So It Goes

"Your life, at least parts of it like this, really could be a sitcom, almost like Seinfeld" wrote a friend of mine (at least I think I'll still call him a friend) not long ago. He may be right, my life may be one giant Seinfeld episode. My fear is that it's more like a Jerry Springer episode (people enjoy viewing it because it makes their lives seem so much better in comparison!). Whatever the case, below are a few glimpses into my life here in Utah. (The last one happened awhile ago and is not new to many of you who may be reading it, but since it kind of fit the theme of this entry, I'm including it here again.)

#1 - As I think I've mentioned a few times and a few different ways in the past several months, there aren't a whole heck of a lot of single people over the age of 20 here in Utah County. Those who are tend to be suspect (even by me) and most have at least one child in tow. I have met two single women about my age here - one I considered living with and the other lives next door to me. The one with whom I considered living seems to be very normal and very nice (she reminded me of my good friend, Amy) - I just decided I didn't want to do the whole roommate thing again (I've come to accept that I'm more than a bit of a loner and need my own space). She also isn't much into anything outdoors and while I could have seen us becoming friends, neither of us pursued it. My neighbor is a different story. I've made a few (albeit weak) attempts to get to know her, but she doesn't exactly seem interested in speaking to me let alone becoming friends (although she has been pleasant when I've spoken to her). As far as single men go...I don't think they exist. I've just met one - my one and only friend (as in the only person I do things with) out here. We were drawn to each other as most outsiders are drawn together - we're the only ones like each other out here. We are both single, childless Christians over the age of 35 and both have appearances that clearly mark us as not being "from around here" - he is Apache/Spanish (looks Mexican) and I...well no one can ever tell what I am, but many around here think I'm Latina or Native American. That's about the extent of our similarities, but being an outsider seems to be enough. We enjoy each other's company and keep each other from feeling too lonely and odd.

There are two men who are working on the project with me (they are doing excavating) that might be single, but I'm not sure. They are brothers and their entire family has been working on this site in some capacity or another for many years. They are our "experts" on the site and because of that they have an air of "coolness" and "in-the-know" that none of the rest of us can muster. I must admit, it's kind of appealing. However, in the same way that I admired the cool kids in school from a safe distance, lest I do something completely foolish and reveal to all how completely uncool I truly am, my interactions with these brothers has remained on a completely professional level (Isn't it amazing how parts of us never really grow up!). I am friendly - smile and wave as they drive by, etc., but leave the joking and good-natured ribbing to "the guys" (i.e. everyone else working on this project). I get along really well with their father (of course!) and just think he's the sweetest nicest man that ever lived (and I think he likes me, too, because he's always telling my co-worker to take care of me and look after me, etc.), but keep a safe distance from his sons.

That all changed last Friday. My coworker ("L) and I had to speak to the brothers about something they were doing (I've forgotten what now). I guess I didn't have to go with "L" to talk with them, but I did. And I tried to play it cool (like one of the guys). I walked up to them (or rather sauntered - "guys" - especially cool guys - don't often walk, they saunter), with my hard hat on, hands in my pockets and a smug expression on my face that said "I'm so cool, I don't need to hurry or even walk to you. I'll just saunter over towards you and grace you with my presence and impress you with my wit." Just as I was about to give the ol' head nod (the official white male greeting that says both "Good Morning, How Are You?" and "I need to talk to you about something" while reserving precious energy for more important stuff like paintball, ATV-riding, or channel surfing), I took a step and sunk mid-calf into the worst muddy gunk I've yet encountered on the site. I tottered (hands flailing out of my pockets, hard hat tilting, eyes wide with surprise), regaining my balance only to land my other foot in an equally deep, equally squalid cesspool. At that point there was no more pretending to be cool. I grimaced, attempted to find more solid ground and smiled sheepishly as both "L" and the brothers laughed riotously, ensuring me all the while that they were laughing with me not at me. Ah-ha. Sure.

A little later, they caught me attempting to wipe off my boots in a snow drift. "Looks like you're getting most of it off" one of the brothers said in a congenial manner. "Yep, yep. Getting most of it off," I stuttered (a little too much like the Rain Man), too caught off-guard by the cool guy talking to me to think of anything original or witty to say. Ugh! "Can I ask you something?" the youngest of the two asked. I felt myself blushing as I tried to prepare myself for what he might ask me (fortunately my skin is dark enough to avoid the embarrassment of people actually noticing when I blush) and squeaked out a half-confident, "Sure." "How do you pronounce your name?" The thirteen-year old girl in me winced at the familiar question and for a moment I was back in middle school wishing my name was Kim or Debbie. "Myrna" I answered. Then, before I could adequately censor my geeky thoughts, I added "As in gold, frankincense and myrrh-na." They were kind and were mostly able to mask the puzzled look on their faces when they said, in unison, "Gold, frankincense and myrrh-na. Right. Got it."

I'm such a dweeb!



#2 I fell into a blue funk last week. After agreeing to continue to work here through the end of the summer, I had a huge argument about religion with my one and only friend. That set me to wishing I was back home around sane people who (frankly) think as I do. Enough of this stretching, growing, losing my arrogance stuff. I want to be affirmed, told I'm right, agreed with. Or at least disagreed with in an intelligent manner. Anyway...that started my slide. Dreary weather and my making a fool out of myself not once but twice in front of the "cool guys" on Friday (and giving a rat's fart that I did) sent me deeper. Then, on my way home from work, I stopped by the Forest Service office to get a map to the hot springs in Diamond Fork Canyon and to see what the conditions were like up there. A ranger met me in the parking lot (the office was closed) and told me that the road leading to the trailhead was impassable. Great! There goes the hike I had planned for Saturday! Now what would I do?? Frustrated, I decided to stop by the pound to see "my dog" after that. As it turns out "my dog" was in isolation because she had come down with kennel cough and I was informed that she will likely be euthanized because she is just too aggressive towards other dogs. Wonderful! I wanted to cry. Instead I went home, ate junk food, turned on the TV, curled up on the couch and watched really bad FOX TV until I fell into a fitful, bad-dream-filled sleep.

I awoke the next morning to a beautiful day and a phone call from my friend saying he'd be down in an hour so we could go hiking. Two hours later he showed up and I, grumpy for being made to wait, frustrated with not knowing the area enough to have a Plan B hike in mind, and impatiently eager to get outside and get some much-needed exercise, met him at the door with all the reasons why our day was ruined and how I must, must, must get outside before I internally combust. Fully displaying his Y-chromosomeness, my friend shrugged off the forest ranger's warning about the impassable road to the hot springs and said "We'll take my truck - we'll be fine."

By the time we turned onto Diamond Fork Road, I was in a much better mood. I had bought a Snickers bar at a convenience store along the way and, as the gooey chocolate goodness started doing its wonders, I determined that I would snap out of my crummy mood and make the best of the situation - and maybe even have some fun. To our joint amazed pleasure, Diamond Fork Road was dry as a bone - and paved! (Based on the the ranger's description, I was expecting a muddy, snow-covered gravel mountain road). "Woohoo!" we yelped as we cruised along, "I guess Mr. Smarty-Pants Forest Ranger didn't know what he was talking about after all!"

You'd think I would have learned a lesson or two about being smug the day before, but no, I'm not that quick. No sooner had the echo of our war cry faded when we zipped through a gate with a sign that read (I think - we were going too fast for me to catch the whole thing) Road ahead closed due to snow. "Did that sign just say that the road up ahead is closed due to snow?" I asked incredulously. The road was still dry and smooth, so we ignored the sign, thinking it was meant for some other fools on some other day. Right. It wasn't long before we started seeing snow creeping onto the the edge of the right lane. Soon, the road narrowed and became very winding. Being the cool and incredibly reasonable female that I am, I think that is the point at which I started suggesting (o.k. maybe a little loudly) that "Maybe we should turn around while we still can." Testosterone-Man (hereafter "Mr. T") would have none of that. "We're fine, it's just a little snow. Besides, the trailhead can't be much further ahead." Even after the road narrowed to one lane (the left lane) in which we had to dodge fallen rocks while trying to stay in the tracks of the few crazy people who had driven before us and while snow scraped the undercarriage of the truck, threatening to puncture or rip off whatever stuff is under there, Mr. T refused to stop (of course by that time , we couldn't stop - there was no place to turn around!). Never one to miss a chance for melodrama, I started to yell things like "Oh my God, we're going to die! We're going to get stuck out here in the middle of nowhere and no one will find us until the snow uncovers our decaying bodies in June!" My poise and level-headedness in a crisis situation knows no bounds.

Just when both of us had about given up hope of making it out of the canyon alive, we noticed a truck and then another and another and another pulled off to the side of the road up ahead. "That must be the trailhead!" we cried. Gleeful, we (o.k, "he") maneuvered around yet another pile of rocks blocking the one "passable" lane and drove on. Not only were there several trucks pulled over near the trailhead, but also several passenger cars! There were easily 20 vehicles parked along the side of the road. (So much for being stranded with no one finding us 'til June!)Neither one of us could believe how many people were there nor quite picture how they had gotten there, but we were relieved and happy to be at our destination.

The hike (5 miles round-trip) ended up being fantastic and the hot springs were the best I've visited yet. How quickly my anxiety melted as we flitted off down the trail! It was "just what the doctor ordered." I felt so much better after the hike. My depression was lifted and I had a renewed enthusiasm for Utah and all the many adventures that await me these next several months. All in all, it was a perfect day (minus the grumpy start and terror-filled middle).

Oh, and yes, I do appreciate my friend very much. I might behave just slightly irrationally from time to time and he patiently puts up with it all.



#3 My friend an I were on our way back from a fabulous trip to Zion National Park. My new cell phone (the second in two weeks) had been working swimmingly since I got it - no shut downs in the middle of phone conversations, good reception, etc. I was told to only charge it after the battery had run down completely, though, so I let it run down then plugged it into my charger in the car - just as the snow was really starting to come down and darkness was descending. My traveling companion (who from this point on will be known as "TC" for "traveling companion') was in the middle of a phone conversation with his dad (a woman from church had called me to say that TC's dad had been trying to get in touch with me the day before and then neither of us were in church, so she just wanted to make sure everything was ok). TC had spoken with his dad the day before, but I (worrier that I am) thought something might have happened in the meantime, so I made him call. The only thing that had happened was that there had been a snow storm and his dad didn't go to church because he was "snowed in." And then the phone died. And there was no reviving it. And the snow came down more heavily and it got darker. Much darker. In more than one way.

It was also during this snow storm that TC looked over at my dashboard and said, "Oh, that worries me a bit." Not exactly what I wanted to hear at 6600' ft in a white-out with no phone. He had noticed that the oil pressure had dropped to 0. I'm not a mechanic, but that didn't seem good to me, either. We were moving very slowly at the time and when I sped up, the pressure went up a bit, but I/we thought it might be best to check things out. So...I pulled into the next gas station that I could (the snow had started to ease up a bit, too), got gas and, while TC got something to eat (!!!), I said, "Well, I guess I better check the oil. "Yeah, I'm sure it needs it," TC said very calmly, "the oil cap is missing." "How do you know?" I queried. "I checked it while you were pumping gas....." I knew he hadn't checked it just then, so I asked, "You mean back in Spanish Fork before we left on the trip?" "Yeah," he answered, still very calm. "So you knew that my oil cap was missing before we went on a 5-hour road trip and you didn't think to warn/alert or even ask me about it?????????????". "I figured you knew. I meant to put a rag in it, but I forgot." I was beyond tears, beyond anger, beyond belief. I just sat in my car and waited for him to fix things and determined that he would fix and pay for it all - even if that meant putting in a new engine.

To make a long story short and to let ol' TC off the hook slightly...he filled it up with oil (it was completely empty), the oil pressure went back up and we left. Unfortunately, the worst of the storm was yet to come. We went about 10 miles up the road and the snow got so bad I couldn't see a thing. There were no cars in front of me, so I couldn't even follow taillights. I was a wreck. And, even though the oil pressure was up again, I was busy plotting TC's slow painful demise while trying to avoid my own very quick sudden (i.e.: plummeting over a cliff) one. My bowels were in an uproar, to say the least - both figuratively and literally. The next town with a gas station (and toilet) was 40 miles away. Thankfully, we made it there and beyond. Within about an hour, the snow had completely stopped and the roads were dry. Ol' Sue Sue Subaru made it the whole way back in one piece and so did TC (this time). Of course, that's only because he apologized profusely, took the blame for everything (including the weather) and had to tell his dad (a very good mechanic) what he had done, so he could get advice on what to do about it. His dad called him an idiot. Even though I was thinking the same thing at first, I felt sorry for him. And, honestly, I was glad I wasn't driving through the storm alone. I was very scared.