Chick-Fil-A and I Might Be Breaking Up

There was a time in my life when I didn’t quite understand the obsession with Chick-Fil-A. However, I have now been converted and can proudly say I am a 'once-a-weeker".

Reasons why I didn’t like Chick-Fil-A:

1. I ordered weird things – like the grilled chicken cool wrap (‘cool wrap’ should have been my first clue)
2. I ordered weird things the second time I went

Why I was converted to Chick-Fil-A:

1. I stopped pretending that by ordering a wrap, it was healthy
2. My friend introduced me to the Cookies & Cream Milkshake
3. I tried the chicken nuggets
4. I tried the chicken nuggets with Chick-Fil-A sauce

Why I now have an obsession with Chick-Fil-A:

1. Chick-Fil-A sauce
2. They remember that Heidi and I like our Diet Coke large and with a lemon
3. The staff is always pleasant and friendly and everything is ‘their pleasure’
4. Waffle fries

I have been converted now for about 6 months and have yet to be disappointed. I should have known that such a good thing couldn’t last forever and that every time I went couldn’t possibly be enjoyable. However, I never thought that. Well today my streak of ‘you can never go wrong with Chick-Fil-A’ ended.

There are 9 Chick-Fil-A restaurants currently in the Salt Lake Valley, and not one of them is near where I work. You would think this would deter me from visiting, but this doesn’t stop me—I’m devoted.

Today I convinced my co-worker that Chick-Fil-A was the perfect mid-week pick-me-up lunch we needed, instead of the Mexican food she was craving. So off we went. We made it there in record time: 15 minutes. We decided we would be dining in today as to enjoy our ‘off campus’ lunch as much as possible. We walk in and it is busy as usual but not overly crowded. We make our way to the counter  where the pleasant man (or so I thought he was going to be pleasant) said "I can help the next guest." So up I stepped. I said "Hi i would like...."

He abruptly put his finger up and said, "Wait!!! Is this to stay or to go?"

Whoa, he kinda caught me off guard with the abrupt finger throw, "Uh to stay, and I would like..."

"Stop! Now, I can see you are in a hurry but I am going to need you to calm down, just calm down, everything is ok. Now, what is your name?"(At this point he throws both of his hands up in a circle motion and then out straight like an imaginary stop sign.)

"Um, Heather."

"Alright, Heather, now that we are calm what can I get for you?" (wow thank you for the permission to FINALLY order)

I place my order and pay and turn to walk over to grab a straw and napkins (which I thought since I had already ordered was the appropriate time to do such tasks) well, that was a big  mistake.

"Heather! You need to get your drink first."

At this point, in my mind I’m thinking, ‘Listen buddy!! Say my name one more time... just  put my drink on the tray and step away.’

Now I know you must be thinking: ‘I don’t really understand how this ruined the Chick-Fil-A experience for the day.’ Well, let me tell you. This man left me frazzled and who can eat delicious food and truly enjoy it when they are frazzled, not this girl. So even though the food was great, and the company was delightful, I didn't enjoy it like I had intended and that is how my Chick-Fil-A experience for the day was ruined.

It has now been almost 24 hours and I’m feeling very much like Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail when she says, “What happens to me when I'm provoked is that I get tongue-tied and my mind goes blank. Then I spend all night tossing and turning trying to figure out what I should have said. Nothing. Even now, days later, I can't figure it out."

And that is how it ends, I didn't have anything clever to say when it happened and even now, I can’t figure it out.

Confessions of the Shopaholic

I’m addicted to clothes shopping. 

All it takes is for one little email telling me about an awesome sale and I start hitting the websites and checking out what clothes are available. My lunch break is spent at the mall across the street, but at least I spend the majority of my time in the sale/clearance section.

Basically, it's just like the movie, except that I can actually get rid of my clothes and my boss looks nothing like Hugh Dancy. (Kind of wish that someone like Hugh Dancy would show up in my life... but that's a blog post for another time).  

I blame my youth for my adult addiction. 

I was never a snazzy dresser. In fact, I wore a lot of hand-me-downs. I don’t blame my mother. I blame the 7 kids that came before me. They left little money over for my clothes shopping. (Although I can’t complain too much... they all had hand-me-downs as well. In fact, they have the school pictures to prove it. The same shirt is on three different brothers with a 14 year difference between the oldest wearing it and the youngest.) 

I also was a tomboy. I blame the six older brothers and if I wanted to “fit in”, I couldn’t be wearing fashionable clothes to play football or basketball. (Not that my mother would want me to shop anywhere. Usually we only went to TJ Maxx and Ross.) 

So again, I’ll reiterate—I had no fashion sense. I didn’t know how to dress myself or what looked good. A polo shirt and jeans were staples for me. 

Even on my mission, my mother sent me an AWFUL dress that I never wore. Another set of sisters saw it and it became a joke. And while I laughed about it with them, inside I felt awful. I wore frumpy, ugly clothes. I felt like Toula in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I was Frump Girl. 

During that time on my mission, I discovered H&M (which is WAY better in Europe than in the United States) and started wearing trendy but nice clothes. I started to figure out what colors and styles look good on me. 

And now, I’m starting to branch out even more. My goals are always to 1) Find new colors. 2) Look for texture or designs. 3) Colorblock (heaven help us... I usually have to take a picture and send a text to Heidi for approval before actually purchasing/wearing the outfit). 

My sisters-in-law have started to comment about how good I look, etc. And it makes me feel good. So then I go shopping again, assured that I’m picking good styles but I’m also dressing well for my body type. 

I’m currently trying to curb my spending habits. Especially since my landlord has commented to his wife that she and I should go shopping together since we are both constantly ordering clothes online. When your neighbors are noticing how many packages you get from clothing stores, it’s probably best that you stop shopping. 

But maybe I’ll just have to wait until AFTER Memorial Day. I mean... I do need some more summer clothes.

Thrifting—I Wish I Knew What I Was Doing!

My mom is one of the most creative and talented people I know. She can take one look at a picture in a magazine of a $400 dress and make it for $40. She can walk into someone’s house and immediately pick paint and new carpet that makes their house feel like it has had a major facelift or scour a thrift store’s shelves and see someone else’s junk and turn it into a work of art.

But I wasn’t blest with that talent.

Last Saturday, my friend Jessie and I decided that we would do a little consignment/thrift store shopping. I walked in to the first store and immediately started doing some positive self-talk: “there has to be something in here I need/ can turn into a masterpiece”.

Immediately, I turn away from the clothes. They are off limits for me while Heather and her rule of “only shopping name brand at thrift stores” seems to always reap results. I never come away with anything good even though I try really hard.

For this reason, I began my hunt in the home good section. Once again, the self talk: “mom always finds amazing crystal in these places let’s start there”. I started looking through the shelves and soon discovered that someone’s entire collection of state mugs had been donated to the shelves. “This has to be my treasure.” I picked up a few of them thinking they were cute and for some reason settled on a small souvenir mug from North Carolina. “This will be a great gift for my friend I am going to visit in Charlotte in a week,” I confirmed to myself.

I quickly moved on to the “higher end” items in the cases. There were a bunch of random items in the nicely cleaned glass. I kept trying to convince myself that I needed something. Suddenly, my surroundings didn’t smell quite right: ah dang it, that stupid $0.25 mug was getting some brown looking crap all over my hands. I quickly abandoned what I thought was my perfect item and turned around in boredom to discover the most amazing set of lamps.

You know those things were worth a pretty penny in the early 90’s.

What in the world?!

Of course, I snapped a picture and sent it to a few friends. I tried to convince myself that maybe with new shades the set of 4 lamps were a good deal at $135.

It only took me 2 seconds to realize that those things are terrible even with new shades. Then again if you owned one of these, those 4 carved pieces could be the perfect fit.

And so I walked out of the thrift store with absolutely nothing to show for my time spent there. And maybe with a hint of jealousy that other people always seem to have success. Turns out that I am still the girl that prefers having a garage sale over attending them.

Help! What are your thrifting tips for a newbie like me?

I Hate Running, So Why Do I Do It?

All I could think about on Tuesday as I ran 3.5 miles (the farthest I’ve ever run) was “I hate running.”

It’s true.

My back hurts (probably because I have bad form).

I sweat. It usually drips off of my neck and my forehead and I don’t have a way to catch it. Sure, I could wear a sweatband around my forehead, but we are not in the 80s, People!

I spend money on shoes once a year. Nice shoes so that I don’t get shin splints. Shoes that are made for running and are not always the most aesthetically pleasing to the eye.

Shin splints. Enough said. WORST THING EVER!

I have to spend money on clothes for which the sole purpose will be to sweat profuse amounts of toxins on them. And still attempt to look cute while doing it.

I never look cute. I’m running. It’s always a disaster.

So, why do I keep running? Why do I sign up for a 10K only in the 2nd week of training start questioning my decision to run a race?

First off, I’ve lost a decent amount of weight from running. Like... 30 of those LBS. Yeah. That right there—makes it worth it. So I continue to run.

Two—endorphins. There is a serious high that I have when my ipod tells me “Congratulations, you have completed 3.5 miles.” Say what?! It doesn’t matter how long it took, I completed something. And for the girl who has goals that I never seem to reach, that completion means the world.

Alone time. I know. I’m single. I already have plenty of alone time. But running gives me that chance to sort out thoughts in my head. The problems I have can either be motivating (as in I’m pretending I’m running away from them) or minimized (because I think, “that little problem there? Nothing compared to the fact that I can’t breathe right now!”). I think more clearly while on a run. I’m more rational. And what girl doesn’t need to be more rational?

Yes, I curse and complain and whine the ENTIRE time I’m running. In fact, some people who see me may think I’m crazy. But I keep running. Because I’d rather be a sane, skinny, happy girl than a fat couch potato.

So, are you with me?

Second Stall Snob

From Heather:

For the last few weeks I've been really trying to drink the recommended 64-72 oz of water a day. This leads to frequent visits to the ladies’ room. 

In the women's restroom at work, there are three stalls. I read a study once that the least used stall is the first one, ever since then I use the first stall which leaves two stalls available. . . well really, it only leaves one stall available: the third one. The second stall is to be left vacant to be used as a buffer.  

If someone does use the second stall, all of the sudden my moment of quiet turns into an anxiety attack. I try not to look at her shoes. Once I see her shoes, I can’t help it, I subconsciously try to guess who she is from her shoes. Then I turn into the bathroom timekeeper and think ‘wow that was fast’ or ‘whoa wonder what she had for dinner last night, whatever it was it can’t be good’.  Then, as I’m timing her I think ‘okay, do I have time to wash my hands and get out before she does, or should I dink around in here until I hear the bathroom door close on her way out.’ All of this because someone doesn’t know the proper etiquette of using the second stall.

It seems to me that this should be common knowledge:  if someone is in the first stall use the third, if someone is in the third use the first. It is rare occasion at my place of employment that all three stalls are occupied at the same time.  If, by chance, both the first and third stalls are being used—wait.  By entering the second stall, you just told your toilet neighbors ‘oh hey girl, I know that you are in there doing your business but I have no regard for the bathroom buffer.’ Um, not okay.

Now, back to my real life. So last Thursday I went to the restroom—pleasant surprise—no one was occupying the first or third stall. So I took the first. I hear the bathroom door open and footsteps moving across the tile floor. Then I see her feet, but she doesn’t just keep on walking to the third stall, she goes into the second! Right next to me! No, no, no. I ever so slowly move my feet away from her, afraid that if she sees my shoes she might guess it’s me in here. I’m feeling uncomfortable so I do what I need to do and get out. As I’m washing my hands, I hear her toilet flush. I really start to hurry now, I don’t want her to come out and have that awkward moment, ‘oh hey did you just pee? Ya, so did I.’ Phew, I made it out of there before she came out of the stall.

Immediately, I text my friend and tell her how this girl came in and broke bathroom protocol. She came in the second stall!!! We decided this must just be a rookie mistake. Unfortunately, (not sure if for me or for her) while she was sitting on the toilet in her stall and me sitting on the toilet in my stall, I saw her shoes. I knew who she was and I couldn’t help but judge her. Then I thought ‘give her the benefit of the doubt, maybe she had to go so bad she had to go to the closest stall.’ This is the only reason to use the second stall when someone is in the first.

That was my second mistake. First was looking at her shoes, second giving her the benefit of the doubt.

So today there I am, again, in the first stall. Second and third stalls both unoccupied. I hear the bathroom door open, and footsteps move across the tile floor. I see her feet walk in front of my door and then right on into the second stall!! Wait, what?!? Girl, you be kidding me?  She had on different shoes today but I knew it was her—the rookie.  

Once again I rush and finish my business. I wash my hands and am out of there before she is out of the stall. I text my friend and tell her that the rookie is no rookie after all. She is a second stall snob.

What am I going to do about this? I’ll tell you. I’m going to take an ‘out of order’ sign with me to the bathroom from now on.

PS after telling my friend about these incidents she sent me this video, he seems to feel about like I do on the matter, but reacts much better than I do.