It’s Just A Little Crush

Not like I faint, every time we touch.

I know. Shocking. There are many, many women I think very highly of, which I have posted about before (ahem, here for example thank you very much) and which I am poised to do again this evening. From early on, I have found Elizabeth Banks not only charming, but a smart and talented actress that can dead pan six ways from Sunday without skipping a beat.

ImageTwo words: 30 Rock.

Ok, technically one of those words is a number, but let’s not get into the weeds on semantics. I have been following her crazy awesome career the way I do with Melissa McCarthy, another incredible actress that toes the line, being feminine and charming while also not being afraid to challenge those stereotypes for the sake of real comedy. Her stint in Bridesmaids, for example, doesn’t even need further development: if you’ve seen it, you know what I’m talking about.

ImageThe undercarriage comment alone is priceless.

After watching The Hunger Games for the zillionth time recently, I realized not only do I respect her talent as an actress, I would love to go have a drink with her. She’s clever. She’s smart. She’s funny. For goodness sakes, she actually made me want to not hate Effie Trinket (is that the name, so many people come and go/die in that series).

ImageChins up, smiles on!

All in all, she’s my new “wish she was my gal-pal” of the moment. I won’t lie, the top spot will always be for Milla a la Resident Evil, but Elizabeth (who, Be Tee Dubs, I appreciate doesn’t go by Beth, way to challenge the status quo) Banks is definitely in the running. Heck, let’s just drop another picture of her in this blog post shall we?

ImageOh Pitch Perfect. You keep me young.

Elizabeth, if you’re out there and want a coffee, it’s my treat. Until next time, stay classy Salt Lake!

Garden, Interrupted

ImageOne more night. Gimme just one more night.

I know, Phil Collins reference. Crushed it. I almost went with “Almost Paradise” but was worried the Footloose reference wasn’t as nuanced. After work today I drove over to Meggi and Deric’s house to help them load the world’s largest moving van. Because I got there a little early, I got to spend one last sweet summer evening clipping back bushes, watering plants, and harvesting vegetables.

ImageAnd the tomatoes are literally a week away from ripe.

M&D are moving to the sunny climes of California and renting their house to a lovely young woman with a friendly dog. And because having completely random strangers coming in and out of your backyard without warning (I really don’t see how I’m making that weird), in all likelihood The Ocho will be paused until their inevitable return.

Instead of being sad, I sit here remembering some of my best moments with some of the best people in the history of everything. Making sangria for Easter Brunch and everyone having way too much fun (naps were involved). Spending hours watering, listening to NPR or soft music and getting my zen. Sowing a thousand cucumber seeds and the garden box subsequently exploding with future pickles. Playing with the dog.

ImageCan’t. Even. Handle. This.

So I will miss it, and them obviously. In the meantime, I was able to harvest some delicious vegetables that I am trying to figure out what to do with (Pickle? Dehydrate? Eat? CrockPot?). I know, these are first world problems, but they’re mine dammit and I own them. So don’t even hate. Also, Big G is going to seriously punch me in the face when she finds out that Margaret sent me home with a souvenir. Something to remember the garden by…

ImageMy name is Wally, the tomato plant. I live in the kitchen now.

I’m going to have to wear a helmet to lunch tomorrow. Stay classy Salt Lake!

So. Much. Randomness.

Little people slap fights. Arby’s selling ice out of the back of their store. An elderly woman unsure on her feet wearing HIGH HEELS.

ImageBlanche Devereaux comes to mind.

This town might give Reno a run for its money in terms of being the biggest little city in the world. There are maybe three degrees of separation between me and 99% of the city. Every time I talk to a donor or a client, they say, “Oh, yeah, I know them. They are friends with XYZ, we just went to dinner the other night to talk about ABC.” It’s insane. Today was a testament to the fact that of all of the myriad places I have lived and worked, SLC is the one town where everybody knows your name.

ImageAnd they’re always glad you came. Oh, the 80’s hair.

In the course of an eight hour workday, I ran into a number of people who know someone that connects them to me. Like a giant crossword puzzle, each interaction proceeded to show me that in living in Utah (oh, the land of Zion), I have become a part of a community that knows everything about everyone at all times.

Sort of like Vassar without the Mug. Or ACDC. Anyone who gets these references gets five gold star stickers. Send me your mailing address.

To me it’s another signpost that I’ve found my niche. I have a great place, I’m working slowly with G to get to a point where retirement is less fantasy and closer to a realistic goal. And I continue to work in a position where I get to ask people for money to help people who truly need help.

ImageGrateful. Truly grateful.

I do promise in all sincerity to post about something less “awwwww” and more “wha?!” in my next posting. Scout’s honor. Until then, stay classy Salt Lake.

To Absent Friends

I’ve had a really good weekend. I was able to spend time with my girls from work, including LaBee and Kandyland, had a couple of drop-ins from M&S (and got to meet their little girl again, she is adorbs), and then drove over to Meggi and Deric’s house to help them move. Coupling that with the first non-90’s day since 1987, it’s been a really good time.

ImageAnd no, I don’t look this cute when I cry.

For those of you who have known me for a loooooong time (or really, anyone who has ever interacted with me +6 months), you know I don’t cope well with change. At all. Like, not even a little bit. I struggled when two of my shows got canceled on FOX. Like, two Ben and Jerry’s tubs and back to back Steel Magnolias/Beaches struggled.

It was bad.

So when friends move away, I try to do the best I can to help out and wait until they are waving from the Budget truck to lose my s$%t.

ImageWhy didn’t anyone tell me this in May?!

After boxing up like 15 bike racks (seriously Meggi, you have a problem) and promising to come help load the truck on Tuesday (my Tetris-packing skills are legen…wait for it…dary), I drove home slowly listening to drag queen music, and I got a little misty. Not only are Meggi and Deric moving away*, but LaBee is also flying to Virginia to live on the coast and rock the medical industry’s socks off.
And while I am really, really sad to see good friends leave, I think that now, after 31 years on this planet I am finally learning how to cope with change in a healthier, more productive way.
ImageThis, for example, not the best coping mechanism.
So while I’m sad, I know this is going to be awesome for my friends. They’ll find new opportunities, and are obligated to send me pictures and emails and come visit me all the time for serious.
To my dear friends Margaret, Eric and LaBeth, I will sincerely miss you and all of our shenanigans. Which I had to look up, as it is a tricky word. You are fabulous, hilarious, compassionate, and honorable people and I am lucky to have had you in my life. I mean, I am still going to be in your life because I’m like a bad penny. I. Won’t Quit. You.
Until next time, stay classy Salt Lake.
* = I’m hoping M&D’s leaving is temporary, y’all.

Zulberti and the Facebook Incident

So this is another one of those stories that I could wax poetical about, go into intricate detail, and force my dear friends to endure line after line of incredible prose.

ImageAnd that is the only royal reference you get from me.

Long story short, I reconnected with someone I knew in high school (back when dinosaurs ruled the land) who also happens to be queer, and his posts, when I see them, are usually pretty epic. From what I’ve read, he has absolutely zero problem telling you exactly what he thinks, he’s a prolific party boy, and he’s… very liberated in his sexuality and photographs documenting such liberation.

ImageI was, however, able to find one where he’s clothed.

So Zulberti just became a lawyer. And he’s looking for work. Like basically every other lawyer in America, he’s had trouble. So he decided to take a slightly different approach. He sent in essentially a head shot, showing off his arms instead of the standard resume, with some pretty saucy language to boot. This led some sort of legal tabloid to dig into his Facebook history, and low and behold, find a picture he posted a few years back where he’s asking for a job. In his underoos.

ImageAnd the media had a field day.**

Zulberti has been featured in local, national and international news. In 24 hours. Seriously. I’m just waiting for NPR to do a human interest story. And those who have been sippin’ on the Hate-orade? Zulberti isn’t going to shoot nasty responses, which I find damned classy. But this daring action has done something that all of his prior resumes didn’t: It made him stand out.

ImageHire me dammit, I’m orange!

So if anyone is looking for an attorney who would opt for a clothing-optional work environment, have I got the candidate for you. Until then, stay classy Salt Lake!

**Coverage can be found here, here, here, and here. I’m sure in other places too, just Google him for Pete’s sake. Oh, and then hire him, kay thanks.

P I O N E E R D A Y ! ! !

Yes, friends, there is a holiday celebrated in Utah called Pioneer Day. Every 24th of July, the city effectively shuts down, my fellow citizens grab their handcarts and bonnets, and there are fireworks and a parade.

ImageAlso floats with temples on them. Nice work, South Jordan.

So for those of you with quizzical looks on your faces right now (which is basically 90% of you as you don’t live in the land of Zion), just think of Pioneer Day like New England thinks of Columbus Day: A day when us white people “discovered” native people on their own land and figured out a way to slowly edge them out. Only here, the Native Americans were pretty much like, “um, yeah, you can have it. It’s a huge desert next to a giant salty lake that smells like a$$.”

ImageIt is really pretty though. Just breathe through your mouth.

And this is a disclaimer: I am not slamming the church in any way, I’m just explaining the circumstances. LDS peeps and I are coo’, we’ve got the moves like Jagger.

A long, long time ago, the leaders of the LDS Church received messages that told them to go west in search of paradise. They tried settling in the Great Plains, and that didn’t work out. Then they got to the Great Salt Lake and proclaimed it paradise. I mean, I would have kept going to San Diego, but then again I bought a place here so. Celebrate.

ImageDid somebody say… celebrate?

Tomorrow has lots of possibilities. Playing with Kandyland in the yard. Gardening the Ocho with Meggie before fireworks in Liberty Park. Checking out the parade on TV. Which is what I did my first year here, and was treated to a group of people pulling handcarts followed by a giant float made entirely of quilts. Which sadly was apparently not photographed, but whose existence is proven here.

ImageGot one of the handcarts though. BOOM.

So to my LDS peeps, have a great and safe holiday tomorrow. Celebrate your faith and family, grill out, and watch the fireworks. To my non-LDS brethren, have fun socializing, drinking on the porch, and attempting to survive this heat.

ImageSeriously. It’s the desert.

Stay classy Salt Lake!!


Oh the thrills of homo-wnership.

I bought this place in Sugarhouse for a number of reasons. I wanted to enter the world of pseudo-adulthood. It was a steal. It was in a great area. And while the list of things to improve was not exhausting, I have over the course of the last 3ish months recognized that there are certain creature comforts that I had taken for granted when living the blissful life of the renter.

ImageI’ve never wanted to be grounded so bad in my entire life.

As I think I’ve casually mentioned, my place has central air (bless the sweet lord baby jesus). It has a great layout and the kitchen is un. believable. However, in my elderly predecessor’s ultimate wisdom and glory, only the kitchen and bathrooms have grounded outlets. This is code for “if you have an appliance or electrical device that requires that itty-bitty nose of a third prong, you are s$%t-out-of-luck.”

Which is where I am at right now.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve figured out some interesting workarounds. My living room is awash in extension cords and splitters that give me nightmares of dying in a fire. Right now, in order to publish said-BLERG and have the fan going, I can’t have the television blaring in the background, informing me incessantly of royal babies (which, BTW we had a revolutionary war specifically so that kind of thing was irrelevant to our daily lives), the ongoing cluster that is Egypt/Syria/Name-Of-Middle-Eastern-Country-Here, and the fact that grazing cows might reduce fire threats in a drought-stricken desert.

ImageBreaking News! Thanks SLTrib.

Again, I am grateful for my place. And I’ve learned to live with its quirks, its funky neighbors, the fact that the postal worker shows up at like 9pm to bitch and moan about the size of our mailboxes. The one thing that I have encountered that will eventually require therapy is one of the few threats to my sanity that I take seriously. I am talking, of course, of the dreaded silverfish.

ImageI will fight you, you SOB. And I will win.

Silverfish are disgusting creatures that like dark, damp places (read, crawlspaces) that like to surprise you while enjoying your breakfast by crawling out of your drainpipes to ensure that if your pants weren’t already wet, they are now. Having dealt with these bastards in the past, I am fully on ready to establish an all out war against these evil creatures to ensure that I can sleep at ease knowing that I’ve unleashed a level of chemical warfare akin to the Second World War.

Ok, maybe not that extreme.

So again, I am working slowly towards dealing with these slight issues with grace and ease. All of my drains are closed. I’ve called exterminators and will be installing vapor barriers (and nerve gas) in the cellar. I just hope that after all is said and done that I can arise victoriously, knowing that as an upright primate I have figured out a way to slay an animal that has lived on this Earth in its form since prior to the evolution of my species.

Image… I’m in trouble.

Stay classy Salt Lake!