What happens on Nevada Day....

It's Nevada Day, everybody!! Every October 31st (or the closest Friday or Monday to it) every government organization shuts down for the day in reverence of the day that Nevada became a state.

I can't decide whether the day is supposed to be a celebration of the state or an apology to everyone who has the misfortune to live here. Kind of like, "Hey. We know you don't really want to be here, but would it make it better if you got a day off at the end of October? Yes? Good. Happy Nevada Day."

Either way, I love it. It's really my favorite thing about living in Las Vegas. Although, that's like saying that the steam facials are your favorite part of living in Hell.

Whatever. It's a day off. It's a day off that means I never have to work on Halloween, my second to last favorite day as a teacher. This is my first Nevada Day actually spent in the state. Last year I went to California to visit Jillian, and the year before that? I think I went to Utah. Anyway, today I'm cleaning my house, running some errands, and enjoying my fancy new TiVo. It's a good day.

It's Nevada Day, and it makes living in Nevada 1% more bearable.

Strange Bedfellows

Sometimes the parts of a thing are better than the sum of its parts. Take chocolate covered pretzels, steampunk, or Spaghetti Westerns.

Sometimes, however, the equation just flat-out stinks:

Case in point:



the fandelier.

Keepin' it Klassy folks. Keepin' it Klassy.

Dream a little dream with me....

Last night I dreamt that I was engaged to Patton Oswalt.



I will admit to the fact that I find him strangely attractive. Funny and talented goes a long way with me (and his bit about the KFC Famous bowl? Priceless. He calls it a failure pile in a sadness bowl. I love that). And there he was, in my dream. Engaged to me. And Mormon. (Even in my dream I had a hard time buying that one, what with his love of the F bomb and all.)

Anyway, after playing several rounds of Wii bowling and telling my mom that we were engaged we decided to go to a ward party (as you do on the day you get engaged). At the party we ran in to Mama Duggar who couldn't have been happier for us.


Maybe upgrading to Preferred Basic Cable was a bad idea....

How long 'til Wednesday?

Too long, let me tell ya. I swear, it's like the writers of Glee have looked into my soul and found my most favorite cheesy ballads of all time. Coming up Wednesday possibly the best so far....


And Puck ain't bad either.

It's a Long Way From Your Heart.

My dad isn't big on sympathy. This has a lot to do with being raised by two no nonsense parents on a family farm, but more to do with his super human pain threshold. The man has suffered more physical pain than 10 people put together, and he has never, ever, let it stop him. As an adult, I can understand why these two things have short circuited his sympathy receptors. As a child.....notsomuch.

Growing up, if my siblings or I got hurt in some way and came up to him (or, to be honest, Mom who was generally sitting near him) crying and holding our injuries, we were told to "stop your blubbering. It's a long way from your heart." The other, even less comforting response, given most often when he was feeling a little more irritated and/or obnoxious was: "we could always amputate at the neck." I know it will shock you, but as a child I never found either of these responses overly comforting. Have you ever tried to stop your blubbering mid blubber? It's not as easy as you might think. And amputation at the neck? Even as a very small child I was pretty certain he was kidding, but......

Now that we're adults we laugh about it, often using either of these catch phrases as a short hand explanation for our adult behavior. For instance, after spending nearly 24 hours in excruciating pain before heading to the emergency room, I could quickly explain why I hadn't considered my condition serious: "I figured it was a long way from my heart."

When I arrived and they asked me to rate my pain on a scale of 1 to 10 (which is the most idiotic thing ever. Hmmmmmmm. I'm doubled over and crying from the pain in my abdomen, and you want me to choose which sad face best resembles what I'm feeling? Really??) I said "Uh, eight?" and the nurse rolled her eyes at me and said, "You're at a 10." Well, if she KNEW, why did she ask me? Huh? I mean, ask a stupid question....


On a side note: My dad had a massive heart attack a few years ago right before Christmas. It was terrifying, but after it was clear that he was going to make it all of us kids admitted to each other that we'd each been tempted to tell him to suck it up 'cause "it's a long way from your heart." I don't know that he'd have found it as funny as we did.

Why do I bring this up? Well, the other night as I was chopping lettuce for a Chinese Chicken Salad to take to a work potluck, I cut the heck out of my thumb. It was a little like this:



It took several bandaids, nearly an entire roll of toilet paper, and a lot of swearing to finally get the bleeding under control (I think it was the swearing that finally did it). Once it stopped bleeding through multiple bandaids in a matter of seconds I decided I'd be fine. I mean, it was a long way from my heart, and so what if my thumb had developed a pulse so pronounced I could both see and feel the blood pumping to the injury site?


(2 days post-chop.)


When I spoke to my sister Christy later that night she asked me if I had considered going to Urgent Care to make sure it didn't need stitches. I told her, "Pffft! It's a long way from my heart. If it's still bleeding profusely tomorrow I'll go."

I know this makes me sound super tough, but down deep I think I might have been afraid they'd decide to amputate at the neck.

Mission accomplished Dad. Mission accomplished.

What I did... Vol. 2: "Close, But No Chandelier"

When I moved into the condo I decided I wanted to go the full girly girl route with my bedroom. I based my entire design plan on the following:



I do not personally own any Tiffany's jewelry and frankly, I'm not willing to spend that kind of money on jewelry for myself. I'd rather have someone else buy me some (and we all know that ain't happening any time soon.). The fact that my own taste in jewelry leans more toward the funky than the classic hasn't stopped me from wanting a little blue box of my very own. Instead of buying a piece of jewelry just for the box, I decided to create, for not much more than the price of this teeeeeeeeny tiny little Tiffany's box,



this one



that I get to sleep in. Pretty huh?

I pretty much started from scratch with this room. I bought a new bed for only $100 from Ikea, and instead of bedside tables I chose to hang floating shelves on either side of the bed for a total of $40. Not too shabby, eh?

Then I bought two new lamps for $80 total and they are gorgeous:



They are made of acrylic and when they're lit they almost shimmer like the chandelier of my dreams.

I also found these super cute curtains for $40:



when I first found them I couldn't decide if they were the most fabulous curtains I'd ever seen or the most horrible ones. I'm glad I was brave and bought them instead of my normal boring route, 'cause I think they give the room a little something special.

A couple of weeks ago on a visit to my parents' house, my mom and I went shopping at our favorite little antique shop ever where I found this beatiful plate and creamer set:



totally unneccessary, but completely adorable. In the same vein are the vintage hand embroidered peacock pillow cases (from a different antique store):



that I had the same internal struggle over as the curtains.

To finish the whole thing off I used a duvet cover I already had, and bought a set of new Tiffany's blue sheets and two fluffy white rugs that I can't keep Austen off of.



In the end, I have a room that I love so much that I clap with glee when I come home. Not too shabby, not too expensive, and way better than that bracelet.

Cheaper than therapy....

Once upon a time when I was a junior at BYU I had a day when it felt like all the forces in the Universe (and my evil American Literature professor) were conspiring against me. I came home in a lather of anger, frustration and bile muttering incoherent threats aimed at peoplewhothinktheyknoweverythingjustbecausethey'republishedpoets, and bemoaning my sad state--brilliant, but misunderstood.

Somehow, the anger I felt at my professor expanded to include all of the boys who refused to love me until I rolled it all into a fiery ball of righteous indignation. "Why do I allow these MEN to influence me?!" I bellowed in misguided feminist furor.

I knew just what to do. I would CUT MY HAIR!! That would show all of them.

Why did I have long hair in the first place? To please boys, that's why, and what good was it doing me? Did those boys ask me out? NO!! (Perhaps this experience sheds some light on one of the reasons they didn't. Hmmmmm. Nah! I'm charming, darn it!)

Luckily, I marched my indignant self to the lovely and talented Betsy (who cuts my sister's hair to this day) who gave me this haircut:




It was 1995. Don't be hatin'.

Anywho, that haircut changed my whole perspective. I felt sassy and in control, and those boys who told me to never cut my hair yet never asked me out? Well... they still didn't ask me out, but they thought my hair was cute.

Flash forward to now. I've had really long hair for a really long time and it was just boring me to death. I feared cutting it, not because of the rejection of men (I have come to terms with the fact that I am, in fact, a man repeller) but because I didn't want to have old white lady/mom hair.

The start of this school year has been incredibly stressful for a host of reasons I'm not going to get into here for fear of releasing the "Indignation Beast" that still resides inside me, and things finally built to a boiling point. What did I do? I made an appointment with the lovely and talented Melinda who is cheaper than a shrink AND is really good with a straightening iron.

She listened to my incoherent ramblings (IhatethewayIlookeverysingledayandIdon'tknowwhattodo'causeIdon'twantmomhairorlooklikeRonaldMcDonaldsowhatshouldIdo?) calmed my fears, and gave me the cutest, sassiest, non mom hair cut ever. I LOVE LOVE LOVE it.

So here it is:

Straight:




Curly:


A good haircut can save your life.... or your sanity.

I have no words....

Tear. Sob. Gulp.

What I did over my summer vacation: Home Edition.

For those who don't know, I moved from my second floor, one bedroom apartment into the first floor two bedroom condo my parents own here in Vegas. On a list of my 100 least favorite things to do in the world, moving would come in hmmmmmmm somewhere around #3 after teaching Sophomores to write research papers and gall bladder attacks (Have I mentioned that Summer '09 was the summer of the gall bladder attack? No? Oh well, that's another post for another day).

Anyway, moving in required rearranging furniture, figuring out what went where, painting, and cleaning. Luckily I had two things going for me:

1. My sister Christy took some time off work to help me get started, and

2. I'm a teacher, and therefore have the summer off.

I painted the main area of the condo a pretty medium spring green. It's really serene and lovely, and I can use some serenity in my life.

I've added a few new items to my decor, and I'm pretty pleased with them all. First of all, I moved out of an apartment that had wall to wall carpeting into one with laminate floors. That meant that I needed area rugs for the living room and master bedroom. At first I thought I could wait awhile for those purchases, but after two weeks of watching the corgi hair monsters chase each other around my living room and Austen's pathetic attempts at jumping on the couch I was convinced otherwise. If I waited any longer Austen and I would have both needed therapy.

I planned on buying this rug:



for $220. I like it a lot and it had the right colors, plus I loved the pattern. But, in my shopping I found another rug with similar colors for $65. I like the second rug even more than I liked the first one and it was WAY less than half the price. That made my stingy little heart sing, and Austen's neurosis recede a bit.




Additionally, right before I moved out of my old apartment I was sitting on the floor in front of the table I was using as an entertainment center and because of my gimpy foot, I needed help getting up. I put my hand on the table to use as support and stabilization so that I could stand, and as I stood I heard "CRRRRAAAAACK!" and immediately began to weep. You may ask yourself, "Maury, why you cry? It's just a table!". But, you see, this table is not "just" a table. It's a table that my grandfather created with his own two hands out of cedar that he himself harvested (probably illegally) from the foothills of the Bighorn mountains, planed in his shop, and then carefully pieced together. Additionally, this table was in my home as I grew up making it important not just to me, but to my entire family. I was also crying because here was obvious proof that I am a big fat fatty. My body weight alone killed a family heirloom.

Luckily, my father is an incredible at wood working, so my table is sitting in his shop awaiting the end of cabin season when it will emerge phoenix-like and take its rightful place in my livingroom.

Long story short, I needed a new console table. I bought this one:



That cost me more than I've spent on any one piece of furniture in my life. I resisted spending the money, but my mom told me that I needed to grow up and buy big girl furniture. Thank you Mom. It was an interesting experience to buy furniture that didn't come in a box and need to be put together with wooden pegs and an allen wrench.

Of course, now that table makes my dining room set:




look kinda silly. I think I'm out of my "Early Chewed By Austen" phase(Luckily for him, so is Austen).

All in all, I'm really happy with the result. I have a few things left to do, but for the most part it's done.





Pretty, huh?

Next time: The Bedroom.....

I'm baaaaaaaack!

I can hardly believe it, but I'm sitting here in my own little apartment typing this post on my computer. I have so much to say about the whole ordeal, but that's a different post. Mostly I'm just giddy to be back blogging. I've really missed it.


There are definitely more posts to come, but for now I'd like to share 4 things, maybe 5...

1. This weekend was General Conference for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I've been treated to a two day spiritual feast. I was moved to tears often and the messages and lessons I've been taught this weekend have strengthened my resolve to be a better person. I realize that I've allowed myself to become very spiritually lazy over the past year or so, and it's time to make some changes. I recieved answers to prayers I'd yet to utter, and I know that I want to be a better person than I've been. The highlight of the two days was, for me, Elder Holland's
talk. His testimony of the prophet Joseph Smith and The Book of Mormon has inspired me to begin reading and studying The Book of Mormon from the beginning starting tonight. I'm going to attempt to finish by Christmas. We'll see how it goes.


2.I've agreed to teach an extra class this year. This is one of the only extra duty assignments in public education that is actually worth the money they pay you, but it is tiring. I get my first extra payment this next Friday, and I'm looking forward to it. I've decided that to celebrate I'm buying myself a TiVo. I know. I dream big.

3. My sister Christy and I have begun planning our super fabulous vacation for summer of 2010. We have some ideas, but welcome any input. I know that a certain Nashville bus tour is under consideration, at least for me.

4. Jim and Pam are getting married this week. So, don't bother trying to call Thursday, October 8th between 9 and 10 pm pacific time. My phone will be off. I will be living vicariously through my two dimensional friends and squelching the desire to scream "Don't marry her Jim! You love meeeeeeeeeee!" at the top of my lungs. (I love you John Krasinski, and I forgive you for robbing me of those two hours.)

5. I have a new t.v. obsession: It's an appropriate title because it fills my heart with glee each an every week.

That is partly because of the super FAAAAABULOUS musical numbers like this one:



and partly because of this man:



Matthew Morrison, who is both adorable and incredibly talented. What makes him so special? Maybe it's his curly hair, or his cute smile, or the way he dances when he's singing "Gold digger", or the sweet earnestness of his character, or, or, I just don't know. I just know that I love him. I'm sorry Toby. I do.

So there you go. I think this post is my blog in a nutshell: from the sublime to the ridiculous. What can I say. I'm complex. I'm deep. I like cute boys.