see ya later, alligator!

So, I'm headed off to Peru for two weeks. So there will therefore be no updates to my blog in that time. But I'll be back June 9 with lots to say and lots of pictures.

Moab

I must say that Moab was a rather enjoyable experience. Derek tried to set himself on fire, because apparently his hot self combined with 104 degree heat and drinking nothing but warm water all weekend wasn't quite enough for him. But I've got to admit that a mouthful of matches is a way cooler idea than ordinary birthday candles.



Phil's car broke down the first night we were in Moab and Alan, being the pro mechanic that he is, decided that if we just shook the car hard enough, whatever was wrong would fix itself. It turns out that shaking a gas pump doesn't fix it. Who knew?



Friday, we went climbing, and Alan showed off his flexibility skills.



After a long day of climbing, we hiked up to delicate arch to watch the sunset. However, we forgot that the sun sets in the west, and that the view of delicate arch faces east. It was nonetheless a beautiful sight.



I then noticed that most of my pictures were of Alan. But seriously, can you blame me? I mean, just look at the guy. Ahhh....



Saturday was spent jeeping, which meant lots of bouncing and lots of dirt. Which meant that Derek was in his element.

Dear Honda,

You think you're pretty sneaky, don't you? Installing a CD player into my car that stops working when I drive over 75 miles per hour. But hey, I'm not going to let it get to me. You know why? Because I'm the bigger person, that's why. Yeah, that's right. So I'll drive 75. And I won't even be mad about it. So take that!

Love,
Poodle

thus far

Within the first five minutes after landing in Salt Lake I learned, much to my horror, that my brother-in-law drinks slim-fast. Voluntarily. Simply because he likes the way they taste. I also learned that my sister's new favorite restaurant is called Dairy Keen, and had the privilege of listening to her detailed explanations of exactly why Dairy Keen is so fantastic and why we needed to eat there the next evening. I'm a little bit worried about them.

i just have to brag

Now, I realize that it's a little out of form for me to tell stories about my family other than their bizarre sleeping habits or candy fixations. But I really just have to share with everyone just how brilliant my baby sister is. Just this week, she found out that she got the highest score in the entire city of San Antonio on the Spanish AP exam. And about half of the students taking the exam were native Spanish speakers. I'm sorry, but I could not NOT brag about that.

And, this same sister whom I love so dearly and who handles my teasing so well, and who has so graciously taught me the intricate art of eye-makeup application, won first place in the state competition for the bookcases she built in her shop class. I think I'm going to have her build my furniture for me when I move.

So, there you have it. She's a fantastic little thing.

things i've learned from dating

I really like boys. A lot.

If he laughs when he tells you he loves you, laugh back.

I find weird engineers incredibly attractive.

That's probably because I'm an engineer, too.

If he mumbles something that you can't understand, nodding your head and saying "yeah" might not be the greatest idea.

Going on double dates with your sister can be a lot of fun. Especially if your dates think you're twins. It may not, however, be so much fun for the boys.

If a boy tries to date your roommate, and when she tells him she's not interested, he tells you that it's okay because he really wanted to date you, and then when you tell him you don't want to date him, he says it's okay because he really just wanted to date your sister anyway, run. Fast.

Don't go out with a boy you're not interested in just for free dinner. It's really not worth the trouble.

If I like him, my parents probably don't.

If my parents like him, I probably don't.

the drama continues

I should have known it couldn't end that easily.

So, the boy sent an email to Washington DC's Colonail list serve in an attempt to find women to go dancing with him Saturday night. Because, apparently that's what boys do when the girl that they thought they wanted to marry but really didn't know the first thing about tells him she doesn't want to date him. My best Pennsylvania friend, who happens to be on the Colonial listserve, replied, without mentioning my name, to iquire whether or not he was still planning on going to Palmyra this Saturday, since a group of friends had been planning that trip for a while now.

To which he replied, knowing perfectly well that Wendy would share this information with me:

"Somehow, I totally missunderstood Brittany. I wrongly assumed that she might, just maybe, have some feelings for me. Clearly, that was not the case. So, I'm going to do something else..."

To which I thought:

"So much for the no pressure, let's be friends and get to know each other nonsense. And yes, you clearly misunderstood. That's the understatement of the year."

And Wendy replied, again without mentioning my name:

"Sorry you're not coming. Why don't you come and hang out with friends?"

To which he replied:

"Friendship works two ways. Brittany has never tried to be my friend."

To which Wendy replied nothing.

And which made me think:

"Gosh, you're right. You made it SO EASY for me to be your friend, and you made it SO CLEAR that all you wanted was friendship, and I was nothing but mean, as usual."

I then thought:
"Maybe I'll send him an email telling him this, because I'm kind of bored today, and that'll add a little bit of excitement and spice to my life."

I then thought better of it.

and so it ends

On Saturday, after the boy finally understands that "I don't want to date you" really means nothing other than "I don't want to date you", I notice that he is crying.

My reaction: Pretending not to notice his emotion, I look out the window, and in my most cheerful voice, declare "Oh, look! Cows! I love cows!"

And thus the drama ends.

I'm a jerk.

happy mother's day

I love my mother for many reasons, the least of which include the fact that she is never offended by my laughter when she tries to dance in the living room. I also love her because:

She taught me that winning really does matter, even when it's only a game of Speed Scrabble.

She knows perfectly well that my dad doesn't sleep any better in the bathroom and only does so for dramatic effect, but she lets him do it anyway because she thinks it's really funny.

She did't make me feel stupid when, after 3 months without running, I decided to accompany her on her 12-mile jog, and had to stop after mile 3. She did, however, leave me on the side of the road and make me wait for her to finish, just because she thought it was really great that, at the age of 48, she could run farther than her 22-year-old daughter.

Every time I come home, our first conversation always involves her mentioning that we really should go shopping on her day off.

She knows what "stacked" means and uses it in everyday conversation.

She signs all of her emails and letters "Mom the Bomb", because she is the bomb.

She only swears one day out of the year, and that day happens to be Christmas Eve. Always.

She requested hotdogs for her Mother's day dinner.

Oh, yeah. And she's finished med school, has run 8 marathons, placed second in her division in one of them, is an amazing pianist, a master pastry chef, and raised six kids who have all turned out pretty okay. But who pays attention to that?

Dear Boy,

No, this is not a note to all boys. In general, I really like boys. A lot. You're quite a delightful bunch, and a lot of fun to be around. But every once in a while, I run into one who is just a little too much. And so, in an attempt to lighten the situation, I write funny posts about the crazy things that he's done, and tell stories about his latest escapades. But there comes a point when it's really just not funny anymore. At all. So if you happen to be the boy who told me to throw away all pictures of myself in a swimsuit, or who tells me almost every day that he hopes that one day I'll be his wonderful wife, I have a few things to say to you.

LEAVE ME ALONE!

I think that about sums it up. Okay, so maybe I only really have one thing to say to you. When I said I didn't want to date you, I meant it. And when I agreed that we could be friends and hang out occasionally, I did not expect you to continue your offers to follow me to Georgia, or continuously bring up your suggestions that maybe one day I might decide I want to be your wife. I don't like having to remind you every day that you are not what I want. And I don't like the guilt trips I get when I want to go out with somebody else. Guess what? I have absolutely no committment to you. I told you this, but apparently you didn't listen. And guess what else? When a girl starts crying every time you call because she's just that frustrated with the situation, that's a bad sign. And that's your cue to back off. My entire life is changing right now, and is making me a little more emotional than usual, and I really don't need this right now. Okay? Becuase I'm having a hard time coming up with funny posts, and have let down my blogging audience. So if you won't do this for me, at least do it for them. Thanks.

I know that you have read 15 parenting books and are so excited for me to have your children. How do I know this, you ask? Because you've told me 15 times. At least. And I also know that you're rally funny, but I'm just not seeing your sense of humor for some reason. I think you've mentioned that about 20 times. And that's great. It really is. But for now, I need you to back off. I tried the "let's be friends" approach, but apparently you don't understand that.


Thanks,

Poodle

But on a brighter note, my hair has been looking really fabulous the past few days. And have I mentioned that I never have to take a final again, as long as I live?

some major accomplishments

Today, I finished the VERY LAST FINAL I WILL EVER HAVE TO TAKE IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. And it's a GLORIOUS feeling. But, in an attempt to squelch my celebration, my dear friend who refuses to start a blog pointed out that I'll probably go back to school at some point, and it's actually NOT the last final I'll ever take. Thanks, pal.

I also accepted a job in Georgia, teaching at a Catholic prep school. They don't even mind that I'm not Catholic, which is fantastic.

But probably my greatest accomplishment today was sending a mass email to 30 of my closest friends, and typing in EVERY SINGLE EMAIL ADDRESS CORRECTLY. Even after I had not slept all night. Now that takes skill.

a few hints

for successful dating

If you're going on a "no-pressure, no-committment, we're just trying to get to know each other" outing, stick with that. While on this excursion, do not tell her that you hope that one day she will be your wife, or that you are willing to follow her anywhere she goes. Remember how she said she doesn't want to date you? She meant it.

If she, out of the blue, starts talking constantly about her ex-boyfriend that she hasn't mentioned in months, this is probably her subtle way of telling you to BACK OFF. Because her not-so-subtle declarations that she doesn't want to date you, and that she is moving in August, and does not, in fact, want you to follow her, apparently didn't sink in.

If you've invited yourself to look through her photo albums, and run across a picture of her in her swimsuit, do not tell her that she needs to throw that photo away. It doesn't matter if you "won't be able to teach your daughters to dress modestly if they see pictures of their mother dressed like that." Especially if it's her favorite, super-cute, ONE-PIECE swimsuit. Oh, and by the way, I'm not going to be your children's mother, so you really don't need to worry about this 'immodest' picture.

Don't tell her you think her sister is fat. Just don't. And when she tries to change the subject, because she's nice and doesn't want to say all of the mean thoughts that will inevitably be running through her head, let her. Do not keep bringing it up repeatedly throughout the evening. And, by the way, a size 8 is not fat.

Thanks.