Returning to Logan

I bet you thought this post had finished already, didn't you? I mean, I haven't posted anything for almost two weeks and summer is over.

Well it's not.

I've moved back "home," but I won't end this project without a decent ending to tie everything together anyway, and yes, the project ends here.

It's a little harder than I thought it would be.

I left Logan thinking I was going to be miserable and complain all summer (was half right, but I almost always complained for fun.) I moved into Midvale and made goals-- some of which I kept and most of which I let myself get distracted from. I was stalked by foreign powers, learned my wallet has a personality, saw a couple movies, and read a couple books.

I made a couple bucks, made a couple friends, made some people laugh, and made out with a couple girls (I'm probably going to regret writing that.)

I bought some things I didn't anticipate buying and went places I didn't expect to go. I learned about myself, how to treat people, and new songs on my new guitar.

My definition of what a friend is and does changed, as did my perspectives on food and clothing. I realized again how some jobs cannot be done perfectly by the people tasked with completing them.

From those paragraphs alone, I can't say this summer has been a waste at all. And from that, I guess I relearned that my goals are constantly changing, or at least the short-term ones are. My overall goal was for this summer not to suck.

Mission accomplished.

I didn't hate Midvale as much as I thought I would, but I won't admit how much I enjoyed it. 

Now I'm all moved into my apartment and back to the writing table for another year of work. I'm not sure how much I'll like my roommates, my classes, or my ward.


Huh.


Those are almost the exact same reservations I had three months ago when I moved to Midvale in the first place. I guess it's just normal to wonder about the near future and how I'll react to different situations.

I learned from this summer blog is that I'll probably react just like I always have. I'll probably always try to make people smile through my childish ways to have fun and complain about it. I'll probably always make others a little upset when I insist on behaving that way. I'll probably always seek the attention of a girl, and I'll probably always find new ways to mess things up with her. I'll probably always enjoy what I've enjoyed for as long as I can remember, and I'll probably always dislike the things I've disliked for as long as I can remember.

Things will change, yes, but not as much as it looks like they will.

One thing is certain; I will always have roots where the sagebrush died, and I will always love the spot where the sagebrush grows. 

Park City

A short time ago, I had no interest in fashion (see Jorts entry, July 18). This is still mostly true, so don't get your hopes up too high as you read the rest of this post.

My uncle came to hang out in Salt Lake the past couple days. He needed to buy some new clothes at our classier city stores, so naturally I came along. 

On day one, we went to City Creek (it was my first time) and the Gateway. I didn't buy anything. Mostly I just followed my uncle around to see what he was looking at. 

Hey, I'm only a novice fashionista. 

On day two, we went to the Tanger Outlets in Park City. I bought two shirts from Aeropostale for 17 bucks. 

Yes grandma, I finally used the birthday money to expand my wardrobe with "not a Utah State or soccer shirt." 

I was *that* close to buying a hoodie for another 20, but I talked myself out of it. I wish I hadn't. Hopefully Park City girl will come through big and bring me a present in Logan next week. 

Day three. We hit up South Towne and Fashion Place malls. I bought a shirt from Hollister for 12 bucks. 

By this time, I was looking at buying entire stores. I mean, I don't need shoes, but those Pumas were looking nice. Those basketball shorts were good quality, and for only 15 bucks I almost bought three or four. I don't really need more non-jorts, but a nice brand for 30 bucks? Deal.

My head was a pretty constant battlefield. The usually overpowerfully-dominant cheapskate side was always "hey now, you don't even have money to pay for school, you can't buy trendy clothes" and fighting with the deals from the advertisement posters that screamed "wear these clothes and that sorority girl will want to get you out of them." 

Both sides had their victories.

Singles ward: the last

For my final post about the craziness I call the singles ward, I was about to (and planning on doing so for some time) talk bad about the ol YSA singles ward, but I think I've done that enough (see posts under "The Ol' YSA Singles Ward").

There are some pretty great people there.

So instead of being THAT douchebag who drives off with the one-finger salute high in the air through the driver's-side window, I'll give a little thank you shout out.

Hopefully this doesn't sound too much like a suicide note or high school yearbook signing session.

• As weird as he often is, Awkward Guy has a good heart. He's a loyal friend. Even though he forgets his wallet whenever we go hang out (he probably just realizes how cool Heather is), he knows all the girls and introduces me. It's hard to be a bad friend when a trade like goes down.

• Baseball Guy is the only one at church today who told me he didn't want me to go back to Logan. The best part was he meant it, which is really nice to know that I actually did make a couple new friends. Sorry bro, there's no way I'm transferring from where the sagebrush grows to stay in Midvale, unless I was offered my dream job with the Salt Lake Tribune. 

• While this list is in no particular order, Climbing Girl would be very near the top of people I'd miss if it were. Even though she didn't miss a chance early on to expose me as the fool I am, we became good friends and confidants to each other. And of course, climbing in Logan with people who aren't her will be a different experience. 

• Climbing Guy provided many good times, both on the rock walls and off. He was pretty much the only one in Midvale worthy of real bro talk. Drink runs won't be the same in Logan without your unfiltered thoughts about women and guns. I'll miss you man, no homo. 

• Ginger was one of the first friends I had in Midvale. Even though she kinda drifted away about a month after I got here, the first month would have sucked without us playing "make-fun-of-the-girl-who-raises-her-hand-all-the-time-in-sunday-school" with her cool basketball-playing ginger friend. 

• It's a bummer I didn't hang out with BYU Idaho Girl nearly as much as I would have liked, but she is still cool and definitely one of the people I'll call up when I periodically come back to Salt Lake. 

• Big Talker is flighty, she was a blast to climb with. Overall a chill woman, and definitely a 2 on a scale of 1 to 2 (a compliment, I assure you).

There are others I have undoubtedly left off of this list for one bonehead reason or another, and to those great people I apologize, so try not to be offended if you know how awesome you are.

Train hopping

Last weekend, I embarked on a journey that took me 500 miles and three states over five days. Normally this wouldn't be much of an accomplishment, but I did it all without my own car.

I am a successful hobo.

Friday: Since I lost Little Red in the early stages of my Norse Campaigns, I've been driving my mother's Protege, but it would have caused too many problems to take it to Logan in the middle of the week.

Not a big deal, right? Hopefully not. I sent out a Facebook request for a ride from Salt Lake to Logan on Friday night, and within a couple hours I had three generous friends willing to taxi me north.

I ended up driving with my Number Two at the newspaper, with his wife and newborn in the back seat (Now that's a good taxi service). It was a good time talking about the Olympics and other sports for a solid hour and a half.

He dumped me off at an AC-less friend's apartment for about an hour, and then I spent the night at another statesman friend's house.

Saturday: I woke up on the couch to the glorious fanfare coming from London, via the mah-HOO-sive flatscreen tv on the wall. It was beautiful. I nearly cried.

We watched volleyball and swimming until it was time for Aggie football practice, which the both of us went to watch. I'm looking forward to this season. The whole attitude of the team has changed, and the players look and feel like winners. It's amazing what a successful season will do.

After a while, I was hungry and ordered some Jimmy Johns to be delivered to the practice field, mostly just hoping the delivery driver was the cute girl I dated a couple times last year (It wasn't). Then I hung out with a mission friend and an English girl who is in Utah for the summer. This was also a good time, even though they dragged me to the mall for a game of "how does this outfit look?"

Back to TV girl's house for some gymnastics and more swimming, joined by another old statesman friend (the total is up to four statesman friends, by the way), before I was picked up by my Bacon roommate from last year, and taken to his house where I would fall asleep after several hours of xbox.

Sunday: Okay, for all those who haven't already seen my Twitter rampage from this morning, go look at it here and scroll down to August 5. It's the first 11 tweets of that day. Go now. Seriously. Like, now. I won't tell the story here because it's already been done, but just know I'm glad to have my own bedroom and bathroom this coming schoolyear.

Anyway, I went to church with Bacon and his cute girlfriend, where I learned that my favorite Scottish athlete, Andy Murray, won a gold medal in his home country (almost).

After more video games, and a severe beatdown on those guys in NCAA Football 10 (anyone who attends Utah State and still chooses to play as Boise State deserves a 63-point loss from a crappy Colorado Buffs team), I went to my former wingman's apartment and spent the rest of the day with he and his wife. They were nice and even made bacon cheeseburgers. Like, mixing the bacon and cheese into the hamburger meat. It was glorious.

Monday: Wake, shower, and up to campus. I signed a scholarship thankyou letter and waited for my river rafting trip to begin.

Wait, you mean I'm the only person from the Statesman who is going? Wait, you mean I'm only going to know four people on the trip? And of those four, I've had more than one conversation with only the guy I knew from highschool who was two years younger than I? Great...

Well, guess I better make friends quickly.

Actually, this year was much better than last in that respect. I mean, most of the female cheerleaders kept to themselves, but for the most part, everyone who went was much more social and branched out from their normal cliques. That was good for me, since I've been a social butterfly since junior high...

It was also good to meet a couple people in person who I only knew from the Twitter world (#geek).

Tuesday: Rafting. It was pretty awesome. I don't think I need to say any more.

I also managed to hitch a ride back to Salt Lake that night so I could show up on time (mostly) to work the next day, which is definitely not where I'm publishing this post from, because that's against the rules.

Again, 500 miles in five days. I could have a future in the hobo industry.

Logan

This is about the time during the summer that I am going back and forth between Logan and Salt Lake fairly often, between various retreats, media events and wedding receptions.

It feels like I'm living out of a suitcase, both on the Logan couches and at my parents house.

As I passed the houses south of Logan for the first time about a week ago, a family was putting up a sign to "Welcome home, Elder Anderson." When I went passed again a couple days later, they had added paint to show passersby that their missionary had eight days left. Yesterday, he only had six.

Like I'm sure Elder Anderson is getting antsy to go home to Cache Valley, I have been getting more and more excited for August 20th (which now that I just counted is only 16 days away.)

I'm excited for the schedule I've picked up, even it'll be the toughest workload I've signed up for at Utah State. Officially I'm taking 17 credits, but if I was getting academic credit for various other school-related activities, it would be about 27.

It'll be an adventure.

Vegas, baby

I went down to cover (what was left of) the WAC Football media day in Las Vegas, Nev.

It was a sorry sight.

The year before, it was an exciting time and everyone there was eager to get back to football season. Players and coaches were robust in the diplomatic smack talk, almost promising to knock off Hawaii, Nevada and Fresno State before they left the league.

Reporters were crawling over each other to ask questions, and I sat alongside those writers whose work I had amired for some time (yes, I had stars in my eyes).

This year, there were only a handful of reporters, and the overwhelming majority were there for Utah State.

Idaho and New Mexico State coaches depressingly answered questions about the future of their program with the inevitibility of at least a year playing football independent from a conference. Texas-San Antonio and Texas State coaches were a little more exuberant, but nobody in the room besides themselves expects either of those teams to win any conference games. Utah State and Louisiana Tech talked more about the non-conference schedule than anything else.

In a phrase, the WAC is dead. At least in football, maybe all sports. I mean, there are rumors out there, but it's extremely unlikely that six FCS teams all want to make the jump to the WAC by next season.

The conference ended fairly early, leaving Photogirl and I to eight hours in Vegas on the newspaper's bill.

To anyone else, this would be a heavensent, but what are two mormons going to do in the Devil's city?

Strip clubs? Gambling? Nope. No interest here in getting wasted, throwing my money away for booze, drugs, slots, cards, sex, or perving.

So we ate some overpriced food, bowled a couple games, killed three hours by watching Spiderman, and took the long way back to the airport.

Lame? Yes.

To quote the man in the airport, "The best thing they did in this city was build a freeway around it."

I wonder

I always expected to graduate at the end of the 2013-14 school year, but it turns out I won't even need to hurry to graduate this spring.

I mean, I still need to talk with advisors and make sure I don't see any knuckleballs, but I'm going to be a grownup with a fancy piece of paper a couple months after my next birthday.

I need a job.

It's a good thing I have all school year to apply for every major newspaper, university athletics office, and professional sports team in the country.

I wonder where I'll end up. I wonder what it will be like there. I wonder how the people are. I wonder if I'll meet a girl. I wonder if I'll enjoy the professional world as much as I've loved my time as sports editor for The Statesman.

I wonder if I'll even get a sportswriting job or if I'll have to sell out to get the bills paid.

I sure hope not.

Working hard

Working at Sorenson Caption Call to help the hard of hearing make phone calls has been a pretty good experience for me.

I mean, I hate it sometimes, but that's only because I'd rather be playing guitar or video games or rock climbing.

Or doing nothing.

But they pay me pretty well. Or at least, they pay a heck of a lot better than anything I could find if I had stayed in Logan, and especially for only 25 hours a week. Even more especially when they hired me knowing I'd only be there until through three weeks in August.

This week the Operations management announced that part time employees like me will be allowed to work up to 35 hours per week because of unusually high call volumes, but only through the 18th of August.

Coincidence that I'm moving back to Logan on the 18th? Probably not.

I think someone is watching out for me and knows exactly how much money I need to pay for rent and tuition this fall, how much I don't have, and how much I still need.

I'm really very lucky.

Playing hard

I'm a little sore. I know, embarrassing.

Day 1: Work. Up a 5 a.m.

Climbing. A pumpy 5.9, a 10A with a roof, what felt like a loooong 10-something, and finishing off with a 5.6 lead. Usually not a big deal, but I haven't climbed in about a month.

Softball. Wow I sucked. How do you walk a guy in slow pitch softball? How did I walk two? Anyway, I reached on an error, flied out twice, and allowed 5 unearned runs from the circle to almost singlehandedly lose the game.

Day 2: Work. Get up at 5, worked from 6 a.m. to 11 a.m.

Hike. Met up with my cousin and her cute friend and others to hike up the canyon to some lake. There's a lot less air up here than there was in the lower elevation of Minnesota.

Cliffdiving. In a word? Awesome. In another word? Cold.

Down. We ran down the mountain because some other people were a little bit more pressed for time than I was. It felt good. Really good. It took me back to my high school cross country days. Well, the good ones anyway. It was fun to run with girls too.

Back to my Cousin's house. Man I'm starving. I make a ham sandwich, change out of my still-not-dry gym shorts. Look at the clock, shout bye and run out to my dad's truck.

Volleyball. Okay, I've never played organized volleyball before. I've played around at track banquets and on the beach or whatever, but really the extent of my volleyball knowledge is bump, set, spike. The players there were a lot better than I. The volleyball girl I went with played in college, and her friend was good too.

I still don't know if they were just being nice, but they said I picked it up fast and was pretty talented. It was a ton of fun, and all for free! I'm definitely going again next week.

And this time there is no way I'm going to let the team with the one-armed guy beat me again...

#aurora

>>>>Author's note: Obviously I believe every word I am about to write, otherwise I wouldn't write it. However, to stay polite and allow for *civilized* debate (without sarcasm please) I will be writing this in a opinionated style.<<<<

>>>>Another note: As of the time you read this specific note, this is still a rough draft. This note will be removed when I'm finished editing.<<<<

Last night there was a terrible shooting in a movie theater in Colorado at the screening of the new batman movie. People died. People were hurt. People probably soiled their clothing from fright.

Real people. Not video games or movie actors. Someone's friends and family.

One woman, a young, aspiring sports journalist named Jessica Ghawi, and also known as Jessica Redfield, was shot and killed. I find her story is most identifiable because I too am a young, aspiring sports writer, and because her story has been most accessible.

You see, Jessica survived a similar shooting in Canada while visiting her boyfriend about a month ago. She wrote about it. She documented what she experienced and her story is out there for people to read.

The following is an excerpt from her post on the Easton Center shooting:

I can’t get this odd feeling out of my chest. This empty, almost sickening feeling won’t go away. I noticed this feeling when I was in the Eaton Center in Toronto just seconds before someone opened fire in the food court. An odd feeling which led me to go outside and unknowingly out of harm‘s way. It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around how a weird feeling saved me from being in the middle of a deadly shooting.

She concludes with this:

I feel like I am overreacting about what I experienced. But I can’t help but be thankful for whatever caused me to make the choices that I made that day. My mind keeps replaying what I saw over in my head. I hope the victim make a full recovery. I wish I could shake this odd feeling from my chest. The feeling that’s reminding me how blessed I am. The same feeling that made me leave the Eaton Center. The feeling that may have potentially saved my life.

I believe (see author's note) the feeling she mentioned was the light of Christ warning her of danger. While this was written a full two weeks before she was gunned down in Colorado, I also believe the repeated memories she mentions of the Easton Center shooting were also a warning of what she would face in Aurora.

To many, this may not make sense and is obviously arguable. "Anyone would remember something that terrible and think about it over and over again in the following days and weeks," people may say. Of course they would. I'm not disputing that at all, but I have learned when feelings repeat themselves in my life, it means something that is going to make me feel that way again is about to come.

My Facebook status:

This is so sad. This woman died in the theater in Colorado after surviving a Toronto shooting. She might have been saved if she'd recognized the spirit better.

If you thought by "this is so sad" I meant "she's a heathen who deserved to die" instead of "this is so sad that this woman died," c'mon guys...

The rebuttals for the comments which followed:

"Please tell me you're being sarcastic with this post." "And even if you were, way #toosoon"

Absolutely not. I don't like to #joke about serious stuff like this.

"I do think, Tavin, that your recognising the spirit suggestion may be worth editing, BTW." 

Perhaps so, but not for the same reasons that I'm guessing (assumption) the eight people who liked or wrote this comment have. Journalists need to stay aloof from having strong opinions on social matters. Even if I get a job paid for by my own church, it will still be very important to stay neutral.

"She died because somebody shot her, Tavin. Not because of a lack of faith." 

Obviously a bullet killed this woman. That's not a point I was trying to argue. If faith saved every person who ever had it from physical death, there would be a lot more prophets walking around today.

"Agreed (to the previous comment), however this is not an attack on religion. If anything, maybe if the shooter had "recognized the spirit" he would have felt some better purpose than murdering people..." 

I'm not 100% sure what the this commentator is trying to say here. The bullets killed people and God didn't stop the shooter. It has happened since the beginning of the human race.

"...But leave the victims be, people are senselessly killed regardless of their beliefs." 

Another point I wasn't arguing. Again, I was not denouncing Jessica's death as her own fault, or the fault of her faith or disbelief or whatever. I was and am happy she felt what I believe (again, read author's note) to be a communication from God. If we never talk about victims, we never think about and implement ways to prevent more victims.

"Tavin, as a US citizen, can you help me understand why your otherwise lovely country has this crazy obsession with lethal weapons?" "Crazy obession? It is the wacko that is crazy, not the gun. What a tragedy, but guns don't kill people, people kill people." "Tavin, Drew and I continued our robust debate privately, and with no unfriendliness between us, just very different views! Don't worry that you raised a debate, it's good to have people discussing it. It's an emotive issue, but I think those of us who've been involved in the discussion can still like each other." 

I'll give you my opinion on it then. Guns have recreational uses and are tools for creating food. They were also imagined, designed, and perfected for one thing: to kill people. While I do not own a gun or plan to ever carry a concealed weapon for home defense (although I do not argue the reasons others do), I enjoy shooting recreationally. People kill people, but guns kill people too. Is that diplomatic enough for everyone?

"I like you Tavin, I think you're cool and I'm glad we're friends. We need to get out and hike or play some Ultimate or something, before Summer sneaks away again."

No arguments here. Also, I'm shopping for a guitar. Any thoughts?

Okay, so even though we got a little distracted from the topic there at the end, I welcome comments here... in the comment section... obviously... Again, no sarcasm or joking. This is way too serious for that.

Breaking News

Tavin Stucki, sports editor at Utah State University's campus newspaper, The Utah Statesman, and creator of the blog Where the Sagebrush Died, has announce his blog post "Singles ward: one week later" hit the 100 pageviews mark earlier today.

"It's defitinetly one of my top three favortie posts I've written," Stucki said, adding it is the first of his blog posts to reach the centruy standard.

Stucki is expected to continue with the blog until moving back to Logan, Utah, about a week before classes start at USU. Stucki is spending the summer at his parents home in Midvale, Utah, until then.

"It's been a grind," Stucki said. "I'd like to thank the Academy, the Russian spies who are observing me, Heather, my trusty leather wallet, Facebook, Twitter, and all those who think I'm interesting enough to read about my summer away from Logan."

Jorts

I've never been one to spend money on things.

*cough* Cheapskate *cough*

Fortunately, I've lived my entire life with an uncle who was always willing to give me the clothes he'd grown out of (read: fell out of style) five years earlier.

This meant I was wearing Lucky Brand jeans and Abercrombie shirts when (I'm guessing) they weren't in style anymore. In elementary school, I wore old Little League baseball shirts from teams I'd never played on. I had drawers full of old socks, shirts, jeans, a few shoes, and baseball hats.

I never really paid attention to fashion trends in school. I mean, why spend time looking at what dudes wore when I can look at girls... um... clothes?

By the end of last semester, I was probably the only guy on campus to still wear denim shorts. I was out of the country when the whole "Tebow wears Jorts" event went down, okay?

The time has come. My collection of old (and *very* comfortable, might I add) jorts needed to be put to rest.

The same night I got back to Salt Lake after my conquest of the viking lands (read: the time when these blog posts sucked) I called up a friend more fashonable than I and went shopping.

The problem was, it was late enough that all the stores with stylish clothing were closed.

On to Mal*Wart, the source for cheap plastic crap! ...and apparently my new favorite clothing store. Or at least, the place where I purchased my two new pairs (and probably "only" for some time) of cargo shorts.

Goodbye, O ye old pairs of jorts. May you ever rest in peace at the bottom of the bottom drawer of my dresser in my parents' house. May you ever rest in pieces, as I hope one day you will find yourselves as part of a levi quilt; a form which I will undoubtedly enjoy your comfort again.

A form which will carry with it numberless "in your pants" and "that's what she said" jokes.

They always know

My mission president and wife spoke in church today, and I obviously went to hear them.

What power.

I'd almost forgotten how certain they are in their testimonies. It was good to hear that again. It was good to meet them like old friends and hear Sister President tell all her missionaries we looked well enough to make an "old mother" so happy.

It was good to see so many old faces, though I didn't recognize half of the former missionaries there. It was good to see the Cowboy from my last transfer, the Ginger from glasgow, the Athlete from Stirling, and not to mention Office Sister and her cute granddaughter. I may regret writing that because I don’t know how old or young Granddaughter is.

We all made our way over to the home where sandwiches and cake were served. President and Sister President greeted everyone in line.

I felt cool because President asked everyone before me in line about their lives, but razzed me about writing anti-BYU literature in easy-to-read places. I’m glad he already knew what I was up to in life.

I ate with all my Scottish Aggies and we made plans for another glorious curry night when school starts back up.

As I left, President just said, “Tavin, be good.”

“What are you trying to say, President?”

“Just be good.”

South Dakota

South Dakota is the weirdest state I've ever been to.

Wall Drug.

Mount Rushmore was pretty cool, or at least a lot cooler than the "take a picture and leave" level of coolness I was expecting.

Wall Drug.

After we got out of Rapid City and left the Black Hills though, there was nothing but flat.

Wall Drug.

Nothing but corn fields for miles to see.

Wall Drug.

And every 60 seconds for hundreds of miles there was a sign for...

Wall Drug.

Wyoming

I hate Wyoming.

I hate everything about Wyoming. Okay, okay, Yellowstone is pretty cool, but I don't believe the people ride deer, as this caution sign outside of Jackson Hole may lead one to believe.

Maybe I'm just bitter about driving the better part of a day up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and sloooooooooooooooowly across the state on my way to invade the north country.

At least there were plenty of antelope to see as we crossed that wasteland.

No TV

It's really weird for me not to be glued to the television watching Olympic trials, the Euros, NBA draft, and baseball tonight every day.

I guess it's just another reason why my parents house isn't as cool as my apartment in Logan would have been.

I guess I'll have to make do with scouring the web for sports articles at work each morning between calls.

Thank you Deadspin for your hilarious opinion, Grantland for your high-quality writing, Aggieville for your constant USU updates, the Sagebrush Spot for your insight between sunburns, the Desnews (kinda) for indirectly talking about the Aggies whenever a certain byu quarterback is mentioned, ESPN for obvious reasons, and Twitter. God bless Twitter.

Honey badger don't give a...

We deal with a lot of different types of people at the ol TAVron.

There are lots of manual laborers who come in and buy a ton of gas, fill up their huge mugs from the fountain, and usually buy some sort of snack or lunch. There are the social workers from the care home down the street who come in and buy energy drinks and complain about how understaffed and outnumbered by the residents they are.

The group that most concerns me is the kids from the middle school across the street.

Most of them are great kids. A few of them are sneaky little bastards who will do anything to save their allowance and steal the candy bars they shove into their fat faces. I don't even let the thieves come into the store anymore.

Then Daddy came in the other night to scream at me.

Apparently I'm not being fair to his sons, because those angels would never do anything wrong, even if it meant embarrassing Daddy's status in the community.

Dude, I make 8 bucks an hour at a crappy job that has nothing to do with my field just so I can pay housing next semester. I promise I'm more Honey Badger than Princess Helpful.

Job updates: part 2

Some of you might be wondering where all the blog posts have been lately. I know, my bad.

Just before I moved from Logan a couple months ago, I was talking to the bigwigs of a weekly newspaper chain in the Salt Lake Valley. I was pretty stoked cuz they seemed excited to let me take on some stories, but then they didn't call me.

Until now.

On Tuesday, I got an inquiry of interest phone call. On Wednesday, I got an email asking me to write four stories of 4-500 words in the next seven days at a rate of 25 dollars per story. On Thursday, I interviewed ten sources for said stories. On Friday, I received photographs and finished up interviews. On Saturday, I wrote rough drafts of the stories. On Sunday, I finished up and submitted them.

Not bad to get two stories in a day before deadline and two more in three days before deadline, all while juggling two other jobs, softball games, and Da Ladies.

Or at least that's the plan right now. I mean, it's only Friday morning as I'm writing this, so who knows what will actually happen.

Job updates: part 1

(Photo courtesy of Rock Climber)

So I quit my job at Chevron.

Some of you may be asking, "but wait, didn't you just barely start?" Yes. Yes, I did.

You see, I told both the owner and manager who interviewed me that I will need a couple weeks off in July to go to a family reunion in Minnesota, aka the trip up North. Apparently there was some misunderstanding and I won't be receiving that time off.

Not with the title of "head gas station grunt" when I come back from my conquest of Canada Jr. anyway.

Was it a smart move to cut myself off from money? Probably not. Have I been to a game in a major league park? Nope. Do I have my whole life to work? Definitely.

But it's not all bad.

The management at my other job, the deaf call center, has been very understanding.

It looked like a similar thing to Chevron (aka TAVron) was happening when my time off requests were denied, so I told the manager I would have to quit so I could go.

He basically told me to try and get other people to cover it, but if it didn't happen and I was "sick" or whatever, it would be okay. He was like, "when you come back, we might sit you down for the formality of telling you how important attendance is, but then we'll just talk about how your invasion of the Lake Country went."

Okay so I added that last phrase, but he's still cool with me going.

Climbing all night

When 5$ climb night at the rock wall rolled around last Friday, I was pretty stoked.

Earlier that day, I worked up the courage to ask the cute girl at work to come with, and she was pretty excited too. This was probably going to turn out to be a double-win night.

The bad news: Work Girl bailed. The good news: I got a text from a friend who is in Salt Lake working for Usana, and she wanted to come with.

I don't know if it was because I was so excited to hang out with Usana or if I just haven't lived in Salt Lake for a good five years, but I definitely took 7th west instead of Monroe and got there about 15 minutes later than I should have.

Anyway, it was a good time. Usana, Rock Climber, Awkward, a girl whose sounds exactly like another old friend of mine, and a few others from the ol' YSA singles ward climbed the night away among the masses at Momentum.

It was good to practice a bunch of 5.10 climbs, but it's weird climbing indoors because there's no creativity in the routes you climb. There are set holds and one way to climb each wall, unlike outdoors where you can use anything you can get your hands on.

I tried a chimney, but didn't get very high. My right foot slipped when I was trying a knee jam, and my ankle slammed into the wall in front of me, causing a momentary silence after a huge bang echoed out from where I hit. Maybe it just seemed loud because I was inside the crack.

All in all, it was a good time. I couldn't pinch my fingers together without pain by the end, but I got to spend a good time with friends, hang out with a girl I haven't seen in yonks, and met a new climbing buddy for this fall in Logan.

Helping the deaf hear since 2007

I've been at my new job at Sorenson CaptionCall for a couple weeks now.

Well, I first worked there a little bit in high school and then went to Scotland and Logan. Now that I'm back, I actually got a full dollar raise and I make more than three dollars better than I do at the ol' TAVron.

It's a pretty good gig too.

You know those annoying closed captioning subtitles on movies? I create a phone call version of that for the customers. Of course all call information is completely confidential, but we can get some very entertaining ones. Let's just say we caption every type of call and it doesn't matter if the number dialed is to grandma and grandpa or a 900 number.

Since I've done the job before, I flew through the 3-week training and graduated in four days. That's gotta make you feel cool, right?

The bad side is my schedule. Sunday through Friday at 6 a.m. to 11a.m., excluding Tuesdays. This not only means I have to get up at just after 5, but since I'm so dang tired after closing the ol' TAVron the night before, I have to take a good-sized nap most days, which means I either sacrifice rock climbing or go to work exhausted.

The good part is that it's pretty chill that early in the morning. There's a lot of down time, so I tweet away, train the voice recognition software to understand my voice better by reading USU football articles out loud, and catch up in the ol' Book of Mormon, but I never doze off because that's against company policy.

Hopefully I earn enough to pay for housing in Logan come August.

CENSORED

Author's note: The following post has been edited to avoid twisting the truth in any way in an attempt to not offend certain readers (see previous post).

Rock Climber, Jordan and I...

Wait I shouldn't name names. Let's try again.

I went rock climbing with two other people.

Hmm, maybe naming the activity is too specific also.

I hung out with two other people and performed an undisclosed recreational activity.

Yep, that'll do.

The three of us may or may not have done the previously mentioned anonymous activity one or more times at one or more locations somewhere in Big Cottonwood Canyon. the United States of America.

While it would be improper to mention whether or not the activity was fun, whether there is visual evidence of said activity, or any memories whatsoever, let it suffice by saying the recreational activity took place and was, in fact, recreational and nothing more.

Wow, what a boring post, at least I didn't offend anyone. Hopefully.

Well, I guess that's the price I'll have to pay to keep friends in Salt Lake.

Don't make me do my Z snap!

Today I found out my blog is not liked by all those who read.

Am I as upset as Gru was when Vector stole the pyramids? NoO I am not!! A little...

However, I will not apologize for my behavior! Also, I don't actually understand what some of these girls in the ol' YSA ward could be offended about. I mean, all of my posts have been entirely fictional. Any similarities between individuals living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Except Awkward. I'm pretty sure we can safely say he's a real person. And Layton/Wingwoman. And Rock Climber has told me he likes the blog. Other than that, everything is fictional.

...There's no way anyone believed that...

Either way, those haters who gohn hate should know of my disrespect for their displeasure. Take it easy gurrfranns. I'm a somewhat easy person to deal with, so just come ask me to take something down or change a post you have a problem with so it doesn't talk about you as much.

Who knows, you might actually enjoy having a civilized conversation with me.

A good find

Through my life, I've tried to find the best ways to attract Da Ladies.

There are more obvious methods, such as having a puppy or baby with you, playing guitar, dancing, etc. I've used most of those.

There are less-obvious hooks, like being confident, having goals in life, wearing aviators and having a beard, etc. I've used all of those.

I never knew that a hobby like rock climbing would be so effective at finding Da Ladies.

Rock climbing 3: better than before

This is me at the beginning of the most difficult climb I've ever completed, a 5.10a. Not bad for the third time ever climbing outdoors. 

The guy belaying me is Rock Climber, who helped me get great deals on my gear. 

Almost to the crux...

It's hard to see, but I had to pull myself over the roof with basically no footholds. I felt really cool when I got it. First try today!

Coming down...

This is the hardest climb I've ever attempted, a 5.10b. I got halfway before my arms gave out. 

Props to Big Talker and Big Talker's Friend on photo duty...

That's me being lowered down after a humbling experience on a nasty overhang.

Standing around. Big Talker's Friend is staring at the wall in the black shirt. 

Oh, and here's Big Talker. She's a cutie, so I figured I'd reward all those who actually took the time to look at all the pictures. 

Crashing on the couch

I wanted to title this post "Returning to Logan," but I feel like I should save that for my final blog entry at the end of August. Besides, I'm only in Cache Valley until this afternoon anyway.

A few thoughts:

My old roommate is getting married.

I could write a entire post on this alone, and a whole other blog about the adventures we had. He's got a good girl. It'll be cool for him to start a new part of his life, but at the same time I wonder how mine will turn when I go back to school this fall without Roy as my wingman.

Marriage is scary.

Who wants to grow up? Who wants bills, insurance, car payments, rent, graduation, a career workload, and all that grownup stuff? And kids?? Not me, or at least not yet. To me, getting married is the symbol of all of that. As long as I can put it off, I won't have to worry about all the other stuff. Right?

Logan reminds me of summer camp.

I walked into the house I crashed in last night and saw all signs of summer. Three huge TVs were hooked up to various video gaming systems, canoes and kayaking gear rented from the university were stashed off to the side of the living room, aloe vera and tanning lotion visible under the couch, a for rent sign displayed out the window, and the whole place had a summery feel to it.

Here comes the sun.

There's nothing better than munching on fresh fruit fro breakfast while watching a Cache Valley sunrise from the various hikes in Logan Canyon with a pretty girl. Okay, so I didn't do any of those this morning, but it's still true. At the very moment I wrote those words, the sun peaked up over the mountains through the window to me. Even though I'm sitting on Texas's couch and not in the wind caves, it's still nice.

The pool.

In my experience, college town pools are always full of the same people; sluttos and douchebags. The sluttos are all afraid to get wet and just lay out in the sun while the douchebags wear their white sunglasses and blast their awful music while horsing around in the water and being jerks to the sluttos. They spend all of their time here during the summer. It's a wonder why all the sluttos talk about how they can't get a good guy and the douchebags all talk about how their girl cheated on them.

Couches suck.

Okay, so I'm a Caucasian American male aged 18-34, but I've had some pretty crappy sleeping situations. As if two years of mission beds weren't enough, there was the port-o-pottie (again, don't ask), the unfinished bedroom, the spider-infested barn, and the gross Oakridge beds to name a few. Texas's couch wasn't all that uncomfortable, but for whatever reason it was probably the worst sleep I've ever had.

Rattling my piggy bank

Since it basically the end of May, I figured I'd better see how much progress I've made in the financial world.

It wasn't much.

Wait a second, I don't pay rent, or buy food, rarely need to put gas in my car, got my apartment deposit back, and I'm working part time. How do I only have a hundred dollars? What did I even buy?

According to my online bank statement, I spend two to four dollars on snacks every day at work, which comes out to be about 40 bucks. Then there're various outings with the ol' YSA singles ward which cost a total of about 20 bucks. Then there's the climbing gear I just bought at an insanely great price for just under 60 bucks (thanks to Rock Climber). And just because I haven't been blogging about my REAL adventures with da Ladies, doesn't mean they haven't been going down (and I bet you would like to know what I spend on that, you nosy numpties).

I was about to write down a neat little budget, but then I found a note written by my wallet in the front pocket of my jeans.

Tavin,

I'm getting pretty skinny, but it's more like "bulimic" skinny than "marathon" skinny. Not good. We've gotta work something out here. I've included a few suggestions to help keep both of us happy.

1. Eat a ton of cereal before going to work at the ol' gas station, and make a sandwich to take with for when those custard filled doughnut wedges are staring at you.

2. Make sure the awkward friend doesn't "forget" his wallet when you let him mooch a ride to various YSA shindigs and whynots. I've talked with Awkward's wallet, and dude, it's told me some weird stories. I don't trust it. 

3. Don't buy ANY more climbing gear. You've got enough to look cool while you get started, but remember climbing outdoors is free minus the negligible cost of gas, and I can work with you on that. 

4. Keep dating costs to a minimum. Well, don't look like a cheapskate, so maybe a "classy" minimum. Obviously there's going to be that trip down south you've been planning, and I won't stop you from splurging on that hottie, but keep it reasonable. 

Oh, and I'm totally cool with you giving a little kickback to that church of yours every couple of weeks. They always give nice little receipts and make it easy for me to keep track of the money you spend. Plus, I'm sure supporting a charity makes you not feel like the dirty scumbag you sometimes pretend you used to be, or whatever your story is.

Anyway, just remember about those things you told me you want to buy. Y'know, rent and tuition next year? Those are biggies. Oh, and that expensive camera lens. I don't know why you need to spend a thousand bucks on that, but it's your call. I just hold your money for you.

Keep it real, man

Sincerely,

Leather "Heather" Wallet

Filling up on Sundays

Blah, blah, blah, don't work on Sundays, blah, blah, blah.

It was dead today. Apparently there's always less business on Sundays, and with everyone being out of town for Memorial Day, it was even more dead. Needless to say, I got all my work done in the first hour of my shift.

At least, everything I could do until right before closing time, at midnight.

Distraction from Boredom #1: The Rock Climber

My friend came in for somewhere between a half hour to an hour and we talked while I restocked the beer cave. We chatted about girls, the ol' YSA ward, stuff and people that bugged us, more girls, and made plans for rock climbing tomorrow.

Distraction from Boredom #2: The Missionaries

No, I didn't get cornered in the shop by those pesky Mormon boys. Rather, I wrote letters to two good friends who are serving in Peru and Korea. I'm sure Peruvian's girlfriend will be happy upon reading this news.

Distraction from Boredom #3: Gum Girl

Okay, so there's no one in the shop until a cute girl pulls up in a powder blue VW Beetle. We chat for all of 15 seconds while she buys her two packs of gum and explains she comes in all the time only to buy gum, and asks if I'm new.

Not significant.

A woman about 45-years-old enters as Gum Girl exits, and asks if Gum Girl is my girlfriend. Nope, definitely not. I mean, she's cute and all, but definitely has a parking permit for my old high school, placing her at least five years younger than me and WELL below the legal age. Can you say jailbait?

Not sure if I should have written that...

Distraction from Boredom #4

There was one hotdog left. I didn't want to mark it down on the inventory list and needed to clean the hotdog rack anyway, so I just bought it. Not actually that cool.

Distraction from Boredom #5

So I'm pulling off the fountain heads for the Dr. Pepper, when these two women arrive separately and begin laughing when they see each other.

"Are you two in the same ward or something?"

Yup, called it. They both also had the same thought to get a Sabbath Day Diet Coke.

Distraction from Boredom #The Last

So I call one of my coworkers an hour before closing to ask a question (hey, it's my first night closing by myself) and she asked if I was about ready to clock out.

"Wait, we close an hour early on Sundays?" I ask her. Yup, totally. "Oh. That's good/bad. I guess I better start/finish all those closing time jobs real fast."

Good thing I work quickly when I need to. I think I even remembered to clock out.

The Russians are coming!

In blogger, there is a feature you can use to see where your audience is from around the world. Obviously the vast majority of my readers are from America, and I have a few in the UK from the ol mission days. But wouldn't ya know it, there are a disproportionate amount of viewers in Russia.

Wait, what?

I don't even know anyone in Russia. I mean, a friend of mine served his mission there, I once failed to steal a girlfriend away from a different missionary serving in Russia, and I sometimes enjoy playing as the Soviets in Axis & Allies, but beyond that, I have absolutely NO connection to the former world superpower.

I guess there's a lot of people with the internet in Russia, so maybe they just happened upon my blog whilst surfing, but that doesn't make sense because there are a bazillion people in china and japan with the internet, and no one from those countries who've visited.

This can only mean one thing. Espionage.

I knew I was awesome, but I didn't know I was a person of interest to the Russian government until today.

Rock Climbing

For my entire life I've lived within 20 minutes of canyons where the best rock climbing in the world is found. Say what you will about wasted opportunities, but today was my first time ever going.

Yeah, I scaled cliffs. Pretty dangerous. I felt a little bit like Chris O'Donnell in Vertical Limit.

Four of us from the ol singles ward jumped in my friend's truck and went up Big Cottonwood Canyon to some trail my Friend found in this sketchy book from the library. Friend and one of the girls put harnesses on, said some weird climbing words, and Friend climbed up to fasten the rope to the chains at the top of the wall.

When he came down, Belay Girl took the rope and had her turn, cleaning all the carabiners off the bolts as she went.

The other girl went third as I crammed my toes into the climbing shoes Friend obtained for the occasion.

"How hard is this one supposed to be?" I asked.

I was told not to worry about it. How comforting.

"Just put your hands where the chalk residue is," Rapel Girl said after she landed from her descent. "That's what I did because I've never climbed outdoors before."

I'm not sure I went exactly where I was supposed to, but I eventually got to the top and enjoyed a nice rapel back down.

The next one was harder.

I looked up couldn't see any obvious holes. There were a few cracks that looked unsuitable for anything larger than a blade of grass, and just before the top there was a ridiculous overhang that couldn't possibly be part of the climb, right?

I started my ascent and told the girls one of them could have my guitar if I died. It wasn't actually too bad until the overhang. I tried going around, diagonally, and a variety of other ways to get past the lip, all to no avail. The only option was to reach over for a jagged handhold and pull myself up while my legs flailed below.

I failed. My forearms burned, and I could barely lock my fingers onto the jutting rocks, much less pull myself over them.

We ended on an easy one with lots of holes. It proved only a little more difficult than climbing a ladder in some places, which was nice for my ego after failing to pull a Spiderman on wall number two.

Overall, the trip was a success. Even though I can't play guitar because my forearms are dead....

FHE, dancing the night away

There's a huge difference from Logan to Midvale that I completely overlooked.

In Logan, one of the main (or few) nightlife attractions is country swing dancing night at the Fun Park. In Salt Lake, there are actual things to do, so very few of the people in my ward know how to swing dance.

I tricked all the pretty girls into thinking I'm a swing dancing champ, which I guess I am by comparison here. It was kinda cool to go from being a novice in Cache Valley to an expert in Midvale.

The good news: I didn't drop anyone.

Hey, I was pretty rusty. I mean, I don't usually dance unless there's a specific girl it's with, and the last time that was the case was for Statesman Girl 1. Before that it was probably Scotland Cowgirl or No Chin Girl. (I've probably said too much again...)

Anyway, after the dancing, the "in" crowd invited me to get ice cream with them. Ah, the feeling of acceptance being washed down by chocolate ice cream crammed with peanut butter cups was great.

We all got to be bffs and later fb friends and all that stuff. (Maybe I should reconsider some of the things I'm writing...) We played "guess my middle name," which was an okay game and a first for me.

Of course, it didn't hurt to sit between two pretty girls.

Singles ward: one week later

It really pains me to say this, but this week it wasn't so bad.

I mean, aside from priesthood meeting when I walked in late and had to sit by Mr. Acts-Like-He-Owns-The-Place (I ignored his weirdness by tweeting through the meeting), it was a good time at church.

In sunday school and sacrament meeting I've become part of Cute Ginger Girl's back row crew, and it's nice to know I have friends to sit by every week.

Anyway, the point:

In sacrament meeting, right after the high councilman called out the congregation for looking at our phones during his talk (guilty), I decided to set some summer goals. Thinking about how bored I've been, I figured I should prolly meet some new faces.

Let's face it. Not having friends to hang out with blows. That's one of the biggest complaints I have about living in Midvale, because most of my friends have already moved away or got all married. Ew.

Goal: Meet one new person every week.


As soon as I made my mind up to make new friends, I felt like I should probably ask the bishop if I could speak in sacrament meeting-- as if the introductory "It's Stoo-key, not Stuck-ee" from the back of the chapel to the pulpit wasn't awkward enough. 


I also found out our ward plays softball, something I've been dying to do all summer. There will probably be more on that later. 


Back to the goal... 


As soon as church ended, I was stopped by three different groups of girls! Not that it's really out of the ordinary for me to meet girls quickly (no comments from the peanut gallery, please), I was just surprised because all of them wanted to meet me instead of the other way around. 


A quick game summary: 

• Nice Dress Girl is very pretty, seems fun, likes to boulder, and has a wrist tattoo that I find strangely attractive. I could tell from her reaction that she'd been dying for someone to compliment her dress all day.

• BYU Idaho Girl is also pretty, seems fun, gave me her number, and liked my tie. Normally that doesn't mean anything, but she said so as I passed in an obvious attempt to get me to stop. Also, she wanted me to save a dance for her at the country swing fhe coming up. 

• The Group of Four: Not completely sure on all of them, but they're cute enough and not shy. Plus they wanted me to speak Scottish to them. I didn't, but maybe if they're nice to me... One of them added me on the ol facebook the day of church.

• Rock Climbing Girl: People don't usually look great when they're all sweaty and gross, but Rock Climbing Girl is MUCH more attractive in person. She seems cool. 

• Oh, can't forget Cute Ginger Girl. Unless the two phrases after you remember her are "friend zone" and "ginger." (I'm totally going to regret writing this...) All the same, she's way cool. Very sarcastic and very fun. But I guess I didn't meet her today, so maybe she doesn't count after all. 

Life will be much better when I meet new people. Being honest, every new person I meet is probably going to be female anyway, so that's never bad. 

Bad boys, bad boys

Things at the gas station have been pretty mellow since I started working there a week or two ago.

I mean, people buy stuff and not much else changes. Every once in a while I have to clean up a mess or refill the coffee maker or whatever, but that's about the extent of excitement.

Yesterday a guy pulled into the parking lot only to be followed by a white Escalade with flashing undercover police lights and a funky ski rack-looking thing. The guy gets out and starts to come in before the police sergeant calls him over in the authoritative way cops do.

They talked for what seemed an unusually long time to be pulled over, the conversation broken up every few minutes for Guy to search the glove box while his kid also had to stand outside the car.

After a while, another undercover officer enters the parking lot, so that he and Sergeant can take turns standing extremely close to Guy.

The girl working the till and I both thought Guy was going to get arrested just because of how long the ordeal was taking and how close the cops stood to him.

After a while, Sergeant makes Guy and Kid take all their stuff out of the car before the cops confiscate the Honda and both cops head off.

Guy comes into the store and tells Till Girl and I the story. Apparently he was on his way home when his wife called and asked him to buy her a drink. So instead of going the normal way, Guy pulled by our gas station only to get pulled over.

Guy said said Sergeant's Escalade (Which was supposedly impounded and never paid for instead of bought by our tax dollars) has one of those new "smart" systems with scanners on the ski rack that can read 60 license plates per second.

Guy said his plate numbers were flagged with a revoked registration. Apparently he just re-registered, Wife just switched insurances, and Guy has this other court thing that probably held his license. Or something. Anyway, Guy and Kid had to walk a thousand address numbers home with all their stuff in grocery bags and Wife's Dew while their car was taken to the impound lot.

All because he let a white Escalade follow him.

The parking policy

I've worked enough minimum wage jobs to know at most places, policies aren't made by the college student in a company-issued polo shirt, so in my life I've made a conscious choice not to yell at any of said polo shirt-wearing grunts.

That being said, I told the parking garage attendant at the Gateway what I thought about the parking policies last night.

Let me back up.

A girl from Layton and I decided to meet up and watch a movie in Salt Lake. We get to the theater at 7:15ish only to find out the next showing of Avengers is at 9:40. No other movies interested us, so we decided to kill a couple hours walking around all the shops.

Blah, blah, blah, long story short, the movie gets out after midnight, so my car has been sitting in the terrace for a solid five hours.

Apparently when you validate parking at the Gateway, it only knocks two hours off of your total, which obviously isn't enough to even cover the movie, much less the time Layton and I spent wandering around.

I let the guy know how stupid the policy was.

To my surprise, he gave me an additional two validation slips and knocked the price down by six bucks.

Too bad Layton didn't kick up a fuss and get the "annoying customer discount."

Romance section of the library

Hopefully when you see the title of this post, you won't think "Oh no, Tavin's lost it and gone all gay and stuff on us."

No, I have not checked out any romance novels from the library, nor have I swiped a smutty book from my mother's shelf (see "A hidden ability," May 11).

I was reading in one of the comfy chairs in the back corner of the library the other day when the narrator in my mind's ear was rudely interrupted by giggling. I glanced over to the chairs in the nearby laptop area and saw two 14-year-old (tops) kids kissing before I return to my book.

Wait, did I really just see that? Doubletake... Yep.

Giggle. "I like you." More giggling. The kid smacks a loud one on his girl's kisser. Louder giggling.

Ew.

Apparently the school bathrooms, smoking corner behind the church, the park, their bedrooms, and all the other normal 14-year-old make out spots were already taken.

Wedding crashers

Okay, so it's not technically crashing when you get an invitation, but the whole point was to hit on pretty girls with visions of their own white dresses going through their minds.

Suit up.

I show up with my fearless wingman (wingwoman?), sign the book, and get in line for the line. The bride and groom are both more than six feet tall, so we feel like ants.

I always think it's super awkward to shake hands with all the groomsmen, the happy couple, and two sets of parents before I get a chance to meet the bridesmaids.

Unfortunately there are no bridesmaids. There aren't any groomsmen, so Wingwoman shares my disappointment.

We wander over to the food line, grab an empty table, and wave over the photo girl, who happens to be a friend of ours.

The three of us munch on our crepes. Another scan around the tables reveals two normal-sized girls have arrived. One is ginger, so that's a no-go, and the one wearing sunglasses looks pretty cute.

As Wingwoman, Photo Girl, and I chat, we notice Ginger is staring. Designer Shades has also been caught checking me out. Or at least, we think we saw her eyes behind the black lenses.

It's nice to be noticed, but I'm not much of a gambler, so I decide I'm too shallow to risk chatting up a girl whose face I can't accurately judge on a scale from 1 to 2.

Photo Girl and Wingwoman agree there's only one cute guy in the whole place and are about to get their flirt on before one of them recognizes him as the groom's younger brother and nixes the plan, avoiding any awkward kidnapping charges.

Like I said, we're a foot shorter than everyone but the toddlers, so even the teenagers look like adults.

The singles ward

Going to church with the people who have failed to launch has been in the back of my mind since I decided to move to Midvale.

When faced with an experience I'm pretty sure I'll not enjoy, my favorite game is to pretend I'm from Britain.

I think it's hilarious when I can make up any old accent and say I'm from Edinburgh and people will believe me without a second thought. Americans don't know accents well enough to place them anyway.

Plus, da ladies love foreigners.

Alas, my plan to say "alright hen?" to the cute blond sitting up front was foiled when I spot a half-dozen people I knew in high school. Problem was, I was never friends with any of them enough to want to sit close by, so I wandered the hall instead.

I was pretending to study a painting of the resurrection when a cute ginger girl comes around the corner. At first I was afraid for my soul, but then I realized it's a good friend from the year I lived in the port-o-pottie (don't ask...).

We sit on the back row of the sunday school class, catch up, and play "make-fun-of-the-new-girl-who-raises-her-hand-at-every-opportunity-to-share-an-experience-loosely-related-to-the-conversation." This is actually my second-favorite game, so my disappointment of not playing "I'm from Scotland" is quickly erased.

Apparently she just moved in too, because in sacrament meeting the bishop asked her to stand when he awkwardly introduced all the new people in the ward. I chuckled because her face went as red as her hair.

Then a thought crept into my mind: I will have to do the same thing next week when my church records arrive from Logan.

A hidden ability

It's going to be about a week or two before I'm consumed by work everyday, so I've still been a little bored recently.

So I've found something to take my mind off of reality. Not that the talent has been terribly difficult to uncover, but to the surprise of at least myself, I do in fact know how to read.

But really, who knew?

I've been faced with the task of finding decent literature to lose myself in. Since I definitely don't want to read my textbooks for the fall or my mother's cache of smutty romance novels, I've surrendered myself to wandering a couple blocks to the library every few days.

Or at least "every few days" was the plan. Thus far in my summer vacation of boredom (maybe "bordation"? I'll work on it...) I have read three novels in five days. Four if you start counting from when I reclaimed by card number from the lady behind the desk.

Apparently my brain has had a dormant thirst for exercise all these years and has waited for a chance to flex it's synapses (see my use of a big word there?).

Be proud, Levar Burton.

I've even started on another book. It's just a little 300-pager, but I'll probably finish that today. I mean, I've got a solid four hours from now until I'm headed to a wedding. Not mine though, so don't worry ladies...

Bringing home the bacon

Alarm goes off again. Shower. Cereal. Hair. Teeth. Dress.

I put one of my many Aggie gameday shirts on underneath the black button down shirt I put on and head to my first of two job interviews today.

I get there and am called back for a typing test, on which I score miles above what I need to. I move on to a diction test. My raw score comes out good enough to qualify for a better job and pay scale than I expected. The tester double checks the computer and bumps my actual score seven points higher.

"This is the highest score I've ever seen," she says as I feign humility. She takes me into one of the management type's office.

He looks at the scores and we both relax. We talk about nothing during the entire interview, cramming a few logistical details out at the very end as more of an afterthought than the original purpose of our conversation. He lets me pick my schedule and gives me further instructions.

Nailed it.

I leave and go to my second interview of the day. I notice the word "yes" scribbled onto my application and the interview here is just as relaxed as the first, again with formality questions and legal forms as an "Oh yeah, fill these out before you go."

Nailed it again. All thanks to my gameday shirt.

Take that, temp agency...

Is this real life?

You know it's bad when the temp agency you registered with calls and informs you that you're not a good fit for them. I thought "temp" stood for "temporary." I'm only going to be here a few months, doesn't that definition match?

Temp. Teeeeemp. Temmmmmmp. Temp. Temptemptemptemptemptemptemp.

Wait, was it an agency just for Tempe? I definitely don't live in Arizona. I have a friend or two who do though. Maybe the temp agency was worried I will add to the population of immigration worker problems.

Temptation? There is a cupcake shop back home by that name. Maybe the temp agency only hires people who are awesome bakers. I could totally build a cupcake if they gave me a chance.

Tempo is the speed of music, and I only pretend to play guitar and sing. There aren't any jobs in music anyway.

Temperature. Hmm... Maybe the air conditioner broke and they don't want to talk to me in the heat? That doesn't make sense because it's still only May, and July will be much hotter.  

Maybe template? That would make sense because I'm a student looking for work and not a big-shot early graduate with a doctorate degree. Someone like that would be the perfect template of a worker for an employer to hire.

Temp. Tempe. Tempo. Template. Temptation. Temperature.

TempEoLateTionTure.

Too much...

Realization

Back? I'm moving back? I'm going back to my parent's house after four years? Are you sure?

I didn't think that would be me. I didn't think I would be sitting in my sister's old room with moving boxes half open and bulimic suitcases all around me like a frat house the morning after. The golf clubs, blankets, textbooks, towels, sunglasses, shaving cream, shoe boxes, winter boots, hair gel, and shower curtain all say "believe it" with a hungover scowl on their faces.

Wait, so now I'm talking to my things now too?

I've got to get out of here.

Where did my friends go? She a baby? He really joined a church? Where was that job I had after graduation? When did those houses get built? Wasn't there a bookstore here? When did that house burn down? What's this invitation? It's my five year reunion already?

I'm not interested. No thanks. Take me back home. My home. Back where the sagebrush grows. Back where summertime means volleyball, suntans, bikinis, golf, and hiking all day and campfires all night.

That's what last summer was.