What a Web

I got into this (Stuff You Missed in History Class podcast). But then quickly got out of it because I could hear the sound the speaker's mouth made every time she opened it to speak. And that sound makes me feel weird. And I think it's avoidable. Plus most of the stuff they talk about, a majority probably had learned in history class. So catch 22*, moving on.

But in the podcast on the Pazzi family (sucker for a mafia tale), they used the word nepotism, which I actually hadn't learned in history class. Or any class. So I looked it up. Nepotism: favoritism shown or patronage granted to relatives. I think I should have known that. Thanks, Illinois educational system**.

When I got home that night, my friend Brandon was over and I asked him why he's never taken a job with his cousin. He said because that would be nepotism. Of course it would be.

Oh word Gods, you are just hysterical sometimes.

Nepotism: Pay it forward.

* I give this term three years before no one actually knows what it means anymore and it becomes a wild card. This is me doing my part.
**49/50. Thanks, Mississippi.

It Happens

I think the same censor that is supposed to exist in my mind to keep me from excitedly talking*

about subjects on which I'm completely uneducated** was removed at the same time as the censor that is supposed to stop me from doing the Martha Washington every time I see water.

It gets ugly. Really ugly.

Phoenix was fun, though.

*Preaching, instructing, suggesting, etc.

**Health care bill, how to get a job, general life advice

Photo by Jane Metcalf

Not Since Roe v. Wade

My roommates and I moved into a new house.

We love it.

There's only about two things gross about the house: a smashed/dead fly stuck to our blinds* in the kitchen, and a used Tasmanian devil band-aid on the basement** stairs. The band-aid was left when the bona fide pervert who delivered our washer and dryer tumbled down the stairs with the dryer crushing him from behind. He only left us with three things: an overall sense of insecurity, a beautiful mental image he illustrated me of how he and I would die together once we were married, and that band-aid.

Anyway, there's a pretty steep wager about which will last longer: the fly or the taz. band-aid, and to be honest my money has got to be on the band-aid because that might have been the closest thing to an engagement ring I'll ever get and to believe it is going to be swept away in a matter of months, well that's just both unromantic and pessimistic, and I am anything but either.

*Of our bay window

**Finished basement

Some News

Good news: I did not hit a Jaguar in the grocery store parking lot.

Bad news: I did hit a Suburban in the grocery store parking lot.

Best news: It's beginning to seem that people are about as likely to take the time to get a quote on a scratched bumper as they are to burn you a cd or email you that picture they took. And to that I say, cheers.

Can I Get an Amen?

So I missed this, but sincerely planned on participating because it was a great idea, and because I won Livi's Valentine's Day giveaway last year, but to not let a list go to waste, here is a list of things that make me happy*.

Running. I've always had a thing for abusive relationships.

Homeless people. Unfortunately not in the 'I want to help them' kind of way, but in a, 'I like when they tell me I'm pretty' kind of way. Although either result in me handing out cash so I feel that my intent here is irrelevant.

My heater under my desk at work. Sometimes I turn it on full blast and put it on my lap like a puppy.

Twins. Call me a sucker for symmetry. (Important note: not a fetish thing...it's not!).

Good grammar. Ahhhh syntax.

Fine cheeses. as a footnote to this entry, I also enjoy both giving and receiving compliments on at the checkout on cheese selection. If a customer is going to pay over 10 dollars for something the size of a small toy car, it should be congratulated. Unless of course that "something" comes in a zip lock bag, and the "chekcout" is on a street corner**. Cocaine never calls for celebration. This message brought ot you by your older, judgmental sister, Maggie.

And last but not least, well-harnessed efficiency. Now there's an art.

Franz out.

*A six minute YouTube video is a prison sentence.

**Verifying that cocaine is actually bought and sold in zip lock bags and on street corners would have required at least a couple of awkward phone conversations at best, so we're just going to have to take what I'm pretty sure about marijuana, and marry it with clips I might have seen on movies.

Thanks, Livi!

S is for Chick*

Today I went to the DMV to secure my spot among the mighty fine league of Utah drivers.  When I first moved here I thought my Idaho plates gave me an excuse for being such a poor driver.  Then I realized it gave Utah an excuse to resent me even more.  Plus it was bad PR for Idaho.  And I felt bad about that.  I encountered my first problem with the bearded woman at the desk after asking for new plates.

Do you have a title?

-What's that.

Ok... do you have registration?

-Is this it?

That's an advertisment

-Is this it?

That's a police warning... Do you have a full name?

-Margaret Augusta Franz

...data entry... Would you like Centennial or Life Elevated plates?

-Life elevated please! Never skied a day in my life.

I think it was the Augusta that got her in the end.  Here's to hoping that Utah fellowship brings me better luck and more love on the road.

* Title of the blog comes from my friend Chris Jones who said this the first time he saw my Toyota S.

I'll Have a Blue Collar Christmas

Yesterday morning at work, my boss asked if I would take the day to deliver the rest of our firm's Christmas gifts to clients around the area. I thought I'd tell him I'd first have to tie up some loose ends, finish some work and make a couple of calls. But instead I did an internal double fist pump and skipped out the door.

I pictured the rest of the day waltzing in and out of Salt Lake's finest lobbies, being greeted by sweet receptionists I only dream of resembling, while they shower me with chocolate, gratitude and compliments on my yellow coat. What I neglected to realize, however, was that most of our "clients" are inventors, and most of their "offices" are factories. The receptionists weren't exactly "sweet" and I think my yellow coat hurt their eyes. They typically ranged from warehouse wives dressed entirely in gray sweats to teen-aged daughters (or more wives) of foremen. My gifts didn't phase them. But I still tried.

"I brought you a gift!"
--blank stare
"It's for Christmas!"
--blank stare
"Christmas is a holiday season celebrating happiness"
--blank stare
"Happiness is.... Ok, well I'll go move my car so your trucks can get in."
"Thank you."

There it is.

It went on like this for the most part of the day. I got pretty good at handling their indifference, and by the end of the day I began to love my industrial sisters throughout the valley. No chocolate, no receptionist voice, strictly business. It makes sense for them really. If you take time to smile, someone could lose an arm! This sentiment carried me all the way down the road, through a red light and into the heart of Layton City's police chief as he asked me if I was from around there. "No of course not, I went to college, see my vibrantly-colored coat? But I love these people." As Officer Terry left my car with a company christmas gift, and I left Layton City with a verbal warning, I thought I might even have seen a twinkle in his eye, but then again, it was happy hour in Layton City, so I guess I'll never know for sure...