Some say confessing is good for the soul. Here's hoping!
My dirty little secrets:
I have read all the Twilight books at least 4 times, and I made “Edward's Team” and “Jacob's Team” t-shirts with my sister that I wear all the time under hoodies and sweaters. By the way, it's not even a choice. It's Jacob.
I only eat the icing off of cupcakes. If they are homemade I pull the top off and throw the rest away, but if they are Hostess I freeze them first then peel the frosting off like an apple.
I generally stay away from any church activity that involves a pot lock dinner because I won't eat food that's prepared by people I don't know.
I make my kids reuse towels for 3 or 4 days because I hate to do the laundry. Since I'm the one doing it, I get to use fresh towels everyday.
I have DVR'ed Days of our Lives for the last 4 years until about 3 months ago when I switched to General Hospital because the guys are hotter and the plots “more realistic”. Plus, I just really wanted to vomit every time John and Marlena made out.
I took my older sister to an NSYNC concert as a surprise when they last came to Utah and I don't know what's more embarrassing, that I really enjoyed it or that I could sing along to most of the songs.
My dream vacation would be to travel through England and visit all the sites of Jane Austen's novels.
If I could go back in time it would be to 19th century England because the clothes were seriously kickin. The down side is that I'd probably be burned at the stake as a witch since I'd try to initiate the feminist movement 200 years too early.
When I die the people I want to meet most are Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, Beethoven, Abraham Lincoln and Michelangelo.
I fully expect my dog Bella to be resurrected, and I hope she knows where to find me since we moved and her body is still at the old house. Maybe I should put up signs....
A few years back (like 8 or 9), I had a serious addiction to WWE wrestling. Yeah, I mean pay-per-view subscribing addiction. It's totally real, right? And don't even get me started on Big Sexy and Triple H. Bow chika wow wow.
I sadistically attacked a mouse with a shovel when it scared the crap out of me in my parent's garden. My father finished the job by driving over it's convulsing body with the tractor.
My greatest ambition as a tween was to be a clogger with the Korner Kanyon Kickers.
Here's one of my sister's DLS's- she STILL wears one of my old costumes as a night shirt.
I like to drastically cut and dye my hair to shock people (not really a secret, I know). And by people, I usually just mean my parents. You should have seen my dad the day I came home with a fake belly-button ring!
On the first day of junior high I wore an all red outfit- red stirrups, red socks, red shoes, red shirt, red banana clip. Oh, and I was probably 30 pounds overweight. How bad was it ? Remember in Sixteen Candles when the grandparents are describing the missing Long Duck Dong's clothes to the police and grandpa answers into the phone “No, he's not retarded”. It was THAT bad.
In high school my most romantic date included a fender bender in his t-top trans am and dancing to Kenny G in the parking lot of an elementary school. I know you're wondering, so I'll just say it. Yes, he had a mullet. And yes, he played in guitar in a wanna be band.
I've wet my pants when I laugh really hard since childhood. At Camp Oakcrest the summer before 8th grade I wet my pants almost every day and had to wear pj bottoms when I ran out of clean pants. Once during in my freshman year at BYU, I flooded myself during a covert egging manuver with an enemy apartment. Now that I've had kids it also happens when I run, jump, skip, walk upright,......
A few hours after the aforementioned egging incident, the cops came to our door and I totally broke down bawling, confessed all the bad things we'd done that night, and then begged for forgiveness and promised to steer clear of any and all deviate behavior in the future. Turns out, they were just checking to make sure we weren't having a party (there had been a noise complaint from someone in the building so they were checking all the apartments on our side). I would never make it in prison.
I fear losing my teeth. I have nightmares where I'm just talking and all of a sudden they just spontaneously fall out. I think I'll just go for dentures before that happens.
I really, really, really want a tattoo. I'm not even kidding here. A big one too. On my shoulder. Maybe a giant chinese symbol for PMS. If the Church ever changes it's mind, I'm the first in line (speaking of, didn't you love Mama Mia??)
And for my dirtiest little secret.....well, it's not so little and those who know me best already know it so I guess it's not really a secret anyway ;)
I love secrets
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Haters not wanted
It just occured to me that I should probably explain this blog's unique and probably extremely sacrilegious name and title. There are actually a lot of Diet Coke haters/communists out there in the cyber space who have united to spread the word to the world that Diet Coke drinkers are basically consuming the same ingredients as embalming fluids.
To them I say :
#1: Exactly how bored are you, and what trauma in your life caused you to take out your anger on a perfectly innocent beverage that unites and brings happiness to non-medicated and non-alcohol consuming housewives all over the world???
and
#2: Really? Some day I'll be marinating in the simplest chemical form of Diet Coke while taking a dirt nap? SWEET!!!!!
Got to run- I need to start researching refrigerated coffins. I like my drinks chilled.
To them I say :
#1: Exactly how bored are you, and what trauma in your life caused you to take out your anger on a perfectly innocent beverage that unites and brings happiness to non-medicated and non-alcohol consuming housewives all over the world???
and
#2: Really? Some day I'll be marinating in the simplest chemical form of Diet Coke while taking a dirt nap? SWEET!!!!!
Got to run- I need to start researching refrigerated coffins. I like my drinks chilled.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
A clarification, and the war against sleep.
I should probably clarify that the previous entry was written LAST Thursday, the 15th, but I haven't had a chance to post it until today. Yes, it's been that great of a week.
War has been declared in our house.
The man child has a "big boy bed" now that he refuses to sleep in. The crib went to the great crib heaven in the sky last Friday after his second day of violent protest against naps (no DCFS intervention needed- I was not the one being violent, he was violent with the crib and the new bed and the doors). His new sleeping arrangement of choice? Right behind his door with a blanket and pillow. We put him in bed every night, read to him, say prayers, but the minute we leave he dismantles the bed and camps out by the door.
It's been SEVEN days.
You've kind of got to admire his dedication. But know this- HE WILL NOT WIN!
War has been declared in our house.
The man child has a "big boy bed" now that he refuses to sleep in. The crib went to the great crib heaven in the sky last Friday after his second day of violent protest against naps (no DCFS intervention needed- I was not the one being violent, he was violent with the crib and the new bed and the doors). His new sleeping arrangement of choice? Right behind his door with a blanket and pillow. We put him in bed every night, read to him, say prayers, but the minute we leave he dismantles the bed and camps out by the door.
It's been SEVEN days.
You've kind of got to admire his dedication. But know this- HE WILL NOT WIN!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The worst day in any mom's life is........
Today. Okay, not for every mom in the world, just for me. But I guarantee every parent has faced this day with as much anger/depression/out of control rage as I have. Today.... (big dramatic pause), the man child learned how to climb out of his crib.
Oh @$&* (I stopped swearing this summer. At times like this I really regret the decision, for a simple "crap" or "shoot" just doesn't do the situation justice).
I really should give the kid some credit- I watched the 40 pound monster scale the crib walls with a speed that belies his 100-plus percentile size and an agility that spiderman would envy. He couldn't have possibly figured that out over night, could he??? I can just imagine him each day during nap time, waiting for me to shut the door to his room then stretching and pulling, each day a little higher, driven by the smug look on my face as I wish him "night-night" and head off to wonderful solitude.
At first I held out hope- I hadn't lowered the mattress to the final setting yet! That's an additional 2 or 3 inches, surely he wouldn't be able to reach anymore and I'd buy myself a few more weeks. It's probably a clear sign of my perpetual immaturity, but I actually mocked the kid as I lowered the mattress and even taunted him saying "ha, I dare you to get out of that!" Well, it took all of one minute after I put him in and closed the door to hear him banging away on something wood- a clear sign that he'd freed himself.
Crap. ^%$#. ^&**%$. (translation- I'm not swearing here but probably sinning anyway cause I'm pretty much thinking it).
So, you can probably guess what happened next. I locked the stinker in his room (thankfully he hasn't mastered the door handles, YET!) and listened to him cry for the next 2 hours. Child abuse?......maybe, but here's the thing. This child NEEDS a nap. It's like a mid-day reset button for him. He wakes up happy in the morning and gradually morphs into that freaky puppet Chuckie as the day goes on. By two in the afternoon it's come down to my sanity or his life, and since I don't think I'd survive long in prison (I have a very real prison phobia- thank you Prison Break and Cops), I opt for my sanity.
Two freaking hours and no sleep. Needless to say, he was just a gem for the rest of the day, and my poor drama queen had to watch him while I did an hour and a half of afternoon lessons. She's such a trooper! The most unfortunate casualty of the day was Fox's pinewood derby later in the evening, which was short lived because of the man child's complete unwillingness to behave.
Bedtime should be a blast...........
Oh @$&* (I stopped swearing this summer. At times like this I really regret the decision, for a simple "crap" or "shoot" just doesn't do the situation justice).
I really should give the kid some credit- I watched the 40 pound monster scale the crib walls with a speed that belies his 100-plus percentile size and an agility that spiderman would envy. He couldn't have possibly figured that out over night, could he??? I can just imagine him each day during nap time, waiting for me to shut the door to his room then stretching and pulling, each day a little higher, driven by the smug look on my face as I wish him "night-night" and head off to wonderful solitude.
At first I held out hope- I hadn't lowered the mattress to the final setting yet! That's an additional 2 or 3 inches, surely he wouldn't be able to reach anymore and I'd buy myself a few more weeks. It's probably a clear sign of my perpetual immaturity, but I actually mocked the kid as I lowered the mattress and even taunted him saying "ha, I dare you to get out of that!" Well, it took all of one minute after I put him in and closed the door to hear him banging away on something wood- a clear sign that he'd freed himself.
Crap. ^%$#. ^&**%$. (translation- I'm not swearing here but probably sinning anyway cause I'm pretty much thinking it).
So, you can probably guess what happened next. I locked the stinker in his room (thankfully he hasn't mastered the door handles, YET!) and listened to him cry for the next 2 hours. Child abuse?......maybe, but here's the thing. This child NEEDS a nap. It's like a mid-day reset button for him. He wakes up happy in the morning and gradually morphs into that freaky puppet Chuckie as the day goes on. By two in the afternoon it's come down to my sanity or his life, and since I don't think I'd survive long in prison (I have a very real prison phobia- thank you Prison Break and Cops), I opt for my sanity.
Two freaking hours and no sleep. Needless to say, he was just a gem for the rest of the day, and my poor drama queen had to watch him while I did an hour and a half of afternoon lessons. She's such a trooper! The most unfortunate casualty of the day was Fox's pinewood derby later in the evening, which was short lived because of the man child's complete unwillingness to behave.
Bedtime should be a blast...........
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Sesame Street is so blase......
Can an adult loose brain cells from watching too much toddler-appropriate tv? What does i say about me that I'm actually starting to look forward to certain shows every day? Is it worse that this is all PBS programming, as we took away they cable years ago after witnessing "the fox" watch hours on end in a mindless stupor?
PBS took a page from Disney and Nick and either bribed or guilted the Jim Henson studios into creating a pixar-esque show called Sid the Science Kid. It's a fantastic fusion of elementary school science and techno/R&B/hip-hop musical numbers. There's a head banging rocker character who is out of control and can't follow instructions like "sit down"; a mini cheerleader who is friendly with everyone now but you know as a teen will probably be queen of the plastics a la "Mean Girls"; a wierd emo/life is painer/androgenous named May who prefers dark colors and whose whiney speech pulls me into a sleepy stupor; and Sid, the cutest CG character EVER who runs like he's been riding his pony all long or desperately needs a diaper changing. He has awesome purple dreadlocks and walks around with a fake microphone in his back pocket.
The man child and I live for Sid the Science Kid. We sing the catchy songs to each other ( well, I sing and he moves back and forth in what approximates a dancing action). I can't wait for the day when he sings to me from the backseat of the car " I love my mom, uh hugh, my mom is cool, uh hugh, and now it's time for going off to school" (There are 2 great things about that song, first that he'll acknowledge just how cool I really am, and second that he's FINALLY off to school. Three years and counting.....). For now I'll just make due with our song and dance duet.
Gtg- "Word World's" on next. Don't even get me started on animals whose bodies are made up of the alphabet.
(PS- I said I wouldn't start on it, but if you do happen to watch Word World, have you noticed that the voice of the sheep is the same voice as Baby Bop on Barney? Yeah, I need a life- at least I acknowledge it.......3 more years.....)
PBS took a page from Disney and Nick and either bribed or guilted the Jim Henson studios into creating a pixar-esque show called Sid the Science Kid. It's a fantastic fusion of elementary school science and techno/R&B/hip-hop musical numbers. There's a head banging rocker character who is out of control and can't follow instructions like "sit down"; a mini cheerleader who is friendly with everyone now but you know as a teen will probably be queen of the plastics a la "Mean Girls"; a wierd emo/life is painer/androgenous named May who prefers dark colors and whose whiney speech pulls me into a sleepy stupor; and Sid, the cutest CG character EVER who runs like he's been riding his pony all long or desperately needs a diaper changing. He has awesome purple dreadlocks and walks around with a fake microphone in his back pocket.
The man child and I live for Sid the Science Kid. We sing the catchy songs to each other ( well, I sing and he moves back and forth in what approximates a dancing action). I can't wait for the day when he sings to me from the backseat of the car " I love my mom, uh hugh, my mom is cool, uh hugh, and now it's time for going off to school" (There are 2 great things about that song, first that he'll acknowledge just how cool I really am, and second that he's FINALLY off to school. Three years and counting.....). For now I'll just make due with our song and dance duet.
Gtg- "Word World's" on next. Don't even get me started on animals whose bodies are made up of the alphabet.
(PS- I said I wouldn't start on it, but if you do happen to watch Word World, have you noticed that the voice of the sheep is the same voice as Baby Bop on Barney? Yeah, I need a life- at least I acknowledge it.......3 more years.....)
Monday, January 12, 2009
Thoughts after a long day.....
For years now I've believed that the most beautiful word in the english language is empathy. It holds so much more meaning than just sympathy. It's really feeling someone else's pain and hurt. Making it your own- letting it overwhelm you until it consumes-It's your pain, your anguish. Christ was the epitome of empathy in the Garden of Gethsemane. He who never new the anguish of sin or despair took upon Himself all the ugliness that this world encompasses. I cannot fathom the depth of physical, mental and spiritual despair He must have felt.
Cancer is the ugliest word in our language. It's demoralizing and degrading. It forms the ugliest of symbiotic bonds- it eats away that which feeds and nourishes it. It is a cannibalistic monster. I've witnessed it turn the strongest of men into the weakest of children. It is a liar, for it gives hope to those few in remission and then ravages their body and soul when it returns. Cancer took both my grandfathers, but they were men who had lived full lives and while their deaths were very painful and sad, they were not tragic like the deaths of two teenage friends who fought and fought and fought until eventually their young bodies could take no more. I remember clearly the day that I got the call from my 15 year old sister saying that they had found a watermellon size tumor in her abdomen. I was in the car. I held on while she told me, but as soon as the call ended I broke into hysterical tears..not MY sister, my other half to my soul. Watching her go through that experience, being by her side at Primary Children's hospital where angels truly walk the halls day in and day out, taught me empathy. Watching my parents hold each other and cry as the nurses wheeled her into the O.R., not knowing if she'd ever come back out or if an even worse death sentence was about to be pronounced on her depending on what they found inside, taught me empathy. Watching her struggle through the next months of recovery taught me empathy. Seeing the other children at that wonderful hospital who didn't receive the good news we did, those whose tumors weren't benign, taught me empathy.
Apparently we are never supposed to stop acquiring empathy, for it seems that we are constantly bombarded with the reality of pain and illness and tribulation. For the last few months our family has witnessed a husband letting go of a beloved spouse, forced to watch her body and mind slowly disintegrate. I cannot fathom watching the same happen to my sweetie. Then, shortly after, the news that my uncle has stage 4 lung cancer. My mom is not a particulary demonstrative or emotional person, but the pressure of being so strong while taking him to the myriad of testing and appointments that have ensued over the last 3 months has worn her down on many occasions and it breaks my heart to hear the tears and pain in her voice as she gives me updates. She is truly a saint.
My sweet uncle is not married, has no children of his own, and is blind and mostly deaf. Every Friday he has a standing lunch date with his ladies, his mother and my mom. We call it "lunch with the dream team". Probably the most endearing quality my uncle has is his love for my grandma, for the tenderness he shows her in his actions and words, a tenderness that lies behind a usually rough and "man's man" exterior. My heart breaks for my grandma. No one should have to witness a child's pain, and yet she has had to see so much. One son was lost shortly after birth, all 6 children almost died from the same blood disease which infested the rest of her family, and then all remaining sons began losing their eyesight and hearing as just young men. I remember shortly after Noah was diagnosed with RP, we went to visit grandma and she wept as she shared her own pain and guilt over passing along this disease to all her children, and the effects that it had on their lives. I was moved beyond words when she cried for her great-grandson and the fight that he had ahead of him, and she mourned with us the loss of the future we had anticipated with us. I sometimes forget probably the greatest challenges of her life, losing her father at a very young age, and then nursing my sweet grandpa through the many years that he fought his cancer. How can one person stand so much?
My uncle has a very long fight ahead. Please pray for him, for the doctors that attend him and for the family who loves him. I know there is a plan for each of us, and that this battle is part of the plan for my uncle. There's a lot of peace in knowing that in the end, Heavenly Father loves us more than any of us can comprehend with our human minds, and that because of the perfect empathy of His Son, all the pain and suffering will one day end and we'll be able to live with Him again.
Cancer is the ugliest word in our language. It's demoralizing and degrading. It forms the ugliest of symbiotic bonds- it eats away that which feeds and nourishes it. It is a cannibalistic monster. I've witnessed it turn the strongest of men into the weakest of children. It is a liar, for it gives hope to those few in remission and then ravages their body and soul when it returns. Cancer took both my grandfathers, but they were men who had lived full lives and while their deaths were very painful and sad, they were not tragic like the deaths of two teenage friends who fought and fought and fought until eventually their young bodies could take no more. I remember clearly the day that I got the call from my 15 year old sister saying that they had found a watermellon size tumor in her abdomen. I was in the car. I held on while she told me, but as soon as the call ended I broke into hysterical tears..not MY sister, my other half to my soul. Watching her go through that experience, being by her side at Primary Children's hospital where angels truly walk the halls day in and day out, taught me empathy. Watching my parents hold each other and cry as the nurses wheeled her into the O.R., not knowing if she'd ever come back out or if an even worse death sentence was about to be pronounced on her depending on what they found inside, taught me empathy. Watching her struggle through the next months of recovery taught me empathy. Seeing the other children at that wonderful hospital who didn't receive the good news we did, those whose tumors weren't benign, taught me empathy.
Apparently we are never supposed to stop acquiring empathy, for it seems that we are constantly bombarded with the reality of pain and illness and tribulation. For the last few months our family has witnessed a husband letting go of a beloved spouse, forced to watch her body and mind slowly disintegrate. I cannot fathom watching the same happen to my sweetie. Then, shortly after, the news that my uncle has stage 4 lung cancer. My mom is not a particulary demonstrative or emotional person, but the pressure of being so strong while taking him to the myriad of testing and appointments that have ensued over the last 3 months has worn her down on many occasions and it breaks my heart to hear the tears and pain in her voice as she gives me updates. She is truly a saint.
My sweet uncle is not married, has no children of his own, and is blind and mostly deaf. Every Friday he has a standing lunch date with his ladies, his mother and my mom. We call it "lunch with the dream team". Probably the most endearing quality my uncle has is his love for my grandma, for the tenderness he shows her in his actions and words, a tenderness that lies behind a usually rough and "man's man" exterior. My heart breaks for my grandma. No one should have to witness a child's pain, and yet she has had to see so much. One son was lost shortly after birth, all 6 children almost died from the same blood disease which infested the rest of her family, and then all remaining sons began losing their eyesight and hearing as just young men. I remember shortly after Noah was diagnosed with RP, we went to visit grandma and she wept as she shared her own pain and guilt over passing along this disease to all her children, and the effects that it had on their lives. I was moved beyond words when she cried for her great-grandson and the fight that he had ahead of him, and she mourned with us the loss of the future we had anticipated with us. I sometimes forget probably the greatest challenges of her life, losing her father at a very young age, and then nursing my sweet grandpa through the many years that he fought his cancer. How can one person stand so much?
My uncle has a very long fight ahead. Please pray for him, for the doctors that attend him and for the family who loves him. I know there is a plan for each of us, and that this battle is part of the plan for my uncle. There's a lot of peace in knowing that in the end, Heavenly Father loves us more than any of us can comprehend with our human minds, and that because of the perfect empathy of His Son, all the pain and suffering will one day end and we'll be able to live with Him again.
The man child just reminded me by forcefully pushing away his plate that his vocab also includes the gems of "ahl dun" (all done, followed by throwing the item that he's "done" with on the floor), and "cake" (again, the foods are perfectly enunciated!) which stands for any food in the dessert category.
Good times.
Good times.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Is blogging on Sunday the same as journaling?
I hope so, because today was a momentous day in our world, one of those days that deserves to be catalogued amongst the greatest days of all time- like the birth of Jane Austen or the Utes winning the Sugar Bowl-and second only to the creation of my beloved beverage of choice.
Today the man child went to nursery by himself.
Totawy Awone (I can't remember what movie that comes from. Crap! My mom might have also said it this way back when she couldn't pronounce w's and r's)
This alone is a feat that rivals the U's BCS busting season, but it is made greater by the fact that he hasn't actually been to nursery in a month. No, we aren't raising him a different religion from the rest of us. There was just a lovely outbreak of hand/foot/mouth disease in the 9th Ward that I luckily heard about in Ward Council since it wasn't actually announced to the rest of the ward. Oops! Needless to say, everyone in attendance at the meeting with 2-3 year olds inexplicably removed their kids from church.
If going in by himself wasn't a big enough accomplishment, when the Drama Quees went in to pick him up he refused to leave! Okay, it might have had something to do with the magical bubble machine but I'm just going to attribute it to the fact that he was really feeling the spirit today. Maybe we'll have to add "church" to his 10 word vocabulary which for now consists of "tank too" (thank you), "peese" (please, used to ask for anything-it could be "get me a drink" or "fast forward this stupid commercial" or even "go away, you are bugging me"), cak (a fusion of truck and car, and yes it is pronounced just like the dirty word it looks like. Today in sacrament meeting he was looking at his "cak" book and pointing out every "cak" in a very loud voice), "mine" (that one he says loud and clear), "no", "up" (which also means down. That's not confusing at all, is it?), "T" (tv), "eat"(again, one he says loud and clear. Do you see a pattern here?), "book" (he is MY child, after all) and "wud too", or Love you, which is my favorite and like music to my ears after a day of translating the thousands of incomprehensible words that fill the rest of his language.
Oh well, at least HE knows what he's saying.
I LOVE THIS KID!!!!
(Post note, as typing this I watched the Giant's "Big Fred Robbins" make an interception that most men could have returned for a touchdown, except that "Big Fred" weighs about 400 pounds and could only run for 20 feet before falling over himself. You've gotta love football. Like baseball, they are the only sports where morbidly obese men can succeed as professional athletes.)
I hope so, because today was a momentous day in our world, one of those days that deserves to be catalogued amongst the greatest days of all time- like the birth of Jane Austen or the Utes winning the Sugar Bowl-and second only to the creation of my beloved beverage of choice.
Today the man child went to nursery by himself.
Totawy Awone (I can't remember what movie that comes from. Crap! My mom might have also said it this way back when she couldn't pronounce w's and r's)
This alone is a feat that rivals the U's BCS busting season, but it is made greater by the fact that he hasn't actually been to nursery in a month. No, we aren't raising him a different religion from the rest of us. There was just a lovely outbreak of hand/foot/mouth disease in the 9th Ward that I luckily heard about in Ward Council since it wasn't actually announced to the rest of the ward. Oops! Needless to say, everyone in attendance at the meeting with 2-3 year olds inexplicably removed their kids from church.
If going in by himself wasn't a big enough accomplishment, when the Drama Quees went in to pick him up he refused to leave! Okay, it might have had something to do with the magical bubble machine but I'm just going to attribute it to the fact that he was really feeling the spirit today. Maybe we'll have to add "church" to his 10 word vocabulary which for now consists of "tank too" (thank you), "peese" (please, used to ask for anything-it could be "get me a drink" or "fast forward this stupid commercial" or even "go away, you are bugging me"), cak (a fusion of truck and car, and yes it is pronounced just like the dirty word it looks like. Today in sacrament meeting he was looking at his "cak" book and pointing out every "cak" in a very loud voice), "mine" (that one he says loud and clear), "no", "up" (which also means down. That's not confusing at all, is it?), "T" (tv), "eat"(again, one he says loud and clear. Do you see a pattern here?), "book" (he is MY child, after all) and "wud too", or Love you, which is my favorite and like music to my ears after a day of translating the thousands of incomprehensible words that fill the rest of his language.
Oh well, at least HE knows what he's saying.
I LOVE THIS KID!!!!
(Post note, as typing this I watched the Giant's "Big Fred Robbins" make an interception that most men could have returned for a touchdown, except that "Big Fred" weighs about 400 pounds and could only run for 20 feet before falling over himself. You've gotta love football. Like baseball, they are the only sports where morbidly obese men can succeed as professional athletes.)
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Post note to a post
I just realized that I spent the last half hour writing about ice.
Instead of sleeping.
I am not normal
Instead of sleeping.
I am not normal
When people enter my kitchen for the first time, one of the first questions they ask upon spying the not-so-subtle chrome monster snuggling up to the refrigerator is "is that your bread machine?"
Obviously these people don't know me well.
The goody-tush-oos ( I have NO clue how to spell that) Molly Mormon that hides away in the farthest recesses of my psychie wants to say "yes, it is! I bake my own bread from wheat that I grinded by hand out of my two year supply. I also raised the chickens that layed the eggs and churned the butter provided by the milking cow in my back yard..." (wait, is there even butter in bread?) Fortunately, the feminist, card carrying Democrat that occupies the rest of my brain takes over before I can put on my apron and sign up to teach an Enrichment class on 101 creative ways to use Rhodes dough. I am what I am, and baker I am not.
My bread machine lookalike is in actuality an ice machine, or as I call it, the best $200 I've ever spent. Many people do not realize it (ignert people, as my momma would call them) that ice making is a complex combination of science and art. It must have the correct volume and "crunchability". It can't be too big or too hard (hee hee, did I really just write that??) My ice machine- no, no, the name does not give it justice: from hence forth it will be known as the Michelaguano- has achieved near ice perfection. For those of you who remember the fame of the Draper Kicks ice, or the ghetto Taco Time (not that fancy, way too clean new one on 116th) ice, just know that mine is better, AND it comes in 3 different sizes. For this reason, I am not ashamed to declare to all the world that I don't have to bake bread, for I make ice miracles.
For those ice novices out there who don't know what to look for in superior ice, here is a list of the best ice purveyors around (in no specific order):
And YOU"RE WELCOME!
Obviously these people don't know me well.
The goody-tush-oos ( I have NO clue how to spell that) Molly Mormon that hides away in the farthest recesses of my psychie wants to say "yes, it is! I bake my own bread from wheat that I grinded by hand out of my two year supply. I also raised the chickens that layed the eggs and churned the butter provided by the milking cow in my back yard..." (wait, is there even butter in bread?) Fortunately, the feminist, card carrying Democrat that occupies the rest of my brain takes over before I can put on my apron and sign up to teach an Enrichment class on 101 creative ways to use Rhodes dough. I am what I am, and baker I am not.
My bread machine lookalike is in actuality an ice machine, or as I call it, the best $200 I've ever spent. Many people do not realize it (ignert people, as my momma would call them) that ice making is a complex combination of science and art. It must have the correct volume and "crunchability". It can't be too big or too hard (hee hee, did I really just write that??) My ice machine- no, no, the name does not give it justice: from hence forth it will be known as the Michelaguano- has achieved near ice perfection. For those of you who remember the fame of the Draper Kicks ice, or the ghetto Taco Time (not that fancy, way too clean new one on 116th) ice, just know that mine is better, AND it comes in 3 different sizes. For this reason, I am not ashamed to declare to all the world that I don't have to bake bread, for I make ice miracles.
For those ice novices out there who don't know what to look for in superior ice, here is a list of the best ice purveyors around (in no specific order):
- Nancy's on Antelope: Okay, it's really the Phillips 66 next to the Davis Medical Center but there is a fantastic tiny woman with no teeth named Nancy who works there. When The King and I have a hankering for a beverage, we say, "let's go see Nancy". Nancy's gets bonus points for having red creme soda on tap (mix a shot with your Diet Coke and it is carbonation perfection).
- McDonalds: I realized a long time ago that the ONLY reason to go to McD's is for their drinks. It may be an urban legend, but I hear they have their own "special" Coke product syrups. Lost in the fame of these fantastic drinks is the McDonald's ice, which I would say is the icing on the top of the whole experience. Bonus points for selling bags of the ice for only $.99!!!!
- Holiday Oil on 123rd: Great ice, but they loose a point automatically for being a Sinclair station.
- Bajio: Yummy ice- the small, crunchy kind. Plus, the pineaple shrimp salad is fantastic!
- Sonic: Yummy ice- the small crunchy kind, but REALLY CRAPPY FOOD!
- Alta View Hospital/and IHC hospital: wierd, yes, but I have many a fond memory of the cafeteria from being a candy striper (I almost put stripper- woo woo). Getting hospital ice almost made it worth having to wear that hideous dress and pass out water on Friday nights. Oh who am I kidding, I had no social life! It was the highlight of my week.
And YOU"RE WELCOME!
Friday, January 9, 2009
"So much for mothers"
That's what the drama queen just said to me. It was followed by "Why aren't you paying attention to me?" Really, how much attention does one child need? I acknowledge her presence (well, she kind of demands it by invading my personal space) and REALLY try to listen when she talks non-stop for 10 minutes at a time.
"You're mean"
Am I?? My daughter lives and dies by sarcasm, and yet she can't appreciate it in others. One of the only qualities she inherited from me (for those of you who know her, she is a mini Cella clone physically) is a love affair with books. She's more well read than most adults I know. She gets irony, she uses irony, but unfortunately doesn't like it used on her. She inherited that gem from her father, the king of teasing. Haime (aka. James) can dish out the jabs like no one's business, but shrinks into the fetal position any time anyone dares to make a joke about him. A more mature person than I would shy away from inciting such wrath from this dramatic father/daughter duo, but what can I say? I never claimed to be a saint.
Oh, and a final word.....
"It's not fair"
Honey, who ever said life was fair?
That's what the drama queen just said to me. It was followed by "Why aren't you paying attention to me?" Really, how much attention does one child need? I acknowledge her presence (well, she kind of demands it by invading my personal space) and REALLY try to listen when she talks non-stop for 10 minutes at a time.
"You're mean"
Am I?? My daughter lives and dies by sarcasm, and yet she can't appreciate it in others. One of the only qualities she inherited from me (for those of you who know her, she is a mini Cella clone physically) is a love affair with books. She's more well read than most adults I know. She gets irony, she uses irony, but unfortunately doesn't like it used on her. She inherited that gem from her father, the king of teasing. Haime (aka. James) can dish out the jabs like no one's business, but shrinks into the fetal position any time anyone dares to make a joke about him. A more mature person than I would shy away from inciting such wrath from this dramatic father/daughter duo, but what can I say? I never claimed to be a saint.
Oh, and a final word.....
"It's not fair"
Honey, who ever said life was fair?
Our maiden voyage (or some other literary allusion like that)
Why to blog now? Perhaps I should have held out as I did with the movie Titanic (the stupid 3 hour one with a pre-anorexic Kate Winslet and seriously overrated Leo what's-his-name- wait Decrapio) and refused to join the blogging mania that has taken over my female-and some male-relatives and friends. However, after a particularly draining battle with my pre-pubescent 11-year old (she says"preteen" and wonder's why I can't be like "normal" moms- whatever they are) in which there were tears, whineing, pouting and general adolescent behavior over not going to a friend's house at 8:00 on a Friday night when her dad was on his way home from a week long trip to Baltimore, I decided that we needed something to repair the relationship. (Note- she is still mad at me and claims this WON"T repair anything, but taking her shopping WILL) Making fun of blogs by creating our own seemed like a good idea. Is it too commercial to dedicate a blog to the most wonderful beverage in my life (I wanted to say "thing in my life", but that would PROBABLy offend my spouse and progeny so I'll pretend it's not and just say beverage. But really, it is). I am pretty sure that if they were to test the composition of the fluids in my body they'd find I am 95% carmel carbonated water and aspertaine. And yes, I do not jest. My dream in life is to be hooked up to a Diet Coke IV, and when I die I want them to embalm me like an eqyptain with Diet Coke. Fantasy or reality? It could happen.
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