Hi all!

Top 10 Kitchen Must Haves

2010-05-16T23:34:00.000-07:00

Every cook can think of a few items that are absolutely essential in their kitchen. There is nothing worse than being in the midst of a culinary masterpiece only to discover you're missing a crucial tool. Most of the items on my list are things I started out with or grew up using, a few I acquired as I learned more about cooking and what I preferred (my kitchen scale and shears, for example). Honestly, there are countless items I would not enjoy cooking without, like parchment paper, or the pepper grinder I foraged from a thrift shop in high school after seeing one on a cooking show. But this list is my top ten- not my top 20:

1. Good, solid knives- There is nothing more disappointing than cooking with dull, bending knives. I once cooked in a kitchen where the knives were so thin and weak that the blade curved sideways as I cut through a tomato. Trying to cut carrots was terrible. Needless to say the girl hated to cook. So much time and frustration can be saved by having a great knife set in the kitchen. You don't need an expensive 12 piece set- an 8 inch chef's knife, paring knife and a serrated bread knife should suffice. Add extra pieces as needed.

2. Pots and Pans- This one is a little tricky because everyone has their own preference on what kind are the best. I bought a non-stick set nearly 7 years ago that are still going strong. In my opinion spending a little bit extra to get a sturdy set is what matters. Choose a set that has good handles, heavy bottoms for more even cooking, and tightly fitting lids. Then you can start buying more specialty pans as needed.

3. Scale (one that measures both grams and ounces)- This is one of my most used gadgets in the kitchen. Not only does it save clean up (I pour some ingredients straight from the bag or bottle), but I also know its an accurate measurement. Sticky ingredients like honey or peanut butter are so much easier to deal with! I write down measurements on the recipe as I cook, so that many of my recipes allow me to pour the ingredients right into a bowl and have little, if no extra clean up. Talk about a time saver.

4. Measuring spoons and cups- If you have a good scale you won't need these as often, but it's important to make sure you buy a set that has an accurate measurement. Novelty spoons and cups are not always spot on, which in cooking might not be a big deal, but in baking is crucial.

5. Thermometer- A good thermometer is handy for just about everything. Use it to test if your bread is baked in the middle, your meat is ready to eat, or whether your carmel needs a few more minutes.

6. Glass mixing bowls- Mixing bowls are great, and it's nice to have a few different kinds, but in my opinion glass mixing bowls take the cake. Since glass is non-reactive you don't need to worry about it effecting the flavor of whatever you're preparing or absorbing oils that will destroy your egg whites. I love bowls that have a rubber bottom so they grip the counter while you stir. This is especially handy when you need both your hands free.

7. Vegetable peeler- A good vegetable peeler is a mult-tasker. You can use it to grate decorative peels of chocolate, thin wide shavings of parmesan cheese, or remove thick peels off carrots and apples. Make sure you buy one with a comfortable handle and sharp blade as there is nothing more annoying than a vegetable peeler that skips over an apple peel or can't cut through a tough vegetable skin.

8. Flat wooden bamboo spatula/spoon- In high school I found one of these in a thrift store's kitchen section. I'd never seen a flat wooden spatula before and it quickly became my favorite kitchen utensil. It broke up hamburger like a champ, flipped pancakes, mixed cookie dough, and didn't warp like other wooden spoons. I carried it with me through every college move, leaving behind mixing bowls and can openers, but never forgetting my bamboo spatula. Needless to say I was excited when they started showing up everywhere. This is an absolute MUST.

9. Blender- From purees to pie fillings, a great blender can save serious time in the kitchen. I use my Vita-mix for just about everything- homemade peanut butter, making powdered sugar, salad dressings, pureeing soups, and everything in between.

10. Kitchen Shears- Last but definitely NOT least. I absolutely couldn't live without my kitchen shears. They make cleaning meat, opening thick packaging, and cutting up candy manageable. I can't imagine preparing my chicken without them.

Recipe Box- This one isn't totally essential, but super handy. I am guilty of stashing recipes folded away in cook books or tucked inside drawers, but it's nice to have a set place to hold your recipes. It saves searching like mad for that lost recipe Aunt Agnes gave you for her famous lemon icebox pie.

Did I miss something? What are some of your kitchen must haves?

Compliments of Costco, or something.

2010-03-31T21:58:00.000-07:00

Tonight Jarom and I made a much needed run to Costco. Our fridge and freezer were getting low on the staples and we decided the best place to fill the bill was the 100 dollar store.

I love Costco. Mainly because you can pick up pretty much anything there. Bagels, roast 3 packs, bright heads of romaine lettuce, tubs of cottage cheese, ripe red strawberries, and unsolicited marital advice. Did you know that they were offering it there? They are, free of charge, by floral patterned pants wearing old ladies casually standing behind you.

"I love your necklace!" I heard loudly behind me.
I turned around to see an older asian lady smiling at me. She was dressed to the nines with a very busy outfit and perfect hair and makeup "I love your necklace." She repeated again.
"Oh thank you!" I said smiling and went back to loading my groceries on the conveyer belt. I get comments on this necklace all the time, usually people ask where I got it, or just want to tell me they like it. This lady had another agenda.

"Is it a sea horse?" She asked.
"Yeah." I said, turning to chat with her, leaving the loading to Jarom. "I love sea horses."
"That would look great with white. Turquoise looks great with white." She said, repeating herself.
"It does." I agreed. "It looks good with black too." She looked at me, and shook her head. Apparently turquoise does not look good with black. I really wish someone had told me. I am so embarrassed.

"You know," she said, "when I was your age I used to dress up a lot. You should dress up and wear that necklace."
"I should." I acknowledge, thinking that statement was odd. "But I'm kind of a jeans and tee-shirt girl. I don't get dressed up too often."
"Well you should." she said worriedly. "You should get dressed up for..." and she points at Jarom secretly. "You don't want him to leave you. Lots of girls let themselves go and wonder what happened when their husbands lose interest."

Now I realize that I was not looking my best. I had been working on taxes, and one of my eyes had gone lazy from focusing on the computer all day while the other was twitching erratically. My hair which had looked great curled the day before was haphazardly pulled in a messy bun that had grown messier from my Chiropractors visit and frequent pulling from the stress of working out deductions. Most of my mascara was on my chin and my boobs have shrunk to the size of raisens from losing 15 pounds recently. But still, no one wants to hear that a stranger who doesn't know you considers you to be in some varying stage of letting yourself go, or that you just might have reached the climax. I was completely taken off guard.

"I do get dressed up!" I exclaimed, feeling slightly defensive but starting to laugh out of shock. "Today is just not my best day." I'm sure I sound desperate.

She looks disbelieving, of course I would say that. To her I look like the girl who is having an affair with a box of Krispy Kremes. I am on the downhill slope.

"Well you should." She confirms. "You don't want to let yourself go. It gets worse after you have a baby. Some women completely let go and wonder why their husbands leave them. You don't want to be one of them." she warns. Is this lady for real?

"You're a pretty girl," she says eying me. "You're tall and thin, you should really dress up for your husband." Really?

Finally I just start laughing, "Well, I'll do that." I say and turn to help Jarom at the register instead of going in circles with a lady who thinks I need some tough love before I let myself turn into Quasimodo.

I might have backhanded her but she said I was thin.

So I'll let it go, but that is the last time I get dragged into conversation with an old lady in flowered pants.

When I told Jarom who was paying for the groceries and missed the whole exchange, he started to laugh and said, "Obviously she doesn't know me. I don't care if you dress up... besides it gives me an excuse for when I leave you." Nice. Love my man. The old lady not so much.

My Secret Crush

2010-03-16T12:58:00.000-07:00

Shush, don't tell...

J.Crew+Holly Forever

Dieting and Dining

2010-03-11T18:18:00.001-08:00

For the last 6 weeks I've been following Weight Watchers in hopes of shedding nearly 30 pounds of "marital bliss." Impressive right? 30 pounds in 6 years is not a good thing! Usually I fall off the wagon at week 4, but this time is different. I think the trick has been finding new recipes (or modifying old ones) that keep me excited and still allow me to eat. Anyone who knows me knows I LOVE to eat.

When I start getting that why me attitude, or I start looking to graze all day on easy treats, I know I'm approaching a battle with sticking to the plan. One little bag of skittles turns into four pieces of pizza and suddenly I've consumed a whole tray of brownies to boot. At that point I start making excuses for myself and 3 weeks later I've gained back all that hard won weight loss.

This time I've branched out of my "safe diet foods" (i.e.- the boring but easy staples) and started to have fun reinventing recipes and finding healthy new dinner options. I think I'm going to start posting them because I know I'm not the only one who wants to eat healthy, if not lose a little weight.

Tonight we had:
Butternut Squash Soup and a Chopped Salad with apples, red onions, cinnamon almonds, feta cheese and raspberry vinaigrette. I topped the soup and salad with homemade garlic croutons.

The whole meal had about 8 points (I get 23 a day) which leaves me with some points for fudge cookies and milk! Yippie! Ok, and some fruit... If I'd left out the croutons- which were super yummy but unnecessary- I could have saved 3 points, making the whole meal a total of 5-ish points. Not too shabby.

Butternut Squash Soup:
(I halved this recipe, and counted the soup for about 2 points, but it might have been 3...) (=

2 tsp. olive oil
1 onion, chopped medium
3 pounds butternut squash, peeled, seeded and cut into 1 1/2" chunks.
6 cups chicken broth
1/2-1 tsp. dried thyme
generous pinch nutmeg
1/2 c. cream or half and half (I used land-o-lakes fat free half and half)

Add olive oil and onion to large pot. Cook until softened, about 5 minutes. Stir in squash, broth, thyme and nutmeg. Bring to a simmer and cook until squash is tender, 20-25 minutes.
Puree soup (in batches if necessary) in a blender until smooth.
Return soup to the pot. Stir in cream/ half and half. Bring to a brief simmer then remove from heat. If the soup seems too thick, thin with some chicken broth. Season with salt and pepper and additional nutmeg if desired.

*serves 4.

Cutting up a butternut squash:

Step 1: chop top and bottom off of squash.

Step 2: peel thick skin off with a vegetable peeler.

Step 3: scoop out seeds and feel grateful you don't have to do a pumpkin.

Step 4: Chop into smaller chunks.

Chopped Salad:

1 head of romaine lettuce, washed and chopped into bite sized pieces.
1 apple diced into small chunks
Red onions, sliced very thinly
Feta cheese (preferably very old and from the back of your fridge like mine) (=
Cinnamon almond slivers (place almond slices or slivers into a nonstick pan, sprinkle with sugar (2 tsp per 1/4 c. nuts) and a shake of cinnamon and stir continually on the stove until the sugar melts and the almonds become slightly toasted. Careful not to burn almonds or yourself- those suckers get hot. Spread on a plate until cooled.)
raspberry vinaigrette (I made mine from scratch but wasn't all that impressed with the recipe I followed.)

Lay out salad, add toppings as desired.

Croutons:

3 cups bread slices (I used homemade rustic bread from another night that I sliced into 1" by 1/2" thick chunks.) Stale old bread would probably be awesome.
1 tbsp. olive oil
1 garlic clove, minced fine
1/4 tsp. salt

Bake at 350 degrees for 20-25 minutes on a cookie sheet until browned and crispy. Breath deeply into husbands face to maximize garlic breath. Enjoy a night of uninterrupted sleep. (=

Flourless Chocolate Fudge Cookies

2010-03-10T19:13:00.000-08:00

I've recently discovered that indulgent eating doesn't have to kill your good intentions. These super rich, chewy chocolate cookies are no exception.

For the last 2 weeks Jarom and I have been on quite the baking kick. After discovering King Arthur Flour's website, which has an amazing assortment of recipes on it, I found this awesome little recipe for Flourless Fudge Cookies. It's like the little black dress of chocolate cookies. Guiltless, delicious, never out of style.

Since last week I have made them twice, I like them so much. (disclaimer: I'm on Weight Watchers and your taste buds change when you don't eat as many treats, but I think these cookies are winners anytime.)

I followed the recipe minus the expresso powder, which I didn't have, and replaced it with ground Roma (like Pero or Postum, it's a coffee substitute). The first time I made them I didn't add it, but I think it rounds out the chocolate flavor to have it in there. I also cooked the cookies for 9-10 minutes instead of the 8 it called for since 8 minutes was a little undercooked. Make sure to bake on parchment paper. If you don't have any you can grease a cookie sheet, but I wouldn't recommend it.

Flourless Fudge Cookies

2 1/4 cups confectioners' sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon espresso powder, optional but good
1 cup cocoa powder, Dutch-process (European-style) preferred
3 large egg whites
2 teaspoons vanilla extract*
*For gluten-free cookies, be sure to use gluten-free extract.

Directions
1) Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.

2) Stir together all of the ingredients till smooth. Scrape the bottom and sides of the bowl, and stir again till smooth.

3) Drop the “dough” onto the prepared baking sheets in balls of about 1-1 ½ tablespoons.

It should look like this. Not really balls but sturdy puddles of chocolate heaven. (=

4) Bake the cookies for 8-10 minutes; they should spread, become somewhat shiny, and develop faintly crackly tops.

5) Remove the cookies from the oven, and allow them to cool right on the pan.

6) Yield: 24 medium (2") cookies.

For all you weight watchers fans- 1 cookie= 1 point! Or about 55 calories, no fat and 1 gram of fiber. Yeay!

Adult Jack in the Box

2010-02-08T22:49:00.000-08:00

By principle I have tried not to buy biscuits from a can, instead opting to make them from scratch. There is something vaguely metallic about canned biscuits. Maybe it's the shreds of aluminum foil that ALWAYS get stuck in the dough. Maybe it's left over bitterness that the flour felt at being turned into a plain ol' biscuit instead of a fancy triangular scrap that would become a croissant. I'm not a biscuit snob (if there is such a thing), I eat Bisquick more than willingly, but I'm not a huge fan of pillsbury or any other canned biscuits.

This Christmas though I wanted to make a traditional family Christmas breakfast, and of course that included pillsbury biscuits. Homemade ones would not do.

At the store I browsed the rolls of biscuits, shiny blue labels, glistening bronze wrappers, bold red casings. And then I saw the simple store brand variety. The no nonsense school marms that blandly advertised themselves as biscuits, no frills, just biscuits. I looked at the price and noticed they were 1/4 the price of the fancy brands and joyously grabbed 2 rolls and thought no more of my sensible purchase.

Two days later however, I realized that the store brand was not in fact a school marm, but a well camoflaged child's play toy. A jack-in-the-box to be exact.

Have you opened a can of biscuits lately? It can be quite terrifying.

I'll be honest, I feel apprehension when tearing the little triangle that unleashes the biscuits into the world. It's a little nerve wracking waiting for the pop and release of the dough. But store brand biscuits are the worst. They have a mind of their own. They do not pop when appropriate, they pop when they feel like it.

I slowly peeled back the strip of paper. Half way down the canister the biscuits were still firmly secured and I started to get a little nervous. I tugged a little more, held my breath, and nothing. I tugged yet more, shielded my eyes with my shoulder, nothing. With a nervous laugh I yanked the wrapping off, expecting a burst of dough.

Nada.

Then I panicked. What if this is not a can of biscuits after all... What if this is a covertly smuggled nuclear bomb and I'm going to kill everyone by opening it? On Christmas. Or, what if the dough comes out so forcefully that it pops me in the eye and I have to explain that I lost a fist fight with a yeasty bit of bread, to my ever lasting shame? Or, what if I have a heart attack from the anticipation? A more likely possibility.

"Do it!" I shout at the trapped dough as I poke the seam of the unsplit paper. "Do it now!" (At this point Jarom poked his head in the kitchen and asked who I was talking to. I denied saying anything of course. )

Still nothing. It was like a jack-in-the-box that plays its whole song and then plays half of another one before randomly popping out.

And then, when I finally gave up, it burst, scaring the dickens out of me. I swear I heard it chuckle a deep demonic laugh as it's devious purpose was carried out.

Of course I had the pleasure of sending it back to it's own hell at 350 degrees for 20 minutes with a delicious orange glaze, but that is a different blog.

So, I discovered that store bought biscuits are the adult jack-in-the-box. And I vow to make someone else open them for me next time. Don't say I didn't warn you.

2010

2010-01-27T18:47:00.000-08:00

Let's just start by saying that 2009 was not my year. 2009 was not my year.

And in the attempt to right the major set backs that occurred I am starting my blog again, since I figure it all started around the time I stopped. And I'm superstitious. (=

I think the first step to changing my year is changing myself. There are a few things I have noticed that need some attention:

1) My health. I have gained some crazy weight over the last 6 years because I let myself get back into old eating habits. Namely stuffing my face at any and every opportunity. Not recommended. This led me back to the place I was in 1995 and as much as I love Charlie Brown, I don't really want to look like his twin sister.

So last week I started Weight Watchers again and I am determined to get down to around my pre-marriage weight. I'm really trying to be realistic about it and accept the fact that if I want to change my eating habits and do it healthily it will take a few months. I'll keep you updated on any healthy recipe finds, or rants.

2) I've been a major procrastinator. This year I will try to be more in the moment and get stuff done when it occurs to me instead of writing a list of all the things I need to do and then overwhelming myself. I can still write lists, but they need to be small enough that I can actually accomplish the items on it in a reasonable amount of time.

3) I've been a super complainer and very pessimistic. So I will try to be positive and not complain. I am also trying to enjoy the moment and not worry about the future or long for the past. I think this one goal has really affected my last couple of years and I'm looking forward to changing.

4) My creative side. This year I will accomplish my creative goals, be more diligent on writing this blog and learn many new skills. This one really disappeared last year and I've missed creating.

I'm really excited about changing this year. Old dogs can learn new tricks and I'll keep you updated with this blog.

And now I will get back to the less serious, more random blogging I usually write.

Hanky Panky

2009-05-12T22:22:00.000-07:00

In sixth grade I found myself on a bus traveling toward the most awful week of my life. The bus was, of course, disguised for the parents as a yellow school bus that was en-route to a winter outdoor education camp in the snow covered mountains. The enlightened kids saw it for what it really was, a week of bullying, bad food, strange excursions and a painful square dance where 3/4 the boys would balk at asking one of us girls to dance. Especially the fat tall girls. Which was basically me.

For whatever reason, however, I was optimistic. It wasn't because I was going up there with hoards of friends, or that my new snow jacket made me look like I had bosoms, or even the fact that I particularly loved the outdoors. In fact I was going up there friendless, in a blindingly bright shapeless 80's snow parka hand-me-down, and hiking wasn't really my thing.

BUT- my bag was full of Bonnebell chapstick, candy and various other miniature toiletries that were uncommon in the Tanner household- bribing me into undergoing one of the most awkward weeks of my life.

Fast forward to the first morning we woke up at the camp. We are interrupted from frigid icy sleep by the drill sergeant bark of a woman telling us we must take a shower before breakfast. Dutifully I searched through my duffle bag only to find that with all the items in my bag, I was missing a key staple. A towel.

OH.

HOLY.

CRAP.

"Excuse me" I told Ms. Granola as my turn was nearing, "Um, somehow I forgot my towel. Is there one here that I can use?"
"You were told to bring one on the list." She barked amid a shower of oatmeal spewing from her mouth. Obviously we were having oatmeal for breakfast this morning.
"I know." I tried to explain, "But somehow it didn't make it into my bag. Is there one I can borrow?"
"I don't know anything about that." She curtly answered, blowing the 2 minute whistle on the poor girl who had just gotten warm in the shower. "Next!"
"Well can I skip the shower today until I find a towel?" I asked hopefully. Searching her face for any sign of kindness.
Her eyes narrowed as she looked me over, distaste washing over her face. A chunky kid was disgusting enough, but one with imagined bad hygiene and a penchant for skipping showers was too much for her. "Everyone has to take a shower everyday. You are no exception." Her finger wagged and pointed into my face. "Let me find one for you. Next!"

In two minutes she was back and holding out the item that was to be used as a "towel."

I wanted to ask her if her nose was running, because what she was holding up was not possibly a towel. In her hand hung a hanky, a terry cloth hanky, something that would not have wrapped around a normal 80 pound sixth grader, let alone one that was 3 times the thickness of your typical 11 year old.

The towel was not as big as a hand towel, slightly larger than a face clothe and amusingly was supposed to cover me as I walked to my duffle bag and changed community locker room style in the cabin. If it hadn't been for the strict 2 minute time limit I could have changed into some clothes before I left the shower, but there was no time to change behind the curtain.

I looked at her in horror. Could she possibly be suggesting that the girl with the premature junk her her trunk wrap that tiny morsel of cloth around her body in a manner that would condemn her for merciless teasing the remaining 3 years of middle school? If it was now, I would have said, "I don't think so. Not today you crazy nudist." But at that point I took the towel and considered just how I would make my shuffle back to my bunk in anonymity.

I considered the option of using the towel to cover my face so no one would know it was me streaking across the floor. Maybe they would think it was the ghost of an insane former counselor who went crazy from the undercooked eggs and soggy toast we were to be inflicted with over the coming week. I finally settled on wrapping the towel around my waist, so only one large strip on the side of my leg was showing, my free arm covering whatever else I could.

Have you ever tried to cover yourself up with your arm and a hanky? It's difficult. Very difficult. I felt like Eve with the fig leaf. "I'm pretty sure he meant Banana leaves" I could imagine her saying. "Banana leaves make more sense. Who would cover themselves with a fig leaf (besides of course a dozen hopefuls on America's Next Top Model)? Yeah, lets go with the banana leaves. What do you mean they are all the way in South America?"

I proceeded to shuffle, the towel grasped in an iron grip as though I was holding on to the last bit of decency I had left. I dared anyone to look at me, to make eye contact in which I would fix them with an icy stare as cold as the room I was now parting the crowd like Moses through. "Make way," I wanted to shout, "Haven't you seen a fat kid in a tea cozy before?"

Thankfully the counselor had a little mercy, or an angel came down and told her she would be smitten with the pox if she didn't scavenger up a towel for the porky girl who just passed through the rings of hell and back because the next morning I had a towel of respectable size.

You can guarantee yourself that I have never forgotten a towel since. One indecent amount of exposure was enough for me to learn my lesson and garner a great embarrassing story as well. Seems like these things seem to happy to me waaay too often...

Language Barriers

2009-05-06T01:02:00.000-07:00

There is a little Carl's Jr. right across the street from where I work in LA, surrounded by the city, bums and various characters that give me plenty to write about. Today I made my way across the street, ordered a diet coke and a side salad and proceeded to commence my lunch. As I was sitting there I happened to make eye contact with a small Mexican man who standing strait as an arrow might (and I say might) have come up to my belly button. He had to have been as round as he was tall, and he had the biggest lips I have ever seen. Honestly. I couldn't help my mind from conjuring the image of the frog on Thumbelina.

My first mistake was making eye contact, as soon as our eyes connected he stopped mid stride turned around and gave me a full once over, his eyes becoming very swishy. I wanted to laugh at his "suaveness" and in an attempt to hide it I made my second mistake-a half smile out of politeness. Working in the city I should know not to look at people and especially not to smile, but it's against my nature and something that I'm working on. Because of it I have had some awesome conversations and the result of this mistake today made a priceless conversation that I wouldn't have traded for anything.

After grinding to a halt on his way to the soda machine and turning completely around he began to work his magic on me. In a thick spanish accent he began with.

Him: "Hey beautiful lady... I like jor es-smile." He said as his eyebrows wiggling wildly.
Me: laughing, "Um... thanks."
Him: Whas shur name preety lady?"
Me: Now this is where I draw the line, no personal information that could link me to anything. "I'm sorry, I'm married." I say, pointing to my ring. Usually this statement works well enough to shy away any unwanted "suiters."
Him: "Oh, ok, hey Mary." He says with a triumphant smile from gleaning some information.
Me: Well this is awkward. I now have to explain that I didn't in fact give him my name, but that I'm spoken for. "No, my name isn't Mary, I'm married." I say, pointing at my ring again.
Him: Densely, "Oh. Is jor husband coming to mee(t) you?" He asks as though maybe I'll come sit with him if Jarom isn't.
Me: "Um... yeah." I say lying.
Him: "Ok, well, I eh-like jor beautiful es-smile." He tries one more time.
Me: "Thanks." I say as I try to ignore the further conversation he's trying to carry on. Finally, after standing their awkwardly staring at me he walks to the machine and fills his drink. As he walks past me I look at my iPod and try to ignore the smoldering look he is trying to pass over on me.

Sorry Don Juan, no thanks. I am Mary.

Going postcard-al

2009-04-01T21:10:00.000-07:00

For the past few months I have worked for the coolest kids clothing company on the planet. My boss is awesome, my stores are cool, and I work in an exciting area of LA in the fashion district. You would think that the chic people and places I surround myself with would rub off on me, that I would pick up the art of dressing current, speaking in a offhand manor, and bypassing social flubs. But I confess I am as awkward and myself as ever. And for the most part I like it, it humors me, and most of the people I've met don't seem to mind either.

Over the past few days I have been driving around visiting stores. Most of the time I have strolled into a store with a gift bag for them, chatted with the shop girls, left a message for the owner and gone on my merry way. However, the second day into the driving, I found myself in an awkward position. You see, the address we shipped to was not a store, it was someone's home, someone who ran a web based company, someone who I wasn't sure how to approach.

Did I walk up to their door and knock? Introduce myself? Just leave the gift bag on the patio and not interrupt them at their home? I decided to call, but no one answered. Growing bold I knocked on their door, still no answer. I knew it was the right house, a package on the patio said the name of the lady I was trying to meet. And then the thought hit me, "Why not write a little note on the postcard inside the gift bag?" Perfect. Or was it?

Once back in my car with the pen glistening with ink and poised in my hand I wasn't sure what to say. How should I start?

"Hi. I came to your house but you weren't here. I'll just sit outside until you come home..?" Nope.

"Hey there, I peeked in all your windows, but you weren't there. I'll come back tonight...? Um... no.

So what I actually wrote was: (something like this)
"Hey so and so,
I came by thinking this was your store, but instead it was your house (which is adorable by the way). => I just wanted to introduce myself and bring you a little gift. I'm sorry I missed you but hopefully we'll have a chance to meet soon. I hope you are doing well. Let me know if I can do anything for you!

Holly

I intended to make a winning little note that suggested I was a normal person and not someone who just showed up at people's houses unannounced. After commenting on her adorable house (it really was adorable though), I sealed the creepiness by drawing a little smiley face.

Except my smiley face was not of the sweet variety. Mine came out in a shaking, slightly downward "v" and evilly smirking variety. Mine didn't say "hope to catch up with you soon!" mine said, "I WILL catch up with you soon- most likely when you are sleeping and won't see me coming..."

It was unintentional, the ink was wet on the glossy surface and I didn't want to smear it with my hand so I drew it freeform. There was no denying the end result was disturbing. Even the correction I attempted couldn't fully erase the evil smirking smiley face. It was creepy and kind of gave me the giggles. If she had seen me in my car it would have looked like I was laughing in a villainous manner at the evil note I was about to leave. Nice.

I'm sure she didn't even think about the note, but I did. And it made me laugh and wonder if I would ever not be awkward or if this was something I will be for the rest of my life. For the most part these moments make for good stories. Sometimes I'm very conscious of the fact that I'm a nerd and I feel like an well intentioned impostor. Has anyone else had something like this happen? I am so very uncool.

Email Mishaps Rant

2009-02-23T23:31:00.001-08:00

(What I wished I could have done to my computer earlier)

Quick, answer:

What could be one of the worst thing that happens when you are emailing?

Delete a really long and involved email that you'd spent an hour working on? Eh, wrong.

Accidentally sent a personal email to the wrong person? Keep guessing.

Lost an important contact? Not even close.

Give up? Ok, how about send 50 of the same email to 160 potential clients within 1 1/2 hours? In case you'd like the math that's 8,000 emails. Yes, 8,000 emails sent accidentally by yours truly to what I had hoped would be some awesome new clients. Exit to story.

For the last few weeks (well months really) I have honing down an email list of boutiques that I'd love to carry Knuckleheads. I've called an insane amount of stores (literally over 400), ruled out which are no longer in business, which sell more traditional items, who I would be more likely to order from our awesome company. I called and asked for email address, begged assistants to let me get an email, pretended to be really cool and savvy when I talked to a shop owner and was truly grateful when each store gave me a chance to send our catalogs through an email for them to view.

Ironically, I had been waiting for the list to be complete so that I wouldn't accidentally send a repeat email, little did I know that I would accidentally spam every single contact in my gmail group, um, like 50 times. I'm still scratching my head over what happened.

Last night I put together an email, wrote a short note so that they wouldn't have to spend much time reading it and they could just get to the meat of the email which was the amazing catalogs I attached for their viewing pleasure. I waited to send it until today because I was trying to figure out a way to attach a picture of this season's clothes in the body of the gmail. Big mistake.

After trying a few times and sending myself a few emails with the picture unsuccessfully, I gave up the idea and settled on introducing myself and the line in a brief, non-obnoxious email. The catalogs would speak for themselves.

However, instead of just sending the email once, for whatever reason, my gmail account looped the sending action and repeated to send the email over and over and over and over. And over. In a panic I tried to delete the email. No avail. Next I tried to call google. Besides the fact that it was now 5:04 and they stop answering the phone at 5, did you know that it is completely impossible to speak with someone there? Or send them an email for that matter? Yeah. Seriously.

So I called my brother who was at a loss, and asked a girl in the showroom next to mine whose boyfriend is computer handy what to do. His reply? "Uh oh." Crap.

By this point I am receiving phone calls and emails asking to be removed from the email list, as well as truly concerned people who just want to let me know what's going on. I call and email each person who has not blocked me by now, but has actually taken a moment to let me know what's going on. Mind you these people don't know me but they are super cool about this drama. Bless them, they deserve a pint of Ben and Jerry's. Jarom says a basket of fruit. (=

Anyhow, at this point it was 6 and the LA marketplace was closing. Jarom says to pack everything up and get going since there is no help on the internet (apparently I am the only one who has had this happen) and we'll figure it out at home. I am so stressed out that I can barely eat anything. Really, I skipped dinner I was so sick to my stomach thinking I had blown the time and effort to make these contacts. In fact it is 12:10 and I still haven't eaten.

When I get home there are 207 emails in my spam box, but most of them are from a little while ago. In the last few hours I haven't received one. Hallelujah I think it's over. I think I lost a few people from this experience, but I also got to talk to quite a few who were really nice about everything and who were actually intrigued by our company. Go figure. The worse part was that the repeated email's attachments didn't even work. Honestly? So I will have to send the attachments again. Ick. Worse PR moment ever.

Bless the lady's heart who said to me, "Thank you for the emails! I couldn't open my attachment, can you send it again?" Not a comment about the insane number, just a kind note of thanks for thinking about her and sincere interest. She won major brownie points for her kindness.

I am hoping the repeated emails makes them think I am a determined individual instead of a crazy spammer sales representative. We'll see. But I learned something and I am going to save you the drama of what happened to me today:

1. Don't create an email and wait until later (or the next day) to send it. It won't send like normal and will freak out and go "War Games" on you. Forget about man controlling technology, that's what John Conner was trying to tell everyone.

2. If for some reason you don't like learning from other people's mistakes or you are a rebel and bypass #1, send out an immediate apology and personal email or call to each person who writes you or calls you. This is called recognizing you are an idiot- whether accidental or not.

3. If for some reason you do not follow # 1 and 2, leave the country immediately. People will be pissed. And they have a right to be. People have been tarred and feathered for less.

99 Things- idea stolen from Jill

2009-01-20T10:26:00.000-08:00

Kinda' fun
The lines that are bolded are things that I have done...how about you?
(thanks Sheri)

1. Started your own blog
2.Slept under the stars
3.Played in a band
4.Visited Hawaii
5.Watched a meteor shower
6.Given more than you can afford to charity
7.Been to Disneyland
8.Climbed a Mountain
9.Held a praying mantis
10.Sang a solo
11.Bungee jumping
12.Visited Paris
13.Watched a lightning storm at sea
14.Taught yourself an art from scratch
15.Adopted a child
16.Had food poisoning
17.Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty (I've been, but it was right after 9/11 and we couldn't go up)
18.Grown your own vegetables
19.Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20.Slept on an overnight train
21.Had a pillow fight
22.Hitch hiked
23.Taken a sick day when you were not ill (Hasn't everyone??)
24.Built a snow fort (At BYU, that was soo fun!)
25.Held a lamb
26.Gone skinny dipping
27.Run a Marathon
28.Ridden in a gondola in Venice- The guy even wore a stripped shirt, it was awesome!
29.Seen a total eclipse
30.Watched a sunrise or sunset
31.Hit a home run
32.Been on a cruise
33.Seen Niagara Falls in person (No but I've been to Igazu Falls)
34.Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35.Seen an Amish community
36.Taught yourself a new language- not enough to count.
37.Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38.Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39.Gone rock climbing
40.Seen Michelangelo's David- Aren't there tons of them? I think I saw one in Italy. (=
41.Sung Karaoke
42.Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt Smells like rotten eggs. Funny, I think we had old faithful at home with us growing up too...
43.Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44.Visited Africa
45.Walked on a beach by moonlight
46.Been transported in an ambulance (when I was 3 and hit by a car)
47.Had your portrait painted (I've been drawn before, does that count?)
48.Gone deep sea fishing
49.Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50.Been to the top of the Eiffel tower in Paris
51.Gone scuba diving or snorkeling- both!
52.Kissed in the rain (My sister Julie in Barcelona, haha, "I've always wanted to be kissed in the rain in Barcelona!")
53.Played in the mud (As a kid, there was this park next to the Huntington Children's Library that they sprayed down until the ground was just sodden with water, and it cost a few bucks to play in the mud as long as you wanted. It was a whole town of mud. So fun!)
54.Gone to a drive-in theater (But never with a boy, only my friends family, so Jarom, when are we gonna do that??)
55.Been in a movie (Does an old back and white silent movie that I made for School count? Probably not).
56.Visited the Great Wall of China
57.Started a business ( I had tons of businesses as a child- one included selling my neighbors their beautiful leaves off their own lawns for a quarter. My neighbors were saints.)
58.Taken a martial arts class
59.Visited Russia
60.Served at a soup kitchen
61.Sold girl scout cookies
62.Gone whale watching
63.Got flowers for no reason (Once I jokingly asked this guy if my roomate's flowers he was delivering were for me, he asked me what kind I liked, and I told him Gerber daisies. The next day my roomate knocked on my door with a vase full of them, and when I ran downstairs to say thank you he had already left. Sweet huh?)
64.Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65.Gone sky diving
66.Visited a Nazi concentration camp
67.Bounced a check
68.Flown in a helicopter
69.Saved a favorite childhood toy
70.Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71.Eaten Caviar
72.Pieced a quilt
73.Stood in times square
74.Toured the Everglades
75.Been fired from a job
76.Seen the changing of the Guards in London
77.Broken a bone
78.Been on a speeding motorcycle
79.Seen the Grand Canyon in person (we did the 12 mile hike, camped a few days and hiked back up. One of the greatest vacations of my life.)
80.Published a book
81.Visited the Vatican
82.Bought a brand new car
83.Walked in Jerusalem
84.Had your picture in the newspaper
85.Read the entire Bible- I'm working on this right now actually.
86.Visited the White House
87.Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88.Had Chickenpox
89.Saved someones life- Well, one time I saved Whitney from falling down a hill at Central park, I told my teacher that I had saved her life, but I think she would have survived the short roll, so I guess no.
90.Sat on a jury
91.Met someone famous (Tasha Peterson and I ate at Harbor House with the kid who was on Charles in Charge. That was pretty awesome. He only ate half his sunday cause he was trying to maintain his weight. Pish.)
92.Joined a book club
93.Lost a loved one
94.Had a baby- I wish.
95.Seen the Alamo in person
96.Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97.Been involved in a law suit (with Abercrombie and Fitch and I won 2,512 bucks. Cha Ching!)
98.Owned a cell phone (How long ago was this written? Or is this the control question, to see if you are alive?)
99. Been stung by a bee (Twice, once on the butt which hurt immensely.

A Rose by any other name would still smell as sweet, except that's not your name, is it?

2009-01-05T22:21:00.000-08:00

I have never been one who silently swallows stupid mistakes I've made, or ridiculous comments I've said for that matter. There is something about me that demands full disclosure, I enjoy laughing at myself. I don't mind admitting that a smart girl like me can spout out the kind of comments that make Rose Nylan look downright brainy. But every once in a while one comes out that I wish to goodness I'd stifled down, because they always happen around people who don't know me, whose first impression of me will forever be the girl "who said what??"

A few weeks ago before everything went to pot, before the rain really started to pour, the first event of many financial blunders directed this very frustrated girl to the Apple store to pick up a new power adapter cord for her Macbook. I had talked to 3 different people on the phone at Mac and finally I had found someone who pitied me and agreed to send me the insanely expensive 80 dollar cord that had sheered itself in two, in a mysterious manner, for free. The only problem was that I needed the cord that day, not in a few days like the man on the phone promised me.

In desperation I called the closest Mac store in Victoria Gardens explaining my predicament, and how my computer was dead and I needed to charge it and asking the girl if she would just give me one if I canceled the one in the mail. She said that would work and I could come in and pick it up. Elated I asked my mom-in-law Kim if she wanted to come with me. From there things went, well, a little south.

By the time we got to the Mac Store I was feeling that rush of freebie high. I would even go so far as to say I was hopped up on freeomones (the Pheromones coursing through your veins when you are about to get a rocking deal or you won something for free). Either way the conversation I had with the girl who was helping me was weird (like the conversations you got sucked into by the weird guy in the drama class who gave you the play by play of last nights episode of Star Trek, imitations and all kind of weird) but I couldn't seem to help myself, even as it was going on I was screaming "stop you look like a weirdo, stop talking" in my head. I was just too relieved/excited.

Me: "Oh my gosh, you are totally saving me!" (This said in a weird gushing sort of way) "I love Mac! Mac is the best! I tell everyone to buy Mac! Seriously, I've converted quit a few people now!"

Girl: (She's looking at me, trying to be hospitable and listen, but I can see written plainly across her face that a super hyper girl like me is probably not the publicity they are looking for. You see, macs are for cool people, artsy people, thinkers, not strung out speed addicts or at least people who act like them for no good reason) "I'm glad I can help." Is the standard answer she gave.

Me: "Seriously, PC is crap, it's Mac or bust man!" I say pumping my fist. (In my mind I am thinking, seriously? Who snuck the crack in my slimfast. Why am I talking this way, this is definitely not normal.)

Girl: "Yeah, we sure like our products here too." She said in the way someone talks to a homeless person who is getting riled up when you're afraid they're going to beat you up and steal your wallet. Nice and easy. "Ok," She said pointing to another associate, " Jill will help ring you up as soon as she's done with her customer." I can tell she is relieved to be getting away, which makes me feel awkward because I have no idea why I'm being so erratic myself. This is totally embarrassing.

"Me: "Thank you so much!" I practically shout. "Seriously, I am very grateful." Ok, yes! Finally a comment that doesn't induce an uncomfortable silence in which I speak more to fill the void- even if the thank you was a touch overly animated.

Her: (Obviously this has given her courage to give me her card in case I need further assistance. A bold move because I'm sure she thinks I'm nuts.) "No problem!" She says, handing me her card. "My name and number is on there in case you need anything else." In an effort to say something that would improve her opinion of me as a cool semi-intelligent person I proceed to give her a compliment on her beautiful name. Well it would have been a compliment. If I'd gotten the right name. In a flustered moment I proceeded to say hands down one of the dumbest comments of my life.

Me: "Victoria? What a beautiful name!" Gardens? Wow, seriously, that is so beautiful, Victoria Gardens..." As soon as it pops out of my mouth I know that I had made a blunder. Why can't I be like most people who say thank you and pocket the card, instead I have to read it out to her, as though she doesn't know her own name, or I might be overlooking a receipt for errors.
Her eyes narrow as she peers at me. I'm sure she is thinking, is this girl for real? And then, in the same breath if I'm not awkward enough, I finish lamely, "Oh, no, you're name isn't Victoria Gardens, haha, that's where we are huh? You're name is Mary Howard (or something). Wow, I swear I'm not stupid! (Yes, that gem also snuck out of my mouth).

Her: "Oh, no worries! Thanks for coming in." She said ushering me to the register, where I proceed to say more dumb things to yet another Mac employee before I grab Kim (who is still laughing at my ridiculous comments) and make a run for it.

Honestly? Who slipped the crack into my morning slimfast? Or has anyone else been hyper off freeomones?

It's still a mystery. But I don't plan on going back there for a while, as least until the "do not help this girl" poster has been removed from their break room.

New Hair Cut

2008-11-25T23:34:00.000-08:00

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.

2008-11-21T19:51:00.001-08:00

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."

2008-10-15T18:45:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-14T23:45:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-10-05T11:34:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-24T22:11:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-22T14:11:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-12T00:12:00.001-07:00

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

2008-08-22T09:02:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-13T22:48:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-07-29T12:18:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-25T14:38:00.001-07:00

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

2008-07-10T18:15:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-07T19:06:00.001-07:00

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:

2008-07-03T09:13:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-27T11:13:00.000-07:00

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,

2008-06-24T13:23:00.001-07:00

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...

2008-05-31T11:08:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-05-11T20:44:00.001-07:00

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

2008-04-30T23:47:00.000-07:00

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...

Jamaican Jerk Chicken

2008-04-28T21:30:00.001-07:00

This pizza is da-bomb! I love a kick in my food and this pizza definitely had it. I cheat and buy the frozen pizza dough balls from Sam's club. You can ask for them at the food counter and they will give you a box of 20 for like 15 bucks or something. It's worth it because they make good bread sticks, pizza and calzones. You just thaw them, and shape them however you want. Anyhow, Just thought I'd post this recipe. It was definitely a winner.

Jamaican Jerk Chicken

Jerk Chicken Pieces 
1/2 pound boneless, skinless chicken breast tenders  
1 teaspoon olive oil  
2 teaspoons jerk seasoning 
1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper

Caribbean Sauce 
1/2 tablespoon cold water 
1/2 teaspoon flour 
1/2 cup sweet chili sauce 
3/4 teaspoon jerk seasoning (McCormick)

For the Pizza 
Pizza dough ( I cheat and boy the frozen dough balls from Sam’s Club... Hey it’s easier!)
Caribbean Sauce to taste (I like all of it)
1 cup mozzarella  (or to taste)
½ each one red and yellow pepper (stir fried in a pan until softened)
½ cup sliced yellow onions (Stir fried in a pan until softened)
¼ cup crispy bacon  
Jerk Chicken
green scallions, chopped and sprinkled on top

To make Jerk Chicken:
In a bowl mix chicken, olive oil, jerk seasoning and cayenne pepper. Place mix onto a piping hot oiled (or Pam-ed) skillet and cook each side until browned and cooked through. Cut into medium sized chunks.

To make Caribbean Sauce:
Mix water and flour in the pan. Add sweet chili sauce and jerk seasoning to flour mixture. Cook over medium heat until thickened a bit (about 4-5 minutes), stirring often.

To make the pizza:
Pre-cook the dough on a pizza stone (or pan) for 5-7 minutes at 425 degrees until slightly cooked and holds its form.
Use a spoon to spread the Caribbean sauce to within an inch of the outer edge of the crust.
Top with mozzarella, peppers, onions, bacon and extra mozzarella if wanted.
Lightly brush (or spread with your fingers) olive oil over the crust that’s still showing so it will brown nicely.
Cook about 15 minutes or until browned and the cheese is golden in places and bubbling.
Garnish with scallions after cooking.

This makes one good sized pizza.

Stephan King Eat Your Heart Out

2008-04-25T10:22:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school I went on a bit of a health kick. Ok, a major health kick. For about a year I wouldn't eat chips, or french fries, ice cream, candy, or any other good thing. In fact, for about a year I ate lentil soup with whole wheat toast, cottage cheese and a salad for lunch- every day. How virtuous. And boring.

On top of that crazy eating regime I started taking multi-vitamins that my mom had bought from one of my Aunts. They weren't just any old vitamins, they were top of the line, health nut vitamins. You know, the ones with the packaging that shows a man and woman hiking and the man has thighs that could crush a walnut shell, while the woman has a long blonde ponytail with pink flushed cheeks. She's the kind of woman that smiles triumphantly like Mona Lisa from the box, except her secret is that along with the vitamins (which explain her exceptionally healthy pink cheeks) she also does liposuction a few times a year and has a personal trainer, so with the vitamins alone you will never look as good as her.

Anyhow, I started taking these vitamins each morning before early morning seminary and expected to look like her within a few weeks. And I might have (right...), except something happened that ruined me on powdered vitamins for the rest of my life.

It was about 5 am and I was downstairs in the kitchen grabbing a glass of water and one of those vitamins before I went upstairs to take a shower. The vitamin was of average size and in a gel case that would dissolve in your stomach, therefore allowing your body to absorb the vitamins quicker. This morning however, something went amiss with the vitamin when I went to swallow it. Instead of swallowing the sucker down, the gel turned into its own form of super glue and attached itself to my throat just out of reach. I tried drinking some water to wash it down but it didn't help and after a few moments I figured that eventually those muscles would do their job and move it down to my stomach by themselves.

In the shower I washed my hair, shaved my legs, drank some water and yet still the feeling of having the vitamin there lingered. I wondered if it was just a phantom sense or if it really was still lurking there.

Out of the shower I dried my hair and thought surely all the tossing of my head while I blow dried would loosen the subborn pill. But still the pill persisted, although unbeknownst to me it was ever weakening...

It wasn't until I was doing my make-up that things start moving along. I had applied my powder, some blush (pre bronzer days), eye liner and was just finishing my last set of lashes with mascara when the gel capsule burst. The vitamin powder trickled down my throat causing a tickle that created a powerful reaction. Before I had time to even move the mascara wand from my eyelashes the most violent cough of mankind erupted from my throat making the next scene possible.

The force of the cough jammed the brush all over my eye, giving me a temporary blackened eye while powdered vitamins blew in all directions of the bathroom. It was scary to experience, but even scarier to watch in the mirror. Picture this:

Black eye that looks as if it's been poked out while the other is bulging from the vigor of the cough; and an open mouth that is spewing out powder like a horror novel that would have made even Stephan King envious. It would have been better if I had been touching up my make-up in the high school bathroom at prom, but we can't have everything. What was worse was it was the vitamin that just kept giving. There was not one cough but many and for the first few the powder just kept flowing.

I was like a powder spewing dragon, or the little dinosaur on Jurassic Park. I was subhuman. Imagine being able to harness that power so you could use it as a bargaining chip.

"Watch out." Uncle George would say at Thanksgiving dinner. "Just give her the loan Jane, she's got that look in her eye..."

I looked at my evil black eye and the bathroom counter covered in "health dust" and vowed to never consume a powdered vitamin again. It was like sucking on a multi vitamin as hard candy for the rest of the day. Not something that you would willingly want to do. Since then I have not kept my vow, I have taken powdered multivitamins. But not without a little shudder, and the desperate urge to spray my throat with Pam to protect me from that ever happening again. And Stephan King- eat your heart out for a true mouth spewing horror story.

Peppermint Marshmallows

2008-04-24T14:18:00.000-07:00

What's more wonderful than a big mug of hot chocolate on a cool winter (or spring!) night? I'd say about nothing, well except a hot chocolate that is over flowing with marshmallows. Marshmallows are definitely one of my favorite things. I few weeks back I watched as Paula Dean made homemade marshmallows and I knew I had to try it. Winter was over, and a warm spring was on, but for the last week we've had a bit of a cold spell and I jumped at the chance. The result was awesome. Hope you enjoy them too!

(side note: this gets your kitchen-aid mighty hot, so I wouldn't risk it unless you had a heavy duty mixer or a very strong one...)

Toasted Coconut Marshmallow (or Peppermint)

7 ounces sweetened shredded coconut, toasted
1 recipe Homemade Marshmallow batter, recipe follows
Confectioners' sugar

Sprinkle half the toasted coconut in an 8 by 12-inch nonmetal pan. Pour in the marshmallow batter and smooth the top of the mixture with damp hands. Sprinkle on the remaining toasted coconut. Allow to dry uncovered at room temperature overnight.
Remove the marshmallows from the pan and cut into squares. Roll the sides of each piece carefully in confectioners' sugar. Store uncovered at room temperature.

Homemade Marshmallows:
3 packages unflavored gelatin
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1 cup light corn syrup
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract
Confectioners' sugar, for dusting

Combine the gelatin and 1/2 cup of cold water in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the whisk attachment and allow to sit while you make the syrup.
Meanwhile, combine the sugar, corn syrup, salt, and 1/2 cup water in a small saucepan and cook over medium heat until the sugar dissolves. Raise the heat to high and cook until the syrup reaches 240 degrees F on a candy thermometer. Remove from the heat.
With the mixer on low speed, slowly pour the sugar syrup into the dissolved gelatin. Put the mixer on high speed and whip until the mixture is very thick, about 15 minutes. Add the vanilla and mix thoroughly.

OR:
Add peppermint extract instead of vanilla and crushed peppermint candies instead of coconut, like I did.

Hand Slam

2008-04-20T21:02:00.001-07:00

(I was complaining to Jarom about my back hurting the other night and I told him how it originated (which he thought very funny). I was having a hard time capturing the real humor in it. Anyhow, this about sums it up.)

I'm not really sure what I was thinking when I signed up for the gymnastics class at BYU my freshman year. Perhaps I thought that I would sail gracefully from bar to bar, landing a triple flip mount into a pit of foam bits while my classmates "ooo'd and awed" at my incredible learning curve. Perhaps I figured that when BYU said Beginning Gymnastics they would begin us with somersaults and cartwheels like a proper Beginners class would offer at The Little Gym. I must have been on crack, or seriously delusional because I have never been particularly gifted with balance, especially since my body is all arms and legs and no muscle.

Anyhow, seven years ago I got the urge to sign up for a Gymnastics class, and I took one. For one day.

And I was defeated.

That morning I carefully selected a pair of stretchy yoga pants and a fitted tank top. I was excited to learn how to do some cool tricks, learn how to do a flip on the bars (in time), and get in some spotting with my teacher. What I got instead was a intermediate class for girls who had done more than ribbon dancing and cartwheels in their front yards as kids.

We began with some stretches, which was exciting because I was good at this. From there we moved into a brand new world of body contortions that I was neither prepared for nor expecting. But, I was also proud and didn't want to admit that I didn't have the strength or training to do these seeing that all the other girls were nodding enthusiastically. Today we were going to begin with hand stands that evolved into a forward roll! Yeay! Now if that doesn't make sense imagine standing on your hands and than maneuvering your body into the position that you do a cartwheel from that. Sounds easy right? Please.

I made my way into the back of the class, carefully watching from the back of the line how the girls were balancing themselves in perfect pencils before they gently tucked themselves into a ball. It was amazing; like watching an assembly line of people moving across the mat; art even. Before I knew it it was my turn and the teacher was giving the signal to begin.

Now I had never done a hand stand that actually made it straight up before falling back over, but somehow I tricked myself into believing that today would be different. Not only would I hand stand, but I would roll.

Taking a deep breath (which in seconds I would regret), I threw my full body weight onto my hands, flying past the hand stand stage where you gain control before maneuvering the next move. Instead of rolling into a ball I realized that I didn't know what to do and I panicked.

I looked like a cat in a desperate attempt to right myself in mid air, my body twisting in a strange tense arch. I wasn't even graceful as I slid from the hand stand into a back slam on the floor my breath rushing from my body in a loud and violent "Ha!". It was like a WWF wrestling move gone terribly wrong. While other girls rolled into a ball and jumped to their feet like a rehearsed version of the rockettes at Radio City Hall-I lay there on the ground, my eyes dilated in pain, while peoples faces passed in an out of focus as they tumbled all around me. And then my teacher uttered the words that echoed in my head for years after.

"Just go around her."

Just go around her? Honestly? As I lay dying; partially paralyzed; my pain sending waves of heat through my body; girls rolled past me, all the while my teacher calling out to them with instructions. There was no running over, no attending the to girl who hadn't breathed for at least 3 minutes, and couldn't feel her arms.

It was like a bad movie. What was worse was the fact that the girls who were "tumbling" were nearly missing me, and in a sense of self preservation I somehow mustered the ability to army crawl off the mat into the corner to regain total consciousness.

For the rest of the hour my teacher instructed the class, offering suggestions to the star pupils while I lay perfectly still in the corner. At the end of the class she left, without a word to me. And I walked home and laid in my bed wondering when my back would heal itself. Which it still hasn't totally.

So this girl went back to somersaults and cartwheels and ribbon dancer. And I'll leave the real gymnastics to the pros.

Nice to meat you

2008-03-31T09:44:00.001-07:00

I have always had a volatile relationship with meat. When I was still a very small child I remember "seeing" blood in my campbell's chicken noodle soup chicken bits (I'm sure that I didn't really, but it freaked me out just the same). I still don't eat them to this day. Soup meat is on my unsafe meat list, along with most cold cuts, fried chicken, chicken sandwiches in restaurants, sausage, fatty meat pieces, and canned meats (usually including tuna).

However, the real winning point for vegetarianism happened when I was 14 and my relationship with eating meat was changed forever. One evening while eating dinner at a friends house I made the mistake of grabbing a slice of roast that contained a major artery. The artery provided two purposes; one was to provide the departed cow with nutrients, the other simultaneously provided me with a fear of meat products for the next 4 years, one that still pops up like a bad case of acne to this day.

The problem was that the artery was not a skinny vein that could be dealt with, it was thick at the bottom and branched out like a tree, hogging the whole slice of roast. The shock of seeing something like that in my food sent a reaction that probably doesn't have a medical term but is similar to the 5 steps of grieving (but with a twist):

Denial: Whoa, is that a vein? No, that is an elaborate piece of fat. Shoot, that's a vein. Wait, no, it's something else. Gag.
Anger: Out of the 20 pieces of roast how come I got the freaky piece?! Honestly, anyone else would have been fine with it, but nooo, I'm the one that has to get it. Meat is gross! I hate my life! Gag.
Bargaining: Ok, look, if I turn the piece over maybe we can just forget about it. Yea, that would work, right? I don't want to hate meat, I'll do anything. Gag.
Depression: I probably deserved this to happen. I think I just need to sleep this off. Gag.
Acceptance: Ok, there is a nasty vein in my meat. I have two options; take this like a champ and suck it up, or go without meat indefinitely. Gag. Go without meat indefinitely it is.

Now just add in some hot flashes, a few badly concealed gags that took place under the table (while I pretended to get something out of my purse), and a near miss for passing out and you get the picture.

However, after 4 years I realized that I couldn't go without meat forever and I slowly added it back into my diet. All was going good until last monday when I had a repeat offense, but this time in my steak at Applebee's.

Jarom's parents had offered to take everyone out to eat and it had been decided that Applebee's was the place to go. I was on the fence on whether to order the fiesta lime chicken, or a steak like everyone else. In a moment of peer pressure I opted for the steak. Oh, how I wish I had resisted because what I got was not edible.

When the steaks came they were sizzling, a good sign right? I had ordered mine medium-well and wasn't surprised to find my steak was medium to medium-rare in the center, but that was something I could deal with. What I couldn't deal with was the 2 rubbery veins that remained uncut even though I had cut clear through the rest of my steak with my knife. How does that happen by the way? How can you cut through a whole steak with your knife but not get through the veins? Anyhow, that should have been my red light indicator but I'd dealt with a few measly veins before and I was trying to become tougher about eating meat.

I worked around them, making a Picasso of my steak by cutting random geometrical shapes off places that seemed safe. And then it happened. I cut the back of my steak and found a cluster of veins, a cluster that resembled california freeways running together, a cluster that was the thickness of a pencil. I kid you not.

Hot flash! Slowly I pushed my steak back together to conceal my discovery. Then I leaned my head back and took a few deep breaths so that I wouldn't share my already consumed salad with everyone at the table.

"What's wrong." Jarom asks after I dramatically gag.
"My steak." I gasp.
"What about it?" He questions me again.
"There is a vein." I stage whisper.
"So?" He asks.
"No," I say, "There is a VEIN. Like a big one. Like an artery."

At this point I have everyone at the tables attention.

"Let me see." Jarom says and then pulls my steak apart. Like a bungee cord the other side of the steak snaps across my plate to the one that Jarom has just dragged forward. "It's fat. Just eat around it." He says.
"Are you kidding me?" I ask him. "That is a vein! There is no way I'm going to eat that..."
"Let me see," Kim asks. I hand the steak over and she prods the steak like an expert coroner. "That's definitely a vein."
"What's wrong?" Craig asks. "Did you get the varicose special?"

Hot flash! I lean my head on Jarom and fight the nausea.
"You should make a little R.I.P. stone for him out of your potato skin." Jarom's brother Tyler adds.
"Hey," Jarom says as he picks the steak up and swings it around on the vein, the two pieces swinging wildly like nunchucks. "You can play tetherball with it."
Gag, Hot flash!

"Ok, ok, ok, you guys. Seriously, I'm going to throw up." I say, my eyes watering from the effort of holding my nausea in. I'm starting to perspire. I keep having to take deep breaths and I'm sure I'm going to lose it if I see anyone else playing with my steak.

At this moment the waiter comes over. "How is everything going?" He asks.
"Something is up with my steak." I tell him
"Does it need more cooking?" He asks concerned.
"Well, it's very rare in the center, but mostly there is a gigantic vein running through it."
"I'm so sorry about that." He answers horrified, "we can cook it more and de-vein it for you if you'd like."

Pause. Ok, waiter's tip: If you have to use the word de-vein in any speech to a table in the course of an evening than something is very wrong. NEVER say the word de-vein in a restaurant, that is just nasty.

Un-pause. His helpful suggestion is just too much for me and I lean my head on Jarom and take a few deep breaths. When I finally regain composure I ask him to just remove it from the bill. He takes my steak to show the kitchen crew and gags when I show him my not-so-little vein buddy first.
Meanwhile everyone feels bad for me that I'm only eating the baked potato he leaves and offers me bites of their steak which is about the last thing on earth I'm wanting at the moment.

As we're leaving Craig says "You should have asked him for a body bag, I mean a doggy bag."

A body bag would have been the right thing to request. I guess I'll put the breaks on eating steaks for a while but that experience was close to making me a vegetarian again. That was a near miss for Jarom, because me as a vegetarian would make him a very sad man.

Dead locked

2008-03-30T16:42:00.000-07:00

I have nothing to write about. The things that I could write about I'm just not feeling funny enough to do justice. I need some kids to post pictures about, a job where I am talking to random humorous people, chance encounters with interesting characters who give me blog fodder. The problem is that I sit in this room as useless as a human log. I don't feel like taking pictures of myself seeing that I feel as big as a house but a blog with no pictures is not really a blog.

Do you have any suggestions? I'm all out.

Seeing Red

2008-03-18T11:31:00.000-07:00

A typical checklist for a big event goes something like this:
Pretty new clothes
Fabulous hair cut
Flattering makeup
Sexy shoes
Bloody zombie-esque eye
New jewelry

Now I gather that most people don't stock up on each of these items before a big day; some people already have the great hair, or the perfect makeup, but it's hard to find the bloody eye. Thankfully I acquired one before both of my events that required good looks; my wedding and my one humorous attempt at American Idol (a blog to follow this confession that I swore I would take to my grave to come shortly). It went down like so:

Five days before the wedding:
Jarom and I are sitting in our Italian Language class joking around. Something strikes me as extremely funny, in fact so funny that I bang my head with excessive gusto against the wall behind me when I throw back my head to get out a really good laugh. After seeing stars for a second I groan an "owww" which of course Jarom finds hilarious.

Four days before the wedding:
In Nordstom's I am viewing the jewelry counter, looking for a gorgeous bracelet or earrings to wear with my wedding dress. As I look down Jarom gasps loudly and says, "What is on your eye!?"
"What do you mean, what is on my eye?" I ask panicked
"There's...like...blood, on your eye..." Jarom answers, his face contorted in fear and intrigue. I can tell that even though this freaks him out, he also thinks it's kinda cool.
I look in the mirror but don't see anything, although I now notice that my eye feels like there is a small grain of sand when I close it. Jarom gently pulls up on my eyelid and reveals what he's just discovered. A bloody massive hemorrhage on my eyeball that looks like my eye has exploded from the inside out. Shoot!
"What is that?" I ask in a heightened whisper, then draw attention by crying. "Get it off!"

When I arrive home I quickly call the doctors and set up an appointment. The next day is the earliest I can get in and I'm sure I am dying slowly while I wait to see someone. The rest of the day is spent staring into the mirror while mentally composing my will. Mozart's "requiem for a dream" is playing hauntingly in the background for my tragic demise.

Three days before the wedding:
In the doctor's office Dr. so and so informs me that I am not in fact dying, but rather I have sustained my gory eye from a head injury.
"Have you been hit in the head?" He asks, while eying Jarom who is looking baffled.
"No." I answer.
"You haven't had any blunt trauma to the head?" He coaxes again.
Ah, now I remember. I guess slamming my head into the wall would count, but I'm certainly not going to admit that. How does one admit that after laughing like a wild hyena they slammed their head into the wall with enough force that it broke a blood vessel, without looking like an idiot? Better to remain silent.
"Nope." I respond.
Jarom moves to interrupt and offer my embarrassing moment as an explanation for my crazy eye that is now becoming more visible by the hour. I reward him with an icy bloody stare that would send chills to the most stout hearted, since it now is the epitome of the evil eye in it's finest. A baby cries on the next room.
I then ask in order to change the subject, "How long will it take to go away?"
"Well," he answers, "it should start moving down the eye and eventually be absorbed back into the body. It will be totally gone in about five days"
Excuse me, I'm getting married in three...

Day of wedding:
My eye has absorbed most of the blood, but just like the good doctor said I have specks of blood that have moseyed on down to visible level, and my eye is now pink with yellow and red spots. Classy. Thankfully you can't tell in my pictures except that one of my eyes looks a bit dark. I prefer to think that I'm brooding in those pictures... in one eye...

Dealing with guests is a bit different. Most people expect a bright eyed bride, not a bright red eyed bride. Most of the day is spent talking to people who don't know me but look cross-eyed at my frightening eye as we converse than back away slowly as they leave. I'm sure they fear that I have picked up a new form of rabies and don't want to turn their back on me. For the first time in my life I wish I had a gigantic chest so there was something else for them to look at while we talk. Unfortunately I don't and I must resist the urge to bite people.

Since this blog is getting long I will cut to the chase on the American Idol story:

First- you know that myth about closing your eyes when you sneeze and how your eyeballs will pop out if you keep them open? It's true. I am proof.

Five days before Jarom and I drove down to San Francisco for American Idol, I made the mistake of driving on a windy freeway when I had to sneeze. I was afraid that in the four seconds it took to sneeze someone would slam on their breaks and I would ultimately die in a car wreck. So instead of closing my eyes like a proper person, I kept them a crack open and went to town with my sneeze. Disaster averted I arrived to work safely only to discover in the bathroom at work that my eye had exploded this time in a very visible spot. Oh fabulous!

Needless to say, the lady who judged me was frightened, I did not make American Idol and I received stares for 2 weeks until this stubborn explosion disappeared. So as a friendly reminder I leave with you two words of advice:
Don't sneeze with your eyes open
If you must throw your head back when you laugh please make sure that you are in an open area where head banging will not occur.

Good luck.

Writing/ Indian Dishes

2008-03-11T22:15:00.000-07:00

I have had the hardest time writing a blog lately. Most of my blogs are written about humor but what do you write about when you are not feeling so funny? In fact, more frustrated than funny. Sorry for the delay in writing, I'm sure I'll think of funny things to write about, I've experienced a few lately but I'm just not in the mood. So instead I will write about something I am very passionate about. Food!

This is a fabulous Indian food recipe that I made Jarom for Valentine's Day. Tikka Masala is our absolute favorite indian dish, along with hot chewy naan bread. When we found this recipe with a little tweaking it was exactly like the restaurant we use to visit at BYU and we were so excited it turned out the same. Please excuse the bad photography skills, the pictures look like a cheap restaurant, but since that was what I was attempting to do, it almost works. Almost.

Chicken Tikka Masala

1 cup yogurt
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2 teaspoons cayenne pepper
2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper
1 tablespoon minced fresh ginger
1 teaspoon salt, or to taste
3 boneless skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-size pieces
4 long skewers

2 tablespoons butter
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 jalapeno peppers, finely chopped
4 teaspoons ground cumin
4 teaspoons paprika
2 teaspoons tikka masala spice mix
½ teaspoon salt
1 (15 ounce) can tomato sauce
2 cups heavy cream
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro

In a large bowl, combine yogurt, lemon juice, 2 teaspoons cumin, cinnamon, cayenne, black pepper, ginger, and 1 teaspoon salt. Stir in chicken, cover, and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.

Preheat a grill for high heat or an oven to 450 degrees.

Lightly oil the grill grate. Thread chicken onto skewers, and discard marinade. Grill until juices run clear, about 5 minutes on each side. Or put chicken on skewers propped over a casserole dish in a 450 degree oven.

Melt butter in a large heavy skillet over medium heat. Saute garlic and jalapenos for 1 minute. Season with 4 teaspoons cumin, paprika, and ½ tsp salt. Stir in tomato sauce, cream and cilantro. Simmer on low heat until sauce thickens, about 20 minutes. Add grilled chicken, and simmer for 10 minutes. Transfer to a serving platter.

Naan

1 (.25 ounce) package active dry yeast
1 cup warm water
¼ cup white sugar
3 tablespoons milk
1 egg, beaten
2 teaspoons salt
½ tsp baking soda
3- 3 1/2 cups bread flour
¼ cup butter, melted

In a large bowl, dissolve yeast in warm water, with one tbsp. of the sugar. Let stand about 10 minutes, until frothy.

Stir in remaining sugar, milk, egg, salt, and enough flour to make a soft dough. Knead for 6 to 8 minutes on a lightly floured surface, or until smooth.

Place dough in a well oiled bowl, cover with a damp cloth, and set aside to rise. Let it rise 1 hour, until the dough has doubled in volume.

Punch down dough. Pinch off small handfuls of dough about the size of a golf ball. Roll into balls, and place on a tray. Cover with a towel, and allow to rise until doubled in size, about 30 minutes.

During the second rising, preheat grill to high heat.

At grill side, roll one ball of dough out into a thin circle. Lightly oil grill or skillet. Place dough on grill, and cook for 2 to 3 minutes, or until puffy and lightly browned.

Brush uncooked side with butter, and turn over. Brush cooked side with butter, and cook until browned, another 2 to 4 minutes. Remove from grill, and continue the process until all the naan has been prepared.

Quick Change Artists

2008-02-24T23:34:00.000-08:00

Have you ever been deceived by a purchase, whereupon further examination the product was woefully misrepresented itself? For instance, you go into a store and the shirt that looks amazing in their mirror, at home makes you resemble the donut you had for breakfast. Or perhaps the sample at Costco that tasted divine at the sample table tastes like a school lunch on your own. It is always very confusing when these things happen. You can't help but wonder where the exchange took place and how you didn't see it coming.

The other morning as I got out of the shower I decided to use a lotion sample that had been removed from the Treasure Island Hotel in Las Vegas. When I first opened the bottle the scent that came forth was delicious. It smelled like India; the scent of foreign spices and exotic flowers mingled into a white lotion (at least thats what I imagine India would smell like if it were infused into a bottle). I sniffed it a few times to make sure that I wouldn't mind the smell for the rest of the day. I didn't imagine that the lotion would soon resemble a less enthusiastic scent.

Within moments of lathering my arms and legs entirely with the lotion, I soon discovered a different smell. Instead of smelling like Treasure Island lotion it smelled like Treasure Island Pirate. Yes pirate and not the glorified Jack Sparrow variety with fabulous eyeliner. The smell of salt and sweat wafted up from my arms to my nose making it wrinkle up in disgust.

"What smells like armpit?" I wondered, sniffing around. But it wasn't authentic armpit, instead it was the rank lotion that somehow went rancid within minutes of leaving the bottle. It was like the equivalently of smelling what someone had for dinner last night on their skin. I felt dirty and Piratey and I worried that for the rest of the day I would attract Pirate moments. It wouldn't have surprised me if promptly leaving my house a parrot alighted on my shoulder and said, "Ahoy thar matey!" Or if I somehow got into a bar fight when I stopped at 7-eleven for a diet Pepsi.

What most baffled me was how the lotion went from divine to disgusting in 2 minutes flat. Even more so was the strange inclination I had to don a patch and roll my R's when they fell into my sentence, how did a smell evoke such strong emotions. And I even thought of a pirate joke I'd recently head that this lotion reminded me of:

A pirate walks into a bar. Promptly the bartender notices that inside the pirates pants is a steering wheel. Concerned the bartender cautiously asks "Excuse me, but did you know that there is a steering wheel in your pants?" The pirate eyes the bartender, looks down and states, "Aye, and it's drivin' me nuts!"

So as a gesture of good will I warn you. BewarRRR the Treasure Island Lotion!

Unauthentic Baby Blues..

2008-02-19T23:24:00.001-08:00

We have all seen commercials or movies where someone is unwittingly asked if they are pregnant when they are not. The initial responses from the audience are cries of disbelief or the covering of the mouth. "Oh no you didn't!" someone shouts. How can someone be so tactless, we ask ourselves? Certainly I would never do that, or no one I know has had that happen, we cry reassuringly. If the person is dressed in baggy clothes, or somewhat frumpy with a little extra junk in Le Old Trunk then we give allowances for the misunderstanding. However, what if you are dressed to the nines, wearing high heels, makeup, and a slimming black dress? Then what?

Saturday night Jarom and I decided we would attend the stake dinner/dance in honor of St. Valentines day. I dolled up. For once I shaved my legs, donned my favorite black dress from Banana Republic that screams "yes, I can look good once in a while!", I applied makeup in all the right places, and traded in my flip-flops for a pair of black sling back 4 inch heels. All at the same time.

And I was feelin' good.

That night Jarom and I learned a few waltz steps from an instructor and attempted to waltz around the cultural hall with stuffy affected looks on our faces until we broke down into giggles. After we got a little better, Jarom upped the pace and eventually I was being dragged around, literally, my feet sliding along the floor, my body limp from laughing, as a table of older couples laughed approvingly at us. It was perfect and all was right with the world. Until about 9:30 when we decided to drive to Walmart to buy a few things for sunday. All "good" things happen at Walmart it seems.

After 2 plus hours of dancing, standing and walking in my heels, naturally my feet hurt. I had followed Jarom around Walmart, gotten bored and decided to check out the food section to see what they had in their limited resources. It's really rather ironic that the most shocking moment of my life should happen there in the food aisle. And happen there it did.

"You look like your feet hurt." A woman said knowingly as she observed me holding onto a shelf for support.
"yeah." I answered, "I'm not used to wearing heels." I wondered what gave me away- the grimace of pain or the way my ankles bent every time I took a step. Ok, honestly not sexy, but the next line was unexpected.
"Oh, and you're pregn---" she stopped mid-sentence as she realized that I was not in fact pregnant, just fat in the stomach.

Her eyes shifted up to mine.

In that exact moment Walmart went completely silent, in the distance a cash register whirred. Passing customers dove behind carts of gatorade and rows of half priced Valentine's Candy, eyes peaking over in fear. Suddenly the loudspeaker blared the theme song from "The Good, the Bad and The Ugly." A faint breeze that smelled of gun powder ruffled my hair and my eyes squinted. I dared her to finish, to give me the chance to bunt kick the box of lucky charms I was holding at her head.
"Go ahead," I said menacingly, "Make my day..."

But instead it went like this:

"Oh, and you're preg-nevermind." She squirmed to a finish.
"Well what in the heck was preg-nevermind?" I wondered silently. I small village in Germany, a new word for fabulous, or flabulous?
"Have a good night." she said lamely and wandered away.

I, however, was left wondering what just happened. Did I really look pregnant? How come nobody told me that the spare tire I was sporting that evening was so passe? Next I suppose someone will tell me that love handles and cellulite are not exactly bragging rights at a party. I wanted to shout out at her, "I've had a hard year! I've been taking 18 credits a semester and not sleeping. Did you know stress and sleep deficiency lead to stomach fat??!"

Slowly I placed the lucky charms back on the shelf. And trudged over to Jarom in defeat.
"What's wrong?" He asked, instantly picking up on my bad vibe.
"We're having a baby." I mutter.
"What are you talking about?" He asks.
"Just ask that lady in the black." I answer bothered. "She can tell you everything."

I guess the baby blues can happen to non-mothers too.

Rolo-ver

2008-02-14T21:45:00.000-08:00

(Side Note: I actually started writing this a few days before Valentine's Day, but I was forced into migrant working conditions which is a blog just waiting to be written to... Anyhow, it's a bit late, but this is my absolute FAVORITE Valentine's Day memory)

One of the simple joys of childhood was the one day a year that you could put 30 tiny cards into 30 tiny envelopes with a candy heart or two. At the store you would pick out the cards that represented you. Lisa Frank for the girls who wore make-up at 8, My Little Pony for the girls who would continue to play with dolls until they were 15 (or was that just me?), Barbie for the future fashion designers, stylists or gay boys, He-man for the tough guys, G. I. Joes for the chronic fighters and Tranformers for the future .com generation. But what a thrill it was when inside your construction paper mail box you found 30 notes from kids in your class, kids who didn't particularly like you/know you/sit by you during lunch but still spent the time to scrawl your name on a card that said something brilliantly akin to "You're the cutest," or some such fib. But imagine even more interesting to find your treat in the middle of the night and card in the morning in that order, as I did back in 1989...

It was the eve of Valentine's Day and Julie had decided to be a good older sister and give me a present to find when I awoke in the morning. Quietly she had laid a Valentine's card (probably a My Little Pony or Strawberry Shortcake) next to my pillow along with an unwrapped Rolo, you know, one of those delicious caramel chocolate sweets. During the night and being the fitful sleeper I am, I shook the bed until the Rolo made its way down under my covers and to the lowest heaviest area right around my bumm. Efficiently I rolled over it until it resembled a smooth flat disc that covered a sizable area (for a Rolo) right in the center of my bed. And there it rested until about 2 am when I awoke and somehow discovered that something was amiss under the sheets.

I'm not sure what alerted me to my new bed fellow but I quickly noticed that I was not alone. I guess if a princess could feel a pea under 7 or 8 mattresses than why shouldn't I feel a steamrollered rolo under a thin flannel nightgown? Anyhow, in the dark it resembled something else. Something very sinister that a 7 year old should have control over.

Shoot, I thought to myself, I really am too old for this. But the thought of going back to bed in that, or sleeping on the floor was not something I wanted to do, so instead I woke up my mom.

"Mom." I said in confusion, " I think I poopied in my bed. Except that it's only on the outside of my p.j.'s."
"It's on the outside of your p.j.'s?" She asked in a sleepy voice.
"Yes, I don't know how it happened..." I answered
By this point I'm sure the wheels were turning in her head. How in the world could a kid pooh outside her pajamas? It just didn't make sense. Even the allure of a warm bed couldn't stave her curiosity and a moment later she was following me to Julie (who was sleeping soundly) and my room.

In the dark she stood there bracing herself for what she knew she had to do. Slowly she poked it with the tiniest tip of her finger. "It doesn't feel like pooh." She said perplexed.
Even in the dark I could see her confusion. Then leaning ever so carefully over, she lowered her head and took a quick sniff.
"It doesn't even smell like pooh." she said, her head cocking to the side. "I don't know. Why don't you come sleep in my room for the rest of the night?"

Within a few minutes we had made a bed of blankets in her floor and while I stared at boxes of wrapping paper and other ominous objects to a 7 year old under a dark bed- I mused. What could possibly be that dark orb on my sheet? How did I manage to pull a stunt like that? Should I be proud of my unique capabilities or worried it would happen again, in public, where people would point their fingers and rank me with the bearded lady or the half-man-half-woman guy? It was all very baffling and I worried until morning.

However, when I awoke I discovered something else. Upon entering my room and staring into my covers I realized that my company had in fact been of the chocolate constitution, with tones of caramel. Where in the world did that come from I wondered...

Minutes later Julie came in and asked, "Did you find your card and treat?"
"What card and treat?" I asked her confused.
"I left you are card and a rolo." She answered.

Thankfully I found the card and realized that my special powers were not so special. I am happy to say I haven't had an accident sense.

My Sister

2008-02-09T12:56:00.001-08:00

When I was a kid I idealized my sister. Wherever she went, I wanted to go. Whatever she wore, I wanted to wear. She was cool. She was always doing exciting things like moving the furniture in our room so it looked different. I remember coming home from school and her announcing that it was time for a change. We would run upstairs and move our beds and our dressers and laugh and listen to music. She was 14, I was 7, but I didn't really notice.

Over the years we had our spats. At 8 I was sure that she was trying to steal my best-friend Whitney when she spent the night. Julie had offered to do our hair and makeup and we were feeling pretty grown up in aqua eyeliner and mint green shadow. Julie had curled my bangs and was going to seal them into place with copious amounts of hair spray (remember the world was still reeling with the 80's influence) when instead she sprayed me directly in the eyes. I screamed, eyes watering while blue and green makeup streamed down my face, that she was trying to steal my best friend. Julie and I laugh now that I would have thought that, but at the time I wondered...

When I was 9 Julie would play Chicago songs while we laid in bed in the thick sweltering summer heat. The fan would hum softly in the background and the headlights of cars would shine through the blinds and onto our ceiling making lines that moved across the ceiling and down the walls. I remember thinking this was the life. Sometimes she would even tell me stories, or about boys she liked or we would tell jokes and laugh until she stopped answering me and I knew she was pretending to be asleep.

At ten (for me) Julie had gotten her own room and I moved across the hall. My room was scary, and I hated being alone. I wanted to share the room with her forever and sometimes I would sneak into the room and sleep on her floor. By this time Julie (I'm sure) was ready for her own room, but I wasn't. I would sneak slowly into the room and she would tell me "Holly, I can see you. Go back to bed." I would ignore her like a dog who thinks he is being sneaky, and nestle myself on the floor next to her just glad to be there again.

When I turned 11 Julie left for college. When we dropped her off I didn't know what to do with myself. My very best friend, the one who I could confide in, who let me tag along, who told me I was beautiful (even when I was VERY much not and looked more like Charlie Brown than little girl) and got mad at people for hurting my feelings, was moving on. And it killed me. I wrote in my school journal (very dramatically of course):

"words can't describe how I felt when my sister left for college. I felt as though I was trapped and all alone in a mall because malls are always crowded and when Julie left it seemed as though everybody left. This is a moment there are no words to comfort, it's a time when words run dry. "

14 years later I still love and miss my sister. It kills me that she lives so far away and that I have to hop a plane instead of into my car, or a fence to visit her. Since it's Valentines Day month, I just wanted to write this blog to tell her how much I love her and how glad I am she's my sister.

Jack Handy's daughter

2008-02-05T02:16:00.001-08:00

So upon finding my 6th grade school journals (I was 11) I noticed that there was an underlying theme in many of my entries. Besides the comments about how if I was a certain way everyone would (finally) like me and I'd have some friends at school for once, is the fact that I write a strange entry and then sum it up with a final classic line. Like this:

On what makes me happy:
I'm the happiesed when I get comploments. It makes you feel really good. Also it makes me fell really good and specail. Aspecly when it is somebody you want to make friends with.

Or an animey.

An Enemy? What the heck? And I wonder why I played mostly by myself for those 3 years of middle school. Man, I was deep.

My ideal life...

2008-02-05T01:31:00.000-08:00

In the mind of an 11 year old.

9/30/1993 (6th grade, unchanged in punctuation and spelling, minus the spellings "tips")

My ideal life would be if everybody had peace but I would love to live in an manshin (mansion) and have a swimming pool shing (shining) silvery in the night and be able to have balls and see the beutiful dresses swirl around and when they are don (done) all the girls would walk out to see me and my dress would sway in the wind. and I would dress in fine silks and eat fine dinners and desserts and when the day would end I would go to my hugh (huge) room and lay on my bed all covered with silked sheets then I would get up walk to my window and the breeze would blow in my face and my hair would sway and the white soft kertins (curtains) would fly around me in the wind I would walk back to my bed lay on my goose feather pillows and fall asleep.

This post is actually fairly sad (even though I laughed like crazy because I was SUCH a weird-o) since I really did feel this way. This journal entry smacks of a girl who read a bit too much and socialized a great deal too little. The entries get better and better (meaning stranger and more dramatic) in this journal and I'll add them here and there, I just can't believe I wrote this comment to be graded. My teacher probably worried, or read them to her spouse for a laugh... Notice, I add in the comment about peace in order to cover my bases so I don't seem selfish, but within the same sentence I get to what I really want; to be popular, pretty and surrounded by mysterious wind and silk? (= Poor kid, the braces, fatness (which I address more often as the journal progresses) and general oddness sure didn't help. And why in the heck am I eating and standing alone while the other girls are dancing? I guess some things will remain a mystery.

Job Hunting

2008-01-22T17:42:00.000-08:00

If you are a company that relies on forms of pyramid scheming, commission only pay, or are willing to pay no more than 10 bucks an hour please do not apply. That being said, anyone else who desires a hard working, creative, eager young graduate please sign up here.

Job searching is one of the hardest things I have ever done. My day went like this...

Woke up, searched monster, revised resume, applied for random jobs on the internet and eventually drove out to Riverside Unified School District to try my luck at a job substitute teaching.

More or less actual conversation: (More less than anything, because they skipped straight to shooting me down)
Me: Hi, I am a bright eyed recent graduate who still believes that her University education amounts to something other than a two dollar increase at Target, or a fast track to assistant manager at Del Taco.
Her: (A chuckle that I assume means, this must be your first day looking for a job)
Me: So, I'd like to apply to become a substitute teacher. How would I go about doing that?
Her: Have you taken the CBEST? (she says with a half interested tone)
Me: No.
Her: You have the take the CBEST.
Me: Umm, is there any way around that, I'd like to start paying off my student debt before the ten year deadline...
Her: No.

Exit Unified School District. Strike One.

Enter Press Enterprise Newspaper, veritable wealth of writing opportunity? possible advertising educational job? please sweet merciful anything...?

Me and a 13 year old boy who has brought his huffy ten-speed and dog skip fill out applications in tandem. I want to peek over his shoulder to see what advantages he has on me, but he is blocking me from seeing it with his hand. He'll probably get the job anyhow because I can't aim worth beans and he didn't waste the best years of his life on a worthless degree, In English Literature.

As I'm listening to job options on my phone I discover that there are no writing opportunities (dash that dream on the rocks), the marketing/advertising job is also filled (come one, come on), but then a sales job shows up, one that I can actually live with, one that offers a chance to learn a bit about marketing and working with websites and a chance to finally have something to add to a resume. Suddenly the pleasant female voice changes to one of a scorned woman, one who has smoked and drank too much, has drooping eyebrows, has not had a date in 26 years and is frankly done with society. This voice informs me that "There are no openings." Conceding, I wish the boy luck and exit bitterly to my car. Strike two.

Strike three occurs a few hours later. I am peering over a pot of lentil soup when my phone goes off. A 714 number? Who could it be? Quickly I discover my earlier work on monster has paid off and my first job offer has come through (well my second, but I'll explain that soon). Excitedly we set up an interview for 3:15 at a "marketing company", a company who I later discover will take anyone, and won't tell you that you get paid on commission until you have the interview. No thanks. Of course they hire anyone, they don't have to pay you if you're awful. So this tragic moment turns into strike three.

So, employers, if you want someone who is willing to work hard, won't work for commission, wants to learn and doesn't buy lines like, "The path to greatness isn't for everyone," (yes, I actually had a pyramid scheme guy try that on me once, at which I didn't hold back at laughing my head off at him) than I'm your girl. For the time being I think I'll see if that paperboy will hire me as an apprentice. Looking for work sucks.

Reason # 5472 why I LOVE California

2008-01-17T15:23:00.000-08:00

Fresh from the backyard in January. Need I say more?

Have you ever...

2008-01-17T01:37:00.000-08:00

Taken a picture of yourself and you know it looks awful or embarrassing or whatever, but it captures you at that moment perfectly? I was playing on my mac tonight while I was waiting for Jarom and I came up with this. I'm not wearing any makeup (for 2 days now) and my hair is a mess but it's me. And I like it. And I think that my eyes say something about me. Anyhow, since I hardly post pictures of myself I thought I'd put it on. I look awful, but like me all at the same time. Is that saying something?

Yeay!

2008-01-15T23:09:00.001-08:00

As far as I can tell I am a graduate (Just waiting on the grade to come through)!! Yeay!!

Tomorrow...

2008-01-14T21:18:00.000-08:00

I am taking my American Heritage test and I am so freaked out. I have been studying for a week and feel no more prepared than I did when I started. Wish me luck that I pass, this is my last college final I will ever take (I hope). For now my stomach hurts, I feel so nervous that I feel like I'm going to be sick and my head is aching. I definitely think it would have been easier to take this through BYU. Yuck.

Hey there sucker!

2007-12-28T21:52:00.000-08:00

Ahh, the holidays. The time for presents, home baked goods, parties, and girdles? Yes, girdles. Well, at least for me. This year I was forced to stuff myself into the horror of all things spandex and cotton, the contraption which makes young girls the world over shutter in terror but gives grandma a little sass in her step.

It all started out so simple. We drove to Walmart to buy some last minute things for my sister-in-law Ashley's wedding. All I wanted to buy were a few hair clips, maybe a bag of sour patch kids, and some index cards to study with when Mindy came over holding a black slip that claimed to slim and smooth. I realized that this was what I really needed to help me look good for the wedding, it was providential.

In an attempt to improve my looks, I'd already spent the better part of the week smelling like a peanut from my tanning lotion. Throughout the week people would enter the room I would be sitting in, sniff the air and ask who'd been eating peanuts. It was quite exhausting to explain that it wasn't a sandwich, but my skin that smelled like en elementary school lunch room. I knew that I could fix my hair, shave my legs, and paint my toes but the only thing that would help me to resemble the dancing girl on the hanger was if I bought that slip.

However, when I followed Mindy down to the aisle that sold the fat containing contraptions I saw something else that interested me. On the other side, the side that looked to be ransacked by desperate women who were returning home to family members who felt it their duty to comment on recent weight gain, or making one last attempt at finding love in 2007. On that shelf there were footless pantyhose that rested just below the bra line and came down slightly above the knees, or in other words there were girdles.

I had a dilemma. On the one hand I could stuff myself into a slip that was 14.88, or for half the price I could suck it up and buy myself a girdle, which would probably do the job better even though my pride would also be stuffed into it as well. Of course, in a fit of cosmic irony the sizes that remained were about a hundred smalls and two extra large, even though the box claimed I needed a Large. Grabbing the XL and the sexy black slip I trudged to the Walmart dressing room.

Removing my corduroys and sweatshirt I attempted to stretch the little black slip onto my body. The material stretched so slightly that I wondered if they had recycled used exercise bands. Catching, the material snapped back and nearly took out my eye. I must have been making a lot of noise because the attendant lady politely asked how I was doing. I wasn't sure what I should say.

I don't know if anyone else has had this happen when you are trying to put on a too small dress or shirt which requires contortionist skills, but I get cramps in my back or neck. So there I was half naked in a Walmart stall, partially paralyzed from a cramp, muttering under my breath and totally stuck with my arms above my head, pinned by my new black slip that would be coming home with me because it surely wasn't coming off. Would it be inappropriate, I wondered, to explain that I was suffering a neck cramp from trying to stretch it too much? Should I scream out, "Please, in here, climb under the door, bring the jaws of life and a slimfast!"

Instead, I replied, "Doing fine, thanks."

When I finally got it on I realized that what I really needed was not the "sexy" black slip which would have covered all my clubbing needs (if I clubbed), but instead the girdle. The tan, sheer, gut supporting, leg smoothing girdle. So I bought both, avoided eye contact with the cashier, controlled the urge to blame some fictional mother for the purchase and silently berated myself on the drive home.

Once at home I tried on my new piece of "lingerie", making the mistake of doing it in front of Jarom who was most likely scarred for life. The leg holes fit my calves comfortably, but after my knees things start looking bad. They continued to grow worse as I struggled to wrestle the stomach band over by butt and up to my bra, a task that should require an iron grip and a stick of butter. I can't even imagine what it would have been like if I'd bought the right size.

The box said tan spandex/cotton blend, but what was really inside was sausage casing. You know, the slightly opaque, slightly brown stuff where they force lumpy sausage chunks into a narrow confining tube. So yes, it smoothes the meat out, but it's sheer enough that no one is fooled about what is inside. In my case about 300 too many treats.

"I look like a salami." I say to Jarom, who's eyes are wide in what I am assuming is horror, but are carefully trying to adjust themselves to a smaller size.
"No you don't." He answers.
"Well, a sausage than." I mutter, thinking that at least that's a little smaller.
Jarom shakes his head but has the sense to remain silent, knowing that the conversation will continue like that for as long as he will answer me.

However, I must say that girdles do have their charms. Not only are they super sexy (this is said with sarcasm) but they do actually keep you sucked in if your in a jamb for a last minute fix. So much so that I was able to eat an extra piece of cake. Move over grandmas of the world, you got some new competition in the girdle aisle. At least for the moment. Tragically.

Hurray!!

2007-12-22T00:01:00.001-08:00

Ok, I know this is a lame post, but this is landmark for me! I am almost done with my American Heritage class, I have turned in all the assignments (as of tonight!) and now I just need to take the final. Yeay!! Sweet, sweet freedom here I come!

p.s.- the first picture was taken on my Mac (with the weird picture taking application) but it reflects what my head feels like after all that studying and work! Sorry if it scares the kiddies, I was cracking up and caught the second picture. If you can't tell the difference that the third is just me, I will cry for a week and yes I'm wearing almost NO makeup. Aint I pretty? (=

Fuzzy

2007-12-12T23:26:00.000-08:00

So the other day I decided that it was time to do a little waxing to my upper lip. Before you go gagging into the bathroom I want to explain that I don't have a stash, just a little peach fuzz that bothers me. As I was waxing it reminded me of the first time I tried this out...

My sophomore year in college I was browsing the makeup and lotion aisle of my local Albertson's when I saw a little box with a very chipper woman on it. Sugar wax, it said. I figured anything that featured a smiling, partially nude, very smooth woman couldn't do anything but help for me, so I bought it. Intending to do a little maintenance to my face and maybe if I was feeling optimistic I would finish off with my legs, I warmed the wax up in the microwave when I got home. The box said 10 seconds, but when I looked inside the container it didn't look as if the wax was warm enough, so I added another 15 seconds more. Big mistake. For any of you have waxed before, you will know that wax goes from lukewarm to thermal nuclear hot under the deceptive surface within 5 seconds over the suggested time. You can imagine how hot 15 seconds got it.

Daintily I dipped the applicator stick into the wax and swirled it around marveling at how such thin wax would make me as hairless as Ms. Tropicana or Ms. Coppertone. Now I understand that wax that thin is dangerously, dangerously hot- which would have been nice to know before I applied the bottled lava to my lip.

"Sweet merciful!" I screamed as the wax burned two layers of skin off my face. Hearing my screams one of my roommates ran to the bathroom.
"What's wrong?" She asked through the door in a worried voice.
"So, is sugar wax supposed to pull the hair off your body, or burn it off?" I wanted to ask. "Because if it's supposed to do the pulling I have made a drastic mistake" But instead I said with the best imitation of composure, "Nothing, I just burned myself accidentally."
"Ok," she answered and then added as though it were an afterthought, "be careful!"

Bravely I applied the little strip of extra sturdy paper to my scalded lip and than waited a few more moments for the wax to cool down to do the other side. Once I had applied both strips of paper I realized something I had not thought too hard about before. It had to come off and how it was going to come off was going to hurt. Bad.

And, there were two options for that. One, suck it up and rip those suckers off. Or two, continue to live the rest of my life as a jaunty little french man with a boxy white mustache. Looking in the mirror I wiggled my nose to make the mustache dance around on my face. Yes... It was possible.

However, fifteen minutes later (and with a full repartee of faces and expressions that included one silent film act a la Charlie Chaplain, and a silent film villain complete with a devious mustache twirling action) I had decided it must come off if I was ever to get married, courted, a job, some sort of male friend, etc. Bracing myself I gripped an unattached end and pulled with all my might.

Two minutes later when I awoke off the floor I could see the damage: One very red lip, with the majority of my hair still attached but not the skin.

Bracing myself, I ripped off the other side, balancing myself against the counter so I wouldn't fall to the floor in agony. Looking in the mirror I noticed something new. Now not only did I have a new little red mustache, but I looked like a pubescent boy with a scraggly mexi-stash. Excellent. So eight bucks, 2 inches of skin, and a half an hour later with the use of tweezers I finally had the smooth appearance I was looking for.

I am happy to say that a few tries later I figured it out. But I have a few suggestion for the beginners:
1) When the bottle says 10 seconds, it means 10 seconds.
2) if at all possible be sitting on a counter or a chair, or whatever, when you do this, or at least cushion the floor with a thick layer of pillows. (helps with the bruising)
3) Unless you are paranoid like me or your hair line has gone exploring, just let it be, let it be.
4) fast is better than slow.
5) mustaches are actually coming back, look at Kip from Napoleon Dynamite, plus there is the example of Magnum P.I., cops, or your great-great-great grandma from Russia. Somebody loved her too.

12 Days of Christmas

2007-12-12T10:46:00.000-08:00

It's been raining a lot and cold and it is not surprising that we should wake up to ants all over the place. We had been warned that the ants are aggressive and would sniff out any kind if food in our room. We didn't have all that much, and it was on the top of the bookshelf so we figured we were safe... Most of the room had already been sprayed with bug spray so we just assumed nothing would come in. I say most of the room because those pesky ants came through an unlikely place that no one would have figured on. The electric outlet plug. I've have learned my lesson and decided to sum it up in a holiday fashion, here goes...

One the twelfth day of Christmas my worse fear gave to me:
12 thousand ants a scrambling
11 paper towels a wiping
10 swear words a muttered
9 sighs of anger
8 ounces of bug spray
7 hundred ants on my arms
6 bags of candy a ruined
5 diet resolutions enforced (because my stash is gone)
4 death threats
3 more swear words
2 hours lost
and a screaming girl whose learned her lesson.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Equality For All...?

2007-12-10T12:19:00.000-08:00

The other day I saw something that made me chuckle. Driving next to us was a very fancy looking man driving the newest Convertible BMW model. On his steering wheel I watched as he tapped out the beat of his music while his rolex (at least it looked like one) caught the light of the afternoon sun. And then I noticed it.

One his vanity plate holder read the words, "(On top) National Committee for (on bottom) EQUALITY."

Two comments. 1) How do I belong? and 2) Riiiiiight.

Hey!

2007-12-07T22:39:00.000-08:00

Jarom was out of town traveling for his job. Usually I'd just pop in "Anne of Green Gables" and fall asleep to the melodic sounds of Anne and Gilbert bickering, but that night I decided that I would try to watch a quieter movie, one that was dark and wouldn't light up the room. Maybe I would fall asleep quicker. I had turned all of the lights off downstairs, flicked the switch off in the hall and settled down in my dim room, praising myself for my bravery at sleeping in the dark house alone.

Just at the moment that I was surrendering myself to sleep, the harsh rings of the telephone sounded, calling me back to reality. Once, twice, three times. Fumbling I reached across my side table and clasped the cold metallic phone.

“Hello?” I asked. On the other end of the phone I could hear a ring tone. Possibly I had missed Jarom and he would call me back, I thought hanging up the phone.

Settling myself back into my cool crisp bed, I had just closed my eyes when downstairs I heard the rattle of the front door knob shaking. My heart started beating wildly as I listened to hear if the intruder would find the door locked and seek out another target. After a moment of silence a new sound started like the scraping of a lock.

“Please”, I thought to myself, “Just leave.” Instead I was rewarded with the sound of the door slowly creaking open and three or four voices whispering amongst themselves. They were the kind of voices that explained without saying that they were not there to just steal your TV.

By this point the blood was rushing through my ears, almost flushing out any other sound. Hurrying, I found my jeans and a jacket to throw on, intending to climb onto the roof. Where would I go from there though, I wondered? I would just be stuck waiting for the first person to find me and if no one knew there was trouble it was likely that they would find me first.

Picking up the phone I dialed 9-1-1 so hard that my fingers bent back, the hard edges of the buttons making imprints onto the soft pads of my fingertips

By this point the fear had replaced any form of sound that would have come out of my mouth. I knew that I needed to say who I was, where I was calling from and that there were intruders in my home, but nothing, nothing would entice my clenching throat to utter a single word. Meanwhile, I could hear soft footsteps and the groan of the stairs as they gave way underneath someone who didn’t belong on them.

Just say something, anything, let them know you know they are coming. Tell them that you have called the police and that they are on their way. Don’t sound afraid, everything depends on this.

But try as I may the words wouldn’t come. And then, I mustered something…

“Hey!” I shouted in a deep guttural voice. I intended to finish with “I’ve called the police.” But the sound of my own voice startled me into a new sensation.

I blinked a few times trying to figure out what was going on, when right next to me someone said, “Hey!?” back.
Jarom was looking at me, his face amused and also worried. It was like someone had lit a neon sign that said, “Laugh Now” because we both broke into hysterical laughter.

“What were you dreaming?” he asked as I attached myself to his side, my heart still pounding. “You were whimpering and saying, “h--, h--, h--, heh, HEY!”

“Oh, Jarom!”, I told him “I just had the scariest dream! You were out of town…”

It’s so nice to wake up and realize the scary dream you were dreaming was just that, a dream. Please let the rest of the month be dream free!

New News!

2007-12-05T11:38:00.000-08:00

Hey everyone! I'm so excited to announce that I made it onto "America's Next Top Model." Amazing right?! There was one catch, the show had to be cancelled due to the fact that it was being held in my back yard and Tyra was attacked by a black panther (possible subconcious political statement?). Allow me to explain.

A few nights ago I found myself as a lead contestant for that show that offers it's watchers the two for one deal of making you feel smug at your ability to eat and fat at the same time. Yes, I had made it onto "America's Next Top Model." However, things quickly became strange. One, why would anyone line up a bunch of gorgeous girls in my Huntington Beach backyard? There is definitly not enough room for all that big hair and camera crew. Two, why was a black panther hanging around on my wall with it's yellow eyes focused on Tyra? And three, how the heck did I in all my squishy splendidness get into THAT crowd?

I don't know about everyone else, but I have the ability to realize I'm dreaming in many of my dreams and usually I will just sit back and see what my mind comes up with. It's kind of like watching movies in my sleep. However, you can only imagine my disappontment when dream Holly turns with a confused look to the unnaturally perk girl next to her and says, "Um.. I don't think I belong here..." (Slam on the dream breaks)

Pardon me, but aren't you supposed to be able to be extra cool, pretty or whatever in your dreams? Did my subconsious think so low of me that it couldn't even fathom moving my cellulite up to its natural position of thighs, instead of down my legs too? Honestly, a little thicker hair and flatter stomach would have been nice. So after a few concious slaps to my unconcious I have decided that I really will get into "America's Next Top Model" shape, well, maybe "Next, Next Top Model."

I'm not hoping for perfection, but it is a smack when even your inner thoughts remind you that you're in this predicament because not only have you had your own piece of cake and eatten it too, but you've eatten everyone elses as well.

So here's what I'm going to do: today is day one of Weight Watchers for me, I figure this will go slowly, but I want to wear my favorite jeans again. So This time for real I will post my progress. "America's Next, Next (next) Top Model" here I come.

In your dreams!

2007-12-03T09:57:00.000-08:00

Adidas black stretch running pants with the white stripes and reflective adidas symbol on the bottom buyers, beware!

Joseph (from the bible, not your local grocer or some other guy) interpreted that 7 thin ears of corn would follow 7 fat ears as a sign that after 7 good years of harvest, 7 years of famine would follow. I know that I am not Joseph, but I have another dream that needs to be addressed.

The other evening I found myself in a dream that was very intense while at the same time a little confusing. Even in my dream I was thinking, "Ummm... what did you sniff last night? Glue? Wet paint?" You see, I was in my storage unit looking for something when I realized that I was not alone. If any of you have seen inside my storage unit you would discover that first there is no room to be looking for something, and second if something else was in there it had to be very small and flat and not much of a predator.

Suddenly my dream took a very M. Night Shyamalan twist. In "Lady In The Water" there are these beasts that look like the lawn, so you can't see them except their red eyes through a mirror or if they are about to eat you. In my dream I had the urge to grab my handy bible and hold it out in front of me, like a mini light shield. (It was my first nice bible set that still had my name Holly Tanner in gold cursive too) Apparently whatever urged me to do this knew that I was not alone either for there sitting on the bench was my pair of Adidas pants. (Insert your traditional "duh duh duh!" in lowering octives here please) However, my pants, which still looked like pants, was now a very dangerous monster complete with red eyes and claws. Thankfully I had my bible and was able to distroy the beast! Yes...

So, the question now is this: what did that dream mean, besides that I am deranged? Will it follow with Joseph's translations that my excersise pants were in storage because I will get fatter for 7 years and then slim down for 7 years? If so I will go cry in the bathroom right now. Possibly that the world will be overtaken by overzealous bible hating runners? Maybe even that my running pants will cause some kind of rash or chaffing and it will be necessary to pray for healing? I have no idea. But I do know that I need a break from these dreams!

Joseph, or I guess Pharoah, ain't got nothin' on me.

Storage Insurance

2007-11-18T18:55:00.000-08:00

One of the joys that many people face when making a move is the lovely option of storing your belongings, your special memories, and all of your extremely breakable china inside a dark and slighly ominous unit that is prone to water damage, dirt and teetering boxes. Also, they are usually in a bad part of town complete with a bumm sleeping outside the gate and tumble weeds rolling determindly by. Why can't the unit be near areas where you aren't afraid to store your stuff, let alone get out of the car, you ask yourself?

Once inside the office, you are offered the option of insurance.
"I promise you're going to want this. If you don't, I will personally rob you myself." The woman all but says.
Jarom hands me the insurance page with one word instructions to "read," which I do, breezing over the contract looking for key words like, "water damage, earthquake, fire, etc." However, I quickly find that for the bargain of twelve dollars a month I am also covered up to the amount of three thousand dollars for things like, " sonic booms, spacecraft (UFO's abducting my kitchen-aid?), riots, civil commotion and falling objects."

"Oh good, Jarom." I said after noticing another perk, "if we decided to buy insurance we would be covered from self-propelled missiles."
"Excellent," Jarom responds, his face complete with a look of total seriousness. Across from us the woman helping us has a bewildered expression. I'm sure there are two thoughts flitting across her mind; 1) who actually reads insurance policys and 2) what exactly are we expecting to happen?

Moments later I discover that there are a few glitches in the policy that need to be addressed. For example we are covered for things like snow or volcanic eruptions in California but not war, neither are the poor animals that strange people keep in storage units or "garments trimmed in fur". Honestly, I would rather have my garments trimmed in fur covered than coverage from a hurricane, it just seems more reasonable. And yes, in case you are wondering I do have a garment trimmed in fur, it's a lovely gray coat that is probably from the seventies that Jarom would never be caught dead being seen with me when I'm wearing it.

I can feel the pressure to make a decision, and I want to say "I would love to buy the insurance, but can you add in the protection for the loss of property by accidental nuclear action? I just don't feel comfortable with that exclusion." But of course I don't.

And then it dawns on me. Can I trade? I am almost positive that no one would want my stuff if there was a riot, but I do want to be covered from floods.

"Here's what we'll do," I say. "you give me the nuclear action damage (whether accidental or not- yes it does say that), the garments trimmed in fur, and flooding damage protection, and I will withhold my rights to sonic boom, civil commotion, and spacecraft coverage."

Judging from the blank expression on the ladies face, there is no dice.
"Well than," I say, "I think we'll pass."

Now we just need to hold our breath that no sonic boom or self propelled missiles disrupt our things.

And on the topic of insurance policies, who writes that stuff?

Moving...

2007-11-14T19:08:00.001-08:00

Stinks.

Sonnets

2007-11-09T10:15:00.000-08:00

So, I wrote these sonnets for one of my classes and thought I would post them, since I haven't had the time to write a proper post. The first one my teacher really liked, except that it was old fashioned sounding and he wanted one that was more modern. It's surprising how hard it is to change something once you've already written it. He wanted me to use some of the same imagery, but it's hard to incorporate old writing into new. I ended up scratching the whole thing and came up with the second, which I liked better. So anyhow, I'm putting up the first poem, and then the revised second.

Oh, swift betrayal on a winter’s eve,
when snow lies like white lambs upon a hill
in peace. No warning does the night receive—
spring crouches in and none deny its skill.
A mellow day on winter’s door may knock,
or rushes in with lion savage rain—
and takes one day to scatter all the flock
of lambs across the hillside once again.
Though April rains are told to bring new life
a sacrifice is made. Oh gentle hand,
the stiller of the savage brandished knife,
in grace you bow out in a manner grand.
And as one season’s sent unto its grave,
spring marches in; well battled, scarred and brave.

Here is the second "new and improved" poem:

But spring, you are no lady. I can tell.
While others find you sweet to ponder on
I know inside you’re a fierce Amazon,
one breast shy. Not by your charms winters fail.
Your tears can wash away winter’s resolve
to stay. Or melt the snow with dim sunlight.
Your beauty’s proved, since after every fight
under new flesh of green your scars dissolve.
I find it no surprise that you should rest
your hy’cinth blooms, who knife their way through dirt
of frozen months. They stall, two weeks, from hurt
before erupting bright in fragrant best.
And yet, we love you for the way you dust
red tulips, drops of blood, on winter’s crust.

Well, it's official!

2007-11-04T08:36:00.001-08:00

Jarom and I have decided to move down to California! We will be living with his family for a few months to pay some bills and get some savings going. Then we will move down to around Huntington Beach. We're excited to be so close to everyone and escape the drudgery of Utah winters. Hurray!! We will be officially down in CA in about 2 weeks. That means I want invitations to all your parties. (= Love you all!!

What?

2007-10-28T16:30:00.000-07:00

Do to brain functioning constraints and severe lack of perceptive tolerance adaptive ability the corpus of my currently scanned text remains unfulfilled in the viewing sense. Or, in simplified words, I do not understand my American Heritage reading.

Example: “They reflected a broad diversity of conceptions and purposes—everything from setting up mercantile trading operations to building feudalistic seigniories to providing land for England’s dispossessed. Religious sanctuary lent a certain coherence to some of the colonies, especially those in New England, but Puritanism itself, or more broadly the dissenting tradition, was not the sole guiding influence of colonial development. There were many others.”

I understood, “There were many others.” Now my question is why does the author feel that he has to make the text so thick that it is practically unreadable? If he were to start the book by simply stating, “I am smart, but I’m going to dumb this down for you thick headed students,” I would believe him and out of gratitude add him to my Christmas card list. Instead, I am left wondering what he is getting at, rereading a sentence about ten times over before I get what he is saying. And the problem is the thickness (mine and his) gets worse the further in I get.

By the end of the chapter I am weeding out phrases I understand, like “England is an important key to the puzzle,” and “In America, they argued, the ‘best’ was really the best.” From these two sentences I have veered into my own area of thought which doesn’t include our founding fathers such as John Locke or John Calvin. Rather, these two sentences have led me to conclude that they are talking about Easter candy, Cadbury eggs in particular, and that the vote is unanimous in America that English candy really is best.

The problem lies in the tests. If it was simply for my own reading I would recommend this book to anyone, who doesn’t love a good debate about delicious candy? But ultimately I will be tested on my knowledge of these facts and I can almost guarantee that my sorts of questions won’t be on the test. I will cross my fingers that my teacher (he didn’t write the book) will have come to the same conclusion about Cadbury, but I won’t hold my breath. Not everybody likes chocolate.

Uvama? No you vama!

2007-10-27T13:51:00.001-07:00

It seems that everywhere we go online these days we are hounded by word verification boxes. They are always asking us to verify words like "Uvama" or "ujctn" or even "luffbra." Honestly, it makes me uncomfortable. By verifying a word that I know nothing about I feel that I am selling myself in lies. How can I verify a word when I don't know it's character... It's like going on a date with a guy you find slightly creepy but telling your friend that he's great so you can get him off your back.

We are told that verifying these words protects our identity, but what we don't know is that in other cultures such as Middle Eastern, American Indian and German some of these words actually mean something. For all I know I could be saying in some nerd code or foreign language that I brush my teeth with preperation-H or that I smell like a pickle, much to the amusement of some bored M.I.T student.

Why can't I type something that is normal, even if complicated. Something like, "Teresahasissues" or "Joesucksbecausehenevercallsmeback." I would much rather type something like that than something that means nothing. At least there is some history behind it. Anyhow, it's just a thought.

In the Garden

2007-10-26T10:09:00.000-07:00

Not a sound was heard in the garden, except the boughs of many different trees gently creaking beneath the weight of the homemade birds. He had been showing her around, pointing out different plants and animals and telling her their names.

“This tree we aren’t suppose to touch,” he said, proud of his abundant knowledge. “And this here is a giraffe.”
“Oh,” she said.
“This is a lion,” he said. “And this is a rose.”
“Oh,” she said.
Adam was growing more confident. “This is called a pear.” Sometimes he even amazed himself.
“Adam,” she said. "You know a lot of things, but how do you feel about me?”

Now he had been prepped on what the names of the animals were and how to build shelter and even which fruit trees were off limits, but no one had explained how the mind of the woman worked.

“How do I feel about you?” He repeated, hoping she would find some other object to occupy her thoughts. No such luck.
“Uh, huh.”
“And this is a hippopotamus, but you can call it a hippo.” He looked at her hoping maybe she would be distracted. She wasn’t.
“This is called a chicken...” Adam said slowly, he had never seen woman’s right eyebrow arch like that before.

Adam could tell he was not winning points with Eve. His mind scrambled, trying to find the right words to say. He knew there was a right answer, she seemed to know it, but he didn’t have one inkling as to what it might be. Until this time the garden had been peaceful, the lamb had lied down with the lion and there had been no contention. He knew if he didn’t get this answer right he could kiss that peace goodbye. He’d never done this before, and this really wasn’t part of the deal anyways.

“Well?”
“Well,” he said, “you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” The eyebrow stayed arched; apparently he had not said the right thing. Adam wondered if maybe he had done something wrong and this was his punishment. But he hadn’t eaten the fruit from the forbidden tree. Did thinking about eating it count?
“Well?” she asked again.
“Um…” he could feel his chest start to tighten. So this is death he thought. Funny how short life is he mused, he could have sworn it would have been longer. A breeze stirred the treetops, and a soft flutter was heard as a bird alighted from a branch and flew off to another part of the garden. Adam wondered if it had ever had to deal with this situation. What would he have given to have wings at that moment so he could fly away too. But he didn’t have wings and the tight sensation in his chest had gone, and he knew he would have to answer Eve eventually. “I think you are the most intelligent women I have ever met.”

Eve seemed to be giving him a second chance. She didn’t look as irritated, but she still was not appeased. He was supposed to say something else. Ok, think. He racked his brain for some witty remark. Nope, not a thing. Woman soon became impatient of waiting and that’s when it happened. The first hands-on-the-hips-I’m-waiting pose, a pose women throughout time would use to express their extreme exasperation towards their husbands.

“Would you like to go look around the rest of the garden?” he asked.
“No.”
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Nothing,” she huffed.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she said.

Her green eyes were the brightest he had ever seen them. She looked really mad. As she stood in front of a blossoming gardenia bush, its full white buds sending a sweet fragrance into the garden, he noticed for the first time how really pretty she was. He wanted to say so but it seemed unimportant when she was that angry. She probably wouldn’t even believe him. Instead he just stood there staring at her, wondering what he should do.

“What?” she said.
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“Positive,” he said.
The sun was starting to set and all around them the sounds of animals were filling the air. “Well, I guess we should find somewhere to sleep,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said.
Underneath one of the blossom trees, they lied in the long new grass. The cool earth soothed Eve’s heated cheeks.
“Eve? Are you still awake?” Adam said.
“Yes,” she replied quietly.
“You’re really pretty.”

Eve stayed silent, listening to Adam. Long shadows formed along her face as she lay opposite him in the setting sun, her hair making golden pools around her shoulders. “And I really appreciate having someone to talk to; it would be really boring without you.” Although he was not very experienced at giving compliments, he knew he was doing pretty well. She wasn’t mad at all anymore; in fact she was actually smiling.

“Thank you Adam.” Eve said softly.
Piece of cake, he thought, that really wasn’t so bad. If he could deal with that, than he could deal with anything.
“Are you hungry?” Eve asked.
“Uh, huh,” he said.
“Have an apple.”

Knott's Scary Farm!

2007-10-18T22:39:00.000-07:00

Ok, before I proceed I have to admit that though the title reads Knott's scary farm, originally I wrote Knott's Scary Fart (both would be equally frightening to experience). Thank goodness for proof reading.

Being that I have never had the chance to attend this insanity, Jarom was determined that I would experience it before we lost our chance. We decided that we really wanted to bring Chad and Tyler along with us because more people equals less harrassment per person over the night, plus we just love them! My equation didn't add up how I expected because the boys (except for Chad occassionally) were more or less overlooked while I was a prime target all night. I expect it is because I was attached firmly to Jarom's arm, refused to make eye contact, and since most of the costumes looked like wild dogs they could smell my fear through the laytex masks. Wonderful.

All the small rides were turned into awesome haunted houses or weird crazy asylems. There were a few times when the monsters attached themselves to me like fly paper and followed me through the mazes. Jarom says it's because I'm cute, I think it's because anyone over the age of 8 wasn't buying it, but I was still totally freaked out. At one point a really creepy vampire said, "I want your eyes." to which I replied, "but I'm still using them..." and he had no response. I figure if I reasoned with the monsters they would leave me alone, which more or less worked.

Anyhow, if anyone is near to Knott's Scary Farm I suggest you go. It was so much fun to laugh at each other whenever we got scared and hang out in the nearly empty park.

Subtle differences

2007-10-17T18:52:00.000-07:00

Beside the obvious differences between men and women; I mean the interest in all things technological, the chest hair (hopefully only on men), or penchant for watching fighting on movies or tv, there are other differences between the sexes. Men have their own way of problem solving. No really, and though it may not be how we women think is efficient or may look funny, it still works and it still does the job. I realized this tonight after I asked Jarom's help with making dinner. I think I have become more used to the differences of living with a man because I hardly notice when he does things his "own way".

Tonight we were making a Thai basil chicken stirfry and I asked Jarom if he would thaw the chicken.
"Sure." He said and proceeded to grab a bowl and put a few pieces of chicken into it. "How many do you want to thaw?"
"About 9 or 10 pieces." I respond without looking up because I am intensly focused on cutting an onion into slivers and don't pay any attention to what he is doing.
"Here you go." Jarom says smiling broodly.

Inside the sink, underneath the running water, is a clear glass bowl slightly larger than a cereal bowl with 10 chicken tenders half emerged and sticking out in all directions. This visual instantly cues my mind to the similarity of this chicken image and me trying to stuff myself into my last pair of wearable jeans. Please erase that thought.

"Um.. nice..." I say slowly, "But I don't think those will ever thaw. I think we need a bigger bowl."
"Sure they will." He answers optomistically, but grabs another bowl after I continue to look unconvinced.
This time he grabs an actual cereal bowl and proceeds to jimmy rig the chicken thawing operation.
"How about this?" He asks pointing to his work.
Now not only does he have the small clear bowl utilized, but the cereal bowl is teetering precariously on top of the other one. Through all this the water runs into the bowls like some modern fountain sculpture.
I can't help but laugh as I look at his masterpiece because though it took a bit longer to thaw the chicken, it did exactly what I needed. It just happens to have been by a whole different method. So in one fell swoop he managed to change the old addage that "great minds think alike." I beg to differ, men and women do not think alike which is why the world is such an interesting place. These things make me happy. I hope you like the modern art.

"I just picked her up from practice..." (and other excellent excuses)

2007-10-17T01:31:00.000-07:00

This story still remains one of my favorite mom and me stories. I hope she doesn't mind if I use it but I was thinking about it tonight and I wanted to write about it.

Disclaimer: My nose is ALWAYS stuffy, so I can't smell anything, AND our neighbor has cats. (These facts are important, so keep them in mind as the story progresses.)

My freshman year I decided that if I wasn't ackward enough I would join the softball team as the stray 50 mile an hour aim dummy OR pitcher, your choice. I joined with a bunch of girls who couldn't play, but had the advantage of being large and in charge and therefore fit into no other catagory of sports. Though I was not particulary gifted at pitching I found ways of getting around that, but that is a different blog.

One day after practice mom picked me up for my doctors appointment. I had been running (away from the balls batted at me) and pitching and catching and had naturally gotten a bit sweaty. However, up until that day I had never smelled when I sweat and I chalk it up to good jeans and a little device called deoderant.

Well, I notice mom keeps sniffing and making faces but I don't think too much about it. When we get to the doctors office, mom is still sniffing, but has now added the line, "I just picked her up from practice" in an apologetic voice. Strange, I think, though softball is not the coolest sport one shouldn't have to apologize about it.

Enter doctors office. Small room, no window. Doctor so and so comes in and wears a pained expression, mom is wearing the similar expression. It is like a bad matching his and hers pained expression set. Obviously it doesn't come in the kids sizes because I do not smell what they are smelling. Again mom says, "I just picked her up from practice." Doctor-holds-his-beath nods in an understanding and slightly disgusted way. His face is also getting slightly red because of the tiny shallow breaths he is taking through his mouth in order to miss as much of the foul smell as possible.

Am I missing something?

Finally the doctors appointment is over, mom has explained a few more times that "I just picked her up from practice," and the doctor has informed his nurses to ban me from coming back to his office unless I am wearing a biohazard suit. When we reach the car my olfactory senses finally kick in and for the first time I notice a rancid, funky, unearthly smell.

"What is that?" I ask mom.
I can tell she doesn't know how to tell me that I reek like a rotten toilet.
"I smells like cat poop." I say.
It hits both of us like a rocket on turbo drive. She looks at her feet, where the bottom of her shoe is smeared with a dangerous amount of toxic, acidic cat turd that has probably eatten away some of the rubber on the soul of her shoe. Nice. I realize that now my doctor and all the nurses think I am a cursed and disgusting child. Even nicer.
"Call them when we get home and tell them you had poo on your shoe." I say threateningly. But it never happens, and forever after my doctor will tell the story of the grossest teenaged girl he ever met, the one who smelled like a rotten toilet and also tragically played softball. I'm surprised he didn't ask me to come have tests because anyone whose sweat smelled like "mine" must have been fatelly ill.

So thanks mom for that story, I laugh my head off when I think of it.

I'm commiting myself

2007-10-13T09:55:00.000-07:00

No, the title does not mean to a state hospital. I'm commiting myself to being healthy once and for all... again.

Today I went to Weight Watchers for the first time in two months. During my break (and a litte before too, lets be honest) I had gained back quite a bit of weight. Not a little, a lot. So, when I stepped on the scale to "weigh in" and the scale went past my recent high, the conversation with the lady went something like this:

Her: If you could just step up here... (pointing to the scale)
Me: How much clothes can I take off to weigh in before I get arrested?
Her: Um...
Me: Wait, the scale is no longer showing any numbers... Is "big as a house" really an option on this scale?
Her: Apparently...

So, I have decided that I'm going to record my weight loss on this blog as well. Don't fear, there will be no bathing suit pictures of before and after, just updates on how I am doing. And maybe I will be honest in my weight loss; however, the cadbury creme eggs are still under the bed, there are creme brulees in the fridge, and half a pumpkin pie. Wish me luck.

Found: two earplugs

2007-09-30T02:01:00.001-07:00

Have you ever lost something? I know it's pretty common to lose things like glasses, keys, earplugs, but sometimes we are more concerned about finding where the object is than the actual object. For example: Last week I misplaced a pair of earplugs. Although I sleep better when I can't hear a thing, it wasn't the lack of earplugs that unnerved me, it was where they could have gone. Usually I wake up with one still dangling in my ear and the other smashed into a perfectly flat disk under my butt, but that morning they were no where to be found. After searching all over the bed and on the ground I began to wonder if I had possibly eatten them in my sleep. Allow me to explain (this is not so impossible as it may seem, given my history).

A few months ago during midterms, I was so sleep deprived and so stressed that my dreams took on a whole dimension of their own. One night I dreamed that I was being sucked into a puddle on the sidewalk and woke up gasping because I had been holding my breath. Other nights I fitfully dreamed of fights with people, or being attacked. Usually after I awoke I was fine and could go back to sleep- except for one dream.

That night Jarom had popped some popcorn and brought it into our room to watch some tv and veg before turning in. It was late and I was tired, so I opted for my earplugs and some sleep instead of staying up. I'm sure it was the smell of the popcorn that began my dream because suddenly I was eating a handful of chewy buttery popcorn. It tasted great until it dawned on me that popcorn is not supposed to be chewy, a realization that shook me out of my dream.

It was dark in the room and I had something in my mouth. Something that was squeeky, strange tasting and not supposed to be there. Quickly I spit it out and found a bright orange, well-chewed earplug. It was this moment that my tongue rolled into the back of my head and I started to gag. Earwax and the texture of earplugs are not something that you want to wake up to.

So when the earplugs went missing I began to fret that possibly I had eatten them for real. I am happy to say that I found them two days later- under the bed and not in the bathroom. I am also currently working on some kind of lock in device for earplugs that beeps when moistened and remains in your ear so that no one else will experience that unpleasant experience.

Embarrassing Moment # 3 (Smart investments)

2007-09-26T20:04:00.000-07:00

My busty friends this blog may not be for you. For all my flat sisters you will probably understand this blog a bit better, or you may be able to sympathize with a similar experience. In a previous blog I talked about my going au naturale on top until I was 12, well the ride stops there.

Teresa was the most popular girl in school. She had long flowing blond hair that I'm sure she must have blow dried. I didn't know what a blow drier was for, except that in commercials I noticed the woman were always smiling around them, so it must have told jokes. My hair was always tangled, always had something like ice cream stuck in the ends, and was usually hanging scraggly down. I also had the angels halo, with all those little frizzies circling my head. Teresa also was athletic (I ran the mile with the kids in the wheelchairs, ok not really but my mile was like 15 minutes. Most people can speed walk it in 14), she wore make-up that went in the appropriate places on your face (see lipstick example in moment #1), but most importantly she wore a bra.

For the chunky, nerdy kids gym class is never very kind to you. I was the best target for dodge ball since I had a wider margin of error and though I might have had a chance wrestling against the pre-pubescent boys that option never came up. But the cruelest part of gym class was the locker room. The place where the cool girls showed off their barbie sized underwear and matching Paul Frank training bras. This is where moment # 3 took place.

A few month before I had noticed that my clothes were fitting a little different. I didn't really observe it was due to the fact that I was finally needing some sort of (very small) bra, I just noticed that my shirts no longer laid flat. I just added this to one more thing to be incredibly self concious about, but never took the time to draw it to my mom's attention. Every other day in the school locker room I would huddle myself in front of my locker and do this pretzel move that allowed my original shirt to cover my little olives while the PE shirt was being navigated over my shoulders. I was actually getting pretty good at it, until one day Teresa brought something to my attention.

"Um..." She said, her blonde hair in a perfect pony tail and her thin tan legs in the blue spartan PE shorts. She was looking down at me in disgust masked by pity. I on the other hand was looking up at her, half way through the pretzel changing act, like a fashion sinner begging repentence from a designer goddess.

"Um... I think it's time you get a bra."

Excuse me? In about the time it took to process her words my innocent world was crushed. First of all, why did it take the coolest girl in school to point out that my "olives" were no longer acceptable in their freedom? Second, excuse me? I had no words. As she walked away I heard a few girls snicker behind me. Yet I must admit, though my contortionist skills had been fine honed into my changing routine, they failed me at crawling into my locker. It was time to invest in a bra and leash the girls. Thanks a lot Teresa.

Embarrassing moment # 2 (just be yourself)

2007-09-17T18:53:00.000-07:00

My first year at BYU I took a humanities 101 class. My teacher was a particularly young and bright-eyed woman who had the pre-notion that our class should know a little about each other before we began our studies. All around me I could hear the sounds of desperate girls unscrewing their lip gloss so they could make a good impression on the one cute guy in the class. Others were mentally rehearsing how they would impress each other with tales of recent travels or a particularly difficult major.

As the teacher went down the list of students each would doubtlessly forget what they had intended to say and would end up saying something brilliantly akin to "I like kittens and chocolate and have a pet turtle" in a a squeaky, shaky voice. I decided that would NOT be me. In my head I pictured a confident girl who would stroll down the stairs making eye contact with the class, while wowing them with my daring wit and grace and laughing in a harty yet non-affected laugh. (now thinking about it I must have imagined myself as a white female version of Carlton Banks from the Fresh Prince of Belair.)

"Holly Tanner" my teacher said and instantly my heart started racing. Ok, I thought, just get through the desks that could trip you up and you're golden. Somehow I made it through the chairs, around the smattering of backpacks and the feet, and to the aisle that went down the stairs to the front of the class. I was doing pretty good at making eye contact and had even managed to control the beating of my heart. In fact, I was doing so well that I forgot to take my eyes off the 45 pairs that were watching me and missed the mini half-step that would set me up for my nick-name hereafter as holly fally.

As soon as my foot didn't make contact with the ground I knew I was in trouble. Now I must confess, it is an interesting sensation, this falling, but I didn't think about that until later. At the moment I was only considering my navigational options. In front of me there was a piano which provided a very dramatic and slighly operetic option to my inevitable fall, to the side I could fall silently and hopefully melt away as soon as my head soared from view behind the desks, and that was pretty much it. There were no other options, and there was nothing I could blame; no banana, no crack, there wasn't even a kazoo to wheeze an appropriate sound effect, in fact the only sound that rushed around the room was the gasp of 44 students and one very alarmed teacher.

And then there was me- laughing until I could barely breath. Because in that moment I realized I had missed the piano by inches, soared effortlessly and (though not initially) gracefully to the ground and had landed squarely on my hands and knees. I stayed there for a moment, my stomach hurting from the giggles that were erupting from me, until I could finally move. By this time the class had regained their senses and were laughing right along with me. Balancing on my sore knees I bowed two sweeping bows to the class and began to stand.

And then it came to me. I had the perfect introduction. "Hello, my name is Holly Tanner. If you missed that don't worry, it will probably happen again because I am one of the most clumbsy people I know... I like kittens and chocolate and I have a pet turtle..."

Embarrassing moments #1 (portable retina scarring)

2007-09-16T23:16:00.001-07:00

So I've been prawling Katherine's blog and noticed she had some amazing stories of her most embarrassing moments ever. I thought it would be fun to put a few down in here too so that I don't forget.

For those of you who knew me as a kid, you will also know that puberty was NOT kind to me. In fact, it probably would have been kinder if she had stopped toying with me and just got to the point of beating me with the ugly stick. For this reason it makes this story that much more awful. I'm sure it didn't help that my sense of high fashion included most of my friends dress up boxes and cast off clothes which I wore with an unnatural relish.

When I was about 12 I went to the St. Bonaventure Fair with my best friend Mischa. We had carefully picked out "mature and flattering" (or hideous) outfits that would attract other boys our age. I unleashed all my glory in a black leotard (no bra, but we'll get to that) with a flowy southwestern printed skirt and slouchy gray boots. Though the mirror reflected a pudgy, pointy chested pre-teen with bad teeth and knotty hair, I felt pretty darn hot after I applied the fire engine red lipstick a little above my lip line to make my lips fuller.

Mischa's dad dropped us off at the fair and told us he would pick us up at five. I don't really remember anything particular about the afternoon except riding a few attractions, walking around the booths and winning an ash tray that I forced upon my mom as a crystal jam bowl for fancy meals, which she sweetly used. Toward the end of our day I needed to use the bathroom and of course all that was available were some port-a-potties with a long line.

At my turn I entered the smelly square, locked the door (I swear I did) and proceeded to roll down my leotard and skirt to use the potty. At the exact moment of complete, shall we say, freedom about the last thing on the planet that I expected to happen, happened. Probably the cutest boy in the whole world (he had to have been 18 or so) opened my door and got the biggest surprise of his life.

Picture this: chunky little girl, with an ackward body, pointy kid chest (that until then I had not considered candidates for a bra but was quickly aware of the benefits of one), belly rolls that strangly resembled the slouchy boots and leotard ensamble inconveniently around my ankles. I'm sure I looked like an unpealed fleshy raisen in all my natural glory. He screamed. I screamed. We all screamed not for ice cream but sweet humanity.

Here's where my title comes in. I'm sure that this vision is still engrained in his mind. I know his expression is still in mine. I'd be surprised if his vision of me in the porta-potty didn't scar him forever. Though I can look back and laugh at until up to then was the most tragic moment of my life, he only can think of the time he walked in on a naked girl in a stall. I'm sure he scratched his head over that one many a time.

List making

2007-09-16T02:10:00.001-07:00

So one thing I have noticed about myself and my way of preserving some sense of sanity is my OC list making skills. I find them everywhere. If there is a scrap of paper in my house most likely it has been converted into a make shift list. The weirdest thing about these lists is that they are always the same. Seriously. I have found lists from five years ago with essentially the same things to-do on them as I write today. Either I have not accomplished much in those last five years (a likely possibility) or those same things are still on my mind. Anyhow, I wanted to put up a short (very rough draft) paper I wrote for one of my creative writing classes about just such the thing. Ignore the grammer and technical flaws if you can, I know I am hopeless in those areas. Hope you enjoy the inner workings of Holly Moore's brain.

To-Do: Write Essay

Should I happen to die tomorrow and someone came upon all of my writings (even the ones I have long tossed away); the hundreds of poems, most of them ridiculous attempts at some "deep" idea I am still unfamiliar with, some of them fairly good, all of the letters, my short stories, even my journal that reads like a parrot, nothing would give me away more than my lists. There soldier on endless rows of overwhelming, recycled items that will most likely remain on my list, preparing to haunt all lists of the future.

Of all my virgin notebooks that I buy intending to fill with shades of myself, collections of poems or clever bits of stories, I always end up soiling them with my dirty lists of to-do’s and to-change’s. Even the books that are not spiral bound, but instead the pages are firmly glued in place are not safe; though I always seem to make a covenant with myself that they will remain pure of writing that is as temporary as a to-do list. But really, how temporary are my fanatical lists? If I were to compare them with some of my other more “stable” writings I would see that they far out number the hundreds of poems I have written, or creative stories I have penciled beside my bed as I was fluttering between sleep and reality. And who says that a list is not creative writing? I would be hard pressed to remember a day where I actually accomplished all that was on my long scrap of paper. I find it enormously creative to think that I could succeed in crossing off my ten-item list on top of my already busy day.

I guarantee myself that I will find within each notebook one list with the exact same entries excepting two or three. In fact, I was almost shocked the first time that I found a small black notebook that I had not written in for a few years and found a to-to list which was nearly identical to the one I was writing right then. The same entries included: get to 135 pounds, write one poem, do the dishes, say prayers, fold laundry, make something, go running, grocery shop, etc., etc., etc. Monotonous lists of never changing tasks, but they served their purpose. Lists which reminded me of my priorities, or provided striking reminders of what I wrote to be important, but didn’t really believe. Had the things been really important they might have been accomplished at some point instead of remaining forever on my lists to be gotten to when it was finally convenient.

My lists are brutally honest of who I am at that moment. More importantly they reminded me that though I have changed and grown over the years, who I am deeper remains the same. I am still troubled by the same worries, still hate the same chores, still want time to be creative. My priorities stay the same. Will someone who doesn’t know me see me as the woman who thought 135 pounds was an ideal weight for someone who was 5’10” and was obsessed with losing 10-20 pounds depending on the season? Will I be given away as someone who detests sweeping because the item “sweep kitchen floor” remains a to-do until after 3 weeks in a row it mysteriously disappears, either because I was sick of my husband having to ask me to do it, or because he did it himself? Will they notice that I rarely have “make dinner” on the list because that is an enjoyable task that I don’t need reminding of, or will I be seen as someone who makes frozen pizzas? I am interested to see what someone who doesn’t know me would make of my most reoccurring theme of literature.

So when I die I wouldn’t mind if someone read off my unfinished list of things to accomplish, because although it says a lot about a person who accomplishes what they originally set out to do, I think it also says a lot about the person of what is on that list. Though I may not ever see all of the places I have written to go visit, I would hope that the person who reads them would understand my desire for travel. Though I might never learn to speak Italian, just maybe someone would notice how much I loved and admired the ability to speak another language. Though I fill my list with an insane amount of things to see and learn and do, and though I know I will most likely never get a chance to do all of them; more than anything, I hope it might be a method to show that I was a person who wanted a lot out of life and believed that it was capable.

Am I the only one?

2007-09-14T19:18:00.000-07:00

Tonight I was thinking about my eating habits. I've gained about 20 or more pounds since I went back to school, which means I gained my freshman 15+5 about 6 years too late. Whoops. Anyhow, I realized three things about myself, 1) I LOVE food and especially sugar, 2) I totally hord things I know I shouldn't be eating to eat in private, 3) I eat waaay too much. But I want to confess something about number 2 that has been cracking me up lately the more I think of it.

It happened like this. I really love Cadbury Creme Eggs. I'm not talking a little bit, but freakishly so. I think it stems from the fact that I can only have them a few months of the year so I eat one or two a day for the whole season. The day after Easter, however, I found myself staring at a display of cadbury eggs marked half price. A slighly obsessed person would have bought maybe two 4-packs and called it good. Instead I calculated. I had 6 at home, I would need about 10 boxes to last me through the year until next easter. So being sensable I bought them, carried them around all day at school and then decided I needed about ten more, making the grand total to 56 Cadbury creme eggs. Here's where the story gets hairy.

As soon as I bought them I realized that no one would understand (without thinking I was totally crazy) my passion for those eggs, even my husband Jarom. As soon as I got home I smuggled them into my room along with a plastic ziploc bag, removed them as silently from the boxes as possible, and then folded the flattened boxes inside a thick BYU plastic bag, which I then threw away- outside, in the dumpster- and hid the bag inside a tupperware under my bed. The whole time I was doing this I thought, "you are a sick person Holly Moore."

Over the next few days as I ate my eggs (mind you I was on Weight Watchers during that time too...) I would silently replace one of the six that were in the regular treat closet, hoping that Jarom wouldn't catch wise. After I had eaten about 10 in front of him he finally asked the question that I was dreading. And the conversation went something like this...

"Did you buy more of those?" Jarom asked innocently
"Oh, just a few."
"How many?"
"Just a couple." Guilt flooding my face.
"Like ten?"
"Um, a few more..."
"Twenty?"
"Um..."
"Thirty?" He's asking incredulously, even though he has no idea he has not even scratched the surface.
"Well..."
"More than fourty?"
This is where I give him what I'm sure looks like the glassy eyed smile of an addict. You know, the one that says, "Yes, I love my crack/ heroine/ cadbury creme eggs, and what are you going to do about it?" The only guilt I feel is being found out, although his being aware takes away the thrill of the whole thing now.
"Fifty," I say a bit ashamed, but laughing as I see how ridiculous it must look to him.
"Holly!" He answers and laughs as he shakes his head.

So my question is- does anyone else do this or am I totally losing it? I honestly wonder some times. A friend tells me there are things called fat tendencies, things like licking your fingers or the plate, hording food, etc... Does it count if you have already been fat? Fat tendencies seems to imply that you will become so, one day. What about every other couple of months? If anyone reads this I would love to know if I'm not the only one who has gone to some extreme measure to protect their goods.

Sea-dooing

2007-09-13T18:02:00.000-07:00

The day we went to Santos Dad treated us to a 25 minute ride on a Sea-doo. That 25 minutes was the scariest of my life. Jarom drove, going wild on the waves until my butt went numb from slamming into the seat. Through all the screaming I admit I had fun. Jarom zipped back and forth catching air on the waves, and making sharp turns. A few times he turned so hard that I couldn't hold on and went plunging into the sea (I had the bruises on my legs to prove it). At one point he had me sitting in front of him because I couldn't stay on the way he was driving.

I would like to explain that Jarom is a fish, he loves all things water and beach. Everytime we got knocked in (and if I knew that I was going in, I tried my very hardest to take him with me) he looked like he was having the time of his life. I on the other hand, am terrified of the ocean and did not enjoy bobbing up and down as fishfood for sharks. On one particularly brutal crash Jarom told me I looked like I was being eaten by a shark because I looked so scared in the water. I explain that I WAS scared, not only because I don't like dark, deep water but because the bottoms of my tankini set had slid completely off and they were around my ankles. It was ten times scarier, thinking I was going to lose my pants than a leg. (= For Jarom that day was the cherry on the top of his vacation.

After the Sea-dooing we went to this little fishing city near Santos, the beach was picturesque as it was filled with small fishing boats on the land and the sea. Little fresh fish markets lined the street making the scene complete. Three Cheers for Santos, tankini bottoms that add excitement but still stay on, and fishing villages. Thanks Mom and Dad!

Which raises the question...

2007-09-11T23:57:00.000-07:00

If anyone is wondering why I seem to be wearing the same pants the whole vacation (although I did mix it up with a jean skirt, you just never see it) it is because those were the only pants that actually fit me after 2 years of serious work to graduate college. I must not be able to eat well and take tests and write papers at the same time. Tragic but true. My last pair of fitting and well well worn in jean capris staged a revolt by ripping in not one place, but three or four. Classy. Now imagine how well my other clothes fit after eating all that delicious food in Brazil? Can anyone say Maricuja (passion fruit) pudding goodness?

2007-09-11T23:41:00.000-07:00

Santos

I don't know why I loved this little building, but I did.

My handsome man showing attitude (basically because I surpised him with this pic)

The day after Iguasu falls we went to this cool beach city called Santos. After looking around I decided I wanted a house near the fun looking beach. I can only imagine that the city must be crazy during the summer. Later that day we went on seadoos (or however you spell them, but that is a totally different blog for tomorrow). On the drive to Santos we went in the longest underground tunnel I'd ever been on, I didn't even try to hold my breath on that one. Mostly it was fun just to ride in the car and talk with mom and dad, see the sights, and relax. How many times can I say before it becomes repetative that I love Brazil?

The Argentina Side (and paraguay)

2007-09-10T21:36:00.000-07:00

No, Jarom and I are not playing Santa's helpers, the hard hats were required for the tour, along with shoes, hence the gorgeous foot attire I'm sporting. Jarom thought I was hot. Right then we were stratteling the line between Paraguay and Brazil (and it looks like my beads were strattling another kind of line... classy).

Train ride to the lower falls

lower falls

paraguay, ignore my closed eyes

So the second day of Iguasu falls we went to the Argentine side. We started off seeing the dam (in Brazil). Dad loved it! Disclaimer, the shoes I am wearing in some of my pictures, you know the ugly black frankenstein ones, they were NOT mine. They let me borrow them since I went to the dam dressed in flip flops. Whoops. After a good laugh at my styling diggs we were off to tour the gigantic dam, along with copious amounts of dam jokes. Argentina was gorgeous. I think the pictures speak for themselves...

Iguazu Falls, hello gorgeous...

2007-09-09T21:54:00.000-07:00

One of the coolest things about Brazil is that it shares iguazu falls with Argentina and Paraguay. So, for the price of one you can see three amazing countries at their finest. Iguazu falls was everything and more than I expected. We were lucky to see the falls with all the rushing water, and it seemed like we followed the good weather because it was perfect until the day that we left. It was supposed to rain the last day, but it must have waited until after we flew away. The first day in Iguazu we got to see the Brazil side, the next day we saw the Argentine side, and finally we stopped in paraguay for an hour to see the sights before we flew back to Sao Paulo. What a rad trip.

Disclaimer!!

2007-09-09T10:51:00.000-07:00

Julie and I were feeling very slap happy last night so I let her write a blog for me. I did NOT write the blog complaining about her kids or air conditioner. She wrote everything. However I do agree with some of it, like my darling sister, and how great my husband is, and how I HATE bandaids. Love you all and want you to know that I am not as mean as that blog makes me sound... (=

14 days of hell...three down, ten to go...

2007-09-08T21:10:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here on my darling sisters couch. Not a sound aside from the hum of her piece of junk air conditioner and a chorus of crickets outside the window. Her five hundred kids have finally gone to sleep, and I am enjoying this quiet. With all this quiet I have realized a few things.

One, I miss Jarom. I got "hell-a" lucky when I met that guy. Who would've known that the boy who shook the whole time he wrote down my number would end up to be my husband? I was major blessed and am excited to see where the next few years take us. (hopefully to the East Coast...)

two, there is no rush to have kids. Babies, maybe. But kids...NO! I am loving my neices but after so many poopy jokes, not to mention poopy diapers, I am thinking these years with out a belly bump may not have been so bad!

three, I am special. Not special as in I walk odd or talk funny, but special in that, "I'm pretty cool" way. My little neice, Eleanore loves me. She thinks I'm not only pretty, but she loves when I sing and read to her. She looks forward to seeing me and makes sure she introduces me to all her friends.

and four, I really do not like band-aids. Major bad. I really hate the nude colored ones. It's just disgusting to me. I'm okay with the tattoo ones, the ones little kids wear that have some sort of character on it, but I really hate the nude ones because they look germy and gross. People who wear nude bandaids are freaks.

Anyway, this post was kind of random, but I've learned a lot about myself in this minute. And I hope you have, too.

Brazil!

2007-09-08T17:37:00.000-07:00

So, Jarom and I are finally graduated (ok, Jarom is and I still have one independant study class to do, but who's counting) and we decided it was time to take a vacation and head out to mom and dad's in Brazil. Brazil was amazing. The first night we got there we went out to dinner with mom and dad at a place called Rascal's. It was really yummy italian food. After dinner we watched Young Frankinstein ("Hello Handsome!") and played a round of cards.

The plane trips were crazy and on the final plane we had a bit of a scare. Between the last two flights there was 45 minutes of layover. Plenty of time if you are going to get in on time, right? Well our plane was fourty minutes late getting to our gate to leave. We made it with 10 minutes to spare to get to our next plane across the terminal. As we ran across the airport in a panic (at least I was) I kept thinking about the fabulous words of the over paid and under enthusiastic Continental Airlines lady, "well, if we don't get you in on time for your flight we'll just LET you fly tomorrow..." Great, thanks! Luckily we made it on time and landed safely in Brazil on schedule.

The next day we drove out to Embu and checked out the awesome shops there. It was so quant and fun there. For lunch we ate empenadas at a restaurant owned by a lady from Argentina, sweet!

Paco Taco...?

2007-08-12T15:27:00.000-07:00

So Jarom and I inherited a cobalt blue beta fish named Paco from Scott and Megan. He has been dubbed the fertility fish. One night he was particularly crazy and jumpy and was swimming around in a frenzy. Wondering what was wrong with him I voiced my concern out loud. "I wonder what's wrong with Paco..." I mused to Jarom. Without missing a beat he answered (Jarom, not Paco), "He realized we've broken his streak." Poor paco, we will have to find a new nickname for him, how about Paco the frenzied fish, or Paco the fantasic fish. I'll get back to you. Anyhow, I am smitten. He eats his dried fish food like he's a shark, sneaking up on the lifeless bits of worm and attacking, while swinging his head around savagely. He is also incredibly nosey and stares in our direction when we are in the kitchen, the living room and when we come into the apartment. I love him. Thanks Scotty and Megan!

Seattle... what's with the Pigs?

2007-07-31T09:42:00.000-07:00

So for the last few days of our trip we got to spend time with Jarom's sister Mindy and her husband Ryan. It was so nice to spend those few days with them since we hardly have seen them in the last few months. Jarom and Alli were smitten with each other and Alli copied Jarom's talking by making her own little noises that sounded like his. It was adorable! On the fourth we went to downtown Seattle to see the festivities and maybe some fireworks. I got mocked by a farmer's market guy when I said to Jarom "Lets take a picture in front of the Original Starbucks." Punk. Also, there were these crazy pig statues all over the city, I don't know what the heck they were for, but they were really cool. It was so fun to spend that time with Mindy and Ryan and play with Alli. (p.s.- my computer is being funny so I can't get the picture to turn around, but I will do it eventually...)

Oh, Canada

2007-07-28T23:55:00.001-07:00

Today we got to see Mom and Dad Tanner of all places in Canada! We met them in Stanley Park and watched a game of Cricket. After we went to grouse mountain, took a sky rail to the top and watched a few shows about birds and mountain loggers. So much fun! It was really nice to see family after traveling for the past week.

Check out them apples

2007-07-28T23:43:00.000-07:00

Washington, what a state. A little tip, don't drive through an Indian reservation just because a map says there is a road that takes you through. Don't do it, not all dirt roads are created equal. After driving through what can only be considered a moment from Indiana Jones (picture tropical jungle and a bridge over a river made from two skinny strips wood and steel you have to balance your car on) we realized we were lost on a dead ended road. Sweet! Later we stopped at Olymic National Park, a temporate rain forest and walked around for a while. A nod to "Twilight" we drove through Forks, which was as barren as it was made out to be in the book.

Oregon!

2007-07-28T23:35:00.000-07:00

Oregon beaches are like no other beaches. The rocky shores are cold and gorgeous. I felt like they should be haunted with the chill in the air and the slight mist on the beach so early in the morning. When we first woke up the car was dead, the batteries totally worn out. Luckily a one armed man came to our rescue, literally. Thank goodness for the man. The rest of the day we drove all the way through oregon and partially into washington. Gorgeous. And we can't forget the tillamook factory! Cheese, glorious cheese!

2007-07-28T23:33:00.000-07:00

Hail Granola!

2007-07-28T23:22:00.001-07:00

Today was northern California day and oh how gorgeous the coast is! We started in San Francisco and got our visas from the Brazilian Consulate. After that exciting experience we drove up the coast where I saw about a thousand B&B's that I wanted to stay at. Adorable. There was a pretty lighthouse that we stopped at and took some pictures too.
Also, there is this place in Fort Bragg called glass beach. Fifty years ago the beach was a dump site where people would drop off their junk and broken down cars. After fifty years nature turned the once toxic beach into a beautiful rocky beach with a multi-colored glass shore. It was amazing. Later that night we slept in the car again because we couldn't find a cheap enough hotel again. We built a fort out of blankets around the inside of the car and fell asleep to the sound of waves, rain and passing cars. I love roadtrips!

Day 2 still...

2007-07-28T22:16:00.000-07:00

I had made phone calls to about ten different hotels in Fresno, asking each employee how much it cost to sleep at their hotel. It was late, we had slept in the car the night before and I was just ready to go to sleep. Without thinking, the words came out of my mouth automatically to the man at the Hampton Inn, but very very wrong. "Hi, How much does it cost to sleep with you... (hysterical laughter after the words issue out of my mouth and Jarom looks at me in amazement).. in your hotel?" Nice, now not only do I ask the man to sleep with him, but if possible at the hotel. Is there a packaged deal? Classy. Offended he informs me that there are no rooms available and curtly says goodnight, while I am in a fit of giggles so bad I can't even answer. And we begin!
Also... there is a hotel called the "Shiv hotel." What the heck? I'm sorry, but how can you possibly get a goodnights sleep at a hotel where you must be concerned about being gutted all night by a makeshift prison weapon. Very frightening. And the hotel was extremely expensive. Hey, it's not cheap to get rid of dead bodies these days, there are rules and regulations. And getting paperwork to dump a body is pricey.

My one brush with fame... (besides seeing the lady from "touched by an angel" at LAX)

2007-07-21T13:28:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna learn how to make a movie addition to my post. So far this is try 3, and yes, I am graduating from college soon. This commercial, if I get it up, is from way back but I thought it would be fun to post for those of you who have never seen it. I love you all!

Holls

p.s.- sorry mom! It's sassy!

Coast of California (Day 2)

2007-07-03T11:00:00.000-07:00

Today we decided to drive up the coast to Point Lobos. There were pines right on the cliffs of the ocean, and the wildflowers were in bloom. While we were walking we came across a family of deer (a German lady said, "oooh Bambi!" behind us). It was awesome! Later we stopped at a mission, and then drive through Carmel to see the pretty shops. That night we made our way up to San Francisco to sleep.

Oh, Yosemite! (Day 1)

2007-07-02T22:15:00.000-07:00

After Driving all night to get to Yosemite, we found there were no vacancies in the inns. So tragic! We ended up sleeping in our car for 4 hours which accounts for the whole chemo-chic thing I've got going on. Jarom looks cute so I'll just put the most pictures of him. On our drive I ran over a bunny and almost ran over a bobcat and a deer. Most of the night we weren't near anyone else, and at one point it was so dark on a mountain we were driving on that I pulled over to look at the stars. Wow! I could see the milky way like a bright ribbon across the sky, it was amazing! These pictures are of Yosemite and Sequoia. The Bridal Veil waterfall is in Yosemite.

The good ol' days!

2007-06-18T13:47:00.000-07:00

These are some pictures from the last few years. I think you can all see why I fell in love with Jarom... He looks just the the dapper English police men I always have dreamed about (by the way I had to BEG to get permission for this pic to be on here). The other picture is the only time I've ever felt small in my whole life...

Hi All!

2007-06-09T18:55:00.000-07:00

Jarom and I are finally getting close to finishing school! We are so excited to be moving on with our lives and doing new things. August will bring a close to our BYU days (hurray?!) We love you all and miss you. I will write more as more things come up to share.