Little Lady update

Dear Megan,

For my birthday I would like (to the reader: November 23. Consider yourself warned.):

#1

And

#2

#3

(My favorite book from the 5th grade)

#4

Take a look at those ATTACHMENTS!

#5

#6 #7

#8

Only for a week . . . or four

#9

My own backyard

with . . .

one of these . . . AND

one of these!

AND Last, BUT not least . . .

#10

(I hear these are kinda hard to come by . . . good luck!)

Humbly,

Your husband

Equation

ME!

My LAST Undergrad semester begins next week. WHAT? When did this happen? It seems as though just a few semesters ago I embraced that fact that I would be in school forever. Grandpa Greg (that’s what they call me at BYU. I am not THAT old, come on!) hobblin’ around the Y until a hip breaks or something, but no, it’s almost done.

Enter: Excitement, sadness, confusion, anxiety, anticipation, joy, relief, and even a little touch of “in yo face.”

Do you know what scares me even more, is the fact that I am supposed to “know” business and marketing. I am supposed to be “schooled” in these matters and be “good” and “professional” at them. I’m screwed.

However, even though I am screwed, I am excited for a fun and busy last semester. I am excited to figure life out. I am excited be a graduate of such an outstanding school.

Here goes nothin’.

Hear ye, hear ye

Each summer Meg’s extended family (we’re talking 70+ people) go to Sun Valley Idaho each year.

They have been going for, I think, the past 30-40 years.  It is a ski resort during the winter, and a beautiful getaway during the summer.  It really is a great time and filled with more tradition than you can shake a stick at . . . and we love it.

One such tradition is the annual migration of the men to the golf course.  And this is serious business, people.  Grandpa sets these tee times far in advance and your answer when he asks if you are going . . . is yes.  End of discussion.

Now don’t get me wrong, it really is a wonderful time and a BEAUTIFUL course and grandpa is so generous to have me go, but I am not what would refer to as a “good golfer.”

The past two years I have attempted to have the best time that I can and just relax, but I just would begin, after 18 holes, to boil over with a bit of anger.  I mean really, one may ask “how can one skinny ole stick, one small ball, and breath taking beautiful scenery cause so much anguish?”  I am not exactly sure why, but it can, damn it!

THIS year was going to be different.  THIS year I was going to come prepared.  THIS year I was going to have the experience that such an outstanding course demands. I signed up for the golf class at school, I was going to the driving range weekly and I even bought a book entitled “Making it to Par.” . . . well I had to drop the class, I never made it to the driving range, and I only read chapter one the day before we came out.  Even then, all that chapter taught me was to hold my club like I would hold a baby bird . . . I have NEVER HELD a baby bird!  I was in for it.

Well, I showed and was put into a group of three with my father-in-law (who just may be one of the most laid back people ever) and a cousin.  You know what?, I had a great time.  I didn’t do that hot, but I didn’t do that bad either.  I lost three balls, but I found three.  AND I only silently cussed like three times.  I really enjoyed myself and learned some great things.

SO, here it is.  I am once again committing myself to becoming a good golfer; technically,I have it in my blood and now I am going to do something about it. 

Now who wants to give me free lessons? . . .

Did You Know THAT? . . .

I claim orange to be my favorite color, but I really like blue and green equally as well.

I hate public nail clippers! Want me to talk bad about you? . . . Clip your nails in public.

I talk out my thoughts. I usually just open my mouth with all sorts of nonsense, but it all eventually comes together.

I would love to go to culinary school and become the Next Food Network Star (or IRON CHEF)!

I physically cannot look at someone while they are making a fool of themselves. (I am TRYING to fix this.)

Listening to my voicemail causes me anxiety.

Sometimes, I like the smell of sulfur.

I consider wealth the day that I can buy a brand new pair of underwear for each day.

I generally complain about things I really am not annoyed by.

I could eat Italian every day of the week, but tend to cook Mexican more often . . . uh?

I am not ashamed to say that I would love to live in Davis County for the rest of my life. I like it there!

I do not like fish or mushrooms.

I like riding my bike.

I am so exhilarated, yet scared by the idea of becoming an entrepreneur.

Though I am not really great, I am better at sports than I allow myself to portray. (Long, boring story)

I would find joy in becoming a professional errand runner.

I have about four different handwritings.

I love being outside.

(I cannot believe that I am about to admit this) I like the smell of my daughter’s wet diapers.

I love all seasons, but always begin to complain about winter during the month of March.

I aspire to be a better flosser.

I married well.

I really appreciate simplistic and beautiful things.

I talk to myself on a regular basis.

I text from the toilet.

I get excited by complicated things.

I complain about being an accountant too much.

I love to sound of paper being torn.

I think daydreaming is therapeutic.

One of my biggest fears is losing my memory just enough to know that I have lost memories. I have wonderful, and oddly detailed, memories.

I like the fact that my wife and I both have dark brown hair.

I find architecture, in all forms, outstanding.

I have never been snowboarding, skydiving, or rock climbing and would like to do them all.

I have a really wonderful family and group of friends.

I love when things are clean and tidy.

Though I always say I will fight it (and OCCASSIONALLY I do) I am driven to do little else but sleep when I am tired.

I prefer early mornings over late nights.

I will stress about forgetting things that should have been on this list.

. . . NOW YOU KNOW!

Campfire Consequences

Last week we went camping with my family to Trial Lake in the Uintahs. We have done this almost every year since I can remember and I love it. I love the relaxing, quiet atmosphere. I love the beautiful scenery and the fact that when you don’t change your underwear for three days . . . you are not the only one. I love sitting around the campfire, talking, roasting whatever is within reach to roast, and (on your last day) daydreaming of the shower you get to take within seconds of being home.

However, with such joys come consequences . . . CAMPFIRE CONSEQUENCES!

Consequence #1 – My hair STILL smells of campfire. After 7+ washes (one of which I used straight up Irish Spring bar soap which made my hair stand almost straight up) not much progress has been made. This MAY be the excuse I need to accomplish my life goal of shaving my head!

Consequence #2 – Laundry, lots of laundry. Now I may not have changed my clothes much, but as always I over packed. AND all that has to be done as well. Not only our stuff, but what seems to be the endless amounts of stuff you have to take when you have a baby.

Consequence #3 – We don’t have our own washer/dryer.

To mediate these consequences we decided to head to the local laundromat to get all 11 loads of laundry done at once. The washing went swell. All 11 loads in 25 minutes! The drying however, did not go as well. We now know that when the Mega Dryer says “7.5 Loads” it does NOT mean that the 11 loads you have is also acceptable.

After exhausting all our quarters and being hungry/ornery/tired we threw in the towel (literally) and headed home with a full car of wet laundry.

NOW, after getting more quarters, hours of laundry drying, hanging blankets out to dry on the fence, and even conning a good friend into letting us use her dryer so we could sleep on dry sheets, my dear wife is STILL hanging and folding clothes after two days.

Morale of this story: Don’t defy the Mega Dryer. The consequences are far too great.

Just hush up and let me vent, will ya?

Let’s face it; I am pretty much an open book. If you show even the slightest bit of interest in my thoughts/opinions/perceptions/experiences . . . I will tell you. AND NOW, with this blog, I can tell you without even receiving the queue. It’s wonderful. (AND I don’t have to suffer the reciprocated glazed look that says, “Greg, . . .UNCLE!” HEY, but I can take an honest suggestion and shut my mouth.)
So what does my current chapter have to say? . . . Not much really; a little blank and confusing. In fact, the chapter heading probably reads something like “Chillaxin’ at its Slowest” or even “Lost in the Wilderness”. Now this has nothing to do with the fun I have with the wife and babe, just my personal (mostly future professional) journey. I thought by the time I got a semester away from graduation my path would be clearer. It seems that everyone around me has more of a clue than I do. They have internships and future jobs. They have direction and resolve. Me? Not so much.
Now, I consider myself a semi-sharp kinda guy. I consider myself someone with some degree of passion and ability. I find myself to being capable of success. I can do this! No more whining. No more self doubt and pity. No more shallow expectations. Today I AM MAKING MY RESOLVE to quit being a dud, grab opportunity by the horns, and go for it. . . whatever it is. I am going to stop being ashamed when I don’t have a clear answer to “So, what do you want to do when you graduate?” I am going to find that path that brings me joy and latch on. (Now, I appreciate accounting, but JOY?, it is not) I am going to find that journey that brings me personal fulfillment and accomplishment. I am going to find that place in the world that I can make the most positive difference, and do it.
WISH ME LUCK! Send those good vibes my way and don’t make fun of me if I fall.

(Insert Eye of the Tiger music HERE)

Oh yeah, and here’s to better blogging. I read some posts from last year and they were so much better than this ninny crap I have been putting out lately.

Unwanted Confessions of a Postal Worker

(Today at the Post Office)

Dotty: May I help you (In a sad, deep, sullen voice)

Me: Media Mail to Pleasant Grove please.

~Dotty sulkily typing~

Me: So, how are you doing?

Dotty: You are the first to ask all day.  No good, not good at all.

Me:  I am sorry to hear that.  (limiting my response as to keep the conversation under control and Dotty tamed)

Dotty:  I have been sick ALL day and no one seems to care, but I just sit here and work through it.

~Dotty pauses, looks up, and coughs~

Me: . . .

. . .

uh, are you contagious?

Dotty:  No, its just all the medications they have me on now.

Me: . . . Oh.

Dotty:  And well, you know, the disease. . .

. . .

~uncomfortable silence and eye contact~

. . .

Me: Well, yeah sorry about that . . . Media Mail please.

~END CONVERSATION~

 

Despite popular opinion, I am not a priest and I illicit NO confession.