Because It Was Either That Or The Garage

Conversation between me and Jeremy yesterday totally typifies why I love him so.

The set up: For about three weeks we've had a long tube (80 inches long tube) propped against our wall in our living room. It's holding the remainder of our hard wood flooring threshold dividers. Yesterday, while cleaning house together, the following happened:

Me: Hey, Lover?
Jeremy: Yes, Lover.
Me: Can you do something with that big tube container thing leaning against the wall?
Jeremy: Yeah. But you're going to have to bend over first.

Cleaning House A Bit: Webby Things

Today I'm just doing that lazy blogger thing by just pointing you to other sites and cleaning house here a bit. Here goes.

On the days that I'm in the office, without fail (read: sometimes), I have a very set routine when I get to my desk. The first thing I do is remove the used coffee or soda cup from the random co-worker who used my mac while I worked from home. I'm over being bothered by it. It happens every day. Next, the girls and I say our 'good mornings' and download to each other what each of us did or didn't do the night before. I check voicemail and email, and say a little silent prayer to myself that the copier won't give me fits that day.

The next thing I do? I open this little number up below and watch it. Julee sent this dancing trombone guy over to me over six years ago and I've watched it so, so many times. My favorite "move" he does is right around the 1:00 minute mark.

I recently stumbled across cake wrecks. Why haven't I heard of this deliciously awesome site before? Perhaps my mild obsession with it for the past 18 hours is the reason my house remains unvacuumed, my comments on your site have been fewer and far between, my laundry remains in a pile in the corner and my children remain unfed? Okay, so that last one isn't true. It combines my two favorite things at this moment, foodie blogs and humor. Who could ask for more?

Lastly, I love, love these someecard thingys. They're slightly offending, which is something I'm totally about. Here's a few that I recently downloaded. The Hall and Oates one is fitting because...well, when is Hall and Oates not fitting? And the sense of humor one is for Jeremy, to remind him of our on-going private joke about how he thinks he's funnier than I am. Actually, he's probably right.

The Friday Five

This week's five is kind of messed up. I'll admit it. I couldn't think of a clever list of things to group together so I went entirely the other way. I pulled up my ongoing list of random thoughts that cross my mind, things I jot down that I find amusing. So here goes, the random thoughts that have crossed my mind in the past four weeks.

1. Dancing for your life. I must have wrote this down during So Yo Think You Can Dance. Okay, so I kind of *heart* that show. I think the contenders on that show really do have some talent. This is not to be confused with Dancing With The Stars. While that show IS entertaining, it was created to showcase C-List Celebrities (at best) waltzing about. Before you think I'm looking down on that show, I'm so not. I'm a casual watcher. I admit it.


No, what I'm talking about is SYTYCD. I should be watching it to see the beautiful choreography and the talented dancers. But I don't. I watch the entire season because I absolutely love the elimination night when the six dancers with the fewest votes must preform a 30 second routine for the judges. And it's not even the dancing on that night that I look forward to. No. It's that dramatic moment when the host, Cat Deely, looks square into the camera and shouts that the dancers must "Dance for their lives!"


Now, I fully understand that these dancers are in no mortal danger as they dance about the stage. But wouldn't it be great if they were? Like what if they had to dance over a pit of fire? What if they had to maneuver through lasers set to trigger small needles filled with poison? A little part of me hoped this would happen each week, but alas, it never did. The only crazy thing I saw this season was when America voted shirtless Will off the show. What were you people thinking? He had no shirt. And he danced. With. No. Shirt.

2. I am strangely drawn to David Hasselhoff. Not in a oh-I-think-he's-so-hawt-way, but more in a dude-I-totally-think-he's-going-to-assault-another-cheeseburger way. Jeremy knows this and respects my strange fixation. Right now, as I'm typing this, Jeremy has called my attention to the television to point out to me that the Hoff is on this very minute and he's dressed as Aladdin. Not intentionally. I don't think. But the man is wearing a puffy shirt and a vest. Sadly, this is not the strangest think this man has done. It's weird, but I must stop what I'm doing to view the train wreck that is the Hoff. Did you know that I have touched the Hoff? Well, not really, but I did touch his car. When he specifically told me not to.

3. That's what she said. I might say this much too much. I even wrote myself a note to stop saying it so often. But for me, it's like word vomit. I just can't seem to help myself. (That's what she said)

4. I don't think I'll ever watch Drumline. I don't think I need to qualify this one. I've had plenty of opportunities, but I've always passed. Honestly, I can't think of a single situation when I'll turn to Jeremy and say, "Know what? I'm itchin' to watch a feel good story about a kid that risked it all to be in a high school marching band and learned a little about himself along the way."

5. "I just had to put my fist down, you know? And when I did, it was sticky!" I jotted that gem of a quote down about three weeks ago. I think it was my friend Sonya who said it. I can't recall. Sounds dirty doesn't it? That's why I wrote it down. I do this with almost everything people say. Especially when I hear it on television.

When Sonya said this, she had no raunchy intentions at all. If I remember it right, her arm was growing tired from holding up an easel at work. When she lowered her arm, there was a thick film of goop on the tri-pod's leg. (That's what she said.)

Working Out For Each Other

For a while now, Jeremy and I have been talking about getting serious about getting in shape. For me, this means drinking my kick-ass kale shakes and running on the treadmill at 4:30 am. I’m not joking people. I have two kids to get ready in the morning, plus a head of unruly hair to tame. Add an hour commute in the morning where I spend most of my energy giving dirty looks to other commuters who talk on their cell phones while driving. By necessity, I am an early riser.

For my husband, getting in shape means pumping some iron, shooting hoops and hiking up large mountains foraging and hunting for food. More importantly, it means him claiming he can run a mile at a full sprint on the treadmill and not having me pass out from laughter just thinking about it.

I mentioned to Jeremy a few weeks ago that I thought I should start up my fitness routine once again so I could prepare myself. He was all, what are you preparing yourself for? I told him that I wanted to get my hawt figure back so that if anything ever happened to him I could snag someone to help take care of me and the kids, our two dogs and two cats. The fish can fend for himself.

Jeremy then told me that I shouldn’t bother because he was going to get in shape first, making him hella healthy thus rendering my workout routine totally useless. In fact, he would be so shaped up and waxed up that he’d be fighting off the females ten at a time. We both had a good laugh. After that we got hungry so we ordered a pizza.

A Biker Dude Totally Harshed My Mellow That Wasn't Even Very Mellow To Begin With

An open letter to the Biker Dude who couldn't get past that I had a hair cut he's never seen before:

Dear Biker Guy;
Um, I sure hope your large banana split you had Monday night at The Dunes Restaurant in Ocean Park, Washington was delicious. It looked just heavenly dangling from your overgrown and unmaintained goatee. Thank you for taking the time out from scarfing down your dairy treat to glance at your wife and whisper in the LOUDEST whisper I’ve ever heard, “Hairdo!” and nod in my direction.

Your wife seemed confused and asked you time and time again what you were talking about. When you pointed directly at me, it should have been clear for her. You wanted her to look over at me nonchalantly and look at my hideous hair. From what I saw, this went on at least four times, before you rolled your eyes and finally gave up.

Biker Dude, let me gently walk you through something here. My ‘hairdo’ that you insisted on pointing out is called an A-line cut. Yes, the back is slightly shorter than the front. I intended it that way. My hair is naturally curly. I have no control over its unruly nature. You can take that one up with my mother.

And yes, it was awkward for you that I caught you talking about me and my curly mop while you were seated only seven feet away. Remember when you and your wife covertly discussed my hair then thought it was safe to glance at me? You were wrong. That’s why I didn’t look away. As my husband helped get my infant daughter settled and kept my three-year-old son from spilling his apple juice, you and I locked eyes for an uncomfortable seven seconds. I wanted you to know that I saw you talking about me. Your face turning red as you looked away told me you knew you were busted.

When my son caught me looking at you and then stared in your direction too, I did nothing to stop him. I sure hope that didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. When my daughter did the same, looking at you and your cool “My Bitch Fell Off The Bike” shirt I hope you didn’t feel self-conscious one bit. By the way, I loved that shirt. Twelve years ago.

Here’s my advice for you, Biker Guy, you never have any idea what someone is going through on any given day. Maybe someone is having a fine day and your comments would be brushed off without another thought. But sometimes that someone just finished up a rough seven hour drive on the road with two children and husband. Maybe one of those children was suffering in pain from an atrocious ear infection. Maybe that someone hadn’t slept well the night before because they were worried about their child and their health and not being able to get to a doctor or pharmacy because in this small town they are in, the nearest after hours is hours away. But don’t worry, their regular doctor has phoned in a prescription but since the pharmacy next door wasn’t open all weekend, it can’t be filled for another two or three hours. Maybe that someone, after being weary from travel, little sleep, consoling little ones just wanted to sit down, relax and enjoy a quick meal.

So next time you want to pop off, about someone’s appearance, you shouldn’t. It's something many of us already know. That’s why I never told you that you had ice cream dribbled on your precious biker shirt as you left the diner.

Loves, Jen

I don’t know why, but I kind of let this bother me for a few days. I even took a bunch of pictures of my hair to make sure I wasn’t crazy. My hair isn’t weird is it?

Guest Post Trickery

So, yeah, I'm tired and not quite back from the Pacific Northwest. As I teased earlier, I'm going to try to trick Us and Them into leaving a long comment here so that it seems like a guest post. I've added some cliche' Canadian pop culture imagery below, in the hopes it riles them up enough to whip up a clever comeback. If you don't notice anything in the comments section of this post, stop by Us and Them to see if they've posted, or retaliated there. Seriously. Captain Dumbass and Supreme Leader are funny. I fully expect to be called out on this at some point. I'll try to prepare myself.

*UPDATE* Here's the guest post I tricked The Captain into doing for me. I've copied this from the comments section here on this post. Enjoy! He's hilarious. I'm tired.

Captain Dumbass said...
Oh, Steenky Bee, how could I not respond to this? Let me wipe a few tears away first, and shake away those strange feeling I got looking at that suggestive Celine photo...Look, you've distracted me from posting something on my own page and I only have 15 minutes left before I start work. Oh well, you're worth it, Steenky. And I hope it's ok if I call yo Steenky. After all, you've been hold up in the wilds of Oregon for a week now and... well, you're home now.And thank goodness you're home! Regale us with stories of the Pacific North West, Big Foot and... what do they do in Oregon? I was in Portland once but all I remember is a hell of a lot of bridges. And a girl I didn't get lucky with. Oregon sucks.I heard today that the Beijing Olympics cost China $40 billion dollars. Wow. Well, kudos to China, it looked like $40 billion dollars. Let me apologise to the rest of the world for the next Olympics in Vancouver. We don't have $40 to spend on the Winter Games. Well, I'm sure we do have $40 billion dollars, but we're not a communist country so the government can't just decided to take everybody's money to pay for it. Well... ok, I am getting taxed up the ass for it, but I'm one tax payer in a country of 30 million people as opposed to one in a billion and a half. Our opening ceremonies (ceremonys?) will be held in BC Place stadium. It was built for Expo '86. Last year the inflatible roof collapsed. Oh ya, and Vancouver, while it is in Canada is also in the most temperate part of Canada. It maybe snows here twice a year. When it does snow the streets decend into chaos. Very entertaining for people who grew up in the other 99% of the country where it snows for real.
August 25, 2008 9:06 AM

Captain Dumbass said...
Ok, so that blue button that says 'preview' so doesn't work. If it did there would be a few less spelling mistakes, a few extra words here and there and maybe a few more paragraphs as well. Ok, I have to pretend to work for a little while, but I might be back.
August 25, 2008 9:09 AM

The Friday Five

For this week's "Five" I asked Jeremy to give me a list of five things he didn't like. He took a deep breath, gave me a thoughtful look and then proceeded to spew the following without stopping.

1. Gas Prices. No explanation necessary.
2. Proprietary Systems. He wouldn't offer an explanation here. He just sat and stared forward with hate in his eyes.
3. Colbee Caillat. Well, mostly her hat. He doesn't really know much about her or her music, he just hates that she often appears wearing a hat. I should let you know here, that Jeremy has a hard time understanding why anyone would wear anything other than a baseball hat. Me included. I had a visor phase a few years ago and he just won't let it drop.
4. Restaurants that don't serve Mountain Dew. Sure, we paid $50 a plate for that prime rib/lobster deliciousness but it wasn't a four star meal because Jeremy wasn't allowed to "Do the Dew" during dinner.
5. Mixed Songs or mash-ups. Jeremy claims that if the artist would have wanted it to sound that way they would have done it themselves. I don't have the heart to break it to him that sometimes artists hire someone to do that on their records and add them as bonus tracks.
6. Frisbee Golf. Again, this is a mix issue with Jeremy. He likes things black or white. Frisbee or Golf. When I asked Jeremy if he thought Tiger Woods ever played frisbee golf, he gave me the silent treatment for about 20 minutes.
7. The windmill clip on both McCain and Obama's ad. This troubles him so much, you guys. If he sees these adds come on television he'll stop what he's doing just to watch it, JUST to make himself angry. I can totally identify. I do the same thing with Sean Hannity.

*NOTE* It was right around this point that I signaled to Jeremy that I had my five things from him. In fact, I had more than I needed. He then announced he had a few more to add.

8. People that interrupt him while he's on a role. Umm. Guess that's me.
9. Not eating oysters every day. He loves 'em.
10. Not having bacon available. From time to time everyone says, "You know, we don't have enough *BLANK* in our diet." Typically, they are referring to something healthy, say like fiber, or iron or vegetables. Not Jeremy. He tells me almost weekly that he thinks his diet may be suffering from not enough bacon.

A Wordless Wednesday

WTF, Dragon Hill Restaurant?

I Will Push The Sword And The Sun Will Come Up

Somewhere along the way, Henry has been trained to believe that our Swiffer Sweeper is a sword. Maybe it was me? Probably not. This sounds like something his father would coax him into believing. Whatever. If it gets the kid to clean, then I'm all for it.

So a few nights ago Henry stands in our kitchen with the Swiffer (fun word to say) repeating over and over, "I will push the sword and the sun will come up." He concentrates as he sweeps back and forth. He sounds surprisingly insightful as he says this. He's so serious right now. Maybe there's deeper meaning to his ramblings. Has my son somehow tapped into another level of enlightenment? I begin to think that maybe he's wiser than I give him credit for. After all, he's three and he's already using metaphors. Hello. Sword? Sun? My boy is brilliant.

He glances in my direction and catches me watching him. "What?" he says.

"Nothing, " I reply, smiling at him.

I see him thinking for a brief moment. "Momma, I got something to tell you," he says.

Here it is, I think to myself. My little man is about to drop some sort of, higher level truth bomb my way. He throws down his Swiffer sword and walks over to the kitchen table. He sticks his little chubby finger up his nose, hands the contents over to me and asks, "Can I have chocolate, Momma?"

Not exactly the truth bomb I was hoping for, but it will do for now.

Jenny (867-5309)

I have a confession. I've been lurking on a particular blog for a few weeks, well almost a month, no make that two months. It's called The Bloggess and I am telling you must click on that link and read her stuff. She is FUN-NEE. I mean it. Her site is so interesting and her writing style is like a random stream of consciousness. It's so intriguing to read because the author, Jenny, just lets you in to her personal space. And maybe you think to yourself that you shouldn't be there, but you are so you just keep reading and you're glad you did.

And let me tell you, she's a pretty big deal. She's famous for having several blogs, she has famous friends, very famous friends and as far as I can tell, she's a cat lover. This makes her rank high in my book. I first discovered her because I did a random search for Amy Sedaris, humorist, actress, etc. Apparently, Jenny is a self-proclaimed stalker of Amy's. I could not believe my fortune! I too have feelings for a Sedaris, but mine is for David, Amy's brother. So of course I was curious about anyone who had such strong feelings for a Sedaris. As I read Jenny's blog, I discovered that we have other things in common such as she has/had two cats. I have two cats! Jenny is married. I am married! What are the odds? Okay, so maybe it's just the Sedaris thing. But for me, that is definitely enough.

So, Sunday, I worked up some courage and wrote an email professing my adoration for The Bloggess. Before pressing 'send', I paced the kitchen floor and repeated to myself what I thought were silent self affirmations. I still am explaining to Henry what "just strap on some stupid and do this thing" means, by the way. Then, I took a deep breath and sent the following email to The Bloggess. (I linked her again here because, really, you should stop reading me and jump to her site for real entertainment.)

Dear Bloggess:
So I have been lurking on your site for some time now. I found you through
a search for Amy Sedaris. I also heart her. I stalk her brother more than I
stalk her. But I think I saw her once in a deli in NY so I've actually been a little more successful at stalking her. David spends a lot of time in Europe so my chances at running into him are slim, you know?

Can I say enough kind things about your site? No, I cannot. I CAN'T. I love
reading it and I can I just say that it's all over the place?! I mean that
in the best possible way. I love that. I can definitely identify with that.
It's so refreshing and comforting to me.

I'm new to the blog thing and being such a rookie, I don't know the rules too well. Would it be in bad taste to mention you in a post and then link to you? I'm not doing that for self-promotion, but, rather, I know the people that read me (I have tens of
people, I swear I do) would love you! My group doesn't really feel too inclined to comment, but I promise I do have readership. Let me know.

Also, I just want to say thank you for following me on twitter. I feel so dumb even saying that. I followed you because I think I saw that someone I followed was following you and (dah, dah, dah DAH!) I remembered we share a fondness for the Sedariseses (more eses?). I know you have an automatic "follow anyone who follows me" thingy checked, but it totally made my week! I explained to my husband how much this meant to and he patted me on the head and said, "Aw, that's cute. You're stalking someone who is stalking someone that is related to someone you stalk. And now she can keep tabs on you."

I'm so relieved he got it on the first try. I didn't even have to explain it to him. This is why I love him so.

Anyway, thanks for the professionalism. (That's a weird way to end this.) I will continue to lurk on your site and when I feel clever enough or bold enough or tough enough, I will comment. But in the mean time, know that you have an extra pair of eyes out there watching for Amy.

Seriously Hearting You,

Jenboglass

After I sent that rambling email to The Bloggess I suddenly reverted back my high school self and wondered if The Bloggess would write me back. I checked my email over and over. Well, to my surprise and delight The Bloggess didn't play hard to get and emailed me shortly after! She said the kindest things to me. I won't post them here, because she probably didn't intend on me making them public. That, and we swapped our last known locations of the Sedaris' and we wouldn't want that getting out, now would we?

Oh! And she also was so kind to leave two comments (TWO!!) on my Friday Five post about Scooby-Doo and my Photoshop tutorial from yesterday. Don't believe me? Click that last link and see for yourself. And I'm so getting those buttons made up that I mentioned to her in my response.

Anyway, as a result of my email correspondence with The Bloggess, I am officially amending my girl crush list in the celebrity category. So, sorry, Jennifer Connelly, yous gots to go now. It looks like you've been replaced by another by the same name. If you should decide to start cursing any time soon, stop AND successfully work an "F" bomb into a comment on my blog, I might consider reinstating you. But only as an alternate. Also, do you know the Sedarises? This could help you immensely.

*NOTE* The Bloggess emailed me yesterday. We're like BFFs now. She totally featured one of my posts among others on her Good Mom/Bad Mom blog for the Houston Chronicle. I now must repay her tenfold. I've already promised to bury a body for her if she needs it. I hope she knows I was joking.

Headless Chicken

For the past nine months, Jeremy has been traveling to Fruita, Colorado to work on a hospital there. On about his second visit, he returned home with a story about a headless chicken. Skeptical at first, I required a couple of sources before I would believe him. I never received confirmation so I eventually filed it away in the back of my head.


Today, I found this article on the interweb. Crazy stuff.

Did a rooster named Mike live for 18 months after having his head chopped off?
Strange but true. A farmer from Fruita, Colo., thought he was just putting dinner on the table when he picked up an axe and beheaded one of his chickens. What happened next became the stuff of legend: The headless rooster bobbed and weaved back to the henhouse and lived for 18 more months.

The animal, later dubbed Mike and celebrated with a festival, Web sites and various magazine articles, survived because the blade missed his jugular vein and a clot prevented him from bleeding to death. The axe blow landed high enough that most of the chicken's brain stem and one ear remained intact. Mike was fed and watered by inserting an eyedropper directly into his gullet. Sadly, he later choked to death in a motel room. Residents of Fruita remember Mike as "a big fat chicken who didn't know he didn't have a head."

*Sources: msn.com, my husband, Jeremy and co-worker Chad. Both Jeremy and Chad claimed to have visited the monument erected in downtown Fruita honoring Mike.

Scuze Us

That’s Utah speak for “excuse us”. I’ll me a little MIA for the next week or so. Our family is taking a vacation and I plan to relax on the beach, fish on the Columbia and eat seafood until I’m sick. I’ve updated the blog with scheduled posts, but it was in a frantic hurry and I can’t be held responsible for what shows up here.

I’m half tempted to upload some images in a few that may invoke Captain Dumbass and Supreme Leader to leave a fairly detailed comment that may look like a guest post. Who knows?

Olympics: That's What She Said

Just a few more items about the Olympics then I promise I'll stop writing about them. During one of the many Michael Phelps finals, I wrote down a few sentance fragments that I thought we significant. Significant in the way that after every one of these a "that's what she said" is highly appropriate.

...and he shaved it and the rest is history.
...and he's now being pounded with balls.
...the Frenchman rolled him with his incredible body wash.
...but you just got to nail the wall.
...this is scary good, Al.
...so just sit back and enjoy this magical final turn.
...I think my Mom could anchor this relay and win.
...and those four inches should make you nervous.

The Friday Five

This week's Five are the top five band names Jeremy and I came up with while watching Men's Gymnastics. We collected these by just simply writing down whatever Tim Daggett said that sounded funny. Enjoy.

1. Chinese Apprehension -- New punk or emo. Huge hit with the ladies. I have to admit, we struggled with this one. Jeremy insists that Chinese Apprehension would be better put to use as the LP name for Gun's and Roses' long awaited release of Chinese Democracy.
2. Consistent C --Rapper and friend of Kanye. Will be big for a few years and maybe get a reality show on VH1.
3. Risky Elements -- boys pop band trying to pose as rockers. Coordinated clothes, hair-doos and representing almost every ethnic group.
4. Daggett -- grungy rock, maybe the next winner of American Idol. Wears a lot of makeup.
5. Drop Out Hamms -- Punk and oh-so-cool. This band is my favorite.

*Honorable Mention = Highbar Wildman and Huge Apparatus

Album names include:
1. Horizontal to The Floor
2. Mary Lou Moment
3. Second Spot
4. Squirreley Earlier
5. Supple Double Jointed Knees

Olympic Fever: We've Got It

I've always loved watching the Olympics. Ever since I was little. The first games I remember vividly are the 1984 Summer Games in Los Angeles. Not because of all the boycott talk, but because of the McDonald's glasses that my Mom was hell bent on collecting. We ate at every McDonald's within a 30 mile radius of our small town. In case you're wondering, we collected all four. And then some.


Ever since Salt Lake City hosted the Winter Games in 2002, I've been obsessed with them. Luckily, my husband feels the same. Every two years, when the Olympics roll around, we are total couch potatoes for seventeen days straight.

If you've never lived in a city that's hosting the games, you are missing out. Your city is transformed and suddenly very invaded by the world, but in a good way. The Salt Lake City games were the first held after September 11th, so security was heightened. It was intimidating to not only see beefed up security everywhere, but also heavily armed National Guard members standing watch. But to host the world in your back yard was unlike anything I've every experienced. Jeremy and I went to a few venues, but it was the nightlife in the city that was incredible. Almost every country had it's own "house" where the athletes and citizens of that country could enter and drink, eat and play until the wee hours of the morning. The Canada House was off the hook. For reals. It was the hottest venue in town, besides Appollo Anton Ohno. Luckily, I officed with a Canadian at the time so she would take us down there in shifts.

I'm sure you all remember the pairs figure skating controversy of the 2002 Games between the Russians and the Canadian duo, Jamie Sale and David Pelletier. (Canadians were robbed,yo) The locals could not get enough of that story. During all this, Jeremy attached his own meaning to the phrase "figure skating drama". He still uses it to this day. Simply put, it means; drama that involves a small group of people often sensationalized to appear bigger than it really is. For example, if I come home from a long day at work and tell him that something so crazy went down with a couple of people in the office, he'll ask me if it's "drama" or "figure skating drama", the latter being of the more manufactured kind than actual drama.

So far, during the Beijing Games, Jeremy hasn't coined another phase, but it's only week one. We have, however, made and a few other observations:

1. Apparently, Spain is staring a gold medal in the face. Don't stare to long. You'll go blind.
2. The Chinese aren't strong turners in the pool. Rowdy's words, not mine.
3. The word "Spectacle" is perfectly okay to use for seventeen days. And it's a good thing.
4. Rogers/Dalhausser. If you don't know who these two are, then you haven't lived. Or at the very least, you haven't been watching the Olympics. Also, Dalhausser looks a teensy bit like Billy Corgan, which I will myself to try not to notice.
5. President Bush always looks like he's not sure of his seat assignment. When they cut to footage of him taking his seat, an Olympic security person typically approaches him. Jeremy and I narrate the conversation we imagine happening between them. It always involves Bush being in the wrong seat and being asked to move. Of all the things I've listed here, this is actually the one that is most likely true.
6. Another Bush observation? He looked way creepy hanging out with Misty May-Trainer and Keri Walsh. He reminded me of that perpetual senior guy in college that never seems to graduate but shows up to all the fraternity parties. Remember him? Yeah. That's our President.
7. Imagine your an athlete and you've just finished your heat or trial or match or whatever. Maybe you didn't perform as you had hoped. You're out of breath and the NBC reporter grabs you, pulls you aside and asks you on camera if you're disappointed in your performance because you added an extra step or you teetered and lost your balance a bit. If this happened to me you can bet that instead of a canned answer about concentrating on the positives I would grab that microphone, smack the reporter directly in the center of the forehead and wrap the cord around his/her neck. I would then let them know that I was pleased with THAT performance.
8. I have forgotten how fun it is to say Pieter Van den Hoogenband. Pieter Van den Hoogenband.
9. Bob Costas kind of seems like a dick. A short one.

10. All the swimmers must wax hourly. I'm just sayin'.

A Wordless Wednesday

Actually, this post does have a few words. But not many. It's in honor, or honour, of my Canadian cyber friends, Captain Dumbass and his Supreme Leader. They often post beautiful pictures of flowers and plants around their home. They also like to let the world know that their deck is waterproofed. Neener-neener.

Well, I live in the desert. Not too many brilliant or blooming flowers around here. Also, any plant I touch will die. So, to repay the favour (again, their Canadian folks -- they love their u's as much as they love Celine Dion up there), here's some breath taking candids of plant life around our home.

The breath taking part is when you are all gasping out loud and the sheer volume of weeds in our backyard.

Shadow Of The Day

As a follow up post to my earlier post Hella Good, I'm now telling you about the other song that has a special meaning to me.

Linkin Park's Shadow Of The Day reminds me not of my daughter, Reese, but of her birthmother, Keely. I'm not sure exactly why, but it just does. It became popular around the first few months of Reesie's life, our first few months with her. The lyrics are quite depressing. It's not the words that remind me of Keely so much, it's the connection I have with her.

If you've not adopted a child, then you probably can't identify with what I'm about to say. But with both Henry and Reese, I felt guilty about being able to parent these beautiful children. My heart ached for their birthmoms and the loss that they felt. I even experienced a touch of post-pardum depression with Reese that was somewhat difficult to deal with.

Rewind to late summer, early fall of 2007. Jeremy and I were once again on the adoption registry list and waiting to be placed with a child. We were warned that we might be waiting for years because as a trend, birthmothers are often drawn to couples that don't have children already. We were okay with that. Not thrilled, but okay.

It was a Wednesday morning when our case worker called with a frantic tone telling me that she'd been trying to get a hold of us for a few days. She had a young birth mom who liked our adoption profile and wanted to me with us that day.

Shocked, I called Jeremy and told him that we would be meeting Keely in two hours to discuss her and options for her baby. I remember the first time I saw her. She was standing in the deli we had picked for lunch. I thought she was beautiful. She was a teeny thing, long blonde hair and the prettiest smile. She was talkative, but I knew she was nervous. I was nervous too. She didn't look pregnant. I scanned the place for Ashton Kutcher to see if we were being Punk'd. I asked her over lunch if we were being Punk'd. For reals. I did.

Keely only had about six weeks left in her pregnancy and was kind enough to meet with us several other times. The second time we met with her was over dinner. I remember about half-way through getting this intense pang in my heart while she was talking to me. I recognized this from the same feeling I had when I very first laid eyes on Henry. My heart had recognized Keely in the same way it had Henry. So it was then, over my chicken quesadilla at Chili's, that I fell in love with Keely.

It wasn't just because she had chosen us to raise Reesie, it was that I genuinely loved her. I often tell her now that had our paths crossed another way in life, I truly believe we would be friends. She tells me that she feels a special bond with me and that our lives might somehow be intertwined because she was able to give birth to Reese and I'm the one that's able to raise her. I couldn't have put it better.

Where does the Linkin Park song come in to all this? It's strange. When I first heard it, I loved the melody and the beat. It's relaxing and has movement to it. Keely was on my mind a lot at that time. I would often wonder what she was up to. I had some idea since we would email each other quite frequently. I imagined that she might like that song too. I still don't if she does. I've never asked her. Whenever Shadow Of The Day would come on, it was three minutes of time that I kept for myself to freely wonder about her. I was curious about if she was happy. Did she think about Reese often? Did she miss her? Would she be proud of how we were raising her?

For me, Shadow Of The Day has a sort of melancholy feel with a twist of optimism. I imagine that's what Keely might have been feeling the first few months without Reese. I hoped that if she missed her daughter she would be comforted by the fact that Reese would have a good life filled with plenty of opportunities with our family.

I know that Keely visits our blog. We talk often via email and sometimes text messages. So Keely, want you to know how honored I am to be able to spend the rest of my life with Reesie, a beautiful, vibrant and curious little girl with her Momma's hair, her chin, curiosity and contagious smile. I love that she looks like you. She raises one of her eyebrows like you do in that millisecond right before she smiles. She's learned to flirt already and has Jeremy wrapped around her finger.

The other day I went into that deli where I first met you. While I ordered my sandwich I got a little teary eyed. My friend asked me if I was okay. I nodded and thought to myself that I couldn't imagine myself being any better. I can't wait to see you soon so you can see for yourself the miracle you gave us.

Hella Good

Recently, the newly famous blogger Black Hockey Jesus asked his readers if they had a best or worst memory that they associated with a particular song. When I read his question, I knew exactly the two songs that had a special meaning for me. I'll only go into one of those on this post today, because both songs represent my children. To group them into the same post just wouldn't do either of them justice.

The first song that has special meaning to me is No Doubt’s Hella Good, which in Utah I think you are required to pronounce as Hecka Good. I remember the first time I heard it. I was at work and a co-worker who sat directly behind me heard it come on the radio and cranked it up loud for us all to hear. We got up on our feet and danced. I loved it instantly. From then on, I would scour the radio dial on my commute in the hopes that I would hear it.

A month went by and I began hearing that song more and more. I was in the car more often then. It was during the spring and summer of 2003. Jeremy and I were driving two hours a day, ten days a month, to visit with an infertility expert. We had been trying to conceive for a few years and nothing was happening. During this time, we were in the middle of our many, many Artificial Insemination treatments. Some days Jeremy and I would get up before 4:00 am to get to the doctor before work to track my body’s schedule. Other days, we would leave work-mid day to perform the AI. Thankfully, both my doctor and employer were wonderfully flexible with our schedules.

It was those days when we scheduled the AI that I stressed the most, and understandably so. We only had a window of about 45 minutes to make what was regularly a 60 minute drive. So there we were, the three of us; me, Jeremy and his cup full of ’specimen’, weaving in and out of traffic listening to the radio and Gwen Stefani belt out that funky, groovy pop song. On the way to the doctor’s office, I usually had high spirits. To hear that song, gave me hope and promise. I would loudly sing along and soon, I knew every word. But those high times would only last a few weeks. Month after month, when my period arrived, my hopes were dashed and I was often inconsolable.

It was around mid September when I decided my body and my mind could take no more of those adrenaline filled dashes to the doctor. I had lost hope and a piece of my heart as well. I shut down and kind of unplugged myself from everything. I refused to listen to that song if it ever crossed my ears. If it came on the radio, I would immediately turn the dial. One time while while at the grocery store, it came on. I set my cart aside and walked out. It represented my body's failure to hold on to a pregnancy. It only reminded me of the stress I associated with all those doctor visits.

During the winter of 2004, Jeremy and I both agreed that it was more important to us to be parents than to be pregnant. We applied for adoption. Strangely enough, nine months later, Henry, our son, arrived via his beautiful birthmother, Bailey. Odd how things work out, isn't it?

Around Henry’s six month mark I began listening to a lot of music. His birthmom was a hip-hop dancer and it was evident that at six months he had inherited her rhythm and love of music. On one of my days home with Henry, I was holding him in the kitchen and dancing and singing to him along with the radio. Hella Good blared out of the speakers. On instinct I went to the radio dial to change the station, but before I made it there, I heard Henry squeal in delight and he began bouncing around in my arms. I watched him, amazed by how much he doesn’t look like me at all. He’s the spitting image of his birthmother. He has her big, blue eyes, her wide smile, her ski-jump nose. He has her hands and he even fiddles with them like I remembering her doing on those days we were with her before he was born. When Henry laughs, he often times makes the same breathy sound Bailey would make when she laughed.

So there I stood, looking at my son, his smile was bigger than I'd ever remembered and his little arms were flailing in the air to the music. It was in that moment that I fell in love with Hella Good all over again. From then on, that song would represent a wonderful time in my life that I had to experience. Now when I hear it, it takes me back to those early morning trips to the doctor and how they gave me and Jeremy time together as a couple. We'd talk about important things like our future plans and goals down to the little things like what movie we were hoping to see that weekend. I think we a little grew closer then. But mostly, when I hear Hella Good, I think of Henry and his birthmom, Bailey. I think about how lucky we are that she picked us out of all the other couples waiting to adopt. I think about the first time I saw him through the nursery window and how even though I didn't recognize him, my heart recognized him. And I think about all the times Henry has shaken his little groove thing to that song and shouted the lyrics as his ears hears them, "I'm gonna get that wood and I keep on dancin!"

The Friday Five

So my intentions are to keep The Friday Five short and sweet, but who knows and here goes. That. Totally. Rhymed.

A list of five things that I should be doing right this very minute instead of of writing this. (To all the twelves of my readers out there, you are welcome)

1. I should be packing. The fam will be taking a vacation to the wonderful and cooler (in temperature only) Pacific Northwest where we will be spending a relaxing and somewhat deserved vacation. I've already informed my boss that I've booked our trip on his credit card. He thinks I'm joking. He'll be in Europe so I doubt he'll notice the charges for a while. The time difference between the States and Germany is something like a week long isn't it?

2. I should be catching up on the backlog of recorded programs on TIVO. Now this might seem trivial to most of you, but anyone that knows me (Julee), knows that I am dead serious about my TIVO schedule. You might say, "I just don't have time to watch television". Mkay. Totally not buying it. Television watching is just like working out. You have to MAKE time to do it. It's a commitment, folks. Discipline yourselves.

I just want to clarify that I'm not one of those people who lies around on the couch to watch whatever on television. I'm really not. Well, maybe just a little. I'm not anal about too many things, but lax television habits in my house don't happen often.

Although, who doesn't love it when you just stumble across a good movie on cable? Then you check the listings and an even EVEN BETTER movie is on next! Should we go for three? Bingo and it's your lucky day. It's NOT Shawshank Redemption so you're sticking around.

Let me further clarify. There's nothing wrong with Shawshank Redemption, but seriously, TBS, find something else to broadcast.

3. I should be learning the proper use of parenthesis. (Yes), I (should).

4. I should be thinking of something really funny to wrap this pathetic list up for item number five.

5. I shood run this list through spell checker.

*NOTE* Next week posts about the kiddies shall return. They've been boring for the past week or so. There's only so much motivation you can give a toddler and an infant without breaking the bank or your back.

Milkshakes And The Shame They Bring

“Shuffle shame”, as defined by Urban Dictionary, is when your mp3 music player is playing on speakers in shuffle mode, and somebody enters the room at the exact moment the worst song of your collection is being played.

I experienced shuffle shame of the worst kind today. A bunch of us girls were listening to Jessica (see girl posse) tell us adventures of her blind date from the night before. Rawr! After hearing all the details we decided that the meal was probably the highlight of her evening. Our conversation ended with me telling Jessi that her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard and her getting very embarrassed. After she left it got me to thinking about the Kelis song, Milkshake, from a few years ago. After immediately downloading it from iTunes, Kylee and I got jiggy with it for a few minutes at our desks.

In the midst of doing her famous torso “quake and shake” move our boss walked up behind Kylee, saw her dancing and just sort of shrugged his shoulders. Yeah. That’s totally how we roll in Marketing.

*NOTE*
Kylee was under the impression that "Shuffle Shame" was a reference to Rozzie's dancing skills. Meanie.

Donnie Does Not Suck

Because it's Wednesday and I'm tired. Also for Donnie. His life seems to be falling apart and he's barely hanging on by a thin Photoshopped thread.

Isn't There A Chicago Song About Inspiration?

Let it never be said again that I do not inspire. Up until yesterday I was unaware that I could inspire anyone. Lord knows I’ve tried. Just last night, I tried to inspire my three year old to take a bath.

Me: I’ll give you candy.
Manster: What kind?
Me: Delicious candy.
Manster: That’s not a kind, Mom. What color is it? Is it orange?
Me: Yes.
Manster: I don’t want the orange. I want the brown.

Wait a minute. Now that I look at that conversation a little closer on my screen it doesn't seem like inspiration at all. I swear in my head that little dialogue didn't sound so bribey.

So, what I really want to drive home is that Henry eventually did take his bath, and that not last night, but the night before I did inspire someone. Behold the following link to Us and Them. Pay attention to the comment section. Then lookie here to see how Captain Dumbass (he prefers to be called that, for realsies) holds good on his cyber word.

I just found the blog, Us and Them by chance this weekend and I fell in like with it after only a few posts. I only had to read two before I decided to bookmark it. However, when I saw this, I fell in LOVE with this blog. It cracks me up every time I look at it. I haven't clarified with the Thems, but I do so hope that one of them is Captain Dumbass and that this picture was, indeed, taken on a typical day in their life.

Inspiration is a funny thing, you know? But Klingons are funnier.

BTW: I tried to repay Us and Them tenfold. I'm afraid I might have only done it 2-ply.

If This Doesn't Make Us Closer I Don't Know What Will

You know how Oprah's mantra in seasons past has been "Renewing Your Spirit"? Jeremy and I have something similar, except we refer to it as "Renewing Our Love". We try to do it weekly, in public, with LOTS OF PEOPLE WATCHING. Before you conjure up images of us having sexy time somewhere like a Taco Bell parking lot, just stop. Stop. Although, there is a Taco Bell across the street from our building. I'm just saying.

But no, really, our ROL time is just a planned activity together like grabbing a lunch together, or driving to work together, or paying our bills online together. Romance, folks. Nothing says I love you quite like pressing that "send payment" button at the same time. Like, maybe our hands will accidentally brush and then we'll both quickly pull away because the heat is just too much. (Cue background music and fade lighting now). Maybe our eyes lock and we realize that we can't fight what we're feeling for each other right this minute. Hold up. What's going on? And why am I all flushed?

Online bill paying. Just keep thinking about online bill paying.

And just so you know, since Jeremy and I DO work in the same office, when we're planning our time together I refer to it exactly as "Renewing Our Love" as in, "I'm sorry, Random Coworker, I can't make that 1:00. Jeremy and I are renewing our love at noon and I don't think we'll be back." Now, does this make Jeremy a little uncomfortable? Yep. But so have many other things I've done throughout our marriage.

So, Internet, today I'm talking to you about our ROL sessions because I think I've found a new, and quite possibly the most perfect activity for Jeremy and I as a couple. It's called Ralley Car Racing. It consists of two people in one of those souped up foreign cars driving at an ridiculous high speeds through a street course as well as a stadium course complete with ramps, jumps and tight twisty turn thingys. The key to this sport is that there are TWO people in a car together, a driver and a co-driver. Obviously, the driver is doing the driving, the physical navigation of the car. But what I find most intriguing about this sport is the co-driver who is responsible for mapping and maintaining location on the course, directing the driver where to drive and cuing him in on upcoming conditions so that he can maintain high rates of speed. Oh, and did I tell you that the co-driver just so happens to be female most of the time?

That's right. There is a sport out there where a male and a female get in a car together, and the man drives erratically and at high rates of speed and his female passenger reads the map and alerts him to upcoming turns or obstacles in the road. And he WILlINGLY listens to her. The few races we watched, it was clear that the co-driver was an integral force in the strategy for what were time and time again referred to as "stellar drive times, dude!". It was all kinds of awesome to watch.

The co-driver would shout out directions with such authority. She was considered an expert on the course and she was listened to, damnit! (I secretly kept hoping that a fight would break out between the driving teammates, but let me assure you that it never happened.)

The way I see it, if Jeremy and I could get us some matching track suits, helmets and a couple of energy drink sponsors (are you listening Red Bull??) we would be unstoppable. I'd be all, "Minivan on the left! Merge right! Slow down!"

Well, actually, we'd need matching track suits, helmets, energy drink sponsors and Jeremy's willingness to actually listen to my driving directions. Sigh. I guess we should stick with bill paying after all. Do they have sponsors for that?

My Muffin Will Do What?

The other night Jeremy slipped into bed after putting a long day in somewhere. He claims it was at work, but I have my doubts. The grass stains on his dockers and the golf clubs in the back of the truck were a dead giveaway. Busted. So anyway, as he laid down next to me I see a confused look cross his face.

Jeremy: What IS that? (Jumping out of bed and ripping the covers back to inspect his side of the bed)
Me: Oh, yeah, that. I let Henry eat a blueberry muffin this morning. On yourside of the bed.
Jeremy: .... (saying nothing, just giving me a disaproving look while dramatically swiping crumbs from the bed)
Me: (laughing)

Fast forward to five minutes later, after all the crumbage had been swept away and Jeremy's comfortably nestled in bed...

Me: Um, Lover? Would you mind scratching my back? I'm all itchy tonight.
Jeremy: .... (again, saying nothing and probably giving me another disaproving look in the dark)
Me: Pleeeeeease?
Jeremy: Why don't you just roll around on the crumbs? It could be like one of those exclusive treatments you have done at a spa only your muffin will do all the work.

The Friday Five

This week's installment of The Friday Five is...

The five real mysteries of Scooby-Doo, Where Are You? As of late, our family has been watching a lot of this cartoon. Henry discovered it about six months ago. It's brought back such nostalgia for both me and Jeremy. After watching it over and over, we've noticed that besides the mystery in every episode where the monster is eventually unmasked, we've come up with a few questions of our own.

Now mind you, I'm going to skip over all the obvious questions surrounding this show such as, 'Is Velma a lesbian?' or, 'Does anyone else in the Gang notice that Fred and Daphne always disappear to make sexy time?' or finally, 'Is Shaggy always stoned?' The answers to these questions are, yes, no and yes. In that order.

Here are the questions Jeremy and I ask ourselves each time we hear the Scooby-Doo theme song starting up:

1. What's with all the real estate fraud? Have you ever noticed that almost every episode revolves around this concept? Why don't the 'villains' just take the current land owners to court? Why not old fashioned murder? Not that I'm suggesting violence on a 1970's cartoon, but how did everyone get the revelation to spook people out of their property? And why don't the authorities ever suspect the Gang's involvement in any of this? After all, they're always smack dab in the middle of these elaborate property disputes. And wouldn't the Gang become wise to this eventually? You'd think after you've been chased by one vampire who was eventually unmasked as the old care-taker of the haunted hotel, the next immortal creature you ran across...well, you'd be a little wiser.

2. Why doesn't the Gang pay more attention to their surroundings initially? This would certainly save them at least 22 minutes per day, at least per episode. It would, however, rob us of seeing 'those meddling kids' visit the Snow Ghost in the Himalayas. And how'd that Mystery Machine make it up that hill?

Do you know how many mysteries involved hidden wires, transparent skis, projectors and mirrors? And that's just old school Scooby-Doo. On the What's New, Scooby-Doo? program, the techno-trickery involves, plasma screen televisions mounted to the bottom of boats, elaborate power point technology, lasers and mind operated computers.

If the Gang just would take a closer look at their surroundings and take the time to learn the difference between dry ice and actual smoke, their trips would be a little more hassle free.

3. What's up with Velma and her glasses? Seriously, she's always losing them. Even my three year old gets frustrated with her carelessness with those things. He's all, "Velma! Pick up your glasses already!"

Velma's a smart gal. I bet she gets good grades. Why doesn't she take some of the scholarship money and invest in LASEK eye surgery or at the very least contacts? Do you even know how many ghouls have gotten this close to capturing the Gang while old Velma looks for her specs?

Really, chick. Go see an Opthamologist.

4. Just how does the Gang know the Harlem Globe Trotters and Phyllis Diller? These folks show up, at random, through out the episodes. Don't get me wrong, I love that they have friends in high places, and I'm always for seeing a little Ms. Diller, but a little back story or character development wouldn't hurt either.

5. Why doesn't the Gang ever walk side by side? They always seem to travel in a single file line, one after the other. Additionally, they rarely talk while they walk. They seem to be really interested in what's ahead of them. They all have this goofy look on their face as though they can't wait to get to where it is they are walking, be it a cave in the basement of a haunted house, a wax museum or a deserted graveyard in New Orleans.