I Feel My Tempature A Rising...

Lately, I've been spending a lot of time by myself in my apartment. It would be an understatement to say I'm going a little batty. Just the other day I actually engaged the crazy man in our apartment complex, who wears only a bathrobe and hangs out by the mail boxes, in a real conversation. (Well, as real as you can have with a man in a bathrobe reading the daily coupons, but I think we really had a moment. Vietnam sounded like an interesting war.)

Anyway, this past week I've been trying to find things to occupy the time I'm not working at my computer. (Yes, that would leave about 8 hours left to occupy. I kid.) Since Monday I finished a book, caught up on my Top Chef episodes and even finished my Christmas cards. However, I still feel the craziness creeping in.

Fortunately, today I found a rather unusual reprieve from my lunacy. While trying to find a song for the wedding video I'm editing I came across a wonderful song called "Burning Love" by Elvis Presley. At first, I just clicked on it because I was curious to hear the song. However, before I knew it I was bopping in my seat and nodding my head. I have to admit I repeated the song three times and even sort of got out of my seat and did a little number for my clothes and alarm clock. Finally, I coaxed myself back to my desk and resumed working. However, as the day went on I kept going back to that song. (I'm even listening to it right now).

So, yes, I'm 29 and going a little crazy. At least the King understands...

Tiger, Tiger What???

I never thought I would say this, but I have found a new love. No, it's not the second season of The Pick-Up Artist...which by the way is so awkward, and yet, so goood.

No, my new love is golf. I know, I know, I never thought I would say it. I mean, I have always believed for something to constitute as a sport (and yes, I always argued golf was not a real sport) 1. Your heart rate should rise above a resting level from playing it. 2. You shouldn't be able to drink and smoke during the participation of it. AND 3. You should perspire from chasing something, NOT from carrying a load of graphite and metal. I know such stringent standards.

Now, I still believe in these prerequisites, but something happened today. This morning me and the hubby went to play a little Par 3 course. From my first shank I was hooked. I don't know if it was the fact that my hubby kept showering me with lies of how good I was doing, or the fact that I actually made par on a couple of holes, but I can't get this activity (still can't go with the word "sport") out of my mind.

To say the least this new love troubles me. One, I feel like I'm going against a belief system. And two, and probably more important, I wonder does this mean I'm going to start wearing plaid and knickers, practicing my swing during conversations with people, and take up smoking cigars? Will this be the end of my athletic career?

I think tomorrow I'm going to go for a long jog and hit someone...and then maybe this phase will pass.

The Souliers and 2 Hicks

Our Thanksgiving weekend in St. George was amazing. We rode almost 55 miles, played ping-pong for several hours (forgave the hubby for cheating), watched movies and even coerced my family into taking 3 PICTURES. You would think I was asking them all to give blood. Anyway, here's 2 of the 3 shots I was allowed to take.

The real family.

Adventures in the Public Library

At the moment I'm in the library working on one of the personal computers the library offers for free porn and anarchy research. Why I am here? (Other than trying to contract the flu from this germ coated mouse?) Well, for some reason during the day our internet at home has decided not to work..and since I spend probably 66.8% of my day surfing the net (all work related, of course) I thought I would come down here and get my daily fix. However, after watching a man literally eat a coffee cup...yes, the entire cup...no, not drink the coffee inside...but eat the actual paper I think I'll be headed home a little sooner than I thought. Oh and the fact that a man behind me has turned around in his chair and is trying to read my screen. TURN AROUND CRAZY MAN! If you don't hear from me again...well, you'll know I was taken out at the Santa Monica public library.

p.s. I would like to add an addition to my last post "The Biggest Loser." I too agree that Heba is the spawn of Satan and the fact that they went after Philip and his wife just proves how evil they are.

The BIGGEST Loser

After years of watching reality TV I have finally found a contestant I absolutely despise. Now, don't get me wrong I have disliked reality TV contestants before. For example, all last season I had a sincere prayer in my heart that Jason Castro (the stoned Jack Johnson wannabe from last year's American Idol) would be run over and then beaten. And, I have hoped that not only would every contestant on MTV's Real World/Road Rules Challenge contract every STD in the book, but also be caught in the middle of a mugging gone wrong. And of course, there was the ever lovable Kenley, from Project Runway...words do not describe how much she bugged. OKAY, so the list could go on. What can I say...I don't read a lot.

Anyway, as much as I loathe these people, I can still finish an episode and walk away. However, lately, while watching The Biggest Loser I find myself not only giving the finger to this contestant during the episode, but after wanting to drive up to the "ranch" and take this contestant out. Her name is Vicki and for some reason I want her stopped. The Biggest Loser used to be about amazing stories of people changing their lives and working together. This crazy tub from Louisiana is all about back stabbing and complaining. I know I sound like a raving lunatic, but I usually watch this show either smiling or almost crying as they drop another 8 pounds! Now, I'm all sorts a fired up.

How far have I gone? Well, the other day on Yahoo's homepage was an article discussing how awful and conniving Vicki has been on the show. Attached to the article were a bunch of comments from other people stating their dislike for this woman. For a minute I read these comments and actually felt good. I felt vindicated, and to be honest, I felt proud to be finally standing with my fellow Americans over a real cause. Sure we disagree on most things, but at least we can join together and hate on Vicki.

Baby A

I'm not sure if it's a family tradition, or a tradition I try to enforce upon my family, but after eating an obscene amount of turkey I like to take a moment and make everyone around the table comment on what they are grateful for. (I guess this exercise makes me feel better celebrating a holiday that really inaugurated the end of the Native Americans...darn that Genocide class in college.) Anyway, while packing for this gluttonous holiday I started to think of what I would say during my forced "Norman Rockwell moment." Obviously, I'm grateful for my hot hubby, the shelter over our heads and the health we enjoy. However, what really came to mind was my sister. Almost six months ago due to unfortunate, or fortunate circumstances (depends on how you look at it), my twin sister and I were re-introduced. No, I wasn't in some prisoner of war camp (again, reference to that darn class), or was she on some deserted island. Instead, our lives as twins sort of came to slow stop almost ten years ago. I was at Duke, she was in Utah, and all of the sudden we began different lives. Through that time we tried to stay in touch, tried to stay close, but I always felt like we were people with a common past, but no common future. Then six months ago I got a call from her and our paths became one again. I can't express how complete I now feel having my twin and best friend back. So, without a doubt, the thing I am most grateful for, would be my sister and for life bringing us back together.

Check the Plate

The other day me and the hubby were out biking. While we were approaching an intersection a suspect Camry began to drift into our biking lane. Immediately, we started to yell at this moron, but stopped when we saw the license plate: "Caution Asian Driver." I had to applaud the honesty, and forgive the apologetic Asian in the driver's seat.

If we all could be that honest...

My Grandfather

I know it sounds strange, but if I was to describe my grandfather I would say he was just a cool man. I know that sounds rather trite and superficial, but in this case I think it's quite fitting. Through the depression he played the piano and thrived in the big band scene, he married a beautiful woman, started Frost Drug in Kaysville, Utah and never lost his quick wit and sense of humor. He was also one of the hardest workers I ever saw. Until his last years he pushed himself to work outside and maintain his home.

This morning my grandfather passed away. As in many cases with our elderly generation, his passing is both sad and a celebration. It's sad because I no longer have a grandparent on this earth, and a celebration because of the reunion I know he is experiencing right now. He was quite a man and I'm proud to be his legacy.

Take care Grandpa.

Weenie

I have decided after much consideration that I'm a total weenie. Sure, I have no qualms about knocking someone over on a field or giving the finger to a passing motorist. But, if I'm asked to confront someone and raise my voice, ever so slightly, I completely crumble. For example, the other day I had to yell at two of my kids for drinking on our recent trip to Hawaii, AND then posting the freaking pictures of the act on Facebook. When I heard about this display of stupidity I was completely fired up. I instantly proclaimed things like, "They are so off this team!" "I'm going to kill them!" and "When I see them I'm going to freaking yell at them!"...Now, let's cut to the actual conversation...

Kate: "Hey you two morons can I talk to you for a second?"
Morons: "Yep."
Kate: "Did you drink in Hawaii and then post pictures of it?"
Morons: "Yep."
Kate: "Okay, that was stupid." (looking at worried faces of morons) "But, hey did you take them down?"
Morons: "We can."
Kate: "Okay, great."
Morons: "Anything else?"
Kate: "Um, yeah...how about apologizing?"
Morons: "Sure, we're sorry."
Kate: "I wasn't going to play you on Sunday." (trying to pick up some steam here)
Moron #1: "I think we deserve that."
Moron #2: "Really??? Oh, come on."
Kate: "Okay, I'll think about it. But, I'm not happy." (good recovery Kate)
Morons walk away and Kate...well, Kate feels BAD FOR YELLING AT THEM!! What is wrong with me?

I wish I could be like my sister, who never seems to take crap from anybody, or this really mean girl from my freshmen dorm who always told me to get out of the "warm shower," or Chuck Norris...that guy is amazing.

No Longer A Quiet Supporter

So, I've sort of reached my limit. Since I heard about Prop 8 I became a quiet supporter. I participated in the things the church asked of us, and I voted yes last Tuesday. Since, the election I feel like I can't be a quiet supporter any longer.

Last Sunday after church we drove down by the temple. Words cannot express the sadness I felt seeing so many individuals outside our temple protesting with such anger and animosity. Their signs read, "Vote yes on Love, Hate the Mormons," "Tax the Mormons," and "Go Back to Utah." Never in my lifetime have I seen or experienced such anger towards our religion. Of course, I've endured countless rounds of jest about my non-drinking behavior, my quest to remain a virgin and attending church for an unbelievable three hours. Yet, I have never been accused of bigotry and intolerance.

As unbelievable as it may be to the opposing side of Prop 8, my support has nothing to do with them. I have no desire to attack or punish the homosexual community. I support California law that states domestic partners should have the same rights, protections and benefits as married spouses. I have good friends who are gay, and I don't want to lose their friendships.

My support for Prop 8 is about me. It's about protecting what I believe. It's about protecting my marriage. It's about my children. It's not about hate and intolerance.

I am tired of listening to the loud minority scream for tolerance and then punish us for thinking differently. I am tired of watching my fellow Mormons waffle through this issue and allow the world to trump a tested belief system. I am tired of being attacked for being religious and wanting to protect something that was established in the very beginning.

I know this battle will continue, but I don't know if we will win. All I know is that today and, "...as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord."


Make no mistake about it, brothers and sisters, in the months and years ahead, events are likely to require each member to decide whether or not he will follow the First Presidency. Members will find it more difficult to halt longer between two opinions. (See 1 Kgs. 18:21.)

Your discipleship may see the time when such religious convictions are discounted. M. J. Sobran also said, “A religious conviction is now a second-class conviction, expected to step deferentially to the back of the secular bus, and not to get uppity about it” (Human Life Review, Summer 1978, pp. 58–59).

This new irreligious imperialism seeks to disallow certain opinions simply because those opinions grow out of religious convictions. Resistance to abortion will be seen as primitive. Concern over the institution of the family will be viewed as untrendy and unenlightened.

If people, however, are not permitted to advocate, to assert, and to bring to bear, in every legitimate way, the opinions and views they hold which grow out of their religious convictions, what manner of men and women would we be?

- Neal A. Maxwell "A More Determined Discipleship", 1979

I Live In Two States

I know you were worried I wasn't going to continue my commentary on my trip back east. So, here's some pictures of our trip to Chadds Ford.

Above and below are some typical shots of the farmland just beyond my high school. While I was growing up our family used to come out to this area for a fox hunt during Thanksgiving. I guess this is why I'm not so much a "city person."

To the left and the right are pictures of one of my favorite parks in Delaware. The trees were absolutely perfect that day.

Boo Yeah

Last night I felt a mix of emotions over the Election. To be honest, I was pretty apathetic about the presidential race. I figured it was over before it started. However, I was extremely nervous about Prop 8. Yet, the masses have spoken and Prop 8 passed by 52% of the vote. Los Angeles county even was in favor of the proposition! I know it's a small victory, but it feels good to see something being protected.

As a side note...I love this story. A few weeks back I was making calls in regards to Prop 8. I was using this automated calling system that is pretty awkward. There's a lapse between when the call connects and when you hear the person. Consequently, you sound like a telemarketer. Anyway, I called this lady and as she heard the lapse she started to get angry thinking someone was soliciting her business. When I finally told her what I was calling about she apologized for being such a b*tch (her words) and then informed me she was a Christian. She then asked me if how it was going and my success rate. I told her that I was not enjoying the phone calls, but I knew I needed to be making them. She then asked if she could pray for me. I said yes, and then all of the sudden she broke into a prayer on the phone. I know it sounds strange, but I thought it was so cool for this lady to do something so unexpected and so sincere. When I finally got off the phone with her I felt like maybe we had a fighting chance on this issue. I guess I felt right.

Feeling the Brotherly Love

Last weekend I got to go home to Chadds Ford and it was awesome. Here's some highlights of our trip to Philadelphia. More pictures of home will be coming, but blogspot takes FOREVER to load pictures.

Our first stop was in Philadelphia and to experience the official Chadds Ford Elementary field trip.

To the left is my impression of National Treasure. Picture me gripping the Constitution and being shot at.

To the right is an awesome house we found off South Street. It's pink and sparkly.

Pat's Cheesesteak is absolutely amazing. There's a sign there telling you how to order...I thought I was totally pulling it off until I said, "I'll take two cheesesteaks with and provolone." The guy looked at me like, "Oh really you want a cheesesteak? Shocking since that's all we serve." I think the correct request would have been, "2 with provolone." So I can't read...Cheesesteak nazi. In the background is Pat's competitor Geno's.

Don't mind the double chin on me. We didn't have enough time to hit the full Franklin Institute so we decided to watch an amazing 3D show. Okay, it wasn't amazing, but these glasses were.

To the left is me celebrating along with my fellow Philadelphians over the Phillies' World Series victory the night before. I just can't pass up a good Bud Light.

To the right is me excited about being at the freaking Art Museum and seeing this statue of Rocky. I mean, it's Rocky.

Looking down from the Art Museum. Yep, another Rocky tribute. By the way those stairs aren't that steep. What a bum.










To the left is another excited individual. I would like to say we didn't cause a scene with this picture, but that would be a lie. To the right is our best impression of Rocky. Yes, we did try to impersonate every single movie filmed in Philadelphia. You wouldn't believe the scenes we posed for the movie Philadelphia.

Kate-isms

On Sunday my dear friend, Emily Madsen, took a bold move and revealed some very interesting idiosyncrasies. I'm not sure if this was a covert ploy to compel her other friends to expose their strange behaviors, or a real liberation of honesty. At any rate, my friend, has asked me to join in the fun and disclose some of my own quirks. Therefore, to console my friend that she is not the only one who has to count to three every time she turns off a light or washes her hands 100 times a day below are my top 6 "Kate-isms." (They are listed in no particular order).

1. When I go shopping and try on a bunch of things I never end up buying the particular article of clothing I tried on. Instead, I will try on a shirt, decide to buy it, hand it to the creepy person who surrounds their self in clothes and numbers, go to the floor and find the exact shirt and buy that one. I figure the shirt I tried on has been tried on by everyone in the store, and I'm not dealing with the deodorant stains. (Even if I created them)

2. Whenever I try to imitate an accent it always comes out Indian. For example, I will try to repeat my favorite line in Far and Away, "Catherine, do you like my hat? Say you like my hat," in an Irish accent, and before I know it, I'm asking Catherine if she wants a slurpie with her pack of cigarettes at the 7-11. I don't know if this is a quirk or a birth defect.

3. I absolutely hate when people have their foot next to mine when I'm sitting. If I'm crossing my leg to the left and someone next to me crosses theirs to the right and grazes my foot I will instantly re-cross my legs or get my foot away from them. Dan, unfortunately, knows this quirk and tortures me all through church.

4. This one might surprise people but I hate, hate, hateeeeee blood and any talk of medical things. If someone describes their finger being dislocated I will instantly feel my finger bending backwards at an abnormal angle. If someone describes their knee surgery I will fall to the ground holding my knee and scream, "STOP IT FOR ALL THAT'S DECENT IN THE WORLD!!" And if I see a surgery on TV I will throw the remote and run away. Yep, 29. Thanks.

5. There are two stages to my laugh. One, I initially make a loud sound and slap something, and then two, after the laughter has died down I have what you call a "trail laugh." I never really noticed it until a friend of mine pointed it out, but I will keep making a sound that has this faint vibration in my throat. Again, this could be a quirk or a birth defect.

6. I despise movie popcorn. Just the thought of it right now makes me feel a little nauseous. If I go to the movies, I will buy my tickets and then instantly put my hand or shirt over my nose. The smell is just too much.

So, I thought of about ten more, (like I always have to give money to homeless people, I'm always researching cures for diseases and I love to hold babies) but for fear of sounding like a freak let's leave it at this.

I would tag some more individuals, but unfortunately, everyone's blog I read has already been tagged. So, get sharing!

A Real Application

I'm not typically political. Maybe it's because I was surrounded by so many raging liberals in college, or because my mom lived and died by Rush Limbaugh. At any rate, if you are a Republican or Democrat I think this story is good food for thought.

(This is one of my neighbors from back home)

Here is a creative approach to redistribution of wealth as offered in a newspaper...

Today on my way to lunch I passed a homeless guy with a sign that read "Vote Obama, I need the money." I laughed.

Once in the restaurant my server had on a "Obama 08" tie, again I laughed as he had given away his political preference--just imagine the coincidence.

When the bill came I decided not to tip the server and explained to him that I was exploring the Obama redistribution of wealth concept. He stood there in disbelief while I told him that I was going to redistribute his tip to someone who I deemed more in need--the homeless guy outside. The server angrily stormed from my sight.

I went outside, gave the homeless guy $10 and told him to thank the server inside as I've decided he could use the money more. The homeless guy was grateful.

At the end of my rather unscientific redistribution experiment I realized the homeless guy was grateful for the money he did not earn, but the waiter was pretty angry that I gave away the money he did earn even though the actual recipient deserved money more.

I guess redistribution of wealth is an easier thing to swallow in concept than in practical application.

Bi-Monthly, Semi-Unorganized, Santa Monica Biathlon

Today was the inauguration of the "Bi-monthly, semi-unorganized, Santa Monica distance undetermined, Kate and Dan biathlon."

Where did this come from? Last night, at about midnight, Dan and I started talking about entering a triathlon. After getting excited about a couple online, we decided to create our own the following day. (Well, minus the swimming - I don't do cold water.)

Anyway, we biked 17 miles and ran a little under four miles. I think it went well, I mean outside of, my butt is completely pulled and Dan is out cold on the "Man Chair."

Dan at the end of our ride.

The finish line of our biathlon. I look happy, but truly my butt was killing me.

If you would like to enter the next Kate and Dan biathlon please send a check for $100.00, your t-shirt size and credit card number to me. Spots will be filling up.

I Once Went to Mongolia

7 years ago I entered the MTC for one of the coolest chapters of my life. I would say more, but I think four journals, three photo albums and two binders of emails covers the story.

Therefore, enjoy the pictures...
A typical look for me in Mongolia. I know what you are thinking, missionary or angel of death?

We called him "Billy."

Out in the country side on the way to the mission office. Yeah, I know, camels. Pretty cool huh?

The Silver Lining

Bad Parts of the Day:

1. Fought with Dan over replacing the battery in his car
2. Someone backed up into my car while pulling out of the parking lot
3. Computer froze
4. Argued with a customer service representative, named "Samantha," from India about my computer

Redeeming Part of the Day:

1. Instead of saying, "Have a wonderful day," at the end of our discombobulated conversation, Samantha mistakenly said in a thick accent, "You are wonderful!"

...I am wonderful.

Open Season for Crazy

About twice a week I frequent the public library to check out a new book or a free DVD. What can I say, I have never been able to justify buying a book that I will only read once and then place on some obscure shelf for visitors to use as a barometer of my intelligence or lack there of. I suppose if I read more intellectual things than Twilight, the latest Nicholas Sparks romance or Harry Potter I would be inclined to buy more books, but since I'm apparently a cross between a raving teenie bopper and a repressed middle-aged woman the "return policy" of the library suits me just fine.

Anyway, now that I'm finished explaining my pathetic book collection, let's move on. The other night when I stopped at the library I noticed something: Public libraries are not only places to check out books, but also serve as public shelters for homeless people and open forums for crazies. Now, I know these aren't new observations, and I'm not going to pass judgment on these down and out people. But, I think the problem is that us "normal" people are taking advantage of the library's leniency with these troubled people. What do I mean? Well, for example, the other night I walked into the library and this is what I experienced. As I locked up my bike I noticed a rather normal looking man reading outside and eating some dinner. When I passed this man, who again, I thought was completely normal, he ripped something that made me wish I was not only deaf at that moment, but also without the ability to smell. From that encounter I entered the library and saw a woman, dare I say, pretty normal breast-feeding her child on a bench next to the check out desk. She wasn't covered and now I was wishing I didn't have the ability to see. After passing the doting mother, I turned the corner to see a man gold digging for something up his nose as he looked through the new books. I stared at this one for a while wondering if he would stop after a couple seconds. Unfortunately, that did not happen, and again I wanted to pour kerosene into my eyes. From the miner, I went to the DVD section (to get my new fix of Veronica Mars - freaking great show*) and while looking through the "V" section I heard a man yell, yep yell, "Quiet!" at two kids who were laughing in the periodical section. Just to test my theory I walked over to the desks to see who had yelled, and as suspected, he was a normal looking man.

So, I go back to my original observation: Public libraries have become not only shelters for homeless and mentally disturbed people, but apparently, also places where even normal people can act completely crazy.

I didn't read that in the fine print for my library card application, but I'm going to start exercising that right. I think tonight I might go down there with no pants on and read a book on astronomy. Why? Because I can, and no one will say anything.

* Refer back to me being a raving teenie bopper.

A Look Into the Hicks' Minds

Dan and I saw this sign in the elevator...

















Dan wanted to ask our manager about a bet he made that didn't go so well.

I wanted to ask about my virginity and how I might be able to get it back.

She did ask about anything...

Just Saying

So, Dan and I talk about three or four times a day while he's at work. Sometimes we fill each other in on our exciting day. Sometimes he tells me gossip from work, and I rip on my out of shape players. Sometimes I tell him to leave work early and come home. (Okay that happens a lot). Other times he encourages me to shower before noon and go outside. And sometimes, while talking, Dan decides to put me on speaker phone while he responds to emails, reads lawyer stuff and shuffles papers. (That's as much as I understand about his job). In moments like these, I can't help but become like a little child. No, not meek and teachable...more childish and loud.

Anyway, the other day Dan put me on speaker phone and then proceeded to type away. I could hear the click of his keypad and knew he wasn't really listening to me. Instead, of saying something like, "Hey honey, will you listen to me?" I said, and quite loudly, "I want to make love to youuuu!" As soon as I got "you" out the phone went dead. Apparently, not only did my husband hear my proclamation, but so did an unsuspecting co-worker who walked in at the exact right moment.

What can I say? I was feelin' the love.

Eye of the Tiger

The other day I received the following letter in the mail:

Dear Coach Soulier,

Most people wake up in the morning and can't start their day until they have had their morning cup of coffee. I can't start my day until I do my 20 wall balls on the concrete wall outside my house. I want to learn to play the best lacrosse I can play. I want to play lacrosse in college.

This absolutely awesome letter also included a glamour shot and one of the coolest highlight reels I've ever seen. (Picture a girl scoring at will while "Eye of the Tiger," by Survivor, plays in the background. I don't even think in my wildest dreams as a video editor could I come up with something more powerful.)

Now before you think I'm a heartless soul, please know I do feel bad for ragging on this girl, but COME ON...I can't offer this girl a single dollar, help her with admission or even promise a spot as my stat keeper.

Therefore, Sue (name has been changed) may I just say wherever you are...keep up that wall ball and remember:
It's the eye of the tiger, it's the cream of the fight
Risin' up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night
And he's watchin' us all in the eye of the tiger

* Last thought: To whoever might be listening up in heaven please don't punish me with an uncoordinated child for this entry.

Indiana Jones: The Search for Intelligence

Typically, I'm a pretty patient person when it comes to stupid people. For example, I try not to laugh when I see someone sneaking a finger up their nose or walking innocently down the street with their fly wide open. I even attempt to feel bad when around three o'clock this old Asian woman attempts to parallel park outside my apartment and manages to hit every single car around her and the sidewalk repeatedly. (I mean, we are talking several attempts, several dings and even some car alarms...and, I don't laugh. Okay, snicker, but there's a difference).

Now, before you think I'm a regular saint, you must know I also have my limits. Take for example, the dollar theater in St. George, Utah. Last weekend, during a wild and crazy girls' weekend, me, my mom and my sister decided to go see the new Indiana Jones movie. I thought this would be an enjoyable movie to see in a quiet and dark theater. Unfortunately, I didn't realize we were actually attending an "interactive" theater. Don't know what an "interactive" theater is? Well, basically it means that during the entire movie you are allowed to talk to your neighbor in a normal voice...even loud if you like. For example, if you are worried Indiana has finally met his match you can ask in a nice, loud and clear voice, "What's going to happen to him?" Or if you are excited to see another movie with Shia Labeouf in it, you can exclaim, "Another movie with Shia?! Alright!" And lastly, if you are hungry, you had better let everyone know in the theater that you are about to go get some popcorn and soda.

After fifteen minutes of this interactive crap, I was ready to kill someone. However, with only my keys as a weapon, I was forced into my second strategy of attack. (You know, basic angry looks to my neighbors, hands up in the air, labored sighs and moving to different seats). Unfortunately, none of these passive aggressive techniques seemed to work. Therefore, I turned things over to Barb. After another loud comment from the person in front of us, my wonderful mom hissed an awesome, "SHHH!!" and then yelled, while pointing at them, "Stop it!" Instantly, silence graced our row. I don't know what was more awesome, the people in front of us slouching down in their chairs in defeat, or hearing my mom say in a triumphant voice, "I can't believe I just did that."

Attention stupid people in St. George: We've moved into Entrada and we would like it if you would keep the stupidity to a minimum.

Dreams Do Come True

Well, it finally happened. Dan is now, officially, a married man.

The above picture is how I feel with Dan getting a ring. Below is how Dan feels about his new leash.

The Debate Champion

In high school I played four years of basketball. For some reason, unlike the other sports I played, I was never a "powerhouse" in the good ol' b-ball game. Maybe it was because my coach, who was an African American but named Mr. White, always pulled me out after I missed a shot, or maybe because, when you got down to it, I was just a lonely white girl trying to play a game I was never intended to master. At any rate, during my freshmen year, I was christened with the nickname of "Chicken" because I would never shoot. Consequently, for the next three years, I tried almost everything to overcome my fear of shooting and embarrassing title.

One of the things I would do during the year to practice would be going to my church and shooting baskets for hours in the gym. I remember one time, after a disappointing game, I made my mom take me over to the church to practice. After thirty minutes of shooting I still felt incredibly frustrated and disappointed with myself. I remember my mom came in and watched me for a few minutes. I remember she was wearing this enormous green winter coat that looked like a comforter and a tennis warm-up underneath. After watching me miss a few shots in a row, she asked me if there was anything she could do to help.

Now, as a side note, I should mention my mom is not exactly a "huge" athlete. She's very athletic, but didn't grow up playing sports. So, when my mom asked me if she could help, I have to admit, I wasn't exactly confident with her expertise. However, she looked so sincere, I thought I would try and explain to her my problem with shooting. Sheepishly I explained, if I was wide open I had no problem shooting, however, if a defender put a hand up or ran towards me I would hesitate and not shoot.

As soon as I finished sharing my phobia, my mom dropped her purse and took off her big coat. She then asked me to start shooting. Before I knew it, my mom charged after me. Like always, I hesitated. My mom then backed up and ran towards me again, but this time yelled, "Shoot!" Which I did. This exercise continued for the next thirty minutes.

From that night I didn't turn into Kobe Bryant, but I did hear my mom's voice every time I touched the ball...and well, I did start to shoot more in games. Who knew a debate champion from Utah could be such a good basketball coach?

Thanks Mom...and Happy Birthday.

A Little Joke For Saturday

So, I don't really have anything to report or rag on. So, here's something fun - my favorite joke.

Two tourists go to New York City. While they are on top of the Empire State Building a mysterious man wearing a trench coat comes up to them. He looks out for a little while and then turns to the tourists and says that the wind is just right that if they were to jump off they would fly right back up. As you can imagine, the couple did not believe his claim and started to walk away. Therefore, to convince them, he climbed onto the ledge and jumped off. In disbelief, the tourists watched this man fall almost ten stories before he immediately flew back to the ledge. As the man brushed down his coat, he again, invited the tourists to jump. After a few seconds of thinking, the tourists said they would only do it if he jumped one more time. Immediately, the man jumped off, and this time, fell almost twenty stories before coming right back.

Needless to say, the tourists were convinced and excitedly held hands as they leaped from the building. Ten, twenty, thirty stories they fell and finally landed splat onto the street below. A crowd quickly formed around the bodies and began to speculate as to the cause of this jump.

One businessman turned to his friend and asked, "Suicide?" His friend, in response, answered, "No. Just Superman playing another practical joke on a tourist."

It's strange, I was told this joke when I was ten and never forgot it. Now that I think about it, I was kind of a weird ten year old with a morbid sense of humor.

Stop the Judging

I absolutely hate going to the dentist - and it's not because of the usual reasons. Sure, I hate the constant questions you are asked while someone has their hand in your mouth. (I never know if I should answer and almost bite their hand, or just be really expressive with my eyebrows.) And of course, who enjoys all the different metal scrappers they use to pick your teeth apart? Which by the way, what's the difference between all those instruments? All are sharp, all have little grips and all inflict horrible pain. EMad, feel free to answer that question. And lastly, of course, I hate the flossing at the end of the visit. Maybe it's just me, but I swear that floss is laced with broken glass.

No, all these things bother me, but the real reason I despise the dentist's office is the JUDGING. For six months, I brush twice a day, floss at night and wear my retainers before special occasions (I like when my teeth look straight for pictures;)) and yet, it never seems enough. Inevitably, I always have to endure this type of interrogation:

Overly Enthusiastic Hygienist: Do you floss?
Kate: Yes, pretty much every night.
Overly Enthusiastic Hygienist: Are you sure you are flossing correctly?
Kate: Yes, I go through this every time. I just have a lot of tartar.
Overly Enthusiastic Hygienist: How do you brush?
Kate: (The answer Kate wants to give) With a toothbrush. (The answer Kate actually gives) I have a Sonicare.
Overly Enthusiastic Hygienist: Hmm...I want to show you this cute little replica of some teeth.
(Overly Enthusiastic Hygienist begins to pretend to brush on fake teeth)
(Kate nods)

I think next time I go to the dentist I'm going to eat an everything bagel with lots of cream cheese and tell them I just flossed before I came.

A Tricky Test

For seven glorious years I have enjoyed a "test free" life. No LSAT, no MCAT, no GRE and no GMAT. Unfortunately, this carefree life had to come to an abrupt end as I foolishly entered the DMV yesterday. (Yes, I'm going to try to work in some kind of acronym in every sentence, OK?)

After waiting two hours in line I was directed to the "testing center" of the DMV. There I was greeted by an angry DMV worker who, while picking her teeth with a pencil, threw a test at me and snapped, "You can only miss 6 questions. If I see you talking to anyone, or using your cell phone I will fail you on the spot. Do you understand?" Her tone and tattoo on her protruding chest should have shut me up, but I couldn't resist. Therefore, with the best smile I could muster, I asked, "So, I don't get any lifelines?" (Okay a random joke from Who Wants to Be a Millionare?) Anyway, before she could take my test back or beat me with my own bag I sat down in the cramped desk and started my first test in seven years.

As I read through the questions I could only think about the poor Asian girl I had once seen at the Salt Lake DMV, who was told in front of everyone, that after failing the test four times in a row, she would not be issued a license today or anytime soon. I remember watching her pack up her things and shamelessly walk out the door. I swore that day I would never be that Asian girl. However, as I began to second guess myself in regards to construction zones and turning signals, I feared humiliation was imminent.

So, after ten minutes of talking myself through situations and using my hands as cars, I stood up and waited in line to find out my results. In front of me was a girl who blatantly didn't speak English, and behind me, was a guy who, while slurring his speech, told me he had already failed five times and was getting sick of these "tricky questions." Seeing these two morons reminded me that I was different. I was not the Asian girl in Salt Lake, I spoke English and I found nothing "tricky" about these questions. Therefore, with a renewed confidence, I stepped up to the desk and handed in my test.

Now, I would like to say I received a perfect score and the entire DMV thanked me for coming in. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case. Apparently, speaking English and being completely sane doesn't guarantee a pass. Fortunately, on the second try it does.

What would you do if...

* This blog is about Dan, but this picture really has nothing to do with it. It only shows his rockin' stache from our trip to St. George. (This picture was taken after Dan built an amazing unicorn pinata)

* Dan deleted the original picture I chose for this entry. Therefore, please enjoy a wonderful picture of Dan at Pearl Harbor.

I don't know why I haven't blogged about this before, but my husband loves to play this bizarre game of "What would you do if...?" This game can range from: "What would you do if you found out that I was really a woman?" to "What would you do if you came home and I left you a note saying 'I had joined the circus?'" To be honest, I don't know where this game came from. It's not like we were on a long road trip and started asking each other all these thought provoking questions, while watching the sun set, and the game just continued. Instead, I think this game has evolved more into a bizarre interview Dan has been conducting with absolutely no goal in mind and no end in sight.

Therefore, I have resigned to the fact that I have two choices of action. One, I can, slap him every time he presents one of his ridiculous situations. Or two, I can take the higher road, and explore these intriguing questions. For example, I can ask in return, "Now that you are a woman, will you have our baby?" Or when he asked me, last time we were at the beach, what I would do if he disappeared swimming and then called me ten years later and told me he was really in Canada the whole time - I could ask, "Why did you choose Canada? Why not swim somewhere warm?"

So, I know what you all are thinking. Yes, I'm a lucky girl. And, yes, I'm prepared for anything that might hit my marriage because we have literally talked through every situation. Dan now knows my limits and my reactions, and that is through simple communication. Come to think of it, without Dan's constant and loving inquiries we might not have the honesty and trust we have in our marriage.

So, I encourage you, next time you are with someone special you ask them this: What would they do if you murdered their brother or what would they do if, while they slept, you tattooed their face with a giant pirate. Not sure how they would react? I know what I would do. Come on people, start talking and listening.