Three Way Random Memories I've Had as of Late, Conjured Up For No Good Reason At All

- During the summer of 2000, I acquired an aquarium that came with a humongous olive green frog who I named "Mother," but pronounced it like someone from Brooklyn: "Muthah." He was a beautiful animal with skin that looked exactly like the gorgeous gloves Michelle Obama wore on Inauguration Day. Tell me you saw them; they were fabulous. Now, after seeing last season's Project Runway, I would have named that frog "Leather," pronounced "Leathah" in honor of Blayne's imitation of Stella and her love of leathah. Because Muthah looked like Michelle Obama's leathah gloves. That looked like buttah.

-I went on a couple of blind dates in college, all of which were arranged by various aunts of mine. One auntie in particular, who shall remain nameless, decided to give my number to this guy she swore up and down was great. We talked on the phone a couple of times. He was funny and I could tell he was smart, so I agreed to go out with him despite the fact that he was way older than I was, which was something of a turn-off, for fear he was desperately seeking a mate, any mate. But he seemed pretty cool, so I was like "Why not? Free food," which is basically my life's mantra. The day before we were supposed to go out, he called and it came up that the next day, for the 8 hours prior to our date, I would be at work all day long which I wasn't looking forward to. "Oh, where do you work?" he asks. "The Game Center," I reply. (The bowling alley/arcade/pool table place at BYU.) I'd like to note that I did not say where I worked with even a milligram of enthusiasm. We talk a little while longer and at the end of our conversation I ask what we're doing the next evening. I want to know how to dress. See if I can finally wear those black leather chaps I've been saving for something special, of course. "It's a surprise." Ok. So the next day, I work at the Game Center all day long spraying lemon scented poison into sweaty bowling shoes, getting greasy bowling balls unstuck from the pin ring in the back while totally smashing my fingers in the process, refunding perturbed customers after the Misses Pac Man arcade eats their quarter even though it says "Out of Order" in a big, bold printed sign taped right on the freaking machine's screen, listening to the same sappy Air Supply whining from the jukebox, and inhaling that dreaded Game Center odor of dust, sweat, drug store cologne and post-mission angst. I hated that place. So I come home, shower off the second-hand stench of fake rotten lemons, dust, sweat, cologne and angst and get ready for my date. The guy arrives, he's ok looking--a little "Peter P" for my taste but I don't hold it against him too much. We get in the car and he's like "So do you want to know where we're going?" and I'm like "Sure," and I kid you not, HE TAKES ME BACK TO THE GAME CENTER FOR OUR DATE EVEN THOUGH HE KNEW I HAD JUST LEFT THE STINKING PLACE NOT EVEN AN HOUR BEFORE, AFTER SPENDING LIKE AN ETERNITY THERE . And I didn't even try to be cool about it. I totally protested. Profusely protested, in fact. Like totally begged to go somewhere, anywhere but there. But dude wanted to bowl. Needless to say, I did not bother answering the phone when he called a couple of days later. Thanks for that gem by the way, Auntie.

- In high school I had a strict midnight hour curfew. Because nothing good happens after midnight. At the time, I thought it was like, so totally lame, you guys that I had a curfew. But looking back, my parents were oh-so-wise and my girls are totally having having a midnight curfew. Anyway, at midnight, and not a minute past or there was hell to pay, I would come in the door, kick off my shoes, which were always something kick-offable: Birkenstocks, suede Simple clogs or flip flops and sit up on a red bar stool. During the summer months, all the windows would be open, along with the screen door and the scent of oranges and jasmine would waft inside from the orange groves and jasmine bushes across the street. I would ramble on about the evening's shenanigans while consuming an entire watermelon with my Dad while we would sit side by side slicing off chunks. My Mom, with a red and white plaid dish towel thrown over her shoulder and an apron tied tightly around her waist of course, would be putting away dishes. The crickets would be chirping, my dog would be snoring upstairs. My brothers would be upstairs in the bonus room watching The Jamie Foxx show and howling with laughter. My Mom would start the dishwasher, filling the house with a rhythmic hum and swish song. Those were really good days.