Lizer, This One's For You

This is pretty cool. (Thanks, Roxy)

Party Like It's 1999

After I wrote in my last post that I had gone out the night before in a nightgown with a chocolate ice cream stain on it, I proceeded to spill more chocolate ice cream down the front of my pink sweater that night. So it's no wonder that at our annual summer cookout on Saturday night, as Neil passed out his delicious blondie (and by delicious blondie I don't mean Debbie Harry) desserts, he cautioned me to be careful not to spill salsa on my white pants. And he didn't even know that I had gone to Target that day with a huge dirt stain across my shirt.

Other than apparently eating like a slob the entire time, I had a great weekend. During my pre-ice-cream-stained Thursday night, I saw the very good question asker at a bridal shower and seriously considered going home and deleting the post I had written about her. I could barely respond to her because all I was thinking about was how I had written about her on my blog. And how she reads blogs. And has now read Kacy's & Christian's. And how she is just one step away from finding me out. And now I have pictures of myself on my blog...

Friday, I saw A Midsummer Night's Dream at an outdoor theater where I was even entertained with a heated argument on the row in front of me during intermission. And our cookout on Saturday was a success and everyone who attended seemed to have a good time, even if Pickles and I never did get around to leg wrestling. (Pickles, you are still on anytime--bring your own pants.) However, while everyone was eating and mingling in the moonlight, they were oblivious to some funny things that had happened/were happening behind the scenes.

No one knew that when our first guest arrived 20 minutes early, Schatze was not all the way dressed and had to do some military style crawling under the windows...or that when I went upstairs to find a needle so Pickles could show us a trick, Schatze, Karen and I had a good laugh over our guest who was in the living room all alone and singing "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane really loudly to no one but himself. As we came down the stairs after eavesdropping on the singer, Jonas was at the bottom of the stairs saying, "Where's Marcy and Tiffany?" (And by Tiffany, we assume he meant Schatze)...he then told us that they were taking off and had "lost [the Living Room singer] to the music an hour ago." After which the Living Room singer was just standing there with his hand in the air. What was he doing? Waving? No one really knows...but Schatze gave him a high 5 just in case that's what he was looking for.

Yesterday was not a bad day either...especially after a girl in our ward confessed in her testimony to swearing. "But it's not like I'm mad or anything...it's more for comic relief." After which she told us she usually can get out of anything..."like when I get pulled over. I don't pay for this blonde hair for nothing." And after church, we came home and were able to break our fast (or devour like wild animals) with a LOT of cookout leftovers and shoot the breeze on the deck for a couple of hours, and that, my friends, is a mad crunk weekend.

Suddenly, I'm Not Half the Man I Used to Be

I was parked behind Schatze in the driveway yesterday so when I offered to drive her to McDonald's for the McFlurry she was craving, I didn't even bother to change out of my nightgown with an ice cream stain on the front.

And after we got home, I got in my bed and Schatze stood in the doorway to my room wearing her new Bono sunglasses and asking me questions like, "Would you rather kiss Little Richard or Richard Simmons?" She was also surprised that I would rather kiss Vin Diesel than LL Cool J. After all, it's true that the Ladies Love Cool James (but probably not as much as Schatze).

Yesterday, I seriously considered the fact that I have been taking advantage of the casual dress policy at work when, for once, I did dress up and my boss assumed I had a job interview. But that doesn't mean I'm not back in my capris today and just staring at the ringing phone saying "hmmmm" before I answer it.

Flowers & Chicken Chunks & No Pictures Whatsoever.

I bought some peonies this weekend and put them in my room because my mom gave me a vase for Christmas and told me they were for peonies. I thought that was sweet because she knows I think they are gorgeous and smell so good. I definitely think they are the prettiest and nicest smelling flowers. But I have had a problem staring at them, it's like I can't stop. I think Wayne thinks I'm crazy because I have made her come up to my room three times to look at them.

I wanted to put a picture on this post but all my searches for peonies have been fruitless. Not to mention the fact that I have said the word "peony" so many times that it is starting to sound funny and I don't even know how I pronounce it anymore. Anyway, I didn't realize there were so many different looking peonies, and all the pictures I have found that look like the ones I have cannot be saved or even linked to. So if, for some strange reason, you really want to see what they look like, click here and then see the photo taken by Marechal MacMahon.

Maybe I really will have to consider a camera phone, as I have been advised, to be a proper blogger. I mean, last week I wasted some good blodder because I needed a picture of a nasty product I saw in the drug store by the beef jerky...dried buffalo chicken chunks. I looked all over the Tyson's website but couldn't find them. And now this whole peony photo debacle.

And frankly, I would have liked to have taken a picture of my lunch today. I went across the street to a cafe that I will never go to again (which is exactly what I said the last time I went). The joint is creepy and there is a major language barrier problem going on with me and the cashier.

Him: That will be $7.07. (I think this is what he said, despite the fact that it could not possibly be the right price according to what it said on the menu.)

Me: 7.07?

Him: Something I didn't understand

Me: (handed over $20.07)

Him: Something I didn't understand (gave me back $10)

Me: (Too confused and annoyed with myself that I had actually come back there to argue, took money and gross lunch and left.)

XYZ

I guess it was about time for me to give a talk since I have made it through almost 5 years in the ward without doing it yet. And if I HAD to, I was glad that it was on a holiday weekend when over half my ward is off gallivanting at the beach together. Yet the pressure from having a surprise visit from a General Authority on the stand possibly vetoed the fact that the congregation was only half full, especially considering that it was just after I sat down from standing in front of that General Authority giving my talk that I realized the zipper on the back of my skirt was half-way unzipped.

I would also like to mention that during a ward Q&A session with the GA after Sacrament meeting, a girl raised her hand with a question. And she humbly prefaced her question with: "I think this is a really good question for a lot of different reasons." Then I came home and read Christian F.'s post about how his dad had called him unhip, and when I clicked over to read his dad's linked post, the very-good-question-asker had commented there. What a coincidence.

This weekend, I need to trim my hair just a tiny bit because the ends are getting a little untidy and starting to split. But now that I cut my own hair, I get really nervous and usually postpone cutting it for a long time before building up my courage and buckling down and doing it. At our April Enrichment meeting, a girl with really frizzy, brittle hair suggested sleeping in conditioner twice a week. I thought I would try this last night in lieu of actually cutting off the split ends in a timely manner. But I wasn't about to sleep with conditioner in my hair and let that hair touch my pillow, so instead I slept in a clear plastic saran-wrap-like head covering that made a crinkling noise all night. And thus my hair was really flat today, but with my zipper down, who was really looking anyway?

Obsessions: Past & Present

In no particular order, here are some of my life's obsessions:

Weezer. In a previous post, I showed my Weezer fan club card. I joined in high school and would get monthly updates in the mail from the fan club presidents. They even sent us an annual listing of all the other Weezer fan club members so we could meet up with other locals. And when I was a Freshman at BYU, I got a call from a fellow club member in a nearby dorm. I force myself to listen to the cds over and over until I love every song, especially the ones that take awhile to grow on me.

NASCAR. Say what you want, I think it is C-O-O-L.

Top Gun: When I was a Freshman at BYU, I watched this movie about once a week. I felt the need, the need for speed. During the opening credits when the screen is on that talks about the school and then ends with "they call it...Top Gun"----yeah, I had that memorized.

BYU Basketball player to remain nameless. In my scrapbook from my Freshman year, I have pictures I cut out of him from The Daily Universe Sports section. But we DID go to the Heritage Halls Invitational together! After he returned from his mission and basketball practice had started, I bought a new outfit and waited on some stairs in the RB I knew he would have to pass on his way back from practice to the Fieldhouse. When he did pass, I act surprised to see him. After we talked, and he asked if he could come over that night then headed over to the Fieldhouse, there was some major hug-jumping between Carly and me in the Intramural office.

John Wayne. I don't think I need to explain this to any of you after last week's post.

Romeo & Juliet. The movie. With Leonardo. I have a page in my scrapbook dedicated to it, too. I saw it 3x in the theater. I have the soundtracks (Vol. 1 & Vol. 2) This obsession post is making me realize I was a freaky, nutso Freshman.

One of the local bands in Provo from my Freshman year (again), and another obsession that will remain nameless. My partners in crime (and "crime" is more literal than you know) and I went to every concert they had. I had a t-shirt and a CD. If there were words on the CD we couldn't understand, we would record that song onto a tape and listen to it in slow motion. I won't even write anymore, because the rest is too shameful.

Food. Yes, just food in general. I LOVE it. Dang. I need to get some right now.

Baby Names. Well, I guess mostly just names in general. I like to know name meanings, middle names, write lists of names I like, etc. I have been doing it forever. Once Lizer blogged about it, and then we had to email and share all our favorites.

The Number 9. It's so cool. I was a math geek in high school. Thank goodness for DVD players because I can get distracted watching the VCR counter waiting for it to hit multiples of 9. If any number is short enough (less than 6 digits or so), I quickly figure out if it is a multiple of 9 or not.

Italy. It all started with Italian class at BYU and the bello men who taught it. And there was Carly which only fueled the obsession fire. We bought dresses to wear to a club there (our Italy dresses) and leather passport cases to use when we went. We took pictures of ourselves making gnocchi at my apartment and left them in our teacher's mailbox. I could go on and on. Really. Have either of us been yet? No.

Ok although, I could go on with more obsessions, I'll just stop here and conclude with:

Blogging. My roommates fear my blogging obsession. "Where's Marcy?" "Probably blogging." Wayne leaves me notes on her computer b/c she knows I will get them when I go to check blogs in the basement on my Fridays off. All of you who have blog trackers probably think I am a stalker....And according to this post, I haven't done a dang thing to prove you wrong.

Adios Amigos. Sorry if I Sat Too Close.

Well, the Guats moved out on Saturday, but not before I was almost attacked by one of their chickens. As a matter of fact, I never knew they had any chickens until Saturday. Schatze and I went over to talk to Ophelia and tell her goodbye, when suddenly we were on a tour of their house, followed by a look at the chickens in the back yard. They have a wooden pen up against the house that had 5 chickens in it. I scooted up to look in, and as she opened the lid, one of the chickens flew up and all I saw were giant wings flapping in front of me. I screamed and jumped back and everyone laughed--Ophelia, Schatze and the next door neighbor who, for some reason, was right up against the fence watching. I felt a bit sheepish, but I bet anyone would have done the same with those giant chicken wings flapping so close--especially someone like me who had been attacked (and by attacked I mean flown into) by a bird years ago. Anyway, we exchanged phone numbers and Ophelia told us, "Just call me whenever you want to talk to me. Let's say goodbye before I cry." Ahh me, sad hours seem long.

Speaking of hours that seem long, my roommates' new favorite joke is discussing who has to sit by me at church. "Well, I have to sit by her in Sunday School, so you have to have Relief Society. But who will take Sacrament meeting?" So I volunteered to sit separately, but that didn't happen in the end. You see, my roommates think I'm a close sitter. And maybe I am. Schatze likes to tell everyone how 2 weeks ago I was "cupping" her, meaning I had my arm on the pew behind her and my leg crossed towards her. When she told me to stop cupping her, I scooted away. But after church, I was informed that when moving away from Schatze, I had moved too close to Wayne. I guess I am going to have to continue working on avoiding personal space invasion.

And finally, on an even more unrelated note, have you seen the previews for Hell's Kitchen and Dancing with the Stars ? I can't believe they are even real shows.

It's Celebrate NASCAR Day

So what you're supposed to do is wear a NASCAR pin to work. But I don't work on Fridays. And I don't have the pin (although I may head over to AutoZone to pick one up anyway). So what I have been doing so far is wearing my Jimmie Johnson blanket around all day. And I could play Solitaire with my Jeff Gordon deck of playing cards. Any other ideas? What I wish I could do is see the NASCAR 3D IMAX narrated by Kiefer again. But the closest one is in Baltimore and I have an appointment to get my car's oil changed, tires rotated, etc in 20 minutes. Maybe I'll drive there really fast--that seems NASCARY. Any other ideas? Let me know and in the meanwhile, here's a little pic of Jimmie for ya:

I Twirl My Hair Without Realizing It

# of minutes spent looking at pics of Tony and Jack on IMDB.com yesterday: 14

# of minutes spent trying to save those pictures for my blog: 9

# of pictures saved: 0

# of times "work hard" is listed on my notecard to-do list this week: 4

# of Neil Diamond CDs ordered this week: 1

# of days 'til the pools open: 8

# of miles can run without stopping to walk: .75

# of men in the car behind me on the way to work this morning doing a major air drum solo: 1

# of Ashton Kutcher movie clips shown at Enrichment last night: 1

# of times can wear sunglasses without feeling like a poser: 0
(I can't help it. I don't feel cool enough to pull them off, therefore I only wear them when I really need them--like at the pool or the beach--or as a headband.

# of famous people attempted to call yesterday: 6

# of famous people reached: 0

# of rude men lied to by me yesterday: 1

# of times spoke with mom on her cell phone re: John Wayne while she was in the middle of teaching her class yesterday: 2

# of men behind me last night in the grocery store checkout line who touched the cashier's chest while I was paying: 1

Man, You Really Freak Me Out

Every morning this week, the exact same thing has happened and it is a little freaky. All three days when I have arrived at work between 8:35 and 8:40am, the same man is arriving at the exact same time I am. He is just ahead of me as we drive into the parking garage and he has the same car as me except his is silver. We contine down the ramps to level 2 where he turns left into a space against the wall. He throws his car into Reverse as I pass and turn to the right and pull all the way through so I can pull out front first at the end of the day and making a lovely symmetrical lineup of cars facing the aisle: Corolla, BMW, BMW, Corolla. Silver car man continues to reverse and pull in until his car is perfectly lined up in the very center of his space as I head into the lobby. I push the button for the elevator and wait. Suddenly the door flies open abruptly and silver car man comes plowing into the lobby, hits the elevator button (even though it is already lit up from me pushing it), then proceeds to the opposite side of the lobby and stands against the wall in the corner as far away from me as he can possibly get. A few seconds later the same elevator (even though there are four)opens and we get on. He gets off on 7 and I get off on 9. That's it. Maybe I should be on time tomorrow.

If Tony Dies, Marcy Cries.

A couple of weeks ago when it started being evident that Tony and Michelle were going to get back together, I said that they were just trying to reel us in and then they will kill one of them off. I was hoping it would be Michelle, but now I'm nervous with Tony taken hostage and all. Should I have been up worrying about this like I was from 3-4 a.m. this morning? Probably not. But, seriously, sometimes I am more attracted to Tony than even Jack. Don't hate me for that. I love Tony and I am not exaggerating when I say I will shed a tear if they wipe him out.

Today on May 17th, the 9th Anniversary of my graduation from high school, and Name That Song day, I give you these lyrics:

"..if I hurt you, I'd make wine from your tears."

Comment on Tony, but be the first to EMAIL ME (see my profile page) with the title and artist to win the prize.

Don't Freak Your Beak

Our neighbors, the Guats (that is not a racial slur but just an example of my 10-year habit of abbreviating everything) are moving and we are sad. They have helped us a lot. Including the time they ruined their Target credit card trying to unjam my door, or when I hoisted their teenage son Pedro up so he could crawl through our side window and let me in after I ran outside one morning and locked myself out. Or when they shoveled out two and a half feet of snow so I could park Roxy's car. Or when they helped start Schatze's car. In preparation for their move, they have constant access to a HUGE truck they keep filling up that says something about The Purple Heart on the side. Where did they get that truck? And how do they have so much stuff to keep putting in it? They also took down their particle board shed in the back yard this weekend that had "Syke" written in spraypaint on the side.
Guats, I will miss you.

I really really really wanted to go to the NASCAR race in Richmond this past Saturday night. My only consolation was that Jimmie was out in the v. beginning and was barely in any of the race, which would have been highly disappointing had I been there.

On two separate occasions I have been asked about NASCAR this weekend. Once was by Ann at the munch and mingle after church, who followed up by telling us, "I always see you girls mingling, but never with guys." Thanks, Ann, for your tact.

Don't forget tomorrow is Name that Song Day!

This weekend I switched out my summer and winter clothes and felt like I am a materialistic sinner when I saw how many I own. Today I wore a skirt that has been packed away for the winter and when I went to put something in my back pocket I found: 1 leftover ride ticket from the Utah State Fair from my visit last Fall, 1 movie ticket from the Tower Theater in SLC for Danny Deckchair (see it if you haven't) and FIFTY DOLLARS. I can't wait to decide what glorious thing I will spend it on!

And finally a question: When peeps sing and they have that vibrato voice, are they doing that on purpose or does it just happen? I'm sincere in this question. We had a really fast vibrato singer yesterday for our special musical number and it got me to thinking.

Please Don't Break My Heart by Writing Negative Comments About John Wayne

I will not relent in my love for John Wayne, despite the fact that I have been openly mocked by three different people this week for it. But I think it is in my blood.

When I was in high school, my aunt gave my mom one of those life-size, stand-up cardboard cut-outs of John Wayne for a joke. I put it in the window next to our back door so when anyone drove up or came in, there was John Wayne looking out the window at them. My sister didn't think that was cool so she would always move it and then I would put it back and then she would move it again. This went on for months.

Whenever I talk to my grandmother on the phone, my grandfather will pick up just so we can have a little banter from True Grit and then hang up. When they were here last week and I was in the parking lot headed to my car, my grandfather walked out to the balcony of the motel and we had to yell it to each other from there, too. He says, "Coooorrrrn Dodger?" Then I say, "Light a match, and let me see if there's blood on it first." Then he laughs and says, "We ain't lightin' no matches!" And once for his birthday, my mom and I got him a cake that said "Corn dodger" on it instead of "Happy Birthday." (Everytime we eat we also have to say another line from the True Grit: "I've had enough. And enough is as good as a feast."

John Wayne's favorite character he ever played was Ethan Edwards from The Searchers. He even named his son Ethan after him. My brother is also named Ethan. (Ethan Christopher that is. But my mom now wishes it were Ethan Chance, after JW's character in The Hellfighters.)

My brother Ethan loves John Wayne and has already started reciting his lines at age 4 (the legacy continues!).

A few years ago I was in Moab, and I made our group make a special trip to the lobby of the Apache Motel, where John Wayne stayed while filming a movie once, so I could get a picture of myself there---and they even had pictures of him hanging on the walls!

Last year I celebrated my birthday with a dinner at a restaurant a half-hour south of here called The True Grit Restaurant.

I have read 2 biographies of John Wayne.

I have been asked by more than one friend to recommend John Wayne movies to give to their dads. (including Schatze whose dad insists on calling him The King instead of The Duke. He knows that Elvis is the King, but insists that John Wayne is the King to him.)

It is normal for me to give at least one gift related to John Wayne a year to my mom.

My mom has written a letter to one of John Wayne's sons.

Only a few months into my job, my boss was in a meeting and he had his door open. He and the other man had both been Marines and our office is near the Iwo Jima Memorial so their topic of conversation turned to the movie The Sands of Iwo Jima. As I sat at my desk down the hall, I listened to them talk about the movie and spend a few minutes trying to remember John Wayne's character's name. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and just confessed to my eavesdropping by yelling down the hall "It's Seargant Striker!"

Besides owning John Wayne movies, I have a coffee table book on my shelf The Duke: A Life in Pictures as well as a CD America: Why I Love Her. It has patriotic music over which John Wayne narrates stories and poems about America.

While I was at BYU, Carly and I briefly got into writing at e-pinions.com. I wrote 2 v. passionate reviews of True Grit & The Quiet Man.

In 2004, a friend of mine had a St. Patrick's Day party where we watched The Quiet Man. It was a lovely affair and when we all received our invitations in the mail, they included a line stating that I would be there to talk about the movie with my vast John Wayne knowledge. It was a lot of pressure, but I really came through.

I have to admit that I feel like I know John Wayne and that he is part of my family. I think it's hereditary (my mom saw Big Jake in the theater 6 times as a kid)...or maybe it's just his manly man, tough guy, patriotic, father-figure image that none of us can resist.

If It's Too Loud, Turn it Down

Well, my grandparents are out of here this morning, but not before some memorable times. For example, my grandfather called all restaurant servers, National Park Rangers, and basically any male working anywhere "Bud." He also was not happy that Chipotle (a restaurant serving ONLY tacos and burritos) didn't have any mustard.

My grandmother and I went shopping on Friday. And we had to go to multiple TJMaxx stores to find the right size in a certain pair of pants that she LOVED. And she loved them for me. And they are actually pretty cute, if you live at the beach.

But I have been thinking about living at the beach ever since I took a quiz online and Miami and Honolulu were in the top 5 cities in America that best fit me. It must be because I'm a "sun worshipper" as my grandmother likes to call me. I can't help it. I LOVE to be outside and feel the hot sun beating down on my skin. And for that skin to turn tan. If I could have my way, I would be this color year round:



However, I will just have to accept that I will be pale for 75% of the year. Plus that picture was taken after a trip to the Domincan Republic and two trips to Florida.

So I have a few recommendations for other sun worshippers out there and they are:

1. Olay Quench Radiance Reviver Body Lotion


and

2. Hoola bronzer by Benefit


Anyway, back to the story. After my grandmother took about 10 pictures of me in my new Miami pants, I said goodbye to my grandpa and her. Their trip was a lot of fun--very memorable.

And this morning, as I blared my new Weezer CD and blew bubbles with my Bubblicious Lebron's Lightning Lemonade gum, I realized I may have reverted back to my teenage years with my grandparents gone. I found myself hitting 2 different stores late last night looking for the new Weezer CD, solely because I felt like I needed to buy it on the day it came out. You see, this is me over 10 years ago:



This Weezer fan club card was made by the original fan club presidents Mykel and Carli (R.I.P.). The Blue Album was the first CD I ever owned. And I bought Pinkerton and the Green Album on the day they came out, so it is only natural that I should pick up Make Believe on its debut. As I walked into the store, I felt a pain of guilt about Maladroit--the only Weezer CD I don't own, and decided I better get it as well. However, it was the only Weezer CD that the record store didn't have either. I will just have to pick it up later I guess. They did have a Punk Tribute to Weezer--which I am interested in finding out more about--including a cover of "Tired of Sex" by a band called the "Latterday Saints."

I love the new CD, but it is my opinion they can never outdo the Blue Album. And having only listened all the way through once so far, my initial favorite song is "This is Such a Pity." And I'm back on the Weezer train.

Did You Know

That in my office I have:

1. my Jimmie Johnson calendar on the wall.
2. a newspaper article pinned to the wall with the headline "Sexy Rummy" about Donald Rumsfeld mailed to me by Roxy a couple of years ago.
3. 3 business cards taped to my desk from a Congressman who gives me one everytime I see him.
4. an award for Gerald Ford hanging on my wall. Why is it not on his wall?
5. a lamp and small clock on my desk--to make it seem more homey. Even though I have a huge window and plenty of light. And I never look at that clock for the time. And my office doesn't really look homey even with them because of all the huge piles of stuff everywhere.

That Regarding My Blog:

1. I suspect I have an avid reader (stalker) who is Japanese. (If you are there, identify yourself!)
2. The majority of search engine searches that have led to my blog involve country music terms. I don't really listen to country more than any other music, but I guess I talk about it more.
3. The minority of search engine searches that have led people to my blog include such disturbing things as: "pull up her skirt", "eavesdrop on girls conversations on the web", "BYU bellydancing", "stacie's nude website", and not one but TWO searches for "Paula Abdul's breasts."

Today's color is: Pick-Me-Up Pink

It doesn't take much work to prep for my grandparents' visit--just making sure I have plenty of lipstick in my purse, and that I apply it often. That's the number one thing. I don't know what the deal is with my grandmother and lipstick, but it is a big deal with her. I wish I had a nickel for everytime she has said any of the following to me:

"You need some darker lipstick on."
"Run back there and put on some lipstick before I take your picture."
"I've got some lipstick in my purse if you need some."
"Oh did you have a good time at the [insert activity here]? I hope you had your lipstick on."
"Don't forget to put on your lipstick before you run to the store, you never know who you'll run into. You can't take any chances"
And by who I run into she means that she hopes it will be my future husband. And Heaven forbid, I run into my future husband without lipstick.

I joke about this, but, in truth, I have taken a little of it to heart. And it doesn't help that it was reinforced by the movie Evita. Roxy and I noticed that in the end of the movie, when Evita is dead, the only difference in her appearance is a lack of lipstick. And she really does look dead. Pale lips = bad. Anyway, this probably isn't a problem for everyone...I'm sure it depends on your natural lip color, your skin color, etc...but it is a problem for Madonna and me. What I'm saying is, I have a lot of lipstick on right now and I'm sure I will be continuously reapplying over the next week. And I'm also sure my grandmother will be happy that my hair is just a little bit longer than it was at Christmas.

Other than being lip-prepared for their visit, I hid a few things under my bed and wiped the inside of my car down while I was driving in to work today and now I'm all ready for their arrival. Their motel is reserved. I've got directions on hand to all the nearest country buffets. Let the adventures begin!

Calling All Supertasters (and everyone else, too)

Skewedview sent me this Sensory Test. Give it a try. Let's hope you get a higher score than my pitiful 7/20.

Some Things I Want To Tell You

1. I really like places with juke boxes. You can hear whatever you want! And it's only a quarter!
2. Our dinner on the deck yesterday was only briefly interrupted by our neighbor behind us running out his back door and vomiting over the side of his deck while we all watched.
3. I have been watching Grey's Anatomy on Sunday nights. It's fairly good but for some reason at 10pm on a Sunday night, during the "Sunday night 'I've got to go to work in the morning' Blues," it seems really really good. And it has Patrick Dempsey. And the final narration at the end of the show always seems so wise at 11:00 at night. Schatze has a piece of paper where she writes down things they say that we like. Sometimes when we go back and read them though, they just seem ordinary when taken out of context. For example, the line we thought was so great last week was "The pain is real." Wow. THAT IS INSIGHTFUL. Last night we wrote down, "Knowing is better than wondering," which was said by Ben Franklin, and therefore merits notetaking I think. But I'll refrain from writing my personal favorite line from a few weeks ago because it is not really ladylike for me to repeat.
4. During a round of Catch Phrase on Saturday, I blurted out, "If you don't talk good...."
5. I just got an email from Schatze with the subject line of: "Gay Tickle Update" in which she updates me on the sleuth work she has done about 2 guys in front of us at stake conference yesterday who were massaging and tickling each others' backs while we obsessively gawked, speculated and Schatze took a trip to the restroom so she could walk past them and check them out on all sides.
6. The annoying construction going on in front of our house is slightly less irritating because of the fact that we have each picked a boyfriend construction worker to watch and talk about. And they know we are doing it and laughing at us. literally. we saw them laughing at us.

Howard Hughes' Heroine Haughty, However Handsome Henry Hits Home

A few years ago while visiting Williamsburg, I became enamored of Patrick Henry. And by Patrick Henry, I mean the man who was playing Patrick Henry. After his speech in the House of Delegates, I whispered to Schatze that I wanted to get a pic of him....We hung around until everyone was gone and I asked if I could get my picture made with him. My only regret is that I accidentally had black & white film in my camera and you can't see how my face flushed with his unexpected touch of my shoulder.



Around that same time (and during that same roll of film), I was at a conference for work where Jane Russell was in attendance. I also wanted a picture with her because I thought it would be cool to glue it in the cover of my book Bombshell Manual of Style. After all, she is mentioned in it. Well, as you can see, I got the photo, but only at the expense of a dream shattered by her rude attitude toward me.

Never Startle Me When I'm Asleep

My grandparents are coming in a couple of weeks for their third visit since I've lived here in D.C. The first time they came, Roxy hung out with us a lot and got to know my their idiosyncracies. I told her they were coming again and she asked how long they are staying. I said a week, to which she replied, "You will need: 3 blocks of cheese and 5 boxes of Little Debbies." The thing is, she is probably right.

Last year they drove here from TN with my aunt. They were going to pick me up and then the four of us would go on a loop up to Palmyra, Niagra Falls, Kirtland and then back here to drop me off. They pulled up in their mini-van crammed full of so much stuff, there was no room for me. My grandfather's first words to me were, "We brought too much stuff, I don't know why." I'll say! As we started sifting through all of their belongings to determine what they could leave at my house and then pick up on their way out, I discovered a very large fan. My grandmother explained to me, "You know how hot J.B. gets. He has to have that fan blowing on him when he gets out of the shower." In the end, we left the fan in my room so that I would be able to take a suitcase on our trip. We just had to put my suitcase on top of the cooler filled with Little Debbies. (Apparently he takes his fan even on flights. He has a suitcase for his clothes, and one for his fan.)

Currently, I'm in the process of finding a place for them to stay. This is trickier than you would think. Last year, I used Hotwire and got them a great room on the water in Old Town for about 1/5 of its normal price. While they were grateful I got them such a deal, in the end they revealed that they would have rather stayed in a motel. My grandfather wants to be able to drive right up to the door...it is "WAY too much trouble to have to go through a lobby with elevators and stuff." So not only do I need to find them a motel room in a safe area here in Washington, but it also needs to be the same price they would pay in Tennessee. Yeah, this puts them about 90 miles away in Richmond. Unfortunately, another motel they had stayed in before was all booked up...but they were really only sad because it is just a mile from the "Great American Country Buffet" (which although about a half hour from my house, is where I'm sure we'll have many meals during their stay.)

The final step I need to take before they arrive is to make sure all our smoke/carbon monoxide detectors are functioning properly. I would place a bet on the fact that the first thing my grandfather will do when he walks in is ask, "Are all your smoke detectors working, Missy?" And regardless of the fact that I tell him they are, he will roam around the house testing each one. He has done it here everytime, and in everyone else's house since I can remember as a child.

I do believe in being cautious and safe, but my grandparents can be a little over the top. I wish you could see the number of locks and alarms on their doors. And on our trip last year, my aunt and I would always joke about and bet on the number of times my grandfather would hit the lock button for the van on his keychain, causing it to honk loudly each time. Usually as we headed in the door of the motel, we would hear 2-3 honks, followed by an acutal door handle check, followed by one additional lock honk. At one point, we had unpacked and walked to a restaurant across the street. My aunt and I headed back to our room first and sat at the window watching because we knew he would stop at the van to check its lock status again. And he did. And he saw us watching and laughing. oops.

Luckily, my grandparents' paranoia has only rubbed off on me in a mild way. I do have fears that any ride I get on at a fair will break down and I will be thrown out or fall to my death. I've mentioned before that I can't sleep sometimes because I think the furnace is going to explode. But hey! that thing is gas and this house is old! Both my roommates left on business trips and I'm home alone for the weekend. The last time I was here by myself, I was talking to Camelio Estevez late on the phone and she freaked me out about being alone so much that I slept with a huge knife by my bed at her urging. I'm not afraid of being alone. Except sometimes when there are weird noises when I'm going to sleep. Especially the ones coming from the furnace vents.

But really, bad things do happen. I WAS almost kidnapped when I was four AT A MOTEL WITH MY GRANDPARENTS. And a couple of years ago, I was walking home from the bus and a man followed me and I had to run and then drop flat on the ground behind a 2-foot-tall fence in a neighbor's yard.

But I did just go to the gas station to fill up my tank at 10:30 tonight in case the prices go up again tomorrow. There is really no rhyme or reason to my fears. But at least I know where I get them from.

Anyway, I'm excited for their trip out here. It will be good to see them. I wonder if they will bring my motorcycle painting. I doubt it, they've got to leave room for the fan.

My Life in Numbers (BJD Style)

# of days have worked this week: 2

# of days have worn jeans to work this week: 2

# of days have worn flip flops to work this week: 1

# of times have wondered if boss thinks I'm taking advantage of the casual dress policy: 37

# of phonecalls received from boss today: 7 (I'm not kidding)

# of hours have been at work today: 2

# of "nanny" reality TV shows watched Monday night: 2

# of ridiculous outfits I wore on Sunday: 2

# of times (when asked) told roommate to change b/c her outfit didn't match at all: 1

# of outfits worn by roommate who had been told by me it didn't match at all: 1

# of minutes was late to church because of my ridiculous outfit #1: 20

# of fears conquered this weekend: 1

# of times tried to demonstrate the motion of a roller coaster while seated in a booth, resulting only in a shaking booth and flailing legs: 1

# of ward members assigned to our house for the ward activity Saturday night: 8

# of assigned members who showed up: 1

# of un-assigned members who showed up: 1

# of un-assigned members who showed up and drove everyone stark raving mad: 1

# of e-mails in my boss's inbox that need to be checked right now: 122

# of times have seen commercial for "House, M.D." which guest stars Robert Sean Leonard tonight and have thought I should let Christian F know: 7

# of times I ever want to watch "House, M.D.": 0 (yuck)

# of people in my office today: 1 (me)

# of times have done leg kicks and punches down the office hallway today: 3

# of Britney Spears' songs listened to today: 1 (in honor of her pregnancy: Hit Me Baby One More Time)

# of conversations with boss re: Paris Hilton in the last week: 4

# of minutes have thought about who I could give one of these to: 19

# of emails now in my boss's inbox that need to be checked: 128 (I better go.)

Name This Song

It's the 17th again...The first person to email me (see my profile page) with the artist and song title wins the prize. Good luck.

"Her arms are wicked, and her legs are long
When she moves my brain screams out this song"

Dance with me. Come on, Buddy

Shotzy sent this to me. Enjoy.

Girl with a Red Leather Jacket

You may recognize this:


a.) because it is (supposed to be) me

or

b.) because it is copied from a Virginia Slims magazine ad.

Yes, it's true, my grandmother (the artist) saw a cigarette ad in a magazine, ripped it out and decided it would be a perfect setting for a painting of me. Apparently she thinks I'm a biker babe. So she painted the ad, adding my face and omitting the cigarette in my hand and, voila, my own portrait.

My questions are as follows:

1. Why me and not my sister Jenny (who really does smoke)?
2. That background...Why?
3. Do you think someday this painting is going to be in my possession? And what will I do with it then?

Seriously, I am flattered that she would do a painting of me. I think it is sweet. But no one can say it's not funny.

Here's a blog with pictures, but none of me because I'm still too chicken for that (but working up to it)

I hesitated a little about writing this post because any allusion to beds always leads some minds to the gutter, and because I’m a little afraid of what Google searches might lead to this post entirely devoted to beds. However, today I saw that someone got to my blog by doing a search for “Stacie’s Nude Website,” so I figure….hey, the creeps are getting here regardless…So here goes:

The History of Carly and Me (or How to Spend as Much Time in the Bed as Possible)

One thing Carly and I have in common is a love for the life of leisure. I found this out long before we ever lived together. One weekend, all of my roommates were out of town, so Carly stayed over. She slept in my roommate Karen’s bed, and we didn’t get out of our beds all weekend, except for occasional trips to the kitchen to grab some cookies to bring back to our beds or to use the restroom.

After we did move in together, we shared a TINY room with such a low ceiling that I had to hoist myself up onto our white, metal-framed bunk beds at a 45 degree angle to avoid hitting my head on the ceiling.



Carly and I were perfect bunk bed mates: she loved the bottom bunk, and I loved the top. However, when we first moved in, we were both too nice to say what we wanted. I assumed she would want the top because it was the best, and she assumed I would want the bottom. Neither of us said a word and we both sacrificed the bunk we wanted, unknowingly causing the other person also to give up the bunk of her choice. Eventually the truth came out, and we switched.

Some highlights of our time in these bunk beds included:

-We stayed in bed so late the first morning we were in our apartment that our other roommate assumed we were gone. She and one of the girls upstairs walked around talking about us and calling us rambunctious and we heard every word.

-At first I thought it was funny that every time Carly would come home (from school or work or anywhere really), she would walk straight from the front door to the bedroom, drop her bag, get in the bed and often wrap her blanket Rehar around her head. But it was only a matter of time before I was doing it, too (sans Rehar). And let me tell you, it was a lot easier to carry on a conversation when we were both right there together, instead of talking from two different rooms.



-For some reason, we felt we had to begin the video we shot for an Italian class project, Le Notizie Secondo Glorie (The News According to the Glorias), by waking up and getting out of our beds and end it by crawling into the beds and going to sleep.

-On the wall beside our beds hung colored, paper eggs we made when we co-wrote our workbook, “Don’t Put All Your Eggs in One Basket: A Girl’s Guide to College Dating.” Carly also had a picture on the wall of Mat (from her “Plat for Mat” days) and I had a picture of Steven Tyler next to me.

-Carly’s pants were ALWAYS on my bed. I don’t know if she threw them there subconsciously whenever she changed, but she always denied it, “I have no idea how they got there.” She still stands by this.

-Every night, our ritual went as follows: Carly would get in her bed while I did a dance to “Don’t Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes” by K.D. Lang---which was really funny, not creepy like it sounds. Then I would get in my bed and hang my arm down while Carly reached over to the bedside table for our bottle of TUMS (we ate them like candy) and put two in my hand.

Needless to say, we spent a lot of time in those bunk beds. So on the day we moved out, when the lady came for the cleaning check and to collect our keys, it was only natural that we were both crying and hugging our beds goodbye. Nothing could console us but some fast food and a trip to Lagoon.

Fast forward 6 months to when I flew back to Utah for Carly’s wedding. The night before her wedding, we were both staying in the guest room at her parents’ house being silly and just having a lot of girl talk---you know the usual night-before-wedding girl stuff. Carly told me that Mike thought it was weird that we were going to sleep in the same bed, which we thought was ridiculous…. I think guys just think about that kind of thing differently…Anyway, the next morning Mike showed up and there we were both sound asleep in the guest bed. Georgia tried unsuccessfully to stop him, and the next thing we knew there he was standing in the doorway looking at us. Quickwitted Carly hopped to her feet (standing on the bed, that is), looked down at me and said, “Well, I’m glad I came in for this quick morning chat.” She made everyone laugh, and the moment that shouldn’t have been awkward but was, disappeared.

We have now lived far apart for many years, but when we do have the chance to see each other, things haven’t changed too much. In December, we spent a lot of time eating truffles on my bed. And when I was in Utah recently, I sat on the bed watching NASCAR and giving a running dialogue to Carly, who was in and out of consciousness. But I still feel a little bad for telling Mike, who was exhausted, that he was going to have to wait a few more minutes to go to bed because I needed to lie on the memory foam a little longer.

My Favorite Things

You know, I thought by addressing Kacy directly in the first paragraph of my last post, I could force her into commenting. But obviously that didn't work. I mean, after over a month long absence of her comments on my blog, my blego is plummeting. and fast.

Luckily, Cameron made my day this weekend by emailing me the mp3 for "Let Your Love Flow," which I have probably already listened to 20 times in the last 48 hours. That's my style. When I like something, I really like to overdo it until I need a break from it.

In honor of my roommate Shotzy who, every night, asks us what our favorite part of the day was, I will list my favorite parts of the last few days:

Friday: Having practiced basketball 'til after 10 the night before where I hurt myself, came home late and didn't even shower before going to bed for a restless night of sleep because of a throbbing foot, I woke up late, watched 24 and then took a nap. Around noon, I was about to shower when I got a call from Katie Blue inviting me to lunch and did I go? Of course I did. I threw on some mascara and clothes and just apologized when I got there for my appearance and smell.

Saturday: Only losing in our championship game (where not even 1 foul was called) to the team with 2 former college players on it by 20 points, instead of 50 like the first time we played them.

Sunday: A delish HUGE dinner on the grill after a long Fast Sunday, during which we were visited by Miriam who laughed so hard she cried.

Monday: So it is only lunch time (which will probably soon take over as my favorite part of the day) but so far I haven't done any work because I have spent the entire morning trying to help my boss figure out how to get his driver's license back after having surrendured it to a police officer on Saturday.

Racial Love Stories: It Doesn't Matter if You're Black or White (or Hispanic)

Today as I was walking back from lunch wearing my bottle green skirt (as Roxy likes to call it) with my legs out in all their white glory, I passed an older black gentleman who stopped, looked me up and down, and then said, "Green. MMMMMM." Surprisingly, I wasn't as uncomfortable as you might think, but instead, laughed out loud at his choice of words...or should I say sounds. But, it reminded me of a time when I did feel uncomfortable as a 20-year-old at work in the RB. I was on the phone, probably taking a tennis reservation, when I was passed a note by a creepy professor (Kacy & Carly, I think you know who I'm talking about) that simply said, "Nice Skirt, M." Yuck.

My experience today also reminded me that I am generally loved by black men. I am pretty certain that this has to do with my, shall I say, non-stick-thin appearance. In high school, I had a friend named Chris. We had a "top secret notebook" where we used to write notes and then leave it in each other's lockers. I don't really know what the point of it was except that we were kids, and it was secret and fun. He did have a girlfriend named Teresa and word got around to me that she was going to wait for me after my Art class to beat me up. Does this really sound like me? It even feels foreign to write it. Not that she ever did wait for me or beat me up....but it's just funny to be involved in a conversation like that. I don't know what I had done that made her so mad, both she and Chris seem to have their fair share of "really good friends" of the opposite sex and all I was doing was writing dumb notes in a notebook under the alias "Aeon." Anyway, I bring it up because he (as well as another black man who was a customer of mine when I was a carhop at Sonic in high school) told me that "I had a nice A$$ for a white girl."

I could go on with a lot of stories about Chris, but will move on to tell you about a different man named Chrys who works at the carry-out window in the restaurant on the first floor of the building I work in. Chrys recognizes my voice when I call, has "my usual" memorized and always winks and tells me he gave me some extra corn muffins when I pick up my order. Now you may think that this has more to do with the frequency of my ordering food from there than anything else, and you may be right...but all of that pales in comparison to the fact that what I really want to tell you about Chrys is: once I saw on a printout at the restaurant that his real name is Chrysanthemum.

The final story I would like to share is not about me, but I was a first hand witness to it, and it is much more interesting than any of the above stories about myself. Let me first give you a little bit of background about where I live. The street I live on is a dead end, but attracts a lot of traffic of foreign laborers because they can walk to the end of the street, through a grassy area and under the underpass of the freeway. On the other side of the freeway, there is a corner where these laborers gather and wait for people who have work that needs to be done to drive up honk, say how many workers they need, and then they hop in the van and go with them. It is pretty fascinating, in a scary Elizabeth-Smart-type way.

Anyway, one Saturday Roxy and I were going out for a little run (and by run we meant walk), and I was upstairs getting ready. Roxy decided to sit down on the front porch and wait for me, when a man, who I'm sure was headed for the underpass and had quite a bit of an alcoholic stench, stopped to talk to her. Roxy, being the extremely nice girl that she is, was carrying on a small conversation with him and getting a little antsy for me to hurry it up. In the meantime, I came down the stairs, looked through the glass door and saw Roxy sitting on the front porch with a man named Omar (he even spelled it out for her). I saw them, walked into the kitchen and said to Shotzy, "Who is Roxy talking to out there?" I could only see the back of him and didn't want to interrupt anything, even though Roxy was praying I would. Shotzy didn't know what I was talking about, so we headed through the doorway just in time to see Omar go in for a kiss. Roxy jumped to her feet, threw her hand out and yelled "NO!" in the way you are taught in a self-defense class, and then said "I have to be going in now." She came in to our shocked faces, and was a little annoyed, I'm sure, that we hadn't intervened before it got to that point. I'm glad that a few years later, the horror of it all has worn off enough that she can laugh about it with us, as hard as we laughed at that moment.

Let the Good Times Roll

Saturday after watching conference and sitting in Chipotle with Shotzy's brother for 2 hours of fascinating conversation regarding the Papal succession, killing a turkey by stirring its brains and why you should only buy a rabbit with the ears still on it in a meat market...and other delightsome topics, Shotzy, Wayne and I were looking for something fun to do. We decided everyone would say something right then and we all had to go and do all three things. I wanted to get some frozen custard, Wayne wanted to go to the Iwo Jima Memorial and Shotzy wanted to do some sort of scavenger hunt. We decided to head to Target---we each drew one of the other's names and had 20 minutes to find a specialized gift for $5 or less for that person and meet back at the door.

Wayne gave me an iTunes giftcard. You have no idea how excited I was, even though I own neither an iPod nor a computer. She got it for me so I could download "Let Your Love Flow" by the Bellamy Brothers, because I had heard it in the car on the way home from the movies Friday night and I got excited. Then Saturday, it came on the radio again on a completely different radio station. I mean, what are the chances?

We traded gifts, got some custard and then headed over to Iwo Jima in the rain. I happened to be wearing a jacket, formerly owned by Carly's father, that said England on it. After unsuccessfully taking a few pictures of ourselves, in my best British accent, I asked a nearby girl if she would take our picture. I don't know if the fact that she didn't understand me and just stared blankly and said, "What?" means I did a good or bad accent. I tried to repeat myself but by that point I was laughing a little and Wayne and Shotzy had already walked away (with the cameras) to hide their laughter.

She took our picture and we headed home to take more pictures and download iTunes. The saddest moment was when we realized that "Let Your Love Flow" was not available on iTunes---unless you wanted the Joan Baez version, which I did not. After the three of us sat around until about 2:30 a.m. (3:30 daylight time) previewing hundreds of songs...we finally made our first and only selection of the night for purchase: "Black or White" by Michael Jackson. After hours of listening and pondering, the only song we bought was in support of a child molester. But really, you may have forgotten just how good that song was. I know I had. I also learned that I have been singing 75% of the lyrics to it incorrectly for years.

AND, believe it or nor, I heard "Let Your Love Flow" AGAIN on the radio yesterday.

Weird Things I Say

10. "Pavlov's dogs." This phrase was more prevalent in my college years. For some reason, I liked to relate things to a Pavlovian response almost daily. "That is just like Pavlov's dogs."
9. "Never Say That Again." You are probably thinking that this is not that weird of a thing to say, but I like to say it with a dramatic tone, and after something has been said only once. Roxy: "Did you hear that the grocery store stopped carrying Little Debbie Chocolate Cupcakes?" Me: "Never say that again."
8. "Carp." Camelio Estevez is the originator of this word, but it is making it's way around. It started as a consistent IM typo of the word crap but is now intentionally used..."What the carp are you still doing at work?" "Where the carp have you been?" I guess it is becoming widespread though because Carly told me her mom used it when they were in the car the other day.
7. "Blego." I made up this word as a combo of blog ego. "Gosh, his/her blego is really getting out of hand."
6. "You can do it, Shannon Miller." My sisters and I used to conduct Olympic Gymnastics on the lawn and my stepmom was our coach. She would say in a loud German (I don't know why German) accent just before all of our cartwheels, "You can do it, Shannon Miller." Now whenever I need to give words of encouragement, I usually follow it up with a Shannon Miller.
5. "Gag Me With A Pitchfork." If something makes me sick, this is what I say. I don't know why.
4. "How am I doin'?" This is to the cadence and tone of Joey Tribiani's "How You Doin'?" but is altered for situations such as trying on something cute in a dressing room.
4.a. "How's he doin'?" Again like Joey...but for such situations as passing a handsome man on the road, or Matthew McConaughey coming onscreen, etc...
3. "Tight as Dick's hatband." All I know about this saying is my grandfather, my mom and I all say it. It comes from a John Wayne movie and surprisingly fits into a lot more conversation than you would think. "I ate too much Thanksgiving dinner and now my pants are as tight as Dick's hatband."
2. "I'm a poet. I didn't know it, but my feet they surely show it. They're Longfellows." My mom said this dumb poem when I was a little girl. I can't stop myself from carrying on the tradition and say it, without thinking, anytime Longfellow is mentioned or I accidentally rhyme.
1. "That makes me not be able to swallow." I know there are more concise ways to express this sentiment, but this wording is really the only one I consider to capture the proper essence of my emotion. It is generally said while holding the throat and attempting to swallow (It is reserved for situations worse than those where I would use #5.) "That 200 pound tumor with hair and teeth inside is making me not be able to swallow."

Trying to Get out of 10 Years of Curses

Today I received the most ridiculous chain letter e-mail forward I have ever seen. I won't bore you with the story, because it has to be the dumbest one ever, but my favorite parts of the email were the chain-letter instructions at the end. They were:


"I like you because of who you are to me...a true friend. And if I don't get this back, I'll take the hint.

Tonight at midnight your true love will realize they truly love you.

Something good will happen to you at 1:00-4:00pm tomorrow. It could be anywhere: AOL, yahoo, outside of work, anywhere.

Get ready for the biggest shock of your life.

Also if you break this chain letter you will be cursed with 10 problems for the next !ten years!

If you send it to 15 people in 15 min you are safe!"


Shoot! What was I thinking when I didn't forward it? Now my true love will not realize he loves me at midnight tonight nor will I get the biggest shock of my life tomorrow from 1-4 anywhere: on AOL or yahoo or anywhere else. Not to mention the curses.

What I really wonder is: who wrote this? and how does it keep getting forwarded? I guess I AM posting it on the internet. Perhaps it will get me out of my curses...this seems better than forwarding it. I can only hope.

A Few Unrelated Thoughts

Because I Loved the British version of The Office, I am a little skeptical that the American version is going to be as funny. But I'm willing to give it a shot. If you haven't seen the BBC version, check it out.

It's now the time of day when my boss usually takes a nap. But today, instead he came rushing into my office and said, "Do you have anything urgent for me?" When I answered that I didn't, he said he was going swimming and took off.

I won't be eating Wendy's chili anytime soon. Check out the video on that too, unless you're squeamish. Speaking of gross videos, I once saw a show about the world's largest tumor. It was 200 or so pounds I think and they found teeth and hair inside. The truth is I have it on tape. For some reason, when they said, "after the commercial break: the world's largest tumor," I felt compelled to pop in a tape and record it. I better look for that tonight, it has been a few years and I think it's time to bring it off the shelf again.

March MADness

It's 11:54 a.m. and I could really use a substantial meal right now---probably because I had basketball practice til almost 11 last night and now all I want is some heavy pasta. or a steak. or some steaky pasta.

I got checked into the Smackdown by my "coach" last night. I use that term loosely because, well, I don't really know how my teammate's boyfriend ended up as our coach. Last night he stopped play to come over to me in front of the team and say, "What happened on that, Marcy? Did you not play the release?" I was very polite to his condescending tone and told him I would do better next time. After this, he demonstrated to the team what I should have done.

In our game on Saturday, I was going for a rebound when a player from the opposing team practically ripped my arm off. The ref blew the whistle and he called it our ball. The arm ripper argued the call and said I touched the ball last, which is true. I did touch the ball last during the attempted arm-rip-off. The cowardly ref did not stand up to her and stick by his foul call, but looked at me and asked if I had touched the ball last. I looked at him in disbelief and finally said yes. Maybe you think I'm a coward like him for not standing up for myself there, but I'm just so tired of the attitudes and arguing that are going on in church basketball. This is not a serious league, people. We are just trying to have some fun here.

Anyway, I heard the arm-ripper tell the ref that she couldn't believe that I was being dishonest by not coming forth and admitting that I had been the last to touch the ball. Luckily, the ref then got annoyed with her and told her to lay off it. A couple of minutes after this small drama, I made a basket and she looked at me and said "Lucky." So after the game when she was trying to avoid me, I followed her so she had to say "Good game" to me. One of my teammates congratulated me on being such a good sport, but I told her that really my intentions were not good at all. The only reason I went over to the rude arm-ripper was because I could tell she was avoiding me, and I wanted to force her to say it. A fairly harmless revenge I think.

Name This Song

The first person to e-mail me (my address is on my profile page) with the correct title and artist of this song wins. GO:


"A schoolboy's dream, you act so shy. Your very first kiss was your first kiss goodbye."

"But When We Wake, It's All Been Erased"

Last night I dreamed that I went to the Academy Awards with Renee Zellweger. We were friends and she invited me to go with her. Oddly enough, in my dream, I looked better than her. But of course in my dream I was super skinny and had a great dress. It was black and pink and long and fitted with black ribbon-like spaghetti straps. Renee was wearing a frumpy outfit that made her look like a grandma. We pulled up to the awards in her RV and got out for the red carpet walk. But since I am not famous they made me walk out of the cameras’ view alongside the red carpet. I was particularly upset because I had just gotten off the phone with my mom telling her to turn on the TV and watch for me. At the end of the red carpet just before you went inside, there was a check-in table where all the stars signed this HUGE book; Debra Messing was there. I looked over, trying to see all the famous signatures. And what signature was the largest and went across both pages of the book? Merle Norman. Yes, founder of my grandmother’s make-up company. Once we got inside, Renee grabbed me and said, “Well, you really turned Bob Barker’s head.”

This was an odd dream considering I’m really not a big Renee Zellwegger fan. Why wasn’t I going with someone like Matthew McConaughey? I guess he would be going with his girlfriend Penelope Cruz, though. And Bob Barker? In my dreams, where I can be and look like anyone I want, I chose to look gorgeous for Bob Barker? Oh well, at least it wasn’t as scary as the dream I had recently where I was descending elevators through the building of Hell-- “Dante’s Inferno” style-- with large, super-fast, flesh-colored snakes chasing me or wrestling Grizzly bears in water.

Awww yeah...

Jimmie Johnson won yesterday. I wish I could have seen it. Instead I went to a brunch for the temple workers in our ward hosted by the co-chairs of the Temple Committee at the Tramp house. That's short for Trampoline House. It's one of those houses that a ridiculous number of guys live in and there is hardly any furniture except for a giant trampoline in the foyer, a Viagra clock and a stuffed (and by stuffed I'm talking taxidermy not toy) jackalope on the table where our food was laid out.

Friday night, Shotzy and I went to our ward variety show. Some of the acts were good and some were painful. I went with the goal of meeting some new people, but it was so warm in there, I couldn't get in the right frame of mind while hot and sticky. So we left. But only after I battled it out with the Bishop for the last bottled water. We got home where Shotzy popped in her new cd of Queen's Greatest Hits, a purchase inspired by the "I Want to Break Free" C2 Commercial. After we listened a couple of times, we got online and watched the commercial and then wanted to breakdance like they do in it. "How hard can it be?" we asked. We found out we were not strong enough to move our legs while standing on our hands. I actually can't even stand on my hands. We both tried to stand on our heads instead(we had to lift each other's legs up) and after about 2 seconds we were both crying, "I've got to come down. I've got to come down." Then Shotzy curled up in a ball on her back with her legs crossed in the air while I spun her around. We both tried the move where you have one leg outstretched and spin it around while jumping over it. Yeah, that didn't work either. What we need is an instructional video. I'll check online today.

In other good news, we won our basketball game on Saturday! Okay so it wasn't an "official" game and the other team only had 2 players show up...so we just split our team and had a scrimmage, but the team I was on did win so that was fun after our humiliating loss last week. And we had some nice guys from the ward who volunteered to show up at 9am to ref, one of whom used a whistle pop for a whistle. I came away with 8 points, 0 fouls (I think his whistle pop must not have been working very well), 1 cut on my left wrist, and 1 large bruise on my right arm. And speaking of basketball, March Madness is here! I'm excited to make my picks today and send them in to the annual pool.

Decisions, Decisions

Last week when I was in Utah, Kitty told me that my hair looked like Kirsten Dunst's at the Oscars. I only saw parts of the Oscars interspersed with episodes of Arrested Development: Season One, none of which included her. I do really like Kirsten Dunst though, so I was happy. This morning I looked through 31 pages of Oscar photos online looking for her before I stumbled onto this one. Try not to stare at orange Orlando and tell me what you think of her hair...I can't decide. I mean, I don't hate it, but I don't look at it and think "wow, I wish my hair looked like that" either. And frankly, I think that we all know that my at-home-haircut probably isn't as good as a star's, so maybe I need to rethink my current style. Anyway, it has been some food for thought for me today.
Speaking of the Oscars, my favorite part, of the parts I did see, was something that America had been wanting for a long time.. And that is--Salma and Penelope side by side. Finally! Having compared and contrasted, and as much as I wanted to choose curvy Salma, I have to say, I pick Penelope. And that is that. You?

How Can I Get in Great Shape by Saturday?

Highlights from my first basketball game in over 5 years:

1. Red Pants. This was my name on the court--given to me by the refs and the other team. "I'll guard red pants." "Watch out for red pants behind you." "Foul on red pants." "Foul #2 on red pants." "Foul #3 on red pants."...

2. Our team had never practiced together. Most of us hadn't played basketball in years, the rest had never played.

3. We played a team that plays together 3 times a week. They also have a college basketball player on their team.

4. We lost by 40 points.

5. I was so wasted after the 1st quarter, I almost threw up in the garbage can by the water fountain.

6. Since we had never practiced, the 15 minutes we had before the game was spent explaining the rules, positions, etc to those who had never played before.

7. We had a quick contest to see who could jump the highest on our team. I won and ran out to jump in the tip off. There I was standing in the center of the circle waiting to jump when they started the prayer. Because I hadn't been paying attention to everyone gathering around the circle for the prayer while I stood in the middle waiting to jump, I ended up standing with the other team for the prayer.

8. After the game, I couldn't talk or stop coughing like an old man. Apparently, playing really hard in a game after all these years gave me an immediate chest cold, which has yet to go away.

9. After having 3 fouls called on me in the first quarter, I took it down a notch and didn't get any for the rest of the game.

10. I did take the college basketball player to the floor over a rebound...luckily it was our turn for jumpball posession.

Lessons Learned:
Paula Abdul's Get Up and Dance Workout may not really work you out after all. I seriously knew I wasn't in good shape, but after Saturday (and the pain I am still in), I would say I'm in about 10-times-worse shape than I thought I was.

You can still have fun, even when it hurts and even when you lose by 40 points.

Question:
The excruciating pain that I inevitably face for all of our games on every Saturday for the next few weeks scares me to death...so how do you think I can get in great shape by Saturday?

More About Celebrity Men

Matthew McConaughey opened the NASCAR season at the Daytona 500 with "Gentlemen, start your engines" and he did a mighty fine job of it. He also said he was pulling for Jimmie Johnson, which really hauled my ashes over the state line and back. But my favorite Matthew McConaughey moment was a few years ago at the Grammys when he announced the performance of D'Angelo by putting his palms down on the podium and, leaning over into the microphone in a semi-standing push-up position (which I have seen him do on other awards shows), and said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, D (pause) Ange (pause) L(hold the L)o" in a way that can only be heard and not written (obviously as I have proven) in his charming Texas accent. Actually, I frequently mimic his "D'Angelo" whenever he comes onscreen. However, I am saddened by the fact that recently, everytime I have seen him, he looks stoned. He also seems to be growing into a cocky arrogance that is souring me to him a little, but not enough to take him off my celebrity boyfriends list yet (that is a little helpful hint to any of you who may not have taken my quiz in the previous post yet, you know who you are).

Another Quiz

This time it's about me.

Name This Song

The first to email me (see my profile page) with the correct answer wins:

"You're so fine, they'll never see ya leavin' by the back door."

Good Luck.

When I Come Around

Sometimes I am slow about coming around to things. Off the top of my head, here are a few things I didn't like at first:

1. Salsa. I wouldn't eat salsa until about 2 years ago. I still don't like to bite into big chunks, but I really enjoy salsa now, especially my roommate's homemade version.

2. Cameron. I feel I can say this because I really like Cameron now. However, in my blog beginning, I didn't know Cameron's sense of humor, or even who he was or how he had gotten to my blog...just that he was a stranger who had written a few comments along the lines of "Get a Life," probably not meant to be rude, but how was I to know when all I saw when I clicked on his name was a post about blogging on the toilet?

3. Maroon 5. I've had Songs About Jane for about a year. I got it when "This Love" was popular and really only listened to it and "Harder to Breathe" because sometimes I get impatient with CDs when I don't know the songs. I never gave it a chance, but recently Shotzy got the CD and started playing it. A LOT. Now I have it on in my car and am in the process of learning all the words to all the songs.

4. "Daughters" by John Mayer. I hated this song at first. Now, not only do I not change the station when it comes on, but I sing along.

5. Country Music. I have discussed this in a previous post.

6. Hitch. Okay, so I actually haven't seen it yet. But I really want to. When I saw the preview for the first time, I thought, "I never want to see that." Now I'm totally sucked in and think it looks funny. Sometimes it just takes a little repetition to change my mind.

A Valentine Blog

I wanted to write a Valentine blog like Carly’s, but when I tried I realized it wasn’t as funny when you are not married. So here are some of my random Valentine ramblings...

Why are diamond heart pendants the only gift ever advertised on Valentine’s Day?

I hate when people say Singles' Awareness Day. Or when people are bitter about it. Or when girls w/o boyfriends feel like they all have to go out together that night. I would rather stay home and eat my mini-valentine cake while watching my boyfriend Kiefer Sutherland on 24.

I hate the commercial where the lady says she would rather receive a Hershey bar than flowers. What? Does anyone believe that?

I love Valentine’s Day, whether or not anything special happens. I’ve faced the fact that on the Valentine’s Days when I don’t have a boyfriend, nothing big is going to happen. Do people really make declarations or go out on a limb on Valentine's Day if they are not already attached?? Well, I guess some people do, but I’ve never had any sort of declaration or surprise on Valentine’s Day...except in 9th grade when I got some flowers at school from a secret admirer. I ended up doing some serious detective work and tracked down the party responsible for sending them: my mom.

Three years ago, I sent out an anonymous secret admirer Valentine. I will never do this again, because I think it’s just rude to do that if you are NEVER going to reveal yourself, which I, of course, didn’t. Sorry, HB.

It may be cheesey, but I love the candies, the hearts, the cards, the cupids, the reds, the pinks—it’s just fun. What’s better than a holiday about love? Happy Valentine’s Day!

Weekend Update

1. I always end up in huge conversations with other people waiting in the lobby, whenever I get the oil changed in my car. This doesn’t really happen to me in a lot of places, but ALWAYS at the Autostop. Everyone there is just so friendly. On Friday, I was having a lovely chat with a man and a woman about sharks and stiletto heels. The woman was black and I felt compelled to let her know I was reading Beloved by Toni Morrison, I’m not sure why. I pulled it out of my purse and she commented. Ding Ding. Just what I wanted.

2. Friday night I went to a Napoleon Dynamite party. There were people in costumes and we were served school lunch. On trays. Hot dogs, tater tots, green beans, peaches. There was a piñata. And we watched the movie. It was funny. They also passed around plates of tater tots and chips with melted cheese during the movie.

3. A friend thought the guy sitting in front of us was dressed up as Uncle Rico. But we found out he had never even seen the movie.

4. Did you know the lady that rides up to uncle Rico on her bike at the end is Kip’s wife in real life?

5. Did you know that my freshman year at BYU, Napoleon was a freshman too and would run around Helaman Halls with his twin brother and friend dressed in tights, speedos, t-shirts and goggles and squirt any couples with water guns? Then they would hand them a card that said, “You’ve been attacked by Fast Eddie and the Twins” and run off.

6. We got some candy from the piñata, which ended up in a sucker fight at my house after the party. As Emily drove away, Shotzy and I threw suckers at her car. She didn’t really leave but circled the block and parked and came back on foot. It was funny to see her head pop around the bushes at midnight as part of our candy war.

7. Two Saturdays this month I have ended up at the Bailey’s Crossroads DSW because I really need some black heels. I haven’t found any either time, but both times I have had to fight off my strong desire to go into CiCi’s Pizza and have the all-you-can-eat buffet for 3.99. The pizza is not even that good, but the smell starts to lure me in…but then I get too embarrassed to go in alone to the buffet.

8. Only after entering the 6th dressing room at TJMaxx (the number it took for me to find one where the door actually closed) and trying on a suit, did I realize I had already tried that exact suit on two weeks before and it didn’t look good then either.

9. I also tried on a dress that would only look good on someone the size of Kate Hudson or if I were looking for a Daisy Buchanan costume.

10. The friendly produce stocker at the grocery store was whistling the theme from The Andy Griffith Show, which for some reason, I know is called “The Fishin’ Hole.”

11. Commercials on the Sci-Fi channel, for the Sci-Fi Channel, are F-R-E-A-K-Y.

12. At the end of Relief Society yesterday, we were told to go into the gym because there was a surprise from the Elders Quorum. We went in and they had different Valentine’s cakes and were serving us. I thought it was so thoughtful and nice, except for the guy who came up to give me a piece shoved it at me and said, “Cake?” in a tone that showed he was annoyed. Anyway, I am grateful that the EQ in general made an effort to do something nice for us, even if I did get a bad delivery. It reminded me of a few years ago, when the EQ came into our classes and gave us each a rose. I was the last person on the end of the back row and when the man got to me he had 3 roses left: 2 bright, big beautiful ones and one small bud. He gave me the bud and walked away. Ahhh. Singles Wards.

13. What was that J.Lo-Marc Anthony broadway song/Spanish soap opera number on the Grammys?

14. Shotzy asked me what my level of attraction to Adam Levine of Maroon 5 was. I replied with an 8, but immediately apologized for it. I felt like I had to, because she has had boyfriend claim on him for awhile.

15. Today I am dressed like a Valentine Lollipop.

The New Lucy

Recently I've read several articles mentioning a comparison of Jennifer Aniston's comedic timing to that of Lucille Ball. I disagree. First of all, I will say that I do love Lucy. Perhaps it isn't the funniest show on earth and sometimes she gets on my nerves, but I grew up watching Lucy reruns and think there is something to be said for her and her comedy. She was a breakthrough in the world of "girls being funny," and that is something I can get behind.

I would like to put forth my opinion that Debra Messing is the New Lucille Ball, and not just because of the redhead thing. Watch her. She is funny. She IS like Lucy.

I do not, however, want this post to be considered as a promotion for The Wedding Date. As a matter of fact, I would recommend not seeing it. I didn't expect a lot out of it, just for it to be a cute little love story as most chick flicks are. It is basically a reverse Pretty Woman that has no continuity. I found myself continually asking, "What?" because things were so choppy and the story was unappealing and ridiculous. The only things it had going for it were 1) London, 2) Debra's character's suitcases 3) beautiful clothes & scenery and 4) Dermot Mulroney, who can't even act but is just so pretty.

Anyway, like I said, don't waste your time. But I still love Debra.

Geography Quiz

Here's a fun little test.

A Few Ridiculous Things that I (and the Virginia House of Delegates) Have Been Up To:

1. Saturday I bought Paula Abdul’s Get Up and Dance WorkoutVideo. Yes, the one from 1994. Schatze asked me if it was in the One Spot at Target for $1. Oh no, I paid full price for it. I told Carly yesterday that I bought it and she told me she had it. I felt better for a minute until I realized that she probably bought it when it came out 11 years ago and she was 15 years old. Anyway, I did it last night and I thought it was fun. I was however disappointed that only the warm-up and cool-down portions were done to Paula Abdul songs and the main “routine” segment wasn’t. AND not even once did I hear part of “Cold Hearted Snake.”
2. Last night I watched 7th Heaven. I kept hearing ads for it on the radio yesterday saying “Lucy goes on her first date.” It’s embarrassing to say that I know which girl is Lucy and that she is married and recently had a baby on the show, so I was perplexed. It turns out it was RUTHIE having her first date. What was odd was that the boy she was going out with may have had more makeup on than she did. I also am disturbed by the fact that the twin boys in the family, who are probably about 7 years old, still talk like 3 year olds. I think they are still going for the “cute little kid” element, but hopefully they will soon be replaced by Lucy’s new baby. You can’t keep dragging it out once they get too big. I think we all learned this lesson with the introduction of Olivia when Rudy Huxtable got too old.
3. I wish I could go home and change clothes. I would be dressed appropriately right now, if I were 17 or going ice skating. My pale pink quilted jacket paired with pink sparkly eye shadow just aren’t going to cut it. But I have learned my lesson and will reserve this outfit for winter fun or going to the mall with my little sisters in the future.
4. Today the Virginia House of Delegates will vote on what has become known as the “Thong Bill.” Apparently it could soon be illegal in Virginia to sag your pants.

Please never call me a man’s name.

I have 2 names. Even though Marcy is just a nickname, it has been around long enough, and I’m called Marcy by enough people, that I consider it, well not the same as my real name, but close. The problem lies in shortening it, which often happens. Well, I guess just shortening it in writing is the problem. For example, shorten Marcy to one syllable in your mind, sans the –ee sound at the end. Now think about how you would spell it. When you see Marc, you want to say Mark. And when you see Mars, you say Marz. I could spell it Marss, I guess, but that looks weird and still doesn’t necessarily get the point across. Plus, I generally don’t write it-- it’s usually other peeps writing to me, for example in an email that says, “Hey Marc, how’s your day?”
Oh well. What’s a girl to do?

So my real name is Melissa and I feel like most of you know that. And if not, you obviously haven’t clicked on my e-mail address on my profile page. There are several nicknames for Melissa and I have been called all of them.

Missy: My family calls me this and I like it fine. I think it is sweet. I am not the kind of girl who would ever go by Missy though.

Melis: I like this one also. I guess I just like nicknames in general, unless they are masculine.

Ed and Amy in my office are always calling me Melis. My boss has never used it, but obviously he has heard everyone else using it. Amy told me that once she was in with our boss when he was on the phone. He told the woman on the phone that she needed to contact me, and said to her, “Oh, you need to talk with Melissa in our office about that. Just give her a call. Actually, she goes by Melis. That’s M-E-L-I-S…”

Mel: I hate this one. I think it has to do with the masculine nature of the word, similar to Marc. The only person who has ever called me Mel when I didn’t cringe was Rudy. And that was years ago, and he was handsome and from the Dominican Republic. So unless you fit those criteria, please refrain.

That reminds me of a wooden carving my grandparents used to have hanging in their kitchen. I remember when I was really young, maybe 5 or 6, always reading it and trying to figure out what it meant. It said, “If you don’t like someone, the way he holds his spoon will drive you crazy. If you do like him, he can dump his plate in your lap and you won’t mind.” I remember asking my dad what it meant, and he explained it to me. But I didn’t truly understand until years later.

During that time I was home schooled, just for a about a year and a half, then I went to public school, then a Catholic school, then back to a public school. Anyway, the other day I stumbled on a blog by a homeschooler, “My life as a Teenage Partial Insomniac” by a 14-year-old in Missouri. In my tradition of bookmarking teenage blogs, I did so. What I found so strange is, only after reading this blog for over a month, did I realize I had been mistaken the entire time in thinking it was a boy writing it. It disturbed me that I had made this huge mistake and I wanted to go back and re-read all her blogs and see if I had missed any major clues about her gender.

Speaking of teenage blogs, I was sad to see today that The Alex Morrisse has decided not to blog anymore.

Will you meet me in the middle?

My goal today is to learn all the words to “Sister Golden Hair.” After a failed attempt at getting to Mario’s for pizza last night, I ended up at the Silver Diner. They have those little jukeboxes on the table and I knew what I was going to select the minute I started flipping through the song charts.

Whenever I hear “Sister Golden Hair,” I immediately reach for the volume and turn it up. For me it’s one of those songs that I really like, but don’t own or hear enough to get sick of it. And I’m sure that part of my love for the song has to do with the fact that America is singing about golden hair, the same way I love a certain song with my name in it by the Allman Brothers, even though I consider it a little boring.

Anyway, question about the song: what is the surprise part all about? The name of the song is “Sister Golden Hair,” not “Sister Golden Hair Surprise,” so is the surprise still referring to her? Or is surprise an interjection? “Well, I keep on thinking ‘bout you, Sister Golden Hair. Surprise! And I just can’t live without you, can’t you see it in my eyes?” Did they just add surprise to rhyme with eyes? I don’t get it.

So, my two goals of the day are: 1. Memorize all the words and 2. Figure out if he is calling her “Sister Golden Hair Surprise,” or if he is saying “Surprise! I think about you all the time and I can’t live without you.”

I was also told this morning that it is not cool to like America, but I don’t care. I am going to continue to love this song and turn it up really, really loud in my car. Schatze had been holding out on me that she had this CD and so when we got home from the diner, she dug it out of her closet and we listened to it again. I borrowed it and couldn’t wait to get up and listen to it this morning. I am a nerd like that, but I had to get an early start to memorizing all the lyrics today. I even had a hard time turning on my hair dryer while it was playing.

Also, on our way home from the diner, as I turned on to our street, “Stacie’s Mom” by Fountains of Wayne came on the radio. I don’t love this song or anything but we always have to listen to it because our roommate is named Stacie and, to her dismay, we call her Wayne. So of course, when this song came out we couldn’t believe the coincidence. As I parked my car on the street, I turned it off so it was just on the battery so we could listen to the rest of the song because Schatze was singing the main parts that drag out the last word like “give me the sli-i-i-i-ip.” Then I would sing the back up echo at the end of the line. While we were sitting there a black cat came walking down the sidewalk towards us and we were just singing and watching it when suddenly Schatze, trying to scare the cat, jumped toward the window and started banging on it, actually scaring me way more than the cat.

Give a Little Bit of your [blog] Love to her...

Please welcome my friend Katie Blue into our circle of blog friends. She is a newcomer to blogging and is a funny, funny girl.

My Mom Phil

My mom is a high school history teacher. Depending on the semester, she generally teaches AP or regular American History, World History or Contemporary Issues. This semester she has a student teacher. I love it when my mom calls to tell me what the student teacher has been up to. I don't know where she went to college or why she thinks she is qualified to teach American History.

First, she asked my mom, "What was the Cold War again?"
Then a few days later, after my mom had to tell her it was the Civil War that Reconstruction followed, she told my mom her plan to explain Reconstruction. "I'll just tell them if they want to know what the South looked like after the Civil War, to just look at the wall over there." After my mom asked her what in the world she was talking about, she replied that, well, that wall is pretty blank.

My mom is obviously a little worried about the fact that her student teacher wants to make the students look at a blank wall and other things that don't make sense. And while my mom appreciates the time she puts into detail and to coming up with creative ideas, we both agree that her time would be better spent actually learning the information she is going to teach instead of on her upcoming class lecture project: "Reconstruction: Extreme Home Makeover of the South."

I wish I had been in my mom's history class. She is one smart cookie and is funny to boot. Her students call her Phil instead of Ms. Phillips. And she called one of her former students by her street name "Snake."

When I was at home for Christmas, I saw one of her student's school pictures on the fridge and I asked who it was. She said it was one of her aides who sometimes babysits my little brother. A few weeks later, she called me one day at work during her planning period. I heard someone in the background come in and say to my mom, "You're talking too loud." I asked her who had said that and she replied, "Just a student. Oh, you know that girl whose picture you were asking about." Then I heard her turn to the girl who had been standing there the whole time listening and tell her that I had said, "Oh, the ugly one?" I started cracking up and she told the girl she was just kidding.

Also, who else has a picture of John Wayne in their American History classroom? I never did.

A couple of years ago, she sent copies of her American History Final as well as her Constitution test for my roommates, hometeachers and me. It turned into a little competition and was a lot of fun.

Despite the fact that I really liked my high school American History teacher Mrs. Little (she still emails me sometimes), I think it would have been a blast to have witnessed the antics that I'm sure go down in my mom's classroom.

A Boring Blog - Sorry.

I already subscribe to more magazines than I can read. It must be the new thing in the Tennessee schools to sell magazine subscriptions for fundraisers because suddenly I am getting requests from family members monthly.

First of all, I have already been getting Elle and Real Simple to help support Mothers Against Drunk Driving. Then I got my first fundraising magazine drive letter from my cousin Reed back in November. I thought about selecting a magazine for someone as a Christmas gift, but then I couldn't find just the right thing and I didn't want to settle for giving someone a Christmas gift he/she might not want, just to support my cousin. So I ordered the cheapest magazine that I found interesting: Conde Nast Traveler. The following month I received a fundraiser magazine drive letter from my little sister. Luckily my roommate wanted to order The Economist and so I signed her up for a discounted version via my sis. Plus, I felt great about it because it was the most expensive magazine listed and so a bigger donation was made than if I had ordered anything. Then yesterday, I got ANOTHER fundraising magazine drive letter from cousin Jeffrey.

My options are:
1. throw away the letter.
2. order another magazine that I won't have time to read.
3. give a gift subscription to someone. One of my sisters is having her 25th birthday next week. That is an option, but my guess is she's getting the same magazine fundraising letters I am.

Any other ideas?

Have any of you been watching SuperNanny? Well, I never had until last night. All night I felt so tired and couldn't wait to go to bed. But then after 24 was over, Shotzy was going to crack my back and when she was done I was so sucked in to SuperNanny that I stayed up later than I had intended to finish the episode. I did learn a lot though.