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.

Ruthie

Six years ago, while I was in Mongolia, my Grandma Frost passed away. For my entire life she lived more than 2,000 miles away, and yet, I always felt like we had a very close relationship. She was a woman with a great sense of humor, a great style and unlike most old people, she smelled amazing and probably drove faster than I do right now. As a little kid I loved visiting their old home in Kaysville, Utah. It was always stocked with licorice, coke and all kinds of treats.

When I was a young girl I remember she came to visit and we had a "just for girls" tea party with coke and cookies. I remember watching the sparkle in her eye as she toasted my tea cup and proclaimed being with the girls was always the best time.

When I was born my parents decided to honor my Grandma by giving me her name of Ruth as my middle name. For some reason I never liked that name. It always seemed too old fashioned to me. However, when I got to college my teammates decided (because they were too many Kates on our team) that I would go by Ruthie. At first I tried to fight this decision, and then came to love my new nickname. For four years, I only answered to Ruth or Ruthie or BabyRuth on and off the field.

Sometime during college I got in a very strange game with my Grandma. We started to play a game of flipping each other off. I used to love to see her roar with laughter as I would show her different ways to give the bird. I think her favorite one was when I would blow on my thumb and my middle finger would appear. You haven't lived until you've seen a woman in her eighties give you the finger from across the kitchen.

Lastly, I remember my Grandma always being so interested in my life. She was there when I first entered the world, she comforted me when I said good-bye to my first crush (this should be a whole other entry..."When Kate thought she met the man she was going to marry at 18."), she was one of the first people to say I could do it in Mongolia, and I know, she was there when I did marry the love of my life a year and a half ago.

She was an incredible woman, and I will always try to honor and live up to her name. I miss you Ruthie.

A Weekend With The Family

Last night we returned from a fun filled weekend with my family. As always an extra hour was added to our trip because of the Fruit Inspection Station. I'm sorry, I absolutely despise this place, and I swear, I will one day get out of my car and sucker punch one of those idiotic attendants. I mean seriously, if this inspection station was stopping people from bringing in different forms of cancer or radioactive meat, I would fully support it and wait patiently in line. BUT, to be stopped just so you can be waved through...frustrates me beyond words.






Anyway, (sorry for the outburst) I would have to say the highlight of the weekend was watching my sweet mama conquer The Narrows at Zions National Park. Prior to entering the trail I think my mom was a little nervous, but by the end she was an absolute pro. Here's some pictures of our adventure.
Here's Barb entering The Narrows.
Three generations of Soulier Women. (From left to right) Annie, Elisa, Kate, Mom
It looks like I'm helping her...but, really I think I've fallen in The Narrows about a 100 times.

My second favorite part of the trip was this...a picture really does say a thousand words.
My third favorite of the trip was hanging with Baby A. (Who is actually sponsored by Nike...yes, everything she is wearing is Nike)

Excuse Me

Alright I'll admit it, I've been listening to the first book from the Twilight Series. And, I sort of like it. At first it was just an easy thing to listen to on my way from Salt Lake to LA, but then it became something more. So, listen up Emily Madsen because this is for you: I like the teenie bopper love story between a conflicted vampire and a misfit girl from Arizona. I like how the worst swear word to be muttered by Bella (yeah that's the protagonist) is "crow," and how there is a lot of hand holding instead of gratuitous sex scenes. I like how I can guess what is about to happen and the vocabulary used is not to difficult to understand. And, YES I read all the Harry Potter books! And, YES, I watched The Hills premier, and yes, I'm excited for the new 90210. And, YES, I sat through the entire movie of Catwoman, and yes, I still listen to Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation and find myself dancing in front of the mirror, and yes, I cry every freaking time they unveil the new home on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, and yes, I think that Step Up 1 had better character development and writing, and yes, I still think Dirty Dancing is the best movie ever made, and yes, I floss every night, and yes, I wear my retainers still, and yes, I thought the Youth Conference during my 14th year was one of the greatest weekends of my life, and yes, I will probably read the other Twilight books. And yes, I'm voting for Edward.

So, yeah, I'm 29, and I have some guilty pleasures. Can we still be friends?

The Monkey or The Ring

As I mentioned before, recently, I made a huge step in my marriage by taking my husband's name. For this kind, though slightly late, gesture, I have asked my husband to return the favor and get a wedding ring. Well, this has actually been an ongoing request, but I think the name change has finally given me some leverage.

It's not that Dan has never owned a ring. For the first six months of our marriage Dan sported a stylish wedding ring from Walmart. (A day before our wedding we realized in the craziness of getting married we neglected to order or find Dan a ring. Therefore, while running errands we made a fateful detour into Walmart, and after refusing to get a ring with the Mexican flag on it, we chose a simple symbol of our love. Unfortunately, six months later, while surfing, Dan's ring came flying off. He claims he was bringing things full circle because he was surfing where we went before we got engaged. What can I say I married a sentimental man?

Anyway, now more than a year later, I can't get him to get a new ring. First, it was we were saving for a boat. Then it was the fact he likes to, "keep his options open when traveling," and then he was thinking of investing in a lucrative talking monkey. (Okay, I made that last one up, but I'm sure he'll use it at some point.)

So, the other night I finally made him look at rings online. Here gives you an idea of what I'm dealing with. This is the ring he liked because he said, "I have a heritage to represent." (For those of you not of the Scottish background, these rings are from the Celtic line.)

Oh and he wanted to engrave, "Are you happy now?"

...The Scottish can be so stubborn.

Barbara and Mike

So, today is my parent's 42nd wedding anniversary. 42 years ago my mom, a young girl from Kaysville, Utah, got on a train and followed my dad west to Chattanooga, Tennessee. I wonder if they had any idea what their life was about to become? Did they know they would live back east for more than 35 years? Could they picture their first child would be a blonde boy named Jason, and their second son named Matt would struggle with health concerns? Did my mom know her wish of having daughters would come true twice...at once? Did they envision their white home with black shudders surrounded by trees? Or could they see that far off into retirement, impending marriages and little grandkids? Probably not, but I'm sure glad my mom got on that train.

Congratulations you two romantics.

Who Ya Gonna Call?

So, I'm pretty convinced that we have a ghost in our apartment. No, I'm not covered in green slime, or have I seen a floating woman in our kitchen, but something very strange keeps happening. On each side of our bed are these awesome touch lamps. (You know the kind that you touch to either brighten or turn off). Anyway, lately, while we are asleep or away from the apartment, they turn on by themselves. It completely freaks me out to come home and see the light on, or wake up in the middle of the night to this mysterious lamp. The other night I woke up twice to this eerie light and eventually had to pull the plug...oh, and sleep with one eye open.

I know what you are thinking...it's not a ghost, but just an innocent malfunction. I wish I could agree, but among the many abnormal things about me, I also have a very acute paranoia in regards to anything supernatural, anything fictionally displayed in a movie, any article I read about a real murder, anything terrifying I see in a trailer for a movie, any story I invent when I see a crazed homeless person outside my home, any scary story told around ANY campfire and every comment Dan makes to scare me. I'm utterly a little girl when it comes to anything borderline scary.

So, say what you will, but I'm convinced. Dan agrees with me. (Or is just trying to play on my abnormal paranoia...)

Mrs. Hick

After approximately 559 days of being married I am now officially a Hick. As I was sitting in the social security office I started to think about what took me so long to make this official change. Did it finally take me this long to conclude that I could still love Dan even though 4 out of 7 days he leaves his towel on the floor in the morning? Was I just really attached to a last name people mispronounced for 27 years? Or was it something deeper? To be honest, it was two things. One, I'm just lazy. Two, about three years back I got a really good picture on my license. I know it sounds ridiculous, but this doesn't happen very often.

I remember my first license picture in good ol' Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania. I was 16 years old and I think I was wearing a Grateful Dead T-Shirt. (Not sure if that detail is relevant, but more a random memory). Anyway, I had nailed the written exam, paralleled parked and was about to be granted my plastic certificate of freedom...when I completely froze in front of the camera. I remember I was torn between a big smile and a serious face. I just wanted to find the right balance that would say to the first cop, that pulled me over, "Don't write that ticket, I was speeding because I'm rushing to do my community service." Unfortunately, my indecision resulted in a mug shot of a misguided, drug addicted 16 year old, who was wanted in three states for either murder or fleeing an accident. (I just couldn't pinpoint the exact story based on the semi curved lip and beety eyes)

I remember when the DMV worker turned the screen so I could see the picture and asked, "Do you want me to take another one?" Again, I was torn. Did I want to take another picture? Absolutely. However, I also didn't want to come off as a narcissistic 16 year old, so I sheepishly responded, "No, looks great."

There are few days I regret, and this would definitely be one of them. Do you remember when you finally got your license, and everyone asked to see yours? Yeah, I didn't pull mine out much. I remember the one day I decided to chance my friends' charity and pulled out my disgraceful license. Instantly, everyone started to laugh and asked if my picture was also posted at the local post office. Kids...so cruel.

So, when I went to the DMV in Salt Lake, a few years back to get my new license, I was prepared. I was tan, I had just got my hair done and that morning in the bathroom I had perfected the right balance of "not trying too hard, but keeping it real." Consequently, I finally possessed a respectable license. I just couldn't give this up. Can lightning really strike twice?

Dan, the sacrifices I make for the marriage...

A Tenth of a Point

Last night Dan and I watched the preliminary round of gymnastics. After watching a few routines of puberty stunted girls, flip around and fall out of bounds I thought about a couple of things. 1. Who decided that turning children into muscle mutants would be a fun sport to watch? 2. How come they still have to end an even bad routine with their arms up in the air? Can't they just put their heads down in shame and walk away? 3. Shouldn't the US Gymnastics Association (USGA) send out a pamphlet right before the Olympics explaining what constitutes a "good" job vs. "bad job? I mean, in my estimation if they land on their two feet at some point after doing two twists, a flip and a cartwheel that should be "okay." 4. (This is really the thought I fixated on the most) How do the announcers do it for gymnastics? When initially a girl falls, they are completely silent and then they'll say something ghostly calm like, "Hmm...falling on her back and breaking her spine will definitely cost her a tenth of a point." I couldn't do it. If I saw a chick, bedazzled in a colorful leotard, falling to her death while trying to reach for an uneven bar, I would scream out something like, "Holy crap, I think she's going to die." Or "Son of B. Don't look America." Or make some semblance of sounds like, "Ca, Ca ga AHHH," while gripping the arm of my co-host. (That's basically what I do when I watch it with Dan) I just don't know how they stay so calm and callous.

Also, I would not only yell out things, but I would probably have to take it a step further. I would probably say something like, "Poor Chelsey. Did you know her parents sold their home, quit their jobs, put their other children up for adoption and moved to Texas so she could come to the Olympics? I wonder what they are thinking right now watching their child add more chalk to her hands after falling off the balance beam for the second time? I bet they are thinking, 'Yep, hon, it's just a little more chalk that's going to bring our home back.'" Too much? Okay, so I won't be calling the next gymnastics competition.

Great Legs, Bad Fashion Sense

Do you ever have moments where you wonder where you came from? You look at your parents and think, "Their genes are running through me?" Well, I had one of those moments a few weeks back. Fortunately, I had my camera. I will say, for 67, the man still has great legs...just really bad fashion sense.

The Barnyard Game

For the past two weeks I've been running lacrosse camps in Utah and California. It always seems like a good idea, and then about the third day of camp you find yourself thinking of ways to discreetly kill off a couple of campers. I don't know what some parents are thinking. In their hearts they must know that as a child they themselves were not coordinated, and therefore, the chances of passing on a dominant gene of "motor skills" to their child is probably slim to none. I just don't understand how some parents can have such blind faith in their children. I think I told one girl the same thing for three days straight, and not once...no not once...did I actually see her make the change I recommended. I did, however, receive a lot of nods and looks of understanding right before she went back to the bad habit. It took everything I had inside of me not to pull her aside and tell her to count how many four leaf clovers she could find in the grass until the end of camp. Camille, or Camille's mother, if you are out there, please let the lacrosse dream die. It ain't gonna happen.

Of course, there are some great kids that come to camp, who you love and mold and coach and mentor and blah, blah, blah. But...while you try to enjoy them...the coordination deficient kids make you just question your existence. Therefore, as coaches, you have to think of subtle ways to get back at these kids. I know, what you are thinking, this doesn't sound like what Gene Hackman would say in Hoosiers, or Kurt Russell in Miracle or Terrence Howard said in Pride, a compelling story of black swimmers (I'm trying to relate to all my readers). But, it's the truth.

Therefore, bring on the Barnyard Game. This is both a wonderful and demoralizing game at the same time. I recommend playing it with any co-workers, friends, neighbors or acquaintances who severely bother you. By the end you'll have the last laugh and that's really what life is all about.

First, place all your annoying counterparts on a line and give them different animals. I recommend using: horses, cows, cats, dogs, pigs and sheep. (Make sure no one finds out what animal their neighbor has...this creates the fun.) Now, here's the most important part of the game. Seek out the individual you can't stand the most. The one person you could condone being beaten by a crazed homeless person, and give them the prized animal of donkey. (Do you see where I'm going with this?) Now, place all the people on the ground randomly around a field. Tell them to get on all fours, close their eyes, and in order to win the game, they have to find their fellow animals by making the sound of that animal. Nothing brings more joy to me at the end of a long camp than hearing a bunch of kids snort like pigs and bark like dogs in order to find their partners. Oh, and watching the one donkey roam around, sounding like a complete a##, trying to find no one.

This game is for all ages and recommended at all times.