Christmas Cards and Baseball Cards

* To the right is the picture I used for our Christmas card. It basically says, "Hey we travel to cool places. Happy Holidays!"

Merrryyy Christmas everyone!

Without a doubt, this is my favorite holiday. I mean, Thanksgiving is awesome, but a holiday mixed with food AND gifts - could there be anything better?

However, there is one aspect of Christmas I'm not a huge fan of: Christmas Cards. Why? Well, one, they don't make a lot of sense to me because, basically, all you are really doing is either saying, "Hey, here's a great picture of us at some beach, or location you wish you had the money and time to see, but you don't," OR "Hey, here's a bizarre way of telling you I had another kid and now I have five and you still have none."*

And then, if you send these cards to people you see all the time, (which I sort of did) it becomes more like trading baseball cards then actually wishing people Merry Christmas. I mean seriously, I get someone's "card" and I'm like, "Oh man, I had better send on my picture so we have made an even trade." Honestly, at the end of the holiday we should all get together and see what rookie cards we got and how much they are worth.

And then, there's the dreaded single spaced, 10 size font "Family Breakdown of the Year" insert. Come on, be honest, do you read these? I'll be honest, I do. Why do I take the time to read these? Because every once in a while you find a little nugget nestled in these reports. If you read close enough, you just might find out who's the in-law they can't stand, or the grandkid with the least chance of succeeding. Now these gems can be hidden, but if you look for key phrases like, "Bob, Sally's husband, has decided after fifteen years of working at X company, he's going to buy a boat and sell the fish he catches to people at the docks! Go get 'em Bob!" Translation: Bob's an idiot and Sally will be looking for us to support them in a year. Or, "Little Billy, our third grandson, enjoys video games, bugs, sleeping and candy. Don't try to pry that XBox from him!" Translation: Billy is a social weirdo and we worry one day he'll be either homeless or a data entry specialist.

Alright, I'm off to the post office to send out some additional cards. I hate when you get cards from people you didn't send anything to. I wish they would give you a heads up text they were going to do that so don't waste a card on your dentist.

*Did you sense the bitterness?

Awkward situation #1412 at Work

Time: 10:30 am
Order: Hash Brown Benedict, Tuna Burger, Cheeseburger, 1 beer, 2 shots of tequila

I walk up to refill their water glasses and I hear the following:

"I mean, I did not touch that woman. This whole thing about a sexual assault is a gross allegation. I swear I'm going to murder that woman."

Did a waitress hear OJ Simpson say the same thing over tequila and poached eggs?

Dinosaurs, Cotton Candy and Talking Cats

For the past month my husband has been working a ridiculous work schedule. Consequently, he's been going to bed around 2 or 3 in the morning. Obviously, at those hours I'm in comatose state and basically dead to the world. Therefore, my husband has started playing a bizarre game with me when he comes home. The game consists of him crawling into bed, nestling up next to me and then whispering complete gibber. No, you read that right - complete gibber. For example, one night he told me, "Tomorrow we're going to grandma's house to eat dinosaurs and pie. But, not before we clean the driveway of sticks and stones."

Now, I should tell you that during this fun game I actually have no idea what he's saying. Instead, in my deep sleep state, all I hear is something about my grandma and dinosaurs. I then feel someone next to me, then they are gone and then I'm dreaming about a T-Rex making pie with my Grandma Frost.

Now, that's not where the game ends. In the morning, I get to call my husband and say, "What in the crap did you say last night?" He'll laugh and say what do you remember? To which, I usually reply, "Absolutely nothing," and then he'll say, "Do you remember anything about dinosaurs or cotton candy or talking cats?" Then, like my drunken friends in college, I try to separate what I dreamed about in a blacked out state from what he actually said. Doesn't this sound like fun?

I guess the only good part about this game is that I now know how my friends felt when key words like, "bar," "frat boy," and "fell down stairs" would trigger memories from the previous night.

Thanks (insert name of my husband's law firm)!

Do You Like It?

A few weeks ago I decided to cut my hair rather short. When I went to work the next day several people said the following:

Strange customer: "Hey you got your hair cut."
Me: "Yep."
Strange customer: "Do you like it?"
Me: "Um, yeah. I asked for it."

"Do you like it?" Who says that? What did these idiots expect me to say? "Oh, I'm so glad someone finally asked. I actually asked for a short trim, and then she closed her eyes, and started to cut. I've been crying all morning. Don't I look awful?" Honestly, who asks that?

I swear, next time I see a newborn baby I'm going to say, "Oh, you had your baby." And the mom will say, "Yep, just had her two weeks ago." And then I'll say, "Do you like it?"

Or, next time someone gets surgery I'm going to say, "Hey you recovered from your surgery!" And my friend will say, "Yep. Isn't it great?" And I'll say, "Do you like it?"

Sorry, just a random rant.

For the record I like my new haircut...

I Couldn't Even Tell

Can we all just take a moment and collectively throw our hands up in the air and scream, "What in the hell?" - because that's what I'm doing right now. Why am I doing this? Well, today I went to work and while I was punching my number in, I noticed a tattered piece of paper attached to the wall. It said, "Please donate money for (insert co-worker's name) and her baby." Now, it's not that I'm incredibly cheap and don't like helping other people, it's just that, after working with this person for ten months, I never, ever, knew she was pregnant. Sure, I thought she looked like she had gained some weight, but I didn't think it was because she had a bun in the oven. (Which is, obviously, one of the worst things anyone could ever say - "Oh, you were pregnant...I couldn't even tell.")

I think my favorite part of the whole story was when she called in to ask for the day off because she had...given birth! I swear, there's now no topping that excuse. I thought getting out of work for my explosive ovaries was pretty cool, but now I'm always going to be trumped by the baby card. Man, things are just not going my way in this department.

The Thankful List

Well, Happy Belated Turkey Day to you all. I just returned from St. Jorge with the family and am full of thankfulness.

My family doesn't have many traditions, but one we try to do each year is to go around the table, after stuffing our faces, and stating what we are thankful for. Of course, this tradition causes ample moments of sarcasm, flashes of real emotion and memorable moments, such as, when my nephew once said, "Target and....Jesus." (I really think he covered it all) but, all in all, its one of my favorite things about Thanksgiving.

As I drove the lonely six hour drive to St. Jorge (Mr. Working Pants (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) decided to spend his turkey day at the office) I tried to think of what I would say during our yearly "What are you thankful for" family exercise. Here's what I came up with:

1. This past year I was pulled over for making an illegal U-turn and in another incident I was pulled over for being on my cell phone. Both times I was let off with a warning. I'm thankful for that.

2. I'm thankful that one time at work this guy chopped his finger off and I had a feeling not to go around the corner. Had I gone around the corner I would have seen him holding a bloody fingerless hand. I'm thankful for that.

3. One time at the doctor's office this pregnant lady, who was sitting next to me, ripped a small fart. She tried to pretend she didn't do it, but I heard it. I definitely heard it. I'm not grateful for my supersonic ears, but I am grateful that that day I had a severe stuffed up nose. I'm really grateful for that cold.

4. I'm grateful Amanda Bynes was true to herself and retired at 24. She's The Man was really the high point for me. You can't do any better than that.

5. One day a homeless/crazy woman came into the restaurant and ordered a lot of alcohol, bacon, eggs and more alcohol. When it came time for her to pay the bill she slurred in a drunken voice, "Sh*t, I don't got money for this. This stuff is expensive." She then grabbed her bacon and walked out. I'm grateful I didn't have to be her waitress, and I'm glad I happened to be there when she called the restaurant a "government conspiracy to rip off poor people." It's funny, I've always thought that too.

Alright, there was family, husband, modern medicine, shelter etc. going through my mind, but I really think these five moments caused the most gratitude in my heart.

Astronomist

Today, I was standing in line at the post office and out of nowhere this lady turns to me and says, "My wrist keeps making that noise. I don't know if I hurt it, or slept on it wrong, but do you hear that? Last night I heard it and started to scream because I thought someone was in my house." I didn't reply. She continued, "I'm sorry I live alone so whenever I'm in line somewhere I just start talking to whoever will listen." Again, I didn't reply. She then said, "It really hurts to move my bag and my wrist." Now, I started to feel bad and was about to say something when another lady interrupted me and said to the crazy wrist lady, "Do you speak different languages because I speak four languages. Did you know that you can learn different languages by just speaking? That's how I learn them. I also study planets. And I'm an astronomist." (I swear on all that's good in the world she said "astronomist" not astronomer.)

For the next five minutes these two competed at who could craze out the other. Wrist lady would play her go to card of living alone and thinking someone was out to get her and the astronomist would come back with explaining how French men know how to please women. That can't be beat. Finally, at the end they parted, and I hate to say it, but wrist lady got owned. I have never heard someone bounce around on more topics than wrist lady's nemesis did in five minutes. She talked about the importance of voting, how chanting can calm your soul, how the planets are realigning because Mrs. Obama is a Capricorn (again, swearing on all sugar plums, puppies and warm chocolate chip cookies that she really said those things.)

It was fantastic to see a crazy totally get one upped by an even crazier person. I love Santa Monica.

Wardrobe Malfunction

Wow, it's really been a solid month since I have written in this blog. Where to begin?

Well, I suppose the best way to start off would be to discuss my Halloween. Now, because I'm of the religious leaning, I didn't celebrate Halloween on Sunday, but on Friday night I found myself at quite a party. What was this raging event? Well, because we all are friends, I suppose I can be honest. Deputy Junior (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I decided last minute to go dancing at a singles' dance. Yes, I said a singles' dance. Okay, before you start the judging, let me just say they had a DJ, lights, smoke...alright, I'm not even convincing myself this was a good idea. Let's just leave it at - we wanted to go dancing and this was the only option. Okay?



Now, that you can picture our night, let's go a little deeper. As you can see from these pictures Deputy Junior's shorts were slightly* tight. Consequently, any sort of movement or hip gyration would cause a minor wardrobe malfunction. Now, remember that we, as married folk, were at a singles' dance - which means saddling up to your dance partner's fly and wrenching the thing up was sort of taboo.

I have to admit, it was sort of hilarious watching people's faces contort in shock as Deputy Junior and I fought to close his fly. (Life really is about small moments of joy.)






















*"Slightly" in the sense that I'm not sure we'll be conceiving any time soon.

Just Leave it At Free Candy

I have mixed emotions about Halloween. Of course, as kid I loved this holiday. One, I lived in a country neighborhood with not a lot of kids and a lot of lazy adults. So basically, I owned every house that foolishly put out the bowl of candy and the sign that read "Please take one." (In my neighborhood, you either got there first and cleaned it out, or the other kid, you were competing against, was going to take the entire bowl. Hey, just plain Darwinism at its finest.) Two, I loved this holiday for the sheer fact that for the ensuing two weeks (yes, it usually only took me that long to kill 50 houses' bowls of candy) I was going to be allowed to eat candy at any point of the day. Why? Because my dear mother was raised by a Depression fearing man, who did not believe in wasting anything - so, the good candy I received/stole had to be eaten. I know, even a group of orphaned kids couldn't sing a song sadder.*

Now, the other part of Halloween I'm just not a fan of. Why couldn't they just stop it at - give kids candy. The end. Why did they have to decide that this holiday also has to be about blood, death, fear and urine trickling down someone's leg? I just don't get it. I don't get the scary movies, I don't get the thrill of seeing elementary school kids dressed as...well...as...killers? I mean, come on, was Dracula just a poor and misunderstood guy, who was really bad at heavy petting and necking? Were witches just bad magicians, who just stumbled upon black magic and hating chicks, who lived in the forest?** Were zombies really just dumb people, who were actually alive and just needed someone to help them with their lack of speech and motor skills? Come on people. Halloween is a weird holiday. It gives license for men to dress as women, nurses to become whores and adults to dress up as fairies to work.

Why couldn't the Celts just leave it at candy? Free candy to everyone? It was brilliant.

*Annie
**Snow White

Anyone Want My Chair

For about two months I've been trying to sell my crappy office chair. I've posted alluring ads on craigslist, I've spread the word about the "deal of a chair" at work and I've even dropped the price three times. Unfortunately, I was never able to make the sale. Now, I would like to tell you that my chair remained unwanted because people in the greater Los Angeles area are cheap bastards and don't recognize quality...but that would be a lie. Actually, the reason I couldn't sell the stupid chair is because I'm a horrible salesperson. How horrible?

Well, about a month ago someone replied to my ad and said they wanted to buy my chair. Excitedly, I tightened the screws, gave it one more sit, and then explained how it was time for it to live somewhere else. Fifteen minutes later, two chicks walked into my apartment and started to inspect the chair. Now, this should have been an easy transaction. Unfortunately, before I could stop myself I started to tell them everything that was wrong with the chair. I told them the back of the chair was a little unsteady, the arm rests sometimes stuck AND I even found myself taking them into my bedroom to show them my new and BETTER office chair. Within two minutes, they were out the door with no chair in hand, but the name of a great website!

Mr. Wheelin' (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) saw the entire thing go down, and once they were out the door, he looked at me and said, "Wow. Way to sell that chair."

To be honest, I don't know how it all happened. I remember seeing some cash, and then laughing about how some people try to sell such crap on craigslist.*

*Yes, I too have no idea how anyone converted while I was in Mongolia.

Minor

On Monday I had a minor surgery. I know what you are thinking..."minor surgery. Is there such a thing?" Well, before Monday I definitely believed in surgical gradations. And then, once I got there, and put on my hospital gown and answered questions like, "No, I don't have a living will and yes, you may perform a blood transfusion in case I am dying on the table," did I start to re-think my initial impression. Surgery is surgery...and no matter what, they all sort of suck.

Now, granted my surgery wasn't as involved as my neighbor's EYE REPLACEMENT (yes, I actually heard the doctor say, "Are you ready for your new eye?") or were they fixing a heart that was born in 1927 (my other neighbor), but I was still going under and someone was going to cut me open. (I've been watching Grey's Anatomy while laying on my couch for the past three days - so excuse my "hospital talk.")

Anyway, my minor surgery involved checking out if a tube of mine was open or not. The verdict? Open. When was this established? Actually, a year ago. Why did they decide to check again? Because, for me, making a baby has to be the most difficult and involved process anyone has ever had to endure. (Okay, so actually the initial x-ray wasn't exactly clear, but I'm still going with my first answer.) So now, I'm sitting on the couch with a bloated abdomen and four stitches.

Gee, X-ray Imagining of Santa Monica I sure do appreciate your meticulous approach to x-rays! You did a minor good job.

A Muu Muu Exhibit

If you haven't had the opportunity to see or hear the 360 members of the Mormon Tabernacle choir - you are missing out. Why? Well, first they could sing Lil' Wayne and still sound amazing. And second, their outfits, primarily the ones worn by the females, are utterly indescribable. For example, some might call their dresses muu muus, others might describe them as versatile tablecloths, and to the truly fashion forwards, they might just call them giant tents. Honestly, I don't know who is designing for this group, but I really hope my tithing isn't paying for yards and yards and yards and yards of fabric to create these drapes.

I also wondered what do they do with the outfits once they have been used? Because I have never been to a Mormon Tabernacle Muu Muu Exhibit, or have I seen any of these things at a re-sale store. So, what do you think they do with them?

Here's a few ideas my hubby, my bro-in-law and myself came up with this weekend.

1. Sails for their boating trip to Catalina Island.
2. Donated to the army for parachute training.
3. Pool Covers.
4. Covers for old cars.
5. To cover a home being fumigated.

Got any ideas?

I'm an Idiot

ALLLLrigghhttt...so, I'm an idiot...a complete idiot. I'm as gullible as my older brother always told me. So, the blog I destroyed in my past entry is fake. So?! So, I believed for a solid day that some moron was out there writing about her perfect family and the downfalls of "butt." So?! I'm an idiot. But, in my defense, that past entry was more an expression of my brewing frustration with other blogs I've read. AND, I have read blogs that are as ridiculous as the one I berated. (Though no more examples will be shared.) I'm a blog snob I admit it.

I can also admit that I'm rather embarrassed about my diatribe. As I called my good friend, Emad, and was informed about the satirical nature of my highlighted blog, I was reminded of other moments where I've felt as equally challenged, that is mentally. And because I'm really committing this blog into a self-flogging entry, I thought I might list my top five brainless moments.

1. When I was in fourth grade I heard my first real racist joke. Within five minutes of hearing it, I found a crowd of kids on the playground and re-told the joke. Unfortunately, I forgot about the ONE African-American who attended my school. Of course, at that very second he happened to stop and join the crowd. As I got to the punchline, and everyone was waiting, I made eye contact with him, and said, "Um, I forget how it goes." Obviously, I've never lived down the fact that I butchered a joke...no, I'm kidding.

2. In 8th grade, my friend asked me to break-up with her boyfriend for her. Me, always sharp as a tack, decided to inform this poor guy about the dissolution of his beloved relationship during lunch. So, there we sat in the middle of tables and crowds of kids, and I said, "So, Zach, Jenny doesn't want to go out with you anymore." I thought this would be quick and painless. Unfortunately, Zach held more emotions for Jenny than either of us realized because as soon as I said "she wants out," he started to cry. Yes, cry. And, from hundreds of kids' perspectives it looked like I was the bad guy. All I could do was pat him on the shoulder and mouth to the crowd, "It wasn't my fault. Jenny sucks. J-E-N-N-Y sucks."

3. When I was about 24, my good friend decided to teach me how to drive stick in a parking lot. Within ten seconds, and I'm not exaggerating at all, I managed to slam his car into a parked car. Fortunately, nothing happened to my friend's car, but the parked car was now up on the curb and the bumper was hanging on for dear life. I was truly behind the wheel for ten seconds.

4. When I was a sophomore in high school I was playing a pick up basketball game in our gym. While playing, I managed to steal the ball away from my opponent, and while looking back to talk some trash, I managed to run full speed into the wall. Not only, did I feel like a complete moron, but I also got ten stitches in my chin.

5. Last one...hmmmm...is it sad that's it's hard to narrow them down? Let's see. When I was a senior in college, I went to Bed Bath & Beyond to buy a picture frame. In the course of trying to find the right one, I accidentally dropped one I was looking at and managed to shatter almost an entire wall of picture frames. Instantly, a BBB worker came around the corner, and while I was surrounded by shattered glass, all I could say was, "I'm so sorry." Probably the worst part of this experience was I didn't actually end up buying anything. I would like to say I was too embarrassed to stay, but in actuality they didn't have the right size I was looking for. (Maybe this isn't an embarrassing moment, but the moment where I solidified my trip to hell.)

So, there you have it. I'm an idiot.

Butt

So, sometimes I play a little game through the blog world. I'll start on a blog I typically read, and then jump from their blog to someone they read, to someone that that other blog reads and so on. Eventually, I find myself reading about some bizarre picnic of people I don't know and how they decided to make potato salad without mayo. I know, no mayo! I'll be honest, it's sort of weird looking in on people's lives, but isn't that what blogs are all about?

Anyway, in the course of this game I've realized two things. One, I'm a snob about blogs. If I see more than two entries containing artistic pictures of asian salads and cupcakes, I have to restrain myself from leaving a comment that reads, "This blog makes me want to kill myself. Please do us all a favor and stop any contact with the internet."

Two, I really think some people are mentally not right. For example, the other day I came across a particular blog that made me want to get in my car and find this person - not to congratulate them, but to find their computer and destroy it. (Now just a little background. This blog is covered in crap. There's music playing, slideshows moving and grammatical errors all over the place.)

This was the entry, (With a few of my comments):

Then I noticed Lynzii (Who spells LINZEE like this?) was looking all pudgatron, which was such a tender mercy bc it reminded me that no matter what, I still am better than others so super greatful about that. {No offense}. (Taken.) PLUS I put Tridg and Alivyiah (Again, these names? These names. This alone should call for capital punishment) in darling outfits that matched JJWT's and I's outfits too, plus my shoes and mascara really made it pop. So basically a perfect Sunday. (Basically, I'm about to kill myself, but then I read the next paragraph.)

The only downer was the trail I faced, when a girl I won't name but who's little girl is darling and adorbs (not my mistake, but hers) and is one of Alivyiah and Tridger's besties, it honestly tears my heart out but I have to friend-breakup w/ them. Sad but true. I overheard her say something very, very vulgar and shocking. At our house we exclusively only say "bum" and never "butt" which is what I heard her say. Out loud. So, so sad. I'll just have to tell her sorry, our kids can't hang out anymore thanx to your poor choice, hate to judge but these really are the last days so I gotta pick a side you know? (Too many comments to make in small paranthesis.)

ANNNNNDDDD do you know what was the worst part of this entire entry?? She had 62 comments. 62 people, okay 63 people, read this entry. 62 people! I can't even get one comment from my mom!

ANNDDDD the comments were even more ridiculous than the entry.

Comment 1: (NO CHANGES MADE)
Isnt it such a trail to see you're besties let go of the iern rod? It's like they're totally taking for granit that their in Zion. Way to go for the friend-breakup decision. You should rite to the ensign about it.

I don't even know what to say to this.

Comment 2:
Your such a great example TAMN!!! I want to be as strong of a mother as you are and always keep your kids best interest in perspective! I deff-in-nut-ly would not want {whispering} B-U-T-T in my home let alone in front of my children ears. GAAAAASP!!! I mean imagine what she says behind closed doors... Bless her heart! She does know how her choices are affecting others! Good job for taking care of your family first! I hope she can learn from your example!

Great example!?? I'm literally sweating like a crazed person right now. Tawn, if you are out and stumble on my blog, please dig a hole and stay there. Please.

Kick Him While He's Down

Today in the paper I read the following article:

"Segway owner dies after falling off river cliff. All police found at the bottom of a cliff was a man's body in a frigid river and a Segway, the two-wheeled electric device that was supposed to revolutionize personal transport."

Now, there are few things that are funny* about this article. First, and obviously, the fact that the GUY WHO OWNED THE SEGWAY COMPANY dies while riding one. What's next Ronald McDonald choking on a quarter pounder?

Second, is it just me, or does the author of this article sort of hate segways? I mean, here he is reporting on a tragedy and he takes the time to sort of sarcastically say, "...the two wheeled electric device that was supposed to revolutionize personal transport." Why not just leave it at Segway, a two-wheeled electric device? Why go a step further to rub a little salt in the dead man's wound by basically saying, "Some stupid device that I found incredibly annoying and pointless." The man died falling off a cliff. Let him be.

* Not ha, ha, but more hmmm. There's a difference.

Found Snake

Tonight while I was walking back from my car I saw two signs stapled to a pole. One said, "Missing Cat" and the other one said "Found Snake." I'm not a detective, but I think there might be a correlation here.

And more importantly, who just found a snake and decided to make a sign for it? A snake? Really? So, next time I come across...say a...black widow should I be making a sign for that also?

False Advertising

* I couldn't get the actual advertisement but these are the pictures they used.

The other day I was driving down Santa Monica Blvd. and along the street were these ridiculous signs for the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra. I'm not sure who is in charge of their PR department, but I think they might want to re-think their whole marketing strategy. First, these signs don't make me want to attend their concerts. If anything, they make me want to donate money to cure whatever is ailing this individual. Honestly, he looks like he is suffering from either cerebral palsy, or from hemifacial spasms. Second of all, these "advertisements" sort of scare me. If I was shown this picture, without LA Philharmonic Orchestra all over it, I would think this guy was performing a exorcism or needed one himself. Honestly, this picture screams, "Come to my little concert so I can eat your little children."

Lastly, I think my biggest problem with these "advertisements" is the fact that orchestras are not cool. Going to the symphony is not cool. So, don't try to make some edgy poster to convince me otherwise. I've been to the symphony, and some eccentric and overly excited conductor is not going to change the fact that every song is going to sound the same in my head, and each second I spend trying to like the experience is only going to send me into a fit of rage.

Dear PR Department of the LA Philharmonic Orchestra,

Next year please be more honest in your advertisements. I really feel like a picture of an old man sleeping, empty seats or zoned out faces would really be more accurate.

Thanks,
Kate

Yooo Hooo semite

A few weeks ago John Muir (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I traveled to Yosemite National Park. Please enjoy the pictures.We got to the entrance of the park in five hours, but then had to drive an additional one hour and forty-five minutes to our campsite. Yosemite is huge! Behind John Muir is El Capitan.The next morning we woke up and did an awesome hike. Behind our friends is the first waterfall we saw.This is where we stopped for lunch.Nevada Falls. My favorite picture of the day. Oh wait...actually this was my favorite picture.We drove up to Glacier Point to see the entire park. Outside of almost running out of gas and watching a Japanese girl almost fall to her death, it was an amazing view.

A Little Flashback

Today I was organizing some pictures and I came across this gem. I love that while I was passed out my husband thought to take this picture.

Oh Kelly Clarkson!

Last night Nurse Betty (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) had to work late, so I had to give myself a shot. There's nothing worse than inflicting pain upon yourself.

I can only compare the experience to this clip.

May You Rest in Peace Michael

I know, how much can I milk our trip to Universal Studios? I just had to make this a separate entry because I absolutely love this picture. Picture a sea of people shuffling along a rather famous sidewalk. In the middle of this, my smooth criminal drops to his knees and the following picture is taken.When he came up, an African American man looked at my husband and said, in sort of an accusatory tone, "That's my man." I wanted to tell the guy, "Um, maybe Jackson 5 days, but I think we can claim him Bad on."

Stark County Meets WWE

Because of my political science degree I found this quite amusing...Oh, and the fact that this guy is nutso.

Universal Studios Hick Style

Here's the thing...when the husband and I do something - we don't really do it in the most conventional sort of way.

At first, we took some normal pictures.















And then things got out of control. The picture of the husband was absolutely hilarious. As soon as the husband touched his hips, he completely freaked out, and I'll be honest, I don't think the Monkey saw me coming. What can I say - I was feeling the spirit of Universal Studios.















And then...things continued to go south.












And the characters continued. Yes, that would be a female mullet.

The Star of the Show

Today, Mr. Ed (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I decided to head out to Universal Studios and get a little touristy. I have more pictures to post, but I thought this short video would be a good introduction into our visit.

Location: Animal Show

Volunteer: Mr. Ed (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband)

Living in the 90403

The past couple of weeks Larry Appleton (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I have been looking for a new apartment. Our only criteria has been the following: Santa Monica, 2 parking spaces and a dishwasher. Sounds like that would be an easy fit. Well, not where we live. Last weekend I went and saw a bedroom apartment for $2,400 a month. (Yes, for those of you not living in California I did write $2,400.) Here's what I encountered at this "luxury" apartment listing: the elevator didn't work, the door looked like a crazy bear had tried to break it open, the front room sported a delightful blue spot about the size of my face, there was only 1 closet and when I opened the refrigerator, I definitely smelled something like cat urine...definitely cat.

I swear Santa Monica for $2,400 I better see a dancing bear serving waffles, a hot tub in the 2nd bathroom, an included cleaning service and car wash each month and a talking squirrel that does my dishes.

Reality TV...come on....

There's many reasons The Bachelor, and any spin-off of it, bother me. One, it pains me to watch grown adults vie for someone's affection, not because they are actually in love, but because HUMAN BEINGS ARE COMPETITIVE. Two, I think Chris Harrison should be fired, or at least paid 1/10 of his salary. I mean, the guy only says, "There's a Rose Ceremony," "When you are ready," and "There's only one final rose" and gets paid probably g-gillons dollars of monies.

And lastly, and this is where I get the most fired up, I hate, no I loathe, when the Bachelor or Bachelorette imply that they came up with the dates. Yeah, I believe some unemployed Reality TV star just happened to be sitting in their mansion dreaming up a helicopter ride over San Francisco, followed up by zip lining down the Grand Canyon and dinner at a private club in Vegas. Sure....

Come on Reality TV, you had me at "When people stop being polite... and start getting real..." Just keep things classy.

Mom and Daughter Moment

I know this is probably an old video for some of you, but I enjoyed watching this after a long day of work.

I don't know what I enjoyed more, listening to my mom giggle on the phone as we listened to this together, or the fact that she was driving to a church activity. If you haven't met Barb - you haven't fully lived.

The Two Cards You Need

For the past year and an half I've had some pretty cool interactions with celebrities. I was able to explain the game of lacrosse to Michael Keaton, I saw Kate Hudson just a few days before her breast augmentation, I asked Queen Latifah if the three meals she was ordering were for her or for her friends (they were for her, if you were wondering) and I was able to tell Anne Hathaway I was a big fan of hers. (Which I was sort of awkwardly forced into because my other co-workers were telling her she was great and I had to be like, "Yeah, Princess Diaries...wowww.")

However, as exciting as these experiences were, they unfortunately, did not prepare me on how to deal with when a celebrity becomes your real friend. For example, about a year ago I became friends, through her daily appearances at the restaurant, with a particular celebrity.* This particular celebrity then scored a starring role on a new show, shot the show and then invited me to watch the first episode with the cast. Everything was going swimmingly up to this point. And then, I saw the first episode, and the second and then the third. Now, I'm not sure how to proceed. If this person was a normal friend I would say, "Yo, saw your crap on TV last night. Are your writers escapees from the crazy farm, because I'm not buying a single minute of this."**

But, with a celebrity friend it's much different. I mean, one, I have a friend on TV right now - you don't mess with that. You keep that card tucked right behind the "I lived in Mongolia for a year and a 1/2" - those two cards ALONE will destroy any "one upping" conversation you might find yourself in. Two, she might move beyond this disaster and then become truly famous - which again, will be an even cooler card to play. So, this is the dilemma I'm in. Be honest or keep the celebrity as a friend? Hmm....If winning "one up" games were just not so much fun...


*The name will not be revealed because she might be in the habit of googling herself and then how do I explain, over a warm latte, that I cyberally took her down.

**That's actually a lie. Let's be honest, anyone who knows me knows there's no way I could be that forthright. Instead, I would just tilt my head and say, "Look at you. Heyyy..."

Neat

Some of you might not know, but outside of coaching lacrosse, changing young girls' lives and working at a restaurant, I also dabble in the video editing world. Before I decided to run off to LA, I was working for an incredibly demanding man* editing family biographies and any other fun project that got dropped into our laps. When I first starting working for this demanding man I started a biography for a particular family. For many reasons, the project never got finished and now, almost six years later, I'm finally attempting to whittle down there "exciting life" into a 2 hour video. However, I'm having a bit of a hard time.

One, I'm trying to remember what I actually shot and edited four years ago, and, how do I say this, these aren't the most interesting people on earth. For example, their favorite word to describe everything from the birth of their daughter to the creation of their company is "neat," and when they really want to throw an exclamation point at the end of an idea they'll say, "And that was really fun." For those of you who have never edited something it goes like this: you listen to a clip about ten times, drop it in your timeline, listen to it some more, edit some pregnant pauses, listen to it again and finally listen to it as a whole. In total, you probably listen to a clip 100 times. So, let me be perfectly clear, if I hear the word "neat" one more time I might stab myself in the ear with a pen.

To ward off my own suicide, I've started a new game with the subjects of my biography. The game goes like this: After hearing a lame story for the 30th time, I'll say out loud, in my most sarcastic drawl, "Neat story Sue."** Or when they say "And that was a lot of fun," I'll respond, again in grand sarcasm, "Sure was Steve."** Sure it doesn't stop them from being incredibly boring, but at least it helps me keep my sanity. (because talking to one dimensional people seems completely sane.)

*There's your shout out.

**(name has been changed to protect the privacy of my clients)

My Dangerous Job

The caption of this picture should be "Would you like a bigger chance of death with your burger?"

According to The Week (my source of news...at a week late) the "Health Scare of the Week" is: A recent study found that 40 percent of cash-register receipts from major retail outlets carry significant traces of bisphenol A, or BPA, an industrial chemical that lately has come under close scrutiny for its possible impact on health. Even low level exposure has been linked to heart ailments, cancer and behavioral and reproductive problems.

Um, so being a cashier might be a slight problem? Great not only are years being taken off my life due to stupid people, but the receipts I hand to these stupid people might also be killing me. I think I'm stealing a cookie tomorrow. That place owes me.

Camp Observations

Well, it's official: I survived Girls Camp. Now, before I make a few sarcastic observations about the experience, let me just say that I actually had a pretty good time and only said out loud once, "Give me strength." (I won't, however, repeat some of the things I thought.)

Anyway, first observation: I understood that as a leader at Girls Camp I needed to set a good example and show a good attitude. However, as hard as I tried, there were just some things I couldn't condone nor participate in with my fellow leaders. For example, one night we met with another camp from Pasadena and had a "Sing Off." Now, I'll admit I'm not really a "singer," but that isn't where the game broke down for me. Instead, my biggest problem was the songs we were expected to know and sing with all our hearts. What songs you ask? Well, first - Disney Songs and the second - musicals. Now, I've seen some Disney movies and I've seen my fair share of musicals, but I wouldn't say I could actually sing a verse from any of these genres. But, you know who could? THE ENTIRE CAMP AND STAFF. So, there I sat, watching in disbelief, at the crowd of grown women singing at the top of their lungs, not just a short chorus, but almost an entire song from Hairspray.*

After 30 minutes of music torture, I stupidly shouted out, "How about some current songs?" and was responded with, "Um, hello, Wicked came out a few years ago." Right you are Momma Jean wearing woman.

Second observation: Kids today are fat. On the second day, we scheduled a hike, and absolute hysteria swept through the camp. I've never seen such fear of exercise in anyone's face. You would think we were asking them to hike 100 miles, with only one water bottle and a flip flop. The hike ended up taking 40 minutes, and that was after two rest stops. Fortunately, at the end of our hike brownies, cheese, crackers and fruit were provided. Because after walking a mile you really need to replenish those 100 calories you burned.

Last observation for the night: Some kids are cool and some are not. As hard as I tried, I could not, how do you say, enjoy one particular child. She was exhaustingly helpless, constantly miserable and thought hanging on me was a way to my heart. I tried each day to befriend her, but by breakfast, I always found myself sticking an imaginary gun in my mouth and pulling the trigger. I just don't understand how some kids can be so endearing and others you just want to find their parents and ask, "Really?"

More stories to come.

*How did I know it was from Hairspray? Because I turned to my neighbor and said, "Um, what in the world is everyone singing?" And she replied, with an incredulous look, "Hello, Hairspray!" And, then I had to throw my hands up in the air and say, "Oh yeah, I always used to listen to that soundtrack when I read Twilight." To which she said, "Me TOO!" And then, I thought, "I was trying to be funny and now I feel like a moron."

The "Break Room"

A few weeks ago my place of work instituted the "break room." Now, instead of enjoying a meal in our hip dining room, we have to take our break in an empty room next door. At first, I thought this sounded like a great addition to my workday. I figured I would take my bowl of cereal, sit up to a quiet table, pull out my book and enjoy some peace and quiet. Little did I know that this room was going to be anything but peaceful. First of all, this room is quiet, which means any sound made echoes through its walls. Therefore, and I hope SOMEONE is reading this from work, if an individual orders, say...NACHOS, at nine in the morning, you are going to hear every freaking chip break in their mouth and every swallow of the coke to wash it down.

Second of all, before we instituted this mandatory Chinese torture, we really should have had an etiquette class on the following: chewing with your mouth open, breathing while you are chewing, using your hands as utensils, answering your phone while you have a mouth full of food and snoring after your meal. I really think had we gone over these things this room could have actually been a "break" room. Now, it's become the room from hell.

You think I'm exaggerating? Okay tough guy, next time you sit up to a meal picture this: A guy walks in with a plate full of eggs, chips, cheese and whatever else he got his buddy to throw on his plate. As you quietly eat your meal he proceeds to shovel (yes, this would be the appropriate verb, since he really isn't chewing and his hands are forming a cup) food into his mouth, and just when you think it can't get any worse you notice he actually has sour cream all over his cheeks and chin. Desperately, you look around for a napkin, but all you see is a pile of newspapers. From the newspapers you check back to your dining companion and realize he has used the back of his hand, and oh wait for it, yep, that was a good sounding burp. Are you getting an apology for this ghastly dining faux pas? Absolutely not.

When you can picture that and not get slightly nauseous, well then, you just might be ready for the "break room."

A Little Overboard

Does this strike anyone else as a "little" extreme?

Summer in California?

The husband has always called me "Abnormally Cold Woman." (There's even a song to it.) Put me in any restaurant around the world and I'll ask, when we sit down, "Do you feel cold?" I layer in movie theaters, I truly believe there's a conspiracy in my church against women because I'm always close to hypothermia, I always bring a sweatshirt to the beach and don't even get my started on airplanes. You would think growing up in Pennsylvania, serving a mission in Mongolia and living in Utah would make me less sensitive to the cold, but unfortunately, that's not the case.

So three and a half years ago, I got married and moved to sunny southern California. I figured my days of goose bumps and layering were over. Silly me. Since I moved here I can recall three weeks where I have been legitimately warm due to the weather outside. Three weeks. The rest of the days? Well, I know there are those of you who will scoff at what I'm about to say, but it's cold here. Today, I went for a run with the husband, and it was 64 degrees. No, we weren't running at the crack of dawn or in the middle of the night. Just mid-evening when the temperature dropped two degrees from what it was today. Yeah, our high for today? I staggering 66 degrees. Folks, it's August. I need heat. I need laying in bed wishing some small boy was waving a giant leaf over me. I need a desire to wear shorts and t-shirts. I need a little perspiration to form from walking outside. I need a freaking summer. I know, there are those of you in Arizona who hate me right now, but honestly, I'm sick of being cold. Alright, I got it out. Time to put the down comforter over my head and go to bed.

License To Illl

Here's a video of the song done by a horrible high school. I thought it was so bad, it was actually awesome.

Today, Mike D of the Beastie Boys came into the restaurant. I'll admit my powers did not sense his presence, and even after seeing him, I wasn't sure if that was actually him. Come on, I bet even Superman couldn't see through EVERY wall. Anyway, this sighting, though it wasn't offically mine, was actually pretty cool because the very first tape I ever bought was the Beastie Boy's album "License To Ill." Why my mother ever allowed me to listen and to purchase this tape I'll never understand. Anyway, I remember one day we were cruising in our purple Oldsmobile station wagon (which was actually a tank developed by the federal government during the Cold War) and I decided to play my new tape. For some reason songs like "Brass Monkey" and "Fight For Your Right" had no effect on my sweet mother. It wasn't until I sang the lyrics of "Girls" did my mom finally snap out of her taxi driver mode and exclaim, "Kate what is this?" The lyrics you ask. Well, picture a fifth grader singing this in the back seat:

Girls - to do the dishes
Girls - to clean up my room
Girls - to do the laundry
Girls - and in the bathroom
Girls - that's all I really want is girls
Two at a time - I want girls

I thought they were talking about hanging out with their friends. I really should have told Mike D today that his music is really chauvinistic. (Because that would wipe away the memory of horror on my mother's face.)

Reality Check

Okay last story from camp, but there was so much material. At the end of camp, I announced, "If anyone would like some personal feedback, please come up to one of the coaches and we would be happy to discuss some things you can work on." Within 30 seconds, I had about ten kids lined up in front of me. Now, I'll admit, when I made the initial announcement I assumed that only the "good" kids would come over. I neglected to factor in that the "bad" kids were also going to come looking for some feedback. So, this is how it went down:

Good Kid Feedback From Me: "You had a great camp. I would work on developing your defense and keep building your confidence."

Bad Kid Feedback From Me: "Have you ever thought about swimming? There's no contact, you don't have to have a group of girls depending on you to play your part, you get to be under water so people can't really hear you, it can be cheaper than lacrosse and what a life skill? Who doesn't wish they could swim better? Alright, have a great summer."

Honestly, parents please make my job easier. Sit your uncoordinated children down and have a heart to heart. Apologize for the lackluster gene pool, inform them that they were sent to camp because you needed some time alone and remind them not to put an unsuspecting coach on the spot with a ridiculous question of: "So, what do I need to work on?"

Unnecessary Beatings

So, last week during lacrosse camp, we experienced some fantastic lightning storms. During one particular storm we decided to usher all the campers into a metal pavilion, and while waiting for the skies to clear, tell stories of our "Favorite Lacrosse Moments." For the first five minutes, my fellow coaches told wonderful and heart warming stories of last minute victories and epic teams. When it came to me the only story I could think of was the following:

The setting was downtown Philadelphia, the opponent was Temple University and I was a timid freshman. The scouting report on Temple was anything but positive. They were brutal girls, who were known for punching you in the ribs when the ref wasn't looking, and cussing you out when the ref was looking. The night before the game our coach implored us to not retaliate. If they hit us, we were to walk away. If they said something about our mothers, we were to nod and smile.

When we began the second half, the score board read 11-2. (Not in our favor.) After a few minutes, I came to the conclusion that we were most likely going to lose this game, and therefore, I might as well start the "unnecessary beatings." For those of you who haven't played sports, or usually act like grown-ups, "unnecessary beatings" typically means you take cheap shots at your opponent because you can't beat them in a regular way. I know it sounds childish, but for me, it's always helped to alleviate the pain of a loss. It's sort of like if I can't play tomorrow either will you.

Anyway, my "unnecessary beating" came in the form of a "slight" shove while we both were running out for a clear. Unfortunately, my opponent didn't appreciate the game I was playing, and in a split second, she lowered her shoulder and lifted me into the air. As I fell back, I looked over at the stands and saw my mom covering her face, Temple fans pointing and laughing and my dad screaming, "Go get herrrr!!!" As I pulled myself up, I had one objective: find that chick and kill her. Across the field I found her and started running in her direction. As she saw me coming, she stopped running away and started running towards me. So, there we were running at each other at full speed. When we met, I held out my arm and clotheslined her just like I had seen my heroes do every Saturday morning on WWF. Instantly, the ref blew her whistle, pulled out two cards and we were set to our sidelines. As I sheepishly approached my coach, she grabbed my jersey and said, "Nice hit. You are going in in two minutes." Once I got back into the game I was on fire. I went to goal with absolute no fear, and dared any chick to get in my way. My team responded to my aggression and we ended up losing the game by three goals.

Now, I'll admit this is truly my favorite lacrosse moment, but probably not something I should have shared at camp. Because there I sat, in the little hole I had dug, trying to tell a sea of terrified faces that violence is not a good idea and should not be resorted to during any circumstance.

What can I say? As a youth speaker I failed. Miserably.

The "S" Word

My mom never liked when I said the "s" word, (no, not shit). Instead, she hated when I said, "I suck at..." or "that really sucks..." I don't know why that word fell under the category of "Bad Things To Say That Really Aren't Bad,"* but sweet, sweet B-ba never approved. Well, Mom, cover your ears because I'm about to get all sorts a crazy in this entry about things I...yep, here it comes...suck at.

What caused this entry? Well, for the past three and an half hours I've been ironing Philip Drinker's (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) shirts. And well, I suck at it. I don't think if I worked at a dry cleaners for the rest of my life, (insert comment about being Korean), (insert apology for racial stereotype), or if practiced all day could I iron ONE forsaken shirt in less than 30 minutes. I don't know if I'm missing a "wife gene," or if I'm really bad with pressing hot objects down on cotton, but I suck at ironing. And, by the way, who decided we needed to look all pressed and neat? Whoever you are - I'm not a fan.

And since I've already offended my sweet mother, let me just continue on a few more things I suck at. 1. Listening to my messages. I currently have something like 40 unheard messages in my inbox. I don't know why I'm so bad at this, but just know, when I call back I have absolutely no idea why you called. 2. Hiding my thoughts when I look at someone. You will, by the look of my face, know if the girl, who just passed me, is wearing proper sized shorts or not. 3. According to Mr. Drinker (I just asked for his opinion) the English language. It's not that my vocabulary is bad, I just don't know how to properly pronounce things. (It sucks being smart and not being able to show off.)

Okay, I think that's enough for now. You suck for wanting more...

* The taboo list also included: guts, piss (in all forms) and ass. Okay, the last one is a lie. Who can really get mad at a kid who says something with ass in it?

The Different Stages of Camp

Today, was the first day of my lacrosse camp here in good ol' Sandy, Utah. For me, first day of camp always involves stages of emotions. For example, no matter how hard I try, I always find myself being way too sarcastic during the first morning. I really need someone to remind me that singling out a girl during the first hour, and declaring she is most likely going to be the "most improved"* is not something I should say. Secondly, once I stop being overly sarcastic, I move to the next stage, which is overly excited. Of course, this stage happens, when I realize I've insulted at least six girls, and I now need to act like I love lacrosse and camp, so they don't draft a lawsuit for the following day. Once my excitement starts to wane, and my voice is almost gone, I go to the next stage of, "Why did I agree to coach this camp in the first place?" This emotion causes me to berate girls, who are talking in line, by saying, "Oh, I get it. You actually know all of this. I guess I'll just take your pinny and you can have my whistle. Please continue with coaching us at this camp." (I agree, this stage seems awfully close to my initial stage of sarcasm. They are, however, quite different. The morning sarcasm is supposed to be funny, where as, afternoon sarcasm, is truly mean and sort of like a tired toddler lashing out.)

Once I've struck fear in every campers' heart, I move to the final stage of gratitude. Now, don't misunderstand me, this is not when I grab all the campers, and with a tear in my eye, thank them personally for coming out to camp. No, the only gratitude I feel is looking down at my watch and realizing I'll be in my car in 20 minutes. Now, that's something to be grateful for.

So, I know, you are wondering why do I do this? Well, for a few reasons. One, I get paid. Two, I feel incredibly coordinated when I leave. And three, well, okay, I sort like coaching....I know, totally lame ending to this entry.

*Of course, when I say "Most Improved" I'm actually implying, in an incredibly sarcastic way, "This girl looks desperately unathletic, and anything she learns will be not only a miracle, but a vast improvement."

Our Endangered Menu

Sometimes towards the end of my shift at the restaurant I say things I shouldn't. For example:

Stupid Guy: I see you have Swordfish Tacos on your menu. Aren't they on the endangered list?

Kate: Yeah. We serve them, Humpback Whale, Cheetah and the Cuban Black Hawk.

Stupid Guy: Um, I guess I'll have a turkey sandwich.

Kate: (Sheepishly) Um, sorry...for the sarcasm.

I'm Gonna Break the 11th Commandment

My Favorite Brewery. Best Salsa in the world. (that's for you Meg)

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I have been officially named the camp director for my church, and I thought we should check in and see how that new calling is going.

1. Out of the three girls, who are eligible to attend Girl's Camp (what camp is called), only one, who according to her Facebook page "Got grounded for smoking pot," will be attending. Yes, this is a church based camp, and my only participant is a card carrying pot lover. I have to admit, that when I found out about her pre-camp activities, I considered citing some obscure commandment Moses forgot to include in the original 10 about "Thou shalt not smoke pot and go to camp" in order to escape a four day excursion in the woods. But, I decided her chance of reformation was probably more important than my stubborn laziness.*

2. Last night we met to pass off our cooking and fire requirements for camp. Two things happened last night, that made me realize I'm probably not cut out for this position. One, I brought matches from my favorite brewery. It wasn't until the nice, and completely appalled 60+ year old leader asked me, "Um, are those from a bar?" did I realize I probably made a slight mistake. And secondly, while I sat with my pot lover, trying to start a fire with no matches (no, that hadn't been confiscated) I finally threw aside the flint and steel, and while no one was watching, I brought out my contraband matches, lit the stupid thing and exclaimed, "Okay, passed that off!"

3. About two weeks ago, all the leaders from the other churches met together for our first meeting. Within five minutes, other leaders were singing camp songs, ahhing and ohhing over craft ideas - CRAFT IDEAS!! - and agreeing wholeheartedly that tanikinis aren't not even going to be considered as alternatives to bikinis. I just sat there trying to find someone in the crowd, who I could look at, and in one glance communicate, "Are you finding this as absolutely ridiculous as I am?" Unfortunately, all I found was a girl, who was already wearing hiking boots and a woman, who wore a fanny pack, just below the bust and above the rump, during the entire meeting.

I think I might start smoking pot before this thing ends...

* That, and the people in charge wouldn't allow me to keep her at home.