When people don't think you're funny.

It's been a minute, folks. I've been pretty busy. But I'm excited to say I've started off my last semester of my undergrad program. I graduate this spring and am currently working on my application to a graduate program (wish me luck). A few pre-requirement classes for my Masters application is required so I'm taking Behavioral Analysis this spring. Behavioral Analysis sounds hard. And it requires me to buy virtual rat software that will teach me the ins and outs of behavioral analysis. Neil thinks it sounds cool. I do not.

Yawn. Yeathanks.

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.