Disgust

Some people want to be your friend because they genuinely like you. Some people want to be your friend because you have something they want. Other people want to be your friend because they feel the need to have everyone like them.

I used to hang around with a guy who falls squarely in the latter category. Only, in addition to needing everyone to like him, he also needs everyone to think that he's their best friend. This may sound more than a little familiar. I have previously called him "Network," and that's not going to change anytime soon.

Many moons ago (before I became too disgusted with his incessant need to be everything to everyone) we added each other on MySpace. I haven't deleted him from my friends, though perhaps I should. That's not the point. The point is: he has a post up today for a "PARTY AT THE PLAY BOY MANSION!!!" This truly disgusts me. He purports to be this pillar of society and, here he is, proclaiming that everyone should attend this party at the Playboy Mansion—a place that represents much of what is reprehensible in society. I'm quite angered with him. This far surpasses annoyed.

<Make disgusted sound here>

Singles BBQ?

The Church has set up separate wards for young single adults. In our area they limit that to the ages 21-30. Which means, all of the single people 31-dead go to regular wards, or, what we call "family wards." This is all well and good, unless your the 31 year old who is now hanging out with single people twice your age. Dating prospects are seriously limited. Thus, a girl friend of mine who is rapidly approaching the 31 year mark has created a group for singles 27-40. This gets people mixing from both sides of the line, while keeping the dating range, well, acceptable. By the time someone is 40 and single they'll be hanging out with the single 31 year olds. See the logic? Yeah, I think it's a great idea too. Because I fit quite nicely in the young side of this group I have decided to join, and (occasionally) go to some of the activities.

Last night it was a BBQ. I went and had a grand old time. I decided that I really do hate stupid people. They irk me to no end. Blargh! Funny, though, the best conversation I had was with the 23 year old kid who is visiting his aunt from somewhere in The South.

At this rate, I'm going to end up dating a mere child.

Hmm... InternBill is young...

Snoqualmie Falls

For Institute tonight we went to Snoqualmie Falls. Yes, 'we'. I went. Also, I invited InterBill. He happily came along and took loads of pictures.

At one point one of the girls in my ward asked him, "Are you in our ward?" Both a bit excited, and curious, since he looks familiar, but not too familiar (clean cut, blond, 21...). I interjected before things could get awkward, "Nope. We work together."

"Oh," she said clearly embarrassed.

Another girl asked, "So, is this your intern-fling?"

What could I say? "Yup!" I laughed. Later, she invited him to church on Sunday with the tantalizing words, "There's a pot luck afterwards!" He may come. I'll have to wait and see.

Oh, and while we're talking about InternBill: He invited me to go to this concert next week. I'm not sure if it's a date or not. I guess we'll have to wait and see, though I don't know how to check. Good times.

Ok, here's a picture I took. I really like it.



Panorama!! Woo hoo!

Introductions

Tonight InternBill joined my church friends and me at dinner. It was fun. We had a good time, and nobody said anything to make anyone else uncomfortable. We had a great time! In fact, Sweatheart thought he was LDS. Oh, I kind of wish.

If nothing else, he's good for my ego.

Chris Lee

I frequently wonder about a buddy of mine from high school named 'Chris Lee' (yup, that's his real name). I often try to hunt him down on various social networking sites as well as google.

Do you have any idea how many 'Chris Lees' there are in the world? About a million. Oh, and they're all Asian. Tragically, this particular Chris Lee isn't Asian. Not that it matters, there are still a million of them.

Not What I Meant!

This afternoon I updated my status to read, "So-and-so is a little bit richer." Unfortunately, at first glance that looks like "So-an-so is a little bitcher." While that's certainly not what I meant it is too funny to remove. Thus, it shall stay for a day or two while I laugh to myself over the very inside joke.

Survey Says

"I'm sorry sir, you're gay."

Nothing sends my gay-dar into a frantic beeping frenzy as that of a photograph of the naked torso (sans face) of a guy posted on any one of the 100 so-called "social networking" sites.

If I see a single picture of this type I just move on. I'm sorry, sir, you're gay. Have a nice life.

Half Plus Seven

There exists a silly little device for determining if someone is date-able, based solely on age. There are many other factors, but this one helps a great deal with the creepy level of things. The rule is simple, your lower bound (the youngest you should date) is calculated by dividing you age in half and adding seven. You upper bound (the oldest you should date) is calculated by subtracting seven from your age and multiplying by two.

Observe:

Lower Bound = l
Upper Bound = u
Your age = a

l = (a/2) + 7
u = (a - 7) * 2

If you're 27 that means:

l = ( 27 / 2 ) + 7 = 20.5
u = ( 27 - 2 ) * 2 = 40

Which, in English, means: A 27 year old should date no one younger than 20 1/2 or older than 40. That's a huge range, but it helps to clarify the creep factor.

The intern in question 2 posts ago fits very very closely to my lower bound. So there.

Sine

Sine is a buddy of mine who has on more than one occasion declared, "I hate you, Granola!" One evening he said, "You know, the way I feel about you is like a sine wave. Sometimes I really like you (that's the top of the curve) and sometimes I really hate you, that's the bottom of the curve. Right now you're on the way down!"

"I totally agree!" I proclaimed. Sometimes I really like him and sometimes grrr he irks me so much I can't stand it. We know exactly what buttons to push with one another, and the arguing is certainly entertaining. In fact, someone offered to pay for us to go on a date, as long as he could come too. Strictly for the entertainment value. We discussed taking him up on it, but then Sine declared, "We can't go anywhere! You can't freaking eat anything!"

Thanks man. You're on the downward slope of my sine wave.

Good Guess

Last night a bunch of us were getting together, so I sent a text to a buddy of mine. He called me back a few hours later to ask about the event. I told him and he said he probably wouldn't go. We chatted about what we had each done that day, etc. I mentioned that I was hanging butcher paper, because the next morning someone (InternBill, to be precise) was coming over to take photos of my paintings for my portfolio. He asked if I needed help hanging the paper. My first inclination was to tell him 'thanks, but I got it.' But then my brain got in the way of my ego and quickly concluded that if he was too tired to come hang out with a bunch of us, but offered to come to the same area to help me hang paper he probably wanted to see me, even if just for a little bit. I allowed my brain to win. "Uh, sure. I could use help." I told him.

15 minutes later he was here offering help. We spent about an hour working on it, and chit-chatting a bit, before he headed home, and I headed over to my buddy's house.

When I got there they asked what I had been doing and I apologized for being late and said, "Someone came over to help me out with something." Vague, but not overly dodging sharing.

Sine* immediately guessed who it was, which is odd, since he hardly hangs out with us at all. I asked him how he so accurately guessed. He had no good explanation, but told me that I should ask him out before the summer is over and he heads back to school (oh, yeah... an intern!). I laughed, "He's, like, 21! I can't date him. He's the lower bound of my 1/2 + 7!**"

"So, he's your lower bound. That means he's still in the range," he insisted.

Throughout the evening he made that suggestion more than once. I wonder if he knows something I don't. Or, if he thinks I'm interested and just encouraging me. I asked him as he left if he knew something I didn't. He didn't reply. Herm...



* Um... the next post will explain this name, I'm just really sick of not having a blogname for him.

** The next-next post will clear this right up

I've Never

To be perfectly honest, I'm not a huge fan of the game "I've never." Usually I either lose horribly because I'm playing with a bunch of conservative friends who haven't really lived much, or I win easily because I'm playing with a bunch of (what's the opposite of 'conservative'?) more "open minded" people who usually go for the more, erm, colorful things that they've never done.

Tonight we played four rounds. I lost all four, first. So depressing. At one point Sweetheart was trying to knock Nanny out of the game and said, "I've never been to England."

Nanny countered, "Neither have I!"

"OH!" Sweetheart said, remembering, "I mean Greece!"

"Neither have I!" Nanny re-countered.

"Or, where ever it is you went!"

"Those were both me! Italy! You want Italy!"

We laughed, the boy I'm interested in chuckled, "What's that put you at? Negative 10 points? Wait, those were all me!!" I guess I have done a lot. Comparatively.

Your Secret Made Me Cry

I'm an avid reader of PostSecret, and have been reading it for a bit over a year now. Some secrets make me laugh, some make me cry. Some I don't understand, and some resonate too well. One this morning gave me serious pause. While there is no way it could have possibly been written for me, or about me, it was both. What, then, is this secret? A hotel key with the words, "Amanda, You suck at being in love" written on the back. It could have just as easily read, "Granola, You suck at being in love", because, I certainly, certainly do.



Someday, I'll figure it out, I promise.

Smells Like Cigar Smoke

Here's the commissioned picture I've been working on for what seems like forever. I'm calling it 'Cigar Smoke' after his request that it fit in a room that "looks like it should smell like cigar smoke." I hope he agrees that this fits.

Slang in the Workplace

Not much to say today. As each day goes by I get increasingly bitter about my job. I also get increasingly bored and look for more interesting ways to make my job suck less. Thus, I have embarked on a one woman mission to introduce my personal slang to the lovely multi-national individuals in my office. My favorite one? "Horked." It was so rewarding to observe it used in the wild. One of my Indian coworkers was complaining about something someone else had done. In frustration he exclaimed, "Their system is completely horked!" I was so proud.

Speaking of 'horked,' and bitterness, today I was testing a feature that was supposed to have been completed last Monday. It's still not finished. In my (mandated daily) report today I wrote, "Tragically, the biggest benefits of [this project] are totally horked." I can't wait to hear back about this on Monday. It's going to be a long day. And, there is going to be lots of questioning as to why I didn't find it until 2/3 of the way through testing. Too bad for them, eh?

4th of July

Once again we headed to Gas Works Park for the 4th of July celebration. Seattle is ranked in the top 5 for fireworks displays on the 4th. I can't argue that.

The celebration starts around 10 (shortly after dark) when the National Anthem is sung, and at the conclusion a military helicopter with a giant American flag suspended from it flies over the crowd as the song America the Beautiful is played (at least, that was the choice this year). As soon as the helicopter is out passed, and the song ended, the fireworks display starts. It happens to be synchronized with a variety of songs, and it is quite an impressive feat to see that take place.



For my thoughts from last year, see this entry. They still hold.

In addition, this year I got a lovely contact high from the people around me who felt the need to smoke weed. I woke up this morning with a small hangover (thankfully I managed to stay hydrated enough that the hangover wasn't too bad). Tragically, it hung around until noon. At 4 I got super tired again. And now, at the measly, pathetically early hour of 10:40 I'm packing up and headed to bed. I'm a wreck. I hope I wake up feeling much better tomorrow!

Good night!

Pride

I used to eat lunch in the break room at work all the time, then I got some office friends and have been going to out eat with them. It's been quite pleasant. However, during my lunch-at-work stint I frequently dined, and became friends, with a couple of the designers (one of whom I believe I have previously referred to as CuteGayGuy (but that's a totally horrible name for him, and I've known him for too long to give him such a stereotyping moniker—not that he would really mind)).

I still see them around the office, but haven't had lunch with them in ages. Today I decided to eat with them. As we were sitting around he said to me, "Did I see you at Pride Weekend?" (That would be, Gay Pride Weekend for those not in the know.)

"Nope." I replied, a million things running through my head.

"Are you sure?" he queried, "Because I have this blurry memory of seeing you and being all 'Hey!!!!" and stuff."

"Nope." I said again, "honestly, I had forgotten when it was, until it was over."

The other woman eating with us laughed, "A 'blurry' memory, huh? When did you start drinking that day?"

"I was drinking the whole weekend!" he 'reassured' us. "But, I have that memory from this weird few hour block I'm missing!"

We chuckled, it's certainly a different culture, no?

Here's the thing: he knows me, he knows my religious persuasion, and he knows how we feel about homosexuality. Yet, he doesn't consider it outside of the realm of reality that I might participate in Gay Pride weekend. I guess I really don't know if I would have, had I remembered it. I suppose that had I been invited I probably would have shown up, but to go, on my own volition, just to go? I doubt it.

Is anyone else intrigued that he didn't even seem to question the plausibility of me being there?

Good News!

I'm only 88% geek. See:

88% GeekMingle² - Free Online Dating

Grace

For the last two or three weeks the words of John Bradford have resonated within me, "There but for the Grace of God go I."

It is the case in the LDS Church we tend to stress the need for works over Grace when talking about Salvation. We believe, as Nephi said, "It is by grace that we are saved, after all we can do (2 Nephi 25:23)."

The logic there is plain and simple, "Do what you can, and God will make up the rest." Absolutely. 100% correct. Couldn't agree more.

What's the problem, then? Many Mormons get so focused on the caveat, "after all we can do," and forget entirely about the "it is by grace we are saved" part.

At the end of the day, no matter how much time we spent making leper bandages, or how many hours we spent in the Temple, or how big our tithing checks are, none of it matters. We can't buy our way into Heaven. We can only work hard, strive to be the best we can, and be immensely grateful for the incomprehensible mercy that is God's Grace.

What does this have to do with the quote above? I am where I am, I am who I am, I am what I am, because of the Grace of God. He has brought me to where I am, He has given me all I have, He has constantly blessed me. Of all the countless struggles and trials and blessings that exist in this world, I have what I have because God loves me completely enough to challenge me where I need it, help me when I need it, guide me how I need it, and bless me in the way I need it. All of these things have come together to shape who I am, and at that final Judgment, as I stand before Christ to make a report of my dealings, and fall dismally short; He will shower His Grace upon me, and save me in my sins.

How truly, truly wonderful.

The blessings I have are a small token of His Grace, now. Indeed, "there, but for the Grace of God, go I."

Yet More Closure

Too much of this closure thing and I might go nuts.

I helped Nurse move on Saturday. Why? Because I needed to do it, for me. I needed to force some closure for myself. I can't really explain it, but I needed it.

I started out the day at her house. As I walked in Nurse introduced me to her roommate and a couple of friends who were helping them move, "This is my friend, Granola," she said by way of explanation. Not, "This is Musician's friend, Granola," or, "This is Granola, she's in Musician's ward, but "This is my friend, Granola." I'm glad she thinks of me that way. I'm even more glad she introduced me that way. I want to be her friend, and I'd like to think that I kind of am, as much as I allow, perhaps.

It was a long day, but after we finished, Musician and Nurse took me and her other friend who was helping, out to dinner. We had a great time, then I asked them to join me at my car so I could give them my gift. It was a simple gift: the card I painted (which turned out quite nicely, actually), a rather beautiful box (made in India), a candle, two champaign flutes, and some nice dish towels. All quite beautifully arranged (if I do say so myself). They loved it, and thanked me a number of times. I'm glad it made them happy. I hugged her first, congratulating her and as we broke our embrace I said, with pure sincerity, "I'm so happy for you." I hugged him next, and probably held him tighter than necessary. As soon as I realized it I stepped back. Wishing them both well I quickly got in my car and drove off—hoping they didn't notice the tears pricking my eyes.

In the end, Saturday night was precisely what I needed.