To All the Boys I've Loved Before

In my defense of this being a totally inappropriate post, it's the first day of spring. Love is in the air.

This is kind of in chronological order, sort of. Some of these guys have dropped off my Innocent Crush Radar, others are still going strong, well...as strong an Innocent Crush Held By a Happily Married Woman can be.

Comparisons

When Mom picks the outfit:


When May picks the outfit:

Tales from the Ghetto

Oh hey, it's me again--the snob.

In the medical world, most families are dirt poor until they get out of residency unless there's a trust fund baby in the house, they've inherited a wad or have had a successful career in a different area of work before entering medical school. Go and I definitely fall into the category of just plain old dirt poor, which is where most of our friends are as well. A conversation that is often had between the young med folks (med students/residents/fellows) is "What Are We Going To Do With All of Our Money When This Crap Is Finally Over." It's a conversation I always try to steer away from because it kind of stresses me out but really the first thing that automatically pops into my mind is "I won't have to grocery shop at Wal-Mart anymore."

Anyone who knows me well knows that I HATE WAL-MART with a fiery, red, steaming hot passion. I hate everything about it besides the obvious big, evil corporation that is killing the small family-owned businesses. I hate the lighting, the gross linoleum floors, the font they use for everything, that annoying color of blue and those mocking, yellow smiley faces, the dirty carts, the horrible produce, the rotten meats, the checkout people who have to ask what all of your vegetables are, the blue vested knuckle heads who look at you like you just stepped out of a space ship when you ask where the prosciutto is, the spray painted carnations, the thin bags that always break and oh, my colorful fellow shoppers.

When I shop at my closest Wal-Mart, I fear for my life. There are people selling car stereos and other stolen goods out of the backs of rusty Dodge Caravans, there are thugs around every corner, I would venture to say 1 out of every 4 shoppers is packing heat, the tooth to tattoo ratio is mind blowing, the girth is abounding, the dirt, the grime, the B.O...it's just a potpourri of gross.

Picture this: Today, it's raining. I finally find a suitable parking space. I step out of my car and what do I step in? Hair extensions. Nappy, scraggily, twisted, wet hair extensions. Was I surprised? Not at all.

T is for toadstool

A Bedtime Story

Once upon this nighttime, nice and early at 10 pm, I was in bed ready to
But since I took Nyquil last night, all today I felt
So I took an afternoon
But even afterwards, I still felt
which was too bad because Go had the day off , so it would have been nice if I would have been feeling

So now that's it's nighttime and time to

I can't because of my afternoon
And I'm very
Which makes me really

Wanna Be Crocs

Dear Readers,

I'll be the first one to admit it--sometimes I can be a big snob. While I consider myself pretty unpretentious and even more unpetty, I do turn my nose up quite a bit at things that others do not, which "earns" me the label of a snob. Most of the time, I shrug my shoulders and think "That's the way I am, take me or leave me." Other times, I hate myself for it, like the time I was a freshman in college and scoffed at my friend for taking a job at the local bowling alley and a year later, I found myself working at the only job left at BYU: behind the counter at the BYU Games Center (a bowling alley!) squirting sweaty bowling shoes with supposed "lemon-scented" spray.

Because I am opinionated, this also makes me a snob. I choose not to eat at Applebee's, Chili's, or any chain-restaurant of the like. I am embarrassed when I wear something from Target, which I do often, though I don't like to admit it. I would not dream of buying a package of bologna. I will not get my hair cut at SuperCuts. I wrinkle my nose at all things NASCAR. I despise country music. I hate the color purple. I haven't worn white nylons since I was 10 and don't plan to in the future. I steer clear of Payless Shoesource. I think it's totally annoying when people put automatic music players on their blog. I discourage my kids from wearing things with cartoons on them. I hated the Twilight series and thought it was so poorly written, I couldn’t believe it actually got published. See? I'm a snob.

Here's the thing, though. When other people differ from me in these areas, I don't care. Will I think less of you if your kid has Dora the Explorer on her t-shirt? Not at all. Will I think your shirt from Wal-Mart is ugly just because it's from Wal-Mart? No, but I bet it will fall apart after 5 washings and I bet that I have one just like it from Target, which will fall apart after 6 washings. Will I look at your tan pantyhose and think you're a loser? Nope, I'll just get the Z.Z.Top song from the old L’eggs commercial stuck in my head, which depending on who's giving the lesson in Relief Society, may or may not be welcomed. Do I think you are a second-class citizen if you dream about Edward and Bella? Kind of. Oh, just kidding.

So a while ago, I called Crocs "hideous things" when I was fully aware that most of my readers had children that wore them and maybe even wore some themselves. Part of the reason I'm a snob is that I assume that everyone has just as thick of a skin as I do and couldn't care less what some random chick said about their shoes. Maybe this is the case, maybe not. I don't know. But the whole point of this letter to you, my friends, is to let you know that the shoes I used to hold my nose around like they were made out of Limburger cheese, yes--Crocs--I just bought my girls some. And they are even the fake ones. From Target.

And thus concludes this letter, in hopes that I am one point less of a snob because of it. Thank you.

Sincerely yours,
The snob

Eureka!

Thursday night was Enrichment. Aren't you proud of me? I totally went.

As a side activity to the service project, we had a "bring your junk and take someone's else junk" kind of thing where I picked up this little jewel. Not only will it make me sweat, but I have something to bring to show my stylist for inspiration next time I go to the salon. Score!

S is for stiletto

S is for sketching soon

Do you ever feel like you're trying to do too many things and they all end up halfway done? You're just running around, sticking your big fat fingers into all these pies and in the end, what do you have to show for it? A bunch of messed up pies that no one wants to eat because there's a bunch of holes in it. And if you've been living on the moon for the past decade or have somehow managed to erase a certain movie/movie trailer from your memory, no one wants to eat a pie with a big hole in it.

R is for Red Square

Oh just kidding. But believe me, I was very tempted.

I'm Stuck

There is not one single thing that starts with R that I feel like drawing.

I'm open to suggestions.
While you're thinking, here are the top 10 contenders for today's sketch:

1. Ruby
2. rice paddy
2. ranunculus
3. rawhide
4. Rastafarian
5. Ron (my FIL)
6. rhino
7. rocking chair
8. reeds
9. rooster
10. RuPaul

Dancing to "Princess" Music

Warning: Only watch this video if you really, really miss these girls. Because it is four full minutes of them dancing and only those who really, really miss them will be able to stand watching and listening to annoying kid music the entire four minutes. As tempting as it will be to mute your speakers to block said annoying kid music, if you do, you will not be able to hear May talk, which is something new since the last time anyone has seen her.

Next time I post a video of the girls, I promise to make it shorter and more interesting. The End.

Q is for quill

Can you tell I'm losing steam? Maybe tomorrow's R will Rejuvinate me somehow.

P is for pepper

O is for octopus

Tales from the Gym

I think if I was going to my high school reunion this fall, I would cause a couple of heart attacks when some might learn I've turned into a gym rat. As I've previously established, I wasn't exactly athletically inclined in high school. A quick jaunt to the lunch line to grab a burrito, a Squirt and a bag of peanut M&M's was about the extent of my physical exertion. Of course, there were those bursts of days when I decided I was "fat" and in a panicked frenzy to have my size 6 bell-bottomed jeans fitting at the optimal capacity, jogged around the neighborhood with my old buddy Elizabeth. Believe me when I tell you that on more than one occasion, there were actual king-sized Hershey bars in our hands while we did it. I was so stupid then, on so many levels.

Though I just claimed myself to be a gym rat, I actually don't think of myself as one at all. I usually come in 5 minutes before my class starts, I teach my class, I chat with my class a little afterwards while we wipe down the bikes, switch shoes, etc. I find myself cutting conversations short so I pick up my kids from the nursery and make a bee-line for the door. I'm not chummy with the jazzercise ladies, I don't have any lifting buddies. I just do my job then get the heck outta there and on with the rest of my day. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I had no idea what went on at the gym outside of the spin room, my little box of ignorant bliss.

I'm training for a 5K. A 10 week program, because trust me, it's going to take all 10 weeks to get me to be able to run a 5K. I could spin all day but running is a whole different animal. Anyway, I've added 30 minutes of running onto my workouts and it's enabled me to be exposed to the seedy underbelly of Life at the Gym, as I peer across the facility while huffing and puffing on the treadmill and yes, I have even ventured into the locker room.

The Women's Locker Room
Oh, the horrors to be found.

*The older you are, the longer you wait to get dressed after you shower. Your hair is dry, your makeup is on, you've told the entire room about your daughter's miscarriage and you're still naked as a jaybird.

*The younger you are, the more likely you are to go to the bathroom and scream from your stall to your friend on the opposite side of the locker room.

*Most people get their clothes on, THEN put on their deodorant.

*If you choose to put your clothes on in the privacy of a bathroom stall, you will get strange looks after you emerge. As you are coming out of the stall and notice these looks, if you stare really hard back into their eyes, you can literally see into their imaginations--they involve large birth marks, growths, rashes, etc.

Observations From My Perch on the Treadmill
*Not all gym-goers have a sense of humor. There is man who gets on the treadmill around the same time I do and our relationship is a "Hey, I acknowledge you with my token head nod" sort of relationship. So this morning, he gets on the treadmill next to me and we're both on the kind that have little TV monitors attached. I'm running along and after awhile, I glance over at his screen, expecting ESPN or maybe some hoochie mamas shakin' that thang but what do I see? It's Martha Stewart rolling the inside of a giant handbag with a lint roller. Excuse me? To top this image off, let me give you an illustration of this guy. Late 50's. Skull and bones do-rag covering a completely bald head. Waxed handle bar mustache. Motorcycle boots. (Yep, on the treadmill.) He sees me see what he's watching and I can't not say something. So thinking we're at the point in our head-nod-only relationship where I can take it to the next level to snappy small talk, I say "So. Martha Stewart, huh?" Expecting a funny remark back, I am quite taken aback when he turns to me and growls "It's broken." Oh, so that's how we're going to be now? Well, expect no more head nods from me, dude.

*If you wear weight-lifting gloves, it is more likely that you will grunt while lifting weights. Male or female, doesn't matter.

*Personal trainers like to touch their client's elbows.

*There are people that work out in their business-casual clothes. Imagine a man on the elliptical in a button down, slacks, and loafers. He works up a nice sheen, hops off the machine and saunters out the door. Probably thought he'd work up some nice pheromones for his administrative assistant before work. Ew.

N is for nothing

Four Reasons Why Today Was RAD

1. A 30th birthday get-together of a dear friend. Good friends, good food and good conversation. I couldn't have asked for a better way to spend this rainy Tuesday afternoon.

2. Receiving wonderful news from another dear friend of her new pregnancy. Another baby is coming that I'll get to hold. But then give back so I can enjoy sleeping through the night while I still can. Which won't be for awhile, Mom.

3. My personal first sign of spring: I heard birds chirping today. Real ones. They're ba-ack. I want to put out a little welcome banner in art studio for the doves that nest on it's roof.

4. Ruby took a really late nap today so she wasn't at all tired when we put her to bed. These are the nights that I sit and wait for her to come to us and say the most ridiculous things for excuses as to why she's out of bed. Tonight's:

Ruby: (comes all the way down to the basement) Mom?
Me: Yes? Why are you up?
Ruby: (Holding up a three inch-long thread between her thumb and forefinger) Could you throw this away for me?
Me: (Not looking at Go who's not doing a great job of suppressing his laughter) Why didn't you just throw it away in the bathroom trash?
Ruby: I just wanted you to do it.
Me: Good night, Ruby. I'll see you tomorrow.
Ruby: Ok. (taking her piece of thread back upstairs with her.)

Sometimes she's impossible to get mad at.

M is for magnolia

L is for lamp

Because He Knows He Loves It When I Blog About Him

Whenever Go is on a service that requires more hours than the usual extremely long hours and I start feeling like "Wait? Who did I marry again?", I just watch an episode of House. I have equal crushes on both House and Chase. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I do not feel guilty for my Hollywood crushes. But if I did feel guilty, I really wouldn't need to in this case, because the other day, I realized if House and Chase had a baby, it would be Go.
+ =
So I tell him this and he just looks at me like I'm crazy, which isn't anything out of the ordinary. I'm sure if he is more awake, he would say something like "You know they aren't real people, right? You realize that they're just characters on TV?" but what he should really be saying is "You know two dudes can't make a baby right?" But he should whisper it because I don't want him to hurt their feelings.

K is for kumquat

J is for jalopy

Book 4

Little Miss Saigon's Party Dress

Functional Art

So. My cool Caribbean cousin posed the question that I have heard several different variations of over the past several days from Go, which is "What do you do with these books?"

Here are just 10 possibilities:

1. If they are small enough, get two, stick them in your ears and use them as earplugs. If you have children with extremely loud voices like I do, you will understand why this was the first idea that came to mind.
2. If it's large enough, you got yourself a very pretty sled.
3. Sit on the side of the road and throw them at passing cars.
4. Toss a bunch up in a tree, invite people over and sit back while they stand there in awe, wondering how in the world you were able to grow a book tree. Pass out tiny book seeds as party favors.
5. Tear the pages out and stuff your bra.
6. Three words: ping pong paddles.
7. Pretend you are a Venus Fly trap. Sit down with an open book in your lap, hands holding each side of the cover. When a fly eventually finds you and lands on your book, SNAP! Feed me, Seymour.
8. Stack them on your head and walk around while reapeating "The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain."
9. Write your deepest, darkest secret in it and bury it in your neighbor's yard.
10. Apply rubber cement to the soles of your feet, step squarely onto two books and let dry. Go grocery shopping in your new book shoes.

See, the possibilities are really endless. Or you can use them for a journal, a photo album, a daily planner, or give them as gifts either blank or filled with appropriate text/pictures/photos.