Shuhhhh

So, did anyone hear a rather large woman singing? Or did a pack of pigs fly over your house? Or did hell actually freeze over because yesterday something happened to me that can only be described by Wayne Cambell as, "Shuh, and monkeys might fly out of my butt." (Translation: what the...?) Enough build up?

Okay, in two weeks my sister and I are going to ride another century ride in St. George, so yesterday I went out for a 70 mile ride. At about mile 40, the skies opened up and it started to pour. For awhile I tried to keep my glasses on because getting pelted with rain at 30 miles an hour really hurts, but eventually, the rain and the steam, coming from my face, was making it so I couldn't see anything. So, once I navigated a busy street of potholes, suburbans and puddles I took my glasses off and tried to find somewhere to store them. Unfortunately, as I was fiddling with my glasses and trying to bear the rain I managed to run through a few stop signs. Now, in my defense these stop signs are about an half a block apart and there was no one on the road. AND if a car had been there I would have stopped. (I'm usually a very safe rider. I promise David Pulsipher.) Anyway, as soon as I propped my glasses into my helmet I heard a siren and turned to find a police officer behind me.

Immediately, I stopped my bike and waited for the gestapo (That's what my mom calls them because of their ridiculous boots.) to get out of his car to arrest me for selling cocain...oh wait, I'M ON A FREAKING BIKE! Anyway, after explaining my glasses debacle, my attempts to "slow down at intersections," and even a brief attempt at begging I was given a ticket for running a stop sign. I have to admit I sort of missed Mexico at that moment. Had I been there I would have just given the officer five bucks, a packet of Gu and promised to not tell anyone.

S0, what I have learned? Um, well...wait there's got to be something here...Oh yeah, I just wanted to thank all the police officers out there that are doing such a great job at protecting us and fighting crime. I really appreciated the time they took to find the perpetrators, who stole my my bike from my garage, and who spent countless hours tracking down the thugs that broke my husband's car door to steal my 2003 Ipod and some CDs, and that one officer, I can't remember your name now, but thank you for rushing over to my apartment when I called in and reported a car being stolen outside my window. I really appreciated you calling me and asking me, while they drove away with the stolen car, if I remembered which way they went. Just incredible police work all around. And, finally, for stopping my reckless abandonment on the bike. Had that gone unchecked...well, I don't even want to know what would have happened.

---

Wayne Campbell: All I have to say about that is "asphinctersayswhat".
Noah Vanderhoff: What?
Wayne Campbell: Exactly.

That's Camp Director To You

On Sunday, I was named the new camp director for our church. Apparently, the first girl they chose decided her life was too "complicated" and needed someone to take over. (Because this is right up there with curing cancer.)

For those of you not of my faith, let me give you a little description of what this means. First, I have to create and coordinate a week long camp, that is semi-religious and semi-fun, for 4o girls. Second, I have to attend this camp I created, and try to maintain that semi-religious angle. And third, I have to enjoy this experience. (Actually, number three might be optional.) So, what were my thoughts on this new calling? Well, here's what was going on in my mind:

Thought 1: These people do know that last year, when I attended camp, I spent most of my time taking notes so I could sarcastically criticize and report about it on this blog when I got home?

Thought 2: My first act as camp director is going to be abolishing all camp songs and singing during the week.

Thought 3: Abolishing singing will probably ensure that this is a one time deal. Definitely going after the singing.

Thought 4: I'm definitely moving next year.

Thought 5: I'm stealing the golf cart on day 1, from the fatties of last year, who drove their carts to their camp sites and back so they didn't have to walk ten feet.

Thought 6: I can't wait to see them hold out their thumbs for a ride as I whiz by.

Thought 7: This will actually be cool.

Thought 8: Stop trying to sound all positive just so God will think you are a good person and give you a baby.

Thought 9: If I get pregnant before camp do I have to go?

Thought 10: Probably not. Crap.

Thought 11: What about naming the camp: Camp Kate? Too much...?

And yes, there will be more entries as we get closer to camp.

The above picture is the chair I plan on bringing to camp. I really want to impress upon the girls who is in charge.

Welcome To Mexico: The Scenic Tour

As I mentioned in my last entry, Cancun was beautiful, but "slightly dangerous." I wish I could say that my only brush with death involved the menacing Caribbean ocean, but unfortunately, the locals proved to be just as uninviting. I know what you are thinking...start the chant...story, story, story...

One day Juan (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I decided to rent a car and drive out to Chichen Itza and see some Mayan ruins. After talking to our helpful* concierge, we decided to take the scenic route through some local Cancun towns on the way to the sites. After two hours of driving over six foot speed bumps, moving at a pace of 30 km and almost hitting three stray dogs we realized our concierge was an idiot and we were idiots for listening to her. As we started to discuss how we were going to steal her Marriott uniform and burn it, a sketchy police officer, who was riding a dusty dirt bike, drove up to the side of our car and waved us to pull over. Quickly, Juan pulled the car over and the "police officer" strutted up to our car and told us we needed to follow him to the police station so he could write us a ticket. Apparently, we were speeding. (You really should have seen our rental car go at a blazing 40 km. I'm surprised we didn't end up in the future.)

Now, here's where Juan and I are different. I see a desperado on a dirt bike, carrying his Dad's revolver from the Alamo and I'm like, "Sure let's head to the police station." Juan, on the other hand, is an attorney, and as an attorney, you negotiate. So, that's what we did. After thirty seconds of arguing about heading to the police station, our "friendly" town ambassador told us to follow him down a dirt road and we could take care of the matter. Once off the main road (as seen in above picture), our corrupt cop saddled up to our car and announced we could pay $100 and walk away. Now, again, here's where Juan and I differ. I would have paid him $100 and given him my address in Santa Monica in case he wanted to take my TV and car once I got back. Juan wasn't feeling as generous. Instead, he pretended not to fully understand the guy's Spanish and claimed we didn't have that much money. Finally, after some broken Spanish back and forth Juan struck a deal with bastardo (I learned some Spanish) and paid the guy $30.00. After a secret exchange of money, our corrupt amigo hopped on his bike and headed off.

Looking back on this experience I sure hope a few things. One, I hope this great crime fighter was promoted for his professionalism and necessary force while dealing with us incorrigible foreigners. Two, I hope he and his friends enjoyed the cervesa and tacos we bought them. And lastly, I really, really hope he was either run over by a mac truck or choked to death on giant burrito.

Again final score. Mexico - 2 Kate - 0.

*Who was actually working on the side for this desperado.

My Belt of Experiences

I would say there are only a handful of times I truly thought I was going to die. For example, there was the time an angry Mongolian tried to throw a rock into my head for not paying a $2.00 cab fare. Another time, while snowshoeing, I slid down the face of a mountain and miraculously flipped over a stump, that would have definitely left me in two pieces or seriously disfigured. And of course, who can forget, the car accident I survived in D.C., while laying in the back of my parent's station wagon with no seat belt? (Which also happened to be the week I got my period - so I guess, God was feeling like I had had enough bad news that week.)

Anyway, I'm happy to report that I now have another notch I can whittle in my "near death experiences" belt. (Which happens to be something I only wear on special occasions.) A few weeks ago, Paco (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I visited a little place called Cancun. While there, Paco and I decided to go scuba diving. Now, I'll admit I was sort of nervous about this activity, but Paco, who is certified, assured me that as long as I didn't hold my breath I would have a great time...and not die.

So, there I was, sitting in a rocking boat, trying to convince myself that the 20 minute video I watched, and the 30 minutes I stood in a pool with our instructor, was going to be enough to ensure my safety under water, when all of the sudden a wave of nausea swept over me. Have you ever gotten off a roller coaster and then been sucker punched in the stomach? No? Me either, but I have a pretty good idea of how that would feel. Words cannot explain how badly I wanted to ralph my buffet breakfast, but here's the thing - 1. We paid for this activity and I'm just too frugal to waste that money. 2. I have always prided myself on being just a little tougher than most girls, so sea sickness was not going to stop me. and 3. Did I mention we had already paid for the day?

So, foolishly, I strapped on my tank, jumped in the water and headed 30 feet down. I wish I could tell you that once under water everything went swimmingly, but I don't put notches in my belt for nothing. After about 10 minutes of being under water I quickly realized that I was either going to throw up under water, drown from throwing up under water or get the bends from rocketing up to the surface so I could throw up. As these scenarios played out in my head, I started to panic and then I committed the cardinal sin of holding my breath. Now I'm really starting to panic. Finally, after making several unsuccessful signals to Paco about my stomach (which were always responded with pointing to fish and then giving me the thumbs up sign) I grabbed the fin of my instructor, pointed to my stomach, and while channeling my inner mime, tried to describe an atomic bomb. Again, she didn't seem to get it, so I decided the only thing I could do was head for the surface. And so up I went.

As soon as I broke the surface, I grabbed my air piece and started to throw up. The rest is sort of a blur. I remember waves hitting me in the face as I was throwing up, and thinking that maybe I had died and gone to hell because only such a place would throw waves at you as you are trying to vomit. Then I remember fish attacking me, which if you think a little harder about this detail you might figure out what attracted them to me. (No, it wasn't my shiny blond hair.) Then I remember a bunch of boats and people getting ready to snorkel. Can you imagine? Just as you are about to enjoy a fun filled day of seeing fish and coral a crazy chick flies up out of the water throwing up? Bet they didn't know that was included in their package. And lastly, I remember my instructor asking where Paco was. Apparently, he hadn't gotten the message and was still on the bottom of the ocean watching his wife get attacked by fish.

Anyway, I finally made my way over to our boat, got my stuff off and collapsed - and as you probably already guessed, the ride back was nothing short of pure torture.

So, there you have it. Mexican scuba diving- 1 Kate - 0.

Before

After

102 Miles? Here's A Bed Sheet!

About two weeks ago, Lance Armstrong (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband), Alberto Contador (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my brother in law) and me (no name change necessary) decided to head down to Palm Springs and ride in a small century. To be honest, I wasn't a huge fan of the race. Why? Well, one, the first ten minutes of the ride consisted of pushing my bike with one foot through a series of stop signs and biker congestion. Had I known that the race was actually going to be a scooter event I would have brought my trusty Razor. Two, the first feeding zone, which mind you is quite important, looked like a refuge camp during World War II. Honestly, picture open trucks of supplies, workers throwing water and food at a tired crowd of people and men with no legs crying for their mothers. (Okay, that last part was sort of an exaggeration.)

Anyway, after grabbing some M&M's and glucose water, Lance, Alberto and myself decided to pick up our bikes, trek through a field of sand, cactus and grown men going to the bathroom in order to get out of the mess of people. I will say, once we escaped the war zone the race actually opened up and I became a fan. Oh but wait, there's one more complaint - aren't I just a crabby old woman? I would say my last criticism is a toss up between the ridiculous amounts of lights we had to stop at (did no one mention to Palm Springs that a race would be taking place in their city?) or the fact that when I crossed the finish line I was offered a XL t-shirt. Really, I just rode 102 miles and you are giving me a bed sheet? Why not punch me in the quad and say, "Congratulations!"

Okay, I'll stop. It was actually an awesome day and here's the pictures to prove it.

My Testimony

Two weeks ago, the man and I went down to our garage and found our bikes had been stolen. Words cannot sufficiently or accurately describe the anger I felt. One, who goes into a locked garage and steals bikes? Does this person also kick old ladies in the hips and steal their dentures? Two, why did they have to steal my bike? I mean, I actually use my bike every day. Why couldn't they steal the motorcycle that causes my apartment to vibrate every time the moron decides to go for a morning ride on Saturday? Or how about the three SURF boards that were still sitting there just mocking my bike's absence? How come my thieves had to have such discriminating taste?

So, let me just say, to all the thieves out there. You know who you are. You are the ones that broke into my car in high school and stole my sister's Oakley sunglasses. It was 1999 - do you have any idea how cool my sister was with OAKLEY Sunglasses?!! Do you know that you not only robbed me, but her of sheer coolness. And to you, the punk in college who stole the jacket I stole from my sister, who stole from some chick in high school, who probably paid good money for it - you are a terrible person. And to the jerks who broke into my roommate's car twice. Yeah, twice. Lay off the Honda civic and the idiots who constructed those easily popped locks. And to the little a-holes who shattered my man's car only to steal my 2003 Ipod and some CDs - we hope you have gotten into a terrible accident.

So, to all of you who think it's cool to steal things let me just say - there is truly, truly a special place in hell prepared for you. I know and hope this with every fiber of my being.

Act Natural

I know, this will come as a shock to some of you (my husband included) but I don't have the greatest "inside voice." Somewhere and somehow, I convinced myself, that if you talked at a normal octave about the person right next to you they wouldn't suspect you were talking about them. I mean, who talks about someone while they are sitting right next to you? I know, this sounds like a ridiculous statement, but the key is to not point, not look in their direction and not lower your voice. Any of these missteps can instantly turn a nice dinner observation or a friendly talk with a friend into a rather nasty situation.

Might I also add that when you talk about someone keep them at least in your peripheral vision. Turning your back or a quick corner can lead to a disastrous outcome. For example, today a customer of mine decided to bring over his check to me while I was putting in an order at the computer. For some reason, he decided, as he dropped the check next to me, to make a loud kissing noise in my ear. Immediately, I thought it was one of my co-workers messing around and I said, "Thanks doll." However, as I turned around to see my co-worker, all I saw was a strange looking Asian man sipping his coffee. Now, I'll admit I was slightly rattled from his "sign of affection?" but that is no excuse for breaking one of my cardinal rules. After about ten seconds of thinking about his ridiculous smacking lips, I said out loud to my co-worker, "The strangest thing just happened to me. Some idiot brought over his check and made this disgusting kissing noise in my ear." And then the mistake. My co-worker asked, "Which one?" and I said, while turning, "He's this creepy Asian..." and there he was...right behind me.

So remember friends: act natural, keep them always in your sights, don't point and judge away.

Fair Fights

I would just like to say up front that there could be some potential bitterness in the following entry. You have been warned.

So, lately, I feel like a lot of people are getting pregnant, and I have to admit, I have some mixed emotions about all the bundles of joy shooting down from Heaven. On one hand, I'm really happy for my emotionally stable and mature friends, who are bringing children into this world. On the other hand, I'm a little tired of opening my gossip websites and seeing the announcement of another moronic celebrity having a baby. Why couldn't they all just follow the trend of 2003 Angelina and adopt? Why all of the sudden are these celebrities, who at one time were addicted to some substance of some sort (Britney...uh, Nicole Ritchey) becoming so freaking fertile? I mean honestly, are we serious about sending children to these people?

Below is what I call my "Seriously You are Going to Be A Parent?!!"

Celebrity #1: Pink

Relationship Status:

Pink recently told Cosmo that she is making an effort to be nicer to Carey (her on and off husband). "I'm so dramatic ... and in the past, I've been really mean," she said. "Carey sat me down one day when we were fighting and said, 'Baby, when you call me names, it hurts my feelings. Please try to stop.' And I was like 'Wow, thank you for telling me how you feel.' Now I fight fair."

Kate's Thoughts: Where to begin? Um, the fact that she classifies her fights with her husband as now "fair," is slightly troublesome. What about, "Now that we are having a baby I've decided to love my husband and not cause him to have periodical interventions with me like first grade teachers have with kids on the playground."

Fate of Child: Prior to entering rehab, will see this picture and know why its Dad took his motorcross and drove off a cliff.

Celebrity #2: Mike Tyson and wife/girlfriend* had a baby

Kate's Thoughts: This would be totally cool in my book if it was 1987 and the only thing I knew about Mike Tyson was Nintendo's "Punch-out," and the fact that he was dating Darlene (Robin Givens) from Head of the Class. Unfortunately, it's 2011 and his greatest hits include a rape conviction in 1991 and biting a man's ear off. Model Dad? Probably not.

Fate of Child: Kids will be terrified of him on the playground, he'll most likely have a very high pitched voice, and whenever his father hugs him, he will most likely cover his ears.

Celebrity #3: Mariah Carey and Mr. Carey

Relationship Status: She still pays for everything.

Kate's Thoughts: Again, quite a doozy to discuss. I think my anger with this situation really stems from her MTV Cribs, where she changed about twenty times, and kept saying stupid things like, "blah, blah...because I'm a diva." Yes, that's exactly the maternal instinct we are looking for - a diva.

Fate of Child: He'll go on to host an exciting show about nobodies showing the world their hidden talents and becoming America's Got Tal...wait a second. Sorry, I was thinking of someone else. I think she'll have a girl* and she'll wonder why her Dad looks her age and is always asking her mom for money. She'll also have a terrible voice...because something in the world has to make sense to me right now.

Celebrity #4: Rachel Zoe

Kate's Thoughts: She is Skeletor's long lost daughter. How does she even have enough cells and blood to make a baby? How does bone create life? This one makes me the most mad. I haven't been on a bike for a few weeks just so I can maintain weight for a baby and Skeletor drank air yesterday and is now pregnant.

Fate of Child: Eaten of course.

Other celebrities that should have made the list: Kim Zolciak from Real Housewives of Atlanta, Baby Spice from the Spice Girls and Anna Duggar (the chick already has 1,000 children!)

* I wasn't capable of reading the article because all I saw was "Mike Tyson baby."

* Again, absolutely no real research went into this entry.

Oh, The Neck Strength

There are many reasons why I love Santa Monica. This would be #131.

Africa Needs Aid?

Last night Mr. Hip (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I decided to venture up the 101 and see Amos Lee at The Music Box, which is a cool little club on Sunset. To start off the night, a man named Vusi Mahlasela opened the show with a very rousing set. I say "rousing" for two reasons. One, the man had some pipes. And two, between each song, that inevitably had something to do with Africa, he would go off on some political rally speech, that wasn't exactly well thought out. For example, he said, "You know I'm from Africa and it's a great big continent. We have so many people and lands - and we've given so much to the world in aid that I think it's time we start to receive some aid as well." Now, call me crazy, but what kind of "aid" has Africa been giving to the world? Does this guy really think that Africa hasn't received any aid? And how come a few idiots in the crowd started to clap when he said this? Do they too believe Africa has been sustaining the world? I swear, give a person a guitar, put them up on a stage and some idiot will follow any gibber that comes out of their mouth.

Once Vusi was finished changing the world (and historical facts) Amos Lee came on and he was absolutely amazing. He's originally from Philadelphia, which in my book means you are already the coolest person in the room, and to boot, his voice was like butter. (Yes, I too, think I should be a critic of some sort. I mean, who would compare a singer to butter? Me.)

If you haven't experienced Mr. Amos Lee do so. And if you haven't given a dollar to Africa - do so.

Please Sir, I Want Some More

Before we begin, let me apologize for my misspelling in my last entry. Yes, it was "waist" not "waste" we were looking for. I do appreciate all your faithful readers, who caught the mistake and brought it to my attention. I'll admit, I wrote that entry in a rather sleepy state. I promise I will not write another entry or use heavy machinery without having my brain at full capacity again.

So, the other day I was sitting in the market area of our restaurant when a woman came in and asked to purchase the entire batch of oatmeal cookies we had made for the day. As soon as she made this request, a man behind her let out a soft whimper, and then ever so Oliver Twist of him, asked if he might be able to buy one of the 21 she was buying. She, without even a single moment of hesitation said, "No." At first, all of us other grown-ups in the market area assumed she was kidding, but when he asked again, and even included the fact that he had walked his fat ass all the way down from work just to buy a cookie, she again said, "No." Granted, this time she followed it up with a smile, but I think her message was the same. What was that message? Well, it was, "I'm a grown woman, who due to her parents lacking of parenting missed the entire first grade where they teach you on how not to be an a-hole AND how to share. So, I'm taking the entire 21 cookies and I don't care about your low blood sugar or strange addiction to an oatmeal cookie because I too have my addictions. I enjoy finding something people enjoy and taking all of it. I enjoy watching your face crumble in disbelief and disappointment as I hand over my credit card and take away the last piece of joy you had in this life." (I'm paraphrasing of course.)

Eventually, my co-worker couldn't stand the ridiculousness (again, you all can spell check me on this one) going on in front of him and said, "Really, you won't just give him one cookie?" I thought she might withstand the additional pressure to act normal, since she started with the "sorry sucker" smile, but she finally caved.

Is it bad that I secretly hope someone either stole all of those cookies, or at some point when she needs blood, Mr. Oliver Twist will be the only one who can save her, but when she asks for just a little blood, he'll tilt his head and while smiling say, "No?"

You Take Your Pants Off

Because of my current issue with not being able to create babies, I've been at the doctor's office quite a lot over the past two years. For those of you, who also frequent the doctor's office, you know that this is a strange place. It's strange because just when you are in the middle of a great article, in some magazine you would never buy (today I was completely fascinated by the benefits of breast pumps - did you know there is an actual magazine entitled Mom? Really, Mom? What marketing genius came up with that one? Probably the same company who brought us the thought provoking magazines entitled: Plants and Lamps.) I digress. What we were talking about? Oh yeah, so there you are engrossed in some bizarre magazine and then a nurse calls your name. Of course, you drop the magazine, thinking you are about to see the doctor, and then you find yourself in an empty room, on cold paper and nothing to read. I see ladies taking their magazines with them, but I always hope that, maybe just once, they'll be even cooler magazines in the room I'm going to. (So far I'm 0-11).

Second and definitely the strangest thing, is the whole, "Take off your pants and the doctor will be right in." Now, if I went out to dinner and the host said to me, "Just take off your pants and a waiter will be right out to take your order," I think I would find that a little strange. And yet, in a doctor's office this is completely normal. It's completely normal to be waste naked in front of a virtual stranger, who still calls you Katherine even though you have corrected them numerous times and encouraged them to call you Kate.* It's completely normal to shake someone's hand while you sit there waste naked. It's completely normal, after an exam, to remain waste naked and talk about the future. Waste naked isn't normal. Heck, it's not even the right phrase for it. And yet, I do it. I do it every time.

One of these days I'm taking a bundle of magazines into my exam room and I'm not taking off my pants unless someone else does. Well, not really. At least not until someone offers to buy me dinner.

*Even spoken in the third person to really drive the point home. For example, "So, then I said KATE, you just got to keep doing those shots."

Someone is Taking Their Job Quite Seriously

So, a few weeks ago Mr. What's His Name (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I (well, I really didn't because I don't have to pay our bills) realized someone was illegally using our credit card at three different gas stations. To remedy the problem, we (this time together) called the credit card company and were directed to one, Carl. Now, either India is getting incredibly good with accents or we, by accident, called a backwoods cabin in the hills of North Carolina, because Carl (said with a drawl) was rippin' ready to help. As we told him about the fraudulent charges on our card he said, "Well, I do think someone is usin' the card illegally because (insert credit card uninteresting tracking information)." After we agreed with his assessment he then said, and I do hope that this was being recorded for quality assurance, he said, "Man, I wish someone would kill these people." Slightly taken aback, Mr. What's His Name and me started to laugh, and then we realized Carl wasn't kidding.

I wonder if after work Carl dresses up in some snazzy tights, a homemade cape and puts a lunch bag over his head (spaces cut out for his eyes, of course) and goes and finds these people he thinks should be killed? I think it would be pretty cool to have Carl, The Credit Card Avenger, out there fighting crime. I would think twice about using someone's information if I knew some crazy redneck was going to find me and tie me up to his Ford pick-up.

Just sayin'...

Trash Talking

The other night I was collecting the trash around the apartment and I had a strange thought, "What would someone determine about me if they went through my trash?" I know, strange thought, but you know, what's the first thing detectives do on TV when they can't find their suspect? Yep, they go through the trash. And then all of the sudden, they find receipts for plane tickets, lab results for matching DNAs and pieces of bomb kits. Within 30 minutes their suspect goes from a "person of interest" to the perpetrator who blew his brother's house up and is now flying to South America. Folks, it's all in the trash.

So, here's what I deduced from my own trash. One, I'm not a cook. If anything, based on my trash, I eat a ridiculous amount of cereal, pizzas from Trader Joes and not a trace of vegetables or fruit. Two, again, based on my personal waste, I hate Greenpeace and anything associated with it. How do I know this? Well, because inevitably, each round of trash includes at least four Greenpeace reminders, six Save The Whales pamphlets and two Starving Children contribution notices that are all torn up and shoved in an empty cereal box. And three, if I was sifting through my own trash, I would conclude that a person living at my house has a terrible drug problem, due to the used syringes*, but is not completely out of control because of the inordinate pieces of used floss. (I think this last one would have really stumped NCIS.)

So, let's review what my trash has told us: I'm a poorly fed, drug abuser, who hates people or things less fortunate then myself, but makes time to maintain good oral hygiene. I think that sums it up.
So, what does your trash say? And more importantly, why is your trash talking?

* For baby making

Something From the Church Mouse

So, I'm walking into church and my new high tech phone buzzes to let me know I have a new email. Innocently, I open my gmail and find an email from my mom. I figure, since it's my mom writing on Sunday morning, it must be important. The following is what I read:

I don't think a scripture could be as wise.

Alphabet Test

Questions: Why do you have to type a bunch of nonsensical letters in order to leave a comment on a blog? And why, are they difficult to read? Is their a problem with poorly seeing people leaving inappropriate comments on blogs? Does typing the random letters make you feel like your comment is more important because you had to jump through a stupid hoop to post it? Is someone getting a royalty check every time I do this because they thought of the dumb ass idea in the first place? Was there a time when you could randomly leave comments on blogs with no check of your typing and alphabet skills? Have you ever not typed the right sequence and felt like a total moron? Are you lying right now?

Anyone got any answers?

I Ain't No 007

There are few things in this world I'm not very good at. 1. I'm terrible at replacing the toilet paper. (Just ask my husband because he'll tell you. No, really, he'll tell you right now.) 2. Wearing my retainers at night. It's not that I don't enjoy straight teeth, I just loath the mocking I receive from the husband. (If I hear one more time, "Do you want to open mouth kiss?" when I decide to wear my retainers, I think I might commit murder.)

And 3. (yes, it's a short list) I'm not very good at gambling. (I know, you too, see the connection between toilet paper and retainers.) No honestly, I'm a terrible gambler. A few years back, Victim #1 (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I went to Vegas to see his friend get married by Elvis. While we were there we decided to play a little roulette. As we walked up to the table, I was asked by the pit boss to show some ID. I, being 29 at the time, thought his question was absurd, and responded, "Oh, it's okay I'm 29." He took one look at me, and said, "I don't care if you are 88 years old I need to see some ID." I started to laugh a little bit and then realized the man wasn't kidding. So, I went upstairs to my room, got some ID and walked back. Now, me being as cool of a number as I am, as soon as I walked up to the table (mind you, a game was in progress) I shoved my ID into the dealer's face and said, "See I'm 29." Immediately, Victim #1 grabbed my arm and apologized to the other gamblers.

Then, once the game, that I disrupted, was over, Victim #1 and I started to randomly place our chips on the table. At this point, things were beginning to look up until I decided last minute to change one of my bets. (Mind you, once again, the game was in progress, and as I went to move my chips, the dealer bellowed out, "Don't TOUCH those chips!" Again, Victim #1 apologized and I looked down at the floor.

I wish I could tell you that, even though I was a complete moron, the white ball fell in our favor and we won millions of dollars. Unfortunately, that was not the case, and turns out 30 seconds of stupidity cost me $20.00.

Now, you would think that after this experience I would stay away from the gambling world, but last week we traveled to Vegas for an anniversary celebration, and before I knew it, I found myself in a casino. However, this time I decided to approach my gambling weakness from a different angle. I decided to approach the Black Jack table just like James Bond. I decided I would sit down with an air of confidence/cockiness, I would bet high, read my opponents and maintain an aura of mystery at all times. Unfortunately, my plan backfired as soon as I tried to smoothly and mysteriously look at my cards. I don't know why I thought hiding my cards would be a good idea, but in my attempt to be 007, I managed to completely bend them. Immediately, my cover was blown, and Cindy, the middle aged dealer, looked at me with disgust and said, "You can't bend the cards honey." No dry martinis could save me - I was exposed.

So, gambling will remain one of my weaknesses. At least it's not heroin.

Saving Dolphins

Yesterday, I was blessed with a worthless trip down to the airport courthouse to fulfill my civic duty as a public juror. For three and an half hours they made us sit in a cold room while they explained, in the most laborious way possible, all the ways we could get out of jury duty. I learned that if you are 70 years old and just don't want to be a juror you are excused. I have to admit I'm not a fan of this cut off. How come 70 year olds are excused? All they are going to do is rush back to their recliners and scan the obituaries for their friends and sad stories. (Sorry Beba) How come 30 somethings aren't excused to go, oh I don't know, work, help the economy, produce products our society needs etc., etc.?

I also learned that being poor is not a recognized "hardship" for being excused from jury duty. Now, this attempted excuse was repeated almost ten times, which made me wonder, "Is this really the 'go to' excuse when you don't want to be a juror?" How about, "I have a heart that might stop at any moment?" Or exclaiming, "I think all murderers should be released!" Why tell the court yous poor? If anything, if you are poor you should be on jury duty because you get paid 15 dollars a day (yeah, you read that right) and the possibility of getting a free lunch.

The other strange part of the juror orientation was the fact that after spending 180 minutes explaining all the ways we could get out of jury duty they then showed us a five minute video of testimonials of how cool it is to be a juror. I really think someone in the courthouse PR department should think about the conflicting messages they are conveying - 1. Hey, get out of jury duty, everyone is doing it. (Unless you are poor) vs. 2. Jury duty is right next to saving a dolphin out of a tangled patch of seaweed. So, do it.

Lastly, I must admit, as I sat there freezing to death, I started to strangely replay Runaway Jury in my mind. All of the sudden I became a reincarnated John Cusack (minus the trench coat and boom box) and started to calculate who I would be able to manipulate into voting my way. I had pinned down about four clueless people, when a courthouse worker announced we were no longer needed.

Civic duty - check. I really think I could have owned that jury if given the chance.

The Cardinal Rule of Christmas Cards

Disclaimer: This entry is not the result of any of MY friends' Christmas card.

So, the other day we received a Christmas card from one of my husband's friends. (Yes, you are getting two entries in a row about Christmas cards - tis the season.) It was your typical 30 something Christmas card - Costco printed, short wish of a Happy Holiday and a well posed picture. Unfortunately, this well intended card forgot one of the cardinal rules of Christmas cards - if you recently had a baby and you are, either still overweight from the pregnancy, OR if your newborn is...not cute - SKIP THIS YEAR or SEND A NOTE.* Honestly, this child was seriously killing the card.

I now leave this train of thought and ask you all: Do you think these thoughts I have sometimes about not cute children is the reason I'm barren? Yeah, me either. Some kids are just not cute.

I know there are many of you out there who wanted to see the Christmas card I'm referencing...sorry. Please enjoy this awesome one I found on the interwebs.

*Which really should be a brief explanation of your inability to lose your baby weight, or the fact that your husband was too an ugly baby, but grew out of it in high school.

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.