a mystery

The other day I was doing the usual: lazing about, looking for black market Chanel bags on craigslist. And, as I always do whilst looking for illegal goods online, I had a stash of treats next to me. So when I reached for my baggie of cereal and tossed a handful of Cap'n Crunch in my mouth . . .

GAG.


I ran to the trash can and spat it out because it was that disgusting. But what was it that made it so nasty? I had to be sure, so yes, I ate some more. STILL FOUL. It tasted like - perfume? How is that even possible?!? I wondered. It's not like I took a bottle of eu de toilette and spritzed it in my ziploc.

Was it in the vicinety when I sprayed a dab on myself earlier? Is this some nasty prank perpretrated by the twins? Nothing added up. So I took another whiff, and sure enough it smelled, and tasted, of CoCo Madmoiselle. The very same Chanel body lotion I had gotten for free earlier at the mall from the class action lawsuit (I hope you took advantage of that, because I know I did. Thank you Macy's AND Nordstrom)!

However, I am convinced that I never stuck my moisturized digits in the goodie bag. I would have thought twice about such a questionable act, because my love of cereal runs deep. So the only possible explanation is that while transporting said bag from room to room, the lotion on my hands SEEPED THROUGH THE PLASTIC and infected all my Crunch. It's the only logical deduction.

Mystery solved.

and the coat finally makes a debut

Dear Universe,

Per one of my serious resolutions, I am writing you a thank you note. It's true that you and I have something of a tenuous relationship. You build me up, you tear me down. I sing your praises, I shake my fist at you. But let's be honest - we like the roller coaster. One moment is ecstasy and the next is fire and brimstone while peals of Satanic laughter rumble through the stormy sky -- but hey, it's rarely boring. Except for right now, actually. I am SO BORED. But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to say thanks. Thanks for one, and hopefully more to follow, day of semi-coldness. Because 80 degree days are hard to dress for in the winter. I mean, I have really limited amounts of thermatically cool winter clothing, and I refuse to wear spring florals in January. Plus I have all these cute jackets I accumulated from living on a frozen tundra for a few winters that I've only pulled out twice since Halloween. So it's about time.

Best regards,
Tara


PS - In the concern I feel for giving you the wrong impression, I also want to add: Keep up the good work with global warming! or "climate change" or whatever they call it these days. Because I loved spending all Monday at the beach and almost getting tan.

"I have depths he'll never plumb, but I know every inch of his wafer thin soul."

I've been in something of an artistic slump as of late. I ran out of Diet Coke, the Golden Globes were boring, and my hair really needs to be cut. And by cut I mean TRIM -- not hacked off by Edward Scissorhands like poor Taylor Momsen:


To assuage the anxiety I feel over my lack of ambition and creativity, I have been focusing most of my energies on how other people look. And since, as stated above, the Golden Globes lacked any serious wackitude to lighten my spirits, I have run back into the loving embrace of fashion reliability: Gossip Girl. Am I alone in this? I have a hunch that there are others who also are craving some trusty fashion to put their troubled minds at ease, and I am here to tell you that it's okay. GIVE IN.

Which brings me to a pressing question:

What would it take to make myself look like: Serena van der Woodsen, with the wardrobe of:

Blair Waldorf?

Could I finagle it with exorbitant amounts of money and Dr. Ray? I am holding out hope. And please in the name of all that is holy, do NOT assume that now is the time to bring up how "media gives women false expectations" and "eating disorders" and that what "really matters" is "inner beauty." Because my eyes do not deceive me - they are HOT. And that is what counts in life. So added to my Things I Need to Pick Up List are Louboutin Peep-Toe heels and a Marc Jacobs blouse.

Maybe I should just start by calling my hair dresser for a cut after all. Baby steps people. Baby steps.

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.