A Recap

I had a great Christmas, thanks for asking, but I don't have a single picture to prove it. So just take my word on it. It was grand. And consider yourself fortunate for not having to sift through hundreds of pictures of me and my fat rolls. My fat rolls also appreciate the discretion.

Although to say that I had a fabulous Christmas and to not say what was so fabulous about it seems ungrateful and dishonest. So here are some of the highlights of Christmas 2008 for Courtney.

• Playing hours of Monopoly with Meg and Ty -While staying at Meg's house, the four of us (the fourth person being Josh), would settle every night with a rousing game of Monopoly. It was ridiculously fun and it seems weird to go to bed without first going bankrupt. I lost every time. It was also amusing to hear Ty and Josh analyze the similarities between Monopoly and everyday life. Like we could ever afford Park Place in real life!
• Half-sleeping through Josh and his fam battling MarioKart on the Wii - While staying at the Robbins, we would spend hours opening up new courses (I include myself in this, but really I was usually half-sleeping on the couch) in MarioKart on the beloved Wii. It was fun and it was even better because Josh would go to bed so exhausted, he would temporarily forget his love affair with his iphone, and would forgo his nightly game of Sudoku. It was amazing going to bed without the faint glow of the iphone glimmering in my face. I'll never forget it.
• Going to Tucanos, and then barfing it all back up - That pretty much wraps it up. It was fun going there to eat, not so much the throwing it back up (although, it did point out to me that I don't chew my food up enough. Seriously. There were whole bits of meat just floating there in the toilet. I think I should chew more). Josh and Ty did some damage to the 'All you can eat' rule. I think the manager was going to ask us to leave. That or take their picture for the most meat consumed in a single sitting.
• Waking up every morning at the Robbins house, and having breakfast already made - Barb (Josh's mom) doesn't let old habits die, and whenever Josh is in the house, she will make him breakfast. I, in turn, benefit greatly, since I hate preparing anything at all (toast is a struggle), and there was always some delicious delight all ready for me to not chew. Delicious.
  
• Just spending all day with someone a lot like me - My sister Meg and I are pretty different, but we're also pretty similar in many regards. I'm pretty sure if I weren't me, I would be my own friend (it makes sense...), and so palling around with Meg is just like being with myself. We like to sit and talk about how cool we are, and a lot of people don't seem to enjoy that (odd, right?). So we really love spending time together so we can talk about how awesome we are. We rule.
• Just seeing friends and some family - It's always nice to be somewhere familiar and with people who know and love you. It was nice to see both families (we didn't really see a lot of my family, but my family is weird like that) and to spend even a few minutes with friends. I miss them all.
  

4 for me and 0 for anyone else

My friend just brought over 4 bread sticks. I looked them over, and immediately decided to eat one, but leave myself the option of eating two. I ate the one, and then had the second down my throat before the first one was completely chewed. I didn't feel too guilty since I had already pre-determinedly the likelihood of me eating only one was next to zero. I looked at the third, and ate that one too. Never mind there being 4, 2 for me and 2 for Josh, he technically doesn't even know the bread sticks ever existed. Now there's one minuscule bread stick sitting on a lonely plate, staring at me, willing me to eat him. He's scared now that's he's alone and asks only that I take him where I've taken the others. I can hardly refuse a scared bread stick his last wish, and so I offer him the safety of my fat rolls. Enjoy the ride, little buddy. But I might as well save you the trip and just tape you to my thigh.

No Christmas card this year...

Josh has been asking me if we're going to do a Christmas card this year. I looked at him, and asked, "Why?" We don't have kids, we don't have pets, we don't own any living thing to acknowledge (minus my poinsettia, although it seems to be dying ever since I broke branches off and tried to tape them back on, so that will be cut off the list soon. Poor Pickles the Poinsettia...). I guess I could tell people what we did this year, though. We moved to California. There. Christmas card done! Plus, I wouldn't send a picture card since it would just be me and Josh and maybe Pickles, depending on how much longer he can withstand my black thumb, and that would just be dumb. I hate when couples do Christmas cards. They already did an engagement announcement, we don't want to see more pictures of them gazing at each other, smooching, or doing any other 'casual' poses while frolicking in wheat fields, snuggling up in a snow bank, or crouching with arms wrapped around each other over a train track. I hate couple Christmas cards. Maybe that has something to do with me hating most things. Can't be sure. All I know is that I won't be doing any Christmas cards until my first kid is graduating from something worthwhile. Like preschool. But if you are one of those couples, send me a card. I like hanging them on my fridge and making fun of them. See how cool I am?

one good, one bad, and one awful

Three things have happened to me this week. One good, one bad, and one being the worst possible thing to have ever happened to a living organism. Uh hum.

The good thing that has happened is that moths have finally come to the same conclusion I have. They are disgusting little smut bugs and they should all die. I walked into the bathroom and what did I see? A nasty little dead moth peeking at me! (Spring had brought me such a nice surprise, blossoms popping right before my eyes...) Man. If you could have heard the cheers! I was elated to discover that no one had actually put the vile thing in there, he just recognized his own wickedness and plunged into his watery grave. Excellent. I cannot truly describe how happy I was to find his limp form, floating on the toilet water, but I assure you it rivals only to how I feel about puppies. Pure ecstasy.

The bad thing that happened this week was when I was making an omelet and Josh asked me to make him one too. I cringed, but bit the bullet. I made a delicious ham and spinach omelet, with cheese and onions and salt and pepper and deliciousness, all scrambled together in some deliciously clever manner. Well, Josh takes one bite and says, "This is disgusting. You know I hate wilted lettuce!" First off, it's spinach and it isn't wilted, it's cooked. Second off, you can go *$%# 0$@%** in the &!!@ for all *&#$! Nobody asked you to eat my wilted lettuce omelet! I was mad and will continue to be mad for eternity.

The worst possible thing to happen actually took place last week. As I mentioned before, I went to another family's Thanksgiving. Everything went fine until we were rounding up to go (hours before the other people; yes, I'm a true Asay). I had made green bean casserole and was going to pick up my leftovers and dish, when I realized I was missing one. Not the dish, but the casserole itself! Now, I did in fact look for my leftovers, and actually found them all tucked away in someone else's tubberware in the fridge. I sat there, staring at my leftovers in their fridge, debating whether to just take them or to actually make some kind of scene, with lots of hand gestures and lots of shrieking and lots of blaming on whoever put weird fruit things in the stuffing... I decided to avoid the stuffing fight in the kitchen (seriously though. Who puts dried fruit junk in stuffing? That's just wrong.), and was ready to just take the food and run when one of the sisters asked me to help her with something. Uh huh. Likely story. She saw what was going to happen and nipped it in the bud. She wanted my green bean casserole! Ah! Dammit.

This wouldn't be such a tragedy if I didn't honestly hate cooking so much. I really hate it. There is nothing I like less than cooking (except moths, of course. But they seem to be less disgusting ever since they started killing themselves. I like dead ones way better than live ones...). So when I took the 30 minutes to prepare and cook the casserole, I was hoping for leftovers so that I could avoid making anything for the next 8 days (I only cook once every 8 days. Josh knows the rules. That's why he ate his wilted lettuce omelet anyways. He knew it was that or cereal).

Ahh! Josh just told me that he found the moth dead on the window sill and threw it in the toilet. I hate this week.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Happy Thanksgiving! I love a holiday that supports gluttony and overeating! But it is definitely a time to reflect and consider all the things that you're thankful for. Currently, I'm in a foul mood and so my list is superficial and short. In fact, only pumpkin pie comes to mind, but I'm sure once I calm down, other things will come to mind.

I guess I can also add that I'm thankful for people who are willing to take in the strays during holiday season. We are not going home for Thanksgiving and so our good and kind friends invited us over for the feast. At first I was reluctant to attend a Thanksgiving dinner with someone else's family, being that I usually prefer solitude to large groups of unfamiliar people, but I opted to shy away from my natural tendencies and to join the other people's family. We'll see how it goes. I wonder if their brothers will each eat a dozen rolls by themselves. I wonder if the words, "Dammit Vicky" will be heard at any point throughout the night. And I also wonder if people will be going for dessert 10 minutes after the dinner began. Not because they are too eager to wait and finish their dinner, but because they already finished their dinner. We'll see. It should be fun.

Deal Breakers

Last night I made the horrible mistake of being what some might call, a 'supportive' wife. Josh had yet another indoor/outdoor soccer game, and I went. Can I just say, blah? Blah! I hate doing supportive things, especially when it means doing anything that takes me away from laying on the couch with a bowl of cereal. Really. I highly resent having to go to work, simply because it requires occasional standing and little or no cereal. Huh. I guess I might be sort of lazy. Weird.

But anyway, I was at this game, and there was a fairly attractive guy standing not 10 feet away. Being human and not wasting the opportunity to admire such attractiveness, I cast casual glances at him, thinking of what I would do to improve his look (meaning I would exchange his chunky Vans for something more loafer-like...). As I was admiring and oogling, he bent over to pick up a dropped phone, and *gasp* I witnessed one of my deal breakers. Crack. I saw crack, and I was immediately trying to keep myself from vomiting. As I tried to concentrate on anything other than hairy crack (it probably wasn't really hairy, but what with the imagination I have... well...), I was thinking of other deal breakers for me and guys. The list was surprisingly short.

• Revealing clothing -I find nothing more disgusting than guys wearing shorter shirts or lower pants, and having to see any amount of stomach, back, or butt. I can stand to see underwear, but I'd rather not. Keep it covered!
• Less than comic-worthy humor -I like my guys funny and yes, Josh is funny. He had to be to catch a girl like me (I don't know what that means but it's meant to infer that I'm a great catch).
• Any guy that weighs less than me -it is bound to happen some day when I get pregnant, because Josh isn't exactly a heavyweight, but until then, we'll stay married. The second the scale proves me to outweigh him, well... I hope our marriage is strong enough.
  
• Guys who can't eat -I'm a big eater and I need healthy competetion in this category. This might tie in with a guy weighing less than I do. In high school, I dated a guy who was incredibly conscience of what he ate and stuff. I was seriously turned off when he suggested I not eat the entire plate of french toast and ingest some fruit instead. I might have shot him. Either way, I can't remember and I haven't seen him since IHOP. Sometime might want to check the dumpster.
• A guy who can't fix stuff -Since I'm constantly breaking things, I need someone to follow in my wake with a hammer and a screwdriver. I need a I-can-fix-anything-you-can-manage-to-break-baby! guy. I love those kind of guys. Especially when they call me 'baby.'
  
• Any guy who can't watch America's Funniest Videos, if there even is such a being -Enough said. That show rules. Josh may not go out of his way to watch it, but I can guarantee he watches. We wouldn't be together otherwise.
  

Meeting a baby?

I had an interesting conversation with a frirend the other day. She had just had a baby not too long ago and having not seen the infant for myself, she suggested I come and 'meet her.' I sat there, wondering what it means to 'meet' a baby. Do we shake hands? Do I introduce myself? Do I tell her I like her shoes? I mean, am I meeting the baby, or am I faking admiration for the baby? Because those are two very different things and I have yet to walk up to a baby, stick out my hand, and have any sort of conversation with the baby that didn't involve me raising my voice 6 octaves.

I guess it comes down to the fact that I sort of get annoyed with new mothers. Having not been one myself, I find them rather obnoxious. I think it's because their entire personality changes once they have a kid and rather than being able to talk about anything other than the new child, you are forced to listen to feeding schedules, night routines, and what baby poop really smells like.

I understand that their life has dramatically changed to revolve around that one tiny little person, but it doesn't mean mine has. I think that new mothers should be sent to an island of some sort. Then they can all sit together, and talk about nothing other than their new babies. They can compare nursing experiences, how many blankets they made in order to prepare, and what their favorite brand of diapers is. They can rejoin society once they realize that no one other than themselves think their child is the smartest, cutest, or most talented 6 week old ever, if that ever happens.

I understand that I will undoubtedly become one of the said obnoxious new mothers some day, but until then, I will continue to be irritated with all new mothers. And really, can you be so much in denial to think that a 2 month old is cute? They're still all squished up and weird looking. Trust me. I've seen the pictures. If you disagree, send me a picture of a cute 2 month old that isn't yours.

My sweet youth

Okay, so I've been pretty much laughing my guts out (is that even possible?) while reading my old elementary school journals. An old teacher gave these to me 2 years ago, after running into me at the store that I worked. She came back a day later, with my journals from 3rd grade. She said she kept them because she thought they were so funny and that I might want them someday. She was right.

February 23, 1996
Yesterday was fun! Haylee, Crista, Liberty, and I all went to Lakeridge Junior High and ran around the halls. The funnest part was when we went into the bathrooms and stuffed our shirts with toilet paper and walked around the school. We tied up our shirts so that our belly showed! It was so funny! Some people even thought we were 7th graders! We were acting just like a 7th grader would! [I hate to imagine what we normally acted like if the goal was to behave exactly like obnoxious 7th graders]

April 15, 1996
On Friday I had a soccer game. We won 4 to 1. It was freezing cold. I was like totally ripping on the ref. He sucked dang bad. The other team was cussing at us. It was funny.

April 22, 1996
Yesterday I went to the nursing home to do the sacrament meeting. It was weird. So many old dudes. They kept asking me if any of the deacons were my boyfriend. Of course I said no way. Who wants a boyfriend when they're 11 years old? Besides a couple girls of course.

August 30, 1995
Have you ever noticed someone's eyes? I have. The thing is that, everybody's eyes are different! There are all kinds of sizes. I have very big eyes. Haylee has quite small. She is my friend. She has hazle eyes. Hazle is blue and brown mixed. Mine are just blue. But I like that just fine. One time my friend went out into an orchard. She has really bad hayfever. Well anyway after she came out of the weeds her pupils were covered by the white stuff in your eyes. She looked like an alien.

September 24, 1995
Once upon a time there was a nice little girl who was nice to everybody and she always got straight A's, but one day she was doing her book report. She asked, "Dear Mrs. Sibley, I will not be here so may I turn it in late?" but all Mrs. Sibley said was, "No! I hate you! You are the worst studen I ever had! You only get half-credit! Then you will have an F-!" Now, this little girl got so upset, she burned down the school! It wasn't so bad except that her friend was going on the same trip and she could turn it in late. This is what Mrs. Sibley said to her friend, "You are so wonderful! Praise to you!" That was what made this nice little girl crack! She got very very mean! She killed Mrs. Sibley! So teachers, be fair. Or else.
The End

And lastly, I'd like to share exerpts from a letter my best friend, Haylee, wrote to our 3rd grade teacher. It just makes me laugh.

Dear Mrs. Sorenson,
I think you're a good teacher, but I hate this seating arrangement. You should let us choose where we get to sit, or at least give us a chance.
Anyway about me. I'm the only girl of three boys....

It sort of sounds like what Nacho Libre says to Lady Encarnacion. The really funny thing about the entire journal though, is that nearly every page makes complaints about the seating arrangement. I can't imagine where we were all sitting, but apparently it was unsuitable.

Oh things that we do...

There are so many things that we vow to never do or never become, but end up doing and becoming. I was thinking about these things while I was washing my hair with my cheapo shampoo, when I realized, Hey! I once swore to never treat my hair so badly by using grocery store shampoo on my dried-out locks, and here I was with suds of Pantene in my hair. Crap! So I began thinking of all the other things I thought I would never do but now do regularly. The list began to depress me.

Something I vowed never to do...

1. Watch Dancing with the Stars -Enough said. There is something wrong (but strangely satisfying...) with watching washed-up celebrities try to resurrect their careers through the samba.
2. Leave dishes in the sink -When living in the pioneer apartment (the apartment that was basically a cinder block box with none of the comforts of the everyday man), I didn't have a dishwasher. Every night after washing a sink full of dishes, I would curse the wretches who were so lazy, they couldn't put a simple dish in the dishwasher. Right now I've got 64 plates, 26 bowls, and 87 cups staring me in the face from the kitchen sink. As soon as I run out of room in the kitchen sink, I'll use the sink in the bathroom.
3. Think those weird short boots that are creeping into style are cute -Uh huh. I like them. Yup. I'm disgusting.
   
4. Be excited for the stupid Twilight movie -Agh! I hate that I want to see it. I hate that I'm overlooking the fact that none of the characters look anything remotely close to what they should look like. I hate that I care! Damn it, Stephenie Meyer! You made me care!
5. Seriously contemplate murder -I am really concerned over my sudden desire to violently destroy the insurance company that declined my application and anyone associated with them. Blowing up the building wouldn't be enough, being that enough lives wouldn't be lost. I want blood, and lots of it.
6. Like the weird anchor woman with the plastic face -I can't say whether it's her demented cheek implants or her Jackson-like nose job, but I like that weird-looking lady. She makes the news that much more interesting.

Don't mess

Today at work I was telling some of my colleagues (other low-end employees) about how sick and tired I was of a certain patient. I was expressing how I wished that I could see this person face to face, simply to be able to shout in her face for 5 hours, when one of the said colleagues blatantly stated, "She would kick your a$$" (money signs intended to deflect any possible outcry of being offended). I was stunned. I mean, really? Either I'm a major wuss (not likely), or this particular person is trained in some rare martial arts that enables them to mortally wound you just by blinking at you. I just couldn't believe it. And to add to it, everyone sort of just nodded along, in agreement! It isn't as though I'm some tiny weakling who can hardly lift a cup of scalding oatmeal (I actually did that today, lifted it right over my head). I've played soccer my entire life and did a fair number of bruising during that life, and I should think that I represent myself as fairly tough and capable of manhandling, but perhaps not. Maybe I just come across as too dainty to get my hands dirty by ruffing up some patient's mother. I don't really know the answer. The bottom line, I can take you, no matter who you are.

Pictures and more pictures

My blog is way overdue for a new post, and no one realizes that more than I do. Every now and again, I check my blog, hoping beyond hope that somehow magically someone has hacked into my blog (like it would take a lot...) and posted something new and exciting. Unfortunately, no computer genius has taken an interest in hacking into the mainframe of my blog and doing me (and everyone else) such a favor. New and exciting would definitely be a change to the mundane and repetitive entries. Either way, I'm behind in reporting my ever-so-clever observations.

Unfortunately, I don't feel either clever or observant, and so I will settle with posting picture after picture of this past week. My sister Meghan and her family came to visit and go to Disneyland, Legoland, etc. My other sister Brittany also came but more to avoid the frigid weather that exists in Logan, Utah than anything else.

These pictures are from Disneyland. There are some seriously cute ones in here.

Here are two pictures while at the Disneyland parade.

These pictures come from Balboa Park where two gay men asked me if Josh was gay and was available. He was pretty flattered, and I couldn't have been more proud.

And the rest of these pictures come from San Diego Zoo. It was all pretty sweet.

Yes on Proposition 8

So for those of you who do not live in California (the vast majority of anyone actually reading this...), you are probably not swimming in the Proposition 8 campaign. Lucky you. If proposition 8 doesn't pass, I'm coming to live wherever you live.

What is Proposition 8? It is a proposition that would change the California Constitution to eliminate the right of same sex couples to marry in California. A new section would be added to the constitution stating, "only marriage between a man and a woman is valid or recognized in Calfornia." Basically, it would take away gay marriage.

But Proposition 8 isn't an anti-gay movement; it's more of what the consequences will be if we continue to legalize gay marriage. So what happens in 10 years when someone says, 'Hey. I'm an adult. I should be able to marry my sister, or maybe my mom. We both consent!' Or what do we say when people start arguing that we should lower the age of consent. That a 15 year old is just as aware of what he wants as the 30 year old that wants to marry him or her? Really people. It is only a matter of time if we don't draw the line somewhere. "California law already grants domestic partners all the rights that a state can grant to a married couple. Gays have a right to their private lives, but not to change the definition of marriage for everyone else."

And what about our rights as parents. "Public schools are already required to teach the role of marriage in society as part of the curriculum, schools will now be required to teach students that gay marriage is the same as traditional marriage, starting with kindergartners."

I am by no means politically aware, but this is an issue that we have been asked as members of the church to care about and to fight for. So I'm caring and I'm fighting ('fighting' being defined as standing on corners holding signs, going door to door, donating money, and spending at least 4 hours a week working on Proposition 8 stuff).

Learned

Being incognito has given me the opportunity to look at the world around me, and learn something. Here is a list of those somethings that I learned.

1. Breast-feeding in a public place is both sickening and completely acceptable by social standards. While dining at the world-famous Quizno's, I was lucky enough to stumble on such an experience. I was hastily eating (is there any other way to eat?) a toasted turkey sub when the woman sitting across from me pulled out what appeared to be a boob, and began feeding her wanting child, only I don't know how wanting this child was since he didn't even cry. I was aghast, but found that no one else seemed to be. No blanket and no shame. Wonderful.
2. I have been reading Scottish historical fiction type books placed in the 18th century and have found myself thoroughly involved with a 6'4'' red-headed Scot named Jamie. I love him. I will keep him safe from the Jacobite rising.
   
3. I am a hobbit. I have hairy hands. I didn't really learn this but have known it for quite some time, but thought maybe of sharing some of my vast knowledge. Now you've learned something too.
4. There are no worse words than, "I need a favor." 'Favor' really means 'something I know you don't want to do and I wouldn't dare ask you but being that we're related or have been friends for longer than 27 hours, I can phrase it this way and you really have no way of not doing it.' Asking a favor is as binding as any legal contract, but worse since there is guilt involved.
   
5. I am by no means, a domestic goddess. I can't even pretend to call myself that, since I can only cook, bake, or heat up one dish a day. If I make breakfast, Josh can rest easy that I won't be making anything else that day. If I make him a sandwich for lunch, he is already unwrapping the frozen pizza box for dinner. He knows. I know. We know. I do not particularly enjoy cooking. I tried explaining this to my friend, Janette, last Saturday, as she drug me through the grocery store, apparently appalled that I wasn't planning anything for dinner that week. I tried to explain that we already had 4 boxes of cereal and that was more than enough, but she nearly shook with outrage when I said this and started throwing herbs and spices into my cart. I now have an unused lemon that will likely rot before I decide to do anything with it, some kind of weird cheese I've never heard of, a special pasta/rice that I'm supposed to soak or something, something called 'fennel,' and a whole lot more flour than I know what to do with. Can I microwave it?
6. You should never joke about your boss while still at work, since he is likely also still at work. It happens that most of the people at my work went to a wedding on Sunday. I, never having met the happy couple, was being regaled in the happenings of the wedding, and more importantly, of the dancing that did/did not occur. One coworker of mine was impersonating our boss while dancing, when he walked right up behind her to say goodbye. I choked on my laughter, and she just choked.
   
7. I'm pretty sure I don't have a conscience, since I stole a pumpkin from my bishop's garden. It was dangling over the fence, and I made Josh climb up and pluck it off. I now have a pilfered pumpkin on my porch.
8. The power that the Eggo waffle holds over Josh is frightening. I could ask him to crush his Iphone and he would, if only for the promise of an Eggo. He loves Eggos as much as I love cereal, meaning that he would love nothing more than to jump into a pool of Eggos with his mouth wide open. In fact, I am currently listening to him talk to his Eggos, calling them 'precious' and the like. If I'm not mistaken, I'm pretty sure he just referred to them as 'beautiful little candy morsels.' I kid not. Crap. Now he's singing about them ("I can eat another 10 of those bad boys..." sung to the tune of Jingle Bells).
   
9. There is nothing better in life than new clothes, and especially, new pants. New pants make a person feel whole and complete. Forget soulmates, give me Sevens.
10. Fall is the best season in the entire world. California fall does not compare to Utah fall, but it's still fall.
    

Melissa Joan Who?

It has been a while since I last posted something insignificant, but I'll just have to skim over that stuff and get to the more important topics.

So I spent a weekend in Utah to see my mom and family. It was really great to see them all, and especially my mom. I love my family and wouldn't trade them for anything.

Now, on to equally as important topics, such as the second time in my life someone told me I looked like Melissa Joan Hart. Yes, the second time. No one has ever told me I looked like anybody except this specific celebrity (can she really even be called that?), and I have to say that it upsets me greatly. I feel that I am slightly more attractive and remarkably less annoying than she is.

The first time someone told me I looked like Sabrina the Teenage Witch was when I was a junior in high school. It was a boy I thought I could possibly like and when he said I looked 'exactly like Melissa Joan Hart, its freaky...' I paused for only a few seconds, just to throw up, and then remembered that I absolutely detested him and had never even thought him remotely normal.

The second time someone told me I looked like her was a few days ago, from one of the patients at my work. She asked me if I knew who 'Sabrina the Teenage Witch' was, and I said that I did, completely ignorant of where the conversation was leading. I quickly thought of the hideous boy who once told me I resembled her and began remembering what terrible destruction I wished upon him for making up such a lie. She smiled and said, "you look just like her!" I smiled and walked away smiling. I smiled all the way to the kitchen, where I picked up a coffee maker, still smiling, and carried it back to the room where the patient was waiting. I smiled at her while I threw it at her, shattering the glass pot against the wall, all the while smiling.

Say I look like her and be prepared to face the consequences: a smashed coffee pot behind your head. I mean, is it so arrogant to think I am more attractive than her? Has anyone else ever gotten a 'You look exactly like...' remark, that is absolutely uncomplimentary? I never walk up to someone thats really short and said, "you look exactly like Danny DiVito!" or to someone fairly pale, "Wow. Do you know who Marilyn Manson is, because you could be twins!"

Crap. I just really looked at some pictures. I think I do look like her, but that she actually looks better than I do. Crap.

Six Flags baby!!

This weekend was way more fun than anyone else' weekend, and I'm here to tell you about it. To further contest the idea of me being antisocial, Josh and I did social things. We went out to eat on Friday night with our friends in Irvine and some of their friends. No, I don't have pictures so really, I could just be making this up to make myself sound awesome (only truly awesome people have friends who live in Irvine and only truly awesome people go out to eat with the said friends), but I'm not. I promise on the integrity of Nordstrom that we did in fact, go out to eat with Anjanette and James, and their friends who are now our friends also, Heather and Fabio (his actual name... he does not have a ponytail, much to my dismay). After we finished up a long dinner, Josh and I headed up north to LA, where we spent the night anticipating oue date with Six Flags. Six Flags was fun and great, but has anyone been there lately? Because I'm pretty sure that if you have, you most likely fall into the category of gangbanger, white trash, or latino trash. Seriously. The place is a dive and likely the breeding ground for everything STD-related.

When Josh and I first walked in, Josh took a look around and remarked, "We're probably the best-looking people here, and thats saying something." I couldn't agree more. I put together a pretty valid list of why not to take your children to Six Flags.

1. You don't want your children to grow up wanting to be like either of the two blond lezbiens with piercings on every realm of their body, including inbetween their clevage.
   
2. You don't want to have to explain to your children the reason why a man who is 40 years old is flirting and eyeing a 13 year old.
3. You don't want to have to explain to the kids why they have to wear underwear, and the guy smelling like he just ran a marthon 7 weeks ago and still hasn't showered doesn't.
   
4. You don't want to have to explain why the Europeans don't shower, because honestly, has anyone really figured that one out?
   
5. You don't want your kids hearing the spanish profanity, intermixed with the occasional woman over 60 dropping the F bomb.
6. You don't want your kids asking if they can have beer in their bottles too, all the other toddlers get to!
7. You don't want your kids picking up the gang signs, being flashed between rival gangs while in line to get slurpees.
8. You don't want your kids contracting syphilis just by touching the hand rails.
   
9. You don't want to have to give your children the sex talk, just because they witnessed two people doing it while in line to go on Goliath.
10. You don't want your children asking you what "Get the *&#@ away from the %$#$ing !@*%, you %*#ing *&!@! And $#@# you, too, you wanna-be *%$!! And *&^% that!" means. It isn't so cute when your three year old says, "Mommy? Can I have a *$&#ing drink?"
    

Six Flags was awesome and if you like roller coasters, I recommend it. If you like the eternal salvation of your soul, however, I don't recommend it. Not really, though. Just close your eyes, plug your nose, and avoid touching anything or anyone and you'll be just fine.

I should mention that on our way back from Six Flags, we went to dinner with some other friends in Dana Point on the pier. That was actually quite a place to eat (not so much for the food, but the atmosphere). We were on the water, eating fish with Mike and Misty, when we realized that life isn't so bad after all.

Apology

Josh told me that my last post sounded a lot like, "...a 14 year old in teenage angst." Whatever that means. He said that my blog is a little harsh and that people who don't know me (why are they reading my blog then?) will think I'm an angry (true...), ornery (still true...) cynic (even more true...), who doesn't like the general public (nailed it.). Good. Looks like they know me then after all. Anything else they can learn along the way.

But really, I'm not such a bad and angry person and I think that maybe I should make that more obvious to people who are still deliberating whether or not I would knock their block off if they cross me. Chances are, I won't. For me, my blog is a place where I can let my sarcasm fly, rather than always having to keep it in check. At work, for instance, I can only use it sparingly and curbing my sarcastic urges nearly kills me. So, I create a blog where I can relish in my sarcastic appetites and release the building cynicism that flows from my being, and then Josh tells me to curb that as well. Well, I'll try to be a little less angry and little more bubbly. Apparently that is who he thinks he married, and I would hate to disappoint, although I think he knows better.

Consider this, though. I don't have children to soften the blow of my harsh words or even harsher personality. Someone can say they hate the world and then put up a picture of their two-year old and everyone forgets the words 'hate' and 'world.' I don't have such a luxury. Nor do I have the luxury of posting cutesy pictures and explaining the pictures with sentences like "it was so fun" and "I love everything about everyone." I gag reflexively just pretending to write it. So I'm not a feel-good person. I just want everyone (the three people that read this...) to feel customarily warned that my blog is an exaggeration of my irritations and impatience and that I will do my best to keep the uncomfortable feelings to a minimum. There. That should satisfy the tyrant.

Antisocial?

As I was sitting at work, trying to numb my mind to make the hideous task of inactivating 2000 patients from the 1950's less painful, I was thinking about having to hurry home to make some kind of salad for some friends' bbq. I was in the midst of thinking about how to get out of such an event, when it truly struck me that were it up to me, which it is obviously not, I would never for the rest of my life attend another social function. I was somewhat in awe as I considered that truly being happy had the motto of 'Leave me the hell alone' somewhere along it. I immediately felt shame for these thoughts, being that I'm married to Josh, the world's biggest lover of social gatherings, and he is always making comments on how antisocial I am and how I am a terrible person because of it. Then, when I really thought deeply about it (inactivating patients from the updated system requires no concentration whatsoever and I'm close to having the monkeys trained to perform this task without supervision), I was irritated about the shame I felt; why should I be made to feel as though solitude is an evil thing and being surrounded by nameless faces the better alternative? I hate having to sit amongst people and remain civil, without so much as a light punch to anyone's face. Its nearly unbearable not getting to punch anyone in the face in a day, you know, and I have had to live that way for nearly my entire married life! Josh doesn't think it acceptable to punch someone in the face when you disagree with them about reality tv shows or anything else of such high importance, and so he has made me promise I would not.

I should make it clear, however, that the social gatherings I refer to are not actual friends' social gatherings. They are gatherings with people you do not feel comfortable punching in the face or openly insulting, and they tend to involve things like smiling and shaking hands. I hate doing that, by the way, shaking a new acquaintance's hand. Its rather unbearable and I think that maybe we might like to switch the hand-shaking ritual to something more preferable, like kicking a new social contact in the shins. That would definitely be advantageous, since I guarantee there would be less social gatherings and people might actually put some thought into who they are meeting and being introduced to. You won't go to a random assembly without being pretty sure that you're going to like the people. It is way more responsible, really, and I plan on starting it immediately. I think then, I would not be invited to anymore outings (until the shin-kicking thing caught on, of course), and Josh could still go. I can't figure out why he doesn't just go to these things alone, but I guess its probably because he doesn't like to be alone at any point in time, and driving 10 minutes in the car alone would likely be the death of him.

Thankful for Pazooki...

Here are some pictures of Josh's birthday where we went to a restaurant famous for their Pazookis (not sure how to spell it...). We ate that stupid thing until we felt sick, although being that is how I typically eat, it wasn't so out of the ordinary and while everyone else was complaining, I was sitting there untouched by my bulging stomach. Okay, now that I'm done with that part, I'll copy my sister Britt's thing, and do a 'Things I am Thankful for' list. Here it goes. I hope I can think of more than one:

• My past as an athlete: I've taken up running again (meaning I've run twice in the past week), and I haven't felt too shabby during or after. I'm pretty sure that is due to having once run before, and my body understands the impending need to alleviate the problem of my stomach actually sitting on my lap. Either way, I'm pleased that my body isn't in total protest of the new nighttime activity.
• Halloween: I did a little shopping on my lunchbreak with some girls from work, in between the awful backbiting and gossip, of course, and they took me to the coolest store in the whole world. I ended up buying a Halloween decoration or two, and found myself asking the sales clerk when it was moral to start decorating for Halloween. She gave me a dumb look, to which I rolled my eyes and promised not to start until the last week in September. Although, if I technically just don't put the decoration I bought away and it conveniently sits on a shelf posing as a decoration already set up, well then, that isn't technically decorating...
• The Eddingtons: Despite constantly saying I don't have any friends here, the Eddingtons are my friends (maybe not so much Jeff anymore as he was making fun of how young I was...) and Josh and I are always grateful that we came to live behind them. They are awesome and we will owe our first born to them, literally, since they referred us to our current doctor (no, I'm not pregnant)! Also, although Jeff wanted to bash the hurt crow (we found a crow with a broken wing in their backyard) in the head, he swallowed his killer instincts and put the thing in a box, let it sit in his garage, and even transported it to the animal place, and all because I whined enough. Maybe he can be my friend again...

Happy Bithday Old Man!

Today is Josh's birthday, and following my family's example of extending a dedicatory blog to a loved one's birthday seems to be in order.

We started off the birthday bash on Friday, where I gave Josh all his beautifully wrapped presents. I'm not even kidding, I really wrapped them. The presents consisted of new bedsheets (he has some weird thing about sheets and them being clean...), a baby maglight (he really likes flashlights and when we first moved here, it nearly broke his heart when he couldn't find the flashlights. He was constantly stressed about it, regardless of the fact that we had no immediate need for them...), lots of his favorite candy that I happen to like also, gatorade, a board game (this is to show him my efforts of being social; you can't play boardgames by yourself...), and the best thing of all, a massage at a spa place. Josh always makes sly comments that he's never gotten a professional massage, to which I usually just ignore and think how he doesn't deserve one either, but I decided to try and be a nice wife for once and get him something he might actually want.

The next part of Josh's birthday came when I went an entire day without verbally abusing him. Just kidding. Sort of. Anyway, the real next part of his birthday was today, on his actual birthday. He woke up and went surfing with Jeff, our friend and neighbor. They stopped off on te way back at a favorite doughnut shop and got some bars and I so lovingly declined the one he brought back for me. He didn't realize it at the time, but that was just another gift to him from me. He gobbled that one all up, and we got ready for his next birthday adventure, sea kayaking with friends (I didn't take pictures; I'm not that dedicated to this blog). That was honestly fun and we saw seals and just paddled around La Jolla Cove. Don't think his birthday stopped there, because we hurried home and ran off to the ward party. You might not think a ward party to be birthday-related, but I didn't say that "we hurried home and I complained and moaned about having to see people from our ward outside of church while Josh rolled his eyes and got ready to drag me out by my hair to this ward festivity." That was another unsaid present to Josh; I went willingly and even faked a little enthusiasm when I didn't immediately punch the first person who said anything to me. To top it all off, we're going to get dessert tonight at some awesome place. I'm really good at birthdays.
But really, Josh is my best friend ever and even though he's ridiculously old, I love him. I'm glad he sticks it out with me since I'm not overly pleasant the majority of the time. We have so much fun together and both have big enough egos to endure the constant teasing. We never take each other too seriously and Josh always keeps me laughing. He is so good for me and is always forcing me out of my comfort zone, which is incredibly good for me. I love this guy so much, not even a sugar daddy offering me limitless amounts of spending could pull me away.
This picture was from another themed party, where you had to dress up as 'things that go together.' He was Britney Spears and I was paparazzi. I look disgusting.

Off to the races...

I just wanted to post these real quick, since I have another post on it's way, and I couldn't just not post them since the whole purpose of a blog for people without kids is to make it look like you're having more fun than anyone else. Here are Josh and I, having more fun than anyone else at the Del Mar racetrack. I would be lying if I didn't admit to crying every time the horses raced. I was so in awe of how absolutely beautiful and incredible the horses were, I couldn't help the tears. Yup. I'm a wacko.

I have a friend again!

Yay! I have reunited (momentarily) with my old friend Kaycee! She apparently lives here, in San Diego, only 15 minutes away from me. We plan on hanging out at least twice a day, although Kaycee does have a history of flaking out, and so we might actually only hang out twice a lifetime. We hung out once already, so we're down to hanging out one more time and then calling it quits. I really look forward to that hangout. *sigh* I miss seeing people my age. Where are all the 23 year olds in the world?

The hottest place on Earth

I have just found the solution to the United State's growing prisoner population. Take each and every prisoner, and drop them off in Arizona in summer. I can think of no greater or more terrible torture.

Josh and I were just in Arizona this last weekend, spending time with Eli. Josh's bro. Eli's work sent him and all other management and their families to a resort for some meetings and conferences. Well, we count as Eli's family and so off we went, to the hottest place on earth. It was incredibly fun, but that was primarily due to spending as much time as possible indoors. The daytime was like an oven and I continually wondered when my clothes were going to suddenly burst into flames. I kept thinking, 'Who lives here intentionally? Why choose to live in hell?' It was then that I got my grand idea of packing all the inmates of the US, building a giant fence that no one could get over or under, and putting the said inmates in the fence. If people were aware that should they rob that liquor store, they would be sent over to Hades, I'm pretty sure they would greatly reconsider. Tell them they would have to wear socks and covered shoes while in Hades and they would undoubtedly put the gun down and never rob again. I think we would see a lot more people in church and a lot less people in custody.

There were good times, though. The times in between being outside were pretty awesome and I enjoyed those very much. Like when I spent one of the days at the spa while the boys were out golfing. I got a facial, took a turn in the steam room, got a manicure, got a massage, and simply read magazines in my fluffy white robe and slippers. It was exquisite to be so pampered, although I don't really live a lifestyle that would elicit such treatment. I basically try to live as pampered as possible.

I should also mention the water park that the resort trip entailed. There was a water park inside of the resort and we decided to forgo our ages and see what creative fun we could have while trying to hide the fact that we were at least 10 years older than every other person there. Well, we get to these slides and naturally, one must be at least 48' tall. There was this little boy ahead of me, who was barely 3' tall, let alone the required 48'. I kindly asked him if he thought he was tall enough for the slides, to which he grinned, and explained to me that he had already been on these same slides 3 other times. I nodded, satisfied, deciding that if he hadn't died by now, he most likely would not die on the slides. Well, unfortunately for him there was a lifeguard change and the incredibly worthless male lifeguard who did more babe watching than actual life-saving was traded for some 13 year old, who had a better chance of saving a gummy bear than saving a drowning human being. Well, my little friend steps up to the plate, fearless I might add, when the 13 year old lifeguard stops him. She asks him to stand next to the height board, to which he obviously fails, and then proceeds to tell him that he cannot ride the slides; he's too short. Have you ever seen a riot, because I have ever since the day the lifeguard told the small boy he would not be riding the slide ride. People were booing and hissing at her, chanting and protesting. She held firm, though, clearly uncomfortable but clearly determined to not let the little person die on her watch (the male lifeguard hadn't even realized he was on watch. He was wearing his unibomber shades and I'm pretty much convinced he was asleep the entire time). Fathers of other children there were outraged and letting the pint sized lifeguard know it. It was pretty incredible, and I regret to admit that I moderately got caught up in the rush of outrage and maybe only once booed the lifeguard. I stopped immediately once her tears started. Hey. If you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen, or in this case, Arizona.

Getting old

Today, while getting ready to face the world by applying thick sheets of makeup, I made a remarkable discovery. I could easily pass for 33 years old (I'm 23 by the way; if you thought I was older, I am coming to find you so I can torture you by making you listen to Josh rave and talk about his new Iphone. Seriously. Its the worst ever. You will beg me to kill you, but I won't, because then it wouldn't be torture; it would be compassion). I am deteriorating and aging at an incredible rate, and I can't say that I approve, although I can't say that I'm surprised either.

I was never one of those girls who was mistaken to be 13 when I was really 18 (my sister Britt), quite the opposite actually. People always assumed I was older than I was. People shopping in stores would ask me where to find a certain size, whereupon I would shake my head in confusion and crawl back into my stroller, reaching up for my binky. I thought that that was pretty awesome until I got a little older and waiters started asking me if I'd like an extra plate for my dentures and a straw for my pudding. It stopped being awesome right about then.

But I can't say that I am completely shocked, considering I've watched my body die since I was 16; thats about when my body hit it's peak, and since then, everything has been downhill. The veins are multiplying like bunnies, my skin is actually running out of room for wrinkles, and every part of my body seems to find a new way to sag. *sigh* I don't suppose going to bed at 3pm would be such a bad thing, considering I'm halfway there, but the waking up at 4am would definitely suck.

I have always found the impending veins in my legs to be inevitable enough, a flaw not my own, but of faulty genetics (thanks a lot mom and dad; the veins in my dad's legs could slice through a melon). The lines on my face I have mostly myself to blame, but I suppose I could put up a fight on that one since my mother wasn't officially abusive in forcing me to wear sunscreen every time light touched me, whether by actually being outside or just standing near a window. I cannot, however, blame anyone but myself for my anxiety lines. Yes, I have anxiety. Josh will testify. Actually, anyone that has spent a great deal of time with me can testify. Its that weird thing where I continually bite my cheeks? Remember it? Maybe not. Well, because of it I now not only have dents and slashes in my cheeks from all the aggressive biting, but actual lines, too! Isn't life grand? On top of trying to cover the bags under my eyes, the lines circling my eyes, and the baggage underneath my chin, I can now add to my list of problems, the lines around and above my mouth where my skin creases because of this formidable habit. It isn't like smokers' lines, but much more random and haphazard-looking. My sister Meg actually has the same cheek-biting problem and now probably the same lines. That sort of makes me feel better. I hope her face looks like someone drew all over it, too.
These pictures are from an 'Old Persons' party we went to. Our friends have themed parties and one of them was old people. I look pretty convincing, right?

"Take me out to the ballgame..."

So Josh and I went to a Padres game last night, and I have to say that I actually enjoyed it. Minus the fact that Josh kept pointing to every player on the field and claiming he could play that position. I started getting irritated and tried to convince him otherwise, but left field didn't bolster my argument any when he brought his sunflower seeds out to the field and continued to spit them out throughout the entire game. I mean, I've watched enough baseball in my life to figure it for boring (I can't believe baseball lovers have the gall to say that soccer is boring. Seriously. The outfielders took a total of 10 steps the entire game). You might agree, you might not. Either way, you're entitled. But I suppose the game wasn't typically boring since the stadium was filled with beer and people drinking the said beer. The combination of beer plus people equals an incredible amount of obnoxious behavior. Some of my favorite comments came from the drunk guys 3 rows behind us.

Drunk Guy #1: "You suck Romero!"
Drunk Guy #2: "Yeah Romero! You suck! Hit the ball before we trade you!"
Sober Guy: "Romero is pitching, not hitting."

I was equally impressed by the white-trash crowd sitting directly behind us. They made great commentary and I didn't have to worry about making jokes about them, since they were constantly yelling and making so much noise, they would never in this lifetime hear me.

White trash wife: "Whew! That boy Rodriguez is on fire! Someone get him a damn fire extinguisher!"

I think perhaps my favorite moment was at the end of the game (yes, we stayed the entire game... minus the first hour we missed because we were late. We weren't worried. We knew we weren't missing too much/any action). A woman appearing to be about 50 years in age, dressed very respectably, pointed up into the crowd, and shouted, "In your face! In your face!" Apparently, she was a Philly fan. I don't think the drunk guys were too offended, since they were too busy laughing and making crude gestures into the camera. Ah, yes. The glory of the drunks. I think I heard them singing.

"Take me out to the ballgame, take me out to the crowd!
Buy me some beer and more alcohol,
I don't care if I ever wake up!
Cuz its root root root for the Padres,
If they don't win I won't know
Cuz its one, two, three beers I'm out at the ol' ball game!"

10 Things I Hate about You

I thought everyone should be getting to know me better, so I put together a list of 10 things you might not know about me.

1. I keep a book in my purse most of the time.
   
2. I have an intense fear of being disappointed, so I train myself to not plan on things happening in my favor. That way, when it doesn't happen, I'm not disappointed. Some might say I'm a 'glass half-full' kind of gal. I don't really see it that way.
   
3. I'm an incredible saver. I seriously love everything expensive, but I am a very responsible buyer and rarely buy needlessly and never impulsively.
4. I have my dream house mapped out exactly in my head. I know exactly what it will look like inside and out. I could draw it out for you right now.
5. I am incredibly self-conscious about my ears. I hate them. They have absolutely no cartilage and sort of just flop out. Ugh. They're disgusting. I seriously want to get them cosmetically fixed.
   
6. I am extraordinarily proud of Josh. Josh and I are not the types to brag about each other to other people, but he is exactly who I want to be someday.
   
7. I love the taste of soapy water. The soapier, the better. I used to drink my own bath water. Gross, I know. But I'd do it again if I knew I wouldn't be ridiculed.
   
8. My favorite color is sometimes yellow, because thats my mom's favorite color
9. I sometimes talk like an air headed valley girl unintentionally. 'Like, I totally don't even care what he like says. Thats like, totally bogus. Whatever!'
   
10. I am one of the world's best sleepers. I never have a hard time falling asleep and staying asleep ever. I can take a nap for 3 hours, wake up for a few, and then fall back asleep for the rest of the night. But when we first moved to California, I hardly slept the first couple of weeks. I learned to appreciate my easy sleeping pattern and feel pity for those of who you have difficulty sleeping. Poor dad... Luckily, I'm back to my old self, sleeping as though I put a full day in. Yeah. Right.
    

She's holding my puppy!

Screw that last post. I am no longer happy. My sister just got a dog and I think I hate her. Yup. I do. I don't even remember ever liking her. Is there something against coveting, because I'm way past that. I really am sinking into a deep, black abyss. I hate my life. Who ever thought I could be happy without a dog? Not me. The devastation I'm feeling is overwhelming, its consuming me. I can't breath. I can't think. Where am I?

Let me just clarify. I have wanted a dog ever since before dogs existed (I realize that doesn't make sense but if you're thinking about pointing that out, consider my current mood and remember my history of violence). Josh keeps telling me it isn't possible, being that we are always living in other people's houses, but I think he's lying. I think he is just trying to torture me. He doesn't even really like me (all that smiling while watching our show was just a farce!), he just married me to ensure my utter unhappiness. He doesn't ever want me to be happy, so he refuses to consider hiding a dog in the house. He won't even consider taking up barking in public, so that when my purse barks expectantly, he can cover it up by barking himself. He even refuses to let me pretend I have a dog by walking in around the neighborhood on a leash. Okay. I've lost my mind. But who wouldn't when their sister owns one of these? Yes, this is my sister Meg and her new puppy. I hope the dog pees on the floor. Just kidding Meg. I think.

Kyle XY

I thought that I should make some sort of announcement declaring my absolute love for my situation as it currently stands. I was just recently reflecting on how good life can be and I thought that I should throw in a blurp on this blog of optimism and cheer, just to throw off any sneaking suspicions that I was utterly unable to comprehend anything but darkness and despair.

I started figuring my life to be pretty much amazing while after spending an entire day doing an incredible tv marathon with Josh. We have a certain tv series that we have a particular fondness for (none of you will guess it since it is relatively unknown to most persons...), and we dedicated most of our sunday to it. We woke up, watched an episode, hurried to church, came back from church, watched episode after episode after episode, made some waffles, and resumed where we had left off, watching hours more of the Traeger family and their run-ins with Madacorp. We took a break for oreos, and then weighed our options, where we decided our day would be completely wasted if we did not finish Season 2. Each episode is roughly 45 minutes long, and there are 26 episodes in each season... you do the math. We have been dedicating our nights to this show for 2 weeks, but today was the first time where we allocated the entire day. It was time well spent. Every now and again, we would be watching, and look over at each other, and know that we were meant for one another. Josh would smile, I would reach up and give a high-five, and we would stare, glued and perfectly content, to see what new power Kyle would learn. It was magic. We are hooked and deeply in love because of it. We figure that any time we get in a fight, we can just start watching our show and whatever it was that seemed so upsetting will just float away on a complex mathematical cloud (you have to see the show to understand any of this nonsense...).

I thought also I should do for Josh what he cannot do for himself. He would like nothing more to brag all about how we hung out with Danny Ainge and family and talk about how they're BFFs now, but since he does not have a blog and because I have found a recent appreciation for him since we both love the same tv show, I will do it for him. We hung out with Danny Ainge on Friday and Josh sold him and his family 6 pairs of CALLE shorts. I wasn't too impressed since I don't really care about the NBA or anything not to do with my tv show, but I guess this is the part where everyone starts worshiping us because we're basically celebrities now. Seriously. The paparazzi are probably on their way over to try and catch glimpses through our bedroom window of us perched on our bed, computer propped up on pillows, and a bowl of popcorn between the two of us, watching more hours of our show. I can't tell you what show it is, since Josh swore me to secrecy, something about being completely humiliated should anyone find out or something. Anyway, we hung out with ol' Danny boy and I tried the entire time not to blurt out that he should be taller. Either way, we're famous and not just for donut consumption now.

Breaking Dumb

So I'm listening to the little girls playing outside my window, hearing them pretend to amputate one another's legs because a rabid shark attacked them and now they have to raise money to pay for the surgery but they are having a difficult time finding the funds for the growing the medical bills (sounds like an episode of House or Grey's Anatomy...), and thinking how I miss playing. I miss pretending to have my leg amputated. I miss pretending I'm a poor woman who lives in a shack (my closet) but has found an unwanted orphan (my cabbage patch doll) and must feed and clothe it. I miss pretending I'm a fox with an incredibly large and fluffy tail, and I'm escaping from the pound (never mind what a fox is doing in a dog pound..) *sigh* I miss childhood.

I can't say that I'm too far removed, though, from childhood, since I was at a child's event on Friday. I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that I was at the Breaking Dawn opening event this last Friday. It was interesting to see all the 13 year old girls I had to push out of my way, trying to pretend I was looking for my 13 year old daughter. I could see the look of confusion in the young people's eyes, as they wondered what that old person -me -was doing at their event. Don't worry. I acted really cool and smooth throughout the entire thing. I only punched a girl in the face once, when she was reaching for the same Edward and Bella calendar as I was. And when another girl raised her hand during the Twilight trivia game and answered it wrong, I refrained from screaming expletives in her face, remarking only that she was the most brainless wanna-be-fan ever. I mean, who doesn't know how many times Edward mentions Bella's name in the first and second book? Thats like Twilight 101. Basic Twilight knowledge. And when a girl wearing a t-shirt with her first name and 'Cullen' as her last name walked by, I only gave a gentle shove, just so her nose bled a little bit when it hit the floor. So really, I wasn't super noticeable as I ranked everyone in age by at least 10 years (with the exception of my dear friend who went with me. Only she went because she really does have a 12 year old...). But I just want to report that I read it, it wasn't my favorite, and I'm actually really over the whole series now. Truly. I only wear my 'Twilight Fanatic' shirt to bed every other night now. Just kidding though. Seriously. I'm over it.

Umm... Josh just read that over my shoulder and asked me tone it down a bit. He said that there are people out there who might read this and consider me an incredible volatile individual, ready to explode at any moment. Let me just clarify. I'm an incredibly volatile individual who is ready to explode at any second. Really though? I only fantasize about relieving my aggression. I rarely act it out. That was supposed to make you feel comfortable around me again.

White-trash comes at a price

Remember how I said that life would be sorely wasted if I did not quickly and completely engage in absolute white-trash behavior (i.e. grow a mullet, marry a cousin, eat squirrel, and recognize a few neighbors if not most of my family while watching Jerry Springer)? Well, after my best friend, Haylee, sent this to me, I think I'd like to reconsider. I mean, did she buy these brand new or did these belong to someone she knew? No, your eyes do not deceive you, unfortunately. This make-shift bra/shirt is in fact, men's underwear. Maybe I don't want to be white-trash afterall.
Although, it does evoke a kind of creativity. I mean, what average person would see a pair of underwear and think, 'What a cute top! I just have to cut out the crotch and I've really got something here." Mind you, if the words, 'if I just cut out the crotch...' ever brush your lips or cross your mind, you should probably admit to being absolutely disgusting and tell your mother so she can disown you. Thats assuming that you even have a mother. People of your circumstance tend to just crawl out from under a rock. Too harsh? Try nursing your wounds with a nice squirrel-kabob and a shopping spree at WalMart.

Marrying into the Brady Bunch....

Since none of my in-laws read this (thanks to it's absolute worthlessness and their complete ignorance of me having a blog...), I feel it safe to discuss their strange quarks and tics. I love Josh's family to no end and seriously would pick them if I were to pick in-laws. The constant problem I run into, however, is actually fitting in. See, the Robbins family is actually nice. Seriously. They like, say 'please,' never swear at each other, and are continually hugging each other, none of which is for show. *minutes go by...* I was just letting you catch your breath after the long gasp. Anyway, these people are seriously my heroes since they truly enjoy being around each other and do this sort of play-teasing thing that really is endearing. They never cross lines, say truly cruel things in jest, or even snap when we've been camping in confined quarters for a week and just need a little breathing space (it might have just been me that needed breathing space. I'm incredibly private when it comes down to it.). But I kid not when I say that if I lived during the pioneer times and was to cross the planes, I would pack up with this family. Josh's mom wears a sweet fanny-pack (Barb still clings to the days where it was acceptable to wear fanny-packs. Bless her.), filled with every imaginable needable thing. Sanitizer? Got it. Soap? Got it. Tissue? Got it. Chapstick? Got it. Portable radio? Got it. Extra pair of pants for every member of the family in five shades of colors? Tucked away in the mysterious fold of the fanny-pack. So what with Barb constantly being prepared and the family being permanently nice, I think I'll put the handcart next to the Robbins.

But what I initially was saying was that I didn't grow up that nice and sometimes I slip in saying things that aren't 'Robbins appropriate (for instance, calling my favorite sis-in-law a 'biotch.' Hey, I was kidding! Her husband needn't get so red-faced). My family is a different sort, really funny but not really that nice. We all love each other but seem to only be able to cope with an hour or two together maximum. I'm not complaining, since I was born and bred in this family and can not consider any other alternative; we would probably all go stark-raving mad and kill each other if we actually hung out more than once every two months for an hour at a time. Its for the best. We prefer it that way. But as for the nice people, the Robbins, they like to get together often, spend long bouts of time together, and actually do stuff together. It continues to blow my mind. For instance, when I went on this camping excursion to the farm with them, guess what Sunday night entails. A talent show. I kid you not. Yeah, everyone had to participate and do their own talent, and imagine this, everyone did. It ended up being really funny, but it always seems to baffle me, the endless amount of brady bunch this family has. I honestly feel like at some point in the night, when I was sleeping, someone picked me up and moved me to a scene on the Brady Bunch. I constantly harass them about it, but again, being the individuals they are, they just laugh and toss out a few coins to a homeless man. The damn saints...

The Robbins are great and surprisingly funny (I was under the impression that to be nice meant to be unfunny; not so much this case). The family isn't perfect, naturally, but they come pretty close. In order to fit in better, I have listed a few qualities or rules I will try abiding. I doubt very much that I will change, since I happen to like who and what I am, but maybe these small guidelines will make the Robbins more comfortable when spending time with a purely evil being.

• I will still try not to curse like a sailor when I'm around them. I will save the cursing to when I am truly and ridiculously mad at Josh, when I don't like what I'm wearing, or when I feel happy, sad, angry, or scared. Just then. I promise.
• I will stop cheating every chance I get when we play games together. No more changing scores, hiding cards, or moving game pieces during the actual game. If someone leaves for a bathroom break, then the rule does not apply.
• I will turn my constant grimace into a smile and the showing of my teeth for smiling rather than snarling.
• I will try to pretend that I don't value sleep more than any amount of bonding time.
  
• I will stop saying, "Who the hell are you and where the hell is my gun?" every time one of the family members walks into the room.
• I will pretend that I do not own a two-piece bathing suit and act confused whenever anyone mentions one. A bikini? Is that a kind of sandwich?
• I will feign devastation when someone suggests listening to anything in the car other than the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
• I will act like I enjoy sleeping in a tent, and prefer not showering for days at a time.
  
• Lastly, I will try to implement the Robbins way of speaking.
• Use the word 'bottom' instead of 'butt'
• Use the word 'psg (passing gas)' instead of 'fart'
• Use the word 'gunk' instead of 'snot'
• Use the word 'bm (bowel movement)' instead of 'poop'
• Use the word 'stink' instead of 'suck,' although this one will truly be a hard one. I do so love to say, "That sucks." *sigh* All good things must come to an end.
• Use the phrase, 'you are the best ever' instead of 'I'm going to rip your innards out'
  

Following these rules will surely make me more like the Robbins, so that maybe, when I die, God will mistake me for one of them and let me go to heaven, too.

I'm famous!

I'm famous, did you hear? Well, maybe you were blissfully unaware; I know I was.

Apparently word has gotten out that I have a remarkable sweet tooth and a divine weakness for maple donut bars. I go into work today and my boss, who also happens to be my bishop, starts telling everyone how he heard from a friend, who heard it from a friend, who heard it from another friend, who heard it from a distant aunt twice removed, that I can eat two Leucadia maple donut bars without blinking. These bars do tend to be a bit above average size, but I grew up in a family where the more full and more sick you were, the better it must be. I never learned to gage my eating based on when I was not hungry anymore, but more on when I felt deliriously sick. You feel only slightly nauseous? Pack in a few more potatoes. Not ready to hurl everything you've eaten in the past week, plus everything you've considered eating? Try some more pie. So I thought nothing of eating a donut the size of my arm, and then eating a second arm donut. But I guess everyone else did since the word is spreading and my fame in donut consumption is growing. I'm pretty proud, as I'm sure my mother is, too. I'm not sure where they will put the monument, but I'm guessing somewhere between Dairy Queen and Baskin Robbins.