Baptism ...

Being baptized is a common occurrence in many religions.

Some religions baptize babes so they can be saved.

My religion baptizes kiddos at the age of eight.

I was baptized at the age of eight.

And it was none of that sprinkling of water business.

It was complete immersion.

Although I have already been baptized, a client at work asked me if I wanted him to baptize me.

The thing is, I had no idea that that was what he was asking me. He pointed to a photo of the LDS Logan Temple in the newspaper. And spoke mostly inaudibly.

I figured it out eventually, to which our secretary who had witnessed the entire ordeal said, "You're lucky. The last person he asked to baptize couldn't figure it out and so he stood up and gave her an actual demonstration."

Dirty darn, too bad I missed out on that one.

I am just happy that the client sees the necessity of salvation and will do whatever needed to ensure everyone receives it. ;)

Oh, and p.s. did you hear about some big wedding yesterday? I wonder what that was all about.

Remember last year how I blogged every day for a month in June? I think I am going to do that again this year ... and I think in May, I am going to blog about whatever YOU request. Soooo, give me your request and I will do my duty to blog about it - regardless of what it is. Could be fun, no?


"Ouuuuuuch," says ET.

And so do I.

Wanna know why?

Can you see it?

How about a better view?

This little bugger not only hurts, it itches. And cracks when I move my arm.


Life goes on, no?

My legs looked like this once. But with multiple long scratches down them. It's because I accidentally shaved them with a loser-razor. I thought I was going to bleed to death. No lie.

And when people asked what had happened, I told them I fell off a fence ... which, isn't too far of a stretch.  Hear me out.

At our Cliffside home we had a fence. And a trampoline. And sometimes I would climb the fence, stand on it and then jump on the trampoline. Which was only 34% as fun as going into my parents bedroom, climbing out their window onto the roof of the wrap-around porch, and jumping off the roof onto the trampoline {mom didn't like that much, surprise, surprise}.

But back to the fence ...

One time I climbed up the fence, misplaced my foot and kinda slid down and had long scratches up my leg.

So, my story about the causation {no, not a word, but fun to say nonethless} of the long scratches from the razor, wasn't too far fetched, okay?

P.S. The wounds on my arm did not come from a razor, let's just clear that up right now. They didn't come from a fence either.

They came from some finger nails.

Not mine.

Someone else's.

Who had their angry eyebrows on when they did it.

Which probably went with out saying.

If ET were here he would heal it.

But he's not.

So I just have to wait.

And until that day, answer the one point kjillion questions about it.

Which will involve telling people it did not come from a razor or a fence.

And now I must prepare myself to say goodbye to Michael Gary Scott. Tears might be shed. That's all.


Garbage ...

I thought that garbage was supposed to go in the ... garbage.
But clearly, I was wrong.
P.s. Uhm. I know someone who shushes me and others incessantly while watching TV. I have been shushed more in the last six months than the rest of my life combined. Any advice on how to get it to stop?

POST EDIT: Recycling is still garbage. For the love, find somewhere else for it than the floor! And the shushing occurs during commercials! I am sorry, but I feel if you are watching TV on MY TV, or a movie on MY DVD player, while sitting on MY furniture, when you do not even pay for the cable, you really don't have much room to say when or when I don't talk in a COMMON area of the home. That's all. Clearly I am heated over this. Anyone else wanna mess with me? ;)


He is not here; HE IS RISEN.*

This Easter, remember the sacred name, life, and sacrifice of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
*Matthew 28:6


Jims ...

I am pretty much in love with Toms.

I am not sure why.

Maybe because they make sparkly shoes.

Maybe because they make pink sparkly shoes.

But we are not talking about Toms today.

We are talking about Jims.

And to talk about Jims we have to talk about the new "shoe policy" at work.

Oh, the new shoe policy at work! It looks a little somethin' somethin' like this: NO SANDALS.

If you know anything about me {besides that I run and love pink} you probably know this ... FACT: I want to be married and buried in flip-flops.

There has always been a no flip-flop policy, but this no sandals at all business is new.

And had me in the depths of despair.

Until I came across Jims.

Which are these babies.

They look like non-sparkly, non-pink Toms {which is fine by me because sometimes I don't want my shoes to be the most predominant thing I have on my body} and are the most comfortable things in the world.

Since they looked like Toms, but weren't, I decided to call them Jims {no real correlation to Jim Halpert ... well, maybe there is}.

I thought I was being clever ... and perhaps even witty.

Yes, I do think things like that about myself. I also think I am stubborn, feisty, tenacious, and easily entertained.

But that is beside the point.

The point is I thought I was being clever and witty.

Until literally seven days after I decided to call my Toms-knock offs Jims, I went into Shoe Carnival {which is sooo not amusing enough to be referred to as a CARNIVAL} and saw shoes that looked a lot like my Jims, which means they looked a lot like Toms.

But they were called ... Bobs.


Something is telling me that the creator of Bobs beat me to the punch of calling my Jims Jims.

And then that made me feel less creative and less witty ... and like I was beating to the beat of everyone else's drum instead of my own.

Which I don't like.

I remember a time in my history class with Bruce R. Crane {I don't think his middle initial really starts with R., but that is what I referred to him as} where he showed us Dead Poet's Society.

In the movie there is a scene where the teacher {whose name escapes me, but is played by Mr. Robin Williams. R. Williams, if you will} asks the student to march to the sound of a drum.

As all the students march away, a boy named Charlie doesn't march at all. He just stands there with a smirk on his face. Which, of course he did. Charlie was a little ... rebellious.

After the movie Bruce R. Crane asked us who was most like us in the film. When he asked me I said, "Charlie."

Bruce R. Crane was surprised to say the least. I think he had taken me for a goody-two-shoes. Which I am, but I am a feisty, stubborn and tenacious goody-two-shoes.

"How could you be Charlie?" he baffled.

"Because I don't like to do what everyone else is doing just for the sake of everyone else doing it."

{Perfect examples: I don't read or watch Harry Potter or Twilight. In Twilight all I know there is a vampire, werewolf and a girl from Forks, Washington. And she "detested Forks."}

Now, look. There you got me going off on a tangent.

Back to Toms, Jims, and Bobs.

By naming my knock-off Toms Jims and then realizing there were Bobs I felt in that single moment that I might as well had jumped on the Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings/Twilight bandwagon! I felt like I had began marching with all the other students on Dead Poet's Society! Which is a travesty, people!

... And I felt sad.

And I didn't feel clever or witty at all.

I felt typical.

And I frowned.

But then I looked at my Jims and realized how comfortable they were. And then I turned that frown upside down.

Because how can you frown when you have comfortable shoes?
Well, maybe if your shoes were comfortable but your arm had just fallen off or some other unforeseeable travesty as such you could frown in comfortable shoes.

P.s. Did you know that my Jims {which can be bought at Payless} and the real legit Toms provide shoes to underprivileged children with each purchase YOU make. Which is super cool. So maybe we all should go buy some Jims and Toms and forget about Bobs all together. Which, personally, I am more than willing to do so because then I can go back to being clever ... and witty.

And all I ask after giving you such an educational post {which, I realize you may be doubting, but it was ... go with me on this one} today is let me know if you get the pink sparkly ones. ;)


Because I am not Ruth ...

I sent Mikelle the following email:


I am not Ruth. :)

I would relay the message, but I don't even know who Ruth or Carrie are.

In fact, I am not 100% positive I know who you are.

But have fun on your family vacay. :)

I hope that clears the air for everyone involved. I know I will now stop losing sleep over it now.

P.s. I sent soemone a text at 3:02pm saying, "Focus.on.me."

It is 7:58pm.

And they still haven't responded.

ADHD much?


Uh ...

Apparently Mikelle wants to inform Ruth that she is going on vacation with her family and consequently needs to cancel lessons with Carrie this week, but don't worry, she will be sure to give her credit for next month.

And apparently, Mikelle thought the best way to inform Ruth of this is to email me.

My only questions are these: Who is Ruth? Who is Carrie? Who is Mikelle? What lessons are being cancelled? And why did they think I would be the best person to relay the message?


Gold Stars ... she got a lot them!

In fact, she has the most ...
Look how ecstatic she was when she found out she won! She lives in Wyoming. Can you tell? Because everyone who is wearing a cowboy hat, even if just momentarily is from Wyoming, right?

I met Meg nine or so years ago when we were in the same ward. Meg was assigned as my visiting teacher. While I have been assigned visiting teachers for the last 10.5 years of my life - Meg and her companion still to this day are only one of two visiting teachers that have actually ever come. To this day, it still means so much to me to have visiting teachers that school year.

I can remember one day in particular where my heart was heavy. I returned to my apartment late at night, just defeated in almost every way possible. It was a night where I wondered about my significance in this great big world. As I opened the door and walked in I saw on our counter top a plate of cookies with my name on them, with no note saying who they were from.

I almost cried in gratitude that someone would do something so kind for me.

I still do not remember how I finally figured out it was Meg that left me a little bit of sunshine on that dark day. But it really wasn't too difficult. That's what Meg does. She brings light into darkness with her tender, gigantuous heart.

Sooo, it is with great pleasure that I announce the third winner of the annual Gold Star competition is my dear friend, Meg! Congratulations and I sure do love ya!

And remember, to earn gold stars you:

1. Leave comments {each comment is worth 25 stars}

2. Be a follower of this blog {worth 1,000 stars annually}

3. Answering poll questions on the right side bar {I sometimes slack in this department}

4. I will sometimes randomly award stars in the middle of my posts for reading. So it pays to read my blog ... only in gold stars - but still. :)

Again congrats, Meg! And good luck to the rest of you this upcoming year!


Yesterday ..

I saw a deer.

And I almost cried.

I read a tender tribute to a woman I know who passed away a year ago.

And I almost cried.

I remembered an experience that happened yesterday's yesterday where a client was concerned about losing a family member and in her deep heartache asked me, "Is it okay to cry?"

With tears of my own welling up I told her, "Yes, D. It's okay to cry."

As I thought about it again yesterday ...

I almost cried.

I went to my acupressurist {not acupuncturist}. While talking about my job, she told me of a young mother who comes in to see her who has an eight-month old with Down Syndrome. She said that there was a special connection with the mother and the babe. She asked her why that was so. The mother said, "My brother also has Down Syndrome. And he is my best friend."

I thought of how tender her heart must be to blessed with such experiences in this life.

And I almost cried.

I think I realized that I don't even realize how blessed I am to have the experiences I have with my clients {who are truly more like as Anne of Green Gables would say, "kindred spirits" - friends that I feel like I have known a lot longer than my 29 years on this earth}. And the distinct thought came to my mind, "Mindy, one day you will realize how truly blessed you have been to associate with these people."

And I almost cried.

I saw an adorable old man eating dinner alone, looking out the window - appearing to be longing for something which he did not have.

And I almost cried.

I watched the Biggest Loser and saw how Moses and Rulon did not meet the weight requirement for the bungee-jump {like the one I did in Vegas}.

And I almost cried.

I listened to Moses talk about how tender of an experience it was for him to be in New Zealand, where his father was from.

And I almost cried.

At the end of the show I watched Moses retun to New Zealand with his father to bungee-jump {because he had lost enough weight to do so}.

And I almost cried.

I then watched Midway to Heaven with my roommates {simply because it had crasy Michelle Money from the Bachelor in it}.

And I laughed.

A lot.

Moral of the story is this: Midway to Heaven is a horribly funny film to watch. And I don't know if I recommend it because you have to be in a very "special" {read as: quirky} mood to get anything out of it besides a feeling of you have just wasted one hour and 20 minutes of your life that you can never get back ... kinda like most movies on Lifetime, no? :)

Clarification: that is NOT me in the dumpster in the photo in the previous post. I forgot to photo credit it. I Googled, "person in a dumpster" and that came up.

And, if you are lucky, the Gold Star Winner of 2010-2011 will be announced TOMORROW.

Dun, dun, dun! Now I need to go to bed. I have slept about three or four hours for the last three nights and I think I am going to pass out. In a death-like state. And, with that, I am out.



Unrealistic Optimism ...

I once heard a quote that there was no such thing as false hope.

And I liked that.

Because if I want to hope that I will one day marry John Krasinski, so be it. I just might. And then you will be jealous.

But that is beside the point.

The point is unrealistic optimism.

What is unrealistic optimism?

Unrealistic optimism is when friend thinks he can do this to me.

Okay, so that photo might not give the most clear idea. 

Said friend thinks he could throw me into a dumpster, if he wanted to

Clearly he has not been informed that my muscles have muscles. Oh, wait. I did inform him. And he still thinks he can get me into a dumpster against my will {without knocking me out anyway}. 

Is he crasy? He must be crasy. He must not believe in my brute strength or tenacity. 

He asked another friend if he thought he could get me into a dumpster. "Can I knock her out?" he first asked. 

When informed he couldn't he said, "Well, then ... I would have to wait until she fell asleep." 

Second friend clearly must not know about my sleeping habits. Oh, wait. I did inform him. And unlike first friend, he no longer thought he could get me into a dumpster against my will {not without knocking me out anyway}. 

Third friend was posed the same question. 

He is a brilliant man

He chuckled and said, "I don't think ANYONE is getting Mindy in a dumpster against her will." 

As you can see, my friend and I, we discuss very important things. 

About throwing each other in dumpsters. 

And knocking each other out. 

And my muscles. 

And it is fantastic. 

That's all, because now I have to go watch The Biggest Loser.



Said just like Dwight K. Shrute says, "Bears.Beets.Battlestar Galatica."

Don't get me wrong, I am not a meat loooover. But I eat it.

I didn't always eat it. I was kinda grossed out by hamburger in ninth through twelfth grades because my biology teacher showed me meat with worms in it one day.

I am pretty sure my mom appreciated that as I ranted and raved about how disgusting meat was, hamburger in particular {and I seemed to be a little more okay with small chunks of it opposed to slabs of it in a hamburger per se}. But somehow, I got over it {I think because my mom convinced me that to run well, I needed protein}.

Anyway, I still feel a little bit badly for the little animals who die so I can run fast. ;) But I try to forget about it.

Unless I cannot forget about it because the TV show I am watching is saying how horrible meat eaters are. And how we should all be Vegan.

But then I feel better when a random man rebukes this we.must.all.be.vegans. theory by saying, "There are many animals in this life that have very, very happy lives, but just have had one bad day."

And then I laugh and realize I can and will eat meat.

And then I also am reminded of the commercials I see on the television set about poor little animals, with Sarah Mclaclan singing in the background. And I want to donate my monies to them.

But then I pontificate, "How on this green earth could I ever justify saving an adorable little animal's life when there is a HUMAN life over in Africa I could be saving instead?"


Also said like Dwight K. Shrute says, "Bears.eat.beets. Bears.beets.Battle Star Galatica."

And then that reminds me of how in my high school psychology class with Como, he told a horrific story about little monkeys being used to test out infant and toddler car seats. Como would say how the poor little monkeys sometimes would be thrashed into walls in defected car seats.

In my grown-up years, I wonder if this story is even true.

Buuut in my high school years, particularly and only on the day he told me this story, I about shed a tear in the horrific treatment of animals. But then Como said, "Some of you are feeling pretty badly for the monkeys right now, and that is understandable. But I say if that is going to save my child's life - kill all the monkeys you want."

I learned then that Como felt the same why I did also. Humans.trump.animals.

And I hope it goes without saying that humans clearly trump aliens too ... Especially ones that want to kill humans. Oh, and plants too. Humans definitely trump plants.

And then I think, "Why do we spell monkeys M-O-N-K-E-Y-S instead of M-O-N-K-I-E-S"?

But back to those commercials about little animals suffering ... if I could get a kitten that would stay a kitten, I would. But alas, they grow up and ... are no longer kittens. And I don't want a cat. I want a kitten.

And then I think, "Wow. This blog post sure has gone on a tangent! I should probably award my readers 50 gold stars for making it through!" And I will.

And then that reminded me of something, but I stopped typing to go talk to someone and now I don't recall what it reminded me of at all.

Dirty darn.

Dirty darn indeed.

And now I will go to a service project, collecting food for the local food pantry. I think I am going to donate a can of pears as well.

Peace out, peeps.


The Angry Mr. Achilles

Welllll, the time has come.

For the Angry Mr. Achilles to go to anger management.

After giving me grief off and on since the beginning of 2003, he is finally remembering how to play nice.

The Angry Mr. Achilles on his way to anger mangagement.

And I couldn't be happier! I have gone on two runs since Wednesday with absolutely no pain in my tendon {not during the run, not after the run!}. I had forgotten what it feels like to run without pain - and it is wonderful!

The Angry Mr. Achilles learned how to control his emotions through acupressure, oddly enough {after countless failed attempts from multiple physicians, medical and athletic professionals}. And now the Angry Mr. Achilles is quite pleasant and pleasing to me. So much in so, that if he keeps this up, he probably will get a new name soon!

And not only is the Angry Mr. Achilles playing nice but my mom bought me Fritos and nacho cheese dip! AND: she is making me one of my favorite dinners I have been craving since Thursday {and she didn't even know I had been craving it!}.

Today is a good day. Even if one of the speakers in Church was talking about hickies {no lie}.

What are the three best things that have happened to YOU today? :)


Reconciliation ...

is simply not in the cards for deer and I.

Bestie Roommate Jillian Jiggs took on one of the most daunting tasks in the world universe ... As she thought she would try and mediate the brutal relationship between deer and myself ... by giving me adorable deer dinnerware.

Super cute, no?

I figured if anything was going to mend the relationship, this just might be the key, after all, I am a sucker for things adorable.

And to show my willingness to work out our problems, for the cup's inaugural use, I actually filled it with my fave: chocolate milk. Mmm! :)

I mixed up the perfect combination of 1% milk and NesQuik {after drinking three to five glasses a day, I am a pro!}. I placed the adorable cup on the table and then walked back into the kitchen for a moment.

Imagine my surprise when I turned back to see this:
Uh ...?

Seriously? I provide you a home! I give you delicious chocolate milk! And this is how you show your appreciation?

How dare you reject the olive branch I have extended?


I am over it.

I am over you!

I will continue to roll down Wilson's window when I see you on the street and yell at you filthy beasts!

I will continue to practice ending your lives by playing this game!

And in case you didn't know: I.am.the.human. Which not only means I am the one with opposable thumbs, but also as Hollywood has taught us: THE. HUMAN.ALWAYS.WINS! {Welllllll, except with Beast and Gaston ... but Beast was really a human and Gaston was the beast. Irony at it's finest, kids.}

And when people ask why such strong feelings, with a smirk on my face I will simply say, "Irreconcilable difference."

How do you like them apples, filthy beasts?



Spread the word to end the word ...

As most of you know, I work as a behaviorist for people with intellectual disabilities {some of my experiences have been discussed here, here, here, and here}.

I have been working for the company I am currently employed at for over three years and have been working this field for over 10. In fact, I have been involved in this community for as long as I can remember.
Here I am in third-grade volunteering with the Special Education program at my school.

I love these people. With all of my heart. Some of the most tender experiences this life has offered me have included these special people.

And because of that, I want my voice to be heard on something today.

There is an amazing international program that many of you have probably heard of, Special Olympics. It is a program that was developed in 1968 and is now in 170 countries and has over three million members. It is a program that not only allows people with disabilities to participate in athletic events and gain confidence and self-esteem, but also is extremely family-oriented and allows a beautiful environment for building and fostering relationships {for the Olympiads and those who coach, volunteer, and spectate}.

In 2004 Special Olympics adopted a resolution for a world-wide movement: to end the use of the r-word
{the oringinal medical condition known as mental retardation or mentally retarded}. While these words were originally clinicial and medical terms, the pejorative forms, "retard" and "retarded" have been used widely in today's society to degrade and insult people with intellectual disabilities. Additionally, when "retard" and "retarded" are used as synonyms for "dumb" or "stupid" by people without disabilities, it only reinforces painful stereotypes of people with intellectual disabilities being less valued members of humanity.

In addition to eliminating the word from our vocabulary, in October 2010 the President of the United states signed a bill, known as "Rosa’s Law," the law removes the terms "mental retardation" and "mentally retarded" from federal health, education and labor policy and replaces them with people first language "individual with an intellectual disability" and "intellectual disability."

The word is offensive. It’s derogatory. It's demeaning.

Many of the individuals I work with cannot speak for themselves. I have taken it upon myself to adovcate for them. Their voices will be heard. I implore YOU not to only pledge to end the word in your vocabulary, but to also SPREAD THE WORD TO END THE WORD.

The dentist ...

I was informed recently that there is a very high suicide rate in the profession of dentistry.

Not surprising, really.

I mean, I hate loath going to the dentist.

You hate going to the dentist.

Your mom hates going to the dentist.

Who doesn't hate going to the dentist?

While I could go into one kjillion things that I hate about what happens while visiting the dentist, this post isn't going to be about what happened there. It is going to be about what happened afterwards ...

Even though all that went down was a regular cleaning, x-rays, and a flouride treatment, as soon as I got home I got uber dizzy and thought I was going to pass out or die. You can never be to sure which. :)

I laid down on the couch and sought for advice ... via a Facebook status.


Being the impatient soul I am and not getting an answer within 37 seconds, I began thinking of who I could call and speak to about my concern {99.5% convinced that x-rays and flouride could not cause me to pass out, but only having my pseudo MD, opposed to a DDS or DMD}.

And then of course it hit me. Dennis the dentist.

I'm not lying.

I really do have a friend Dennis the dentist {would now be the appropriate time to tell you I have a friend named Art the architect? Okay, that one is a lie}.

In high school Dennis was one of my closest friends. But back then I didn't call him Dennis. I called him Kemo. And so did everyone else.

Except Amber. She just called him Dennis.

Amber is now Dennis' wife. This is important because Amber is one of my most favoritest people on the entire earth {and she has been for the last 14 years or so}. So much in fact that when I call Dennis the dentist, I actually call Amber instead.

Dennis, via Amber, informed me that the fluoride treament nor the x-rays could have caused my near passing out experience. Whatev. I believe Dennis the dentist ... but, I still think this injustice was brought upon me somehow by my visit to the dentist {not Dennis the dentist, my dentist whose name is not Dennis. Dennis would be my dentist if he didn't live in flippin' Texas. But he does. So he isn't}.

Somehow Amber and I went from talking about Mindy passing out to Sheri Dew. Probably spured on by this post.

Said Amber, "Why don't you like being compared to Sheri Dew?"

My response was similar to, "Wellll, this is what I figure. I am not a CEO of a major company. I have never had a number one best selling book. I have never been in the general Relief Society presidency, nor worn a dress-suit. Sooooo, the only way I can fathom I remind people of her is that I am old. And single."

Amber said some really nice things, which shall not be repeated here, for I fear you will think I made them up. ;) But she did say, "Mindy, you don't remind me of Sheri Dew. You remind me of you."

Which was the most favorite thing said to me that day.

Until Dennis said this in the background, "Actually, Sheri Dew reminds me of Mindy."

And then that became my most favorite thing said to me that day.

And that is why this post exists today, so you can know that I remind Amber of me and Sheri Dew reminds Dennis of me. And that sentence makes me feel like I might be self-absorbed. Which reminds me of a comment that was made to me about three weeks ago.

I was informed that I was self-centered because my Facebook profile was all.about.me. I posed the question through a FB status who should my Facebook account be about and Avree informed me it should be about her. Still workin' on that one, Aves.

Well, enough of me talking about me. I think it is time for YOU to talk about me. ;)

Peace out, peeps. :)

*** I am currently on my second Spring Break of the season. Fantastic. :) Oh, rat crap. That was me talking about me again! Selfish! Is anyone else having a problem with blogger keep paragraphs separated? Does that make sense?


Gold Stars! Gold Stars!

They have been updated today.

And time is winding down to become the Gold Star WINNER of the year! April 14th is when the winner will be announced {the three-year anniversary of my inaugural blog post!}.

To help ya get more gold stars in the next 12 days, 500 gold stars will be given for each comment made between now and August 13th at 11:59pm.

And, clarification: in this post I said you would get 1,000 stars for "Following" this blog un-anonymously. To qualify as following you need to actual be listed as one of my followers {see right-hand column}.

If you already are following, your stars have been awarded. For the rest of you, you still have time. Just click on the "follow" button and voila! - it will give you easily guide you through the process and get you your 1,000 gold stars! You have the option to follow anonymously, if you do that option I cannot see that you are following and hence: gold stars will not be awarded.

Any questions? :)



I ♥ Stew ...

I am pretty much in love with Stew Morrill.

And apparently so are a distinguished group of coaches, media members and athletic administrators, as they named him National Coach of the Year.

Who wouldn't love this man? Yeah, this is just when I went hot-tubbin' with him a few years back {David Pak, Nate Harris, and Cass too}. ;) Too bad I didn't take a photo when we went sledding on winter.

It's good to be an Aggie.
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