Suspended driving privileges

My supervisor came into my office this morning and said she had received a letter about me. So many thoughts ran through my mind as to what the letter could be concerning, but I was not prepared for the answer. "Shelley, the letter states that your license is invalid and as such you are not allowed to drive the company vehicle nor are you allowed to drive your personal vehicle for official work purposes until the matter is cleared. In addition, a letter from the Driver License Division (DLD) must be sent to HR stating that the license has been re-instated" I pulled out my license, and sure enough, it had expired a week ago.
Off I went to the local DLD office. As I pulled into the parking lot, I knew I wouldn't make it back to the office for a long time. The parking lot was full and I barely escaped a couple of collisions while trying to find a parking spot. I entered the building and I laughed...out loud. People stopped and stared at me. I assume they did this to everyone who walked in as their way of saying "Welcome to your life for the next 5 hours. Don't you wish you had a friend you could cut in line with?" I filled out the appropriate form for a license renewal and waited to be given a number. After about 25 minutes of listening to a mother and daughter argue in Spanish(I know enough Spanish to understand they were not happy with one another) and feeling claustrophobic for the 1st time in my life, I drove to another DLD office. A guy left at the same time I did and I felt as if we were racing each other. He was in the lead until he went straight instead of turning left onto 7th E which allowed me to get a number long before he arrived. Victory.
I had number 34 and the next number called was 9. An older man next to me gave a little cheer each time we got closer to my number. The husband and wife on the other side complained about the wait while I sat patiently because I knew the line was longer at the 1st office I went to. People came and went and it was now my turn. Panic hit. Immediately I thought: Oh no, I only have one form of ID. Please don't ask for another form of ID or else I'm going to have to try using my Costco card. Ed B. was very helpful and I knew I'd be fine as soon as he asked which part of Idaho I am from. He was so excited when I told him Blackfoot as he proceeded to talk about potatoes and how much he loved driving from Pocatello to Idaho Falls. Then he noticed my mom's maiden name is Bingham and he was even more excited because his last name is Bingham. Renewing my license was much more enjoyable at this point. I had my picture taken and refused to sign my name again. "Ed, I'm left handed and when I write my signature, my hand smears what I write so I'd rather not try again."
Three hours and at least three hundred less brain cells later, I had my temporary license.

In need of a one-way ticket to Heaven

My nephew Syden has been obsessed with finding a husband for me and he will suggest guys I should marry. For some reason, the guys he picks either have a mullet, are missing most of their teeth, or are unemployed. On a good day, the guy fits all of the above descriptions. This is the most recent conversation he had with his mom:

"Mom, remind me why Shae isn't married."

"Well, she hasn't found the right person. You have to have a boyfriend and then you get married."

"Oh. Next time you talk to Shae tell her that her husband died. When she gets to heaven she needs to find him so she can get married."

Bless you Syden. Why I'm not married is no longer a mystery.

Twenty-ten

I turned 30 on Thursday the 21st of February. So many thoughts on turning 30, but I'll save that for another post. I believe that birthday celebrations should last at least one week. This year was no exception. Here are some of the highlights:

Weekend with the family in Idaho doing nothing but relaxing and becoming a climbing wall for Syden and Avry Shae.

Dinner at Kyoto on my actual birthday. We also had shakes from Iceberg where I learned from the cashier that I am an indecisive person. As if I didn't know that already.

Benihana. Where myself and 30+ of my closest friends celebrated.

Dinner and Karaoke at Jamie and Bruce's. I was hesitant to sing and then once I was given the microphone, there was no stopping me. What can I say? I'm an incredible singer. I believe a certain person made reference to the fact that I was like a juke box someone kept putting quarters in. I think that was meant as a compliment. They would have taken the microphone away if I was horrible right?

A few other things I did to celebrate include attending a Utah Jazz game, eating at Brick Oven in Provo, receiving a facial and a pedicure(pampering is very important), and watching BYU men's basketball beat Utah...again.

Cyberchondriac

Warning: The following may contain material that has been slightly exaggerated to prove my point, but is mostly true. Maybe my next blog will discuss the importance of being honest. Back to the topic at hand-my issue with certain textures and food. I decided to ask the worldwide web, and sure enough, my problem has a name-Sensory Integration Dysfunction. The following are my SID symptoms.
Let's start with foods:
I really enjoy frozen go-gurts. What a nice taste treat. I bought the generic brand and I should have stuck with yoplait. Last night, I decided to try the watermelon flavored one and then I saw what color the go-gurt is-green. I can't eat green yogurt even in frozen form. It tasted fine so I didn't look at the go-gurt while eating and I gave myself a pep-talk. "Shelley, it's okay to eat green yogurt. You can do this."
Nachos. I love nachos, but I would like the chips on one plate and all the toppings on another. Who likes soggy chips? Or soggy anything for that matter? Speaking of sogginess. Cake and ice cream do not belong in the same bowl together nor should they ever be touching.
Moving onto textures:
I put a sweater on this morning after I spent 2 minutes convincing myself I could wear it because I knew my skin didn't like the fabric. My body became tense and stiff and I thought I was going to hyperventilate so I quickly took the sweater off and resolved to try again another day. Sure, I could wear a long sleeve shirt under the sweater, but part of the sweater might touch my skin at some point during the day and I'm not willing to take that chance.
I don't know why sheets were invented. In addition, some blankets should never be sold to the general public. Who wants to cuddle up with a wool blanket that will leave you itching, kicking, and screaming? Let the search commence for the perfect blanket. Socks. I hate socks. More specifically, I hate when the socks bunch up by my toes. I have to take my shoe off, adjust the sock, and then put my shoe on again. It's even worst when I am working out and my sock is bothering me or I get a small rock in my shoe. So frustrating.
I think that's enough disclosing for one day. I'm late for my therapy session.

Decisions Schmecisions

A group of friends are trying to make plans on a Friday night. What do you want to do? I don't know, what do you want to do? What do I want to do? Shoot myself in the head. Options are discussed for some time, until one person commands the attention of all in the room and makes a decision. They may pick an option previously mentioned or they may come up with a completely new idea and everyone looks happy or they fake it well. My personal opinion is that everyone is relieved that someone finally took charge and it only took 2 hours.
I can make decisions at work. I assist clients in making decisions everyday. What doctor to see, which toothpaste to buy, how their funds are distributed, and the list goes on and on. Then last week my supervisor asked me to choose the restaurant for our February birthday lunch. Panic hit and I've yet to make a decision. Why? Most likely because I don't want to pick a place someone will dislike and, well, because for the most part, I don't care where we eat.
Let's delve deeper into my indecisive life.
According to my brother-in-law Travista, I rarely make decisions because my dad does everything for me. Oh how I wish he could see me in a setting away from the family. Wait, maybe he would still think I can't make decisions. Let me get my dad's opinion on that.
How can I make decisions on behalf of the individuals I work with, but struggle making decisions in my own life? I'd like to think it's not due to the fact that I don't care enough about anything to make a decision, but I'm beginning to wonder.