I looked out the window....

And what did I see?

Gross.  Back to bed.

It's not a purse, it's a European!

I was reading my Nylon magazine the other day when I came across the beauty section which I devoured as usual until I saw a new mascara.  The caption underneath it said that it was a formula that had been available in Europe for a while before we got it here stateside.  

Does this irk anyone besides me?  I'm so sick of hearing about products the ever-developed Europeans have had for years that we are just getting around to trying out.  You know, it's not really the Europeans I blame per-say but the Americans who have decided that everything has to be tested and approved before being applied to our delicate epidermis.  I want to test things out!  I want to have the choice about putting controversial wrinkle creams on my skin or not!  It is no wonder that the general public in Europe up until about 45 look fantastic.  You would almost never know if you didn't have to kiss them on each check that they all chain-smoked and drank gallons of liqueur everything month, maybe even every week....shout-out to the Spain cousins!  

And you know how they get away with this lifestyle of decadence and cheese?  They can smear or inject whatever they want on themselves.  Lucky S.O.B's.  What a life.  What a free-wheeling, bathing suits optional, get up  late, go to bed late, buy fresh baguettes everyday, ride the most organized public transportation I have ever seen, society.  And yes, after all their enlightenment and small cars they still let anyone put unidentified wax on their legs to rip the hair out.  And you want to know why?  Because it works.  They wouldn't use it if it didn't.  Who cares if you develop uneven pigment spots on your legs 15 years later.  By that time someone you know has died and you have to wear black for the rest of your life in mourning so the nylons just cover it up anyway.

If this is what Socialism gets you then sign me up.  Free botox for everyone!

Where you at?

PANIC.  My style icon was in Utah this weekend and I didn't even know it?  I hate when my invites get stuck somewhere in the mail.  And wait, wait.  I didn't see this at first but it's a good thing I caught it and added it in.  Guess who else was in Utah over the weekend?  You'll never guess.  It was Speidi!!  That's right, the flesh-colored beard itself was hitting the slopes!  And don't forget to scroll down and see 50 more pictures of the happy couple...in case you didn't have enough of their terrible faces in the first 5 pictures.  And ha, ha Speidi.  Jokes on you.  Everyone in Utah knows that snow is fake because it hasn't snowed at all until today.  WAA-HA-HA!

But it's cool.  I joined my own pop group this weekend by turning myself into ginger spice and making some gingerlicious cookies.  I started with little men (the snack that smiles back until you bite their heads off):

And then moved on to birds:

Wo!  We got a skuwampus tail on the upper right one.  Special shout-out to cousin A who actually made the bird cookie cutters herself with copper strips.  I just love the holidays, don't you?  And in honor of my novio I would love to wish you all a Merry Cheistmas (that's how he spells it)!  

Get in the car loser, we're going shopping

I have a confession to make.  I had a little Regina George moment last night.  It was almost as if I had eaten a Kalteen bar and then discovered my protege had thrown an intimate party with enough cheese and crackers for 8 people that turned into a blow-out that I was not invited to.  A friend of my recently purchased a very nice article that I myself would love to have in my closet.  When I saw the picture all I could say was a very loud and high-pitched "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" And then "noooooooooooooooooooooo" some more.  And then that's when Regina popped into my head, "I practically invented her, you know?"  Only I didn't - and I didn't actually say that....out loud.  But I might have put it in the burn book if I had one.  I whined and moaned and complained for a good 10 min. before I calmed down enough to think rationally.  I thought, Juicy Couture?  You can have it.  Dooney and Bourke?  Take it.  You might even be able to have some of my friend Michael Kors if you wanted it.  But L.A.M.B.?  That's my thing.  It's MY thing.  I felt very territorial for some reason.  Taradise, you know I'm talking about you and in penitence for my egregious selfishness I must come clean and confess.  So this is me standing on the stage in the auditorium about to give my speech before I turn around and trust fall into the crowd.  

Ahem.....So I know that at first I was upset and little incensed that you stepped on my 'territory' by acquiring a lovely bad that really will look good slung over your shoulder but I have had a change of heart.  Taradise, I'm the tard here.  You've been nothin' but super-duper nice to me ever since I got here and far be it for me to begrudge you a whopper of a handbag.  You too deserve nice things and I am happy for you.  It's a big day when a girl gets her first really nice handbag and especially a L.A.M.B. bag.  At least you probably thought of me when you got it (I hope so anyway).  So congratulations on your big day and look out for your candy gram in the mail.  And just know, you are a partial spring-fling queen too.  

Sincerely, Me  

Death of a salesman/woman

So the other day Ricky and I headed to down to our reputable jewelry store to pick up my wedding band and look for a ring for him.  The store is a Provo landmark and the owners happen to be friends of the folks.  With much anticipation from my end we entered the store and asked for my wedding band that had been payed for a month before.  30 min later we were still waiting for the band that had been payed for a month ago.  Our concierge for the day was searching high and low for my coveted diamonds and still had nothing.  Receipts?  Check.  Log of where it was supposed to be?  Check.  The only thing we couldn't actually check was the ring.  And as he searched high and low for the missing band we had another peculiar experience; watching one of the worst customer service episodes ever.  

There was another couple in the store whom we shall refer to as husband and wife.  Wife was in the back of the store (which is really just a half-wall so you can hear EVERYTHING) speaking to the goldsmith in Spanish explaining exactly what needed to be fixed on the ring.  In the meantime Husband approached Ricky and asks if he is purchasing a ring from the store to which Ricky replied yes.  Then husband says all hushed and KGB-ish, "don't buy anything here.  Seriously man, do NOT buy anything here" and then moves on to keep his toddler out of the precious gem stones.  Ricky and I gave each other a look that was something between wow you are a bit over-dramatic and yikes, something bad must have happened.  

Then Wife and the saleswoman who was helping here, who we shall call Lady, came out from the half wall and took their places at the register.  I might mention that Lady is actually the mother of a school friend of mine and many of my siblings.  Lady proceeds to ask them questions about their ring maintenance and husband seems a little annoyed by the whole scene.  Lady then asks all sorts of questions she doesn't really care about to sweet talk them,  "So, you are moving soon?  Oh!  Law school will be nice.  Did you graduate from BYU? etc, etc".  Wife speaks most of the time while Husband chases after the toddler who likes to overturn stools..."thump, thump"," Stop it, thats enough!",  "Footsteps, footsteps, thump, thump...", "Thats enough!!"  Couple leaves, end of story.

Only it wasn't.  Lady heads back to the half-wall and proceeds to speak terribly about them and how husband is one of the rudest people and how she just killed them with kindness, blah blah.  Suddenly Wife comes back in with a question about the receipt which Lady answers and then Lady leans over the counter for a little heart-to-heart with Wife.  "So" starts Lady, "is your husband upset about something that happened here or is he generally angry?".  To which Wife explains that he is in law school and doesn't like to feel like he's being taken advantage of.  "Well, I want you to tell him" she continues, "that he is the WORST customer I have EVER had, and you have been the best". 

Aghast.  I was completely aghast.  No, no Lady.  No. No.  You NEVER talk to a customer like that.  At that point Ricky and I found ourselves taking bets on if he was going to storm through the door at any minute after Wife told him what had been said.  I never.....   I really could not believe that she had the audacity to say that to her.  And I can't believe the sweet wife didn't say anything back like, "well you are the rudest Lady I've ever had B.S. me before".  

And all this time I was STILL waiting for my band - which they never found BTW.  So I used that time to try and fanagle some free diamonds for my loss.  It didn't exactly work except I got a screaming deal on a replacement, that is if I want it.  They are ordering the other ring too so I can compare.  

Now I'm not saying don't go there if you have figured out where it was, just watch the Lady and the black holes in the back-room. 

Sooo avant-garde

I went to this really interesting art exhibit the other night.  The artist had lain out a sea of paper as far as you could see.  The pale blue papers had been stamped with different insignias and staggered to create an interesting pattern:

It was hard to walk around and see all of it because of the uneven edges but hey, when is art convenient?  The contrast of white and black on the pale blue was beautiful.  And then I thought, "hey, those look a lot like my wedding invitations.  Weird.".  

And apparently nobody got my last reference.  Ahem, please remember in Fried Green Tomatoes when she wraps herself in saranwrap for her husband?  Thank you.

Tuwanda!

Looks like somebody has been watching too much Fried Green Tomatoes....

Planes, trains and automobiles

I did it.  On a number of days the past couple of weeks I lived up to the planes, trains and automobiles thing.  I have a particular soft spot for the New Jersey train and the scenery it afforded me as I cruised to and from the Newark airport.  

It was part Sleepy Hollow and part Jersey shore and I have never wanted a cannoli more.  Besides my co-workers there was also some nice company seated close by who enjoyed the news along with us that the train before us was being delayed as they waited for the police to come and remove a passenger who had been restrained.  I kind of wished it was our train, but whatever.  They have conductors with little uniforms, hats and everything!  All aboard!  But unfortunately my last Jersey train ride back to the airport was not as relaxing as it should have been.  After the hotel shuttle was late and then the train I was a little nervous about making my flight.  But somehow I ended up in the security line as my plane was beginning to board.  There was a chance.  And then I did something I NEVER wanted to do.

I begged to cut the line.

I know, I know.  I didn't want to.  But I didn't want to miss my flight either.  Normally I would just tail-gate the person in front of me and make really nervous faces and check my phone a lot and look at my ticket over and over until people got the hint.  But I wasn't about to get marooned in Newark.  So I begged and it worked!  Well, kind of.  There was a large group of Indian business men traveling together.  And if I'm being honest, I haven't had the best experience traveling with Indians - or living with them.  I got the feeling that some maybe didn't speak English as they just stared at me and then finally one said "ok, go ahead".  But it got lost in translation somewhere and somehow I ended up in the middle of them.  And maybe they hadn't traveled much, but there was all sorts of confusion at the metal detectors with jewelry and laptops and sport jackets..........  But it finally got sorted out and then I did ANOTHER thing I hate: jog to the gate.  Oh man, thats the worst.  And it didn't help that I had a giant duffle bag, backpack that was bouncing around everywhere.  Running with backpacks is the worst.   Add that to the list of things you can never look cool while doing.  

But I made it.  Barely.  Haven't missed one yet (knock on wood).

Fun shopping trip.......or Hell on earth?

Wedding registry.  Worst couple hours of my life.  I love to shop.  I mean I REALLY love to shop.  I research where all the good shopping spots are and then map out a route to maximize the shopping time before I go on a trip.  It's not a vacation unless I go shopping.  If you've ever been to Vegas with me then you know.  But I did not, I repeat did not enjoy shopping today.  

First of all you have to carry around an enormous tag gun that weighs as much as a ton of bricks and you can't even mark prices down with it.  Then you have to decide what you want in your house.  What color towels.  Who cares?  I just want a towel!  You mean I have to color coordinate the colors for my whole house?  Jimmeney cricket.   I don't even know where we will be living, let alone what size bed and from direction the morning sun will hit our house and reflect off our perfectly matched dish towels.  I just want a gift certificate - and the kitchenaid stand mixer I registered for.  

That afternoon almost killed my will to shop.  But I've got 4 inch ivory heels to purchase for December so I can't quit now.

And they called it Puppy Love...

Oh wait......I didn't tell you?

Oh yeah, I'm engaged.  Not engaged in mischievous international drug cartel kind of way, the married way.  His name is Ricky (well, that's what I call him) and he's a half-Canadian, quarter Jew with wicked music taste and legs that go all the way to......well, you know where.  We met a couple of years ago when we filled out a honeymoon survey together for our friend Hyeku and we've been friends pretty much ever since.  

 I knew he was a keeper when I called him up excitedly and asked him to guess what ridiculously expensive beautiful gift I had just gotten myself and his first guess was a L.A.M.B. bag.  And he was right.  

He lives in Arizona, I live in Utah, we live on the phone.  But soon I'll live in Arizona and together we will hunt the scorpions trying to attack us in the night. 

And the best part?  He's promised to take me to Cuba before the summer ends.  Swoon.

Bing, Bam, boom

You know I've always know that my family was jealous of me.  The siblings are a given since I am the youngest and had the easiest rules and more things given my way, but I think my parents are in on it too.  I couldn't help it if my dad gave me a cell phone for my birthday instead of the pager I asked for in high school.  

It was a BIG deal to have a phone back in '99, let me tell you - very helpful for getting digits while I was cruisin' Movies 8.  And it wasn't my decision to send-off my brother and sister on a mission about the same time so that I got sole use of the latest car during my senior year and in my defense if you saw the car you would know it wasn't THAt big of a deal.  

But now with my impending nuptials I think everyone is slowly trying to act out their own forms of revenge.  My mom decided to break her ankle in two places a couple of weeks ago.  Nice.  Now we are going to have to bedazzle her boot for the big day.  My oldest hermana went and broke her toe today.  Nice.  Who is going to cart my cake up to SLC that day?  My abuela is 96 and asks for tea every night.  Nice.  My brother and sister in law decided to fly back to Utah the night before.  Nice.  I need everyone refreshed for pictures.  

I know this isn't the last of the revenge.  Everyone better start knocking on wood because the chain-reaction of injuries is about to strike again.

And on a completely unrelated note, I am watching police academy right now as I type and has anyone ever noticed that Kim Catrall has done some pretty sweet movies?  Besides Police Academy she's been in Big Trouble in Little China and Manequin.  I would love to have that resume.

Charm school

Ok, I have a pressing question.  

Are you allowed to tell a friend their baby looks like a real-life crazy dictator?  And stop wondering if it's yours..because it might be.

Red rover, red rover send super ropes right over!

The only way to get one of these nowadays....

Is to get one of these.....

What happened to the super-ropes?  Someone please find one for me so I don't have to eat 2lbs of licorice every week.  Danke

Learning Shmerning

So...occasionally I get curious and I watch something on TV that is educational.  It usually happens on sundays because there is nothing else on anyway and hey, sometimes I like to get me educated without reading a book.  In fact, I learn so much better when I can just lay there and absorb all the colors and pictures and smart talking.  Maybe I should have done distance learning and finished my degree in 6 years, not 7.  But I was going through the channel guide and happened upon Nova - a show I feel you have to invest full attention in and so I rarely attempt it.  But I knew I had a solid hour to invest so I gave it a shot hoping it would be something crazy cool.  I was NOT disappointed.  I present:

MONSTER OF THE MILKY WAY

The story of black holes and one in particular hidden deep inside the milky way, which is the center of our galaxy FYI.  It was incredible.  I mean really incredible.  I was so into it that I realized that I had been sitting on the floor in front of the tv for 35 minutes with my mouth open.  Just wide open staring at the screen trying to fathom what a black hole is going to do to me.  I was so into it that when my madre who has a broken foot asked me to come help her hang up her dress I was incensed and muttered something about how she was making me miss vital information about our galaxy.  She didn't care.  And then finally!  They answered the question that had been burning in my brain the whole time.  What would happen if a person got too close to a black hole and was sucked in?  The force would be so great sucking you into the black hole that your body would be stretched from the top and bottom in opposite directions until you snapped in half.  And then those two halves would split and so on and so on.  In the words of one of the scientists you would be what they called "spaghetti-fied".  I prefer aldente myself.  

But you know what I really took away from this hour of education?  Not that a red dwarf implodes and becomes a supernova, no.  I learned that the reason I am not the top dog at anything really is because I have great hair.  All the top smarty-pants in the world have terrible, frizzy, dry and undyed hair.  You have to be so dedicated to your schtick  that you throw out all cares of personal appearance and no amount of energy and gases and cosmic dust could convince me to do that.  Uh-uh.  

And if you are wondering what exactly is a black hole then good luck.  Even the frizzy haired science nerds can't explain it.  But basically its an area of space that you can't see and they can't explain that sucks things in it.  Albert Einstein didn't like them because he said they were unnatural and weird.  If you really want to freak yourself and your loved ones out then click or copy and paste on this PBS link,  http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/blackhole/explained.html 

Check out Gregory Benford's explanation.  Bone-chilling.

All good things must come to an end

Farewell my little friend.  When I purchased you in Honduras a year and a half ago I had no idea just how much a part of my life you would become.  I vowed to never take you off until your little strings gave up and unraveled themselves.  I stuck by that promise.  Rain, shine, showers, wedding photos - you were always a part of my world.  I periodically tightened your strings as a nervous habit just to make sure that you stayed safe and sturdy.  I got used to having a built in decoration and I incorporated your vivid colors into whatever I accessorized.  I couldn't think of a better compliment to my saints bracelets and sterling silver links and I'm sure my other jewelry would agree.  But on sunday as I looked down at my wrist with important pictures looming in just an hour I made a judgement call and decided to remove you.  I waved off the hands to my right and left who offered their help because I knew that I had put you there and I alone must remove you.  I sighed, fiddled with the ties and took a moment to remember all our good times together.  I mean, how many other people can say that they wore something for a year and a half without EVER taking it off?  Truly rare.  And I am truly sad.  After it was all over with I turned you over and over in my hands and wondered if maybe I had made a rash decision.  I made a vow and I broke it.  So what if you were immortalized in my pictures forever?  You are in everyone else's pictures too.  But alas, what's done is done.  I toyed with the idea of just putting you back on but it just wouldn't be right.  Our time together has come to an end.  No longer will conversations about the greatest weekend of my life be sparked by your presence.  

Amigo.....you were the best 75 cents I EVER spent.

Peace

Moving on up...to the West Side

EVERYBODY STAY CALM.  STAY CALM.  HELP IS ON THE WAY.

I'm moving.  Away.  Moving away for the first REAL time.  Moving west with all the idealists hoping to find streets paved in gold and if I'm really lucky, cheese.  Gouda cheese, my favorite.  Other than that I'm just looking forward to the usual money growing on trees and the moon hitting my eye like a BIG pizza pie.  Los Angeles...here I come.

I don't exactly have a job waiting for me when I pull off Santa Monica Blvd. and into my parking garage.  Yup, I don't have a job and I don't have an iron to smooth my "please give me a job clothes".  It gets better.  I don't have a job, or a bed, or space to unpack my stuff.  I'm moving in a month before the girl whose contract I'm taking is moving out.  We are going to be such a happy family - all five of us and my air-mattress.  Taking long walks together in the dusk and laughing about the "urban camper" who lives in a tent in our alleyway.  We'll all laugh hearty, belly laughs as the person I'm replacing trips over my stuff in the living room as she tries to pack for her upcoming wedding.  We'll sip tea as we have "girl talk" on my bed until someone sits down and throws off the air balance and makes me spill my tea everywhere.  There will be long talks in the morning as the three of us share a mirror and one sink in the bathroom.  Hmmmmmm......heaven.

Actually, I'm mostly freaking out about the fact that they don't have cable.  By choice.  Thats when pro-choice is taken too far.  What am I supposed to do while I "look for a job"?  Shameful.  And let's be honest, half my identity is wrapped up in TV.  I have nothing to say that is non-tv related.  I'll be so out of touch with what is happening right outside my door.  

For years I've been pushing the adage: "Dress for the job you want, not the job you have".  But I'm having trouble figuring out how to get across a stylish, classy, wealthy woman who watches The Soup, wants to be a VJ on MTV, host her own travel show and write advice columns for a magazine and who gets to sit front row at New York fashion week.  Ideas?

Something stinks....stinks real bad

Ahhhh the Olympics.  I F&*$&#@ love the Olympics!  I am glued to my TV every night from about 7 pm to midnight or 1 am depending upon when they end.  I cannot get enough.  There is something about all the international blood, sweat and tears mixing together to make some crazy competition that really gets my goat.  But I gotta put something out there.  I've never been one for conspiracy theories.  Yes, we landed on the moon.  Elvis  and Tupac are both dead.  No, I don't think the government is hiding Aliens and even if they are then thanks, because I'd rather not know about it.  But something is amuck with the gymnastics competition.  I can't quite put my finger on it - oh wait, yes I can.  The Chinese are cheating.  I am convinced.  Stupid cheating commies.  Everyone with even one good eye can tell half the women's gymnastics team is underage.  You have to be at least 16 to compete in the Olympics for gymnastics and half the girls look about 12, maybe.  But of course they have their passports so no one can prove anything.  To give you an idea it's about 70 lbs to 103 lbs per girl respectively for China and then everyone else.  Yes, Asians are petite, but so are gymnasts!  And don't get me started on the scoring, some one has been bought at the judges table.  I just know it.  And then there is the time difference!  What is the deal with such a huge time difference?  I know the Chinese did that on purpose too!  But I have to say I do feel bad for the some of the Chinese gymnasts.  They were taken at 3 years old to live in dorms and train for the Olympics.  What kind of a life is that?  What are they going to do when they can't compete anymore?  What would their resume include?  Perhaps something like this:

Ni-how-ma,

I'm a hard worker who doesn't form personal attachments to people which helps in this cutthroat job market.  I don't mind frequent travel or relocating if the job requires it.  I rarely ever take holiday breaks because I don't really know my family anyway, I'd rather keep working for the glory of my country.  I work extremely well under pressure and enjoy my superiors breathing over my shoulder.  I am super flexible and have contracts stating that I will not get injured at anytime, ever.  I enjoy applying brightly colored makeup and seeing just how many metal clips I can fit on my head around my scrunchy.  I can pass for any age that my new employer deems ideal and forget about maternity leave or only having one child.  After all that training I probably won't be able to reproduce anyway.  In short, I think I would be the perfect asset to your company because I am a robot, plain and simple.  

She-she, 

 Your favorite gymnast.

What's in a name?

When I got home today  I turned on the TV to entertain me while I had a snack before dinner.  Lucky for me the movie Christine was playing and I have always wanted to see it.  For those not familiar with this gem of the cinema, let me give you a quick run-down.  It's a Stephen King flick about an old car named Christine.  

Christine is possessive and very jealous of her owner Arnie.  She tries to hurt anyone who gets in the car who isn't Arnie.  When Arnie is in the car it's just little things, but when he leaves the car it chokes people and other crazy stuff like that.  Eventually some guys smash up the car and Christine heals herself and goes on a killing rampage of anyone who gets in her way.  And every time the car crashes or catches on fire it fixes itself like a phoenix rising out of the ashes.  Arnie kind of gets nuts at the end with love for Christine and he gets pretty vindictive.  Pretty entertaining stuff.  But while I was watching the movie munching on chips and salsa my Abuela came in for a snack also.  As soon as she got settled with her canned sardines and toast we watched Christine together which was even better.  Luckily the dialogue is kept to a minimum and I didn't have to translate that much.  It was fun watching it with Abuela and having to explain the intricacies of the story line, "No, that guy is bad too.  Yes, the car killed an innocent person also.  No, the CAR killed them".  And then the drama escalated and confusion was at an all time high with Abuela.  "No one is driving the car, it is CRAZY!!  No.... there is no one driving!  It is killing all on it's own!  Whoa!  The car just used the front seat to crush the man in the garage!  Don't you see?!  The car regenerates all on it's own" I tried.  She lasted through a couple commercials and then went back to her Mexican soap operas.  But at least we had a chance to bond over Christine.  

Now that I think about it, my Abuela's dog Pompona (pom-pom) had a Christine-like mentality.  It would still try and bite you when she was around - but it only went into full seek and destroy mode when she wasn't there.  Abuela was obsessed with that dog as much as Arnie was with his car.  They have both since passed away and I'd like to think that somehow, somewhere Pompona is driving Christine in the underworld.  The perfect pair.

Safety first

I decided to really test the trike today by riding all the way to Target from my house.  I don't know how far that is - but it's farther than riding around and around and around my neighborhood. 

 So I dug up a bike lock from the garage and loaded up the basket with a hoodie, a clutch, my camelback canteen and some shades (just in case).  I was putting on my shoes and fiddling with my Ipod when my mom caught me.  "You better wear a helmet" she said.  "It's not that far" I protested.  "I don't care" she insisted, "there is too much traffic - go get it".  Fine.  I got the helmet.  Nobody likes to wear a bike helmet.  Wearing a bike helmet says "hey, I'm practical and safety minded.  Aaaaaand I don't mind looking like a dufus".  But for once I actually listened to my mother.  When we were little my brother and I used to wear our bike helmets like dutiful children until we got to the giant bushes at the bottom of our drive where we promptly discarded our helmets.  We put them back on right before we got home and mom never knew.  I used to do that a lot.  Outwardly I was a very obedient child, but I wasn't really.  I pulled the old bike helmet discard trick many times with other things.  My mom once braided my hair in two braids that she wrapped around my ears like princess laie for picture day.  As soon I got to the end of the drive I unwrapped those buns as fast as I could.  I was soo embarrassed.  She didn't find out until we got the pictures back.  I also used to wear one thing to school in elementary and change into another completely different outfit when I got to school.  I would take her knee-high leather stiletto boots and parade around recess in them.  Yikes.  I was such a clothes whore at a young age.  Back to the ride, I made it to Target safe and sound where I picked up the usuals; some gum, lotion and Jujyfruits.  

That's right, Jujyfruits.  They were next to the gum and I had just seen the Seinfeld episode where Elaine gets in trouble for stopping for Jujyfruit and then stuffing her mouth with them.  I know I've had them before, but it had been so long I'd forgotten what they were like I decided to give them another shot.  They are delicious!  Much better than I'd thought.  And so I stuffed a bunch in my mouth trying to recreate the Elaine moment, "Mr. Lipman...you forgot your...Mr. Lipman...your hankerchief".  It IS really hard - those things stick to your teeth like none other.  Don't call me on the phone today, your likely to only hear a bunch of mumbling on account of the Jujyfruit.

No man is an Island

"Did you fall out of bed"? asked my mother this morning as I was eating breakfast.  "No, why?" I asked.  "Because I never get to see you up this early".  It was 9:15 am.  And no, I do not always get up late.  It's just that I've had a little more free time than usual while I wait for my new job to start.  I don't want to be lazy and sleep in everyday so I try to get up at a decent hour and keep myself productive - even though I don't really know why.  So I fill up my day by taking walks or borrowing my moms trike to take a spin around the neighborhood.  I read on the porch or with my legs propped up against a wall to keep the varicose veins away.  I made myself take two days to finish A Thousand Splendid Suns so I could have more time to fill up.  I'm not complaining, it is just odd to have so much time to yourself.  I try to shift my activities every two hours or so to keep the blood pumping.  Maybe now I'll have time to remember to water the plants.  I just wish there were more people around.  I think, "man, a mexican popsicle would be great right now!" but there is no one to go with.  And the thought of sitting outside of Juanita's bakery by myself just isn't right.  Who would marvel alongside me at the neighboring display windows with fluffy quincenera dresses embroidered with the Virgin of Guadalupe?  I have no friends left in Provo.  Correction - I have no single friends left in Provo.  Thanks for living here married's, but it just doesn't work the same.  I've thought about trying to make new friends but what's the point, I'm leaving in a month anyway.  It's just too much work.  I wouldn't be getting a good return on my investment.  I don't need to meet anyone else here.  I already have a place to stay when I come back to Utah, I can borrow a car from my family, and I know where I like to eat.  So if I already know you and you want to get a mexican popsicle sometime go ahead and give me a ring.

Things that copy/paste in the night

OMG.  Literally.  I just wrote an awesome blog post about the long days I spend by myself and how I fill up my time.  But I wrote it somewhere else accidentally and then tried to copy and paste it here for this blog.  But it won't work.  My copy/paste function is giving me a sign.  I knew I should never have blogged about Joel Osteen the televangelist.  His poltergeist has taken over my computer.  I cannot copy anything and every time I try to paste all that comes up is a picture of Joel Osteen.  Seriously.  You can't make this stuff up.  His virus has infiltrated my motherboard.  Every time I push apple V THIS shows up:  

Let's try again:

Don't believe me?  Come over, I'll show you.

HELP!  Maybe if I do what Joel preaches and pray really, really hard then God will bless me and a new Macbook will show up on my doorstep.  Until then, I'm just praying that I won't open the computer up and see his face as my background *shudder*.

Tag team back again

I guess we are playing a little game of invisible tag-team since I am going to follow in the wake of Taradise and Mike and give some resolutions for the rest of my summer.  It's hard to think of things I still want to accomplish before the end of summer.  So I'm designating the end of my summer at the end of Sept.  

1.Get all my shoes shined for free at the hotel (one down, three to go).

2. Read something, anything with intelligent overtones.  

3. Keep my eyes open the entire time for the open heart surgery I get to see first hand tomorrow.

4. Be equally in love with someone else.

5. Buy myself something really expensive and frivolous.

6. Go with a center-part for my hair again.

7. Watch Batman.

8. Wake up before 10am everyday.

9. Sit, sit, sit on the porch as much as I can.

10. Just lay in the grass.

11. Stop rolling my eyes.

They all seem kind of generic and boring but to me they sound just right.  My summer has been anything but boring so far so I feel like I need to reverse the trend and just ahhhhhhhh.

The skin-care Olympics '08

I'm here at the beach in North Carolina soaking up the sun.  Or at least as much sun as SPF 45 allows me to soak up.  I decided two summers ago now that that would be my last summer to fully bronze myself.  Let's face it, the sun just isn't good for you in large amounts.  And I want to have firm, taught, wrinkle-less skin when I'm 50.  It can be done.  It will be done.  But not if I keep vacationing with these people.  I'm up against the impossible.  A skin type so dangerous it comes in second to Native American genes: Jewish skin.  They tan until they look dirty.  A tan sooo deep that they look like walking cadavers with their muscles exposed.  It is almost a sight to behold.  Never have I seen such tanning abilities!  If there were a tanning Olympics they would easily take first place in all the tanning events; best base tan, worst tan lines, deepest hue of red, disguising yourself as a different race, etc.  The Jamaican and Barbados teams would still be oiling up while this family easily coasted to the first place win.  A metals sweep.  

And then there is me.  Dark hair, pale skin.  I have the skin that thinks it's bacon and likes to crisp up in the sun.  Sure, I can tan a little.  But it gets to a point when it's more freckles than anything else.  And I don't keep it very well.  But I've come to terms with that.  I just will never get how I can walk into a room here with my forehead cherry red and have everyone tell me that I "got some nice color today" when at home everyone, especially my mother, would remark "oooh, you got burned today.  You need to wear sunblock.  You are going to look old and wrinkly if you keep doing that".  Tomatoe, tomato.  One of my favorite games is to put my arms next to my nephews and feel better about myself because they are practically see-through.  But here when I put my arms next to someone else's I am practically see-through.  And I will always be see-through here in Jewish skin land.  

WARNING: Due to the graphic nature of this blog, readers are advised

The reason I get to be Eloise and live in a hotel is because I work here.  There are 440 high school kids mostly from Texas staying here for 10 days because they want a career in the medical field.  What this means for me is long days, short night sleeps and seeing really, really gross things.  Yesterday the county medical investigator came and spoke to the students and brought pictures.  Really graphic pictures of homicidal investigations.  Bones, blood, maggots, shattered heads, stab wounds, etc.  I couldn't look at most of the pictures.  Especially the man in Alabama who had his head bashed in with a two by four.  No bueno.  Weird things happen in Alabama.  Remind me not to go there.  

Then we watched a live total knee replacement surgery where the kids got to ask the surgeon questions while he worked.  I thought I wouldn't be able to watch it but it was pretty amazing so I watched the whole thing - even when they got the drill out.  

But I saved the best for last.  There are a couple nights where we have about 20 speakers come to talk to groups of students about their specialties.  It isn't always physicians or residents so they can get an idea of other professions within the medical field.  We had an art therapist, someone on domestic violence, a woman who makes artificial limbs for children, yada, yada.  But the best one we had was a midwife who delivered her OWN five children before she was even a midwife.  Because "in the 70s they were still tying women down to the table to deliver" she told me before she spoke.  Um...were you at a veterinarians hospital?  That doesn't sound right.  So she became a midwife to help others.  So she speaks to the students and tells them how bad doctors and hospitals are and how she only had to pay $5 to become a midwife.  Awesome, tell the kids all they have to do is pay $5 to be able to deliver other peoples children.  Then she shows them a video of a water birth she did with a completely naked woman in kiddie pool with her husband massaging her back and her 3 year playing in the pool at the same time.  So a kid asks her if there is a chance for bacterial infection with the other child playing in the pool at the same time and she tells him "no, they're a family".  Last time I checked, bacteria was not bowing to family ties.  And the cherry on top was the slides she showed after the water birth of her own vagina.  That's right, her own vagina during birth.  The kids were all freaked out about her showing her own body parts.  Needless to say she is not being invited back.  But it made the rest of us laugh pretty hard.  

That story almost over-shadowed the MASSIVE hernia I saw today in an ER.  Nasty. 

D-Day

They're coming.  The kids are coming.  440 of them will descend on my home between the hours of 1-5 pm.  They will be invading my front lobby, my elevators, taking my granny smith apples from the front desk.  I mentioned this to a couple of British Airways pilots sharing the shuttle with us today and their response went a little like this: "expletive, are you joking?  Expletive, expletive, expletive....".  I think they are excited, and why shouldn't they be?  440 teenagers with raging hormones and big brothers to buy them alcohol is any hotel guests idea of a pleasant stay.  I'm just glad I'm getting payed to be here.  

We've been warned about the poor flight crews who stay here also.  Not warned about them, just warned about how terrible it is for them to be waken up in the middle of the day by 40 kids acting out triage from a fake disaster.  I've seen 3 different airlines represented here so far.  I met a flight attendant from KLM today and made sure to tell her that when I was on a long layover in Amsterdam I stayed away from the naughty bits of town.  Although someone told me yesterday that the prostitutes there have their own union.  I can only imagine what happens when they go on strike.  The whole city crippled begging the city to meet the demands of the prostitutes.  The garbage piles up, the backpackers begin to up-rise and the baguettes cease to be fresh.  We can't have that.  

Wish me luck!  

WELCOME HOME

I feel like Eloise.  I live in a hotel. 

 A nice hotel.  And the people who work he

re are so cordial!  "Yes ma'am, we will drive you wherever you want no charge".  "Yes ma'am, we can bring a refrigerator up to your room at no charge".  My own mini-fridge at no extra charge?  I'll take it!  True, it may smell faintly like Indian food inside but so do Indians and that doesn't stop me from talking to them.  I have this great corner room with windows that wrap around showcasing the almost flat Houston skyline.

My bed is GINORMOUS 

and I just know that if I run around the hotel in my little black skirt/suspenders outfit that the hotel guests and staff would just laugh and laugh at all the little pranks I pulled just like Eloise.  The only downfall seems to be the lack of dental floss at the front desk.  They told me I'd have to buy it in the gift shop.  What?!  Me?  Buy my own dental floss?  Preposterous.  I almost jumped across the front desk and slapped Olga for that one.   Oh....and there is one more problem here at the Houston Renaissance Marriott - they couldn't make the sun come out for the 4th of July.  Oh well, guess you can't have everything.

Or can you?  Cause I'm getting my shoes shined right now for free and enjoying complimentary beverages from my mini-fridge.  HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!!

Saved

I'm living in Houston the entire month of July.  Which as anyone whose ever been here knows is the best month to come.  Everything in Houston during the month of July is in it's peak.  The humidity is at an all time high, the heat has almost reached its pinnacle and the smell of the freeway next to use is ripe for the pickin.  Mmmm....  But if I'm being honest with myself and my sister who reads this - it isn't that bad.  I mean, how bad can a place be if there is a church across the street that draws a crowd of 10,000 people every Sunday?  Would 10,000 people trek across the great state of Texas and who knows where else to sit in a crap hole on Sunday?  No, I think not (unless they live in Jersey because the whole thing is basically a crap hole).  

I know what you're thinking.  What is this church that draws mega-crowds?  Oh, you know it.  You've all seen it on TV.  You've all seen it and all wondered what was going on.  And you will all fighting back the rage blackouts from being sooo jealous after I show you this:

 

That's right.  It IS him.  Joel Osteen - or as one person on the internet put it, the caucasian pastor on BET.   Pastor of the Lakewood Church right across the street from my renaissance Marriott.  How can I hate a place that has given me the gift of a televangelist right next door?  I can't and neither can you.  But we can both hope for a photo opportunity and maybe a healing or two.  Turns out his wife speaks also.  Bum deal for her.  I always thought I would be so mad if I married someone who changed careers halfway through marriage or invested all our savings in some miracle fruit or work from home kit.  But this worse.  You marry a man who loves you and God and then suddenly you have to speak in front of thousands and shellac your hair with spray and wear stage makeup all the time.  Stage makeup all the time?  That spells d-i-v-o-r-c-e right there.  But at least loving God in this instance pays.  

I bet it even comes with Dental.

 

Another day, another measly dollar

Finally.  A hotel that I can borrow wireless from in my room.  It's amazing  that you could pay so much to stay in a nice hotel and not have internet.  Shameful.  But at least I didn't pay for the hotel.  I'm in a Marriott in Boca Raton bestowing my wisdom on how to be a good leader on the junior high school kids.  God bless the middle school age kids.  Nothing like the elementary babes I've been with the past two years.  I only had one boy cry tonight suddenly because he missed his mom.  Turns out this is his first time away from home and even though he was bragging to me half an hour earlier about his size 13 shoes he's still a little teddy bear inside.  He sniffled I encouraged.  He teared up I joked.  He called his mom, I let him go to the bathroom to wash his face.  Teamwork.  

I don't know why I keep doing these conferences.  Everyone here seems to love kids.  They are all teachers of some sort.  But I'm not.  I don't ever really want to be one.  You should see the teachers faces at the Elementary school I work at occasionally...rough.  I rarely see the smiles come out.  I don't want to be like that.  I don't want to do it.  Sure, I like kids.  But this is not my calling in life.  Trouble is I'm having a tough time figuring out my calling in life.  I'm pretty sure it's not "yeah, that shirt doesn't really go with those shoes" or "you just need to cut your hair- you just need to".  That doesn't translate easily to steady income.

How do you find your dream job?  Do you stumble into it one day or do you stay up every night for 8 years trying to decide?  Someone help me figure it out.  And don't say "it will just come to you" because it hasn't and yes, I have been patient.

Bag, Borrow or Steal

My uncle has a bumper sticker on his car that reads: Love is a red rock.  If I was the kind of girl who put a bumper sticker on her car it would probably read: Love is a L.A.M.B. bag.  Except I don't like putting stickers on my car and my hands are full of love in the form of my new L.A.M.B. bag!  Pictured here:

I am no longer the jealous girl staring at others with L.A.M.B. bags thinking "who is that be-otch and how does she have a L.A.M.B. bag?".  Yes, I am now the proud be-otch of my very own bag.  My graduation present to myself.  A bag I love soo much that I had to take it out to dinner twice for its debut into society.  It's over-the-top, way too much money and right up my alley.  It's no secret I have a thing for Gwen Stefani and anything she makes, but I couldn't help but swell with pride when I saw this picture on a gossip site yesterday:

She loves it herself!!!  We have the same bag.......swoon.  I couldn't be prouder of myself than I am now.  I know we aren't supposed to love possessions, frivolous purchases for lots of money, but c'mon!  Just look at it!  And if you are surprised or disgusted by my materialistic bag-centered blog then remember this if we are ever walking together and happen to get mugged because this be-otch is pushing you towards that mugger while whisking her L.A.M.B. bag to safety.  

YOU SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY!!!!

Dear Ma Cousin-

Today is your birthday.  Your special day (not your wedding).  You get to do whatever you want.  But the price of having a birthday and being able to do whatever you want means that anyone else also has free license to do whatever they want to you for your birthday.  And that is exactly what I plan to do.  First I'd like to start with this:

It cut off the inside of the card but it says: I can't believe it was just _ years ago today that you squeezed your way out of your mother's vagina.  (Insert 21).  Just another great card from Bald Guy Greetings that I was too cheap to actually buy for you - but it's exactly what I wanted to say without actually having to say it.  I also want to do a this is your life flashback!  But I figured that these senior pictures of yours say it all:

Don't worry, people are still wearing trucker hats

Look how studious you were...still are?

And yes, that glittery green eyeliner did make your eyes pop and reflect all at once.  No one blames you for that because you grew up in North Dakota.  

I think body glitter is still big there.  Its been a real treat to watch you grow up-ish here at college and I feel privileged that you love to copy my every move, so sweet.  Except now I can't totally be myself because you are always staring at me.  But I love you and I hope that your 21st birthday year is full of torrid love affairs, wide-brimmed straw hats and passport stamps.  Word.

Sweet, sweet Berber

I love flying.  I love the feeling of being inside a giant monster that can just shoot itself up in the air and stay there.  I love the final moments of anticipation as the plane starts to land and it seems that it is just hovering above the runway.  "It should have touched ground already, it should have touched" I always think in my head as the seconds before the wheels hit the ground seem to turn into minutes.  More than flying I love being in airports and people watching.  I hate buying water for $4 dollars but I love watching other people do it.  There are the business men in their crisp suits and tiny carry-ons, the moms in their cargo capri pants herding kids, girls in their sweat pants and old couples full of gold jewelry.  

But the past couple of times I've flown I've been more uninterested in the people around me and more interested in the different carpet patterns you find in airports.  There are some truly heinous (and by heinous I mean beautiful in an I would never put it in my own house kind of way, but I still respect it) carpet patterns out there right under our feet if we would just take the time to notice. 

Well I have taken the time to notice and document various carpet patterns seen in airports.  All are taken with the same pair of slip-ons that act as a control in this series so you have something to gauge the carpet against.

It's another one of those professions that you never think about like designing ice-skating or wrestling costumes, but somebody is designing these industrial carpets.  

And some of them are fantastic!!!

I'm sure that people around me were a little puzzled when I would stop in the middle of the floor, pull out my phone and take snapshots of the ground.  But they can't see what I see: geometric explosions of color and texture colliding in a symphony of berber cascading through the airport like the creek that used to run behind my friend Carrie's house.  The creek that had sheep bathing and pooping in it with water skeeters and probably leeches that we splashed around in regularly.  Hindsight tells me I was lucky to escape without losing a limb to some horrible flesh-eating disease from that canal.  But who cared anyways?  It was the 80's and you could play in dirty, disease ridden canals without consequence.  And you could also come up with geometric patterns that would rule the world for the next 30+ years and still be gracing the carpet we commute on.  I took a record 35 flights last summer over the period of 4 months (go ahead, I dare you to beat it) and hopefully I will take a couple less this summer but prepare yourselves for some more carpet art from across the country as I travel coast to coast.  Next up: Boca Raton, FL.  That is guaranteed sweet carpet.

Te extraño

Dear Cinco de Mayo-

It's been along time since I've seen you.  I remember the bbq's we used to have every year complete with Corona pinatas and sour Mexican candy.  The backyard would be full of people and the smell of grilled pineapple would permeate the air.  I put flowers in my hair and donned my favorite white Mexican dress with the bright embroidered flowers. 

 I was so sad last year when I couldn't be here with you so I made a huge dinner and my first ever tres leches cake and made my host family eat it with me in your memory.  I was so looking forward to spending some quality time with you this year but things got so busy and we both got caught up in other projects.  But I decided to try and make it work anyways.  I dug out my favorite Mexican dress and I convinced my parents and my sister to come with me to find you.  We tried two different restaurants before we were confident we'd find you at El Gallo Giro.  Sadly you were no where to be seen but we ate anyways.  I had cactus for the first time and it wasn't so bad!  I know you'd be proud.  I can't help but think that maybe if I had more people helping me look we could have found you.  But don't worry, next year I know that we will finally be reunited together like we were before.  I miss you.  

I can't wait to see you...

Besos, Laquina 

On the chain gang

A friend today mentioned that I hadn't posted anything in a long time.  " I know, I know" I said.  "I have all these great things to write about but its too late or I'm tired or I'm just lazy".  I never had a problem finding time to post things during school, but now that I have much less to do I can't seem to find the time.  I'm a procrastinator, plain and simple.  I would blog instead of doing my homework and now that I have none to do I'm procrastinating the blog.  I need something truly heinous waiting to be done for me to muster the will to write.  And right now I'm watching my friend clean his apartment while I sit on the couch and type away moving my feet a little to the left for the vacuum and then a little to the right for the other side.  I hear the garbage disposal in the background and pots and pans being scrapped in the kitchen.  Definitely avoiding this one.  

And speaking of avoiding...I had a truly horrific experience sat. morning that must be written once and never spoken of again.  I left campus after a final at the ungodly hour of 7am (so I went at 8, whatever) and was driving to Macy's when I passed Provo High and saw a large tent swarming with bodies in the parking lot.  It looked like a massive beehive alive with workers buzzing to and fro doing their individual duties rummaging and collecting for the queen bee.  Only the queen bee here was not a fellow bee but the modesty queens of Shade clothing.  They were having a tent sale benefit for Provo high.  I passed by in disgust of the hordes of women I could see from across the street flinging clothes everywhere.  But in the end curiosity got the best of me and on the way home I went over to see what all the fuss was about.

Bad idea.  I entered the throng centered under the tent and was immediately confronted with limbs everywhere.  In my face, over my eyes, behind my head.  All grabbing madly at the modesty makers.  I could barely see through the rain of shirts and body suits being thrown all around me.  Some in and out of boxes, others from hand to hand.  I peeked, I lifted, I even stuck my hand to the bottom of a box before I realized something.  "This stuff is too modest for me" I decided.  WAY to modest.  I don't need a tank top that covers my collarbones.  In fact, the decolletage is my favorite part of the female body - let it breathe.  I hate all the semi-cap sleeve, high-neck, almost long enough undershirts.  Tip:  If you can see your undershirt poking out from under the shirt, through the top of the sleeve, around the armpit and above the neck line then you should probably not get it.  It doesn't work for you and that's OK.  There are plenty of shirts out there that will work and will only expose perhaps one peek of your shade shirt.  

I found two long-sleeved shirts I liked and pushed out to the purchase lines.  I'll tell you, this was the first time in my adult life that I really and truly almost justified stealing.  There were three lines so long I thought I saw an oasis next to the cash registers in the hot morning sun.  But I know better than to fall for illusions.  So I got in line and waited, and waited, and waited and suffered and waited some more.  Not only was in line for 50 minutes in an asphalt parking lot, but I was surrounded by clusters of women with goliath sized strollers putting on and ripping off BAGS of clothing they had gathered.  And the conversation........rough.  I was desperate to drown them out.  Ipod!!! I have my ipod with me!  Crap.  No earphones.  I was getting hot and slightly sticky and my eyes started to twitch as I clutched my two shirts and began rocking back and forth speaking softly to myself.."me wants it....give us it".  

Redemption!  My phone with the fm radio.  I don't use it often, but it is a life saver.  I popped those earbuds in and let myself be taken away by some easy listening and adult contemporary as I slowly shuffled along with the masses.  This story could have so many metaphors.  Perhaps I can work it into a talk one day.  I'll share the experience and liken it to the world always out for material possessions and how you need to persevere to find the "good stuff" in all the madness.   And just when you think you are in the clear you face more challenges, but if you just tune out the world then you will be rewarded in the end.  Poetic.  And relatable.  Damn I'm good.  

PYT

"Dress for the job you want, not the job you have".

Well I want to be smart. Really, really smart.  Mensa smart.  Solving un-solvable proofs smart. So I decided to take that advice to heart.  I'm headed for great things - don't you think? 

Ok.  I actually just found those glasses when I was cleaning out my bathroom and remembered this picture of my friend Ricky

and thought, " I can take a better picture than that".  So I did. 

 So whose picture is better?  Don't we make a lovely couple? 

Rage Black-out

You know, I'm not 20 anymore.  And not being 20 has changed some things for me.  I no longer pull whatever I find out of my closet/dress-up drawer and wear it out and about.  I don't yell as much and I definitely shower more.  I also like to experience concerts and shows a little differently than at 20.  I remember the days of being in the front row of the Good Charlotte show yelling "I love you" to Joel the singer and running in the pit during a Less than Jake show.  But I'm not into that anymore.  I still go to shows but I always arrive early enough to skip the adolescent crowds by getting a front row seat in the over 21 section.  I like to actually see the band and not get stepped on or pushed or crushed by someone crowd surfing over my head.  I like my personal space now - except this one time when a bunch of drunk snow-boarders adopted me onto their bench at a Saves The Day show and we laughed together as they drunkenly spilled pitchers of beer over the balcony on an annoying ex-boyfriend of mine (they didn't know I knew him).  That was pretty funny.  So last night I went to a show with some friends that I thought was at the Venue so I was looking forward to getting my usual balcony bench seat.  Only when we showed up it was in the smaller room with no seats, arg.  "Ok" I thought to myself, "this is going to alright".  No.  It was not alright.  We were standing somewhere in the middle off to one side and things were going great.  I could actually see and no one was bothering me.  Then the headlining band Vampire Weekend took the stage.  This group of kids pushes right into the middle in front of us.  I mean they were literally pushing everyone aside to get closer - mistake #1.  Then this kid starts dancing all sorts of crazy like and pushing the girl in front of me consequently pushing me - mistake #2.  No one was doing anything.  They were either moving or just letting themselves be pushed.  WHAT?!  Where is everyones spine?  Did you have to leave them at the door?  Well I brought mine thank you very much and I'm not letting some punk kids push me around.  If I wanted to go to a Slayer show I would have.  The dancing maniac pushed the girl in front of me again and she sent me an apologetic look - mistake #3.  "Does he keep pushing you?" I asked her.  She nodded yes so I reached through her and grabbed his shoulder whipping him around to face me.  "Quit knocking into people" I ordered using my scary mad face.  He looked at me like "what?" so I said "YEAH" right in this face.  He moved away from me.  Then this other guy starts dancing right in front of me pressing his sopping wet sweaty body against me and elbowing me.  "OH NO" I thought to myself, "I ain't having this".  So I grab him and yell "quit elbowing me" to which he yells "MOVE!" to me.  That was it, I had had it.  So I yelled "ME MOVE???!???  NO....YOU MOVE!!!"  And I shoved him into the people in front of him as hard as I could.  I instantly felt Ricky's arm on mine to which I instantly thought "oh great....he is going to think I have rage problems.  Yikes".  So I said, "he was being rude to me"  Suddenly everyone around me that I had only met that night is offering to switch me places.  I just knew they were thinking I was crazy and violent, which did give me a little rush.  But as soon as the song ended the sweaty monster turned around and began apologizing.  He told me when he yelled "move!" he meant it as "dance!".  I accepted the apology and told him I didn't care if he danced but I did care if he elbowed me.  The rest of the show he did dance his sweaty head off but he never touched me again.  It's all about compromise.  I think I'm too old for this kind of stuff, but I'm not too old to take on stupid kids twice my size.  I can take care of myself bitches.     

Me and Pythagorus down by the school yard

WORLD'S ARE COLLIDING!  

Oil and water are mixing...asparagus no longer makes your pee smell...Hillary and Obama are vacationing with the Bush's in Lebanon...and all because I have finally reconciled God and Science!  Thats right!  There are no excuses anymore for black and white not coming together, for catholics and protestants to not break bread with one another, or for stilettos to hurt your feet!  I can't believe that after hundreds of thousands of years and millions of "intellectuals" working together to bring God and Science together that I, Laquina, have done the impossible.  I alone dared to dream of a better world and I alone have conquered all.  Picture this:  One week ago I walk into math class ON time (miracle 1).  There is a new man pacing the front of the classroom instead of poor teacher E. (miracle 2).  As soon as the bell rings he tells us that he is our new teacher for the rest of the semester (miracle 3).  He proceeds to let us decide how we would like our class to run (miracle 4) - "You don't want quizzes?  Then we won't have any...".  We discover that our slates have been wiped clean and we are basically participating in a mock block class (miracle 5)!  As I tell my brother in law of my newfound luck he suggests that perhaps it might be a little more than luck.  That's when it hit me...God has taken science under his wing to give me a second chance.  

Never before have I been graced with such a series of miracles and probably never again will I receive such an opportunity.  It is nothing other than divine intervention that I was given a second chance at my worst class.  For the next two months at least the stars are aligned and the earth has stopped wobbling on its axis.  Feel free to swim right after eating...don't use any sun-block while vacationing on the equator...don't fasten your seat-belt when the pilot turns the sign on...  drink water upside down!  Nothing bad can happen while God and Science are temporarily getting along so well.  Defy the odds and go crazy for a while.  Let your hair down and relax with the knowledge that you don't need to stay up at night anymore worrying about evolution because for now it doesn't matter and it all makes sense.  Ahhhh...feels good.    

You drive me crazy..

I hate road trips.  I hate sitting in the car for hours and hours and trying to find a happy medium of music for all the travelers.  I hate getting stuck on the side of the car that has a constant baking stream of sunlight heating you up 20 degrees more than anyone else so that when you ask for more air-conditioning they just laugh at you because they are actually a bit chilly.  So then you try and wedge your pillow against the window to find relief and when that keeps falling down you finally resort to a shirt or sweatshirt of some sort that you drape across the top of the window trying to hold it down in the whipping wind so that when you roll the window up with one hand it doesn't fall out or droop.  I hate "holding it" because everyone else wants to drive longer and there are no services forthe next 50 miles.  I hate rotating the driving and not being able to sleep if you are in the front seat.  I just hate them - so I took one this weekend.  I didn't want to.  Faced with a 10 hr road trip or sitting on my couch watching Talk Soup the answer is always sitting on my couch.  But I went anyways and it ended up not being so bad.  Mainly because on the way home we decided to stop and see one of the natural wonders of the world: The Grand Canyon.  Neither of us had ever seen it.  There was only one small problem; I suffer from debilitating vertigo.  In math terms, Grand Canyon+Vertigo=tossing my cookies.  Only I didn't really throw-up, I just wanted to.  The only thing worse than having vertigo at the Grand Canyon is being there with someone who doesn't understand it...at all.  My vertigo is not quite at the level of Lucille Two who can't walk down a hallway straight, its more like I get dizzy and disoriented when being around sheer drop-offs.  There we were at a giant look-out over the majestic canyon and I was slinking down the middle of the walkway practically crawling toward the edge.  Only I never made it to the edge.  I felt nauseous and dizzy and had to sit down on the rocks.  

Ricky was not sympathetic.  "Come on, come to the edge" he coaxed.  "No thanks.  I can't" I tried.  "Oh come on, you can't see how deep it is" he pleaded pulling my arm in the direction of the edge.  "I know we are really high up" I said panicking.  "Come ON" he forced, dragging me from the center.  "Stop, stop, STOP" I nearly screamed, "I'm fine here and if I'm going to do it I need to do it alone" I assured.  It seemed like EVERYONE was looking over the edge around me.  Young, old, really old, Japanese, Lesbians...everyone except me.  I decided to try and be brave by inching along along the rock step I was sitting on while trying to peer over the edge but I just couldn't.  Unless you suffer from vertigo you never quite understand the phobia.  Ricky sure didn't.  He spent the whole trip peering over edges and trying to pull me to my death.  

Does anyone else have a debilitating phobia or is it just me?

*Ok, the pics are actually from the Glen Canyone Dam but it was really high too and I didn't have the Grand Canyon pics on my phone.  

As you wish

As I was driving home tonight John Tesh (yes, you read that right) was talking about a study done in Australia that linked smelling cinnamon and vanilla with a rush of "feel-good" emotions to the brain.  I completely agree.  I have long been touting cinnamon as an aphrodisiac and digestion aide.  I love the smell of cinnamon, I love the taste of cinnamon and I even like the feel of cinnamon.  My favorite part of valentines cookies are the cinnamon hearts placed on top.  My favorite flavor of jolly ranchers is fire and I even go so far as to eat cinnamon sticks straight-up bark and all.  You get the picture.  But today I walked into a restroom on campus and was completely taken aback when the scent of cinnamon wafted towards me.  The ladies room smelled like cinnamon rolls.  I don't know, there is just something I don't trust about a bathroom that smells like cinnamon rolls.  Its like the feeling that cops get when they get a call and they just know that something really bad is going to happen.  I kept waiting for something bad to happen.  I wondered if my toilet was going to explode the minute I tried to flush it.  I thought maybe my stall door would fall off the hinges when I tried to open it.  I got all the way to washing my hands before I noticed something.  As I was grabbing paper towels I felt an extra "thickness".  I KNEW IT!!!  The paper towels were coming two papers thick.  My intuition is dead-on every-time.  And unless I'm wrong - and I'm never wrong - they are headed straight for Gilder.

The house that boiled wool built

I saw this picture of my friend Stephen and I instantly thought "Stephen is wearing my mom's jacket".  

I was in complete disbelief.  How did he even get it to begin with and why was he stretching it out by wearing it?  I looked to my right and I looked to my left searching for someone to say "hey, can you believe he is wearing my mom's jacket?" to.  But there was no one.  So I called Jenaper from the other room, "Jenaper...you have to come see this!  My friend stole mom's jacket and is wearing it".  She couldn't believe it either.  "That definitely looks like mom's" she assured me.  How can I tell?  I live in the house that boiled wool built.  Ever since I can remember my mother has been sporting boxy jackets and blazers crafted in the mountains of Switzerland/Austria made of fine boiled wool.  She even has a designated holding cell for these jackets shipped directly from the alleyways of Switzerland.  It makes the jackets more comfortable to be housed in something that came from the same homeland.  They also have two beds, two night-stands and a dresser at their disposal. 

 Here is the fancy key that leads to the armoire:

And here is the armoire itself:

Open the armoire and see all of the boiled wool jackets!

As a kid I loved "The Lion the witch and the wardrobe" book and I always had a feeling that my mothers wardrobe was magical as well.  It just looks like there is a secret world of ice queens and centaurs hidden behind its contents.  A few times I even tried to push through all the boiled wool to make it through but I just couldn't stand the feeling of the steel-wool fibers against my soft skin.  I hate that feeling more than nails on a chalkboard or someone wrapping their fingers under my collarbone.  Growing up my mother was always acquiring new boiled wool garments and trying to dispense them to me but the very sight of those scratchy fibers would send me into convulsions until they were removed from sight.  I could never understand her love of them.  And now I cannot understand Stephen's apparent love of boiled wool - although I found a lovely green number if you are interested sir:

 

Why wrap yourself in insulation when you can wrap yourself in cashmere I ask?

Leap Frog

Friday was leap year day and in honor of Leap year day I wanted to do something that I would only do every 4 years.  Honestly it was really hard to think of something.  I feel like I do a lot of odd things on a pretty regular basis.  It seemed to all lead back to food and eating something full of cream really late at night - But its not like I don't do that semi-weekly anyway.  Then the idea came up of me wearing sweats out on the town and perhaps watching a few episodes of Battlestar Galactica, but I just couldn't bring myself to wear sweats out in public and I didn't have any B.G. readily available...crap.  Things were not looking good for Leap year day festivities as I headed to Tara's house.  So we decided to go to a new pizza place down the street for a slice and some brainstorming.  As soon as we walked inside the owner told us there was Karaoke in the back.  So naturally we made a b-line for the back room.  He had to come after us to get our order.  We stayed in that back room for over 2 1/2 hrs just us, one employee and the sweet sound of me belting out Celine Dione.  Other customers would come peek their heads in every once and a while but they must have been too intimidated by my rendition of "Girls Girls Girls" by Motley Crue to actually come in.  But we didn't care.  At one point we had a sweet, sweet 'Cheers' moment when I put on "That's Amore" and all the workers/owners came in and we all sang together in unison.  Tara sang a little Madonna, I sang Enrique in Spanish and together we dueted JoJo's "get out".  B-e-a-utiful!  By the end of the night our voices were horse but we were the better for it.  Keep an eye out for us this summer as we have been requested to perform outside the restaurant for all who care to listen.  It was the perfect Leap year day activity especially since I haven't done it in almost 4 years.  What did you do to celebrate Leap year day?

TKO

Sometimes I have a minute to catch my breath before heading into my bowling class so I stop to peruse the boards in the bottom of the Wilkinson center to see what's for sale.  There is always something entertaining being sold or an amazing deal to make thousands from home if you just call the magic phone number below!  Usually I just like to count how many wedding dresses are for sale and if maybe Steve* dropped the price of the tungsten rings he's hawking.  But one index card in particular caught my eye this last time.  It had something else glued onto it so I stepped in to take a closer look and saw this:

I was immediately filled with questions.  Was his DNA pre-mixed into the ink before he or someone else signed it?  Is his DNA just carelessly strewn across the photo?  Did he kiss or lick it?  How do they know?  And if in fact it does have his DNA then why are they selling it??  If I were in dire straights I would sell off my plasma, my anatomy posters - wait, learning is more important I take that back, some of Jenapers clothes, abuela's emergency button notification system, and jewelry that people have gifted me before I would sell my DNA laced Muhammad Ali poster.  I mean, how often do you get a piece of such a legend?  It's not like everyone in America can have a grilling machine with his name on it in their homes/apartments/trailers **Ahem, ahem George Foreman**.  And please, don't call the number on the above advertisement to scold them for their reckless abandonment.  But do call and put in an offer.