Family Portrait

We give new meaning to the term "Sister Wives"

Entertainment

I know you all missed me. Terribly. My grandma has taken a turn for poor health. I don’t know why older people do that. But they do. Punks. So I have spent lots of time before work (and  during work) and also after work hanging out with her and making sure she has what she needs.  And I have also been getting a lot of good entertainment. 

Yesterday I went over to her house wearing some pants I haven’t worn for a while because they were a little… ahem… snug. I asked her if they looked ok. Of course she said they did, because hey, what else would she say? She's my nice sweet grandma. We went on with whatever we were doing. 9:00 rolled around so I said goodbye and started to leave.

 I was halfway through the kitchen when she called, “Hey!” 

So I spun around. “Yes?”

“You have a cute bum!”

LOTS of good entertainment :)

You'll Shoot Your Eye Out

Ralphie as Adult: Round One was over. heh heh. Parents one, kids, zip. I could feel the Christmas noose beginning to tighten. Maybe, what happened next, was inevitable.
Mother: Ralphie, what would you like for Christmas?
Ralphie as Adult: Horrified, I heard myself blurt it out!
Ralphie as Child: I want a Red Ryder carbine action two-hundred shot range model air rifle. Oooooooh!
Mother: No, you'll shoot your eye out.
Ralphie as Adult: Oh no! It was a classic, mother BB-gun block. "You'll shoot your eye out!" That deadly phrase honored many times by hundreds of mothers was not surmountable by any means known to Kid-dom, but such as my mania, my desire for a Red Ryder carbine, that I immediately began to rebuild the dike.

A Christmas Story: imdb.com

Christmas 2010 was magical. I got one of the best gifts I have ever received. In Relief Society the Sunday after, they asked us to stand up and tell everyone what our favorite gift we received was. Mine was by far the best that was shared: A 75^th anniversary edition Red Ryder BB Gun.  I just love it so much. We have had a lot of good road trips and lots of fun in the back yard. 

Monday was Labor Day so a few of my friends and I decided we wanted to be Americans. We made homemade pizza (what’s more American than pizza?!), apple pie, and shot bb guns. We were shooting there in the back yard for a while, two at a time since we had two guns. I’m not going to lie. I’m a pretty good shot. I hit one of the targets hanging in the tree and then heard the neighbor to the back say “HEY!” I put the safety on mine and ran inside. I don’t know who had the other one, but they all got in the house – fast. We were almost out of bbs anyway. 

I went home and started reloading the guns in the family room as my mom was watching Yard Crashers.  She just loves that HGTV. 

I reached down to put the safety on the gun I hadn’t been shooting. The butt of the gun was down toward my feet and the barrel was about an inch from my shoulder. As I reached for the safety, I hit the trigger instead.

“Peee-ew!”

I had shot myself. In the shoulder. Idiot.

It didn’t even hurt really. It kinda felt like I got stabbed a little. But it didn’t even break the skin. My mom didn’t even know it had happened until I couldn’t stifle my laugh anymore. She was just glad I hadn’t shot my eye out. Now it just feels like I got a tetanus shot. In the front of my shoulder rather than the side. Hurty. But just a little bit hurty. 

So dadgummit, now I am going to take that gun safety class sooner than later.

Shopping carts

Imagine that went to Target the other night with your little brother to get the 5^th season of Psych. You just LOVE Psych. While you’re driving, he asks if there is a lot of dirt in the air. 

You haven’t noticed but then you see a huge dust devil cross the street in front of you. There isn’t even a crosswalk! Yes, there is a lot of dirt in the air. And then you notice just how windy it is. It’s a dang hurricane, practically! 

You turn in on Target street and see some poor sucker pulled over by a copper. You feel kinda bad for the po po for a split second because leaves are flyin around hitting him in the head and big, fat raindrops are pelting his blues (which is short for blue uniform) but then you think he is a real schmuck for pulling that sucker over.

You pull into the parking lot, just by Café Rio, when you see a man who appears to be in his mid-fifties with his arms loaded down with several Target bags staring in horror as his cart starts rolling away from him. 

You stop short to see what will unfold. The wind rockets his cart past the stop sign and into the street. It’s on course to hit the curb when suddenly, for no reason at all, it makes a 45 degree turn and heads straight for the car that was pulled over. 

The poor man who lost his cart widens his eyes to the size of dinner plates. 

You and your brother stare in silence as the cart crashes right into the poor sucker’s car and bounces away and onto its side. And then you lose it. 

You turn back to the bag-laden man. He lifts his shoulders in disbelief and can’t stop staring. 

You still can’t drive and tears are streaming down your face. It’s just too much like a movie! 

The bag man lets his bags drop to his sides and turns back to his car. There’s nothing for him to do now but leave.

Cars vs. Elephants

I had text message conversation this morning with a guy I know. We aren’t super tight. We haven’t even hung out. But yesterday he grabbed my arm. He started squeezing it. I looked at him and said, “Are you feeling my muscles?” He said he was.  I squirmed away muttering something like, “I haven’t worked out in a long time.” It really made me laugh. Here’s the exchange from today:

Guy: How much do you weigh?

Me: Why would I tell you that?!

Guy: Just answer.

Me: No way, Jose. Why would you ask that?

Guy: Just cuz. You’re like, way strong.

Me: Well, if I was like 90 pounds I would gladly tell you. But I have what I’ll call an “athletic” build and I definitely don’t weigh 90 pounds.

Guy: You can sugarcoat it all day long. I’m pretty sure you’re over 150 so there’s no hiding it.

Me: (I know I can’t really hide my weight. And I have always been one of the “strong” girls meaning I have never been dainty or slender, and… that I could beat the crap out of all the other girls if I had an aggressive tendency, which, fortunately, I don’t. I’m more of a squirrel retreating from any sign of danger.  I feel like I look like a buffalo wallow woman, or an Amazonian , and there is just no hiding that. Not even with long sleeved shirts, which I was wearing yesterday. Darn him for touching me).

Me: I know. “Athletic” is sugarcoating it.

Guy: How much? (Throws out a number)

Me: I’m never telling!

Guy: I'll keep going up if you don’t spit it out.

Me: Whatever. You should know girls never like that question. I won’t tell.

I know you guys are all gasping in horror. You just have to know this kid. You never have to wonder what he is thinking (obviously) or where you stand with him because he’ll just tell you. He pretty much guessed my weight on the dot. Which is pretty annoying. How do people do that? I mean,  I have absolutely no concept of what things weigh. And I don’t really care as long as I can lift it outta my way. How much does a car weigh? Probably like 500 pounds. Cuz I can’t lift it. How much does an elephant weigh? Probably like 600 pounds. Because it probably weighs a little more than a car. No concept. No concept at all.

Questions

Sometimes I feel like a total lame-o. It mostly comes out when I am meeting new people. This is how it usually goes.

1. So are you in school… do you work? Oh, I graduated three years ago from BYU. I just work now. (I’m flattered they think I’m young enough to be getting my bachelor’s since that is what people mean when they ask if you are in school).
2. So what did you study? Um, I got a BA in Linguistics.
3. What is THAT? It’s the study of the different components of language. Like, syntax, phonology, phonetics, morphology. Stuff like that.
4. What do you DO with it? Go to more school.
5. So, what do you do for work? Oh, I surf the internet, cruise around facebook, and go online window shopping. I also answer the occasional phone call.
6. Well that’s cool. So, do you live by yourself… or with roommates? I live with my parents.
7. Wait, how old are you? I’m almost 28.
8. Oh. Ok. So, are you dating anybody? Well… no.  And then I try to dress it up with something like, “my nephews are the most important men in my life.”

People! These are not good questions to ask! Good questions go something like this:

1. When was the last time you went skydiving?
2. Where did you take your last trip?
3. Would you rather have locked knees or locked elbows for the rest of your life?
4. Have you ever been attacked by a bear?

Things like that get you to really talk. And then the person answering doesn’t feel like a total loser.  I do have one really good thing going for me: at least I’m not dating the renaissance pokemon master. But who ever asks that?

Breaking Up

What's worse than breaking up with someone you have been dating, I ask you? Having to break up with someone you WEREN"T EVEN DATING!

Walmart and Biker Dudes

The funniest things seem to happen to me, I mean you, at Walmart.

Imagine you go with your mom to Walmart to pick up some last minute things before you head up to girls camp. You tell her you need to go to the men's hat section to get a hat big enough to fit on your huge noggin. She says she'll be in the food section.

You find the hats. They are all for sports teams. You don't know anything about sports teams. Why would any team pick a pair of socks to be their mascot anyway? You stand there trying to find something that won't make you look like too much of a poser.

A short, stalky, bald biker looking dude with a long gnarly goatee comes up to the side of you.

He says, "The first thought that came to my mind was, 'this must be where all the beautiful people come.'"

You think to yourself, "Yes. They come to Walmart." But you say out loud, "Yep! They hang out in the men's hat section!"

He continues walking away and turns back flashing you a sly smile.

That was weird. You continue in your shopping. About five minutes pass by and you STILL haven't been able to make a decision.

The short, stalky, bald biker looking dude with the long gnarly goatee emerges from the mens socks aisle.

"I missed you," he says, barely above a whisper.

He melts back into the aisle.

"Mother!" you shriek in your mind and take off running. Seriously. You were running.

Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus

Imagine you are at a Salt Lake Bees game last night. You end up sitting by a boy who has some developmental problems. He’s hilarious. He keeps screaming, “Getcher head in the game!” and “Come on!” He knows more about the sport than you do.

He has a habit of telling every girl he talks to that she looks like Hannah Montana if she is blonde. Or she looks like Miley Cyrus if she is brunette. 

You are a brunette, so he tells you that you would have the best of both worlds if you had a blonde wig, because then you could look like them both. 

You don’t really like Miley Cyrus. She is a little crazy these days. So you tell him that you don’t look like her at all. You just look like yourself. 

He responds, “You are right. You look just like yourself. And you have the right to remain FOXY!”

RIP Mailbox. You have been good to us.

Imagine your house has a three car wide driveway. Your mom’s car is parked in the center spot. You have a cute happy-go-lucky little 16-year-old sister who is glad as can be to have her driver’s license. She is extremely responsible, so your mom trusts her with her car.

Your dad pulls up in his ginormous truck while she is trying to pull out. 

Really, his truck is ginormous. And it’s blocking her vision.

She backs out and finds that the mailbox is somehow underneath the car and she is on the mow strip.

How did that even happen?

The mailbox lays there for a few days. But the best part is, the mail man keeps delivering your mail. 

What a guy.

Dancing Bananas

I have had a request to post a certain story. Here goes. 

Imagine you are in your second semester of your freshman year of college. You go to a university that has 1.3 million students and about 10 parking spaces for said students. So you start your classes as early as possible so you can get a prime parking spot. Like 7.30. Yes. You ARE a smart freshman. After too many months of perfect attendance, you decide to skip your 7.30 math class so you won’t have to be on campus till 9.00. What you don’t realize is that EVERYONE thinks starting class at 9.00 is a good idea. You are no longer feeling like a smart freshman. You get off the freeway exit to find a gi-normous line of stop-and-crawl traffic. The roads are a little slick from the dust storms and rain the night before.

Your anxiety concerning being late starts making your stomach as tight as it’s ever been. At this rate, you are going to be late to class but you will have the buffest abs of your life. You finally reach a little shopping mall that means you are just about there. Traffic picks up. Your stomach relaxes a little. 

And there you see them: two dancing bananas standing on the side of the road just before the traffic light. 

You can’t peel your eyes off of them. They are just too weird. Dancing bananas? You let out a guffaw. 

You turn back to traffic.

But it’s too late. 

You slam on your brakes, but the road is slick and you were looking at the bananas for too long. Your car is a crumpled mess but still drive-able. You pull off to a side street where a young college student jumps out, takes a look at her bumper and says, “Wow, it didn’t do anything to my car! But let me get your information just in case. I have to go to class, I can’t miss it!” 

You give her your info and she takes off. You stare at your car in disbelief. The hood is crunched up to where you can’t see over the top. The headlights have popped out and are swinging sadly off to the sides. You definitely are going to miss class now.

You have to get home. So you unlatch the hood and flatten it out as best as you can. The lights are gonna have to hang out where they’re at. The 1.3 million students are all heading toward the school. But traffic going the other direction is clear. 

You start driving along and come to the first stop light. 

As soon as you stop, the hood flies up. 

You turn to the facing traffic and see fingers pointing straight at you and hear loud ringing laughter. 

Yep, that really just happened.

Your ingenuity comes up with a solution to the problem. You take the drawstring of your hoodie and tie the hood down to the latch.

You make it home without further incident.  

Turns out, your car is totaled.

You decide you really don’t care much for bananas.

Update on the Snickers

So, remember the Snickers you ate yesterday? Well you go home and tell your mom that someone has been going through the fridge and eating half of her candy bars.

She looks at you and laughs.

"Where did you get it?" she asks, still giggling.

"In the fridge outside," you reply.

"Well, after the quad-stake Olympics on Saturday I went around and gathered the extra candy and snacks and that must have been in the bag."

You don't know who ate the other half of your Snickers, but that doesn't disappoint you as much as feeling like you got punked by getting a bite sized Snickers.

Snickers

Imagine you are running late for work.

You rummage through the fridge to find something easy.

You grab a Snickers.

You get to work.

11:45 rolls around.

You get hungry. Why wait?

So you grab your Snickers.

Only to find out that it was already half eaten.

What was supposed to be your full size candy bar is now bite sized.

...And you're still hungry.

The Renaissance Pokemon Master

Ok, imagine you get set up on another date. He gets your number from a source that will remain nameless. He calls you that afternoon. You chat for a bit and let him know you are leaving for Mexico on Friday. He asks if you can go out on Thursday night. You say, “Sure.” He adds you to facebook that day. This is all going very fast. 

Thursday rolls around. He picks you up. “He seems very nice,” you think to yourself. You start chit chatting, when he reveals that he has some really interesting hobbies. “Ok,” you think to yourself, “I’ll bite.”  

“What are your hobbies?”

“Well, I make chainmail.”

Instantly, the image of chain mail letters you get in your inbox from your 10 year old sisters saying that if you break the chain, you will be cursed with seven years of bad luck pops into your head.

“What exactly is chain mail?”

He whips something out of his pocket. A key chain he made. “You know that chain armor knights used to wear? That’s chain mail.”

“Oh, how very interesting,” you say.

He gives you a not so quick run-down (he’s a chatter box) on what is involved in making a shirt, for instance. Apparently it’s not very expensive, but very time intensive. You’ve got to hand it to him. It is an interesting hobby, who else do you know that makes chain mail? No one.

He then starts telling you about how he likes to wear the shirt he has made to Ren Fests. You quickly deduce that Ren Fests are Renaissance Festivals. Yes, he is one of those running around campus wielding a sword and speaking in gothic letters. 

You say, “I like four wheeling.”

You get to the bowling alley. You cream him. But you couldn’t help it. He wasn’t very good and last year you were very seriously considering buying your own pair of bowling shoes to make your weekly outing more affordable. 

He wants to go for ice cream. So you drive down State Street looking for a place to stop. He spots a Costco(never mind the Coldstone across the street. Not to be high maintenance or anything. But Costco?). You get some ice cream and get on the subject of your favorite job.

He chimes in, surprise. “My favorite job was when I was 15. I worked at a game shop. But since I wasn’t 16 they wouldn’t let me work the registers. So basically, I got paid to learn how to play the games and teach them to patrons. I loved it! But the best part was this: This was during the Pokemon craze. Every authorized Pokemon dealer had to have a Pokemon Master. And I got to be the Pokemon Master. “

Mondays

Imagine you really want to leave work. You have 20 minutes left. You really really really want to leave. But you have to stay. It kinda sucks.

Mother's Day

Today I want you to imagine you were asked to speak in your parents' ward in honor of Mother's Day. They moved into the ward while you were in college, so you don't really know people there, though you have met several of them at various activities you have participated in. Your mom is the Young Women's president, and a real fixture in the ward. She has given many lessons and has had many, many meetings. Therefore, you know your status as a single is known amongst the members of the ward.

You start your talk.

"Good morning..." Your stomache feels like you are jumping on a really bouncy trampoline.

Then you launch into it. You explain that buying gifts for your mom is really hard for you. If she says she likes something, you file it away as a good gift idea, but the next thing you know she is strutting around the house wearing it, or serving food out of it, or whatever.

So you say this year you have a really good gift for her.

It's something she has wanted for several years.

She prays for it every day.

And she would be getting her spare bedroom back.

You look straight at your mom in the congregation and say, "Mom, I'm engaged."

She sits there stunned for a second. Her jaw drops.

The congregation gasps in delight.

And then you say, "Just kidding. I'm not. You know I'm not. I'm not even dating anyone. But happy mother's day."

Ok, stepping out of the scenario, it was a riot. Seriously. You should have heard the bishopric behind me, "Did you see the look on Malia's face?!" It was classic. I wish you all could have been there. Happy Mother's Day!