Tra-La-La-La-Smack!

So, there was this holiday thing... Yeah, I'm tired. I did finally make it home safely. First CRH bought me some soft, dry socks and I may have cried a little, and I had to call my Dad to drive me the last 2 hours. I was just too tired and sick of bad roads. But it all worked out.

Then my family went up to our summer home. That's cool. TONS of snow, but also a lot of fun. Unfortunately we had to reenter the real world. My car, good old Hex is due for registration. I went to go get a safety inspection, and failed. As in I need two new tires, and some rod thingy that does stuff. Obviously I don't speak car. Now I understand why the drive home was so bad. Actually, the mechanic was surprised that we made it that far. This rod thingy-ma-jiggy makes it so your tires wear evenly. If it is worn out like mine is then your tires don't wear evenly, and death occurs. (Hey, CRH, remember the Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah that we found so fun and delightful? That was actually the sound of death... That's a whole new perspective, eh?)

This is a fun way to end the holiday. $350. I feel like I was just mugged while singing Christmas Carols. I know I may not have the best voice, but really, do you have to beat me up like that? Just you wait, Henry Higgens. You'll get yours!

Major Whomp-age

Dude. So I'm roadtripping it home with CRH. We have driven almost 26 hours. And I am now snowed in 165 miles from home. Totally whomps. I'll tell you more about the trip later. You can't believe how cool we are. (And during the 10 hours today, we didn't pass a single Starbucks. Could anyone else have used a Caramel Apple Spice fix? I didn't even know that was possible!)

Mad Skills Like a Tenth Grader

There are a few of you that read my blog along with my good friend CRH's. You all probably saw her post about her students and kid's safety scissors. She couldn't understand how they always cut themselves. I totally agree...ed. Yep, it's past tense. Let me tell you a story.

Today, being the cool, amazing, wonderful, and humble aunt I am, I was getting my nephew's present ready to mail. I carefully taped up the box making it look oh, so beautiful. But my scissors kept sticking. The tape was leaving residue on them. That made it so they didn't cut as well, and then it didn't look as pretty. And really, it's all about the looks here. Seeing this horrible condition, I set to clean them off.

Unfortunately, sometimes the inside of my bucket is cluttered so it is hard to form coherent thoughts. That appeared to be the problem today. I was just using my thumb to clean off all of the gooey grossness, when I learned a life changing fact: Kid's scissors are sharp! It's true. I cut my thumb. Not bad... it only bled a little. But it's ok. I have super cool Strawberry Shortcake band-aids. I know, you're jealous. Well, if you cut yourself with kids scissors, then I will be sure to share!

I think that there may be some false advertising. Why do they have the name "Safety" scissors? It makes them seem so harmless. Tell that to my bleeding thumb. :( I might be maimed for life. It's tragic. Really. Trust me on this one. Are you convinced yet?

Hexadecimal... the Necessary Evil.

I have a beast of a car. Ok, it's not that bad. I drive a full size 99 Ford Taurus. It could totally be worse. I could be driving around in a little red wagon with a lawn mower motor attached. Actually, that sounds kind of fun. Anyone know where I could get one of those?

Sorry, I digress.

I really enjoy naming cars. I think it's fun. It took me a very long time to name this one. Then one day it just hit me. Hexadecimal. Those of you who know me, will remember that as a 10 year old, I had quite the obsession with the cartoon ReBoot. I had emotional turmoil for weeks after Bob died. (And then ABC stopped carrying the show. I went years wondering if Bob was deleted, or if he had somehow made it into the Net, or if he was even trying to make it back to Main Frame. Really, it was tragic.) Ok, maybe I had emotional turmoil for years. I get really attached... so sue me.

ANYWAY (today seems to be the day of tangents) Hexadecimal is one of the villains of this amazing cartoon. She is a virus. Oh, did I mention the fact that the entire cartoon takes place in a computer? I know, pretty cool, eh? She was one scary chick! Here is a picture of her. Don't let her looks fool you. In her right hand she is holding a mask. You want to meet an unstable lady? This would be it. That mask could put her in any sort of mood. Some sweet, some very scary. She scared the bejeebers out of me as a kid. Really. She was scary. Actually, she's still not my favorite.

So, why did I name my car after this beautiful, yet super scary lady? Well, you see, the entire show, Hex is trying to take over Main Frame. And get Bob. It seems she had a little crush. Oh, tender. Although, Bob really was kind of dreamy. Tall, handsome, always coming in to save the day, attractive blue skin... all the things a girl could want in life. Sorry, doing it again. I may have ADD. Bob and his other good guy friends are always keeping Hex at bay and trying to control her, or delete her. They actually kind of succeed at one point. Then the real problems start. The whole system starts to crash! Their world is ending. It seems that Hex was actually a very important part of their system. She was a necessary evil. So they go find her, and get her back, and the system celebrates, and everyone has fun. It may have been the coolest party ever.

That is the story of my car. She works for me. Sometimes she scares the bejeebers out of me. Ok, it's more like all of the other scary TX drives scare me, but Hex is always at the scene of the crime. My system would crash without her. But she sure eats up a lot of my dough. I just had to pay quite a bit of money to get her fixed. So, Hex... Here's to you. All 143,000 miles, and a large amount of weight, size and turmoil. I love ya, but I hate you. You are my friendly, bi-polar virus. Thanks for coming! And could you be a little nicer next time? Yeah, that would be cool. Thanks, dude.

Ready... Set... FREAK OUT!

It's pretty much official. I have entered freak out mode. I don't do well with change. You would think that I would have learned to adapt to it, I've had a lot of experience with change. (IE 13 different mission companions) Yet, still, when faced with more change I freak out.

What is this current change? Nothing that big. I'm moving. Big Whoop. In about ten days I am going to climb into Hexadecimal (that would be my car) pick up my friend CRH and drive. Drive all the way from Houston...ish, TX to the land of my forefathers. Well... at least my father and mother. Yep, it's true. I'm moving home. I'm going to go help house-sit while my parents go and serve another mission. That is a GREAT thing for them to be doing. But here I am, freaking out over it all. Let's list the reasons I'm not coping, shall we?

1. Lack of Job Security: I have no job in the land of my forefathers. I HATE job hunting. And no job = no money. There is more to life than money, but I need to be able to eat. Yeah, that would be good.

2. Lack of parents: Ok, let's be honest. I haven't lived with my parents since 2005. But when I left them, it was to go on a mission. Then I got home and during that whole awkward "I have no idea what is going on in my life" they were still gone. I should have noticed, but I was just strange, so that didn't seem to bother me. Then they got off their mission and I moved to TX. So really, it's been 3 full years. But the idea of me living in their house while they are in IL serving the Lord scares me spitless. It's like, just knowing that they can't drop everything and come save me (not that they have needed to) causes my heart to race and my blood pressure to climb. I'm 24. I need to get over this. But for now, it's just stressing me out.

3. Lack of direction in life: When I moved to TX it was a big thing. But I had just gotten off my mission, and I KNEW that Heavenly Father was calling me to live in TX. So I moved. He got me on a good day. Now, I've been off the mission for almost 16 months, and I'm moving back into my old bedroom. That's a scary thing for me. It's so easy to go back to your old self and just... become stagnate. I don't want that. But I don't know what I'm doing. Why did I move to TX? Why am I moving back home now? What do I want to do for a living? Where should I work? What changes do I need to make in myself? What color of socks should I wear tomorrow? Why don't I have more argyle in my life? These are serious problems!

4. Lack of TX in my life: Since I moved to TX all I could think of was moving home. Now that it is happening, all I want to do is stay. I may be impossible to please. Here is the thing, though. When I moved down here and had to leave all of my friends, I knew it would be a temporary thing. Now I'm moving back to those friends, but leaving behind some amazing new friends. And they seem to have direction in their lives. Yes, some of them... well mostly one of them may be freaking out herself, but she is making very obvious progress. So I'm going to leave and be totally out of the club, cause I moved, and also because I became stagnant. It's like I'm going to turn into the girl who sends off a missionary and then just sits on the shelf for 2 years and no one wants her when they get home. Only this time I'll just be the girl who left, and then sat in her same old bedroom for the rest of eternity while I watch my friends make changes in the distance.

5. Lack of being part of their changes: Seriously, my dear friend is going to go through some big changes. I want to be there for/with her. It's a total bummer to leave right when things are going to get really good.

6. Lack of scuttle: *Side note: a Scuttle is a deep bucket for carrying coal... it would be the masculine version of Paily* I'm only 24. So the fact that this even crossed my mind ticks me off. But it is there, so you get to read about it. I don't have a specific Scuttle that I'm talking about. Here's the problem. Scuttles don't go... Picking things up in the land of my forefathers. As in, all of them are either full of holes so anything they do start to think of picking up they drop very quickly, or they are sitting in the corner too chicken to pick up anything. In TX Scuttles actually do something. They get up, they pick up, and though they may end up putting you down eventually, they at least took you for a ride. (Ok, in non-bucket language, all that means, is boys actually date in TX. They don't do that where I'm from. Why? You got me. They have plenty of choices, but instead they just sit there and twiddle their thumbs.)

7. Lack of packing: I move in 10 days. Let's see how many things I've started to pack... OH, NONE! And I have to fit it all in my car. I just need some mad stuff-it-in skills and then it should all fit. And I need to clean everything. I'm living with my brother. I'm pretty sure they would like a clean room when I leave. Bummer. Can't I just torch the whole thing? Oh, that's a fun idea...

Alright, I am very tempted to erase point #6. But I won't. Oh well. You can all know that inside of this Pail is a girl who does want to go on a date sometime. Don't think less of me. I'll get over it. It's probably just a phase.

Now I need to stop freaking out. All of these things don't really matter. And ALL of them will work out. It's just until they do I have the desire to run for cover and take a nap with my favorite teddy bear.

This Paily will be fine. I will now go put on my happy, non-freak-out face and move on. Thanks, I just needed a little freak out moment. Breathe in... breath out... See all better. Thanks, Yo's.

*this post may be longer than a monkey... sorry about that*

The Man Eating Bed

I totally had a moment from my childhood this morning. And I've spent way too long trying to figure out how to make this sound intelligent. I give up. Sorry. This will have to suffice.

Way back in the day, I remember every morning before school, my mom would send L7 and I downstairs to make our beds. This is something that should have only taken 5 minutes, but normally took us 20. This is because we would go into our bedroom, look at our beds and then start exclaiming, "It's sucking me in!" "L7, help me, I can't withstand the pull" "AHHH!" (Only probably imagine that in a simpler dialog... I don't know too many 8 year-olds that say things like "I can't withstand the pull") During this time we would move in slow motion back into our beds and curl up in the blankets. It was so soft, warm and cozy! And we would stay there for ages. Well, at least as long as we could before our Mom started calling down the stairs for us to hurry up.

This morning when my alarm went off I had a similar experience. The song started playing and I just burrowed deeper into my bed. Then the song finished and another started and all I could think of was, "It's pulling me in! I don't have the strength to stop it!" Finally, my backup alarm started going off. This is the alarm that says "you are SO going to be late if you don't get up right now!" only it does it in a very soothing Chris Tomlin/Amazing Grace sort of way. So I got up. I just have to remind my self of what my dad always says, "Get your bod out of bed. People die in bed." I know, it's so uplifting.

And another random I was a kid playing with L7 bed story... We also used to hang our head off of our beds and slowly fall out, pleading with the other person to help us before we fell into the hot lava that was our mustard shag carpet. Oh, the stories I could tell of my childhood sharing a bedroom with 3 sisters. Those were good times. And mostly times that shouldn't be repeated for the general public. Quite embarrassing, but oh so funny to talk about.

This is how I wanted to spend the day... only not as blue, hairy or manly... You get the idea.

Killing Us All, One Bag At a Time

Alright, so I'm a poor college student. As a result, I do a lot of shopping at WalMart. I'm a sucker for the whole roll back prices thing. Last night, I stopped to buy a few things to make dinner with. When I made dinner, it's only to feed 4, so I really don't need that much.

I was in a rush, so I hurried to the checkout stand holding my 5 average sized cans and one box of pasta. As my very efficient cashier rang everything up, I was quick to swipe my debit card. Then I noticed, what he was doing. He put all 5 cans in the same bag. I felt REALLY good about that. Only, he then decided that his bag was weaker than a wet piece of bread, cause he had to double bag it. THEN to prevent breakage of my pasta (and I do appreciate that) he put that in a separate bag. That means I had 6 items and 3 bags.

Now, when I was a kid, I was very inquisitive. My dad was all about showing us answers. For example, one day I asked him why forks and spoons had a bend in them. Rather than just explaining that the curve helped food stay on the utensil, aided in picking it up, and that sort, he proceeded to go outside, flatten a spoon and fork and then have me use them to eat. I learned very quickly that the bend was very important. My family actually still has the fork. The spoon was utterly useless, but the fork is a good reminder to me. Well, that and my family can use it as blackmail cause when they tell the story they use a lot more details, and somehow make it pretty embarassing.

On a similar note, he wanted us to see how long it took a plastic grocery bag to deteriorate. So he tied one to our fence, right behind a tree so it didn't look bad. I think after 10 years, my mom finally took it down cause she was sick of looking at it. But the bag was still there. So I am very aware of what plastic bags do to the environment. This is why I like to recycle them.

Being a somewhat environmentally friendly person, I normally try to get as few bags as possible. (well, and I'm lazy and it takes me forever to remember to take the bags in for recycling. As in they will be all over my room and taking over the world before I finally take care of it)

I've noticed that almost every cashier at WalMart does this. Unless I specifically ask them to shove it all in one bag, they use as many as possible. It's like they have this secret plot to ruin my life and take over the world. Can you just see them in their Team Meetings? The lights are dim, and there is a tall man who may or may not look like the Bowler Hat Guy from Meet the Robinsons leading them all on, wiggling his eyebrows, teaching the cashiers his evil plot. Then they all throw back their heads and laugh as a never ending deluge of plastic bags comes pouring down over all of us!

Ok. I'm sure it's not like that, but really, why does anyone need so many bags?

Oh, and they always try to double bag my milk too. Who wants their milk in one bag? It comes with a handle! It's strange, really.

My Hidden Love

I had no idea. I apparently have a hidden love for the classic Mormon Movie star. This love was so deep, I didn't even know it was there. Until he was the star of my latest dream. That's right. I'm talking about him:


I have a secret crush on none other than Kirby Heyborne. What am I thinking?

Ok, in all honesty, I don't think a word of what I just said was true. And yet, Mr. Heyborne was in my dream last night. And it wasn't just a cameo appearance. He was pretty involved. And we were apparently an item. As in, he held my hand and kissed my forehead in a smushy/gross way and I was totally into it.

Oh, and all of this took place in a giant swimming pool. Actually, we were just in a huge room that was completely full of water. I'm talking floor to ceiling. How we got in the room without draining it, I don't know. But I wasn't worried about that. We were fully dressed, and dancing. Yet we were floating at the same time. Everyone could even talk to each other. Well, everyone except for me. When I talked, it did the classic bubbles and you have no idea what I'm saying thing. As in, when I talked, it reacted just like it should have in the real world. I was embarrassed by this, but I guess good old Kirby found it rather endearing.

Actually I am kind of scared by this. Who dreams about Kirby? Maybe I should get some counseling.

Not that I don't love Kirby. I'm sure he is a great guy. I'm just not interested.

I may be a little scared to go to sleep tonight. Cross your fingers, I'm really hoping for some Kirby-less dreams.

Welcome to NY

I really don't have anything cool to report, or anything funny to say. But they say a picture is worth a thousand words. This is from an area on my mission. It makes me giggle every time I look at it.



What more can I say?

I should have Been a Psychic.

You like I how I just posted a fairly positive ... post? (how many times can you use the word post in a sentence?) Yeah, that's not all you get today. I shall now shpeel again. I know, you're excited.

I'm a receptionist at a random company. I work with funny people that are very different than the type of people I grew up with. Hmmm could I be more vague? Probably not.

Anyway, we have over 15 phone lines here. So that means that at any time 15 different employees can be calling to order a pizza, ask a work related question, or learn the weather (*Tell Me*). Hence the need for Psychic abilities.

At least once a day, I get a call from someone completely random. They don't know what this company does. They just got a call, and redialed. And they expect me to know who called them and what they want. Now if we worked back in the days of switch boards, and I got to wear the cool set of head phones and move plugs around all day, THEN I might actually know what they are talking about. Nine times out of ten, the conversation ends with the dude on the phone saying something like "Oh, well I think they left me a message... maybe I should check that..."

YA THINK??

I mean.... ~ahem~ "Why, yes... Sit right down and the amazing Ms. Paily will tell your future, answer all of your deepest questions, and know what the other 30 people in the office are doing, thinking and calling at all times. Just let me consult my Magic 8 Ball..."

I have two words for you: VOICE MAIL! Try it! It works!

They may as well call it Crack.

A few weeks ago, some friends and I went to a concert up in Dallas. That really has nothing to do with anything, but I just thought I would share. It was fun.

Well, Ok, it applies a little bit. After the concert, we ended up driving to the Dallas Temple and walked around. It was a bit cold, so on our way back to where we were spending the night, we stopped at Starbucks to get something warm. I had heard that their hot chocolate was *amazing* so I decided to try that. Two of my friends tried the Caramel Apple Cider.

They TOTALLY won the "I pick the best drink" award. Since that day, I find myself craving it. In fact, I have even joined the world of Starbucks addicts a few mornings on my way to work. I get the "tall" size (which is the smallest... how is tall small? That is totally weird, but it's the only English word and I am horrid with other languages) and my day is always a little bit sadder as I finish the last drops. Really, it's tragic. Let us pause for a moment of silence.





....







Ok. That's good.

A warning to you all, lest you fall into the same pitfall as I have. Stay away from the Caramel Apple Cider. You will never go back. You will dream about it. You will crave it. You will find yourself pulling into Starbucks to wait in line, thus supporting one of the largest coffee shops in the world. And then you have to worry about the whole "appearance of Evil" thing.

If you ever see me carrying a Starbucks cup, just remember it's Apple Cider and I am in my own personal heaven.

Gee, Officer Krupke

First of all, let me say how much I love our police force. They risk their lives every day to keep me and my family safe. They are wonderful people. And I'm pretty anti "Let one bad apple spoil the whole barrel". But, seriously. WHY?

Last night as I was driving home from work on a very busy street I saw a friendly officer in the median. His lights were flashing. He looked to be on official business. So, being the good, responsible citizen that I am, I immediately pulled over and stopped. After enough cars had done this, (And this is a seriously busy road, 6 lanes and a median during rush hour.) Mr. Officer proceeded to flip around turn off his lights and then drive 5 miles under the speed limit. Yes. It's true. Mr. Officer turned on his flashing lights just so he could flip an illegal U-ie (I have no idea how to spell that...). He wasn't on official business. He wasn't in a hurry. But he has the lights, so he used them.

What is it about some police officers that makes them think they can do whatever they want just because they are a cop?

Along with this, there was one certain officer in the town where I grew up that used his clout as a cop to do all sorts of annoying things. Example: parking in illegal no parking spots at Wal Mart. It is my understanding that the "No Parking" zones are for official people on official business. Not the cop that ran out of toothpaste. I don't think he ever got that call over his radio. "Officer "Do whatever I want" We're out of toothpaste. Please hurry to your local toothpaste buying store and remedy this problem. Lives are at stake!" He was the only cop that would do this. But he ALWAYS did it.

*On a side note, once while I was working retail, we had a lady pass out in the check out line. We called 911, but it took the EMTs forever to get there cause they couldn't find a place to park. Too many of our regular customers felt like they were cooler than a bag of Cheetos so they had parked in the tow away zone. No parking means NO PARKING! The lady could have died! She didn't, but come on!*

Really, I do love our police force. In fact, if I had an ice cream store (a life long dream of mine) I would give a free scoop to every officer that came in my little shop. That's how much I like them. (You may think that is a very small way to say thanks, but if you knew how much I love ice cream, you would understand the sacrifice.)

So, to most of the Officers out there: Thank you SO much for all that you do.

To the Officer Krupke's in the world: Just because you have flashing lights doesn't mean you should be able to disregard the law. But thanks to you too. If nothing else, you give me something to blog about.

I know, you're probably thinking "Man, Paily. Some people have real problems." I know. But it's my blog, so I can say what I want. so there. :P

The main problem with the economy

Alright. I am not an economy expert. I will be the first to admit that. And I know the economy is struggling... I watch the news... sometimes... But today I had a tragic experience.

It was a bad day. Ornery people at work, and I'll be sure to tell you about them later. I left work and went right to the store. Prince Caspian came out today. I have my priorities in order, so I knew where I had to go. Because of the aforementioned bad day, as I went to the checkout stand, I decided to splurge and get myself one of my favorite candy bars. As I reached for the chocolate-y goodness I was SHOCKED! Last time I bought one of these it was only $.44! Today: $.66! How can gas prices have gone down $2 a gallon (and I am SO glad they have) and my favorite candy bar has gone up $.22? Thats a.... large percentage that I will leave to some super cool math major ... increase!

This is either a great problem for my pocket book, or a blessing for my waistline. I'm not sure which.

I ask you, people of the Land of Buckets:

WHERE IS THE JUSTICE???

The Start of All Things Buckets!

Well. Here we go. I have officially joined the world of blogging. I'm not sure how I feel about it. Oh well. I have decided that I Paily, need a place where I can vent. And laugh. And just be totally random without caring what other people think. So on to all of that:

First, let's start the name of my blog. "I Need Buckets!" This is a phrase that I have now offically stolen from my sister L7 and her friend. Sometimes you meet people that you just need to have charity for. Not charity like "Salvation Army Santa ringing a bell out side of Wal Mart" charity. Charity like "I am so wanting to spit on you and kick you to get you to go away" charity. For times like this you don't need a little bit of charity. You need BUCKETS of charity. Sometimes many, MANY buckets. Unfortunately, this is a fairly common part of my life. So, being the Mormon I am, I don't cuss. But when the cussing desire arises, you will hear me say BUCKETS! Hense the title of my blog.

Now, for my name: Paily. Paily as in Pail-y. As in another name for a bucket. We keep things as closely related as possible here.

To anyone who may actually read this someday:

I need your help. I know, I'm cynical. I'm sarcastic. But sometimes I can take it too far. I will do my best to help keep things anonomous. Heck, I'm not even telling anyone that I'm starting this... Ok, I told one friend (you know who you are, feel special... we shall call her L9) But let's be honest, my family and friends are pretty darn smart. So they could figure out this is me. Anyway, the part I need help with is: If I get to personal, or if I get too mean, please, let me know. Then I can apologize quickly. Crow tastes better warm... or something like that. (but seriously, when does crow actually taste good ever? It's not really a warm fuzzy, friendly like bird). And on that note. Welcome to the land of Buckets!