So I'm a rebel. Just not in Arizona.

I was reading an article that has 'bizarre' state laws. They picked the craziest one for each state. For example, in California it is illegal to eat an orange in a bathtub. As I was reading them, I was thinking how fun it would be to make a life goal to break every single one of them. Because really, even if I did get in trouble for it, how funny would it be to go to jail for eating an orange in your tub? Pretty dang. Other laws might be a little difficult to break though. For example, in Pennsylvania it is illegal to sleep on top of a refrigerator outdoors. I'd not only have to go to Pennsylvania, but find a refrigerator, transport it outside, find a way to get on top of it, and then go to sleep. That's a little too much effort for a laugh. Some states have laws that are practically asking the rest of the country to make fun of them. For example, in Kentucky every citizen is required to take a shower once a year. So I was thinking I can just go break the crazy Arizona law just for kicks . . . . until I read it. The 'bizarre' law they picked for Arizona is that no one can chop down a cactus. Well, we all know that. And we know there is like intense penalties for it, so it's not so bizarre. Which makes me think that maybe in other states, their 'bizarre' are also well known and totally normal to them. Like, if I was to go to North Carolina and ask about their crazy law, they'd be all, "Well, of course it's against the law to sing off-key. Everyone knows that." I also love them because I like to imagine what must have happened in order for it to become a law. Like the law in Rhode Island that says it is illegal to bite off someone's leg. How many times did that have to happen before the people to be like, hmm, maybe we should make a law against that?
Enjoy:

Alabama: It’s illegal to wear a fake mustache that causes laughter in church.
Alaska: Whispering in someone’s ear while he’s moose hunting is prohibited.
Arizona: Cutting down a cactus may earn you a twenty-five-year prison term.
Arkansas: It’s illegal to mispronounce the name of the state of Arkansas.
California: You may not eat an orange in your bathtub.
Colorado: It’s unlawful to lend your vacuum cleaner to your next-door neighbor (Denver).
Connecticut: A pickle cannot actually be a pickle unless it bounces.
Delaware: It’s illegal to get married on a dare.
Washington, D.C.: It’s against the law to post a public notice calling someone a coward for refusing to accept a challenge to duel.
Florida: If you tie an elephant to a parking meter, you must pay the same parking fee as you would for a vehicle.
Georgia: It’s illegal to change the clothes on a storefront mannequin unless you draw the shades first.
Hawaii: All residents may be fined for not owning a boat.
Idaho: A man must not give his sweetheart a box of candy weighing fewer than fifty pounds.
Illinois: It’s illegal to take a French poodle to the opera (Chicago).
Indiana: The value of pi is 4, and not 3.1415.
Iowa: One-armed piano players must perform for free.
Kansas: It’s illegal to throw knives at men wearing striped suits (Natoma).
Kentucky: Every citizen is required to take a shower once a year.
Louisiana: Biting someone with your natural teeth constitutes simple assault, but biting someone with your false teeth classifies as aggravated assault.
Maine: If you keep your Christmas decorations on display after January 14, you’ll be fined.
Maryland: It’s against the law to wash or scrub a sink, no matter how dirty it is (Baltimore).
Massachusetts: No gorilla is allowed in the backseat of any car.
Michigan: A woman may not cut her own hair without her husband’s permission.
Minnesota: It’s illegal to paint a sparrow with the intent of selling it as a parakeet (Harper Woods).
Mississippi: Walking a dog without dressing it in diapers is forbidden (Temperance).
Missouri: Children may buy shotguns in Kansas City, but not toy cap guns.
Montana: It’s a felony for a wife to open her husband’s mail.
Nebraska: Bar owners may not sell beer unless they brew a kettle of soup simultaneously.
Nevada: It’s illegal for men with mustaches to kiss women.
New Hampshire: It’s forbidden to sell the clothes you’re wearing to pay off a gambling debt.
New Jersey:It’s against the law for a man to knit during the fishing season.
New Mexico:Females may not appear unshaven in public.
New York: While riding in an elevator, you must talk to no one, fold your hands, and look toward the door.
North Carolina: It’s against the law to sing off-key.
North Dakota: It’s illegal to lie down and fall asleep with your shoes on.
Ohio: You must honk the horn whenever you pass another car, according to the state’s driver’s education manual.
Oklahoma: It’s forbidden to take a bite out of another person’s hamburger.
Oregon: State law requires dishes to be drip-dried.
Pennsylvania: It’s illegal to sleep on top of a refrigerator outdoors.
Rhode Island: You may not bite off another person’s leg.
South Carolina: If a man promises to marry an unmarried woman, he is required by law to keep his promise.
South Dakota: It is illegal to lie down and fall asleep in a cheese factory.
Tennessee: Selling hollow logs is strictly forbidden.
Texas: You may not shoot a buffalo from the second story of a hotel.
Utah: It is illegal not to drink milk.
Vermont: Women must obtain written permission from their husbands to wear false teeth.
Virginia: Tickling a woman is unlawful.
Washington: It’s illegal to pretend that one’s parents are wealthy.
West Virginia: If you make fun of someone who does not accept a challenge, you risk a six-month prison sentence.
Wisconsin: Unless a customer specifically requests it, margarine may not be substituted for butter in a restaurant.
Wyoming: Unless you have an official permit, you may not take a picture of a rabbit from January to April.

So everyone can take pleasure in my pain.

Everyone knows I'm not the greatest cook. If I follow directions EXACTLY things tend to be ok. It's when I get creative that things go terribly wrong. Like tonight.

Yes, it is Christmas Eve - at 11:30 pm actually when I'm writing this. I offered to make a breakfast casserole for the family for Christmas morning. But I wanted to make it the night before because I'm definitely not a morning person. The casserole I decided to make has a ton of ingredients including bacon. I hate cooking bacon, so I decided to throw it in the oven on an aluminum pan to cook instead. While it was in there I was busy grating the cheese, chopping the onions, etc. I was very careful to diligently check on the bacon so it wouldn't burn but it didn't seem to be cooking. So I turned up the cooking temp to somewhere over 400 degrees. I then kept assembling the rest of it and remember thinking how well it was going, and how I might actually have an uneventful cooking experience. And that was the moment the fire alarm went off.

I kind of panicked when it happened because the alarm was SO loud, and it was 10:30 at night. I didn't want to wake my neighbors and cause a bigger scene. So I started running to my patio door and then stopped when I saw how much smoke was coming out of the oven so I ran back to the oven to grab the bacon. That's when I remembered that I only have one hot pad and all my towels were in the wash. I took the one hot pad and attempted to take the pan out of the oven. Because the pan was just aluminum foil, it kind of crumpled around my hand, spilling bacon grease all over the oven, all over the floor, and covering my thumb in the bubbling mess. I ran with the collapsing pan to the patio door where I remembered that the patio door isn't only locked, but it's blocked by a security device thing because I'm paranoid at night. I had to free the security bar while my thumb became one with the boiling grease that kept threatening to redecorate my living room floor. Miraculously I got the pan out on the patio before the pan could completely collapse.

I then ran and got a shirt and furiously tried to wave the smoke out the door to stop the alarm. After a couple minutes the alarm finally quieted and I realized how stinking bad my thumb hurt. I actually had bought a first aid kit over a year ago that I had never used. I brought it out and tried to find some kind of burn cream. I had to through every item in the kit including an emergency blanket, a glow stick, and anti-diarrheal pills before I FINALLY found some burn cream. By the way, have you ever noticed that it takes two working thumbs to open a bandaid?

So tonight I learned not to cook bacon in the oven, that people that make first aid kits apparently people think most customers are diarrhea-ridden, cold, and in the dark, and that I really need two hot pads.

Merry Christmas.

So I hate Walmart.

I've never been too thrilled with the service at Walmart. In fact, I can't think of anyone that has had good service at Walmart. But it seems to have gotten worse lately. Before I'd become immune to the rude comments and slow service, but now it's almost like they're all having a contest to see who can alienate the most customers the fastest. And they are all winning. The other day I was there with my brother and sister and they were wanting a Calendar. Just a basic calendar. But we couldn't find them anywhere . . . . so I actually attempted to ask someone. The first person suggested somewhere we had already looked and then gave up, the second person pretended not to hear me, and then I came upon the third employee. This employee actually suggested an area and offered to show me where she thought they were. I actually got a little excited because they never actually go with you, even if it is only 25 feet away. They normally just point and mumble. Well, when we got there and she saw that there wasn't actually any calendars, she just shrugged and stared at me. As if I'm supposed to thank her for walking me to a dead end. So I asked if she knew of another department that would have them, and she just started staring vacantly and then slowly inching to the end of the aisle so she could leave. I really couldn't believe it - I wasn't being rude, but she just wouldn't help. Nearby customers saw this whole scene and actually started suggesting where they think they've seen some calendars. It's pretty pathetic when a company as big as Walmart has to rely on the customers to help each other.

The other night I was there around 1 am, which is no fun to begin with because that is when all the weird people come out to shop. But it also means that all the employees are restocking the shelves. Which is understandable except for the fact that they like to pretend customers aren't there. When I try to get past them, they ignore me as if I'll just go away if they pretend I'm not there. And when I was in an aisle that night they actually placed a ton of crates of merchandise on either end of the aisle without me realizing it. It completely blocked me in. When someone finally came to move it out of the way, they not only didn't apologize, they looked at me like I should be apologizing to them for making them move the crates.

I've decided the customer service training for Walmart must consist of:

"Try not to make death threats to the customers. Unless they ask you questions. Then it's totally understable. The End."

So it's been busy

So a couple days ago my little sister Jarica called me and told me her gerbil, that she'd had for 5 years was dying. I went over to stay with her as moral support - because having your first pet die is tough. It was a very long un-fun process. I've decided we need to be able to have inexpensive ways of putting gerbils to sleep. I kept googling for a way to do that - but apparently I'm the first to think of it because everyone else was more interested in how to keep their gerbil alive. Go figure.

When the gerbil did pass we had a heck of a time trying to find the right size box for him (or her? . . . ). Every box we found was pretty big enough for the gerbil and 300 of his friends. We finally found a little box that was supposed to be for golf balls. It was just the right size. Then I tried explaining to Jarica that we can't really bury him - because when I did that for all my 26 hamsters they ended up being Hors d'œuvres for the coyotes. So I took on the duty of carrying out the burial via the trash can. Except that after enduring the many exhausting hours before, I was kinda in a hurry to get home and the recycle bin was the closest to my car. So the recycle bin ended up being the gerbil's final resting place. The next morning one of my friends from work came over and said she saw this sign on a recycle truck:

And she asked, "Who would EVER throw a gerbil in the recycle bin?!?!"

Um . . . that would be me.

On an entirely different note, I've been working A LOT lately and on Saturday morning I was walking into work when I saw this:

And then I wondered why the sunset was on the wrong side. It took me awhile to remember that sunrises are on the east side. It's been awhile since I've witnessed one. Well, willingly at least. Which is why I don't believe I should be awake before 8am - I'm just too stupid to handle sunrise logic.

So if you can comprehend this post it means you can also follow my daily train of thought. If you can, I'm sorry. And I think we should be friends.

A friend recommended these drink mix in things - apparently they have vitamins and taste good or something. And Costco sells them so I figured it would be a good deal. I didn't even realize until I got home that I spent $20 something dollars for 30 packets of mix in powder stuff. And one packet is supposed to be mixed into one water bottle - so it's kind of a rip off.

So I had a lot of expectation for these little packets and brought them to work. This is all in an attempt to not drink soda and I was kinda excited when I broke out the packet at work. And then I put it in the water bottle and the water started bubbling, and FOAMING, and then like exploded all over my desk. And when it started bubbling over I tried to sip a little to stop it which is basically the worst decision I've ever made. I just got a mouthful of foaming, fizzing powder that even a Fear Factor contestant would pass on. I've decided that when I have kids I'm gonna use this stuff in lieu of tobasco sauce or soap if my kid starts saying bad words. I think it'll be effective. And possibly become something they'll look forward to if my cooking skills don't improve.

And then when I looked back at the purple bubbling foam I was suddenly reminded of the Power Rangers movie. The villain in it is Ivan Ooze and in the movie there is the purple goo that grows larger and larger and then forms Ivan Ooze. Which looks like a dignified grandpa that took a bath in some grape kool-aid.

This is eerily similiar to my expression when my water bottle exploded.

Which is what reminded me of when my sisters and I would play Power Rangers and fight over who got to play Kimberly, the pink ranger. Because we thought she was the prettiest and really wanted to date the green ranger - or the white ranger. It was a very complicated love triangle. So we compromised by calling each other Kimberly, Dimberly, and Wimberly. And then this reminded me of how I read that some celebrity married someone named Gimberly. Which made me really want to write to Gimberly and ask her if her parents were also Power Rangers fans that always wanted to be Kimberly. And then ask her if she knows Gimberly is not a real name.

And this is why I think it would be much more productive if I drank Diet Coke at work instead.

So the world is so much more interesting when you are not completely conscious.

Wait . . . . don't your potatoes have faces on them?

So last night was another night where my brain thought it would a great thrill to see what would happen if I didn't sleep. At all. Just to keep things interesting. And of course, today was the most demanding day I've had in awhile at work. I had a potluck and a 3 hour training to facilitate. For the potluck I decided to bring Funeral Potatoes because they are scrumptious and apparently I'm the over achiever that couldn't just bring donuts like the rest of the world. I wanted them to be hot and nummy when I brought them in so I planned on cooking them right up until I had to leave. Well, because I couldn't sleep, I decided to just go into at 6am, so around 5:30 I'm leaving with this blazing hot pan of funeral potatoes and all I brought to carry them with was a small hand towel that didn't even reach the length of the pan, so I was always holding a part of the pan with my bare hands. Now here's the thing I've noticed when I don't get sleep - I don't plan ahead, get distracted really easily, and my hand/eye coordination (which is normally at a 4 year old level) dramatically decreases. I also had to hold a Jeopardy game that I made for the training. So that is balancing on one arm while my hands are playing hot potato (literally) with the funeral potatoes. I'm pretty sure I have at least 2nd degree burns on my hands, I just can't feel them yet.

Right before I was leaving work, my supervisor told me that she monitored some of the calls I had taken this morning. She didn't tell me if it was good or bad - just that she had listened to some of the calls I had taken. And here's the scary thing - I honestly don't remember even taking calls this morning. Which is making me pretty nervous and really hoping that I didn't give away $20,000 to a merchant because I liked the sound of their name.

Then on the way home from work I got distracted because I saw one of those super tiny cars and started wondering if having a smaller car means you have a less chance of getting in a car accident because their is less car to hit and I ended up driving to 51st ave - which is at least a couple miles away from my house.

So I've decided that it is important to make the decision to never make life choices on days like this. Because I can imagine myself waking up one day wondering why I no longer have a job, live in Wisconsin, and became a politician all because of one day without sleep.

So healthy food is weird.

I'm on a quest to eat better, because I think it's fun to add some more challenges in my life. This never ends well because I always come across stuff like this:

In case you can't read the bag, it says: Terra: exotic vegetable chips. I was thinking before I opened the bag that 'exotic' referred the kinds of vegetables used, or maybe these vegetables had an exciting accent. Then I found out that 'exotic' must actually mean 'alarming discoloration'. See Exhibit A:

So this chip looked questionable. Especially if the question was, 'Do you think people will notice unidentifiable purple stringy things found in the chips?' (The answer? . . . Yes.) Then I dared to try and eat one and it felt like I was chewing plastic. No joke. And, funny enough, I don't really care for eating plastic. So I tried to justify it by thinking that there must be obscene amounts of vitamins packed into each chip. Because they're vegetables, right? And then I looked at the Nutritional Facts. The most of any vitamin these plastic chips had was 8% of Vitamin A, which is pretty much the equivalent of the amount of vitamins you would get it you licked a Flintstones vitamin. So there was basically no reason for me to gnaw on plastic. Perfect.

By the way, I found this photo on Awkward Family Photos and I have yet to stop laughing about it. So many awesome things going on in this photo . . . . you think this family would mind if I framed it and displayed it in my house? It may be a tad too creepy even for me . . .

So this is getting ridiculous.

My life has been ridiculous lately. There just isn't another word to explain it. Friday my car broke again - it won't shift out of park and I've already taken it in and they replaced some parts and then it broke again. The only way we can get it shift again is to drag the car a couple inches and then it'll shift - well, it'll shift until it decides to take a break. And then we drag it again with my dad's truck. When we took it in, the shop said that they can't tell what's wrong because in order for me to get it to the shop we have to get it to shift again, so it wasn't 'broken' when they saw it. So their suggestion is for me to take it back and drive it until it breaks and then take it back in again. (Which means, again, that I would have to get it to shift again so AGAIN it won't be broken when they saw it). The shop guy took about 10 minutes before he figured out that this didn't make sense. So I have the car again, but I just never know when it's going to break down. Which means I'm rethinking every errand I have to make. Suddenly wearing pajamas to get gas is not such a good idea - because if I'm stuck there for three hours, that could be awkward. My dad came up with a way to possible stop the shifter from getting stuck, which practically involves a secret handshake and a code word, and seeing as I complicate simple things like walking, any added step causes emotional distress.

Then, Saturday morning I was suddenly infested with gnats. And gnats are possibly the stupidest and most annoying organism in the world. They have NO FEAR. They just fly right up to your face like, "HEY! WHAT'S UP!? HEYHEYHEYHEY!" and do not know when to quit. And any attempts to trying to kill them inevitably ends up with hitting yourself in the face. So I decided to google it and started typing, and then google started doing the "Hey, I think I can finish your sentence! Let me guess! LET ME!!" and it is ALWAYS WRONG. See below:

I finally found the information I needed and so I did what the internets told me to and filled a bunch of cups with apple cider vinegar and oil and placed them around the apartment. (Seriously, I sometimes wonder if all of the internet got together in some kind of conspiracy and made up something crazy and watched to see if people actually did it. Because it's on the internet. Like, for example, placing cups of apple cider vinegar and oil around your house. They're probably watching and screaming, "I can't believe she did it!! She actually set out the equivalent of salad dressing around her house thinking it will kill bugs! These crazy kids . . . . ")

Then, because I was feeling uber gross with gnats flying around, I poured chlorine bleach down every drain, then plugged the drain, and filled the sink/bathtub with bleach. You know, for good measure. So my apartment now smells like a pool on steroids. And the fumes are ridiculous and headache-inducing.

Because I was stuck at home because my car was being ridiculous, I decided to dye my hair. And I have yet to figure out how to gracefully rinse out the dye - so I end up doing acrobatic yoga poses trying to rinse my hair without staining my clothes and the rest of the bathroom, which took FOREVER. And I'm pretty sure that in the process of attempting to climb the walls for a better hair rinsing posistion, I did some kind of damage to my legs and back. They hurt crazy bad that night and still do. And I didn't mention anything because I get accused of being dramatic (I have no idea why). And then yesterday I noticed that I have two huge bologna-sized bruises (nice visual, eh?) on the front of my shins. I'm willing to bet that I'm the only person who has ever bruised themselves while dying their hair. It takes talent.

So Spammers are not cool. And also not the smartest.

So apparently my email was hacked. And I only found out because my sister texted me that she's gotten a couple weird emails from me. So I finally went in to check it and didn't see anything odd in the 'sent' folder. And I was thinking, wow either the emails she's talking about are totally legitimate and I should be offended, or these spammers are getting pretty savvy. And then I found THIS in my inbox.

Yeah, the spammers sent ME an email from myself with their little spam link. Way to not alert the email owner, Mr. Spammer. Now the other thing is - this email I got had pretty much every single email address in my contacts included. So I know that pretty much everyone I know has been receiving a bunch of these spam emails and hasn't mentioned anything to me. I'm come to the conclusion that this can only be because of the following reasons:

1) They don't ever read my emails anyway.

2) They opened it, saw something completely random/possibly illegal and decided it really came from me - because I'm THAT weird.

3) They opened it, clicked on the link, unleashed a horrible virus and broke their computer and now can't email me to tell me my email is hacked, because, well, they now have bigger problems.

So, if I broke your computer, I'm sorry. Oh, and to top it all off my car broke AGAIN today. I think I'm just going to have my paycheck deposited directly into the mechanic's bank account from now on. You know, cut out the middle man.

So whoever created Styrofoam needs to be slapped. Or at least put in time-out.

This week has not been fun. My car broke AGAIN. It ended up costing me a AAA membership, a couple hundred dollars, and my sanity. Always fun. And money and I haven't been working out so well even before my shifter threw a temper tantrum and went on strike. So it's been a little stressful. The other night I had this dream that I was robbing a bank and as I was trying to get away cops kept pulling me over. And instead of arresting me, they issued me an 'insufficient funds' fee. (You know, the fun little surprise banks throw at you when you're money is gone. It's their cute way of saying, "You thought having -$2 was bad? HOW ABOUT -$37??!? Huh?! That's what I thought.) So I kept screaming at the cops that I didn't have $35.

Good times. So I woke up and was ticked when I realized that I didn't actually rob a bank. Because I was kinda liking the whole idea of burlap sacks full of cash. So the rest of the day I kept trying to rationalize to myself that robbing a bank isn't so bad.

Anyway, so on Thursday I decided to make this wall art thingy instead of robbing a bank. Because if I make a craft the possibility of being incarcerated is marginally smaller. I decided on this particular craft because all these crafty blogs were bragging about just how easy it was to make. Most bloggers in fact claimed they were able to make the craft, be in labor, and give themselves a pedicure all at the same time. So I figured I might be able to handle making it. You basically just attach scrapbook paper to a square foot of something - and it makes a cool looking design.

I went to Michael's because my awesome cousin Katy got me a gift card there (which came in handy because I had no money.) I thought using styrofoam to use as the base for the designs would be a good idea, because it is pretty light, and relatively cheap. It was pretty much the worst decision I've ever made. When I was buying the styrofoam there was some styrofoam glue next to it. I thought that was just a silly suggestion because isn't all glue the same in the end? (Spoiler alert: . . . . .um, no.) So I got some double sided tape and called it good. I had gotten 3 long pieces of styrofoam that had to be cut into threes so they could be used for the design.

The sound of cutting styrofoam is a shudder inducing squeal that grates on your ears. Whoever created styrofoam must've hated people, I'm sure of it. Then I slowly positioned all the double sided tape on the styrofoam pieces.

Jarica came over to help me. Her enthusiasm over the project was overwhelming. After finally taping all the pieces, I realized they weren't sticking. I decided that we could use paint (because honestly it was the closest thing to me that I considered sticky,) so I went through each piece and squirted a little paint under each scrapbook paper. Then I realized that wasn't doing the trick. So I used some glue. Which also didn't work. Then I used some crazy glue. That didn't work - and at this point I realized that whatever I was doing had actually started eating away at the styrofoam - it just caused little holes. Finally I got frustrated and just used hot glue. Because everything can be fixed with hot glue, right? This thing was so frustrating - and I haven't decided if I even like it yet.

After I had completed it, I mentioned to my sister Chantel about how frustrating the styrofoam was. And she asked me why I didn't just use wood, because apparently Home Depot practically gives away wood. And apparently I should've known this. Which means the paper would have stuck to it MUCH faster and I wouldn't have cried nearly as much. I don't like it when my sisters keep secrets about cheap deals from me. Not cool, Chantel. Not cool at all.

So I've got a headache

I tend to get into habits of saying the same phrases over and over. It normally comes from a show I've watched or one of my friends. And for whatever reason a couple years ago I got in the habit of saying that I'll punch whoever I'm talking to in the face if they don't (insert random task here). I think it came from 'The Office' where Michael tells Dwight he better listen or he was gonna punch him in the face. Apparently I thought it was hilarious and it stuck with me. It is by far the stupidest saying I've ever used. The phase of me saying it didn't last very long because anytime I would say it, (Ex. "We better hang out soon or I'm gonna punch you in the face.") I would instantly wonder why the heck I would say that - it doesn't make any sense, is a little violent, and slightly offensive. So I stopped saying it and forgot all about it until today.

I've had a ridiculous headache since yesterday - which I thought I got rid of this morning and then it crept up all sneaky-like and smashed my brain with a frying pan while simultaneously run it's nails across my eye balls for good measure. I've lost my tolerance for this headache yesterday. So just now I said aloud to my co-worker that this headache better go away or I'm going to punch myself in the face. Now, I have no idea where that came from - but it is one example of how your past can come back to haunt you.

And I'm pretty sure punching myself in the face probably won't help my headache. But it sure would be funny to watch.

So I'm sure you can relate.

Not too long ago I woke up to 2 flat tires on my car. Yes, two. I then spent close to $200 buying new tires because the tire guy decided that because of the way I drive the cheap tires would be worn out within a week. (I love how he completely judged me because I had apparently worn down the sides of my tires based on the fact that I run into sidewalks a lot. Doesn't everyone? Aren't they meant to be like the bumpers in the bowling alley?) Then the next week my car's battery died costing me $120.
I've yet to recover from the damage this has done to my budget which means I have to make my own food because it's supposedly cheaper. Which kinda explains the several bouts of food poisoning and loss of the bulk of my dishes as of late.
Here's the thing: food tastes better when I'm not the one making it. And it has nothing to do with the actual taste or quality . . . . I just can't stop thinking about all the ingredients.

Case in point - several months I coerced my little sister Jarica into making Chicken Carbonara with me from scratch. I tend to force people into helping me cook for the same reason I would bring someone with me down a dark alley - if they're the only one that makes it to the other side, they could at least witness to investigators where I got lost. I liked the Lean Cuisine version of Chicken Carbonara and had yet to try the real thing - and if the Lean Cuisine version was good then just IMAGINE how good the real thing is. The possibilities!

So we went about making this dish - which took close to 2 hours. We sat down to eat and both of us were surprised that it tasted pretty dang good. Jarica enthusiastically ate and even went to get seconds while I sat there slowly picking at it. Because you know what I was thinking about? All the ingredients. I kept thinking that I could actually taste the flour we used to make the sauce, the chicken stock, the eggs, etc. I've always had a problem putting ingredients in that I didn't like eating individually . . . and when I make food, I always taste the individual ingredients. Just because I know they're there. And then I remember the dishes waiting to be cleaned. Oh, the dishes. I can't tell you how many times I've stood staring at a dish mentally calculating how long it would take me to clean it and ended up convincing myself that the right thing to do for the world is to throw them away and buy new dishes. Because of course I'm sure these dishes are made in China or something, so I'm contributing to their job security, which is a very generous and charitable act. But of course no good deed goes unpunished, and I end up spending way too much money replacing those dishes. Which is why I now only have paper plates and bowls and up until last week didn't even have real silverware. And I've now decided that it's actually cheaper to pay someone to cook for me. It's in every one's best interest really.
Except China's.

So I went to a wedding. It's a long one people.

Last weekend one of my good friends from work, Andi, got married in Greer, AZ. And I got to go. And in classic Chelsie style, it wasn't that simple.

I was supposed to pack and get ready on Thursday night, because I was supposed to leave from work on Friday. However, I needed to make 3 fabric flowers for Andi's flower girls. I've never made fabric flowers before, but figured they looked rather simple. And they are - unless you are attempting to talk on the phone, watch The Office, and make fabric flowers at the same time. Instead of actually looking up instructions, I figured I could wing it and just started cutting random circle-ish pieces of fabric. I then attempted to sew the pieces of fabric together and then attach the buttons - which, by the way I had to paint brown because I couldn't find brown buttons. I ended up breaking 2 of the 3 buttons in the process (because I'm talented) and ended up ripping replacement buttons off my own shirts hanging in the closet. (That's dedication, folks.) Then I had to go to the task of burning the edges - because apparently a fabric flower is not cute unless it looks like it survived a house fire. I finished burning the edges without much incident. Then I realized that these flowers were kinda huge, and when I started cutting I didn't even think about what size I was making them. They were about 2x the size I really needed. So instead of doing the practical thing and cutting off the excess, I figured I would just keep burning the edges. Well that amounted to A LOT of burning fabric which amounted to A LOT of floating ash flying around the room. And the smell wasn't pleasant. It seems that whenever I do anything crafty, it never looks organized and dainty like other women. Instead, it looks more like someone accidentally left the craft box out and a 6 year destroyed it and then started throwing things. For the amount of work they took, I don't really care for them, but I brought them anyway.

Well, because those dang flowers took so long to make, I didn't have time to pack and organize for the trip. I figured I'd just have to race home and pack quickly. I got off work at 1 and was able to pack relatively quickly - too quickly. I had to stop at the store though first, so I didn't actually get on the road until 2. It takes 4 hours to get there and I needed to be there around 6:30 for the rehearsal dinner. I figured I had just enough time. Then, before I even got out of town, a semi kicked a rock up and cracked my windshield. Which isn't a big deal except it kept getting bigger. And then I remembered someone telling me that you should really take care of cracks quick because a big enough crack could cause the windshield to collapse, and if you're going fast enough, the shards of glass would come flying at you. (When I got back, my Dad told me this isn't possible. But I tend to be the exception to the rule.) So this crack freaked me right out. I kept trying to decide how I could protect myself against shards of glass - I was tense the entire time.

THEN - (because my drive wasn't exciting enough) - I got pulled over. And of course, when I saw the sirens I realized I had no room to pull over - it was a very narrow road and there was only one lane, with no shoulder to stop in. But I had watched too many movies and was sure that if I just kept driving the cop would decide he would have to start shooting at me until I got the point (probably not what would happen, but that's my thought process). So I just stopped. In the road. Then the cop got on his little speaker phone thing and told me to keep driving. So I kept going which seemed like forever and then we came to an abandoned store on the side of the road, so I pulled in to the empty parking lot. If I was watching a scary movie, this would be where the main character gets killed by the serial killer disguising themselves as a cop. Anyway, I got pulled over because my tags were expired (I paid them, I just never got the tags!) - and was mostly just relieved I wasn't getting pulled over for speeding, because that would be my 3rd speeding ticket and traffic school aint fun. He let me go with a warning - but he took so dang long that by the time I could get on the road the sun was pretty much gone. I kept going for about 30 minutes and then my phone (which has a GPS on it) suddenly announced to me that I had arrived at my destination. Which was a lie - I was on a random mountain road with no lodge in sight. I figured it's not a problem, I'd just call some of my friends already there and they can tell me how to get there. Which is when I saw that I had no cell service.

By this point it was close to 7pm - I had been in the car for about 5 hours. I hadn't eaten anything the entire day and was planning on eating at the rehearsal dinner - that I was missing. And I desperately needed to use the restroom. By this point it was dark and the only thing I figured I could do was drive around looking for someone that might know where Greer Lodge was. So I drove and came across a couple cabins. A couple people I asked said they think the Lodge is close - but they didn't know where. The next person I saw looked a little creepy . . . . then I finally came across 2 women who actually had a better idea where it was. It was about 6 miles off from where my phone said it was. I finally - after 40ish minutes - found the Lodge office and asked if they knew where my group was or if they had the keys to the cabin I would be in. They said the keys had already been taken and they didn't know where the group was. I then found my way to the cabin I was going to be staying in (I only knew which one because I helped Andi organize who goes where). When I got there, there was no one around. I knew she had several of the surrounding cabins, but no one appeared to be in them.

There were some people walking around - but I only knew a couple of Andi's friends and family and I wasn't in the mood to approach every random stranger and ask them if they knew where everyone was. So I sat outside for about 30 minutes before I got so desperate that I thought to see if there was a way I could get into the cabin.

Finally something went right and the cabin had been left unlocked. I was able to get in and finally relax a little. Andi came back within an hour of me getting into the cabin and her friends all came over for a fun night. It was a nice ending to a crappy day. The cabin was BEAUTIFUL too.

The next morning I realized that I had done a crappy job packing. I had brought 2 left sneakers, I didn't bring a brush, and I didn't bring my top for the wedding ceremony. Good times. I helped setup the reception hall - which was a feat in itself. It was exhausting and nerve-wracking. However, the ceremony itself was absolutely gorgeous. That night I had several . . . obstacles in getting to sleep and I was exhausted. I ended up getting around 2 hours of sleep and waking up around 5am. I finally left close to 6 and don't remember much of the drive home. And I'm 90% sure I didn't get lost or pulled over on the way home. But I can't be sure . . . .

So someone needs to please explain the metaphor. Because I'm not getting it.

Recently I discovered the song, "9 Crimes" by Damien Rice. It is a hauntingly beautiful song that I can listen to over and over. Well, I didn't really understand what the song was actually about - I knew the song had symbolism and several layers of meanings. I decided that the song was about the torment of moving on from a relationship and the inner struggle of guilt and not being able to let go. I had a fantastic idea to pull up the music video for the song, because generally an artist will have the music video show the audience the meaning behind the song. So, I did that.

And apparently the song is about a guy that has a chick's head floating like a balloon that sings to him.

That cleared that right up.

So - I'm confused.

So the other day I had a close call while cooking dinner. This isn't very surprising, because, well let's face it - even making toast is like a near death experience when I'm involved.

Whenever I see smoke coming from whatever appliance I'm using (toaster, stove, vacuum, disposal, etc) I start thinking about what I would do if things really did catch on fire.

So I've discovered that I have a fire extinguisher right outside my front door. (I think someone in my family called the apartments and forewarned them before I moved in).

Here's the thing. The fire extinguisher is covered in GLASS. Who's bright idea was this? So someone is supposed to shatter the glass in the heat of the moment with their . . . . hand? head? small child? While in the process probably injuring themselves so badly they would be incapable of actually operating the fire extinguisher. You have to decide to either lose a thumb or save your home. It's like Sophie's Choice!

Knowing how I tend to injure myself while doing normal things like standing or sneezing, I probably wouldn't risk breaking through the glass with my hand. I'd probably try to crack it with rocks. I could just see myself now . . . standing 5 feet away from the fire extinguisher throwing pebbles at the case while the entire apartment complex goes up in flames around me.

Typical.

So this week is a week to be thankful. Even though it doesn't seem like it.

• This week I am thankful to my sister Jarica who (is it whom? I never know . . . ) shared her cold with me. Without which I would have not have remembered how nice it is to be able to breathe in and out completely, and would not have pondered how long a nose can run without running out of reserves.
• This week I am thankful to Costco for providing me with Kleenex. Well, they didn't really provide it because I had to pay . . . more like I'm thankful they forced me to stock up on enough Kleenex to keep me prepared until I am 75, or through a bad cold - whichever comes first.
• I'm thankful to vicodin for keeping me from scratching out my eyeballs when the WORST migraine ever hit Monday night . . . .right before I was getting ready to sleep.
• I'm thankful that I do not have any roommates so I didn't have to apologize for loudly throwing up at 2am Wednesday night from what was apparently food poisoning. That's what I get for cooking for myself.
• I'm thankful that on Thursday people at work don't automatically jump to the conclusion that I'm going through withdrawals when they see me alternating between shivering and sweating at work, while I continually ran fevers. (I'm told that withdrawals was at least 3rd on the list of possible explanations. Followed closely by The Plague.)
• I'm NOT thankful for my Flinstones vitamins. Because I eat at least 15 of those things a day and I'm still sick. Rip-off.

So I should maybe pay attention more . . .

So I caught 'The Patriot' on TV today. I wasn't really a fan of it in the past because the first (and only) other time I saw it, I thought the movie was pretty disturbing. Not because of the deaths and war violence, but because I thought Mel Gibson's character fell for his sister. Incest isn't cute in my book, people. However, I may not have been paying very close attention to the movie, but I just assumed it was his sister because all the kids called her 'aunt'. This time around I figured out it was his sister-in-law. That small detail changes everything.

It's kinda like how all growing up I thought the second verse of the song 'I am a Child of God' started as, "I am a Child of God, and so my knees are grey," which led to several daydreams during primary where I imagined why someone's knees would be grey. Were they dirty? Was it because she was wearing tights? Was she playing with markers? Hence, I was never able to remember the rest of that verse because I was too busy wondering why someone would color their knees grey. Several years later I figured out the song is actually, "I am a Child of God, and so my needs are great."

I wonder how many movies I need to re-watch to make sure I actually hate them.

So, I'm abnormal. And now the people at work know.

Seriously it seems like embarrassing moments and a messed up body are like the themes of my life. And normally, those two will coincide with each other. Like yesterday.

So, at work I've been moved to Lead a brand spanking new team. It's a team of 16 individuals that do not know me at all, so we had a meeting scheduled yesterday where I would introduce myself. Well, I've already moved my desk so that I sit with them, so they are getting to know me by observing me, which is a little freaky. Especially lately.

I've been feeling more cruddy then normal and have some rogue infection which I have to take drugs for. Except for these drugs are a liquid that I have to hold in my mouth for about a minute. And I have to do it at work, because I have to take them like 72 (ok, 3) times a day. The thing with these drops are . . . they are what evil must taste like. And it burns. I feel like I'm holding nuclear waste in my mouth and then swallowing it. And I have a difficult time disguising my facial expressions, so when I take these drops, it is uber apparent to the world that I have nuclear waste in my mouth. It isn't pleasant.

Then, today right before I was getting ready to leave for the meeting, I got a bloody nose. Now, for a normal person this is just an inconvenience. (Ok, so I hate the word blood, and it sounds uber gross, so for this story I'm going to refer to the blood as Kool-Aid. Cool? Cool.) Except, my Kool-Aid noses aren't normal Kool-Aid noses. (Because apparently nothing about me is normal.) Mine are like I cut an artery. It is a LOT of Kool-Aid and fast and doesn't go away for a LONG time. So I had to run and tell the leader I support that I'll be late for the meeting, while I was stopping the Mt. Vesuvius that was my face. So I ran to the restroom and tried unsuccessfully to try and stop the Kool-Aid for 20 minutes. I decided I needed ice which meant I had to go to the nurse's office.

When I finally get to the nurses office (after passing at least 100 people that were rather alarmed by my Kool-Aid mess of a face - no wonder I don't get embarrassed easily) the nurse kept telling me to lean back and that'll stop the Kool-Aid. Yeah - that doesn't work for me. It basically forces all the Kool-Aid to go the other direction and I start choking. Yummy. When she finally saw how much Kool-Aid my nose was producing, she looked a little frightened and ran and got another nurse. That nurse came in, took one look and left to get someone else. (I'm not even kidding). That nurse then came in and sat in a chair and WATCHED me have a bloody nose. Honestly, that was all she did. And I'm pretty honest, especially with doctors, so I kept saying stuff like,

"I'll be okay. No, seriously, this is totally normal . . . . . All I needed was some ice. It's gonna be awhile, don't you have something else you'd like to do? . . . . . Well, this is awkward. . . . . Well, I'm gonna try to wash all this (kool-aid) off my face now, it's pretty gross, so you really don't need to watch. Unless, you know, I guess you want to watch. . . . . . . And apparently you do."

So I was basically performing a monologue while holding a dixie cup to my nose to catch all the Koo-Aid (because kleenex doesn't cut it, folks) and also trying to hold the world's largest ice pack to my nose. And then - when I finally got the grossness to stop, she wouldn't leave until she could inspect it herself. Seriously.

THEN - I went to the store later that day and I was wondering why this older woman that was an employee kept asking me if I was ok. I couldn't figure out why, because I was totally fine.

Then I got home and saw why. Apparently when I washed my face I forgot that I was wearing mascara (I rarely do) and because I haven't been feeling well, I've been sleeping worse than normal, which makes my eyes more bloodshot than normal. The result was someone that looked incredibly strung out/insane. Lovely.

So sleep is apparently necessary. Who knew?

So I've been having some super exciting (note:sarcasm) events which have been causing me to completely lose my sanity lately. So far, none of my co-workers or friends have noticed a difference . . . . which apparently means I'm always this crazy. Anyway . . . so I've been going to lots of dr appts lately and getting tests and stuff (because it's what the cool kids do). And this week my Dr told me I needed to get a blood test at 10 am today and I can't have any drugs in my system when I take it cuz it can throw the results off, which are important, apparently. So for most people this isn't a big deal, but for me it kinda screws things up. I'm super unique and apparently need an elephant size tranquilizer before my body decides to even consider the idea of sleeping. Every night I have to convince my brain that sleep is necessary and if it doesn't give the heck up already I'll be in major pain the next day. Sometimes this tactic works. And then sometimes my brain just says, "Screw you, I'll do what I want. So WHAT if I want to watch a Lifetime movie marathon? You're not the boss of me!" (My brain can be very rude sometimes.)

If I don't take any drugs to help me sleep it will be 72 hours before my body surrenders. Trust me, I've tried it and it's not pretty. So I knew that I didn't really have a chance of falling asleep last night. But I still tried. I kept coming up with the most boring activities that have put me to sleep in the past. I pulled out a book I could never finish because it was SO. BORING. - - -I ended up finishing the book. So that failed. Then I decided to watch something REALLY boring so that I would fall asleep. So I pulled out my trusty Netflix online and went to Discovery Channel and clicked on "Shark Week" because, well, I've never had any desire to watch it before and so now I'm sure I will be put to sleep with the sweet sounds of . . . . sharks eating their prey. So the dang thing backfired (go figure) and it was like really interesting. Did you know that you can like put a shark to sleep by touching their nose? You should try it sometime. It seems easy enough.

ANYWAY, so I went to work today at 5 am - this after a night of no sleep. I went and got my blood test done, and had to stay at work until 4pm . . . . so basically an 11 hour shift with no sleep. Good times. And I thought I was hiding it pretty well until just now when I told a colleague that I thought Netti Pots were for flowering your pants. Yeah, that's not at all what I meant, but that's how my dreadfully tired brain translated it.

So, that's the end of my story. I'm sure tomorrow I won't even remember or understand this post.

P.S. Doesn't the shark pic above look oddly similiar to a chin face? You know what I'm talking about? When you hang upside down and draw a face like this:

Admit it. It's eerily similiar.

So I'm surrounded by idiots

So last night I was at the airport picking up my parents at the airport. While I was waiting for my parents to land and get their luggage, I went to the "Cell Phone Lot". This is a very convenient parking area in the middle of nowhere that people can wait for their people to land. As I was sitting there contemplating my existence, (ok, so I was watching 'The Soup' on my phone) I noticed something ironic. There was an entire row of handicap parking spaces in the cell phone lot. There is nowhere for people to go - unless they want to walk around the runways . . . .but there is even a sign that says, "Do Not Leave Your Vehicle". So even if there was a handicap driver . . . why do you need a space? I can tell there was a lot of thought put into this parking lot.

So this week inhaled profusely

This week has been the worst week work-wise that I have ever had. And that's saying something, considering I've had some CRAPPY experiences at work. Including (and I truly wish I was stretching the truth with all of these . . . but no. All true):

• When I worked at Water World as a lifeguard and fell into the wave pool and took down the entire wood siding with me. Good times.
• The time I worked at AMC 30 and was the only one that showed for the usher shift on New Years Eve for the entire theater. Which meant I had to clean all the bathrooms, all the throw-up in the aisles, all the spilled popcorn for all 30 theaters BY MYSELF.
• The time I worked as a massage therapist at Lavenders and the hydrotherapy room flooded so we spent the day carrying out all the furniture of the entire spa and sweeping out the water without being paid (because no clients=no pay). Oh, and the electrical sockets were ON THE FLOOR so they were covered in water that we were wading in. Slightly dangerous.
• The time I was a manager for Geppedos porcelain dolls and I spent an entire night by myself in the dark in a storage unit organizing impossible inventory whilst several rats ran around.
• The one day I worked as a tele-marketer selling trash bags in some creepy hole-in-the-wall office in downtown Phoenix with 15 skeevy men that smoked the entire time, leaving me nauseous and wondering what life choices I made that led me to a job where I sold TRASH BAGS. (Wow, that is a long sentence.)

Yeah, this week tops all of those. It is THAT bad. I can't really go into details, because I kinda don't want to be fired, but take my word for it, it's pretty dang horrible. And after looking at this list I'm wondering . . . does everyone have such bad luck with jobs?

So this JUST HAPPENED.

So I started bringing my lunch to work (I'm on Day 2, go ME!) because apparently I don't eat enough (go figure). But I generally eat one meal at the end of the day after work and that's it. This is apparently bad for you. So I've been bringing breakfast, (because I won't wake up early enough to eat it at home) 2 snacks, and a lunch to work. It feels like I'm bringing the entire contents of my fridge to work every day. It is SO MUCH FOOD. But I'm on Day 2 and I've thought it's been going pretty well. Until just now.
So I brought one of those Smart Ones pasta imitations to work today. I heated it up for like 7 minutes because I never look at the directions, and the tomato sauce was like lava. I brought up a spoonful of the pasta up to my mouth to blow on to hopefully cool it down to slightly less hot than lava temperature, and on the first blow I blew the SCREAMING HOT PASTA into my . . . chest. It completely bypassed my shirt and went INTO the most awkward spot you can get pasta stuck in and like buried itself so it was no longer visible. And did I mention that the pasta was hot? Because I'm pretty sure I have 2nd degree burns going on because I couldn't exactly go mining for ziti in front of my colleagues.

Lesson learned: Stop bringing food to work. It's dangerous.

So this is what I've learned this week.

• Moving is no fun. As in an evil, no good, hateful activity that does not get easier the more you do it. (Oh, did I not mention that I moved? For the 11th time in 7 years? Well, I did.)
• Things that are broken before you move will be completely unusable by the time it reaches its destination. (cough, cough, like this side table)
• Things that weren't broken before will break in the process of moving. Nothing a little hot glue can't fix, right?
• If you leave your hot glue sticks in your car in Phoenix for 2+ days, they will become one large glue stick.
• No amount of candles/febreeze will cover the stench of smoke from previous occupants.
• It's a heck of a lot easier to live in a first floor apartment vs a third floor apartment.
• Talking to people in call centers SUCKS. Especially when you work in one and can pinpoint what they've done that is against call center regulations.
• There is a point that your brain will stop remembering yet another address, apt number, and mail box number. Which will make it a little difficult to to change your address with eleventyhundred different companies.
• If you don't buy a router for your internet, you will be tethered to a wall whenever you want to use the internet, causing you to stand next to the tv to access it.
• After purchasing a router, you should kidnap a smart person to set it up for you . . . .because setting up a router is hard.
• Living .5 miles from work doesn't mean you'll get there earlier.
• Navigating a 12 seater van at Sky Harbor airport at 6am is no fun.
• Procrastination hits whole new levels when you procrastinate a surgery. (Yeah, I need surgery on my ear. And I've decided to pull it off until next year because I can't take that much time off from work right now.)

On a side note, if you or someone you know lives in the Thatcher/Safford area, you should check out my sister's preschool. She's enrolling kids right now and does a pretty awesome job. Check out her preschool blog here or email her @ chantel.allen@hotmail.com

So I went to the doctor. Again.

So I went to the ENT surgeon yesterday. Good times. Seriously, I have never been more entertained by any other dr's waiting room before. First of all, it seemed to me like everyone was SCREAMING at each other. They were all talking SO loud and I was wondering for a second why that might be . . . . until I realized they were all there to see the ear doctor. . . . I'm not the quickest (and apparently not quite as deaf as some). Because they were all yelling things that people would normally whisper, I learned WAY too much about them. We bonded. Without them even realizing it. I now know them better than some of my cousins.

There was one older couple and the man was filling out the patient intake form. Well, apparently the old man forgot every single sickness he's ever experienced in his life. He kept asking (very loudly):

"MILLY, HAVE I HAD PNEUMONIA?!"

and she would always reply,

"Yes, Frank."

"MILLY, HAVE I HAD VD?!"

"Yes, Frank."

Then there was a younger couple with a 3 year old son. How did I know he was 3? Why, because they announced it to the waiting room. The little boy was playing and everything he said was just so incredibly adorable that the mother found it necessary to repeat what he said (by yelling) and then adding inappropriate commentary. And, for some odd reason the young couple were sitting like 15 feet away from each other. There were enough chairs, but I guess the husband was tired of being yelled at from 6 inches away. The 3 year old kept telling everyone that it was his birthday. So the wife would look at her husband and go,

" IT'S MY BIRFDAY! HOW CUUUTE. WHAT TIME IS IT?? 2:05??!! OK, SO 3 YEARS AGO THIS TIME I WAS AT WHAT? 3 CENTIMETERS? OR WAS HE CROWNING? I THINK HE WAS CROWNING."

and then the little boy would say it was his birthday again and the woman would scream,

"THAT'S RIGHT! IT IS YOUR BIRTHDAY! 3 YEARS AGO YOU WERE CLIMBING OUT OF MOMMY'S STOMACH!"

and then the little boy's eyes just widened and you could see the confusion on his face. I started to feel bad for the little boy because how hard would it be if your mom yelled at you even when she was happy? How confusing would that be? Oh, geez.

Anyway, so my doctor was . . . interesting. He actually had on one of those head mirror thingy's (see pic above) that normally only doctor's in like 1820 would wear. It looked like a costume. I didn't know if I should give him candy or ask for a prescription. Anyway, I get to have surgery. Woohoo.

***Sidenote - ok, so I had to find a pic of a doctor with a head mirror so you'd know what I was talking about and I found the one above. But .. . . .isn't that picture completely random? Why is Dopey going to the dr? And who amputated some lady's legs and then hung them on the wall? SO.MANY.QUESTIONS.

So I made a wedding cake

My cousin Aleina got married last Friday. I made the wedding cake. It was the first time I made a cake that was going to be seen by more than my immediate family so I was kinda freaking out. And I really didn't want to screw it up and let down Aleina so I kinda stressed out a lot. It was definitely a lesson in learning how to deal with change because the cake stand changed several times within 2 days of the wedding which changes the dimensions of the cake. I ended up having to bake the cake at the church the night before the wedding, then bringing it to my parents house around midnight to finish. I added fondant there and then finished the cupcakes. I finished around 2 am and then had to go to WalMart and pick up some stuff I needed for the next day. I got home close to 4 am and got about an hour's sleep. Then headed off to the temple to take pictures. Normally I look absolutely RAVISHING in pictures, but I'm thinking I kinda destroyed all the pictures I was in because my exhaustion was taking over. Good times. Oh well.

So this isn't a REAL post. It's a fake one.

So I was driving home from work and a commercial came on the radio. It was one of those commercials that is like a scripted conversation between a clueless doormat friend that will apparently buy anything and another friend that is strangely knowledgeable about whatever product they're selling. So of course the commercial was totally captivating - it was about Southwestern College - and the strangely knowledgeable friend kept asking the doormat friend stupid questions like,

"What would you say if I told you they are located on your way home from work?"

and then the doormat friend something very doormat-y like,

"Well, I would devote my life to you, and spend thousands of dollars at this overpriced college!"

and then the strangely knowledgeable friend said,

"What would you say if I told you that Southwestern is an intentionally Christian college?"

So I don't know what the doormat friend responded with because I got ADD and changed the station, but then I started thinking about that question. First of all, how completely RANDOM is that question? And, is there really colleges that are unintentionally Christian? And how do we know it was unintentional? Did someone call the President of the college and say, "Um, I don't know if you realized this, but your college is a Christian college." and the President replied, "Yeah . . . that was unintentional." Because that means people have too much time on their hands.

By the way - this week sucks. It's getting to the point I can't laugh anymore about how many things have gone wrong this week. When I watch the movie of my life in heaven and we get to this week I'm totally gonna be like - "No seriously, we need to fast forward this part. It's too painful to watch. Why don't we rewind to the part where I fell off a horse and was almost trampled? Or when I had surgery and they forgot to give me pain killers? That would be more pleasant."

So Japan just made my day

BEST. CONTEST. EVER.
So I happened upon this article. Don't ask me how. I'm not quite sure.

Basically a bunch of sumo wrestlers get together and hold babies and whoever's baby cries first wins. I'm not making this up. But now I have a reason to go to Japan.
Sidenote: Anyone wanna lend me your baby for a field trip? I'll take real good care of it and bring back lots of pictures. There is, however, a very *small* chance they will need extensive therapy later in life and be terrified of large men wearing diapers. But that's normal . . . right?

So I made something

My cousin Katy got me into crocheting awhile ago. I made a little baby boy blanket and when I was done I was so excited, but it was so small. I was sure the baby would outgrow it by the time they got home from the hospital. So I decided I would make the next one bigger. And it is ridiculous. I can't do anything normal.