Dealing with grief.

I'm a counseling intern. At a middle school. And a high school.

The high school wants to start a grief group for kids that are dealing with the loss of a loved one. And I get to invite the grieving students to join the group. First one on my list is *Bobby. (*Name changed for confidentiality.)

I pulled Bobby out of class.
Me: "We're putting together a grief group for students that have lost loved ones. In light of your recent loss, we'd like to invite you to attend this group to gain support and give support to others."
Bobby: "Mmmmmmmm..... I haven't really lost anyone."
Me: "Oh. Really?"
Bobby: "Well, like.... my great-grandpa died a long time ago."
Me: "Your parents are both still alive?"
Bobby: "Yea."
Me: "Ohhhh..."
Bobby: "Like...my dad...lost...his leg a about 9 years ago? Would that count?"
Me: "No. Probably not."

I really hate dealing with grief.

Cool Kids.

If you're like me, you wake up every morning believing you are basically the coolest.

Then you go through your day.

And by the time you're climbing into bed that night, you have discovered a truth. You are not cool.

I've recently started my internship in the counseling office at the Morgan School District. I'm trying to decide whether I love it or hate it. But either way, I'm learning. Learning how I'm not cool.

For example:
Today we had a "New Student Orientation". The counselor I'm shadowing was going around introducing everyone to the new students. Principal, vice principal, counselors. And then came my turn to be introduced as I WAS standing in the line-up of people to be introduced.

The introducer-er pointed directly at me.

I pulled one of these:

It's just my little way of saying, "Hey hey. Where's the coolest counselor? Right here. That's me."

And just as I struck this pose, some chubby old dude walked in front of me. 

"Oh boy, you guys! This is a super important person to know right here. He's the school janitor!!! And if you need help getting into your lockers, he's the one to know," says school counselor. (I'm not a man. I'm not a janitor.) The janitor who just happened to be wandering through the "New Student Orientation" stole my moment. My light. My shine.

Pose quickly turns to this:

It's just my little way of saying, "Yea! Look at that guy over there! Coolest janitor right there."

I never actually got introduced.

Please let me make it through this internship. And please let go to bed some night still thinking I am cool.

Things that make me cry.

Here is a list of things that have made/make me cry.
1) Finding out that my beloved Barneymobile was going to be sent to the recyclers.

RIP

I'd take you back in a heartbeat.

Cried for days.

2) The olympics. 
Olympics have a very soft and tender spot in my heart. Very soft. Very tender.

And no one knew this fact until Neil and I went out to dinner. At Applebees. Fun fact: Applebees has lots of TVs in which you can watch sports. Olympic sports in particular. And this particular night at Applebees some random little man... won a big olympic bike race. And then I cried. And Neil laughed at me. Everyone in Applebees laughed at me. And then Neil told our friends. And they laughed at me. My secret was found out. 

And now basically everyone knows. And now basically everyone is laughing at me.

You're so sexy.

I cry. Over olympics. 

Most recent Olympic cry spree?
Learn about the Sculling Sloth Here.

3) Olympic commercials. 
Am I weirdy? Cause 2 out of the 3 things that make me cry are olympic related...

On to more crying.

Now if you've sat next to me and a computer for around 32 seconds, chances are you've already seen these. Cause I show them to anybody and errybody. All day, erryday. And yay. You get to see them again.

Favorite.

Another favorite.

Now. If you're not crying yet. Then....it's probably safe to say that you have no heart.

And also. I don't like you.

Just kidding. But seriously. Go ahead and squeeze out a little tear. Then cheer for America! Go World! Go Visa! Go olympians! And now, let us get back to crying some more.

Parenting.

Neil and I got conned into a newlywed parenting class.

We're the only couple in the class missing a baby. We misplaced it. Just kidding, we actually don't have one of those.

We currently parent a dog. Which apparently doesn't mean anything.

Today, we got to take a parenting style quiz in order to compare our parenting styles with one another.

Our results:

Allow me to highlight my favorites.

Scenario: If your teenage boy wants to rent an R rated movie that his friends have all watched, you...
Katie Answered: Explain to him why we don't watch rated R movies.
Neil Answered: Take them out to a different movie that isn't rated R. I'm going to be the cooler parent.

Scenario: Your 14-year-old doesn't want to go to church meetings. "No friends," he says. You say...
Katie Answered: Explain that the risks of not going to church are far worse than having "no friends".
Neil Answered: I would have him come to priesthood with me until he got bored enough to go back to his own church meetings.

Scenario: Your 5-year-old daughter says, "Grandpa is a bad person because he smokes." You say...
Katie Answered: Grandpa isn't a bad person, he just isn't making a very good decision but we still love him.
Neil Answered: When did Grandpa start smoking?

Scenario: Your 8-year-old looks you in the eye and asks you, "Is Santa Claus real?" You answer...
Katie Answered: No.
Neil Answered: Absolutely.


Probably going to stick with that dog for a while.

Beauty marks. Not beautiful.

I don't know many people that have upper lip moles.
But... I know that I have an upper lip mole.

When I was younger I thought that made me pretty cool.

My mom would tell me stories of old fashioned ladies that would draw little "Beauty Marks" on their face because they weren't beautiful enough to ACTUALLY have one like I did.

I knew it. I is. Hot shiz.

Beauty mark. Totally fake. Not hot.

My beauty mark. Marking my beauty.

Fast forward a few couple of years. 

"Hey Katie. You forgot to pluck your mole hairs."
"Katie's never been kissed. All the guys are afraid of her mole. And the mole whiskers."
"Katie your mole is so big. You can't tell the difference between mole and lip."
"My life sucks. But at least I don't have a mole like Katie's."
"Don't tell a soul. But I tried to kiss Katie last night and the whiskers stabbed my face. Took an hour to stop the bleeding."
"First thing I notice in a girl is her eyes. First thing I notice in Katie is her mole. And actually, that's the only thing I notice about Katie."
"Hey Katie you got some chocolate on your face. Oh. Wait. Nevermind."

So contrary to what my mom led me to believe, beauty marks are just really great to make fun of. And a really great way to lower self esteem.

"Please. With that mole? She was begging for lower self esteem."

The day I never met Julie B. Beck.

Neils sweet grandmother passed away last week. It was a sad week for all because Lucille will be missed. She was a wonderful woman.

And by "wonderful woman" I mean "rock star". Because about 3 billion people showed up to her viewing and funeral. One of those people being Julie B. Beck.

"WHO IS JULIE B. BECK?!" you ask.

I'll tell you.

Seriously. Look at her rad hair.

Julie B. Beck is somewhat of a rock star herself. (But she doesn't rock out, it's more all in the hair.) Julie B. Beck is one of those ladies that gives talks during LDS Conference meetings. And it turns out, I can pay attention the entire way through her talks. So. She's pretty good.

While she was going through the viewing line with her little, old mother, I was gearing up to talk to her. Mentally preparing. Planning the introduction in my mind. Daydreaming.

But meet her? I never did. Let's just say some choice individuals (whom I thought loved me) blew my chance by interrupting our ALMOST handshake.

I ALMOST touched Julie B. Beck.

Guess who didn't ALMOST touch Julie B. Beck. *cough*Sarah and Nolan Johnson*cough*. And that's probably because they totally DID touch her.

And as they were all touching her celebrity-ness and chatting with her, I got to talk to Julie B. Beck's little, old mother. Which is fine. Really. It is. I mean, she gave birth to the famous. So I'm ok with that.

Little, old mother asked who I belonged to. And as I answered.......Julie B. Beck turned back to hear me.

"Oh I'm actually Neils husband."


Silence. Neil's panic stricken face.


It turns out... I'm actually not Neil's husband.
I'm his wife.


Julie B. Beck's mothers' response? "Oh. Well. We love you anyway."


Julie B. Beck. And her mother. Think I'm a freak. 


I'm a wife. I'm wife. Happy to be a wife. Always a wife. Not a husband. My bad. I love you Julie B. Beck.

So My Mom is Falling Apart: Part II

My mom had surgery on her knee for something or other. Since her body IS falling apart, it's hard to keep track of what is happening to what part of her body. But I try.



This is the knee. The picture is fuzzy and upside down.
But you get the point.



















Here are my moms crutches. She sent me this picture because
she knows I've ALWAYS wanted crutches.
Just rubbing it in my face a 'lil.



















My mom's going to be sitting around healing up for a few days. And who better to take care of her, pamper her and nurse her back to health, than my dad? Am I right? Am I right??

Mmmmmm............... .   .    .

When my mom made it home today from surgery, my cute little dad quickly began his duties as "Kathy Caretaker". He left for the kitchen to whip up my sweet mother some lunch.

15 minutes later he came back with toast.

Toast.

Toast.

Toast. For lunch.

I'm just gonna throw this out there...   If any of you are in the general Star Valley, WY area...  And happen to have some butter on hand. Or maybe some cinnamon sugar. Jam? Jelly? Heck. She's even been wanting to give Nutella a try. Anything really. Just drop some by. Maybe?

Toast is going to be the main ingredient/dish for the next few days and she could use some help jazzing it up.

Especially since that's all her caretaker really knows how to fix (in 15 minutes).

Kthanxbye.

Mug Meals are for lonely people.

While Neil was gone, I decided to make mug meals. For all of my meals. They're cool cause they're one serving. It's kinda classy. And kinda white trash. A perfect contradiction. And a perfect meal for a lonely person. Heck mug meals pretty much make being lonely awesome.

Mug French Toast.

Mug French Toast Recipe


1 Egg
Some bread

Stuff some bread down in a mug. Crack an egg over it.
Microwave it. Pour some syrup on that shiz.


Eat it.

Coffee Cake.

Mug Coffee Cake Recipe

Google Mug Coffee Cake Recipe.


Follow recipe.


Eat it.

Tator Tots and Fish Sticks

Mug Tator Tots and Fish Sticks

Some fish sticks
Some tator tots


This one is super easy. Cook the tator tots and fish sticks in an oven.
Pour the tator tots and fish sticks in a mug. 


Apply condiments.


Eat it.

Lonely Inspirationals.

I'm really lonely. My husband left to go on a 3 day river Canoeing trip with his Cousin Garret in Wyoming. I'm jealous much. But more lonely than anything. And bored.

And what do I do when I'm bored? Pintrest. Now I'm not super proud to admit I use pintrest. It's kinda lame. I try to pretend I'm too cool for it. And I don't like people following my pins. And I don't really get how to use it. And I'll forever love facebook more. BUT when you're desperately bored (ex: facebook has nothing good, you have to work an extra hour at work, you're lonely and don't have friends) it's time to pop out the pintrest.

And that I did. With my first search being 'lonely'. (See how lonely I am??)

AND LOOK WHAT I FOUND!! 
Lonely quotes and pictures. That people...actually come up with. And pin on pintrest. 

Sooo TRUE!!! Am I right ladies?! You think you've got your
man and then he leaves. For a few days.
SO. DIFFICULT. TO. DEAL. WITH.

GAH! Pintrest just knows what I'm thinking and feeling.
It's like having a best friend that finishes your sentences.

A really great tattoo idea.

It's so crazy that this was on pintrest under the lonely
category. Cause this is the exact same thing I did when
Neil left. Did that for hours.

See?

Personal favorite. Because I've been wondering this all day.
Starting from the moment I pulled out my hidden stash of
cigs as soon as Neil drove away.

But before you think I'm desperately lonely and creepy. Don't get weirded out. It's ok. I'm ok.

I can't hang out with Neil. But I CAN hang out with his shirt.

I'm cuddling while Neil(s shirt) works on his computer.

See? Everything's ok.

Rain Puddle Strip Tease.

It rained today. And that means rain puddles. I know. You know. We're all aware of the puddles.  What you may be unaware of is how cool puddle jumping really is. It should be an extreme sport. And I should be the world champion. Cause I'd like to be. It'd just make me feel good.

I begged Neil to go puddle jumping with me. He declined. But since he knew I'd be lonely, and since I make puddle jumping look soo o o good, he stood far off to the side and took pictures.

I started with a full outfit. Sexy.

Mm mm. Would you look at those Keens? So sexy. I can hardly stand it.

Ok ok. Ya got me. Though comfortable, the Keens aren't sexy. So I took them off.

And then all of a sudden, it was like, if the shoes come off, everything else had to come off. Pop! Into thin air my clothes went. And I was left, momentarily suspended in the air, with my mothers swimsuit which she wore in the 80's. Since I desperately needed a new swimsuit, I made her mail it to me. And ever since I have patiently waited for the day when I could gallop around in my matronly, yet sexy, one piece. And today was that day.

Unfortunately however, I suspect the swimsuit's "shelf bra" probably gave out somewhere in the mid 90's. Which left my dangles...danglin'. Unsupportive swimsuits. Not sexy.

So if you know me very well, you know what my last/favorite resort was. 

Nude puddle jumping.

Ok ok. I lied. Though nude puddle jumping would be my favorite/last resort. We ACTUALLY took Neils last resort option.

And he only took pictures from the knees down. 

Crazy.

I was informed this week by my classmates that we had a book report due.

ON AN ENTIRE BOOK.

Cool. Backwards. But you get the point.

Or do you?

I hate reading. Reading is informative.

And I don't like being informed.

Especially when the book is about mental illness. And shares individual stories of people and how they went totally nuts thinking people where following them and the CIA was sending them secret messages. I had no idea this was like...a real thing. Like I said. Let me live naive. In this situation especially. Because now... I feel very unsure of myself.

Most examples in the book began their mental health battles in their early 20's. Which is not an uncommon age for schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, ect. to surface.

I'M IN MY EARLY 20's.

So:
Driving home from work last night, I'm pretty sure I saw a furry mountain goat in the road. Hallucination? Or maybe a government spy?

Last night I turned the lights off and went to climb into bed when I saw a tall skinny shape in my window. Curtains? Or maybe a government spy?

In the middle of the night I woke up to scratching. On our head board. I looked around but I couldn't see anyone scratching our head board. I'm now fairly certain it was a government spy. A mountain goat government spy that happens to be tall and skinny and have fingernails. Trying to send me a secret code that only I could understand.

I have to go finish reading my book now. But I'm scared to. Because there is probably a hidden code in there for me. That only I can understand. And then the safety of the world is going to rest in my hands.

Yo. This is the real deal. Not a face-in-holed, face-in-holed
picture of a mountain goat with fingernails following me.

This is a guest review of "The Lazy Lizard" in Moab, UT.

This weekend we went on a trip to Moab to do Granary Canyon. And Granary canyon we did. See here:

That's Bryan with me. Just making sure he doesn't fall to
the big boulders below.

All of us at the top while Daina repels.

Dakota modeling some water.

After we finished, everyone wanted a shower. So Neil suggested we sleep at a hostel for the night. Yay. I immediately did not want a shower.

Buuuut we ended up at the lazy lizard anyway.

And this is the part where I wanted to die. Kill me dead. Because if there's one thing that creeps the crap outta me, it's hotels. Add an extra "s" and it makes hoStels. And that little "s" makes life significantly worse. Panic attack mode. Go!

But being the tough girl I am, I took it like a man. And became roommates with Neil, Bryan and Dakota.

The gentleman at the front desk was very nice. He was definitely high. Very high. Fried. Sizzled. Gone-zo. Stoned. But very pleasant nonetheless. And informative. He informed us that we were not allowed to bring a sleepingbag or pillow inside. Due to bed bugs. Fantastic. He gave us the key to our room and up the stairs we went.

"Welcome to my dusty hell hostel."

The room was nicely decorated. Fantastic pictures. Great mood lighting. And thank goodness for the milk crates underneath our bed to hold us up. Also the bedding was clean and crisp...y.

Soft chairs.

Super great decor.

The hostel got even better with my shower. The women's shower was truly a delight.

Took me a second to find a spot on the shower
curtain that I could touch without getting
a handful of mildew. But I totally got it.

There were a variety of soaps and shampoos to choose from. All of which were empty. But don't fret. I got an amazing "rinse off". In my socks.

Soap selection. Left by previous tenants. 

A nice bathroom closet filled with all
the essentials.

My threadbare towel. But who cares when it
has all your favorite Space Jam characters on it.

When it was time for bed I pulled my hood over my head, and wrapped my body up as much as possible in order to prevent any skin from contacting the bedding. Ya know. To avoid bed bugs from transferring back and forth from sheets to skin.

I lay perfectly still. All night. Perfectly. Still.

Everyone slept great. Minus me. Maybe because I wasn't actually a man. The hostel knew I was a poser.

All in all, as far as ratings go, I'd give the Lazy Lizard 0 stars out of 5.

But I will give them 1 lizard.... in fact, I'll even give them 1 whole LAZY lizard rating.

Thanks Lazy Lizard.

That was an exquisite time.