WHAT UP 2008 !

Every year sometime in January my family would gather in the living room and discuss what our goals for the new year were going to be. We each wrote them down and were supposed to keep them in our room or taped on the microwave or wherever we would see them, although they usually ended up as paper airplanes whizzing towards Sam's face whilst he was telling some long detailed story we lost interest in 30 seconds into it.

I want to declare that I am rejecting the traditions of my youth! I am NOT going to do that kind of list anymore. Last year I had two resolutions: learning how to french braid, and becoming more compassionate. Go ahead and guess which one of those I accomplished. So I've decided to be really really original and use my blog as a wrap up of 2008. Are you rolling your eyes right now? Well it's my blog, so I can.

FAVORITE MOVIE: I'm sad to say that nothing really blew me away this year. But in terms of entertainment, I'm going to have to go with Iron Man on this one. I'm sorry, but HELLO Tony Stark. Don't you think he would be perfect for me? I also thoroughly enjoyed The Dark Knight, but it was too, how shall I say . . . dark. I didn't laugh much, so it's demoted. Methinks I have a superhero thing. Or maybe just a thing for mysterious, big-biceped, brilliant rich men. Maybe I ought to do some self-analysis on that. But I won't.

My guess for the Oscar in Best Picture will be The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, with Slumdog Millionaire and Frost Nixon competing.

runners-up: Bottle Shock, Mamma Mia!, The Incredible Hulk, Penelope.

guilty pleasures: The Pineapple Express, Get Smart, Run Fat Boy Run, In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale (lying).




Favorite TV Show: This is hard, because I really like a lot of them. This year it's a tie between Mad Men and Lost. I actually don't really like sitting down and watching Mad Men, because I get offended when every 5 minutes one of the men is making some snide, sexually demoralizing remark to a woman. I thought I would never say it, but THANK YOU feminist movement. However, the show truly is engrossing. And I have a really huge embarrassing love for Lost. Deal with it.

runners-up: Fringe, 30 Rock, Pushing Daisies, Chuck, The Office, Extras, Law and Order: SVU, Kath & Kim.

guilty pleasures: Gossip Girl, The Hills, The City (so far), The Real Housewives of Orange County.

worst: Heroes. It's gone way downhill since the writers strike.




Favorite TV Couples: Chuck and Blair, Gossip Girl. Jack and Kate, Lost (or I would be willing to root for Sawyer and Kate. Heaven knows I love me a good love triangle).

runners-up: Chuck and Sarah, Chuck (fake though it may be), Ned and Chuck, Pushing Daisies, Jim and Pam, The Office.

Is anyone else noticing the amount of Chucks on tv? Weird.

worst: Spencer and Heidi, The Hills.



Favorite People who died in 2008: Gordon B. Hinckley, William F. Buckley, Charlton Heston, Paul Newman, Estelle Getty, Heath Ledger.

Favorite Book:
Fiction: Ireland by Frank Delaney. It combines three of my most favorite things - history, storytelling, and Ireland. Plus, the writing is admirable without being too wordsy. And the story, and stories within the story, is really compelling.

runners-up: The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke.

Non-fiction: The Devil in the Kitchen by Marco Pierre White.

runners-up: Sixty Million Frenchmen Can't be Wrong by Jean-Benoit Nadeau, Sharon Osbourne Extreme by Sharon Osbourne, Little Black Book of Style by Nina Garcia.

worst: Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin.


Best Accomplishment: Declaring decisive victory over D.Y. in arm wrestling.

runners-up: Graduating from BYU, finding 2 Calvin Klein dresses on the clearance rack at Marshall's for $15, coming in third place in the Biggest Loser competition at work, finding Gossip Girl Season 1 on sale at Target for $17.99.

worst: Attempting to flirt with Mr. Harvard-grad-aerospace-engineer at a regional conference. He seemed freaked out by me. Whatever man, your loss.


Family Accomplishment: Finally taking a picture where every one's eyes are open.




2009 Resolutions: Finish my autobiography, get a job abroad, do 600 push-ups a day, and stealthily sabotage my neighbors so that they will finally move.

Happy New Year!

Back from walking in the valley of the shadow of death

I can see that, having not posted in a while, the thought, "I wonder if Tara went on vacation somewhere" might have crossed someones mind. So let me kill that question right here and now. Instead of being on a cruise ship where I belong, I was sucked into a black hole of temp motherhood while my parents galavanted about California. I cooked and cleaned and burned a new hole in the o-zone layer from the amount of time I spent driving. So my question to you mommies who read this is, how do you do it? And more importantly, WHY? After 9 hours of the insanity I was ready to gouge my eyes out. I know that "it's different when it's your own" and that "it's the most fulfilling thing you'll do" but excuse my disbelief. I was not fulfilled. I was exhausted. And I kinda felt like I was living in Gitmo - NO ESCAPE. A prisoner to duties that would never end. You know when Kate from LOST says "Taco night? I don't DO taco night" in her married flashback? Well I wanted to high five her and yell, Amen! Guys, I don't DO motherhood. It makes me weird. Example: The night before I was relieved of duty I was watching "It's a Wonderful Life" while I was folding a Mt. Everest of laundry and I totally cried at the part when Harry Bailey says "To my big brother George, the richest man in town" and everyone cheers and sings carols and the bell rings and the little sickly girl talks about angels. Because somehow, George Bailey ends up really happy being poor with a gazillion kids and unfulfilled dreams. So I guess it's possible. Needless to say I'm in no rush to try it for myself. That little dose was enough to last me a long time. So here's to you moms - I salute you.

"Volure. I thought by now you'd be somewhere the law couldn't reach you. Like Bali...or Utah."

On Monday night I made an extraordinary discovery: I found the Celestial Kingdom of Retirement Centers. I know, it sounds like an oxy moron doesn't it? Well it's NOT. I was so overcome with awe that I didn't even have time to remember how much old people freak me out. Think Sweet Dee in "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" where she finds Charlie's Nazi grandpa but almost passes out from hyperventilating too much because the old people are getting to close to her and you will understand. In fact, the only reason I went to Deterioration Central in the first place was because I was guilted into it, what with the whole family and the ward going to sing carols and spread Christmas cheer and what have you.

This place, and I have no clue what it's called, is HUGE. With pale yellow and sage green walls, fake flowers that aren't chinsy, crown molding, a dining area that looks like a restaurant that I would go to on a date, lovely watercolor paintings on the walls, and truly classy Christmas decorations. And most important of all, it DIDN'T SMELL. How is that even possible? I don't know, it was celestialized probably.

So I now have a plan of what I am going to do with my parents in a few years. I figure that since their eyesight is going and they have to wear reading glasses, they are but a few maladies short of "ashes to ashes and dust to dust" and I'm going to need someplace to put them. I mean, it's better than Shady Pines.

no i don't remember you

Co-worker Stacey and I were discussing the pros and cons of "reconnecting" with people you sort of knew but didn't really like in high school, playground frenemies from the 3rd grade, fathers you didn't know you had, so on and so forth, and we both decided we don't actually want contact with any of these people, but the curiosity of what MIGHT have happened to them can be so deliciously aggravating.

Like, what ever happened to Christina E.? Did she end up having 3 children out of wedlock with different baby-daddy's before the age of 21 like I think she did? And Courtney - is she some artsy vegan tree-hugging nut job in Oregon, who only wears sandals made from recyclables? What about Mean Maggie, the rotund boisterous girl who plagiarized a book report in the 6th grade and GOT AWAY WITH IT because bald-headed Mr. Cooley wouldn't believe me even though I READ the book she plagiarized.

I bet little Marky ended up joining a gang after all, and I have a feeling Tommy Tobin actually is the "bum bandit" who terrorizes Nebraska citizens by leaving his bum print on windows. And if you think I am exaggerating these hypotheses, maybe you ought to take a trip to Fresno and then you'll believe me. On second thought, don't. Unless you WANT your car to get stolen and consequently used for a drive-by shooting because some Mexican hombre with a gold tooth crossed the line into Laotian territory and keyed one of their rice rockets.

But you know when you run into someone from high school, and you realize after you talk to them that they're still as lame as they were when you were forced to sit next to them in English and they repeatedly tried to impress you by leaning over and showing you how much booze they had in their backpack, except they look way worse now? Well that happened to me except I was the loser! It happened at the voting poll of all places, and blast-from-the-past girl was in a medical research Ph.D program, had a huge rock on her finger and a hot fiance, AND she looked good - with that naturally pretty look that I can never hope to achieve. And I was the one in sweats and greasy hair and living at home and probably had chocolate on the side of my mouth. Then, as we are walking out of the polls, we realize we're parked right next to each other. Except that SHE is in a nice luxury vehicle, and I am in my mom's FESTIVA. Needless to say it wasn't one of my better moments.

The moral of the story is that I feel better about myself if I don't by happenstance run into people I used to know. So if you ever find me on facebook and I don't want to be your friend, you know why.

calm the heck down

Some days I find I have a lower than usual tolerance for annoying things, and lucky for you today just happens to be one of those days. In honor of that, let me vent something important...

Next to my computer screen on my desk at work I have a small Eats, Shoots & Leaves daily calendar. It was given to me by one of the attorneys for one, or all, of the following reasons: a) he obviously sees me as an uneducated bumpkin who could use a few lessons in grammar, b) he is trying to prove something from the few times I scratched out all of HIS grammatical mistakes when editing his letters, or c) because he secretly has a crush on me. Who am I kidding - it's probably c.

Today's subject is on the decline of punctuation standards, blamed on emails and text messages and the lazy people who write "R U going out 2nite" instead of actually spelling it out and using a question mark. (DISCLAIMER: If ever I receive this kind of text from a potential crush, they are immediately dismissed. Ye be warned.) I mean, really. Is it THAT hard to write properly? I think not. Are you really so busy and important that you can't spare an extra eight seconds to type correctly? You know, it just brings to mind my white trash neighbor, Joe Dirt, who probably doesn't know how to spell "sk8" any differently. And I really don't like musing about my neighbor Joe Dirt. I saw him for the first time in months yesterday, spinning around his front lawn like some 5 year old trying to make himself throw up. I wasn't sure if it was because he was high (very likely), or if it's the effects of living in a hell hole that display themselves in odd ways (equally likely). Oh the stories I could tell about my neighbors . . . Maybe someday.

Anyway. This brings me to one of my biggest pet peeves ever: overuse of the exclamation mark. I'm sorry, but I just don't buy the enthusiasm. Actually it's that I don't WANT to buy it. It's like Kim Kardashian's blog, where everything is reminiscent of "OMG i totally wore my newest red stilettos to britney's party and they were so hot!!! and i loved my outfit!! I just seriously think that life is soooo great!!! I mean, next week i get to paaarty in miami and i love it there!!!!"

ENOUGH KIM! Enough. Please, in the name of all that is holy will you just STOP? No one wants your bangs or your thick black makeup or your life, so stop shoving it down our throats with your incessant exclamations. I can't even get through posts where they use only one exclamation point at the end of every sentence. Please tell me that other people find this equally mind-numbing. Unless you are one of the few I've offended, in which case, please heed my frustrations and learn.

in which i say nothing

After living in a glutton's paradise for many days, I have returned to normalcy and can once again think properly. And here is what I think:

1. Fog freaks me out. Last night I was coming home from a friend's house, and the fog was so thick I could hardly see where I was going. I thought for sure some chalky, red-lipped vampire was going to hurl himself at my car. Which for a moment I couldn't figure why I would even come up with that, since I haven't even seen Twilight, until I realized that thought was a result of watching THIS masterpiece:


TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART! Yes, you have to dedicate a few, or 5 1/2, minutes to it, but isn't it well worth it? How many times while watching did you ask yourself, Why? What does it all mean? And admit it, the thought flashed through your mind that maybe you would like to "dance" about wearing a loincloth, or a ninja suit, too. Thank you, Amanda and Rob, for sharing this treasure.

2. I almost got baby hungry on Sunday. ALMOST. Because Amanda's baby is so scrumptious. And then the words of dear Mme. Bjork came back into my mind as I was cooing baby Grace. Quoth she:

Single? Psh! What's so bad about that? Like I've always said, being single makes you more intelligent. Since you're having a Totinos pizza for one, you can read the dictionary or wikipedia or layout plays by Marlowe and Shakespeare side by side and you can form your own well-informed decision over whether the chicken or the egg came first. Nextly, you can sample every fish in the sea and then throw them back without ever having to worry about global warming. Being single is like not having a conscience. Goodbye Jiminy Cricket, I'm a real girl.Thirdly, there's no one around to find out exactly how much chocolate you really are eating. Everyone can go along with assumptions like that of my roommate's, "You eat more vegetables than anyone I know. It's like you're a vegetarian. Oh wait, you are."

Does quoting this make me sound feminist? Because I love men. And moms. And I figure that since there are mommy blogs aplenty, why can I not give a shout out to singlehood every now and then? Aren't we supposed to embrace the current situation we find ourselves in? So consider this MY embrace to you, gentle reader.

Anyway. I love this: Being single is like not having a conscience. No wonder I never feel bad! No wonder people often find me offensive! The pieces are all coming together now! Thank you Marge, I now understand. Although I am definitely NOT a vegetarian, as evidenced by the amount of turkey I consumed for 6 straight meals.

3. Don't you hate it when you get really bad book recommendations, but you have to feign a certain amount of interest to be polite? Some girls at work, bless their hearts, know that I enjoy the written word, and so have loaned me Wicked (refuse to read) and some Nicholas Sparks sap (refuse to read). How long should I hold onto them before I hand it back with a "Thanks - that was an interesting read"?

This one's for the girls

To spare humanity the immense boredom that accompanies anything I might post about the goings-ons of my daily life, I usually try and avoid "So yesterday I..." and "Over the weekend..." posts. Because those would really only consist of how many diet cokes i drank and how I really need to do laundry and how I wish Christian Bale stalked me.

But THIS cannot be avoided. Because I can't hold my candle under a bushel any longer. I just had the potentially best shopping trip of my life on Saturday and I MUST share it.

Behold, Ventura. Known best for it's thrift stores.















I didn't take a picture of the thrift shops because, well, who wants a picture of a thrift shop? But you get the idea. Along with a navy pencil skirt and a purple pair of 99 cent heels, I also found these gems in the vintage section:



What you see so beautifully displayed here is a sequined skirt, perfect for saturday night fever and new years, and . . .

FUR! That's right - your's truly found a fur wrap for a few bucks! When I triumphantly displayed it at home later that afternoon, Mom asked "When are you EVER going to use that?" To which I excitedly replied, "Who cares! It's real fur!" So I put it on right then and there, and have been traipsing around with it on ever since.

Pretty good finds, huh? But wait! That isn't the last of it. I give you the crown jewel to my day full of bargains:





No friends, you're eyes don't deceive you. That is indeed a L.A.M.B purse. My first designer bag ever! In a rare fit of insanity I stopped at Nordstrom Rack on the way home, and there in the bag section was a pillar of light shining down upon the supple leather and plaid canvas and gold chains. My eyes never strayed from the glorious sight. I heard angels singing and harps strumming.

Id: I MUST have it!
Super Ego: NO! It is petty and vain and extravagant!
Id: So? Just think how good you'll look with it on your arm!
Super Ego: Are you kidding? It's a BAG.
Id: How very narrow minded of you - it is SO much more than a bag. Plus, it's plaid. AND HALF OFF!!
Super Ego: Remember that savings account - the one with the cobwebs and dust in it?
Id: But this might be our only chance to get a LAMB purse this cute and this cheap! Where is ego? He should be mediating this.
Ego: I'm here - just currently entranced by this find. Which is seemingly providential. Id, you win. Not through logic mind you, but mere excitement. Happy early Christmas.

So I snatched it and ran up to the cash register before super ego began to argue again. And the sweet cashier gasped and said, This is SO CUTE! To which I squealed and said, I KNOW! So we opened it and unsnapped and unzipped and oohed and aahed over all it's glory. And then she asked, Is it your first designer purse? Yes, I replied. And then she said, Welcome to the big girls club! I myself joined last year when I bought a Marc Jacobs purse! So I thanked her and sighed with envy over her MJ delight, until I looked at my newest purchase and jumped up and down a bit until people started whispering and pointing. I floated home on Cloud 9.

Oh, you want to see it again?


You can even take the strap off and use it as a clutch! Genius!

And that is the story of how I passed a new milestone in my life and now own a designer bag which I got at truly a GREAT deal at Nordstrom Rack. Who knew?!

tagged

Tagging is one of those things that I don't really love, but go along with it anyway because I DO love the people who tag me. so whatever. Apparently I have to show the 4th picture in my 4th album or some such business, but my pictures aren't organized that way, so I just closed my eyes and clicked on one. And this is what popped up:

Yes, they are related to me. Can't you tell by her sneer? It runs in the family. This is when we went to Cousin Whitney's wedding and had a major ordeal deciding which place we were going to eat at. The babies won, as usual, and their latest obsession was Quiznos. I had just gotten my new camera and was experimenting. So here we are, all of us squashed at one teeny table, and I took a candid whilst they were chowing down.

not asking too much here

Dear CW channel,

Look, I've got a lot on my plate right now. Job hunting, avoiding the mall, deciding which kind of salsa I want to eat tonight, etc etc, and so I just don't have TIME to deal with Gossip Girl right now. I've been thinking about it over the last few episodes and I've decided I reject the following:

1) Little J's hair. It is FOUL. The cut reminds me of a trashy-blond version of Linda from The Wedding Singer who accidentally sticks her head in the path of the weed whacker. Also, that cloud of eyeliner and black spiked choker. Really? Since when is it supposed to look like Jenny Humphrey waged a war with the trash in the San Fernando Valley and lost?

2) Aaron. I yawn just thinking about him. I feel like I'm being sucked into a black hole of boringness whenever he's on screen. His flannel shirts, greasy locks and cross-eyed goggling stares make me vomit in my mouth. I'm ready for him to be killed off, or at least sent to some zen-voodoo art school extraordinaire where everyone holds hands and chants Simon and Garfunkel songs. Because his whiny monotone 2-unintelligible-words-per-minute speeches on dating aren't doing it for me. And get some braces for crying out loud! This is America: no snagletooths allowed.

3) Chuck and Blair. No longer waging war. The conniving, meddling, back-stabbing, I'll-get-you-to-love-me-yet passion was the only real reason I watched this show. And now with the "maybe sometime in the future" cease-fire, I think I might give up on this show altogether.

Oh, and don't even get me STARTED on Mr. Nate Archibald and that bizarre bundle of conflicts.

Please, PLEASE bring back the fire. The drama. The minor-hunting cougars. Because until you do, NBC is getting my undivided attention.

Best Regards,

Tara

*cough cough*

As far as experiments go, I think it fair to say that I passed this latest purse-less test with flying colors. Yes friends, I succeeded in not filling my Mary Poppins carpet bag full of essential odds and ends throughout most of the week. And that was mainly due to the fact that from Wednesday night till yesterday I have been languishing on my sick bed (read: couch), coughing and hacking and whathaveyou. Now I know to some of you that might not make my bag-free attempt "successful" let alone "fair" - but really, when have I ever played fair?

Did I play fair when in 5th grade I told Brain Metcalfe to shove it when he claimed he got me out in dodgeball? No. I stayed in anyway. Did I play fair when I hid that Ace of Spades till the last round of poker and then called everyone suckers as I took all their money? No. Did I play fair when I cut in front of that little boy in the line for Space Mountain while his mom's back was turned and then feigned ignorance when his mom asked him why he was sobbing? No. And look where it got me - AHEAD.

Anyway. The point is that the experiment worked for a while. It seemed to work best while I was bundled in a blanket, sipping Diet 7up and watching 90's Christmas movies and Westerns. Don't judge me.

Foray into Minimalism

Today I have begun to do three things:

1) Experiment with minimalism. And by that I mean not carting around my purse which is usually the size of carry-on luggage. I feel that it will simplify my life. And also force me to be creative in finding where to put things, since I rarely have pockets in my work slacks. Lipgloss in my bra? Sounds good.

More than likely this will only last a couple days, because where am I going to put my grapefruit, Atlas Shrugged, huge wad of money and secret detective notebook? We shall see friends, we shall see.

2) Define my life each day in 6 words. No more, no less. Example: Most successful accomplishments based on spite. Or: My head, it kills. Advil please.
Again, notice the minimalist theme.

3) Write more haikus. I just feel that the world would be a better place if we spent a little less time protesting and a little more time haikuing. In church yesterday I was inspired by this truly terrible muscial piece to write a haiku. I couldn't remember how, so I had a friend refresh my memory. Though it turns out we were wrong, it's 5-7-5. Here's my latest creation:

Autumn leaves falling
sheep singing, returning sun
Babble, chaotic

Maybe not for everyone, but since when does true art appeal to all? I feel a new career option on the horizon. Do you have 6 words to define your life, or an inspirational haiku? If so please share.

That man is leering
I think of some brass knuckles
Sweet pain to my heart

my family and animals don't blend: a narrative

A long, long time ago, back when I was just a wee thing, my cousin Jonathan placed a "curse" on my whole extended family. This sounds weird, I know, but if you knew him you wouldn't be surprised. Actually I'm glad I've graduated because I sometimes lived in fear knowing we attended the same University. Now, I'm no expert as far as the dark arts go, and since he was no more than 12 at the time, I have a feeling that this curse-of-sorts actually just affects my immediate family. And this is what it entails: pets.

Every pet my family has ever owned has died prematurely. Without exception. There was my first cat Dabid - that's right, it's Dabid not David - who mysteriously "disappeared". But I knew the truth. The wild cats ate him. And believe you me, when you live out in the sticks of the central valley, everyone fears the feral wild cats. So I did what any broken-hearted child would do: I killed all the wild cats in the surrounding area with a toxic concoction I made out of tomato plant leaves, dirt and lighter fluid. Revenge is sweet.

Then there was my next cat, Coco. Who fell out of a tree as a kitten, got brain damage, turned crazy, and died. And then Abby, our first dog. A true mutt if there ever was one, but I loved it despite it's MANY flaws. While we were on vacation, our neighbors were watching it, and forgot to lock the gate after they fed her. So she made the great escape, got as far as the next street over, and consequently ate some rat poison and died.

THEN we got a bird. Only because my dad randomly FOUND IT sitting in a tree so he brought it home. It was this beautiful lime green and yellow parakeet, who scared the living daylights out of me because it would chase you if you were wearing socks. (Is anyone else noticing a strange pattern with my pets and mental health issues?) Well. Little Jake Hunter, Samwise's best friend, was over. And as all little boys are wont to do, they were playing swords. Jake didn't see the freaky bird running around, so he accidentally whacked it with his sword. Pigwidgeon (the bird) got all puffy and swollen and wouldn't move, even if you poked it. It stayed that way for like three whole days. And then one morning Paige wakes up to find Pigwidgeon moving around, and she gets so excited that she picks him up out of the cage and squueeeezes him with love. He got all weird and puffy again, so as I come waltzing into the family room the next day I see Paige playing with the very dead Pigwidgeon - she was stuffing him into a sock. And his head was flopping around all over the place. So I look at my dad who is watching this like it's NORMAL, and he says, Well she doesn't really know it's dead, and it's not like he cares now.

Which brings me to present day. We have no animals, since we decided to do a service to the animal kingdom by just staying away. But there's this cat who lives down the street. Mac. And weirdly he decided he wanted to live with us. So over the many years that he has been coming around, we have begun to feed him, and then let him in. All the time. And in return he brings us rats and birds and other such treasures. He would let Paige dress him up, and let us cart him around. He chased after marbles and string and we would tease him relentlessly with deli ham.

So a few nights ago, one of the twins comes up to me and whispers, "We found Mac on the street. A car clipped him and he's dead." And you guys, I have to be honest. I cried. ME. Over a stupid cat that I always professed I didn't like. Which was of course a lie. I loved that stupid bag of fleas! I love that he would be on the sidewalk waiting for me when I got back from the gym so I could let him in the house. And when he would follow me around when I was the only one home so he wouldn't be lonely. And now we've gone and killed him. I think the only reason he lasted as long as he did was because he wasn't technically ours. Oh and don't even get me STARTED on the stupid neighbors who buried him in their backyard, even though Mac didn't even like them. I hate neighbors.

Besides the morbid tones of writing about a dead cat, this narrative is also sad because I just barely scratched the surface of our many animal...mishaps. So on this rather unhappy note, let's raise our glasses to our cat that wasn't really ours. Mac, you were the perfect cat for our family and I hope you are enjoying big balls of yarn and ham a-plenty in heaven.

to the happy couple, round two

This is what I did this weekend. What can I say - weddings are just my thing as of late. I was fortunate enough to be part of the blessed decorations committee:

And was part of the hair and makeup team for this:

We did a good job, no?

Then had a love affair with this:

Yes, I had ribs, pork and chocolate silk pie on my FIRST helping.

And I got to reunite with this:

There was a bit of a brawl:

Over the last bite of pie, of course. Le cousins dangereux.

Weddings are crazy.

They were CONES

"You are the worst wedding singer in the world, buddy!"
"Sir, one more outburst from you and I will strangle you with my microphone wire."




Look closely at this picture. Do you notice anything about it, other than a delicious little flower centerpiece and the chocolate-dipped fortune cookies?

Behold, TABLE 9. Ringing any bells? Visions of mullet-headed Robbie Hart should be flashing through your mind right now. Along with a far better rendition of Love Stinks; depressing with a hint of violence.
"Now let's cut the stupid cake because I know the fat guy's gonna have a heart attack if we don't eat again soon... And while we do that here's a little mood music for you."


Remember those guys at Table 9? The ones he included in the I-am-a-love-reject group? I believe they were referred to as MUTANTS. Which is pretty much what we felt like for a part of the evening. The wedding table of single women, where the waiters "pretended" to forget to bring us our food and fill up our waters; where the heating mushroom thing never turned on; where the wedding singers graced every other table with their presence, but one. One table. One, the loneliest number. Each of us alone. Together. At TABLE 9.


We decided that perhaps Table 9 was just not the place for us after all, so after our stomachs were full and our eyes not yet dry from Chad's speech, we patronized the photobooth. Which provided just what we needed: attention. We also received some attention from Mr. Freaky-photobooth-owner, who glowered at us every time we went to snap some more freebees. And more. And more.
And then cake. And oh just a wee bit more cake. And then WAIT JUST A SECOND. We are NOT girls who eat their feelings. And Photobooth shouldn't be the only thing here getting free shots of us. That is a service we can provide all men. So we did what we do best: DANCE.

That's right. When the dance floor was empty, S, L, myself and new-bff-Karen got DOWN on the hard wood. And boy did those wedding singers love us! Who wouldn't, really. We were practically intoxicated with the love that was in the air. And before we knew it there was a crowd, including the wedding singers and our very own Mr. and Mrs. Lau. Hair was let down, ties were removed (a salacious story you should ask me about sometime) and the pumps came off thankfully, since I had just hiked a mile in them the night before on some horror-movie-death-hike-road to a Halloween dance party.


All in all it was successful wedding. The bride didn't run out last minute, nothing caught fire, and no heads were broken. The cake was divine, the decor was classy, and the band was superb. Plus there was that couple... On the dance floor... With his tie... And lots of saucy gyrations... You get the idea. So I give this nuptial event a 9 out of 10. I can't in good conscience give it a full 10 because that requires a fine slice of masculinity to flirt with/throw myself at, and at least one embarrassing public remark made to the bride and groom. So in the almost words of Robbie Hart, "Whitney and Mike are newlyweds! Whoopee-dee-doo!"



Mr. & Mrs. Lau, if you read this, I actually had a great time at your rehearsal dinner and reception. Table 9 was actually awesome and I hope you enjoy the even awesomer pictures we put in your wedding book of ourselves. Just be thankful we spared you the one of cake in our teeth.

Public Service Announcement

Do you know what today is? Are you having trouble remembering? Probably you're not THAT good of a friend since you can't remember, but I'll tell you and then you can pretend that you knew it all along. . .

Today is my half-birthday, how nice of you to ask! I will be accepting packages and cake at any time you care to send it or drop it by. Thanks for the kind wishes. And in case you were wondering, the etiquette for half-birthdays requires WHOLE presents.

See you at my surprise half-birthday party tonight!

i'm putting this on my fridge

Have I ever told you the story about Bird and I? Probably. I tell lots of people. But I'm not going to now. Suffice it to say that it was love (Platonic, obviously) at first sight. Not only did we share love of all things book-ish, world-event-ish and all things ridiculous, we also shared a love of the Robinson family. She is one of the few humans that I feel inferior to in this world. And I was so lucky as to receive this award from her:

Yay! And in keeping with tradition, I pass this coveted award to THE REPLACEMENT FRIENDS since I almost wet myself every time I read one of their posts. Plus, they are super good looking.

Who doesn't love the Jews?

Have you ever tried to calculate the number of people in Hell? Let me help. You can check politicians, insurance agents, car salesmen and anyone remotely tied to the IRS off the list. We can also toss in outspoken celebrities and concession-stand price-setters, if you like. And just when you thought Satan couldn't take anyone else in, I am now adding a new category: the people at those kiosks in the mall who will run after you when you try to ignore them.


I know you know who I mean. They accost you in public with their false smiles and lying words. And it totally happened to me the other day. There I was, after a long day of work, strolling through the mall thinking about how much I hate Abercrombie. Bothering no one. When suddenly this guy yells something at me. It makes me jump a bit, but I start to walk faster to ignore the crazy person who obviously has a problem with me. Then I hear this freak yelp in my direction and since I'm unaccustomed to being shouted at in any place other than a construction zone, I turned around very slowly and gave him my most venomously annoyed look I could muster.


Then he asked me a question, and I dropped all hard feelings. It was that ACCENT of his. Those dang accents get me every time. And this was no foul Cockney British or stale French accent, this was Israeli. I knew it instinctively. The Jew inside me totally recognized it. Plus, he was really pretty. So I did what any Israeli-infatuated girl would do: flirt my heart out. And let me tell you guys, I gave it my all. But he was having NONE of it. Whilst I was trying to glean info on Israel out of him, he was trying to sell me this manicure crap. Hello man, I just want your digits. Or a proper Jewish greeting. I would even settle for a Jew pick-up line. But he just scrubbed away on my already polished fingernails, giving short answers to my genius witticisms.


Jew: So, you interested in this set? I give you a good deal.


Me: It's not the set I'm interested in. . . (insert: huge smile and wink)


Jew: I can give you a good Christmas deal.


Me: Or you could buy it for me for Yom Kippur. It's going on right now, you know.


Jew: (silent)


Me: You know, a friend and I wanted to live on a kibbutz. But now I think I have to go if all the men are as handsome as you.

Jew: (snort-chrortle-sneeze-gag)

Awkward... Awkward...

So I took that as my que, threw him some deuces, and traipsed off without a backward glance. My pride was a bit wounded, I confess. And come on - one of my fingernails was missing paint. As if I didn't already feel like an idiot. I almost turned around and said, Good luck finding someone who loves your people more than I do! But I refrained. Instead I have decided to chant PLO mantras whenever I walk by that Kiosk. Which will hurt me, because as everyone knows I love that gutsy little Israel. I will also declare to every salesman I encounter from now on that I have sworn off buying ANYTHING because of a Jew that broke my fragile heart when he used me to sell some faulty nail product.

Perhaps a bit dramatic, but you know what they say - Hell hath no fury . . .

Who needs money?

I know I've been all, Poor-me-i-need-to-find-a-job-even-though-i-have-a-good-one-right-now-that-suits-me-just-fine lately, but yesterday I decided to do something about it. And action calls for reward, so tonight I am treating myself to some Golden Spoon (pumpkin flavor) and a good 80's flick. Which is what I do every night now that I think about it. Whatever. That's not the point. The point is that I have actually sent out applications and my resume to multiple places! I know that might not be that impressive to you over-achievers, but baby steps ya'll. I hope you are raising the roof right now. And get this: I've only applied to international positions! Okay that's not entirely accurate because I applied for jobs in D.C. as well. But hello this could potentially maybe if I'm lucky be huge.

I'm also doing something I never really pictured doing: applying through the military. No worries, I won't go all GI Jane over everyone (no promises), because it's not just the military but also the government I'm ravaging thru for jobs. I usually thought me + government job = nuclear disaster, but I think I am reconsidering. Because I definitely applied for a position in the US Treasury. And for some in the RAF, and for some lame low-income jobs in cool cities.

I sort of feel like that grease-ball guy with four teeth and a fatty gold chain who smells like diesel fuel when he tells you that he is going to find a girlfriend who looks like Gisele, and you're like -Dude look in the mirror: that ain't NEVER gonna happen. But we can have our dreams, right? No matter how far-fetched they are, and how under-qualified I am.

Hiroshima to my heart

As in many situations in life, there is a certain level of conflict one feels about one's current arrangement. A kind of borderline-greatness, if you will. Example: October. The holidays are approaching, the leaves will shortly be changing, and I can begin to unbox my sweaters and jackets for fall prep. Except I CAN'T. Mainly because it's still Hades heartland right now and I get over-heated just wearing a cardi. But I also can't lovingly hang my fall wear because I live in a shoebox, not a room. You think I exaggerate? Come over sometime and I'll show you.



Don't get me wrong - I love having a cook/laundress. Who wouldn't want a maid? And I love hanging out with the sibs. (Usually). But besides the feelings of complete failure and insipidity that comes with moving back in with mom and dad, there are two MAJOR problems with living back at home:



1. ZERO space. Half of my wardrobe has to be folded and stacked! Yes, that includes dresses. Oh the horror. AND I have to toss my shoes into baskets at the bottom of my closet. I mean, really. How would you feel to be cast off like, ahem, an old shoe? Tragic. They deserve better than that.



That is bad enough, but then compound it with this:



2. NO TV! The parents cut the cable a few years ago, but I am just now feeling the horrible effects. I don't know when it happened (though my suspicion is that it came from living with Laquina), but I turned into a TV lover. Before college I didn't care to watch anything, but now I NEED my shows. They have become an addiction, nay - a necessity; like air, like water, like chocolate/peanut butter Golden Spoon. How did this happen? Who knows and who cares. What I do know is that I heart Netflix and the internet now more than ever. Without them I couldn't watch the staples: Gossip Girl, Sunny in Philadelphia, Mad Men, Pushing Daisies, Fringe, Heroes, 30 Rock, The Extras, and my highly anticipated Absolutely Fabulous which is a bit old school and I can't wait to get it in the mail.



Really though, can you blame me for such guilty pleasures? I imagine not, because I have a sneaking suspicion that you, female or male, wants a piece of that Bass (Chuck, obviously).

YUM. Remember the days when I was innocent and sweet and wanted a blend of Mr.Knightly/Capt. Winters/Curly-from-Oklahoma/Mr. Darcy? Yeah, well those days are over. I want me some of that womanizing sketchiness that is CB.

I suppose the solution to my dilemmas would be to find a new job and move out and gain my self-respect back. So if you have any offers of British Parliament externships or London house-sitting opportunities, you know where to find me: on the couch.

No shame

Dear Mr. Mid-life Crisis,

Look, I don't really want to say this because I'm sure you're a really nice guy. But enough is enough already! I understand that you are in essence saying "Up Yours!" to your ex-wife by going on some warped revenge diet. But your exuberance in Bonnie's Sculpting Cardio Class is taking it a step too far. I mean, jumping in and out of lunges? You're not exactly a spring chicken, and I think I can hear your joints scraping together when you do that. Plus, it's distracting. How am I supposed to keep focused on contracting my core muscle group with you bounding all over the place? You bring to mind little Lord Fauntleroy, except I'm betting that you're NOT gay because you're frumpy. The hair is mullet-ish and the shorts are mid-thigh, but not in the I'm-only-gay-for-Brad-Pitt-European-trash way.

My main complaint: your sweat. It was dripping off you so profusely that your step was 50% covered in wet splatters. At first glance I thought you couldn't drink out of your water bottle properly - but OH NO, that was definitely perspiration . One word for you: sweatband. It will match your high-tops quite perfectly. And it will save you from the inevitable lawsuit bound to happen when someone (probably me) slips in your puddle.

The truth hurts friend, but I promise that I hurt more when I am forced to work out next to you twice a week. Take my free advice and run with it. You'll thank me.

While we're on the subject

of being aware, click here to get a glimpse of the troubles of Europe, and the rearing (again) of the satanic head of fascism.

Thoughts?

Bye bye dollar

"Economic crisis" seems to be the tagline as of late. And if you don't know why, then you are a sadly misinformed human who should spend less time reading Twilight and more time reading the news. Or preferably listening to talk radio. Anyway. We all concur that I have some good ideas. And this is my latest stroke of genius: SPEND. That's right. Stop saving, you selfish hoarders. And Congress, don't think you're not included in this. Here is the letter I wrote to Mr. Bush which proposes my idea:

(WARNING: If capitalism offends you, then stop reading. And never visit my blog again.)

Dear Mr. President,

Let's skip the small talk and get right to the point. Don't give $700 billion to the companies who botched all this in the first place, give it to the people! Ya, you heard me. THE PEOPLE. Why? Because we will spend it. If every person over the age of 18 would get somewhere around $535,000, I can pretty much guarantee you that some portion of that will be spent. Smart people will buy real estate, houses, cars, college educations, bonds, stocks, and other smart-people things.

Stupid people will spend it on rims, or cocaine, or Jack Daniels or gold chains and whatever else retards do. But does it matter? No, because it all goes back to the economy. The housing market will start to raise, GM won't go bankrupt, and even WaMu might survive because of those people who will just put it in the bank to save it.

I know people think you are dumb. But I have faith that despite the fact that you are a Bush, you had to work hard for that MBA. Just think about what I have said and don't make a rash decision. I would rather not have to pay over $100,000 in taxes because of the failures of others.

Sincerely,
Tara

PS - I would really like some new pants that caught my eye at Nordstrom, so the sooner you send me that check the better.


A note of credit: Mr. B was the first to propose said plan. I just expounded. Which is what I do.

The streets are alive with the sounds of music

Picture this: You. Atop your trusty steed, Silver. Clay-red desert, hot wind blowing the tumbleweeds across the dry river bed. A drip of sweat rolls down your forehead. You finger your 6-shooter pistol in its holster on your left hip. Your body tenses with the anticipation of physical exertion just seconds away . . . "Hi-yo, Silver!!" QUE WILLIAM TELL OVERTURE!

Have you ever wanted to gallop along to that triumphant song? Well now you can! But preferably in a Honda Civic going 55 mph. And only until Tuesday. But yes - there is a strip of highway in Lancaster (designed by Honda) where the grooves on the road turn the noise of the tires into the William Tell Overture. Genius! Congrats Honda for your applaudable marketing schemes. Too bad the Lancaster residents are such pathetic whiners. As if "lack of sleep" should be a good enough reason to repave the highway. I mean, COME ON. These geniuses should never have bought a home close to the freeway in the first place. It's Lancaster for crying out loud. It's not like they suffer from lack of space.

Let me give you three good reasons why the highway should stay musical:

1. A sense of community. I'm all about people doing things together alone. Like getting onto Avenue K, then exiting once they pass the musical strip, and getting back on the freeway to do it all over again. What a bringing together of citizens!

2. How many other places can say that they have a road that plays overtures? It will attract all kinds of people. Probably weirdos. But let's be honest, Lancaster needs all the notoriety it can get:

3. If people drive this road enough, and I'm talking the repeat offenders that just can't get enough, then that means that more and more gas will be consumed. Which means there will be some kind of petrol crisis, and then we will deem it absolutely necessary to drill in the ANWR. And I'm all about that. Especially because there might be the added perk of forcing the caribou into the Arctic Ocean. I have no love for Caribou.

The Curse of the Internet

For those who don't know, I have a very pleasant and simple job that allows me ample time each day to surf the internet. This also gives me plenty of time to post, but I'm not exactly overcome with inspiration while on the job, so I usually don't.

I have something of a daily routine. Think Office Space. I come in, make my tea, chat with Stacey, the real estate secretary, for 1/2 an hour, check the major news papers for interesting things, make my first trip to the loo, and then tackle my projects. Until I get bored, and then I get back online to look at two genres: blogs (of course), and celebrity gossip. Don't judge me!

Truth be told, I love my daily dose of TMZ and Perez Hilton. There is something so delightful about seeing glamorous actors captured on their way back from Starbucks, looking washed-up and nasty, like my meth-using neighbor. I love the downfall. I love the ridiculousness of Hollywood. And since I don't have TV, I've go to have some way to keep up with current pop-culture, right?

I will lean over in my chair and tell Stacey about so-and-so who's now prego, and we will laugh and roll our eyes, and then she will tell me her latest celeb sighting (she sees them ALL the time). But after a few minutes I feel my blood pressure rising and I start to get dizzy and my mouth gets dry. It's the feeling that I often get when reading about China or Russia or Hugo Chavez... something that tastes like rage. And this inevitebly happens when reading "The Queen of All Media", the Perezzers. Maybe I have been spoiled in academia. I suppose I am just used to the pretense of objectivity. I enjoy his open dislike of almost everyone he writes about, and really laugh when he calls Rumer Willis "Potato Head" (perfect example here). But then I see that he actually is Hollywood personified, and that's when I grab my trash can and make a run for the bathroom.

So now I'm pretty sure I have health issues from work. If its not the lastest horrifying case of unjust, frivilous lawsuits in litigation, it's TMZ or Perez pushing me over the edge. I feel a case of disability coming on.

---------------

Friends and relatives of the victims of the 9/11 attacks at the annual memorial at ground zero. (Pool photo by David Acker)

Life's Laundry List

Paige vs. the Wave

So far I am The Biggest Loser. So what if we are only 3 weeks in, and have until mid-October. I am determined I will be the reigning champion. Or at least today I am determined. I MUST call back the IRS. The crooks still aren't giving me my hard earned wealth. I have bought three dresses in the past week, and a tan pair of slouchy leather boots. Saving - what? I am desperately wanting to turn back to the lovely genres of gothic novels, Shakespeare and the classics. But Karch M. continues piling book after book on me and I feel almost burdened by the weight. Summer is closing down shop, but secretly keeps it doors open for all sc dwellers. This is a fact: I saw two white skirts and pants today, and Labor Day is definitely over. The gym is still too hot. And I don't mean the people. Not enough fans and too many old men, yet I go back each night like it's become some kind of addiction. I have rekindled my love affair with British Period Dramas. Currently: Bleak House by Charles Dickens. Thank you BBC and Netflix. Monday was the 5th time I have gone to the beach this summer. Shameful, I know. Thankfully I got a decent tan, and the group of middle-aged hombres who were leering on the sand dune were also told to disband by the cops. 3/4 of the ward has gone back to Utah for the fall. How odd not to be one of them. I walked into church on Sunday and realized I missed them, and consequently haven't thought of those people until now. My brothers are home more, since their summer romances have ended and the books are calling. I stopped studying for the GRE for the present. I stopped looking for another job. Days roll in and out quietly and contentedly. I am living my life and enjoying it.

Oh the places you'll go!

I was talking with this bro the other day about imagination, and he was all bragging to me that he had some spectacular imagination that was WAY better than other peoples' imaginations. I started to argue, but then thought the better of it. First, it was quite obvious that I had the better imagination of the two, because I had better ideas and wit than him. I'm just sayin'! Also, maybe I should cut him some slack because he might actually have some imagination. A deep, hidden well, full of interesting thoughts that he doesn't share with anyone. That would make him less boring!

I sometimes imagine that the many boring people surrounding me each day have really awesome secret dark thoughts. Like kamikaze and death and chaos and shiz. That would make them way cooler and definitely freaky-deeky. No one cut them off in traffic or look out! Probably though most people are just as lame as I think they are.

I bet if someone could peek inside my mind for just one minute they would be overcome with wonder, confusion and bafflement. (Bafflement?) They would have a system freak-out overload. And then they would drop dead. Because that is how great my imagination is. Sometimes while I'm on the treadmill I think of chasing Osama Bin Laden through the cavernous hills of wherever he lives. Obviously I would outrun him. And I would have brass knuckles. You do the math. Or sometimes I think of what I would do if I ruled the world... how big would my army be? What would I wear? Would I marry to be respectable, or rule alone and mess around on the side? (That took me .02 seconds to decide). How will I design my propaganda posters? How big would my monument be? So many things to consider. It's exhausting.

I also enjoy musing about what it would be like to be a character in a book. Like Jane Eyre in Jane Eyre. Or Marianne Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility. If I got screwed over by a man like that, I would definitely NOT sit there and take it like some unlucky new guy in the prison showers. And then I would probably end up abondoning my moral convictions and give in to a life of sin. Because if Jane Eyre had done that then foxy Mr. Rochester wouldn't have gotten all gimpy and crap.

When I was little I used imagine going back in time to the Norman Invasion and giving the Britons machine guns. That'll teach William the Bastard! The sword-wielding men would look at me in amazement, and I'd act like it was no big deal. Then they would ask me to stay to show them more "magic." No, I would say, I cannot. But here is some Advil and tampons - enjoy! When I was even littler I used to make the Twins play "treasure hunt," which basically was them digging with little kid shovels wherever I commanded, with me being the master and getting to keep whatever we found. That's what the twins got because they weren't that imaginative.

Anyway. Maybe I shouldn't have shared all of that info. TMI! But I'm betting that I'm not the only one out there...

Only got love for the 101

All my life I have heard people cry about the traffic of California freeways. As if they really have somewhere they have to be when they get off work. It's one of those things that whiners love to hate. All ye pansy communters, hear this: Get some imagination! I find my 7.2 mile/40 mintue commute to be a real treat because of the following:

Example #1: The small pick up truck crammed with 18 Mexicans, giving me really polite compliments. I think those hand gestures must be a real compliment where they come from. Right back at ya home boys!

Example #2: The woman with one hand putting on lipstick, and the other holding a cell phone beneath her botoxed face - because that's legal you know - while driving with her knee. What talent! 4 stars!

Example #3: Nose-pickers. Kudos to you for not caring who sees!

Example #4: The rockers. Yes, they are my people. Those who rock-out, alone, and you know they are "singing" and the top of their lungs. Such zest for life! It gives one hope.

Example #5: The couples who DTRs in the car. DTR in the car. It could be a song title! And you can't help but wonder: what are they fighting about? Who cheated on who?? Who's the REAL baby-daddy?!? WILL HE STAY OR LEAVE FOREVER!?!? It's like free cable.

I know that I always love a good park on the freeway. Especially in an earthquake. God bless the Golden State.

Good thing there is complimentary Listerine in there...

By a show of hands, how many of you actually bring a toothbrush, toothpaste, and FLOSS with you everyday to work? I didn't think so. I am aware that I am the most boring human alive right now, but I swear the women's bathroom is just the gathering place of the oddest specimens of humanity in the building.

I first noticed the teeth-brushing a few weeks ago. And now I am noticing it on a daily basis. AND it is not limited to one woman. Oh no - there are definitely two. Two women who bring full-on hygiene kits with them into the womens wc. If brushing ones teeth were an Olympic sport, they would have a battle to the death for gold between the two of them.

Toothbrusher #2 I would give more points to, because she has one of those electric brushes as big as your forearm. And she really goes at it. Then again, Toothbrusher #1 is good at being regular. I'm talking everyday at 2pm. Trust me, I would know.

I never really thought of myself as a gross girl. I brush my hair and drink lots of water and wash my hands. But I feel kinda foul compared to them. I think I will start joining them in a group flossing session everyday after lunch. No snaggle-tooth for me.

That's just gross

You know you are in need of some serious amusement when the most interesting thing that happens all day takes place in the bathroom. Since when are toilets ever entertaining? Since now. I would know this because I frequent it at least 18 times a day. Mostly because I drink my body weight in water, but also because I sometimes get so bored at work I want to gauge my eyes out with a Papermate Flexigrip.

Anyway, by 11:36 am I was in bathroom for the 5th time, and when I walked in I saw a woman eating a sandwich. She was just sitting there, in a chair by the door, eating a sandwich. Like it was no big deal. She looked up at me as I stopped dead in my tracks in the doorway, and gave me that WHAT? look.

Was she in some kind of rush? Could she not eat food in her office? Did she have alzheimers and forget that bathrooms are full of germs you would not want in your roast beef? This ain't no Subway lady! Nor is this some women's lounge area like they have in a Nordstrom. You are sitting in a freaking plastic chair, practically blocking the door, chowing down on some meat-packed hoagie. Don't look at me like I am the crazy one.

DPRK FOREVER

It's no great secret that I have a bizarre fascination with the North Korean dictator Kim Jonj-Il. I find him both freaky and ridiculous, and I would definitely give him a 1st Place trophy in the World's Most Absurd Autocrat Contest. He's just like a petulant child who throws fits for attention. I think this picture speaks a thousand fitting words:

But really, does anyone actually know a Korean that doesn't freak them out even just a little bit? I bet not. What loveable histrionic psychopaths.

At any rate, although Kim is totally rad, I don't have similar sentiments for the Iranian President. Sorry Mahmoud, I'm just not down with you. Mostly because I like Jews and I think that YOU are the one that looks like a monkey, not Condi. But that's neither here nor there.

So as I was reading the latest from the Korean News Agency, you can imagine my great joy when I saw this:

Pyongyang, July 31 (KCNA) -- Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Iranian President, met and had a friendly talk in Tehran on July 29 with the DPRK delegation headed by Foreign Minister Pak Ui Chun to the conference of foreign ministers of non-aligned countries. Saying that Iran and the DPRK are countries fighting against the U.S. imperialists, the Iranian president sincerely hoped that the Korean people would achieve greater success in the anti-U.S. struggle. He expressed the belief that the relations between the two countries would grow stronger in the future, too.

JongIl + AhmadineWhackjob = BFF? Come on Kim Jong! Let's just be done with this whole Communism thing and get you out of the Axis of Evil black hole already. I know you want to. Hey I have an idea! Why don't you start building useful things to sell on the world market, like bikes, instead of ballistic missiles? I'm sure your people would still worship you, even if you allowed them to have toilet paper. And can anyone tell me why DPRK stands for the Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea, when the only thing that name has in common with the country is "Peoples" and "Korea?"

A related item: Kim's Online Journal. Sounds about right.

Theatre critique from one who knows

For a while now I've felt as though I wasn't quite Mormon enough. Or rather, Mormony enough. I don't know how that's possible because I always try really hard. I CTR and RWH all over the place, but still I was lacking. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Was my cyniscm and sarcasm blocking divine flow, I wondered? Is it because my mind wanders at institute? Or that I refuse to go to scavenger hunt FHE's? There was a major cheese factor missing and I felt it acutely. Well, I am pleased to announce that I have solved the puzzle: I had not seen Wicked. Until now!

Gasp! I know.

It has taken me THIS long to FINALLY see what I'd always heard as the GREATEST PRODUCTION EVER!!!

That being said, let me now tell you what I thought...

It was okay.

Alright, it was more than okay. It was good. The singing: impressive, for the most part. The costumes: Fine. The sets: Pretty cool. The story: Rather creative. On the whole: good.

Good. Not earth-shatteringly amazing. Not really moving. Not intellectually stimulating. The two main girls did have beautiful voices. And I appreciated the story of their friendship. But did it live up to the hype that I have been hearing for the past couple years? Nope. It ain't no open-air theatre production of HMS Penafore, that's for sure.

And what sorts of things are they trying to teach the youth of America? What 's with all the feel-good, inner-beauty messages? I'm sorry - if you are green you deserve to be an outcast.

The good news is that I can FINALLY be Mormony like other kids my age, and clap along with Wicked sing-alongs in the car, and talent shows where everyone under-performs the same two Wicked songs. And spell theater theatre.

At last, I am part of the crowd.

The Summer Forecast

California summer are priceless. Mild humidity, no bugs, warm but not too hot. But lately I've been longing for something, and today it hit me: Provo summers! Okay, so I've only experienced like two. But they were great. Dry heat, thunderstorms, slacking in classes, warm nights, meteor showers, and freaking motorcycles everywhere you turn. I hated that.

I have made some summertime resolutions. Feel free to join me:

1. I am going to go to Rockin' Berry more often. It's a self-serve frozen yogurt shop, and I like it because it reminds me of Mavericks but it's cleaner. And you can put toppings on it. In fact, Rockin' Berry is so genius that many people have walked in, only to find it's buffet style, frown in confusion, complain about lack of service, and walk out again. So I fully give this place my support. I don't want to patron eateries where they serve idiots.

2. I am probably not going to see Space Chimps. Sorry. But you can go if you want.

3. I will be frequenting the candy drawer of death only once a day. ONCE. A. DAY.

4. One camp-out, at least. I know, I know. I'm not "outdoorsy." But I didn't go to all those fun-filled years of Girls Camp for nothin. Plus, it'll give me a chance to brush up on my knife work. If you know what I mean.

5. I am going to make a new friend. Actually, I already did. High five! So consider that checked.

6. I think about my unknown future 75% of my waking life. I am going to reduce that to 50%, and then go to the beach because no one thinks of their black hole future at the beach.

7. Leer at more people. I don't like to start fires, but I know when I'm being leered at. So I will throw it right back in their grimey, toothless faces and leer harder.

Good luck on your summer resolutions. I am going to rock mine!

What I really need is a stiff drink

I'm not exactly sure what is wrong with me, but my college-educated guess is that it has something to do with a mixture of the 15 pieces of candy I just inhaled, plus one hell of a cold that I have. So thank you, Tuesday night, for giving me a drain for a nose, and also to hormones for giving me a bottomless pit instead of a stomach.

I feel so gypped. I didn't even get any action out of Mr. Tuesday night. I could have let loose and had my way with him and still would have had the same outcome. So now I'm angry, which means I will sit here at work and continue to scrounge through the candy drawer. Cool.

Pass the Lexapro, Please

I was reading the news today and I found it quite disconcerting. Everything is Obama this and McCain that. DROLL. Who cares about the "threat" of Iran or the "problems" of Darfur? And what the crap is Freddy Mac and Fannie Mae? Why are we even talking about them? BOR-ing.

Hey! Humanity! When did you get to be so lame? Remember the good ole days? Like the Plague. That was eventful. Or the Bay of Pigs? WHOOPS. Why aren't we doing more cool stuff? We have the technology! Sure we raced the Russians to the moon... and then what? That was the end! SO anticlimactical. Why aren't we racing them to see who can make the biggest skating rink out of Jell-O on the North Pole? Then if we battled over it, it would have to be on ice skates, and THAT would be awesome. Like extreme hockey where everything goes.

Even the Olympics are sissy. Have you watched those races? Yeah, it's so fun watching those girly-men "run" around the track a gazillion times. Maybe they would run better if tigers were set loose on them. And maybe I could watch the pole vaulting without gauging my eyes out if they were being flung over a pit of alligators. Then those Asians on the Spike channel wouldn't have the corner market on "entertainment."

No wonder people are so depressed these days.

Mr. 152 Insights Into My Soul

Quite some time ago, my roommates and I were borderline obsessed with The Color Code. We all took the quiz, analyzed ourselves endlessly, and then forced everyone who came over to take it. And of course we would analyze (and judge) them endlessly. Remember that? Good times.

Since I am a sucker for all psychological tests, I took one that was emailed to me by a co-worker which was entertaining and shallowly gratifying. (Take it here). Then I took another quiz that SC posted on her blog. (Click here if you feel curious. I know that you are.) With all of these free diagnosese who needs to pay for therapy?

Here are today's results:


Your Existing Situation
Non-realization of hopes and the inability to decide on necessary remedial action has resulted in considerable stress.

Your Stress Sources
Feels trapped in a disagreeable situation and powerless to remedy it. Angry and disgruntled as she doubts that she will be able to achieve the goals and frustrated almost to the point of nervous prostration. Wants to get away, feel less restricted, and free to make her own decisions.

Your Restrained Characteristics
Feels that she is being compelled to conform, and close relationships leave her without any sense of emotional involvement.
Able to achieve satisfaction through sexual activity.

Your Desired Objective
Needs to feel identified with someone or something and wishes to win support by her charm and amiability. Sentimental and yearns for a romantic tenderness.

Your Actual Problem
Depleted vitality has created an intolerance for any further stimulation, or demands on her resources. This feeling of powerlessness subjects her to agitation and acute distress. She attempts to escape into a substitute world in which things are more nearly as she desires them to be.

Your Actual Problem #2
Seeks to avoid criticism and to prevent restriction of her freedom to act, and to decide for herself by the exercise of great personal charm in her dealings with others.


Does anyone else love the line "Able to achieve satisfaction through sexual activity?" That does pretty much sum me up. Although now that I read over this it sounds rather gloomy. So let's dismiss it. Except for the good parts.