Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Puppehs

Sloan wants a puppy terribly bad. Terribly. And, well so do I, because honestly anything that will cuddle with me is a thing I need in my life. Our apartment doesn't allow pets, so we frequent the humane society. And we stay for hours, since there is certainly no shortage of sad, lonely dogs to play with/poop on us. While we're there, we even play with the evil cats (but Sloan holds them because I'm not good at that). And the BUNNAYS! We play with those. But bunnies are skittish when held, and I get scared when they start to flail, so Sloan makes me sit on a bench near the cages while he picks them up and places them in my lap. Kind of like when a 3 year old wants to "hold" a baby, but really everyone knows they aren't really holding the baby and are actually pretty terrible at sufficiently cradling children. That's how everyone at the humane society feels about me holding bunnies. I'm just the dumb older sibling who smiles like it's some HUGE accomplishment that I have a delicate creature in my lap, with my hands gingerly places on it's sides....but it still might drop at any moment. So I remain under adult supervision.
SO WHERE WAS I? Oh yeah, doggies. Sloan and I want to get one, but have discovered that we slightly different doggie tastes. And, of course, they play out according to our societal gender roles.
I like chow-chows (but really, who doesn't? the only people who DON'T LIKE CHOWS are the prince of darkness and Rush Limbaugh):
Sloan likes pit bulls:


[I like] poodles:


[He likes] boxers:


I LIKE CUTE:


HE LIKES NO SO CUTE:


See the issue? It's okay, though, I'm easier to please than he is. Pit bulls/other muscley death dogs are actually pretty lovey, which Sloan has demonstrated with the dogs at the pound. I'm figuring out that when it comes to dogs, "strange/freakish" is what makes them even cuter to me. How else do I explain why I think mastiffs and corgis are simultaneously adorable?

Friday, March 19, 2010

Superstition

This morning, on the way to work, I stopped at the grocery store for some gum and another weekly supply of apple cider. Yep, I drink apple cider at work...pretty lumberjack of me.

Cashier Lady: Okay, that'll be $6.66. Oh my...that can't be a good sign. Would you like to throw in another pack of gum or something to change the total?
Julia: chuckle Oh, no. I think I'll be fine. I've got my rosary beads in the car.
Cashier Lady: genuinely concerned Are you sure? You're actually the first person I've had who didn't want to change their total when it came out to 666.
Julia: Really? It's okay, I'm sure I'll be fine.

I mean, seriously guys? Everyone else that this woman has served in Orem, Utah has reacted to this type of situation with serious concern? Whomp whomp is what I say to that. Or, at least, is what I said to that. Until outside of the store, about five steps from my car, I tripped and fell over.
Don't get me wrong, I trip ALL OF THE TIME, the devil doesn't need to help me with that. But generally, what I lack in body awareness, I make up for in reflexes. I always catch myself long before I even start to go down. Like a ninja. But not this time, noooooo not this time. With a bag in one hand, and a purse in the other, my body could not decide which one to sacrifice (aka drop) as I lost my balance. So, clutching both bags with white knuckles, I hit the ground hard. It probably looked like the hot hand of evil itself had shoved me to the ground.
Falling on my face sucked, obviously, but BIG DEAL, right? A stupid coincidence involving six dollars and sixty-six cents. I started to get up and look around to make sure no one saw me. And YEAH, no one did see me! Including the dude who was swinging his truck in to the same empty parking space in which I had just face planted/was still lying in.
It was still pretty dark outside, I was wearing all black, and as THE DEVIL'S LUCK WOULD HAVE IT, his headlights weren't on. But since I had just fallen, my body was in hyper awareness mode and I scrambled out of the way (ninja). Unfortunately, the loyalty my hand had shown to my grocery bag when I had fallen 3 seconds earlier was now gone, and the bag was left on the ground. To be run over by this poor dude who screeched to a halt and looked completely freaked out when he saw some little person roll out from in front of his moving vehicle. Dramatic...that's how the situation felt.
In some ways, I'm glad that this happened right after I got the devil-talk from my cashier, because I was more annoyed than freaked out that my luck appeared to be actually affected by that STUPID CASH TOTAL.
The driver of the truck, on the other hand, looked like he was going to puke when he got out of his car, he was pretty shaken up. After assuring him that he didn't hit me (not even a little), I was fine, and that I didn't blame him for not seeing a person LYING DOWN in a parking spot, I went on to work.
And so far, things seem normal (knock on wood). Take THAT Beelzebub! You can't bring me down, son! Ha!

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Baby, I Know Because I'm in a Music Class

We went to the BYU Philharmonic concert last night. It was really, really lovely. Sloan is currently taking Music 101 and pretends to be the expert on the subject. It's usually funny, but sometimes it drives me bananas. Like when he blasts classical music whilst closing his eyes, pursing his lips, and pretending to pensively direct the music until I yell at him to stop. Then, we both know: He. Has. Won.
Anyway, back to the concert:
Sloan: There sure are a lot of strings in this band.
Julia: Well...yeah, it's an orchestra. Strings are a big part.
Sloan: annoyed But, it's the philharmonic.
Julia: annoyed Uh, yeah. A philharmonic is a type of orchestra.
Sloan: slightly panicky, because he's bluffing Yeah, but, it's a philharmonic, which directly translates to..."easy on the strings."

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Coworking

Yesterday at work, due to some unfortunate coincidences, I was scheduled to attend several meetings for various teams beginning at 6:30 am and not ending at 5 pm. Closer to the end of my day, I got a little delirious (which is typical really after only about 2 1/2 hours of work for me). In between two meetings, I decided to crack open my MS Paint and do some team portraits, because I really love my coworkers! They are a bunch of unsung heroes, folks. And because I CRACK MYSELF UP, I decided to post them here, too.
*Ahem* Ladies and gents, I present to you the Symantec Information Development Engineers:





It may seem impossible, but I was actually able to complete ALL of these in about 8 minutes. I did not originally draw a picture of myself, but after some prodding/begging from everyone else on the team (aka Brad mentioning it once) I decided to whip up a quick little self-portrait to complete the work family.


Sunday, March 7, 2010

Can You See the Irony?


HEY EVERYBODY IT'S ME JULIA AND I THINK YOU SHOULD JUST STOP COMPLAINING SO MUCH. YOU ARE STRESSING ME OUT.
Regarding the blog entries/Facebook statuses/comments complaining about trivial things: what a waste of communicative information that can be. I read too many blogs written by (mostly women, yeah I said it) about how they feel ugly/dumb/ripped off by the electric company for a seven dollar fee. I want to read your writing because I want to share your life. You have opportunities that belong uniquely to you, so share the meaningful parts. Privately handle your trivialities with the least amount of emotion as possible. YOU WILL FEEL A LOT BETTER.
I think there is a common misconception about online personas. Maybe people really believe that the most interesting thing to write is something angry or sad like "Kathy feels the fingers of loneliness wrapping around her throat" or "Jenny is so mad at the neighbors for parking in her spot!!!!!" But those are fleeting and barely worth the effort it took to type. I want to hear about your lovely day, the interesting and meaningful parts of your life, not how annoyed you are with the cost of your car insurance. I want to watch and understand how your life-philosophies morph and grow more complex with the meaningful experiences you have. And if you are going to talk about stupid stuff, at LEAST do it with a self-awareness that will contribute to your overall life understanding.
Yes, there is a difference between mock-complaining and real complaining. Know that difference, and that will set you free!
Now, pummel me with your comments/concerns!

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Nineteen

Happy Birthday to that little one who lives life fearlessly.Go get 'em, tiger.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

My Man is Famous

He's a model! So...manly! Sloan enjoys working out, grunting, and taking image enhancers in his spare time. But, really, who doesn't? I'm just glad all of those sweaty gym sessions finally paid off. FINALLY.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Waxing Philosophical

People love stuff and people hate stuff. But mostly, people just kind of...have stuff? I don't know where I was going with that...or where I just went with that, so I'll move on.
I generally hate poems/lyrics on blogs. But I like them on mine, I guess, because I'm putting up a Tony Hoagland piece that I probably read once a week. It makes me feel indulgent to read such an impulsive poem.
If you haven't given poetry a try, whether it seems boring or hokey, the trick is to read it to yourself slowly, in your normal speaking voice. Don't sound sing-songy or unnatural. Just..ignore the line breaks for the most part. Trust me, if someone as impatient, illiterate, and self-conscious as Julia M. Rehder can enjoy a fine poem...well, you get it.


Windy today and I feel less than brilliant,
driving over the hills from work.
There are the dark parts on the road
when you pass through clumps of wood
and the bright spots where you have a view of the ocean,
but that doesn’t make the road an allegory.

I should call Marie and apologize
for being so boring at dinner last night,
but can I really promise not to be that way again?
And anyway, I’d rather watch the trees, tossing
in what certainly looks like sexual arousal.

Otherwise it’s spring, and everything looks frail;
the sky is baby blue, and the just-unfurling leaves
are full of infant chlorophyll,
the very tint of inexperience.

Last summer’s song is making a comeback on the radio,
and on the highway overpass,
the only metaphysical vandal in America has written
MEMORY LOVES TIME
in big black spraypaint letters,

which makes us wonder if Time loves Memory back.

Last night I dreamed of X again.
She’s like a stain on my subconscious sheets.
Years ago she penetrated me
but though I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed,
I never got her out,
but now I’m glad.

What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.
What I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel.
What I thought was an injustice
turned out to be a color of the sky.

Outside the youth center, between the liquor store
and the police station,
a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;

overflowing with blossomfoam,
like a sudsy mug of beer;
like a bride ripping off her clothes,

dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,

so nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene.
It’s been doing that all week:
making beauty,
and throwing it away,
and making more.