New Hair Cut

Tuesday, November 25, 2008



So I actually cut my hair a few weeks back, but I kept stalling to show pictures because I wanted to have a few more where they were more styled. Well, the days I actually style my hair I haven't gotten around to taking a picture, so I will at least post some old first-day-of-new-hair pictures. After I took these I figured out how to do my bangs and give my hair more body, but I don't have proof... What do you think?

Hey Job, I totally feel ya.

Friday, November 21, 2008

You remember Job? You know, the guy in the Bible. Yeah, the one who suffered everything in a matter of weeks. Today I totally got him. And it sucked. Big time.

It all started with my good intention to drive down to the LA fashion district to work at the sample sale that's going on every friday this month. I wanted to get down there, pick up a package, change the lights that are burnt out and sell some samples. I got up early after getting 4 1/2 hours of sleep, took a shower and went on my merry way.

As I was leaving I had this feeling that maybe, just maybe I should check the oil. Stupid, I thought, you just had your oil changed around 1500 miles ago. There's no need to check it. Still, the urge peaked up one more time. Check the oil, it prompted. No, I thought flatly, I'm already 20 minutes later than I wanted to be, there is no reason to check the oil.

About 35 miles from home, and 20 miles from the showroom I noticed that my car turned off and battery died. No, it didn't matter that I was driving 75 mph on a busy L.A. freeway, my wheel decided to lock up, the engine turn off, and the speed, you know, just dropped. If I had been anywhere else I would have been royally screwed but for some reason there was mad traffic in front of me and behind me, but not next to me. Thankfully, I was also approaching an off ramp. Talk about lucky. I pulled over (using tremendous force since my wheel was almost totally locked), turned off my car which was technically in the stalled position and then restarted it. It started and at first I thought, maybe the just battery died somehow.

And then I heard it, the wheezing, clunking, belt thudding sound of an engine that said, "Yeah, remember how I totally covered for you that summer when you let your water pump explode and rode around all summer with your windows down because you thought your air conditioning wasn't working? And remember how I overheated and you filled me with water and said that the radiator leaked but it was because I desperately needed to be fixed? Most cars would have just died, but I soldiered on. Well not this time chump, we're through." And then it turned off again.

And my heart broke. I love this car. I felt like a bad mother. What happened? What caused my car to die?

When the AAA guy came to tow me he looked at my car and the puddle of fluids under my car that I pointed out and knew it wasn't good. It was the man at the auto shop that called the time of death. "You're engine's shot." He said.
"What?" I asked, "How did that happen?"
"There's no oil in it." He responded, "When was your last oil check?"
"About 2 months ago, I haven't even driven it 2000 miles."
"Well, there is no oil in it and your engine burned out."

Come to find out, it costs 1500 dollars to fix a car with an oil-less engine. And my car is worth 550 bucks (in working condition- WHICH IT'S NOT) on the blue book.

So after thinking about it all day, and crying about it, and getting angry, and then crying some more, and the getting bitter because we can't afford to buy a new car, and then remembering all the fond moments of driving my car- all the road trips, the "you wanna race" engine reving at the leather bedecked handlebar mustached harley riding guys next to me to get them to smile, the frequent ice cream cone runs, and more frequent diet coke raids, the times Jarom leaned me against the cool metal frame of my car and kissed me good and hard before I drove home while we were dating, the singing along to my static-y radio and the many rides I shared with friends as we talked about what the future possibly held, and then crying even some more, I accepted the 200 dollars he paid me to scrap my car and all the wonderful memories I had with it, and this was after I cried and asked for more money because he offered me 100 bucks.

I don't know what it is about that car. It was bright green, and the paint was peeling, the windshield wipers worked sporadically at best, one of the locks didn't work, the windows purred and protested when I rolled them up and the radio got 5 channels (if I ever actually listened to it). But it got great gas mileage, the inside was clean, I took a certain pride in driving around a beat up car, it was zippy and I could always find it in a parking lot. But mostly I loved the memories.

So, not the greatest day. Not only did I not get to work, or get to do some things I really wanted to get done, but I'm also out one car, my independence and possibly a few thousand dollars we don't actually have.

There were a few other very crappy things that happened today that made it all the worse, but I don't feel like talking about it. Jarom has been surprisingly zen about what went down today, but that's not surprising. He's almost always able to deal with these kinds of things better.

Does anyone have 15,000 bucks for a new car?

If you are growing more Irate please say "yes."

Wednesday, October 15, 2008


Where have all the people gone? To India? Sucked into a vortex? Laid off by our scary economy to be replaced by recordings that are eerily real sounding?

Today I had the wonderful experience of completing a transaction almost completely with an electronic man. I needed to make an appointment through DHL to have them pick up a package. After dialing the number I was greeted by a voice that sounded like the high school quarterback. He sounded confident and a little bit irritated that he had to be talking to me in public.

First he asked me for my number, which I think I can safely say has never happened from any cute football player ever. An ugly and creepy one yes, but never a cute one. I gave it to him and he repeated it perfectly.
"Is this correct?" he asked disinterestedly.
"Yes." I replied knowing he would never call me.

He changed the subject and asked.
"Do you want to make an appointment for a pick up? Please say yes, or no."
"Yes." I said.
"I'm sorry," the quarterback said casually, repeating himself. "Do you want to make an appointment for a pick up? Please say yes, or no."
"Yes." I said more firmly.
Once again he began to apologize.
I cut him off before he could repeat the question. I admit I was a bit rude. "Yeesssssssss." I said loudly, my s's hissing like a snake.
"Okaaay." He said, his voice giving the impression that he had something better to do than talk to me.

"Can you please verify your address?" He asked, this time with attitude.
"432 Lark Meadow St." I said
"432 Marshmallow St." He repeated, "Is this correct? Please answer yes or no."
"No."
"432 Sharks and Minnows St.?" He tried again.
Was he messing with me? I repeated the address.
"432 Lark Meadow St." He guessed correctly. "Is this correct, please answer yes or no."
"Yes." I said exasperatedly.
"I'm sorry," he said, "was that a yes?"
"Yes!" I shouted into the phone.
"Whatever." He muttered.

Next he sent me to a an actual person to confirm our conversation.
"Hello, this is a real person." He distractedly greets me. I can tell he is playing mahjong on his computer. Of course he sounds like he is a million miles away. His tiny voice barely makes a radio wave over the distance it's traveling to my phone. "I'm sorry" I said, "I can't hear you."
"Hello," the man replies, " I'm in a different galaxy. India was getting too expensive to outsource to, so we are in a call center in a dwarf galaxy to your distant left. Can I get your number?"
Honestly? Didn't I just give it to Johnny Football Player? But of course I give it to him I mean, this call is probably costing a fortune.
Then he asks, "And do you want to schedule an appointment?"
Again, didn't I just go through this?
"And just to make sure," the real person asks, "Can you please tell me your address?"
This is just too much. I want to shout, "what was the last 10 minutes about? Is this just an elaborate way to make the customer hang out instead of putting them on hold and enraging them?" Because it's not working.

Where have all the real people gone? Apparently it's become too expensive to let a real person help you out in the first place. I'll let you know if tomorrow a real person comes to pick up the package... I'm not holding my breath.

Household Worm Holes

Tuesday, October 14, 2008



Have you ever wondered where certain items in your house go? Have you ever put something down only to reach for it a few hours later and grasp a clean countertop? Have you ever lost so many things that you bought replacements and then quickly found a hidden cache in some random but obvious spot? And though occasionally an assortment of items go missing, it is usually one item that seems to pull the disappearing act most often. In my case, it's the bobby pins.

It starts like this:

I get sick of some hair style I'm wearing and take out my bobby pins. They get left on the kitchen table, the bathroom counter, the bowl that holds the keys or occasionally Jarom's change drawer in his car. A few hours later I go to reach for the said bobby pins only to discover they have been moved.

"Jarom," I say perplexed, "I can't find my bobby pins. Have you taken them?"
To which Jarom shoots me a look that says, "Yes. I decided to try a new updo on my shaved head but got so frustrated that I twisted them into random shapes which I then glued to a canvas, painted over in neon acrylics and sold to a posh art gallary in San Francisco... In other words, No, why would I move your bobby pins?"
Right. Of course.

For the next few months I search our apartment as the pins continue to go missing, eventually resorting to buying a set of 72 new ones. Those of course go missing as well.

So here is my theory:

The bobby pins are actually sucked into a worm hole that travels around the world a few times, briefly returning in groups of four under my couch, into the bottom of my purse and infrequently scattered amongst my cosmetics, although I know I didn't place them there myself. The problem is these bursts of paranormal exposure occur when I am looking for another item and do not need the pins, by the time I need them they are back in the worm hole and traveling across some far distant universes.

If they do return, all 72 suddenly reappear in near vicinity of the shiny new ones causing me to wonder how I missed them in the first place. Or, if I'm no longer living their the next owner of the apartment will discover to their dismay about 72 brown bobby pins scattered in their sock drawer which of course is where the worm hole ends...

I'm still waiting on the delivery.

Tagged... Thanks Mom!

Sunday, October 5, 2008

So this blogging thing has been going around and I thought, man if I get tagged I will really have to think about this one because everyone knows everything about me. I'm not very secretive about myself. But anyways, Mom Moore tagged me so here goes...

Six Unremarkable Things About Me:

1. I have a major phobia against band-aids and wiggling toes. I really can't handle seeing a band-aid rolled up on the ground. Even writing this I am having a hard time controlling my urge to heave. Also, if I have a server who has a band-aid on at a restaurant I want to ask for a new server, or not eat. The toes thing makes me crazy if I am sitting next to someone and they wiggle their toes on me. Not cool.

2. I LOVE LOVE LOVE to cook. I could spend all day in the kitchen messing around. I love trying new things and tying different ethnic dishes. I think if I could pull it off, I would love to open up a dessert store. It would be like a page out of a pottery barn magazine, with cool table settings and then you can order some tasty desserts from creme brulee to a warm lemon tart with raspberry sauce.

3. I have an awesome imagination and can convince myself that their is a monster in a closet when I am walking down the hall after being blinded by the bathroom lights in the middle of the night. Seriously, I have ran down the hallway, my heart pounding many times. Lame, huh? That's why I am still a bit scared of the dark. (=

4. I once lived a whole summer off pretty much diet coke and fruit roll-ups. Don't ask. It was a crappy summer. But I lost 15 pounds...

5. I am a job gypsy and have had almost every type of job under the sun. I get restless easily and look for a change when things slow down and the new job honeymoon excitement is over. I'm working on this one. It's a fault of mine, that also translates into me quitting when things get difficult or I lose interest. Not cool.

6. My favorite movie is Breakfast at Tiffany's. There are a few reasons. 1) I identify with Holly Golightly. She is a free spirit who likes to have fun and doesn't like being bound to the rules of life. She also has a tendency to run from things which are difficult and is totally a nut case... whoops did I admit that out loud? 2) Audrey Hepburn reminds me of my mom and when I missed her at college I would watch that movie over and over. 3) I love the song "Moon River" sung by Audrey Hepburn. 4) The last line of the movie is in my opinion very deep and has inspired much internal thought. Here, read it yourself:

"You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself."

Hope you enjoyed.

The very official terms & conditions:
Link the person who tagged you.
Mention the rules on your blog.
List 6 unspectacular things about you.
Tag 6 other bloggers by linking them.

I tag: Julie, Mom Tanner, Alicia, Megan, Angee, Kris

The Real Rite of Passage

Wednesday, September 24, 2008


Rite of passage has been a part of most civilizations since the beginning of time. American Indians used to leave their sons in the woods where there they would hunt and spend 3 days discovering themselves and becoming men. The Aborigines of Australia would go “walk about” at the age of 13 for six months following the paths of ancient ancestors, copying their heroic deeds. Japanese coming-of-age rites lead youth to shrines where they would be presented with adult clothing and new names. Generally American’s have associated leaving for college or taking a job in a different city as our own rite of passage. Occasionally youth have this experience when a parent finally kicks them out. And of course, those would all be correct, except we are pushing aside the other rite of passage, the one that nearly 75 percent of people have fallen prey to at least once (*statistics were formulated in my head to make me feel better so you can take it or leave it). Well, at least I did.

A few nights ago as Jarom and I lay in bed talking I remembered a story I never told him. It could have been shame that pushed it into the back of my head, but it was more likely that I never really thought about how funny and common the incident actually was. Either way I begin to tell him about the summer after my freshman year of college when was suckered into a pyramid scheme by a black man- named Leon.

I’m not sure where I met him exactly. I’m positive I didn’t answer a help wanted add. It was more likely my number was given to him by an employment agency. Shame on them. At any rate, somehow he called me and we set up an appointment to meet. He informed me that he worked with a reputable company which offered excellent pricing on phone and cable TV packages. And of course, the pay was lucrative. Sign me up, right?

When I met him I was taken back by who I had expected to meet and who was actually standing in front of me.

Leon wore an entirely white suit, white belt, white shoes and a light shirt, if I am correct it was silver. In a word he was a cross between a biblical character impersonation from Mad TV and a back up dancer on soul train. (“Oh my gosh,” Jarom said braking into my story, his voice feigning alarm, “It was totally the devil.”) I’m sure he was attempting to borrow the look from an old Boyz 2 Men CD, but the look was more Miami Vice then R&B. There was simply not enough gold.

Sirens should have been wailing in my head but I was young and the promise of money was luring. So I followed him down the hall in that building that looked like a converted campus/church/labrynth. It made sense really. First they would try to educate you on the company, if that didn’t work they would convert you, and if you were still stubborn they would bank on the hope you would become hopelessly lost and pay 25 dollars just to be released. One way or another they’d get you.

The afternoon began with me and 30 other poor suckers watching a “motivational” video. I was particularly impressed with the cancer patient who paid off his medical bills using their amazing company in only 1 year. The U.S. Marine with a missing leg, and the single mother with the flashy platinum grill (for the adults a grill is rap jargon for crazy dental work) who saved her family from the slums of east LA were equally impressive as well. The strange part was that the people who had made insane amounts of money in this company resembled the white trash couples on the billboards to Las Vegas who'd won millions of dollars on a dollar slot machine. "Well Bob" they'd tell the reporter, "first we're going to get some dental work done and then we will buy matching lazyboys and TV dinner stands." I wondered how they had been so successful when they looked more like people who'd found wealth through Larry H. Parker, people who didn't speak english, or at least not the english I grew up with.

It was also somewhat disturbing to see words like “motivation”, “opportunity”, and “income beyond your wildest dreams” flash onto the screen during their moving testimonials. More impressive was that they managed to do this while keeping their other jobs. Still I had doubts. Would this company work for me? I had no motivation, I just wanted to earn some spending money. What they were lacking in the video was the guy that said, “I just wanted to earn money, not change my life.” Him I could have identified with.

After the video we had a luncheon. They served decent sandwiches, chips, diet coke and fruit. Though they didn’t say it, this was a chance to mingle with the other recruits and profiting members in a second attempt to convince us. I started to get suspicious when one of the “recruits” kept saying, “Wow, this company seem’s great! I am definity going to join!” in a repetative robotic voice. Folks I’m afraid to say it but for whatever reason I drank the kool-aid, well the diet coke. After that everything was a blur. There was another session with a live evangelist pr-teacher while members like Leon shouted “Amen!” to his questions of “Who no longer wants to be a slave to their debt?!” “Who wants to take charge of their life?!” “Who wants to live like the other half?!” Well duh… who doesn't? But who wants to get suckered into a job where you will waste hours of your life only to either lose more money, or never make back on your initial investment? Of course these thoughts came a bit late.

When I woke up out of the stupor of future riches a few hours later I was 25 dollars shy and wondering what had happened. How had I allowed myself to pay 25 bucks to this ridiculous company? Not only had I forked over 25 dollars but Leon had gotten me to write down the number of every soul I ever knew (not to exclude my 1st grade teacher), which being a Mormon was a lot. I was a golden contact. This would be the list I would work off for the next few days as I made my fortune.

My first and only call was to a lady in my ward. I asked her if she’s like to save a bundle by switching her phone and internet plan to a totally comprehensive plan that would cover all her communication needs (this all said in a chipper exaggerated tone inflected voice). After a long silence in which I’m sure both of us were figuring out what to say (me to apologize for putting her through this moment and for the next few months where we would look awkwardly at each other and pretend the strange exchange never happened), her to let me down easy) she declined. Thank you I said, my eyes burning as I hung up the phone in shame.

To my left a zombie feverishly called random numbers out of the phone book, his red eyes dazed as he introduced himself over and over to the click on the other end. I wondered how long he’d be locked in this room or if he'd had any success. His look of frustration answered the question and my future of big bucks combusted. Moments later Leon entered in a fabulous mood with my new “executive” folder. The one I don’t remember buying, but feeling my wallet one check lighter for.

“Can I have my 25 dollars back?” I asked lamely.
“No.” he said, his tone changing from jovial to icy in .67ths of a second obviously he had been expecting this. “That twenty five dollars paid for your associates kit.”
I looked at the kit and wondered what had cost 25 dollars. Inside the pleather “executive” folder there was a cheap pad of legal paper, a pen with a nib that slid to the side if you pressed too hard, and Leon’s very own business card. What he didn’t say, but actually meant was that my 25 dollars was actually going towards another flashy ensemble, possibly a canary yellow or magenta with gold pinstripes suit he had on lay-away, and my return of money would greatly detriment his ability to pick it up sooner. Either way it was obvious I was not getting my 25 dollars back.

Of course it was pointless to argue the point. I wasn’t getting my 25 bucks back, he wasn’t getting any more time out of me. “Well, Leon,” I said warmly , “I wish you and your circus suits the best. I am off to mope around for the rest of the summer and bum off my parents.” Ok, I didn’t actually say that, instead I snuck out of the building after he left me to my calls and ran to my car, looking side to side to see if I was being followed. I wasn’t of course. I think.

Hearing other people’s experiences with those companies makes me feel a little better about myself. I am definitely not alone, many people go through this rite of passage. My only regret was that I wished I had eaten another sandwich. That was the most expensive lunch of my life.

*Honorable mention to Jarom who inspired a few of the references here and ideas for jokes. He cracks me up.

Glorious Spam

Monday, September 22, 2008


So I'm sure we have all gotten our fair share of unpleasant if not disturbing emails. I personally cannot tell you how many offers for "luxury watches", discounted medications, lottery winnings from Africa and other non-mentionable spam that somehow beats out the filter to land in my junk mail box. And if I wasn't so OCD those emails would remain there, wasting away, except I just can't leave my mailbox stuffed to the brim with junk. It's unclean. It's chaotic. And occasionally it gives me a chuckle.

Today while checking my gmail account I got one that was entitled. "Turn your bedroom into a volcano of passion." I quickly laughed, deleted it and then mused on what would happen if you actually did turn our bedroom into a volcano. I'm pretty sure that remaining unscathed would be top in the list, with passion remaining somewhere at the bottom.

Here are a few scenarios why a volcano would not make for a passionate bedroom:

Scenerio 1: John returns home from a long day on Wall Street to find Susan frantically vacuuming the bedroom. This is the 10th time today and she is quickly regretting installing that new lava and ash sputtering "passion machine." Besides the burnt holes in the walls and carpet, the ash is impossible to keep on top of. If you have ever read any essay on how to ruin the mood, a dirty bedroom/house is top on the list. And as the poor people of Pompeii could tell us, ash is somewhat difficult to conquer. So although John may be seeing sparks, they are only coming from the hot lava spewing out of the mouth of the volcano. Not Susan.

Scenerio 2: Suppose two people are just crazy enough that they can live with the ash and insane heat. One morning Joan and Harry wake up, lift the crust of ash that has formed over them during the night, look up and feel the before mentioned spark. However, what they don't know is that the pressure in the earth has just increased causing the gas in the magma to expand, forcing the flow of lava out of the mouth. This is unfortunate because suddenly a gigantic glob of searing hot lava spews onto Harry, burning a hole through the bed, floor, and half way through the concrete. That burning puddle of Harry really dampers the mood.

Scenerio 3: A couple decides to reenact the scene from "Joe vs. the Volcano." However things go horribly wrong and they both fall in. Enough said, I think.

So sure a volcano in the bedroom is a great conversation piece, and yes maybe you'd be the envy of the neighborhood. But I seriously doubt that it will increase any passion. So I have decided against getting one. What were they thinking?

Had they said, turn your bedroom into a cool, refreshing, depth-less, brimming lake of passion, well that might have been different.

The Struggle Between Good Enough and Great

Friday, September 12, 2008

Tonight I couldn't sleep. Instead, I found myself laying in bed considering all the aspects of my life.

I wish I could say that this happens occasionally but in reality I am often struck with feelings of waste and inadequacy. I feel that I am here to do something worthwhile yet what it is eludes me.

Often when I tell people that I worry I am wasting my life I get the standard answer that I am only 23... 24... 25... 26. If I was content with realizing I am just young and have much life to live that would be one thing. But occasionally I see that answer for what it is. For those who seek greatness of life they are promptings that there is much to do, for those who are content with good enough that answer is "You are young. You have time" and they are satisfied. One day people will stop giving that answer, and I don't want to wait until then to do something worthwhile with myself.

Many of our great leaders and historical figures had determined a course for themselves at a young age. Many times the course they chose wound in different directions until it led them to their destiny. Sometimes what they focused on at first was not what they were known for when they finally passed into the next life. The main idea was that they were active in leading their lives. And I feel stagnant.

So the questions I struggle with are "Why is it so hard to surpass the good enough to become great?" And "What do you do when what you felt was your purpose may never happen?" Where do you go next?

I have been feeling a lot of stress over seeing those around me progress while I remain motionless. And how do I not let feelings of regret and frustration blind me from my purpose? Which is what exactly?

In a message from Elder Faust he says:

Each of us is a unique creation of our Heavenly Father. No two of us are completely alike. No one else has exactly the same gifts and talents that we have been given. We should increase those talents and gifts and use them to leverage our uniqueness. ... “Some persons have the idea that talent, creativity, moral stability, or greatness are not in the realm of youth, but are reserved to those who are older. This is not so.”

I'm not really sure where I wanted to go with this post. It was just on my mind so it's mostly rambling. I guess I just wanted to remind myself not to settle for good enough and to begin my process of bettering myself.

Self Mosaic

Friday, August 22, 2008

So My friend Alicia had this on her blog and I thought it was cool so I did one and asked Jarom to do one too. If you want you can do one as well I'm gonna add the links and directions. I think it's cool to look at someone through pictures. So here goes:

Holly's Mosaic


Jarom's Mosaic


Concept: 1. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search. 2. Using only the first page, pick an image. 3. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker.
http://www.flickr.com/search/
http://bighugelabs.com/flickr/mosaic.php (choose four columns and three rows, also choose individual URL's)

Questions:

1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food?
3. What school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. Favorite drink?
7. Dream vacation?
8. Favorite dessert?
9. What you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. One word to describe you.
12. Your nickname.

Phone Envy

Wednesday, August 13, 2008


After 5 years I just discovered that Jarom and I get each other. A lot. It's to the point where I will pick up my phone to call him and as soon as I find it in my purse it starts ringing. And guess who it is? Jarom.

We think of the same obscure references. We are almost to the level of my best friend Mischa and I when we only had to utter a single word and we would work anyone who challenged us to a game of "Taboo." We laugh at the same jokes, make the same faces, use the same lingo.

It's even gotten to the point that I can recognize what will bother him most in a moment of tragedy.

Today we got our new EnV2 phones. I was stoked. My phone does not resemble the cool phones that people are sporting. My phone looks like a flip house phone. It's large, boxy, has an antenna, and is most definitely not sexy. I'm not positive but on the back it seems there are primitive hieroglyphics of men hunting animals... Or maybe they are just scratches from my keys.

My phone has a crappy battery, no spring to hold it open and as such clicks like an Erector Set in motion when I close it, and it takes bad pictures.

I'll be honest I've been waiting for my new free phone for a long time, in fact the whole 2 years since I got my last phone. And today, after haggling with the Verizon lady on the phone, it came. Both Jarom's and mine. Matching his and her's Black EnV2s. Gorgeous. Dreamy. And confusingly alike.

We were both so excited that he patiently waited for me to return from a business trip to open the box. As we sat on the bed Jarom ceremoniously handed me the box and chivalrously suggested I open it.

"Really?" I breathed. "You wanna help me?"
"No." He answered tenderly. "You do it."

After opening the package Jarom and I each took a box and began riffling through the contents. This is where Jarom and I are different. I immediately ripped off all the protective stickers on my phone while Jarom pointedly kept his on. He believes an electronic should be protected as long as possible. We've talked about this a few times, and always new appliances sport lovely plastic screens for a few months until they bubble and peel and I beg to be able to remove them. So there was no way I was going to keep mine on, this was MY phone. Or was it?

Over the course of a day I learned something. Though 2 phones look the same they are actually different. Each is programed according to the number it's supposed to support. So needless to say, after transferring all my contacts onto Jarom's phone (all 75 of them), turning off my old phone and realizing that my new phone won't activate, I discovered that I was in fact holding Jarom's phone, the phone that I had stripped of all protective barriers. Crude.

I dialed him up commenting to my mom-in-law Kim that he would be bummed I'd taken the stickers off. "Jarom," I explained gingerly. "I couldn't activate my phone because we pulled a parent trap. I have your phone and you have my phone.

I kid you not, Jarom's first word were, "But, you took off my stickers!"

Who says I don't know my man?

LA Marketplace: Twilight zone, bermuda triangle?

Tuesday, July 29, 2008



I go to the LA marketplace about twice a month and for a week every other month. Besides the fact that people are freakishly good looking and trendy here, weird things happen here. I mean weirder than everyone looking good every day. Today as I was sitting in my showroom the ground began to shake. Not unusual in California, but the odds of my being in LA confirm my suspicions.

At first I thought, "That is a big person walking down the hall!" Because the ground tends to shake with lots of movement in the hall, but the shaking got stronger until I knew it was either an elephant (and there is no service elevator equipped with enough peanuts to pacify an elephant long enough to stay cramped in an elevator for 6 floors) or it's a 5.4 magnitude earthquake.

The second guess was correct and very astute. The building began to shake with excessive gusto as the clothes swung on their hangers around me. Being a creature of habit I immediately jumped up to stand in the safety of the doorway, grabbing my computer to protect it as though it were a child.

Here's the problem. My door is all glass. Like ALL glass, and one small metal handle. Not much for protection. So there I stood, eyes wide, surrounded by glass in a shaking LA building. It reminded me of the movie, "LA story" where a group is eating dinner in an LA restaurant and everything is shaking and the only one who notices it is the visitor from England. Tables are gliding back and forth, ice sculptures are cracking, and everyone is carrying on without missing a beat except one bewildered foreigner. So today that was me. And it made me laugh. And next time I will hide under the table...

Our Little Farm

Friday, July 25, 2008

One of the most enjoyable parts of living in Riverside with Jarom's family is that they have a gigantic back yard with room for a garden. This year Kim and I planted all kinds of veggies and I thought I'd take a few pictures of the ones I'm most excited about.

It's really no wonder that countless stories take place in gardens or borrow elements of nature to convert a simple story into a masterpiece. They really are miraculous. I am constantly amazed when seemingly overnight a zucchini goes from just a fiery blossom to a squash. How does the water, sunshine, and soil make something so vital to our lives? Even knowing the science of it doesn't make it less majestic.

Our favorite stories borrow from gardens, where as children we held our breath as Peter rabbit narrowly escapes Farmer McGregor after munching in his garden all day, or dreamed of riding in a splendid carriage fashioned out of a pumpkin, it's curling tendrils providing the wheels. How many of your peeked among the flowers and wondered if a tiny girl could really emerge from the petals like Thumbelina? I know I did.

Walking along the boxes of continually changing plants I find myself in awe and I wanted to share some pictures. Oh how I love summer gardens.









Witching Hour

Thursday, July 10, 2008




So Jarom and I have a funny relationship. He likes to shock me with random comments and I like to act shocked and make him eat his words. Usually the funniest conversations are when Jarom makes a comment about my appearance that I pretend to take in an offensive way. In these mock serious discussions he goes round the comment trying to justify what he has said, while I act offended and try to box him into a corner. By the end both of us are laughing and Jarom has humorously decided that I'm a mean wife because he was only trying to give me a compliment. (=

Recently there was one conversation that really got me laughing. In fact it was so excellent that I wrote it down word for word in my planner as he was talking and threatened Jarom with a blog. Horrified, he told me I wasn't allowed to write it because people would think he was mean, but I interpreted his laugher as permission to go ahead...

A few fridays back I was sporting a lovely constellation of acne on my face. One on my forehead, a small cluster on my cheek and a rather large one on the side of my chin. As much as I love revisiting my youth I'd much rather relive it by going to the beach and getting a Thrifty's ice cream cone, but apparently acne is a little easier to fit on the schedule.

Anyhow, after slapping on some makeup (with a useless attempt at camouflaging my visitors), pulling my wet from swimming hair into a ponytail and putting on my least rumpled clothing I was semi-decent enough for our impromptu date we'd decided to go on that night. We chose to go to a hole in the wall place for dinner and a movie and I figured that since most of the date would be in the dark he would forgive my somewhat unkept appearance. One of my favorite things about Jarom is he praises me when I look pretty and when I know I don't. He thinks I'm pretty all the time, bless him. But that night he had a funny way of telling it.

"So," Jarom said in a velvety voice a mischievous smile playing across his lips, knowing he was going to say something that would set me off and looking forward to the forthcoming banter, "That's a pretty good pimple you've got going on your chin. If you painted your face green you could do pretty well."

"What??" I asked him feigning offense, "You think I look like a witch? That's soo mean!"

"That's not mean," Jarom retorted, "Very beautiful women can play witches really well."

"Which beautiful women?" I asked tartly, "Like the wicked witch of the west? Or the old witch in snow white? Those beautiful women?"

"No," Jarom said back tracking. "Like Nicole Kidman, or Michelle Phifer. They played witches really well. I'm saying YOU could be a pretty witch..."

"Well, thank you... I think. But how do I possibly look like a witch?" I challenged him, laughing at the references to the only two possible pretty witches in silver screen history (and before anyone argues Glenda was pretty I say that she was- until I reached the age of ten and realized that under the sparkly dress and ten pounds of makeup she was not such a distant cousin in the looks department of the scary witch. In fact, the only pretty people in that whole movie are dorothy and possibly the cowardly lion after he gets the bows in his hair).

"Well," Jarom said gearing up with his explanation, "You have the right facial structure."

"How's that?" I question him.

"Well, you have a long narrow face and large eyes." He said while I chuckle at his answer. "Not to mention, you DO have a pointy nose and chin." he throws in matter of factly.

Fast forward two weeks. In an effort to maintain my failing looks I decide to give myself a mud mask, paint my toes and do a little plucking to my eyebrows. I wash my makeup off, observing how dull my skin and eyes look. I need a tan, or something on my face but I don't have the time to lay out, or the desire to develop the wrinkles and cancer all the dermatologists on "10 Years Younger" are talking about. As I slather the green mud all over my face and prepare to paint my toes I can't help but notice how pink my lips look, and how green my eyes are. What's the change, I wonder?

Suddenly it dawns on me, it's the green! Jarom was totally right, I could work it as a witch. So that's why I've posting for you a picture of me a la witch, or sea sick. You're choice. Just know, green is coming people, since we all know tans are unhealthy maybe it's time to switch to a new color. Just a thought...

About Jarom

Monday, July 7, 2008





It always sort of surprises me when people tell me they think Jarom is a serious person. They make comments about him being very reserved, very quiet, a good listener. And they are right, for the most part. Jarom can be reserved and quiet, and he is a good listener, but that is just the surface.

What people don't seem to discover until they get closer to him is that he's got a goofy sense of humor like me. Ok, he is waaay goofier than me. And I love it. He is always on the lookout for a joke or something funny. When you really get him laughing he rocks back into his seat and does this silent laugh that makes his whole face light up. It's adorable and you can't help but laugh because you can tell he's really enjoying himself.

Jarom looks for ways to crack me up. Sometimes it's obvious, sometimes I will miss it and catch on later to what he's been up to, like the following pictures. He plays pranks, delights in scaring me (especially when it's dark!!), and he can make his rubber face into just about any look in the world- which I love- except that it shows up in all the pictures that I actually look good in, so I have to discard them as family pictures. One day when I snap you might get a picture of me looking semi-normal and Jarom making a face for your Christmas Card, since that's all he will do for me. (=

In the mean time I thought I would post the ongoing saga of bendable puppets that have been popping up on the bookshelf in the living room. Every few days I notice they have been silently changed. Hope you like the little glimpse into the real Jarom!


This is the first to show up. Needless to say it cracked me up.


Adoring Tyler's bust... (=


First he tries to kill him...


Now they're friends.


Day dreaming.


Sit-ups.


Kermit doing Flash Dance?

About me:

Thursday, July 3, 2008

So, my mom in law sent me this email a while back and I thought I'd post it. I needed something new on my blog and now you will know a little more about me, because I am so private and don't share very much on here... (=

1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Nope, they had to leave room for me to make my own name. (=

2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
Maybe a week ago, who knows, it's pretty regular and short lived.

3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
I actually do. When I was a kid I HATED my handwriting so I meticulously practiced until it was nicer.

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Turkey or chicken, but ONLY if it's from a Deli and not the soggy lunch meat kind. I like mine a little bit drier.

5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Sigh. Why does everyone keep asking that? (=

6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Yes.

7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
Never. <---- (sarcasm)

8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Yes, I'm still 100 percent, minus some brain power that was lost when I got hit by the car. (=

9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Oh yes!

10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
It's a toss-up between Lucky Charms and Total Raisin Bran. A strange mix, I know.

11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
I didn't know flip flops had laces.

12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Physically I'm pretty strong, emotionally I'm not. I'm very emotional and can get worked up or sad at a the drop of a hat, which is something I'm working on. Darn artist tempers.

13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Rocky Road.

14 .What's the first thing YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
If they have a sense of humor.

15. RED OR PINK?
Red

16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
Man oh man, that I can gain 20 pounds in the blink of an eye.

17. Who DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Everyone I love is still in my life.

18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU?
Since this is a blog, nope. But you can copy this and stick it on your own blog...

19. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
No shoes (but bright pink nail polish) and pink striped pajama capris.

20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Last night I had popcorn and ice cream before I went to bed. I was watching a movie! Please see #16.

21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
Birds outside and Jarom typing.

22. IF YOU WON THE LOTTERY WOULD YOU SHARE IT?
Yes. With people I know.

23. FAVORITE SMELLS?
Rain, the hint of ocean on a breeze, the smells of ice cream parlors- sugar cones, baking bread.

24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
My cousin Dana!

25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?
Considering she's the coolest mom-in-law in the world, I'd say yes...

26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?
I'm not a sports watcher, but I do like college football and volleyball.

27 HAIR COLOR?
Light brown, which Jarom said looked somewhat red when I was cutting it last night.

28. EYE COLOR?
Green-gold.

29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
Nope.

30. FAVORITE FOOD?
Good Mexican Food, Indian food, Thai food, food...

31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
Happy Endings

32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
10,000 B.C. But the movie "The List" which Jarom and I discovered too late was a "Christian Thriller" was the taker this week. It was frightening, not because of the cool intense plot, which was dumb, but because the way they used the power of prayer was somewhat exorcist-ish. It's really scary to see people pray so hard that they have heart attacks and die in the hospital. Favorite line, "The Evil and the Righteous have one thing in common. They both underestimate the power of prayer." Sigh.

33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING
Dark blue.

34. SUMMER OR WINTER?
Winter

35. HUGS OR KISSES?
Depends. Kisses from Jarom and close family, hugs from everyone else.

36. FAVORITE DESSERT?
Something with lemon.

37. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
"If life is a bowl of Cherries, why am I in the pits?" by Erma Bombeck (I gotta see who people keep comparing me to), and "A tree grows in Brooklyn" my favorite childhood book for bookclub.

38. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
I don't have one.

39. What did you watch on TV last night?
"What Not To Wear." Man, I need new clothes. They would rip me apart.

40. FAVORITE SOUND?
The ocean, birds outside my window, rain.

41. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Turkey

42. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Singing, writing, and I cook like martha stewart.

43. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Anaheim, California

Initiation

Friday, June 27, 2008


This story was one that I wrote a few years ago in one of my creative writing classes. It's kind of awful, but I thought I'd stick it up just the same. The story had to follow the style (but not the idea) of another story we read in class for a page or two, but then finish as our own. So when Someone spoke in the story, my characters had to speak. When there was a description, I had one too. It was an exercise that would help us ease writers block. I think I need to try one again, because I am in the thick of it. (= Here goes.

Initiation


On the morning of no particular day of his seventh year, Sammy met his brother Tom, beneath the gnarled old pine tree in their back yard. Tom held a slingshot, taut beneath the pressure, and looked at Sammy through one squinty eye. Sammy was no novice to this expression and knew that some amount of trouble was bound to follow, as it most usually did. Mother would soon have to come out of their rambling white house and rescue them or some poor unfortunate creature that found itself in their path. Sammy, being shorter than Tom because he hadn’t gone through a growth spurt, found himself staring at the dirt mustache his brother had given himself when he wiped his running nose.

“So, you’ve shot a slingshot.” Tom said, “I remember the first time you shot your first marble. You were a horrible shot.”
“So?” Sammy asked.
“So.” His brother answered, “You’ve had a few months to improve your aim. Let’s hope it worked. You’ll need it.”
He raised his rubber missile launcher to his eye and contemplated his target. The unlucky can teetered on the top of the white washed fence and threatened to jump to its death from the wind to save its metallic pride. Cock-eyed he looked at Sammy, his one eye twinkling.
“Come to the barn with me Sammy,” he said.

The barn was large and dusty. The wooden troughs reeking with the scent of dry hay and horse feed. Sammy remembered the first time father had taken him into the large building and allowed him to help tend the horses. Since then the barn had seemed like a strange and thriving metropolis, where man and animals mingled together in one, although separate, world.

“Maybe we should eat something,” Sammy’s brother said. “News like this shouldn’t be taken on an empty stomach.”
Sammy leaned against a rough post. Rusty nails one forth an inch thick poked out all over, like a porcupine, holding all sorts of tools and one worn saddle. Sammy could feel the broken wood rubbing against his bare arm, wood that had been warped by heavy rains, humid summers and bitter winters.
“Are you hungry?” His brother asked, “I reckon we can wait till after lunch if you would rather.”
“Stop trying to scare me,” Sammy said, shakily. “I’m waiting.”
“Sure are brave,” His brother said, exhaling heavily. “I cried like a baby when I found out.”
“Found out what?” Sammy said.

Tom didn’t answer. He brushed the dust off of one of the old blankets and watched an annoyed spider scurry across the work bench, into a dark hidden corner. “Sammy, when you became old enough, I knew it was time to let you in on a very dangerous secret I’ve been hiding. Brother to brother, it is time to introduce you to your whole new life, though it may kill you before you pass. I told them you’d keep it a secret from Mom. You’d best not tell.

Heaven help me, Sammy thought, stiffening against the splintery post, causing a few stray slivers to lodge themselves into his skinny mud streaked arm. He’d heard about boys his age disappearing in the woods, never to be seen again. Some kids whispered that they had been sent in to be eaten by wild animals as human sacrifices. The ones that survived sat in the back of the one roomed school quietly, and never learned their multiplication tables. Most likely because they were too traumatized by their near death experiences. The idea that his brother quite possibly was sending him out into that certain death struck terror into the very core of his seven year old heart. He knew Tom didn’t really care for him, but to send him as a human sacrifice? “Tell me,” he said, his voice crackling like a jumpy record.

His brother tall and sturdy and calm, stood in the doorway of the barn, seeming to be blocking the only clear exit for Sammy to escape through. Rays of sunlight shone in Sammy’s eyes through the square windows, making it more difficult to see his brother’s expression. “I didn’t want to be the one to do- tell you this,” he said, “but I feel that you might benefit from this experience,” He paused and then added for affect “even though it might be your last.”
“Out of my way!” yelled Sammy, his eyes darting to escape, though his feet were like lead, “I just won’t do it!”
“The only thing that stirred in the barn were the horses as they chomped, not enthusiastically, at their hay, their eyes rolling with each twist of the tongue. Time did not stand still, but raced through the mangers and lofts decorated with spider webs, finally settling on Tom’s lips. After ten long seconds he took a deep breath as though to clear the stale air and spoke. “We’ve decided to let you join the Fierce Forest Wolves Club.”

*********

Three days later Sammy’s ears were still ringing with the plans for his initiation. Tom laying in the shadows of the moon, tucked beneath quilts with patchwork’s of stars as intricate as the sky outside their window, told him of the rules the members of the club had to follow. His favorite pastime had become telling Sammy highly colored bedtime stories of the horrors that occurred while many men had endeavored to enlist. He had learned all the handshakes, the secret passwords and how to fool mother into believing he was playing baseball in the park, when really he was roaming around in the forest with the pack of the other neighborhood boys.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Tom yawned.
Sammy stared at the half moons the shadows from Tom’s eyelashes made under his drooping eyes. No, he said inwardly. But found himself croaking an overly enthusiastic yes.
That morning the kitchen seemed to be filled with a foreign malice. Sammy could barely eat the buckwheat pancakes his mother had arranged on a sky blue platter before him. He watched the pat of butter slowly slide off the pancakes resting on the plate like a miniature sun.

“Are you feeling ok, sweetheart?” His mother asked.
“He’s fine,” Tom said.
“Are you sure? You don’t look so good,” she asked again.
“Uh huh,” he muttered, trying to catch her eye to signal her desperately, but she had already turned and was buttering the pan for the second batch of pancakes.
“We’re going to go play baseball with some of the neighborhood kids. Is that ok Mom?” Tom asked innocently, his voice pure sugar.
“Sure,” she said. “Will you be back for lunch?”
“Yep,” Tom answered, then licked the maple syrup off his lip. Sammy cringed, it seemed to him that Tom was enjoying this moment, licking his lips in anticipation. “We’ll see you in a few hours,” he said, grabbing Sammy’s sticky hand and pulling him out the door.

At the edge of the woods they met them. A group of boys ranging from seven to thirteen, all holding slingshots and small felt bags filled with smooth round stones. He knew all of them, but in this situation they seemed menacing, not at all like he thought they had been. Suddenly these boys who cowered in front of the teacher and tried to impress the girls during lunch were his tyrants.

“It’s good to have you Sammy,” said Joe, a gangly twelve year old boy in pants too short for his quickly growing body. “We thought maybe you wouldn’t come.”
“Yeah,” said Bill, the oldest boy and leader of the pack. “Are you ready?”
“Ow!” Sammy said from the sharp elbow Tom had given him in the ribs. “I mean, yes.”
“You’re quest is to kill a rabbit with your slingshot. You only have five shots to do it with, so you’d better make sure you won’t waste any,” Bill said.

The sound of their chatter mingled with the wind as it rustled the leaves of a tree. All of them complaining that he had been given too easy a quest, they had had to do something that was ten times as hard. Sammy twisted the rubber band of the slingshot in his hand, nervously listening to the wild clattering of their tongues. “Its not fair,” some of them said, “I had to kill a whole bear, what would a measly rabbit do?” The littler boys listened in awe at the proclamations.

“Quiet!” Bill shouted. “Stop complaining ladies, you’re being too loud. How do you expect to find a rabbit if you all are yelling?”

Sammy wanted to tell them it was ok, they could talk as loud as they wanted. Maybe if he was lucky their voices would have scared off all the rabbits within ten miles of them and they would have to find something else for him to do. For the first two hours nothing came. They lay in the cool grass, smelling the dark scents of the damp earth. Some boys snored softly, the hats that covered their faces moving slightly with every blast of air from their mouths. Some of the boys played tricks on the younger slumbering ones, filling their pockets with grass, and putting crumpled leaves in their hats. Finally the moment arrived, a heavy brown rabbit emerged from the woods, seeking out the younger, more tender blades of grass.

He wished his sling shot would break, that his mother would find them, anything to be released from this horrible burden, but by now all the sleepers had been awakened and lay motionless, waiting for him to act. The boys eyes were unforgiving and in them he saw no mercy, no release.
“Go,” Tom whispered.

Sammy licked his dry lips and swallowed. His hand fumbled as he opened his sack for a stone. The rabbit by this time sat peacefully nibbling at the ends of the new shoots, its full belly resting on the ground. All eyes were on him and suddenly he felt his hand stretch the tight rubber, the first shot hit the tree just behind the rabbit. Its ears perked, noticing for the first time, the mingling smells of human and nature’s scents. Sammy realized that he could shoot all five shots and miss, and he wouldn’t have to kill the rabbit. The second shot he would just miss by a few inches so as to make it look like he wasn’t intentionally trying to miss. Confidently he stretched the band again, pulling it extra hard for effect. The stone flew in the air, just as the rabbit hopped forward, seeking newer greens. It hit the brown neck throwing it back into the earth with a sickening thud.

It screamed. It screamed like a terrified women, shrill and in agony. None of the boys who were originally so confident of the ingenuity of the stint had expected that, none of them had suspected he would even hit the rabbit. Their eyes widened as they realized the whole meaning of their action. None of them had ever actually killed something before, and suddenly a slingshot was not enough. It lay, contorting amid the long blades of grass, its cries making their stomachs hollow and minds impressioned. Sam did not stay long enough to see what the other boys did with the rabbit. The sound of its human like screams filled his ears as he ran home, his initiation complete.

Dear Journal,

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

So it's been a while since I've written or publicly embarrassed myself so I figured it was time for a blog. I've told quite a few people about how I was extremely, shall we say, awkward as a child but few people believe me to the extent I try to prove it. I finally found a picture that should do some justice to my explanation that I was a cross between Charlie Brown and Uncle Fester. But not only did I look awkward but I said awkward things too. So here is a cringe worthy picture and JOURNAL entry that I actually turned in to my teacher!!



"Dear Journal,
A new world opened up to me when I noticed I was changing in shape and changing attitudes. I used to not mind when people said some things about me, now I feel terrible. Also I have started new things having to do with my body. My self-esteem has lowered because of things said that were meant as jokes but carried on too long. Also when people talk behind my back.

Yours truly,
Holly"

This journal begs a two questions. First, how did my mom not get a call from this poor english teacher that had to read about me changing in body and attitude? Weird. Second, the new things starting with my body at 11 could only have been that I was beginning to change from cute child to the fat red headed kid on the sandlot, prompting dozens of acquaintances across the United States to ask how a girl got on that movie with the cast of all boys.

Anyhow, when I found this I had to laugh and share it. Now all you people who didn't know me as a kid and didn't believe me when I said I looked like uncle fester can finally put your minds at rest that I was telling the truth. Thank goodness for aging and growing out of youth.

p.s.- the worse part is that that picture actually made it into my wedding video. Ahh! It's lucky that I was being distracted in the other room so I didn't notice it and go Bridezilla with my bloody eye.

On Resurrection...

Saturday, May 31, 2008

If you are expecting to read a deep, thoughtful and spiritual explanation on resurrection, you don't know me very well. (= I can talk spiritual things with the best of them, but I much prefer to look at the lighter things in life. This is meant to be a humorous contemplation on many of the theories of resurrection that I came across during my time at BYU.

Today while I was waxing my miss-stash (as far as I know I made that up so I'm trademarking it!) it got me thinking about resurrection. At BYU I had a few teachers that were conflicted on what resurrection actually was. Was it being "reborn" with your body totally whole, not a single hair from your head missing? Or was it a progression as one of my teachers grimly said, that as you perfect yourself your body perfects as well? As I weighed out both options I thought that I would much rather return in a perfected state, however both have their perks and checks. Lets go over them.

What really got me thinking about resurrection was a comment made by my sister-in-law while we were walking to my house one sunday.

"Do you think we really are restored to our perfected state?" She asked.
"I don't know," I said considering the question. "Supposedly we are resurrected without missing even a single hair."
"Every hair?" She asked, a hint of worry in her voice. "Because there are a few that I really don't want back."
At this point we both started laughing hysterically but the question got me thinking.

Alma 11:44 states "... and even there shall not so much as a hair of their heads be lost; but everything shall be restored to its perfect frame..."

I guess the most important question is, what defines head? Is it from your neck up, or your scalp? Because if it's from the neck up, ladies we will probably be looking like the moses in the old "Ten Commandments" movie, which is frightening. At least those of us who have waxed over our life will. Thats a lot of hair accumulated.

This I am not looking forward to.

If it means on your scalp, I will finally have a gorgeous full head of hair since mine has always been "fine"- ok, thin. And all you lucky girls with long thick hair in this life will look like "Cousin it" in the next life. Ok, maybe not really.

But my grim teacher that taught of progression had a stranger take on resurrection.

He explained to us that if we were buried with an arm missing or a leg missing we would be resurrected with that part missing still. If we were good that part would be returned to us slowly. This idea did not jive. In fact quite a few things in this class didn't jive with what I'd been taught over my life and I couldn't help but have this conversation with him.

"So, what you're saying is that if we die with a part missing we are resurrected without that part?" I questioned.
"Yes." He answered.
"And as we become perfected that part returns to us?" I asked with skepticism in my voice.
"Yes" He affirmed.
"What if you're missing your head?" I asked.

Needless to say someone else got to ask some questions.

But I had some questions of my own. If for some reason you lost your hand what would the progression look like? Will it look like the hand on Peter Pettigrew in Harry Potter, all silvery and qhostly with super strength? As we progress will it grow more real until finally it's an arm or leg? Or will it grow centimeter by centimeter?

Can you imagine all the pirates that would be displaced by this? What would you call them after their nicknames no longer work? Captain Hook would just have to go back to something like Captain Larry, which is not nearly as cool.

Or if we didn't lose any appendages would be just be resurrected looking like Rosie O'Donal with her Edward Scissorhands hair cut until we slowly became beautiful by perfection? I just couldn't see it.

Anyhow, this blog was a bunch of silly what-ifs and not meant to be taken seriously. I do believe in resurrection but I believe that we are resurrected in our most perfect state, sans the excess hair, and that all personal perfection that we pursue is WITHIN and private between ourselves and God. I don't believe that Heavenly Father would punish us by resurrecting us imperfectly and then allowing everyone to see our progress and how long it takes us to perfect ourselves. He is not in the business of humiliation. Otherwise we are all in for an interesting ride eventually. What do you think?



(By the way in an effort to find more cool pirate nicknames to make fun of I found a ridiculous amount of pirate sites that generate a pirate nickname for you. Mine was: Holly "Cannonball Butt" Moore. What? It's scary how accurate that is.)

Holy Hot Tamales!

Sunday, May 11, 2008



Last night after cooking for about 8 hours, I was going to start this post like so:

What is better than homemade tamales? How about the kind you buy from a store that take 30 minutes to steam and save you 7 1/2 hours of your life? Disclaimer: They only took so long because I will dilly dallying along and wasn't really trying to speed things along, or multitasking)

However, after eating one of the tamales I had to admit that the homemade ones won hands down (even on my first attempt). They even looked cute, like little presents.

This mother's day I decided to make these for my mom-in-law Kim as her present. I also made a "Tres Leches" cake (that she'd been craving) as well, but forgot to take the picture with the strawberries and whipped cream. So I'll post the picture tomorrow. However, here are the recipes for everything in the mean time. If you have a hankering for a back ache and a lost day I DEFINITELY recommend these! So yummy!

Green Chili Chicken Tamales

Filling
1 8-ounce package dried corn husks
1 pound tomatillos, husked, rinsed

4 3-inch-long serrano chiles, stemmed, chopped

4 large garlic cloves, chopped

1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil

2 cups low-salt chicken broth

4 cups (packed) coarsely shredded cooked chicken (about 1 pound) 

2/3 cup chopped fresh cilantro

Dough

1 1/3 cups lard or solid vegetable shortening

1 1/2 teaspoons salt (omit if masa mixture contains salt) 

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder (omit if masa mixture contains baking powder) 

4 cups freshly ground masa dough for tamales (34 to 36 ounces), or make masa dough with 31/2 cups masa harina (corn tortilla mix; about 17 ounces) mixed with
2 cups (about) low-salt chicken broth (I used a more, like ½ cup at least)

For filling:
Place husks in large pot or large bowl; add water to cover. Place heavy plate on husks to keep submerged. Let stand until husks soften, turning occasionally, at least 3 hours and up to 1 day.

Preheat broiler. Line heavy baking sheet with foil. Arrange tomatillos on prepared sheet. Broil until tomatillos blacken in spots, turning once, about 5 minutes per side. Transfer tomatillos and any juices on sheet to processor and cool.

Add chiles and garlic to processor and blend until smooth puree forms. Heat oil in medium saucepan over medium-high heat. Add tomatillo puree and boil 5 minutes, stirring often. Add broth. Reduce heat to medium; simmer until sauce coats spoon thickly and is reduced to 1 cup, stirring occasionally, about 40 minutes. Season with salt.

Mix in chicken and cilantro. (Can be made 1 day ahead. Cover and chill.)

For dough: 

Using electric mixer, beat lard (with salt and baking powder, if using) in large bowl until fluffy.

Beat in fresh masa or masa harina mixture in 4 additions. Reduce speed to low and gradually beat in 1 1/2 cups broth, forming tender dough. If dough seems firm, beat in enough broth, 2 tablespoons at a time, to soften. (You know it’s ready when the consistency is a bit thicker than creamy peanut butter and a small ball of it will float in a glass of cold water.)

Fill bottom of pot with steamer insert with enough water (about 2 inches) to reach bottom of insert. Line bottom of insert with some softened corn husks. Tear 3 large husks into 1/4-inch-wide strips to use as ties and set aside. Open 2 large husks on work surface. Spread 1/4 cup dough in 4-inch square in center of each, leaving 2- to 3-inch plain border at narrow end of husk. Spoon heaping tablespoon filling in strip down center of each dough square. (It helps to spread the masa dough by putting a scoop in the center and than using a soft slightly moist corn husk to flatten it down, this sticks less than doing it with your hands.)

Fold long sides of husk and dough over filling to cover. Fold up narrow end of husk. Tie folded portion with strip of husk to secure, leaving wide end of tamale open. Stand tamales in steamer basket. Repeat with more husks, dough, and filling until all filling has been used. If necessary to keep tamales upright in steamer, insert pieces of crumpled foil between them.

Bring water in pot to boil. Cover pot and steam tamales until dough is firm to touch and separates easily from husk, adding more water to pot as necessary, about 45 minutes. Let stand 10 minutes. (Can be made 2 days ahead. Cool 1 hour. Cover and chill. Before serving, re-steam tamales until hot, about 40 minutes.)


Mexican Rice

2 cups long grain rice
1 tbsp vegetable oil
½-1 cup diced onion
1 diced ripe tomato
4 cups chicken broth
3 “knorr tomate” bouillon cubes

At medium-high heat, warm up oil. Add rice and brown stirring constantly for about 3 minutes. Add diced onions and brown rice for about 5 more minutes, or until rice browns. Add tomatoes and fry with rice and onions for about 2 minutes. Warm up chicken broth and pour in. Add bouillon cubes and stir. Heat until it boils. Cover with lid and lower heat to low. Cook for 15 minutes or until water/broth is absorbed.


Tres Leches Cake

Cake:
6 large eggs, separated
2 cups granulated sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 cup whole milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Cream topping: 

1 14-ounce can evaporated milk 

1 14-ounce can sweetened condensed milk 

1 cup heavy cream

To make the cake:
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Lightly grease and flour a 9 by 13-inch baking dish and set aside.
In the bowl of a mixer, beat the egg whites on low speed until soft peaks form. Add the sugar gradually with the mixer running and peak to stiff peaks. Add the egg yolks 1 at a time, beating well after the addition of each.
Sift together the flour and baking powder and add to the egg mixture, alternating with the milk. (Do this quickly so the batter does not lose volume.) Add the vanilla. Bake until golden, 25 minutes.

To make the cream topping:
In a blender, combine the evaporated milk, condensed milk, and heavy cream and blend on high speed.
Remove the cake from the oven and while still warm, poke holes 1" apart into the cake. Pour the cream mixture over it. Let sit and cool to room temperature. Cover and refrigerate until well chilled, at least 4 hours or overnight. 


Disneyland

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

When Jarom and I got to California last November the first thing we did was splurge on Disneyland passes for our fourth Anniversary. We go every two or so weeks for a late afternoon and wonder around taking a few rides, people watching and sometimes catching a show or parade. Usually we stay for just a few hours and we seek out the least busy days when there are few people and the lines are short.

I realized last week that Jarom and I have lots of experiences but few pictures to document them. So I brought the camera and caught a few pictures. As you can see, Jarom is absolutely not capable of just smiling normally for a photo even upon threats from me... So if I look nice in a photo, it's pretty much a given that Jarom is making a crazy face.

(Since we hardly ever post pictures of us I thought I'd stick a bunch on.)


What a catch!

My mouth looks scary big!

What, a normal picture of Jarom? Oh, it's cause I'm not in it...

Space mountain!

A bit blurry, I stole it from the monitors...

Jarom looking crazy intense on Buzz Lightyear

Us in front of "Liforni" the lesser known part of California.

Me defying gravity next to the amazing "z" (or in other words I can't right the picture)

Beware the brain sucking hand. Dang it, note to self, learn photoshop.

Try 1

Try 2

Try 3

Try 4. Scary, doesn't Jarom remind you of the floating head on the "Wizard of Oz?" Where is his body?

My final straw!

I love this man! We were laughing so hard that we could barely breath! He makes me laugh harder than anyone I know. Sadly the people around us were scared- and they could only see the backs of our heads...