Beauty School Drop Out...

Every couple of years I break the code of leaving my poor, broken hair alone, and do something wild and outlandish with it. These bursts range from the "temporary" black I used for my Trinity costume in the ninth grade, to the failed attempts at bleaching during my college years which made my hair look more like yellow silly putty than Barbie. As you've probably guessed by now, the hair vandal has struck again!

This Halloween I decided to bedazzle myself with some simple red horns, some freaky make-up, and add a little pink/red dye to top off the cake. The box said it would wash out in a couple of weeks but alas, I can clearly tell that beneath the shades of fuchsia, my poor brown locks have been sucked of all their color, leaving some lovely strands of white... I fear when it entirely washes out, I will look a bit too much like the bride of Frankenstein.

But do not despair! I have an appointment to correct my whim and in the meantime, I am thoroughly enjoying the commentary. Here are some of the comments received so far:

-My boss when I returned to work on Monday, "I think there's something different about you..."

-My Mother, "Oh Staci..."

-My Dad, "When are you getting it fixed?" He has asked me this at least three times so far, I'm still counting.

-The guy from the office upstairs, "Did you lose a bet?"

-The other guy from the office upstairs, "What did you do to your hair?"

-The cook at the Mongolian Grill when I was with Ian, "You know who you look like? Poison Ivy from Batman. You ever seen that show?" To Ian, "You better be careful man!"

-All six workers at the voting booths loved my hair and told me to tell my mom that. Yes, I knew everyone who worked at the voting booths... only in small communities...

I continue to get random comments of, "I like your hair," in addition to strange and disapproving looks from elderly folk. I feel a bit like Frenchy from Grease after she quits beauty school because she turned her hair pink... perhaps it's time for me to be a beauty school drop out.

Highlights of the UAJ

One of the parts of working for an attorney are countless hours of boredom.... depositions, clients on the phone who won't hang up, listening to people try to sell my boss something when they know he is only wasting their time on purpose, etc... but on occasion we, the staff, are rewarded with the opportunity to accompany my boss on his adventures, or rather misadventures, with the various legal organizations of which he is a part.

Brent came to IF-town from the exciting and exotic Salt Lake Valley. There he was a part of the Utah Trial Lawyers Association and continues that association in Idaho. Due to the negative stigma "trial lawyers" brings about in "laymen," the organization changed its name to the Utah Association for Justice. Either name though is just a way of identifying the hundreds of plaintiff attorneys statewide. Yes, these are the people that sue you, you, and oh, you too.

A couple times a year, the "sue happy" get together and chat about new legislation, how to deal with clients, and how to deal with each other. Last week, I got to go. This is the awesome stuff I learned, some useful, and some incredibly not so:

1. Allstate sucks ass... this guy traded his sanity for the ugly truth about Allstate and it's ugly, really ugly. I won't go into detail because you will be as bored as I was (my colleague and I resorted to the dot game at one point) but if you really want to know, feel free to ask me.

2. Despite the high number of Mo-Mos in Utah, there are very few Mormon plaintiffs attorneys... hmm... I wonder why that is...

3. I have never seen so many people drink so much coffee but then not go to the bathroom. Seriously, with as much as these guys drink, they should be in and out of the room all day, but they just sit there. It's baffling.

4. Defense attorneys are boring compared to plaintiff attorneys. Seriously, only one defense attorney spoke in the whole conference but he was BY FAR the most dry of anyone I met.

5. Plaintiffs work actually DOES SOME GOOD. I know, I know, I didn't believe it either but there is a whole lot of case law passed by plaintiffs attorneys that we should all be pretty grateful for. For example, Utah employers, until last year, were not liable for sending their employees into a dangerous situation, even if there was a 99% chance the worker would die. It took a guy being ordered to basically drive through lava and get burnt to a crisp before the Utah Supreme Court took a new position on that. Kudos to the attorney who took that case because she only gets paid if she wins and who would take a case where all the case law to that point says you can't win? Yeah, she kicks ass.

6. Women are underrepresented in the plaintiff attorney arena, particularly attractive ones. I got pretty creeped several times from the old guy stares...

7. I broke 1800 on my Bubble Breaker score during the conference, just an FYI, it was awesome! All it took was two hours of persistence.

8. My boss literally didn't think that AIDS was still a problem. He actually told me this during the conference. I've been inundating him with HIV/AIDS literature since we got back.

9. Women make kick ass plaintiffs attorneys! This woman spoke who literally made some of the people in the room cry (not just the women.) She must slaughter witnesses and mow over juries! Absolutely amazing! I wanted to kiss her feet!

10. Having a "heated outdoor pool" in Utah at a hotel actually means that they heat it... but only from October to February. The fact that I swam fifty laps in that pool (twice) I now believe only shows that I am losing my mind.

11. The experience also reaffirmed my belief that my boss is one of the most insecure people I know. He presented and has asked me at least two dozen times since if he did a good job. To his credit, he did wear a sweet neon tie with flowers on it.

And I completely FORGOT MY FAVORITE THING when I posted this so here you go... number twelve... on our way to breakfast, we saw an Adopt a Highway sign sponsored by none other than "Women Against Gun Control." Being in pretty much the reddest state in the country probably meant I shouldn't have been surprised by this but I laughed my ass off at the thought of a bunch of middle-aged house wives picking up trash off I-15 with sidearms.

Who are your sitcom characters?

I know I'm not the only person with those daily interactions that make you feel like you are in an episode of "Seinfeld," "Two and Half Men," "Scrubs," or dare I say it, "Sex and the City." Maybe it's the mere fact that I work downtown it a quiet office now that makes these odd moments more prominent, instead of in a call center where odd happenings are well... normal. Whatever the reason, I generally have a daily reason to chuckle. Such as...

...the guy in our office building who rides a bike to work everyday in Wranglers, cowboy boots, and toting a backpack that looks like he stole it from a second grader five years ago.

...the ex-teacher who had a brain tumor and now wanders the city, pushing a baby carriage and designing apparel out of electrical wire. I have often considered buying one of his hats, he's a nice guy who acknowledges his oddness.

...the eighty year old man that walks by my window two times a day, always in a different outfit than the time before.

...the people that drive the wrong direction down our one way, one lane street.

...the strange man that passed me on his bicycle as I walked back from the courthouse and shouted, "man, this town is full of hotties!"

...women who my boss has taken out on dates and now walk by our office to flaunt their new boyfriends because Brent never called them again.

...the client that left his truck parked in the middle of the one way street in front of our office to come in and talk for fifteen minutes.

...another of our crazy clients that literally breaks into tears anytime anyone talks to her.

...the kids that sell sun catchers for local churches at least twice a year. They always make you feel horrible, like you drop kicked a baby or something, when you say no to them.

...the owners of the building I work in who rent out potato cellars and own land in South America... anyone else suspicious other than me?

...the redneck city worker that always wears a neon orange shirt and tells me every day, "lookin' hot, like always." Not sure why he keeps saying it at this point.

...the guys that turn up the music in their vehicles when they pull up next to a cute girl walking downtown, like loudness will somehow make us attracted to them.

...the crazy Native American guy that keeps calling my office to find an attorney who will make the government take the implant out of his head because the implant shatters windows with electromagnet pules, and steals his paycheck.


So here's to all those people that make life interesting! Cheers!

Ellie

Most of you already know about the demon dog that dwells with my parents and I. She is the source of much drama, much comedic relief, and a lot of the general conversation I have with my family. Despite her aggressive tendencies, she has become a lovable character on the Visser stage.

On Monday our little "spawn of Satan" attacked me for walking through the door. I was excited to see her and my puppy Bentley, after they had been in the kennel for three days while we were in Salt Lake. I shouted, "Hello girls!" only to be met with teeth clamped down on my stomach which was followed by my own string of profanity. Unfortunately, this is not the first time Ellie has attacked and therefore my parents are faced with a difficult decision, whether to accept the liability of an outwardly aggressive dog, or put their puppy down.

I, myself, have been tormented by the thought of not having her presence in our home anymore. This is partially because of my own and my mother's attachment to her, but also due to my Dad's deep attachment to Ellie, whom he affectionately calls his "buddy." I have so many memories of her seated in the passenger's seat of my Dad's van or truck, poised and ready for her ride. I can still see her drinking pop from the cup holder, and see my Dad buy a package of Grandma's peanut butter cookies only to eat one himself and give the other to his buddy.

I know my parents will make the right decision for themselves and their puppy, even if that means letting go of her a little sooner than we had hoped.

Right now, I am choosing to remember the things I love about Ellie...

She gave us her adorable puppyhood which, despite the beginnings of her biting and aggressiveness, gave us countless hours of enjoyment and hundreds of fantastic pictures. Since a puppy, she has always done this adorable look of curiosity where she cocks her head to the side and perks up her ears.

She gave us protection. Aggression has its uses, and she is an excellent guard dog. I have always felt safe walking the neighborhood with her.

She actually brings the ball back when you throw it (unlike my dog.)

She breathes incredibly loud for a dog.

She loves water. My parents have gone so far as to buy a kiddie pool for the dogs in the backyard which she has claimed as her own. She likes to tease Bentley by moving the toys into the center of the pool so Bentley can't get them (Bentley hates the water.) She also loves to be sprayed by the hose.

She eats the weirdest things... seriously, she must have an incredible digestive system.

Speaking of digestive systems, my dad and his buddy can stink up the whole house with their combined efforts.

She is notorious for molesting the pillows in the living room... maybe not a lovable trait but good for laughs and embarrassing strangers.

She attempted to eat a bee once and was stung. Her muzzle blew up about three times its normal size. She recovered, but her puffy face was so hilarious!

She will poke you with her paws until you pet her when she needs some love, which is usually several times a day.


Of course, that's not everything, just all I can write without too many tears... I think it's needless to say that I will miss her very much. I just hope that she knows somehow that I truly love her.

I love you Ellie

What we choose to remember...

On July 4, 1776 the Second Continental Congress signed and sent to the printers, the Declaration of Independence in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

A year later, in the throws of the Revolutionary War, George Washington celebrated the date by doubling rum rations and ordering artillery fire.

On July 3rd, 1863 the fighting at the war torn fields of Gettysburg ceased and on July 4th it began to rain. It rained for days as the armies tried to pick the wounded from the martyred.

On July 4, 1918 a contingent of Australian and American forces turned the tide of World War I by employing new strategies of engagement. While the Battle of Hamel in France against the Germans was only a small victory, what was learned there saved thousands of American lives later in the war.

In July 1934, the chain reaction for the atom bomb was patented.

On July 4, 1939 Julius Streicher delivered a speech in Nuremberg, Germany which should have been a warning to the world of the forthcoming Nazi rise. World War II began two months later.

On July 4, 1941 American delivers the first aircraft to Britain.

On July 4, 1947 Americans witness the crash of what is claimed to be a UFO in Roswell, New Mexico.

On July 4, 1966 President Johnson signed the Freedom of Information Act, which went into effect the following year.

On July 4, 1976 Israeli commandos raided an airport in Uganda, rescuing almost all of the passengers and crew of an Air France jetliner seized by pro-Palestinian hijackers.

On July 4, 2003 a speaker claiming to be Saddam Hussein called on Iraqis in a taped message to rally behind anti-U.S. resistance.

On July 4, 2007 BBC reporter Alan Johnston, seized by the Army of Islam in the Gaza Strip the previous March, was released.

As of July 4, 2008 over 33,000 American troops have been lost in the War in Iraq since 2003. More astoundingly, over 1.2 million Iraqi's have perished since the invasion.


So much history that began on July 4, 1776... It's ironic that on the same day in 1776, King George III of Great Britain wrote in his journal, "Nothing important happened today."

What is it like working for a personal injury attorney?

When I comment to others that I work for an "ambulance chaser," I am often bombarded with questions about the nature of my employment. In truth, there is little I can say about my job other than, "It's entertaining," to explain what I do every day. It would be difficult to expound on how instead of spending all of the day slaving over briefings, filings, and lawsuits, we often find ourselves shopping for skate shoes at the mall, buying a bass guitar and amplifier for the office, or taking long lunches with associates with are never anywhere close to being "p.c."

It seems that even when we are working diligently, we aren't really working. Take, for example, my bosses' newest cause. (Keep in mind that my bosses' previous causes have included suing cell phone carriers for charging him a cancellation fees, and yes, there was more than one.) My boss recently canceled service with his cable provider and not only did they charge him a cancellation fee, but they also charged him several other late fees because they mistakenly put his EFT into the wrong account. Oh, the INJUSTICE!

A simple phone call to the cable company legal department left my boss so inflamed (though they offered to refund all of his money) that the same day he filed a law suit again the company in Bonneville County court, adding to the total loss his hours in preparing these documents. Much to our (the staff's) chagrin, the cable company went on the defensive and actually hired local counsel to defend the case. To worsen our frustration, the counsel they hired is my bosses' least favorite attorney in Utah and Idaho combined.

In the past few weeks, the filings that have gone back and forth between my boss and this attorney have been numerous, time consuming, and absolutely ridiculous. Today's installment tops the cake! Below are the highlights of my bosses' response to a brief filed by the opposing attorney. Keep in mind that the plaintiff is represented by my boss (his ex-wife is the plaintiff, to be honest) and the defendant is the cable company:

"Plaintiff's motion to amend her complain struck a sensitive nerve deep inside (cable co.)'s profit center. (Cable co.)'s reflexive response to a threat to frustrate its illegal collection practices was to file a ten page responsive brief - or rather, a non-responsive brief - filled with unsubstantiated ad hominen attacks on Plaintiff's counsel. Ironically, (Cable Co.)'s brief was incoherent, lacked organization, and reading it was a complete waste of time because it utterly failed to address Plaintiff's motion to amend her complaint" (see footnote 1)

(Footnote 1: (Cable Co.)'s brief reminds me of a quote in a popular movie, Billy Madison, featuring one of my favorite character actors, Adam Sandler. The Principal makes the following observations after Adam Sandler's character gives a lengthy speech during a school debate competition: "Mr. Madison, what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent reponse were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.")

"... (Cable Co.)'s circular reasoning seems to suggest that Plaintiff's proper procedural course is to file a motion to amend the complain, transfer the case to the district court, and then file a motion to certify the class. Brilliant! Oh wait, but isn't that what Plaintiff intended to do? How is it exactly that (Cable Co.) got it in its head that Plaintiff was attempting to certify a class? Was it the caption?: MOTION TO AMEND COMPLAINT AND TRANSFER TO DISTRICT COURT. I can't see how that would give it the impression Plaintiff was filing a motion to certify a class action. Was it anything I said in my one and a half page brief? Nope. There was no request to certify class. Well, I don't know where (Cable Co.) got the idea. But don't spank me because (Cable Co.) can't read."

"I almost contemplated filing a personal injury suit against (Cable Co.) for throwing up when I began to violently and uncontrollably laugh at (Cable Co.)'s unsupported statements... Anyway, in all seriousness, (Cable Co.)'s collection of illegal penalties must be stopped. And I'm the guy to do it. 'I'm Brent Gordon, you can beat Goliath.' "


I love my job! LOL!

Dating for Dummies

I will never forget the Christmas that my Dad added miniature copies of books to our stockings. I was supplied with a tiny version of "7 Habits of Highly Effective People" (yes, I got the hint.) Even better though were the tiny "Dating for Dummies" my Dad gave to both of my older siblings. There was much bitter laughter and my Dad's whole body shook with his inside giggle that we all so enjoy!

I was reminded of this incident recently as my boss, Brent, has been constantly bugging me for dating advice. Brent is recently divorced after spending several years attempting to bring his crazy wife to sobriety. With three children and over ten years out of the game, Brent is in dire need of assistance. I will admit though, I am not that proficient of a dater. In fact, I find my behavior in dating is uncharacteristically gender neutral, that is, I don't usually "act like a girl." This fact has left my quite confused and disturbed by the behavior of some of Brent's dates.

Still, he continues to ask me questions about dating daily! So... I am turning to the blog for help... Below I am listing rules that I am pretty dang sure about, but if you have any suggestions as to the inner-workings of dating, feel free to add them.

1. Never double-book. You should never go out on two dates in one evening or even one day. This goes for guys and girls. One of the dates will inevitably interfere with the other and leave you in awkwardness.

2. Holding hands is a cute step, no matter how old you are. The third or fourth date is usually ok to bust a move, but start small with holding hands.

3. Try not to talk about work too much. It's good to ask questions of your other date and if they ask questions about what you do, of course answer them. Otherwise, work details can be boring and make the conversation one-sided.

4. Casual is best. A lot of guys will try to over-play the first date in order to make a big impression. The truth is, good conversation over ice-cream or maybe dinner is better than go-karts, roller skating, skeet shooting, or anything else.

5. NO MOVIES ON FIRST DATES. This is one guys mess up on all the time. The whole purpose of the first date is to get to know the girl, how the hell are you supposed to do that with Johnny Depp in the room?

.... that's really all I got... no wonder I quit trying to date...

The high-heel revenge...

Normally I extol the virtues of high-heel pumps, platform sandals, and anything that makes me an even 5'5". Perhaps it was karma or God's sense of humor that turned my love against me last night. Regardless, this morning I am bruised and my eye looks like I had a rough night on the town.

Picking out the perfect shows to top off my outfit for the evening, I chose my wooden heeled sandals with black leather straps and silver studs. Needless to say, these shoes are hot and make a wicked sound on tile and/or wood floors. Unfortunately, they are also dangerous. While the sole of the shoe is well equipped with contoured rubber to provide traction, the square heel is completely devoid of any such attribute.

After spending the evening with Ian, getting his truck dirty in the mud, I headed to Barnes & Noble to get some tea and head home. On my way home, I remembered something I wanted to look for at the local Hastings, something I promptly forgot about when I walked in the door. I wandered aimlessly for a while, hoping to remember what I was looking for and finally gave up.

On my way out the door, the clerk wished me a good evening which I returned in kind. As I rounded the corner to the doors, I suddenly found myself victim to water and wooden heels. With an obvious lack of grace, I caught myself with my right hand as my right foot slipped behind my left. The move might have been mistaken for the start of a break dancing routine if it had not been for the cup of tea in the left hand which, in the fall, smacked my left eye, covering me in cherry blossom tea.

Embarrassed, I immediately began laughing hysterically and left to get into my car as soon as possible. I won't be going to Hastings for a while.

Damn shoes...

Happy Birthday...

I don't often use my blog as a forum to share my deep, inner thoughts so I beg your forgiveness as I indulge myself today. Today is April 28th, my new birthday. I suppose there are few of us fortunate enough to allot themselves another entire day devoted to a celebration of their life, but for me, it's more a day of reflection and solemnity than anything else. It is also an important day for me to thank my loved ones for their forgiveness, kindness, and willingness to continue loving me despite all.

I rarely speak of Moscow with my family... it tends to bring about painful and difficult to deal with recollections. But today I have enjoyed my fond memories of Moscow: coffee shops, sunset runs in the Palouse, ridiculously fun Halloween parties, late nights walking campus, the tiny art gallery on main street, the food co-op, buying shoes in the mall with Jen, sleeping through geology, the dumb football gargoyles on the Memorial Gym, watching hours of Miami Vice in my apartment, the view as you drive into Lewiston, "the gauntlet," the Pita Pit at two in the morning, Friday night BBQs, the smell of Bryan Young firing up the deep fryer (despite my objections), Saturday morning breakfast, sleeping in Sundays, frisbee golf, playing poker with my buddies at Staples, decorating for Christmas, making cookies when I couldn't sleep... so many good things!

Of course I brought back with me much sadness and many ghosts. Believe it or not, they seem to haunt me more here in Idaho Falls than Moscow. On days like today I find myself driving the river or out to the buttes in Osgood, places of my past that bring a bittersweet peace. And on days like today I only want to reach out and tell those I care for that I love them and I am so glad they are with me.

I hope all of you, even those that may never read this, know in their hearts that they gave me hope when I was in the dark, hugs when I needed to be held, clarity when I was surrounded by gray, and gave me another chance without question. Thank you for my happy birthday...



TWILIGHT
By: Vanessa Carlton

I was stained with a role
In a day not my own
And as you walked into my life
You showed what needed to be shown
And i always knew what was right
I just didn't know that i might
Peel away and choose to see from such a different sight

And i will never see the sky the same way
And i will learn to say goodbye to yesterday
And i will never cease to fly..if held down
And i will always reach too high
'Cause I've seen 'cause I've seen twilight

I never cared never wanted never sought to see what flaunted
So on purpose so in my face
Couldn't see beyond my own place
And it was so easy to behold
What could hold but you taught me i could change
Whatever came within these shallow days

And i will never see the sky the same way
And i will learn to say goodbye to yesterday
And i will never cease to fly..if held down
And i will always reach too high
'Cause I've seen 'cause I've seen

And as the sun shines through and pushes away and pushes ahead
It fills the warmth of blue and leaves a chill instead
And i never knew that i could be so blind to all that is so real
And as illusioned eyes i see there is so much to be revealed

And i will never see the sky the same way
And i will learn to say goodbye to yesterday
And i will never cease to fly..if held down
And i will always reach too high 'cause i've seen 'cause i've seen twilight

I was stained with a role in a day not my own
And as you walked into my life you showed what needed to be shown
And i always knew what was right
I just didn't know that i might
Peel away and choose to see from such a different sight

And i will never see the sky the same way
And i will learn to say goodbye to yesterday
And i will never cease to fly..if held down
And i will always reach too high 'cause I've seen 'cause I've seen twilight

The best of Dad... an update

There is nothing I enjoy more than recounting the strange and awesome habits of my Dad. I'm not sure if it's the fact that I'm getting older, or the fact that he's getting older, that accounts for the sudden abundance of material that leaves my sides hurting for hours at a time.

For example, I came home from work Monday evening and took the dogs out for a walk before dinner. My Dad has fired up the grill and taken his giant collection of chicken parts outside to roast them to perfection in the Eastern Idaho wind. Mind you, my Mother has told my Dad several times that she would prefer he not actually cook the chickens in entire halves, but chop them into their smaller parts. I guess there is something barbarian and appetizing in keeping these giant chicken body parts whole on the table that my Dad just can't resist.

Anyway, I left my Dad to cook and returned half an hour later. Resting in a covered casserole dish was half of the chicken bodies, charred black. Apparently, the flame of the grill had gotten away from my Dad and all but destroyed the chicken. Still hoping to salvage the meal, he merely got a few extra bowls from the cupboard and sat them at our plates, "the put the char in." I watched my poor parents dig through the torched skins and pick out the meat in the middle, my mother getting more frustrated every moment. At the end of the meal she simple stated to my Dad, "You better take care of that, or I will throw it away." And so he did.... he patiently peeled back the char and filled a tupperware container to feed the dogs with. It's still in the fridge, four days later.

My Dad is such a stud!

Are you my mother?

I'm sure that most of us recall Eastman's (thanks Kelly) tale of the deserted baby bird that is denied the experience of imprinting with its own kind immediately after escaping his egg and seeks out another mother figure. Along his path, he manages to find a kitten, a hen, a dog, a cow, and finally a power shovel. Ultimately, it is the power shovel which delivers the bird back to its nest and mother.

The past few weeks I have felt much like a power shovel. I have carted one of my sickly geek friends back and forth between doctors, hospitals, pharmacies, and home. The poor soul is one of those cursed with a week immune system so although he spent ten days on four times the normal dose of antibiotics for an infection, the infection still returned this past week. This alone was stressful, but add two jobs to that and it equals migraines, dosing off in odd places, and a sad social life. (I must add that I was not the only power shovel though, it really took two of us.)

Yesterday I flew the coop a little at my sick geek friend, for which I inevitably feel guilty. He merely asked me when his next doctor's appointment is and I slipped into a rage, demanding him to take more self-responsibility. I refused to make his medical decisions any longer and even refused to take him to, "Horton Hears a Who."

You may think me a monster for sharing this tale but I must say that I couldn't take much more of the mothering instinct coming out, I believe it was fundamentally changing me. Evidence of this was when my 19 year old geek and I walked into the doctor's office and the nurse immediately asked, "Are you his mother?"

I vehemently denied the accusation immediately! I began to think, how old do I look that someone would take me for my geek's mother?! Have I crossed some maternal instinct line that gives off motherly hormones or something that might single me out to others? And most importantly, how the hell do I get back over the line?

Well, it took me a little time, but I finally had to stop being the kitten, the hen, the dog and the cow, and dump my geek back into the nest. That's right, I'm a power shovel, baby!

Skinny boys in girl pants...

Yesterday I did one of my all-time favorite things: sat in a coffee shop for hours sipping a latte (yes, I'm bad) and reading. Okay, I know it's a bit cliche, like a scene from a girl movie, but there's really no accounting for taste right? Anyway, I like to watch the people coming in and out of the coffee shop and eaves-dropping on conversations where I can. There are the inevitable volatile discussions of Hillary vs. Obama. There are the older generations that sit across the table from each other for hours, sipping black coffee and literally not saying anything to each other for the duration. Then, of course, there are teenage social deviants that frequent the coffee shop for a sense of fitting in.

The generally accepted term for these teenage/young adult social deviants is "emo." These kids dress in dark, tight clothing. Even during the sweltering summer months, Emo kids will be adorned in hooded sweatshirts with the hoods pulled up over their black locks and pierced eye-brows. Often-times it is difficult to distinguish the male Emo from the female Emo as both dress the same, have the same haircuts, and usually have no curves whatsoever.

Last night I was surprised by a steady influx of Emo kids. Apparently I had stumbled upon an acoustic guitar show, which I decided to stick around for. The evening was filled with talented guitarists with unusually high tenor ranges, belting out original tunes and various versions of Colbie Collet and Radiohead, among others. The sullen, heart-felt music filled the coffee shop and much to my surprise, silenced a room full of fifty teenagers. Unlike the teenagers of my generation (which wasn't too long ago), this over-depressed group of teenagers were an extremely respectful audience. They were attentive, congratulatory to their fellow musicians, and appropriately enthusiastic at the end of each song. If such a feat had been attempted when I was in high school, there would certainly have been much heckling and perhaps throwing of food items.

The event led me to ponder though, the possibility of adopting an Emo kid, specifically an Emo boy, of my own. Below would be the pros and cons of such:

Pros:
-We could share the same pants.
-My life would always seem less depressing than his.
-Black hair dye is cheap.
-Taking advantage of his creative outlets could become quite profitable.
-We would share a love of tattoos and piercings, in fact, such an event could become a "family outing."

Cons:
-We could share the same pants.
-Because of his emaciated and some-what "Holocaust victim" appearance, I would always be the fat kid.
-Stylists are expensive.
-All sharp objects would have to be hidden in the event of a stressful occurrence.
-Therapy is expensive.

Oh Emo kids, I love you!

Get down...

Seeing as how my household is practically run by two dogs, you will often hear things around our domicile such as: "Ellie, get down!" "Stop barking!" "Bentley, what are you eating?" There are very few incidents at the Visser home that you could classify as non-dog related. It's actually quite sad and was a common joke among my friends at school who would ask me after I got off my phone with my family, "How is the dog?"

Another commonplace phrase heard around the house, more specifically the dinner table, is my dad saying, "What did you say?" My dad's hearing, or lack thereof, has become a rather notorious point of hilarity. He will often attempt to guess at what he did not quite heard and thereby turning "daughters of Zion" into "daughters of Sloan," and "I walked the dogs today" into "You hit a dumpster?"

Tonight after dinner as we attempted to ward my parent's dog Ellie off of the counters my dad yells, "Get down!"

I, thinking of Death from Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey, added, "Get down with your bad self!"

At this, my father gave me a profound look of confusion and said, "Get down you bastard?"

I think we found a new nickname for the dog...

The Bird Flu...

Sunday morning I woke to the woeful feeling my head slowly drifting away from my body, the clear sign of an oncoming sinus infection. Much to my dismay, the condition continued to worsen into a fever and cough that kept me away from work for two days. Yes, I, like so many others, have fallen victim to the ever prevalent influenza virus. While back at work, I am still walking around with what I affectionately call "bubble head," in a state much like being drunk (yes, I would know.)

Ironically enough, today our residence received a handy "No Flu 4 You" dry-erase board from the Idaho Health Department. This ever-important resource is divided into two sections of helpful hints, the first, how to "avoid seasonal flu" and second, how to "prepare for pandemic flu." Wait... pandemic flu? What the f***? Or at least that was my thought and should have been everyone else's thought who received one.

Turns out that our government has been secretly preparing to battle the inevitable mutation of bird flu into a human version that is expected to wipe out 40% of the human population. Sounds like a joke or an episode of the X-Files right? Nope. This is one of those serious "we are all going to die" things. Of course it might turn out to be ultra ironic and we will get blind-sided by some other random disease or massive loss of human life, while getting ready for the bird flu but I guess we can't be ready for everything. Personally, I'd rather be distracted by Mad Cow Disease and the Bird Flu then watch oil prices and wait for things to heat up in Iran... thank you Idaho State Health Department!

And if such an outbreak should occur, I shall be forever grateful for my "No Flu 4 You" dry-erase board that offers absolutely zero protection against such a pandemic aside from suggesting the obtainment of special surgical masks that are not even available in most places in the U.S. yet. Maybe I will use it to write my last words as the economy collapses and crime ravages our neighborhoods. Perhaps I will list the dead so as to preserve their memory. Then again, why would I want such important things on a dry-erase board?

Val Kilmer

I was completely disillusioned recently upon turning on one of my favorite crime series, "Numbers" to find the secret villain revealed as none other than guest star, Val Kilmer. No, I was not alarmed to see Val trafficking national secrets. I was not alarmed by his killing people by injecting potassium into their hearts. Instead, I was struck that the former Batman and Iceman from "Top Gun," appeared strikingly... old.

What happened to the glorious Val of the eighties with his gelled blond locks, spiking a volleyball to the song "Playing With the Boys" alongside Tom Cruise? What happened to the man my best friend used to pretend her pillow was when she made out with it? What happened to the man that could pull off walking into a naked Nicole Kidman's bedroom without someone calling security? What happened to the Doc Holiday that saved Kurt Russel from certain doom? And who could forget Willow? In short, what happened to the glorious ideals of my childhood?

I realize that everyone ages and certainly some with less grace than others but come on Val, you're killing me smalls! While Harrison Ford is still whipping ass in Indiana Jones, and Silvester Stallone is still managing Rambo movies (that can stop anytime, by the way), Val is getting busted by tabloids with a beer belly, playing villains on crime series, and remaking "Knight Rider." With each new update on Val status, I lose a little more of my childhood and little more of my hope for the future.

I'm sorry Val, but you just can't be my wingman anytime...

What I love about zombies...

For the past two weeks I have been nightly subjected to, via my dreams, a post-apocalyptic world of dark intrigue. These dreams may perhaps have originated from my somewhat disturbing interest in zombie movies, the beginning of a new regime of stimulants, or most likely a combination of the two. Regardless, I begin every night in a deserted Sam's Club (an excellent place to attempt to survive the inevitable post-apocalyptic challenges, might I add.)

While myself and the other survivors battle through the discomforts of food rationing, water storage, weapon collection, and the ever-present anxieties of changing leadership (usually by assassination of the previous) we are also always constantly leery of the un-dead. The irony of course is that while the human numbers dwindle as a result of discontent, the un-dead remain fairly stable. Indeed, there is little said of the benefits of the zombies and I wish, here, to enumerate some of those:

1. Zombie society truly accepts all individuals equally, regardless of race, religion, age, or ethnic background.

2. They make incredibly loyal companions and will follow you practically anywhere.

3. They never talk back.

4. Low maintenance boyfriends/girlfriends: they can live for decades without having to take them out shopping, to dinner, etc.

5. Big fans of the group hug.

6. Possible power source if put into a giant hamster wheel-like generator with bait (yes, this was part of a dream... hilarious...)

7. Easily disposable with fire.

8. Less STDs.

9. Less sharing of things with the zombies in general.

Feel free to add to my list with your own lovable zombie characteristics. With that, there is only one thing left to say.... zombie, will you be my Valentine?

Democrats get pissed when they file their taxes too...

As you can probably guess, I just filed my taxes again and, as always, my initial reaction is disgust and chagrin. Rather than first thinking about the social good from paying 8.17% of my gross income to the Federal Government I instead let go a string of profanity that I'm glad my mother wasn't around to hear. Tax season may be the one time of year that the country actually believes Ann Coulter's rhetoric and for those who weren't before, we become momentarily Republican. Fortunately, the moment has already passed so I can continue making fun of the people holding "Ron Paul Cured My Apathy" signs on street corners in Idaho Falls.

Wrong Numbers

I never cease to be amused at the randomness of life. As a child, I was amused with the fact that our home phone number was only a few digits off from both a bank and a pizza place. This led to many awkward and confusing conversations with strangers that I have only come to appreciate later in life.

Recently, while walking my dog in the blistering cold, I felt my phone vibrate, indicating that a message is awaiting my response. Expecting to see a message from one of my admirers, I was instead confronted with a text from an anonymous number. The following is the conversation:

"Your mom just won a hot dog cooker at the company party!"

Confused and suspecting a nerdy 'mom' joke, I replied, "Um... who is this?"

"Well, who is this?" came the reply.

"This is Staci."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must have got the wrong number from my friend."

"It's ok, although my mom will be disappointed."

"Didn't mean to bring her hopes up."

"I think she'll be ok."

"Glad to hear it, have a good night."

"You too."

I will probably never know who my anonymous texter was but I'm still pretty sure someone owes someone a hot dog cooker.

I'm divorced

So I have finally left all efforts of achieving normal socialization and succeeding in real relationships, thus the giving into the "blog train." While there are some who gather in these blogspots to contemplate life's mysteries, I merely come to add cynicism and my own failed efforts at introspection. In truth, the driving force behind this decision was the many complaints at how little even my family seems to know about me. Well, you asked for it...

To kick off my blog, I offer a recent event which has left me with a frustrated sort of curiosity. Recently, the weather in Southeast Idaho turned to devastating lows, reaching to -30 degrees! Sans car on one of these particularly cold days I called my brother and asked him to do me a favor and pick me up. Much to my surprise at 4:30pm, my sister-in-law's brother, Steve pulled up in his little white Volkswagen. I didn't give much thought to this, particularly as Steve is engaged and poses no threat to me whatsoever.

A few days later while walking the dogs, my sister-in-law, Kelly, and I were chatting about all things random when Kelly mentioned the events leading up to my ride in Steve's Volkswagen. Basically, my brother called his wife and Kelly then had this conversation with Steve:

"Steve, can you pick up Staci from work today?"

"Okay... isn't she divorced?"

Shocked and a bit confused, Kelly came back with, "No, she's your age Steve. Her and Bryan are twins."

To which Steve responded, "Oh, I thought she had been married."


Responses to this tale have ranged from hysterical laughter to shocked disgust. My favorite response was coming home from work after recounting this tale to my mother to find my dad reading the paper. I said, "Hi Dad." He said, "I hear you're divorced."

While I have enjoyed my own laughs at this strange reaction to the task of merely picking me up from work, I am still confused by Steve's assumption. Is there a certain air people carry who have been wounded by the marital entanglement that I somehow resemble? How much older do I look than my twin brother? Are engaged people not allowed to pick up divorced people from work? Most importantly, have I missed a vital part of my socialization process that may help me understand this?

For now, lesson learned: walk home next time.