth than sitting in the celestial room, by myself, or with one of my girlfriends/roomates.

So- I for now, I go through the motions...more often than not, faking a smile and the enthusiasm that seems to be expected, but hoping and praying to God that this too shall pass. Fake it till you make it, right? But truth be told, I don't know that it will. Certainly there has got to be a place for all of these square pegs...but all I can see for now are round holes.

Like I said, don't quote me on this. I have no answers. I am renouncing nothing, nor proclaiming anything. I am neither turning in my recommend, nor doing anything that would require such. I am rambling...musing on, if you will. But there you have it. I can't be the only 30-ish Morm who feels this way. If one of you has the magic bullet to fix the problem....spill it, ASAP. If you quip, "Why don't you just get married," then pat me on the head, I am definitely going to go track down that magic bullet....and I am quite a good shot.

I'm trying to old out hope like Holly. Heaven knows I've spent enough money at Tiffany's to put one of my hypothetical children through college, that is neither here nor there. But I would like to find that place that makes me feel peace, safe, warm, and welcome. Right now, I can't ind it. But if Holly (who was pretty much by actual definition a whore) managed to find her place, I can too.

"Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that'd make me feel like Tiffany's, then - then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name!"

Right now, I have no such place. But when I find it, you better believe I am buying some sweet furniture and naming the hell out of that cat!

*Don't need to get the APB out to the bishop, I am just venting about the frustration of feeling like one of the few single people around here in a very family oriented church, like I no longer am going to a church where 'everybody knows my name,' and who wants to go to a place where you don't feel like everyone knows your name?

Hawaiian Style

Little Carson doesn't just show up to have a good time. He comes to party. It took me nearly 30 years before I graced the isles of the south pacific with my presence, Carson? Nah.....he rocked Hawaii as a 2 month old baby. If this is any indication of the jet setting life this little dude is going to live...I think he and I are bound to be very close.

Hawaii in Photos. Narrated by Carson-heretofore referred to as C-dub.

"Hmmmmm I'm not sure what to think about this. That pig sure does look interesting, I can't tell if he is happy or sad. I'd be happy, he's got an apple for dinner. I never get apples."

"Yay it looks like everyone is getting naked, that usually means eating time for me. Wait, oh wait-I'm not getting fed. Mommy has some triangle things over the milkers. Maybe it is like an obsticle course or something. This could go one of two ways."

"This is DEFINITELY not what I had in mind. I didn't get fed and now they are sloshing me in this crazy gigantic bathtub, filled with sand, and fish and foam? This is nuts. Maybe if I keep my face and arms as STIFF AS POSSIBLE they will see that something is freaking me right on out!"

"Nope- they think it's cute. They keep plopping me into the sand knowing that I can't do anything it, or about the sand stuck in my diaper (hello little carson, chafe much inside that diaper?)and taking photos of it. Thank goodness Aunt Jill has the good sense not to post the photo of my bare naked baby bum covered in sand. But honestly, I think she will be broken down soon. My sandy bum is dang cute..I don't expect her to hold out much longer."

"Hey- speaking of things that are bound to happen. When do we get to do the Hookie Lau? I'm not leaving here without doing the Hookie Lau! I'm putting my sandy foot down!"

Cheers! To babies and strangers getting to know a little too much about one another.

Rise and Shout The Newest Cougar Is Out!

Ahhhhh look at how little he started! So quiet, so sweet.
A little love bug that can be best comforted by his papa! (Anyone else wig out at the thought of Jonathon, the Golden Boy, raising another human life.) He has fallen into his new responsibility quite seemlessly. Granted, he has the hardest road to hoe, balancing his family and their nutty wants and desires.

And really at some point in this life he will ask about the choice if this little beenie, and with clean hands I will be able to tell him that I had nothing to do with it......but I do find it kind of baby adorable. What a traitor I am, I know.

But check this out. He can totally take care of himself now!

Rise and shout, this cougar is out (of his mama's body, that is). He is only 3 months, almost weighs 20lbs and he is sosoooo big and squishy, and adorable. He is ticklish. especially if you rub noses with him. Giggles every time, with his big gummy, no tooth baby mouth. Have I mentioned how much I love gummy, no toothed, baby mouths? Incase I haven't....know that I am one bad decision away from snatching a baby of my very own. (Until we start dealing with dirty diapers...then I realize the folly of my baby snatching plans)

I love him so much....and he's a cougar.

So suck on that all you haters. How do you feel now? Talk trash to an infant...if you feel like you must. But last I heard, giving a baby crap about the univ that he is represents, helps the terrorists win. An angel loses her wings...and somewhere God kicks a puppy. So say what you will about BYU. Baby Jesus is watching. They'll call ahead and have the rest of the U fans save you a seat....in hell.:)

Overheard at the Pharmacy

"I just got out of jail. They picked me up for drugs, so can you fill this prescription without putting it in the computer....and just put them in a little bag?"

I don't even know where to begin commenting on the logic of this plan.

The Never Ending Festival of Ridiculous

In case you were wondering what type of ridiculous schenanigans I have been up to lately....know that they are plenty, and painful, and persistent. So there's that.

Let me just paint you a little pic.

A) Your body does in fact fall APART in your 30's...literally.

B) Taking a header down the stairs is an injury that tends to linger. And seldom recovers to 100%

C) Horsing around at work....and maybe kicking a kid in the butt (with all of the love in my childish heart) .....is very, very bad on an already weak ACL.

D) Karma is a cruel, cruel bitch.

E) I probably should be fired.

F) I hope Karma is not that far reaching.

G) Under NO circumstance will I allow this to detour Operation Africa...so, don't worry. You can still donate. (just make sure that you put my name in the memo) There is much left to do! I have been reading about the humble (understatement of the century) conditions where most of these kids live and try to learn. It's heartbreaking, I tell you. But they are so resilient and hopeful, that just reading their short bios makes my heart melt! So anyhow-any little thing can help! We really have so much. (Sally Struthers soap box over)

H) And feel free to pat a buddah belly, shake a chicken bone, rub a rabbits foot, toss out a prayer to whomever you pray to that my knee can be rehabed without surgery! Please please please!

A Helping Hand

I like to think that I am a pretty helpful gal. So, when I heard that a certain publicity tormented golfer hired Ari Fleischer to help navigate his return to the game, I saw it as my personal call to serve. Since I don't have Eldrick's address I am just going to throw this out as an open letter to him.

Dear Mr Woods,

I know you are busy putting out fires these days, so I will make this quick. You don't need a big whig consultant to help you re-enter the public eye. I have a fool proof plan to help you ease back into the game that made you larger than life, richer than God, and more arrogant than...well, anyone. Ever.

Do your job. Hit the fairway. Sink your puts. Go home. Have sex with NO ONE but your wife. Lather, rinse, repeat.

As I am sure you've heard before, this one is free. The next one you will have to pay for.

You're Welcome,
Jillian

Mick Understands Me

Apparently it is impossible for me to be satisfied. Last week winter had me checking my proverbial Rolodex for the Seasonal Affective Disorder Suicide Hotline. This week, even though it's still chilly, Spring is wreaking havoc on my alleries.

At least Spring is keeping things interesting....I never know which side of my nose will be working from one minute to the next.

Stick to the Script

I know that the party is pretty much over, and normally, it is against my character to feel bad about a well deserved celebrity grilling, but I really do feel bad for Kathy Ireland.

Whose idea was it to put her on the Oscar red carpet for her first stint as an interviewer anyway? It seems to me that a trial run in the minor leagues might have been a good idea. Top ten most awkward and stiff red carpet debacles...EVER.

However, that was not the only head scratcher of the evening. Lara Spencer asked Mo'Nique about whether or not she would be losing her jiggly bits now that she has entered the Hollywood big time? Seriously?

In the spirit of fair play, I would like an interviewer to ask one of the many waif-like, bobble headed women how they keep their manicures so nice in spite of the pre-Oscar binge and purge rituals.

I May Lose My Mind

My dashboard says that there is a comment that needs to be moderated, but every time I click on it.....it disappears. I am very close to losing my mind. It's pretty much inevitable.

They call them irrational for a reason

In spite of recent history, I like to think myself a pretty reasonable, rational human being. However, there are a few things that cause me very real albeit, very irrational fear. Birds, walking down steps without being able to see them, lakes, and midgets. Yes, I said it. Midgets.

Enter-my most intriguing worst nightmare.

This is the stuff that great rumors and urban legends are made of! Midget Village in Salt Lake, anyone? Are you kidding me?

My roommates and I drove around for hours.

We never found it.

I've decided that my fear is rooted in not knowing what to do. Where do I put my eyes? I'm so torn. Which is less polite, to stare or to look away and avoid eye contact completely? Someone find me an overly polite Canadian. Certainly they will know what to do.

Know this- I am calling my college roommates and looking into flights to China. Midgetopia will evade me no longer. I'm off to see the Wizard.

I just became that crazy girl...again

I enjoy being honest. In person, I don't hide my feelings well. Normally, my face reveals much, if not all, of what I am thinking. I don't just wear my heart on my sleeve. I blow it up, tie it to a string and march around carrying it like a balloon. But here on the internet, I tend to shy away from actual matters of the heart...and gravitate more toward things that are ridiculous and/or amusing to me in some way. Because really- who wants to read all of that touchy feely crap anyway? I think blogs, by definition are meant to communicate information via sarcasm and whit...with an occasional ridiculous video.

That being said, there have been some things bouncing around my head lately that I have not been able to shake. I can't shake these thoughts because much, but certainly not all, of the drama 'round here, has been my doing. Don't you hate when you step back and see that you are making trouble, but can't stop if from proceeding? Ah well, if anything good has come from this, I have at least come to recognize where my super-sensitivity and overreactions come from. I'm Mormon, single, over 30, but smoking hot and hilarious, and the only one of my siblings who has yet to wed and reproduce. I am the veritable, Last Unicorn. If you are at all familiar with Mormon culture(not necessarily the same as Mormon doctrine) you can imagine the feelings of failure, doubt, loneliness, embarrassment, confusion, etc. that come along with my lot in life.

Being that all of my siblings have had children of there own, most of them live nearby, or visit quite frequently, issues of auntie/child interaction come up periodically. "Don't give that to the baby," "I'd rather you not_______," "No they can't stay with you for the summer." While most times, their parents have had reasonable requests, sometimes they have seemed mildly ridiculous to me, but whatever, they're not my children. I'm not the boss. I need to allow my siblings to raise their children as they choose. Even if I think it will be funny to see how the baby would like a ride on the dogs back.

The problem is that my reaction to these requests to not poke, prod, pose for funny/perhaps compromising photo op's and otherwise lovingly torture my nieces and nephews could be described in Fat man/Little boy, Chernobyl type proportions. Granted, I may have a tendency to overreact occasionally. However, every time, these little mini dramas have cut me pretty much to the bone. Totally shaken me. Leveled me to a sniveling, blubbering, mess who mutters things like, "How does no one understand and/or care about how this is all making ME feel. I am not a child. I love these kids and do not need to be chastised!" (Yes- I recognize the selfishness in that sentence.)

Earlier today, I had a mild mini-revelation as to why I get so upset by my family questioning how well I am able to care for their children. My patriarchal blessing talks about being a mother and a grandmother to a multitude of children. However...as can be gleaned from the aforementioned description of my relationship status...that blessing doesn't appear to be coming to fruition any time soon. The next step my mind takes is to ask the question, why? Knowing full well that the last time I kissed anything, it was a long, hard, wet, goodbye kiss to that good for nothing frienemy, Logic. The only thing I can come up with is that I must have screwed up somewhere along the way. As a result, Heavenly Father must have lost faith in my ability to care and raise happy and healthy family of my own. Thus....I am doomed to wander the planet alone. Like the Incredible Hulk, but more pudgy and white than musclebound and green. Point being...when my siblings hover and question how I treat their children, it reaffirms the fear (illogical though it may be) that Heavenly Father, and apparently my family has lost faith in me as well.

And that makes me sad...which has a tendency to lead to tears....and full scale emotional breakdowns. It's just how I work and I don't see that changing anytime soon.