Economic Pick-me-up

It's nice to know that in this time of financial instability and doomy economic forecasts that our tax dollars are hard at work.

For example, the city hired out a construction company to do put in new high pressure irrigation in our city. Well, they finished on my street about 3 weeks ago. And yet this truck still goes up and down my street a couple of times an hour brushing all the dust up into the air.



And then this truck comes along and sprays it all back down to the ground.

A few hours later, the dust is dry and they can begin again.


Thanks for helping out, AF City. It's comforting to know that you are making the most of our resources while times are tough.

Camping In

Nothing says camping like the smell of smoke, a rock hard bed, mediocre food, and a few bug bites. Luckily, Big K was willing to experience them all solo so that the rest of the family, who stayed home from the ward camp out, could enjoy the one great upside of camping: smores. Of course, we weren't able to make a campfire at home. Trust me, I thought about chopping a few branches off our horse chestnut tree and laying them in a nice log cabin shape in the kids' sand box, stuffing it with newspaper, and building a big roaring bonfire 15 feet away from the back of our junkyard neighbor's house. It would have killed two birds with one stone. Especially if a few sparks accidentally flew into one of the abandoned cars a few feet away. But my killjoy husband nixed that plan. So we had to make due. And let me tell you, just like Tiburon said it would, my electric stove top did a stellar job of making absolutely perfect toasted marshmallows. Behold:

And have you ever seen such a well-dressed, CLEAN, camp-out? Me neither. No flannel or hiking boots in sight. I think we should make this a yearly or even bi-yearly tradition. The "Camp In." Only next year I think we'll get really crazy and sleep in sleeping bags in the playroom. I'm a wild one, I know.

The $300 Question

If someone handed you three crisp $100 bills today, and you couldn't spend it on something practical like paying the bills or putting it in savings, what would you spend it on?

.

What a HOT Grannie!

Today's post is dedicated to my BFF Jeanette. It's her b'day! She just turned 34 years old AND she also just became a GRANDMOTHER!!! That is just plain crazy.

Granted, it's not a blood grandchild. It's her step daughter's child. But still.

Here is a picture of the cute little guy (Lyndon):

Now, back to my BFF...

GG (what I call her) and I have been best friends since we were 7 or 8 years old. Our wards combined and suddenly I had another girl my age in my class at church! I was thrilled. We've been BFFs ever since. We never went to the same school since my ward boundaries were about a 10 mile radius and she lived about 8 miles away. But we had sleepovers at each other's houses nearly every weekend. We would spend all night chatting and setting up our elaborate Barbie houses. First the furniture made of blocks my mom let me paint myself--rainbows for one room, pink with glitter for another, blue with criss crosses, and green with polka dots--just like any normal house's furniture. Then we would lay out all the clothes and accessories and take turns choosing items until they were all divied up. By then it would be midnight and my mom would make us go to bed. In the morning we would eat breakfast, get dressed, and finally settle in to PLAY with the Barbies, only to have Jeanette's mom call and say it was time to come home. I'm not sure we ever actually played Barbies. But the setting up was always fun.

When we got older, we got interested in boys. I made the rounds with the meager selection of guys in our ward while Jeanette stayed steady with the same one guy, Rick, from age 13 until sometime during our freshman year of college, I think. The funny thing about him was that he shared the same last name as her, just different by one letter in the spelling. We always joked about how she wouldn't even have to change her name when they got married.

During college GG and I still stayed in contact despite being seperated by a few hundred miles of Utah and Idaho wilderness (she was at Rick's and I was at BYU). We took our spring break to L.A. together. We visited each other as much as we could. And at the holidays we drove the 1600 miles to and from Michigan together. One car, two drivers, 24 hours, straight through.

GG and I had lots of fun adventures in college. There was the time we were driving cross country and my cruise control got stuck at 85. I couldn't get it to release. We were weaving in and out of heavy city traffic, unable to stop or downshift my car. We thought we were going to die. And then there was the time when we and a few friends went to Toronto to party. I won't say what happened, but I will say that to this day I still can't stand the smell of tequila. There was the time that her then boyfriend took her and me and our other two roommates to Las Vegas to propose to her. We all knew what was going on, but she didn't. You should have seen her face when she pulled the ring out of that big tray of peanut butter cups that room service rolled in. Then there was the time that I was driving over to Jeanette's house the summer before we went to college. Suddenly my car was surrounded by 6 or 7 police cars who boxed me in and pulled guns on me. But that's another story for another day.

Now my dearest deary lives in the red rocks of St.George. When I drive through, I try to stop and say HI and when she comes up here, she usually gives me a call. She has 4 kids and 4 step kids, I have two. We're busy. But even though we only see each other once or twice a year, we'll always be best friends forever.

LOVE YOU, GG! HAPPY B'DAY!

The top picture is of my 7th birthday party. That's Jeanette, bottom center. I'm in the back on the left with the long braids and stupid expression. The bottom picture is our primary class. Jeanette is the shy violet in front. I'm the one with the frizzy hair and the Charles Nelson Riley glasses.

This is Jeanette, probably senior year. The first picture is her showing off her unusually spacious mouth. The second one is her saying, "Promise me you are going to destroy that picture." I promised. But I lied.

This was our ward's youth 50's dance. GG and I are on the right in our poodle skirst doing the twist. I guess we didn't know that the twist hadn't been invented yet.

This is a few of my friends welcoming me back from my year in Germany. Jeanette is in the back row with the infamous Rick. I'm in the middle with the long hair and my mom's outfit on. Ya, that was a bad phase, where I wore my mom's clothes. Desperation is the only explanation.

This is one of the infamous trips to Canada. We had way too much fun.
The bottom picture is Jeantte's wedding, with me as maid of honor.

THE END.

Freedom of Speech

Everyone in this picture believes that women don't get as much pay as men, that corporate America treats women unfairly, and that men have more rights than women. Well, all but that one guy.

Dirty Little Secret

It's time I let the cat out of the bag...

I am a Passion Parties' consultant. If you don't know what Passion Parties is, it's a business doing parties in women's homes, like Tupperware or Pampered Chef. Only instead of selling plastic containers and kitchen gadgets, I sell romantic products. My company's philosophy is that women should be able to enjoy sex as much as men, and if you need a little help, then get it! Everything we sell, with one or two exceptions, is for WOMEN. It's all about making things fun, building intimacy, improving satisfaction...basically bringing husband and wife closer together. And it's all done in the privacy of a friend's home--safe, tasteful, confidential, informative. If you've ever been to a sex-shop, and there aren't many here in Utah--three, to be exact--you'll know that it's usually a) embarrassing b) scary c) gross d) expensive and e) overall a nerve-wracking and overwhelming experience. So Passion Parties tries to make looking for romantic products a lot easier and less intimidating. Even some of my most conservative friends have said to me later, "I was really nervous to go to that kind of party, but it was great! It was very tastefully done." And the party consultant is like your own little Dr.Ruth, there to give advice and tips and guide you to finding products that will help you rekindle the romance.

We sell tame things like little card games and dice to help you be more creative in the bedroom, flavored produts like chocolate raspberry passion powder and Fireworks flavored massage lotion, and lingerie. We also sell more wild products that I'll leave to your imagination. But everything is sold with the intent to help couples get closer to each other and have more satisfaction in the bedroom.

I went to my first Passion Party about 4 years ago and bought quite a bit of stuff. I went to my second Passion Party the next year and bought a bunch more stuff. I loved their products so much that I decided to sell them. And I've really enjoyed being in this business. It is part teacher (because the parties are very educational), part therapist (because women open up to me about what they're dealing with so I can help them find a solution) and part comedian (because I try to keep my presentations very light). It's really a fun job. And I believe strongly in what I do. I believe that adding a bit of spice to your marriage is a GOOD thing. The more a couple enjoys sex, the more sex they'll have. And the more sex they have, they happier and more faithful they are likely to be. So it's all good for a healthy, happy, even LDS marriage!

Things have been kind of slow since the summer, though. People are busy and out of town a lot. So I'm trying to get the ball rolling again now that school is back in session. So if you think you might be intersted in either products or a party, let me know. You can browse at my website here. If you'd like to know more, you can email me at arianne at the passionroom dot com. In fact if you email with an order me or decide to hold a party, just use the code "blogpromo" (or mention to me that you saw this on my blog) and I'll give you 10% off your order or an extra 5% hostess credit at your party. And if you refer someone to me for an order or a party, I'll send YOU a gift certificate to use at my website. Just have them use your name when they contact me.

Thanks for allowing this shameful self-solicitation!

Blurkers Revealed

Well, I"m happy to say that my Blurker Amnesty Day didn't turn out like my 8th grade party where no one showed up. Yay! It was more like my 9th grade party where a very small, but very quality, group of friends showed up. The really good ones. Few, but fabulous. So I want to thank:

Mrs. G

Misty

Tammy (who just barely revealed herself before this post)

Jessica

and

Oreste (who put his comment under the post "Here, Here!").

And I have to give a special thank you to Oreste because A) He blurks all the way from freaking ITALY!!! Wow. And (I think) he is a MALE. (If not, I might have just lost a loyal blurker.) So those two things make me feel super dooper mega special.

Thanks for outing yourselves. It's nice to know that what I say is interesting enough for former strangers (now blog-friends) to read. And for those of you blurkers who didn't out yourselves yesterday (I'm going to pretend there are dozens of you), maybe next time?

And thanks, of course, to all my other loyal readers, friends, family, bliends, and blesbians who read me and comment all the time. You know my self esteem is based 95% on how many people read and comment on my blog on a regular basis, so you're keeping my therapy bills low. THANKS!

Independence Day

"BY MYSELF!" This is the phrase I have heard more than any other over the last 5 days. Daphne wants to do everything by herself lately. For the most part, I couldn't be happier to hear those words. I am tired of wiping her bum, frankly. So I don't mind that she wants me to take a little break from that. And carrying her dishes to the sink after every meal isn't something I will miss terribly either. If it makes her feel grown up to do it, fine. It doesn't bother me when she says she wants to get into and out of the car by herself either; I have another child to unload while she works on getting up into or down out of her car seat.

But I'd like to do a little tweaking to the list of "by myself" things. I'd like to add to it, mostly. I'd love to see her go to bed BY HERSELF. I'd be fine if she made all her meals BY HERSELF. And if she decided she just had to do her laundry BY HERSELF, I wouldn't complain much. I realize that she's three years old, but the washing machine's buttons are very easy to read.

I think I'd also like to get her to accept the "by myself" phrase coming from me. As in, "Daphne, I'd like to eat this cake BY MYSELF." Or "Daphne, do you think it would be OK if I went to the bathroom BY MYSELF this time?" Maybe even, "Hey, how about if Mommy got to spend one half minute making a few phone calls BY HERSELF?"

Ya, this BY MYSELF thing might just work out.

(p.s. I did not manufacture that picture for this post. It was taken during an actual demonstration of "by myself.")

A Few of My Favorite Things

Here are some of my favorite inventions:






Actually, that kind wasn't that cool. Let's replace it with this one







I am not including this: Why on earth does THIS invention get top billing (as in, "The best thing since sliced bread")?? How hard is it to cut bread? Back in the old days were bread knives a rare commodity? Was their hand-eye coordination not very well developed? Did they have to take their bread to special slicing shops where people who had completed years of training could do it without lopping off a finger or making triangular shaped pieces? Maybe. But we've come a long way since then. We've really advanced our technology. Now I think it would make WAY more sense to say, "The best thing since toilet paper." Or "the best thing since garbage trucks." Or "the best thing since dental floss." But SLICED BREAD? Come on.

But I digress. My point to this post is to talk about my latest favorite invention (we've had it for a while, but this time of year, when all my shows start again, I'm especially amazed by it):



It is not an exaggeration IN THE SLIGHTEST to say that the DVR has revolutionaized my life. Sure, it's not related to cleaning up any bodily function, as most of my favorite inventions are (diapers, tampons, barf bags). But it allows me to watch all my favorite shows WHENEVER I WANT. AND....drumroll please...WITHOUT COMMERCIALS. Now THAT is a great invention. I can instantly tape every show I want to watch, two at a time now, watch one while another one is taping, or watch something different altogether, live, while my two other shows are taping. It's a miracle. The loaves and the fishes thing was cool, but I'm pretty sure those loaves were not sliced, so the DVR probably wins.

In fact, it's so impressive to me that I think I'm going to call for an official change of the sliced bread idiom. From now on, whenever something is a cool invention, I'm going to say, "Wow! That thing is a cool invention! It's the best thing since the DVR!"

I'm starting a verbal revolution.

WHO'S WITH ME?

Here, Here!

I'm not smart enough or funny enough to put my thoughts together on the topic of the federal bailout of banking greed while maintaining my usual level of flair and wit. So I'll leave it to Mrs.G, who did both perfectly...


Bail Out

(And before you think, Um...I'll skip ths one and move on to something funny, let me assure you that reading about the government really can be hilarious.)


.

I Always Feel Like Somebody's Watching Me...

I am cutting this pretty close. It's 11:15pm by my computer clock, so in only 45 minutes, Blurker Amnesty Day will have ended and I would have missed it.

What is Blurker Amnesty Day, you ask? Well, let me explain:

Blog + lurker = blurker. If you read this blog but don't comment, you're a blurker.
A pardon + complete forgetfulness of the event = Amnesty.

So if you comment on my blog on Blurker Amnesty day, you get to do so without fear that I will start googling you, doing background checks, hiring private eyes to investigate you, start stalking your blog, or expecting you to comment on my blog on a regular basis. I just want to know who you are!

Do I flatter myself that you even exist? This experiment to bring out the blurkers could end up like that party I threw in 8th grade where no one showed up. Embarrassing. A major blow to the ego. The cause of my love affair with baked goods. So please, if you blurk, come out--just for today--and say HI! You can do so by clicking at the bottom of this post where it says "____ comments." Sign in with your google blogging ID or as anonymous (but tell me your name, just for today).

And because I jumped on this bandwagon late, I'm officially extending Blurker Amnesty day through September 23rd.

Want to know more? Rather than plagiarize, I'll send you to the source:

Click here

So, it is now 11:36 by my computer clock. That leaves you 24 hours and 34 minutes to make my day. Ready, Set, Go!

p.s. Do you have that Rockwell song in your head now? I do. If you do too, then you are SO cool.

Poser

And while I'm on the subject of being a poser, I have to admit to being a poser. On one certain topic: exercise. And only with one certain audience: those who exercise a lot and love it. Who are these freaks? You know who they are. They are the ones that were born loving to do cardio 'til they drop. They are the ones whose best look is a sports bra and short shorts with a light mist of sweat tinging their firm thighs. They are the ones who say, "Oh, I just feel so antsy if I don't get out and run for at least two hours a day." And they are the ones who never miss a step in aerobics class or stop to take a drink (while I whirl around all dizzy, nearly throwing up as I reach for my water for the 20th time). Well, because of them, I have to pretend that I like exercise too. They make me pretend I've pulled a muscle when I get off the tread mill after only 7 minutes. They make me smile and pretend I'm not going to pass out when I open the door for us to leave the gym. And worst, they make me pretend that I hate carbs and love salad, which is such a betrayal to my inner self and everything I believe in. Why can't they just despise exercise like the rest of us? Whenever I work out next to one of these people (just before I fall off the back of the stair stepper) I just want to scream, "Go sit on the couch and eat some pie, would you???"

Rip-off

Crap. I freaking hate it when someone else finds the funny stuff first. Thanks a lot, Mindi. Now I have to rip this off your website and look like a poser.

Gone To a Better Place

Well, we tried to keep Sasha (the little kitten I found) but we had two major problems:

1) Flossie, our resident sour puss, hisses and tries to eat Sasha.
2) I'm not interested in having a newborn ANYTHING, I've discovered. Not even a sweet little kitten. His crying all night plus constant feedings, plus keeping the kids and cat from mauling him to death, plus cleaning up his messes, just isn't the speed of pet I'm up for right now.

Oh, and he peed on me last night. That was fun.

So we took Sasha to the animal shelter today. He hissed at the lady when she tried to take him out of the box, but he let me do it. It made me sad because I had finally gotten him to trust me and not hiss at me and here I was, giving him up.

Daphne cried the whole way home about losing her baby kitty. But I tried to tell her how much happier Sasha would be now that he was with the other kitties and doggies. She kept crying. So I lied and told her that Sasha was with his mommy and daddy. That seemed to make her feel a little better. But she still cried for a while. Hopefully soon someone will adopt Sasha and he really will be happy. And I won't have been completely lying about Sasha going to a better place.

Move over, Bacon!

I hope I haven't completely dated myself with the title of this blog post. There are bound to be a few people reading this who go, "HUH?" I have one word for those people: Sizzlean.

But back to my topic, which has nothing to do with bacon. This post is about the HOV lane, otherwise known as the carpool lane. I'm going to try REALLY hard not to rant. But I might rant. Sorry.

First I ask the question to my audience, Why did they make the HOV lane? And the immediate answer would be something like "To give people incentive to carpool." "Yes, but WHY is the HOV lane an incentive?" would by my follow-up question. And the answer to that question is what clearly never occurs to the people who drive in the HOV lane SLOWER THAN the rest of traffic.

Ideally the freeway works like this: Left lane = those who are actively passing, Middle lane(s) = those who are driving faster than some others, right lane = those who are driving slower than most everyone else. If people followed this system, there would rarely be frustration on the freeway. No one would be bugged by that jerk riding their bumper or feel pressured to drive faster than they felt comfortable in order to appease someone behind them. They would just move over a lane to the right. And those who wanted to drive faster would have the middle lane to do so, and would have the left lane to pass, should they need to. But they would then need to GET BACK OVER after passing so that the left lane would remain free for others (faster others) to pass. The problem, for both faster and slower drivers, comes from not thinking about what they are doing or where they are. Most people, I think, would rather not irritate everyone else on the road. But people who are in a hurry drive right up to someone else's bumper w/o realizing that that driver is actively passing someone in the middle lane and, therefore, has every right to be in the left lane. Or they get into the left lane to pass and then get distracted and end up slowing way down and forgetting to get back over. Or they are full-time slow drivers who have no clue that the lanes on the road mean something. Just stopping to think about what you're doing every minute or two would definitely get rid of a lot of drivers' frustrations.

Living in Germany when I was 16-17 was what impressed upon me the importance of using the lanes properly, particularly leaving the left lane open for passing. Because in Germany there are designated stretches of the autobahn (freeway) which have no speed limit. On these stretches, people with Porsches, Mercedes, and BMWs really open up the throttle and get over 100 mph in only a few seconds. So while you might be driving and see no one behind you as you move drive in the left lane thinking to yourself, "Hey, I can be here. I'm driving pretty dang fast," within 2 seconds a red hot Carerra is 2 inches from your rear bumper wondering why you are trying to cause a 50 car pile-up. There is no doddling in the left lane in Germany or lots of people die.

So maybe I have become over-sensitive to poor drivers. Maybe I am a little particular about people using the lanes properly. Maybe I have unrealistically high expectations about people paying attention while they drive and not zoning out. If so, my bad.

BUT, let me return to the HOV lane topic. WHY is the HOV lane an incentive to car pool? The answer is, because you should--in theory--be able to drive faster than traffic in the HOV lane. Its lower occupancy should allow for a smooth speedy commute that is uninhibited by the entering and exiting and jockeying of other vehicles. But that only works if people in the HOV lane actually drive faster than the rest of traffic. Otherwise, why drive there? Why not just stick to the lane that is going the same speed as you? I ask you, WHY DRIVE IN THE HOV LANE IF YOU INTEND TO DRIVE SLOWER THAN TRAFFIC? My answer, when I ask myself this for the 1000th time while following someone driving 60 in the HOV lane, is usually "because they CAN. Because they actually for once have 2+ people in the car, and they are so excited to use the HOV lane that they don't think about what it is FOR." I ask that question especially when large tour buses are driving 55 in the HOV lane. Ya, we get it. You have a lot of passengers. Good for you. But why not stick to the far right lane where no one is going to be bothered by your speed?

One more thought: Did you know that no one pulling a trailer is allowed to drive in the HOV lane OR the left lane next to the HOV lane? True fact. You'll see signs saying as much every mile or two on the freeway. But people do, all the time, pull their trailers (usually slower than the flow of traffic) in the left lane. I want to pull my hair out.

So the moral of this post is,that Sizzlean is a lower fat version of bacon. So, bacon, when you see Sizzlean heading your way, move over!

Lost And Found

Do you remember that scene from Adventures In Babysitting where the main character's friend (played by Penelope Ann Miller) is waiting to be picked up in the subway station, and she's lost her glasses and can't see, and she thinks she has found a lost kitten but it's a rat? Well, that happened to me today. Only in reverse. I thought I found a rat, but it was...



It was hiding in a dark shed at the in-laws'. I heard it rustling in the dark and thought it was a rat. But it didnt' run away. And as I got closer I could see that it was a tiny little kitten. Dark grey fur with white paws and nose, and big blue eyes. Big K says we can't keep him. Flossie agrees.

Anyone want to adopt a little kitty?

If not, he's going to the kitty jail tomorrow. Wahhhh.

True Love

There is a spot on the bottom part of Beck's chin where it meets his neck that is so soft. Like kitten fur. Only softer. I always want to touch it and cup his soft chin in my hand, but it tickles him. So he scrunches his shoulders up to his face and puts his chin to his chest when I try. Then he turns his head to the side and smiles at me until his dimple shows. I love that boy.





Even though when I went to take a picture of him for this post, I found this...




We had a funeral for the goldfish just after this picture was taken. They were buried solemnly in the vacuum. Beck and Daphne cried.

867-5309

That's not my number. But I do have a new cell number. I decided my phone was too big, so I upgraded (downgraded) to this 2 inch one. So if you know me and didn't get the memo that my number has changed, email me and I'll send you my new cell number.

Don't have my email? Then I probably dont' know you well. So my number IS 867-5309. Talk to you soon!

Got Hips?

Hips run in my family. Big hips. Disproportionately big hips. The kind that should belong to someone 3 sizes bigger than you but are stuck on either side of YOUR butt. When I tell people I have big hips, they always say, "No you don't!" They're just trying to be nice. Or they're confused by the fact that my body is, overall, on the smaller side. And when I tell them that I seriously have to buy pants 2 or 3 sizes bigger than the rest of my body should wear, they say they can't tell. And that's good, because I've taken dressing for my hippie shape to a near art form after all these years. It's hard to disguise a 32" 26" 42" figure! No lycra. No cotton jersey (MOM). No tapered legs. All of those say "Hey, check out how gargantuon my hips are." I want my clothes to say, "Look over here, away from the hips." Luckily (not for her) God blessed me with a sister who can understand my pain. Though we're not alike in many ways, and the rest of our bodies are pretty different, we both share the curse of the Polster hips. Jennie's method of hiding the hips is distraction: Patterns, pretty fabrics, decolletage (my favorite thing she says is that she wears a swim suit that shows a lot of cleavage so people don't notice her hips and butt). I don't have that luxury, if you know what I mean. So I go with the "dress to your shape" method. So I thought I'd share a tip for those of you with some junk in the trunk (or in the saddle bags, as the case may be):

1) Express Jeans. They now carry several different fits of jeans at Express. My favorite is the Eva. It's not super low rise (which is good if you wear magic underwear), it's roomier through the hips, and it comes in both a boot leg and "fit and flare" leg. I'd go with the fit and flare. It makes use of the distraction tactic--more attention to the legs, less attention to the hips. It also has 3 lengths of inseams, so short and tall girls can wear them. $59. Not the cheapest, but not outrageous either.




2) Charlotte Russe Jeans. Similar to Express, Charlotte Russe has a bunch of fits too. They use a precious stone theme to indicate the various styles (ruby, lapis, opal, etc.). I was confused at first by the descriptions "ultra low rise" and "super low rise" because I actually don't like low rise much at all. But in reality, the super low rise (which is the higher rise of the two) is a good height. No hanging your laundry out, but not 1980's either. So I went with the Pebble. The medium wash is worn in and soft, and it looks like you're wearing your boyfriend's jeans (which is impossible for a girl with hips to do. But they create that illusion). $29.

So there you go. If you're blessed with good birthing hips and find your trips to buy jeans a total nightmare like mine usually are, try these little gems and see what you think. And pass it around. We hippie women need all the tips we can get.

Her Week, In Pictures

I have a friend



Whose week has been like this


She doesn't have one of these this week



Because he is here


So no one was there to console her when she had one of these


with her adorable but sassy this




Also, she did this this week


And no one in her family did this


or this

to tell her how proud they were.


I'm sorry. I feel like this for you, Girl.



And I want her to know that if my clock looked like this



I still wouldn't be able to accomplish as much in a day as she does.


She does this



And this (Watching and cheering, of course)


And this



And this


and this both for fun AND for work!



So in my book, she is really more like this


If you know her, take a minute to tell her she is awesome. It might make her feel more like this