Oompa Loompa Doopidy Do

Yesterday was a very frustrating day. I was in downtown Salt Lake City shopping for little souvenir jars of Utah honey to send back to friends in the Philippines. A colleague, Natz, is visiting from IHG's center in Manila. In a few days, she will return home to the team I have given assignments to for over a year. When Natz arrived, she gave Kent, Sanna (co-workers here who work with the team in Manila) and I a package of chocolates and mangoes to share. Some was very, very good (cloud 9, for example) and some was certainly interesting.

I saw the jars of said honey at Cox Honeyland during my birthday adventure (see full post in the June section). With time restraints and current gas prices what they are, I hoped to find them in Salt Lake. I called Cox Honey and was given several tourist places in Salt Lake where the jars are supposed to be sold. Yea (I thought)!!! But, not so much. Yesterday I went to several of the places, but no one had the honey jars. Parking was a nightmare and after going round and round the many blocks, finding a spot and walking fast, I found one store had closed 2 minutes before I arrived. I pleaded with them to let me in, but, to my dismay, they only had a plastic bear filled with honey. The bear, though cute, is soft and would probably not last the trip. Natz would not appreciate getting honey all over her things. One highlight, though. I met Miss America Samoa 2008 during the search, who was at the Grand America for a pageant of some sort. She asked about the support stockings I wear as her dad could use a pair. She was disappointed when I explained they were hand crafted in Germany, but bolstered when I further explained they were simply prescribed by my doctor here in town. Nice and really pretty. Sorry, but no pictures. And, no honey.

I was wearing my bright blue Equality Utah shirt as I walked block after block throughout Salt Lake (which is on a huge hill that looks flat when driving in the car--as Josh and I found at the Shakespearean Festival, "it was an illusion.") My point with all this is that in the windows, I looked like Violet Beauregard from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. My fat little legs and arms flailing uncontrollably around the large blue mass that was me. Walking past all the windows gave me a good view of what others see. I hoped the windows were designed like carnival mirrors, adding 50 or so pounds. One or two, maybe, but all of them? As I passed the homeless, I thought I heard the Oompa Loompa song and I looked around for the little scary men with orange faces. Unfortunately, if they were coming, I couldn't get away as my runty little legs couldn't carry me anymore. I had to stop several times and rest on planters and other sidewalk decorations. If the Pride parade had been yesterday, I would never have been able to do it. Can you imagine my physical state has declined so much in six weeks' time? The Pride parade was not a cake walk, but I did it. Yesterday, I couldn't make it up three blocks without fearing a heart attack or worse, falling over and rolling down the hill, probably stopping in Murray around where the smoke stacks used to be.
EPILOGUE: I was so depressed from joining the Oompa Loompa club and striking out several times on my quest for honey jars that I went home and ate ice cream. You probably thought I would be inspired enough to go home and get on the exercise bike or Sweat to the Oldies with Richard Simmons, but no. I cried into my ice cream and now weigh even more. =)