Major appliance repair made simple...

For the last two months, my dryer has been threatening complete and total death. Sometimes it smells like burning, sometimes it sounds like grinding, most times it works for two minutes then shuts off.

Since I can't justify spending money I simply don't have right now, I decided to try a little major appliance repair the other night, thus proving bad things happen when I decide to emulate something I'd see on the TLC network. First, I researched my particular type of dryer, and after locating an online "manual" (and by "manual" I mean poor, worthless illustration) decided that was all I needed to guide my way through Screwdriverland.

That, and after a few glasses of wine, it was time to try my handiwork.

I got out my toolbox (yes, my daddy once got me a toolbox. Contrary to popular belief, it's NOT one of those "I'm trying to be so hard to be cute" pink toolboxes.) and after digging through old Sam Adams caps and thumbtacks, found a Phillips. Or flathead. Or something. Funny that you can have something so perfectly orchestrated in your head and when you're sitting there in front of a surly dryer, nothing makes much sense. I unscrewed a few things, and I got scared and screwed them back in. Yay. I know how to unscrew and screw things back in. I just wish something would unscrew me from all of this.

Finally, I let the dryer have it. Two years of bitterness and frustration and pent-up sorrow came out through my feet into the bottom of the dryer. First a few timid kicks, and then full-out Billy Blanks tae-bo, followed by a string of expletives rivaled by shore-leave.

"F**K cancer that kills our loved ones!"
"F**K the Cleveland Indians!"
"F**K that girl in elementary school who used my Crayola markers and dulled all the tips and put the colors out of order!"
You know, all the really important stuff to get upset about and kick the shit out of a clothes dryer...

Lo and behold, the dryer worked. It started, and it stayed on for a full drying cycle. Sure, it's not a permanent fix, but for a temporary solution, who says violence doesn't solve anything?

Sigh...

Why do we always want what we can't have?

I want to eat a pizza without feeling guilty.

I want to see the Red Sox in the World Series from Fenway this year.

I want to stop feeling like I should be doing something bigger.

I want to have skinny thighs that haven't been bulked up through nearly three decades of dance.

I want to open bills I get in the mail without anxiety.

And yep, I want to have someone say words as eloquently to me as McDreamy did to Meredith tonight.

Utah's Catholic Connection

The headline for this incident really caught my eye. It read "Former Salt Lake City Bishop Niederauer apologizes for serving communion to activists in drag." I don't know if I'm tired or if the headline could've been better written, but my brain thought the former Utah bishop had dressed in drag himself and got in trouble for serving communion while dressed as such.

After reading the article twice, I realized it was the activists who were dressed in drag as nuns. I can't speak to religion, however, I believe an activist's message is discredited whenever they have to cause a scene. I'm all for free speech, I'm just not for tacky-- actions or lipstick.

It sucks at S'bux

Quickly, while I let my brain take a minute to process all the writing I've done today, I have to mention I'm increasingly irritated with Starbucks.

Not only do they have more money than God, baby Jesus, and Michael Eisner, but now they've really overstepped their bounds. I'm talking about anonymity-- mine to be exact. I don't like giving my name with each order so they can call it out when it's ready. I don't like it when strangers use my name. It goes back to all those old, elementary school "Stranger Danger" videos they'd show in health.

What's more, why is it necessary for Starbucks to ask for my name when I'm in the drive-up? They can only get to one order at a time, there's only room for one vehicle at the window, it's not like they're going to call it out. This is about as well thought-out as having braille on the driver's side ATM.

I want to give Starbucks a fake name. I want them to shout out "Amanda Huggenkiss! I've got coffee for Amanda Huggenkiss!" It will never happen. My fake name wouldn't match the name I've got on my debit card, and then I'd go to jail for credit fraud or something. All because Starbucks wants to mess with the system. One more reason to patronize locally-owned coffee shops-- the people who call out your name are friends.

Thoughts on technology

Technology is supposed to make our lives easier; microwaves make dinner faster, cell phones put us in touch with the world anytime, and I dare say a college Mass Comm Law paper would’ve been much better without tackling an old-school card catalog.

Though life is probably much simpler than it was even when my parents were my age, technology is making it tougher to date in 2007. While we used to go out and meet people face-to-face, it is now entirely possible in this age to sit behind the screen and date the Macbook. It also makes it easy to check up on old flames, to Google potential dates, to profile a real-life person with their online profiles. Today, technology is making me wonder, “Can we know too much?” Is ignorance bliss? Is it better to risk meeting an axe-murder in a bar?

A little less than a decade ago, I met someone who is a very cute, fairly prominent photographer in the area. He took pictures for a short-lived fashion magazine, and one night he just showed up at a party I was throwing. I had invited the neighbors, they had invited their friends and before I knew it, I was manning the blender for 50 of my favorite friends and the strangers they had brought with them.

Eventually, it became too much dating the cute photographer because of my own insecurities. To me, I wasn’t skinny enough, I wasn’t pretty enough, and I absolutely believed I could never compare to the models he saw each day through his lens. And in my very mature way (hey, I was in my early-twenties, after all) I eventually quit speaking to him. Since then, I’ve come to terms with myself-- my body, my looks, my entire being, and even though he moved to another city, I have actually gone out with the cute photographer on a few occasions whenever he happens to be in town.

Very recently, he called me to come and “hang out” “sometime soon” during a photo shoot in another city, which sounds like it could be a nice change of pace. And since I find myself continually in need of a change of pace, and continually turned on by very cute photographers, I have recently given more thought to the idea. I have given so much thought to this person from my past that I even gave into a little “crush-Googling,” where I quickly became aware of something:

Technology is a dirty bitch. I discovered a program for a 2006 charity event where there was a listing for a “Mrs. and Mrs. [very cute photographer].” Now here’s the dilemma:
Was this two women who happen to share his same name?
Was this a type-O and he’s married?
Was this a totally different couple, even though his name has a fairly uncommon spelling?
Was I a stalker for even Googling this in the first place?

So many questions that now I can’t possibly call him without sounding like a freak. Do I just blurt out, “Um, so, are you married, or what?”

I think that technology brings out the best in humanity as a whole, but the worst in each of us as individuals because it’s taken away a lot of honest interaction. Rather than pick up the phone and talk, we would rather email the co-worker sitting two cubicles away. Eventually, this makes us very content to keep our personal relationships behind the keyboard...

Or become emotionally confused while forever wondering, “What if?”

Don't dream it... be it.

So, here's my costume for Rocky Horror in a couple of weeks. I've tried to make this picture look like me to really entice people to come and see the show.

Except I won't wear my glasses.

And the alto sax in this picture isn't to scale, it's smaller.

And the boobs in this picture aren't to scale, they're smaller too.

I see you shiver...

It's time to get your tickets and now you can do that online by clicking here or pasting this url into your browser: http://www.rockyhorrorinconcert.com/index.html

Where else will you see this much skin in one place? I mean, besides the ward picnic!

The anniversary

Yesterday marked the one-year anniversary of my greatest personal loss, and it was extremely anti-climactic. In fact, the build-up throughout the week was probably more traumatic than yesterday. Yesterday was... just another day. I don't know what I expected, really, if I would get haunted or if my dad would walk in and say he was just kidding, but nothing.

I watched the latest episode of Moonlight.

I went to the gym.

I washed my hair.

Part of me feels extremely guilty that I've gotten on with my life, a feat I didn't think I'd be able to do last year at this time. And for that, part of me feels a giant sense of accomplishment.

Praise the idiot box

The only thing I’m liking about this time of year is all the new television shows I’m finding. As a self-proclaimed reality show junkie, I’m pleasantly surprised at the new dramas I’m finding this season. First, the premiere of Grey’s Anatomy last week rocked. After a crappy season finale, I feared for the future of Grey’s, however this year’s first show left me hopeful; and made up for the fact that Kate Walsh’s spin-off show “Private Practice” sucked.

I’m giving “Grey’s” another chance this season. After Meredith was thrown into the water in a slightly pithy three-parter last year (sorry for the spoiler, but if you haven’t seen it by now, give it up. Just start fresh with season 4), I still tuned in even though I was just about over it. This year’s new characters are familiar, the old characters have new problems, and Meredith and McDreamy are still just plain hot together.

Hats off to the CW who is finally channeling their inner WB. I knew it was in there! Just because you became the CW doesn’t mean you didn’t have a good drama in you. I had a hate affair with the WB after “Dawson’s Creek” ended, and have to admit the CW’s “Gossip Girl” is my new guilty pleasure. This is a show from the creators of “The O.C.” and has all the elements of when “The O.C.” was great, before Marissa died, before it sucked. “Gossip Girl” is the classic “Pretty in Pink” dichotomy of rich vs. poor where all the rich kids drink, do drugs and have threesomes and the poor kids are the moralistic salt of the earth. But it’s updated; the guys are beautiful, the clothes are amazing and it’s just something you hate to love. The show is tied all up by a narrator calling herself Gossip Girl who airs the secrets of the characters in her personal blog (kind of like a voyeuristic “Wonder Years”).

What I’m most surprised about this season is the CBS network. When did CBS become almost hip? I’m used to the CBS of oldendays which programmed for “Touched by an Angel”-loving grannies, but CBS has made watching TV on Fridays nearly acceptable by running what I’d like to coin “Freaky Fridays” by showing paranormal delight “Ghost Whisperer” and my new favorite vampire drama, “Moonlight.”

“Moonlight” is about a freaking hot vampire private investigator who uses his powers for good while trying to keep the identities of the “vampires who walk among us” a secret. Sure it’s hokey ("As darkness falls, a hero is born?" who writes that stuff?), but I am who I am, and I am a sucker for a good vampire show. Remember “Kindred: the Embraced” that short-lived Fox show in the mid-90s? It was good, but didn’t catch on, and I’m afraid “Moonlight” will have that same fate. Until it goes away, I will enjoy my Freaky Fridays on CBS, even if I have to tape it. (Yes, “tape.” I’m taking donations for a TiVo, though.)

Two things I didn’t particularly like about my new favorite show “Moonlight.”

1.) The use of an Evanescence song during a particularly “sentimental” scene. I feel the usage of popular (term used loosely because I detest Evanescence) music in an already trendy television show is a very delicate balance. From day one, Grey’s Anatomy found this balance, as did The O.C., however not every show can do it well. Music has to be part of the script, and not just make a cameo appearance just because the director thinks it will “make the show cool.” The best usage of music as part of a TV show script is throughout the series “La Femme Nikita,” God rest its soul. I’m reminded of season 4, before Michael became a total pussy, when Madeline and that chick from Red Cell were trading posses in an empty football field. The whole scene was set in slow-motion to an Enigma song-- and it was beautiful.

2.) Number two isn’t so much something I didn’t like about the show, but more a tip of what not to do during a new television show you’re enjoying. Do not, I repeat, NOT, consume an entire can of fat-free Pringles because you’re so drawn to what you’re watching. The Olean they use to make the things so damn tasty is like colon silicone come 2:34 in the morning.

See what happens when I feel sick and stay home to get better and watch television? I am glad I'm getting over the sickness and my reality tv obsession at the same time.

Adventures in snacking

Fat-free "cheese" does not melt.

After two weeks of no exercise and a wicked lot of East Coast draught beer, I went to the gym yesterday to sweat it all out. After 45 minutes of killing myself on the elliptical trainer, I opted to hit the grocery store for nacho fixins. But guilt got the best of me, and while I did get nacho fixins, I got fat free shredded cheddar "cheese" and fat free chips.

Excited to make my snack for lunch, and thrilled that I would still be somewhat healthy, I hurried home from the store. Chips onto the plate, shredded "cheese" onto the chips, one-minute in the microwave...

Fat-free "cheese" does not melt. The shreds were still every bit as defined as when I took them out of the bag. Maybe another 30 seconds would do the trick.

Three minutes later, fat-free "cheese" does not melt.

Instead, the whole mess of cheese and chips had actually become part of the plate. The whole phenomenon reminded me of Sweet Home Alabama when the one cute guy turns sand to glass and then professes his love to Reese Witherspoon. Except there was no love triangle. Or Southern rock music. Or cute guy. (Yeah, that analogy was a stretch.)

Instead of throwing away the whole mess, plate and all, I decided to try and break apart the upper part of the chip-wad and eat it. After a couple of bites, I realized that not only does fat-free "cheese" turn into titanium when put on chips and microwaved, but it also tastes like shit. One hour later, I had pried enough of the mess off the plate where I hope a dishwasher will help at some point.

My snack was defeated, and I moved on. For dinner I thought I'd be safer and ate dry Stove Top stuffing out of the container.

Philadelphia, in pictures

I haven't had a chance to upload ALL of my pictures I took in Philadelphia, but here are some if you want to check them out on Flickr: http://flickr.com/photos/princessgolightly/

Now you know my Flickr address, so you have no excuse not to regularly check out my pictures-- and I have no excuse not to be more regular in taking them. Gotta' use that fancy camera!

Keep watching for one of the strangest pictures I've ever taken, when we decided to go on a ghost tour through the "City of Brotherly Love."

Go Sox! Where's the Bah-tendah?

After spending last week in Philadelphia for work, I decided heading to sunny Massachusetts to visit my brother and sister-in-law (well, they're nearly married... I'm in the wedding next summer) would be a nice, relaxing bit of a vacation.

Turns out, I like this state.

I like drinking draught Sam Adams while watching Red Sox games.

I like East Coast men with accents.

Ultimately, I like the fact that everywhere I go does not remind me of the emotional rollercoaster I've ridden for the past few years. When I'm in Salt Lake, it is hard to get through the day when just driving past a grocery store reminds me of my dad. It started to get to me so much, the thought of returning at the beginning of the week rather than the end seemed like the only way to continue to center myself.

Sure, it was tough to call my mom and tell her not to find me at the airport tomorrow, but I'm trying to find my mojo. My mojo's been gone for awhile now, and quite frankly, I'd like it back. I'm tired of being mojo-less.

And if I happen to find a cute smile to make me smile along the way while hanging out with the best brother and sister-in-law anybody could hope to have, so much the bettah.

Karma Blows

I don't know what I did, but karma is sticking its tongue out at me. I was on the freeway after work last night, during rush hour, behind a mini-van and sandwiched between two semi-trucks. When the mini-van spit an eight-inch piece of tire shred right out into the air.

I thought to myself, "Hmmm... rubber is squishy and bouncy! This is noooo prob..." SMACK!

Right into the corner of the hood of my car, my baby. No biggie when I saw the hood flapping in the breeze, I figured the little tire chunk just unlatched the hood on one side. After pulling over, there is a damn dent in the hood along with a broken latch. Not a big dent, not a hugely disgusting dent, just a dent large enough to look ugly and piss me off.

After getting estimates all day, estimates that range between five- and six-hundred dollars, I am wondering what I did to piss off karma so much this week:

Is it because I jokingly referred to an old lady as "The Cryptkeeper?" This is not an untruth; she does look like the Cryptkeeper, I'm not saying it to be mean, it's just... true.

Is it because I didn't really jump to save my mother as she fell down the mezzanine stairs at the Capitol Theatre during the intermission of Spamalot Sunday night? I didn't want her to pull me down too, not to mention I did finaly help her off the ground after she slammed her head into a pole. (I was also in a slight daze from the hotness of Sir Gallahad or "Dennis.")

Is it because I borrowed someone else's wine, the wine about which I wrote last week?

I got the hood latch fixed this evening by the fine folks at TeraFlex, who even used a ratchet thing and helped with installation. Still doesn't fix the dent in the hood, but at least I'm saved from said hood catching air and slamming up into the windshield.

My perfect car that has always been perfect isn't quite so perfect anymore. Like so many things in life, it's just an annoyance that adds a little color the the monotony of the day. I'm reminded of a saying I like to tell myself whenever I'm feeling sad and blue:

"If you light a man a fire, he'll be warm for a day but if you light a man on fire, he'll be warm for the rest of his life."

Take them how you will

Just some random thoughts for your Wednesday night pleasure... take them how you will.

1. No matter how sweaty you get at the gym, do not blot your disgusting face with cheapo toilet paper from the bathroom stall. You'll only end up looking like you've had a horrible shaving accident, and you will not realize this until after you've walked back out through the gym and are sitting in the car.

2. If you are dating someone and that someone happens to die, do not keep their old bras out on your shed workbench. It will make the person you might later date question your affection for them, and that will be the start of a slow spiral down the proverbial relationship toilet. Until it flushes and it's gone.

3. Thank goodness for fast-thinking friends who come up with the idea to use a towel to slide and carry a television. That's right! If you feel that number two pertains to you, then you're the same person from whom I stole said tv-moving towel! Bwahahahahahaaa! I also borrowed a bottle of wine from you, and it was the best wine I've ever had.

4. Is Ouija necessarily bad? Is it only bad if the walls begin to bleed? What if I use Ouija and my dad tells me from the "other side" that he saw me borrow wine and take a towel?

5. Power outages and elliptical trainers do not mix well. If the power goes out while you are climbing at a 10 and the machine stops, you will get suddenly launched over the front. Red wine and someone else's Xanax prescription do not mix well either.

Only one more week until I leave for Philly. I'm excited to room with the life-saving towel-stealing accomplice. It will also be a much-needed diversion right now as I get into Fall and the one-year anniversary of some ultimate sadness.

One last thing...

I got new glasses.
Methinks the day-long vertigo is worth it. Apparently you're not supposed to go five years in between eye exams and now I feel like I have X-ray vision.

The postman stole my Free Panty.

There are few joys in life greater than getting something in the mail from Victoria's Secret, other than their monthly credit card bill. If you're a card-holder, occasionally they'll send you free stuff. Free panty here, $10-off a purchase there, all with the assumption you'll visit their store and spend five-times what you'd normally spend.

Today, I got home from yet another nerve-wracking day at work and saw a little glimmer of salvation: the Victoria's Secret mailer announcing "Free Panty." The Free Panty is a good one, and having acquired several of the little gems over the years, I was excited to redeem the coupon and perhaps spend actual money on a few well-deserved items for myself. Upon opening the poorly glued mailer, I discovered something so horrific, so mortifying, so heinous I was forced to check the mailbox several times out of desperation.

No Free Panty. None, no card-like coupon stuck to the inside of the card. The words echoed inside my head: No. Free. Panty. For. You. Holly.

The postman stole my Free Panty. That's the only logical explaination for it's disappearance. Isn't it just my luck today that I would look so forward to Free Panty and then have my hopes dashed?

Apparently you don't get something for nothing.

Why so sad?

I could hardly believe what I heard on the radio on the way to work this morning: Owen Wilson was in the hospital after having allegedly attempted suicide by slitting his wrists and taking pills (not necessarily in that order).

It made me wonder why someone so funny cute and together would try to off himself. It seems it's always the funny ones who are so inwardly tragic. It's that cognitive dissonance of a crying clown, except Owen is less creepy than a real clown.

Or even a mime.

With the news of the day, I'd like to reflect on my top five creepiest suicide scenes in movies:

5.) Heat (1995). Val Kilmer's daughter tries offing herself in the bathtub. It was creepy.

4.) Leaving Las Vegas (1995). Pretty much the whole thing. Nic Cage epitomizes the typical suicidal character, the antithesis of Owen Wilson.

3.) Wizard of Oz (1937). Okay, not a real suicide, however there is an urban legend that one of the munchkin actors allegedly hung himself in a tree... and they left it in the final print. Turns out it's a big bird. This also ranks up there with the "ghost boy" in 3 Men and a Baby, which turns out is a cardboard cutout. But I digress...

2.) Royal Tenenbaums (2001). This is extremely strange given Owen Wilson's latest display. I hate watching people cut themselves with things in movies, I hate it worse than watching people shoot up with needles in movies. I hate pain.

1.) Balls of Fury (2007). Christopher Walken's career suicide. Makes me wonder, does he really need money or is he to the point where he doesn't really need money?

At Least She's Pretty

When Miss Teen South Carolina grows up, she wants to be a veterinarian because she loves children.



I could see the next line of question going something like this:

Guy with Microphone: "Tell us your thoughts on euthanasia."
Miss Teen South Carolina: "I think youth in Asia have small feet 'cuz they bind them when they're little."

I know how it goes. I was in the Miss Dixie College pagent.

*Update: August 27, 2007*
From people.com
"The beauty contestant's video on YouTube has received more than 2 million hits thanks to her amazingly off-the-mark answer at Friday night's pageant, when she was queried about why Americans are so bad at geography.

Specifically, she was asked why one-fifth of Americans can't find the United States on a map.

"I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because some people out there in our nation don't have maps," she ventured.

During her meandering response, she also tossed in out-of-the-blue references to "the Iraq" and "Asian countries" and their need for the support of the American educational system in identifying the United States on the map.

Upton is described as a varsity athlete and student leader at Lexington High School, where she graduated in June with a 3.5 GPA.

Despite the on-camera gaffe, Upton finished as third runner-up."

The Mother Lode.

Tonight, just now, I discovered that Pepsi Jazz Carmel and Creme flavor tastes exactly like diet creme soda. Diet creme soda is extremely difficult to find, for whatever reason, and so right now I'm giddy with excitement. Zero calories of yummy.

I've also had over a bottle of Argentenian red wine prior to discovering said caramel creme soda.

I am blogging on red wine. Alone. In my thoughts.

For those of you who don't know me, or even for those who do, I'm a dancer. I have been a dancer for my entire life, starting at the age of two-and-a-half because my mom lied and said I was three to get me into classes. I danced through high school and when I attended the University of Utah was a modern dance major who defected and became a competitive ballroom dancer. I won't lie, it was the glitter and feathers that got me. (Unfortunately meeting men was tough, it was the glitter and feathers that got them too.)

Why is this relevant, you ask? I am currently in a hip hop, jazz, contemporary dance company here in good ol' SLC, and as a "senior member," am going to teach a new audition piece this Saturday. Which is why I found Pepsi Jazz caramel and creme. I've had creative block tonight, and rather than going to the gym, rather than making up the dance, I went to the store to wander. Creative block is a bitch.

I'm pleased to announce that after over a half a bottle of red wine, I have come up with not only a song I like, but also the first sixteen counts of choreography with which I'm pleased. This isn't particularly relevant to the world around us; this isn't going to cure cancer or save the rainforests or find the trapped Utah miners, but it brought a smile to my face.

Dancing is a story, and mine lately is a pretty twisted one. If finding a pretty song and making some gorgeous movement to it can bring a few minutes of thought this weekend to strangers, then I guess tonight wasn't a total loss.

In the morning, we'll see if my head actually agrees with my typing fingers...

and my tastebuds.

Good to Know!