The Past 18 Days

Have been filled with a lot of this:

One missed calling:

Two sandy girls:

One dream come true:


Two hilarious shows:


One fantastic movie:

Two great families:

Merry Meth Lab Skates!

My brother Joe and I fought a good fight and won these vintage roller derby skates on eBay for our brother John. They were received with the enthusiasm we were hoping for. *Also enclosed in the box from the seller was discarded drug use paraphernalia. Score!

Christmas Cards -- The Pain in My Rear

Every year around Thanksgiving, I start having anxiety attacks about getting out my Christmas cards. Who will take our picture? Can I get away with just the girls? Will it look weird if Go is in his scrubs? Will he even be awake? Will anyone notice that it's taken at the hospital? Will I look fat as I feel? What should we wear that will look cohesive without looking all matchy-matchy? Will people scoff if I send them out in March?

Last year, I just couldn't get it together and I didn't send anything out, so I feel obligated to do it this year. But it's Christmas Eve and we still don't even have a picture taken. And today, Ruby is either allergic to something or has pink eye because her eyes are all red and swollen, so that's going to push the picture back.

If worse comes to worse, I have an option. Yesterday before church we took a walk around the neighborhood. I took my camera because the girls looked so cute. It would have been a perfect time to take a family picture but I don't know how to use the timer on my camera and I didn't have the guts to ask a passing jogger to take our picture, but we got some pretty cute ones.

Hello darkness, my old friend

Today marks the death of a dear old pal to the Garlock family and those that spent time at the house. It is hard to tell how old he is, he was in such great shape but I'd venture to say he's at least 20 years old. He lived a good life, he served us well. Rest in peace, old buddy. The eulogy service will be at 11. Fruiti-Os, Crystal Geyser, E.L. Fudge, and Bagel Bites will be served; all the classics.*Now we just have to figure out how to get the thing out of the house. It weighs roughly 450 tons.

Only in Southern California

Where else can one pick citrus in one's jammies?

For Their Daddy

Dear Go,
Even though we've been apart for six days now, you should be able to remember that I only tease and make fun of those I love, but just because you miss me and are therefore extra sensitive and pouty, I humbly ask for your forgiveness after making fun of the way you ordered your McDonald's meal while on the phone with me today. You did it with dignity, with fervor and with the passion of a man with a hungry stomach and no warm stove to come home to. I should have never laughed and mimicked the way you said "And a medium fry" with such gusto and the fact that I just knew you had given them exact change. Nobody can count pennies quite like you can.

Here is what you missed out on yesterday:

You know she dug her outfit.
Practicing her *elbow, elbow, wrist, wrist* wave. May has added "ponies" to her favorite things. Now the list reads: old men, pancakes, her blankie, boots, ponies.

Does this jacket look familiar? It shouldn't, because it's new. Grandma was appalled that I didn't bring a jacket with a more substantial thread count, so a trip to Target was made to soothe the savage beast. And I mean "beast" in the nicest way possible.

Here I am trying to convince May to at least look at the bunnies. I have discovered she is a fan of large animals, not small. Ruby, completely in her element.
Just a heads up, I suspect that next Christmas will be the Christmas when Ruby will ask for a pony.
For most of her pony ride, this is how May sat: leaned back, extra casual, like "What's up. I do this every day. Ain't no thang." We miss you and can't wait until Saturday.

Love,

Your girls

The Blast From My Past

I will tell you this much:
It was someone I met when I was at BYU. It could have been any of the following twelve persons:

1. The kid in my ward who after a Biology class where he learned about pheromones and the theory that they attract the opposite sex, decided not to shower in order to increase his musk. I was lucky enough to share a hymnal on more than one occasion with the guy. He liked to stand close.

2. The guy who told me he loved me, then proceeded to dump me, hard core.

3. The kid who took me aside while I was on a date with someone else and told me I should leave with him instead, which he tried more than once.

4. The guy I ran past when all I had on was a sweatshirt.

5. The freshman kid I worked with when I was a sophomore. I bet him $50 that I wouldn't be married by the time he got back from his mission. I owe him $50.

6. The guy I had thought I was exclusively dating for a couple of months, during which a holiday break occurred. A year later, I found out that he had taken another girl home over that break.

7. The kid who asked me out and I turned down because I had to "study for a big test." and then went out with someone else instead that night and awkwardly ended up running into him.

8. The guy who took me out, talked about motorcycles the entire time, chewed stinky gum, put his arm up on the seat and snapped his fingers in my ear to the music but not to the beat and then read me poems that he had written to his old girlfriend who he was still pining after.

9. The guy who literally picked me up and carried me out of a class, put me in his car, drove me to his house and showed me his collection of machine guns he kept in his closet.

10. The guy I had a crush on who would come into my work, not to flirt with me because he liked me as I had perceived but looking back now, flirt with me in hopes to score free stuff.

11. The boy who I did a charcoal drawing of in my figure drawing class. He wore a shimmering neon pink snake-skin speedo.

12. The man who I did a charcoal drawing of in an open studio class. He wore nothing.

All in a Days Travel

4,000 hour plane flight? Check.

Poopy diaper on a plane with no diaper changing table? Double check.

Successful dodging of an unwanted run-in with a blast from my past? Checkity Check.

Dinner at Rubio's? Cheque.

Froggy boots on at all times? Ribbit.

Bangs to Match My Badunkadunkdunk

I got my hairs cut today.

Christmastime in Days of Yore: Part Two

I came across some old family Christmas pictures and was reminded of all the different ways me or one of my brothers "ruined" the picture each year. Here are a few of my favorites:

2006. Who knows when my Mom will be brave enough to try this again.

Face squishing in 1999.


The eyebrow massacre of 1994. 


The peak of my brothers' comedy, which was 1992.

Christmastime in Days of Yore: Part One

Tonight was our ward Christmas party, complete with a visit from Old Saint Nick. May was all about it: an old man with facial hair? Yes, please. Ruby wanted to know why Santa wasn't wearing gloves and what those spots were all over his hands. "They're liver spots, kid. Here's a candy cane. Now take a hike." I wanted to know why his beard looked like stretched quilting batting, the cheap kind. It got me thinking, over the years there has been a sad decline in the quality and authenticity in Santa Claus costumes. I did some research and the results I found were astonishing:

Take for instance this costume circa 1980. Even my keen 5-month old observation skills could not detect that this was not the real deal. In true 80's fashion, look at how fluffy that hair is. Top notch.

Then we've got 1983. That brass belt buckle is the real deal, folks, no rectangular piece of felt for this guy. My brother couldn't even make eye contact with this Santa Claus, he was so awestruck.

1986. See that velvet? Straight from the North Pole. And with such a lifelike portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Claus hung in the backdrop, who's not to say that this guy's for real?

1989. Way to old to have done this, but I was drawn in by the sheer magnificence of his frothy white beard. And the candy.

Tales from the PhotoBooth

Pretending to be mad.

Still pretending to be mad.
Acting surprised!
Acting cute!

On the phone sitting on hold with our insurance company. This is where you can find me most of the time.

Still on hold...
Just woke up.

So did he. He has the best bed-head ever.
Give us a kiss.

Lovely. This is what you can find May doing most of the time, too.

If He Was An Old Man

I have a habit of developing Hollywood crushes. I'm not calling it a "bad habit" because these crushes are completely innocent. What can I say? I am an artist; I'm into aesthetics. My husband on the other hand, does not take part in this, which is why he answered with "Ellen DeGeneres" during a game we played recently. I've asked him repeatedly what actress/singer/celebutaunte he thinks is pretty or finds cute, to which he replies in his best "This is me being cheesy" tone: "I only have eyes for you," then he usually burps to counteract any genuine cheesiness that might have seeped through. But I keep trying anyway even though he tells me I should be glad he's like this, that he thinks I'm as good as it gets, he has no need to look elsewhere. Oh, he's so silly. I have, however, been able to eek out two answers from him regarding this very important matter in the 7.5 years we've known each other: Meg Ryan, (but he went back on this after she got plastic surgery, go figure) and Gwyneth Paltrow. There are little known actresses that he'll say are pretty once in awhile, because they aren't "conventional beauties." I actually think this will make him a better plastic surgeon then someone who's into the Pam Andersons. For those of you waiting in line for Go to work on you, be warned: you might end up looking like me, which would be a big fatty waste of time, money and physical pain. Not to mention you'd have to walk around looking like me afterwards, but I'm going to put that in the aforementioned "physical pain" category.

But the other night, I had a major breakthrough. We were watching Iron Chef America, Cat Cora and Paula Deen vs. Tyler Florence and Robert Irvine, where the secret ingredient was sugar. We're critiquing and salivating over the deliciousnesses being made, when Go says "If I was an old man, I'd have a thing for Paula Deen." I'm counting it.
1.

2.
3.
4.

Things That I am Embarrassed About:

1. Liking October Road.

2. When I get excited about something and the volume of my voice raises.

3. On one occasion, in the freshly budding stages of our relationship when nary a pass had been made, Go walked me to my apartment door, we talked a little bit and then he just kind of stood there. I thought maybe he was going to kiss me or at least hug me but then he stepped back and said goodnight. I was thrown off. So I saluted him. A full on military salute. Don't ask me why I did this, I haven't a clue. We've never spoken of this, mostly because I'm hoping he had thought I was just stiffly and solemnly brushing the hair out of my eyes and didn't think anything of it. Or perhaps he counted this as just another one of my endearing and quirky moments rather than the act of someone who had her own personal seat on the Dating Short Bus.

4. The UNusual state of my face--I've never been more broken out in my entire life. It's hideous.

5. Saying "You, too!" today to my visiting teacher after she said "Have a great trip." She is not going anywhere for the holidays, something we strongly established during her thankfully short visit.

6. My sweat marks at church on Sunday. I've got to find a deodorant/anti-perspirant that actually works. Seriously, have I reverted back to the age of thirteen?

7. Crying during TV shows. Movies, I cut myself some slack, but TV? Get a grip, woman.

8. My 3-inch long dirty blonde, ok fine, brown roots.

9. My awkward length of I'm-growing-this-out-so-bare-with-me hair.

10. Downloading Two of Hearts after watching Hot Rods.

11. The accent I take on when ordering Mexican food.

12. A couple of weeks ago, while teaching a Spin class, to cover up a dirty part of a song I had on my mix, I meant to yell out a command: a position or tension change or a yelp of encouragement (I use this trick when I have uppity people in my class), but what I ended up doing was yelling out the dirty part.

13. In third grade, when my bright yellow skorts unsnapped and fell down during a game of Red Rover, while I was running right over.

14. There was a boy Elizabeth and I lusted after for years that we would see at Stake Dances. We had a code name for him, we'd position ourselves in his midst so that maybe he'd notice us, we'd ask his friends what time it was, you know, the usual antics of desperate teeny boppers. So probably because of our spazzy dancing, he finally takes notice, he asks me to dance: Bryan Adam's Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman. Very steamy. We start to slow dance and I am just trying to keep it together, act super cool, like no big deal, hot guys like you ask me to dance all the time. Hotter guys, in fact, so don't get all egocentric on me, geez. So we're rotating in our little circle and I'm picturing what outfit I will wear in our engagement picture when the following dialogue takes place:
Him: Are you shaking?
To my horror, I realize, that yes, I am shaking. I hold up my hand, which is trembling like a leaf on an aspen. Me: "Hm. I don't think so."
Him: No. It is. Your whole body's shaking, actually. Are you ok?
Me: (Enter copious amounts of nervous laughter and some ridiculous, elaborate lie from me here.)

15. This post.