Mar's Musings

Shaz-ameless

2010-01-21T20:10:00.003-07:00

Sometimes--and by "sometimes" I mean "all the time"--I use the Shazam app on my iPhone to find out what songs are playing on the radio in the car. Generally, if I like it, I will download it immediately using my phone.

The biggest beef I have with Shazam is that when I think I like the song, I tell it to search for the song title and artist, and the results come back with Miley Cyrus as the artist. And a little part of me dies inside.

But I download it anyway, shamelessly listen to it, and then discard it after a month when I'm tired of it. Miley's probably used to that.

Is This Thing On?

2010-01-03T20:39:00.002-07:00

I know you haven't heard from Mar and her Musings in a while and you wonder, "Why?" "Where did she go?" "Did she choke on one of her Chicken Mar-Nuggets?" "Is she still musing?" That's all part of the mystery, my dear readers (if I have readers anymore). Mystery and the fact that when I had free time at work, I wanted to blog. When I have free time during stay-at-home motherhood, I want to nap. Blogging has taken a grim backseat to napping and I'm not afraid to write it publicly.

Recently, as in tonight, my 7-year-old nephew said, "Mar, I read your website. When are you going to update it?" It was akin to the moment when little Cindy Lou Who says to The Grinch, "Santy Claus, why are you taking our Christmas tree? Why?" My nephew's big brown eyes looked so inquisitive and desirous for more to read. So many thoughts began to develop in my head. "Does it bother him (or his parents) that I say damn and hell occasionally?" "Does a 7-year-old get my jokes?" "Is a 7-year-old the only one reading this thing anymore?"

Then in the car Ben said, "You really should update your blog." And since I do everything Ben tells me to do...psh! Let the musing resume:

While visiting at my parents' house tonight, we had a small discussion about the Susan Powell stories in the news. And either Ben or I said something about how she "went missing" and everybody freaked about why one would say "went missing" rather than "is missing." I don't know that answer but I am always curious about the origin of words so I googled* "went missing vs. is missing." I don't really care that "went missing" is more correct than "is missing," according to the site I found, and I don't even want to try to explain where it came from but I found a great grammar site that I can't wait to frequent. So here it is. Enjoy!

http://grammar.quickanddirtytips.com/

*Just yesterday I was driving by the Ski 'n See on 7200 S. and 1300 E. and thought about where the word google came from and why the search engine is called Google. I've known it's origin for a long time but it just cropped up in there and I thought about it. Also, when I have random thoughts like that I always remember where I was when I had them, like driving past Ski 'n See.

Chicken MarNuggets

2009-08-19T19:32:00.004-06:00

Don't drop over dead. I'm still alive. I just require more blog breaks than I used to. Today I invented a recipe and out of unprecedented randomness, I'm posting* it. I'm pretty sure I'm the first one to do this and now I'm sharing it with you, the internets. If I'm not the first, please don't tell me. I want to think I am special.

Its origin has a few roots which I shall explain: recently The Bean proved that she can pound chicken nuggets like nobody's business. So rather than give Costco all my money, I have decided to get a little crazy in my kitchen and make my own homemade chicken nuggets.

The other root of this recipe stems from a "fried" chicken recipe I found in The Biggest Loser Cookbook. The chicken is neither fried nor breaded but it is coated and baked in such a way that it's healthy and still quite delectable. A piece of this leftover chicken once got chopped into smaller pieces and dipped in BBQ sauce, thus giving me an idea.

The final root here is that I don't think the Dino Nuggets from Costco are the best source of nutrition for my Bean so I put all these roots together and the following Chicken MarNuggets recipe was born:

1-2 thawed chicken breasts, patted dry

1 packet Hidden Valley Dips Mix, The Original Ranch (prepared according to the package with 16 oz. light sour cream)

3-4 C. corn flakes, finely crushed

Pound chicken breasts with meat pounder until 1/4 to 1/2 inch thick, depending on your preference in thickness. Slice into one-inch square pieces. Place about half of the prepared dip in a shallow bowl and coat the chicken pieces with it. Then place the crushed corn flakes in another shallow bowl and coat the dip-covered pieces of chicken with the corn flakes.

Spray a large cookie sheet with cooking spray and place the coated chicken pieces on it. Bake at 400 for 10 minutes, flip the pieces over and bake for another 8-10 minutes. One large chicken breast makes about 8-10 nuggets.

You will love them and if you have a Bean, she will love them too! Dipping ideas include the leftover Ranch dip mix (the stuff that hasn't had the raw chicken in it, of course), BBQ sauce, honey mustard, and plain old ketchup. Other ways I've used this recipe is to skip the meat pounding and slicing and just bake the whole coated breast for an entree with rice or whatever. Also, you can pound the breast out, slice it in half, bake it, and use it to make ranch chicken sandwiches. Or put the nuggets on top of a large salad with some ranch dressing and BBQ sauce. I've done it and it rivals the $12.99 chain restaurant salads any day.

I will toot my horn and say they are wicked tasty and a lot more nutritious than any other nuggets I can think of.

*I think it's weird that I just posted a recipe with a lot of ideas for its use. It's very unlike me.

I Need a Kitty Flap and a Nap

2009-07-16T20:59:00.005-06:00

People who equate raising kids to having a dog ought to be slapped. More than once. While chatting once with a childless friend, the conversation went as follows:

Me: We love our baby. She's hilarious. But life's not the same. We can't pick up and just go out of town for the weekend anymore.

Childless friend: Yeah I know how it is. Now that we have a dog, we can't just go out of town anymore either. I mean we have to find somebody to feed her and take her outside and play with her.

Wow. Looks like you should have seriously considered the life-changing event that is having a dog. Hiring a 10-year-old neighbor kid to come over once a day to feed the dog, take it outside, and generally make sure it's still breathing must be rough!

I can only imagine the heyday that social services would have with me if I decided to go only as far as the mall while I left my kid in a doggy bed with a squeaker toy and the automatic feeder set to shoot food out of itself three times a day. Hell, maybe I'll get Ben to cut a kitty flap into our front door so The Bean can crawl in an out at will while I take a nap. If I could just leave her home during church to run around in the yard and catch gnats in her teeth, that would really bring some solitude back to my Sabbath worship. Next time I want to go out for a walk, I'll save myself the hassle of the stroller, the sippy cup, the toys, the toddler sunscreen, and the obnoxious hat and just put her on a leash and let her drag ME around the block.

Can't Touch This

2009-07-01T10:51:00.004-06:00

As previously stated, I like graffiti on street signs. I don't support it but it seems harmless and the immature person in me laughs every time I pass it, even if I've already seen it 100 times. A stop sign directly across the street from us faces away and since I never take that road home, I have never seen the front of it.

Fortunately for the kid in me, while out on a walk with The Bean, I decided to take the road less traveled and was greeted by this:

And I laughed and laughed. Thank you, hooligans of Holladay!

Getting a Birdie Means Something Else

2009-06-23T11:05:00.007-06:00

I don't know these guys but my Google search for "frolf" returned this photo, further validating my white trash/frolf theory.

In the past month we have frequented a nearby park for family frolic and leisure. Said park boasts a disc golf course. Based on my brief observations at the park, frisbee golf (we mistakenly* like to call it "frolf") appears to be the white trash version of real golf. Well that's the case in my neck of the woods. And when I say "neck of the woods" I mean "what I see and how I decide to pass judgment."

It requires minimal clothing, a nappy dog, and a fanny pack for a lighter, cigarettes, and other herbal remedies. A long sleeve plaid shirt tied around the waist is optional.

From where I was sitting, frolf is an intensely big deal. It made me wonder if one day frolf courses will become like country club property? But instead of condos and million dollar homes cropping up on the outskirts of the course, it will be trailer parks and mobile homes. Residents will swirl light beer instead of red wine, and converse about NASCAR instead of polo matches. They'll discuss cigarette prices instead of the Dow and they'll have pot luck family reunions booked on the course instead of upscale weddings. Business meetings on the golf course will be replaced by frolf course sexual promiscuity and a pickup elevated on cement blocks will mark the 9th hole. The course will have 18 holes, to which everybody will commit to complete, but they'll never achieve anything past the tenth hole. And instead of that little ball cleaner thing, there will be a spitoon and an ash tray.

I'm just saying, dirty white tank tops could be the golf shirt of the future.

*My brief internet research has taught me that disc golf and frolf, or "freeform golf" are different. One website states: Frolf, unlike Disc Golf, is a freeform amorphous game, played among friends in a social setting without the confines of a course laid out by professionals attempting to force conformity. "Amorphous? Conformity?" It appears that some free-thinking non-professional learned to use the MS Word thesaurus and gets freaked out by any form of disc despotism. It's so passionate that I almost respect it.

Ode to Stupid

2009-06-16T13:24:00.006-06:00

Whilst my parents lounge on the beach this week, we have been tasked with taking care of their dog. Not because we are particularly good at it but because we happen to live a mile away from them. We are dog lovers so that helps. Sadie is an overweight miniature Dachshund with a limp.

Physical ailments aside, I still feel sorry for her. She's kind of stupid. My mom even calls her stupid to her face. Sadie lets the Bean fish hook her upper lip and drag her face across the floor without putting up a fight. She chases the tennis ball but only has about a 50% return rate. And she sat idly by and peed on the floor from the excitement of an unexpected visitor while my parents' house was robbed. But inasmuch as she's a dog, I love her.

Yesterday evening I dropped by to visit, provide love, and throw the tennis ball around for her. Her whines from inside the kitchen are audible on the front porch. Poor kid. We hung out on the lawn, chased the tennis ball, and enjoyed the silence together.

When I decided to jump on the trampoline, which I haven't done for about 15 years, she looked nervous for me and refused to walk under the tramp like she does when the 60 pound nieces and nephews jump on it. Maybe she's not as stupid as I thought.

The best thing about her is if you give her food, she'll be your best friend. Since she has to be home alone for a whole week, I console her loneliness like I would my own loneliness--with food. And it's the only way I could get her to stand still for this picture.

I guess it's easy to take pictures of her while she is scrounging underneath the dishwasher for a lost piece of cheese.
God bless the dog!

The First Thing We'd Do is Take Out the Manatee

2009-06-13T11:04:00.004-06:00

Selling a house sucks. About three to four times a week my phone rings and the caller ID informs me that it's our real estate agent. I groan, turn the ringer off so it doesn't wake the Bean, and then make a game day decision on whether or not I want to answer the phone. Answering this call means cleaning, making the bed, stashing the unfolded laundry somewhere, wiping down the bathroom, replacing the non-childproof decor, and then wrangling the Bean until the potential buyers parade through our condo, ask lame questions, and then depart--leaving me wondering if they are going to offer or not. It's honestly all done in vain. Yesterday when we decided to have our agent show the condo because we conveniently would be "out," I said to Ben, "Let's just leave the place a total mess with a sign on the fridge that says, 'We know you jackers aren't going to buy it so we didn't clean it.'"

Searching for a house also sucks. At first it's exciting--especially when it means ditching condo living. You begin to imagine the cute neighborhood, the yard, a potential puppy, the solitude of your own home, block parties, avoiding getting called to the Primary as a new ward member, etc. Then it turns out that Small Town, USA is geographically and monetarily out of reach. And that the neighborhood might be cute but the neighbors could potentially be weird. Or that they might have...oh I don't know...a MANATEE for a mailbox!

Honestly, what the hell? Why must people white-trashify fairly decent neighborhoods? I don't care if this is a relic from an ancient art collection. It is inappropriate for any neighborhood with homes on a permanent foundation.

After looking at the home for sale next to the Manatee Home (the one with the nice brick mail box to the left of the eyesore), we made a pact to execute a drive by rubbing out of the manatee about two weeks prior to moving in. Manatee be warned!

It's Must Be a Sign

2009-01-16T21:15:00.005-07:00

In efforts to upgrade our living status, Ben has been searching online for the last six months or so for a potential home to purchase. About every three weeks we package the baby up in her carseat and head out for a few hours of house hunting based on his internet research.

As an aside, but necessary part of this story, we have always relished in a childish chuckle or two at the street signs in our neighborhood that have fallen prey to teenagers with spray paint and nothing better to do. Two of our favorites are the signs directly in front of the stake center that warn for speed bumps. The first sign says "Bump." The second sign along the way also says "Bump" but a clever minor has spray painted the words "it again" on the sign. So the succession of signs while driving says, "Bump" and then "Bump it again." I laugh every time I pass it. Other winners are "Stop Bush," "Stop eating animals" and you get the picture.

While looking for a house a few weeks back in Utah County (yes, it's taking some getting used to) we stumbled upon this sign.

And it's official. I'll move to Cougarland if I can live on this street.

What the...?

2008-12-02T11:46:00.002-07:00

You know the moments in comedy shows where music is playing in the background and then somebody says something so audacious that the music stops and sounds as if the needle has scratched its way quickly off the record? I had one of those moments yesterday:

While getting the groceries out of my car, my strange but all-too-nice, twenty-something neighbor girl approaches me and engages me in the following conversation.

Neighbor: Hey how's it going?
Me: Good. How are you?
Neighbor: Fine. Where's the baby?
Me: She's inside with daddy.
Neighbor: Oh that's good. She is getting to be a cute little munchkin.
(At this point I am not in the mood for a long conversation, what with the gallon of milk, large bottle of liquid detergent, and Diet Coke fridge pack I am trying to haul along with my three bags of groceries.)
Me: (Trying to walk away therefore ending the conversation.) Yeah I think she's pretty cute.
Neighbor: Do you mind if I call her "munchkin?" Because some people don't like that.
Me: (Mostly concerned at this point that I will drop my precious Diet Coke fridge pack.) No that's fine. I don't care.
Neighbor: Ok, I just think "munchkin" is cute. I mean, it's better than "shithead."

Wrrrreeee! Needle screeches off the record, music stops, and I just want to drop my fridge pack and laugh my can off. But instead I made it inside without wetting my pants so I could share with Ben. The fridge pack was going to make this week great but I think "shithead" now has it covered.

Some Boys Wear Pink...But Usually They're GIRLS

2008-11-20T20:13:00.003-07:00

What about my baby GIRL says, "Hey old man at church, I'm a boy. What's up nosey person at the bank, I'm a dude. Hi raspy-voiced cashier lady; you can call me 'little guy' if you'd like."

Is it the pink bow on her head?
Is it the flowered blankey drapped over her?
Is it the purple binki she is going to town on?
Or is it the ruffly sweatshirt she just yacked all over?

WHAT THE HELL IS IT? I am thisclose to laying out the next person that calls her a boy.

This Maybe Was On a Christmas Card

2008-11-14T19:42:00.003-07:00

My sister posted some of her family pictures on her blog--the ones that didn't make the cut because she was talking or had her mouth open funny--and the title was, "Photos You Won't See on Our Christmas Card."

So in response to that I have posted a picture of myself that did in fact show up on my Christmas card a few seasons ago when I was single. (Right now looking at this picture, you say, "Damn, why was she ever single?" I concur. It was hard to believe.) Since I didn't have a family or spouse-person to put on a Christmas card I decided to dress up in my grandma's slick 80's exercise suit and put my little lonesome sexy self on a Christmas card that I mailed to the whole family.

Pretty sure I caught myself a man and had him reeled in by the following Christmas. Don't ever under estimate the power of neon.

Christmas, Validations, and Other Things

2008-11-12T17:28:00.004-07:00

Last night I did some early Christmas shopping at The Gateway. No I didn't squeal and then meet all my girlfriends or all of my sisters and mom there for a night of turkey and swiss plus dessert at The Dodo. No I didn't get all dolled up to go hang out at LuvSac to meet boys. And no, I did NOT enjoy having to go into Abercrombie & Fitch to buy a gift for somebody who shall remain nameless. (No, it's not a gift for Ben. I'd never marry an A&F boy.)

Oh, the reasons I don't care to go to A&F are insanely numerous but here are a few of my favorites. The whole place stinks to high heaven of men's cologne. I like a good smelling man but I don't like to return home to have my hair, clothes, and shopping purchases all smelling like teenage soft porn. Speaking of soft porn, (and this makes me sound old and prudish) just put the damn A&F clothes on the stupid models. If I want to see naked people running around the New England countryside, I'll watch Real World: Boston reruns on MTV. Another dislike: Loud music! Loud music! LOUD MUSIC! (Again, I sound old but I'll own it so who cares? I have a kid, I go to bed at a reasonable hour, and I like my morning workout to be followed by a bowl of oatmeal. So load up the U-Haul and move me to Florida already.) Why must it be so loud? Between the deafening music, the painfully strong cologne, and the black and white porn, it's like a sensory overload.

After my Gateway shopping adventure, I got to my car and realized I didn't ask for validations at any of the places I had shopped. I was parked closest to A&F so I had to go BACK inside to ask for one. Guess what?! They don't validate. I realize it's their choice but why wouldn't a major store in a shopping center offer validations to it's paying patrons? Now for the best part of my shopping adventure. As I walked out of the store, I said, as loudly as possible, "What freaking store at The Gateway doesn't validate?!" And nobody could hear my ranting or label me as crazy because the music was too loud.

A Lack of Self Respect

2008-10-23T16:50:00.002-06:00

I respect those people at the gym that are willing to put aside all pretention and pride and give in to watching Saved by the Bell on their individual TV monitor while they work out. Forget pretending to like CNN, Fox, or ESPN for the sake of what others think of you; just watch Saved by the Bell and let Zac, Slater and the rest of the gang get you through your workout.

I, on the other hand, will continue to disrespect myself and worry about what others think while I feign loving the "breaking news" that isn't really breaking instead of just stopping on the channel with Saved by the Bell even though I really want to.

The First Lady's Lipstick

2008-10-20T12:36:00.004-06:00

All this talk of lipstick on a pig has gotten me to thinking about women in the White House. For a long time at the end of his career, my grandpa was a lobbyist in DC. He spent a lot of time there and he was well-known and well-liked. My grandma was also well-liked and played very well the part of a politician's wife.

I remember once, during the Reagan Administration, my grandma was invited to Nancy Reagan's First Lady's Luncheon at the White House. Not only was Nancy into saying "No" to drugs but she was extremely into her makeup, looks, and her signature color of red. Who can blame her? She was married to a Hollywood actor. At each place setting for the luncheon Nancy set a makeup bag with a powder compact, blush, and lipstick which was a bright red called "Reagan Red" to be exact. I think it was made by Este Lauder or some other old lady cosmetic line.

How do I know this? Because my grandma gave me the cosmetic bag full of goodies when I was too young (somewhere between the ages of 3 and 11) to be wearing makeup, way too young to be wearing bright "Reagan Red" lipstick, and entirely too much from a Democratic family to be wearing something born by the Reagan Administration.

I don't know if it was the fact that it came from my grandma or that it came from somebody famous but I was too young to care that I was wearing Republican Red. I painted my lips and was as happy as a clam. And I am pretty sure that's when my love for all things makeup and cosmetics-related began. Republican, Democrat, or neither, this pig loves lipstick.

I Love You, Netflix

2008-09-17T10:52:00.005-06:00

Due to my inability to stay awake for an entire movie, Ben and I have resorted to ordering season after season of a variety of TV shows from Netflix to watch at night. Netflix is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Ok, not true but it gets us through the dry season of no episodes of The Office, The Biggest Loser, Survivor, or the Amazing Race (which all start/ed this month). All of the laziness-inducing goodness that is Netflix is like a natural high. Every evening we run to the mailbox, eager to see what the postman has delivered to us. It's like Christmas morning seeing a large haul of presents under the tree. We can't help but cheer a little and say, with a twinkle in our eye, "Yes!" upon retrieving the post and seeing the friendly red and white Netflix envelope there to greet us. It's as if it is saying, "Hello there. Just put the baby to bed and then you can drift into mind-numbing TV-land for the next three hours." Netflix, I love you!

Thank You, Thank You

2008-09-09T09:39:00.002-06:00

Feel free to send me flowers, chocolates, or large cookie bouquets, pat me on the back if you see me, give me a high five, or just leave a comment about how much you admire the fact that my baby is two months old and now sleeps 10 to 12 hours a night. Thank you.

And Now I Am Over It

2008-09-03T09:39:00.004-06:00

My baby is the cutest thing I've ever seen so why not be the cutest thing anybody else has ever seen? Last week I went to a baby shower for a friend and rather than leave baby home with Ben I decided, "I am going to take her and let everybody love her." A few things you should know about me: 1) I do things fast. Walk fast, eat fast, clean fast, I try to get ready fast. No dilly dallying here, 2) I perspire when I do things fast and when it's hot outside, 3) I also perspire when all attention is on me, 4) I like to be the center of attention when it's for a good reason, i.e., a funny joke I so wittingly told, looking nice, giving a good lesson at church, etc., 5) on the flip side, I loathe myself and everyone around me when I am the center of attention for something bad, i.e., "Hey your skirt is tucked up in your underwear," falling down, or saying something stupid.

Back to the story. This shower came on the tail end of a rough day. Baby had cried all day--due to acid reflux that we didn't know she had--but we got her calmed down, fed, dry, and mostly happy. I pulled myself together (as fast as I could) after crying right along with the baby all day too and off we went to the shower with me in a sweaty ball of quickly expiring makeup and a soon-to-be frizzy hairdo. I thought I could just blast the AC in the car and it would be ok. It sort of was.

Upon arrival at the shower, I was the instant center of attention. Yay! People wanted to see my cute baby. I know she's not an arm charm but I also get nervous that when I take her places she is going to scream and crap her pants all over at the same time. As a new mom, I am not used to having to take care of another person like this so it's slightly overwhelming.

She began to fuss when another invitee's two-year-old daughter decided to rock the carseat back and forth as hard as possible, causing her to spit up. I decided that rather than try to calm her in her seat, taking her out would do it. Instead, her little arm got caught in one of the car seat straps and she wailed when I didn't notice and nearly ripped her limb out of the socket. Feeling like a total tard at this point, I didn't know what to do because she was screaming during one of the lame shower games the old ladies had planned for my friend.

I noticed her acting hungry. It seemed odd because Ben had fed her an hour previously. (Turns out babies confuse acid reflux with hunger. So frequent feedings are a symptom of the nasty that is heartburn--just FYI.) I decided to be the "fun party" mom who could participate in the game from behind everybody and mix up a bottle while standing, holding my child in the other arm. Remember how I do things fast? Sweat when I do things fast? Sweat when all eyes are on me? At this point sweat was running down my face. It's not a lie. After about 10 intensely warm minutes of feeding, standing, baby bouncing, shushing, etc., I told the guest of honor to open my gift because I needed to go.

She opened it and then came to say goodbye. I was spent and literally washed up. It had already been a rough day. Can you guess what the cherry on top of the whole thing was? Well there are two cherries. Cherry #1: While walking to the car I noticed my shirt was entirely soaked where I had been holding the baby against me. Cherry #2: When I got in my car, I looked in my rearview mirror and noticed about five little strands of hair swept all the way across my forehead and PASTED there with nothing other than my own sweat. I felt like a pitiful, embarrassed, wringing wet mess. I cried the whole way home, telling myself that motherhood is not my bag.

Subsequently, we ended up at the pediatrician's office the next day and then at the pharmacy buying acid reflux medicine. Baby is better and much happier. And I have decided that momhood is my bag after all. I called Beej to tell her about my horror and she just laughed said, "Well you get over that stuff." And my reply was, "Well the only way to get over this is to post it on my blog for all to laugh at." And now I am over it and none of you are actually staring at me.

That's What I Would Say

2008-08-26T11:32:00.002-06:00

If I was an Olypmic swimmer and the Beijing correspondent from Lame Local News said to me, "What are you going to have to do to win the gold in the next race?" I would say, "Swim faster." And then I would walk away.

Mahjong for Insomnia

2008-08-13T11:34:00.004-06:00

Thank you to China for some great Olympic hosting. That's a party I would liked to have gone too.

Instead I can thank China for the invention of Mahjong and Steve Jobs for making it downloadable to the iPhone.

The recent birth of the cutest little baby I have ever seen has me getting up every night between the absurd hours of 2am and 5am to feed her. That's ok. I knew I would pay that price when I decided to have a baby. What I didn't know is that after spending around 40 minutes to go through the whole changing-the-diaper/feeding routine, I wouldn't be able to fall asleep again. So I find myself lying in bed at 4am, wide awake, wondering when she'll wake up again and thinking of odd ways to drop the baby weight.

One day Ben told me to download all the updates for my iPhone so I did. Lo and behold, one can now download free games to play. I have never been into playing games on my phone but I discovered Mahjong and I can't thank China enough. Requiring just enough concentration for me to not think of other things, it relaxes me enough to fall back asleep. The gold medal goes to China for neat-o tile game invention!

I Gave Birth and Other Things I Learned This Week

2008-07-17T20:48:00.005-06:00

Yes, the wait is over. Our baby is here. No, I won't post pictures on this blog--it's not that kind of blog. If you would like pictures, you can email me and I will send them. If you don't know me or my email address, then I won't be able to send you pictures and that's probably why I am not posting them on my blog. I am sure that everybody on the internet is *totally normal* but once again, it's not that kind of blog. And as my dad maintains, "Once it's on the internet it's permanent and you can't take it down."

Rest assured that she is pretty much the cutest baby I have ever seen and it still seems surreal that I have a baby complete with a car seat, the good baby smell, and crying in the middle of the night.

And now, on to other things I have learned this week:

I can and did take a lot of pain during my labor until I got my meds, but all you natural birthers out there are tough.
Having a baby will lower your standards of cleanliness significantly but hopefully only for a little while.
There really isn't time to shower, at least in the beginning. I never got why the mothers on the TLC reality makeover shows never had time to get ready but now I see why. I eventually squeeze mine in but here I am at 9pm and I just got out of the shower. Much like Number 1 above, I assume it will only be this way for a little while.
I never thought I would be excited to see so many poopy diapers in my life. Apparently, poop means she's well-fed.
Not every woman can lactate and don't let the Lactation Station make you feel bad if you can't.
Birth is the coolest experience ever.
I'm an overly protective parent but I also assume that will mellow out.
My husband makes up words to lullabies because he knows absolutely no lyrics to any song ever written.
Powdered milk and other mixed drinks are really expensive during your first year of life.
I am actually proud to walk around the block pushing a baby stroller. I can't believe I would ever say/admit that. But here I am.

"The Passion is Raw but the Hot Dogs are Cooked"

2008-07-04T11:56:00.008-06:00

With Independence Day comes fireworks, BBQs, parades, festivities, camping, and Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest at Coney Island, NY seen only on ESPN. Since 1916, people from 'round the world have been gathering to down as many hot dogs as they can in an allotted amount of time. Oddly becoming a viewing tradition in our home, the hot dog eating contest has never been more exciting than it was this year. Not really an avid fan of the "sport," I watch it for the commentary, because phrases like, "The passion is raw but the hot dogs are cooked," and, "He's just an all around great eater," only come out on the 4th of July.

Overheard at this year's contest:

"That was the most exciting finish in all of sport."
"These guys attack hot dogs like Lindsay Lohan attacks a mini bar."
"'The Black Widow' is the cheesecake eating champion of the world. Let's see how she takes on the hot dogs."
"This really is an endurance sport."
"That last dog was a photo finish."
"We have a tie to be settled by a five-dog eat off."

Lessons learned at this year's contest:

This "sport" is actually called Competitive Eating
There is an International Federation of Competitive Eating (IFOCE)
The timed contest used to be 12 minutes, it's now only 10
Dipping the bun in water makes it go down faster
Those who qualify for the hot dog eating contest are generally world champions of some other food eating contest, namely, ice cream, cheesecake, cranberry sauce, and seared cow brains, to name a few
Despite being a six-time hot dog eating champion of the world, coloring your hair with ketchup and mustard won't secure the win. Better luck next year my Japanese hot-dog-eating friend

Memorandum Monday, Posted on Tuesday: Harshin' my Mellow

2008-07-01T09:44:00.006-06:00

Memorandum
To: S'more Bloggers
From: Mar
CC: My Adoring Blog Readers
Date: 6/30/2008
Re: Your Spelling Habits

For all of you who find it necessary to post about your trip up the canyon to roast weinies and make whatever version of S'mores you find necessary to share on your blog, those squishy white things you put in the middle of the S'mores are spelled Marshmallow, not Marshmellow.

Please ensure that subsequent posts, because we know you can't go up the canyon just once, contain the proper spelling in order to keep my blood pressure down.

Breastfeeding 101

2008-06-27T09:48:00.001-06:00

Last Monday I attended a breastfeeding class at LDS Hospital in hopes of learning techniques to ensure that my child will be well-fed and happy. Those of you who don’t have children and probably don’t have siblings with children are saying, “Weird/Eww/Gross, they teach breastfeeding classes?” Yes they do and I can say that after reading the books and going to the class, that it's not something I would have known how to do on my own so thank you IHC for the not-free classes.

I was the only one there that did not bring a support person of some kind. Not about to make Ben go with me to something like that, I didn’t feel bad. In order for him to be supportive, I will teach him things I learned and let him do his fatherly thing but I won’t make him sit through two and a half hours of nipple discussion and practicing latch on with a Cabbage Patch doll.

Every woman, except for one, brought her husband. Exception girl brought her mom who was visiting from out of town. That’s fine. I am sure she was being as supportive as possible by coming to the class. Mom, however, became the class party pooper instantly. Upon the instructor informing us that breastfeeding is beneficial in many ways to women, especially because it reduces the risk of breast cancer, pooper raises her hand and says, “Well I breastfed five kids and I still got breast cancer.” Turning herself into the rule rather than the exception, she basically told all the wide-eyed first-time mothers in the room that if we breastfeed, we will, in fact, get breast cancer. I wanted to throw my Cabbage Patch doll at her and tell her to shut it. And apparently, so did the nurse teaching the class. She calmly, yet firmly replied, “Congratulations on beating breast cancer, but I only said it reduces the risk; it doesn’t eliminate it completely.” Score for the mammary teacher!

Since the mom/daughter feeding team was sitting next to me, I could hear the mother’s constant side notes to her daughter during the instruction and the video. “Oh I didn’t do that…that doesn’t work.” “That hurts—I wouldn’t do it that way.” Thank you, Milk Maid, but we came to learn from a lactation nurse with knowledge of current research and breastfeeding methods, not from the woman who last breastfed in the days when babies were spanked right after emerging from the hopper.

The other winner in the class was the girl who said she was afraid to buy a nursing bra. I guess I can see how little clips at the top of the bra cups can really stress you out.

The "Potty" Awards

2008-06-24T11:30:00.004-06:00

Following up to a previous post, I have decided to hand out an award for the Best Restroom during my 2007 to 2008 pregnancy. I have appropriately named it the “Potty.” “Pottys” are awarded based on a strict judging system in which I, armed with pregnant rage, use a public restroom and then gage my irritability after exiting said bathroom. My irritability, or lack thereof, is based upon the following criteria: (This list is not all-inclusive and can be changed without notice because it’s my award.)

Bathroom or stall size (private, one-room bathrooms receive preference)
Touchless flush, water, soap, and paper towels (touchless does require no spraying back at the user, simply a clean stream or flush—I’m glaring at you, Target toilets)
Doors that open out
Overall cleanliness and lack of “findings” on the toilet seat

Preference will be given to those bathrooms with:
Extra décor matching the restaurant style
Lotions/perfumes/hairspray
Full-size mirrors
A bathroom attendant

Without further adieu, the winner of this pregnancy’s “Potty” award for the Best Restroom goes to…..Pawit’s Royal Thai Cuisine in Holladay! The restroom is not only clean, it has doors that open out, it’s private, and it’s clean. Lack of touchless amenities did knock it down a bit but the royal throne was redeemed by oriental décor, a trellis with flowers that blocks the view of the toilet from the door in case somebody busts in, large mirrors, smelly soap, and complimentary hand lotion. Congrats Pawits on your “Potty!”

Memorandum Monday: To the Fallen Stars

2008-06-23T11:39:00.001-06:00

Memorandum
To: Fallen Stars
From: Mar
CC: My Adoring Blog Readers
Date: 6/23/2008
Re: Your Reality TV Cable Stints

Congratulations to all of you for landing a hosting deal on a cable reality TV show!

Joey Lawrence, you have shed your luscious locks of mullet but you talk the same as during your Blossom days and we love how well you host Master of Dance on TLC. Riveting is your ability to explain the rules and introduce the judges in the exact same script from week to week, without variation or much personality. We are semi-rooting for you to make it through an entire first season and on to season 2.

Mario Lopez, sorry that the all-male version of The View didn’t work out for you but your stint as the host of America’s Best Dance Crew is inspiring and you currently are in Season 2 and kickin’ trash. What a good example you have set for Mr. Lawrence.

Joey Fatone, you were upstaged by Justin and then by Lance Bass’s coming out of the closet but you have managed to land a post as the co-host (not as good as host—sorry) on TLC’s The Singing Office. It has yet to air but we hope the best for your first season as you humiliate people in their office setting and then air it for all desperate TV watchers with cable access.

976-CHAT Single and Ready to Mingle, Even at Age 12

2008-06-19T08:55:00.002-06:00

When I was about 12 or so, my parents trusted me to stay home alone with my younger sister and have two friends over...what were they thinking? We called the 976-CHAT singles' line for fun and told people we were 35 because 35 sounded old and mature. Now it just sounds desperate to be calling a singles’ line. We thought nobody would find out until my dad got the phone bill for 99 cents a minute at 60 minutes. Needless to say, the friends' parents got a phone call and we split the bill between my friends, my sister, and me.

The lessons I learned are that you can’t hide bad things you do from your parents and you can meet special people via modern technology. Take it from the girl who met her man on the internets.

Memorandum Monday

2008-06-16T10:19:00.001-06:00

Memorandum
To: The Condo HOA
From: Mar
CC: My Adoring Blog Readers
Date: 6/16/2008
Re: Sprinkler Tips

Regarding last night’s watering session at the condominium complex, I, as an owner, have three tips:

1. To avoid wasting water and money, please refrain from using the sprinkler system at 6:00 pm when the temperature has reached 90 degrees.

2. To avoid watering ME while I walk on the sidewalk leading to my condo, please refrain from using the sprinkler system at 6:00 pm. Preggers here can’t run and no matter the pregnant hot flashes, I do not enjoy being sprayed in the face by the sprinklers because there is no dry way to get to my home.

3. Please water at night when, a) the heat doesn’t evaporate over 65% of the sprinkler water, and b) when people aren’t trying to exit or gain entrance to their homes.

Memorandum Monday

2008-06-09T09:20:00.003-06:00

Memorandum
To: The Waiter at Citris Grill
From: Mar
CC: My Adoring Blog Readers
Date: 6/9/2008
Re: Your Crappy Service

When my friends and I are seated for lunch, we have a few expectations. They aren't outlandish or anything that involves you peeling my grapes or bringing me three different entrees because this one is overdone or that one is not spicy enough. They are simple, straightforward, waitering techniques that any waiter, rookie or veteran, should be able to handle.

1. Don't wait for us to request, 15 minutes after being seated, that a waiter be sent to our table. Just come over say hi and take a drink order.

2. When my friend asks for a recommendation on your favorite dish, don't say, "I don't know what are you in the mood for?" Generally, if she is asking, that means she would like a recommendation and is willing to be a bit adventurous.

3. Don't, under any circumstance, walk past our table, look at our empty drink glasses, make eye contact with me, and not offer to refill them until I say, "Excuse me, can we get our drinks refilled?"

4. Generally, a decent waiter remembers what his patrons are drinking.

These four points, if carried out, should result in a happy customer as well as the minimum tip for you.

Leave the Poop Out

2008-06-05T13:44:00.003-06:00

My *favorite* thing about pregnancy is the birthing horror stories. These women should get together and write a book called 101 Things That Can Go Totally Wrong With Your Birth: Tales of Horror and Strife. It seems that the closer my belly gets to reaching the moon, the more people want to share how terrifyingly wrong their birth went. I have a sister who had a very scary birthing event so trust me, I know how it can go.

A few winners:
"My epidural only worked on half of my body and it numbed my entire right side rather than just from the waist down. So during birth I felt everything on my left side."

"I was all ready to give a natural birth when I passed out and woke up after a C-section and I couldn't move and they wouldn't bring me my baby."

"The epidural just didn't work. And then I was throwing up and pooping at the same time."

What are women trying to do to me? For some reason it seems more acceptable to share birthing horror stories than it is to share bathroom horror stories. Although probably severely less painful and what you would think to be less embarassing, women just can't talk about pooping in the toilet but they are all about telling you how they pooped during birth. Can somebody explain this to me?

Memorandum Monday

2008-06-02T12:59:00.006-06:00

Natalie, who adores me, my blog, and my ability to IM her all day while we are at work, read my last Memorandum and suggested that I make my memos more frequent, such as a “Memorandum Monday.” So I have decided to start the aforementioned segment and title it just as Natalie said. She can have the credit and if the segment fails, she can take the blame.

Memorandum
To: The Mispronouncing Citizens of this Nation
From: Mar
CC: My Adoring Blog Readers
Date: 6/2/2008
Re: Mispronunciations A-Go-Go

It has come to my attention over the years that many of you are mispronouncing the easiest of English words. As of today, it will no longer be tolerated. Words such as ibuprofen, February, and Wednesday will be overlooked because, regardless of their spelling, they have been mispronounced for ages and trying to fix that would be akin to converting to the metric system in the US.

Words, however, which are said as they are spelled will be recorded as a strike against you and will be reflected on your permanent record. Please refer to the following list, which is not comprehensive, nor in any order. Except the first three, which are so annoying that if said, you will incur double the strikes on your record.

Nuclear – not nuc-yaler
(Despite what Bush says)
Escape – not ex-scape
(I wonder if people are referring to some extreme landscaping competition in the X Games)
Especially – not ex-specially
(Sounds like something that used to be special and no longer holds such status)
Keep track – not keep tract
(What?)
Ask – not aks
(Are you a contestant on Flava of Love? Speaking of said show, while flipping through channels last night, Ben and I actually heard a girl on Flava of Love refer to her kids as, “My’s skids”)
Height – not heighth
(It’s just not a word)
Florida – not Flar-ida
(I realize this is a regional accent thing in the US but it's intolerable)
Another – not nother
(As in “a whole nother hamburger”)
Prerogative – not perogative
(Thank you Bobby Brown for popularizing this word among teenagers in the early ‘90s, however nobody can say it correctly)

As stated above, this list is not comprehensive and can be amended at any time. If you would like to contribute to this list, please do so in the comments field below.

"Cartoon Character on Line 2 For You"

2008-05-28T10:09:00.001-06:00

Nobody at work reads my blog. I keep it a secret. I don’t know them well enough or trust them to just hand out my blog URL. I guess they might find out and I could get “dooced” but I am outta here in roughly six weeks (hopefully fewer). Anyway…

There is a man that frequently calls to discuss projects with one of our project managers and when she is unavailable the receptionist pages her. The caller’s name is Buster and he happens to work for the Acme Co. Ok, Buster from Acme. Is this dude from Toontown? “Buster from Acme is on the phone for you. He and Wyle E. Coyote will be dropping off those sticks of dynamite you ordered.”

I see two issues here:
1) Who names their kid Buster (besides the Bluths)? Enough said.

2) Who names a company Acme? Wikipedia defines the Acme Corporation thusly:

“The Acme Corporation is a fictional corporation that exists in several cartoons…most significantly in the Loony Toons…which made Acme famous for outlandish and downright dangerous products that failed catastrophically at the worst possible times.”

Because every real company name should be associated with something that makes “products that fail catastrophically at the worst possible times.”

Memo to the Annoying People at Work

2008-05-21T08:47:00.000-06:00

Memorandum
To: Everybody at Work
From: Mar
CC: My Adoring Blog Readers
Date: 5/21/2008
Re: Your Annoying Habits That Make Me Want to Slap You

Effective immediately, the following actions will not be tolerated:

Walking past the metal file cabinets on the opposite side of my cubicle and hitting them with your knuckles, thus creating a metal reverberation fit to drive me insane,

Using your speaker phone with your office door open for all to hear,

Failing to silence your cell phone, and

Calling out, “Hey preggers,” when I walk past you in the hall.

Employees who engage in the above mentioned activities will be put on probation and yelled at by “Preggers.”

Public Business

2008-05-14T16:53:00.000-06:00

As a pregnant woman with a fetus that sits on my bladder 24/7, I have gained more public restroom experience than I care to reflect upon. Generally, before leaving the house, I use our bathroom even if I don’t really have to. When I arrive at my destination, I use the restroom there and then depending on my length of stay, I go one to three more times.

Notes about some public restrooms:
Target’s bathroom toilets are a lot like fireworks. With an extremely touchy automatic flush that could ignite at any moment, it is necessary to pull down your pants and be at the ready before placing the toilet seat protector. Otherwise the fuse is ignited and the toilet will erupt into a flush just as you sit down, creating a bidet-type bum spray but without that clean European-chic feeling. Target’s toilets also have a flush that I like to call “light fuse and get away.” After business is done, you must rise and cling to the stall door (but without actually touching the door) in order to avoid the Vesuvius-type spray emitted by the toilet flush. It’s not a fun process and I try not to use the bathrooms at Target.

Albertson’s toilets are a fun story as well. In the last two months I have had to use them twice and both times I was forced to use the handicap stall. The issue here is that the rolls of toilet paper are enclosed entirely by a plastic snail-like shell that sits only one foot off the ground. Contrast that with the abnormal height of a handicap toilet and one has quite the conundrum in reaching down and then back up into the snail shell to retrieve toilet paper. Not to mention the toilet paper rolls are in there so tight they don’t turn, leaving the user with nothing but small particles of toilet paper at each attempt. I resorted to the Kleenex in my purse both times.

One of the cleanest, easiest to use bathrooms I have been in is at the Chevron just off of the Parkway Blvd. Exit of I-15 in Orem. It’s crazy because it’s a gas station but they take wicked good care of that thing.

Rumbi has decent restrooms with an automatic light that you don’t have to touch. I am all about automatic sinks, toilets (when the spray is under control), paper towel dispensers, and doors that open out so I don’t have to touch them very much.

The Red Iguana on 7th West and North Temple down town has sweet restrooms. They are a one-toilet-in-the-room-deal with separate restrooms for the “Damas” and the “Caballeros.” I obviously haven’t checked out the bathroom for the hombres but the one for the chicas is nice. It has artwork, a full-length mirror, a slider lock on the door to ensure privacy and safety and when you turn the light on, the Mexican Hat Dance begins to play. Just kidding about the Hat Dance but I secretly thought that should have happened.

Apocalypse Now...er at 5pm

2008-05-08T11:00:00.000-06:00

About a week ago, a person* I know of told some other people** I know very well that the Apocalypse will occur at 5pm today. Ben and I have some food storage and enough fresh water for 72 hours packed into our more than at-capacity condo so I am feeling pretty prepared. I also have a Gerber multi-tool that my live-in Scout Master told me to buy so I am hoping that I might get to use it.

BUT SERIOUSLY! She claims that it was “revealed” to her through some higher power that the world will come to an end at 5:00 pm on May 8, 2008. Maybe it’s a numbers thing. At 5pm, the 5th month, the 8th day, and the 8th year of this millennium. It totally makes sense. In that case, depending upon your spiritual outlook or otherwise you will either want to get on your knees and cry repentance or eat, drink, and be merry for at 5pm we die.

*I know of her; I don’t even consider her an acquaintance.
**Names of those I know very well have been withheld, just in case. (In case of what?)

"Excuse Me, There's a Chair on Your Butt"

2008-05-01T13:39:00.000-06:00

Certain circumstances landed me at the Olympus High dance concert last night. Over a decade has passed since I last was in that high school auditorium and I noticed a few things.

When I was in high school my hips never touched the sides of the auditorium chairs like they did last night. I blame pregnancy. And I worried that if I stood up too fast I might detach the whole row of chairs from the floor and have to walk around with them squished onto my backside. Luckily my self esteem is award-winningly better than it was in high school.

The girls’ bathroom smelled like a tanning salon. Are teenage girls fake baking so often that the restroom just continuously smells like burned flesh? I also forgot that the stall walls and doors in the bathrooms only rise to armpit height so when standing up, you can see the head of the people in the stalls next to you. Ever the tightwads, Olympus won’t buy paper towels for hand drying. Or even install a hand blower. It is still using the towel roll that just goes around and around on that spool in the box on the wall and gets reused an unbearably gross amount of times. I opted for air drying, which I think I always did during high school. I guess this method would be considered “going green” in this day and age. Fortunately for Olympus, its bathrooms didn’t have to “go” anywhere to achieve such environmental consciousness.

My last horrific observation: there were more boys there than girls. I know why and I probably noticed it during high school but now that I will have a little girl of my own, I don't like anybody that might look at her as something other than just my little girl. If my daughter ever decides to be in the dance company I will gladly attend all performances. But I will probably freak out if at the end of her dance, some sorry piece of high school schlub yells, “Gracie, you’re hot. Wanna go to prom?”

A Friend in Piglet

2008-04-28T13:52:00.000-06:00

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind.
"Pooh!" he whispered.
"Yes, Piglet?"
"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you."

~A.A. Milne, from Winnie the Pooh.

It’s probable that nobody cares about this, let alone anything else I post on my blog. (I blog to entertain myself and if others find it worthy of a read, then kudos.) I recently registered for a 14-inch stuffed Piglet from the Classic Pooh collection at Target. Whenever I log into my baby registry on Target.com to add/change items, the oversized Piglet is the first thing on the list and I sort of chuckle and wonder how I got to the point in my life that I would actually want such a large stuffed animal. Let alone a Piglet. It’s not that it’s a huge stuffed animal. It’s what Piglet’s character represents.

I have always loved Winnie the Pooh and it was no question that I wanted my first baby’s nursery to be decorated with Classic Pooh. Luckily, Ben is on board. The literature-dissecting English minor in me likes to understand the relationship between the thoughtful honey bear and the sweater-sporting porker. Now, honestly, I haven’t researched Pooh’s and Piglet’s relationship past my own exposure to the book and movies. But I do know that Piglet loves Pooh and they are friends until the end.

To me Piglet signifies a loyal, loving, and humble friend. Thanks to my mom, my unborn child already owns a pair of pink pants with an embroidered Pooh and Piglet and the words, “My favorite place is next to you.” Now I hope that she can have an over-sized Piglet; she won’t know what it means but, for me, it signifies an uncompromising friendship "to be sure of.”

That's What I Call "Viewer Discretion Advised"

2008-04-21T13:42:00.000-06:00

Does this seem wrong to anybody else? Currently, Babies-R-Us is featuring a Pregnancy Belly Cast Kit, with which an expecting mother can paste goopy strips of casting material all over her bare overstuffed breasts and protruding tummy “to create a lasting memory of her pregnancy…that will be treasured for a lifetime.”

No, seriously. What the hell? Check out these pictures. Because I want my baby/milk factory immortalized and hung on my wall for all to see. I especially like the flowers on the breasts with stems attached to the belly button like umbilical cords. What is wrong with people?

Soap-rah Box

2008-04-18T10:47:00.000-06:00

I have always ranted about this in private. Alas, the day has come for me to take my ranting public.

Oprah is not the news. She’s not Fox. She’s not CNN. She’s not the NY Times. She’s not the Washington Post. She’s not even close to being a local news station.

Oprah is not a preacher. Oprah is not God. Oprah is not an elected official. She doesn’t teach gospel or make laws and if you don’t do what she says, you will not go to hell or prison.

Oprah feeds the “herd mentality,” as Ben calls it when something that is just ok suddenly becomes the thing that “everyone” is doing.

I am tired of going to social gatherings, church, work, or wherever and hearing women say, “Oh did you see Oprah yesterday?” As if I missed the final election returns. Or as if she was reporting for the first time on the war in Iraq.

I don’t think that Oprah is all bad. She has done some nice things for needy people and has proven that one can maintain popularity even with roller-coaster weight fluctuations. (Her niceness doesn’t include “EVERYBODY GETS A CAR!” or the Massive Give (what’s it really called?)) My panties just get in a bunch when I hear women all over say that Oprah told them how to vote, which bra size to buy, or what book to read. She’s fine for entertainment’s sake but she’s not a world leader.

Those Selfish Babies!

2008-04-08T18:05:00.001-06:00

Today, while having my blood pressure taken at the baby doctor, the nurse said, “The doctor had to go to the hospital.” She had a delivery and a C-section and they weren’t sure when she would be back. I could either wait or reschedule. Neither option was my favorite but I decided to wait it out and read Pregnancy magazine (which is not that great) to pass the time. If she didn’t show within 30 minutes or so, I would reschedule and head back to work.

Another mom-to-be wasn’t so into just biding her time while the doctor delivered some petty little baby and performed a C-section with bad timing. Oh no. She was up in arms that the doctor would go away and ditch her appointments.

“This happened to me the last time I was here,” she complained to the receptionist.

Guess what? It happened to me that last time I was here too, but I dealt with it.

“Last time I waited THREE hours for her to come back. I run a business and it’s hard enough to schedule these appointments and then have to leave my business for three hours to come wait around for the doctor.”

I understand her pregnant rage. But seriously, who the hell does she think she is?

I suppose the selfish babies that decided to join the world on this day are not as important as her regular checkup at the baby doctor. I also suppose that she will lecture her baby in the same manner that she did the receptionist. “I have been nursing you for ONE hour now. I run a business and it’s hard enough to schedule your feedings but to nurse for ONE WHOLE hour is unacceptable.”

Sometimes I think women should reconsider before they decide it’s time to have kids.

Cuddle Up With a Giant Microbe

2008-04-02T09:41:00.000-06:00

Two weekends ago Ben and I ventured out to the Clark Planetarium at Gateway to nerd it up at the IMAX movie called “Sea Monsters 3D.” It was educational, interesting, and less than 40 minutes so I could sit through it comfortably without having to use the restroom halfway through.

In true nerd fashion we arrived early so we decided to slum around the gift shop for a few minutes. Among playing with the ultra-strong magnets, deciding that I did not want a sucker with a scorpion in it, and wondering what I might see through the HUGE $1,200 telescope, I was also secretly looking for anything pink and soft that a certain daughter-to-be might one day suck on and wave around in a frantic excitement.

Then I saw this:

It was pink…and soft…and had sort of a cute face. But wait…what is it? Why is a pink snake being sold at the Planetarium? Turns out, as indicated by its tag, it’s Syphilis.

Yes, the Clark Planetarium has taken it upon themselves to not only market this STD as a stuffed animal for children, but to portray it as a fuzzy, cuddly, cute disease. Just as toy makers would have you think a bear is safe to hug, Syphilis has made its big break on to the scene as something you’ll actually want in your bed.

It Will Be My Fault

2008-03-27T10:50:00.000-06:00

Sometimes while Ben and I are driving around we unleash our inner rocker and listen to hair bands of the 80's on 94.9, or classic rock on 103.5 and we talk about how cool some music used to be. We also comment about the music that our parents listened to while we were growing up. Ben's growing up years consisted of 60's Doo Wop and mine was riddled with ABBA and Elton John (before he got the "Sir" before his name). Every time I hear ABBA or Elton I am taken back to road trips in the wood-paneled family minivan and I can't help but turn up the radio, sing along, and remember the more carefree days. I would consider my secret like for both ABBA and Elton John as guilty pleasures and my also parents' fault.

Times have shifted and Ben and I talk about what music we will tell our kids is "cool." As parents, we will play the radio trump card for quite a few years as we road trip and shuttle to and from lessons and school. With the recent emergence of Guitar Hero III for the Wii, we have decided that 70's rock, 80's metal, and early 90's hair bands will be where it's at for our kids. I apoligize to them now but they will thank us later. I am sure that other forms of music, such as the Beatles, U2, and Chicago, will be part of the repertoire. And it will be my fault when my kids are 18, driving along with their friends, and suffer ridicule as they sing the lyrics to "Cherry Cherry" by Neil Diamond.

Mom to the Rescue

2008-03-24T09:24:00.000-06:00

Blogging has its benefits. Last week after reading my rant about the Girl Scouts, Natalie instant messaged me a link indicating which grocery stores have Girl Scouts posted in front selling cookies. Work, errands, and writing four checks at Macy's kept me from making my way to Harmon's to buy any cookies and I was left somewhat disgruntled.

Well Saturday morning my phone rang and it was my mom informing me that she had purchased Samoas,Tagalongs, and Thin Mints just for me. YAY! Moms know how to make it better. She even delivered them to my house. She, Ben, and I each had a Samoa in celebration of the over-priced once-a-year goodness. Thanks mom!

A Taxing Experience

2008-03-20T14:30:00.000-06:00

I went to Macy's last night to buy a couple of maternity-wear items. Actually I did that instead of hitting up the Girl Scouts at Harmon’s, which I plan to do tomorrow when I have some time. Anyway, my mom correctly put it when she once said, “Buying maternity clothes is like buying a swimming suit.” If it looks mostly ok, you buy it and then never look in the mirror again.

I picked out two t-shirts to wear to the gym and then found a really cute black ¾-sleeve sweater that would work with anything. A wardrobe staple, if you will. I decided I would get that too. I got to the counter to pay and the old lady—and I mean old as the hills—saw me walk up as she was walking away. Instead of turning around to help me, she just kept walking away.

My advice here is don't walk away from a pregnant lady. Just don't even do anything she doesn't like.

I stood there for five minutes, which is pretty lengthy when you are waiting to pay and there's NOBODY ELSE IN LINE.

Another customer came out of the dressing room and said, "Oh she went to get a drink of water. She’s been working really hard." Growing ever grumpier, I wanted to say, "Well she could have rung me up when she saw me." It’s not like there was a line of ravenous Macy’s customers behind me. The baby factory right here works hard too—ring me up!

So Grandma Macy’s shuffled her way back. Did I mention that she is as old as the hills? I think Macy’s can’t hire anybody younger than 70. FINALLY, she started ringing me up and decided to tell me the price of each item as she rung it up. "And this one is $10.99. And this one...oh this is cute...what a cute color...when are you due? This one is $14.99."

Get on with it.

Then she gave me a total and I had to write a check, which I am basically against but that’s another long story. I was thisclose to being done with the check and she said, “Oh woops, dear me. I am sorry honey. Forgive me." Stop asking for forgiveness and tell me the problem!

She gave me the total before tax.

I voided the check and started writing check number two when she said, "Darn this thing, I can't get it off." She couldn't get the freaking sensor off the cute black sweater and then said, "Is there another one over there?" Yeah because maternity clothes are NEVER picked over. There are always TONS of sizes to go around. NO THERE'S NOT ANOTHER ONE!

Grandma then informed me, "Well I can take it down to security and have them take it off." Yes, because that’ll take so long I’ll just end up having my baby on the second floor of Macy’s. It took her nine years just to get a drink of water, I can only imagine the time necessary to get a sensor off a sweater. So I said, "Can you just take it off the sale?" And surprisingly that didn't phase her and she was able to do that lickedy split.

She gave me the total and I began with...you guessed it...check number three when she suddenly said, “Woops! Raspberries. Dear me. Honey, I did it again. That is the total before tax."

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Seriously, my hormonal blood was boiling at this point. Any non-pregnant day of the week probably would have been ok but I just can't take it. I have ZERO patience.

Begin check number four.

When I was done and handed it to her she said, "When are you due again? Gosh you are so pretty. Look at those eyes." And I just thought, “Listen up grandma, I haven't the patience nor the time to let you try to make me feel better." And so I just said thank you and almost ran out of the store.

And then I cried when I got in the car. Because no good drama in my life right now doesn't end without tears.

*I don't dislike old people and I really appreciate compliments, especially when pregnant, but mood swings are inevitable at this point and some things are too much to handle.

Damn You, Girl Scouts!

2008-03-19T14:34:00.000-06:00

As a general rule in the past, I have steered clear of the Girl Scout cookies. Tendencies to pull a “Cookie Monster” and start eating them like crazy with crumbs flying around are the reason I have foregone the Tagalongs, Samoas, and Thin Mints in recent years. When confronted to purchase at the entrance to Albertson’s, I politely said no. When offered a cookie by a co-worker who did purchase, I declined. When I saw the Girl Scout Cookie ice cream at the store, I purchased fat free sorbet instead.

This year, however, is different. I find myself with another life inside of me and apparently a whole new outlook on what I am willing to shove into my face. Not having any co-workers with girls in the ranks this year, I was never solicited to purchase; therefore, in my ignorance, missed Cookie Purchasing Season.

Last week Ben casually mentioned that he had ordered a box of Tagalongs and a box of Thin Mints from somebody’s daughter at work. YAY! I love a man that can bring home the cookies. In the next breath he says, “But she marked me down for two boxes of Trefoils instead.” What the hell? Not only will I not be getting any Samoas, Tagalongs, or Thin Mints this year but she brought him the crappiest Girl Scout Cookie there is. Shortbread? Who would eat shortbread when there was coconut, caramel, chocolate or possibly peanut butter in the mix? He gave them away at work because neither of us would waste our time eating them.

Needless to say this Girl Scout Cookie drought is not treating me or my pregnant hormonal rage very well.

Spring Breaker Top 10

2008-03-11T12:15:00.000-06:00

I never went further than the Claridge Inn on Bluff Street in St. George for Spring Break when I was in college. Cozy trips in the car with three other girls was the only way I knew how to party. It saved money and chastity. Never even having MTV until I moved out of my parents' house, I didn't know how Spring Breakers really partied. I guess Cafe Rio and shopping trips to DownEast Outfitters at the St. George outlets isn't really worthy of Carson Daly's coverage.

Prior to getting married and since marriage, Ben and I have managed to take some pretty sweet vacations, knowing full well, that once kids arrive it will be camping and sitting around at my grandma's cabin in Kamas.

As previous posts indicate, this trip to Cancun was no exception. I can't say enough times how great an all-inclusive resort is but little did I know that it comes with Spring Breakers, more alcohol than Vegas, and our resort's very own Spring Break party sponsored by American Eagle. I'm not kidding.

Apparently, Cancun is heralded as Mexico's "Sin City" and is marketed that way to kids planning a vacation for Spring Break. (My internet research also shows that AE hosts Spring Break parties in Lake Tahoe; Padre Island, Texas; and the Grand Canyon where one can participate in invasive plant removal. I am sure these kids will participate in something invasive but it won't involve plant removal.) We were there at the beginning of the festivities so I can only imagine what will happen in the coming weeks.

Sometimes I felt like I was in a low-budget teen movie. But I played a minor role as the woman, great with child, and great with yards of maternity swimming suit fabric, who sat in the shade and chortled snide observations to her husband--all the while, cooking up a post for her blog. So without further ado, I give you my Top Ten Differences Between Me and the Spring Break Chicks.

10. I know who slept next to me every night of the trip.
9. I slept in the same bed every night of the trip.
8. I remember every night of the trip.
7. I never had to watch my dinner in reverse.
6. I won my Mardi Gras beads by participating in the water aerobics class, rather than by conventional methods.
5. My beer gut is traditionally called a baby.
4. Student loans did not pay for my vacation.
3. I got heckled as a woman golf cart driver!
2. I am knocked up but I know who the father is.
1. Even though the father of my child knows we’re “in trouble,” he’s sticking around.

What About Me Says Tacky?

2008-03-10T11:52:00.001-06:00

Aside from the hair braids with beads that one can acquire while sitting on the beach, Cancun’s other offering to the Gods of Tacky was this shirt.

If there really were fashion police, this woman would be in a Mexican prison. The fact that the belly button on the shirt is pierced with an actual earring is a fashion faux pas dead ringer. (No pun intended.) Holding her beer while she attempts a picture doesn’t sweeten the deal either.

In Mexico "All-Inclusive" Translates to All Good

2008-03-07T17:54:00.000-07:00

Ben and I just spent the last week either swimming at the beach or sitting poolside sipping pina coladas ("sin alcohol") while doing nothing at the Grand Oasis Cancun Resort in Cancun, Mexico. Taking a gamble, we booked through SkyAuction with no other recommendations on where exactly to stay, and we beat the house big time.

Skymiles + All-Inclusive Resort = a seriously great vacation that I would do over and over again and definitely recommend. I felt like we stepped out of reality. No internet access, sketchy cell phone service, Spanish speakers galore, and subtitled movies on the hotel room cable made this a truely unreal reality for me.

This post is not intended to be a travel log but a few highlights included driving a golf cart around an island off the coast of Cancun called Isla Mujeres. Ben let me drive and when the tour guide told me to turn around in a space that was too small for my golf cart, I got heckled by another idiot tourist who decided to call out, "Woman driver." Thank you sir. Don't overlook that I am a pregnant woman driver so get out of my way before my golf cart takes you down at no more than five miles an hour.

Other highlights from that day included snorkeling the second largest coral reef in the world and holding (yes, holding) a nurse shark. I think they feed him wine and turkey and then give him a Benadryl chaser.

Our other day of snorkeling at Xel-Ha, an "interactive Sea World," as I like to call it, brought us swimming six feet over sting rays, HUGE yellow fin tuna, and a parrot fish who thought he could hide under a reef and remain unnoticed. But we got a good look anyway.

Points of interest from our trip include: a trip to the Mexican WalMart, riding the bus for just $1 each to downtown Cancun, the absolute cleanest bathrooms/amenities I have ever seen on a vacation (seriously), and every '08 Spring Breaker in existence. (Watch for a future post regarding the Spring Breakers--it'll be a must-read.)

I can't get over how beautiful the beach and water were and how awesome and hospitable our hotel and staff were. If I didn't have a baby girl to look forward to, I would have had an even harder time leaving.

I'm Too Sexy for My Car

2008-02-27T11:15:00.000-07:00

If you’ve ever used the carwash next to Apollo Burger on Murray-Holladay Road (or Mu-Ho Road, as Ben calls it because the name is annoyingly too long) then you probably know that drivers wash their cars and pull them through to the back of the carwash to dry them off.

This self-loving showoff, however, decided to dry his debt-inducing BMW in front of the carwash right on Mu-Ho Road for all to see. Topping that, he’s so into himself, his cell phone, and his car that he didn’t even notice me taking nearly two minutes to get out my phone, figure out how to take a picture, and then find the time to take it from an additional angle.

Not Dwight What I Expected

2008-02-20T15:39:00.000-07:00

We’re sitting on the 50-yard line of our first pregnancy with hopes of a barn-burner of a second half. And when I say barn-burner I don’t mean premature birth, lots of false labors, or giving birth in the back of the car. I mean finally knowing the gender of our baby so we can buy clothes, decorate the nursery, plan baby showers, and continue gaining weight the most delicious way possible.

Before I launch into the not-so-thrilling-but-exciting-nonetheless real story of our ultrasound this morning, I’d like to rewind to the tail of my dream from last night.

As we do every Tuesday night, Ben and I settled into bed to watch the rerun episodes of The Office on TBS. Two back-to-back episodes of this show are almost better than one episode of Survivor. So at about 11pm I dozed off with thoughts (ok worries) about the ultrasound and possibly finding out that our baby has some syndrome or not enough heart chambers or some other challenge that I don’t know if I am ready to face. I awoke at 2am, 3am, 4:45 am, and finally just laid awake from about 6:30 am until 7:30 am with excitement of seeing our baby for the first time and still those nagging little worries until I remembered my dream.

Somewhere between the 3am and 4:45 am awakening, I had a dream that we went to the ultrasound and the technician performing said service was Dwight K. Schrute, Assistant to the Regional Manager at Dunder Mifflin, Inc. in Scranton, PA. (If you don’t watch The Office, this means nothing to you.) Dwight was precise, somewhat rigid, and articulate as usual. He managed to inform us (without me crying or screaming) that we had a healthy dinosaur on the way. Additionally, he told us that its claws, large teeth, and all of its vertebrae were in tact and totally functional.

Ecstatic to potentially be giving birth to a prehistoric creature, I thought nothing of the fact that this Jurassic episode might bring back something now extinct. I would have been lauded as a marvel and possibly a hero, the science world over. The Discovery Channel could have dedicated a week of TV to me and called it “Dino Baby Week: A Bundle of Teeth and Joy.” But as any mother would be, I was just happy to have a healthy dinosaur.

Somewhat disturbed but amused and slightly diverted from my previous worries, I went to the real ultrasound today and saw an actual child moving within. Dwight wasn’t there and there were no large teeth but we got an alarmingly clear shot of the girl parts. Unfortunately, some of the first pictures we have of our child are inappropriate for public but we think she’s pretty cute. It’s a girl!

When Nature Calls

2008-01-30T11:37:00.000-07:00

When women talk on their cell phone in the bathroom stall I find it disgusting and rude. Not only is it rude to the person on the other end of the call but it is rude to me, since I am trying to do my business in peace. And I shouldn’t even have to explain why it is disgusting. Who is so busy or important that they can’t take two minutes to hang up a call to use the restroom?

As a general practice I do a few things when I hear a woman talking on her phone in the bathroom. I try to slam the stall door as loudly as possible in order to create noise. I flush the toilet as many times as possible also to create noise but more importantly to convey to the caller on the line that this woman is in fact, in the bathroom. And I try to make those toilet seat covers be as annoyingly crinkly as I can.

Today I went into the restroom and heard a woman on her cell phone. So I did all the aforementioned activities. After entering the stall I immediately flushed the toilet. She left her stall and walked into the hall with her phone call. Not only did she neglect to wash her hands but she didn’t FLUSH. What the hell is wrong with people?

After I finished and washed my hands I walked around the halls looking for her. I am in the mood today to give somebody a piece of my mind and she is the most deserving. I swear on my life, if I ever find out who she is, she’s getting a swirly.

You Da Grad!

2008-01-25T11:18:00.001-07:00

Congrats to Ben, who completed his MBA yesterday. Truly a day of celebration, this accomplishment brings to Ben’s life no homework hanging over his head, more time to watch TV, more time to play the Wii, less stress, more time to adore me, more time for recreation, and less annoyance at incompetent group members at school. As recently as this morning, he has requested that when addressing him individuals now use the prefix "Master" before his name.

Way to go, Master! You done did good.

Get in Shape Girl

2008-01-17T14:12:00.000-07:00

Ladies, do you remember this? Get in Shape Girl was a way for little girls the country over to copy their Jane-Fonda–worshipping mothers. It had the pink workout mat, dumbbells, a ribbon for exotic dancing practice, and a jump rope. I think it had other items but these are the ones I remember. It really never did anything for me as the Get in Shape Girl workout audio tape wasn't very motivating. I was more fond of working out a la Jennifer Beals style from Flashdance. Only five years old at the time, I wasn’t aware that she was a stripper but I liked the music and I also had the soundtrack tape, which consequently was more motivating than the aforementioned workout tape.

As previously revealed, I am not a natural born dancer so when running around the living room like a spaz got old, I decided to slide down the stairs on my Get in Shape Girl workout mat. That was a lot more fun.

If my baby is a girl, I just might have to shell out the dough on e-Bay for the Get in Shape Girl set.

50 Things About Me

2008-01-16T09:39:00.000-07:00

As a person who doesn't care to "jump on the bandwagon" all that often, I have to admit that I like to read the lists of things about people. You know, "croutons or bacon bits?, Coke or Pepsi?" I just like to find things out about people. So here are 50 things about me if you care.

My hair color has been Brown #211 for the last six years and I am totally fine with that.
I crave the chicken green chili salad at Bajio Grill almost on a daily basis.
I love Survivor and the Amazing Race.
I love to sleep in but I also love getting up early and getting stuff done.
I think the fry sauce at Apollo, Crown, or Greek Burger is superior to all the rest.
I love to write creatively and technically but mostly I like to be snarky.
Makeup is fun to play with and I would work at Sephora if there was one in Utah. (Oh and if it wasn’t really retail—I just couldn’t do that.) So basically, I’d work in a Sephora dreamland where there were no customers or working weekends and holidays.
I love my family and I like it when people say we all look alike.
I have to wear orthotic inserts in most of my shoes because my feet pronate and cause major pain in my back, hips, and legs. (I am wicked old before my time.)
June 21st is my birthday and I love that time of year. First day of summer, longest day of the year, and 99.9% chance of perfect weather.
I secretly enjoy it when people at work come and ask me grammar questions. I revel in knowing the answer off the top of my head but it’s also really fun to look things up in the Associated Press Stylebook. I am a word nerd, through and through.
I majored in Communication because it really is what interested me the most at the time.
Now sometimes I wish I could be a personal trainer or a nutritionist.
I did a one-semester stint as a grad student in Professional Communication at Westminster College and decided that it cost too much and I should buy a condo instead. Totally the right choice.
Even though I am terrified of singing alone in public, I think I would rock the Star Spangled Banner at a Jazz game. At least in my mind I would.
When I was about 14 my dance teacher told me that my little sister was a better dancer than I. Subsequently, I quit shortly thereafter. Beej really is a better dancer and honestly, that double-D-cup teacher did me a favor.
I think I am finding that I have more talents as I get older. I am a late bloomer.
I love Hot Dog on a Stick. It epitomizes my childhood trips to the mall with my mom.
One day I was cruising LDSSingles.com and saw a picture of a guy looking through the top of a water bottle. The part of his face I could see looked cute, so I sent him a message and then we got married. Oh, but we dated for over two years in between all of that.
I hate going to, talking about, and being involved in weddings but I loved my own and would definitely do it again and again.
One time, while working in a call center, I tried to roll my chair backward and the wheels locked and I fell over on my back in front of about 20 people. Not to mention I was still lashed to my phone on the desk.
When Nancy Kerrigan was in the Olympics people told me I look like her. I sort of liked it. Now I look back and it’s not that great.
I like things clean. I like lists. I like organization.
I love to ski.
I love living in Utah.
Subsequent to No. 25, I hate it when I go places and hear people talk too loudly about “the ward” and “stake confurnz.”
My Bolivian Spanish accent got so good on my mission that people thought I was from there.
I like being married because there is always somebody to go to parties with.
When I was about 13 I was in Denver and I was in the bathroom stall at a McDonald’s. I must have not done a very good job locking the door because a homeless lady barged in on me and screamed, “Move it! I gotta take a sh**!”
My sister used to sew clothes for herself, my little sister, and me. My favorite item was a pair of cotton tie-dyed shorts with an elastic waist band. The colors were green, purple and yellow.
I thought Alyssa Milano on Who’s the Boss was the rage of the late eighties/early nineties and I tried to have big bangs like hers.
I love DVR and I love to fast forward through the commercials but there is also something satisfying about catching up to live TV. I guess I feel like people around the nation are seeing it before we are and that bothers me.
I can say all 50 states in alphabetical order.
The cops once caught some friends and me stealing letters from the Skyline marquee so we could put something funny on the Olympus marquee. They called our parents.
I like Ricky Martin and I shall not be embarrassed about it.
When I wake up at night I shove Ben just to make sure he is breathing. He never remembers it.
I get entirely cranky when I am hungry.
Zack Morris was cuter than AC Slater.
I like cheese curds.
Sometimes I find church boring.
I like to make homemade pizza and breadsticks. The trick is to put balsamic vinegar in the sauce and to put olive oil on the dough before putting the other stuff on.
In my opinion, less is always more.
When I was in 3rd or 4th grade, while studying different Native American tribes, my teacher always assigned worksheets with a lot of questions for us to find out about them. In the age of no internet, the questions were nigh unto impossible to answer. Luckily, my family had a brand-spankin’ new set of encyclopedias so my mom and I answered all the questions. And then she fielded questions from the parents of neighboring children who could not find the answers.
When I get to work I want to be left alone for the first half hour to 45 minutes.
I’ll be really happy when Ben finishes his MBA next week!
I like to sing along to the radio in the car.
Yesterday I was home sick and I honestly had a hard time deciding if I should watch Saved by the Bell or the Facts of Life.
I never fantasized about my wedding when I was young.
I left my heart in Florence, Italy last fall and I want to go back and pick it up.
People say Ben and I should go on the Amazing Race and if it wasn’t for total humiliation, the possibility of breaking down into tears on TV, and never getting any sleep, I might consider it.

We've Drafted Our First Player

2008-01-07T14:30:00.000-07:00

Much to our jubilation, we are adding our first player to the family team. For the past 14 weeks, we have been diligently caring for a fetus in hopes of a healthy miniature version of one of us. The main desires (aside from a totally healthy child) are that we have managed to engineer a child that receives the Moss bone structure and the Russon (Ben’s mom’s side) thin genes. We aren’t vain. We just want to have kids as cute as my siblings’ kids. Ben does not have any nieces or nephews in his family yet, so really there’s no standard to meet. We could have a litter of puppies in a box under the stairs and his family would be thrilled to have grandpuppies.

Needless to say, I have spent the whole first trimester (and the better part of my 40 hours/week of work) glued to the American Pregnancy Association (APA) website located here. Every time I add another week to my pregnancy I read about what is happening currently with my baby. Memorable milestones include, “This week your baby no longer looks like a lizard,” and “This week your baby’s eyes have fused shut and it is now the size of a grape.” I totally love that blind lizard-grape!

Not-so-amusing milestones are the ones where your body goes totally alien on you. I don’t just mean weight gain. Every time I read about changes, I think, “This is not right.” Examples range from hairloss and constipation, to enlarging glands on your nipples and Linea Nigra, or the darkening of the line that runs from your abdomen to your pubic bone. What? Varicose veins, I knew about. Leg cramps, I will learn to handle. Stretch marks, I will combat with a cream. But extra glands and darkening lines? I thought I signed up for 3am feedings, incessant crying, and diarrhea up the back. (All those being the work of the baby.) Those things I will take in stride but I am still perturbed about these extra glands and darkening lines. Can’t I just don a scarlet letter A and call it good?

Needless to say, we are really excited and I guess I will open it up for gender guesssing and name suggestions. But we probably won't take your suggestions.

Innocence Doesn't Mean Better Off

2007-12-21T09:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was called in for jury duty at the 3rd District Court at the Matheson Courthouse. The selection process alone was quite interesting and the judge and the counsel returned to the courtroom after selection and read my name along with the seven others that would sit on the jury. Surprised but happy to be out of work for a day, I decided I would enjoy the experience.

The fascinating realization is that I didn’t have to force myself to enjoy it. It was such a great experience. One person on the jury commented that it was like watching a play. And it totally was. I had never been sure of the actual process so I absorbed everything they told us.

Basically, the State brought a case against a man who had been accused of using a counterfeit $100 bill at a 7-Eleven. Innocent until proven guilty is a hard concept for me to grasp because from the outset, I thought the guy had done it. But I tried to listen and take all evidence and testimony into either finding guilt or innocence. Witness testimony revealed that he and his girlfriend were selling her prescription drugs so they could buy the “drugs of their choice,” meth and cocaine, while living in their storage unit.

When he passed the bad note at the Sev, he was high on cocaine and had also been handed the money in the dark light of the storage shed. The clerk told him she would have to call the owner and then eventually, the cops. The defendant hung around the store for 20 to 30 minutes while she made phone calls. Finally, he decided that he would write his real name and real phone number on a slip of paper and leave the store. He was arrested a few blocks down the street and booked for 40 days into jail.

The jury unanimously found him to be innocent.

I have recounted this story to people at work and everybody says, “Why? He was on drugs, living in a storage unit, and he most likely got the counterfeit from a drug deal.” And my answer to all of those points is, yes. However, he was not accused of any of those things. The jury found that he did not knowingly pass the bad note so he can’t be convicted. And he wrote down his real name and phone number. Not actions of a guilty man. On top of that, the whole incident has to be isolated.

The saddest part is that since his episode at the 7-Eleven last June, his girlfriend has committed suicide, he still lives in a storage shed, and he is messed up on drugs. And that’s when I realized he’ll probably show up in the court system again and his innocence yesterday didn’t really help him out at all. I got paid $18.50 to be there yesterday but I would have given that and my whole month's pay to see that guy get a better deal than just being found innocent.

One Room Bungalow for Sale

2007-12-19T10:45:00.000-07:00

My sister Julie has always upstaged me when it comes to home making. She is like Martha Stewart but without the federal record and the nipping at the sherry bottle. From sewing scrunchies to making my couch cushion covers, she has a knack for detail and making things look fabulous.

Recently, she has added the title of general contractor to her resume. With the completion of a made-from-scratch gingerbread house, she has gone from making merry like Martha Stewart to providing housing for gingerbread men a la Ty Pennington. And Bryon has gone from more than playing the role of Julie's husband and has stepped in to assume the subcontractor role. Yes, in an Extreme Home Makeover fashion, Julie and Bryon have constructed a one-room abode from nothing but flour, eggs, spices and probably some choice words.

Vaulted ceilings and a pretzel-thatched roof give this charming bungalow a timeless invitation that says, “Come in. Stay.” A speckled stone finish is highlighted by seasonal red Christmas lights that make this a true home for the Holidays. A glowing fireplace tops off the cozy nature of this must-see home. Way to go Team Julie and Bryon!

"Maybe it's the Sound of Distress"

2007-12-12T17:22:00.000-07:00

Around 3:00 am last night I awoke to a pounding noise. It was short and intermitent so I kept falling back asleep. At 3:15 am it became annoying. At 3:18 am, I was suddenly awake enough to wonder if there was danger. Unfortunately, I don't have the danger-sensing unagi like Ross on Friends so I woke Ben up.

This annoyance was pounding on the walls or doors in the condo below us. Ben said, "Maybe they are remodeling." I loved that one. What jerk remodels in a community living setting at 3:00 am, now 3:30am? Then the Scout Master in him took the reigns on his brain and he said, "Maybe it's the sound of distress." Oftentimes, when I am distressed I pound on the walls. I see the humor in it now but when it's 3:30 am and you have new semi-weird but seemingly nice neighbors below you, you start to worry a little about somebody else's potential "distress."

Ben put on his jeans and sweatshirt and headed downstairs to listen at the door. He didn't return for a few minutes and being the worrier that I am, it seemed like a long time. Finally, he returned to let me know that the neighbor across the hall from the pounders informed Ben that one of the roommates had locked himself out.

Yes, in the time of cell phones, people still pound on the walls. Next time my car breaks down I won't bother with a phone call. I'll send up smoke signals.

Best Seat in the House

2007-12-06T11:55:00.001-07:00

Check out my finished product! Once again, many kudos to Julie for sewing the cushion covers, and also to Ben who said if I totally ruined the couch, we could scrap it and get a new one.

Priceless

2007-11-29T11:22:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, my mom’s good friend decided to sell me two love seats for $25. She also threw in a round kitchen table and a vase. Subsequently, Courtnie and I decided to fill the vase with cranberries at Christmas time. It was a cute idea until we neglected to take them out and they began to rot around Valentine’s Day. The top of the vase was too small to insert a hand for cleaning so we tossed the vase.

The couches and the table, however, have stuck around. We slip covered the loveseats and since then Courtnie has moved out, Ben has moved in (for marital purposes) and the slipcovers continued to slip, wrinkle, magically remove themselves from the loveseat, and create immeasurable annoyance for me.

One day, while in the shower, (ever since my mission I get inspiration in the shower—probably because while on a mission, it’s the only place of solace.) I thought, “I should reupholster my couches.” I presented the idea to Ben and being the “try-new-projects” kind of guy that he is, he said ok. So I learned online all about reupholstery. We bought a real couch at RC Willey, donated one of the loveseats, and I set into pulling apart the leftover loveseat. I’ll spare the details but if you would like instructions, tips, or moral support, please contact me.

Julie has graciously helped me stitch the covers for the cushions. And by help, I mean I cut the pattern and she sewed while I played with Spencer and Jackson. We haven’t completed the back cushions yet so I’ll post a final picture when they are done.

It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be but it was time-consuming and I recommend an electric staple gun. The manual one crippled my hand for a day or two.

Two Floral Couches: $25
Slipcovers: $80/each
Couch Reupholstery: $150
Brick-colored suede couch done almost completely by yourself: Priceless

There are some floral couches money can buy,
for everything else there’s reupholstering it yourself.

Wii Rock!

2007-11-28T08:24:00.000-07:00

Every good marriage offers moments when your choice in spouse is validated because of things they do, experience, etc. For example, one day Ben informed me that we were going to Europe for a “work conference.” My choice validated. Another example: I stumbled across the highly-coveted, ever-elusive Nintendo Wii at Costco one day and decided to purchase said item and surprise Ben. His choice validated.

Well, last week Ben suddenly became hell-bent on finding Guitar Hero III: Legends of Rock for the Wii. Once again, as Wii products go, it was elusive, mysterious, and totally sold out EVERYWHERE! I caught the bug and also became hell-bent. We began calling every Wal-Mart, Target, and Best Buy the valley over, stopping randomly at K-Mart or Circuit City just in case they had one, and furiously watching the bidding prices rise on e-Bay.

I even made a list of every Wal-Mart, Smith’s Marketplace, and Target within a 30-mile radius in desperate hopes that if I called while driving I would hear the words, “Yes, we have a few.” And then I would go 30 miles out of my way to buy one.

One night, while roaming Wal-Mart…ok, we went there just to see if they had the game…Ben and I came across an employee near the Wii game shelf with a few boxes. And to our pulse-raising surprise one of the brown boxes was Guitar-Hero-shaped. This had to be it! When Mr. Employee went around the corner to stock a shelf, Ben examined the box’s label for signs of the Guitar but was thwarted by a box with no information. In an extreme attempt at victory, he asked for my Swiss Army keychain. I posted as the lookout and Ben sliced the tape on the box. It was tense and suddenly I felt the need to remove my coat and scarf. He worked the box deftly and I kept an eye on Mr. Employee, waiting, at any moment to tell Ben to abort. Mr. Employee stayed occupied and Ben suddenly broke into the box! At last we broke into the box of…CD gift boxes?! What? Disheartening, but totally exciting.

Well Monday night I returned from work and Ben had randomly come across a brand new shipment of Guitar Hero III: Legends of Rock at the Best Buy in American Fork. Needless, to say we rocked hardcore Monday night and last night. Ok, he rocks better than I do but I am learning. And once again, my choice in spouse was validated.

Go-o-o-o-o-o Africa!

2007-11-26T12:54:00.000-07:00

This blog is not about reality TV recaps—that is what TVGasm.com is for—but I would seriously lament passing up the chance to comment on last night’s episode of The Amazing Race (AR) (not sure what number the season is on—it’s like 9 or 1,000…who knows?) So every season of AR, and a lot of other reality TV shows, has one couple who I think of as the “LA Couple.” They are the 25-year-old fakies from Cali that are trying to get discovered via reality TV. By first appearing on a fairly decent and wholesome show like AR, they become the reality whores of the earth by moving on to trashier shows with more BPSI (Boobs Per Square Inch) like Road Rules or The Girls Next Door.

So, Jennifer and Nathan (dating) are this season’s “LA Couple” complete with cleavage-baring tops, icky blonde hair, and plenty of whining and girlfriend bashing by Nathan.

Last night’s episode, filmed in Burkina Faso, Africa, required the competitors to learn a native dance and perform it for three local “celebrities.” The rehearsal dance showed Chewbacca doing an African dance with a lot of jumping and foot stomping while banging the end of a stick on the ground. All the judges required was an acceptable performance of this dance—minus the Chewbacca suit—which was disappointing. Oh, and each team had to include their own creativity. Let’s not even discuss the 40-year-old blondes who think they are 20, rubbing rumps and doing pelvic thrusts at the African villagers who have probably never seen Western dancing. Anyway, the task was not rocket science.

Suddenly, the filming cuts to the Nate and Jen interview where she says, with a straight face, and I kid you not, “I used to dance for the LA Clippers NBA team.” I fully expected her to follow up with, "So tube tops and my Rah Rah resume, like totally qualify me for African tribal dancing." But Jen Jen, I heard the tribal tryouts are totally petty and completely rigged anyway.

All dancing experience included, Jen and Nate still did not make the cut and incurred a 10-minute penalty. Nuts and bolts, nuts and bolts, Jen got screwed! Footage following the penalty included Nate and Jen running to the next Road Block where she bemoans, “I am going to get so much crap in the dancing world for this.” Honestly, Jen, don’t even bring your pom poms near me or I will spew all over your Wookie dance!

This One Takes the Cake

2007-11-15T16:27:00.000-07:00

Many thanks to Julie for inspiring today’s post. As the day is drawing to a close, my mind begins to wander from my work and I decide to check my personal email. Very few forwards in the form of jokes, anonymous terror threats, heartfelt stories with pictures of kitty cats, or pass-this-on-to-8-people-or-die chain letters, get forwarded from my email, let alone read or considered; however, I cackled out loud at this prized nugget.

Keep in mind this actually really did happen! This is someone who was moving from an insurance claims office.
Okay so this is how I imagine this conversation went:

Walmart Employee: "Hello 'dis Walmarts, how can I help you?"
Customer: "I would like to order a cake for a going away party this week."

Walmart Employee: "What you want on the cake?"

Customer: "Best Wishes Suzanne" and underneath that "We will miss you."

The End of an Era

2007-11-14T17:05:00.000-07:00

Last Christmas Ben gifted me the DVD box-set of Friends—all 10 seasons, with extra footage on each episode. Needless to say, this gift had all my friends and my sisters wishing they had my husband buying their Christmas gifts.

Last week we finished the final episode. After watching one to two episodes a night (sometimes three or four on weekend nights), for the last 11 months, our journey with the whole Friends gang has come to an end. As Monica would say, “It is the end of an era.” How true it is. And so sad all at once. Nevertheless, I emerged from said era with some observations:

Monica is more selfish in one-to-two episode doses than just once-a-week prime time airing.
Phoebe is less annoying than I originally thought. The writers also gave her all the funny lines.
Rachel’s wardrobe got sort of funky toward the end of Season 10.
Chandler is the person I would like to hang out with.
Joey’s jeans always made his rear end look big. Couldn’t wardrobe have handled this sticky situation?
Ross is (in Ben’s words) “a total Patsy.”
Saddest Observation: I can last through two episodes (approximately 50 minutes) however, anything longer than 50 minutes is met by my closed eyelids. Our 11-month Friends indulgence has conditioned me to fall asleep one hour into anything on the TV.
Triumphant Realization: We plan to focus our TV-on-DVD efforts on such shows as The Office, Arrested Development, and other things that come in snippets of 20 to 25 minutes.

87 Snakes Had Nothing Better to Do

2007-11-09T10:11:00.000-07:00

A Texas man, appropriately called, “Texas Snake Man,” recently beat his own Guinness World Record by sitting in a tub with 87 rattlesnakes. Surpassing his previous record by 12 snakes, Crazy Snake Man (as I appropriately call him) escaped unbitten.

If I was a Crazy Snake Lady, I would beat my own record by one and call it a day. But why did he stop at 87? Were there only 87 resident snakes in the area? Did only 87 snakes respond to the email to get whack with the Snake Man? Maybe only 87 snakes could take work off that day. It’s possible that rattlesnakes don’t like water so when they heard a tub was involved and potentially water (although there was none), some backed out. The other 87 braved the tub trauma, thus gaining their 15 minutes of fame. Whatever the reason for a less-than-100-snake turnout, I am more interested in why these snakes agreed to take the plunge with the Texas Snake Man, than the actual setting of the record itself.

Overheard in the Office (3 minutes ago)

2007-11-01T13:15:00.000-06:00

“Trunk-or-Treating breeds isolation in children. And it also breeds obesity because they are driven to the parking lot to get candy.”

I overheard this in my office less than three minutes ago and I can’t let it pass me by. Let’s break this one down, shall we?

Point No. 1 “Trunk-or-Treating breeds isolation”
Yeah, I can see how disallowing your children to run around in the dark from house to house with a group of two or three kids fosters so much more interaction than allowing them to join 10 to 15 families in a circle, parking lot, or what have you to socialize and acquire candy.

Point No. 2 “Trunk-or-Treating breeds obesity”
The appendage to Point No. 2 is especially awesome: “…because they are driven to the parking lot.” I never realized that Halloween was the holiday-o-exercise and that it required foot traffic to all destinations. All those years that I ran around for an hour to an hour-and-a-half has really kept off the Halloween candy weight that I could have packed on as an eight- or nine-year-old child. I am so grateful for that exercise.

Maybe Mr. Down-on-Trunk-or-Treating hasn’t had the opportunity to have his child hit by a car or kidnapped into somebody’s home while Trick-or-Treating. I guess we’ll have to wait until next year to convert him.

Europe Has Things America Doesn’t, A Comparative Analysis

2007-10-30T10:42:00.001-06:00

Europe has things America doesn’t and sometimes they are funny. Not that the absurdity of a soccer mom driving a Hummer doesn’t make me laugh, because believe me, it incites quite the chortle. And hey America has K-Fed, ABC’s The Bachelor, and Danielle Steel novels (sorry Mom, Julie, and Jenny) to bring the comedy to a whole new level. But Europe has some humorous (and possibly intelligent) alternatives.

America has SUV’s and other heavy artillery-hauling vehicles

Europe has Smart Cars

(Ok this one is not funny. It's actually...uh...smart, for lack of a better word)

America has money that is one color

Europe has an easy-to-use-if-you’re-illiterate, color-coded monetary system

America has toilets and toilet paper

Europe has bidets and real towels for wiping
(which seems neither funny nor intelligent to me but that one is up for debate)

America has Exit signs that say “exit”

Europe has Exit signs that have a man running away from a date gone bad

Tuna, Cod, and Salmon Too

2007-10-29T14:24:00.000-06:00

It’s comforting to see that Red Lobster is “now featuring the freshest fish.” What, I am afraid to ask, were they serving six months ago?

Memo to the Lady at the Bank

2007-10-02T09:59:00.000-06:00

Memorandum

To: Lady at the Bank

From: Mar

CC: My Adoring Blog Readers

Date: 10/2/2007
Re: Your Annoying Phone

Effective immediately, when your phone rings and plays Elton John's Don't Let the Sun Go Down as you do DAYS worth of banking while the line continues to stack up behind you, don't merely look at your purse emitting the sound and push it two inches away from you on the counter. THAT WILL, IN FACT, ONLY MAKE IT MORE ANNOYING!

Chuckarama at Sea

2007-09-28T11:17:00.000-06:00

We all know that foreigners dislike Americans for many reasons. We are loud, we pair fanny packs with orange shorts, green shoes, and have a husband will yellow man-pris, we think EVERYBODY should speak English, we overuse, overspend, overindulge, and we think that everybody wants to be American. I am convinced, after spending seven nights aboard Royal Caribbean's Voyager of the Seas that foreigners also hate Americans because of their massive uncontrolled food consumption.

While strolling around Europe, I first noticed that most Europeans are not overweight. And in Italy, even the not-so-rich dress well enough to have stepped off the cover of Elle. Considering that many European cities are walkable and that they eat their largest meal of the day for lunch, Europeans are already a few weight classes below the good old US of A.

The triple threat enters with the fact that Americans like to take gluttonous week-long cruises on a floating buffet. After my second or third round of onion rings at the Jonny Rockets on the ship, I started to wonder about the Hispanic and Eastern European servers that just kept bringing us food. Could they afford to go on a cruise? Could they afford onion rings and shakes and Orange Fantas galore? This post isn't about their wealth or poverty. This post is about Americans who eat so much that they have to walk with a cane or think that Chuckarama is catering their vacation and that the concierge at the Ritz-Carlton is responding to their every whim.

60% of the Time it Works, Every Time

2007-09-10T15:24:00.001-06:00

Ever since the resurfacing of Blackbeard’s Delight (posted July 2, 2007), adoring fans county-wide, and some from Davis County, have emerged from the woodwork. This man has asked that his identity remain unknown.

What Part of "No Parking" Don't You Understand?

2007-09-06T10:37:00.000-06:00

Our current residence imposes quite the premium on parking. We have one covered, reserved space and Ben graciously lets me park in it every day. Due to narrow spaces in the parking lot of our condo complex, numerous No Parking signs dot the area warning things like “Fire Zone” and “Towing Strictly Enforced.” I have yet to see any car towed for any parking violation. Violations are abundant; enforcements are non-existent. I blame the HOA for being such towing sissies and not pulling out the brass knuckles to take care of business. People think they can make any open space their exclusive parking spot. It’s not like the Albertson’s parking lot the day before Thanksgiving; spaces are available. But if an open space isn’t thisclose to somebody’s destination, they feel compelled to block fire zones, ignore civil rules, and generally get my panties in a knot.

That's Money, and Pizza, Down the Toilet

2007-08-28T09:24:00.001-06:00

Lately, wherever I roam, I am treated to an abundance of information that makes me wonder who thought of it and what caused them to present it to the public. Last night while waiting for THIRTY MINUTES at the pharmacy, (that's another story that just upsets me), a display called My Alli caught my eye. Well-packaged in white and bright colors, I decided to allow it to entertain me while I waited THIRTY MINUTES at the pharmacy.

I didn't read too much of the brochure because it appeared to be another Metabolife-, Hoodia-, TrimSpa (baby!)-type of weight loss pill. These are my favorite because they claim that with fewer calorie consumption, exercise, answering to a personal trainer, AND religiously pooring your money down the drain for a pill, that even the fattest homebound person can lose weight. Allow me to steal Hyundai's most awful marketing campaign by saying, "DUH!" Of course rabbit food and running on the treadmill like a gerbil will cause weight loss. Not to mention less weight in your wallet as you donate all your cash to some guy selling sugar pills. Anyway, as this blog's tagline states, this is not political.

So onto what really made me ill. Ever since the 1998 "anal leakage" follies of Olestra, I love to read the side effects of drugs and food additives. Nobody could ever guess the side effects of My Alli, let alone fathom that this is what the brochure says: Undigested fat cannot be absorbed and passes through the body naturally. The excess fat is not harmful. In fact, you may recognize it in the toilet as something that looks like the oil on top of a pizza.

If I don't receive that within 30 minutes is it free?

Thank You, Japan

2007-08-23T09:20:00.000-06:00

Many thanks to Japan for endowing the world with the Wii, being overly fashion-confident with the socks and flip flops and now for betsowing upon us the following. Whatever this is, it's entertaining for a minute.

http://www.1-click.jp/

That's the Ken Gurff Gurantee

2007-08-23T08:21:00.000-06:00

Usually I try not to venture south of Draper but my other half is from the Provo/Orem area so I actually get to go there a lot more than nature probably intended for a University of Utah Alum. Last Friday night, following a ragin’ family BBQ, we nixed going to a movie and headed to Ben’s office in Orem to pick up our Brian Regan tickets.

Just before exiting I-15 southbound at the University Parkway exit in Orem there is a digital billboard that changes every 15 seconds or so. I kid you not, just as we passed I was elated to see the next muse for my blog. A Ken Garff sign, in large red lettering that says, “Best Price Gurantee.” Man was I irritably happy. On one hand, poor grammar and most of all childishly careless spelling frustrate me to no end. Yet on the other hand, I just relish a blog idea practically handed to me on a silver platter—or on a red and white digital sign lit up like a blogger’s Mecca. With it only rotating through every two minutes or so, I am assured that this was meant for me. Maybe Ken Garff should just concentrate on backing up every car they sell and leave the marketing to a consultant.

This picture is brought to you by Ben exiting I-15, re-entering I-15 northbound, re-exiting, and re-re-entering southbound so I could gleefully await on the shoulder for a “guranteed” blog post. It has also been brought to you by the letter I, the number 15, and of course the absent letter A.

"Was she drunk?," they cried

2007-08-17T09:12:00.001-06:00

Having considered this post for a few days now, it's high time I wrote it. MSN Messenger is really the only way I keep tabs with a few people--my sisters included. Last Tuesday one of my sisters logs on and writes, "So I need to tell you my story."

Mar (thinking I'll hear a ditty about a funny stay-at-home mom mishap, or a laughter-inducing story about one of her children): Ok.

Sister: So our neighbor drove her SUV up over our curb, across the lawn, through the flower beds, and into our house."

Mar: WHAT?! Was she drunk?

Sister: Nope.

Mar: What the heck? (Now I have started a conversation window with Ben and another window with my other sister, to which they both reply "Was she drunk?")

Sister: She left the gym and took off her shoes so her feet were slippery and she ended up flooring the gas.

Mar: How does she floor the gas up over the curb, across the lawn, through the flower beds, and into your house?

Sister: Don't know.

Mar (now secretly wishing this had happened to me so I could blog it as my story): LOL! Will you take pictures?!

Sister: Yeah but she already drove off the lawn and went home.

Mar (now imagining what the slippery-footed, SUV-driving, alledgedly-not-drunk crazy lady looked like backing off the lawn): I know it's not funny but I am laughing so hard.

Sister: Yeah.

Mar: (now replaying, ok making up, what it looked like when she came barrelling down the cul-de-sac, wearing her Jane Fonda workout clothes and leg warmers, hair standing on end, with wild blood-shot eyes, and rage in her voice as she maniacally screamed, "Death to curbs, green lawns, and flower beds, and down with brick and mortar houses!" Then WHAM! And insurances companies cheer as crazy lady's rates sky rocket!) Nothing fun happens to me--I just have to go to Staff Lunch on Thursday.

Sister: Good luck with that.

Staff Lunch = Torturous Junior High Flashbacks

2007-08-15T13:07:00.000-06:00

Once a month, the company that controls 40 hours per week of my life holds a Staff Lunch where employees are “treated” to a free sometimes-catered, sometimes-ordered lunch. I like to eat and I love it when it’s free, however every time I attend, I have insane flashbacks of junior high where I nearly blackout and writhe on the floor in misery. If you have read Harry Potter you might think of it as hearing a cold high-pitched voice and seeing a flash of green light. I imagine that I am 13, brace-faced, sporting a mean brushed out perm with bangs three inches high off my forehead, and pegged Girbaud jeans.

I have friends at my office and I make great conversation of the social variety, but I wouldn’t say I am part of the “in” crowd at work. The male-dominated environment in which I work provides men who would prefer to be friends with each other rather than befriend other un-cool, un-male friends. So after carefully deciding on whether the Marie Callender’s pot pie or the Marie Callender’s artichoke chicken is my best food choice for lunch, I head into the lunchroom and feel like I have nobody to join and like I have everybody staring. (And it’s not because of how hot I am.)

As a 29-year old college graduate, social butterfly, and generally damn funny person, one would think that I could nip this problem in the bud…but then again Staff Lunch only rears its ugly head once a month…so why bother?

Bridge collapse kills four, toll likely to rise

2007-08-02T13:46:00.000-06:00

A Bankok Post Headline reads: "Bridge collapse kills four, toll likely to rise"

I just want to know, is that the bridge toll or the death toll that's likely to rise?

That Was a Big Bag of Jolly Ranchers

2007-07-25T12:11:00.000-06:00

In reference to my recent June 27th post, I am somewhat saddened, yet glad, to say that it was a big bag of Jolly Ranchers. I find exercise to be good for my health and general outlook on life, (although at times dangerous--people fall of their bikes, or occasionally, the treadmill*) and thought it would cancel out eating Jolly Ranchers as a snack.

I was told, and have since learned otherwise. On Thursday last week, after finishing a fitness class which I regularly attend, the instructor handed out a sheet with some abdominal exercises and "nutritional guidelines" and then announced that we all will eliminate sugar and white flour from our diets. Wait, rewind. She's the fitness trainer, not the nutritionist. So why is she calling the food consumption shots? So I looked at her as if she had just slapped me, and I said, "But I have a whole bag of Jolly Ranchers in my desk at work." And she said, "Give them to the people at your office." What? Part with my 3.25 lb. bag of watermelon, grape, cherry, apple, and raspberry comfort? Hell no.

But I like my fitness teacher and she said she would do it too so I said I would give it a week. Since last Thursday I have not had one Jolly Rancher, or any other sugar for that matter. I thought I would be irritable or upset but I actually feel good. Man I hate that fitness teacher changing my habits as if she was Stephen Covey. I haven't heard what his 8th Habit is...maybe it's no sugar consumption.

So yesterday, mustering all the courage and will power I had, I took my still 3/4 full bag of Jolly Ranchers and left them in the kitchen at work. Today I returned to survey the damage. And as expected, 24 hours later, there is only 1/4 of the bag left. People are total vultures--they'd eat plain dry oats from a trough in the kitchen so long as it was free. However, my loss (of candy and weight) will literally be their gain (of candy and weight). Ha ha!

*The writer has never fallen off a bike or a treadmill--she just knows people that have (Yes, a treadmill)

"It's All Right, Cuz I'm Saved by the Bell"

2007-07-19T08:35:00.001-06:00

Today's topic of discussion for radio callers was guilty pleasure TV shows. I am not talking about the big ones. Even though it is sad to admit, many people (excluding me) watch American Idol but they freely admit it, therefore discounting it's guilty pleasure status. And for the people who just can't pass up Grey's Anatomy, this discussion was not for you.

Some guilty pleasure TV shows mentioned (by adults) were SpongeBob SquarePants, Yu-Gi-Oh, Mythbusters and Man vs. Wild (however, those were DQ'd because they are apparently widely watched), any home shopping show and the Kanuk classic, The Red Green Show.

So what show is my guilty pleasure? Saved by the Bell*. Having spent many a half hour with Kelly, Zack, Slater and the rest of the gang while awkwardly suffering through my junior high years, I still can't pass it up. I don't know if it's the nostalgia, Zack playing a broom as a guitar, Kelly Kapowski's tapered floral pants and colored Keds, or AC Slater's mullet. I can't quite pin-point the reason, but I am definitely guilty.

*Does not include Saved by the Bell: The New Class, or Saved by the Bell: The College Years

Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?

2007-07-16T16:46:00.000-06:00

Thanks to Mr. Weasley's new haircut a la Rod Stewart, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix has raked in $77.1 million and counting. Apparently, fighting the Dark Lord requires some British gusto and a sweet rockin' hair cut.

Card Equals Cool

2007-07-05T15:02:00.000-06:00

Right after sitting down at my desk today, I found out I would be leaving for a client meeting within two minutes. I only had time to grab a pad of paper and a pen.

Once at the meeting, I realized quickly that I wished I'd had a copy of the potential project requirements and a few previous notes. I learned today that worse than missing my notes was the fact that I had forgotten to take my business cards.

As the six of us met and shook hands, everybody else started handing out "their identities." Feeling like the poor schmuck at the country club or the person who showed up with no pants, I sort of just stood there and had visions of people sipping champagne and heartily chortling at a story told by a woman named Muffy Jane and I wondered, "Who would have thought that a 2" x 3.5" piece of cardstock wielded so much confidence or had such an ability to shatter self esteem?"

Jeep Gems--Pearls of a Previous Owner

2007-07-02T11:27:00.001-06:00

Recently, Ben bought a 1987 Jeep Cherokee so he can play auto-mechanic and I can play girl-who-cleans-car-interiors-with-toothpicks. At first sight, I wasn't Jeep jazzed. Every time I got in, dust clouds poofed up from the seats and sort of lingered like Pig-Pen from Peanuts. No A/C had me sweating like Chris Farley and unextractable coins embedded in the carpet teased me to no end. But after Friday's find and actually catching the vision of the finished product, I can't wait to go adventuring in it!

Friday night was spent taking apart the dashboard, cleaning the small parts in our kitchen sink and 409-ing the grime on the larger un-"sink"-able parts. Whilst I was in the kitchen scrubbing away at the two-decade-old car console, Ben was deep Jeep diving and surfaced with treasures to make Captain Jack Sparrow drool.

Item A, the first gem uncovered, is what I have affectionately named Black Beard's Delight. As a pirate ship-worthy hood ornament, this little bare-chested amber beauty makes me wonder about the previous Jeep owner...and if he's still single. RAWR! Ben had thrown it away prior to my decision to post about it, so he went dumpster diving for it. (I lament that there are no photos of that.)

I said, "Don't go in the dumpster." And he said, "I'd do it for you." (Not kidding--I guess I don't care if the previous owner is single.) Only to follow it up with, "It is awesome blogging material." As husband and wife, we don't look alike yet, but we think alike sometimes.

Item B I have titled Gentleman Caller. This treasure comes to us from a man named Erik who wooed his women with a heavy gold bracelett and a heavy fake Italian accent that wouldn't quit. For resistance training and strength building, I wore this item while we cleaned.

The last two items, C1 and C2, are a package deal which comes straight to us from the 1985 Fred Meyer jewelry counter. A charming insect lapel pin and a winning mosquito cuff bracelett--I call them Grandma's Travels because, reminiscent of my dad's mother's world travels, they are just the sort of ecclectic jewelry she would have loved.

Alas, the Jeep, purchased for a minimal price has offered up her most precious gems and provided a weekend to be treasured.

It's Orefro, The Fro Sportin' Oreo

2007-06-29T10:12:00.001-06:00

I forgot my password to an online account recently and in the process of resetting it, I had to type in the letters I saw in a box. Never in my life have those letters spelled anything (that would defeat a lot of security purposes if they did). This occasion, however, provided at least enough letters and vowels in the correct order to name my first Oreo offspring: Orefro.

Meet Orefro. He's cool. He's tasty. He's an Oreo. He's got a fro.

You're a Mean One, Mia Grinch!

2007-06-28T09:42:00.000-06:00

So You Think You Can Dance is pretty much one of the coolest and completely the gayest reality show on TV. But I love it...almost as much as I love Survivor.

The kids are good dancers, avid learners and they are really fun to watch. I actually find myself liking the performances that I didn't think I liked during the rehearsal.

Anybody who has seen this show for more than one season probably has pretty strong feelings about Mia Michaels, the "organic" guru of contemporary rug cutting. As cuddly as a cactus and as charming as an eel, Mia Michaels looks exactly like the Grinch who freaking stole Christmas! It's the weirdest thing--I'm not kidding you.

Not only is the resemblance totally uncanny but she is almost as nice as the Grinch. Maybe her dance shoes are to tight or her lesbian-quaffed mullet isn't screwed on just right. Whatever it is, at the end of each show, she manages to overcome her grinchy self and they say that her moldy heart grows three sizes each day. She cries and gives all the little dancers down in Whoville props for growing and being "human" yet "bird-like" enough to be part of "this competition."

One day when I have the time, I will Photoshop into existence the love-children of Mia and the Grinch, but for right now, I wouldn't touch her with a...thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole.

"That's a Big Bag of Jolly Ranchers"

2007-06-27T12:27:00.000-06:00

I have a Mar-trend, meaning something that I like to do, that I don't think a lot of other people do; sort of specific to my life's routine. I like to suck on Jolly Ranchers (JRs) after lunch and sometimes around 3:00 as the afternoon hunger begins to settle in. I sort of stumbled upon this Mar-trend as a way to curb hunger, get a sweet fix, and pick myself up when energy gets low.

Now a serving size of JRs is 3 pieces for 70 calories. Not bad in the least. I usually have a serving twice a day and I don't feel at all that my calorie count is compromised by this 140 calories of hunger-curbing, spirit-lifting goodness. (I really do comsume less of other foods by doing this so as Stephen R. Covey would so daftly put it, "It's a Win-Win.") I don't blow through the package too quickly either.

Yesterday, during my lunch break, I stopped at Walmart for the purpose of picking up more JRs. Ok, I didn't stop at Walmart, I acutally left work and drove there simply to buy JRs. (Don't fault me--I know somebody who drove from Sandy to Alpine just to buy a case of cherry flavored candy canes at Christmas time.)

While picking up the bag I usually buy (1/2 lb.) I noticed a 3.75 lb. bag of JR goodness. I had to look around and ensure that...no...I definitely wasn't at Costco. (For info on how to educatedly distinguish between Costco and Walmart, please write me personally.) So I decided I would save myself several trips to the Walmart nearest my office in the future by purchasing said 3.75 lb. bag and stowing it away in my desk drawer.

As I am writing this post, I am searching for a picture of this Costco-esque bag and find that apparently one can only purchase it on eBay...for $10.55...WHAT?! And $5.75 shipping and handling?! I paid $6 and some change including tax and I didn't have to sign for the delivery. But this post is not about the price--although I must say that eBay price is outrageous.

It is about the girl at the checkout counter who made me feel like a hippo for buying a 3.75 lb. bag of JR. I put it on the counter (my single purchase) and she exclaims, as if warning the world that I might eat the whole bag and stomp around gobbling up entire Walmart stores, "That is a BIG bag of Jolly Ranchers."

Nevermind the fact that I don't snack on anything else between meals and I maintian my 140 calorie intake of JRs and this girl is calling me fat. Bring it on sista!

The Piano Man is a Guilty Pleasure--Is that so Bad?

2007-06-26T08:35:00.000-06:00

I called a friend the other day and was pleasantly surprised to hear that she has one of those phones where the caller hears music until the "call-ee" answers the phone. Lovely! As I was treated to Only the Good Die Young by Billy Joel, I thought, "I haven't heard this forever--and I love it!

Inspired by such a delight, I whipped out my 2-disc Billy Joel's Greatest Hits album and sang like an 80's rock star. Unabashed and unrestrained, I let my pipes go to songs such as Uptown Girl and Tell Her About It. The issue here is, would I have done that with somebody else in the car? Or even with the windows down? Uh...no.

I guess I would consider Billy Joel tunes to be a definite guilty pleasure only to be shared with my sisters. Julie used to have the Greatest Hits tape and, due to the inability to just skip a track, we knew every word to every song.

Many thanks to the Piano Man for sharing Scenes From an Italian Restaurant and making it undeniably clear that We Didn't Start the Fire.

People Will Want to Read About This on my Blog

2007-06-25T14:29:00.000-06:00

Generally, thanks to the DVR, I don't watch many commercials. However, due to their over-abundance, I'll be treated to a Sonic commercial every now and then. And by "treat" I mean "the commercials make me laugh."

Personally, one of them rings quite true at the moment. In regards to the item of consumption, the man basically says to his wife, "People will want to read about this on my blog." And his wife, in the most deadpan, slap-down fashion that only a loving, yet grounded wife can give, says, "You mean your mom?"

Yes, I bet that my mom, Julie, and Natalie, (and Ben when he isn't playing the HR guy, studying something about HR, remodeling the bathroom, or working on his car) will be regular aficionados of Mar's Musings.