"Oh, Thank you Sorry, sir!"

Welp, I know I'm worthless when the background to my blog is Autumn leaves. From last year.

High five! Put me in, coach!

As I write this I'm amazed at the dizzying speed we live our lives now. Every excruciating detail of our entire lives is being recorded and shared. Facebook, Twitter, Flickr, texting, blogs.

And mom wonders why I don't write in my journal.

I don't even have kids! Moms are SuperHeroes.

This February, I took a Job as a flight instructor in Atwater, California. I'm one of those dumb people that hears "California" and thinks palm trees and sunny beaches. Not in Atwater. It's located about two hours east of San Francisco in the central valley, and I can tell you, there is NOTHING here but farmland.

My job has been such an adventure. The flight school deals only in international students, and I have three students; two chinese and one Korean. The differences in cultures and languages make every day an absolute blast. These kids are the most respectful people you will ever meet. If we're walking to a door, they'll run ahead and open it for me and refuse to walk in before me. Even when we're not flying, I'm referred to as "Sir" and I often get little surprise snacks they bring in the airplane. Yesterday was a hard boiled egg and Dr. Pepper.

Doing something you know is easy. Teaching something you know is harder. And teaching someone who can't speak english is a real task. I have found myself explaining something five different ways just to get them to understand. In the airplane, when I'm explaining something, they will always respond with, "Oh, Thank you sorry sir" which I have a good laugh about. It's like their fail-proof response to everything. If I'm screaming because they did something wrong, then the "Sorry" works. If I'm commending them for doing something right, then the "Thank you" steps in. So i've gotten clever and I'm now (over-the-top) animating my face with the tone I say it in. So saying, "You just landed WAY too hard and the wing is now dragging behind the plane" is now said with an extreme scowl. "Thank you for not killing me today!" Is said with thumbs up and a goofy grin. "Oh, Thank you sorry, sir!"

All in all, it's been an absolute treat to be here doing what I love while meeting amazing new people. I'm excited to see what the next adventure will be.

Saw this and had to laugh...

...we all know people like this.

SUCK.

Oh hey blog! How are you?

...Neglecting you? no... I...

Listen it's not you. It's ME.

I'm just really into my career right now.

I just thought we could use a break.

I needed some space.

...still friends though, right??

Good. Okay, so... funny story. Last night at the dinner table, we were all enjoying some amazing homemade tomato soup with french bread. We were all drinking juice except mom. She had a tall glass of water, and a straw. I pointed this out, noting how strange it was to use a straw to drink water. She replied "I've been on a straw kick lately." Then Claire said "yeah, but for water?? That's like the only liquid you don't use a straw with."

I agreed, and said "Everything tastes better through a straw." as I drifted into a daydream where I sat on the shore of Dr. Pepper lake with a ten foot straw.... mmm...

I digress.

Then dad said "I disagree. I like the feeling of the liquid hitting my lips."

So I said, "The liquid still hits your lips when you use a straw. As you suck through the straw, you have a mouthful of liquid. As you pull the straw out, you have to close your lips behind it to keep from drooling down the front of you! Your lips still get wet."

There was a long pause, and we sat there thinking about it. Then Claire grabbed mom's glass and took a swig.

sidenote: Swig is a funny word.

She set the glass down and said "HAA!!" I shook my head and said "your lips are not dry!"

She disagreed, then tried a second attempt. This time she sucked a mouthful of water, gaped her mouth wide open, then tilted her head back like she was going to gargle it. Instead, she tried saying something, then painstakingly swallowed. She ended up breathing most of it in and ran to the bathroom.

Mom, dad and I all sat around the table shaking our heads and chuckling. We kept hearing short gasps from the bathroom and I yelled "STOP FAKING!!" After about thirty seconds, she finally choked out, "...I can't breathe..." and mom and dad bolted for the bathroom. I sat there finishing my roll with apple butter, and she staggered out. She wiped the tears from her eyes, clearing her throat and laughing a bit. I said "The pain of being wrong could have been a lot less than what you just put yourself through!"

Now I look back and have to laugh at the caliber of conversations we have in this household.

I hate the Lakers.

I HATE THE LAKERS.

I hate the color yellow.

I hate the color purple.

I hate how incredibly SMUG the entire organization is. From the players to the coaches and fans.

I have a passionate hatred for Kobe Bryant.

I hate every commentator and referee that bows down and worships the ground he struts on.

I hate the extremely ugly "underbite-dog-snarl" face he pulls when he thinks he did something worth cheering for.

I hate how dirty Derek Fisher is. Sell out.

I hate the stupid "Star finder" camera that finds celebrities in the crowd. Who cares??

I hate how every Laker fan I talk to doesn't even care about basketball. It's just easy to cheer for a team that always wins. Go cheer for the Yankees. Wait, you already do.

Congrats on your win this year, Lakers. I hope you all choke on your massive egos.

In The Blood

Meet my great grandfather,

Vernal Gardner.

STUD.

It must be in the blood.

....thanks, Vern.

Opening Boxes

...There are little moments in the day, when you're all alone and something incredible happens. The most regrettable thing about it? No one is there to share them with! So you smile to yourself and store it away. These moments get stored in your "you would NOT believe what happened today" memory box.

I'm opening that box and letting you peek.

It's a different world on the freeway, isn't it? It's a sensory feast. Colors, sights, sounds, and smells slap you in the face, all while you're going at speeds that would make your ancestors dizzy. Driving on the freeway reminds me of the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy gets sucked up by the tornado. It's utter chaos as she sits at the window and the most RANDOM things appear; a lady in a rocking chair knitting... two men rowing a boat... a cow... the old lady riding a bike. Poor girl had no one to share THAT with! "People watching" is out of this world on the freeway. The phrase "PLEASE tell me you saw that!" wasn't invented until we built our first freeway back in 1940. True story!

I was driving to Park City, and got over to the right lane to take the I-215 exit. A van swerved in front of me to catch the exit last minute, and I passed them on the right. I glanced over and saw that it was a really old asian couple, and the man was driving. I smirked to myself. Because old people are cute. And couples are cute. Definitely NOT because of a certain culture's horrendous driving reputation. *ahem*

It hadn't been more than five minutes when that same van approached me again. As they passed me I peered over, and was completely FLOORED. The old woman was now DRIVING and the old man was sitting in the back seat. Both of them were grinning from ear to ear, and my jaw was in my lap. They had just brought new meaning to the phrase "chinese fire drill". They had switched drivers going 80 mph on the freeway. I wouldn't even do that. Respect.

So that's the memory I'm sharing from my "You would not believe what happened" box.

You're welcome.

The Girl at McDonalds

I have a crush.

...on the girl at McDonalds.

Before you judge me any further, let me preface this by explaining why.

This girl is not your average fast food employee. She doesn't wear the
little visor and matching polo adorned with the all-too familiar
golden arches logo.

She looks dolled-up enough to go out on the town for an evening. Hair
pulled back, big earings, stunning smile.

She's a blonde Kate Beckinsale.

Gorgeous.

Ordering a heart attack to go never felt so good.

"...and how can I help you?"

"yeah, i'll take YOU to go. And a number 13. Medium. No onions."

Now you know.

The other night, the family was assembled around the dinner table. At the end of the meal, my dad leaned back, sighed, and said with great satisfaction, "Mmmm.. that hit the spot!" The comment got me wondering about how that phrase originated; and after a deep debate with Claire, we came to the (VERY educated) conclusion that "The Spot" is an ACTUAL internal organ. No joke. This discovery in the human anatomy should shed light on what actually goes on in those medical classes. The professor stands in front of the class, and points at a huge diagram of the human's main working parts. "You see class, you've got the mouth right here, which leads to this little tube called the Esophagus. Now this is where it gets tricky.... there's a fork in the road, and one leads to this bean-shaped thing called the Stomach. The other leads to THIS little doozy called..... wait for it..... THE SPOT. Make note of this."

Why is it that only certain foods ever make it to the Spot? What qualifies passage? As questions began to pile up about this little-known organ, I sought the all-knowing (sacrilegious?) knowledge of Google. "Hit the spot' means to fully satisfy and refresh, especially with food or drink." Psh..... so misinformed, Webster. It should expound with something like, "The act of delicious food entering an internal organ."

As we had a good laugh about the scenario we just painted at dinner, we began to list some of the foods that have graced the Spot in the past.

Warm Tapioca pudding with cinnamon rolls on a chilly day

Breakfast. Any time of the day. Yes Please.

Wendy's Baconator. Not gonna lie, It DOES beat your heart senseless on the way down, but the Spot likes it. So keep chewing.

Beef Jerky on 15 hour road trips

Buttered popcorn during Jazz games

Tomato pie on a summer night with salted cucumbers...mmmm

Henry Weinhard's cream soda while camping

....The poor boy above CLEARLY has a malfunctioning Spot. It's telling his brain that EVERYTHING hits the spot. Their family dog was alive that morning.

What hits the spot for you?

Food for thought.

Yes that just happened.

Dear Me

I recently heard a commercial on the radio about quitting smoking. I thought the way they did it was so effective. The man starts out by saying, "Dear me..." then goes on to tell himself why he should stop smoking. I got thinking about if I could write a letter to myself, what time in my life would I do it, and what would I say? I then decided that the 3 painfully awkward years of Junior High would have been less painful if I would have received this letter...

Dear me,

Lighten up. Learn to laugh at yourself. You're a goof. Embrace it. The world is filled with people who don't know how to laugh at themselves. Life is too short to take yourself too seriously.

Stop worrying about what everyone thinks about you. So much of your time is spent worrying. What you don't realize right now is that everyone else is worrying about the same things.

Don't be so sensitive. Man up. Jerks in junior high don't change in high school. You just learn to laugh at them.

Please, for the love of all that's good and holy, stop being so concerned with how you look. It's junior high. This is an awkward stage for everyone. Gelling your spiky hair and wearing golfer vests over t-shirts isn't helping your cause.

Please stop writing her love letters. She's like your sister. Trust me.

Your braces DO come off, and you'll have a great smile. When you get them off, PLEASE wear your retainers religiously.

I know it seems like I'm speaking a different language, but listen to Mom. She actually knows what she's talking about. Promise.

Be nicer to your little sister Claire. She ends up being your best friend. Not everyone likes your sarcasm. You're lucky she still talks to you.

Speaking of sisters; you can't see it right now, but it's a blessing you have four. Cherish every second you have with them.

Enjoy life. Be happy with who you are. Hang in there buddy. There IS life after junior high. Plus, you grow up to be ME.

THERE'S something to smile about.

Sincerely,

Me.

The cliché world of bumper stickers

As a fellow driver, you've experienced this phenomenon. Along your
path travelled, you've seen them left and right. They're everywhere.
Like billboards. We almost don't even notice them anymore, do we?
Unless they're advertising for liposuction. Have you SEEN those? I
digress. These are a little less blaringly obvious than billboards.
Yes, the bumper sticker. These little gems are a human's way of saying
something witty he'd never come up with on his own. I find it so
interesting that people can't JUST get from point A to point B. No,
instead they feel the need to force a little attitude down the throats
of trailing motorists. It's like, "Hey! Here's a little dose of my
opinion without your consent." Thanks, but I didn't ask for that at
all. The real tragedy though, is that they're all so pointless and
repetitive.
Below are some of the most cliché bumper stickers I've seen....

"BABY ON BOARD."
Okay, what am I to gather from this piece of information? "Uh oh,
THEY'VE got a baby in there. Better give THEM a wide berth."
Such good, proud parents. You're not the only couple
in the world with offspring.

"MY GRANDKIDS ARE CUTER THAN YOURS."
Really. Okay, first of all, we could all do without the attitude.
Secondly, we're happy for you. The fact that you're a proud
grandparent is cute. But what's painfully apparent, is that your
grandkids really aren't cuter than anyones. Why would you have to keep
reminding everyone? I think that the thought of your partial
responsibility for their less-than-desirable genes still stings a bit;
and it's nice to have a little daily positive reenforcement.

Bless your heart.

"KEEP HONKING. I'M RELOADING."
You're lying. You're the type of person that has always had others
fight your battles for you. Why would I say that? Because you're still
doing it today. Through your bumper sticker. Empty threats are the
crutch for insecure people. At first glance, you may seem tough, but
all I see is "PLEASE STOP HONKING OR I'LL CALL MY MOM."
Why are we honking at you in the first place? You're clearly an awful
driver. And why are you reloading? You couldn't hit a huge target with
the first clip? Yeah, chances are I'm pretty safe doing just about
anything I please around you. PS your mom called.

"MY OTHER RIDE IS A......"
insert- "AIRPLANE, GOLF CART, BIKE," etc.
Here's the point... WHO CARES!?!?
The only ride you own that I care about is in FRONT of me. Doing 55 in
the carpool lane. Go play in the right lane. Someone else might care
what you're interested in.

I don't even know where to begin with Jeeps. They've literally
cornered the market of cliché bumper stickers.

"I LIKE TO PLAY DIRTY"

"IF YOU CAN READ THIS, PLEASE ROLL ME OVER"

"IT'S A JEEP THING. YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND."

"I USE WHAT YOUR HYBRID SAVES."

You're right. I DON'T understand... How someone can be getting NINE
miles to the gallon and still brag about it. It must be a Jeep thing.

I have to say, however, that the most popular and pointless stickers
out there today are the stick figure families that adorn the bottom
corners of back windows. You know the ones I'm talking about. It seems
every mini van in Utah comes stock with them. I'm driving behind you
and now I know you have 5 adorable kids. 3 daughters and 2 sons. Awww
cute, and a dog. Is this REALLY the type of information you want to be
giving out to the ENTIRE world? Why give people sensitive
information they don't need to know? All for what? Some tacky
representation of your family? I don't understand that.

We're a peculiar breed, aren't we?

Drive safe.

The Adventure of the Mohawk.

The thrill of spontaneity.

The welcomed breath of fresh air called change.

The countless reactions.

The guilty pleasure of being someone I'm not for a day.

The fact that I could actually pull one off.

Sleep Deprivation.

...I don't know what reasons combined to actually make me do it, but it

made for one really fun day. It was friday night, and I arrived home at

1:50 a.m after a fun date. I walked inside and began my nightly routine.

Remove shoes for stealthy entrance. Fumble in the dark towards my

room. Lamp on. Favorite warm PJ's on. Brush teeth. Stare at myself in

the mirror. Come on, who doesn't. Then it hit me. I need a massive

Mohawk in my hair right now. GENIUS! Yes I do compliment myself.

So when I should have been asleep, dreaming of missionary haircuts

and mothers who want to be seen in public with me, I was hastily

setting up shop to transform from awesome to awesomer. Yes it's

possible. I was all shaved, shampoo'd, and in bed by 2:30.

I laughed myself to sleep.

Saturday morning, I got up and joined the family downstairs. Yes I

live at home. Thank you. After saying a rather nonchalant

"Good morning" and scraping my parent's brains off the wall, I

ate breakfast. After that, the day just blurred by.

Getting an expected earful from my mother.

Hiding (per request of Paula) from her visiting teachers.

Greeting Claire's date for Sweetheart's at the door.

Going to Kohler's for some chips.

Jazz game with Erin and Rob.

The next morning I woke up early and shaved it off. After all, I had to

teach in Elder's Quorum and I never would have heard the end of it.

It was a short-lived look. It was fun. I have

a feeling I'll see it again....

Spend it wisely

...For those of us who DIDN'T come home off the mission and steal away the girl of their dreams the FIRST day they were home, then get married two months later ....there's the wonderful world of dating. Side note- I hope you enjoyed that incredibly long run-on sentence. I might do it again. I might not. My choice.

Dating, for lack of a better, more cleverly thought-out analogy, is like shopping.

We all go to the mall for different reasons. Our friends drag us there. The food. The shopping. Regardless of the reason, we've ALL been there at one point in our lives. Walking past certain stores, we all have different reactions.

"There is seriously NOTHING good in that store."

"I've already been there. Keep walking."

"Yes PLEASE..."

"I wouldn't be caught DEAD in that store"

"Out of my league"

There are those of us that go to a store for a VERY specific thing. Specific size, color and style. We usually are more disappointed when we don't find exactly what meets our tall list of expectations.

Then there are the people that actually buy a shirt. It fits. Looks great, is comfortable to wear, and compliments their life. They're the same people that save the receipt, because after they wear it for a while, they RETURN IT. TACKY. The shirt didn't do anything wrong, they just liked how it made them feel.

Then there's the people that are flat broke, but go to the mall anyway. They scout things out in hopes of finding something they can afford later.

There are those that go into a store with no intent of buying anything at all. After looking around for while, they luck out. They spot it. Pick it up, try it out in the mirror. They HAVE to have it. One minute they don't even know it exists, and the next, they're wondering how they ever lived life WITHOUT it. These are known as the impulse buyers.

Impulse daters.

And strangely enough, this is who I want to be. I find it interesting that the people with the long list of "Must Haves" rarely, if EVER, find what they're looking for. They set themselves up for disappointment. I'd rather have the thrill of the "Find." You're in the right place at the right time, and it JUST WORKS. Then you find that this person IS your "must have." They're exactly what you needed.

Until that happens, I'll keep shopping.

"Is there anything I can help you find, sir?"

"Nah, I'm just looking. Thanks."

Tricky, Apple. Very tricky....

Hello world. Meet the new iPad. Newest member of the Apple gang. For months and months the internet has been buzzing with rumors about the "tablet-like computer that's supposed to change everything." What did it change? Nothing. All it is, is an awkwardly oversized iPod Touch. It can't even make calls. Or take pictures. Or make meals. Or think for me. Lame.

Now I think it's no secret that i'm a HUGE fan of ANYTHING sporting an Apple logo. I have a MacBook Pro, iPod classic, iPod shuffle, iPod nano, iPod Touch, and an iPhone 3G. I'm hooked. And even I can't see the need for this. Wow.

But then yesterday, I got thinking about it logically. I have 12 credits of online classes at UVU. My laptop only gets about 2 hours every charge. The iPad gets 10 hours. Then I watched the video on the Apple website about the iPad. I think they use subliminal crack in their commercials. Because I have to confess, I found myself DROOLING over the iPad. I TOTALLY WANT ONE!!

...once upon a time...

...There was a boy named John, who realized he's been horrible at keeping this updated. So much has happened since I last spoke on here. I'm home in Alpine being spoiled with free room and board, enjoying the countless hours of family time, and finally being around all of my friends for longer than a couple weeks. I'm currently about to start the Aviation Science program at UVU, and excited to get some school done. Don't ask about dating.... it's a waste of time and money. And yet i'm still at it, under the illusion that it might be of benefit sometime in the future. Jane and chris have just moved up to Seattle, and I'm going to miss her so much it hurts. But I know how she feels. Moving away is always an adventure, and I can't wait for her little family to make memories there. McKinlay is the most adorable little spitfire and I'm going to miss her face.

...On a different note, I LOVE living in a snow globe. Many smiles, laughs, and cold noses will be had this winter.

Two Months Down

Finally a picture of my cottage and expansive estate

Bismarck Airport!

Flying out of Bismarck! The temple is in the top left corner of the picture...

Where I spend most of my day... Holding down the fort!

Putting things where they go...

Rotating the tires on the Tug...

The sheer knowledge of operating this machinery really boosts my resume

80-foot deer in the middle of nowhere... oh wait there's more... they're JUMPING over a fence!