My Nightmare Before Christmas.

I'm a large six months pregnant, attempting to keep the peace between two highly charged girls, while trying to maintain a chipper holiday spirit, while adjusting to my new church calling, while struggling to keep the dishes and laundry in check. Unfortunately, I have the energy level of a three-towed sloth and find myself unable to accomplish any save one of the afore mentioned items. I'm still a large six months pregnant. So, no neighbor gifts or Christmas cards this year. Potty training has been indefinitely postponed. And as for that chipper holiday spirit? Well, "chipper" isn't exactly in the cards. "Mildly contented holiday spirit" more like.
Still, as mildly contented as I am this year, it sure beats the pants off of last year. Last year was nothing short of a nightmare. Are you ready for this? I call it "Merry Christmas 2007."

First there was Brooklyn's notorious ballet recital. She was supposed to be a doll in a high school rendition of the Nutcracker's Suit. Dressed rehearsal went well, except for having Andy's car towed from the gas station in the middle of a snow storm. That didn't go well at all. Two-hundred dollars and countless frustrations later we got our car back. Merry Christmas douche tow-truck driver. On the night of Brooklyn's first performance she wandered out on stage in the middle of Act I, but was conspicuously absent from her own dance in Act II. That is, until she made her debut clinging desperately to her teacher's leg, screaming like a nazgul while all the other dancers and audience watched in nutcrackery silence. Brooklyn refused to go to her second performance, and the next day developed an eye infection. Merry Christmas lil' nutcracker.
One morning I woke up to about a dozen baby spiders crawling on and dangling from our family room ceiling. Our Christmas tree was infested with them. I hate spiders. Merry Christmas exterminator. That next weekend was Brook's Joy School Christmas party, where she would be playing the part of Mary in their little six-child production. Thirty minutes 'til go-time a massive tantrum ensued causing Brooklyn's eyes to swell completely shut. So rather than attend the party, we dropped our cookies off and spent the evening at the nearest Instacare where Brook and Avery were both diagnosed with Pink Eye. Merry Christmas pharmaceutical intervention. This was mere days before our planned trip to California to visit my family, which we were compelled to cancel due not only to Pink Eye, but the terrible congestive colds that Andy and I both developed. It was a bitterly disappointing vacation. Instead of sharing goodies and hilarious antidotes with loved ones, we tackled both children four times a day, attempting to hold their eyelids open for expensive medicated eye drops. Merry Christmas ruined festivities. The day after Christmas we disassembled our tree in low spirits. The webbed star said it all. I have never been happier to see January.

I don't know about you, but I'll take large six-months pregnant mild-contentedness.

My Dilly-Dallyer

Brooklyn is a dilly-dallyer. Meticulous and careful by nature, she has exceptional concentration for a five-year-old. However, this does make it difficult for her to move from one activity to another. In a world where we are often driven by the clock, life can be frustrating with someone who will not be rushed.

This month she has been attending our neighbor's Joy School twice a week. Each Tuesday and Thursday morning we awake with time to spare. "Hurry and get dressed Brooklyn" I instruct. She disappears in her room. Thirty minutes later I find her still in her underwear, putting multiple outfits together, unable to decide. "Brooklyn we only have ten minutes before Joy School starts and you have to eat breakfast. PLEASE HURRY." I emphasize. Five minutes later, "Brook, if you don't put something on and eat RIGHT NOW you will be late for Joy School." "Brook, less talk more action." "Do you know what HURRY means?" "It doesn't MATTER what socks you wear. JUST HURRY." "Brooklyn, no TALKING- EAT!" "HURRY! HURRY HURRY!"
Its not her fault. Like many kids her age, she just doesn't grasp Go-Time. But unfortunately I still get frustrated with her.

This morning it was my fault. I thought it was Friday until Avery remembered, "Is Brooklyn going to Joy School?" Thank you Avery. She was already fifteen minutes late. "Brook! Today is your Christmas party! We have to HURRY!" And she tried to. But there were so many pretty panties to choose from. And she couldn't find the socks she wanted. Avery and I said a quick obligatory prayer over the Cream of Wheat but I soon realized Brook wouldn't have to time to eat any of it. "Brooklyn! You are not very good at hurrying! You are going to miss your party!" I yelled. She came running down the hallway with her snow boots, flopped down and pulled them on as quickly as she could. "Is this the right way Mom?" She asked. "Yes! Hurry!" I threw her her coat, "Hurry!" I handed her a Pop Tart. "Eat this! Hurry!" She flopped back down to the floor. "What are you-?!" But I had to stop. She was kneeling down in the middle of the floor, eyes closed, arms folded, head bowed reverently, saying a silent prayer over her breakfast.

I don't teach my children half as much as they teach me. In the midst of worldly demands I had grossly neglected my priorities. My five-year-old Brooklyn, however, my little dilly-dallyer, had remembered her Savior. And in her humble way, she taught me the most valuable lesson I've learned this Christmas season.

Twelve Days of Christmas Tag

One amusing Christmas memory * Two Christmas' ago, when Brooklyn was three, she received a Raggedy-Ann doll from Andy's Grandma Dot. As she opened it, I thought to myself, "My what a classic and lovely present from her great grandma." Brooklyn's reaction, "Red hair? Oh NO!" as she chucked it across the room. Prejudice little ingrate. She has since come to appreciate the doll as well as the untamed glory that is red hair.

Two theories why Santa chooses the chimney as his best means of entry * a) free rooftop parking, b) Santa's a pyro.

Three things you want for Christmas * a web cam, impractical shoes, and gift cards.

Four of your favorite Christmas movies * A Christmas Story, Christmas Vacation, It's a Wonderful Life, and The Grinch (original cartoon).

Five ways you've been naughty this year * I hid Andy's old shirts in a bag under the bed and pretended I didn't know what he was talking about. Yes, I heard the phone ring but I let it go to voicemail. I purchased Blades of Glory. I used expletives while driving. I gave the impression I agree.

Six ways you've been nice * I refrained from punching the snooty woman in the grocery store in her perfectly whitened teeth. I said please and thank you. I saved the last cookie for Andy. I gave others the benefit of the doubt. I practiced patience beyond my own. I took a giant leap of faith.

Seven people you suspect are elves * Elija Wood, Erika, Rene' Zellwegger, Beck, our Olive Garden waiter, Hugh Grant, and Shana.

Eight of Santa's reindeer (no cheating) * dasher, dancer, prancer, vixen, comet, cupid, dunder, and miflin.

Nine uses for snow * instant icepack, to make delicious snow-cones, to throw at unsuspecting bescarved victims, fortress to hide behind while throwing at said victims, good excuse to stay warmly bundled inside house, cloaks ill-kept yards, easy to track people on foot, awesome to slide down on sleds, keeps salesmen at bay.

Ten least favorite things about Christmas * frenzied shoppers, middle-aged women in SUV's (see frenzied shoppers), creepy Santas, Michael McLean, hallmark movies, unbridled avarice, driving through snow, pop stars mutilating Christmas carols, non-gifts (the obligatory ones you receive from people who don't really know or like you), extreme commercialism.

Eleven word associations to "figgy pudding" * giddy, puddle, poodle, fiddle, goopy, fructose, yeti, piggy, Cedric Diggory, bling-bling.

Twelve reasons you love Christmas * pine-scent, gingerbread cookies, the first snow, twinkling lights, classic Christmas carols, new pajamas, hot chocolate, neatly wrapped packages, family togetherness, eggnog with sprite, reverent nativities, and my children's faces.

*i tag you.

My Gosh!

Is it just me or have any of you noticed the steady decline of the Sortor Rules! fan base? Before October hit I had anywhere from 12-20 comments per post. Since October the average has dropped significantly to around 5. I thought this was, in part, due to the destruction of my brother's computer. It turns out he and his wife were responsible for a great deal of commentary. I thought maybe their return to the blogosphere would raise numbers back up, but unfortunately this has not been the case. This begs the question: What's the dealio yo? I have a few theories.

Theory #1: Others find me offensive.

Hey, we all have strong opinions. I have especially strong opinions. In fact one of my especially strong opinions is that we can agree to disagree. Another strong opinion is that a sense of humor is absolutely necessary to make it in this often unpleasant world. Sometimes you have to choose between breaking something or laughter. I have broken things before but I prefer laughter as the healthier, less destructive option. Granted I'm not as funny as sometimes I think I am, so please take half the things I say with a grain of salt.

Theory #2: Its the economy.

I know a lot of people out there are stressed and struggling right now. Blogging probably doesn't rank high on the priority list- totally understandable. Or NOT! Blogging is free. Throw me a friggin' bone people!

Theory #3: I have lost my mojo.

This seems to be the most obvious answer. Pregnancy will do that to a person. That first trimester literally sucked the creative juices from my veins. Not only that, but it also rendered me fat, unattractive, and generally useless as anything other than a pod in which our fetus might feed and develop. I get it, nobody likes a pod. Methinks I will go eat worms.

Theory #4: You have all been drawn away by that siren, Stephanie Meyer.

Theory #5: Blogging is no longer hip.

Maybe blogging has lost its novelty. Maybe people have moved on to something better. Maybe something I don't even know about. Maybe Sortor Rules! is the hammer-pant of the Internet. But you know what? I like hammer pants. And I'm not going to stop wearing them just because everyone else is into high-waisted acid wash jeans.

Whatever the reason, the point is I enjoy blogging because it helps me feel connected even when I'm isolated. I enjoy writing; I find it therapeutic. I enjoy sharing my family with you and keeping a record of our goings-on. In short, while I miss the abundance of comments I used to receive, and I don't completely understand what changed, I still have every intention of continuing on with Sortor Rules! because ultimately it isn't about the comments. Its about the narcism.

Tagnabbit

Nothing like a good old fashioned tag in the mornin'! Shana, Wayne I dedicate this to you.
*i am Batman.
*i want a collection of adorable and ridiculously overpriced handbags.
*i have a hankering for fish & chips.
*i miss my regular clothes.
*i fear hardcore crafters.
*i hear distant bells.
*i search in vain.
*i wonder what bark is made of.
*i regret talking too much and not enough.
*i love butterfly kisses and pumpkin butter.
*i forgive your lack of comments.
*i ache mostly in my lower back.
*i always enjoy a good book.
*i try to maintain eye contact.
*i am not a smart man.
*i seem even less savory than I really am.
*i know I KNOW.
*i feel large.
*i dance like a child of the night.
*i dream of world domination.
*i give 97%
*i listen at doors.
*i sing Metallica in the shower.
*i laugh at my own jokes.
*i can't multitask.
*i write for your entertainment.
*i cry at Juno and The Return of the King.
*i sleep on my side nowadays.
*i am not always tactful.
*i see by the grace of corrective lenses.
*i need constant affirmation.
*i should practice self restraint.
*i tag Erika, Angie B, Brittany, Trish, Chrystal, Denise, Anna, and Emily.

Lay Off, I'm STARVING!

I have honestly never been more excited about Thanksgiving than I am right now. One week away and I already have visions of bacon-baked green beans dancing in my head. Turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, my mother-in-law's killer stuffing, homemade cranberry sauce and pecan pie! Pumpkin pie! Marshmallow-crusted sweet potatoes! Yes please. Momma's eating for two. So what if one of us is roughly the size of a baseball? This is one ravenous fetus! Pardon me, but "What to Expect When You're Expecting"s Best Odds Diet can kiss my creepy second-toe. I feel like I'm giving life to a Velociraptor. This is my third pregnancy and I am reluctantly accepting that the closer I come to resembling Jabba the Hut during pregnancy, the happier my babies are. So as much as I would like to stay within the bounds of regular weight-gain this time around, my body is telling me to forget it. Afterall, I still have three more years before my metabolism shuts down right? Bring on the real whipped cream; the fetus wants what the fetus wants!

My Real Life Nightmares: Part Two

"When Good Geese Go Bad... "

I do in fact realize that I have had more bizarre and embarrassing experiences than the average human being. Maybe its just rotten luck. Maybe I cause it. Whatever the reason, I have come to accept that it is the price I pay everyday for being me. With that in mind you'll have to excuse me for being a little paranoid, even fearful of seemingly non-threatening objects/ situations including: pottery wheels, Ikea, volleyball nets, rope-swings, phones, drive-thrus, spiders, friendly gestures, leaping, multi-tasking, and geese. While all make for entertaining stories, today's story is about a goose. An exceptionally e-vile goose we will call Jorge. He wasn't a Mexican goose or anything. His parents just happened to like the name.

When Brooklyn was a baby, Andy and I lived in a little townhouse in Murray. We liked our little townhouse, and all the identical surrounding townhouses. We liked the landscaping and the pool. We even liked our neighbor who covered all his windows with tin-foil. The only downside to our little townhouse was the fact that Jorge lived on the roof. Not directly on top of our unit, but close enough to observe our comings and goings. And the thing is, he didn't seem to pay mind to anyone else's comings and goings. No, he only had eyes for me. Beady, angry eyes.

I don't know what I did to offend him. But he watched for me. And at the sight of my attempting a stroll with my infant, looking nervously about, he would launch unwarranted attack. Swooping at my head, charging me with his vicious hissing beak, flapping his dirty great wings. Yes, Jorge was a real douche.

I called the condo manager, but she liked Jorge and considered him an asset to the community. I considered calling animal control, but figured Jorge had people on the inside. Retaliation was my only option. My next walk I played it cool. I pushed the stroller casually, looking straight ahead, whistling, all the while aware of Jorge's ever- ominous presence. I was not disappointed. He appeared suddenly from behind a bush and slowly turned his face towards mine. Our eyes met. I could feel his hatred permeate the street between us. I stepped towards him. He seemed surprised.

"You seem surprised," I quietly taunted. He hissed menacingly and took two steps towards me. Tension mounted. "Freedom!" I shouted as I ran at him. He dodged me and tried to bite my calf. But I had a secret weapon. Before he knew it, I had my flip flop in hand and was delivering a beating the likes of which he will never forget. A car drove past us. I can only imagine what the people inside it were thinking.

"Check out that crazy barefooted lady beating that beautiful, defenseless creature of nature!"

No matter. Brooklyn thought it was a jolly fun show, and Jorge received his comeuppance. Unfortunately, he was more of an emotional than a logical thinker and continued to threaten me every chance he got, but I did observe the haunted look in his eye and his reluctantly kept distance whenever I reached for my shoe.

Twenty-seven Things I've Learned

Its official. Today I turn that magical age of twenty-seven. Much the same as twenty-six you say? I beg to differ. Perhaps I'm only a little bit wiser, a tad more mature and self-assured, a little less likely to lose this pregnancy weight- Sure. After all, what difference could one year make at this point? I'd like to think I learn something new every year. Sometimes, I even learn two or three things a year. I know. I'm kind of amazing. In most ways I will admit, I'm probably the same old Diana. Worry-prone, yes. Slightly off, yes. Really, really, ridiculously good-looking, maybe. But to tell you the truth I feel like I've learned some valuable lessons lately that I would like to share with you now. I call them "Twenty-seven things I've learned." MMM-yes, very creative I know.

1. Nausea can serve a duel purpose; one- to satisfy a fetus, two- to make me appreciate life.
2. Nothing compares to watching my children share and play nicely together.
3. Sometimes others see me more clearly than I see myself.
4. Happy jobs make happy husbands.
5. Even when we make a minimal effort Heavenly Father watches out for us.
6. I need to pick my battles.
7. Blogging is both fun and therapeutic.
8. Some people need more personal space than others.
9. People are generally more concerned about their own flaws than yours.
10. Cheese soup is much harder to make than it should be.
11. Muppets are a whole different brand of scary.
12. We all need friends even if we don't all realize it.
13. Modelling isn't my cup of tea.
14. Nothing is radder than David Bowie's hair in "Labyrinth".
15. With the right camera, anyone can be a great photographer.
16. Sometimes just laying in the sunshine is all I really need.
17. Everything is good at the Cheesecake Factory.
18. I'm an extrovert with a white personality.
19. You don't really know a person until you see how they react to tragedy.
20. Its futile to appeal to one's good nature, when one is a tow-truck driver.
21. Paying a little extra for a good haircut is totally worth it.
22. The first step to friendship is exposing yourself as the nerd you are.
23. Needing someone to talk to isn't a weakness.
24. Being pessimistic isn't as fun as it looks.
25. There is no gain without sacrifice.
26. Extreme exaggerations, or half-truths are useful tools in creative writing.
27. Nothing beats waking up to your children and husband jumping on the bed, mauling you while exclaiming "Happy Birthday Mommy!" Its the best.

My Real Life Nightmares: Part One

Unless you are a freakishly secure person, or a very heavy sleeper you know the terror of a nightmare. You've felt the embarrassment of being naked in public. You've known the frustration of not being able to locate your locker. You've shared in the dread of being chased only to discover you run in slow motion. You've watched with horror as your nose dissolves into your face...or not. You know, whatever. You know how bad dreams take you right up to that moment before you hit the pavement, and then you wake up. Granted sometimes you wake up punching your sleeping husband, crying, and giving him ultimatums, but eventually you get a grip and realize with relief that it was just a dream and that you still have all your front teeth.

Then there are times when horribly embarrassing, emotionally scaring things happen to us in real life and the only way to make ourselves feel better is to share these occasions on our blog for the enjoyment of friends and family members. So without further ado I give you My Real Life Nightmares: Part One.

A little personal history: Until I came to live in Utah, my senior year of high school, I lived with my family in a very secluded, wooded town in Northern CA. When I say secluded and wooded, I am talking no traffic lights. No lamp posts. You know how when you go camping in the middle of nowhere. Well, you take a couple lefts and that's where I lived. We did have neighbors, but it was hard to see them through the trees. And when it was dark outside you could see every star in the constellation. Very remote. Very spooky to be home alone.
My dad was the manager of a geothermal power plant and he was NOT well liked. He had a tendency to take over other people's jobs, and that tended to rub people the wrong way. At the time of this story, one of the men he had fired had been calling our house in a very threatening sort of way. He would always call when my dad wasn't home and if Angie or I picked up he would harass us. Pretty creepy.
I was probably fifteen at the time. It was nighttime and Mom and Dad were gone. He called and I hung up on him. Later that night the phone rang unexpectedly again. I answered and was greeted once again with "Your dad home?" That was it. In emotionally charged situations I often morph from harmless innocent into dirty fighting sailor with tats. Not unlike Jekyl and Hyde. I turn into my father. I let the dude have it. "Listen ^&%^&! If you ever call back here again I will %#$$##@! all over your sorry $#@!!*!" Silence. That'll teach that scumbag. And then, "Diana? Is that you? This is Brother Moore from the bishopric."

Oops.

Morphing quickly back into harmless innocent, I cried and explained and apologized. But I couldn't help but notice a little gleam in his eye whenever he saw me at church from then on. Cussing out a member of the bishopric; one of my more nightmarishly embarrassing experiences. Don't think I ever gave Dad that message. And I don't need to tell you that Brother Moore never crossed me again.

My Favorite Season

Even feeling as terrible as I have been this past month, I can't help but be grateful for the arrival of my favorite season. The crisp, cool air. The ripening apples on my apple tree. The chrysanthemums. The changing foliage. The promise of caramel apples, cozy sweaters, and hot chocolate. That back-to-school feeling. Sparkling, lovely autumn. It makes me want to bake a pecan pie. It makes me want to throw a party. It makes me want to read books in the park, greeting passersby in my sauciest British accent. And though none of this is likely in my current state of physical discomfort, you know where to find me next fall. Good day Gov'na!

This Fetus is Sucking Away My Life Force.

This fetus is sucking away my life force.

The New Super Movie Line Ultimate Knock Down Champion Is...

Todd! Missing only seven.
Second Place: Shana and Angie tie. Well Done Everybody!

1. Billy Madison
2. Braveheart
3. The Breakfast Club
4. Bring it On
5. Charlie's Angels
6. The Fellowship of the Ring
7. Edward Scissorhands (nobody got this one!)
8. Ferris Bueller's Day Off
9. A Few Good Men
10. Ace Ventura: Pet Detective
11. As Good As it Gets
12. Beetlejuice
13. Batman
14. Back to the Future I
15. Austin Powers II
16. Billy Madison
17. Nacho Libre
18. 300
19. Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?
20. Office Space
21. Orange County
22. The Usual Suspects
23. The Others (nobody got this one either)
24. The Princess Bride
25. Psycho
26. Strange Brew
27. Happy Gilmore
28. The Matrix
29. Monty Python and the Holy Grail
30. The Wedding Singer
31. Napoleon Dynamite
32. Groundhog Day
33. Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
34. Mars Attack!
35. Napoleon Dynamite
36. A Series of Unfortunate Events
37. Drop Dead Gorgeous
38. Blades of Glory
39. Juno
40. Shrek

Super Movie Line Ultimate Knock Down Championship

I declare myself the Super Movie Line Ultimate Knock Down Champion. Anybody wishing to challenge my title will please email their answers to disortor@gmail.com. Also, if you would like to test me please feel free to leave your favorite movie line under "comments". May the force be with you. No using the internet to cheat. Angie I'm looking your way.

1. "No milk will ever be our milk."
2. "I didn't like him anyway. He wasn't right in the head."
3. "Face it, you're a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. What would you be doing if you weren't making yourself a better citizen?"
4. "Cheerleaders are dancers who have gone retarded."
5. "The Chad is great."
6. "Ash nazg durbatuluh."
7. "You can't buy the necessities of life with cookies."
8. "I did not achieve this position in life by having some snot-nose punk leave my cheese out in the wind."
9. "What are we going to discuss next, my favorite color?"
10. "Do you know the dolphin? Do you call him at home?"
11. "Must try other people's clean silverware as part of fun of dining out."
12. "Don't mind her. She's just upset that someone dropped a house on her sister."
13. "I've been dead once already, its very liberating."
14. "Last night Darth Vader came down from planet Vulcan and told me that if I didn't take (name) out that he'd melt my brain."
15. "You know what's remarkable? That England looks in no way like Southern California."
16. "'Sorry' doesn't put the Triscuit crackers in my stomach now, does it (name)?"
17. "I'm a little concerned right now, about your salvation and stuff."
18. "Bow to Xerxes!"
19. "A lot of respectable people have been hit by trains."
20. "It's not that I'm lazy, it's that I just don't care."
21. "A writer? What do you have to write about? You're not oppressed, you're not gay!"
22. "The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist."
23. "Are you mad? I am your daughter!"
24. "Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."
25. "We all go a little mad sometimes."
26. "The power of the force has stopped you, you hosers!"
27. "Good news, everybody! We're extending arts and crafts time by four hours today."
28. "I know kung fu."
29. "This is supposed to be a happy occasion. Let's not bicker and argue about who killed who!"
30. "We're living in a material world and I am a material girl. Or boy."
31. "Smashing in the face of a pinata that resembles (name) is a disgrace to you, me, and the entire gem state."
32. "Well what if there is no tomorrow? There wasn't one today."
33. "Nothing shocks me, I'm a scientist."
34. "I want the people to know that they still have two out of three branches of government working for them, and that ain't bad!"
35. "She said she doesn't want you here when she gets back because you've been ruining every body's lives and eating all our steak!"
36. "I've opened my heart to you two loverly children and your hideous primate."
37. "The swan ate my baby!"
38. "No exaggeration, I could not love a human baby more than I love this brush."
39. "This is one doodle that can't be undid, Homeskillet."
40. "I like that boulder. That is a nice boulder!"

If You Can't Say Something Nice.

You want a new post do you? YOU WANT A NEW POST? Let me entertain you. So I haven't been my usual congenial self lately. Though I have hurled but twice, yet everyday for the past oh, I don't know, I have had to suppress the urge to do so. Because suddenly I have a heightened sense of smell so keen I could be used to track down criminals. And what an incredible smell I have discovered. My house reeks. That air-freshener I so enjoyed a couple weeks ago, my shampoo, the refrigerator, the garbage cans, toilets, the carpet, my children, my husband. *shudder* Even my own scent makes me dry heave. I also have a severe aversion to anyone touching my stomach, or having to change diapers, or having to move at all really. And I cry a lot, all of which make it more challenging to be my home-making, outgoing, ever-witty self. But I don't like to complain. I like to look at the glass half full. Like at least I know I stink. Some people go through life never realizing. And I imagine that could really hold you back in your various endeavors.

Ten Reasons Why I Will Never Be An Olympic Champion

Yes, I enjoyed watching the Olympics. I won't claim to be hardcore about them, because I'm not really hardcore about anything athletic. Probably because I'm not very athletic myself. And by "not very athletic" I mean "The frequency in which I run into stationary objects is alarming." Obviously I am impressed when Chinese girls half my size flip, and fling, and fly from stuff. And don't even get me started on the fish-people. Its incredible to watch those crazy athletic freaks. And I mean that in a good way. No sour grapes here. So what if I will never be best at anything ever? that's okay! And here are my top ten reasons why:
1. I have better things to do. Take Blogging, for example. I can't even count the number of lives I touch with my inane ponderings. At least eight to ten. And I'm willing to wager half those so-called Olympians don't even know what inane ponderings mean!
2. I choose to live a more balanced life. Because I don't JUST blog you know. I do lots of important stuff. Like sort socks, and make delicious treats using marshmallows, and analyze Harry Potter books, and make up pretend superhero scenarios. Sure I could win gold medals if maybe I focused on one of those things, but life isn't about gold medals. Its about making delicious treats using marshmallows.
3. I'm not selfish.
4. I don't test well. Even if I am extremely knowledgeable or skilled in a certain area, I definitely don't do well under pressure. So, maybe I am an awesome volleyball player- you'll never know I guess. You'll just have to take my word for it. I am by the way.
5. I don't believe competition is healthy. You know those poor Olympian kids have a totally skewed outlook. Imagine peeking at sixteen. Ten years later, they're still trying to play the "Olympic Medal" card. "These coupons have expired?! Do you know who I AM???" Twenty years later they're still wearing their medal to the post office, making small talk about how they'd give anything to go back to '08. "How'da like to bet I could hurdle myself over them mountains?"
6. The outfits look uncomfortable. I get it, you can move more freely when your underwear rides up your backside and absolutely nothing is left to the imagination. Fine. Just don't come crying to me when the entire world knows you stuff.
7. I'm not much of a diplomat. Judging from how many of my fellow Americans I inadvertently offend on a regular basis, I can only imagine the effect I could have on a world-level. There would be war. Oh yes, there would be war.
8. The camera makes me look pale and bloated. All I am saying is, the lighting had better be fantastic or I would be super pissed.
9. Russians are sneaky.
10. I'm not special. Nope, not even a little bit. Guess Momma was wrong. Sorry Momma. Baby aint bringing home no gold.

Our Noisy Years Seem Moments

Its been a fun and busy month and promises to continue being a fun, busy month. And while I do enjoy being busy, I sometimes regret how the time gets away from me. When I went to bed last night I peeked into the girl's room to check on them, found them sleeping soundly and marveled at how big they are getting. Brooklyn is almost five already and at age two, Avery hardly seems a baby anymore. Everyday they play, and eat, and learn, and fight, and talk, and sing, and laugh. The days fly by. And while they are still little I make it a priority to learn as much from them as I can.

*Avery is two, and the all time favorite phrase of every two year old is "Do it myself!" I hear it when I pour her cereal in the morning, during bath time, when getting dressed, climbing into the car, getting out of the car, even getting in and out of her crib, and on many other occasions throughout the course of the day. Sometimes she can do it herself, sometimes she can't. I almost always let her try, and when she succeeds I give her praise, and when she asks for help I gladly give it. Interestingly enough, more than half-way through my twenties I still find myself stubbornly exclaiming "Do it myself!" The only real difference between myself and my little daughter, is that she's willing to ask for help when she needs it, and so often I am not. Even though I know from experience that Heavenly Father will answer my prayers, its so difficult to let go of that toddler pride. Of course Avery can't buckle her own seat belt yet, that's why she needs a parent. Of course I can't be perfect yet and that's why I need the Savior.

*I have yet to figure out a way to make my kids eat their vegetables. They peck through the tolerable ones but really prefer ice cream, to be honest. I mean come on! If I let them eat ice cream all the time they would never give me any grief at mealtimes. Then again if I let them eat ice cream all the time they would be undernourished and obese and would probably not last very long. And so I keep trying to coax those vegetables down them because even though they may not taste as pleasant as ice cream, those vegetables are what's good for them. Unfortunately, I have to admit that I whine obnoxiously when life isn't all ice cream too. Obviously there are times when life is sweet, but its also meant to be bitter too. Sometimes its tasteless, sometimes I don't like the texture but those are the experiences I need to be strong, those bitter times build the character I need to survive.

*Brooklyn is a very smart kid who notices everything. Because she notices everything she's a bit distractable. When I tell her to go to her room, get her shoes and sweater, and put them on, she heads to her room and disappears for thirty minutes. When I find her, she's busy drawing on her floor- no shoes, no sweater. She intended to listen, she went to her room, saw her shiny art set and got distracted. I understand, I'm the same way. I know that I should be constantly focused on important things. I should read my scriptures every day, I should have meaningful prayers often, I should attend the temple, I should spend more time playing with my children, I should continue expanding my knowledge. There are so many important things I should be doing, and I intend to act, but somewhere along the line I get distracted by all the shiny things in life. Not that there is something inherently wrong with shiny things, but when the good things distract us from the better things, we don't reach our goals.

* We have a lot of stickers in our yard. Not the fun happy kind. The hurting kind that sting your feet. I tell my girls to put on their shoes. Sometimes they don't listen and end up stepping on stickers and crying. I don't force them to wear their shoes, and I can't take away the pain of a sticker, but I hope that eventually they will learn from their mistakes and listen to me so that by the time they're off to school they will choose to wear shoes and avoid even more painful foot injuries. Heavenly Father doesn't plan to keep us babies either. He wants us to grow up and learn from our mistakes and listen to him. So he allows us our agency, and he allows us consequences even if they sometimes sting.

*Last one. I am far from a perfect parent. I make a lot of mistakes, but when I have erred I make a point of admitting to my children that I am wrong and that I am sorry. I do this because I want them to understand that none of us are perfect, but that we need to repent and then get up and try again, and again, and again. And watching my children sleep or play I feel how deeply I love them, and how I would forgive them for anything. And if I have such love for my children, how much greater and deeper Heavenly Father's love is for me. Repentance is such a difficult concept for me. It must be that toddler pride. But I know that when we are sorry for our mistakes, and when we ask for forgiveness, and continue trying to be better people, Heavenly Father forgives us. Not only does he forgive us, but he takes our sin away entirely.

I know I have a lot more to learn from my children and that we've only just begun. But I am grateful for them, and grateful to God for sending them to me. They are still so little, and believe me life isn't all ice cream but I adore them. And although I may have passing futile wishes that time would stand still for a moment, that they will stop growing up, I realize that's selfish. I try and keep in mind that I'm raising them to be strong faithful women. I try and be a stronger, and more faithful woman myself. And the days fly by.

Desert Island: Part One

"One of the world's tiresome questions is what object one would bring to a desert island, because people always answer "a deck of cards" or "Anna Karenina" when the obvious answer is "a well equipped boat and a crew to sail me off the island and back home where I can play all the card games and read all the Russian novels I want." - Lemony Snicket

Imagine you are weightless, floating in the ocean, surrounded by tiny little sea horses... no wait even better you're in the middle of a sweltering desert island, the white-hot sun on your face. Just you and one loan palm tree. Totally destitute. After weeping bitterly over the loss of everything you had in this world, you suddenly realize this isn't entirely accurate. "I am miraculously still in possession of my five favorite books of all time!" You shout to the palm tree you will eventually name Roy. "Man, being stuck on this desert island doesn't seem half so unfortunate now! I suddenly feel very optimistic about my future." Never mind how your books managed to outlast the apparent catastrophe that landed you in this forgotten nothingness. What five books did you bring?

My Lesson Learned

A little bit-o-wisdom from me to you. "Eye of Sauron" avitar- great for leaving funny comments amongst family.
When leaving a friendly note like- "Hey cute pictures of your innocent children...BLAH I SEE YOU BLAHHHHH" or "I'm sorry for your loss...YOU CANNOT HIDE BLAH!!!" Not so much.

My Friend Casey

Once upon a time there was a dude named Casey. Casey wasn't a bad dude. He held down a respectable job where he got to wear a uniform and a name badge everyday, and party every night. Casey wasn't a bad dude. But Casey was a disoriented, drunk dude. One night Casey met the girl of his dreams. Her name was Melanie. Or Emily. He wasn't completely sure, but he did know that she was everything he was looking for in a woman. He knew she had kind of blondish- brownish- reddish hair, and he knew that what they had was special. He didn't know exactly where she lived. But that did not concern Casey one little bit. Into his car he staggered, up and down streets he drove until he saw a light. "That must be Melanie's house!" He thought, "Or Emily's!" Out of his car, up the steps, he knocked at her door. Todd answered. This was confusing to Casey. Did Melanie or Emily have a brother? No matter, Casey was quick to regain his confidence. "Is Melanie here?" He asked as he peeked expectantly into the Living Room. He saw Andy and a woman. Andy was of small consequence, but the woman- She did have hair. Could this be his lady? "Melanie? Emily?" He called hopefully. In an odd coincidence a woman named Melanie had previously owned the house, but had moved three years earlier. "Melanie moved about three years ago." Not Melanie, but Diana responded. Casey felt very confused. "Emily?" He tried again. "You've got the wrong house." Andy assured him. "See you later Casey," Todd began closing the door. There was obviously something fishy going on. "How do you know my name?" Casey wondered out loud. "Its on your shirt dude." This momentarily blew Casey's mind. But of course! Casey laughed and pointed to the name of his company on the opposite side of his shirt. In the midst of this ah-ha! moment, Casey had nearly forgotten the task at hand. Nearly, but not entirely and without skipping very many beats at all he had regained focus. "Do you know where Melanie lives?" He found these people very unhelpful and slightly alarmed. But Casey was nothing if not undaunted. Oh, and drunk. He cheerfully got back into his car and continued his search, taking no notice of anyone taking down his licence plate numbers. Because Casey knew a girl like Melanie, or Emily, only comes around once in a lifetime. The End.

Who Would You Want Saving Your Hide?: Legolas vs. Spiderman

Humor me. Today is a day like any other. You wake up before you're ready, you spend time looking for a pair of matching socks, regardless of whether you're on time or not you find yourself rushing from chapter one to chapter twelve, with very little time for reflection. Little do you know today might be your last day. Little can you see the monster waiting around the corner, lurking in the alleyway, just beyond those suspicious looking trees. But he sees you. You routinely check your watch, lists playing in your head when suddenly he has you twenty feet in the air ready to make a meal of you. Your options are limited, your prospects very dim. Who will save you? Legolas or Spiderman? When Legolas saves you he makes it look easy, gracefully scaling your monster and unleashing a series of arrows which cleanly severs its foul head. He then performs a triple elf spin through the air only to land flawlessly, flash you a glowing grin like he has a secret, and flip his luxurious golden locks back before disappearing in some nearby shrubbery. Impressive.
When Spiderman saves you he does it with flare. Just as the monster releases you and you find yourself plummeting towards his gaping jaws, in swoops Spiderman! He makes a moderately clever pun as you fly through the air and deposits you safely miles from the monster. But before he jettisons his web back to finish the fight, he looks at you expectantly with his over sized black eyes and you realize he wants a kiss. "Listen," you tell him kindly but firmly, "I'm grateful you saved my hide and all, but-" and you try to explain how you don't like him that way, and that you had onion rings for lunch. But then, you see the disappointment behind his little red mask, and after all it isn't everyday you get saved by Spiderman, you justify as you lay one on him.
But in reality that isn't what happens. As you hang suspended twenty feet in the air, watching your life rewind inside your head, wishing you had spent less time looking for socks and more time playing Wii with your family and neighbors- As you feel the blood rushing to your head and all you can think about is how you should have paid more attention to where you were going, everything suddenly goes black. And as you slowly open your eyes you realize you aren't dead. You are in a Bat Cave. Bat Man saved you. And even though you find him a little odd and uncommunicative at first, you realize he's just an introvert and that's okay, because in retrospect you wouldn't want anyone else saving your hide.

My Five Favorite Bands From High School

So I took the bate. ANOTHER tag from my brother. I'm telling you I cannot resist! You should know I do not look back on my High School years with much fondness. And no, I don't want to talk about it. But while in High School I enjoyed a variety of music, from nineties-punk and ska bands, to alternative music, whatever that means. I think that as I've matured my tastes have become more specific and less stupid. And I'm of the opinion that recently the music industry has turned out much better stuff (for the most part) than the junk I listened to back in the day. Maybe its because people my age are writing it, I don't know. Anywho, without further ado here are my top five favorite bands from High School.

Green Day. Honestly, I liked them better before they grew a political opinion. They used to sing about really intelligent things like poo and ...other stuff. Dookie was the first album I ever purchased in 1994 when I was thirteen. It was a cassette tape because I didn't have one of those fancy CD players. Up to that point I had led a musically sheltered life and I'm pretty sure I still called my parents "mommy and daddy". Green Day put and end to that. I continued liking them and bands like them through High School and really, I still like them. I just don't put much stock in their political mumbo-jumbo, and that goes for anyone who sings about getting wasted and blowing stuff up.

No Doubt. From the moment I heard "Just a Girl" on the radio I thought Gwen Stephani rocked! Sure she was totally insane, but I had no problem with that. I liked No Doubt because they were really different than anything I'd ever heard, and had a very charming innocence to their insanity.


Radiohead. Come on, "I'm a creep, I'm a blahblahha" I relate to that! Its like Thom knows me! So I don't understand half the lyrics, I have no problem with that because the music is awesome. I'm probably alone in this, but when I'm sad happy music just makes me sadder. Give me some melancholy Radiohead to cheer me up. I still love them.

Beck rocks. He's so simultaneously weird and hilarious he's either totally wasted, or he's a friggin' genius. And the cool thing about Beck is that his music is constantly evolving. No two albums are the same.


Ah, Garbage; the sum of all my teenage angst! Garbage is appropriately named because they kind of suck. But, they sucked to such a degree that they were kind of sweet. That happened a lot in the nineties. I was a big fan of Garbage because they were different. I don't really listen to them anymore.

Other bands that rocked the nineties: Nirvana, Live, Weezer, Foo Fighters, Rage Against the Machine, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Beastie Boys, Bush? Gavin what the heck are you talking about? And what the flip is Glycerine?

Oh yeah, and I hereby tag Brittany, Emily, Gina, Angie, and Angie B.

My Marlboro Man

I was raised by the Marlboro man. No lie, he even owned the jacket. It was free with proof of purchase, an honor reserved for only the most loyal of customers.

My dad wasn't the kind of father you would cuddle up next to on the couch. He wasn't an open, laughing, soft-bellied father. He was tattooed, tough, and smelled of cigarettes and Old Spice. He was a strict disciplinarian, a religious workaholic, and a seasoned rebel. He was a distant cowboy silhouetted in the sunset. He didn't teach me to ride a bike. But he did teach me to fear no living man. He never took me camping. But he taught me to take responsibility for my actions.

My dad never joined the church. And when I turned eight and wanted to be baptized I had to ask for his permission. If I've painted an accurate picture for you, then maybe you can see how imposing a figure my dad was and how daunting a prospect was laid before me. But, I wanted to be baptized so I summoned my courage and entered the garage (where he always seemed to be) and asked him if I could be baptized. A twinkle never failed to appear in the old man's eyes whenever he was asked for permission or advise, and somehow they were always one and the same. I will never forget his response. "Making a promise to Heavenly Father is a very important thing, Diana. You don't get baptized because your mother wants you to or because I want you to, you get baptized because you want to. And if you do get baptized I will hold you to it whether you're sixteen or thirty. If you make a promise I will make sure you keep it." At eight years old I learned what integrity meant. Being baptized was my choice and that has made an incalculable difference in my life.

When I was fifteen I wanted to learn to drive. Here is a little background. I grew up in a tiny mountain resort town in Northern CA with winding two-lane roads. My dad prided himself in his ability to manipulate these winding two-lane roads going speeds more appropriate for an interstate freeway. And what really chapped his hind-quarters were all the "incompetent" drivers blocking his way. He would intimidate them off the road, shouting obscenities through his cigarette and making suggestions of where they may shove their heads. Oh, it was all great fun until he met other road-ragers. On more than one occasion the car in front of us would pull over and challenge my dad to a fight. My dad would oblige, much to their surprise and dismay. But he never actually had to fight. The offending victim, upon seeing a friggin' scary angry dude coming for him, would always opt for flight. So naturally, when it came time to learn to drive, I wanted my mom to teach me. That didn't last very long as the old man did not approve much of her skills and wanted to pass along secret driving techniques to me that only he knew. Teach me the ways of the Samuri. That also didn't last very long. After a few lessons I absolutely refused to drive at all and did not get my licence until I was eighteen.

I left home at sixteen just like he did. As you can imagine, he was not very pleased with my leaving and refused to give his permission. But I guess that's why its called running away. A week after I left he called me. "Honey, I've given it some thought and I am giving you my permission." I didn't know it then, but in fact he was not only giving me permission to leave home, but his consent to grow up. I had stood my ground and gained his respect and he treated me accordingly from then on. I knew I had arrived the day he thought I was old enough to share in a dirty joke.

The summer following my first year of college was the last summer I spent with my dad. I hadn't lived at home for two years and I could tell he was very pleased to have me back. So pleased he bought me two cars. The first one we saw while we were out together- a beautiful dark red 1954 Mercedes. The body was in wonderful condition, even the interior, but it didn't run. In his younger years my dad had been an exceptional mechanic. Word on the street had it he even built his own car once. So, to my utter delight he bought the car. He tried so hard to fix it for me, but couldn't do it. It must have been frustrating for him, that his mind wasn't working so clearly as it had once done. But he would hardly admit defeat. He explained that he would continue working on the Mercedes but would buy me a new car in the meantime. I understood what he really meant. He bought me a 1988 Buick Regal- straight cash. "This is a good car" and he was right. It was no Mercedes, but it ran and that was what mattered. I drove that car back and forth between UT and CA five or six times and it never gave me any problems. After Andy and I got married we sold it to his cousin and it still runs to this day. Sometimes at night the horn will start honking and the hood will pop open. They say its my dad, haunting it.

The last time I saw my dad was that Christmas. I wish I had known it, then we could have had that talk he kept telling me he wanted to have, "Just you and me." When he took me to the airport, Angie and Mom waited in the car while he waited with me, holding the boxed-up dinner he insisted I take with me. We stood a long time in silence. He never was a man of many words. He bought me a milkshake and when it was clear my plane was going to be very late he sighed and told me he had better head home. He hugged me, that great cigarette-Old Spice hug and told me he loved me. I was always proud of the way he walked in his cowboy boots, how he didn't give a crap if he stood out like a sore thumb in the San Francisco airport.

That spring he annoyed the crap out of me with phone calls about my income tax forms he was preparing for me. I was ungrateful and a little short with him a couple times. That is why I called that Sunday, so I could talk with him and let him know I loved him. I ended up talking to mom for a long time, but he walked in just as I was about ready to hang up. I told him I was dating a guy named Andy that was 6'4. "I could still take him." He said. That was the last thing he said to me.

Tuesday morning I got a phone call.

He thought he was invincible. The man who tackled my boyfriends to the ground, the man who called me "smartass" as a term of endearment, the man who showed me his love by sharing his garage-stashed candy with me. The man who taught me not to judge a man by his tattoos and his pack of cigarettes, but by his heart. That was and always will be my Marlboro man. Happy Father's Day Dad.

My Cold Heart

Funny story. Years ago, when Andy and I had first started dating we happened to run into each other at a dance. A slow song came on, signaling the opportunity to pair up. With my studded belt and Buddy Holly glasses, I was his obvious choice. There was a lull in our somewhat awkward conversation which Andy broke with, "So, do you like Chicago?" Unaware that the Napoleon-esque song we were dancing to was by the very band, Chicago, unaware in fact that there was such a band, I responded politely that I had never been there. And I wasn't going to judge him for it, but I did think it an odd inquiry.

So how did we end up together when my idea of a romantic song includes heavy drums and death imagery and Andy's romantic notions fall under the genre I laughingly refer to as "Butt Rock?" When my day-dreams include reading the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy together, and his include shouting wildly at televised basket-ball players? TomAto-tomato. We both like England, art, playing Chess, and watching Will Ferrell movies, and really what more could you ask for? But I digress. What were we talking about? Ah, yes...

I've never been a fan of love songs, chick-flicks, romance novels, floral arrangements, or puppies. Alright, puppies are cute and I do like roses, but you get the picture. It isn't that I'm completely unromantic, I just have different ideas about romance than most women. The most difficult moment for me in any friendship with another girl is the moment she says, "Hey let's have a girl's night and go see (insert she-film here)" First I have to muffle my cringe, then diplomatically explain how I'd rather see the awesomely nerdy epic movie playing in theater 5 because I read the book multiple times- simultaneously making it clear I'm not being judgemental, that it's not her- its me, that I'm a cold-hearted-wench that doesn't want to see a movie about bridesmaid dresses and women who overlook their gorgeous guy-pal until he finds happiness with someone else, all the while keeping my fingers crossed she still wants to be my friend. So I usually just see the friggin' movie and vent to Andy later.

Don't get me wrong, I'm plenty girlie. My favorite book is Jane Eyre, I love the A&E Pride and Prejudice mini-series, I break down in tears bi-monthly, I love newborn baby smell, and I'm constantly asking Andy his honest opinion of whether I look fat in these jeans. And to set the record straight I'm always up for a girl's night out, let's just skip the movie and head straight for the ice cream shall we?

My Own Drum

"The Lord did not people the earth with a vibrant orchestra of personalities only to value the piccolos of the world. Every instrument is precious and adds to the complex beauty of the symphony. All of Heavenly Father's children are different in some degree, yet each has his own beautiful sound that adds depth and richness to the whole." - Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin

OK, let's be honest. So I'm a little off. That made public education a little more colorful for me, but as I've grown to accept myself and everybody else, I'm finding that I get fewer and fewer blank stares, fewer rude hand-gestures thrown my way, fewer torch-wielding mobs demanding my immediate removal. Life is good nowadays, but it has been a long and lonely road. There was a time I found myself torn between the knowledge that I couldn't be- didn't want to be- anyone but myself and the feeling that being myself was unacceptable. After all, how could God not favor angel-faced, soft-spoken, goal-setting, casserole-making, jumper-clad optimists over little misfit me? And yet I've met and admired so many misfits in this world, and have come to understand what Elder Wirthlin is talking about. We are all misfits. And Heavenly Father is no respecter of persons. Our circumstances vary, our experiences, our brain chemistry, our tastes, temperaments, hair-styles, trials, cooking-skills, and other talents all render each of us essentially incomparable.
I believe we are here to learn to love God and we do that by serving each other. The very nature of service demands our differences. If we were all the same, none of us would have anything to offer. It is humbling to realize how much we need each other. I consider myself exceptionally blessed by the diverse variety of people I've been privileged to know. I've had the opportunity to glimpse talents far beyond my own. I've learned of self-sacrifice, endurance, long-suffering, hard work, and generosity. I've seen sweetness, integrity, humility, sincerity, good-humor, clarity, and genuine friendship. And I'm confident somewhere in that list of goodness there's a little niche with a footnote especially for me.

Its inspiring to be surrounded by so many good people who do the best they can in the face of overwhelming odds; whether those overwhelming odds include being threatened with a gun, or getting a plastic cooler stuck under your car while driving along I-15, struggling to be a better parent, or coming to terms with the fact that you look very much like Rob Schneider. Hey, we all have our things.

Interview with a Vampire

Me: So Mr. Vampire-

Vampire: Call me Phil.

Me: OK Phil. So it turns out you're a little peeved about coming in last place in our scariness poll. Is that right?

Phil: You know, Zombies I can understand. I've got to admit they're pretty freaky. But Julia Roberts? I could eat Julia Roberts for breakfast.

Me: If only. So why is it, do you think people are no longer taking you seriously? I mean you made a deal with the devil, command legions of ravenous wolves, stalk young women, suck your victim's blood, occasionally turning them into minions of the damned. What gives?

Phil: You know, the sad truth is it takes a thousand years to build an evil reputation and only a few to tear it down. I blame the "Twilight" series. What kind of wussy vampire is that Edward anyway? Put a stop to Bella's incessant whining and bite her already! I don't care how good she smells- less adolescent flirting, more slow-tormented death.

Me: Beautifully put Phil. You seem to feel strongly about this.

Phil: Oh, you don't even know. Since that book of lies emerged my phone's been ringing off the hook- people inviting me to midday luncheons, baby-showers, golf-tournaments-

Me: So you feel you've kind of lost your edge?

Phil: Even Renfield's been on my case- wants to see me "sparkle" in the sunlight. Its like a bowie knife right through my heart. Just because Edward doesn't turn to dust...

Me: Do you need a moment?

Phil: Sorry. Its just that sometimes I feel like disappearing back into the Carpathian Mountains, you know? I might lay low for a while, feast on some local wenches. Maybe give Julia Roberts a call.

Me: If its any consolation, I think you're super-duper scary...Phil?

My Zombie Encounter

I know what you're thinking, "But Diana, aren't Zombies just fictional monsters found in such hilarious films as "Night of the Living Dead"?" No, my naive back-talking friend, they are real. I know because I saw one in the RC Willey parking- lot just off Redwood Road not a fortnight ago.

Every so often Andy and I like to pretend like we have the money to afford new pieces of furniture. We go a-looking, find that everything is unreasonably expensive and instead splurge on gas-station doughnuts. It was on one such occasion, while waiting for an opportunity to pull out of the RC Willey parking lot, that we spotted him- a real live zombie. His blue hood was pulled completely over his eyes, but exposed his gaping mouth. His legs- stiff from being dead so long, his arms held out limply in front of him as he staggered towards our stagnate vehicle. I pointed him out to Andy, who was equally concerned at the rate at which he was approaching my passenger- window, apparently hankering for brains. The very moment before he hit our car, Andy put her in reverse. This sudden movement served to disorient him momentarily- throwing him off the scent. We watched in stunned silence as he reared his hooded head and let out an fevered moan of disappointment the likes of which I will never forget, and then continued down the sidewalk in his rambling zombie way. It was a narrow miss, and I am pleased not to have joined the hellish army of the living dead. Still, some part of me wished the little fella luck in his never-ending pursuit for juicy brains.

Ten Reasons Why I'd Rather: Part One

A wise man once said, "To pick up clothes and wash them, dry them, fold them, and put them away is the lamest, most time-consuming chore known to man." And you know what? He was absolutely correct. You know what else? It wasn't a man who said it, it was a woman. And that woman was me. I have no beef with the dishes. No problem vacuuming, or washing the windows. But laundry is the never ending gentle cycle from hell. My Friends, I give you Ten Reasons Why I'd Rather Eat Canned Spinach Than Do My Laundry...

1. While canned spinach smells horrible, Andy's stinky socks smell far less appetizing.
2. Disgusting as it may be, spinach is packed with vitamins. Who knows what's packed in my children's pockets.
3. Eating an entire can of spinach couldn't take longer than forty-five minutes. Completing a single load of laundry could take me forty-five years.
4. I would rather have Popeye on my side than that creepy snugly bear. Popeye has more integrity and would probably make a better friend. I guarantee you that snugly bear has a shady past and is not to be trusted. Plus Popeye could kick the crap out of snugly bear.
5. Puke stains.
6. Yes I've heard of Spray and Wash. Sixty percent of the time it works every time.
7. Spinach doesn't shrink to baby-doll size when you accidentally dry it.
8. If I save half the can of spinach for later, it doesn't grow into an unconquerable pile of spinach so enormous and deep I fear for my children lest they fall into its murky depths.
9. My mom has yet to become so concerned about my ability to eat canned spinach than she gives me a step-step-book about how to go about it.
10. There are limitless cans of spinach in the world but I have nothing left to wear.

Liono Vs. Jack Skellington Presidential Debate

Liono: "So it has come down to you, and it has come down to me."

Jack: "Would you mind putting the sword away? Its just a little distracting."

Liono: "This is no ordinary sword. This bad-boy is the Sword of Omens! With it and my enchanted claw shield there is none who dares oppose me!"

Jack: "I oppose you. And I believe that if the public took a closer look at your healthcare plan they would oppose you too."

Liono: "How can you sit there and talk about Healthcare when you're dead?"

Jack: "Touche."

Liono: "What did you call me?"

Jack: "And what of your shady past? You don't expect the public to believe that was catnip in your dormroom back on Thundera."

Liono: "Since I have been Lord of the Thundercats Thunderian crime has gone down thirty-seven percent, the planet is cleaner, and our kittens are receiving a better education. I think my record speaks for itself."

Jack: "What, your record makes no mention of your possible indiscretions involving Cheetara?"

Liono: "You have absolutely no proof of that!"

Jack: "But Mr. Ooogie Boogie-"

Liono: "NO PROOF!"

Jack: "Ok fine. My point is, the public needs a leader they can trust. I am an open book; Yes, I attempted to steal a holiday. Yes, I kidnapped Santa Clause. I can be honest about my mistakes. And that is something that clearly sets me apart from my opponent here."

Liono: "He's a friggin' skeleton people!"

Jack: "By the way Liono, bold move running with Snarf as your vice president."

Liono: "I'll admit Panthro may have been a better choice. But at least I don't have a head that's too big for my body."

Jack: "Do I smell kitty litter?"

Liono: "BIG HEAD!"

Jack: "That's it!"

Liono: "Thundercats HO-OH!"

My Little Black Cloud

"If an optimist had his left arm chewed off by an alligator, he might say, in a pleasant and hopeful voice, "Well, this isn't too bad. I don't have my left arm anymore, but at least nobody will ever ask me whether I am right-handed or left-handed," but most of us would say something more along the lines of "Aaaaah! My arm! My arm!"- Lemony Snicket (Horseradish)

I'm an optimist. I do believe that eventually everything will be all right, after inevitably wading through colossal amounts of agonizing emotional and physical suffering. It snowed today but I am optimistic it will be sunny again someday, although I worry that I could be sick the day its sunny and not be able to go outside. If it is ever sunny again I would love to go camping. But chances are it would snow. Or we could forget to bring food with us and break the zipper on our tent while we are inside of it and when we call for help the only thing that hears us is a family of bears who also forgot to bring food with them and so they eat us. Then everyone will wonder "Where are the Sortors on this fine sunny day?"

That blogging is so hot right now

Blogging brings out the narcissist in all of us. But lets be honest, nobody really cares what I have to say. So enjoy the photos and take any commentary you do read with a grain of salt; I am a huge Will Ferrell fan.