Good Luck Guys

I heard another funny Fes story today. The coach was talking about a time when they were on the road and on game day Fes let him know he was feeling pretty under the weather.

The coach suggested he go back to his room and lay down. "But coach", Fes says, "Can I not stay and watch behind the bench?" The coach replied that it would be best if Fes just went back to his room and didn't get everyone else sick.

Dejected, but determined to do his part, our fearless Russian does a right turn, walks by the bench, salutes the team and simply (and like a good leader) says, "Good Luck Guys."

You may have had to see it to appreciate how funny it was, but the coaching staff fell out dying with laughter. It is now their favorite salute to each other, which is how I learned the story.

"Good Luck Guys." (Best with Russian accent.)

Soccer Moms are FUNNY

I have just discovered the most priceless show of the year. Maybe the decade. In the spirit of giving credit where credit is due, big thanks to newcomer Brent - friend of Kristen Allen. So Kristen, here's to you too. For inadvertently introducing me to "Jeannie Tate - Soccer Mom."

If you like don't like laughing, I advise you to stay away from these two clips. There are many, many more on her website: jeannietate.com, but these are my favorites to date.




Please be sure to note the "eat your face" reaction from Jeannie. Classic.

Gen IM?

I think there have been some generational misnomers. We've got Gen Y, and Gen X, and Gen I.M., but Gen I.M should really be more direct about what they are..Gen L.A.Z.Y.

I predict that in five years the condition receiving the most medical attention will be carpal tunnel syndrome. No one can talk to anyone anymore--all communication must be texted. I have had roommates who will be in the room next to me and txt me a question rather than come and ask it. And don't pretend you haven't done this...or something like it.

On the shuttle last night from the airport, while Fes was screaming "Marco! PoLLo!" That's right, the chicken, not the explorer, Coach started talking about him. He told us about how once Fes is in his hotel room, he only leaves for the game. Food must be delivered to him, etc..

One time coach went to tell Fes something and was pounding on his door getting no response. After a brief pause, he suddenly noticed that his phone was buzzing. He pulled it out and the message said, "I'm on my bed, who is it?"

These are the modern day challenges of a coach my friends. And the truly sad part--these people who don't have the energy to answer doors--these are our PROFESSIONAL ATHLETES. Think how this will begin to change the definition of couch potato.

Tall Personality

I learned a sad lesson today about my "tall personality," sometimes even with it, I'm just not tall enough.

For those of you who are not familiar with the tall personality theory it is simply this: when you have one, people think you are taller than you really are. People are always guessing that I am at least three inches taller than I really am. Some in my family insist it is because I always wear three inch heels, but they are wrong. I know they are wrong, because sometimes I am sitting down when people guess. See? Wrong.

I was traveling with the team yesterday to Boise so I could get some B-roll of what it's like to travel in the D-league, and when we landed in Boise I got off the plane first so I could film them coming off and my camera guy stayed on to capture from behind.

I was standing about 20 feet from where you get off the plane - right where the carpet meets the corridor you walk down to other exits. One of the first guys off the plane was our Ukrainian friend Fesenko. The 7'2" giant-man-child. I had said hello to two of our guys who already walked by,and I was looking directly at Fes. I started saying something to him about if he got a good nap or not and he just ignored me and walked by. I turned and said, "HEY!" He looked disoriented and turned around, looked around and then looked way, way down and his face brightened. "Oh, hello - I didn't see you there."

Wow. What a way to kill someone's height-esteem. Looks like my personality is going to have to grow even more. If possible.

Eggs and Sperm - Where's the Equality?

I had a conversation with some of Travis' friends and I really learned a lot. One friend in particular, who is 33. The discussion turned (as is usually the case with single people)to dating and marriage. This is what I learned:

1. Guys in their 30's want to date girls under 25 because then it makes them think they are under 25 too. If they date someone their own age, they feel their own age.

2. The reason it's more fun to date younger girls, is because old girls aren't fun. They just want to talk about serious things.

Number one is probably something I would chalk up to a personal problem. I mean please- face reality...you are old, you are not 25.

Number two, well, he just might be right. I mean the truth is, older girls aren't fun in the same way. I just watched an episode of, ok, yes SATC. And if you're wondering, yes, it is all I watch all the time. So with that out of the way, this episode was the one where Carrie is dating the Russian guy. He's 53 and she's 38. The whole baby thing comes up. You know- you don't have much time to have them, so you'd better get started if you plan to. That. Anyway, this guy already had a kid (when he was young enough to do so) and was "fixed." Didn't want any more.

Carrie had only been dating him for a couple weeks and her friends told her she had to ask him questions like, "Well you get unfixed if I want a baby?" and "Are you ready to really commit to me if I'm going to give up my baby dream to be with you? Cause, if not, I need to find someone quick who will and who maybe wants babies." You know the drill.

So, I mean, how fun is that? Ever since I hit 30 my girlfriends have been having those conversations way to early in the relationship and all of us are guilty at some point of kicking off a relationship with, "I will give you one year of my time and then if we have not gotten to the marriage decision I will be moving on because clearly it means you can't commit and my biological clock is ticking."

Now THAT'S FUN!! What guy doesn't want to decide if he wants to commit and have babies on a second date? It's totally lame that older women do that, but can you really blame them? Ok, maybe you can, but you really shouldn't. They're on the clock. Luckily when you hit your mid thirties the clock starts to get pretty faint. I think once you can give up the dream and squash the clock you can get back to being "fun and carefree" again. What a perk to aging.

Look, here's what I wish. I wish men had a biological clock. I wish they could only produce sperm until they were 40 or 45 so that we were on equal ground. Then young girls would say things to them like, "Oh, I can't date you cause I want to have a bunch of kids and you just won't be able to make that happen for me." Plus if they really want kids (and I kind of doubt this at their age and marital status), well they'll be hearing that clock loud and clear too and men and women could appear equally desperate and enjoy the same conversation. Well, a girl can dream.

The Power of the Press

Has finally overcome. I have vanquished the mighty airlines and brought them to their knees.

Ok, a bit drama-rama, I know. Many of you have heard or read some of my long standing battles with North-worst airlines, all of which I have lost, with horrible customer service being the victor. No matter what atrocity they commit, they never make amends.

Living in Utah, Delta has become my airline of choice over the last several months (since they have a hub and all), and they haven't done anything too horrible, although I will say they have a horrible stand by policy. You can't do it. That's right, even if you have paid for a ticket that day, and there are empty seats on an earlier flight they will NOT LET YOU SIT IN ONE OF THEM. You can pay a 50 dollar fee 3 hours in advance and switch, but this is not always helpful...or free. North-worst on the other hand, to their credit, will let you stand by for free on any "day-of" flight and you can even confirm a seat the day of for 25 dollars if you don't want to risk stand-by.

Alright, enough. I finally had my first bad Delta experience. They have a program that allows you to get a complimentary elite upgrade IF you are already elite on Northwest. You can't just call and make the switch...that would be too simple. You have to either fax or snail mail a copy of your elite card to Customer Care and then they take 4-7 weeks to process it. I can't wait until humans can work as fast as technology.

Anyway, I did a screen capture of my card, and attached it in an email which I sent to Delta. I asked if this was acceptable instead of fax or snail mail, since it produced the same result. Just print and submit rather than pull off the fax machine or out of an envelope. Three days later I got the response...NO.

Fine, I faxed them a copy. Four weeks later I hadn't heard anything so I emailed Customer Care to check on my status. Their reply, "Oh, we're sorry. We never got anything on our fax from you. Can you re-send?"

I just wasted 4 weeks after emailing a copy that wouldn't work and them losing my faxed version only to start from ground zero. All this time, I am (sniff and sigh) still flying coach with the common people. Fine, I know no one feels sorry for my "plight" but you can empathize with the pain of customer service. Or lack there-of.

Let's move on. After a hostile email back about how they'd better expedite the process after all this trouble I fax my submission again and then email and make sure they got it. Yes. They did.

Three more weeks pass and write in to see how things are progressing. I get a reply that unfortunately they can no longer accept fax requests, and so I have not been processed and I will need to send again VIA SNAIL MAIL. Oh, no sister. It's not going down like this. Fourth attempt, and all attempts they have gotten the documentation they need in their hands. They never even bothered to contact me and tell me they couldn't use the faxed version, so I could have been waiting indefinitely. I was FURIOUS.

I finally pulled out the big guns. My email stated in no unclear terms that where there is a will, there is a way and I had better have elite status by my next flight in two weeks. That I would NOT be re-sending, and that...and here's the big guns..if this matter was not resolved to my liking, I, Shauri Quinn, filmmaker and impassioned documentary journalist WOULD find an outlet for this information.

I sent it in all my righteous anger expecting...well, nothing. I'd tried this tactic before at Apple with failed results. But still, it's fun to at least scare people sometimes. I waited for the email telling me to mail in my proof of elite-ness, and this is what I got:

Dear Mr. Quinn,

Thank you for your e-mail to Delta Air Lines.

I have contacted our SkyMiles Elite liaison in your behalf today and
have
Good News for you! You have been granted complimentary Gold Medallion
status on Delta which is valid until February 2009. This status has been
added
to your upcoming reservations on Delta in April. Please allow 4-5 weeks
from the time the account is updated to receive your credentials. Please
accept my
apology for the inconvenience you have experienced.

Thank you for giving Delta the opportunity to serve your travel needs.

Sincerely,

First, please note that they addressed me as "Mr. Quinn." Fine. A common mistake no doubt, but I have to wonder if they assumed that based on my aggressive response, because every other email they sent was to Ms. Quinn.

Second, I won. I am thrilled and elated, but also a little angered that they really DO have the power to make things happen quickly and only do so when pushed by an angry media-type person.

I am exposing them here, so that all of you can remember the next time the airlines try to screw you over...capitalize on...drumroll...The Power Of The Press.

Airlines, 2 - Shauri, 1. The tide is turning.

Beauty is...

Last night I went to the movies with Aly. As we were waiting for the movie to begin we started talking about...what else? Wrinkles. I say what else, because at this point in my life is there any more fascinating topic? It's probably how little kids feel when they start to realize they have eyeballs and they can't stop poking 'em. A fasinating discovery that deserves exploration.

So the talk moved to my blog on whether you should have plastic surgery or not, and then if not, what kinds of things you could and should do to improve appearance. Peels, micro-dermabrasian, botox, restalin (?spelling?) and other procedures were discussed. The point here is we were very focused on discussing how we could stop getting old and start looking better.

Then the movie started. For those of you who have seen the movie Penelope you've probably already made the mental leap to where this is going. Here's part of the synopsis:

'Penelope' is the story of a young woman, Penelope Wilhern (Christina Ricci), born to wealthy socialites (Richard E. Grant and Catherine O'Hara). Penelope is afflicted by a secret family curse that can only be broken when she is loved by one of her own kind. Hidden away in the family's majestic home, she is subjected to meeting a string of blue-bloods through her parent's futile attempt to marry her off and break the curse. Each suitor is instantly enamored with Penelope (and her sizable dowry)? until the curse is revealed.

Now I'm going to write more about what happens so..if you haven't seen it and want to consider yourself forewarned that this is a spoiler ALERT.

Penelope finally breaks out of the house, reveals herself to the world and after some shock discovers that she can make friends and not everyone is horrified by her looks. Finally, she has the chance to marry a blue-blood (one of her own kind) and get rid of her snout, but at the last minute she decides she can't do it if she doesn't love him. She runs in to the house with her mother following and her mother tells her this is her last chance to change. Penelope looks at her mom and says, "I like who I am." And of course, this is what finally transforms her--learning to love herself.

Maybe a bit heavy-handed and probably a flawed movie for most critics, but I loved it and the message it conveyed. Especially when perfectly juxtaposed against our pre-movie conversation. As Aly said, "Isn't that great that we were talking about plastic surgery right before we watched this movie on loving who you are??" Ah, life's lessons. Perhaps it was a message from the universe. Will I stop considering peels, and fills, and botox, oh my? Let's just say I did last night, but I'll probably have to watch the movie weekly to stop cold turkey.

Delirium

My day started at 4:00 am. I had to leave at 4:30 to catch a flight out of San Jose. I'm not a morning person, but I learned that there are a LOT of other people who are also NOT morning people.

It was a rough start, which included trying to navigate dark, unfamiliar roads to the airport---once after Neverlost (yeah, right) told me I missed my turn, I thought rather than wait for the next exit I would just pull a U-turn and be on my way. The roads were pretty deserted as you can imagine at that hour. I flipped it, and as I was happily driving my way, suddenly noticed two things simultaneously. One: there was a divider on my right side and there were cars on the other side of it driving the same way as me. Two: There was a semi-truck coming right towards me, but in the "other lane" of what I thought was a small one lane road. Turns out it wasn't. I quickly flipped another U-turn after a furiously honking semi insured I was now wide-awake (see, who needs caffeine anyway?) and proceeded to the exit I should have taken in the first place.

Once I made it safely to my flight, I boarded the plane and took my lovely middle seat next to a man in the window seat who was also busily arranging himself and his belongings. Since I was awake now I thought I would engage in some witty conversation with him. I felt like the seats were really, really small on this flight--it felt tighter than usual, so as I squirmed out of my coat I said to him, "Doesn't it seem like these seats have gotten smaller? Either that or I've gotten bigger!" He was still working his way out of his coat and shutting bags and stuff and just responded, "No, I don't really think the seats are any smaller, they feel pretty much the same to me..." He then paused, realized what he was saying as I also paused, looked at him and lifted one eyebrow to wait for the rest of his sentence. After looking at each other for a full 30 seconds we both burst out laughing. I told him he might not want to insult a perfect stranger, especially when that stranger was stuck next to him for 2 hours. He assured me that I probably was not any bigger than I used to be, but that he was just really, really tired from his 4:30 wake up call. He also told me he was shocked that he just said that since he had just finished speaking at a conference on how to win friends and influence people.

I reminded him of his faux pas when the plane landed and Brian and Jeff called. They asked where I was and I said, "On a plane with REALLY small seats." The guy next to me spit out his water he was laughing so hard. More flying fun. The moral: Don't take the 6:30 flight.

Who ARE these people?

Thanks to all of you and your comments, I am unable to document anything further from my own life until I pause........(paused)...and both share and reflect on the comments I have gotten on my last two posts. As well as a random phone comment today courtesy of Brian Donovan.

I don't know if all of you read the comments to my posts, but if you don't, you are missing out on some really strange remarks.

First of all my mother, the missionary. When she read my blog titled "I am a Pimp", her response was not concern, but, "You are a pimp and a great sister." If I had a dime for every time I've heard that. Talk about positive affirmation. I bet if there was a P.A. meeting (Pimp's Anonymous), and any of those pimps were actually women, there would be a lot of that going around.

This comment also reminds me of the time I embarrassed, well, everyone, at a missionary dinner table in Australia when I announced to all present that my dad was on a lot of porn sites on the web. (He's not. Long story.) As I consider it now, it might have been an appropriate time to turn to my dad and break the uncomfortable and painful silence with, "Bob, you're a porn star and a great dad." Actually the more I think about this, I may have found a greeting card niche. If you've got any other good ones send 'em my way!

Ok, the next amazing Delsa comment (that's my mom if you're not in the know) was on my blog titled, "I'm broken." In this blog I tell the tale of my painful (emotionally and physically) injury. Her response, "Yes!! Just what I wanted. It has been so busy I haven't been able to check the blogs and I was hoping for a great laugh. Sorry for the pain, but you made my day."

She actually said, and I had to re-read it, Sorry for the pain, but you made my day. Are you kidding? Talk about a charming greeting card. On the outside it would read, "Heard you've been ill" and on the inside, "Sorry about the sickness, but you made my day." Charming.

Another great comment came from Ed. It wasn't great in the same way as my mom's comments (Read: odd), but it reminded me of a great story. Here's what he wrote:
"Next time you're using the airport golf cart, it would be great if you carried flowers, waved, and threw candy to the crowd...please promise to use your flip to record that."

If you're a Quinn, you probably already know where I'm going. When we first moved to Michigan from New York we were all happily stuffed in our fantastic, two-toned brown, 80's brady bunch van driving to a lake. We passed through a place called Hell, Michigan. I won't pause to say all I want to say about that alone, but it warrants a blog in itself. And I'm guessing the place was named around January, February-ish. I digress.

As we drove through town, we somehow got stuck in the middle of a parade. Everyone was a little panicky at first, and my mom was trying frantically to get us out of that mess. Of course when you're a one street town.... Anyway, my dad was thrilled. He shouted back, "Hey kids, smile and wave! You're in a PARADE!" We all started laughing and waving to the crowd. The funny part was my mom, who alternated between hiding her face and feeling obligated to join in the waving. Once a prom queen, always a prom queen - the public called.

Anyway, my point is that I have experience with this type of situation, so Ed, your suggestion is duly noted and will happen the next time I travel with a broken hip.

And finally, a comment I heard on the phone today from Brian. I was telling him that it was a very stressful day and that I was a little panicked about the Root work picking up and the film stuff picking up at the same time. I told him I was particularly concerned about what my storyline was going to be for my film. He then made one of the more random suggestions I've heard:
"Why don't you hire an illegal immigrant? They are well known for their storyline abilities. (pause) And their gardening." It wasn't the first solution I considered (that was actually becoming an illegal immigrant myself to say, Australia) but certainly an interesting one.

There is nothing else to say. Talk about your news of the weird. Baby, I got your weird right here.

**p.s. This blogger is neither for OR against illegal immigration.

I am broken

I don't have any idea what I did (which is probably more of a confirmation to my forthcoming point), but it may have something to do with my decision to do something that my body has become horribly unfamiliar with. Exercise.

Last week I finally bit the bullet and decided it was time to get disciplined and dump the plump. Yes, I have decided that 12 times this year if you're counting, but this time I meant it. I started running again and went to the gym on Saturday to do some weights as well. A minor miracle, yes. And a decision I am now paying dearly for.

I think I broke my hip. Isn't that what old people do? I either did that, or threw it out. I may have just pulled a muscle in that area, but I'm guessing that I'm now of the age when hips can officially start breaking. I said it out loud for the first time on Saturday night to Brian Henderson when we were leaving a party, and as soon as the words left my mouth (I think I threw out my hiiiiippp..) my face reflected the horror I felt. I felt like I was having yet another out of body experience with the young me looking at this new old me and thinking...you're ancient. You really aren't 25 like you think. You are an old, old woman who breaks her hips when she exercises. And that is sad. I mean death can't be far off... Hip today, gone tomorrow.

The reality of my age was even more clear to me as it was juxtaposed against the party I had just left. A party filled with 20 year olds. 20 year olds with fresh, flexible hips no doubt. Shaking their tail feathers on the dance floor with no comprehension that a woman in their midst could very well have fallen and not gotten up. And if I had, I don't even have that device that lets you push a button for help. It's tragic all around.

So the truth is, whatever I did to my hip---it hurts. I was limping through the San Francisco airport when I saw one of those annoying, beeping carts going by. I had to flag it down and ask for a ride. "Excuse me, cart-boy? I think I may have a broken hip here, can you drive me to the taxis?" He looked at me like he knew just how old I was. He might have even called me ma'am. And let me tell you, once you become ma'am you know it's all over. I will forever have that memory burned on my brain...the little cart boy helping the old, broken hip lady in to his cart and calling me ma'am. I wonder how much longer it will be safe for me to travel alone? And when will I have to start carrying the butt donut?

Oh---and thinking back to that whole catching my foot on my coat and crashing incident...I am lucky that none of my fragile bones broke then. Too think that just a short time ago, I was still relatively young and pretzel-like in my flexibility. Remember this people, here today, gone tomorrow. Enjoy your youth while you have it.

I'm a Pimp

And I mean that in the best possible way.

Yesterday, Garrett and I were at Banana Republic shopping for some clothes for him. I know..YAY!! (Little joke Gar-Bear.) Some of you may recall that A few weeks back I asked out a girl at church for him. They went out and had a lovely time, although she is clearly a little stupid since she hasn't pursued him like she should.

Fast-forward to yesterday. The girl in the dressing room was really nice, and pretty cute I thought. I decided "we" should ask her out too. I was about to do it while he was changing, but then thought I should at least check with him first. So I stopped walking toward her and ran back in to the dressing room, tapped on the door and whispered, "Hey...hey..do you think she's cute?"

Garrett started laughing and said yes. I ran back out and found her and asked the very smooth, non-revealing question, "Are you dating anyone?" No-not for me, for my brother. Kidding. Anyway, she agreed it would be delightful to go out with him and after some awkwardness on both sides, he walked away with another number in his pocket. Am I the BEST sister ever or what? Yeah - I'm a pimp, I just wish I got paid.

Just a thought

As I glanced through my latest blog entries, I noticed something that struck me as a bit odd.

When I wrote about a 22 year old boy being interested in taking me out--a woman almost twice his age (well, close enough) I got 4 comments. When I wrote about frozen, chocolate covered bananas I got 13 comments.

If we assume the number of comments is highest with relation to the subjects that most interest and raise passion in people, what does this say about the people who are reading my blog and their interests? I don't know...but I think it's weird.

i Want my Samantha- Part II

I'm sure you are all waiting with baited breath to hear the next chapter in the "I Want my Samantha" saga. Well, at least I know Lisa is - she said so in her comment.

First, I'd just like to send a shout out to all the people who pitched in to help me resolve my sad, girlfriend-less state to either volunteer their own services (Kari, Sarah and Aly- yes, yes, and yes let's go!) or to volunteer the services of their friends. Mary Hales--special shout out to you for not only volunteering your friend, but for picking one that would be so game to respond right away. Holla girl. Good lookin' out.

Brian Donovan--I greatly appreciate your ding dong ditch cookies idea it was clearly a stroke of genius that I will pass on to some other desperate person in the future...probably of the male persuasion. It is somehow more entertaining to think of a 35ish year old man running away from a door leaving cookies than a 35ish year old woman leaving it for a woman she wants to be-friend. Well, scratch that. Both are ridiculous and hilarious. I'll give it a whirl for you.

On to the story. I have found success. I am thrilled to say that so far no one has told me I am sad or pathetic and I have two particular success stories to report.

First, a response from linkup. The very day I sent that out and had "submit button" regret, a girl I wrote to responded. I opened her email with great fear of rejection and ready to read a request to "please stop stalking people online" only to read her first sentence of, "ok, first of all your email made me laugh! But only because I can totally sympathize with your plight. 19 yr old girls and younger guys can be sweet but, let be honest, we need friends who are going through similar stages of life."

I literally exhaled, felt relief wash over me that she didn't think I was crazy AND had a huge smile on my face. I had no idea until I read it how scared I was that I had sent that email. We're meeting for lunch soon. I will not be carrying a rose or a copy of Eat, Pray, Love.

Second, Mary Hales set me up with her friend Katy, who in turn invited me to lunch with two of her friends this afternoon. I went and was pleasantly surprised to find some really cool girls that were entertaining, easy to talk to and in my stage of life. It was a great lunch and I look forward to seeing them again soon!


So here's the deal folks--vulnerability and a little reaching out to the universe (and all of your known and unknown online friends) can turn out very positive results. Allow me to wax philosophical, and a bit serious here for a moment. What I walk away from this experience understanding (yet again) is that when we take a proactive stance about a negative situation or state of mind (like feeling lonely) and reach out we tend to find "abundance" and a more positive situation. When we put fear aside (It's scary to tell the world you're lonely or sad or in some way vulnerable) and share a common human experience, people relate to you and you tend to find community and solution.

I am overwhelmed at how quickly I saw this happen to me. It's completely changed my (as Dr. Boob would say) "being state." So, here's to all of you in blog world--thanks for the lift!

Happy Birthday Boob

Boob is my dad. Bob Quinn. Master of the Deep Change Movement. And yes, it is a movement.

Many years ago when Travis was just a lad, he started to call my dad Boob, and it seemed to stick. I still remember bringing some friends home from DC one long weekend and my friend Geoff Howard being giddy as a school girl at calling my dad Boob. I think it lived up to all his expectations. Along those lines I will share one of my favorite Boob Quinn stories and then give the now traditional top ten list.

One weekend (I often brought home van loads of people to visit from DC), I believe it was Thanksgiving, one of the guys in our group was Paul Dozier. For those of you that know him, he's a bit of a clown and not easily silenced. He had spent the weekend with my family and was pretty comfortable (I know this because he single-handedly finished leftovers for 40 by himself in one day) by the last day of our trip.

He was alone in the kitchen drinking a glass of water by the sink, when dad came in and saw him. I don't think dad was paying close attention (at least I hope not) when he glanced over to the sink and said, "Hey cute boy." Now it may sound odd enough that he would say that to my brothers, but you have to understand it was a long standing habit that I assume began to provoke a reaction from them. Teasing is our family's second language.

Paul registered what was said to him and unlike most who might have been stunned or embarassed or uncomfortable, turned to my dad and said, "Hi pretty boy." From then on he referenced him as "Pretty Boy Bob." Which as you can see from the picture above is certainly apropos.

So with no further ado, the 10 top reasons to love Boob.

10. He invented the "Duck Trap" game which is a much beloved brand of torture sure to carry on through generations of Quinns.

9. He painted a purple "P" on his bald head at Garrett's championship game. (Which was how people found us in the crowd.)

8. His wide ranging cooking abilities: crackers and cheese, grilled cheese, and peanut butter and cheese sandwiches. (See a theme?)

7. He opened the world of "para-dig-ems" (travis), and core stories, and walking naked in the land of uncertainty along with many other useful conversation starters for parties.

6. His excellent fashion choices. Like the mustard yellow sweats he pulled out of the garbage. (This also showcases his ability to save money.)

5. His singing ability. No one knows more first lines to songs and less notes to use in the process of singing them. With enthusiasm.

4. His ability to create cohesion in groups. Once when he was bishop of our congregation he unified them all in the purpose of burying him up to his neck in sand because they were so fed up with his teasing.

3. His storytelling gift. The Giant Jellybean legacy lives on to still terrify small children everywhere (mason and katie) and teach them that being fat is bad.

2. His body confidence. Never forget the basketball game where he willingly ripped his sweatshirt (w/ no t-shirt underneath) off leaving only his khaki pants and street ball shoes to be on the skins team.

1. Clearly, his ability to tune out any and all distractions--like kids swinging from chandeliers.

All of these are great reasons to love Boob--but in all seriousness I am grateful to have had the best example, teacher, and father that a girl could ask for. I hope you have a very happy birthday and that all those missionaries appreciate the father we've given them for them for 3 year. As hard as it has been to have you be so far away, even in your absence I am blessed and taught by your example of service. Happy Birthday Dad!

i Need my Samantha

This morning I reached a kind of desperation I never could have anticipated in my teens. Or 20's. You do start to get a glimpse at that stage of what may lie ahead, but you certainly don't have the full picture. Your roommates all get married, and then all your friends get married. Of course you make a new group of friends. And then they all get married. You can cycle through several sets in your 20's and 30's. I've been through 3 or 4 myself. What you don't expect is that one day that cycle might just... stop. That maybe one day you are quite literally the only woman your age in a certain location that is single.

I always thought when I was younger that if I reached the ripe old age of 25 and wasn't married that I would probably be feeling pretty desperate for a man. Of course then I reached 26, and while I did think I was pretty O-L-D, I was kind of having a LOT of fun being single. I was sure if I reached 30, that would be the end of the road. In fact, I remember my roommate in college, Laura, getting engaged (at 23) and how upsetting it was for her 30 year old sister. I, in my infinite 23 year old wisdom thought, she SHOULD be upset, there is truly no more hope for her. She must be DESPERATE. That's about as old as a woman can be before she should cash in for knitting needles and a cat.

Of course I have now surpassed that milestone as well, and as I think most of us are prone to do, I just keep pushing the age marker back. I've moved it to 40 now. In the last decade there have been ups and downs of that "desperate" feeling. Usually it's strongest right after a breakup with someone who in your delirium you can only reasonably consider "your last hope." Which of course is now gone too.

Anyway, the desperate measure I took today has nothing whatsoever to do with men. I know it's hard for us as women to disassociate the two words - desperate and men - but for me I've kind of gotten over that "I have to have a man or I am nothing" feeling. What I miss here in Provo is women. And no, I haven't started batting from the other side of the plate. I just miss having girlfriends.

Carrie Bradshaw (SATC fans know who I'm talking about) through all her career, boyfriend, and general life turmoil always had Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte. Her rocks in the storm. And don't get me wrong - I do have great girlfriends. It's just that none of them are HERE. And few are still in the same stage of life as me. Like Carrie, I want a regular Saturday brunch, a friend to hit the sweet Provo club scene with, or someone to just call on impulse and hit a movie or eat a tub of Ben&Jerry's with me that can really understand "what's it's like."

Honestly, my life is so busy between two jobs and a lot of travel, that I haven't felt the gap much...and on my downtime I usually hang with my brothers and sometimes their friends. To this point I haven't really needed anything else, but this morning I woke up and I was sad. I wanted to call up a friend and go get a pedicure. Or go play some ball (which guys will NOT let you do with them without extreme pain). Or go catch a chick flick. I couldn't think of ONE GIRL that I knew here in Provo that I could call. I've met a few of Travis and Garrett's girl-friends, but most are under 22 and none want to become my Samantha.

So, I got desperate. And this is the truly humiliating, and hysterical point of this long and boring story.

I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I got on LDSlinkup this morning. (LDSlinkup is like a blend of J-Date for Mormons and Facebook/Friendster. Most use it as a dating tool.) I didn't get on to find a date. I WAS SEARCHING FOR GIRLS THAT COULD BE MY FRIENDS.

How sad is that?? I actually emailed 3 girls that were over 30 and looked normal offering them my hand in friendship. The tragic part is when they get my message they will know that I'm not normal and will probably not reply. And what do you say anyway?? I would love to be your new B.F.F. would you like to meet me for lunch? I'll be the one carrying a rose and a copy of Eat, Pray, Love.

Oh. Oh. sigh. I can laugh about it now, but it's not really funny. Is it? Using a dating sight to make friends? Like I said, I always figured if I got old and didn't get married I'd be desperate for a man, but who knew it would actually be women I would be longing for?