explorations in photography

I took a bunch of random pictures with my camera today.  I am no expert, I just played around with it.  Here are some of the best pics I got.  They are really rather stunning full size.  My camera is great, I am hoping to figure out how to use it well soon.

This first one is of dead sunflowers from last summer that are on the side of the house.  I really enjoy taking close ups.

I was playing with the contrast of focusing the foreground and blurring the background.  It makes for an interesting shot.

This picture looks a lot better full size.  My mom claims that the fruit on this tree used to be apples.  They look like berries to me.  Little wrinkly berries.

I just plain got lucky with this one.  I just love that the background is so muted and the branch is so vivid.  I honestly got lucky with every one of my photos today.  When it comes down to it, I have no idea what I am doing, but I am having fun pretending.

crazy me

I unfortunately really have no idea how to use my new computer or camera.  However, with the help of my brother, James, I have learned to do a few very important things.  For instance, I now have all my music on my computer, I can upload my movies (if I want) onto my computer to be viewed in FrontRow, and I can take pictures with my icamera.  That is the most important thing.  I can actually spend quite a bit of time taking crazy pictures of myself with the camera.  Here are a few of the recent pics.

My bank account is crying

My bank called me a few hours ago. They wanted to make sure I was actually as crazy as my purchases indicate. Yes, I am.
Yesterday I bought this:

and this:

and this:

and four of these:
and this:
and this (it was free because I bought so much other stuff):
and a couple other random things. It was a busy and expensive day. And fun too.

nervous

I have not been nervous in a very long time. I don't get nervous to speak in front of people, I don't get nervous to sing in front of people (in small groups, of course), I don't get nervous on dates, I don't get nervous leading the music in sacrament meeting.
Yesterday, I decided to lead an additional verse for the sacrament hymn, since the sacrament was still being prepared. I had already talked to the organist, and we were on the same page. So, I just went for it. As we started singing the 4th verse (one of the extra verses), I realized that I was the only one singing and that everyone had already put their hymn books away. There wasn't anything to do, other than continue leading and hope that people would catch on quickly. Luckily, they did catch on. I am not sure why this made me nervous, but I was actually shaking and had the whole butterflies-in-my-stomach experience. It was horrible. I have looked like a fool on many occasions while leading the music. I have completely botched 9/8 time (as if anyone could lead 9/8 time), and just smiled the whole way through the song while waving my arm aimlessly. This did not make me uncomfortable in the slightest, I wasn't even embarrassed. I just laughed my way through the song, as did everyone in the congregation who paid the slightest attention to what I was doing. I have had people stand for the rest hymn at the same time as the verse was beginning, this didn't embarrass me in the slightest. I have even happily ruined time signature changes. So why was I so nervous when I was leading an extra verse? This makes no sense. I guess that means we are going to start singing a lot of extra verses in sacrament meeting so that people will catch on and I will not feel like a fool when we do sing extra verses. Or, it means that I should be released.

Dinner, the easy way

There are a lot of nights (pretty much every night) that I decide to have an easy dinner. You know, warm up the left-overs, eat a frozen burrito, make a sandwich, have some cereal. It is just so much quicker than making from scratch for yourself every night. However, when I go out to eat I expect my meal to be prepared for me. One could argue that a cooked meal is indeed what you are paying for. Of course, atmosphere and not doing the dishes are included in the price, but the meal is really the primary reason for going out to eat.
It is no surprise, then, that I was somewhat aghast when my dinner came looking like this:In case the picture does not do justice to my dish, I will describe what I ordered and what arrived. I ordered the "Pear Salad". Doesn't that sound good. A nice salad with fruit. I love salad, and I love pears, so it was a match made in heaven. However, what I got is not something I would ever describe as "salad," even in the most liberal sense of the word. The plate that came to me consisted of a head of iceberg lettuce (still in it's head form) with a slit cut in the top and three pear slices placed in the slit to give it a mohawk look, around which was sprinkled cranberries and almonds, with a bit of dressing drizzled throughout. Don't get me wrong, I am willing to work to eat food (i.e. I will cut my steak myself, I will even put the condiments on my hamburger), but seriously, I was there to order dinner, not ingredients to make dinner. I was at a restaurant, not a grocery store. I was tempted right then to ask if they could just box up my "salad" throw in some carrots and tomatoes and send me home so I could make a salad out of what they brought me. Instead, I laughed. I was still laughing when the waitress came back to ask how the food was. I was laughing so much that I couldn't even tell her what a joke of a dinner she brought me. And, I hate it when people complain about what the ordered and ask for something different. So, I cut up my head of lettuce with my fork and knife (how else would you eat it) and sparingly added toppings to my fork-fulls of lettuce. The amazing thing, I was as hungry when I left as when I arrived at the restaurant, because it turns out that iceberg lettuce is really just water with a lettuce shell. The sad thing is that I didn't even get good atmosphere for my money- they sat me in the aisle at the end of my table, and people kept bumping into me as they walked by because there was not enough room for me and foot traffic. The nice thing, my friend paid for my dinner for me. This was possibly because he felt bad because I started out the evening by crying. Oh well. A free meal is a free meal. Beggars can't be choosers, right.

Because I have never been to Canada

Yesterday I signed up to volunteer for the Vancouver 2010 Winter Olympic Games. I am super excited. We will see if I am accepted or not. I volunteered for Salt Lake 2002, and it was amazing! I wanted to do Torino 2006, but couldn't, as I was still in school. However, no reason to no do Vancouver 2010. So, if you need me, I will be away. As I plan to travel for the rest of my life. Things like volunteering for olympics merely give me an excuse (as if I need one).

I HATE Flagyl

The following is a list of reasons that I hate flagyl. I have listed the many side effects I am having from this horrible antibiotic. If you are weak of heart, this may not be the post for you. If you are sick of mind, keep reading: (taken from http://www.rxlist.com/cgi/generic/metronidaz_ad.htm)
1. Mouth: A sharp, unpleasant metallic taste is not unusual. Furry tongue; these may be associated with a sudden overgrowth of Candida which may occur during therapy.
2. Central Nervous System: irritability, weakness, and insomnia.
3. Hypersensitivity: flushing, nasal congestion, dryness of the mouth, and fever.
4. Renal: polyuria. Instances of darkened urine have been reported by approximately one patient in 100,000. Although the pigment which is probably responsible for this phenomenon has not been positively identified, it is almost certainly a metabolite of metronidazole and seems to have no clinical significance.
Additional symptoms listed in the Rite Aid Pharmacy pamphlet:
5. Stomach pain, loss of appetite, constipation, changes in taste, sore throat

Hence, I am a mess. I am a walking warning label for Flagyl. Oh, and it tastes horrid. We are talking, I nearly throw up every time I take it (every 8 hours). And the taste lasts and lasts. It is pretty great that way.

And the pharmacy pamphlet says I should tell my doctor immediately if I have a sore throat because it could be a serious side effect. Hmm, I have had the sore throat since Monday. Oops.

However, I have lost a bit of weight, if we are looking on the bright side.

I am a blond?

I got my hair cut on Monday. I love Betsy, she cuts my hair. She is the only one who has ever been able to cut my hair without destroying everything and ruing my life. And I am not even kidding. I found her when I was 18, and have followed her from salon to salon ever since. I will probably do that for the rest of my/her life no matter where I live. You could say I am codependent.
On Monday Betsy (who usually is quite sane) told me that I am a blond. Anyone who has known me in the last 10 years of my life would probably contest this, and with good reason. I was blond when I was a kid, but am now brown. I was in denial for several years in my teens when I still thought I was blond, but I have since come to my senses and embraced my hair color. So on Monday when Betsy told me that she considers me blond I almost laughed out loud. Her reasoning was such: there are very very few true adult blonds, and so as an adult lighter browns are actually blond. Hmm, not sure if I am jumping on this train, but it does explain a lot, doesn't it.

Adventures in Voting

This morning I voted. It doesn't matter who I voted for because I live in the state of Utah.
So, I get to the poles this morning and tell them my name and get the card for the machine. I tried to choose a middle machine, but they made me go to the end so that the machines get evenly used or something. I stick my card in the machine, begining the voting process. I choose my candidate, then it prints a little reciept for me to check, I push "Cast Ballot" and the machine goes black. So, my vote is still sitting there for the world to read. And my card is stuck in the machine (the card I am supposed to give back to the nice ladies at the registration desk.
I call for some help and a lady comes over who has no idea what to do. She makes sure everything is plugged in and then decides to restart the machine. I ask her if I need to revote, and she says that she is not sure. Then she says "you didn't vote for ___, did you?" Um, yeah, that is what my ballot shows, isn't it.
I am not sure if I actually voted today or not. And I think that I got put down for my choice of candidate. And, I thought the voter worker people were supposed to be non-partisan, and that my vote was supposed to be private. So much for all of that.

Thank You

President Hinckley, I am better because of you.
You will be missed.

Can't sleep

So I have been sick for a week or so. I am a horrible patient. You would think I would be better considering I am a nurse, but no, I am a miserable complainer when it comes to being sick. Anyway, the unfortunate part is that I slept all day. So now I am awake all night. Hooray. And, I have been wanting to go to the gym all week and haven't been able to go because I have been feeling so sick. I hate that. I miss the gym (I never thought I would say that).

My illness has two fronts: neurological and intestinal. We will not discuss the intestinal side of things, as I am sure you really don't want to know. Neurologically speaking, I usually only rarely have headaches, and when I have them it is usually a migraine. Sadly, I have been having headaches much more frequently. I do not want to know if I have something seriously wrong (people keep suggesting brain tumor as the possible diagnosis, thank you). So, I have been trying to stay well hydrated, and ignore the fact that my body is currently fighting against itself. This is what I get for working with sick kids all the time. I guess you could say I signed up for this, so I shouldn't complain.

It is 4:11am, and for the first time all day I feel okay. Not great, not even good, but okay. I will take that.

I need to be better before Tuesday when I have to go back to work, because I hate being sick at work.

I have a really good attitude right now, can you tell?

I need to get out

I have renewed my desire to flee the state. I really want to get out. Move away. Try to see if I can have a dating life anywhere in the country, because UT is not working for me. If not, I will move to Europe. I am okay with that option.

The major places I am looking at (in no particular order): Chicago, D.C., Boston, NYC, possibly So. Cal or AZ.

Essentially I need somewhere with single mormons who are actually motivated to do something with their lives.

Any ideas?

My life is over

Tonight I played High School Musical DVD Board Game with my sister-in-law. It was pretty much a given that I would win.

I lost.

Twice.

Light Reading

I work with infants. Those already born. Few of the parents of these infants are looking to immediately get pregnant (as they have an infant already). Yet, for some reason I found this magazine in the drawer at work:
I couldn't help myself. I mean, with a headline like "The best places to make a baby", how could I resist. It turns out this entire magazine is about how to get pregnant, from romantic getaways to fertility-producing foods. Yes, the cover does boast of a story titled: Foods for Super Sperm. And, luckily, inside is a chance to win one of these:
Yes, kids, this is a fertility watch. Imagine how wonderful it would be to simply look at your wrist to see if you are fertile. Can't you just write this in your day planner. Come on really. Imagine you are out with friends and one asks you the time, and then glances at your watch. Instead of the time, they get to find out if you are fertile and what day of your cycle you are on. That seems fun, and not at all awkward.
This magazine made me really happy, not so much that it existed, but that it was at my work. I am pretty sure that the infants are not looking to get pregnant. If anything, I think they just want back in their mom's belly.
If anybody is still looking, I want the watch for Christmas.

Good things

Wow, this story made me cry.

Click here to watch

Have I mentioned that I really want to adopt, and probably want to do foster care.

Green scrubs of shame

Yesterday at work I went in to calm a crying child down. As I reached to lift the baby I felt my arm get wet. Not a good sign. Another nurse came into the room to see if she could help and I just stood their frozen, afraid to look at what could possibly be on my arm. So I lifted my arm to show her, and it turns out I got poop all over my arm. How the poop got on the outer edge of the crib is a mystery to all. Nevertheless, I was covered with stinky poop. We laughed really hard for a while then I left the crying baby to the other nurse and called to have security meet me so I could get new scrubs out of the storage room. It turns out that the only scrubs available were XL or XXXL. Now, neither of those are my size, nor near my size. Luckily I found a M top, and then just grabbed the XL bottoms. I asked the security guy if there were any other scrubs anywhere and he said no. Then I asked if there were any in the OR. He said their probably were but didn't seem too interested in going with me to look. So, I took what I could get and went back upstairs to change. I looked something like this:

Except the scrubs were longer and the top fit, and I didn't have the ugly hat, and the scrubs were green not bluish, and I wasn't in Africa. Weirdly, I was wearing the same shoes. Okay, so it wasn't much like these pictures, but this was the best I could do.
Everyone at work laughed when they saw me for the rest of the night because you only wear the green scrubs of shame if a baby has produced something that has made a mess on you, and you were not smart enough to wear a gown for protection against possible messiness. I always laugh at the other people, so turn-about is fair play.
Oh, and I got to wear the green scrubs of shame home on TRAX. And they were too long and dragged on the ground and got wet. However, now I have some really comfortable huge pajamas. Lucky me.

I have found a man who has agreed to marry you...

My dad announced last night that he has found my husband. Lucky me. Apparently his best friend's son is recently single. His future lawyer girlfriend dumped him to go to law school. That stinks. However, now it is perfect because we are both single. Woo hoo. I have met him on several occasions. We went to BYU together. He is attractive, but I am not sure that we actually have anything in common. But, his dad and my dad want us to get married because then the Becks and the Johnsons will finally co-mingle on a whole other level.
In the immortal words of J Lo: A man of my very own! You must bring me to him at once.

I believe we are now to 3 eligible bachelor's on my dad's list for me. Yip yip.

Happy days are here again

For about the last month or so (minus one day) I have been really happy again. My usual kind of happy. It is great. My happiness has increased even more in the last 2 weeks. People at work are noticing that I am back to my old self. I no longer have a heaviness about me (not talking about my weight, that is a whole different subject). It feels so good. However, my gray days do help me appreciate the good days so much more. I guess that is the concept that the bitter makes the sweet taste even sweeter. I have had enough bitter for a while, bring on the sweet!
So, an apology to all of you who had to deal with the less-happy version of myself. I am back in full force, watch out.

Oh, and a couple days ago on TRAX this lady got on who was very very drunk. She could hardly walk and smelled very strongly of alcohol. But the amusing part was that she sat right next to a girl who was reading a book (a TRAX faux-pas if there are other seats available without neighbors). She talked to the girl for several minutes (until she got of the train). The girl even said, "I am reading my book, I would rather not talk" or something to that effect. And the girl changed seats. That changed nothing. She was a very persistent drunk conversationalist. It brought a smile to my face.
At work I was telling my coworkers about my amusing train ride and then we all started talking about what kind of drunks we would be. It was determined that I would be a funny drunk. I would probably have a ton of energy and would laugh a lot. It would be annoying to other people, I am pretty sure.
On the TRAX ride home a guy stared at me the entire time. So, to make things even more uncomfortable I stared back. It was awesome.

Because you love

Imagine this:

You are in a room full of intimidating and important people, and yourself (very average). All are gathered for an in-depth discussion about a topic that is difficult for you to talk about. You are the only one showing emotion, well the only one showing great emotion. You cry through practically the entire hour and a half meeting. And there are no tissues. Oh, and you make a comment that could have been very offensive to several of the people in the room, because you call it like you see it. And several people thank you for making such a comment. Somehow, despite looking like a blabbering fool, the majority of the people in the meeting thank you when all is over, and tell you what a great person you are and how brave you were to be there and to care the way you do. And they all give you hugs. Suddenly no one is nearly as intimidating and titles are stripped away. And when all is said and done, things are going to change in a big way because of you.
It is hard to imagine. And hard to take in. And hard to process in so many ways. And the scar in your heart will never quite heal, but you will learn to let it improve you. And it will change who you are forever.

That was my morning.

Forever attempting to get me married

Last summer my dad tried to set me up with his accountant at work who was 20-something and apparently a great catch because he was done with school and had a good paying job. My dad gave this kid my number (I said it was fine, and it was the only way to get my dad to stop talking about it so much). He never called. Shocker. Then he moved to Texas. A place I have vowed never to live. Don't even get me started.

A month or two ago, my dad decided that his friend's son and I are perfect for each other. This guy is late-20s/early 30s, has a good paying job, real estate in Park City and parents that we already know and like. Obviously he and I are perfect for each other. He keeps telling me that we need to go out, but it has not gone anywhere. Shocker.

On Sunday my dad came home from church to tell me that this lady in our ward (30s, I think) wants to set me up with her brother. He is obviously a great catch because he is in dental school. Across the country. I am not sure why she asked my dad if this would be okay, but has still not talked to me about it. I guess we are going out sometime over Christmas break. With my luck we will totally hit it off and then he will go back to the mid-west where he is in school and that will be the end of that. Shocker. After my dad told me about all of this guy's "merits" I told my dad that dentists are the profession that is the most likely to cheat on their spouse. It is something about having all those cute little hygienists in the office all the time that gets em.

Yesterday I went to Provo and people kept asking me if I am dating someone. I am not. Shocker. I guess moving to Salt Lake makes people think you all of a sudden start dating all the time. Nope. It is pretty similar to Provo. Which I am okay with. I may sound bitter about dating, but I still accept offers for blind dates and set-ups. Even with a rather hilarious history of terrible blind dates, I still go on them. I am still up for trying. I just have to have a little fun with it in the mean time.