The Great 8

I stole this from Joleen. (Thanks Joleen!) The responses are in no particular order and do not reflect the views of this station or its affiliates.

8 Favorite TV shows:

1. The Office
2. Pushing Daisies
3. Chuck
4. Psych
5. 30 Rock
6. Bones
7. Scrubs
8. Firefly

8 Favorite Restaurants:

1. The Bombay House.
2. The Indian place on Center Street.
3. The Indian Buffet in that old Wingers.
4. California Pizza Kitchen.
5. Bajio
6. The Little Acorn – those seriously are the BEST hamburgers.
7. Papa Johns.
8. This little Korean restaurant I went to in Hawaii. We chose all our food from a buffet (raw) and then brought it and cooked in on a grill right in the center of the table. Awesome!! I think that was the first time I had calamari. Not much of a fan. I also could have had Sea Horse that night, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it.

8 Things that happened yesterday

1. We finally went and visited our 90 year old neighbor whose wife died a few months ago.
2. He was so happy to see us he kissed me on the cheek!
3. I thought for a minute that he was going to kiss me on the lips…
4. It snowed. Yeah, yeah, old news.
5. I bonked my left elbow on the banister.
6. I ate more candy than anyone has a right to.
7. I got dressed and put on socks.
8. From time to time I walked around the house with my eyes closed, on tip toe, humming the theme song from “Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom”.

8 Things to look forward to:

1. Getting the floor down in the library.
2. Moving all the STUFF into the library that is currently spread out all around the house, just waiting for a place to belong.
3. Getting the dining room done.
4. Getting the sitting room done.
5. Hearing the word “Mommy” from Harrison.
6. Spring.
7. Getting the student loan paid off.
8. Senility.

8 Things on my wish list:

1. New dishes.
2. A new bedding set.
3. The remodeling to be done.
4. No more dust.
5. A maid.
6. A cook.
7. An absolutely incredible, stunning, amazing and breathtaking head of hair.
8. Yeah, I know, these are hollow, materialistic wishes. I’m not telling you the stuff I wish for deep down in my heart of hearts. That is none of your beeswax.

8 Things I love (like) about Winter:

1. Hot Chocolate.
2. Sweaters.
3. Fires in the fireplace.
4. Sledding.
5. Holidays.
6. Storms if I can curl up in my bed and I don’t have to leave the house till it is all over.
7. Especially really loud, windy storms.
8. I do like that the seasons change, but I am not so much in love with winter as I once was. Sorry Winter.

8 People I tag:

1. Nah. Use it if you wanna.

Interpreting the Uninterpretable #9

Understanding Women: Part 2

And now to continue our series about the mysteries of women, where we address those questions men have asked about the baffling things that women do.

Item Two: Why do women expect us to be able to read their minds?

Because deep, deep down inside, in that little part of her that still loves ball gowns and unicorns and true love, she believes that if you REALLY, TRULY loved her, you would know what she was thinking, And the fact that you don’t know sort of shatters her magical little dream world. Over and Over. You big jerk.

Besides, for someone who can read minds herself, it is a little hard to be patient with someone who can’t. And even when she is being mostly rational she can't help but think that you probably could if you tried hard enough. You just haven't tried hard enough yet. So get busy.


I just borrowed some toenail clippers from Richard. Had a little snaggletoe going on. So I was clipping away and that stupid set of clippers flung a toenail up into my hair! And I said "Hey Richard! Your stupid clippers flung a toenail up into my hair!" So he says, "Oh, yeah, that is what they are supposed to do. They aren't toenail clippers, they are toenail transferers."

I was going to throw the clippers at him, but I was laughing too hard.

I Hope it's Cake

And now, to help women understand men. Hang on ladies, I am about to drop some wisdom on you. My cousin sent me this link:

What a comic strip! How indicative of the Human condition! How well it reflects the deep and unfathomable differences between women and men! Men give women what they ask for. Women plot revenge. Men have already moved on to thinking about food.

Let’s skip the whole thinking-about-other-women-part. The part we need to focus on is the cake. Actually, in almost any situation you face, the part to really focus on is the cake. Let us examine the average woman.

As a wife and mother you do a lot to contribute to the house and family. You cook dinner, you clean the house and wash the clothes, plus you work part time, volunteer at church, and spend countless hours online. In addition, you have a few other projects you work on; outlets for your creativity. You take pride in what you do and the stuff you create and, like anyone, you think a little recognition would be nice. Sometimes all you want is for your husband to realize and appreciate all you do. You always think he should just be overwhelmed with the awesomeness of having a live in servant. It’s gotta be pretty amazing for him that now that he is married he never has to worry about his laundry ever again. He should constantly say things like “Wow! It is so wonderful to have a wife! Thanks for taking care of me!!!”

But he doesn’t. Does any man ever say that? And we know, he’s not some careless, slobbering ingrate, but that level of gratitude and recognition just doesn’t occur to him.

So then you think, perhaps he will really love and appreciate my arts and crafts! Perhaps he’ll say “Golly! That Teddy Bear you made out of garbage bags at Homemaking is really special! It looks so great up on the mantle like that! You sure are talented!”

But he is not going to say that. You probably really don’t want him to anyway, just think about it.

Anyway, blah, blah, blah. I’m here to tell you I found out how to get my husband’s attention. Like most people I have creative phases I go through: scrapbooking, gardening, macramé, Line Rider. But I have finally hit on the winner. Cake. Somehow I got the idea in my head that I wanted to try to decorate a cake. A good one. Could I do it better then the loons on Cake Wrecks? I became a little obsessed with the idea and went cake crazy. And they have actually turned out ok. But the thing about it all that is the funnest for me is how involved Richard got. I could sew myself a whole new wardrobe and he might say “Oh, good job.” But I make and decorate one cake, and he is literally beaming with pride. He wanted to show everyone. I’ve never seen him so proud. It still makes me giggle.

For demonstration purposes, I would like to show you one of the first fancy cakes I made (maybe "tried to make" would be a little more accurate.)

This was for my high school boyfriend. I guess we had some structural issues, but we frosted it anyway! And delivered it, though I don't remember that part? Thanks for modeling Brenda! (I was going to say something here about the crumbling cake representing our crumbling relationship, but I gave up. Oh wait, look at that, I think I've done it.)

Anyway, my cakes have improved quite a bit, but even if I had made this very cake and presented it to Richard, he still would have been pretty tickled. So why am I telling you this? I know men aren’t all the same, but there is an 83% chance that if you pour your creativity into food, especially food that he gets to eat, he is not going to be able to ignore it. He won’t want to ignore it. He may even think you are the most talented thing he has ever seen. And that is a pretty nice place to be.

Interpreting the Uninterpretable #8

Understanding Women - Part 1

A recent study asked men to list a few of the things women do that are the most difficult to understand. Their responses will be addressed in a new series entitled: "Understanding Women".

Item One: Why do women always ask "What are you thinking about?"

I know it is annoying, but this has to do with Women's Intuition. Fully developed Intuition is not something a girl is born with, and it doesn't suddenly just sprout into existence as soon as she reaches womanhood. These are actual mental powers that she spends most of her life carefully honing and developing (often without realizing it). For example: all mothers can read their children's minds (up until they reach the age of 14). This isn't a gift that is given to her the moment her child is placed in her arms. She has to work on it. And most women do that by practicing on their significant other. A girl will ask her boyfriend "What are you thinking about?" Not because she doesn't know, but because she's pretty sure she DOES know, and she wants to see if she is right. In this way her mind reading abilities with be tested and strengthened and ready to use on her unsuspecting children.

(Incidentally, if a girl does ask you this, what she WANTS to hear is "I was thinking about how great we are together", or "How beautiful you look in that sweat suit" or "I was coming up with names for our future children." Even if it isn't true, you will still get points for saying it.)

Stay tuned for our next installment, when we address a related frustration men share: "When women expect us to read their minds"!

Interpreting the Uninterpretable #7

Understanding "2001: A Space Odyssey" - Part 1

There has been some buzz on the blogosphere lately about the confusing nature of the Movie "2001: A Space Odyssey". If you feel this same confusion, never fear. You have come to the right place. (Also, never fear, I promise never to use the word "blogosphere" again.) I understand the crap out of this movie. So hold on, cuz you are about the get the interpretation of your life:

The Movie begins with a segment depicting prehistoric man: Australopithecus Afarensis. A fun fact is that this scene doesn't actually go with the rest of the movie. It is a short film the director originally created for his filmography class in JR. College. Ironically, his teacher really hated his movie, so it didn't get to debut on Student Movie night as planned. The director never quite got over it, so he added it on the front of this movie just to stick it to his teacher.

So, the real movie begins at the beginning of the 21st Century. It is a little hard to tell, but most of this movie takes place in space. We actually never get to see what life on earth is like at this point in time. However, judging by the furniture in the space station, it is safe to assume that Ikea is the ruling power.

What we see starts out pretty strait forward. There has been a discovery on the moon, and a bunch of guys sit around in a room and talk about it. But this is all very symbolic, and without coming to terms with some of the symbolism, you will feel like a fish out of water.

(You will also really start to notice by now that the movie is moving very slowly. That is something you are just going to have to get used to. Everything in this movie takes a long time. Things that could be shown in one or two minutes take five or six minutes in this movie. This was a very revolutionary way of filming. Back in the day, movies moved so fast you often had to watch the WHOLE time, just to keep up with the story. But the director's vision was to have each shot move so slowly and take so long that the audience would get bored enough that their boredom would cycle all the way back into interest. No one had ever tried anything like this before. That is why the movie got so many stars.)

He used the idea of a monolith in his short film about prehistoric man, and decided to run with it. This monolith, which later resembles a large, smooth chocolate bar, symbolizes impatience and greed. (And it doesn't like to have it's picture taken, just like all those people out there who are impatient and greedy.) He really wants to warn against impatience, because it is the number one thing that will insure that people will walk out of his movie.

Stay tuned for Part 2 of the interpretation of "2001: A Space Odyssey", which will be published as soon as I can come up with it.

Interpreting the Uninterpretable #6

Rolling Out the Welcome Wagon

Translation: I really, really need a hug. Right away. Pretty please?

Interpreting the Uninterpretable #5

Beads Jewels

One of our faithful readers recently received a solicitation from a bead supplier. The closing statement was a bit confusing, so she sent it over to us for interpretation:

Hope soon we will get a chance from your side to became your loyal customer by providing us a sample order to judge us.

Beads Jewels

I think I have finally cracked this one. If you are into beads, you may have seen some that are so cool, it seems they must have been made by magic. Well I think "Beads Jewels" is a supplier of these "magic beads". And they operate out of a different dimension. Each year at the autumnal equinox, they "cross over" to our side to drum up business and to stock up on ketchup packets, and they were sending you a "heads up" so that you could be "prepared". Once they arrive they plan to "loyal customer" you until you are so sick of them you either sign them as your vendor and place a sample order, or you send them to small claims court. I think it is kind of a bold "business" move, but it just might work!

Interpreting the Uninterpretable #4

Found these at Quote Mountain, and knew right away I had to make sure all those who read them understood them. A little known fact about proverbs from this era, is that they were rarely symbolic. Imagine all the confusion that has been caused by people looking for the deeper meaning in them. Few things will bring you more pain and destruction than misunderstanding an old proverb. Here we go.

Chinese Proverbs*

Public before private and country before family.
Despite how it sounds, this is simply a mantra referring to proper alphabetizing. C before F. Pu before Pr... Well, yeah, it's incorrect, but I'm not the one who came up with this proverb!

Waiting for a rabbit to hit upon a tree and be killed in order to catch it.
Similar to the saying 'You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar', this old proverb is saying that the best way to catch a rabbit is to just camp out next to a tree and wait. Odds are that EVENTUALLY some speedy rabbit will come flying along, run straight into that tree and break his neck, and then he is yours!

Do not use a hatchet to remove a fly from your friend's forehead.
No other interpretation needed. I know you want to. It seems logical. But just don't, OK?

Once on a tiger's back, it is hard to alight.
Lighting a candle while sitting on a tiger is difficult. Heck, sitting on a tiger is difficult. It is best to light your candle first, THEN climb on the tiger.

A tiger never returns to his prey he did not finish off.
If, while trying to ride the tiger as a family, the tiger manages to catch one of you and carry him off, that is it. Even if he doesn't eat the whole person, he is not going to bring you the leftovers.

Talk doesn't cook rice.
This, of course, refers to the infamous Talk, that Chinese help servant who burnt his masters rice so badly that his master was stuck in the outhouse for days (didn't know rice could do that, did you?) This is just to remind people, that if you meet Talk, don't let him cook for you, even if he asks nicely.

There are always ears on the other side of the wall.
This is very similar to our old saying "The grass is always greener on the other side." If you are in the market for ears, (or kidneys, or the perfect black dress, or other things that are impossible to find) good luck. No matter where you look, they will always be "just on the other side of the wall".

Steal a bell with one's ears covered.
This is actually supposed to read 'Steal a bell with one ear covered'. Don't ask me, it is an old ninja trick. Of course it doesn't work to cover both ears, because you are still gonna need one hand for carrying the bell. However, covering one ear confuses the bell so that it can't tell whether you can hear him or not, so he just won't bother to expend the energy.

There you have it. You now have the information you need proceed with your life in wisdom and prudence!

*We really do not mean to pick on the Chinese here. It is just that there is so much to work with. Don't worry, soon we will move on to another culture and make fun of their bad translations instead.

Interpreting the Uninterpretable #3

OH MAN! No matter how many times I see it, this picture totally cracks me up! Wooh! OK, sorry. Back to business.

As you can see, this picture was shot in a hotel room. From the look of the bed covers I would guess that it is a Best Western. Which, as everyone knows, does not allow cats. This cat is obviously some advanced Robot Sleeper Agent, planted in this room to take out the unsuspecting guy in the wind breaker. Look at his face. He had no idea this was coming. And from the looks of things, I would say the Cat is giving him the business.

Thanks to Funtasticus!

Interpreting the Uninterpretable #2

Ah yes. Confusing indeed. This sign can really only be understood in context. Despite what they would have you think, train engineers are still engineers, and thus, nerdy at heart. And like any nerd, they can't resist role playing games. They have set up elaborate webs of games ranging all over the country, with clues disguised as hard to decipher train instructions. The interpretation is this:

At the stroke of 1:00 the train will start moving. You have until then to defeat the wizard, steal his staff, and cast a spell on the Train Conductor to obtain a ticket for passage.

Interpreting the Uninterpretable #1

Ah Maine. It is a special place. More so because of spots like this one. A little known fact about Maine, is there are pockets of directional malfunction, where it is actually possible to be traveling in every direction at the same time. Scientists refer to these spots as Non-occluded Spatial Coordinates. Let me tell you, it is a weird sensation to drive through one, but be warned, it will probably make you late for your BBQ.

The Title of this Post is Blank.

I gotta share this with you. This poem changed my life. Just now. I just read it and my life is all changed and stuff. I know it will have that changy affect on you too.

Ode of the eating
Oh, cure of the crankies,
thou which art food for my face.
I eat thee and am full nigh unto sleeping.

I sleepeth not!

I must now clean mine house,
or suffer the sting of womanly knuckles,
against mine face.

Oh, parcel of continuance,
thou cookie of chipped chocolate!
Endure the assault of sharpened teeth.
I sharpen them according to the heart's desiring,
which now sounds kinda creepy.
I'm not a vampire.

I'm just not.

This is thanks to the artistic genius of Lance. Though perhaps the poem is a bit confusing out of context. If you think so, feel free to read the whole post here.

I have to wonder about myself sometimes

I saw some black birds today. What is the difference between a blackbird and a crow? I want to say crows are bigger, but I don’t know. Are there even such things as black birds? Maybe Blackbird is just a general term referring to all birds that are black in color. Whatever it is, I saw some. In the Walmart parking lot. They just kept crossing my path. (Are black birds unlucky too, or is it just black cats? I know it is bad luck when a black cat crosses your path, but what is the radius for the bad luck? Does the cat have to be within sight, or does he just have to be within, say, spitting distance?)

And then I noticed one of the birds was fiddling with something. And this is, quite seriously, just about how my thought process went:

Oh look at that industrious little bird, trying to get some food out of that wrapper he found. Hmm. He seems to be having a hard time getting to it. I wish I could help him, but I know as soon as I get close to him he will fly away. How can I get him to trust me? I want to help that bird! Oh… wait…. Now I see what he is trying to eat. It’s one of those prepackaged rice crispy treats. Those are loaded with sugar! He doesn’t need all that sugar. It’s probably just as well he can’t get it out. Forget it little birdie! I’m not helping you eat that junk! You’re on your own! You’ll thank me later!

Ok, I embellished a little there at the end. I’m not totally crazy. But I keep thinking of that popular little saying… how does it go? “A moment on the lips, forever on your big, feathery backside.” Anyway, it’s something like that. Or at least it should be. That’s catchy. Maybe I’ll have some T-shirts made up!

If this, then that.

Every time I take my car in to Big-O, to get my tires rotated or some other simple thing, they find that I need new ball bearings, or new axle hubs, or need to replace the muskrat running around in the engine. This means that a 30 minute stop that is supposed to be free ends up costing me at least $500 dollars and takes all day. If new problems crop up every time I take my car into a shop for any reason, does it follow that if I STOP taking my car into the shop, that things will stop breaking on it?

Wicked Good Paint Job

A couple of years ago we did some work in our living room. (To see details, click here.) After a lot of discussion and debate over a color choice for the walls - which I, of course, won - we picked our color and went to K-mart to buy it. Because it was convenient. I mean, yes, Martha Stewart is pretty awesome. But she also kind of scares me, you know? What scares me more than her, though, is this paint. Look at the finish they gave us. I asked for Satin, but noooooooo.

At the time, we just thought it was funny and had our laugh at the silly paint tech and that was it. But maybe we shouldn't have taken it so lightly. My living room is ALWAYS dusty. Extraordinarily dusty. I have normally blamed Richard for this but lately I remembered this paint, and now I wonder. Have we been cursed? Are our living room walls now possessed? Are we going to be forced to perform an exorcism, or worse, paint over it? And if I do nothing, is this dust just going to keep on building up at an accelerated rate until I am forced to eventually clean in there? Gosh. The Devil really IS in the details.

In which vomit and other bodily fluids are discussed in detail.

Sick babies are just no fun. Plain and simple. Friday night Harrison woke up again and I could see he was sick and I forbade him to throw up, but he did it anyway. I DON'T handle vomit well. I just kind of throw my arms helplessly into the air and say "Oh! Yuck! Gross! Help!" Yes, I'm useful to have around in a pinch. Richard is awesome though, so there is that.

On Saturday we had to be at Mimi's Cafe in Orem at 11:30 (where we were having lunch with Harrison’s Birth Mom), and just before we got there Harrison barfed. A LOT. All over. We pulled over to a gas station, stripped him down to his diaper and clean everything up the best we could. I kept asking the universe "Why does it always have to be in the car or in his crib? Why? Why?" They seem like the worst possible places to have to clean up puke. Not that I can think of all that many places where it is nice to clean up puke from, but some variety would be nice once in a while.

Once he was mostly clean, we stopped by Babies-R-Us and got him some clothes and put them on him right there in the store. And then went to lunch where Harrison behaved like an angel. I thought maybe all our troubles were over, but he tossed his cookies again that night, and then again the next morning. And I got my wish. He hurled in our bedroom. So, variety. Yeah. Now our room smells like throw up too. Neat.

Baby sickness is so special. There are so many fluids involved. I won't go into details, I will just say that some of those other, grosser fluids were yesterday deposited on my bedroom carpet. Yeah, that’s a nice addition to the smells in here. It seems easier at this point to just replace the carpets rather than cleaning them. I have quite literally been walking around with a spray bottle of cleaner in my hand. I'm thinking about getting a holster. Moms really do need utility belts. And they would make us look so cool! If anyone is interested, let me know. I've got a guy. I think we can make them work.

So I had a good long talk with Harrison last night: Explained to him how inconvenient and unpleasant it is for me to clean up stomach contents in the middle of the night, so if it wouldn't be too much trouble, could he please, please not do it anymore? He was pretty non-committal in his response, but I guess I managed to convince him and he decided to give me a break. Last night he didn’t wake up once. Hallelujah.

The Ol' Days

Facebook has made me nostalgic, so I've been looking at old photos, watching old home movies and yesterday I dug out my box of journals. (Yeah, that's right. It's a whole box full. I'm a very dutiful journal keeper. They always talk about keeping a journal for posterity or something, but there is SO MUCH for my posterity to read, that it really might be best if they just lit the box on fire and ran away.)

So I was looking through my journal from when I was about 14 or so and it was really hard to read. Not because my handwriting was bad (I have always had extraordinary penmanship) but because I was so annoyed. Because I was so annoying! I remember myself a lot differently than I apparently was. I used to always think that I was a pretty easy teenager to raise and didn't give my parents a lot of trouble. But I was wrong. I was an idiot. What I'm remembering must be more their patience than any angelic behavior on my part.

I can't say for sure how I acted most of the time (though working with the Young Women, I have a pretty good idea), but now I know how I thought and I am SO GLAD that I'm not that girl anymore. Because I'm not. I'm not the same girl I was when I was in Jr. High and High School. Who knew?

And Thank Goodness. If I had to be that girl forever I think I might have exploded from an overload of teenage mood swings, or been shot by some do-gooder who knew it was best for society that I go.

So, what is my point, you are asking? I don't really have one. I don't have to have a point you know. I can ramble on and on and never make a point and no one can stop me. But I was thinking about a girl I knew who got married in 7th grade. How old are you in 7th grade? 12 or 13? Anyway, she and her 7th grade sweetheart are no longer together and it is no wonder. No offense to my vast audience of 7th graders, but kids that age don't know anything!! They are like half people; half themselves and their potential, and the other half puberty, hormones, self pity, candy, jealousy and confusion. And Denial. Yep, shockingly clueless, barely functional. And that is why they send them (kids between the ages of approx. 12-14) to special schools, where they can associate with other special kids who are just as backward as they are. Yep. Jr. High.

Book Club

It doesn't do any good to go to the library. My Library anyway. I mean, it is fun and all, (without a toddler) but they won't have what you are looking for. Unless you are looking for the latest installment in Teen Vampire Fiction, the selection isn't that great, they only carry one copy of each book, and Murphy's Law dictates that the book you are looking for - no matter how obscure - will have been checked out by someone just before you arrive at the library to pick it up. So with 10 or so of us in a bookclub, you have a greater chance of being mugged by a monkey than by being the lucky gal who gets to check out that month's book selection from the library.

This month it is A Tale of Two Cities. Richard claims to own a copy, but it is in a box somewhere, so I looked for it online. I probably could have found it in one of the local used books stores (That's right. We have those. I mean where do you think this is? Payson?) but that would require getting in my car and driving down town and that is not really my style. I found it on Amazon for 75 cents plus shipping. So we held a family counsel and decided that it was a wise investment and I bought it.

A week later, it came. I was surprised at how small the envelope was -- just your run-of-the-mill padded envelope -- since I always understood that "A Tale of Two Cities" was a rather long book. So I open the envelope and what do I see?

Gah!! Classics Illustrated!! What am I supposed to do with this? Look at the pictures? Like some kind of ANIMAL!?! Blast these careless sellers who list their stuff wrong. How they inconvenience and annoy me! Can't they pay a little attention so that I do not have to deal with their incompetence?

Well I tell you what, I marched right upstairs and sat down at my computer to send a message to that mistake maker and tell them what’s what. And when I opened my Amazon account to look at the transaction, I saw that that silly graphic novel was the book I had ordered. There was a picture and everything. Darn.

So, turns out the mistake maker was me. I always think about how, in many interactions everyday, one or both parties will come out of it thinking that the other person is an idiot. And I have decided that is is very good for me to be reminded that, AT LEAST half of the time, the idiot is me.

So, what did I do in this instance? I said "Forget It!" and I'm reading Great Expectations instead.


I don't have anything imparticular to say. (Spell checker says imparticular ain't a word. I'da thunk it were!) But I figured I should post a picture of Harrison in his Halloween costume.

For those of you who are uncultured and depraved, he is an X-Wing Pilot. (Star Wars.) Thanks for the costume Jessie. (And thanks for the pictures Lynsie!) And I reckon I oughtta put a picture of us here too. If you don't know what we are, it is a shame, but don't feel too bad. Almost nobody did - which is, again, a shame! We are part of Buy More's Nerd Herd. From Chuck! We are not associated with the NSA, CIA or Fulcrum but if you've got a technical question or problem, we've got the answer! Buy More's Nerd Herd: Bringing Peace to your computer world.

You probably thought I was going to stop now, didn't you. I could, but I haven't mentioned a few very important items. A couple days before Halloween was a Stake Young Men and Women's Halloween party. A pretty average party: cake walks, costume parades, you know, the usually. But then they taught us the dance from Thriller. I was pretty ecstatic. I came home and watched the video and realized that what they taught us wasn't actually the Thriller dance, but a line dance based on the Thriller dance. It's ok though, because now I have the framework from which I can learn and perfect the whole dance the zombies do and then I will be AWESOME!!! So keep a lookout. If, in the future, you see an awesome person doing the Thriller dance on the street, it is probably me. Because I'm not going to be able to hold that level of awesomeness inside.

It's just an Expression

Sometimes I wonder how I look when I am not doing anything requiring facial expressions. When people pass me on the street, what do they see? When I am sitting by myself, what kind of face am I making? What is my Resting Expression? Sometimes I worry that I am usually scowling, that my normal resting expression is kind of an angry one. I will feel myself making an angry face and I will have to force myself to raise by eyebrows out of their lowered and scowling position, unhunch my shoulders and relax my features into a more a calm expression, so that everyone that sees me doesn’t wonder “What on earth is she so angry for?”

So I think about that sometimes, but I was wrong about the angry face. Turns out THIS is my resting expression. Yep. And that, apparently, is the expression Richard makes. We are a lovely couple, aren’t we?

This is a picture taken on the way home from Martin’s Cove, Wyoming. On a Greyhound Bus, just like the pioneers!

First Thing in the Morning Thoughts

Harrison woke up at 5:30 this morning, so I gave him some water and he fell back asleep. Due to the waking up he slept in until 8:30 (now) and thusly I have just woken up as well. He is my alarm clock. Are you with me? Are you keeping up? Do I need to go back over it? I hope not, cuz I seriously just woke up, and sentence formation is kind of difficultish.

So I was having this dream. I had found an old wallet and an old book of mine (both of which don't actually exist, by the way.) The wallet was so cute and perfect - you know the kind: Small, compact, but when you open it up it has all the slots and pockets you could ever want or need. Inside was a bunch of money - including a $4.00 bill and some monopoly money - and other wonderful things, that I can't come up with the words for right now.

Inside the book I had pressed some leaves, and also some jewelry, though I"m not sure how that works. The leaves all crumbled and fell apart, but the jewelry was so cute! On each page I pulled out more earring and necklaces and baubles and cute stuff and I just kept thinking "Ooh Neat! What a great day!"

But then I woke up and it was just a dream. I don't have that perfect wallet and that awesome jewelry. Drat! And that reminded me of this dream I had once when I was a kid. There was all this food in front of me. Mostly sweets. Candy and cookies and pastries and cakes and maybe a hotdog, I think. And just as I was reaching for it to put some of that delicious food in my mouth, I woke up. AARGH! How bitter was my disappointment! Not just that it was a dream, but even in my dream I didn't get to eat the food!!

And I think that dream may be the source of this: I hate in movies, or on TV when a character doesn't get to eat. Did you see How I Met Your Mother a couple weeks ago, when Robin was starving and they were looking for the perfect burger joint and she kept having to leave before she got to eat anything? It was driving me crazy! I started shouting at the TV - "Let her eat! Just give her your hamburger! Please!" And then on What's Up Doc when the golf club guy takes her room service order? Oh, how it rankles! It is up there with the highest forms of torture in my book. So now you know. And knowing is half the sandwich. Goodbye.

p.s. I know there are more examples of withholding food, but those two are the only ones I can think of right now. You got any?

October 29, 2008

Well, tis that time of year again: Oct. 29th! Hooray! By this time each year most people already have carved and lit their Jack-O-Lanterns and have them proudly displayed on their front porches. We aren't those people. We seem to have bad luck with our pumpkins, and by this time each year, we are still displaying our pumpkins, but with more dismay and amusement than pride.

Last time we carved pumpkins we did it early in October. Bad Idea. It got really, really warm that year, and the pumpkins were so JUICY that they just eventually gushed out all over the porch. This is Richard's from that year.

So we decided to try it again this year, but waited until a little later in the month. We carved pumpkins a week ago with Stewart and Anne. I don’t think it would be exaggerating to say that they were the most perfect Jack-O-Lanterns the world has ever seen. The husbands decided that stabbing the pumpkins with knives wasn't quite a strong enough display of their manliness, so they used power tools instead. That really sped things up. So anyway, it has only been a week since the creation of these Halloween beauties, but they have not aged well.

Instead of scary or happy pumpkins glowing with an inner light, they look like shriveled, deformed old men. This pumpkin on the right is shriveling so much I'm pretty sure his chin is going to recede to the point that he will fall over on his face. And that big pumpkin on the left reminds me of that garbage heap lady from "Labyrinth". You know the one?
Sigh. I might just have to suck it up and admit that these pumpkins have given up the ghost.

I forgot all about this guy. This video was awesome. Just watch it. It made me cry. (Don't make fun.) I can't explain it. But it's like if, no matter where you go in the world, people will dance and be silly in front of a camera, then I think there really is hope for us after all.

2001: A Space Odyssey?

We just watched 2001: A Space Odyssey. I had never seen it before. Always kind of wanted to. It is a really famous film, and it got 4 stars, so it was sure to be good. But I have no idea what it was about!! I have never been so confused. Does anyone know?? I would really like some answers.

I even looked online to find some sort of explanation to it all, but the only thing I am sure of now is that Stanley Kubrick was a fruit.

Mysterious Confection

What you see here appears to be a regular bowl of pudding. But it ain't. This pudding is shrouded in mystery. Let me tell you why...

The other day I was rearranging stuff in my fridge to make room for a cake I had just made. I was going to have to clear off a whole shelf, but luckily my grocery shopping is more wishful thinking than anything else, so there is always room. I noticed, in the front of one of the shelves, a bowl of vanilla pudding. My first thought was 'When did Richard make that?' My second thought was 'Why would he make pudding when he knows I am making cake?' Then I closed the fridge and forgot all about it.

Later that evening, I came down from putting Harrison to bed, and Richard said "When did you make pudding?" to which I responded "I didn't make that pudding! I thought you made it!" Then we just stared at each other in freakish silence as we had one of those If-you-didn't-do-it,-and-I-didn't-do-it,-then-where-did-it-come-from? moments.

I have come up with 2 possible explanations.

1. A Ghost made it. We are being haunted, possibly by the spirit of the Lady who owned the house before us, and instead of rattling chains in the attic she has taken to leaving desserts in the Kitchen. It really seems like the best possible way to be haunted, now that I think about it. I wonder if she does Chocolate Chip Cookies?

2. Someone broke into our house. Some desperate robber broke and entered with a plan to rob us blind, but when he saw the state of things inside, he felt so bad for us he decided to leave us a little treat instead. That was really pretty nice of him. And he didn't break anything, so no hard feelings.

Anyway, we found the pudding on Saturday. Now it is Tuesday. We don't quite dare to eat it, since we don't know where it came from, but at the same time we also don't dare to throw it away. So it just sits in our fridge. I think part of me is waiting to see if it will vanish as mysteriously as it appeared. How long do you think I'll have to wait?

Flashback Friday #2

It is time for a mission story. So sit back and get comfortable. Cuz you know how I can ramble. I just hope Sister Thomas doesn't kill me. She was my trainer. This story takes place on an Autumn Morning in New Hampshire. I had been out about a month (if that). It was the morning of District Meeting, and our District Leader, Elder Edwards had called and talked to Sister Thomas. He told her that they were out of consecrated oil and needed her to make some more for them. All she needed to do was melt down some Crisco in a pan on the stove and bring it with us to District Meeting. She is very helpful and reliable and she said she would happily do that for them.

I didn't know anything about this. We were done with our morning study, and I was in the bathroom doing my hair or makeup or whatever. Sister Thomas was bustling around getting everything ready for District Meeting. Suddenly, I heard Sister Thomas Scream. I ran to the kitchen and saw a pot on the stove with flames reaching at least three feet in the air. We grabbed some baking soda and put out the fire, but the room was already full of smoke, and then the building's Fire Alarms went off.

We filed out of the building with everyone else. Lots of people panicked when they saw the smoke and ran for it. We didn't try to stop them. What would we have said? Our main thought was, "How are we going to explain this to the Fire Men?" They cleared the building, made sure the fire was contained, and in the mean time the EMT checked our lungs for smoke and asked us what happened. I really don't remember what we told them. But I am pretty sure they walked away from there thinking: "Those girls sure were dummies!"

We were a bit late to district meeting. When we told them what happened Elder Edward's companion (whose name I can't remember right now) had to run out of the room because he was laughing so hard. We agreed that there was no harm done (except to the hood on the stove. That would need to be replaced) so we all had a good laugh and we thought that was that.

Except that that wasn't that, because when our Zone Leader called that night to make sure we were OK, he told us that he was pretty mad at Elder Edward's little joke. Joke? we said. What Joke? What ever are you talking about? Only then did we learn that consecrated oil is made from Pure Olive Oil. Nothing else. Elder Edwards had gotten this idea from a story one of the member's told about her mission, (except of course in her story nothing caught on fire) and thought it would be great fun to see if he could trick us.

Sister Thomas got a fair amount of slack for this story, since she is the one that did the actual Crisco melting, but I'm sure if he had asked me, I would have done the same. I mean, when your district leader asks for a favor, you don't expect it to be a trap, right?

And yes, my scrapbooking skills are extraordinary. This is Sister Thomas' remarkably accurate reinactment.

So, Flashback lesson learned? "I always expect everything to be a trap. Which is why I'm still alive."

Toilet Humor (I warned you!)

As we are getting ready to potty-train, I often have toilets on the brain lately. Fun for me. And, fun for you too! One potty training technique I have heard a lot lately is to let your kid run around naked for a while. Because they won't like the feeling of the bodily fluids running down their legs, and will be more likely to want to use the toilet. Seems like a pretty good idea, except Harrison is a very Projectile Peer. Pee-er? Whatever. So it is more likely that it will be running down MY legs than his, and since he thinks it is funny, I doubt very much that it would be a motivation at all. Anyway, just one of the toilety things I have been thinking about. I've also been thinking that with three of us using the toilets, it is probably a good idea to post some Toilet Rules we should all follow, so as to make everyone else's toilet experiences as nice as possible. Luckily for me, someone has already come up with some perfect toilet rules, so I can just use theirs!

You have my brother-in-law Charlie to thank for this. Oh, and of course, (click on the picture to enlarge).

I know what you are thinking. 'Hey! Weird! Those are the same rules my mom posted by our toilet when I was a kid!'" Crazy, right? But if, by chance, you aren't thinking that, you may find these rules a little hard to understand. So I am going to interpret them for you. Cuz I'm nice like that.

1. If you are using this toilet for the purpose it was intended for, it is only meant for one user at a time. If, however, you are using it for other things - such as a stool, or a hiding spot during a game of sardines - it can accommodate as many users as you want.

2. When this toilet is flushed, the stuff inside goes where all sewage goes, and thus, it is not a great place to stow spare body parts (feet, specifically). Feet don't belong in the toilet, because even if you ask them to, they will not be able to poop for you.

3. If you use the toilet, you clean the toilet, and don't you dare try to get out of it by moving the toilet somewhere else.

4. (This one refers to a very special kind of toilet sold exclusively in China. It is a bit hard to explain, but imagine something like a very large kitty litter.)

5. When using the toilet, don't make a lot of noise. You will scare people away. That isn't nice.

6. It is normal to have a lot of distractions and interruptions when using the toilet. Just stay focused and stick with it and you will finish what you came here to do. (If it helps, repeat to yourself these words: "Into the Toilet! Into the Toilet!")

7. It is not the fault of this toilet that you did not properly cook your food. Please don't come in here and vomit all over the place. That really messes up the environment the toilet is trying to create.

8. If you are feeling emotional or having difficulty, please take advantage of our new "Toilet of Attention" which is not only soothing and comfortable, but will also listen to your problems.

9. Please limit your graffiti to "orderly paintings" only. Disorderly paintings tend to confuse people, and they might start to run into things.

10. Yes, the fountain outside the bathroom smells like urine. But it is not a toilet. Don't treat it like one.

11. Before using the bathroom, (and especially the litter box) please memorize all of the toilet rules so that you will know exactly what to do when the time comes.

Hmm...I'm not really sure that I got number 2 right. If anyone has any better interpretations, please feel free to share.

Flashback Friday

I love Marta’s Flashback Fridays. Can I steal it? I sure hope so, cuz I am gonna. I know that this should probably include pictures, but my old albums are in a box somewhere, so I really can’t promise you much.

Besides, this first flashback hardly counts as a flashback at all. Cuz it is just from a week ago. But with a memory like mine, anything I can remember at all is good. So last week I had a doctor’s appointment. No biggie. They had to draw some blood, so I sat in their big blood-drawing-chair and waited 10 minutes or so while the nurse typed my information into the computer. This took a while because her fingernails were so long that she had to type each letter one - at - a - time. Finally she was done, so I let the girl stick a needle in my arm. It always makes me nervous when someone younger than me starts coming at me with a needle, but I guess it is just something I am going to have to get used to.

So, she started drawing my blood and I didn’t watch. I never look when my blood is being drawn. It’s not that I’m squeamish, it just seems safer. But this was taking so long, and though she left the needle in my arm, I could feel her clicking things in and clicking them out and eventually I just got curious and looked. The needle was attached to some kind of cartridge that a vial was inserted into. And while I watched, the vial filled up with blood, so she pulled it out and snapped an empty one into the cartridge. And suddenly I started to feel a little dizzy. And nauseous. I immediately looked away, but it was too late. All at once I felt my body go sort of numb and limp and I thought “Oh my. I think I am going to pass out.” And I did.

I have never passed out before. I have never been a dainty girl, by any stretch. Sturdy, that's me. I've always thought of fainting as something reserved for the dainty girls; the kind of girls that men like to take care of. So I kinda always thought that passing out would be so very romantic and feminine, like something out of a romance novel. But it wasn’t. It was pretty crappy. When I woke up again I was sweating like crazy and I felt SO sick. I was really worried that I was going to throw up. And I really, REALLY didn’t want to vomit all over their tiny little lab.

Finally some lady brought me some orange juice (I have no idea what happened to the tech who was drawing my blood)and I felt better right away. I think I can safely say that it was the best orange juice I have ever had. Anyway, soon I felt better, and I left. That is the end of the story.
So... Flashback lesson learned? Fainting is not for the faint of heart.

Thursday Thirteen #2 - 13 Signs That You are Surrounded by Nerds.

1. Your husband reads text books for fun.

2. You brother-in-law thinks that the new software he got that makes his iPhone sound like a light saber when he swishes it around is pretty cool.
3. Your husband is jealous that he doesn’t have said light-saber thingy on his phone.
4. Your company party usually translates into a night of rigorous Halo playing.
5. Your boss wears Scooby Doo pajamas pants to work.
6. You get used to falling asleep to the soft blue light of your husbands laptop.
7. Nearly everyone you know has at one time dressed up in character to go to a movie premier; As a Jedi, one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Wolverine, etc.
8. Your brother makes Star Wars fan flicks.

9. One of your husband’s favorite things is flashlights.
10. A date night with your husband almost always involves a quick stop at CompUSA just to “look around”.
11. Your brother gets gun cases, tactical vests, and a years supply of ammo all for his vast collection of airsoft guns.
12. Your husband would rather watch old Star Trek reruns than football.
13. A friend writes a blog post entirely in ASCII, and almost all his readers decode it. (Seriously, you have to check this out.)

Movie Review - "The Phantom of the Opera"

Yeah, I know I am not with it. This movie came out in 2004. I didn’t realize I was THAT far behind the times, but whatever, I only just signed up for Netflix. Cut me some slack.

Now you should know I spent most of Middle School and Junior High (6th-9th grade) listening to the Broadway Cast Recording from Phantom of the Opera. But until now I had never seen it. (Ok, that isn’t totally true. In 9th grade on Band Tour we saw Phantom of Opera in L.A. - I somehow got my hands on a very shiny, green dress with massively puffy sleeves for the occasion. I looked awesome. - However, most of that day was spent at Huntington Beach. So not only was I sunburnt and exhausted, our seats were WAY up at the back, and I slept through the whole thing. Disgraceful I know.)

Not having seen it, I had to just piece the story together in my mind. Some of the stuff was very similar to how I had always imagined it, but some things I had guessed all wrong, and lots of things I never understood till now. Weird though, after loving the music as a kid, I didn’t really love the movie. I always sort of thought the Phantom was just misunderstood, but no, he’s a psychopathic murderer. And a stalker. And, it turns out, kind of a big baby. I was pretty annoyed with his tantrums by the end of the movie. And Christine! Could she be any dumber? "I’m so terrified, but when he sings I am powerless to resist him! Oh my!"
All in all, it was kinda creepy. Haunting. That is how I would describe it. Probably how they planned it. But I don’t particularly like to be haunted. It is kinda rude.

On another note, when I found out "Wicked" was coming to Salt Lake, I was determined to go see it. But then I found out that even seats in row Z (yeah, in the BACK) are $194.00. Per Person. And I am just way too cheap to pay that kind of money for a few hours of entertainment. Sooooo, I guess I will just have to buy the soundtrack and spend the next 15 years listening to it and piecing the story together all wrong in my head. Fun!

What to say when you don't know what to say

I just read "Things Fall Apart" by Chinua Achebe. I liked it. But that is not why I am here. On the cover of the book is this quote:

"Chinua Achebe is gloriously gifted with the magic of an ebullient, generous, great talent." -- Nadine Gordimer

Well. For some reason whenever I read it it makes me laugh. That is praise indeed. But first of all, I'm not even really sure what that means. He is gifted with a talent? it seems obvious that he has some kind of talent, but it is unclear exactly what that is. Who knows?
And second of all, Who is Nadine Gordimer? She could be his next door neighbor for all I know. So that gave me an idea. Will someone write me some ridiculously flowery (and somewhat vague, if necessary) praise so that if I ever get published we can put it on the cover? That would be super nice. Thanks a bunch!

Thursday Thirteen #1 - The List List

So I just discovered Thursday Thirteen.
I really wanted to do one, and though I came up with lots of ideas for lists, I couldn't actually think of 13 things to put on each list. So, today is the List List. Perhaps someday I will be inspired enough to be able to actually think of stuff to fill these lists up, but that day is not today. If any of you are interested in using one of these list ideas, feel free.

1. 13 ways to say "Let's Just Be Friends":
- this might include things like: "So, I have this really gross looking rash. But it probably isn't contagious."

2. 13 things I should have done today and didn't:
- like shaving my legs before I went to the doctor's. I didn't know I was going to have to wear a hospital gown!!

3. 13 things I want to say and don't:

4. 13 reasons I love my tiny little laundry closet:

5. 13 ways to wake up happier:
- Go to sleep with a very deadly scorpion in your bed. Then, if you wake up at all, you already have one thing to be happy about!

6. 13 things my husband wishes were different about me:
- That sometimes I would dress like a girl from a White Snake Video. (This list is just a bad idea. If I continue to ask him what things he would change about me, either he will have to lie and say "Nothing Dear. You are truly the picture of perfection and beauty." or he will tell the truth and I will be really mad at him. Lose/lose.)

7. 13 Things I found in the backseat of my car.
- More goldfish crackers than I ever would have thought possible:

8. 13 places I looked for the baby's sippy cup full of milk:
- None of the places I looked was the right place, so there is still a cup full of milk SOMEWHERE, and I just don't know where else to look!!!

9. 13 things I can do with my eyes closed:

10. 13 reasons I love "Pushing Daisies":

11. 13 things I need to throw away, but can't bring myself to:
- The robe I made for myself. It is very pink. Not that there is anything wrong with pink, it's just that it is SO VERY pink. Not to mention the sleeves. I thought the baggy sleeves in the pattern might make my arms look too big (I'm a dork), so I altered the pattern a bit and now the sleeves are so small I can barely get my arms in. Oh what a clever seamstress am I!

12. 13 things my baby uses his head for:
- Closing the cupboard doors. He will open them over and over so that he can close them with his head.

13. 13 books on my "To Read" list:

Giving Gum a Chance

I would like to defend my gum stance. (Or my stance on gum. Whichever one makes more sense.) I think I may be turning into my father. He hated gum. He would never let us chew it. It was forbidden because he knew it would end up in our hair, in the carpet, stuck under the table or to the bottom of his shoe. Kids really are horrible at chewing gum. So any gum chewing I did I had to do in secret, but yes, I still chewed it. I really don’t know when I switched from secretly rebelling against my dad's Nazi Gum Regime to finally seeing gum for the diabolical substance that it is; all I know is that at some point my eyes were opened.

This reminds me of Marion’s gum story. Can I tell your gum story Marion? I would just ask you to tell it, but there is no knowing how soon you will even see this request, and the masses will not wait. So I am going to tell it. Feel free to correct me if needed. Everyone knows my memory is lousy, and I will probably screw it up.

Marion lived under the same strict gum rules that I did. Gum was so taboo that she thought it was truly a sin to chew it. But gum is a strong temptation for any little kid and when somehow she became the owner of a pack of Bubblicious, she had every intention of chewing it. She kept the package a secret, snuck outside, went and sat at the end of the driveway - making sure that her gum pack was never in view of the house - and right then and there chewed the whole pack. It was wrong, but it was so delicious. Or maybe, so totally gross. Those big colorful squares of fruity gum are super disgusting.

I don’t know how this story ends. Was she filled with guilt and eventually confessed? Did she became some kind of Bubblicios addict and chew gum behind the gym after school? Did she completely overcome her temptations and never chew gum again? I don’t have a clue. So I just can’t tell you.

I should somehow wrap this all up now, but I’m not gonna. Cuz I just remembered that I tried to steal some gum once. I’m pretty sure it was gum. It might have been a candy bar, but that wouldn’t really tie in with this post, so let’s assume that it was gum.

I was at a store with my mom and older sister Arlene. I was probably about 4 or 5. I wanted some gum so bad, and my mom wouldn’t buy it for me. So when they weren't looking I stuck it in my pocket, my mom checked out, and we went out to the car. I thought I was in the clear. But Arlene knew. They kept asking me what was in my pocket. And though I tried to deny it, it didn’t do any good because they KNEW, and then they made me take it back inside and give it to the cashier. I tell you what, I learned right then that crime doesn’t pay, and I never stole anything again.

For years after that, I always wondered how they knew. Some sixth sense tuned them in to the crime being committed under their noses? I was baffled, but I think I have figured it out. I was 5. With all my 5-year-old Stealth, how could they NOT have noticed? I thought I was being so nonchalant, when in reality I must have been SO WILDLY OBVIOUS that I may as well have broken their knees and run off with my prize, and it wouldn’t have been any clearer. (Though certainly more violent. Wow, where did that come from?)

Ok. I have rambled enough. Let’s just say that the devil in the gum made me steal it, and only thanks to my highly intuitive sister and mother was I saved from the life of gum related crime that the Hubba Bubba had planned for me.

The End.

CUPS (like "COPS", but without the cool theme song)

When we were kids, one of the things that made my dad crazy was half drunk cups of milk left sitting around the house. (You know, like the little girl in "Signs" who left cups of water all over the place. Only we left ours around more out of lazy forgetfulness than neurotic obsessions, and ours never saved us from an alien attack.) It made him furious. Now that I'm a mom, I'm pretty sure it would make me mad too. But no matter how much my dad yelled, threatened, bribed or cajoled, we still always got more milk than we could drink, and would inevitably leave the leftovers sitting on top of the TV, or on the back of the toilet, or, my favorite, stuck back in the fridge - like we were really going to drink it later.

So in an effort to save my dad's sanity a New Cup Order was introduced. All the existing cups were replaced with smaller cups. This way it was almost impossible to get more milk than you could drink in one sitting. It was also almost impossible to get as much milk as you wanted in one sitting as the cups were about the size of those used in the sacrament.

Things have been this way in my parents house for so long that I just didn't think about it until I got married. Course, Richard didn't say anything at first. It doesn't do to insult the cups of your in-laws right off the bat. But eventually it came out. The same way Richard doesn't like little spoons, he doesn't see the point of little cups. I remember him asking me once why all of my parents cups were so small. I said "I don't know. I guess they aren't very thirsty people."

My dad tried to satisfy Richard's needs for oversized dishes by finding him what was, admittedly, a pretty big cup. Richard appreciated that, but apparently it wasn't big enough. So Richard found some HUGE 64 ounce red plastic bucket somewhere and brought that to my parents house. It is stored in a special place so that he will always be able to use it whenever we come over. So Sunday we sit around the table, all of us drinking out of thimbles while Richard drinks from his giant tub. It is a funny sight, and I think it makes Richard happy.

This isn't Richard, but it IS a big cup. If Richard sees this picture, he is going to want one.

Election Time

I just don’t get it. Everyone is so passionate this time around. They have chosen their candidate and they are sure they are right. They say things like “He is the clear choice.” Or “Obviously, I am voting for so and so”. Well the choice isn’t clear to me. I feel like everyone else has information I don’t have. I see what is shown on TV. But I have a hard time trusting believing anything that is said. Everyone has something awful to say about each candidate, and how can I know if it’s true?

It seems especially confusing to me. This year it seems like you could take everyone I know ask them who they are voting for, and then would be pretty evenly split. One half says “McCain, of course. Obama sucks.” And the other half says “Obama, naturally, we’re screwed if we don’t”.

Well, why does Obama suck? Why are we screwed if McCain wins? What are they basing their opinions on? And why do they feel like they can really trust the information they have been given? I’m not saying that they shouldn’t, I just wish I knew what they know.
Of course I think everyone should do what they feel is right. It just perplexes me because I would think most everyone I know shares the same values as me, so why are they so divided?

Maybe what gets me is that I am used to basing my judgments so much on the opinions of those around me (I know you do it too), and I can’t really do that this year because all I hear are conflicting stories. I just don’t see how one friend can love and support Obama wholeheartedly, and another friend can be positive that if he wins we are in for 4 years of hell. This makes no sense to me. Obviously, they don’t have the same information. And I don’t have either of their information.

And I guess most of all I hope that when this is all over, all these people with all this passion will be able to accept and support the winner, whoever he is, even if he is not the one he voted for. I think it’s pretty important that instead of criticizing everything the president does, we unite ourselves as a country and work for our future like it all depends on us.

Tagged by Lynsie

Here is the assignment: I must list 3 joys, 3 fears, 3 current goals, 3 current obsessions, and 3 random facts about myself.

3 Joys
1. The look on Harrison's face as he climbs into my lap for me to read him a story.
2. The Internet
3. A clean kitchen. Well, that is probably more Peace than Joy, but I'll take what I can get.

3 Fears
1. Having a psychopathic maniac break into my house in the middle of the night and kill my baby.
2. Shark Attacks.
3. Spelling Errors.

3 Current Goals
1. Eat a LOT less sugar
2. Get the Student Loan paid off.
3. Watch as much TV as possible.

3 Current Obsessions
1. Blogging. Still. I know, a bit sad maybe?
2. Dr Who (2005) - Finished season one and just started on season 2. Christopher Eccleston was good, but David Tennant IS The Doctor.
3. Cake. Now I have always liked cake. Who wouldn't? (Except my Dad. Weird, right?) But really, I have always been more into the ice cream than the cake. Lately though, ever since I started reading Cake Wrecks, I think about cake ALL THE TIME!

3 Random Facts about Me
1. I can name all 50 states in under a minute.
2. I don't like gum. I don't like to chew it, and I don't like it when anyone else chews it.
3. I fall down a lot.

Thanks Lynsie!
Anyone else want to play?

Karate Kid

When Harrison woke up from his nap yesterday he was kind of sad, so we cuddled on the couch and watched "Karate Kid". It's been years since I last saw it. But it was fun. However, I find it kind of hard to believe that: 1. Those high school seniors would spend that much time terrorizing one skinny sophomore. 2. That Daniel winning the karate competition would make that crazy gang leader say "You're all right, Daniel. You're all right." right after getting kicked in the face by him. (Though now that I think about it, a crane kick in the face would really set a lot of people straight. Only problem is, face kicking - even to people who really, really need it - is generally looked down on. I guess Mr. Miyagi knew what he was doing.) And 3.That a boy who hadn't ever actually sparred with anyone before would really be able to win the competition. And that Elizabeth Shue would be interested in him. And that he kept tucking ALL his shirts in. Luckily he was in California, or else I'm pretty sure I would have seen him tucking in his sweaters. Phew. Really dodged a bullet with that one.
Still, I think it is good! I liked it when it first came out and I still do. Ranks right up there with.... I don't know. I'm drawing a blank. What does it rank up there with?

Discovered: The Root of All my Social Problems!

I consider myself pretty socially awkward. There are just so many social situations that I feel so clueless in. I try. And I think I am getting better (Cuz I’m 30!) but sometimes I just feel like awkwardness personified.

Maybe this is because I think about things too much. Not that it helps. Stuff always seems to come out wrong anyway. It is dangerous business opening your mouth.

For example: We are on waving terms with our neighbors. Sometimes a “Hi!” or a “Nice Weather!” or something like that is exchanged. This suits me fine. I assume it suits them fine too. Today as I was getting ready to drive away from the house I noticed him washing his car on his lawn. It looked very shiny, so I considered yelling out “It’s looking good!” But I was afraid he would only hear “Looking Good!” and think that I was talking about him. And while maybe that is a compliment he would like to receive, I just wasn’t sure I wanted to move our relationship up to that level.

Example two: I was talking to a friend in passing a while back and he was telling me about something cool he had recently done. As the conversation was closing what I wanted to say as my parting words were “Great!” but I thought maybe I had said that too many times in the brief conversation already, so instead I said “Good for you”. But what was supposed to come out as light and breezy, instead came out sounding very sarcastic, like “Good for you, ya moron!!” So as we parted, instead of saying “See ya”, I didn’t say anything, because I was struck dumb at how I must have sounded to him.

Yes, obviously, I have some problems. Not thinking at all for one, and thinking too much for another. That, and caring too much. And working too hard. And loving too deeply. Stuff like that. Anyway this awkwardness is why I would rather send you an email than talk to you on the phone, why a little part of me can’t help but hope that I don’t run into someone I know at the grocery store, and now that I think about it, probably the reason I was never voted prom queen!!! Mystery Solved!

Phew! Glad we got that over with!

Now, to change the mood a bit, I would like to show you a video of my cute baby.

He is so cute, it hurts a little. I don't know how he got so cute, but we sure can't take credit for it. So thank you Jennifer! We love you!


It is very hard for me to write serious things, but I am going to try. So no laughing. Just a few days ago I watched "The Flight that Fought Back", a documentary on the Discover Channel about United 93. I had had it recorded for a couple of weeks, and I almost didn't watch it, but I'm so glad I did. It was awesome. I was on the verge of tears throughout the whole movie.

Though at first I was a little upset by it. It sort of seemed like they were the only flight brave enough to fight back, and that the people on the other flights obviously weren't. But that wasn't the message at all. They fought back because their plane took off late, and the guy who was going to lead the attack and fly the plane sort of dragged his feet. Which means the passengers on the plane knew what was happening in New York and Washington D.C. and knew exactly what was going to happen to them.

And they fought back because they got mad, and simply weren't going to sit there and take it. They showed a clip in the documentary of the terrorist guarding the cockpit cringing in fear as the passengers on the plane all rushed him. Those left in the cockpit knew it was over, and crashed the plane right where they were - middle of nowhere Pennsylvania.

There is a time to sit back and just see what happens, but sometimes, when we have enough information, it is our responsibility to act, no matter the cost.

Richard and I went to New York a few years ago. I wanted to post some of the pictures we took, but this was 2005. There really was nothing to see. See for yourself.

Why, Mom? Why?

My mom sent me this beautiful picture. I think I actually screamed when I saw it (maybe it was more of a screamlet than a scream). I don't know where she came across such a thing. And I'm not sure why she sent it, except that it is called a Hagfish. Maybe she is saying that I am a Hagfish? Which, when I first read some of the descriptions of it, I thought it was awful nice of her.

UCMP Berkely had this to say: "Hagfish are long, slender and pinkish, and are best known for the large quantities of sticky slime which they produce." Well, almost nice, I guess. But really Mom, I stopped spitting slime in the 9th grade! I read on and decided that I was inferring more than she was implying when I got to this paragraph:

"Young are hermaphroditic at first, bearing both sets of sex organs; later in life, they will be either male or female, but may change sex from season to season." Wow, talk about an identity crisis. Can you imagine being a teenager with that sexually uncertain future hanging over your head? Man! Fish are wacky! I told my husband about the Hagfish, and he surmised, very wisely I think, that "Sea Creatures are all messed up". Quite so. Maybe I will organize some sort of Teenage Marine Life mentoring program. Think of all the poor, confused Aquatic Adolescents we could help. Anyone have ideas for the name? Person who comes up with the best name gets a plaque on the building!

The Man in My Life

I want to give you all fair warning that this is a post about my husband. So if you don't want to read any of this sentimental garbage, you should probably leave right now. And if you stay, don't say I didn't warn you. I got this quiz from Joleen. Thanks!

The Man in my Life.

1. Who is your man? Richard Edwin.

2. How long have you been together? Together? What exactly signifies together? We just celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary. But I knew him for about 3 years before that. Oh, I guess before I go into detail I should check the next question.

3. How long did you date?
Who knows? Hang on, let me count. Looks like it was about 3 months before I left on my mission and 3 months after my mission. But like I said, we were friends long before all that.

How old is your man? Can’t we just call him my husband? They have to be assuming husband or they wouldn’t include the question “how long did you date?” He is 37, with the face of a cherub.

6. Who said “I love you” first? He did, though I had been thinking it for a couple of years, so it was fine with me.

8. Who sings better? Me. But he will sing which I love so, so much.

9. Who is smarter? Pooh. This question stinks. But who am I kidding? He is.

13. Who sleeps on the right hand side of the bed? He does. I’m always closer to the door (all two houses so far). Don’t know what that is about, but with a baby it works out better anyway.

14. Who pays the bills? Me. I have tried sharing, or letting him do it, but I just can’t. I have to know what is going on. He would be wishing he was dead if he was doing it, because I would be bugging him about it all the time.

15. Who is better with the computer? He is. Nerd.

17. Who cooks dinner? Me. But he is the better cook. Too bad for him!

20. Who is most stubborn? He is.

21. Who is the first to admit when they are wrong? Me. Because he is so stubborn. Even when it is obvious he still won’t admit that he is wrong. Maybe twice in our marriage he has admitted he was wrong about something. I’m also always the first to apologize in a fight. I hate to fight with him, and my desire for the fight to be over always wins out over my anger in the end.

23. Who kissed who first? I don’t know. I don’t want to ask him because I’m afraid he’ll say it was me.

25. Who Proposed? He did.

26. Who is more sensitive? Me. He is, as I always tell him, a cold heartless manly man.

28. Who has more siblings? Me. 6 sisters, 1 brother, he has 2 brothers, 3 sisters.

29. Who wears the pants in the family?
Neither! We all wear kilts around here!

Results of the poll

Get stung by a bee? 4 votes
Be crawled on by a cockroach? 2 votes

It appears that the majority of our readers would rather get stung by a bee than crawled on by a cockroach. So I think it is safe to say at this point, that 2/3 of all Americans prefer bee stings to contact with cockroaches. And I don't blame them. I think cockroaches are the grossest, creepiest bugs I have ever come across. Maybe at this point I should tell a little story. Sure. Why not? Here goes.

I went to BYU Hawaii for a few years. There are cockroaches in Hawaii. The End.

Not much of a story, is it? But that is only the first book in the trilogy. Here is Book 2:
My 2nd semester in Hawaii I decided to switch apartments to be closer to campus. I found a place listed on some bulletin board or other and decided it would be perfect. I went to check it out. It was a tiny little house, or half a tiny little house: one bedroom with 3 beds, tiny bathroom and a small kitchen/living room. One of my roommates to be, a sweet girl from Hong Kong, showed me around a little bit. In the front room, just sitting on the face of the clock on the wall, was a great big cockroach. When I say big, I mean about 3 inches long. I'm sure they come bigger, but it was plenty big for me. I pointed it out to my roommate - I think her name was Emma? - and she just shrugged. I was surprised how much it didn't bug her. (Ha! Get it? Bug her?) It's not like it was the first one I had seen, it's just that he was so brazenly sitting there, telling time, with that devil-may-care attitude that got me. But I still moved in. There are cockroaches in Hawaii. You learn to live with it. It wasn't that big of a deal.

"Book 3: Cockroaches in the Mist"
Sometime later Emma moved out and another girl moved in. We will call her Francis. A white girl like me who was somewhat less willing than I was to put up with the cockroach population. Cuz they were still there. Any time we turned on the lights we would see a few scatter. Or when we opened the kitchen drawers we would always see one run away. These are things we just came to accept as part of life, that and the fact that we always had to wash all our dishes before using them. My new roommate could not accept these things. She was a very political, must-match-shoes-with-belt, high maintenance kind of girl. (Wow, this story is getting a little long. If you need to leave for a short break, feel free.) Anyhoo, so, she hated the cockroaches. Naturally. And one evening she decided she had had enough and brought a friend over and they were going to get rid of them. She was going to clean deeper than that apartment had ever been cleaned before. (Gee, it really sounds like I lived in squalor, doesn't it?) and find their little cockroach homes and evict them!

The kitchen/living room seemed to be the heart of the problem. So they got to work. They started cleaning. They pulled out drawers, they pulled out appliances. I was on the couch doing homework - so helpful aren't I? They had really only just begun when suddenly, out from everywhere, the cockroaches emerged. They flew out of cracks in the ceiling I didn't know were there, flew out from behind the fridge, crawled out from under the couch. I don't know WHERE they came from, but suddenly the air was full of them! I have never seen so many cockroaches in my life. Everyone of us dropped what we were doing and ran screaming for the door. And then we just kept running - screaming and swatting at the air like lunatics, just running and running till we couldn't anymore. I ended up on campus where I stayed for a few hours. Francis eventually went back to the house to get a few things as quickly as she could and then went and stayed with a friend for a few days. But ultimately I guess we both decided that we would just have to live with the terms the cockroaches set: "Leave us alone and we'll leave you alone" and just keep on pretending that they weren't there. Besides, what choice did we have?

The following semester I was not sorry to move again. This time I moved into a great big house (equipped with 15 roommates) on the beach, where our biggest problem was mice (and sand. Man! That stuff gets everywhere!) And I will happily take mice over cockroaches any day of the week. Oh, that is what the poll should have been! Mice or cockroaches! Duh!! Oh well. Cast your vote in the comments. Which is grosser: Mice or Cockroaches? Hmm. Maybe I will include some photos so you can see what your choices are. No! Wait! On Second thought, why don't you just tell us: What is the creepiest critter you've ever seen?

One more post about the Olympics

I promise I don't plan to keep on beating this poor dead horse. Just one more thing pertaining to Gymnastics. As Richard and I were watching one of the women's gymnastics finals I said to him,
"You know, I'm surprised that with the advances made in swimwear, etc. (boyshorts, for example) that the gymnasts are still wearing leotards that are cut so high. They don't have to show so much bum all the time. I mean, I guess it doesn't bother them, but it would bother me!"

Richard responded "And that is why you'll never win the Gold."