Oct 31, 2008

the scariest thing you will ever read

Seeing as it's Halloween and all, I wanted to share with you the absolute SCARIEST thing that has ever happened to me. So if you have been harboring a full bladder, run to the bathroom before you read this. Because you will most definitely PEE YOUR PANTS - it's that scary.

Alright...here it is....the absolutely most terrifying thing I have ever experienced, EVER.

One day when I was in 4th grade, I wore a skirt to school. (And I say "one day" because it only ever happen one day, because I'm not even a skirt or dress wearer and never have been.) During recess the total jerky jock of our class, named Scott (which is a total jerky jock name), pushed me down and my underwear showed for a whole TWO SECONDS!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!

I hope you didn't wet yourself. I told you it was pretty scary.

And just in case you haven't reached full pee your pants scaredness yet, here are some of the runner's up for scariest Melissa moment:

When I was in high school I got a really bad sunburn, so I slept with a little fan blowing on my face. I got so used to it, that I just kept doing it. UNTIL ONE NIGHT.

I had my bed up next to the wall because I was still in my 'falling out of bed' stage. And as I was laying there I kept hearing a faint thud on the wall next to me. It sounded like the finger of an undead human corpse who could have possibly been laying on the floor directly under my bed just waiting for me to fall asleep so it could eat me. It really could have been. (Except that I don't know why it was tapping on my wall, because that totally would give away it's location and then I could possibly have foiled it's dinner plans.)

So I screamed for my mom - what else could I do? (Not that I wasn't 16 or anything... ) We discovered that the creepy wall tapping was not from the finger of an undead human corpse, but the fan was angled just right to blow the calendar on my wall into a gentle tapping motion.

It was totally creepy.

But not as creepy as my trip to the grocery store tuesday night. I usually don't like to venture out after dark....vampires, you know. Oh yeah, and scary stalker rapist killers. But I needed milk, and a healthy dose of 'out of the house' time.

It just so happened that every other customer in the store that night was a man. It wasn't a busy grocery shopping night, and it was almost like all these men shoppers were following me around the whole time. Or they were just walking up and down the aisles looking at food - I'm not really sure.

I learned back in my Kung Fu days to always be aware of your surroundings. So I gave the evil "don't even try it, creep-o" eye to everyone. (I make friends easily - obviously.) But then I told the store clerk that I didn't want help out to my car. Which was so stupid. Because what if one of the creepy male shoppers decides to attack me in the well lit parking lot with their keys or something?

I walked really fast to my car. I had a cart, which is good for a weapon, kind of, if it's aimed in the right direction. Plus, bags full of groceries can be weapons too. Imagine swinging a sack full of canned corn at someone's face. Oh yeah, that would hurt.

I was almost done loading the sacks into my car when I noticed a guy walking quickly towards me. Panic PANIC. What if he really was a psycho stalker rapist killer (or a vampire?) Holy cow. HOLY COW. He was getting closer. Oh crap, and all that was left in my cart was a sack with bread in it. Bread is not a weapon. (Imagine swinging a sack full of Wonderbread at someone's face - not quite the same.)

I threw the bread in my car and turned to face my attacker. It was going to be horrible, but atleast I was ready. Well, maybe if I closed my eyes then I would feel better about it. Or maybe that was stupid but now my eyes won't open because I'm paralyzed by fear. I'M SO DEAD. Literally. Blood sucking and/or key stabbing was about to happen...

Except, wait, that guy just got into the car next to me. Oh.....ok.

So I put my cart back and I went home.

And I may have made this sound a TEENY more dramatic than when it actually occurred, just for more Halloween-y effect. But mostly it's true, because sadly my brain works this way. Perhaps I need some anti-anxiety medication. Or I should just stick to not going out after dark...

Oh, and I drew a creepy picture on my sketchy blog.

HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEEEN!!!!!!

Oct 30, 2008

supporting Cordy

If you don't know what's been going down at My Super Hopeless Romance then, first of all, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? Sheesh, it's all over the Bloggingdom - do you blog from under a rock?

Secondly, you don't have to be a Cordy fan (or hater) to read this post. Because, frankly, I don't want to get into all of that over here. But I do want to say that I'm a big devotee of Cordy the character and her very entertaining love life.

As a way to show my support, here is a story about a guy who wasn't my best friend that I still had a crush on, even though it wasn't really like Cordy and Seth at all, but it's the closest I have. And just to be clear from the beginning, this is a completely true story (since I have also been known to fib a bit in the name of bloggertainment and apparently that can get you into trouble.)


In college there was a guy who I would have totally dated, if it had been an option. His name was Cole (the name is even real, which is going to be embarrassing if he for some reason ever reads this...which probably won't happen, but still...) We weren't best friends, but we did hang out with the same group of people, he lived across the street, and once he beat me while bowling (not really shocking) so I had to make him dinner. So it was almost like we were best friends....ALMOST. Or not really. Whatever.

Cole had red hair - but not the ugly red where it looks like someone's head is literally on fire or has been dyed with Koolaid. He had the cute kind of red. He was also on the football team for awhile. I think. In my memory, he was on the football team for awhile. And one time when a group of us were at his parent's house, he kissed his grandma on the cheek. Which will pretty much win the heart of any college-age LDS girl, because really, HOW STINKING SWEET.

I think Cole and I had quite a few opportunities to hook up, but things never seemed to go right. Mostly it was my freakish inability to start a relationship unless the guy was over the top interested. As in, saying 'I like you' and then kissing me, and then I would go, "Oh hey, I think he likes me." Because up until that point I would always question anyone actually being interested in me. Not that I wasn't good enough looking, and I kind of knew it, but because I was a total doofus.

One time we were on our way to go bowling, but had a 35 minute drive to get to our preferred alley. We were all alone in the backseat of a car. Major opportunity potential. In fact, after we got in the car, and I buckled into the seat by the door and NOT the middle, Cole said, "How can I cuddle with you, when you are all the way over there?" And then I was like, "Uhhhhhh...." drool drool. Because I didn't know what to think. He was just kind of a cuddly guy. You know the kind of guy you could snuggle up against during a movie, except that you're always wondering if it meant as much to him as you?

I actually have a picture of Cole and myself at that very moment in that very backseat, which I would include in this post, but HOLY COW I'm too embarrassed (not that it's a bad picture - we could have totally used it for our engagement photo.)

Another time we could have hooked up was when all of our friends decided to chug as much milk as possible and then see who could throw up first. (Yeah, a thrilling college game. It was so gross. But we didn't drink alcohol, so what else was there?)

Cole was manning the camera, and I was just a bystander. At one point it got so disgusting that Cole and I stepped outside to get some fresh air. We were all alone again. Oh except that we only made it to the top of the landing outside his apartment and then had to run down the stairs so that both of us could puke in opposite bushes. Man, that was romantic.

Mostly there was one really huge moment that had dating potential written all over it. Of course it didn't work out either. Except this time none of my dating doofusness or moronic college games were going to get in the way. Because this time GOD intervened. I'm being serious, by the way.

It was New Years Eve and we were "partying" at our place. That means we had rootbeer, played games and watched a movie. And at one point a couple of us snuck outside to light a stick of firecrackers my dad had given me. But that wasn't the good part.

The movie ended really late and everyone pulled themselves from our floor and couch and trudged to bed. EXCEPT for Cole and me. He had deliberately stayed. And we had been cuddling during the movie. I thought that it was really going to happen this time. Could things have been more perfect?

It would have been perfect except at the very moment of being alone I suddenly got an upset stomach. It came out of nowhere and it was one of those, "Oh I'm going to puke if I move" type upset stomachs that mean business.

It was so horrible. After laying still for a few minutes, there was no way this was going to end well, and I had to make up some stupid excuse to go to bed and ditch Cole in the living room. He seemed very confused. Ok, it might have been relief, but I'm going to remember confused. Because this is my memory and I really do think we would have hooked up that very night. Which is why I'm saying that God intervened and made me vomit instead.

I don't know why things have to always end in puke for me.

We remained friends that whole year, and possibly could have still had a few chances. But after the heavenly barf I decided that it probably wasn't the right direction to take in life.

And so here I am, not married to Cole. My husband doesn't have red hair, was never on the football team, and lost to me the first time we bowled on our Wii. But that's ok, because I still like him - and with as much as he has seen me vomit in our almost 7 years of marriage, it's a good thing that he still likes me too.

And there you have it. My almost like Cordy story.

Oct 29, 2008

poor man's remodel

Today I moved the furniture (I'm feeling better, by the way.) It's almost like we moved to a whole new house!

Ok, not really.

Even though there was no actual remodeling or moving done, it does make living here a bit more interesting. And that should count for something. Plus, we have had the furniture the same since we moved here - 2 1/2 years ago. That is way too long to have a room set up in only one way.

In fact, that is almost like breaking furniture law #327 - "Moving your couch will ease furniture depression, and will result in happier, comfier and bouncier sitting (or laying depending on your couching preferences.)"

We must never forget our furniture's feelings.

Not only is it a good idea to rearrange things, but you should also make sure to sit equally on each cushion, or that middle one that no one likes is going to get really self-conscious, and possibly suicidal (depending on if it EVER gets sat on and how big the sitter's butt is.)

Also, in our new furniture arrangement, the tv is no longer the focus of our whole living/kitchen/dining room. Husband is going to be thrilled about this. But we watch way too much TV around here. PBS kid shows save my life. But I have been really trying to get everyone to watch less lately. And I'm hoping that this will be accomplished by the mere inconvenience I have now established.

Because putting your tv in a closet under a box should help lessen the viewing, I'm thinking.

I'm a lair, never believe anything I say.

The tv is still in the living room. Just on a different wall.

Like I could live without that thing.


So my husband and I went to the IMAX theater last night. Is it weird that the previews were giving me panic attacks, but that once the movie started I was fine watching that monstrous screen?

I don't know what was up with all the panic stuff. There was a preview for "Watchmen" and it includes a song that sounds like the Smashing Pumpkins (I'm pretty sure it's Smashing Pumpkins that sings it, but I'm not even close to "cool" anymore and haven't the slightest what bands are out there, or not out there anymore.) But during that preview I thought I was going to have a heart attack. And Smashing Pumpkins is kind of mellow...

Weird.

Anyways, we watched Eagle Eye. I enjoyed it. Except that I have to say that we should all know by now to never make an all-knowing super intelligent computer because OBVIOUSLY it's going to turn on our imperfect human state and try to take over the world. Every time. So don't do it. We just need to keep making the same old stupid computers and then continue killing each other in the name of freedom.

Maybe an all-knowing super intelligent computer would do a better job...


Don't you just love how I blog about multiple, completely different things in the same post all because I'm too lazy to hit publish in between my thoughts? Yeah, I know. And your welcome.

Oct 27, 2008

two things about hate and something really GREAT - look I rhymed

I hate when my internet connection suddenly dies. It's like someone just sucked all the air out the room and I'm suddenly on the floor flopping around like a fish who just jumped on a boat full of fishermen by accident and realized what an idiot they were when they took their fishy friends' dare to jump over the 'big floating metal thingy.'

Ok, so maybe not quite like that. But it really is annoying to be suddenly left with no connection. Like about 10 minutes ago when I was trying to comment about Jen's earring dilemma. You know you can never rewrite a comment and have it be the same.

And you know what else has to do with hate?

My left kidney.

I know, you totally didn't see that one coming. But it's true. My left kidney hates me. Today it's all like, "Since you had the flu allllllll weekend, and since you're dehydrated from this longer than average and completely torturous flu, I'm going to throw a tantrum and hurt. A lot. Because, hey, you need more pain and suffering. And also, you've watched too many episodes of House and I want you to wonder at what percentage I'm functioning and if you're going to die of kidney failure or if Righty over there will save you. Oh yeah, TAKE THAT." And then it shoots some pain through my side/back/kidney-area again.

See, it hates me.

It's all ticked off because one time I had to have a kidney stone extracted. This surgery is also used as forms of torture in some countries. And Lefty just won't get over it.

And to appease the comments that I'm sure will come - yes, I'm drinking LOTS and LOTS of water. So Lefty should shut up soon....unless he's functioning below 20% or something, in which case, I might die. Someone should call Dr. House.

Oh and one time someone told me that lemonade is supposed to help with kidney stones - which is good (although I'm pretty sure this isn't a stone and just some dehydrated kidney tantrum) because I drank 2 liters of Minutemaid yesterday.

And here's one last thing that has nothing to do with hate.

My little sister and her husband opened an awesome clothing and skate shop on friday. And now I'm going to make this big, to catch LOTS of attention.

Shop at Landslide Clothing.
981 West 8th Street
Pleasant Grove, Utah

And tell them that "Vinnie" sent you. No one will have any idea what your talking about. Which might freak them out a little. Maybe I should think of something more innocent. Maybe tell them that "Fluffles" sent you instead. There, that sounds better.

Oct 25, 2008

what you really want to know about my killer weekend

I want to write something totally hilarious and witty and maybe even informational (yeah, like information would ever happen on this blog.) But do you know what I've been doing the past two days?

Just guess.

Have you made a guess yet?

This is your last chance, just guess already!!!

I HAVE HAD THE FLU.

Kind of like the stomach flu, but not so much puking and mostly just......ok, that was plenty of information.

Eeeeeeew.

Yeah, it's totally been a killer weekend. Really. Killer. And this time I mean "please just someone shoot me" when I say 'killer.' As opposed to the usual "totally awesome" version of 'killer' that I like to imply.

So you will be getting nothing hilarious, witty or informational out of me today. Unless you consider defining the word 'killer' as information that you just had to know.


P.S. Usually I would try to think of some word similar to "information" to use instead of typing it 5 times in one short post. But I'm playing the sick card, and I'm just too tired to thing of any other words.

P.P.S. For a full blog-reading effect you have to read this post in the whiniest voice you can muster in your head. (Just think of your 4 year old and I'm sure the whiny head voice will kick right in.)

Oct 23, 2008

seven random me

Claire tagged me. Which I think it is awesome, because Claire is hilarious and her husband calls her a psycho hose beast, which makes her blog totally worth reading. (Who couldn't love reading about a psycho hose beast? Really? I dare you to resist...)


So I wanted these to be good. But good just wasn't happening, and you get these instead:
1- I finished my blog makeover. It's all Halloweeny. Yeah, I know - YOU KNOW ALREADY - yes, I do realize you are looking at my blog RIGHT NOW. But hey, after two days of "what the heck?!!!" I'm pretty proud of it. (Here's the part where you tell me you love it.)
2- Monkey hit me in the head with a plastic "ear checker" thingy from his Dr kit today. I thought he was so cute wearing the stethoscope backwards and looking through the ear checker, so I was like, "Hey Sweety, come look in Mommy's ears!" and then I bent down so he could get a good look. And then with all of his 20 month old strength (which is surprisingly a lot) he whacked me upside the head with it and then laughed. And you know that soft-ish spot right by your temple? Yeah, that's where his blow of destruction landed. Seriously, I about passed out. I wouldn't recommend getting hit in that particular spot (even if it's only coming from a toddler) because it STILL hurts...a lot.
3- I hate sea food. It's so disgusting. And don't even invite me to dinner if you're going to eat crab or lobster or anything that you have to rip apart that crunches or has legs. And don't leave your little shrimp tails sitting anywhere I can see them. Unless you'd like to see what I've already eaten for dinner (in the form of half-digested chunks.) Was that a little much? Well, that's what you get for mentioning sea food.
4- I can't sustain a normal human conversation. I try. But I usually just make weird noises and drool a little. Like when this politician came to our door today as part of his campaigning. I'm pretty sure he thought I was the dumbest person he's ever met. But you can't just spring serious conversations on me like that. I need a warm up period or something, ya know? Or maybe just stick to asking me about baby poop, the best brand of chicken nuggets, or how many raisins will fit in between the booster seat and dining room chair if you cram them in really tight. Those are the kinds of things I can talk about readily. Because if you ask me something serious or important you'll just have to end up getting a towel to wipe the slobber off my chin.
5- Sour Cream was sent from heaven. Enough said.
6- When I realized that Santa wasn't really real I was too afraid to talk to my mom about it. I thought that it would hurt her feelings if she knew that I knew. So I just kept pretending that I thought he was real. I think we finally had the "Santa talk" when I was about 23.
7- I know Wing Chun Kung Fu. Ok, I kind of know it. Ok, I kind of used to know it. Ok, I kind of used to go to the classes because dating the instructor will get you free Kung Fu lessons, but I really really stunk at it. But I could still take you. Oh yeah. What? WHAT?!!! DO YOU WANT TO TAKE THIS OUTSIDE?!!!!


And now I tag...............YOU. (Whoever "you" are, just let me know so I can check out your random 7!)

woooooooo-hooo

Guess what? My header uploaded. Could you tell? Like the ginormousy of it didn't give the whole header uploading thing away. Yeah. There it is.

Whew. That was a pain.

Thanks to Mombabe's help, and another day entirely spent looking at stupid code, I finally "expanded my widgets" and figured out the header problems.

SHEEEEEEESH.

Code. Who needs it. I like pictures better. Why can't life be all pictures?

Speaking of which - I will be coming up with a new header (complete with matching background) in a few days. Because MAN IS THAT THING HUGE.



ON A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT NOTE:

Whenever I'm using the bathroom, I have this fear of someone hiding in behind the shower curtain. Well, I guess not just someone, but some psycho stalker killer. Just waiting for me to get done peeing so that he can jump out with his oversized knife. My fear intensifies if the tub is right next to the toilet (like 92% of all bathrooms in the world.) Which is why I have to pee with the curtain pushed back. Those curtains are seriously creepy.

Speaking of shower curtains, is it better to have a clear one or one that will hide you if you're interrupted? Because if that psycho stalker killer is trying to take advantage of me while I'm all vulnerable and showering then I want to see him coming. But if my 3 year old walks in while I'm shaving my pits....not so much.

You know what else scares me? Driving in the dark.

I babysat for my cousin tonight while she went to a late show. Her house is 3/4 of a block away. But I still drive because people get beaten up by gang members while growing rooms full of pot in this neighborhood.

Usually I take our car, but I had to fill the van up with gas before said babysitting, so yeah...took the van. But then on the way home (the whole 3/4 of a block) I kept imagining some psycho stalker killer just waiting for me amongst the empty carseats, so he could spring out with that huge knife of his and start stabbing away. (Psycho stalker killers ONLY use knives - it's a proven fact.....no it's not. I made that up. But in my mind they ONLY use knives.)

It didn't help that we have one of those mirror thingies that you hook to the headrest of the seat so you can see your baby in their rear-facing carseat. Only when the baby isn't in their carseat and it's dark outside, it just reflects all the lights from the front of the car making the backseat(s) look even more disorienting and creepy.

Of course if I had really thought it through, I would have realized just how hard it would be to crouch down in the van wielding a huge knife when there's hardly enough room for my 5 year old to get around all the carseats and toys and the diaperbag that I accidentally forget in there all the time.

Yeah, I WOULD have thought that if I weren't so terrified of getting slashed to death during my 3/4 block drive home.

But don't worry. I'm alive.

Unless the killer is waiting for me to pee again.

Oct 21, 2008

ugh.....my blog

If you have visited my blog between the times of 9:45 AM and......I'll let you know when I'm done....you'll have noticed that I'm having major layout issues. Total headache giving layout issues.

First of all, I have to say that I. HATE. CODE.

I took a class in college where we made little html coded tables. Happy tables. Easy ones. A total breeze, these html tables. I thought I could handle a little blogger code.

Not even close.

And what the heck is xml? How is it different than html? Why is it even in there? And why does that stupid fly that got into our house last night keep landing on my forehead?!! It's like the world is out to get me (in a coded, fly landing way.)

This all started because I wanted ads. Cool ones. I had fun signing up for different ads thinking things like, "Wooo-hoooo, KB Toys!" and "Oh yeah, this one is about BRAS!" Yeah it was fun. And I have to admit that my favorite ad is the "Develop Your Psychic and Intuitive Abilities" one. It is RAD.

Just to warn you, I am going to develop my psychic abilities and then invade of all your minds so that you blog ONLY about me. Good stuff too. Nothing rude like, "What's up with that Melissa idiot and her total lack in code deciphering skills? Sheesh what a moron."

So for my new ads I wanted to put them in their own column, so they wouldn't take over the better stuff in my regular column (like that cool picture montage of myself!) I didn't think it would be too much to ask for a 3 columned blog.

Was it too much?

Apparently, YES.

And now that I have the stupid 3 columns working, I can't get my header to reload. I don't know why. I've been through that code 53 BILLLLLLION times. Why won't it let me load a header?

Also, why can't I apply a cool background? I wanted to customize my blog since, you know, I was messing with code and layout stuff anyway.

Yeah, apparently that's really asking for too much.

And now everything reeks of the pugnant odor of crappy, ad-filled, header-less blog.

UGH.

And in case you were wondering, this has not only resulted in ughy blogginess, but also very POOR parenting.

My younger kids napped right through the time I was supposed to leave and pick up my older kids from school. And I was so lost in tags (you know, these little things < >) that I didn't notice the time.

When I went to pick my Kindergartner up -ONLY 15 minutes after school got out- she was the the last child there, standing outside with a couple teachers, WAITING. Luckily no one asked me why I was so late - I was cooking up a good lie, just in case. Because really, what was I supposed to say, "Oh, you were just about to take my daughter to the office to call and ask why I forgot her at school? Yeah, I was too busy putting psychic and bra ads on my blog to remember that I had kids. Sorry."

Oct 20, 2008

don't you hate it when candy turns ugly

This should be my most embarrassing moment. I don't know why I'm not really ashamed to tell this story (because I should be):

When my husband and I were first married we lived in the scariest of dumpylands in the entire world. Ok, maybe not the entire world - but it was BAD.

It was an old 50's hotel that was converted into apartments in the 70's and then had NEVER been updated since. We were lucky because there were two of us so we got a room with a kitchenette (complete with a couple of isolated burners we could plug in if we desired to cook and a toaster oven that I managed to light on fire only a couple of times.)

Downstairs from this apartment was a sad little Chinese restaurant that NOBODY ever ate in (except us a couple of times) and a really rough looking bar. Thank goodness we lived on the 5th floor since it wasn't uncommon for bar fights to break out and turn ugly.

The other thing about this apartment was that it had a laundry room with only ONE washer and dryer. For 5 floors of apartments. But since it was either that or the laundromat, I just dealt with the sharing.


It was our first Valentine's Day and my husband had to work. He had left a trail of candies from our front door to the bathtub where he had gotten me some bath salts or something good smelling. I was too focused on the yummy chocolate and peanut butter heart candy to notice much of anything else. Plus, the bathtub in that apartment was disgusting enough to stand in, let alone bathe in.

I gathered up what I thought was all of the candies before I headed downstairs with a load of laundry. And LUCKY LUCKY no one had stuff in the washer. This was shaping up to be a rather great evening.

As the laundry was washing I sat on our bed (the couch was grotesque and un-sit-able) watching Powerpuff Girls or TLC's "Maternity Ward" or something. Those were my favorite shows back then, so I'm assuming it was one or the other. Maybe they had a special "Pain Killer Free Maternity Ward" to discourage any unprotected Valentine love making. Because I'm thinking that would definitely scare me out of having sex.

This is where it gets embarrassingly humorous.

The load of laundry needed thrown into the dryer. I had been lounging around in some scrubs and a sweatshirt so I didn't feel like running into anyone. Until I remembered that the building was mostly inhabited by the mentally ill or completely impoverished that probably envied my hole-less scrub bottoms. So I didn't really care so much when a lady came into the laundry room needing to use the washer.

The lady, let's call her "Shandra" just for fun (and because I really don't know her name), sat on the chair across from the washer and dryer while I unloaded my things.

And you know how you have to bend over to put stuff in the dryer? Yeah, Shandra watched the whole bending show with a smirk and some giggles. It was like she couldn't take her eyes off of my butt.

It was back when my butt wasn't so big, and I really didn't get what was funny. Going through my head was, "Remember, mentally ill people live here....it's probably nothing....she keeps giggling...HURRY HURRRY!!!" And then I slammed the dryer closed and ran away.

When I got back up to my apartment it was then that I realized my husband had also put candies on our bed. That had blended into the blanket. That I hadn't noticed AT ALL. THAT I HAD SAT ON FOR 40 MINUTES.

The damage was minimal. Just one completely melted chocolate and peanut butter heart perfectly positioned on the butt of my hole-less scrub bottoms.

Shandra wasn't mentally ill - while I was bending over to put all my stuff in the dryer she was looking at what would have appeared to be smeared poop on my rumpus.

If you liked reading about what is obviously my FINEST MOMENT IN HISTORY. Then go vote for me at blockthoughts. THANK YOU.

Oct 19, 2008

visitors of the family kind

I had family in town this weekend, which totally cut into my blog reading time. It was horrible. I think I was having withdrawals at one point, so I had to sneak onto the computer and read a few every few hours just so I wouldn't completely lose my blogging addiction.

M&Ms and blogging - my two vices. In which I am very happy to keep, because it could be worse. And I've never read any scripture anywhere that says I can't do it so I'm pretty sure my eternal salvation is still in tact. IN FACT, I distinctly remember hearing something last conference about how we should leave nice comments- I can't quote the actual words, and I don't know if they were even really referring to blogs, but I still think it TOTALLY justifies my love of blogging (and the M&M's fit in there somewhere too, I'm sure.)

So the greatest part of the particular family members that were in town is that my step-mom does all of my dishes. She's one of those clean people. She probably thinks we live like slobs, because I'm not one of those clean people. I'm more like one of those "hey look, you can see the floor - that's good enough" kind of people. But I did wipe out my microwave before they got here. (But mostly because it as EEEEEEWWWWW-ish.)

My step-sister brought her brand new long board, which my kids thought was more awesome than a box full of jack rabbits. I was going to try it out too, but then I remembered my coordination skills, and since I value my teeth, I didn't get on it.

When I was in 8th grade, my friend and I thought we were skaters so I took my aunt's old 70's board to practice our "skills." We were attempting to just get off the curb and onto the road without falling. Not that difficult, right? Sure. On my turn, the front end of the skateboard caught on the road which flung me head first into the asphalt. I landed on my teeth and then skidded up my face. Luckily though I was saved by my complete nerdiness. My glasses were mangled and my braces held my two front teeth in my mouth until the dentist could put them back into their sockets. Also I had huge scrapes on my face. My favorite was the one above my lip just below my nostril. It looked like I had dried boogers coming out of my nose for about 2 weeks. Needless to say- I stayed off the longboard this weekend.

And no visit from the ole' fam would be complete without a game night. We played Balderdash last night. But the one that has movie, acronym, laws and people along with the word definitions. I believe this is my favorite game. Except that I always lose. I really don't know why no one ever believes stuff like, "Armand Jones was a famous traveling porcupine wrestler, or the first successful Amway salesman." If you've never played Balderdash, first of all - SHAME ON YOU, you obviously have no idea how to have fun- also you really won't get why this has to do with anything.

It's really annoying that my husband ALWAYS wins games. Every time. Especially if we're playing Balderdash (or Cranium - no one can beat him at Cranium.) That is why, whenever the games have partnerships I am grateful that I can claim him as my partner, since, you know, I'm married to him and all. Because then I get to know what it feels like to win. And I also like gloating.

This morning my in-laws were town as well. It was the Primary program and everyone wanted to witness Curly's first BIG TALK. She had an extra long part (and did fabulous, by the way.) Everyone also wanted to see Screamer stand by the microphone with his head down and not say, "I'm a child of God." They gave him a super short line. He still woudln't say it. But he did sing all the chorus's of the "I'm a Child of God" song with everyone else. And we can't let extended family miss that!

All in all, it was a succesful weekend, even if I didn't get in enough blog reading time.

Oct 15, 2008

RANDOM THINGS ABOUT HALLOWEEN...and me. Of course.

Since I've been so whiny lately, here a post completely free of anything pathetic. (Ok, probably the WHOLE post is pathetic, but you know what I mean.)

When I was 13-ish I dressed up like a carton of strawberry milk. It was my favorite costume of ALLLLLL time. That was also the year that I went trick-or-treating (yes, at age 13) to Donny Osmond's house. Except that Donny didn't answer the door and I'm not even sure which house was his exactly.

EXCEPT that one time I did actually see Donny Osmond walking down the street after a parade in Provo. And then my friend (who my little sister thought looked like a white Tiger Woods, which is totally irrelevant to what I'm saying, but I thought you should still know) said, "Hey, it's your boyfriend" and pointed at Donny. And then I was like, "What? That old dude?! Gross." And then he had to tell me who it was. Because obviously I'm not of the Osmond loving generation.

When I went trick-or-treating as a kid I was always afraid that someone was going to give me a piece of candy with a razor in it. That's what everyone kept saying - "Have your parents check your candy!! AAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!" And I listened, but my parents never wanted to check it. So I am really quite surprised that I lived through so many Halloweens without choking on a blade of some kind.

My mom made a skeleton out of old milk cartons and we hung it in our house for YEARS AND YEARS. We have a lot of pictures next to that thing. Also we would put flavored tootsie rolls in his "pelvis." Which reminds me, I hate the vanilla tootsie rolls. I don't even know why they exist - because no one checked with me on this.

When I was in 6th grade we would have "sock hops" during school. I dressed up like a mime for the Halloween one. And I asked a boy named Will Moser to dance. Will Moser, if you are reading this, the mime had a crush on you in 6th grade.

I am supposed to be sewing Halloween costumes at THIS VERY MOMENT. But I don't want to. Which is really going to bite me in the butt tomorrow evening when we have the "NICU Reunion Halloween Bash" and no one's costume is ready.

Which reminds me of one more Halloween-y thing.

We got an invitation a few days ago to my sister in-law's Halloween party. They're having it at their house which they refer to (on the invitation) as "The Newby House of Terror." I really like my sister in-law, but I have now vowed to refer to their house as nothing but THE NEWBY HOUSE OF TERROR. I really hope this one sticks with the kids.

Oct 14, 2008

little pieces of my heart will be for sale at D.I.

I have this thing about my kids clothes. The thing is, I LIKE BUYING THEM CLOTHES. I get in trouble frequently for this. It's just that the old ones get so boring after awhile. And I hate it when the really cheap clothes look like poop after washing them a couple of times.

Luckily, I live in a city that has outlet stores. I love outlet stores (and Ebay!) Alot of the time you can find higher quality clothes for Walmart prices so how could I NOT buy them? It would be like wasting money for me NOT to get a couple $4 shirts at OshKosh. Right? RIGHT?!!

The problem is - we have tiny closets. Miniature, puny, ridiculous, TINY closets. The other problem is - I have saved EVERYTHING. Not only are the kids' closets chuck full of stuff, but we have multiple rubbermaid bins in our garage full of baby clothes they've all grown out of.

Also, we may not be having any more children. And I say "may not" because if I say "for sure not" someone will have to come mop me up, because I will be laying in a puddle of my own tears under my desk.

So it was time to get rid of all the baby clothes. (And the clothes the kids don't wear that are still hanging out in their closets.) I have spent the ENTIRE day going through clothes. Literally. Ok, I had to also take care of my children a couple of times...like in between Dora movies and stuff. But other than that ALL DAY.

The kids closets are now reasonable, and the rubbermaid binS are now down to ONE. But I have to say that it was HOOOOOOORRRRRRRIIIIIBBBBBBBBBBBBLLLEE.

I looked at every baby sleeper, and little dress, and the 52 blue onesies with puppies or footballs, remembering each of my chubby little babies in them. And every time I put one of thosebaby outfits into the D.I. pile a piece of my heart went with it. And we really had a LOT of clothes - - that's a lot of little pieces of heart that will be selling at D.I.

They better go to good homes.

Yeah, I'm definitely not saying that we will have no more babies. Even just typing that makes me all sad inside. Someone better get a mop....

why i send my kids to school

In the spirit of Columbus Day -yes, there's a spirit about it, can't you feel it?- I thought I would teach Curly and Screamer all about Columbus and his discoveries. And then they could go to their preschool and kindergarten class and when the teacher asks, "Who knows who Columbus is?" they could raise their little chubby hands and look supremely intelligent and tell everyone that I had taught them. And then their teachers would say, "Your mother is SOOOO wonderful and amazing and SUPER SUPER SMART!!" And then someone would probably write a song about me....or something. I'm not sure - I hadn't planned it beyond the adoring praises. But I knew that it was going to be awesome.

Except that I couldn't really remember what Columbus did.

Because, clearly, I am a horrible horrible person with no regard for history. And I also have a really bad memory. And because I probably haven't thought about Columbus since my own days in Elementary School.

I did take an AP History class in high school and didn't totally flunk out. Actually the teacher had this thing for well written essays, and I just happened to write excellent high school level essays, so I did manage an A in there. But when it came time for the AP test, the one where you can get college credit, there was no magic essay writing abilities that were going to get me through that thing. Ugh.

But I had to tell my kids something about Columbus, so I told them that he was the one that proved that the world was round and not flat. And then we went into great detail about how Earth is like a ball spinning through outerspace (it also helped that we had just watched a cartoon on this very subject over the weekend.)

So see, it was a science lesson. History, shmistory.

And I sure hope that their teachers atleast mentioned something about how he discovered the Americas, so that my kids don't remember my lame attempt at a lesson. And SEE, I do really know what Columbus did (once Husband reminded me of the details.)

Oct 12, 2008

THE WIPES HAVE BEEN FOUND

Someone with small mischevious hands had shoved them WAAAAAAAY behind the toy box.

Go figure.

Oh, and I haven't cried today - but I'm not wearing socks...

Oct 11, 2008

i'm losing it (in more ways than one)

We can't find it. Half of one of those huge wipe refill packages has vanished. What kind of moron can lose a huge bag of wet wipes? Well, apparently me.

Hi, my name is Melissa - I am a moron.

It has probably retreated to the same hiding place as the 256 binkies we have lost. And I sure hope that the little plastic thingies from our sippy cup lids -that used to keep them from spilling- are keeping the newly escaped bag of wipes company. Because we certainly wouldn't want it to feel in any way saddened or guilty for TOTALLY ditching us in our time of need (ie. a leaking, poop filled diaper.)

You know, it would be one thing if we had taken it out of the house and then lost it. It the wide wide world of who knows where. But no - it never left the house.

WHERE COULD IT BE? I'm actually quite annoyed.

But then again it doesn't take much to annoy me these days. You know how a little while ago I said I was feeling moody? Yeah, well, apparently it's a prolonged moodiness. Which, from all points of view, is stinking LOVELY.

Husband just left to go to the store for more wipes. WHATEVER. He probably hid the wipes ON PURPOSE just so he could leave. What's wrong Husband, you can't handle a LITTLE MOODINESS? (That just happens to be lasting for weeks on end.)

I think it has something to do with our decision to not get pregnant again. Not that the actual decision is bothering me (because HELLO, the kids I have are driving me CRAAAAAAZY) but because of the thing required to keep me from getting pregnant. You know.....the THING.

For dinner we went to Carl's Jr. to let the kids run around their ginormous playland for awhile. And also because I hate making dinner. I witnessed Curly waiting for Screamer to catch up in his climbing so that they could go down the slide together (she knows that Screamer is still new to the whole "I think slides are ok" thing.)

I was so happily proud of Curly that I started to cry. IN THE CARL'S JR. PLAYLAND AREA (which smelled like feet, by the way.) It was so embarrassing. So then I hurried and wiped my eyes and told Husband that I had accidentally rubbed fry sauce in my eye and that's why they were watering. It's a good thing I'm a total liar, and also that my husband is particularly unobservant.

I don't know what is up with my crying lately. If my kids are cute, I cry. If Husband doesn't say that he absolutely adores everything that I do, I cry. If I see a puppy, or a monkey, or a really cute pair of socks, I cry. I cried 3 times yesterday. 3 TIMES. And I am SO NOT OK WITH CRYING. It should never happen. It totally ruins my mascara. And also my nose automatically turns scarlet after the first tear and a half escapes. But mainly because I. JUST. DON'T. CRY. EVER.

So if someone wants to let me know where my half package of wipes are hiding, or if you want to PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE tell me that the thing will eventually ease off of my tear ducts so I can actually feel like looking at those really cute socks without making up some lame fry sauce in my eye excuse, I would really appreciate it.

Oct 10, 2008

apparently those little web crawler thingies actually do read your website

So I just signed up with Adsense and got my first ad. PARTEEEE. Funny though because the first ad I get is for M&M's.

Does this shock anyone?!

REALLY.

Oct 9, 2008

hair in a box and some other stuff

Last night I dyed my hair red. Because if there's one majorly important lesson my mother taught me it is: There is nothing wrong with hair from a box, even if it comes from ShopKo and was on sale.

Apparently my sisters didn't pick up on this lesson because they both have professionals do their hair. They don't even go to Super Cuts, but to actual hair people that probably went to the same school as the people who work at Super Cuts.

I'm fine with hair in a box (it doesn't even have to be from ShopKo.)

Also I think that I will look 40 pounds lighter if my hair is red. That's the theory, right? (This is where you lie and say you absolutely know that theory, and holy cow I look practically anorexic with my new hair color.)

When I really do get skinny (sure, that will happen) my reward is getting to dye my hair black. It was black in college, I also had a fabulous tan. I was the envy of everyone -or maybe a couple people -or maybe just that one girl who was seriously delusional, which explains the enviousness.

So I got my M&M's newsletter (I'm not kidding, they really have one, and being addicted to the little chocolate morsels like I am it's practically a given that I'll subscribe to an M&M's newsletter - sheesh, who did you think you were talking to here?) M&M's is having a halloween giveaway thingy where you can win $100,000,000.

But you have to enter a UPC code to play it everyday. Upon finding out this information I was almost bummed. Because I didn't have a bag of M&M's in the house. But then within 2.7 minutes I successfully rounded up 3 empty M&M packages, so now I have 3 days to play the giveaway game.

I would be embarrassed that I actually had that many empty M&M packages just laying around, but when this addiction pays off in the form of a million dollars I am going to buy a swimming pool, fill it to the top with M&M's, and swim in it. And then I'm really going to have a lot of empty wrappers, so these 3 are going to seem like nothing.

I bathed my kids this morning. I drew a picture about it.

Oct 8, 2008

you must do exactly as i say

So I just started my 4th blog - because I take the title of this blog very seriously, and I'm sure that EVERYONE, EVERYWHERE, can't get enough of me either.

Anyways, it's an arty blog. Because I am an arty person.

And now you all must go to my new blog and leave a comment on my very first post and tell me how stinkin' worthwhile my new blog and my WHOLE LIFE is. Also you could send me some money. $500 from each of you should be enough. Well, maybe not. But it's a start.

Now go HERE

Thank you.

bumper stickers

I'm a Foxtrot FANATIC! Ok, not really. I wouldn't be able to do the foxtrot if I had 20 years worth of lessons, or even if they put me on Dancing With the Stars and I had a bubble butted foxtrotting expert of a partner. I have the coordination of a newborn duck. It's a known fact (which you would know, if you ever saw me try to dance.)

But I know there is a foxtrot fanatic somewhere in my great city, because I saw him driving around the other day. And I know this about him because his license plate cover that told me so.

As I sat stuck behind the fanatic for 4 red lights (in a row- it was cruel.) I was thinking about license plate covers and bumper stickers, and then I was thinking about WHY people have license plate covers and bumper stickers. Do people really think that we as a society actually CARE enough to know that you like to foxtrot?

Or what about those mega sports fans who have plastered their car with paraphenelia from a team across the country - you look like a doofus. Especially when there is a closer-by team that has mega fans that would probably like to flip your car over or something that mega sport fans actually do to their rivals (I was just guessing, I'm not really sure what they would do, but I saw that on a movie once.)

The only ones that I kind of get are the honor student bumper stickers. But only because of the pride it would give your child. But then, a couple years after you slap it on your bumper, you go to sell that car and can't get the stupid sticker off. And the person wanting to buy your car doesn't actually have a student at St. Steve's Catholic Middle School for Boys (total fake school name) so then they don't buy your car. So that's why I still would never put an honor student bumper sticker on my car.

I think it is also really stupid to put an election sticker on your car. Elections only last so long, people. Imagine driving around in a car with a "Ross Perot Election '96" tattooed on your bumper. That's just embarrassing.

But the worst is when someone has covered their car in offensive and rude stickers. And it's almost impossible to stop at a red light and NOT read the car in front of you when they're so brightly displayed. Usually I read one, totally regret it, and then try to avert my eyes (usually to the light where I think "turn green....turn green...turn green..." over and over until my Matilda like powers kick in and the light actually turns green. It's really great to have super powers, I just wish they were more useful, you know, like flying, or super strength, but hey atleast I can eventually turn lights green, right?)

So here's my question: When sticking a license plate cover or sticker on your car, do you feel empowered? Do you think, "I cannot live another day unless I inform the world that I like to foxtrot?" Do you really think that I care?! Because I don't, and I don't think the person in the car next to me does either.

(And when I say "you" I don't necessarily mean YOU, I mean it in a general term referring to those who actually do this, which could be you, I don't know, and even if I like you, I probably still don't like your bumper stickers, sorry, but feel free to put them on anyway, you know, it's a free country, and God gave us free agency, which gives me the right to not like bumper stickers and still like you.)

Oct 4, 2008

the psychic properties of an oreo

You know how they say that if you ask an Oreo a yes or no question, and then open it up, it will tell you the answer to your question based on if the filling all stayed on one side or not?

This is COMPLETELY TRUE. It has been proven, but I'm not citing any studies because they are all very top secret and on a need to know basis. I will tell you what you need to know.

For those of you who have never heard of the amazing psychic abilities of the Oreo, if it opens with all the filling on one side that's a yes. If the filling is on both sides, it's a big fat no. And I'd like to throw in my expert opinion and say that if you break the cookie while twisting it apart, but still manage to keep the filling on one side, then it's a much weaker yes. Like a "Well, probably, but don't put all your money on horse 11 just yet" kind of thing.

And even though I can't cite those secret, totally legit, studies, I can give you my version on why I believe that Oreos are comparable to one of the old wise men that live at the top of high mountains that people will climb to ask important questions - except it's way easier to buy a bag of double stuff (which is good because I don't like climbing mountains.)

When I was in college, back in my skinny days - yes, I was HOT, ok, just hotter than now- all of my roommates were getting married. And all of my ward friends were getting married. And all of my classmates were getting married. No, I didn't go to BYU, but I was still in Utah, so that marriage thing was just ALL OVER THE PLACE.

Once I went into tithing settlement and I was expecting just the usual questions like, "Is this a full tithe?" But my Bishop started off with, "So, who are you dating? Are you engaged yet?" I think he was really disappointed that I wasn't seriously dating anyone. Maybe I was ruining a personal goal of his to marry off the ENTIRE ward before the end of the year.

Since everyone else was getting married I felt really left out. And I wondered what was wrong with me, because I was hot (ok, hotter than now) and I knew that any guy could see that I clearly didn't have kankles or a mustache but that I could probably pop a lot of kids out of my curvaceous hips (which turned out to be totally un-true by the way; curvy hips yes, popping out no, c-sections u-huh, and still no kankles or mustache thank goodness.)

So I started doing that thing where I talked to every guy I saw. EVERY GUY. If they were in my line of vision or anywhere within shouting distance I was ready to flirt. And back then I could flirt - my roommates taught me the fine art of flirting. I was ready, I could flirt and I could flirt well.

It's too bad though, because all of that flirting had responses like, "Do you want a tictac or piece of gum or something?" or "Nice to meet you, but I'm engaged." or with just one of those looks that deer get right before they are smashed into by a semi on the freeway.

Then I started wondering what really was wrong with me (and I started carrying around tictacs.) I was even going to the college gym regularly in those days, and attempted the skanky attention getting work-out top a few times....ok, I really didn't, but once this old dude in tiny shorts came and hit on me and I told him to get lost - in a not very nice way - and then he laughed and kept hitting on me. And I thought, "Am I really so desperate looking that this 35 year old man in adolescent sized shorts thinks I could possibly be interested?!!"

It was really exasperating.

Then one evening my roommate introduced a bag of Oreos. (You thought I forgot that this was supposed to be about Oreos didn't you?)

Of course my roommate's Oreo question was, "Should I marry Rick, Adam or Ryan....oh, or Steven?" But with a new Oreo each time, since it's only a yes or no thing. She ate a lot of Oreos that night, but thankfully it pointed to the right fiance.

As for me - after successfully breaking 7 Oreos on the question "Will I ever get married?" I finally switched my question to, "Will I meet my future husband tomorrow?" And guess what? The cleanest easiest opening of an Oreo ever committed by human hands. It was a definite yes.

So I went to bed right away so that I could wake up early and primp like I've never primped in my life. I shaved every stray hair off of my legs in the shower (even those little ones that hide in your knee pit where you really shouldn't have hair but they sometimes pop up and then you notice later when you're completely helpless.) My curled and gelled hair was perfect, I had on 17 layers of mascara and I was wearing my baggiest, yet best butt-reducing, pair of jeans I owned. (I was a huge fan of baggy jeans in those days.)

All day long I was looking around every corner for my future husband just waiting for the magic to happen.

All day.

It was past noon...

Evening, and then it was getting dark...

I was beginning to doubt my Oreo prediction.

And then it happened.

I was leaving the computer lab (a magical location, I know.) This lab was huge and so many people used it on a daily basis that I knew it was pretty much my last chance. But after sitting there for 4 hours I was ready to call it quits. So I ducked my head and started rushing to the exit.

As I was speed walking past one of the occupied computers, the occupant decided to push back their chair with tremendous force. Especially for such a tiny, pushy girl - her chair flew into me. And then Newton's first law of motion kicked in and my inertia was directed in a whole direction.

And I landed in his lap. Perfectly into his lap. Not kidding. That chair hit me so hard that I stumbled two steps sideways and plopped into unsuspecting future husband's lap.

It would have been a bit more romantic had I not accidentally hit escape with one elbow completely erasing his 10 page essay while making a huge swiping motion with my other arm giving him a bloody lip while falling into his lap (where he was holding an opened package of Cheetos.) And then little chair pusher girl gave me a beyond angry look like the whole thing was my fault. Or possibly she was jealous. Whatever.

Anyways, the details after that are unimportant because obviously the predicting power of Oreos has been proven. And now you don't need to know about the real studies, because what more could you need to know?

Well, maybe you should know that my whole story was a COMPLETE LIE.

Not all of it I guess. I was hotter in college. There were lots of people getting married, and that part about tithing settlement and the tiny shorts man at the gym were completely true. Oh, and my roommates and I really liked to ask Oreos questions. And I ate some Oreos tonight - but it would have been pretty boring if I had just said, "I ate Oreos tonight."

Also, the TRUE story of how I met my husband MIGHT be in the "Sometimes Life is Funny" book if Sue ever let's me know if any of my submissions were good enough to make the cut. And if not, I'll post it here. It involves chest high waders - it's totally worth reading.

Oct 1, 2008

like a big rock that's not micheal phelps

Last night my mom and I decided to start our own diet competition. Kind of like our own little weight watchers, but without any actual weighing in. Because no one is allowed to know how much I weigh. So don't even ask. (I lied on my drivers license, I will lie to you too!!)

We're going to be keeping track of our scores on a point system. Basically, if we follow our diet for the day, 1 point. For every half hour of exercise, 1 point. And the person with the most points at the end of a month picks something for the other person to do (that they obviously don't want to do themselves- it's still a little fuzzy with the whole reward/punishment part.) But the points are simple enough, right? This should be fun, right? And think about how much weight I'll lose while I'm having that simple fun, right?

WROOOOOOOOOONG!!!!!!

I'm going to fail like a big failing rock that has sunk to the bottom of a wide nasty river because it thought it could swim like Micheal Phelps. Silly silly rock, you will sink. And I will FAIL.

I've found that my weight loss has to be a completely non-pressure deal. Because basically, when there's pressure I eat. So if I'm pressuring myself not to eat, what do I do then? Scream. A lot. And maybe jump off a bridge (where I can once again use the big sinking rock analogy.) I just can't handle it.

Over the past couple weeks I have un-pressured 6 pounds off. And then over the past two days there was pressure (remember, no Disneyland?) So I have pressured a couple back on. And then my mom suggested our fun and simple competition, and what happened? I turned straight to the tortilla chips and chocolate frosting. (Not together, eewww.)

And that's why I will fail.

My plan was to keep tricking myself into weight loss, and then wear over sized sweatshirts all winter long. That way, in the spring, when I start wearing t-shirts again people can go, "Woah, wasn't she fat?" Because that way if I did fail (which was likely, because come on, what a great plan...) no one would know that I was actually trying to lose weight and I'd still just be fat. No pressure.

So maybe when my mom has gotten about 4,523,962 points, and I only have 3, we can quit our little contest and I can go back to my original plan. Or I can just keep eating that chocolate frosting. We'll see.

Oh, and my diet, which really isn't a "diet" because that words automatically inserts a brownie into my mouth, is going to be: if I feel like I haven't totally engorged myself today, I get a point. And my exercise (since I have absolutely no time to spend at the gym and I'm competing against someone who has a Curves membership - CURVES, people) I'm going to count each time I run up and down the stairs as a minute of workout time. It doesn't really take me that long to go up and down, but I want the points. And I know I go up and down at least 30 times a day. And maybe getting on the floor to change diapers should also give me some points, because boy do I ever do a lot of that.

So here we go diet competition....let's just get the losing over with.