Just saying.

Tonight we're trying a new restaurant called J. Wong's Asian Bistro, but I keep wanting to call it J. Woww's Asian Bistro.

How'd the Provo rec center get its SexyBack, you ask?

Well, I will tell you.

Tonight while Mark was practicing shooting, I went to ye ole rec center for a nice long cardio session and a little weights action.

That's not the sexy part.

Even when I was single and going to the gym with the acute knowledge that men could be found virtually anywhere, I never have looked good at the gym. When I go to the gym I pretty much just hop on the treadmill with the sincere hope and belief that the for the next hour, I will be that treadmill's beeotch and sweat like a banshee so I can move on with my life.

So I'm there and I got the treadmill that the fan's blowing on and I'm pretty happy despite the fact that the girl next to me is leisurely strolling at a 1.5 or something wearing flip flops. Flip flops!! To exercise!!

Anyway, here comes sexy.

There's a girl on the mat behind the treadmills, sprawled out, presumably stretching. She has Kim Kardashian hair and strategically placed cleavage and I hope she's just cooling down.

Little did I know, things were just heating up.

The girl stands to leave the room, then walks over the the weight room where a second fan stands at attention. She struts over and poses in front of it, flipping her hair in slow motion.

She walks back into the cardio room. Slowly. She gets on an elliptical machine and starts moving, turning her head a hard 110 degrees to the mirror at her right and sort of behind her to stare at her derrière.

I stare up at the security camera as if to say, "are you getting all this?" and "Are we filming a rap video? Because I didn't bring my booty shorts or false eyelashes."

The girl is so busy staring at her rump that she almost falls down.

I laugh inside.

I'm starting to feel pretty bad at this point, but I'm also about 400 calories in, and when I'm working hard at the gym and other people are just putzing along, barely breaking a sweat, I have flashbacks of high school math class. That is of me, a senior, in junior level math, trying so hard to solve for x when the sophomores in the corner are laughing. I'm mad because either they're way smarter than I or they like math and both of those are terrible.

Anyway, so after another slo-mo hair flip in front of the weight room fan, our little friend saunters back into the cardio room and decides to give the stationary bike a try and get this...tries to move the fan that is facing me to face that bike!

At this point I'm about to pounce, because the only thing worse than listening to a sophomore laughing in math class is being at the rec center sweating my head off while the fan points at someone who's biking at a glacial pace.

Lucky for us all, the girl doesn't have the core/upper body strength to budge it an inch and she gives up.

I try to tune it out. I also try to tune her out while I'm doing triceps dips and she's doing crunches in half time on the bench press bench.

And that, my friends, is how the Provo rec center does sexy. Please don't come watch; we're short on machines.

That's a real dilemma.

My toothpaste leaves a soapy taste in my mouth for several hours unless I wash it out with a big Diet Coke and a doughnut from Provo Bakery, but then the taste of guilt that provokes lingers all day.

I enjoy being a girl, or, being funny in spite of Y chromosome’s absence.

Someone today told me I was funny. It was flattering, and made me think of one of my old roommates (it’s a fuzzy memory as I can’t remember which roommate this was…) who would join with me in saying, “I’m pretty funny for a girl.”

Who doesn’t like to think they’re funny? It’s nice when you say stuff and people laugh. Usually.

I can kind of be funny around people I know. Around people I know, I can watch Last Comic Standing and think, “yeah, that would be a fun job.”

But then I go into a business meeting with new people and I can scarcely intelligently explain what it is I do, exactly. This happens mostly with groups of middle-aged men who have sold a couple companies to Microsoft in their time. These guys don’t need my jokes; they have their own inside jokes from the early days at IBM. Being around these kind of guys makes me feel like I should just sit down and take dictation. Not by anything they do, per se, but they just get me feeling so intimidated.

I don’t feel that way in a group of women, and I think that’s probably because I can see myself in those women. I can imagine what it would be like to ascend to that level professionally because I’ve seen them do it, and the ones I know do it with husbands and kids, too. It’s nice to start a meeting by hearing from an executive about how much fun she had with the kids on vacation the previous week, and then to jump in to talk strategy and how we can focus PR efforts around her current marketing pipeline.

Even in business, with a group of women you tend to speak nicely. You tend to ask for support when you need it. You tend to get support when you ask for it. You tend to get a laugh when you tell a joke.

Not to mention – keeping up a household, keeping your marriage intact and raising kids while excelling in your career? +1.

You know I think there’s just something about a girlfriend lunch, and there’s just something about dealing professionally with successful women. They’re professional, but they’re still women. They’re women, but they’re still professional.

Sacred Places

I read this post today in the Salt Lake Trib and it about brought a tear to my eye.

You'll notice hollylynnsays was the first commenter. I am such a NERD sometimes!

The article, which you really should read even though I know you probably won't, is about how we all have these specific sacred places that are related to a life-changing memory.

Some of mine:

Rolling into Rexburg on a rare visit. Just the site of that little town off to the right of the highway makes me think of the girl I was when I first arrived, the girl I was when I finally left, and the girl I am now.

Wearing the cardigan I wore today. So true, this isn't a place, but I wore it on my first date with my husband and that is such a sweet memory.

The old building in my hometown where I taught piano lessons. It was the first time I really felt ownership of a project that had real world impact. I really loved those kids. I hope I taught them something.

Seeing the Draper Temple up on the hill when I'm in that neck of the woods (a sacred place for many, I realize), "my" temple, remembering sitting inside, talking to my mom, waiting for the biggest thing I'd ever done.

What are your personal sacred places?

So...

Since my last post, I changed my blog design. Before it was looking like so much Pepto. Make no mistake: I want my blog to be hot pink. So the title is punch enough...for now.

Anyway. I am one of those people who does things a certain way. My way is always the way that makes most sense and is best for society. There are a number of ways I exhibit this: I always shut the entire lid of the toilet before flushing to contain germs. I don't cut meat on wood cutting boards, even if it's cooked. Heck, I even do all the apartment deep cleaning on Tuesdays when my husband is playing basketball so I can do it my way. I wouldn't call myself particular to the point of insanity.

However, you might.

One thing I'm particular about is pulling up EXACTLY to the stop line when I'm first in line at a stop light. Even though most of the lights in my neighborhood are on timers, not sensors, I still feel this is of utmost importance. And the other day, I did this, as is normal and correct, and a car pulled up in the next lane over, and I kid you not, they were almost a full car length behind the stop line!

What were they hoping to accomplish with this? The world may never know. I sure have been thinking about it since, though.

I don't know

how my blog design got so ugly

how i cut my finger open today

why the neighbor upstairs is always on her phone shouting the most asinine things

why it's so hard to find a decent rental property in this town that isn't mcmansion expensive or crackhouse horrific

Basically I don't know much today. Do you?

Where my peep at? or, Cabela’s: Montana-sized salt lick for eager new bow hunters

Last night, I went to Cabela’s with my husband to buy bow hunting equipment. No word yet on how bow bow staff skills translate into bow hunting skills.

Cabela’s has all kinds of equipment for killing all kinds of animals.

We were there for upwards of 90 minutes and didn’t have time to look at the fake mountain with all the dead sheep and stuff on it, or the aquarium, which is my favorite part because it’s like Sea World, Freshwater Edition.

I’ve been to Cabela’s once before in my life, with Erin, to buy a lantern for…doesn’t matter. We went in there with our makeup and our curled hair and our premium denim and our high heels and we clacked our way across the tile floor past the camo-clad customers and employees right to the camping section to pick out the world’s greatest lantern.

The only place I’ve ever felt like more of an outsider was that one time in junior high that I tried out for a sports team.

The archery section of Cabela’s was a lot more upbeat than the camping section, because it was stacked with Rabies, er, helpful sales staff people with names like Cody and Raby. I think the store had Rabies to help customers in other departments, but we just had one individual Raby.

He is a bow hunter/Cabela’s outfitter and he installed a new peep on Mark’s bow, and cut his arrows to the appropriate length for his bow and stance. If you are going to take up bow hunting, might I suggest you talk to Raby? And Cody. But I kind of just like talking about Raby.

I have to say, I was happy to be there for this outing, especially when we got to the till, when I realized I had just racked up enough points to trade in the IKEA fabric I’d planned on to re-upholster my chairs, for something to the tune of Jonathan Adler.