My time to beg

As I mentioned, I'm training for the MS 150 Best Dam Bike Ride. For it, my team, the Flying Spokes, is raising money that will go to Multiple Sclerosis research. (Check out the team logo!) In Utah, 1 in 500 people are diagnosed with MS, in comparison to 1 in 10,000 in Texas. Since I'm still emotionally scarred from the door-to-door soliciting bit for the Jump-a-Thon when I was 9, this is my non-pressure way of begging for money. If you would like to support the cause, click on the link below where you can donate online. It allows you to enter any amount you would like. I would really appreciate your support!

Donate to MS Research- causing me to drag my butt 40 miles on a bike!

How are you?

So as previously mentioned, and as can be seen by my lack of posts, it's been a bit busy here. No time to even ride the scooter--- A sin, I know. But I really shouldn't complain about it, because really, who isn't busy?

My dad has always been bothered by Americans and how we throw around the phrase, "How are you?" On the phone, on the street, with sales people, everyone asks how you are doing. But his complaint comes with the fact that really, no one cares. Asking is routine and hardly anyone waits or cares to hear the honest answer of "how you are." My dad's friend Henk, from the Netherlands, also noticed this about Americans and asked my dad about it. Henk and my dad both agreed that Americans are rude and phony. (Wow, dutch people thinking Americans are rude... that's a joke right there.) But in all seriousness, I don't think it is really such a bad thing to edit out the details with a quick, "good" or "fine."

A coworker who's desk is near mine at work should learn to be a bit less honest and rely on a simple "fine, thanks." Doesn't he know that no one cares? As he speaks on the phone everyday, I get to hear repeatedly about his shoulder surgery, his slacker kids dropping out of high school or his long night in bathroom... I'll spare you the gory details. I don't need to hear this, and my guess is that the person on the other end of the line wasn't interested either. Too much information.

But the reoccurring answer from my coworker that drives me up the wall is, "I'm up to my elbows in alligators." Then a few months ago apparently everything must have gotten worse because now he's "Up to his eyebrows in alligators." What!?! Alligators? What is that even supposed to mean? If anything, it makes me think he has too much time on his hands if he can make up ridiculous little gems like that. Apparently it all comes down to alligators? It just takes me back to something my mom used to tell me: "Don't go around telling people your problems; half of the people won't care and the other half will think you got what you had coming to you." In applying this to Mr. Alligator... I'm pretty sure we'd all fall in the same camp, rule out his old-man humor, and be perfectly happy with a simple, "I'm fine."

take deep breaths... or I could...

Work has been really stressful the last couple of days, and I think this is what I'm going to do to deal with it:

Idol-phobia

I must say I’m not a fan of American Idol- any of you Idol-ites can continue your blogsurfing. I admit that I did watch a few of the initial tryouts back in the day of William Hung to laugh at people who think they can sing- I’m mean like that. Plus, from listening to the nature of Simon’s critiques, I think he would be a great Architecture School professor. But I'm ready for all the Idol-hype to be done. Why, you ask? What turned me off to American Idol was Clay Aiken. And he topped it all off with that "Invisible” song. It’s the theme song for a stalker.

…” Whatcha’ doin’ tonight, I wish I could be a fly on your wall.
Are you really alone, Who's stealin' your dreams, Why can't I bring you into my life, What would it take to make you see that I'm alive…”
“…If I was invisible Then I could just watch you in your room…”
“…I keep tracing your steps, Each move that you make…”

Hello? Creepy! Plus, hasn’t anyone noticed that he looks just like Drop Dead Fred? I’m waiting for him to pick a bugger and put it on someone’s face.

Look, they're the same person.

The Dutchies

Notice there is a new link for my mom and dad 's new blog, recording their mission preparations and upcomming ventures in the Netherlands. Come to find out, my mom doesn't have fingerprints... sounds a bit shady to me.

more trip photos... just humor me

This is the land of incredible cemetaries- A great cemetary in St. Simons, GA:

The confederacy is alive and well in the South:

Christ's Church, St. Simon's Island, GA:

Fabulous homes in Beaufort, SC, the second oldest city in SC:

The South suited us well and we miss it. All Jeff needed was a 50's era Ford pickup and a basset hound named "Bruiser" to cruise down the county roads with and it would have been complete!

"if alabama is the heart of dixie, then georgia is its soul"

At least that's how our trolley driver Chris put it. And Savannah, Georgia was a hoot! The outer skirts of Savannah, not so much, but the downtown and historic district were great. Here's a few pics:

Mmmmm.... Dodge's Roadside Chicken

Angel Oak on the way out of SC. It is 1400 years old with the largest branch 89' long:

And now Savannah:

If you've seen "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil" this is Kevin Spacey's house:

This is the square where Forrest Gump sits on the park bench... the movie makers took the bench away...

The Lowcountry: Charleston, SC

Now that you've heard the gripes of our trip, let me clarify that it was a fabulous trip up until the point we arrived at the Charleston, SC airport for our almost 24 hour venture home. I've received many strange looks in response to hearing where we went, so I thought I'd post some pictures of our vacation destinations. The South is beautiful and just doesn't get enough credit. Plus the food is heavenly!

Travel Plan:

Fly in to Charleston, SC and spend a few days there.

Saunter on down the SC coast to Savannah, GA and spend a few days there.

Drift down to St. Simon's Island, GA to spend a night (with a detour to FL so we could say we've been there.)

Wander up to Beaufort, SC and spend a few days there.

Mosey on back to Charleston, SC to attempt to fly home.

Charleston, South Carolina:

Is this hell? No, It’s O’Hare Airport

We’ve returned and recovered from the black hole of hell, otherwise known as the Chicago O’Hare Airport. I’m convinced that it really is hell. You think you are progressing forward, going somewhere, but you’re not- you’re just waiting. Everyone on the other airlines are going places, so you think that if you just wait, it will be your turn. But it never is. You can’t sleep. The benches are ridiculously uncomfortable and jab into your side, it is cold, too bright for sleeping and the repetitive announcements about leaving your luggage unattended never stop! And so what if I left my luggage unattended? No one is here to mess with it! There’s no food and they only pretend to have Starbucks open 24 hours, but it really doesn’t open until 5:00am, which never comes! The keepers of hell make you think it’s not so bad by having clean restrooms, but for all I know the handy toilet seat covers are reused and I probably have flesh-eating butt bacteria. But I’m convinced that I’ve cracked the code. When we all die, we’ll find out that hell is really spending eternity in the Chicago O’Hare Airport and nothing like Dante’s Inferno. There are no levels or circles of hell… just terminals. This is the place where bad people, murderers, dentists and the inventors of ankle-socks go.