You are obnoxious, and I hate you.

The other night, I attended a piano concert at BYU. It was sort of pop-y, new-age, religious-y piano music--not classical. Still, I expected the people in the theater to listen, quietly when the pianist was performing. Many people did just that. Most people were polite, well-mannered, considerate of those around them. But not the girl sitting two people to my left. (We'll call her 'TAG' for Totally Annoying Girl.) TAG spent the concert chewing gum, cuddling with her boyfriend, telling her boyfriend which songs she especially liked, laughing out loud when her boyfriend tickled her, explaining the performer's jokes as if someone nearby could not understand them, and (the worst transgression of all) singing along when an arrangement of a song with lyrics was played. No one else was singing along. The pianist on stage wasn't even singing along--it was an instrumental concert. But TAG made sure that everyone around her knew that she knew all the words to "Fools Rush In" and "With or without You." I also knew all the words to those songs (who doesn't?), and I didn't need TAG to remind me of them.

Overall the concert was quite nice, but there were moments when I wanted to take my shoe off and throw it at TAG. It was fortunate for her that her boyfriend (who apparently has no taste in girls) was sitting between us, because had she been sitting directly next to me, I probably would have accidentally stepped on her foot or elbowed her in the face.

I have *three theories about obnoxious theater-goers like TAG:

Rudeness Theory #1: They don't realize they are in public. So they act as if they are at home and are welcome to talk and move and make as much noise as they would like. This is troubling because adults should be aware of when they are at home and when they are in public. Those who cannot tell the difference, should probably see a therapist.

Rudeness Theory #2: They are jerks and don't care whether the people around them enjoy the concert. The most important thing to them is that they personally are allowed to act however they please. These people are incredibly selfish, and their close friends and family should take the time to kick them in the pants once in a while.

Rudeness Theory #3: They think they are entertaining. They think that everyone else actually wants to hear them sing along. These people are delusional and should probably also be put into immediate therapy before they do something to make someone else hurt them.

Really, I think that everyone everyone should work on being quieter, kinder, and more considerate of people around them in the theater. If not, cases of violent 'theater rage' may soon rise.

*There is also a slight possibility that some people are just oblivious to concert (and theater) etiquette. But the chances are so remote that someone could reach college and just not know that you're supposed to be quiet when someone else is up on stage performing, that I cannot elevate this idea to the status of a 'theory.' My use of the very smallest font here, should also indicate the slightness of this possible explanation.

My awesomeness with my car

Late Thursday afternoon, I got out of class and discovered that I had left my car lights on. (This happens occasionally because my car is old, and it doesn't always beep to remind me to turn the lights off when I get out.) I hoped that since I had only been gone an hour and a half the car would still start.

No luck.

So I set out in search of a rescue team.

I tried calling my brother who lives near campus to come jump my car, but he never answers his phone. Then I sat in my car and tried to think of anyone else I knew who lived in Provo and had a car and would be available to come help me: I know no one who fits these qualifications.

So I stood outside--in the snowy cold near-darkness--and waited for some other student to return to their car. And I learned that there is little activity in graduate student parking lot on Thursdays after 4:30. The people that I did see returning to their cars were so far away from me that even if I had sprinted to meet them, they would have been gone by the time I arrived.

Eventually, a male student-type-person came walking toward my section of the parking lot. He was holding keys, so I figured he was going to an actual vehicle and not just passing through. I stopped him, asked if he by chance had jumper cables and could help, and he kindly agreed. Three minutes later I was on my way home.

Saturday morning--like two days later--I went out to my car to go to my cousin's house. I turned the key in the ignition and found that my car was dead. Completely dead. I looked down and noticed that I had left my lights on . . . again.

Fortunately, my dad was home. I told him my car needed to be jumped.

He said, "Wait, didn't your battery just die a few days ago?"

"Yes."

"You really should get that checked. It sounds like your battery has a problem."

"No, dad, it's me. The car battery is fine. It's that car driver that has problems."

It's Official

The bad date blog is up and running--at least tentatively. I'll see how it goes for the next few weeks. If lots of people want to share bad stories, the blog will continue. If no one's really interested--like interested enough to submit stories, the blog will die. So, send me good stuff when you have the time (which I realize may be difficult to find).

To view the bad date blog, go to passtheicecream.blogspot.com

And tell your friends. Seriously.

Bad Date Blog

My brothers, friends, and others, have convinced me to start a bad date blog, a place for people to share all their awkward dating moments. I don't know why I have been chosen to be the blog administrator--maybe because I'm like the only person among my friends and family who is still experiencing bad dates (everyone else is married), or maybe because nearly all of my dates have been bad. Anyway, I would like to invite you all to contribute bad, awkward, embarrassing date stories. It may take awhile to think of them if you're married now, but once you start, all those awful and ridiculous memories will just come flooding back--perhaps to your dismay. Consider your first date; think about times when you were trying to ask someone out or someone else was trying to ask you out; prom, anyone?; break-ups could also be great fun (in a twisted way).

The bad date blog is not up and running yet, because I need content before it launches. But it should be up in a few weeks. I'll let you know. Loads of fun and entertainment.

Send your bad date stories to the bad date blog email address passtheicecream@gmail.com

*Two quick rules of the bad date blog: 1) send firsthand accounts only and 2) change the names of everyone in your story--we're all about anonymity.

Oh, and don't worry, this does not mean the end of lindaposts--I am perfectly capable of maintaining two blogs--for now.

A little kitchen tip: The sharpest knife is not always the best knife

Typically, sharp knives are safer (because they're less likely to slip) and easier to use than dull knives. However, sharpness is not the only factor to consider when selecting a knife. For instance, most people know that a chef's knife (that really big one with the wide, straight edge) is not the best knife to use on a tomato because the weight of the knife will crush the delicate tomato before the straight blade even penetrates the skin. For tomatoes, a small, serrated knife (like a utility knife, or even a steak knife) is a much better choice. The serrated edge can cut through the tomato skin without crushing the tomato, and the smaller knife is lighter, so it also is less likely to crush the tomato. So even if the chef's knife is sharper, the small serrated knife may be a better choice for the job.

On Sunday, I needed to cut up some potatoes. My favorite chef's knife was dirty, as was my favorite utility knife. And my second favorite. My Cutco options were a cake knife--too thin, too short--or a bread knife--no leverage. I chose the bread knife (long, thin, serrated blade). The leverage (or lack of leverage) with the bread knife made it difficult to push through the thickness of the potatoes, and the serration didn't really help because the potatoes texture doesn't require sawing. After struggling through three or four potatoes with my inadequate knife, I decided what I really needed was a heavy, straight blade. I considered getting an old, dull chef's knife from the pantry. But I was too lazy to change knives, and I assumed (for the millionth time) that sharper is always better. I continued telling myself this until my very sharp serrated blade slipped out of the potato and sliced my thumb.

After applying some antiseptic and a bandaid to my wound, I switched knives. The old, dull chef's knife was significantly easier to use because the weight and leverage of the knife were much better suited for slicing through the density of the potatoes.

So once again, I learned a lesson I already knew but failed to follow. Maybe next time I'll listen to that little voice telling me to switch knives, or better yet, I'll choose the correct knife in the first place.

Curse that printer

I would like to take a moment to complain about printers. Printers are lovely and wonderful devices when they work. But sometimes they have problems which make me want to pull my hair out.

1. Our really old HP printer--the faithful standby--has been leaking ink. So my parents decided to get rid of it. It's in the garage right now waiting to go to the proper place of disposal.

2. The all-in-one Lexmark printer/scanner/copier, which came free with my laptop just last year, and which guzzles the most expensive ink cartridges on the planet at an alarming rate, stopped working, for no apparent reason, last month. No one has been able to fix it. Now it's just a decoration.

3. The wireless HP all-in-one photo printer that my parents got for Christmas and just set up last week, will no longer recognize print jobs from my laptop. I printed on this printer just a few days ago. But today, I cannot print. Both the printer and my computer say that they are connected and everything should work just fine. But I have three print jobs in my queue which say otherwise.

4. Because I need to print out a homework assignment for Monday, and the other 3 printers in the house are useless to me, my dad just set up a fourth printer. This is another HP which came free with my brother's laptop last January. It hasn't been used yet because no one has needed it. I'm hooked up to it right now and my computer has been installing the drivers for the last twenty minutes.

I think the main problem with all of these printers is that they were free. The Lexmark and the later two HPs all came free with laptops my family purchased in the past year or so. The first printer, the leaky HP, is a hand-me-down from one of my mom's friends. The friend had purchased a new printer and no longer needed the old one. We took that printer several years ago to replace a printer that came free with my parents' PC (which is very old now and on the verge of death). That particular free printer was just awful from the start so my parents gave it to my newlywed sister and her husband who used it about once before they decided it wasn't worth the trouble, and they bought a new printer anyway.

The moral of the story: don't use free printers--they're just not worth the price. (Better yet, let's just give up printing and avoid the hair-pulling-out experiences altogether.)

My awesomeness on the first day of school

So today was the first day of my second semester of graduate school. Last semester was really really hard, and that was partly my own fault for not being as dedicated and motivated and hard-working as I should have been. This semester I vowed I would do better. I would come to class every day prepared and on time--which is why I was fifteen minutes late for my first class today and didn't even have a notebook with me. Or my textbook. Or, really, anything.

The story goes like this:

I've been sick all break, and I'm still recovering, so I slept in until a little after 9 this morning. I didn't have class until 11, so I figured I had plenty of time. I sat around for awhile watching my nieces dance and talking to my sister.

Eventually I took a shower.

By the time I got out, it was after 10. Then I showed my brother-in-law some stuff on my laptop since he wanted to use it while I was gone to class.

Then I did my hair and my make-up. 10:20. Time to be out the door (it's a 20 minute drive from my house to campus). I looked around my room for notebooks or paper or something to take to class to write on, but all I could find was a small yellow journal I got for Christmas. I threw it in my bag with my wallet. I looked for some breakfast, and I was fortunate enough to find a banana I could eat on the way. 10:30. I was out the door and off down the snowy streets of Orem.

I got to campus and drove around for awhile looking for a parking space (apparently a lot of people come the first day). Finally, I found a student walking to his car and stalked him to his parking space. I was really lucky to get it, too, because about ten other cars had just given up on that row of parking stalls before I got there.

Once parked and out of the car, I checked my schedule to find out where my class was, and here I made my fatal mistake: I assumed that my class (like all of my previous classes) was in the JFSB, so I only checked the room number, 1107. I thought it was a little weird that the classroom was on the first floor of the JFSB when most classes are in the basement, but whatever.

When I got to the JFSB, I wandered up and down the halls of the first floor looking for room 1107. But the numbers kept skipping, and there was a long row of windows where 1107 should have been. I found a map of the first floor next to the restrooms. I located 1107 on the map, but when I went down the hall, I still couldn't find it. Back at the map, I decided that 1107 had to be inside suite 1100, which was actually a set of classrooms and offices. Suite 1100 was the Family Life Sciences lab, so it really didn't make any sense. I decided to give it a try anyway--it was already 11:10. I entered the Family Life Sciences lab, walked down the hall, and found the missing rooms 1103, 1105, and, at last, 1107--which turned out to be a restroom.

At this point I decided to check my schedule again. I discovered that my class was indeed in 1107, but not in the JFSB, instead it was in the JKB (formerly the JKHB), next door.

I felt like such a freshman, misreading my schedule and going to the wrong building--although while I was in the JFSB I did assist another person in finding their classroom, so daily service points, I guess the trip wasn't a total bust--still, I've been going to that school for how many years now, I pull a stunt like that?

Needless to say, I was very late. I entered class in the middle of introductions--that obnoxious part where everyone says where they're from and what their major is--and had to stumble over everyone else's stuff to get down the aisle to my seat. One guy actually had to move his baby out of the way for me. It was fun.

At the end of class, we were supposed to turn in a sheet of paper with a bunch of lame information about ourselves like hobbies and career plans. I wrote down my information in the yellow journal I had brought because it was the only paper I had, but since it wasn't spiral-bound, and the paper was actually meant to stay in the journal, I had a very difficult time tearing it out. I considered begging a sheet of traditional, lined notebook paper off one of my classmates, but I thought they might all be annoyed with me since I was so late and I trampled all over their stuff to get to my seat and then I sniffled and coughed through class because I'm still a little sick. I turned in my sad, ripped, unlined, half-size sheet of journal paper and left.

My second class was immediately after my first class, and it was in the basement of the JFSB, and I was on time. But then the professor gave us a pre-test. It was specified on the test that it was alright if we didn't know any of the answers. I didn't know any of the answers.

I listened to the pencils and pens of everyone around me writing. Quickly. And occasionally I dared to glance sidways at my neighbors' papers just to see how much they actually knew. They knew a lot. Their papers were filled with potentially intelligent answers; my paper had my name on it. I stared at my paper until the professor said we could leave when we were finished. I left. I was the first. Other people kept writing.

So another semester, another good start. Looking forward to the awesome days ahead.