Rabbit in the Headlights

The Most Fascinating People of 2009

2009-12-30T17:56:00.001-07:00

Barbara Walters is at it again. With the year coming to a close she’s rolling out her list and interviews with what she calls the 10 Most Fascinating People of the year. The thing with me is that I don’t use the word “fascinating” frivolously. Maybe I’m just hard to impress, but if you’re telling me something is fascinating then it had better be good. Like the one time I was watching Planet Earth on blu ray and they were showing the mating call of a particular bird – the male got all gussied up in front of another female bird, and in an effort to gain her affection spread his feathers and showed all his pretty colors and made his best squawking sound and then the female bird was all, *talk to the hand* and walked away. THAT was fascinating because I DID NOT KNOW that birds went to 7th grade. I almost felt bad for every boy I had ever turned down in high school until I remembered, “Oh yeah, I never did that because nobody ever tried to date me.” BUT! THIS IS NOT ABOUT ME, this is about Barbara Walters and her cockamamie list of Most Fascinating People of 2009.

The problem with this list of people is that it’s not really about being fascinating, it’s basically about high school. Featuring the prettiest, the most controversial, the victim, and even the all star quarterback, Walters’ Most Fascinating People is almost like watching “The Breakfast Club” for the stars. It’s mostly a popularity contest, because if Barbara was truly in search of the most fascinating people she would have interviewed the old guy at my Wal Mart who stands in the front holding a red lunch pail. Nobody really knows what he’s doing there, but I bet if Barbara could take him aside she might find out some pretty cool stuff. But no, her list is about, for better or for worse, who made the front page.

For example, a woman named Jenny Sanford made the list. The first lady of South Carolina, her husband had an affair with a woman from Argentina and everything hit the fan. Sad? Sure. Devastating? Of course. Fascinating? Not since Bravo TV debuted. Next up, Brett Favre. He quit, he came back. He quit, he came back. Come on Brett, show me something Pamela Anderson CAN’T do.

Another on the list, Sarah Palin. I’m annoyed with how much attention gets paid to her physical beauty. What??! You’re smart AND pretty? AND you have KIDS? HOW ON EARTH DO YOU DO IT ALL? Hey Barbara, let me introduce you to like, all of my friends.

And then came Adam Lambert. He’s gay and he can sing. Fascinating? I don’t think so. Have you never heard of George Michael? I guess it just goes to show what a little more range and a lot more eyeliner can do.

Kate Gosselin. Please. Don’t get me started.

Tyler Perry. Not the first guy to survive an abusive father and make something of himself. While I congratulate him, I’d be just as interested in an interview with the longest reigning mall Santa.

Glenn Beck. He speaks his mind and cries a lot. Put me on the TV/radio and I’ll show you much of the same, with less historical knowledge and cuter hair.

Lady Gaga. She wears bubble dresses and wings on stage and some speculate that she is a transvestite. Not someone I really want to hang out with, but fascinating? We might be getting closer.

Michelle Obama. Sorry, but I don’t see what the big deal is. She’s raising two kids, just like me, except her mom lives with her and they have a much nicer house. Plus, her husband travels a lot. (They really ARE just like us!) So, she doesn’t wear frumpy First Lady suits. I can see why Clint and Stacy would be impressed, but it’s not like I don’t know how to shop at Dress Barn too.

Finally, Barbara pulls a fast one on us and does a three for the price of one trick, kind of like a Bath & Body Works sale, as she names ALL THREE of Michael Jackson’s children. *sigh* Really Barbara? Here’s what I think happened. I think that ABC wanted to feature Michael Jackson on this list, but somewhere in a boardroom one day a few Dilberts came up with a list of official rules for the Top 10 Most Fascinating People and one rule was that a person featured must currently be alive. But Michael Jackson was JUST! SO! IMPORTANT! that they wanted to feature him anyway, but in order to stick to the rules and not have to deal with the management over the issue they would just pick his kids instead. Because let’s face it, none of us even saw his kids until the funeral, and we’ve never heard them say anything, and if that’s grounds for “fascinating” then there are mutes everywhere right now who should be offended that they didn’t also get a call.

I hope Barbara doesn’t take any of this personally. Just because she talks funny and has a talk show that I loathe (Hi The View! You women drive me crazy! Except you Elisabeth, I loved you in “Survivor”), doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to have dinner with her. As long as she’s paying.

Merry Christmas

2009-12-24T11:31:00.004-07:00

My sister called about a week ago and without a lot of time to chit chat, she asked, "Okay, I just have to know - did you really send this card out to everyone on your Christmas card list?"
"Yes," I answered with confidence and a chuckle. "Yes, I did."
"Wow," she said. "I can't believe you had the guts to actually do it."
Weird, I thought she knew me better than that. I have discovered that the only problem with having two blogs is that come Christmas time, I really have nothing left to say. Last year I managed to squeak out a few highlights and jokes that weren't otherwise shared, but this year...this year I was tired and out of ideas. Not to mention, Christmas and I have a rocky relationship and I have been trying VERY HARD, almost as hard as Tiger Woods has tried to keep his pants on I have tried to keep a healthy perspective this year. I am happy to report that I have been surprisingly successful, assisted in part by experiences such as this. I let Drew decorate part of the mantle, I allowed Samantha to take over the baking of sugar cookies, and I even let Cory hang the most ridiculous strand of blue icicle lights off of our back patio without saying anything. Well, at least I waited a few days. DO YOU SEE HOW ALL GROWN UP I AM?

But in the midst of all this growth I could not for the life of me find the heart to sit down and eke out a Christmas letter worth reading. SO. Instead I came up with the most genius three lines I could think of, slapped our family photo (courtesy of my talented niece Brianne) on a card and called it a day. This is our picture:

Here was the message we scripted on the back:

I've gained weight
Cory's going bald
Our kids are average
Merry Christmas!

I know, right? GENIUS, if I do say so myself. And I do.

Hope your Christmas is everything you hoped it would be and more.

Twilight Meets Singles Ward

2009-12-11T08:44:00.002-07:00

If you have not been following Twilight (hi mom) you will not think this is funny. If you are not a Mormon, you will probably not get this. On the other hand, if you're a Mormon who knows enough about Twilight to know the difference between a "Quileute" and a "Quaalude" then you will appreciate this. If you are a Mormon Twilight fanatic, you just hit the jackpot. This is made from 100% pure organic awesome. (Thanks Carly!)

Twilight Years from Tom on Vimeo.

It's My Birthday

2009-11-24T08:55:00.000-07:00

Engine engine number 9
Today I’m thirty freakin’ nine
I think my brain has jumped the track
Control of my bladder is all out of whack
My last year in my 30’s, there’s a lot here at stake,
While I deem what to do, I think I’ll eat cake.

Friday Funny

2009-11-20T14:32:00.000-07:00

(thanks Kettie!)

The Legend Of Jiffy Bobby

2009-11-14T11:27:00.002-07:00

Cory’s car needed new tires, so we traded vehicles for the day and I spent the morning calling around to comparison shop. I started with my favorite, Discount Tire.
“Thanks for calling Discount Tire, this is Bobby.” I asked several questions, he gave me all the answers, and I called store number two.
“Thanks for calling Big-O Tires, this is Bob.” I chuckled to myself that I had two “Bob’s” in a row, but suppressed my thoughts to ask all the relevant questions. After hanging up I wondered, “What are the odds that I would get TWO ‘Bobby’s’ in a ROW?” And then I took it a step further and thought, “I wonder how many other tire stores I would have to call before I found another one?” And just like that, I made a game for me to play. My strategy: I would call more stores to see how they answered, and as soon as I heard their name I would say, “Oops! Sorry, I got the wrong number.” It would be my very scientific way to gather data. I started with a store called Colorado Tire.
*ring*ring* “Thanks for calling Colorado Tire, this is TOM.”
“Sorry, I must have dialed the wrong number,” I said.
“No problem,” Tom replied. Good job Tom.
STRIKE ONE.
*ring*ring* “Hello, it’s a great day to get two for one tires at Tires Plus, this is JEFF.”
STRIKE TWO.
I opted for a different location of Discount Tire and dialed the number.
“Thanks for calling Discount Tire, this is AARON.”
STRIKE THREE.
Isn’t this riveting? I’m telling you, ever since I quit working as a professional after having kids I have ONLY GOTTEN SMARTER. (Gotten?) And more interesting. And more…well, trust me I could go ON AND ON.
I moved on to my second location for Big O.
*ring*ring* “Welcome to Big O Tires, THIS IS BOBBY.” (!!!)
JACKPOT!!! I chimed in with my rehearsed, “Sorry, wrong number” routine then hung up and laughed to myself while I sat on the couch with HGTV on “Pause”.
BUT WAIT! The game is not over! I was on a high. Imagine how it felt to know that I, VERN, was the first to discover (after all of that scientific evidence) that if your name is Bobby you have a 50% chance of working in a tire store at some point in your life. But I knew there was more, because everyone knows that more than one person works at a tire store, but only one person can answer the phone at a time. So the only way, scientifically I mean, to prove my theory was to call back those other stores and ASK for Bobby, to make sure I didn’t miss one. I started with the 2nd store on my list, Tires Plus….
*ring*ring* “Thanks for calling Tires Plus, this is Pat can I help you?”
“Hi, is Bobby there?”
“Yup, hold on a sec,” he said.
I hung up before bursting out laughing. Not only was I cracking myself up, but I was becoming acutely aware of how much I needed to get a life. The next two places turned out to be duds, but all in all my scientific evidence had proven a 67% chance of working in a tire store if your name is Bobby. I wonder if they’re hiring any “Vern’s”.

Corn Maze

2009-11-09T13:44:00.002-07:00

This little gem comes from my friend Deb, who sends me all sorts of hilarious stuff - not all of which is suitable for sharing. Mostly I just wanted to put something up that didn't have the word "hysterectomy" in it. Oops. Maybe next time.

How Do You Shave Your Legs After An Abdominal Hysterectomy?

2009-10-11T14:36:00.002-06:00

Veeeeeerry carefully.

I Think I'll Sell My Tampons On Craigslist

2009-10-05T22:16:00.004-06:00

I’m not gonna lie, I slept through General Conference. But if I told you the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me Elder Packer, I should also explain that I slept through General Conference ON A GURNEY. So I’m kinda thinking I get a free pass.

Last Thursday morning started out normally. I got the kids off to school, checked my email, played a word in my facebook Scrabble game, checked my stats to see if Hugh Jackman had found my blog yet…when before I knew it I was in the fetal position, sobbing on the phone to my husband that I thought I needed to go to the Emergency Room. (Such a drastic transition going from happy thoughts of Hugh, frolicking on the internet to find me, and then *BAM* “Holy Crap, I think my abdomen was a client of Bernie Madoff’s because it’s TICKED.”) So I called my friend Ganelle, still sobbing and she said, “Don’t move, I’ll be right there.”

Thirty minutes later we stood in the ER entrance and I began peeing in cups and describing my pain on a scale of 1 to 10. Hmm…. “With ONE being I’m disappointed that my mom never bought me hostess cupcakes for school lunches, and TEN being the Holocaust, I’m somewhere between never going to Homecoming and Columbine.” A little later, before the CT scan but after the incident where Ganelle pulled my gown over my legs in opposition to our “friendship knows no boundaries” clause, (turns out there ARE boundaries, and they stop short of the upper thigh being exposed through a light blue tent that one is given to wear when vacationing in the ER) Ganelle was also found holding my hair while I threw up into a pink, plastic bin. It was glorious, I tell you.

When my doctor finally showed up and took my information, he announced that we would be conducting a CT scan. I did not anticipate this kind of action, and I have to admit, it scared me a little bit. Okay, a lot bit. So they whisked me away where I was introduced to Jack, the CT Scan guy. “Hi Jack,” I gestured. “Don’t say that on an airplane!” he laughed. Something tells me Jack only knows one joke. But he was nice, especially when he said, “We’ll be injecting your body with dye – you’ll feel warm and fuzzy inside, and then you will most likely feel like you’re wetting your pants.” I was all, “Dude, I just threw up on my best friend, what’s a little bed wetting incident with a guy who can’t do airports?” It was quick and painless, and even though I DID feel like I was wetting myself, I wasn’t. Yet.

A while later the results were in and my doctor returned to deliver the news. The next few minutes are a bit of a blur, so I was grateful that my husband and friend were there to take notes and ask questions. Bottom line: I had a mass on my ovary. The other one. Cancerous? We didn’t know. It was about the size of an orange, had damaged the only ovary I had left beyond repair, and needed to come out immediately. I was admitted that night, had surgery on Friday, and came home from the hospital last night. At the end of the day, I do NOT have cancer (phew) but they ended up taking out all my lady parts and I have eighteen (I counted) staples in my abdomen to prove it. Do you know what this means boys and girls? This means I will be going through menopause now. I know, right? YOU just hit the jackpot! VERN. IN MENOPAUSE. Not even Hollywood could make this stuff up. At any rate, my mom and dad have driven out from California to my rescue – my mom has already gone shopping and my dad has already whipped up a fresh batch of guacamole. I have been swarmed with loving phone calls, random goodie deliveries, and offers to help for which I am humbled and profoundly grateful. I don’t think I could feel more supported if I was standing in a warehouse of jock straps. So THANK YOU everybody. Thanks for loving me and my family and for making me feel so cared about. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a cupboard full of tampons that I no longer need. I think I’ll list them on ebay to see if they can help with the medical bills.

This Is NOT A Newsflash

2009-09-24T07:49:00.002-06:00

Sometime over the summer when I was busy not blogging on this blog I saw a headline on my Comcast homepage that said, “Michael Phelps Not Injured In Car Accident”. Ummm, kay? Hello Comcast homepage people, I have some very important information that you should carefully tuck away for others like me. Specifically, when you tell me about something that didn’t happen, I don’t really care, and I am not likely to click on your little link to hear the “Rest Of The Story….”

Can you imagine if I ran my blog this way? So lazy. In fact, let’s try it out. Here’s a little Top Ten List of things that did NOT happen to me in the last two months.

1. I did not get syphilis, which is fairly common when you’re not a tramp.
2. I did not lose the thirty pounds that I set out to drop by October. Hell, I didn’t even lose ONE of those thirty pounds. And I did not just say “hell”. (hi mom!)
3. I did not begin a love affair with soy nuts and barley, which is why number 2 didn’t work out. P.S. I didn’t work out much either, so I suppose soy and barley are only partially to blame.
4. I did not watch any episodes of “The Suite Life” with my kids.
5. Except that one time, but I was bored and we only have one television so SHUT IT. And Samantha did not say, “Um, Mom? You just laughed at Zach and Cody. That’s kinda sad.” (See what I mean Comcast? This is not riveting material.)
6. I did not rent “17 Again” and think that Zac Efron was hot. However, I may have rented “17 Again” and thought, “Dude, I am the same age as the actor who plays Zac Efron’s dad.”
7. I did not cry when Michael Jackson died.
8. I did not get my own reality show, but I do wish that TLC would stop calling me already.
9. I did not run into Hugh Jackman at the mall, have lunch with him at Paradise Bakery, or hold his hand at the movies. Come to think of it, Hugh and I didn’t do anything together all summer. WHAT is his PROBLEM?
10. I did not go to Hawaii, but my friend Kettie did and she went to my favorite Shave Ice place and ordered my favorite flavor and sent me a picture of it, so it’s almost like I was there. But I wasn’t.

Tune in next week when I’ll share my lists on “All The Guys I Never Dated” and “All The Vegetables I’ve Never Tried.”

Cletus Take The Reel

2009-07-13T13:20:00.002-06:00

Gathered with a group of moms this morning as we dropped off our daughters for Girl's Camp, my friend Bethany mentioned this following video on YouTube - I came home to check it out, and it must be shared! Check it...

Thanks For The Mammaries

2009-06-21T23:10:00.003-06:00

"For my sister’s 50th birthday, I sent her a singing mammogram."
~ Steven Wright

A year ago my doctor encouraged me to get my first mammogram. I politely took a card for a clinic he recommended, then came home and discarded it into my pile of “Things To Do After Napping Gets Old” where it got lost among my petitions for school volunteering opportunities, bills and Michael’s coupons. At my recent visit, he was more insistent. “Did you get a mammogram yet? You need to get a mammogram. Here’s a place where you can get a mammogram. Will you go get a mammogram? YOU ARE OLD NOW, PROMISE ME YOU’LL MAKE AN APPOINTMENT FOR A MAMMOGRAM.” Not since my honeymoon had I encountered anyone so consumed with an activity concerning my breasts. He was so adamant about it that I began to feel as if ignoring him would be a serious mistake resulting in chemotherapy, so I came home and promptly made an appointment. I went on Friday.

I would like to start by saying that I was told a mammogram is not painful. I can’t remember who told me this, but I suspect whoever it was had shot up with heroin before their appointment, because nobody in their right freakin’ mind would say that a mammogram doesn’t hurt unless they have lightly coated their veins with an illegal substance first. “Take a deep breath and hold it,” the ~~Nazi boob mutilator~~ friendly lab technician instructed. This coaching proved to be unnecessary because, as it turns out, holding your breath comes naturally when someone is trying to extract your spleen out of your nipple in the name of early detection. The good news? I now know for a fact that I would look awesome with a neck lift.

Still, I can’t help but think that the Tower of London really missed out on this technology. And to THINK what Jack Bauer could do with this machine – the possibilities are endless. His female nemesis would be all, “I TOLD you Jack, I haven’t lactated in over a DECADE!” He’d crank it tighter, “TELL ME THE TRUTH!!!”

I don’t know, this all sounded funnier in my head.

Drew's Moral Dilemma

2009-06-02T12:00:00.003-06:00

We are driving in the car and Drew says to me, "Mom? I'm trying to decide...if Anthony and Samantha were both hanging off the side of a cliff and I could only save one of them, who would I choose?"

I stare at him blankly. "I'm sorta hoping you're leaning towards your flesh and blood instead of the kid you met less than a year ago."

"Still," he defends. "It's a tough choice!"

He remains conflicted, which is why I'm steering Samantha away from ALL cliffs.

Greasing The Rusty Wheels

2009-05-30T13:08:00.003-06:00

I don't get my camera out very often anymore, but I tend to get an itch when my friends have babies. Get a load of this beauty! Congratulations Kira, Clay, Tre, Max and Drew's sword-wielding equal, Raphael.

For Jessica, Because I'm Feeling Nice Today.

2009-05-19T11:45:00.017-06:00

I was minding my own business...actually, scratch that. I was taking care of everybody else's business on Sunday when I was caught in the halls by a really supportive and loving friend who said, "Hey, time to post something new. I'm getting a little tired of the NyQuil picture." I said something warm and loving back like, "Aren't you the one who only has ONE blog?" But now that I feel the pressure, the disease to please has kicked in and I want to meet her request. You are in for a treat ladies and gentlemen, as I give you...drumroll please... a Blast From Kristy's Past.

Here I am at Elvis' Grave in Graceland. I felt very close to him that day, and even though he couldn't hear me, I know he knew I was there. I learned that day that there are ~~loyal~~ psycho fans who exist that have standing orders with florists to make regular deliveries to his headstone. I want to see where those people live, because I can't help but imagine that they have pink flamingoes on their lawns and velvet paintings of the Virgin Mary.

Here I am (on the right) at my college roommate's wedding. Remember when floral prints were all the rage? You don't? Then you probably don't remember when peach and green were the primo choice for bride's maids dresses either. I'm sorry you missed it, but I'll submit a request to the Fashionland to see if they can at least make a plea to bring back burgundy and forest green. I don't want you to miss out on everything.

This glamour shot comes to you from my days as a Congressional intern when I went to witness the Presidential Lift-Off from the White House lawn. I only put this up because my legs were smokin' back then.

Oops! This is Garth Brooks. I hated country music up until I saw the video for "Friends In Low Places" and then I felt like we had a lot in common. This was before he cheated on his wife with another country music star so I still respected him. I guess he could have missed the pain, but he'd have missed the dance.

"I'm too sexy for these waders, too sexy for these waders...." What can I say? I had a crush on a fisherman and I was trying to get his attention.

LaVern & Shirley, Halloween 1992 with my friend Amy. "Shlameel, shlamazel...."

"Why I oughta...." I desperately want to have a good explanation for this picture. This was taken last year, and apparently this is what I look like when I get a hotel with friends and they take a picture of me in the dark without my make up on. I was provoked and I had just eaten a lot of pasta. 'Nuff said.

UPDATE: Samantha looked at this post last night and said, "Whoa. Those are some pretty big bangs you had in college." I guess it could have been worse, she could have pointed to the White House picture and said, "Wait a second, is that...*squinting to peer closer*is that like a space between your legs?!"

Would You Rather...

2009-04-29T15:27:00.009-06:00

There has been a little party going on in my body this last week. I sent out invitations to germs, cramps, and even managed a special little invite to the concrete from my knee. "Come on over!" it said. "Bring a side ~~dish~~ effect." And wouldn't you know it, they ALL rsvp'd and showed up at the same time. Which got me thinking.

If I was stuck on a desert island and only got to choose ONE type of medicine to take with me, how on earth would I choose between this:

and THIS?

NyQuil is kind of like a one night stand - irresistible in the throws of desperation, but you wake up kind of wondering what you were thinking. Advil is like the steady girlfriend - consistent, predictable, and she never lets you down. I'm just not sure which one would be more critical on a desert island, and for some reason I feel like I need to know. Care to weigh in?

The Good News

2009-04-12T10:15:00.000-06:00

I've never heard anybody say it better than this. Happy Easter!

Birthday Boy

2009-04-08T09:41:00.002-06:00

(I'm double posting today. Because I can.)

Dear Drew:

Today you are 9 years old. Old enough to play James Bond on the Game Cube and wriggle away from any affection I may attempt, but young enough to hop on my bed this morning with a grin, waiting for me to wish you a Happy Birthday. Old enough to wipe your own bum, but young enough to wipe with the efficiency of Kleenex on an oil spill. Old enough to dress yourself, but too young to decipher the difference between your bedroom floor and the dirty clothes hamper. Old enough to brush your own teeth, but too young to be interested. I don’t mind, unless you eat a big piece of blue candy that reveals just how poorly I have been supervising your hygiene, then I step in. At any rate, it’s a big day.

Yesterday, on your birthday eve and your last night as a Wolf in your scout troop, we had to hurry up and finish the last of your requirements so that you could earn your badge. That was a lot of fun.
“Drew! Time to come home from the neighbors! Scouts starts in an hour, and you still need to learn the Star Spangled Banner. Hurry!”
“Aww, Maaan! But I want to play with Anthony!”
“Yeah, well, I want peace in our time. You can’t have everything.”
He slumped his shoulders and came reluctantly up the steps.
“Okay,” I began. “From the picture here in the book, it looks like we’re supposed to sit at the kitchen table and meaningfully discuss three ways that people are protecting our world. See that? The Dad is looking introspective and wise, and the boy is smiling from ear to ear. That’s what happens when discussing propaganda.”
“Propaganda?”
“Nevermind. Now hurry up so we can bond over this.”
[Heavy sigh] “FINE.”
“By the way, can you count to ten in Spanish? You’re only three small tasks away from extra arrow points, and we want people to think we care enough about Scouts to do more than just the minimum requirements.”
“Uno…dos….”
After finishing up you asked, “So, does this mean after tonight I won’t be a Wolf anymore?”
“That’s right,” I answered.
Then you faked a few tears, dramatically dabbed away at the corners of your eyes and said, “It’s just so touching,” in an exaggeratedly emotional voice. You, my son, are a trip.

It was just a few years ago that you, Samantha and I went to the park for Family Home Evening one night when your dad was out of town. It was the middle of July so the evening was warm and the grass was still supple and green. After rolling down the steep, grassy slope and watching the sunset, you turned to me and said, “This is the best day I ever invented.” When it was time to go home you and Samantha decided to walk the several blocks, so I followed slowly behind you in the car. I remember driving, and watching the two of you from behind and wishing I knew what you were talking about. Suddenly, you turned around and ran back to me in the car. I thought something might be wrong, so I lowered the window and you ran up and excitedly reported, “MOM! There’s a BUNNY!” Then you lowered your voice to a husky whisper so as not to scare the bunny, cupped your hand to the side of your mouth said, “See? It really is the bestest day.”

It’s a far cry from the interaction we just shared two seconds ago where you complained that your birthday was already boring. Nevermind that I have let you stay home from school so we can go to a movie, the fact that we don’t have plans to fly jets or stage an intervention with Storm Troopers for the three hours before that relegates it to a boring day. As if. I guess the weird thing about you growing up is that I’m expected to grow up with you. I have to face the fact that you think parks are for babies and bathing is for…other people. Your ideal world would use burping and farting in Morse code to communicate and count video games as cardiovascular exercise. I’d like you to work on creating that ideal world, because you would make a fortune and then I could finally get that purse I’ve been wanting.

Then again, I love that you are old enough to hop in the car and head over to the church to play basketball with Dad. I love that you didn’t want to vote for Obama because he had a “wart”, and that you think ketchup is a vegetable. I know that you are no longer enchanted with bunnies, but at the end of the day when you are in bed and drifting off to sleep, I still come in and kiss your forehead and tell you that I love you. And most of the time, you say it back. You don’t have to love me as much as I love you, but my wish for you on this, your 9th birthday, is that someday you will understand just how much that is. Let me just say that if you put Cosmic Brownies, Obi Wan Kenobi, all the MacGyver DVD's and a remote control fart machine in the same room, I love you more than you love that room.

And THAT, my boy, is saying something. Happy Birthday buddy.

2009-04-01T07:31:00.002-06:00

Check out what I'm doing over here today - you won't want to miss it.

Wondering...

2009-03-28T17:24:00.001-06:00

Do you think the Duggars ever watched "Eight Is Enough?"

Down And Derby

2009-03-24T13:42:00.003-06:00

Drew's very first Pinewood Derby is tonight. He and ~~his dad~~ our friend with all the power tools have had a lot of fun making it. These events have a tendency to bring out the worst in people, and Cory overheard a conversation at church where someone said, "I just really don't want what happened last year to happen this year." (???) We weren't there, so I don't know what he's talking about. So, we're just hoping Drew has fun and learns good sportsmanship. (Translation: We're hoping he takes 1st.)

Kiss The Irish!

2009-03-17T07:36:00.002-06:00

It takes a really special video for me to post it on both of my blogs on the same day, but today it's non-negotiable. Two reasons: 1) I don't know how many of you keep up with my other one, and 2) I can't bear for you to miss this. I've watched it about eight times and I laugh harder every time. Happy St. Patrick's Day!

On Dr. Phil, Prison, and Michael Jackson

2009-03-07T09:45:00.005-07:00

There was a time when I was highly entertained by Dr. Phil. There's just not a lot of people who can say stuff like, "Happier than a dog with two peters" and then walk out the door with a check for a million dollars for that week's work. I have to respect that, seeing as that's MY plan for getting rich. But I got tired, and his guests got weird, and I'm SOSICKANDTIRED of him and his wife using themselves as examples of how to do things right.
"Robin, how on earth did you lose that last five pounds?"
"I stopped eating Hot Tamales."
"Dr. Phil, how on earth did you raise such nice boys?"
"Don't ask me, I'm a workaholic."
"Robin?"
"WELL, we don't allow burping at the dinner table."
"So what you're saying is, your sons are no fun at a party?"
"That's right."
"How did your lame book sell so many copies?"
"Funny story. I married a bald man who got his own TV show."

ANYway. After years without Dr. Phil echoing throughout my living room, I got caught up in an episode yesterday. It was about two teenage boys with very bad habits so they decided to do an intervention by sending the boys to the San Quentin Penitentiary as a wake up call to say, "Dudes, this is where you're headed if you don't cut it out." Field Trip! Remember to pack a sack lunch! P.S. No forks or spoons. So at one point the boys were getting a tour of the cells, and as they came out they were confronted by a cell mate exiting from an adjacent room. He was a black guy, and the kid was white. The black guy got in his face and said, "You're lucky there's cameras and police around here, because if this was just you and me, I'd have you for lunch. Black people and white people don't get along in prison."

He laughed when the kid said he had black friends at home, and went on to educate him about life in prison, and how it "ain't the same", and laughed at him some more when the white kid called him "Dude". They pointed out different sections of the outside areas - one for hispanics, one for whites, and one for blacks. Which got me thinking, if Michael Jackson ever goes to prison, who will decide what section he sits in? I could see that black guy getting in Michael's face and being all, "Skin condition my %@#!" and threatening to eat him for dessert after having the other guy for lunch. And then I bet Michael would try to get out of it by starting to dance and sing, "Because I'm BAD, I'm BAD, really really BAD..." but then I bet that guy would educate Michael about how dancing and singing might be popular out "there", but "it ain't the same in prison." And then I'm really hoping Michael would leave out his signature pelvic thrust because come on, his life would be soooooo over after that.

Say Hey

2009-02-28T13:05:00.004-07:00

The thing about dancing, other than the part where I am bad at it, is that I love it. My favorite kind of dancing is the kind that people can't see me doing, and most often takes place in between my kitchen and our office. Lots of room. Clothing optional. Kidding!! Sorta. Don't get any ideas, I always close my blinds. I am not afraid to pump up the volume in my car to the right song, and my kids LOVE IT. Okay, not always. One time when I was driving down a street near my house I was PUMPED, and I was showing it, and I didn't care about any other drivers judging me because what do I care? I'm not going to see them again. Unless you are my neighbor, who was riding next to me in her Explorer. She honked, I looked over - BUSTED! I waved, and she commented later to me at the bus stop about my moves. I think she was a little bit jealous, and I can't blame her. With one hand on the wheel baby, I can BUST IT!

Anyway, I have made a resolution of sorts that I am going to dance to one song every day. Better than anti-depressants, I say. Always on the lookout for more variety, I heard a song on the radio this morning that had my head bobbing and had I not been in the car, I would have launched into the Running Man. Serious. I wrote down enough of the lyrics so that I could look up the song when I got home, and not only did I find it on iTunes but they have the video on YouTube. And because I'm a giver, and I think you should dance more too, I've downloaded it for you here. It's like Ziggy Marley meets MC Hammer, and it's rad. Don't feel bad if you find yourself doing the Running Man in your living room while you listen, it happens to the best of us. Feel free to follow up all your comments about how you LOVE THIS SONG with other dance music suggestions. Now that I'm doing this every day, I need to expand my repertoire!

Get A Load of THIS!

2009-02-25T11:59:00.004-07:00

While rummaging through some photo albums earlier I found this picture of me as a baby.

I have seen it a hundred times, but only recently with the element of foreshadowing that has been missing all these years. I mean, look at me. Me! With a RABBIT! It’s like I’ve known all my life that a rabbit would become a pivotal element of symbolism in my life. Do you think that little girl knows that she’s going to be so famous one day that seven people who aren’t even related will one day read her blog? Do you think she knows that she’s going to need therapy someday? Or that she looks horrible in green? And that she would despise eggs up until adulthood? Or that she would eventually eat mushrooms without throwing up? I wonder if she knows how hard it is to get a date. Probably, do you see how hard I’m clutching that rabbit’s ears, as if it represents all the future basketball stars who would reject me? (Andy Toolson, you know who you are.) I’d like to think I was dissing the photographer, like she’s back there making all these squealing noises, trying to get me to laugh or smile and I’m all, “Man, that chick is riDICulous.” Still. Me, the rabbit, it’s like it was meant to be.