I am Cougar, Hear Me ROAR

(and I definitely don't mean this in the BYU variety...)

I have always claimed to like older men. In dating scenarios, I feel like if the guy is older than me, they are "dominant." Just as if they were taller than me, or outweighed me by more than 10 pounds. I've always had a dominant personality so it's always been important for me to find those characteristics in guys I date.

I guess my "cougar" tendencies really started to come out in high school (strangely, when I had only been dating a year or two). There were a handful of freshmen boys I coveted during my own senior year. What can I say - they were adorable. I even had baby crushes on my brothers' friends.

During my adult life, I put that side of me to rest - insisting on only dating guys who were my age or older. Yet last year when the opportunity arose to go out with a guy I had been lusting after for months, despite his very young age, I took it. He was taller than me (by a head), and outweighed me by at least 10 pounds (times 5 or more), there was just this little matter of 6 years I had to look past. And look past, I did. I talked to some friends about it, dubbed myself a "cradle-robbing, cougar, whore" and got on with it. It seemed the only one who had issue with my age was me. Sadly he has left me for 2 years (you figure out why).

Since then, I have semi-fully embraced the title Cougar (although I don't think you can actually be called a cougar until you are 40). I have found solace in being attracted to the younger generation of Hollywood:

Joe Jonas

Zac Efron

Fast forward to THIS Monday in my real life. I'm working on a fundraising campaign through several high schools in the state and I had the privilege of visiting West High to motivate and encourage them in their efforts. I showed them the ever-motivating "Sydney Video," answered several intelligent questions about diabetes and went back to the office. Their teacher called me a few minutes later and told me I had forgotten to bring some supplies she needed, so I booked it back to the school the second time. As I dropped the materials off, she mentioned to me that after I left some of the boys were talking about me, "I think they would fundraise better if you come talk to the class a few more times - they think you're pretty cute." I had a little giggle walking back to my car, flattered and appalled at the thought of high school boys being attracted to me.

Takeoffs and Landings

In the past eight days (that's 192 hours), I've driven to the Salt Lake International Airport no less than five times.

The first (Wednesday, March 3rd) was to drive myself, en route to Boise for what seemed the 50th time this year.

Second (Friday, March 5th) was to pick up the lovely and fabulous Tiburon and Hub from their excursion to Mexico.

Third (Saturday, March 6th) was to really pick up the lovely and fabulous Tiburon and Hub when their flight actually landed in SLC (I had my wires crossed the first time - silly me).

Fourth was this morning, being the amazing roommate that I am, to take Bre and the Skipper to catch their flight to a luxury resort in Mexico (seriously, what's with all the trips to Mexico - and why is no one taking me with them?!).

...And finally

Fifth was this morning, continuing to heighten my roommate status, to take Bre her passport, which she left, forlorn, on her bedroom desk.

Quit Playing Games With My Heart

I was driving home from the gym tonight, scanning the radio waves and stumbled upon a true classic. I was launched back to 1996, the year the Backstreet Boys debut album was released:

• I was only 13 years old
• I was in 8th grade at American Fork Junior High
• I had braces on my teeth
• I thrived on riding my bike to Smith's to buy cheap nail polish, Bonne Bell, colored mascara, and Lee press-on nails.
• I was best friends with Kim Hansen - we bonded in band, she on the flute, I on the clarinet.
  
• I had a crush on Sean Johnson - his place in my youthful crushes was sealed when Mr. Dickerson wanted he and I to get in "the crawl box" together (as the two smallest pupils in 7th grade science)
  
• We had The Box (which was forbidden to watch, until my dad discovered that during the month of October Michael Jackson's Thriller could be requested - at that moment, the ban was lifted for a short time. Interestingly enough, the ban was again lifted for BSB's As Long As You Love Me as well). When this particular music video was released, it ended up on the air non-stop. It was during this time that I fell in love with Nick Carter - how can you NOT love him (and even the other four) sloshing around in the water?!
• YouTube is retarded and won't let me embed video here, but if you want a reminder of how awesome Quit Playing Games With My Heart really was, click here.
  

...life was so much simpler then.

Retail Therapy

I have mentioned time and time again that spending money makes me feel better. I am a big believer in retail therapy. Who needs a REAL therapist, when I can spend away my woes in a flurry of tissue paper and a swipe of any array of plastic. When I saw these cardigans, something instinctive inside of me wanted one. Yearned for one. I'm not caving in...I'm blogging about it instead.

THIS picture makes me want to buy things. Lacie things.

I am THE person they target when they create their direct-email marketing. It's sad, really. Even worse is the display at the actual store...where they sort the panties in a beautiful lacie rainbow. I'm doomed from the get-go.

It's a sickness...justified by an alluring spectrum of color.

Running Woes

You know that scene in Save the Last Dance where she's sitting on the edge of the bathtub and takes off her toe shoe, revealing a bloody mess of her toe? I kind of feel like that. No, my toes aren't bloody from running (yet), but try convincing my brain not to feel that kind of pain. It feels like with each long run, I give a layer of my toe skin as payment to the running gods.

Today's run was miserable. First of all, I was a big wuss and I didn't run outside, despite the gorgeous sun beating in my bedroom window. Second of all, I ate two bowls of Cheerios for breakfast, only about 90 minutes before leaving for the gym. I didn't make my 8 miles (training plan dictated), but didn't feel one ounce of disappointment in hopping off the treadmill and coming home.

It wouldn't be training season without me complaining about my toenails. The first started to turn black just two weeks into training (on the left foot), and the second followed suit about two weeks later. As a result, they haven't fallen off, they're hangin' on for dear life. I thought I'd document the "progress" immediately post-run for maximum effect.

Two black toenails

The left foot also has a beautiful blister to accompany the black nail

I'm writing as I sit in my papasan chair icing my knees (with two bags of frozen peas) in an attempt to ward off the inflammation that is sure to torment me for the better part of tomorrow. Oh, and please try hard not to judge the condition of my toes. They've had a rough 6 weeks.

p.s. PLEASE still pray for Mitch. His condition isn't getting any better, and his family has made the decision to move him to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. It breaks my heart!

Say a Little Prayer

My heart is so full right now.

I know the Flygare's through a couple different channels, most recently my association with them through my JDRF family. Mitch is the family's diabetic child - a burly 16 year old athlete with tremendous potential. I've known Mitch since he was a little boy, living in my family's ward, and have since fallen in love with their family as I have worked with them in our pursuits to find a cure for diabetes together.

Last Wednesday, February 10th, I heard from another t1 parent that Mitch was in a coma due to some complications with his diabetes. I was incredibly taken aback by this news, mostly because he is one of the healthiest kids I've had the pleasure to associate with and is in fantastic control of his diabetes. Immediately I had a panic and fear spread over me as I contemplated the implications of this. Earlier in the week, Laura and I had heard about a teenager from another chapter who had passed away from diabetes and we both remarked how awful it would be if one of our kids died. And here I was, faced with this very possibility.

On Thursday upon arrival at work, Laura, Jamee, and I let the tears roll as we realized what this family was going through. I always knew that these families touched and enriched my life, but I never thought that a situation such as this would affect me in such a way. Through a quick Facebook search, I discovered that Mitch's family had set up a blog to document his progress. I scanned the blog and realized the family was at the ICU at Primary Children's. We decided to head on up and visit to see if we could offer any comfort and try to get some answers ourselves.

Turns out, no one had any answers. The doctors are stumped at Mitch's condition. He presented with severe back pain and muscle spasms that were completely unbearable. In an effort to control the pain he was feeling, doctors thought it best to put him in a coma. They have tried to figure out where the spasms are coming from but haven't been able to. It breaks my heart to think about Mitch lying in a hospital bed, completely helpless, and a slave to his condition.

I hate this disease.

This week I also stumbled upon another heartwrenching story: the Staker family from Provo, and their sweet little Bronson's recovery. This family petitioned countless strangers throughout the blogosphere for prayers for their precious son. I know that the prayers of many can make a difference, and my testimony of that has been renewed this past week as I've read her updates.

I know that prayer can help Mitch in his fight as well. Mitch is a strong kid with an even stronger spirit, but even a simple prayer on his behalf could make a world of difference. If you're the praying type (or even not the praying type), please try to remember Mitch in your prayers. It would mean so much to me.

Do Not Text While Sleeping...

In case anyone was wondering if my work is disrupting my sleep patterns, I had textual proof this morning when I woke up. Apparently I can text while I'm asleep, but had enough faculty of mind to know that I didn't have the appropriate phone number saved in my phone. And, for the record, I have no idea who Kevin is.

(I'm fairly convinced that the "dipping chocolate" has something to do with the fact that I've been watching The Little Chocolatiers on TLC. It's a reality show based in SLC, featuring my favorite chocolate shop, Hatch Family Chocolates...which I frequent with my boss on a regular basis.)

Peggy is a Whore

I tried to think of some kind of profound thought to bring up this Valentine's Day, but it all ended up sounding bitter. I thought Peggy and Viola would suffice tonight.

It's been awhile since I was "a Peggy." In fact, I think it dates back to my days in kindergarten back at Nieman Elementary School in Kansas. I was a clean slate - my heart had never been broken, and there was nothing but green grass and beautiful sunny horizons. My outlook on love was one of immense potential. I had my eye on several boys, but only one really reciprocated (though I tried my hand with most of them anyway). His name was Brian Pepperdine, and, according to my mom, after my first day of school I came out to the car declaring that I was in love. I'm sure at that time, my mom knew she would have her hands full.

I don't have many vivid V-day memories. In fact, there have been very few years when I have actually been part of a "we" on February 14th. Beside the year I got a rock put on my finger (only later to give it back), I think one of my favorite V-day memories was a few years back.

I was working at Winger's in Lehi. Not my favorite job, but it paid the bills. I was lamenting the fact that I had to work on Valentine's Day, unable to make the mighty trek to Logan to be with my "boyfriend." The restaurant was slow, so Brittany and I had plans to hang out and do a girl's night. She was texting me throughout the night keeping very careful tabs on how busy I was and when I would be off. It was a little obsessive, but I figured it was because we were going to meet up after. I left work and met her at Chili's, where she had a change of clothes for me (another strange occurrence). I went in the bathroom to change, and went back out to sit with her and there he was - my long distance fellow. She had been in negotiations with him all day getting him to come to my neck of the woods for a Valentine's dinner. I was excited and quite touched that she would go to such great lengths to arrange it.

Since that year, there haven't been many ups or downs (mainly because I haven't allowed myself to let anyone else in), just existing in a nice switzerland of neutrality. It's probably not the ideal, but it's my existence, and as John Mayer put it, "I'm perfectly lonely." I'll save "being Peggy" for another year.

Sissy's New Shoppe

Wow...it's been a whole month since I posted. Holy cow.

Well, now it's time for some shameless marketing for my favorite sissy's new little shoppe. She is the proud owner of Feathered Whimsy, a place for fancy, feminine accessories (namely darling little headbands). I'm BEYOND proud of her. She's always been a crafty and domestic diva and she's finally been able to put her creative wiles to work for her!

Her Etsy shoppe has only been live a little over a week, and already she's being featured on another blog with a giveaway! Check it out and enter to win the Hayzl headband.


Feel free to spread the word. She's in the growth phase and would love new customers!

I Might Be Crazy

I know it's blurry and hard to read, but it's all there. A combined total mileage of 244 miles over the course of the next 14 weeks. I might have thrown up a little bit in my mouth when I pulled it up and reality hit me.

I am again running a half marathon, but this year a little closer to home. Laura threatened to kill me if I did a race later in the year, so I've selected the SLC Half on April 17th. Training humor (read: horror) stories to come!