Despite my immune system's plan to thwart my every ambition, I've had good successes the past few weeks. Stressful at times? Yes. Visual payoff? Harldy. Worth it? Imma say yes, because today is a good day. I got some good connections out of the Expo, and I did not wuss out. I actually had a great time, and I almost, and I really mean ALMOST, bought one of the trainer's challenge horses. That would have been a mistake, but a good one. You came here for horse drama updates, didn't you? OF COURSE YOU DID. After much back and forth, feverish delirious mind-racing torture, I decided to call mom and make her an offer. ___________________________________________________________________________ "Hello Martha." (this is what I call my mother as of late, despite the fact that her name is not Martha.) "Hi Stinky, whatcha doing?" (This is what my mother has always called me. It's my name.) "Well, I was at the barn, and I thi

This weekend is the Utah Horse Expo. I'm excited. I'm scared. I'm scared because I'm going to be there representing myself as the Editor of The Utah Trotter . Once people put my face to this thing, there's kind of no going back. And I don't want to wuss out like I did two years ago. (So much wussing out. I talked to one guy shaping hats before crawling into a dark hole of fear and shame. I can laugh about it now. Or...a week from now, maybe.) I've been trying to read lots of motivational quotes about how good ideas look crazy at first, and how to overcome fear, and how you should do what you love and BLAH BLAH BLAH. So this weekend I'll be at the Expo as a lone representative of my crazy idea that someone ought to be telling the stories of the horse industry- the struggles, the conflicts, the heroes. We ought to start getting to know each other and finding each other's experiences relevant. We ought to be resources and mentors for each other mo

It has been five years since I worked at the U.S. House Committee on Foreign Affairs. The distance between then and now felt especially poignant to me this morning as I was coming into work and listening to the reporters talk about the Kenyan elections on NPR. Five years ago, I was a wide-eyed baby intern trying to find the balance between being helpful and staying out of people's way. The 2008 Kenyan elections had gotten out of hand, ethnic violence was erupting in eastern Africa's most stabilizing cities, and we were sending observers to try and sort out what was going on there. When those observers got back, they had an intimate briefing with the Committee staff and some Congressmen. One of my bosses sent me to transcribe the meeting and report back. I sheepishly walked into the gorgeous congressional hearing room with a glossy oak table at the front, and rows of chairs in back. I took a seat at the back of the chair rows, trying to minimize my nervous fidgeting. One of

I did not fight the urge to partake of staff meeting office donuts all winter just to give up on my bikini bod in MARCH. Kick it back into gear, Little Lady. Oh, and by "Bikini Bod", I obviously mean "Skin-Tight White Breeches Bod" Curse you, Corn Dog Gods. (but not really.)