Thursday, September 16, 2010

Fear and Trembling...

You know things have taken a downward spiral at work when you start reading Kierkegaard online for fun. It all happened when they disabled g-chat.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

GRE: Heidi as Guillotine: Robespierre

I had a distressing experience this morning. I took the GRE. Even for someone who did not get the score I did, taking any form of computerized, standardized, digitized, dehumanized test is not a terribly pleasant experience. I was, and, 40 minutes later, still am more than a bit distraught about my score. Not that I have anyone but myself to blame, of course. I think I may have had two real study sessions. The rest were brief and desultory; they usually consisted of two to three questions total, each one interrupted by conversation with my roommates about boys or work or our need to find work AND boys.friends. So I really can't blame anyone but myself for being terribly unprepared for what is (rather unfortunately) a large determining factor in where I get into graduate school.

And all of this, in a rather roundabout way, brings me to my membership in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Taking the GRE proved to be a serious blow to my intellectual pride. I graciously recovered, however, when my train of thought led me to my membership in the Mormon Church. I won't expound on my entire thought process here, but below are two reasons I came up with that I am grateful to be Mormon.

#1. I definitely used an argument from Elder D. Todd Christofferson's talk on moral discipline to answer one of my essay questions. Thank goodness for sound doctrine that can't be refuted, especially in a persuasive essay. You can't effectively argue with truth, now can you?

#2. Knowledge of the truth, as we learn in the Book of Mormon, brings a different perspective to life. My intellectual prowess may be akin to that of a flaccid pickle as demonstrated by the GRE, but if I put everything into the Lord's hands, He'll take care of it. And when I say everything, I mean everything. I will do my absolute best the next time I take the test (yes, I am already making study plans), but He will take any sort of intellect-flaccid pickle or not-and place it where it needs placed. God's far-reaching hand of miracles certainly extends to the Stanford Admissions Board, right?

Consider this an exercise in gratidue intended to relieve my distress and bolster my hope for the future. Onward ever onward.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

oh sheesh.

So when I first moved into my ward, I was invited to attend a new member dinner. At said function, I suppose to increase brotherly kindness and fellowshipping, everyone was required to tell their most embarrassing story. To be quite honest, I really had a difficult time thinking of a story to tell, not because I never do embarrassing things but because the humiliation I felt wasn't powerful enough to leave an indelible impression. This last week, however, I experienced the MOST meltingly humiliating situation I ever have before and believe ever will come in contact with. Here I am, therefore, to publish it. Makes sense, right?

I do need to preface my story with one fact: I love a man I work with. And no, not reall love him. Not in the sappy and romantic I-love-you-forever kind of a way. Mostly just in the WOW-you-are-attractive-and-I'm-single-and-you're-single-and-you-are-actually-kind-of-awkward-in-an-endearing-sort-of-way love him. So yes. Crush on a man. And here is how the most ultimately embarrassing situation of my life went down:

I was sitting at my desk, and for some reason unknown to me, I was REALLY struggling with boredom. My cubicle neighbor is narcoleptic, and so perhaps seeing him pleasantly bobbing away, mouth agape, launched me into a reverie of my own. I had previously made plans to go up to Baltimore to hang out with my narcoleptic co-worker at an art festival. I got to thinking. Cogitating. I began musing. "(Insert name of man I have a crush on) also lives in Baltimore. Why don't I invite him too?" Small smile, pat on the back, pleasantly pleased by my own wiliness. Then creased brow, concerned frown.

"But wait. I haven't seen him at work in a while. He mentioned he might be going on vacation? Maybe he is on vacation." Ponderous thinking. Pursed lips. Heavy sigh. Pause. Raised eyebrows. Eyes brightening.

"Why don't I just send him an e-mail inviting him to go with us? Like, a hair-flippingly flirty e-mail that if he gets before the art festival, GREAT. If not, he still has a hair-flippingly flirty e-mail to get back to after his vacation." Bingo. Once again, small smile, pat on the back, pleasantly pleased by my own wiliness. I set to working crafting a gem of an e-mail, figuratively flipping my hair and swaying my hips with every comma and period I employed. It was short. Sassy. And then I sent it. Brazen and confident, right?

Five seconds later, auto-reply: "(Insert name of man I have a crush on) is out of the office. If you need immediate assistance, please contact Christina Stanley."

My thoughts: "Ok cool. Not here. At least the ball is in his court now."

Not three seconds later, a second e-mail, (dare I say e-mail from DOOM) only this one is NOT an auto-reply, nor is it from the man I have a crush on. It is from Christina Stanley: "(Insert name of man I have a crush on) is having all of his e-mails forwarded to me. If you want to get in contact with him," she tells me, "try his gmail account."

And so I quite literally melted into my seat with complete and utter embarrassment. So much for being a plucky blonde, right? I was ratcheted off whatever confident peak I had previously reached and flung down into the gaping jaws of cavernous humiliation. I mentally kicked myself for all the hair-flipping and hip-swaying. TOO many commas. WAY too much sass.

And so what did I do after my initial visceral reaction? (Which was hysterical giggling, by the way.) I invited Christina Stanley to come with us, of course: "Oh excellent. Glad to keep you in the loop. You are welcome to come as well if you would like!"

Needless to say, it was just my narcoleptic friend and I at the art festival yesterday.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Hi-di

For those rabid blog-followers of mine that don't know (i like to believe that i have a VERY large cyber-audience) I became an aunt about a year ago. 14 months, to be precise. Along with a buying a road bike, visiting the Art Institute in Chicago, and quitting my last job, being an aunt ranks among the top 5 things i've done since graduating from college. Its not like i have had anything to do with the raising and/or nurturing of my nephew--we will call him "Sugary Sugs", mostly because I get confused about the spelling of his name. In fact, I daresay I would be filled with chagrin at the mere thought of taking any credit for the way this kid is shaping up. My sister and her husband are excellent parents. This kid is adorable, not to mention, or perhaps due to the fact that he only has 7 teeth. Really, I don't know how a small child could be more charming. He smiles at everyone, usually around a morsel of food, and with only seven teeth he really does melt your heart. The best part, though? The other day I heard him say my name on the phone. That's right. Hi-di. And accompanied by that toothy grin, he can get anything he wants from me. I can't wait for more nieces and nephews! (Jenni, Mary, Hannah...that was directed at you guys. Sarah is already pulling her weight.)

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Job Hunting

Its that time again. Four months after I've begun another job, and I am starting to feel antsy again. I started this terrible habit after I graduated (4 jobs later, I think I am safe calling it a habit), of changing jobs about every four months. I suppose I do this to keep my life in just enough turmoil to keep it exciting. Whatever the case, the reality of the matter is that I am ready to move on. I am sure this is much to my father's chagrin, because along with Jupiter, the moon, and about 80 of the young single adults in the Denver metro area, my resume is beginning to be a source of stress for him. All those short-term jobs. I'm sure my dear father never expected us girls to continue to be a source of financial concern for him, poor man. Such is the nature of the beast with five daughters, though. Now that I think of it, I'm surprised my dad didn't do more to encourage us to marry as soon as we hit the BYU campus. Either that, or major in accounting. Take a little stress off his hands.

Anyways, the fact of the matter is that I am ready to move on. As such (please, if you will, imagine me giving myself a pleased pat on the back), last night I spent several hours applying for jobs. I sent all manner of resumes and cover letters into various and sundry parts of the internet universe, probably to be lost in the digital morass of other resumes and cover letters titled "Desperate Job-Seekers". I'm sure my resumes compose at least 1/16th of this figurative mound. Nevertheless, I sallied forth enough energy to click-clack on my keyboard for the better part of 4 hours (hence the pat on the back). And you know what? Although my fingers are a BIT weak from all that exertion, I'm feeling pretty good about it.

Lest you think my current situation is abysmal (it is not), here are several reasons I love my job right now:

1) I am currently taking an on-line Yale course on Financial Markets while I work. Bob Schiller is absolutely charming.

2) I have a window to look out, complete with an American flag that rises just into my line of vision (I have become strangely patriotic since working for the Army).

3) Every few weeks around 11am us contractors are rounded up by Army personnel to attend an awards ceremony. They always seem to be decorating each other with some sort of ribbon or medal or sash, complete with shouts of "Hooah!" and, if we are really lucky, a rendition of the Army song. Mostly, though, I think its just an excuse to have a luncheon.

4) I work close enough that I can bike to work. Its a lovely ride in the mornings, although these days I have been arriving a bit sweatier and ruddier than I did when the spring air was nice and crisp. My helmet hair is becoming a distraction.

5) My cubicle neighbor is narcoleptic. Funny. Especially when his medicine runs out.

6) I have benefits. I even got two cavities filled last month. Thank goodness for dental insurance.

7) I get a paycheck.

8) I get a paycheck.

9) I get a paycheck.

10) The computer system we use is so slow I have time to blog.

Saturday, October 3, 2009

Alright, alright. After the clamoring of many adoring fans, (ahem, Melanie) I have returned for my monthly post. This time, however, I feel a bit more confident in sending my post into the cyberspace void. This confidence comes, no doubt, from my dramatically improved grammar skills. Who knew there were four kinds of sentences (at least to my knowledge) and all sorts of conjunctions? And I even hear there is something called an injection. Teaching English has done wonders for my grammar. I love chicken, but beef makes me sick.

Friday, August 21, 2009

woo hoo!

In the spirit of family togetherness I, too, have stepped into the ring and taken up the blogging spirit. Hats off to Ms. “Jenner” for getting me started. There will not, unfortunately, be posts of giggling babies or pictures of my wild forays into New York’s cement jungle. No no. In fact, in my inaugural post I have nothing more to say than this: five reams of paper (for the year) and a wooden overhead. Forget about climate change and Cash for Clunkers. When did the public education system become the smelly kid kid at the back of the line?