Heavenly vegetarians

Yesterday my husband and I decided to go to one of our favorite gourmet restaurants...Arby's! While eating my roast beef sandwich I had this strange epiphany about cows. You see, I believe that we all are resurrected after we die and presumably, we know what's going on with our bodies after we die. Meaning, I'm probably up there making sure that no crazy head forgets to mow over my plot of ground. For the most part, I assume the same thing of other life forms, in this case cows. I mean, cows go to heaven too, right? And they get resurrected too, yes?

Then my thoughts moved to how they watched over their bodies. Some sweet cow, we'll call her Bessy, is watching over her physical body as I eat her to bits!! With sauce on top and bread on either side!! Ahhhh!!!! Does this not cause terror in anyone else's soul?

The scariest dream EVER!

I can't believe I didn't write about this sooner! Last February I had one of the most terrifying dreams of my life so I thought I would share it here.

Before having this dream, I was offered the chance to sing in a master class for this big-name opera singer, Jennifer Larmore. I was a little bit nervous about the whole ordeal and those nerves were compounded by the fact that I came down with a terrible cold just the week before. I spent the whole week before the master class in bed, downing Nyquill and Mucinex. Two days before the master class, my fears were made manifest...

In my dream I still had a sore throat and was terribly worried about the high B-naturals scattered throughout the song. My worry turned into a stomach ache so I asked if I could be moved to the last singer position. My request was granted and I waited out in the lobby for the rest of the singers to finish.

I realized my accompanist hadn't shown up yet. That was bad! I started looking around for her when I saw her walk right past me, purposely pretend like she hadn't seen me, and make it very well known that she was ignoring me...ahhh!

Right as I was about to walk in to sing my song (sans accompanist), everyone in the Madsen Recital Hall poured out of their seats and headed out the door. I was crushed, but still excited to sing for my hero even though there wouldn't be an audience. But then...the voice teacher in charge of the master class met me and said, "I'm so sorry Amy. Everyone left. But, maybe Jennifer will let you come and sing for her at our house."

The next thing I knew I was in Darrell(the voice teacher's) living room, ready to sing my song. The only weird thing was that it kind of looked like something you'd imagine your great-grandmother's parlor would look like. Sheer white curtains, baby blue plush furniture, and dust swirling through the air. I kind of felt like I was going to sneeze just looking at it.

All of a sudden I look down to see me wearing nothing but my underwear! I was freaking out...my hero was coming to hear me sing and all she was going to see was this weirdo in her underwear. I ran to Darrell and exclaimed, "Darrell! She's going to think I'm so weird! I can't wear my underwear to sing for Jennifer Larmore!!!" He assured me that everything would be okay and that he would find me some clothes.

I was so relieved. His wife is a famous opera singer and in my estimation, quite classy. So, everything would be fine after all. In fact, I should probably be better dressed than I would have been otherwise. But...he returned with his gym bag and handed me a stinky, over sized T-shirt and windbreaker pants complete with over sized tennis shoes. So, now I stank, had a sore throat, was stuck in a dusty, grandma-y room, and had conversed with one of the voice teachers in my undergarments. This just wasn't my day.

But, Jennifer Larmore came and sat in one of the baby blue plush chairs, awaiting my selection. I announced that I would be singing "Una Voce poco fa". My new accompanist (some random old lady I found who played the piano in primary, albeit, not very well) couldn't find the music. All there was available was the primary hymn book and terrible EFY arrangements.

And then...I woke up.

And what is the point again?

This semester I decided that I was going to get into great shape. I have been running a little bit and going to the gym on a pretty regular basis so I thought "Okay Amy. I think you're ready to take an aerobics class." I show up my first few days and take the fitness tests and apparently, I'm in pretty good shape from all that gym and running time. The big ego starts there...

After the first workout in class I was pretty fatigued but still fairly confident. Yesterday I showed up to be informed that Wednesdays are strength training days. Since most of the girls in my class are little skinny weaklings I thought to myself, "Okay girl! You're definitely going to show them what's what!" The instructor led us to a closet full of weights. I arrive at the closet to see a bunch of 5lb hand weights. My immediate thought is "Wussies! Are they joking? I've been lifting tons more than this! This is ridiculous!"...no joke, my thoughts.

After lunge 8 million I realized I was wrong...VERY wrong. I felt like my muscles were about to melt beneath me into a pool of nothingness. Girls were throwing their weights down all over the place. As much as I wanted to die in that moment I was not going to be a wuss! So, I kept going. After 40 minutes of absolute torture, we were finally finished!

This morning I woke up in dire pain. Ahhh! So much for calling aerobics girls wusses! Since my class is in the morning, I had no choice but to get up and get out the door. I arrived to class today to find that we had a substitute for the class as our teacher was out of town. After 45 minutes of truly wussy aerobics time I thought it might be good to do another workout on my own. So, off to the elliptical machine I went for 40 minutes. Go me! I thought...

And what I really should have been thinking was "stupid girl!". As I got off the machine and made my way to the showers all I could think about was how much pain I was in. Yikes! As I showered I started to wonder why anyone would willingly put themselves through this much torture. I gave myself all of the traditional answers, "It makes you feel better", "You'll live longer", "You're healthier", "It improves your self-esteem". You know...all the ones "they" tell you to make you want to do this.

And then I start doing calculations. If a person were to work out 6 days a week as is currently recommended, for about an hour a day they would spend 312 hours a year working out. If they were to continue this for the next 45 years into the golden years that would be 14,040 hours. Okay, now here comes the real cost-benefit analysis... Am I really adding 14,040 hours to my life by exercising? I'm not really sure. And, aren't I just adding those hours to my old life? Why am I mortgaging my youth? And, does it really make me feel better? NO! I'm in dire pain! And do I really feel better about myself by doing it? Not really, I have to struggle to stand and sit right now and it makes me look like a 90 year old lady. Basically, all of the reasons for working out are lies. LIES! Good thing I'm taking this class for a grade. It's probably the only way I would continue with this current mindset.

Learning to keep my big mouth shut

My mama used to tell me when I was a little girl that I needed to learn when to speak and not to speak because someday, something I said might get me into trouble. I always thought she was just being silly. I mean, having a British mother means that sometimes I just thought she was being a little extreme.

But, no. She was right. This weekend my husband and I decided to go down to St. George to celebrate our one year anniversary. Wahoo! After many hours of driving and a few U-turns after getting lost in St. George, we pulled into our hotel. I watched as my husband gave the front desk attendant the necessary credit card and license information. You know, the usual. Then comes my big mouth.

"Oh honey! When do you get a new drivers license? This one is still tilted the I'm-not-old-enough-to-drink way. I mean, for all that drinking that we do (chuckle)."

Then the front desk attendant looks at my husband's driver's license and says "this actually expired back in March. I need a form of valid ID. You're gonna have to take the drive test now and everything!" blah blah blah, the world is going to fall apart on us now and basically life as we know it is over.

So, there I was, grateful we had discovered such a thing in a setting where large fees would not be involved and at the same time, mortified! This meant that every ounce of driving around St. George, to and from Zion's National Park, and back to St. George would have to be performed by none other than moi...moi who hardly ever drives since she got a husband to do those scary things for her. Ahhh!

Good news, we made it back home safely. Bad news is...mama was right...

Some great Primary Stories

I've been saving these ones up for a while. For any of you who love "Kids Say the Darnedest Things" you should get a kick out of these.

* One day the 2nd counselor was teaching in Sharing Time about when Mary went to the tomb of Jesus. She asked the children "Now, why was Mary going to Jesus' tomb?" One of the children replied, "She was going there to put hot sauce on Jesus' body." Apparently he thought spices and hot sauce were one and the same.

* On a lesson about our mortal journey on earth, the teacher asked the Primary children, "What is the most important step in coming back home to live with our Heavenly Father?" One of the children replied, "Dying!"

* Summer term in Provo spells unstable teacher schedules. As such, one Sunday we had a brand new teacher coupled with a substitute teacher for the 11-year old boys class. The sister conducting sharing Primary that day began by welcoming everyone to Primary. While doing so, she turned to the boys' class and said, "Now, I've been gone for a little while. Would you two teachers mind telling me your names?" The first replied, "My name is Brother Beer" and the second "My name is Brother Coffey". They were being serious. All they would need to do is ask Brother Worthy, also in the ward, to join them for a lesson about the Word of Wisdom.

Greek gods rap

Today at work I saw this girl and this middle-aged gentleman walk out of the conference room wearing togas and curly wigs. To be honest, it was a little frightening. I work at BYU Independent Study and they're often having photo shoots for advertising purposes. Normally they find the most attractive and/or non-Caucasian workers and take pictures of them. While the toga people could potentially fit into the non-Caucasian category (okay, not really), I was still really surprised. I mean, who are they trying to attract? All I could envision was some crazy slogan like, "these Greek guys were smart. Take our courses and you'll be smart too!". It would have pink bubble lettering and scream 7th grade class project. Again, frightening.

However, I just discovered that they're actually recording a rap about Greek gods for one of our history courses...I mean, of course! That makes total sense.

Learning things the hard way

Recently in my life it seems like every anticipated day is accompanied by some wound or another. Here are just a few to illustrate...

1) The day before we got married I decided to wax my bikini line. Normal, yeah? Well...except I decided to do it myself, the day beforehand, and didn't read the directions very well (or at least didn't follow them). I get the wax all hot, apply, rip, and then the unthinkable...stuck wax, stuck paper, HUGE welt on inside of leg. Ahhhh! My wedding night, if not awkward already, was about to get that much more awkward by the fact that I had a large purple welt! In my terrified-ness I called to Brennan to come and talk to me from the other side of the bathroom door (I was staying at his parent's house in the guest bedroom the week before we got married...no monkey business!) and I cry:
"Honey!!! I have bad news"
"What's that sweetheart?" he replies.
"I did something bad..."
"ummm, what's that?" he questions.
"Well, umm, I tried to do this thing and now I have this big welt..."
He asks, "Well, does it look ugly?"
"Definitely"
"Oh, well, this is awkward...will it go away?"
"Ummmm, maybe in a few weeks"

2) The other day I noticed an icky zit on my eye brow. It kind of hurt a lot so I decided to get rid of the little sucker before he became noticable. Pinching and poking at the dumb thing I felt I was rather successful. That night I put a dab of toothpaste on him to try to dry him out. The result...huge scabby wound next to my eye...of course!

So, there you go...don't wax your bikini line the day before you get married and just leave the little zit alone. If you luck is anything like mine, things are only going to get worse.