I hate New Years Warriors

Unlike some of my previous roommates, I have never been a real gym zealot. Call me lazy, but the thought of running was about as pleasant as the thought of having the stomach flu. Plus, Gold's Gym on 9th was the Meat Market of Provo. Whenever I went I was flanked by tools in pooka shells and far too much cologne on one side, and bimbos with full hair and makeup done on the other side. Not really my scene.

Now I have had something of a change of heart. A combination of growing obsessiveness in life combined with heavy amounts of boredom have come together to create this phenomena of maniacal health-club attendance. I should also come clean and confess that I sort of stalk this dude who goes at the same time. Not like it's pertinent. Whatever. ANYWAY - I go kind of late so I recognize the other 6 people there. That is, until now. Now that the New Years Warriors are on the loose. And I know that come March they'll be gone, but I'm really annoyed. Who do they think they are, swarming my sanctum of adrenaline and anger management? Unacceptable. And without a solution. Oh Israel/Palestine - I know how it feels to have no solutions!

And to compound grievances, I found a dress in my closet that I got a few months back on a clearance rack at a local boutique. It's a good casual party dress, but I must have had a temporary logic shut-down when I bought it because it is really short. Self, I said, you can just wear black leggings with it, since the dress is pink and black and the combination of fabric and style would work. But I realized the other day when I was looking at it that I don't like leggings. I only own a pair because I wore them to a party once, and the theme of the party called for something a little out of the ordinary. I know that LiLo and other celeb rehab connoisseurs really get into them. But I just have never warmed to them. And a girl who used to be from my home town wrote a much-needed post on What Not to Wear to Church, and I was reminded how deep my dislike of leggings runs.
Well do I remember Blair Waldorf's astute observation: TIGHTS ARE NOT PANTS.

So now I am in a conundrum. How do I wear my short dress without being a skank? Opaque tights - also out of the question. Any ideas for my plethora of problems would be appreciated.

Also, I apologize if I have rained on your Resolutions to work out more. I applaud you, if you can stay with it past Wednesday, so long as it's not at my gym.

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"?