My Pleasure

Does it irritate anyone else that at Chick-Fil-A they say "my pleasure" after everything you say?

"Can I get 5 a lot of Chick-Fil-A sauce?"

My pleasure

"Can you make my diet lemonade the most jumbo size you have?"

My pleasure

"Ok but don't judge me. Can I have TWO 12 piece nuggets?"

My pleasure.

"With enough Chick-Fil-A sauce to drown myself in?"

My Pleasure

Now is when you should probably tell me that YOU don't go to Chick-Fil-A that often.

 Hmmm....

Your loss I say.

Taking Care

Have you ever been in trouble with a friend for not doing enough for them?  I'll give you an extreme example.  I had a roommate in college that was insanely needy.  I happened to live her when my mom died.  A few weeks later she freaked out and started yelling and crying about how I'd changed, and I wasn't there for her anymore.  About how selfish I was being.  Crazy right?  I feel like it was fair to be taking care of me at that point. 

While less extreme I feel as though I've been in similar situations since then.  The friend that is mad that I'm not checking in on them everyday.  But maybe they forgot it's the ten year anniversary of losing mom,  maybe they don't know I reinjured my bad arm and am in constant pain,  maybe they don't know I'm closing on a multi-million dollar project at work this week. And maybe through all of that I've had the worst/weirdest stomach pains of my life. 

And maybe other people around me have babies dying,  and mom's dying, and husband's deployed, and friends threatening suicide, and cancer diagnosis, just to name a few.  Life is hard from time to time. We all have our somethings. I wish we didn't, but we do. 

It's ok to take time for yourself.  I know we are supposed to forget ourselves and go to work.  But sometimes we need to think of ourselves, take time to heal our hearts,  be selfish for a moment. If you don't take care of yourself then there might not be much left to share with others.

If someone isn't "there for you" exactly how you expect them to be and exactly on your time table,  it doesn't mean they don't wish they could be. It doesn't mean they don't love you and aren't giving you everything they are capable of.

We can't expect even our best friends to know how and when to help if we don't tell them.  If I don't know you need help how can I give it?  Even if what you are going through appears on the surface to be something I might be an expert in,  like losing a mom, it doesn't mean I have any idea how to help you.  I have to tell even my best friend "my heart is hurting because of this and I need you to talk it through with me." Or "can you just put your arms around me for a minute?"

We all have our days,  and weeks, and months of rough patches. Let's be gentle with each other.  Tell people when we need help and what flavor of help we need. 

Goodnight

As I lay in bed tonight I've been reflecting on this night ten years ago.  It was the last time I spoke with my mom.  It was so normal,  so warm and happy, so comfortable.

"I love you,  goodnight."

I was so secure in that love, so confident in myself because of it. How grateful I am to have been born of goodly parents, who gave me so much love.  Through that love came confidence, testimony, trust, independence, security, and the ability to become Annie. Just Annie, and know that it is enough. 

"I love you too, mom. We'll talk in the morning."

Weak Stomach

I have the weakest stomach when it comes to smells. SO bad. Tonight I was getting into the car and saw dog droppings in the yard.  I gagged for like two minutes. (I'm going to be bad at growing babies).

"Of all the things I love about you, your gag reflex might be my favorite." ~Kayla

Bank Boyfriend 2.0

I quit Wells Fargo bank years ago. I am almost certain Satan is the proprietor of that banking institution. However, my new fabulous company banks there and I have to take large checks in for deposit. WE build VERY nice homes and so I deposit VERY large checks semi frequently.

I was starting to be recognized when I went into the bank. Then one day I arrived at the counter and one of the managers was at the counter. He wanted to be all professional and call to verify every check I had over 25,000. I stood there forever thinking, "doesn't he know who I am?" I know, I'm that girl now. He wasn't very nice and I could tell you the entire story here, but my fingers are still taped together and typing is hard #firstworldproblems, I know.

Anyway, When I made it back to the office I told the boss men I didn't like how I was treated. A call was made and now every time I walk in they greet me by name and I get the royal treatment. There is one teller in particular who makes extra strides with me and we like to chat and laugh together. I may have developed a small crush on him.

So obviously I was trying to facebook stalk him. I tried finding him by looking up his branch. I was hoping that maybe someone with his first named would have liked the branch and then I'd be able to figure out who he was and stalk him.

I laughed out loud when I saw this. No one likes Wells Fargo, that seems about right.

I finally found him yesterday and Sam and I stalked him. He is perfect: LDS, likes the Institute at the U, Profile picture with his adorable mom, picture of him sailing. Guys he is probably the love of my life. UNTIL. I saw that he returned from his mission in 2012. He is a baby. So there go all my hopes and dreams.

Time to find a new bank boyfriend. I wonder if Chase has anyone for me?

Life is Good, and That Can Be Boring

Life is good.  Does anyone really want to read about that?

The other day I was so happy I caught myself singing along to a Rascal Flatts song. That is never ok. I was even drumming out the beat on my steering wheel. Sometimes life is so good you forget to hate things. 

Kayla and I have two new roommates. The mean ones are gone and have been replaced by nice girls. Raquel is so sweet and kind, and service oriented that you wonder if she is real life. Seriously. Sam is funny, and horribly inappropriate in all the right ways. She makes me laugh at things I shouldn't. It is amazing to come home to a non hostile environment. It has been over a year since I had that pleasure.

We come home and watch tv that will rot our brains while we quilt. Our craft room (we have a big one with two tvs) has made its way to the living room.  It is a hot mess and I love it. There are currently two sewing machines in there.

Speaking of quilting, the other day I was sitting in my office and my finger hurt. So I looked down and realized it was bleeding. Upon further inspection there was a mysterious deep cut. I can’t imagine where it came from other than possibly my rotary cutter, but why the delayed bleed? There was really no way to bandaid in between there, so we taped my fingers together so I would stop opening the wound. Turns out missing a finger is a minor annoyance. But my yoga instructor felt bad for me (she thought my finger was why I didn't attempt the crow pose) and massaged my back while I lay in child’s pose and everyone else attempted crow (crow is real hard, but I can do camel and no one else can)

Kyle A and I, along with Sam went to Craft Lake City this weekend where I bought the necklace AND earrings of my dreams. I wanted to buy a print of a cute little pirate in a ship but Kyle said it was for a nursery so I can’t have it if I don’t have babies. I kind of regret not buying it, but I found her etsy shop online and can buy it later (for twice as much). Why do I ever listen to Kyle?

I am addicted to breakfast nachos. Seriously. You put scrambled eggs, a little crumpled bacon, and a delicious cheese sauce over chips. A little salsa and you have yourself the most delicious heart attack of your life.  I want some right now, but I can’t. Too many breakfast nachos means Annie is on a diet.

I told you it would be boring. I can’t believe you read all the way through that.

One more thing. There is this boy who sits at a desk outside my office door. He does reception or something for the doctor of some kind of brain medicine in the office two down from mine. He is the opposite of pleasant and has the dorkiest haircut. Did I just type that out loud? I’ll repent tonight. Anyway I heard someone mention to him that it was his last day. I of course was doing a secret dance of joy in my office. Then I overheard that it is his last day because he is getting married this weekend. Do you ever hear that kind of news and think to yourself “who is marrying Mr. Grumps  A Lot?” He doesn’t even compensate for his horrid personality with nice hair! 

Let Them Eat Cake

I googled it. Turns out you can get one at a Smith’s in Fort Union. 

The only place in Utah, and I was hanging out with a friend just a short jog away. We ran over and bought one as a surprise for Kayla. But I felt like we needed a reason to have such a rich and wonderful cake, so I texted many of you asking for an idea to write on the cake.

Your responses follow:

• Let’s Celebrate that I am home now.
• 40 days without killing a co-worker.
• 4 days until the weekend.
• You only gained 2  pounds this week.
• Happy three day weekend.
• Because you aren't on peopleofwalmart.com.
• You can still walk up the stairs w/o being short of breath.
• It’s not ding-dongs.
• Survived Monday.
• Spring has sprung.
• I’m a lovely person.
• Happy cake day.
• Let them eat cake

My ideas were:

• Diet starts Monday.
• Lay off me I’m Starving.
• #eatsomething

P.S. If you didn't get a text don't be sad. I just texted the last few people who had texted me. I have a brand new phone so that is a short list. So Moral of the story, text me.... and eat cake.