Work out Sep 22, 2005
I wish I had an urge to work out (the thing one does for cardiovascular exercise, not weight-lifting).  I get the urge every once in a while, but I feel like I've exhausted all my options.  I'm not really a fan of doing something for the sole purpose of a workout.  Like running or biking.  If there's a purpose in mind, these activities might be a little more appealing.  If I ran with a destination in mind and without the need to run back, it might be a little more fulfilling.  Or if I biked because that's the only way I could get from one place to another, I might enjoy it (but I'm sure I would quickly hate it after the first rainstorm or bitterly cold day).  I enjoyed scaling a small mountain a few weekends ago.  I had about 30 lbs on my back and I climbed up a rock-covered "mountain" (a loosely-used term because it wasn't a mountain in the Rockies sense of the word).  But there aren't too many mountains in close proximity to me; they require a good half-hour drive.  So altogether, it would take about 2 hours to get a workout.  I would play sports like basketball, but for whatever reason, basketball is entirely associated with a certain group of people.  I absolutely don't fit into that group of people, so I don't really like playing basketball in public.  [Isn't it weird that certain sports are associated with certain groups of people?  Basketball - thugs.  Frisbee - hippies.  Skiing - rich people.]  Everyone says that walking's healthy.  I don't know about that.  It's just too easy.  But it's all I have for now, so I guess I'm sticking with it. #health
Diapers Sep 22, 2005
I forgot to write about this when it happened:  I had my first diaper changing experience when I volunteered to help out at the nursery at church.  That doesn't sound like something I would normally say.  The reason is this:  the usual nursery and Sunday school people have off during the summer, so other people from the church volunteer to help out.  Wendy convinced me that the 0-1 age group would probably be the easiest because you don't have to teach them anything and they can't talk back to you.  Now that sounds like something I would say.  So we helped out at the nursery on two separate Sundays.  The first Sunday was an experience, but not bad.  I played with some kids and held some babies.  Trailblazing experience for me, but I could handle it.  So the second Sunday looked to be about the same deal.  There were a few kids and I held a baby.  But this baby had a flaw:  he smelled weird.  I asked Wendy with fear in my voice, "How do you know when you need to change a baby's diaper?"  She answered, "Either you can smell it or the diaper feels a little puffy, or you just put your finger in there to see if you feel moisture."  Ew!  Why would anyone ever do that?  So we came to the deductive conclusion that this baby had in fact soiled its drawers.  So I laid him on the baby-changing table with the deli paper, and Wendy guided me through the process step by step.  It turns out that babies wear quick-release pants so you don't have to try to fit the cuffs over their little stubs-for-feet.  As I took off the pants, I got a little scared and said, "Wendy, I don't think I'm ready for this."  I had hoped that the first diaper I changed would belong to my child, or at least some sort of relative.  But here I was, standing in front of some half-naked stranger-baby.  But Wendy had a crying girl on her hip, so she was unable to assist me in my endeavour.  So she coached me through it.  To make a long story short, the kid pooped, I changed the diaper, and that was about it.  But trying to get this kid's pants back on was quite a challenge.  It's like trying to put a puzzle back together.  I couldn't figure out which way was up and which side was the front.  After a while, I finally got the pants "on", a term I use loosely because the pants were sideways and probably backwards.  It's not like he knew the difference.  So then I brushed off my hands with a feeling of accomplishment and went about my day.  Oh wait.  This kid is covered in saliva that's exiting his mouth at an uncomfortably fast rate.  Wendy said, "He spit up."  And he was laying down, so it was all over the side of his head.  Gross!  So I got the kid off the table and tried to clean him up.  He was a mess.  But what was weird is that he had no clue what was happening.  He didn't know that a total stranger just flung smelly white powder all over his posterior.  He didn't know that he just threw up all over himself.  It was like nothing happened.  Same old, same old.  I found out later that throw-up is different than spit-up in that throw-up is colored.  I observed it fly out of this kid's mouth and over Wendy's shoulder as she was holding him. 

So that's my baby story.  Many people have told us that watching kids is the best form of birth control.  I agree.  I don't want kids yet. #entertainment
Scared Sep 22, 2005
Sometimes I'll be walking around my building at work and I'll round a corner or open a door and be so unfathomably frightened by a person I wasn't expecting to see that I'll be about a half-step away from death.  I can't believe how scared I get.  And then I walk away feeling like such an idiot for getting so scared. #psychology