Boom. Fainted.

Your body is full of it. Evil people make vows to drink it. Mosquitoes love it.

And me? I have a 100 percent chance of fainting whenever I see it.

Hemophobia is the fear of blood, and I must have an extreme case of it. So of course when my company hosts a wellness screening for its employees, I accidentally put myself in blood’s path.

Knowing my fear, I actually had avoided signing up for the event. Friday rolls around and the event organizer dropped by my office and told me that there’s still availability to sign up. Within one minute of her telling me I was sitting in a chair and a nurse was prepping a needle.

Uh-oh.

They kept reassuring me that it was just a prick to the finger. Yet, as the nurse sat there coaxing the LARGE drop of blood from my finger it was all I could do but nervously squirm as my world closed in.

Boom. Fainted.

I wake up with a dozen pairs of frightened eyes staring at me. I had passed out in my chair, and luckily the nurses had caught me. Still boxed in by the nurses, I slowly regained my senses and took inventory of my surroundings.

They helped cover my wound/prick with a little Band-Aid, and I then went back to work.

I didn’t dare take off the bandage the rest of the day – wouldn’t want another droplet of blood to escape!

Banana Studying

Blog it’s been too long. I will now come out of my married cocoon and blossom with stories.

My story starts in Walmart. If I were a bug, Walmart would be a bright, iridescent light. I don’t want to go visit it, but I must.

So I’m there waiting in the checkout line one early morning, trying to capture the QR code on the gum rack, and I noticed this guy studying a banana.

He’s a middle-aged man, well-dressed, and clearly on his way to work. Just stopped to grab a banana.

His eyes are locked on the yellow fruit, turning it slowly in his hands. Flipping, rolling, examining aren’t enough to find whatever treasure he is seeking.

I too am drawn in to this man’s quest, as I look from afar to also try to discover the banana’s secret. All too soon it his turn in line.

The man approached the checkout lady and desperately exclaimed that he couldn’t find the barcode anywhere. He even rotated it all the way around for her to see. The cashier then delicately took the banana from him and set it on the electronic reader.

“It’s a banana,” she said. “We weigh it to determine the price.”

Well duh. The lightbulb went off in this man’s head as he realized that none of the bananas have barcodes on them. Probably not that guy’s brightest moment. 

Dolphins and Wolves

If you could be any animal in the world, what would it be? I choose human.

But if I had a second choice, it would be a toss-up between a dolphin or wolf – purely based off of the cheesy artwork that is sold by the millions every year.

I’m at my monthly check-in at the dollar store to see their wolf posters, and found a great one with a silhouetted wolf lit by an orangish aura. 

However, being a dollar store (and actually $.88 Tuesday) what WAS labeled as a wolf poster ended up being this classy dolphin poster.

Although the poster now hangs prominently over my staircase, I filled my life's wolf void by buying matching wolf shirts. I make an extra effort to wear mine whenever I visit Walmart or do something especially redneck. This new-found passion for wolf apparel was inspired by these Amazon reviews.   

The Proposal

I am marrying the most beautiful girl in the world. Even though she is leaps and bounds smarter than me, I still managed to surprise her.

Brooke was to leave for Ghana on a nursing humanitarian aid trip, and was suspecting I would propose after she arrived home. We like to go on drives, and the day before she had expressed an interest in getting out of Provo. I casually brought up that we should take a drive through the canyon the following day. Little did she know I had been plotting this for weeks…

Driving up the canyon, I was sweating bullets and nervously laughing a lot. We hit a good point to turn around (scenic of course), so I pulled over the car and told her I had made something for her to take to Ghana. It was a book of pictures of us, and conveniently ended with a picture of us in front of the temple. Foreshadowing?

 I then told her there was another part of the gift, but it was in the trunk. Walking out of the car my heart was beating like an African drum. Popped the trunk and had a dozen roses displayed. She did what most girls would do – looking at those roses with those big puppy eyes and letting a large smile sweep across her face.

The perfect set-up needs to be followed with the perfect ending.

I then got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. I’m pretty sure I was still mid-sentence when she exclaimed “YES!” and then the rest is history. She looks so good with the ring on her finger and I can hardly wait to marry her.

We will be getting married in the Portland, Oregon temple on August 13^th. 

The Portland, Oregon temple

Brooke's engagement ring :)

My First Snowboarding Backflip!

I went snowboarding for my first time in Utah. Ever. I know. 

The snowstorm the night before had left a powdery playland up at Solitude. Winding our way to the mountain I had images of SSX Tricky running through my head. I was trying hard brainstorm some snowboard lingo outside of "shredding" and "nectar" - when I saw it:

A trailer full of deer. Yep, just driving on the freeway - some of them even had their tongues sticking out.

A close-up of the trailer full of deer

Expiration Dates

Do you ever check the expiration date on your driver’s license? Well, me neither.

This past weekend I was studying with Brooke and she wanted to see the picture on my license. I think everyone has those moments where you laugh at your 16-year-old picture – looking at the bull-cuts, highlight streaks, or awkward grins.

After she got done admiring my picture, she commented that my license was expired. By three months.

Oh goody.

So I went into the DMV this morning and was informed that I had to take the written exam to get it renewed.

As I’m sitting there agonizing over these painful questions at my undersized kiosk, these 15-year-olds are just cranking through this test. Flying. I could have sworn one of them was playing DDR with their fingers as they chose their answers within a fraction of a second.

Sweating bullets I’m having to chose between slowly following a bicyclist to slowly passing. Hesitantly  I submitted my test. Definitely harder than any test at the private university I attend.

I passed, and what was the reward?

The joy to now be considered an official Utah resident. Farewell Washington stereotypes – I’ll miss recycling and socks with my sandals. 

Thief!

Someone was robbed last Saturday at Walmart.

The store was an anthill of activity. I filled in among the colony of shoppers and proceeded with my shopping.

Checkout was quick, as I studied my new box of Trix and tried to solve the puzzle on back. On the way out my girlfriend and I even looked at the puppies in the parking lot. Great day, right?

Well arriving home we unloaded the groceries – carefully taking everything out of the plastic bags and putting them in their place.

Then we noticed the five cans of food. That I didn’t buy.

I can already imagine a SWAT team busting down my door and dragging me out. Screaming at first, I would eventually cooperate and may even smile for my mug shot. Then reality hit and I just had to accept that accidents happen.

Turns out I’m a terrible thief…I now have two cans of tomato slices, refried beans, and a can of sauerkraut. 

Giant Spider

I am decided that there are no spiders in Utah. Good thing, because spiders make my skin crawl (pun intended).

I have probably encountered one of the largest spiders in all of history. Easily the size of my hand, this arachnid had extra sets of eyes and its fur looked like daggers.

You can't stay in a house with this type of spider. It will find you. Determined to kill it, my friend and I got a broom and squeegy to act as both our weapons and defense tools.

Before striking, my friend explained to me that if we didn't get it on our first strike that the spider would mark us, climb the wall and onto the ceiling, and drop on us to attack. All in a matter of seconds.

Hence, I made a mental note that if we missed I would go running and screaming like a little girl.

We stood in anticipation with our deadly broom and squeegy. Silent. I waited for him. He waited for me. The spider licked her giant fangs, I'm sure choosing a juicy spot on my neck to bite.

Sweaty and reluctant, my buddy and I made eye contact and thrust forth our weapons.

The beast surprisingly didn't move. With the blow she oozed some thick green substance that literally slid down the wall.

Then we saw why she hadn't moved - she was a mother. The wall instantly became alive as millions of little spiders, obviously who were nesting on their large mom. It is surreal how a wall can look like it's moving.

Needless to say I did not return to that room for days. And I don't like spiders.

This is probably what the spider looked like up close, although exponentially larger:

Dumpster Diving

I have never been one for dumpster diving, but some things are too good to pass up. 


So I'm talking with a couple of my buddies outside of my house. Positioned by the overflowing dumpster, one of my friends Mark noticed a nice pair of dress shoes sitting atop the pile.


Easily picking them out, we admired the shoes and were astonished that someone would throw them away.


Then my buddy Mike, who interned with Goldman Sachs (a prestigious financial institution), sheepishly admits that he threw them away. He said that they were more worn than they appeared and uncomfortable. 


Mark and I had interned with Sears this past summer... so of course the Sears interns dug through the trash of the Goldman Sachs intern. 

Bowling Class

Easily my favorite class at BYU has been bowling. I started as a straight-throwing gutterballer, and ended as a curve-throwing gutterballer. 

Here are my stats for this past semester, consisting of 60 games of bowling:

Strikes: 79

2 Strikes in a Row: 12

Turkeys: 1!!!

Spares: 100

Gutter Balls: 169

Average Score: 99

High Score: 143

Low Score: 55

Bowling a turkey (3 strikes in a row) could only be compared with winning the lottery, wearing a snuggie, or the joy of holding your newborn baby. Bliss.

I may have discovered in myself a bowler. 

Blast from the Past: Flies and Milk

When I was 17 years old I had the opportunity to spend the summer in France. 

One hungry morning I sat down to breakfast with the host mom I was staying with. To make me feel at home, they had bought some delicious chocolate cereal.

I poured a heaping bowl and eyed it wolfishly. I got from the cupboard a liter of milk (as the milk in France is ultrapasteurized, making it unnecessary to refrigerate) and dumped it in. 

As it cascaded out of the carton, there was a loud and distinct "PLOP" in my milk.

Fishing in my bowl, I discovered the biggest, hairiest fly to have ever lived. This creature could have eaten a butterfly without a problem. And it was lying there in my bowl of delicious cereal.

The host mom, rather stern, saw my predicament and merely scolded me on. As the culture demands, food is not to be wasted and I was expected to eat my generous serving.

I picked the beast out, placing it next to my bowl. I can still picture it - swamped in its own little puddle of ultrapasteurized milk. I painstakingly ate that giant bowl of cereal with the room-temperature milk, eying the fly the entire time.

Then the impossible happened about two-thirds of the way through the bowl:

     The fly got up, shook off, and flew away. 

Needless to say I did not finish the rest of my cereal that morning. 

Pomade

I flew home for my twin brother's wedding, and completely spaced bringing any gel for my hair. 

So I'm in the bathroom getting ready for the wedding, and found some really fancy pomade by Lancôme. Sitting in a sleek, solid black container, the pomade smelled like pheromones and screamed luxury. 

Rubbing it in my hair was a pleasure. I could feel it moisturizing and holding my hair in place. The hair looked great, and I went through the wedding festivities without hassle.

I stayed home a couple more days, using the fancy pomade each morning. 

My last day there, I decided to examine the pomade so I could purchase some for myself. It was hard to read, as the bottle was so dark and Lancôme written so prominently. Then on the very bottom I found the name:

Lancôme Anti-Wrinkle Cream. 

Great. I had been using anti-wrinkle cream to do my hair. Turns out it works pretty well.

Picture from the happy day. The anti-wrinkle cream definitely gave some shape to my hair.

Denim Eulogy

I survived the week without jeans...barely. It's a lot harder than one would think. In fact, I wrote a eulogy when I was at my lowest point: 

Denim was the lifeblood of the modernized world. It lived in every closet, was worn on every set of legs, and happily changed with trends from bell-bottoms to skinnies. It stood as a symbol of power and causality. To every American, its death is the downfall of comfort, style, and practicality. 

I think we all remember well when we first met denim.  It was warm and inviting and seemed to fit just right. Denim was with us throughout the years.  It was there with big pockets when we thought we needed them. It stood by faithfully as we turned our backs and experimented with cargo pants. It never complained when we asked it to be a lighter wash, or a fuller leg. It let us rip holes into it because we thought it would be cooler and it even let us wash it with a little bit of acid.

What will we wear on casual Fridays? What will we wear with our boots with the fur?  Its loss shall be felt not only in our hearts but on our legs.

As the great Neil Diamond once said, “I’d much rather be, forever in blue jeans.”

This exemplifies my garb during the jeanless week. 

Life Without Denim

Did you know how the Got Milk advertising campaign started?

Researchers got members of an upcoming focus group to go a week without milk. They thought it would be easy, but after the week they showed up to the focus group they discussed how difficult it was.

So naturally I'm in a research group and we want to see what life is like without denim. Therefore, I will be going the next week without wearing jeans, jean jackets, or denim hats.

I'm hoping to make a fashion statement with dress slacks and a t-shirt. If you see my in shorts while it's snowing, now you'll understand.

I'll have to set aside any ugly jean jackets for this week...

Ceiling Fans

Anyone else like the ambient sound of a ceiling fan at night? I do. If you were to turn it off I'd probably wake up. 

At 2:45am on Wednesday morning I heard a giant explosion. Glass shattered. My bed shook. I thought we were in World War III, with the enemy attacking Provo for some reason.

Jolting up I looked around frantically. My ceiling fan and light fixture was laying beside my bed. I was shocked as I peered into the hole it once belonged to in the ceiling.

After a life-threatening experience like this, I laid awake thinking about what would have happened if the giant, rotating blades had seared off my legs. Then I thought about what life would be like in a wheelchair. In my mind I chose a silver one with racing stripes.

Now I have a new, sexier ceiling fan that's bolted in real tight. 

Increased Attention

The world would be a better place if we couldn't talk on the phone and drive. In fact, I would argue our social lives would improve.

I was winding down a scenic road with some friends in my sports-like Ford Taurus when I suddenly got a phone call. I picked up and small talked with my friend Matt for a few minutes.

My friends were all laughing, windows down, so I told Matt I had to get going. He said something else that I couldn't really hear, so I wrapped up the conversation:

"Well great talking with you, I'll call you again soon," I yelled over the phone.

"No Jason, I don't think you heard me - my wife is pregnant. I'm going to be a father," Matt reiterated. 

My eyes widened, foot eased on the pedal, and I gawked openly as I suddenly processed what was said. Now there's no faking your way thorough not hearing that your friend is going to be a father. So I didn't even try. 

Needless to say I pay considerable more attention when my married friends call. I hope Matt will still name his child after me.

Actual picture of the drive. My Ford Taurus has had some extensive body work done. 

Implants

I have a great group in one of my classes - myself, two buddies, and a married girl.

Winning combination, right? We work well together, and yesterday in a meeting we were all working hard and my married friend decided to make an announcement.

"Guys, tomorrow I'm getting implants," she boldly stated.

Now, a lot runs through your head when a friend tells you she's getting implants. My mind was convoluted with awkwardness. I sat there dumbly, as did my two buddies. Eye contact was forbidden.

She then laughed and said, "oh, well teeth implants."


A collective sigh left our chests. Relieved, but still speechless, we chuckled hesitantly. Teeth implants never resounded so well.

I thought some cute puppy pictures would be better than pictures of implants. 

Free Pen?

We all have days where we forget a writing utensil in class.

The other day, I had forgotten my pen and had stopped by the university bookstore to buy a few of my overpriced books.

While signing for my credit card, I had used one of the bookstore pens in a cup there at the counter. Now, having suffered through my entire day without a pen and then having access to a million of them was just plain overwhelming. I have a greater understanding of a starving person walking through a bakery.

How the pens are so scrumptiously displayed one would assume they're up for grabs. "Would it be OK if I take one of these pens?" I asked hesitantly.

The clerk stopped what she was doing, glanced down at the delicious cup of pens, and then said "Well it depends - some people do." 

My mind raced as I tried to determine if that was a yes or a no. The clerk had turned my question into an ethical dilema of agency and free choice.

While still keeping my eyes fixed on hers, I reach over the cup of pens and slowly pull one out - like a treasure hunter carefully picking up some gold from its ancient tomb. Eyes straightforward, I place the pen smartly into my pocket and back away slowly. 

Luckily no alarms went off. No security stop. The clerk didn't dive over the counter. They must have been free pens after all.

Laser Tag

Going to a place named the "Family Fun Center" can only mean fun, right?


Well my little sister decided to have her birthday party at the aforementioned location, and one of the key attractions is the laser tag.


Walking into the futuristic arena, your white shirt suddenly becomes a glowing beacon. Shoelaces glisten. Even your white teeth gives away your location in the black lights. 


I was playing with a couple of my friends, Kelsey and Shinji, and all of the kids decided that it wouldn't be fair to have my buddy and I on the same team. Shinji and I play sports together every day. Waging on who will get the highest score among each other, we stealthily enter into the gaming area and begin playing.


Out-of-body experience hardly describes my time in the arena. Diving, tagging kids from across the map, and dodging lasers filled the 5-minute window. 


After the match I triumphantly hung up my vest and gun, asking Shinji with a smirk what his score was. 


"1,000" Shinji reported proudly. Scoffing, I told him my score - a whopping 3,500. Discussing the match, we walk outside of the arena to look at the overall scoreboard. Kelsey follows us out quietly, hardly having broken a sweat.


She cutely inquires her score and tells us her number. My buddy and I both do a double-take - 27,000! 


That's seven times better than our scores combined. She modestly shrugs, mentioning her previous shooting experience and how we could use some practice. 


Last time I ever play laser tag with a girl.

These pictures illustrate perfectly the range of skill. Actual picture of Kelsey training for the laser tag match.

Buttons

So I'm going back to school and decided I need some new jeans. Naturally the first place I go is...Abercrombie.


I walk in and the music begins rupturing my ears. The cologne is being piped through the air ducts. Naked models stare at me, challenging me to try on a pair of ripped jeans.


Why I'm 23 years old and still shop at Abercrombie is because (a) my buddy works there, and (b) I like how the jeans fit. 


I find a pair a like, try it on quickly, and purchase it. 


Wearing the jeans later in the week, I go to put them on and realize they don't have a zipper. Instead they have three buttons. 


I realize how this must be trendy, sexier, etc. But nonetheless when I'm in a bathroom with a slew of other guys, myself struggling to unbutton my pants - I look like a nutcase. 


A future college grad battling with his pants in the bathroom is not the image I wish to portray. So next time you see me in my new jeans, just compliment them and know that I've been practicing in my spare time.