Friday, January 29, 2010


Today was the "Ugly Sweater Contest" I planned at work. (For those who don't know, I do marketing at a college.) A trip to the D.I. took place a few weeks ago to find suitable attire for the event. I was pleased with my purchase when Greg's reaction was simply, "Yikes." Jackpot. Greg was officially appalled when he realized I was going to wear said ugly sweater all day at work today, rather than changing into it right before the contest.

Greg: At least I know you won't get hit on today.

Me: What? I could totally get hit on in this outfit. Have you seen the students at the college? (Admittedly not tasteful on my part.)

Greg: Most days I worry you'll get hit on at work; but not today.

Me: (Thinking: Most days?) Gee thanks. Maybe I'll bring home the grand prize.

Fast forward to after the contest...


Me: Well, we didn't have a huge turnout for the sweater contest but it was still really fun. We had a bunch of people say they would participate if we did it again though. I saved two of the votes that were turned in for the people's choice award. I attached them. I wish I knew who "the cute girl" was. Too funny.

The Votes
(I hope you're not offended by the first one...)

Greg: Wow. You totally got hit on. I didn't think that was going to happen with that outfit.

Karma:1 Greg :0

I can't say that "the cute girl" is me (for sure-ha) but I'll pretend it is just to teach Greg a lesson.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

chime in

I decided* I'm getting a new camera (point and shoot) for my birthday. I bought the one we have about four years ago and its shutter speed is wayyyy toooo sloooow. Do you have a camera you love? Hate? I would appreciate your suggestions...

*Greg has to love this, right? I won't even feel bad if I'm the one to order it :)

Wednesday, January 27, 2010


I'm about to tell you something really embarrassing.

Last week I was visiting my parents and it went as it always does. I tell my mom so-and-so is engaged/pregnant/promoted/maimed/etc and my dad asks if so-and-so is the child of older-so-and-so. I never know so we turn to Facebook for answers. We search through wedding photo albums until we determine, with the aid of dad's high school yearbooks, that so-and-so is in fact older-so-and-so's offspring. How does the man do it? His ability to recognize familial ties astounds me.

Now to the embarrassing part. While looking through the photos we came across one that reminded us all of a funny video involving a man, a destination, and a fox hat. (If you don't know, I won't pollute your mind with the details.) My dad discovered this video at least 5 years ago and was so thrilled with it that he shared it with anyone who visited (Love you dad, but we both know this isn't an exaggeration). Upon seeing the aforementioned photo I recited the punch line and dad replied with, "I don't get it". He and mom laughed. In my confusion I asked what was funny...

Dad: Remember when your friend [so-and-so] didn't understand the movie and said, "I don't get it"?

Me: [So-and-so]? I've never had a friend named [so-and-so].

Mom: Yes you did. Remember, you dated him?...

Me: What?

Dad: What was his last name...[so-and-so], [so-and-so surname]!

That's right, I totally forgot that a person I dated even existed.
I'm getting old; I also need to get my thyroid checked.

P.S. Every guy I ever dated with any amount of seriousness has seen the video so there's no need to worry he would know this was him if he were to read this.

P.S.S. Greg had a big smile when I told him about this.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

waffle baffle

I have a co-worker who claims he has never eaten a waffle. Pancakes? Yes. He told me he ate so many pancakes on his LDS mission, in fact, that he can no longer stand to eat them.

I question his knowledge of what a waffle is. That's the only explanation I've come up with. I mean really, how can a person who grew up in Utah AND has parents have never eaten a waffle? Did I mention he's over 30 years old?! I think it's apparent I'm appalled by this.

Maybe he's just afraid of waffles for some disturbing reason. Our boss made us Belgian waffles for breakfast at a department retreat a few weeks ago and he ended up with the stomach flu and didn't attend. Likely story.

The real dilemma is this: How can I reasonably trust a person who has never eaten a waffle? No wonder I feel compelled to play practical jokes on the guy.

A waffle party is already in the works for his birthday this year.

Monday, January 25, 2010

in response

Comment from this post:

Dear Wendy,
I love your posts. Thanks for always making me smile.
PS- I found my writing portfolio the other night- Including a book we started writing together based on the Baby Sitter's Club. The catch phrase? Eight girls and their eight stories from their seven weeks of haunted summer. Who wouldn't want to read it?

My response:

Dear Amy,

Thank you for reading. I figure I owe you at least one smile since I threw a brick at you as a child. I'm still relieved I missed. I remember running in fear as my brothers yelled "Run Wendy, run" from the back deck as your mom chased me around the house. Then I hid under my bed until our moms finished their conversation on our porch. I believe that was the day I sealed my fate of playing soccer, as opposed to softball. I'm glad we could remain friends.

Love, Wendy

PS- In a recent effort to overcome my own genetic pack ratness :) I found copies of two stories you wrote. I think they were for our "club." What did we call it again? Something about crafts and dancing...I forget. I'll post a picture of one of the covers, including Bob's signature. Yes, he desecrated one of the covers with his kid handwriting. Typical. Also, I need your address because you should certainly be in possession of these stories, not me.

Friday, January 22, 2010

approaching fisticuffs

Last Friday was the first CHURCH BALL game of the season. I think that explains the title of this post.

In my experience, church ball is an anxiety-ridden drama inducing ulcer factory. Maybe there's something wrong with me, but I really enjoy it. Do you think growing up with five brothers, two of which played high school hockey, has anything to do with it?

Last week's game was particularly "exciting." Spoiler alert: no punches were thrown, but the wife of the elders quorum president sitting next to me was worried her husband would be the one to start it.

The start of the game was very promising when my good friend Meg announced she had a veggie tray in her purse and her intention was for us to eat it. Um, yes please. I, being impressed with what I thought was brilliant foresight on her part, complimented her on bringing an excellent snack.

Meg: "Oh, I just happened to have it so I thought I'd bring it."

Wendy: "I can't wait for the day when I just happen to have a veggie tray. I can honestly say that has never happened to me."

Things turned south quick when I realized which team "we" were playing. The jerk team. The jerk team, as I apparently call them, was the one we butted heads with last year. The one with the scrawny know-it-all with the 80's haircut and the seven foot 35 year old stuck in the glory days who seems to think this will be the game he finally gets drafted. I admit a bias. They really did cause problems when they tried to steamroll the Tuesday night pick-up games at our church house last year. Sure their gym was under construction and they've had the Tuesday night ritual for years, but this is our turf! Choose another night. Geez.

On with the game. We were getting a lot of fouls called on us but from what I could see both teams were playing rough. It's usually a good thing when one of the refs is from your ward (he plays on the geezer team), but not this time.

Munch, carrots.

We have a Polynesian WSU football player on our team who can appear quite intimidating but is the biggest tease. I look up from the sugar snap peas to see him getting escorted into the hall by a player on the other team. I hear something about him being the stake athletic director so he can make calls on the court if he wants to.* Our team member eventually gets a technical and the job of score-keeping on the sideline.

Munch, munch celery.

At one point the refs stopped the game and both teams huddle to regroup. Two members of our bishopric were there and went on the court to tell our team to cool it.

Munch, munch, munch cherry tomatoes.

The next thing I know, Greg is saying "That's the best call you made all night!" After which he stormed off the court in my direction, grabbed his coat from my lap, and headed for the door. In my confusion I asked, "What's going on?" "We're leaving." That was my cue to get up and get out.

Apparently Greg got kicked out of the game. It looked like he just decided to leave from my seat.

Saturday morning came and Greg started to worry a bit.

Greg: "In my parents' stake you have to talk to the stake president to get permission to play again if you get kicked out of a game."

Wendy: "For real?"

Greg: "I just hope I don't get called into the bishop's office tomorrow."

9:00 a.m. Sunday came with great apprehension.

Much to Greg's relief, he got slaps on the back from all. The first counselor in the bishopric complimented Greg on "the best comment of the game" and a member of the stake presidency had a good laugh about it with us.

I guess we'll be at the game tonight after all.

*This is where I took [biased] paraphrasing license

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

where there's smoke...

The scene opens on a college marketing employee working at her desk. Time period: last Wednesday, mid-afternoon

Coworker "V": (walking past my desk) It smells kind of smoky in here.

Wendy: That's true, it does.

V: (continuing down the hall) Whatever [boss "E"] has burning in her office is smoking like crazy!

Wendy: What? (I jump out of my chair and realize the hall is filling with smoke. I enter E's office which is full of smoke.) It must be the space heater under her desk. (Fearing flames I looked under the desk to find a leather briefcase pushed against the space heater.)

V: (Standing in the hall watching me buzz about saving the office from ruin. Repeat, just standing there.)

Wendy: (Pulling the briefcase away from the space heater I assess the damage) Well, it's not ruined.

E: (Nowhere to be found.)

Wendy: We were probably seconds away from the fire alarm going off.

V: Probably. (Walks down the hall.)

Wendy: Thinking: Really? I just saved the office from burning down. Not to mention saving ["E"] from complete embarrassment and evacuation of the entire building.

Moral(s) of the story:

  • Don't put a space heater under your desk. Duh.
  • Show a little appreciation the next time I save your job and therefore your life.*
  • Sheesh.
*Drama added for comedic effect.

Monday, January 11, 2010

of late

Been wondering what we've been up to? I thought so.

Greg is killing it at work and school. Here's the latest review of a microsite he created for a marketing campaign at work.

As for me, I've been pouring on the charm with the nursery crowd. Remember the boy who asked his mom to let him wear cologne to church for me? He graduated to Sunbeams two weeks ago but he almost had me in tears when he came running up to me after Sacrament Meeting yesterday. In other news, the Pinewood Derby is this month. Vroom!

And we got new curtains for our living room.* Life's good.

*We're tackling the decorating one room at a time. The living room is coming together nicely. Come check it out!