How I Mountain

Putting the Obessive & Compulsive in OCD

I'm not sure which part of my self-diagnosed case of OCDiva I like more.  The O, or the C?  It's a toxic mix for sure, especially when it comes to magic hair tools. 

I've battled my unwieldy mane from an early age and proudly wore some of the biggest hairstyles in high school during the late '80's and early '90's.  So big, in fact, that my hair did not fit into the frame during yearbook photos.  Nope.  Part of my bangs and some fluffy side parts actually extended outside the viewfinder when the photographer gave up trying to zoom out.

My styles are far less huge now than they were back in the day, but I'm always on the lookout for the next great styling utensil that will give me soft, smooth, silky, shiny, sassy, sexy locks like I see on TV.  Oh, and if it would make me thinner too, that would be awesome.  So imagine my excitement when a Groupon for the "Instyler: As Seen on TV" showed up in my inbox.

I'd never seen this magnificent tool before!  After a quick google search, I was smitten.  Bummer though, the answer to all my hair problems was a little $pendy.  So $pendy, that the Financial Planner's daughter couldn't pull the trigger.  And that's when Obsessive kicked in.  

Thoughts about how fabulous my hair would look consumed every waking moment.  Finally, late Sunday night, I couldn't stand it anymore - so I Compulsively clicked on the Groupon and completed my order.  Ahhh... relief.  I'd finally be able to sleep.

Until the confirmation email arrived a few minutes later and I realized that this fabulous tool wasn't what I had wanted at all!  The Groupon was for the 3/4" barrel, not the large 1 1/4" barrel I needed.

Crap.  Abort!  Abort!  I quickly canceled my order, but I didn't stop thinking about the Instyler.

So I headed into Bed Bath and Beyond the next day.  Sure, I was going to spend a little more than I did with the Groupon, but at this point, I was committed.   The last Instyler in stock leapt off the shelf and into my arms, and the best part was the price was reduced by $10 at checkout!  AND they accepted my expired coupon!  What's not to love?  Finally, I was on my way to hair bliss.

Except I wasn't.   My stomach sank as I carefully unpackaged my new toy...  Oops.  I did it again.  3/4" barrel!  Apparently I overlooked that part in all my enthusiasm.  Strike 2.

Determined to make the most of it, I worked hard to convince myself I could make due with the smaller size. I even entertained the idea that I'd try to return it if if didn't work out.  But then I broke it.  Not the whole Instyler, just a tiny piece of the forehead protector which snapped off as I removed it.  I tried to super glue it back together, but that didn't work.  Double crap.  Can you even return a used hair tool with a broken forehead protector?  I dunno for sure, but I kinda doubt it. 

After three mornings with the tiny Instyler, my good friend Obsessive came back and I knew the only way off this crazy-train was to get the bigger barrel.  So back to Bed Bath Beyond I went, with another expired coupon.

New stock hadn't arrived, so the sales clerk generously offered to order it in-store and have it shipped directly to my doorstep for free!  Sweet!  So I forked over my credit card for the third time to purchase what I was certain would solve all my hair drama.  The clerk assured me that she had ordered the large barrel.  I was home free!

Except I wasn't... yet again.  As I studied my receipt in the car, three little words caught my eye: "for short hair." 

A quick call to Bed Bath and Beyond's friendly 1-800 number confirmed what I feared was true.  NO. Way!  Ruth helped me cancel the order, and told me to return to store for a refund.

Back at the store for the 2nd time in 5 hours, I explained to a different clerk what I was looking for.  She walked to the display, scanned the barcode, read that there were FIVE in stock, and a small army of Bed Bath Beyonders mobilized to find my dream hair tool in the back. 

Apparently, fourth time is the charm. 

Anyone wanna buy a gently used 3/4" barrel Instyler with a mostly working forehead guard?  I'll cut you a deal!  And your hair will look AMAZING!

Happy Houseversary!

It was five years ago today when I first laid eyes on this castle.  I remember being astonished I could actually find a real estate agent who would work on a holiday.

The first thing I did when I pulled up to the curb was mentally hang flowering baskets around the patio.  The second thing... decorate for Christmas.  It didn't matter that the only resemblance of a "yard" was knee high weeds and dirt.  I had a vision.

I left the property and drove directly to Pizza Hut.  With the Agent.  To make an offer. 

Isn't that what most people do?!  No need to sleep on it.  Or tour 100 more homes.  Let's just cut to the chase...  When you're home, you know it!  Never mind the fact that the train chugged by every 20 minutes.  The neighbors eased my fears, reassuring me that Thomas was a once-a-year event.

When I got back to the valley that afternoon, with my future delicately hanging in the balance, I went directly to the local nursery and purchased 8 hanging flower baskets. I had a good feeling and wanted to be prepared.  I nursed them along for the next 7 weeks until it was time to take their place on the Best. Patio. Ever.

Bummer, though.  They didn't like the altitude.  Instead of the cascading bouquets I had envisioned... they just looked sick.  I chalked it up to the move, and vowed I would do better next summer.

So the next year, I planted my own baskets in late May.  Sadly, they failed to thrive.  My neighbors, however, did pick up on a good idea.  They purchased beautiful, full, flowering baskets from the local nursery, making mine look even more pathetic.  Funny... there were not any baskets in the neighborhood before I arrived.  But... whatever.  We're all friends here.

So finally, I got wise.  The third year, I took my baskets to the nursery in early April.  "Look, these are kind of a big deal.  We may or may not have a little neighborhood competition going on,"  I told the nursery owner.  So what if  I was the only one playing this patio flower game...

That Memorial Day I picked up THE most beautiful hanging flower baskets.  They blew my mind.  Cascading vines that flowered all summer. 

"Your flowers bring joy to the whole neighborhood!" one woman exclaimed on her evening walk.

"Oh geez!  I don't need that kind of pressure," I told her.

I took my baskets back again last year  They were nice, but not epic.  So this year, I thought I'd do it myself.  After all, I'm  DIY kind of girl.  And I had SO much luck with the flowers I grew in my laundry room last year.  Why wouldn't I grow own baskets in my laundry room?!

Because it's HARD!  That's why.

These little plants spouted in mid-March.  They were transplanted to their baskets in mid-April.  And today was their scheduled debut.  Only they missed the memo.

I know they're doing the best they can.  But they're supposed to be blossoming by now!  That's what the neighbor's  from the nursery are doing. 

Don't they understand we have a reputation to uphold?!  Don't they know we're responsible for the whole neighborhood's JOY!

Good thing the iris are holding down the fort.

Shoe Shopping

Let me preface this by saying that I HATE shopping!  In fact, "loathe" might be a better word for how I feel about wandering around looking for ways to part with my money.

I'm not a shopper.  I'm a purchaser.  I'll buy the first thing that meets the minimum requirements and get the hell outta dodge, so I can spend time on my patio, or riding my bike, or killing weeds.  Anything but shopping.

But recently, it came to my attention that it might be necessary to shop for a new pair of shoes.  Thing is, I'm not sure I want new shoes.  I like my old ones just fine.

They fit well, are super comfortable, and meet most of my needs - as far as shoes go.  They cover my feet, don't give me blisters, and look great with a variety of outfits!

But what if there is a shoe out there that's better, and I refuse to try it on?  That would be a shame.

So I went shoe shopping.  My sister insisted. 

Sister: You don't have to buy anything!  Just try it on!

Me: But I don't want to waste anyone's time.  Mine or the Salesman's.

Sister:  That's what they're there for!  Let them decide if you're wasting their time.

Me:  But I like my shoes..

Sister:  I know.  But it never hurts to keep your options open.  Maybe you'll find something you like.

Me:  <silence>

Sister:  If they hurt, don't buy them!  If they pinch your toes, don't buy them!  If they aren't the right color, don't buy them!  But you have to at least go shopping.

Me:  Yeah, ok.  Remind me of that later.

So I went shoe shopping.  I even tried some shoes on.  But I didn't buy anything.  I'm not sure I'm ready.  Shoes are a big commitment.  I don't know if I want them, or if I'll like them more than the shoes I have now.  It would be really hard to beat the shoes I'm wearing.

So, I'm just waiting... for what, I'm not sure.  But at least I went shopping.

Okay? Cupid

A friend talked me into reposting my online dating profile a few weeks ago.  He had only good things to say about okcupid.com and insisted it was time for me to throw myself back into the dating scene.

I'd pulled all my profiles last fall in a fit of frustration and subscribed to the theory, it'll happen when I stop looking.  So I stopped looking.  And I'm still waiting for it to happen.

Nonetheless, I downloaded the app, posted a few photos, and answered a few questions.  437 questions to be exact.  After all, nothing says I'm looking for love like answering the question "Suppose a close friend's partner is very attractive and thinks you're attractive, too.  If you could enjoy a few hours of sex with them and your friend would never find out about it, would you do it?"

Ummm...  wow.

After my initial OCDiva obsession with answering those silly questions - thinking I might win some contest or something, I've hardly interacted with the site. I haven't even posted a real profile... just depending on the 437 questions and a few photos to find my Prince Charming.  Yet, I still get the daily emails that "someone chose me"  or that "my matches are waiting."

But today's email topped all dating emails from all sites combined.  Ever.

Newsflash... you might want to sit down for this:  I'M HOT!

OkCupid said so.

Subject: You are HOT!!

Date: July 18, 2011

Dear how_i_mountain,

We just detected that you're now among the most attractive people on OkCupid.

We learned this from clicks to your profile and reactions to you in Quickmatch and Quiver.  Did you get a new haircut or something?  Well, it's working.

Oh, wow.  I feel so much better now!  Validated.  I actually didn't get a new haircut, but thank God a website has deemed me attractive.  While that's nice and all, the next line was the best.

You'll now see more attractive people in your match results.

WTF?!!  They were hiding all the cute guys from me?  I wasn't able to see the hot guys until I was deemed hot myself?  Really?!!  That's messed up on SO many levels.

Something is fundamentally flawed with this system.

So apparently I now have the golden ticket.  And hot guys will throw themselves at my cyber feet.  Ohhhkaaay, Cupid?

Maybe it's time to stop leaving things to chance and start looking again, now that I'm hot and all.

Let's Play a Little Game...

I think it will be fun!  At least it's entertained me for the last few hours. 

DISCLAIMER: I have no prizes.  You will not receive klout, or deodorant, or Aveda shampoo by participating in my little game.  But hopefully you'll play along for pure shits and giggles, because I need your help.  And it's funny, and odd, and kinda pathetic.

The game is called "Name That 2002 Olympic Hopeful."  And I'm taking a poll.  Is it me?  Or not me? 

Seriously, I can't decide.  Even my parents are split in the decision.  Which begs the question: HOW CAN A PARENT NOT RECOGNIZE THEIR OWN CHILD IN A PHOTO?!!  Or maybe a better question... how can someone see a photo and not know if THEY'RE IN IT?!!  Either way... kinda messed up.

So this story started about two weeks ago with a call from an unknown number.  If your name does not come up on my phone, you automatically get kicked to voicemail.  I got around to checking that message about a week after it was delivered.  And then I felt bad it had taken me so long to answer.

A woman from the US Olympic Committee was desperately trying to track me down.  The Olympic Training Center is redecorating, and she offered to send me a photo as they swapped old images for new.

My mind was flooded with memories of wearing winter parkas and snow pants on a 100 degree day at The University of Utah football stadium in the summer of 2001.  Roots was an official sponsor and parade uniform provider of the 2002 Olympic Games, and I was lucky enough to be chosen as a model.  From that shoot came my favorite photo of my bobsled career... the beret shot.  I became the face underneath that awful fleece beret, the must-have iconic souvenir of the Games.  So I assumed that's what she was sending me.

Today, this photo showed up on my doorstep.

Ummmm...  It's a hood, not a beret.  Black and white with tons of Photoshop?  Have I changed that much in 10 years?!  We did so many photo shoots, so may times... and they always fixed my hair and makeup so that I didn't recognize myself.  I haven't looked that way since those shoots.  I don't remember this particular photo at all.  Not even a little.  I'm not even sure it's me.  So I sent a text message of the photo to both my parents.

Me: Who the hell is this?

Dad: I have no idea.

Me: We agree it's not me?

Dad: yes

Mom: It's my beautiful daughter!

Me: Me and Dad don't think so.  90% sure

Mom: Those are so your lips.

Me: But not my eyes, nose or chin.

Mom: IT IS YOU!!!

Me: You're out-voted.  Me and Dad don't think so.

Dad: It's you.

Me: Don't let Mom talk you into it.

If it is indeed me, I'd be stoked.  It's a beautiful framed image that holds a lot of memories... if I could only remember them.  I'd hang it proudly near my Olympic torch and smile when I think about days filled with adrenaline and endorphins resulting from rocketing down tubes of ice.  If it's not me?  Welllll...  it might be weird and awkward to hang it up in my house.

Soooo?  What's your vote?  Here's a more recent photo to help with your decision.  Me?  Or not me?

EVO '11: My Blog is Like a Box Of Chocolates

So, I attended my first blog conference last weekend, hosted by The Canyons Resort, practically my favorite place on earth.  If you're hoping to read a recap of the awesome keynotes, or tips from the photography or SEO session, you'll need to go here.  Because I'm not going to talk about that stuff.

Instead, I want to share what I learned at lunch.  That's right, the highlight of my conference happened over an Asian chicken salad, courtesy of @blueviolet and event sponsor McDonalds.  Apparently, @blueviolet is a nut in a nutshell... who knew?!  Perfect, since I am, too!

I mentioned last week that I was as nervous as a six year old heading into first grade as I prepared to attend this conference in my backyard.  My social circle is small, and despite being comfortable in "social" media... I'm not as social as one might expect.  So this whole event was a bit overwhelming.  Meeting new people, getting out of my routine, and most importantly... explaining what I DO were all tasks that presented a bit of a challenge.

See, I don't blog for a living.  My nine-to-five is completely unrelated to why I attended the blog conference.  But the first thing everyone asks at a blog conference is "What do you do?" And everyone else seems to have the perfect answer.  @TipJunkie: "I write about craft DIY ideas."  And yes, there is even an app for that.  I can't imagine having my own app...  RAD!

When people asked me the same question, it was awkward, to say the least...  the silence was deafening in fact.  <cricket...  cricket...> 

Yes, what is it that I DO? 

My blog is not topical, like @mtnmamacooks.  I write about whatever the hell pops into my head.  Last week it was about spending time with my nieces.  Before that, a bike ride, or maybe bedazzling my wall.

I spent my nights last weekend tossing and turning in bed, trying to figure out what single topic I should concentrate on.  Clearly, I need to choose a path and run with it (or at least that's the message I received at the conference).  Soooo, what am I passionate about?  What do I love?  I spent hours trying to narrow it down, and failed miserably.  There's far too much out there for one ADDiva to limit herself to.

So, as I forced myself into an empty seat at an already occupied table during lunch, someone asked @blueviolet, "What do you write about?"  Her answer... "Whatever I want!"

And there was the light bulb.  She instantly made it ok to have a blog about anything and everything!

I'm pretty sure I did a double take.  "You do what?!"

And in our short exchange across the table that noon, I felt like she gave me permission to have a blog about nothing, and everything, and mountain fun, and family time, and bedazzling.  (Actually, it was @JennyOnTheSpot who gave me permission to write about bedazzling stuff, including myself.)

So for now, I'm not going to narrow my blog focus to any one subject.  Mostly, I talk about how much I love this outdoor recreation mecca where I live and the adventures I have here.  But sometimes, you might read about my latest crazy idea to bedazzle my vehicle.  (The blog post for that is in the works... stay tuned.) 

Consider yourself warned.  And thanks for stopping by without knowing what you're gonna get. Forrest Gump was right... It's like a box of chocolates... indeed!

Oops... I did it again

Except I didn't.

Since my faux pas almost a year ago when I found myself without an internet connection and cable TV as a result of my "oh-so-busy life" which didn't provide an opportunity to get my DirectTV bill paid in a timely manner, I've been neurotic.  An OCDiva of sorts.  (Imagine that!)

The moment a bill arrives in the mailbox these days, I log in to BillPay to point, click, and ship  the balance immediately.

So you can imagine my surprise when I came home from work to find this door-tag announcing that my water service (and who knows what else) had been DISCONNECTED. 

Yikes!!

Never mind the fact that I've paid the water bill on time.  Every time!  And then I paid extra... just because they asked.  I'm good like that.

"Here, Water Company.  Take my money!  I don't need it.  I've got extra this month.  Plenty, in fact.  You can have it.  You probably need it more than me, anyway."

They sent me a notice that I was behind.  But I wasn't.  So I ignored it, figuring my payment had just crossed their notice in the mail or something.  Then they sent me another notice that I owed $110.  So I paid them.  Again.  Despite the fact that I KNEW I was current. 

So I called the number on the door-tag.  Michelle answered after-hours.  When I told her my name, she said "Oh, yeah.  Your services were disconnected today."  

Indeed they were.

We eventually got it sorted out.  She admitted that they had changed my account number without warning, and was able to see my payments which had been credited to the previous account.

Me: Great!  So you can get my water turned back on tonight?!  I'm going to need a shower.

Michelle: Yes!  I gotta go!  Lemme call the guy before he's off for the night!

Me: I feel like I'm going to have a huge credit when this gets sorted out.

Michelle:  Yeah, you won't have to pay for a few months...

Me: Sweet.  And, what was your name again?  I'm writing this down...

72 Hours of Possibility

** Updated with items I've accomplished (mostly) by 11:00 am Monday crossed off!  GO ME!

There is nothing like a three-day weekend to lift my spirit.  The prospect of a short work-week and more time to play makes me giddy.  So as I sit here after 22 hours of work in the past two days, the idea of 72 hours of ME time is almost overwhelming.

I know Memorial Day unofficially marks the beginning of summer - typically filled with BBQs and patio-lounging.  Never mind the fact that it's raining right now, or that we're on track to achieve the wettest May in history, or that temps won't exceed 60 degrees during the next few days...  At this point I'd be happy just to see a little sunshine.

While my mind reels with possibilities and fights to find focus about how to spend my time this weekend, I decided I had better make a list, in true ADDiva fashion.  I learned a long time ago, things make much more sense when a bullet precedes them.

So, without further ado, here's a list of things I may or may not accomplish this holiday weekend:

• mow the lawn (completed just moments before a giant wind storm and torrential down-pour)
• sleep in
• fix Poky's chicken-coop enclosure
• pick up cascading flower baskets from the nursery (it's snowing and 48 degrees.  Gonna leave them safe in the greenhouse for now.)
• spray the weeds
• plant shrubs
• rake back flower bed
• give away computer desk
• finish applying leaf decals to tree on wall
• fold basket of laundry that has been sitting there for 4 weeks
• wash/dry/fold this week's laundry (even washed the comforter and pillow shams!)
• find dry single-track (there is no dry single-track.  It snowed last night.)
• Smile, wave and cheer for Thomas the Train as he chugs by every 20 minutes
• Throw rocks at Thomas Monday afternoon, annoyed by the sound of his tweeting horn every 20 minutes
• Wash snowboard clothes
• Plant the 180 remaining seedlings still living in the laundry room (too cold)
• Hang the outdoor patio shade to avoid baking in the sun during dinner outside
• Go to bed early
• Stay up late (10:15 counts as late, right?)
• Use the edger
• Plant the big flower pots
• Sit on the patio (x3)
  
• Grocery shop
• Pack for my trip next weekend
• Give Poky a bath
• Make a bouquet from last crop of spring tulips
• Put my paint mess away
• Clean up the spray-paint mess in the basement (mostly)
• Pay bills
• Get a pedicure
• Unload dishwasher
• Bedazzle the FJ
• Swap clothes in closet for appropriate season
• Take photos
• Facetime with my nieces
• Enjoy a beer with the neighbor
• Watch my two week old Netflix movie

All these things need to get done.  But clearly, they won't all get done this weekend.  What I want to do... what makes the most sense right now... is to take the Napoleon Dynamite approach:  I'll do whatever I want, GOSH!

Maybe I'll rake, maybe I won't.  And if it doesn't get done, it won't be the end of the world.  There's always next weekend, even if it is only 48 hours long.

Happy holiday weekend!!  Hope you spend it doing exactly what you want.

No Bedazzling Required

If you've stopped by here before, you probably know that I bedazzle stuff.  It doesn't matter what the item is, I'm likely to glue some rhinestones to it, affix some daisy decals, or somehow alter the appearance to give it some personality and make it sparkle. 

Sometimes, my creations are a bit over-the-top... like the leather handlebar tassels and pink bling crammed into every allen wrench hole on my mountain bike.

But all this bedazzling takes time.  I'm a busy girl and sometimes I just can't spend an entire evening gluing tiny gems to a helmet.  And it can be expen$ive - especially when I use the Swarovski crystals.

So I love, LOVE, LOOOOVE it when I find a product that comes perfectly pre-bedazzled.  It doesn't happen often.  But thanks to TOMS shoes, now all I have to do is click my heels together and I'm likely to end up in Kansas or something.

I hadn't heard about TOMS until last Christmas when my sister asked me about giving gift certificates to our parents.  Not sure where I'd been, but TOMS wasn't on my radar at all.  And I'll be honest, when I saw a pair for the first time, I was like...  ummm, what's all the fuss about? 

But then I browsed the website, read the blog, followed the story, and fell in deep like with this awesome company.

See, TOMS is about more than making money and selling shoes.  They're about giving back.  For each pair of sparkly, pretty, fun, glittery, pre-dazzled pair of shoes I buy, they'll donate a pair to a child in need.  Just like that.  One for one.  No questions asked.

I wish there were more companies like TOMS.  More stores where I could buy the things I need and not have to go to all the trouble of bedazzling it myself.  Oh, and the giving part...  more One for ones.  That would be awesome, too.

My Mitt is Broken

We've all done it, right?  ...Just say yes, so I don't feel like I'm the only one in the world still making this mistake.

We've all answered the phone, committed to do something, hung up, and immediately regretted what we just committed to.

I had just such a moment tonight.

My coworker called an invited me to play on his softball team.  "We need a girl," he said.

"Yes, but I'm a horrible at softball," I told him. 

It's no lie.  The last time I was on a team I was wearing one of the teal shirts pictured here.  I won't tell you which one I was, out of pure shame over my haircut...  but I'm fine admitting I was gangly and awkward,  and my mitt had a hole in it.  Broken.  It refused to catch anything, let alone a pop fly to right field.

It's true.  My mitt didn't work, and my parents refused to buy me a new one.  Yes, those parents... the cute, sweet, doting parents who recently texted me the photo of Mom standing on the coffee table so I could love her socks...  They refused to buy me a mitt that would actually catch balls.

My coworker said he didn't care... that it was about having fun, not the win-loss record, and the more, the merrier.  But I warned him again...  "No, like... I mean, I'm really awful."

He was persuasive and I ultimately relented.  And then I immediately got excited about the new gear I'll need to purchase. 

"Ok, I'll play.  I'm in!" I told him.  "But I'm going to get a pink mitt.  And I only wear skorts, no shorts.  Are you ok if I wear a skort?"

But even the skort didn't deter him from adding me to the roster.  He can't say I didn't warn him.

Now I just need to find a pink mitt.  One that actually works.  And I'll probably need to glue some rhinestones to it, too.  Cuz I bedazzle stuff.  It's just what I do.

Our first game is next Wednesday.  Please, send me all the pop-fly-catching vibes you can muster.