And Then There Was That One Time...

I 'Heart' YA too!

2012-01-18T16:11:00.002-07:00

Oh, hahaha! You probably thought I died!

Must we talk about this again? Sometimes I go on hiatus. For long periods of time. Just accept it. I have.

^That was a fun paragraph, don't you think? Lots of little minisentences. And they got progressively shorter, haha! It's true, I'm easily amused--but that's what you love about me! Okay, friends, let's get down to bidness.

Part of the reason for this latest absence is that my missionary came home from Fiji just in time for Christmas. Then he left again after 3 little teeny tiny, inadequate, yet abundantly appreciated weeks to go to BYU Hawaii. I'm telling you, he ripped my heart right out and took it with him in his carry on.

Whoa, I almost launched into a diatribe about how painful it is when children grow up and leave you, but frankly I'm a bit tired of ~~sobbing~~ thinking about it all the time. I'm finally ready to put my big girl panties back on and just deal with it. Oh, so easy to say, haha, whatever...so ANYWAY!

Today I would like to tell you about something I'm excited about. It features my Aunt Suzanne, whom we used to call Aunt Suzie, but then she made everybody start calling her Suzanne, which was really hard to get used to, but then I did and now she's decided to go by Suze, which I thought was "Sooz", but it's "Suzie." I know, I found it complicated too. The reason she changed it again is because she's an AUTHOR! And there's already some other author named Suzanne Reese, so she has a new pen name and now I'm having a heck of a time trying to make myself call her Suze! Now that I think about it, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to call her that. It's a pen name. Remind me to ask her about it later.

Aunt Suze is only five years older than me, but when you're 11 and she's 16 that's a BIG DIF! Back then I thought she was the COOLEST! I will even admit that I was intimidated and somewhat shy around her back then, because of her coolness. Our relationship has changed and evolved over the years. Now that I'm 43 and she's--hey, I'm not telling you her age! That's her business!--the difference is barely noticeable. We are very much sisterfriends now. Except for this one thing: I continue to look up to her as the COOLEST! It used to be about her big hair and how she was pretty enough to work at MCDONALDS! (Funny story--ask me some time.) But now it's more about how she's so smart (SO smart!) and a real, live published author--and a good one, too! She's creative and ambitious and still kind of intimidating with her life-planning and mothering skillz, but she accepts me with my quirks and flaws and best of all: she lets me edit her stuff. Yum! (Seriously, so yummy. Omm nom nom! Gimme WORDS!)

Her two books are Where Hearts Prosper (WARNING: this book was badly edited--not our fault; publisher's fault--grrrrrrrr!) and Extra Normal, both YA fiction, both really good.

Yesterday, Suze launched her Blog Carnival: I 'Heart' YA. It's why ay, not yuh, in case you had the same problem I did for a couple minutes. Um, I heart you too, Suze. Oh wait--OH! YA, as in Young Adult! Huh huh, that makth more thenth (<--even funnier story--perhaps I'll blog it sometime *chuckle*). Apparently there is a large demographic of YA fiction lovers and enthusiasts out there in cyberspace. Who knew? Suze did, cuz she's smart like that. That's her cute logo up there. ^

What is a Blog Carnival, right? That's what I said. Here, I'll let her tell you:
I HEART YA is a Blog Carnival for readers, writers, and lovers of young adult fiction. Every Tuesday there will be a blogging prompt that celebrates my favorite reading genre --YA fiction. Bloggers are invited to write their own take on the topic and post a link in the comment section, or if you prefer just put your thoughts in the comments.
Uuummmm...I kinda just realized this post was supposed to be about how I came to love YA fiction. Seriously no idea. I guess when my daughters started reading it? Yep, that's what it was. Okay. Done.

Want more YA fiction action? Want to see how to find Aunt Suze's books? Come on over to her blog: suzereese.com and see!

Jello For You

2011-09-16T12:45:00.000-06:00

This is a post I started a while back, so the admission of blogging slackage isn't exactly relevant right this very minute. But we all know it often is, so I'm sure you can use your imagination if you need to.

I couldn't stand the guilt of going a minute longer without updating my blog! I just finished reading all my regulars and after savoring the yummy words of some of my dearest friends I thought, "Not cool, Keems. You can't keep showing up to this potluck with no jello," or something like that.

Unforch, there are lots of ideas jumping around in my head, but they're like that little black dot in your vision: as soon as you try to focus on it, it jumps back out of sight.

Perhaps I will tell you about a little thing we like to call 'Chinese Christmas'.

As you are likely aware (since you are reading this and there are only like three people who read this), Bob is a bit of a shopper. He loves getting his shop on.

Imagine what it must be like for him to go to China where everything is 90% cheaper than it is back home. Poor Bob is practically helpless in that situation, and virtually compelled to buy enough stuff to also have to buy a new suitcase in which to carry home the merchandise. We have a lot of suitcases. Luckily they only last for a couple of trips before they break, which should keep the number of suitcases down. What we really have is a lot of broken suitcases. But you didn't need to know that.

There are several things that Bob regularly buys such as shoes, jeans, candy, gum and DVDs. And then there are things he buys once in a while, like pearls, purses, scarves and watches. And then there are things he buys once, like high heeled tennis shoes and this

I only made it that big so you can read the Point! section. And I especially enjoy the bathroom scene. Where can I get me one of those double-toilet baffrooms? Think of the great conversations we could have! Anyways, I have that guy on my desk. In orange. And I believe someone has the blue one. You know who you are and you'd better have it on your WORK desk! At WORK!

Sorry to distract you like that--I was talking about Chinese Christmas before the desk art caused a pretty pervasive tangent. Anyways, Chinese Christmas is what we call it when Bob comes home from China and opens his suitcases (yes, plural). Was that self-explanatory? I can't always tell.

Chinese Christmas is very exciting and also stinky. Everything smells like China and that ain't no compliment. We all can't wait for our regulars: shoes! shirts! new gum flavors! yes! I wanted to see that movie!; our semi-regulars: awesome, you got scarves! and a tablecloth!; and then there are the one-timers: what in the mutated Chinese knick-knacks is that?!

Chinese Christmas usually stays scattered around our living room for a few days as we try to find more room in our closets for China-scented clothing and new places for the undefinables. Sometimes they go straight to the gift closet to await the White Elephant Party in December.

I'm sure this will be one my family's most treasured accidental traditions in the years to come. Sometimes I wonder if there will come a day when Bob doesn't travel to China anymore and I'll be left longing for just one more set of blueberry-colored pearls for my brother-in-law's grandmother. I hope it never happens.

Do you have any accidental traditions? Tell me about them!

When Life Gives You Lemonade...

2011-09-12T12:08:00.000-06:00

The following embarrassing, but hilarious story is not about me this time. It's about my sister, whom I have called Bwuthow since Jr. High. She calls me Bwuthow too. We don't know why, so you can keep wondering but it won't do you any good.

She is a massage therapist. I know, lucky me, right? Oh, yes.

One day she was giving her friend a massage. She had to haul her very heavy massage table up to her friend's attic where it was nice and sweltering. Then she had to give a 60 minute massage, which was just plain exhausting. Then she had to carry her still heavy table back down the stairs and out into the toasty summer sun. So you and I can both imagine how delighted she was when her friend brought out a delicious glass of icy lemonade for the drive home. Yum!

She set the lemonade on the roof of her car while she loaded up the table.

Right now you're probably thinking that you know what's going to happen in this story, because so did I. But you can just hold your little horses for a sec.

Okay, yes, it's a given that she left it on top of the car. I mean, she is my sister after all, so it's kind of obv. But that lemonade stayed right there. It didn't go flying down the road or rolling down her windshield onto the hood. It stayed right there all the way until she opened up the sunroof.

Colleege! Observations From an Overaged Student

2011-09-12T12:05:00.001-06:00

How is school going, you ask? Well, let me tell you: it's going great! Yes, there were the typical first-and-second-day disasters that everyone has, like having the sprinkler come on in your face at lunchtime and being doused in a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup. But really, just the usual stuff.

And, well, I guess there's the one thing where I look like a big loser eating lunch by myself EVERY DAY. But aside from that I am having a blast. I love being in the classroom. I love the teachers, the assignments, the atmosphere. If I were going to night classes or something, there would probably be plenty of other people my age. But I go during the daytime. Regular school hours. And I am one of two older students in each of my classes. Except the other ones are like 30. I don't mind. I actually kinda like it. When introducing myself in one class I told them if they can't remember my name they can just call me mom. They are the same age as at least 2 of my children, although far more diverse.

Let's face it, SLCC is cheap. Which is why I'm going there for now. But that also makes it the County Fair* of colleges. For one thing, there is no dress code. I have a problem with that because of the many unwelcome bodyparts I am forced to know way too much about because of the child-size dollar store clothes (or is it GenX?) which many of my schoolmates choose to wear. But I can't help being fascinated by it at the same time. And the conversations I overhear are also very...entertaining. My favorite: "Yeah, well, when she gets out of prison I'm not even gonna talk to her!" Me neither, buddy. And why do you have a tattoo on your neck?

The tattoos are another story, but you already know that. I do. not. get it.

So, here is a funny story for you that happened last week: I was sitting by myself at lunch, AS USUAL, and may I say right here that it is a shame about that because the people-watching is fabulous there and I have no one to share it with. But anyways, so I was sitting at an outside table, looking like a loser but trying to look like I meant to sit by myself, possibly because no one else was cool enough to sit by me, but more likely because I'm old and don't have any friends...yet. And I heard this girl going around to groups of people asking very enthusiastically whether or not they'd heard that the Plain White T's are coming to campus!!! <--Her exclamations, not mine.

Eventually she got to the cool-kids'-table-for-one, came up behind me and exclaimed, "Did you hear the Plain White T's are coming to campus?!!!" I took a flyer from her and said, "Oh, cool!" She continued her spiel as she walked around to the front of my table and finally looked at me. At that point she hesitated. "Um...if you maybe have some kids...or...," and that's when she saw the look on my face which must have accurately communicated how UNcool that was what she just said to me, and she tried backpedaling, "or...if maybe you like them...or...," as she backed away and quickly moved on to her next appropriate-aged clients. To quench my feelings of insult and also to prove her wrong, even though she wouldn't ever know, I grabbed my iPod and pulled up the 5 Plain White T's songs I have on there. Ha! So there! And then I tried to evaluate the situation. What exactly was bothering me? That she recognized how old I am? Well, I am. That she had the audacity to assume I have kids old enough to go to a Plain White T's concert? Well, I do. In the end I realized what really bothered me was that I was bothered so much by it. THAT's the part that makes me old! "How DARE you guess my correct age! Why I oughtta!"

Sheesh. Old people.

*When you are at the County Fair, don't you always wonder where did all these people come from? Do they live in the county limits? Why don't I ever see them any other time except sometimes at Walmart? Where do they hide out the rest of the year? Do they just wait for the County Fair and then say, "ColbyAnn, getcher tube top on! We're headin' to our once-a-year outing: the COUNTY FAIR!" And then when they grow up they go to SLCC, I guess.

Colleeeeege!

2011-08-31T23:52:00.002-06:00

In an effort to become more literate and edgamacated I have decided to go back to school. I didn't tell you way back when I made the decision because I didn't want to be that girl who says I'm going to do something, but then later when you ask about it she's all oh I didn't do it. So I wanted to surprise you and really be doing it when I told you about it.

Do you like how I acted like you didn't already know even though the only people who read this blog (that I know about) would already know such a thing? It's for the future when my readership is through the ROOF!

I don't think I want to go into my real reasons for going back because it will take too long, but it seems like I'm about to. Yep, I'm about to.

Short version:
Although it should have been super-obv for my whole life, including my childhood, which I realize was implied, it never, for some reason, occurred to me that there is something I love to do that could be a reason to earn a degree and which could also become a career. And as soon as I tell you what it is you will wonder how I could possibly have written the preceding sentence (but I'm really tired and I don't curr). I have been obSESSed (ask anyone) with proofreading and editing ever since I can remember (don't say it!) and always proofread everything I read. Mistakes jump up off the page and smack me in the face and I LOVE correcting them. I know, super nerdy. But I really love it.
So a few months ago it hit me over the head like unto an anvil and the rest is herstory (haha--get it?).

So I will be making Colleege posts here and there to let you know how it's going, especially since it's hard for you to sleep at night wondering how school is going and stuff.

I was going to tell you about my first two days and a couple of my teachers, but my video homework just finished burning to disc and it's after midnight and I have classes all day tomorrow and then a 3-hour night class, so I gotsta get to bed.

Kthanxbye

P.S. Boy am I going to be horrified when I read this later and find all my mistakes. And I call myself a proofreader!

Note to an Absentminded Musician:

2011-04-11T08:56:00.004-06:00

BONO, why don't you just tell me what it is so I can help you look? This has been going on far too long. When you first said you couldn't find it I felt bad and wished you the best and everything. But then you kept going on and on about it. Every time I turned around there you were whining again. Geez!

By and by you've lightened up a little and only lamented occasionally, but still, I find myself silently asking, "Seriously, Bono? Still?"

I just heard you keening again the other day and I mean it's been like 25 years! Come! On! Either find it or move on already!

I'm sorry my friend, but I have to ask: are you sure you're really even looking?!

If You Go There...Take a Jacket

2011-04-02T19:39:00.004-06:00

It seems there is a phenomenon following me around called, "If you go there, it will be cold."

If you were to ask me what my ideal vacation would be I would tell you: Somewhere Warm. That's it. My only request. It can be an hour away, a day away, on the other side of the globe. Doesn't matter, as long as the sun is shining.

A few years ago some friends and I were sick and tired of the inversion in Bountiful. Spring was coming, but not fast enough and we wanted to be warm. We decided to take a little grrltrip to a foolproof warm zone: Phoenix, AZ. Or was it Tempe? Who even cares? Either way, we should have been safe, right? Wrong. For the few days we were there all we heard was, "It's so strange! It's NEVER this cold this time of year! NEVER!" We couldn't even get in the pool, we just sat on lounge chairs near the pool in our jackets and read our books while some stupid little kids who were too young to care about being cold shivered in the water. Bust.

Then there was China. Though it was actually slightly warmer than predicted that time, that's not saying much because China in December is riDONKulously, brutally cold. The humid winter air and frigid winds are SO not cool. Well, yes, cool--but not in a good way. So I told my traveling companions that next time we need to go somewhere WARM.

Los Angeles! Yes!.....no. "It's crazy! Just last week it was SO WARM! It's just a crazy cold spell--don't know how to explain it." Uh huh. Whatever. Good thing the company was awesome. The day after we left, you'll never believe it...super HOT!

San Francisco? Sounded iffy to me. Let's just say I now have a darling souvenir jacket from Pier 39. At least they had hot chocolate here and there in SF.

Next? I think it was prob Park City. In the winter. Enough said, right?

Then it was Las Vegas for the National Finals Rodeo. Fun trip. Fun friends. Cold weather.

Oh my gosh! For Spring Break we've flown the fam to South Carolina and rented a beach house on Harbor Island! SOUTH Carolina. In the SOUTH. I promise a guy said this as we picked up our rental: "It's been so hot! It was so hot just yesterday! I don't know why it's cold today, but it's supposed to get warmer in a few days, don't worry." For 3 days it has been windy and chilly, even rainy. Yesterday we tried to go to Hunting Beach. We walked out on the pier and after watching a few birds get hauled off in the air by the fierce winds, and me imagining (for no logical reason) how awful it would be to fall off the giant pier into the freezing, roiling waves, we all ran back to the car and cranked on the heater. I've been running on the beach every morning, but unibomber-style with my hoodie tied tightly against my sunglasses so I don't get a headache from the cold wind boxing my ears.

It was actually warmish today. Beautiful, really. We went to the beach and watched Christian try out his skim board. The water was still too cold for any intelligent person to swim in (haha, mostly kidding, Christian!). But it's supposed to be warm again tomorrow. Notice I say warm. There's no chance of hot, but at this point warm sounds pretty great. I'll take it!

Not that we haven't had a great time. It's been a blast. We can always have fun, regardless of the weather. And a vacay is a vacay. But I am still on my quest for a very warm to hot vacation, and starting to wonder if the problem isn't, well...me.

Klassic Keems

2011-01-04T09:12:00.003-07:00

A friend's blog today mentioned Hires Big H in Salt Lake. It reminded me of a recent trip there for lunch with Becky. When the waitress came over I warned her not to judge me for what I was about to order and then proceeded to order a hot chocolate and a rootbeer float.

Embarrassing?

More like perfection.

Want Me to Fix Your Eyewear?

2010-09-28T15:20:00.006-06:00

So what if part of the cheap glasses I got at Walmart kept coming off?

I'm a grown woman.

I'm perfectly capable of gluing on a little plastic earpiececoverthingy (said with all kinds of attitude).

See?

Oh.

Taking the Diet Coke

2010-09-01T02:22:00.004-06:00

One time my Sis-in-law slash BFF, Becky and I serendipitously figured out we both had friends who lived in Boston. And then later figured out that they were ROOMMATES! It was obviously a giant sign from the Universe that we needed to take a grltrip to Boston. And so, naturally, we did.

We had a great time in Boston. We all got along well, saw lots of awesome historical sights, took a duckboat ride on the Charles River...it was a memorable, wonderful trip.

On our flight home Becky and I were, for some reason, seated one in front of the other. We each had a window seat, but couldn't get anyone to trade with us so we could sit together. Oh well. During the flight I could vaguely hear her in front of me, chatting it up with the lady sitting next to her.

I was sitting by a middle-aged couple who had nothing to say. And when I said, "Oh, look how cute! Miniature silverware!" during the meal, they were not the least bit amused. Awkward.

When the flight attendant asked what I would like to drink I answered, "Do you have Dr. Pepper?" She said, "What? Diet Coke?" (I hate Diet Coke). I said, "....uhhhhhyyyyyyeah, um hmm, yep, Diet Coke. Thank you."

When we got off the plane Becky said, "Did I hear you order a Diet Coke? What the heck? You hate Diet Coke! I was all, 'Did she just order Diet Coke? What the heck? She hates Diet Coke!'" I explained to her that the attendant had heard me wrong and I didn't want to make her feel bad, so I took the Diet Coke. I have been known to have a fairly serious problem with lack of assertiveness, even in harmless situations such as this.

The phrase 'Taking the Diet Coke' has evolved from this story and is a common warning from Becky and others when they fear I am going to buckle in a confrontational situation. I am often admonished, "Don't you dare take the Diet Coke, Kimi!" Or, "Oh, no. You took the Diet Coke, didn't you," by Becky or Bob or anyone else who knows me well. Those two are routinely called upon to give me courage when I have to deal with a sensitive situation. My sympathy often overrides my objectivity and I can end up flipping sides just to make someone feel better. It's a blessing and a curse. I can see both sides of an issue very clearly. Problem is, that makes it really hard to take a side, even when I know it's right.

So, I try my best not to take the Diet Coke. Literally and figuratively.

Which makes me think of my friend, Melinda, who, though she will ALWAYS take a Diet Coke, would NEVER 'take the Diet Coke!'

Am I Being Punked Right Now?

2010-08-31T18:40:00.013-06:00

I've been sick for days, but I still have to do stuff since I have that one job: Mom. Today I had to go to the fabric store with Andie to buy some material for a school thing. We picked out a lovely metallic stretch fabric that was 30% off and went to have it cut at the cutting table. There was one customer there who had just finished getting her fabric cut and then she left. So it was just me. And so I put my fabric on the table and the cutting table worker lady said, "Oh! Did you take a number," as she pointed to the little number dispenser. Are you kidding me, I thought. I'm the only person anywhere near this table. Isn't that just a waste of paper? I noticed a digital display up high showing a big number 20 as I took number 21 from the dispenser.

As I stood there, swaying faintly from weakness and nausea, I watched her fiddle around superslowly with whatever she could think of. I closed my eyes for a little micronap and also so I wouldn't make an Are You Serious? face at her, because that would be a little rude. But HOLY COW!

After a very long minute or so she ran out of things to 'do' but didn't so much as look up at me before she walked in the opposite direction over to a phone. I could NOT believe it when she held the handpiece to her mouth like a microphone and announced over the loudspeaker, "Attention customers: we are now serving number twenty one at the cutting table. Serving number twenty one."

Then she walked back over to me and said, "What can I do for you," as if she had just now noticed me standing there.

Okay, now I couldn't help it. I pointedly turned my head in both directions, looking at the NOBODY who was standing ANYWHERE within shooting distance and gave her a semi-subtle incredulous look, otherwise known as the Am I On Candid Camera? face. I set my fabric on the table, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a sarcastic smirk, gave my head a defeated little shake, and said, "5 yards, please."

Perhaps I Could Join the Circus?

2010-06-16T11:55:00.012-06:00

I used to teach piano, you may know. Just beginners, though--don't want to mess anyone up too badly, right?

I had some awesome piano students. I think they entertained me more than I ever taught them piano. But hopefully they learned something. Kids are funny. Some of my students LOVED me, couldn't stand to see me move away. Others seemed to think I was a crazy lady. They never came right out and said it, but I have my suspicions. Let me tell you about some of my faves:

MCKENNA was deathly afraid of dogs, so I always had to make sure our dog was nowhere in sight when she came over or she couldn't even have a lesson due to excess emotional trauma.

KENDRA was somewhere off in left field or something. I never did completely figure her out. She was 11 and I pretty much taught her the same lesson every week because she wasn't able to grasp a concept for forever. And even when I thought she had gotten it I'd find out a few lessons later, when she acted like she'd never heard it before in her life, that she hadn't quite yet. I got a lot of blank stares from Kendra.

Whenever she saw me at the school, though, she would yell, "HI planno teacherrrr!" I don't think she had any idea what my name was, but she knew I was her planno teacher. So that's good.

Her lesson was right after school and she would always walk the half-block to my house in extreme bladder distress and then come panting up to my door, pleading desperately to use my bathroom, as if she thought I might just turn her down. One time she had to stop in the middle of the street and put down her backpack just to get a better grip on her full crotch-hold. It may have been that day that I mentioned she might want to go at school first so she wouldn't be so uncomfortable walking up the street.

"Okay, (...pant, pant...tightencrotchhold...pottydance), but," she says, "can I just use yours for today?!"

Oh, Kendra. Kendra, Kendra, Kendra. Of course you can use mine. *Closedeyesheadshake*.

ROMAN. Everybody called him ROman except for his mom. She called him RoMAHN. I was always undecided on whether I should go with the accepted American pronunciation or the obviously correct Latin pronunciation. So I pretty much flip-flopped every other time-ish. Come to think of it, he prob thought I was a weirdo even before this next incident ever occurred.

During one lesson Roman looked at me quizzically and said I had a hair on my lip. Wait. We need pictures for this story. Here, I'll act it out in pictures.

So, he says I have a hair on my lip.

"Oh," I say, as I brush my lip off, "Did I get it?"

"Uuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh................no. Like.........*cringeface*.........a mustache."

"Oh."

*Facepalm!*

Tell it like it is, Ro.
Just tell it like it is.

Redemption at Last

2010-05-31T09:51:00.007-06:00

Here's an old classic for you. There was this one time when I was newly pregnant. Newly as in, 'not very far along,' as well as in, 'never been pregnant before.' I was still fitting into my regular clothes, but not so much comfortably. So when we got home from a long day at church I went ahead and unzipped the zipper on the side of my skirt and sat down on the couch for some nice Sunday chillaxin'.

You know how I always forget appointments and stuff, so you won't be surprised when I tell you I forgot our home teachers were coming by for a visit until they knocked on the door. Not a big deal. I mean, I can chit chat like it's none of your business, so I really didn't mind having some short term visitors. As long as they didn't stay so long that I'd miss snack time and stuff. You gotta keep on top of that sort of thing in the first trimester, you know. Anyway, we didn't know them very well, so it was KIND OF embarrassing when I stood to greet them and my skirt fell straight to the floor.

Yeah, it happened.

Naturally, my fondest desire and greatest wish at that moment was for everyone to start laughing hysterically and think to themselves that was the best thing that happened all day. Because it was so funny.

Instead, both of them turned so quickly that how did they not get whiplash? "Uhhh...umm...oh!...wow...your fish have gotten...bigger...haven't they," they stammered.

Really? That's how you're gonna play it, brethren? The fish?! Are bigger?! Okay, so maybe we had piranhas. And maybe they were growing exponentially bigger by the day. But, srsly. That's the best you can do?

Regrettably, and as I've experienced time and time again, instead of having a great laugh and some impromptu bonding time, we all four sat in awkward desperation for half an hour, each on our own side of the big old elephant in the room. Looking at each other through the legs, around the trunk, under the tail. Big, stinky elephant. All the while, our pleasant conversational faces glued on like the wrapper on a Kraft slice.

Situations like that exhaust me. Freals.

Well, I think the time has come to redeem that unfortunate event and celebrate it as the top notch EM story it was always meant to be.

So raise your glasses high! Here's to the Great Skirt Dive of '89! Cheers!

Mugshot

2010-04-15T09:26:00.007-06:00

My very good friend Erin celebrated (endured) her 40th birthday this week. I think she's the cutest 40 year old there ever was. Freals. Anyway, she's had several birthday tributes on various blogs and this isn't one of them. This is an embarrassing moment dodged. And a birthday gift forfeited.

One time I was at Erin's house and she graciously offered me some hot chocolate, which she knows I love. She's nice like that. But she served the hot choc in some gnarly, nasty mugs. Mismatched, logo-riddled mugs. Mine had the handle broken off. Srsly, Erin, hot chocolate deserves better than that. For Christmas Erin had given me one of my favorite gifts: a delicate, pretty china-white mug with a scrolly black design and my initial on it. It's the only thing I'll drink my cocoa out of now. It's so elegant and lovely and makes me feel fancy. And whenever I look at it I think of the delicious taste of my winter-time bff, hot chocolate. Thanks Erin, you know how I love my mug!

So, for Erin's birthday I decided to return the favor. Only I got her a set of 8 mugs, so she could serve guests and even her whole family tummy-warming drinks in a lovely receptacle and not in chipped-up, accumulated-from-the-drug-reps, not-for-'company' mugs. I bought them and wrapped them in a beautiful package, Kim Johnston-style, with color-coordinated bows and ribbon. I put the box in my car and waited for the right time to give them to her.

On the day of her birthday I was at her house, in her kitchen, having a great little chat and thinking she was such a supercute 40 year old chick-dawg, when I noticed some of her kitchen cupboards with glass-fronts. Actually, what I noticed was what rested neatly behind the glass doors: a set of perfectly lovely, gray, patterned....MUGS! Were those there the whole time? Even when she served me hot cocoa in the second-hand cups? I don't know. What I do know is she's already set in the mug department. Why did she not use one of them for me? I choose to think it's because she thinks of me as family, and as such didn't think to get out the 'good china' for little old Kimi. That's okay. I take it as a compliment. But now, what to do with the brightly-colored package sitting in my car?

I had also gotten her an iTunes gift card. I always get her an iTunes gift card. She LOVES iTunes and is always searching out the latest and greatest new bands and songs and stuff. The best part is she shares her finds with others and that includes me, which is awesome because she has great taste in music and I get to benefit from it. So I encourage the iTunes obsesh with gift cards here and there. I had slipped the gift card in with the birthday card, so when it came time to cough up a gift I only gave her the card. She didn't even know she missed out on a whole 'nother present! And the best part is I never told her........until now.

Happy birthday, Erin! Enjoy the iTunes!

Notes to the Universe

2010-01-21T16:11:00.006-07:00

Dear Diet: You are making me so boring. Thinner? Yeah, sure. Healthier? Prob. But I'm still on the fence about whether you're worth it. I am no fun to be around these days. Heck, I don't even like hanging out with myself that much. I appreciate what you're trying to do, really I do, but I hope you understand when I say that when this is all over I'm moving on. Three more weeks and you're outta here. Make that two and a half.

Dear Winter: Why?

Dear Spring: Everybody loves you, I know. But I think you're just a big tease. And I think you love it, getting everybody's hopes up, just to dash them a few days later. Yeah, you get me good every single year. I fall for your tricks, try as I might to keep my guard up. Ooohhh, you're good.

Dear Earrings: Do ya'll plan that out? That thing where one of you goes off somewhere and the other stays where I put you? And then you switch off and the first one shows up in some random place, but then the other one isn't in the original spot anymore? That's funny. Now stop it.

My Dear Children: Would you stop aging? Please?

Dear Cotton: You are so soft and comfortable, warm or cool as needed, versatile and affordable. But.......why you always gotta SHRINK like that?

Dear Hot Chocolate: I know. Shhhh, I know. I miss you too. It's gonna be okay. Don't tell the Diet, but when I finish up with him, you and me, we're back on. That's right, HC, we're about to start up again. Big time.

Hey Tan,

2009-08-31T06:05:00.011-06:00

I've been thinking about stuff lately. You stuff. Tanner stuff. So I thought I'd tell you about it.

First of all, I hope you know--I'm pretty sure you do--how proud I am of you. For being who you are with all your goodness and kindness ('cept for that nasty heartless streak you sport sometimes. But mostly that just makes me laugh, because I know you're really, in real life, super compassionate) and your smartness, and your funniness and your athleticism, and your spirituality, and your good-lookin'ness and stuff like that. So, just to reiterate, I am so super proud of you.

I don't know if you know this part. You probably do, but I'll tell you anyway. Somehow you were born awesome. You know I used to take credit for it, but later realized I had ever so little to do with who you are. You just came that way. It seems to me you must be one of the "old spirits" since you showed up already way ahead of the game. I have marveled at your powerful self since you were a toddler. You always asked so many questions, which was hard on me because I could only answer like 1 percent of them. Your questions were advanced, even when you were only four years old. You would stump me all the time and I always wondered how you even came up with a question like that in the first place. I remember that one time when you ponderfully asked a way deep gospel question that left no doubt in my mind that you appeared on this earth cram-packed with knowledge well beyond your years--and mine, too, I'm pretty sure. I mean, I barely stayed ahead of you until you deftly outsmarted me by at least junior high. Like, you know how I used to beat you in ping pong? You prob don't because it was so long ago and for so brief a period, but it happened. And you know how now it's like you're playing against Helen Keller or something? Well, that's how I feel about how much I have had to offer you since you were like 12 or something, and that's just intellectually speaking. Spiritually, you had me skunked by like age 8. Now I just watch, and marvel at your inner grace and humility and understanding.

You've always done your best and tried to learn to be better. You've been a great big brother--every sibling should be so lucky! You've been a wonderful son--sometimes maybe a smidge preachy (even though you're usually right)--but a wonderful son nonetheless. Obedient, respectful, loving. You've been a great friend--to everyone, young and old, a great student, and a loyal and obedient disciple and servant of Jesus Christ.

Anyway, what I was going to tell you is that I've so easily pictured you as a missionary for most of your life. From the time that you were assigned your first primary talk and you started rattling off the things you wanted to talk about and how you decided it would have more impact if you sang the first article of faith, rather than simply reciting it. You would dictate as quickly as I could write and then together we'd tweak and organize and then I'd help you memorize it. Talk after talk you'd give, primary and sacrament meeting, until a high councilman asked if he could take you to another ward to speak with him. You were about 6 at the time. I don't know if people believed me when I told them you'd written your own talks, but you did. You were always confident in what you wanted to tell the people, always with just the right twist to make it both funny and poignant. While rehearsing a talk you'd often say, "and then they'll laugh for a minute," before you'd go on to the next part. And of course they would laugh at all the right spots and you'd pause with your dimply smile for just a moment before continuing on.

I didn't mean to get off track there, because what I was trying to say is that you have always been a missionary in my eyes and now you're standing on the brink of your full-time, straight up, honest-to-goodness mission. And I can hardly stand how excited I am for you and for the people who will have the privilege of having their lives touched by you. And as extremely painful as it will be for me to give you up for two whole years, I'm simply elated when I think of what a great missionary you'll be.

And you know how I've always told you that your letters had better be grammatically acceptable and spellingly correct? Well, that's always nice, not that you'd have any problem with that, since now I ask you how to spell and word things, but that's not the important thing. I look forward to hearing your experiences and thoughts and feelings and stories and worries and stresses, even if you were to spell it like story's and wurries. Haha! As if!

Okay, I'll let you go now, but just know that I think the world of you. I love you so much I can barely contain it. I practically burst with pride and anticipation when I think of you on your mission. The call should be coming soon, maybe this week! It will be so exciting to hear where you're going. But it won't matter. Those people, no matter where they live, to have you in their village...island...city...territory...shanty town...province...whatever--they'll be the luckiest people in all the world.

Love, Mom

Editor's note: Tanner did get his call that week. He will be serving in the Fiji, Suva mission, teaching in the Fijian language. Yes, there is such a language.

Me and the Pee Part Three

2009-04-13T11:17:00.006-06:00

Sigh. Now where was I? Oh yeah, I was sitting in my own URINE for two hours! That's where I was.

If you've driven from Pocatello to Logan, you know you're lucky if you pass a gas station every once in 10,000 acres or so. So clothes shopping is pretty much out. I would've been so happy to just drive home and crawl into bed and feel sorry for my stanky self, but Andie had slept over at my sister's, so I had to go through Logan on my way home to pick her up.

As soon as I got into Logan I stopped at the first store I came to. Walmart. I picked up a package of underwears, a pair of cheap capri sweats, and some baby wipes. I went to the express checkout, where the checker asked if I knew how much the underwear was, because it didn't have a barcode on it. !@#$%^&*%^$&#!, I thought to myself. She flipped the package over and over, looking for a barcode that was nowhere to be found. Then she called someone over. So, of course, a GUY came over, tried all the same things she had, and then declared that, "Sometimes the barcode is on the clothing itself," as he proceeded to rip open the package and pull out a GIANT PAIR OF MOM UNDERWEAR and turn them around and over and up and down until he was satisfied that there was no barcode up in there. He then made the announcement, much to my and all my fellow line-standers' dismay that he was going to have to run back and get another package with a proper barcode.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that any other time in the history of my life I would have said, as I always do if ever I'm holding up a line, "Nevermind. I don't need that," (even if I do) and let people move on with their day. But on this day, this most UNlucky day in all of my memory (which, really, only covers about the last few minutes, so, not really saying much, but STILL!) I really, really needed those suckers. I toyed briefly with the idea of turning to my fan club members in the line and explaining, "You know, normally I would just not buy them right now, but, you see I peed my pants today and I've been sitting in my pee pants for the last 2 hours and I still have to drive to Bountiful and I REALLY need those undies!" But I held on to what little dignity I had left at that point and just closed my eyes and did some deep breathing. Well, I tried to keep my eyes closed, but I kept peeking to make sure I wasn't busted by a former schoolmate or old ward member or past co-worker, or, worst of all...a former boyfriend *YIKES*, which would have been perfectly in sync with my day so far.

Finally, the barcode scout brought another package to scan. Now, the 3-pack that I had chosen to purchase (and, mind you, it's not a purchase I make more than once every decade or so, since I wear undies of a more religious nature as a rule) were black, white, and grey. The package that this guy brought over were hot pink, hot pink with multi-colored stripes, and purple with a zany geometric pattern. Just in case the spectacle hadn't been noticeable enough up to that point.

I wondered if, given all that time to stand there thinking about it, someone in line had figured out why I was buying that particular assortment of items. Hmm...why would one need a pair of pants, a package of underwearsies, and...baby wipes? Looks suspish to me...I bet she peed her pants! Gross.

I paid for my goods, thanked the helpful Walmart employees, and slinked off into the bathroom. I came out of there a new woman. I disinfected my car seat (not even kidding, that's why I got leather seats.) and drove to my sister's house.

Well, guess what. This story has a happy ending. When I got to my sister's house, my other sister was there too, and as soon as I walked in, all the pain and frustration and embarrassment of my unbelievably, ridiculously, freakishly messed-up day washed away as we laughed and laughed and laughed some more. Kerri told me, "Two words: Blog. It." Kelli told me that as soon as she heard Mom had left, she tried to figure out how long it would take to get to Pocatello, but realized I'd be long done by then. And that was before part three had even happened! Who cares about a crappy old day when you have sisters who love you? Not I.

Plus, it was the perfect experience to pull me out of writer's block, so YAY!

Part 2 of Heck Day 2009

2009-04-13T08:46:00.010-06:00

Ahhhh. I finally arrived at the clinic after 4 1/2 hours of what should have been a 2 hour drive. It was nice to be greeted by Bob, who was worried about me and feeling badly for letting me drive somewhere by myself on half a brain and shoddy directions, and my mom, whose annoyance had faded into pity by now. They had both had their treatments already (which made sense, seeing how the appointment was at 10:30 and it was now 12:30!) Bob had gotten a shot in his hip, and Mom a shot in her knee.

My water marathon had paid off and I had a needle *shudder* in my hand, which was a million times better than last time in my ARM!! Ahhh! Gross! Quit making me talk about it!!!

After about 20 minutes my loving, if not overly nurturing, husband said he and the boys were gonna go ahead and take off for their fishing trip. I gave him the "You're going to leave me like this? With a NEEDLE in my VEIN?" look, but then decided to woman up and quit being a baby about it. "Okay, I'll be totally fine. Don't even worry about me. You guys have fun, now! Love you!"

Anyways, my mom was still there, so I should be able to survive.

The IV treatment takes about 2 hours. The room where the treatment is administered has, like, ten or so LaZBoy chairs against 3 walls where people chill with their IV bags. Some people talk, some sleep, some read, and some watch the big screen, which, so very UN-helpfully kept playing episodes of some violent, bloody, gory CSI-type show, not CSI, though, but the one with Lieutenant Dan from Forrest Gump. *Editors note: I have since learned that it was, indeed, CSI NY (in case you cared). Anyway, not helping with the gross-out factor. I have to be very distracted during the IV treatment or I start zeroing in on the fact that a NEEDLE has PUNCTURED my VEIN and is STILL IN THERE!!! And start getting all weird and freaky about it. So, Mom and I chatted for a while and laughed discreetly at the lady who could NOT not be talking every possible second of the day and would chat up anyone and everyone within the sound of her voice who happened to make eye contact with her. She was a kick.

After a while, though, I could tell mom was itchin' to get the heck out of there. You and me both, Mommy. You and me BOTH! So I said I was totally fine and I would just do my crossword puzzle and she really didn't need to stay just for me. So she said, "Oh, good! 'Cause I told Goldie I'd be at bowling by 4:30! Later, dude!" And she was gone. Okay, I exaggerated. She was slightly reluctant to leave me, but I assured her I had it under control, and she really loves bowling.

Well, I proudly made it through the ordeal, or had nearly made it through the ordeal anyway, when I suddenly got extremely nauseated and light-headed. I was either going to pass out or throw up. One or the other for sure. I was passionately hoping for pass out, because WAY less embarrassing, you know? But both scenarios were staring me down equally, so I tried to call the nurse over, but couldn't remember her name and I couldn't call her "nurse" because, how rude? And she was busy and walking in and out of the room, but never close enough for me to get her attention without using her name. So I asked a guy in a nearby LaZBoy, who wasn't hooked up to a NEEDLE *Shiver* if he knew her name. He didn't, but he went and got her for me after seeing the color of my face.

She came over and told me it was just the magnesium in the IV and I'll be just fine and she can take the needle out now and blah blah blah... I just wanted her to stop talking and get that thing out of my arm so I could get to the bathroom before I humiliated myself in front of everyone in one way or another. As soon as she disconnected me I walked as quickly and nonchalantly and in as straight a line as possible, while trying to make it out the door in a conscious state. Mercifully, I made it to the bathroom and managed to shut the door before I puked my guts out. My guts were bright purple. I wondered for a moment what the heck was in that IV before remembering the Jamba Juice my mom had brought me earlier. Phew!

Well, those of you who know me, what do you think would happen (to me) simultaneously during a bout of the cookie-tosses? Keep in mind that I have to practically wear a diaper just to play soccer. You guessed it. I peed. A. Lot. [Sorry, you know I've tried to avoid this subject on this blog, even though it plays a huge part in the embarrassing aspects of my life, but just -- just -- be quiet and keep reading! I wouldn't have brought it up if it wasn't the entire point of the rest of my day from Hades. But it is. So I HAD to. Sorry.]

So, I was hanging out in the bathroom, trying to figure out what to do and crying for the 5th time that day, when the nurse knocked on the door and said, "Kimmy, are you okay in there?" I opened the door, looked at her meaningfully and said, "I threw up."

"Oh," she said, compassionately, "That's okay. Don't worry about it. It happens a lot."

I fixed my gaze slightly more poignantly and said, "And I peed."

"Oh, yeah," she says, "You probably needed to after all that water, plus the IV."

"I peed while I was throwing up."

She cocked her head to the side like a puppy and squinched her eyes up, as if to say, "I'm not quite getting what you're trying to tell me."

"I peed...my...pants."

"OH! Oh, it's fine! I can give you a towel to sit on on the way home."

It was SO NOT fine, though I'm sure it was perfectly fine for her, so she wasn't lying or anything. But not fine for me, not at all.

"I'm still supposed to get some shots. In my back." (Which involves lying face down on a table --with my giant pee spot smiling up at everyone!)

"It's fine! You'll be fine," she reassured me.

Fortunately, I had to wear a gown up top and it happened to be long enough to cover any massive dark areas on the back of my pants. And the nurse (man, I still don't know her name!) was kind enough to arrange the gown strategically, once I was on the table. But there was still the matter of (pardon me, but) the smell! This same doctor has had me on a bumload of vitamins for the past few weeks, plus the IV full of mostly vitamins, so, well, you can figure it out.

At that point the doctor came in. He had obviously been briefed on the fiasco I had just experienced, because he kept apologizing for my terrible day, etc. And then he told me there was another doctor there that was learning the procedure and would I mind if he came in and watched?

Oh, well, it smells like PEE in here, but...

COME ON IN!!!

Think it's over? Not yet. Part 3 coming up.

My Day From Heck or How it Turns out the IV Treatment Wasn't the Worst Part of My Day

2009-04-13T07:10:00.008-06:00

This is part 1 of 3, documenting a freakish streak of bad luck and stupidity, which occurred on April 8th, 2009.

Wednesday began with a feeling of foreboding. I was worried about the IV treatment I would have to endure later. I'd been guzzling water for two days straight, trying to make my veins huge and easily accessible so I could have the needle in my hand instead of my *gulp* arm! Ble-e-e-e-echy! The doctor's office is in Pocatello. Yes, Idaho. Bob was going, too, along with my mom. But Bob was going to take the boys on a fishing trip straight from the doc's office, so we drove separately. My mom and I were going to drive together, so she was going to meet me on I-15 after driving from Logan through Tremonton so I wouldn't have to go the long way through Logan. Are you seeing any red flags yet? I should have.

Of course, Bob dusted me in the first 20 minutes, but no problem, I'd find my mom and she'd keep me from getting hopelessly lost.

Did I mention the doctor I was going to see thinks he can reverse the effects of a stroke I had 10 years ago that left me with memory, concentration, and balance problems? He claims to be able to increase my brain function. Keep reading. You will eventually see the irony in this...

When I got to Brigham-ish, I called Mom and told her where I was. Here were her instructions:

"Okay. There's a big mountain range on your right. When those mountains start going down and there's a break in them before the next range of mountains, you'll see an exit. When you get off the exit and turn left, you'll see me."

"Can I see you from the road?"

"No. You have to get off and turn left. And then I'm right there. There's nothing off this exit but fields and cows."

" What town are you in?"

"I don't know! I can't see the signs on the freeway! It's easy, you'll see it."

"Is there a mile marker that you can see?"

"No! I can't see anything on the freeway!"

"Uhhh...okay. I'm sure I can find it."

I drove. I watched the mountains. They started going down and I could see a break before the next range. But, you know, those turn out to be pretty vague directions, considering that there's a really wide range of possible interpretation of said directions.

I did eventually see an exit with nothing but cows. Kind of. It didn't look exactly like what she was describing, but close enough. I got off. Nothing. I got back on.

I did that four more times.

The phone rang. "Where are you?"

"Where are YOU?"

Long story less long: after 30 minutes at 80 miles per hour I still hadn't found her. I was nowhere near anything she had described. I was confused and frustrated. She was frustrated. I told her there's no way I hadn't passed her by now, I had no clue where I was, and I didn't know what to do.

She was all peeved and told me fine, she'd just drive herself to Pokey. I felt bad. And confused. I called Bob and told him about it. He said he could've sworn he saw her little truck off one of the exits. I said why didn't he stop and pick her up? Oh well. He said that's weird that I couldn't find her and I had turned off to the right when the freeway split, right?

Huh? The freeway splits? Crap.

So, I was halfway to Boise by now. I pulled off in Snowville for a potty break, since I was still chugging water like a camel and asked the kind lady at the gas station if there was a quicker way to Pocatello than backtracking all the way to the mythical "split" in the freeway. She told me I was in luck. There is a road that connects the two freeways, accessible from a road right in front of the gas station! Lucky me! Here were her instructions:

"Okay. There's a stop sign right in front of the station. It's not that one. The next stop sign you come to, turn right. After that, you'll go for about 20 miles on a winding road and then you'll come to an entrance to I-15."

Yay! Okay, sounds good. I came to the first stop sign. Check. I proceeded down the country lane heading seemingly into nowhere. And I do mean nowhere. There were literal tumbleweeds tumbling across the road and I didn't pass a single car. There was nary a house to be seen, only fields and more fields. I felt like I was driving to LaLa Land. And I kept NOT seeing a stop sign. Sure, there were little dirt roads that turned off my road, but nothing substantial, so I was fairly certain I was on the right road, but where in the world was the mythical "stop sign?"

After about 13 miles I decided Nowhere was an actual place, and I was going there. I thought, if I hit a moose and die out here, no one will EVER find me. I thought, I am on the flippin' wrong road! And I turned around and went all the way back to the gas station.

"Could I see that map again? I think I was on the wrong road."

"Huh? You're back? There's only one road. Here, I'll draw it out for you. Okay. So there's a stop sign right out here. It's not that one."

"Right. Check."

"You'll go about 17 miles and there will be another stop sign."

"Wait, now. What was that? Yeah, I don't think I went quite far enough." (And thanks for the head's up about the SEVENTEEN MILES!!!!)

So off I go. Sure enough, 17 miles on the Road To Nowhere and a stop sign appears! Yay! Now I just have to drive 20 more miles on another winding, abandoned road and then I'll be on the freeway, after which I can drive another hour or so and finally get there! Easy!

Meanwhile I kept my eyes peeled for any sign of civilization which might possibly feature a BATHROOM and stopped at every available opportunity.

Eventually I pulled into Pocatello! Yay! I was SO relieved to be in Pocatello! I called Bob and told him I was there and asked how I get to the office now. Here were his instructions:

"Okay. So, you're going to get off on the 3rd exit in Pocatello."

*Record scratch*

"Say, huh? I already got off on the FIRST exit!" (And thanks for the heads up about the 3rd exit, bee tee double yoo! Could you maybe have mentioned that in one of the twelve phone calls we've had in the last four hours? Oh, and isn't it extra-handy that you have a GPS both in your truck AND on your iPhone and I have a whopping NONE?! How is that helpful?)

After three, count 'em, THREE different people gave me three different versions of how to get to the office, and several turnings around, and crying for the fourth time that day, I finally pulled into the clinic. Yay! Ugh.

My stupid brain kept me from getting to the doctor who claims he can fix my stupid brain!

Departure: 8:00 A.M.

Arrival: 12:30 P.M.

And just when I thought nothing else could go wrong that day...well...stay tuned for Part 2 (Electric Boogaloo).

Media Moratorium

2009-04-03T07:32:00.008-06:00

I'm cutting WAAAAY back on the media. It's going to be painful, but I have to do it. It's taking over my life and I'm taking my life back. Here's how it's going to be:

NO tv. Well, not very much tv. Very little tv, if any. Perhaps just American Idol. And the final episode of ER because it's the final episode -- ever.

Computer: One hour in the morning, then shut down. One hour in the evening, then shut down. I actually did this yesterday and it was okay. I had to turn it on a couple of times for information and kids' homework, but because I had to boot it up and wait and everything, I really thought about it before I turned it on. And then I turned it back off.

The problem is that I pass the computer all the time and it calls to me. It winks its cute little Mac eye (or is that iMac? Oh! Zing!) at me and says, "You want some of this? Come on, just check your email and then browse a little. You can still get some work done. Let's see...go get some laundry and you can (pretend to) fold it while you catch up on a show you missed. But, I mean, you can catch up on some blogs, too, while you're on here. Oh, and make sure you check the news, cause, you know, you gotta stay up on the news. And the weather, so that when you think about going running you can talk yourself out of it because the weather doesn't look too good. And, oh! You know how funny some of those Onion videos are! You should see if there are some good ones today. Ah! Facebook! Don't forget to check your Facebook page, along with the pages of several other people whom you vaguely remember from 20 years ago. They might have some great pictures or links that you can get caught up in, or "25 random facts" or "One Word" notes. Oooh, who's online right now? You might want to chat with someone. Oh, remember how you just signed up on Twitter? Better check it out because you just never know what Ashton and Demi are going to be saying, those funny kids! Hey, is there a new podcast on itunes you haven't checked out yet? Whoa! Dude! Are you going to get dressed or what? The kids'll be home in 20 minutes! Do you want them to know you've been sitting here wasting your day away? Jeez! Get a life, why don'tcha?"

It's a love/hate kind of thing. I love sitting around all day, accomplishing nothing. But I hate getting caught.

Careful What You Wish For~~You Might Be Embarrassed Years Later

2009-03-27T08:36:00.005-06:00

A few times during my pre- and early-teenage years, I got my mind set on something to ask for for my birthday. I would want it so badly I would tell my parents, "That's the ONLY thing I want!!" to increase my chances of getting it. I would state and restate it at least daily, for emphasis. "Really, I don't want ANYTHING else! Just that!"

My parents were smart. Or cheap.

Every time I did it I ended up getting exactly that: the ONE thing I asked for. Nothing more. And I couldn't complain, either, because I had been so adamant about it. Plus, I like to think I'm pretty simple and easy to please, and I really was grateful for the one little thing. But wait'll you see some of the things I got for my birthdays before I wised up:

1. Bagels and cream cheese.

2. A bar of Dial soap. I had a fascination with the smell of soap and loved walking down the soap isle at the store (still do). They did generously include a cute soap dish, however.

3. A trip to Wilson Motor, a car dealership, to look at the plethora of animal trophies they had in their lobby. Wilson Motor was on main street and we passed it everyday, driving through town. So basically, the only difference was that we stopped and went in once.

4. A boom box. Yeah, I started getting a little smarter by then. A little.

These were 4 separate years, mind you. And now that I think about it, I still do that sometimes. Lucky for me, Bob loves to shop too much for me to end up with only the one thing I asked for.

Anyway, for my birthday this year I only want ONE thing:

A grand piano.

I swear, I won't ask for ANYTHING else! That's the ONLY thing I want!!

Asphyxiation Station

2009-02-26T14:17:00.006-07:00

Hahahahaha hehehehehe hooooo...

I just remembered an embarrassing moment and it's making me laugh!

One time, when I was a new, young mom, my friend Julie was having a bunch of friends over. It was a group of friends from high school and college. These friends were nearly all single. It was right at the beginning of the stage where everybody started getting married. Bob and I took baby Tanner, who was probably a year old, and went to hang out. The baby was kind of a novelty, since no one else had kids at the time.

Sometime during the evening Tanner fell asleep. Julie said to go ahead and put him on her bed in the back room. There was a lamp on the nightstand that I decided to leave on in case Tanner woke up and wondered what the heck. But the light was kind of bright, as it didn't have a shade on it. Since it was winter and I had a pair of stretchy knit gloves with me, I thought it would be a clever idea to put one of the gloves over the bulb to diffuse the light, which I did, and it was just right.

After a while someone wondered what was burning. It was around that time we noticed the smoke coming from, you guessed it, (aren't you the sharp one? Nothing gets past you, does it?) the back bedroom. The chemical stench was unbearable and the party cleared out pretty quickly. Though not before plenty of mocking laughter and "good thinking!" comments. I thought Tanner was going to get cancer right then and there from the toxic fumes that were right next to his little baby head. Poor Julie --she had to sleep there!

You should have seen the bulb with the glove burned and sealed to it except for five little stubby, charred fingers sticking up. That picture is what is making me lol.

I'm sure those single friends were thinking I was real brilliant and a great mom.

There exists somewhere a picture of that bulb that I will stumble across 13 years from now. I wish I knew where it was and could post it because I'm not sure this story is funny without it.

It is to me, though, and I'm laughing my bum off right now.

25 Random Facts About Me

2009-01-28T18:33:00.006-07:00

On Facebook I got tagged to do an exercise called 25 Random Facts About Me. I figured I'd kill two blogs with one post by copying it in here. Sorry if you've already read it.

1. I like to use humor, not out of pain or sadness, but because I think life is awesome and I love to laugh.

2. My friends tease me about having a "cushy life." I am a stay at home mom whose kids are at school all day. Wait a second...doesn't that make me a trophy wife? Oh geez. Well, if that's the case, then I must be a Participation trophy, 'cause I sure ain't First Prize!

3. I had a stroke when I was 30. Soon after, I was diagnosed with Factor 5, a blood clotting disorder. The docs couldn't believe I'd had 5 healthy pregnancies, since Factor 5 is usually diagnosed after multiple miscarriages or stillbirths, none of which I've ever had. So I'm very blessed to have my 5 children. There are a lot of 5s in this paragraph.

The only permanent complications from the stroke are balance issues and short-term memory problems, and I was left slightly dumber than I used to be, which is a total drag.

It's a bummer being dumber.

4. I'm a poet and wasn't aware of it.

5. I never really read books until 1999 when we moved and I won the fight about not hooking up the cable TV (for a while, anyway). The first real book I read was Uncle Tom's Cabin (awesome book, btw). Ever since then I cannot get enough of reading books.

6. I HATE to be cold. I would rather be sweltering hot all day, any day, than to be even a little bit cold. Hot chocolate and I, we're pretty much BFFs.

7. I love stale candy.

8. I started running with a friend two years ago, practically at gunpoint, and have run the Ogden half marathon twice. I'm doing the SLC half this year. I still don't like running.

9. I secretly love my husband's spontaneity. I act put out about it, but because of it I've gone to Hawaii with the whole family on 12 hours notice (eight of them sleeping hours!), I've gotten to do fun, unexpected things on a regular basis, I get out of my comfort zone regularly, and I get lots of surprise gifts! He also LOVES to shop - which is also a big bonus for me.

10. I like to write. Not books, but short essays - perfect for a blog. A while back I started a blog devoted mostly to my embarrassing moments, since I had so many and knew I'd have endless subject material. It's called And Then There Was That One Time.

You can get to it from my FB page if you really want to. I know you want to, Paul.

11. I obsess about my writing; reading and rereading over and over and making changes and then reading and rereading, etc. Invariably, once I post it (or print it, or send it) I find a mistake or something I don't like and then obsess about it even more, partly because of the fact that it's too late to change it.

12. When I'm reading, misspelled words, grammatical mistakes, and typos jump off the page and bug the crap out of me. Sorry; I don't judge, I'm just bugged. I make mistakes, too.

13. I love the computer way too much. And TV. And movies. They're my mini-vacations from life and who doesn't love a vacation?

14. I have a big, fat crush on each of my children. I love everything they do and think they're the cutest, funniest, coolest, smartest, most talented, and just all-around most awesome people I know. It's probably not completely true, but I'll never admit it. I love hanging out with them.

15. I loved my babies obsessively and was sure I'd be crushed when they went off to school during the day and left me all alone, only to find that I reeeeeeeaaaaaalllllyy enjoy my alone time. Much more than I ever thought I would. Perhaps a little too much? Nah.

16. I worry about how often I'm thoughtless, offensive, and selfish towards other people.

17. I don't believe in trying to make my life seem perfect. I welcome others to see how defective I am. I think it's better for everyone if we can see that we are all messed up in our own special way.

18. I grew up riding horses and competing in horse shows and parades, even a couple of rodeos. None of that anymore, but I'm glad to have the memories -and pictures.

19. I am the oldest of 5 girls (again with the 5s!) and when I was young my parents had plenty of expendable income, so I got to do everything, like piano lessons, water skiing, horse riding, baton lessons (I know, right?), travel, etc. By the time I was in junior high my dad had moved us all to Utah (from CA) to go to USU, and they had NO money. So my sisters had a very different childhood than me and had few of the opportunities that I did. But I worked from the time I was 14 and had to buy most of my own stuff, so it wasn't always cushy.

20. I loved high school! I had so much fun and lots of friends. I love even more how I'm now reconnecting with classmates, some of whom I didn't even know very well and who have such different lives than mine that we'd probably not cross paths any other way. Maturity is a beautiful thing. That, and Facebook.

21. I am really bad at decorating. I have this beautiful, big house and don't even know how to make it look good. My friends are always having to help me. This is where I'm thinking Chad Sheen could be seriously handy, after seeing the pictures of his house!

22. I strongly dislike housework. Another problem with the beautiful, big house. It's almost always messy. We have a lot of parties here. one reason: so the house gets clean. That reminds me...we need to have a party soon.

23. I strongly dislike cooking. I have many techniques and tricks to get out of it. I will use nearly anything as an excuse to not cook. Right now I'm going with the fact that our fridge is broken and can't be fixed for a week. Okay, yeah, we have a fridge in the garage, but it doesn't smell right and I refuse to consume anything that's been in it. Wow, that sounds really snooty!

24. I have been to hell and back and opt not to talk about it, but just so you know.

25. I'm pretty sure I have the best friends possible. No, seriously. They are amazing. I don't know where or who I would be without the friends that have come and gone and shaped and changed and inspired me.

There you have it. What are 25 random facts about YOU?

We Came. We Saw. We Squatted.

2009-01-05T09:08:00.024-07:00

Oh, I'm so sorry to all my legions of faithful readers who have been starved for weeks without a posting from their favorite blogger! How difficult it must have been for you.

My China trip was SO last month! But I'll try to muster some enthusiasm as I take you on a little photo tour...

First of all, I maintain that, since I've been to China 3 times now (and that's two too many in my opinion) the thing that was most fun about this trip was hanging with my traveling companions. And if that's the case, then I further maintain that we could have had the same amount of fun anywhere! Such as: the Bahamas, Cancun, or Tahiti, none of which I have ever visited and all of which are warm, sunny, and contain beaches. But my crazy friends wanted to go to China. And my crazy husband who goes there virtually every month also wanted to go there (go figure). So off we went. Here are some observations and experiences:

There are a lot of people in China:

One day we went to a mall to have suits, coats, etc. made by the tailor:

One day we had foot massages--okay, maybe two days -- and maybe a head massage once, as well:

One day we went to the Forbidden City and found that we are Forbidden to pick flowers (although it looks like somebody did anyway. I bet they lose their head for it!):

Click on the photo to enlarge it.

One day we found a 4 star squatter!:

Notice who gave themselves the rating.

Here is the International Squatter Symbol, should you ever need it:

Here is the 4 star squatter:

I don't know, I think maybe they should have gone 5 stars.

One day we were trying to find a head massage place in Beijing. The boys left us in one place while they braved the cold to see if they could find a better one (they didn't) and came back with these for us:

One day Laura got food poisoning! Poor Laura! Here she is, unsuspecting, with the evil pork and noodles:

One day Laura sprained her ankle on the Great Wall of China! Poor Laura! Here she is, unsuspecting, moments before. In this picture, I think she's saying, "Huh? What? I can't hear you! Did you say I'm about to spray my cankle? That's rude. I'm just going to hurry down these steps...":

One day Laura crashed head-on with a motorcyle! Poor Laura! Here she is, unsuspecting, and driving like a pro:

Here is Laura lying in the ditch after crashing and being thrown off the road and having the scooter land on her leg:

Here we are on our way home. Those are all our suitcases. We were a spectacle. That's Laura in the wheelchair:

There are many more observations and experiences, but I can only upload so many photos before my brain 'splodes and I smash my computer with a pipe wrench. I know it's not my computer's fault, but I can't smash Blogspot now can I?

We actually had a really great trip, for the most part. Laura says she only regrets a few seconds of it. I only regret most of the food. Other than that, it is a splendid place with interesting people and a fascinating culture.

China is a great place to visit, but I like America better.

We Can Do Hard Things!

2008-11-20T14:31:00.005-07:00

Packing for china...easy. Turning 40...easy. Walking on hot coals...easy. Having your oldest son turn 18...NOT EASY!!

As I've said before, many times before, I don't mind aging. I like it. For me and for other people. As long as it's not my own children! It's always a little painful for me when they have birthdays. A little melancholy, a little pang of reluctance, considering that they are one step closer to leaving me. When they were infants, at least with the last few, I shed tears at the most miniscule of milestones. Sometimes they looked older in the morning than they had the night before. Tears. Or they'd grow out of their newborn sized clothes. Tears. I was losing my babies and I knew it, and I didn't like it.

Eventually, the babies were gone and I was sad. But I had these great new "kids." They were funny and talkative. I finally got to hear what I had wondered about for so long: what they were thinking. They could dress themselves. They didn't wear diapers. It wasn't entirely devastating.

Those bookend kids, though, they give me the most heartache. When Andie turns 5, 8, 10, it smarts! I don't like it. When I see the last of them moving forward I find myself wishing I could turn back time.

But watching my oldest is usually more fun. It's all the firsts; first step, first lost tooth, first day of school, first teenager, first driver/dater; those things are not only firsts for him, but for me, too. So it's exciting new territory. Fun to be in on and to watch.

So I was caught a little off guard when, the night before Tanner's 18th birthday, I started to panic. No! I'm not ready! Waaaaaiiiiiit!!!!! Just wait a little while, k? Just until I can get ready for this. We're not in any hurry, right? Heh, heh. *Sweat droplets on forehead.* You don't need to do this. Think about what you're doing, Tanner. You don't need to do this! Don't do it! DON'T DO IT!!!!!!!

Okay, I was kidding about the sweat droplets, but I really did say that, or something to that effect. And by the time I finished, tears were streaming down my face. I was laughing, though, and smiling, but also crying. Tanner got a kick out of it and egged me on with, "No, I'm doing it! I'm totally doing it! This is the last time you'll ever see me as a non-adult. When you see me in the morning, I'll be an adult! So goodbye -- for - ever!" He was joking around, but a part of me was feeling denial/sadness/regret/PANIC!

Knowing what an incredible person he is eases the pain somewhat. But he was my incredible person, and now he's his own incredible person. Well, he's still mine, but not in the same way. Here's how incredible he is: at his birthday dinner he told the kids who were telling me how I couldn't boss Tanner around anymore, "Just because I'm 18, that doesn't mean I don't still need to respect my parents." I know, weird. But he said that. That's the kind of person he is. Respectful, kind, good, honest, trustworthy. He's also very funny, and super-smart, and smoooooth; joe cool. I could tell you stories to prove my claims, but I'd need a lot longer than one blog entry. I can say, however, that I don't know of anyone who doesn't love Tanner. And I know lots of people who adore him. He's pretty great He'll be a great...oh...uh...um...eew...ungh...man.

There! I said it! Ouch. That stings.

Yeah, well, at least he doesn't wear diapers anymore, so, you know, I'm cool with it. I'm fine. No problem...

Waaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

Tanner's Birthday

2008-11-20T09:01:00.004-07:00

So I have to quick tell you about Tan's b-day last night. And then I swear, I'm going to finish getting ready for China. We leave in the morning. Yikes! Anyway,

I knew Tan would way rather do something with his friends than with the fam, but I also knew I'd resent it...unless it was my idea. So I called his friends and we hatched a plan:

At school one of his friends told him that they were going to pick him up around 5:30 and take him out for his birthday -- the best night ever -- a surprise! Tanner knew we were planning dinner and stuff, so he called me and, as diplomatically as possible, told me what he'd just heard and asked if we had plans (which he knew we did, but, you know, diplomacy...) So I acted perturbed and told him of course we did and why did his friends plan something without checking first and they would just have to do it another time.

"Can we maybe do dinner another time?"

"What? Of course not! Tanner, it's your birthday, and we're going to have a family dinner and cake and presents! Your friends will have to reschedule!"

"But -- they arranged to leave basketball practice early and everything! And what if they've, like, bought tickets or something?"

"I doubt it."

"Okay mom, that's okay. Uh...it'll be fun. Yeah, dinner's good." He's so polite - tee hee! He won't be rude to me, even if he's dying inside of regret, having to miss out on the best night ever with his friends. And a surprise, no less!

Later his friends kept calling and texting him, saying that if he hurries they might still have time to do it. So Tanner was tempted to pick a fast food restaurant for dinner, and even suggested some semi-fast places before we called him on it and made him choose a sit-down, peruse the menu, take-your-order, tip-the-waiter restaurant. He was so fidgety. I was doing an amazing job of keeping a straight face. I don't know how I did it! I always give it away with my face -- but not this time. I feigned sympathy for Tan with a side of irritation towards the friends. I was so smooth. And the rest of the family were perfection -- no slip-ups whatsoever.

The friends kept up a stream of, "Are you done yet?" "We're running out of time...best night ever...surprise..." and finally, "It's too late. We'll have to do it another time, dang it. We still won't tell you, but it will be the best night ever." Maybe a little overkill on the "best night ever" stuff; I was worried he'd be let down. But it was awesome watching him squirm, torn between his massive regret of missing out on the night with friends, while still trying to be kind and not make us feel like he'd rather be somewhere else.

After dinner we got home and prepared to eat cake and open presents. Tanner went down to his room for a sec and...SURPRISE!! There were his friends. Then I broke it to him that we'd planned it days ago and I'd bought them all tickets to the James Bond movie that starts in an hour.

Boo yah!

Whoa. I gotta go. China calls...

HB to Melissa and Me!

2008-11-13T09:37:00.008-07:00

My friend Melissa and I are twins! Well, I mean, other than the fact that yesterday I turned 40 and she turned 18. But still twins, give or take. We were chatting on Facebook the other day and she was telling me she had lots of funny stories from her apartment-living down't the BYU. I asked her to write one and email it to me for my birthday and she said she would. You will, right M'liss?

I asked her what she wanted from me and she said she wanted me to dedicate a blog entry to her. Perfect!

Here's the thing: getting old is SO awesome! Okay, I will admit that, for me, age 17, 18, and 19 can never be replicated in terms of freedom and fun. But eventually, and a little painfully, I had to give that up and move on. I did that by DECIDING that getting old is so awesome. I didn't believe myself at first. It took me a few years during my mid-twenties to learn to relish every age, every year, every new number I got to be. But once I believed, I believed. And I love getting older!

In my mid-twenties I was having children. Actually, in my entire twenties I was having children. During every year that started with a nineteen-ninety I was either pregnant with, or nursing a baby. Nothing can ever compare to that decade. It was awesome. I loved nearly every minute of it. I knew it was going to fly by and I could never get a moment of it back, and so I cherished my babies. I miss them.

The day before I turned 30 I had a brief mourning period for my twenties and wistfully kissed them goodbye. It stung a little, but the next day I ripped the band aid off and dove into the 30s like I'd won the lottery. Not like the big lottery, you know, not the 16 million dollars. More like a decent sized lottery, like maybe about 16 thousand dollars, around there. But I loved it. I thought of myself as all mature like. Like when I clip-clopped through the church gym in heels and thought I sounded just like my mom. So cool. I was a WOMAN. It was strange to think of myself as such, and I still much prefer to be referred to as a GIRL, but technically -- woman.

By then I was volunteering in the schools and when the kids said, "Hi, Mrs. Farley!" it made me smile. And when my young women and primary kids, or anyone, for that matter, call me "Sister Farley" -- love it!

Part of the reason I can love getting older is that I know I don't ever have to act older. I learned from my mom that there is no such age when you can't sit on the floor or have a water fight or have regular doses of hard-core laughter therapy. There's no such age when you have to stop doing anything. Wait, I'd better qualify that. There may be an age when you should stop wearing pigtails. Should, but don't have to if you really feel strongly about it.

Here is what I love about aging:

~You can do whatever you want. You are the boss of you and you can make your life exactly what you want it to be. You might have to work really hard and make sacrifices, but, again, you get to choose.

~You go through hard stuff and come out okay on the other side. You come out stronger and wiser and more grateful -- and way cooler. I love being able to look at anyone older than, say, 35 and know that they have, in all probability, had their heart broken. One way or another. And survived it. That's pretty impressive.

~You get smarter. You know stuff. Lots of stuff. You've been there, done that, and if not you, then someone you love, and you still learned stuff from it. And you can give some pretty good advice about just about anything. Or at least you think you can, and that's really all that matters.

~You get prettier. At least in my opinion. I think everyone should share that opinion, but we're not quite there yet.

~You get wrinkled and saggy. What? You don't think that's awesome? Psh! Whatever! Do you even know how much you have to smile and laugh to get good wrinkles? A TON! You can also get them by frowning a lot, but I wouldn't recommend it, because people will be able to tell if you have frowny wrinkles or smiley wrinkles. The wrinkles don't lie. But they do say, "Check me out! I've been through life! And I've loved it!" (Or not loved it, but that's not what I want mine to say. *Crossing fingers*) As for the saggy; well, let's just say I carried, birthed, and nursed a lot of children to get this saggy. And I'm proud OF it! And besides, they have really good bras and shapers nowadays.

~Gray hair. My fave. No, I'm not joking! I love me some elegant, sophisticated, silver hair. Seriously, if you could get past the 'old' factor, you'd have to admit it's a beautiful color. Don't give me that look! It's the truth.

~Many other things that I would list right now if it weren't for that pesky down side of aging: I can't remember.

So, happy birthday, Melissa! It's not hard to love being 18, so no prob for you. But when it gets a little harder, just remember: One year cooler, smarter, and more awesome.

Or my kids' version: One year weirder, geekier, and more embarrassing.

What do they know? They're young. Poor things.

Log Out. Always Log Out.

2008-10-30T09:10:00.007-06:00

Phew! That's so much better. I thought that pink and blue background was going to burn my retinas. I'm liking this seasonal and pleasant background. For now, anyway.

Well, I guess Ali is harder to please than I thought. Now she wants music. Sigh. Okay, Ali, I'm working on it. Gimme a little breathing room, would ya? Geez!

Okay, I'll admit it: I'm kind of excited about the music thing. I just have to figure out how to do it. I will. Really, I will.

On a more embarrassing note...

My friend Craig, husband of April was checking his Facebook at our house last week. The next day when I went to Facebook it was already on Craig's page! He didn't log out! I laughed my evil laugh (Mwa ha ha!) and got to work, first sabotaging his profile. I put his interests as ogling, overcompensating, posturing, and I forget what else, changed his favorite books to the Twilight Series, changed his schooling, degrees, job title, religion (Sikh), political party (Boston Tea Party -- it's real! I looked it up!), and etc. Then I wrote on people's walls, posing as Craig, of course. I told his son to stop going around telling people I had a big hole in my underwear, I told his brother I didn't want to be brothers with him anymore due to his being too "high maintenance," "emotional," and "uncoordinated" and said I'd decided to be brothers with Matthew McConaughey instead because he was more fun and likes to be nude a lot. Which is true. Which I didn't really think through. Which could be taken wrong. Which Craig didn't appreciate.

If I were to name the funniest person I know, it would be Craig. No contest. He can throw a punchline before the end of your sentence. He can be intelligent funny, dry funny, and goofy funny. He can be both laugh-with and laugh-at funny. You can count on some gut-wrenching laughs when Craig's around. In fact, April keeps trying to get me to write the embarrassing story of when Craig said something funny while I was drinking a Lime Rickey at Arctic Circle and I coughed, spewed, gagged, and subsequently THREW UP Lime Rickey all over my tray of food. We didn't know Craig and April very well at that time, but after that bonding moment we knew we'd be friends forever. Did I mention I was exceedingly pregnant? Did I mention I also peed my maternity pants? Good times. (And now you don't have to bug me about it, Apes.) But I digress.

Craig is also extremely serious. He's all smarty pants and stuff. He's a JAG officer in the Air Force. He's always in some leadership position in church. He's a stickler for the rules. I don't really see that side of him all that often, and I'm not a big fan of that side of him, either. Don't EVER make him mad, especially if his family is involved. I've seen it. It's not pretty. Admirable, yes, but NOT pretty.

Let's move on back to the Facebook story, shall we? I didn't hear anything for a day or so, so I texted his son, "Tell your dad to check his Facebook." Tee hee hee! It was going to be so funny when Craig saw my handiwork. Yeah, he was just going to change everything back to the way it was and explain to his brother and stuff, but it would be SO funny! Then nothing. And some more nothing. Finally, I called April and told her, "Has Craig seen his Facebook yet?"

"YOU did that?" she said.

"Well, duh! Who else would do that?" I said. Turns out Craig was convinced that someone had hacked into his page and planted a virus and is stalking his family and is a terrorist and is going to assassinate the president. I went back to reevaluate whether anything I wrote was over the line, but there was no page. He took it down! The whole thing. Grrrrr! I was so irritated that THAT Craig had emerged! I wanted the funny Craig to have found it. But no. So then, after stomping around and cursing "serious" Craig's lack of humor for a while, I called him to apologize. Of course he was totally nice, we're couple BFF's, after all. He explained about his professional and church related reputation and specifically mentioned the Matthew McConaughey reference. That's when I realized it could be taken differently than it was meant, which was supposed to be innocently funny. We worked it out and mutually apologized. He said it wasn't as bad as when baby Tanner threw a brass llama (camel, if Bob's telling the story. But Craig bought it in Peru and probably knows what it is, don't you think?) at baby Brach 15 years ago. "Really?" I said, "That was worse?"

"Kimi. He tried to kill my son."

Oh, Craig. You're so funny.

Techno-Genius

2008-10-27T10:14:00.007-06:00

My Sis-in-law/BFF, Becky, calls me a techno-genius. I'm so not. If I was I wouldn't have deleted an entire entry just trying to put a little picture on my blog. Seriously, I'm still hesitant to add pictures because of the painful and, of course, embarrassing fiasco. Also if I was a t-g I would have made my blog cuter a long time ago when a helpful young friend told me, with the best of intentions, no doubt, that my blog was boring. "Not the stories! Just the background," she said. I've been shaking in my boots trying to figure out how to cuten up my blog without deleting it or something. The only thing that makes me appear to be a techno-genius (and may I say, no offense intended, that in order for one to think I'M a techno-genius, one would have to be either techno-clueless or have never seen a blog before or something) is that I will usually at least try something. And the more you dare to try something, the better you get at it.

Up until now I haven't dared try to cutitize my blog. Today I dared. I know it's a little...well...brightly colored, but it was a first attempt. I'll make it even cutier another time. Something a little more...me, perhaps. After I figure out what "me" would look like. These free backgrounds are way too put-together and creative to represent me very well. Something a little more clumsy and/or goofy and/or trying-hard-but-not-quite-pulling-it-off would be a better fit, I think. I probably won't find anything like that. Maybe I'll pick something that represents what I'd LIKE to be if I weren't such a doofus. Mmm, yeah, I think I'll go with something like that. Tune in next time to see what I've found that someone else came up with that I think is an adequate representation of what I'd like to look like, scapbookingly speaking, if I could actually create something like that on my own - which I totally can't.

To do:

2008-10-21T09:43:00.004-06:00

I do NOT have time to be writing this right now! I'm leaving for China in two days! My list of things to do has 21 items on it and I keep adding to it every few minutes. In fact, I'm spending more time managing my list than actually doing the things on it.

Here's what I do: read through the list. Try to decide which things are most pressing. They are all pressing. Put an asterisk by the very most pressing. Think of something else to put on the list. Add it. Look through the list again to see if I can check anything off as "done." End up choosing a task that is not very pressing because it seems easier to do, therefore whittling the list down faster. Cross that task off my list and read through it again. Try to decide which things are most pressing. They are all pressing. Go to the computer and look through the lists and instructions I'm leaving for my mom. Rinse. Repeat.

I know what's going to happen. I'm going to keep this up until the last day when I am forced to cross most everything off my list as unnecessary and let my mom just deal with it. I know that because I've done this many times before and that's what I do. But maybe this time will be different. Maybe. Maybe not. But Maybe. Geez! I don't have time to sit here writing! I've got stuff to do. Let me just read through this list real quick...

Update

2008-09-25T10:56:00.003-06:00

Diane wanted to know how my super-sweet, G-Force, kick-butt computer is doing after the Apple dude with the missing humor chip got through with her. We added some more RAM. BAM! And now even Bob can't diss my rockin' Mac. She's fast and sassy now, just the way she was always meant to be. We worked lightning fast this week to make a super-fly movie of our trip to Lake Powell. Wish you could all see it. I'm going to post it on my other website soon -- maybe even today, in case you can't live without it (which you probably cant, but you just don't realize it.)

Anyway, just wanted to fill you in on the rest of that story, because I know your lives were out of balance without the full conclusion.

Now you can get back to whatever it was you were doing.

Ette and the Evil Twin

2008-09-19T23:59:00.005-06:00

Okay, fine. I'll rewrite it.

I talked about our little yellow Toyota pickup truck in a previous post. Well, after we had traveled that thing half to death, my parents gave it to me to drive when I was in high school. I loved that little truck! She did have her issues, though. The worst one being that in the winter she would often just not start. Usually on the coldest days, of course. My favorite.

We lived on a hill, and on those super cold days I would have to push-start her. I had about two blocks to pop the clutch and get her started before the road leveled out. By the middle of the last block I would be pleading and coaxing and begging that truck to start. If she did, I'd drive off to school happily. If she didn't, I'd have to walk the two blocks uphill in the snot-freezing cold* and get my mom to drive me to school--and usually be late.

The poor thing was on her last leg for years. But somehow, no matter how many potholes I hit or jumps I went over or jump-starts we pulled off, she'd just keep on running. For that reason I named her Ette (etta) for Endure To The End. It fit her, and she and I got along great. Good times.

Recently Bob got a little Toyota pickup for cheap. Real cheap. Free. It's just like Ette, if Ette was red. And jacked up. And had cool smitty bars for bumpers. The boys were way excited, mostly because we're going to sell the old minivan to pay for the repairs the "new" truck will need to get it up and running. I'm sure they'll miss the minivan. No, I'm kidding, they won't miss the minivan one bit.

Anyway, we went boating one day and on the way back Bob was giving out assignments for when we got home. Mine was to jump out real quick and move the little red truck out of the way so he could pull the boat around. I was excited and anticipating the nostalgia, even though I had yet to even sit in the thing. But I had been regaling the kids with stories of my Ette adventures and no one else knew how to drive a stick shift.

So when we got home I jumped out of the big red truck and jumped into the little red truck. Andie got in with me. It was dark. I couldn't see anything at all. That's okay, I had driven this same truck for years and I was sure my muscle memory would take over and it would be a piece of cake.

I turned the key and started it up. It lurched backwards. The windshield wipers (or half-wipers, as they were broken off at the joint) scraped across the glass. I stabbed at whatever pedals I could find with my foot, to no avail. I heard Bob honk behind me. I slammed into Bob's nice, red truck. Hard.

All I wanted at that point was to have the last 20 seconds of my life back. I wanted a redo, a mulligan, a do-over. I was distraught because, well, I guess driving cushy automatic transmissions for the past 20 years had taken over my auto-pilot and I had forgotten about a little thing I like to call...

A CLUTCH!!!!

*I've been using this term since junior high, when I would stand outside waiting for the bus on those days when it was so cold that each nose hair was an individual icicle. And upon sniffling my nostrils would freeze closed, stuck, sealed. I'd have to do a little Bewitched move while flaring my frozen nostrils in order to release them. Snot-freezing cold, that's what that is.

THIS JUST IN! SHOCKER! KIMI DOES SOMETHING DUMB!

2008-09-15T08:08:00.006-06:00

This is not going to be long. I'm still bitter about it. Yes, it's embarrassing, but more than that -- maddening! Last week I posted a lengthy post about a recent EM. After a day or so I decided that I would take my young friend Ali's advice and make my blog less boring by adding photos. Hmm. Well, maybe it's a sign that I'm too big of a lame-o head to actually be able to add photos to my blog without DELETING AN ENTIRE ENTRY!! Which is what I did.

I tried to recover it. No go. I wondered if I had it saved somewhere else. Of course not. Could I remember it and rewrite it? Har, har, har, NO! I can't! It was hard enough the first time! Well, maybe I will. Ugh! I don't want to, but I probably will. I don't know when, I'm still pretty stunned. And bitter.

Sigh.

A Legacy of Dorkiness

2008-09-02T09:40:00.012-06:00

Oh man. After that last post I thought of so many things from my childhood, and every one of them embarrassing! Sheesh, I was such a total nerd!

I remember my tic-tac-toe shirt that had removable vinyl X's and O's that stuck on with high tech VELCRO. I wore that to school! And played tic-tac-toe on my own torso!

We used to have a little yellow Toyota pickup (who will co-star in my next post, so stay tuned) with a shell on it that we would travel in with my parents in the front and my four sisters and me in the back with sleeping bags, pillows, coloring books, and travel size games. We made up lots of songs back there, some of which I can still sing to you today and if this blog had audio I would post them here because they would fit perfectly with the theme of EMBARRASSING!

As you can kind of see in my banner picture, my canine teeth didn't come in for like, 2 years, so I had this really goofy smile for a very long time.

In another shirt debacle, I convinced my sister to go along with the idea of getting matching shirts that said "I Heart My Sister," but with a heart, not the word "heart." I believe we got in a big fight about it before she finally relented and we got the two pink shirts declaring our sisterly love.

And one of my favorite memories is when my best friend Becky White and I decided we could be like CHiPs (remember the tv show?) and ride our bikes next to each other down the street like Ponch and Jon. We did it often. We had the best cheer! Here it is: Bips! Bips! We are the Bips! Bimi and Kecky! Kecky and Bimi! Bips! Bips! Yaaaaaaay...Bips!

Are you lucky enough to have had something happen in your life that is so funny (to you, anyway) that you can recall it any time you want to lol? I have more than one. Some of them involve bodily functions, and fall under the "untellable" category. The best one for me, though, is when Becky was going to get a game down from the top shelf in her bedroom closet. No bodily functions involved, so you can keep reading.

That closet was packed to the ceiling! It had blankets and games and dress-up clothes and toys and the humidifier and wrapping paper and stuffed animals and who knows what else? I mean, I made most of that stuff up anyway. Like I'm going to remember what was in my friend's closet from when we were 9 years old! But you get the idea. It was kind of like how they say the California Redwood forest is the largest living organism because the trees are all connected to each other through a giant root system. I'm pretty sure that's how her closet was configured.

Becky couldn't reach the top of the closet, obviously, so she rigged up a little tower of objects to help her climb up. The game was under a bunch of stuff, so she was struggling to dislodge it, while propped precariously on no less than 4 different random doodads. Shockingly, her hazardous little improvised step ladder began to give way and the shift of balance nudged pretty much that entire Redwood forest of a closet into a massive cascade of storage matter.

At that moment, she squeaked out my favorite childhood line: "ACK! HERE COMES IT!" And we were buried in a pile of everything.

It took us HOURS to clean that mess up! But every few minutes we would revisit our initial giggle-fest that had outlasted any previous giggle-fest I had ever had, and can even rival the best ones I've had since. And up until now, to this very day, the vision of that moment can still make me L right OL.

I still use that line occasionally. Maybe even frequently. In fact, a while back I visited an entirely different friend from a different era of my life. She had heard this story years earlier and had heard me use the line several times. I loved it when she was showing me around her apartment and said at one point, "Don't open that closet there, or we'll have a 'here comes it' situation." Nice one, Sarah! Badoom ching!

Happiness is...My Blog

2008-09-02T09:21:00.003-06:00

See that picture down at the bottom of the page? I was just looking at it and I was noticing my banner in the background. Then I thought of how the banner is nearly as embarrassing as the look on my face and the reason for it. You guys remember the Young Women Banners? They were all the craze back in the day. I made this banner in preparation for the big ol' banner exhibit at the Stake House with the theme of "Happiness is..." Which phrase was also all the craze back then, remember?

Anyways, my banner said "Happiness is..." at the top (guess the Polariod couldn't fit the whole banner in the frame), but I can't for the life of me remember what I put at the bottom!

Here are some of my ideas:

Happiness is...a guitar solo in Sacrament Meeting (maybe Bridge Over Troubled Waters)

Happiness is...flipping my friends' bras!

Happiness is...Pennies by the Inch for Primary Children's

Happiness is...getting a perm!

Happiness is...Hush Puppies for school!

What do YOU think my banner said?

A Clean Desktop Makes For a Happy Heart. And Fewer Awkward Moments.

2008-08-28T16:37:00.007-06:00

So, I took my Mac in to the Apple Store today to have one of those cutie-pie Apple dudes figure out why she's so excruciatingly slow. I love my Little Miss Macintosh. She's awesome. But she does have some, oh, let's call them quirks. Well, one, really -- only one, pretty much. Bob always says she's slow, and danged if I've ever been able to prove him wrong! Yeah, she's a little slow, but she's worth waiting for, I say. At least until recently. One click o' the mouse and you're stuck waiting for, like, 30 seconds!

Oh, ha ha. Make fun of Kimi for not having 30 seconds of patience. But think about it -- every click? No, it was getting bad. Especially when I'd accidentally click on the wrong thing! I'm not that coordinated and I often miss the little icon I'm aiming for. Those mice are hard to drive! (Doh! Funny pun! Hard? Drive? Hard drive? Computer? Get it?! Hoo-wee, I crack myself up!) It's the worst when I click on the wrong thing. I start pleading with my little computer friend, "No! Wait! I didn't mean it! Just kidding! Jay Kay! Aaaawwww! Come on! Don't show me the twirly timer thingy! Aaarrrrrgh!" That little twirly timer thingy is getting on my last nerve.

Anyway, remember when I said, "cutie-pie Apple dudes?" Well, normally the Apple dudes are cutie-pies. Some of them are even GIRL cutie-pie Apple dudes. But occasionally I get a not-as-cutie-pie Apple dude. (Um, yes, I do go in there often enough to know all of this. I took Mac classes, okay? You should all be so lucky, seriously! Right Erin? Diane? Taffy? That's right!)

Today, not only did I get a not-as-cutie-pie Apple dude, I got a dude with no sense of humor! And we spent like an hour and a half together! Well, you know how I like to try to make Embarrassing Moments funny instead of embarrassing? Well, you can't say I didn't try...

For some reason I forgot that he would be booting my computer up in public and in full view of anyone and everyone in the store. I should remember that because they always do and I always feel a little violated and exposed. Today I immediately noticed what a mess my desktop was! Pictures, files, and programs scattered willy nilly over my Lake Powell screen saver. Shoot! I should have cleaned that up and lined them up in neat little columns. And even though I'd already figured out my Apple dude was lacking a funny bone, I still went ahead and said, "I feel like I just let the cable guy into my messy room, you know, with my desktop looking like that." Pause. Then I had to do a little "that was a joke" laugh. No response. Nice. Way to make an awkward moment out of a bonding opportunity, Apple dude.

Next time I'm going to check the box marked Request Cutie-pie Apple Dude when I make my appointment. I must have missed that one and checked Request Humorless Apple Dude instead. I've really gotta learn how to handle that mouse better.

Nobody Puts Kimi In A Corner (Not Even Kimi)

2008-08-25T11:44:00.007-06:00

Oh my gootness! I'm so EMBARRASSED!!!

Did you wonder why I haven't written for so long? I did. I knew it in the back of my brain, but I hadn't said it out loud and faced the facts. Until my friend Melinda pointed it out and she was SO RIGHT! I've limited myself, confined myself in a little tiny genre of my own invention! I can't write about EMs forever! And, you know, truthfully I still have them all the time, but -- and this is embarrassing to admit -- they are more often than not untellable. I know, not even a word, right? But who are you -- my English teacher? Fact is, most of my recent EMs are so bad I can't even write them in my blog. Why? Because my blog is supposed to be funny, not sad. That's why.

Many of my EMs have to do with my insensitive nature, my callous disregard for people's feelings. But only for the split second of time between thinking something stupid and saying it. After that I immediately come back to my senses and can't figure out why I would say/do something so awful. These are not funny moments. Embarrassing? Yes. Tellable? Nohohoooo-uh! UNTELLABLE.

Also, I have lots of funny stories that I'd love to blog about, but they aren't necessarily embarrassing. Well, it's my blog! Why can't I write what I want? Oh yeah, because I smooshed myself into a teensy category -- that, frankly, seemed big enough at the time -- and now I'm limited to a strict state of embarrassment only. Man, that's embarrassing!

Now I have to come crawling back here and change my blog. I'm going to leave the title the same, but I'm not going to limit myself, or you, for that matter, to endless EMs. Not that I won't write about any tellable EMs, I totally will. But I'll also write other stuff. Whatever I want. I'm the boss of me. And I'm the boss of my blog.

Revvin' My Engines (Sorry!)

2008-08-03T23:04:00.008-06:00

One time I was at my daughter Andie's softball game, watching from the car because I'm a wussy girl and I don't like to be cold. At all. Even if my children are outside being cold. No sense in both of us being cold, I say. So I was hanging out in the car with Maddie and we were chattin' it up, even though there was some kind of loud motor sound going on around us. It was in the background sort of, so I didn't think much of it, other than thinking there was some construction going on or something. Eventually Maddie said, "What is that horrible sound?" "I know, right?" I said. Pause. Why is everyone looking at us? I thought. All the people who chose to stay out in the cold were looking my way. Don't judge me! I came early to get this front-row parking spot so I could watch from the car. I do it every week. You're just jealous that you didn't think of it early enough to get the spot! I worked hard to get this spot! Then I noticed my foot. It was pressed to the floor. With the gas pedal under it. Embaaaarrassiiiiiiing!

Is that all? Of course not. After the terrorized crowd got back to watching the game, I wedged my knee up on the steering wheel, partly to keep my foot from pressing the gas pedal to the floor again, and partly to get comfy while I read my book, er, uh, watched the game.

Oh, that poor little girl.

I'm talking about the child who walked in front of my car just as I shifted my position to get a little more comfy and accidentally pushed my knee into the horn. Poor thing jumped a mile. I tried to give her the "never mind" sign when she looked at me with a question (and possibly a tear) in her eyes, but I didn't really know that one, so I winged it and made some strange hand signal that only had her more confused. Then I tried to go with the "that was an accident" sign, but I'm not really proficient in my international gestures, so by then she thought she'd better just walk away from the creepy woman in the car who revvs her engine at the crowd and honks her horn at little girls and makes weird imaginary sign language motions.

At least Andie had a great game. I'm pretty sure.

Let's Get One Thing Straight (Or Two...Or Three)

2008-07-18T08:28:00.014-06:00

I didn't realize how risky it would be to open up a free-for-all on my Embarrassing Moments until the very first comment on my last post. Now I have to defend myself from said comment, since there were all kinds of irrational accusations thrown around recklessly and with no regard for the dignity of my family and neighbors. Overstating is fun!

But still, I do need to clear a few things up. First and foremost, I have never flashed a neighbor kid as far as I know. And I know Tanner doesn't want me telling you how he's scarred for life since I a) once thought he was Bob when he knocked on the bathroom door after I'd just turned off the shower (with the glass doors) and said "come in." Don't try to picture it, it's best for everyone if you don't. And b) once sneaked out of the master bathroom into my room to get some underwears, noticed the door was open, and went to quickly shut it just as Tanner popped in. (He popped back out in record time, too, poor thing.)

Also, that whole "Twinkies" incident is getting on my nerves. I have been caught eating any number of things in my bed during the day. It's one of my favorite places to eat, while watching tv, while folding laundry -- or pretending to fold laundry. But I have NEVER been caught eating Twinkies in my bed -- or ANYWHERE, for that matter. Eewwwww! That would be like eating....holy cow! I was trying to think of something grosser than Twinkies to use in my analogy and I couldn't! At least not that you'd understand. I could say I'd rather eat a straight up marshmallow! But that wouldn't get you right in the gag reflex, like it does me. Or that I'd be happier eating a cupcake with more frosting than cupcake! But you'd probably think that actually sounds good. Or a cinnamon bear with chocolate all over it! Ahhhh! I can't do this anymore! We're just going to have to agree to disagree about which treats are disgusting enough to convince you that I just plain wouldn't be eating such things, let alone getting caught eating them in my bed! See, I'm not trying to hide anything. I have no shame about fixing a big ol' bowl of Maple Nut ice cream, heading into my bed, cranking on some Ops, and learning about how crucial it is that I get properly fitted for a bra! I'm just saying that it would NEVER involve Twinkies, for criminy's sakes! That's just gross! So GET OVER IT, JACOB FOSTER! IT NEVER HAPPENED! Jacob Foster is Collin's 11 year old friend who started this vicious rumor in the first place, and has since embellished and perpetuated it ad nauseum. After he accused me of the whole Twinkie thing he asked how old I was going to be on my impending birthday. When I told him 39 he laughed and said, "Oh, Sister Farley! Everybody says that. How old are you really?" "No, Jacob Foster. People say they're 29, not 39, and I was not eating a Twinkie in my bed!" "Okay, Sister Farley. Whatever (snicker, snicker)." Jacob Foster remains convinced that I both eat Twinkies in my bed and am older than 39. He also thinks I'm lying about both because I'm embarrassed to admit the truth. Do I look like someone who lies to cover embarrassment? I think not.

I did, incidentally, receive a lovely Twinkie for my 39th birthday from guess who? Thoughtful little guy.

Oh, I just realized why you thought I flashed a neighbor kid, Si Foster. It wasn't a kid, okay? It was total strangers at the gym across from our house. And it was an ACCIDENT! Sheesh! I now know that you can see in a window if it's dark outside and light inside. Give me a break -- it was a long time ago. Back when I was 8 months pregnant with my second child. I just needed a towel for my shower and the laundry was on the couch by the big window. Hmmm...I'm starting to see now why I prefer to fold the stuff in my bed...

Help! Help! My Memory's Gone Missing and I Can't Remember Where I Left It!

2008-07-15T09:09:00.009-06:00

My Embarrassing Moment from today is...I CAN'T REMEMBER ANY EMBARRASSING MOMENTS!

I wanted to write a story today. I have a little time and I'm feeling a little writey and I sit down at my Mac and BLANK OUT! Kimi! Woman of A Thousand EMs! What's happening to me? Is this what they call "writer's block?" Does that make me a real writer? Ooooh! Look at me -- I've got a case of writer's block. Forget embarrassed. Now I'm cool!

Sorry peeps. Got a touch o' the writer's block today. Better go back to bed I guess. I'll need some rest, food, fluids (maybe carbonated, or with a high sugar content at least), videos, candy, you know the drill. It's a strict regimen for the w.b. afflicted.

While I'm resting up and recuperating from this difficult and painful affliction, you can help. If you know of, have heard, remember, or (most likely) witnessed one (or more, most likely) of my Embarrassing Moments, will you remind me? You can email me or leave it in a comment. You can call me or send it by post. You can come over and tell me in person. Just remind me! I need you! Heeeelp!

'Preciate cha 'n' all thetcha do.

Now I have a sore throat, too! From screaming.

2008-07-14T09:03:00.010-06:00

Now that my kids are old, they're all in school during the day -- well, I mean not right now, since it's summer and stuff. But when school is in session all my kids are gone during the day. Settled? Okay.

One school day the furnace guy came. He was working on the furnace while I wandered around the house doing random things. One of those random things was going into the guest room downstairs near the furnace room to clean it or something. I don't really remember what I was doing and it is irrelevant to the story anyway, so settle down, you. So I went into the guest room and as I reached to pick something up from the floor a male voice coming from the direction of, indeed, inside of the bed said, "Hi." (In a low, male-sounding voice). "AAAAHHHHHHHHH!" I said, just as what I thought was a spider, but was actually nothing at all landed on my arm. "AAAAHHHHHHHHH!" I reiterated. This was accompanied by a little scaredy-dance and flailing arms (trying to dislodge the imaginary spider, of course). When I came to, Tanner was smiling amusedly/bewilderedly at me from the bed. "Did you forget I stayed home with a sore throat?" He says, in that now-familiar throaty voice that had scared the skidoobies out of me moments before.

"Oh yeah," I say.

"Geez," he says, eyebrows raised mockingly.

"Sorry," I say. And then I have a giggle-fit. Part of the giggle-fit stemmed from the fact that the furnace guy was in the next room. I giggled wondering what he must be thinking at this point. He could only hear the screaming, not any of the resolution. And then I stopped giggling and started wondering why the furnace guy hadn't come in to make sure everything was okay. I mean, from the alarming--nay--blood-curdling scream I had just let fly, he could have reasonably surmised that I had been attacked by some...some...I-don't-know-what!

Well, I was never one for confrontation, so I sneaked back up the stairs and acted like nothing happened. Eventually the furnace guy finished his job and handed me the bill. I thanked him and added, "Oh, sorry about all that screaming. I forgot my son stayed home with a sore throat." "I wondered what that was," he said. I didn't say Thanks for saving me! I could've been being killed, for all you knew! or anything like that. I had said that to my kids once when I found a giant Chinese cockroach in the washing machine (while doing Bob's China laundry, obviously) and screamed bloody murder for a solid 15 seconds. They had no response to that and I figured the furnace guy wouldn't either, so I let it go. Still, the kids know about my overreacting tendencies. What was his excuse?

Did I mention I'm easily startled?

Kimi Clampit

2008-07-08T07:03:00.009-06:00

Ever like to think you're classier than you really are? Like to hobnob with the hoity toities and pretend you're just as posh as all get out? Well I usually know my place in life as a first-class nerd, trying to maintain at least a semblance of low-scale sophistication. Just enough to keep my friends from rethinking the whole arrangement, that sort of thing. But I know deep down I'm a full-throttle band geek who, though my instrument was piccolo (at least a halfway cool-ish instrument. I mean, if you have to be in the band in the first place), I nearly tried out for sousaphone (that's giant marching-band-sized-and-shaped-TUBA if you're a normal person) because I thought it would be cool to be able to say I played the sousaphone! I can't remember now why I didn't end up playing it, but OH MY GOSH! Can you imagine?! Nonetheless, I still wanted to at the time, and I know that about myself, so I know my own potential for Olympic-level Dweebhood. This knowledge keeps me humble for the most part. Except for the occasional delusion of elegance. The mental slip ups when I think I have the same level of chicness as the people I'm around.

I once left one of my earrings in the car. Not a pair. Just one earring. No, I don't know why. That's not relevant right now, so don't worry about it. Anyway, every time I got in the car I would be like, "Doh! I HAVE to take that earring in the house!" But it stayed in the car for a long time. Eventually I tried tricks to remind myself to take it in, like hanging it from the thing that's hanging from my rearview mirror. I was sure this would work, but no. Then I had an even better idea! I hung the longish earring from one of the longish earrings I was wearing at the time. That would totally get the earring into the house! Aren't I clever? Aren't I just the shrewd one?

Later that night Bob said, "We must go to the Bosendorfer piano showroom tonight! We must!" I know Bob doesn't talk like that, but it's making me laugh right now picturing it in my mind's ear. But he said essentially that. So we went. Bosendorfer pianos are (according to Bob, who would know) one of the two best piano brands made in the whole entire world. And probably the better of the two, so really the best. I can't figure out how to get the two little dots above the o in Bosendorfer, but you have to picture it and say it like the Bosendorfer reps do: Boooooeesendorfer. Again: Boooooeesendorfer. Make your lips say "oo" while the inside of your mouth says "ee." That's right. Good. That is meant to have you appreciate the swanky upscale nature of the Booooooeesendorfer piano. And they like to say it a lot when you're at the showroom, pretending you would ever be able to buy one. And not only that, but that you'll probably be buying one real soon. (Right after you pay off the house. And win the lottery.)

The reps are all dressed in practically-but-not-quite formal gowns and nearly tuxedos. I kept thinking they should have a glass of champagne in their hand as they gestured dramatically at the selection of Boooooeesendorfer pianos in the temporary showroom. (Utah's not cool enough to sell Booooooeesendorfers, they're made somewhere cooler and taken on showroom tours.)

So as you picture Bob and me, putting on airs, if you will, or at least doing our best to fake it, you may start to put two and two together. Well, you're one step ahead of me if you do. Remember the lone earring I have at this point hanging from one of my two earrings? Yeah, I didn't. I didn't remember it at all. Not until I got home from Booooooeesendorferland and prepared to go to bed did I catch a glimpse of an anomaly hanging from the side of my head! Yes, of course I asked Bob why he didn't tell me. No, he hadn't noticed. It's usually a perk that Bob doesn't notice any of my flaws, but this time he could have helped a girl out, you know? I know I really should stick to my roots and not try to elevate my social status in my own mind. But a girl can dream, right? Someday, maybe someday I'll get the chance, if I'm lucky, to finally...PLAY THAT SOUSAPHONE! Yeah!

Kimi Gonzales

2008-06-30T09:51:00.008-06:00

Yesterday - yes, just yesterday! - I had to run my son up to the church about a mile away. We weren't all ready yet, but he had to be there early. So I ran him up there and was speeding home to finish getting ready and take the family up. Literally speeding. Right past a cop. So there I was pulled over in front of a neighbor's house ten minutes before church starts. "Yes, hello Brother So and So," I wave. "That's right, Sister Such and Such, I'm getting a ticket on this lovely Sabbath morning," I smile. "Good to see you, too, What's-yer-faces," I nod. Neighbor after neighbor passed me on their way up to the church house, waving and smiling.

And, no, I didn't happen to grab my driver's license on the way out the door, thank you very much. Would you? Yeah, probably, but we're not talking about you right now, okay? Then the officer comes back to my window and tells me it's my "very lucky day." "Really?" I say. "It doesn't feel like my lucky day, what with my neighbors driving by and laughing at me." (Yes. Yes, I really did say that.) He doesn't crack even half a smile as he tells me the state wide computer is down and he doesn't want to take the time to hand-write me a ticket without my license, so slow down, stay buckled up (whew! At least I had that going for me!) and grab my wallet next time.

It was especially fun walking in late to church, knowing that lots of people knew exactly why I was late.

It's a DARN good thing I live in the most accepting and non-judgemental neighborhood I've ever known or I might be REALLY embarrassed!

Breaking the Chains of Shame

2008-06-29T20:37:00.003-06:00

"What was your most embarrassing moment?" Yeah, right. From this week, you mean? Or of all time? Take your pick. I have many. Too many. So many I could write a whole blog about it.

Wait a second...now I'm on to something! Over the years when asked that question, I never had to think very hard, except to narrow down the list. I could even do categories. Gross; Happened in Public; Happened in Private; Happened in Front of Someone Important; Probably Should Have Kept to Myself; Light Fare; Truly Mortifying; Not To Be Shared In Mixed Company; This Week; Last Week; Week Before That (you get the idea); G Rated; PG Rated; PG-13 Rated (you get the idea).

A long time ago I realized, if I was going to continue to have such regular occurrences of embarrassing moments, (and I knew that I was), well I was just going to have to find some method of coping. Over time I noticed that sharing my experiences with others helped lessen the stigma, and even the embarrassment of the event. It also seemed to make people laugh, even if it was at my expense. I can handle that, especially if it means someone thinks I'm funny! "Ha! Ha! Kimi's funny!" (More like "ridiculous," but at least they're laughing).

While I was working with the Mia Maids for a couple of years, the calling that stole my heart and still has it as of this writing, a routine developed where I would tell the girls my Embarrassing Moment from the week -- and believe you me, there was no short supply! They looked so forward to it that I'd hardly enter the building before they'd be begging for my latest story. I do also have a slight (or maybe giant, but who's measuring?) short-term memory problem, so sometimes, even though I knew I had been embarrassed (or embarrassing, depending on who's telling the story) that week, I sometimes went blank. Never fear! I always had a good standby from days past. Years past -- whatever. The point is, I could always come up with a fresh Moment of Embarrassment for the girls. Soon they were saving their own EMs to share with me. Painful high school Moments of Embarrassment that made me glad to be a boring ol' grown up with no one to impress anymore.

After I was released from YW, but called as Camp Director (or Keemp Director, if you will) I was driving with one of my former Mia Maids to pick up camp supplies and she told me something. She told me, "Remember when we used to tell each other our Embarrassing Moments? Well, sometimes I felt insecure and stupid and it would be so horrible when something embarrassing happened. But after a while, when something happened I would be so excited to have a good story to tell you, I would forget to be embarrassed! It made me feel better about myself." Okay, well, I don't really remember what she said. I shouldn't have used quotes, but it was something like that and it looked better in quotes, so DEAL with it.

Anyway, what she didn't know was that that was my hidden agenda all along. To take the embarrassment out of Embarrassing Moments and make them Awesome Stories That Make People Laugh. I don't know if she knows how much it meant to me to hear her say that. I'd hoped during my years with those awesome young women that I had been able to do something, anything to make their lives a smidge better. Knowing I helped to lessen any of the pain that comes with being a teenager is good for my heart. Maybe reading about my experiences will be good for yours. I mean, at least you'll have someone -- er, something -- to laugh at.