Media Training

Today at work I received media training in the advent that I will ever need to be interviewed by a news media source. The possibility of this happening is extremely unlikely--I am simply a consultant for the government, and unfortunately, I cannot speak for them. But, it was a useful training course.

Below is my "mock interview." I hate these with a fiery passion . . . dates back to my time at Enterprise when I had to do these ridiculous mock interviews in order to qualify for management.

I received glowing comments for my mock interview, although I was told I "could have been a little more warm and inviting."

Here is what I thought:

My hair looks like Edward Scissorhands cut it.

Why do I keep blinking my eyes like that? Like every two seconds. I look like I'm in pain.

I have a big forehead AND a bloated face.

Do I really sound that way? I swear, it doesn't sound that way in my ears.

Funny how something so simple can make you break out in a cold sweat. However, I'm now an expert on speaking to the media. Let me know if you need a consultant.

Happy Moments Like This

Today I got a letter from one of the contractors on a road project I worked on this summer. This particular road project was a favorite of mine--there was always something interesting to do and as the only girl on the project team . . . well, I was beloved. It made for a great, exciting, and fun project and I was sorry to see it go when it ended.

The letter was from the president of the company informing me that our project had been awarded the "Best Portland Cement Concrete Pavement Rehabilitation Highway Project Completed in the State of Utah in 2009." Yeah, what a mouthful.

But now I can say that I've worked on an award-winning project! And the president personally thanked me for my efforts! This is just so exciting. I can't wait to put it on my resume.

My Shenanigans On Paper

While talking to a co-worker and telling her about the crazy things that happen to me and my house, she burst out laughing. It's always a nice thing to hear somebody laugh (in a good way) at your stories. "Melissa, you really should write a book about your life. Especially about living with four other girls."

She makes a good point. I have enough material to turn this idea into a series.

Clearly, I would be the hero--because it's my book. I would be the voice of reason who is troubled by the things that happen around me. I am often caught between doing the right thing and it's evil step-sister Temptation.

Kaylin, the up-in-your-face girl who's always right even though you wish she wasn't. She uses her powers of intuition on others only because she can't help herself.

Mindy, classically beautiful and quiet . . . and hiding a dark secret.

Carrie, outgoing and popular, struggles with an eating disorder.

Ashlee, the new girl with a secret past. We don't find out about it until one of us catches her stealing and hiding her pilfered goods in her closet.

Allyson, newly married and caught in the transition from independent career woman to lonely housewife. Every night we find her waiting for her husband in the candlelit dining room with the elaborate meal she has made all in the hopes of pleasing him.

This is sounding good, right? Actually, it's sounding more like a Harlequin romance novel. Except without the sex.

Men...And Their Toys

What is it about guys having to have the latest and greatest toys? If it's not new and with the most advanced technology available then it's not worth having. This is something I sincerely do not understand.

Whenever I invite my cousin Ryan over to hang out, maybe watch a movie, he always says, "Eh. I don't really feel like watching it on the small TV." There is such judgment in his voice. You would think that our TV is the size of a portable DVD player. It isn't. It's just a regular-sized TV. I can still see the people on it.

When Allyson moved out she took her TV with her. This TV was down in the basement. We didn't use it a lot but it was always nice to be able to go downstairs and watch something if there were people upstairs.

For a couple of months the basement remained empty and slightly uninviting. Funny how the absence of a TV does that. So Kaylin bought a new one.

This TV is pretty cool. At least I think so. It's a flat screen, HD, all sleek and sassy on its stand. And Kaylin bought it for about $150 less than the original asking price. This sounds like a good thing, right!?

Kaylin, in her excitement, told people about the new TV. The girls generally responded with benign comments like, "Oh, that's cool." Or "Wow, what a great deal. It looks really nice."

The boys, however, responded with comments like, "It's only a 33 inch. That's kind of small."

"Because it's so small, you can't hook up a blu-ray player. Do you really want to do that?"

"Seriously, that sounds kind of small. Are you sure you don't want to upgrade it to a bigger size?"

"How do you expect me to watch Lord of the Rings or Star Wars on a TV of that size? Petite is the word coming to my mind right now."

Understandably, Kaylin was a little vexed. Seriously, what is it about guys having to have TVs that are the size of small movie theater screens?

This weekend, we went about redecorating our basement. We had a new TV and thought we needed to add some flair to the walls, maybe throw down a rug. It is so nice and cute. We've completely forgotten about our upstairs and now spend all of our time downstairs.

Once again, in her excitement, Kaylin wanted to share and said to our friend Alan, "Go downstairs and check out or basement! We fixed it up! We got a new TV and it's so nice."

Alan walked downstairs and then came right back up. "Yeah, I thought when you said you got a new TV that you meant you got..." (picture arms outstretched like he was measuring the size of a fish he caught) "...a TV, like a bigger TV."

And then Kaylin exploded. Poor Alan. Rest in peace, my friend.

Tell Me!

My old roommate Allyson was the banker in our house because in real life she's a banker. This made life easy since she paid the bills and then I just had to write her a check. But then she went and got herself married (ridiculous) and I was delegated as the new banker of the house, which is a job I actually enjoy. I think it's because everybody pays me money.

On Saturday I opened up our gas bill to see the lovely figure of $300 zinging in front of my eyes. Really? $300 for gas? For one month? I have no idea how it got so high. Does this have anything to do with my fireplace or how often we shower and wash our clothes? Or cranking up the heat? Explain to me how this works.

On the plus side, I don't have to pay the entire $300.

Feel Free to Psychoanalyze Me

I am almost finished with Gone with the Wind and I couldn't be happier. To be honest, this book is amazing. It's fantastic. I could gush about it all day. But I'll tell you one thing, I'm at the last thirty pages of the book and have no wish to finish it. I just don't think I can read anymore about Scarlett and Rhett's crumbling marriage. This is weird to me because hello! I've seen the movie, I know how it ends. But somehow, reading about two people who are actually good for each other slowly strip the other of pride and love is more than I can handle. I have laid awake at night feeling sick because my heart just hurts. You might say that maybe I get too invested in my books but I would argue that this is actually the sign of a superior writer.

I find this funny. I read a lot of books and I can handle just about anything--I'm no stranger to adult content. And yet, you ask me to read a book (or watch a movie) about two people on the cusp of divorce and I am reduced to a blubbering, emotional fool. I'm not entirely sure if this is just cute or obnoxious.

And yes, I'll finish it. I mean, I've read 800,000 pages so far, why not the last thirty?

What? Were You Talking About Me?

Picture this: It's Sunday morning--the only day of the week that my entire house decides to sleep in. We wake up and groggily stumble to the kitchen where soon everyone has assembled, breakfast in hand (or bowl).

Mindy starts to tell me about a toenail she's losing because she decided to be a rock star and run 13 miles (I don't hate her at all for being able to do that). I, in turn, tell her about the time I lost a fingernail back in college.

"It hurt like a beyotch. I couldn't believe the pain," I say.

"What?" Kaylin pipes up. "What did you guys say about me?"

"What?" I say back, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I thought I heard you say my name."

"Is that because I said 'beyotch?'"

He he.

Soapbox

I just have to get something off of my chest. It's been on my mind for a while.

Nobody knows how to use apostrophes correctly and it drives.me.crazy. Of all the things to bug me, this would be one of the chief ones (not one's, ha. Although writing the word ones seems tacky and in poor form. Just saying.). Apostrophes show possession not plurals but it seems to be that anytime we have a plural we tack on an apostrophe to show it.

I know, I know--this has to be one of the most arrogant and presumptuous blog posts ever. Only weirdos like myself really care about proper grammar. Whatev. I try not to correct people on their grammar, mostly because that's rude.

But we're talking about the written word, folks, and this goes back to one of the first lessons we learn about grammar. I'm really wondering if the English teachers throughout the public school system even know how to use them correctly because this incorrect usage has become too prevalent. Everyone is confused how to use them right. I see it everywhere.

For example, this is not correct:

When referring to a decade: I was born in the 60's (should be 60s).

When referring to a plural last name: Please let me introduce you to the Smith's (should be Smiths).

My last name is a little tricky because it ends in an "s." The correct way to refer to Phillips in the plural form is Phillipses, not Phillips'. Unless you're referring to something that's ours.

I just see this everywhere--on billboards and advertisements mostly and it bugs. I could go on about this for a while and in more detail, but I just wanted to say that you don't have to put an apostrophe after every word you add an "s" to.

Okay. I will get off my soapbox now. Thank you.

Ladies, Buy Your Hubbies One of These

Behold.

The electric shovel.

Actually, they're called power shovels.

Now I finally understand why guys are so into power tools. It's like pushing a vacuum . . . only, it spits out snow with the power of a snow blower.

Talk about a Christmas present I underestimated.

Check out that snow. It's shooting out! And Kaylin hasn't decided how she feels about it.


Before.

After. I know, it's a little dark but take my word for it: it cleaned up my driveway like a pro.

Good Bye, Old Friend

Our buddy Bryce checked out of Salt Lake in search of brighter skies in Minneapolis. No, I'm not bitter. He's just an average guy anyway. Who needs those?

Kidding!

Our house knows a lot of fun people, but Bryce, by far, was the coolest. We're already experiencing withdrawals.

Check It!

My new snowshoes. Now I need to find all of those crunchy, granola people I swear I know to take me snowshoeing.

Hi, My Name Is Melissa and I'm A Hypochondriac

This is no joke. I am a total hypochondriac.

I always think the worst anytime I feel an ache, pain, or anything that might be a titch uncomfortable. I blame this on an ex-boyfriend. During our courtship I watched as his mother suffered from an acute case of skin cancer, his father had back surgery twice, his sister suffered from Multiple Sclerosis, and his other sister had discovered a lump on her breast. Nobody was safe in that family.

I woke up this morning at 2 am feeling some intense pain in my right lower abdomen. Ow. It hurt like a mother. My immediate thought: appendicitis.

Great. My favorite gym class of the week is on Tuesdays and I was going to miss it.

I was fully prepared to drag myself up to Kaylin's bedroom and beg her to take me to the hospital. Instead, I took some ibuprofen and worried. If the ibuprofen mitigated the pain enough for it to subside, would I even know if my appendix was about to burst? I began to picture the worst.

Somehow, I made it through the night. No burst appendix. I was saved.

But it still hurt. Not as bad, just a dull pain.

So I tried to figure it out. What was the cause of the ultimate of ultimate stomach cramps? Yeah, it's probably endometriosis.

To which Kaylin replied, "Oh, my hell, Melissa. It was probably just gas."

I'm Obsessed . . .

. . . with these headwraps. They are ridiculously cute. I convinced myself that somehow I could make them because, hey, I can knit and I fully intended to learn how to crochet if that's what it needed. Turns out I can't find a pattern anywhere. Too bad! Although the one I have only cost $15 . . . probably worth it when you consider securing my sanity.