Ten Ways I Do Not Want to Die

1. Cut up with an axe

2. Impaled on a spike (or really impaled on anything)

3. Removal of limbs by force

4. Slowly poisoned by someone with Münchausen by proxy

5. Eaten by iguanas

6. Roasted on a spit (impaled on a spit)

7. Spit on*

8. Avada Kedavra’d

9. Sharks

10. Trapped in something


* Possibly not life-threatening.

The most dangerous thing I've done this year. So far.

I'm not a winter sports kind of girl. Actually, I abhor the snow with everything in me.

Snow=stupid and I hate it

So you'd think I wouldn't be an ideal candidate for snowmobiling, excuse me, sledding.

When I think of a sled, I think of something like this:

But apparently, people from up here in the frigidness of Utah call these suckers "sleds":

Whatever.

Anyway, I went sledding with a couple of my favorite guys this weekend.

This one:

And this one:

And this is me on a sled:

And it was pretty cool.

That is all.

I'm trying to figure out my favorite part of yesterday.

Was it:

. . . when Liz, during Relief Society announcements, mentioned that I could really use a date?

. . . when I sat right next to the bishopric in ward council ergo they heard every snarky comment I made during the meeting?

. . . when I volunteered to be the CPR dummy for the Elders Quorum first aid training?

. . .when I spilled a 32-oz Diet Dr Pepper on my laptop and it still works?

. . . when I flipped off my roommate right in front of the home teachers?

. . .when Liz and I sang jubilantly and in unison, “I love dem swine, they is dee-vine, I love dem pigs, they make me want to dance a jig, la-lah!” to the bewilderment of everyone else in the room?




I love that movie! My favorite lines are from that same farmer: “Blue? You et Blue? Tommy, get your friends out of here!” Later, to wife: “Honey, I got some bad news. Ol’ Blue’s dead. Some nasty little boy down the road et him for Christmas.”

I'm laughing so hard right now. Crazy woman at her desk.

Oh, man. Cheesy Movie Sunday Night may be my very favorite thing on earth. It combines some of the best things ever: my roommates (shucks, I kinda like you girls), junk food, and horrendously hokey filmmaking. Anyone interested in joining us? I think next week we’re planning Anxiously Engaged, although I’m still pulling for The Buttercream Gang. (“You never once asked what happened to me in Chicago! You never once asked me!”)

All Because of a Really Long Meeting

I really wanted to leave at 5 today. I know it seems unlikely but it was my goal. This morning I made a list of everything I needed to get done today so I would be sure to leave by 5. I even crossed things off my list as I did them.

Well, it's 5 and . . . .

Yeah.

Guess who'll be working tomorrow!

All About Matt

My youngest brother is Matthew Jon Raynor. He is 6-and-a-half.

Matt is the youngest of the Raynor clan, coming in at number 10. Matt is very good at soccer and running. On the way home, he likes to get out of Mom's minivan at the end of the block and race the family home. Matt is also the best Wii bowler in the house! Matt likes to read, do math and play video games. His favorite books are Captain Underpants (?) and books about animals, especially sharks. Matt loves the color green and likes frogs. His best friends are Ben and Ian. Matt is very funny and loves to crack jokes and make people laugh. His family calls him "little rascal" because he is always so silly.
My dad's favorite thing about Matt is that he is always smiling. My mom's favorite thing about Matt is how tender-hearted he is and that he always tells people he loves them. My favorite thing about Matt is that he's so tasty!

One day I was talking to my mom on the phone when Matt rushed in and demanded to know who on earth his mother was talking to for so long.

"It's Kimmy," she replied.

"Oh, yes! My favorite sister!" Matt shouted.

Matt, we all love you so much!

At least the girl was hot.

I caught a matinee of Knowing yesterday and I just have two questions:

1. Is Nicolas Cage on drugs? No one can be clean and still look that weird.

2. Does Nicolas Cage teach an acting class titled "How to be really creepy in every scene"?




I would also ask, "What is an MIT professor doing driving that huge truck?" but then the rest of the movie was weirder by far and his vehicle doesn't seem that important anymore.

I can't really recommend this movie because I don't want everyone to think I have horrible taste in movies but if you have seen it, call me because I want to talk about it with someone. Like about that tree in the end. And the rocks. And the whisper people's progenitive abilities.


In other news, I had a tortilla chip yesterday in the exact shape of Virginia. It was pretty cool.

TMI Tuesday

Welcome to another installment of Too Much Information Tuesday! (Yeah, yeah, I know it's Wednesday but I didn't have time to do it yesterday and anyway it's my blog so suck it.)

Today's TMI item: When I'm kissed, I mean really kissed, I let out a barely audible little moan.

"Hmmm."

I never realized it until someone pointed it out to me a few years ago. I covered my face, absolutely mortified. "No, no," he assured me, "I think it's really cute!"

So although kissing opportunities for me have become rather, ahem, scarce lately, I'm still banking that it's cute and not at all weird. Do you agree?

This TMI Tuesday has been brought to you by My Parents Totally Read My Blog. Awesome.

Sarcasm: the gift that keeps on giving

I either need to:
a) stop saying sarcastic things (Yeah, like that's gonna happen.) or
b) stop saying sarcastic things around young children. Because children repeat everything you say. Over and over and over.

All I'm saying is I probably shouldn't have called the UPS guy a "flippin' genius" for leaving my boxes out in the snow yesterday because that has become the insult du jour around these parts.

Wonderful.

Things That Make My Life Easier

1. My big tough SUV. This is nice for when someone slides into my bumper on snowy mornings, like what happened today, and I am hardly jostled. White Rhino practically shivered with pride when the guy apologized profusely and I responded in my grittiest, tough-guy voice, "It's no prob, man. She can handle it," while patting her on the backside.

2. The fraud department at JP Morgan Chase who caught some joker using my credit card information (!), stopped him and then fixed the problem on my account and then helped me terminate the card and get a new card, all the while assuring me that it was all going to be okay and I wouldn't even be affected by it and that, yes, the credit card stealer was a very big meanie-head and he shouldn't do things like that to nice girls like me.

3. The IT guy here at work who, after telling me my entire account was lost (meaning all my work was gone, vamoose, disappeared) fixed the problem and found all my files. For this, he secured a handsome hug from me, plenty of adoration—my hero!—and I might have even pledged my everlasting love to him, although I'm not sure about that last part. Oh, and also I should back-up my work, whatever that means.

Love these things today! What's made your life easier?

Something I Saw

While hiking on Saturday, I stepped off the trail to allow a mountain biker to pass. As he passed, I noted the rider wasn't on a mountain bike at all. He was on a mountain . . . unicycle?

I had my journal with me and jotted down, "I just saw a guy riding a unicycle in the mountains. Is that odd? I don't know anymore."

First Hike of Spring

I couldn't stand to be inside yesterday so I headed up Big Cottonwood for a hike. It was a gorgeous, gorgeous day!

Do you see that sky? I also got some great shots of the landscape:

Shut-up. These are gonna look awesome on my Facebook page.

It was so peaceful up there. Just me and the trees and the earth and the wind.

Oh, how happy I could be--ever in the springtime mountains!

I can't get enough of you, baby.

I love the sun! It's so beautiful outside today.

I slipped out of my bomb shelter of an office (no window!) to soak in some rays for about an hour this afternoon. I swear, give me a book, an apple and a sunny day and you've just given me the best lunch break of all time. I came back to work drunk with Vitamin D and excitedly showed my co-worker my very first sunburn of the season! (Okay, it'll probably be gone by tomorrow, but I'm still excited about it.)

I know I'm not going to get anything done this weekend; I'll be outside! Anyone up for a hike tomorrow?

Try This!

Here's a new game I invented at work this week: try incorporating lines from Chicago songs into everyday conversations without anyone noticing.

It's a blast and a half.

I actually slipped in a "two hearts drawn together bound by destiny" yesterday and no one batted an eye.

What can you get away with?

Sneezing Antidote

Sorry, did I say antidote? I meant anecdote. Here is a sneezing anecdote.

I have seasonal allergies (Yes, yes, not only am I so nerdy it hurts, I also have asthma and allergies. I could not be less cool if I tried.) so spring through fall, I'm hopped up on all kinds of allergy remedies. Occasionally, though, the odd sneeze will sneak on through. Oh, and the sniffling. Don’t forget that. And the post-nasal drip. Yep, and the sinus pressure. Wow. I am so attractive right now. I can see you guys sitting there thinking, "More like post-nasal sexy!" Don't even deny it.

So on to the anecdote! This one is by far the most humiliating sneeze in my life to date.

Scene: Mrs. Jenkins' third-grade class, O. Henry Elementary School, Garland, Texas.

I was the lucky girl in class who got to sit by Brandon. Oh, Brandon was the cutest boy in the whole grade, possibly even the whole universe. And I, little ol’ me, got to sit by him every day.

Never mind that Jason sat on my other side. Yeah, Jason. The chubby kid who picked his nose and smelled like pee. But I didn’t look over Jason’s way. I only had eyes for Brandon. He had blond, curly hair and I thought he was beautiful. And he was the class clown. You know my weakness for a man who can make me laugh. He was everything my eight-year-old self could dream of.

One day during independent work time, I felt that familiar tickle. I turned my head slightly and prepared for a small, ladylike ach-oo. The sneeze came and I realized in horror that by turning my head, I had lined up my nostrils right at Brandon. He yelped loudly as a little bundle of, ahem, sneeze-residue hit him square in the middle of his Sideout t-shirt. He stomped off to the Kleenex box at the front of the room as Mrs. Jenkins yelled, "Sit down, Brandon!"

He hollered back, "Well, I can’t because she sneezed on me!" My face burned with shame.

"She" he called me.

I had no name now. I was just the girl who sneezed on him. I was worse than Jason. At least Jason just played with his own mucus. He didn’t shoot it at innocent people. Especially not at the cutest boy in class.

We were dismissed for recess and I lagged behind, dreading making eye contact with any of my peers. Soon it would be all over the school: Kim Raynor snotted on Brandon Curtis.

The thirty-five minutes of recess were hell as I imagined what would happen when we returned to class. Everyone would be whispering and pointing at me. Mrs. Jenkins would probably make me sit in the back. All alone, so as not to contaminate any more students. She might write a note to my parents asking if they would please talk to me about sneezing on people. What if she thought it was a deliberate attack on a classmate? I might get detention!

The whistle sounded and we filed back into class. I laid my forehead against the coolness of my desk and promised myself I would not cry if Mrs. Jenkins made me get up and apologize to the whole class for causing a disruption like Richard did when he had to say sorry for saying a swear during Spelling the week before.

Mrs. Jenkins cleared her throat at the front of the room. I clamped my eyes shut and waited. "Okay," she began, "We're going to continue with Reading until lunch."

I looked up, confused. No backlash for the girl who sneezes on people? No one stealing furtive looks back at me? I looked at Brandon. He asked what page we were on. He didn’t hate me! I didn’t have to change schools! I’ve never felt relief so complete in my life.

Still looking for a sneezing antidote? Try putting Tabasco-soaked cotton balls in your nostrils. That should clear it up. You’re welcome.

Comfort Combo

Yesterday was a wretched day. Just an awful, awful day. I drove home last night blinking back tears and severely longing for my mom who always makes everything all better. Unfortunately, Mom lives some 2000 miles away. So next best thing on a terrible day is to curl up in fetal position in bed and feel sorry for myself. HOWEVER, I am an adult and resort to fetal-curling only in the most necessary of circumstances, like when it's snowing. I guess the only thing left to do if Mom and fetal position are off the table is comfort food.

Ah, yes. Here it is:
I usually have these in sandwich form, but I didn't want all those carbs to get in the way of my enjoyment of the fat and sodium so I had it hors d'oeuvres-style: the pb smeared right on the pickle. Mmm. So yummy. Oh, and mustn't forget the beverage: a tall cold glass of milk.


Oh, that's much better.

It's almost as if Mom was here after all.

Dear Mom and Dad, please don't read this post, ok? Thanks! Love, Kim

I read an article today about the effects cuddling and kissing have on stress. Apparently, closeness reduces the levels of stress hormones in the body, improves your mood, lowers your blood pressure, and can actually make you live longer. (Read the whole article here.)

Where am I going with this?

Well, just that a lot of people have been stressed lately, you know, the economy and all and, uh, I just thought . . . well, if any of you guys needed to calm down a little, you know, I, um, I'd like to help out and, uh, I'm not really doing anything tonight, so . . .




Hang on. Did I just booty-call the Internet?

We're gonna make it, folks!

I feel like a kid who's been grounded for months and is finally free! I really did not know if I was going to make one more day of cold weather. Yeah, yeah, I hear you Utah-natives saying, "Oh the 40s and 50s aren't that cold."

Uh, actually they are. That's why everyone wears coats, Einstein.

But now . . . glorious, glorious 60s and--oh!--do you see that weekend? (Okay, don't pay attention to Sunday and especially don't pay attention to that nasty little bugger hanging off Sunday's cloud. I'm hoping ignorance and denial will change the weather's course.)


Yesterday I drove home from work (Oh, did I mention it's actually light outside when I go to and from work? I'm not living in total darkness anymore!) with all the windows down and Augustana playing a little too loudly.

I know this weather is just a teaser and we have more snowy, cold days ahead of us, but it's just enough. Just enough of a promise. Just enough to instill hope in winter-beaten me.

Aah, I love spring.

Rang Barse and a Very Special Lesson

Saturday night found Jake (the nephew), Karen, Gretch and me up on the University of Utah campus celebrating Indian culture. (Like Gandhi-Indian, not Pocahontas-Indian) The Indian Students Association at the U organized India Night to celebrate Rang Barse. Rang Barse, as I found out from an Indian couple sitting nearby, means “color spread” or “color scatter.” In Indian culture, this festival’s purpose is to eradicate demons or evil by spreading color (which, my new friends told me, suggests Indian culture or life).

The festival consisted of music, traditional fashions, dancing, and food. The event was catered by Ganesh and was drop-down-flippin’ delicious. We were served onion pakora, nan, paneer curry, dal, veg biryani, and gulab jamun for dessert. I’ll admit that after they put everything on my plate, I had no clue which item was which but it was all good.

On the drive home, I asked Jake what he found most interesting about the evening.

“The very colorful clothes,” he told me.

He then asked why some of the men were wearing “those round hats.”

I grinned as I seized upon this perfect opportunity to teach diversity and acceptance. I explained that some of the men wear turbans because it’s very special to them and reminds them of their religion or culture. I likened it to Jake wearing a CTR ring which is special and reminds him to do the right thing. I stressed how everyone all over the world wears different clothes and eats different food and likes different things and that’s okay. I told him that we can all be friends, even if we look or act or sound differently because we are all very special people. I looked back to Jake in his carseat to see the enlightened look in his eyes as the meaning of my spiel was understood.

“Look,” he squealed with delight, pointing out the window, “See that big, funny truck?”

Ah, well. We’ll save cultural tolerance for another day.

Childhood Memories

Today’s sunny sky is making me long for warm weather. To feel more summery, I’ve been listening to The Beach Boys in my office all morning. Listening to The Beach Boys always makes me want to clean my house.

Growing up, we had Saturday morning chores: a parent-imposed prerequisite to anything fun. Mom would list the jobs for the day in a spiral notebook and leave the list on the kitchen table. It paid to get up early on Saturdays! The most coveted chores (dusting, cleaning windows, vacuuming) were always snatched up quickly, leaving the late-risers with less desirable tasks like bathrooms, weeding the garden (in summer) or raking leaves (in the fall). Mom would turn on her favorite music during chore-time, although I don’t know if that was to encourage an upbeat attitude in us kids or to drown out the moaning of the poor soul who got stuck with mopping the kitchen (by far the worst assignment ever). I remember the stereo in the kitchen pumping Beach Boys almost every Saturday but sometimes we mixed it up with Dallas’ own 98.7 KLUV “Good times and the best oldies.” Man, that station provided the soundtrack to 90% of my childhood.

I think I should re-institute Saturday morning chores for myself. Then maybe I wouldn’t have nightmares about the towering monolith of laundry in the corner of my room coming to life and attacking me as I sleep.

In other news, did anyone else play Commander Keen as a kid? And was it not the best thing ever?

Cloud Illusions

I've been listening to a lot of Joni Mitchell lately which is odd because I'm not a middle-aged housewife.

Would you like to know details about my personality? You would? Alrighty.

I'm 45% white, 30% yellow and 25% blue. No red, though. (But you probably already knew that.) What color are you?

From the Color Code website:

The Color Code introduces the following four personality Colors, or driving Core Motives:

RED (Motive: POWER)—These are the power wielders. Power, the ability to move from point A to point B, and get things done is what motivates and drives these people. They bring great gifts of vision and leadership and generally are responsible, decisive, proactive and assertive.

BLUE (Motive: INTIMACY)—These are the do-gooders. Intimacy, connecting, creating quality relationships and having purpose is what motivates and drives these people. They bring great gifts of quality and service and are generally loyal, sincere, and thoughtful.

WHITE (Motive: PEACE)—These are the peacekeepers. Peace, or the absence of conflict, is what motivates and drives these people. They bring great gifts of clarity and tolerance and are generally kind, adaptable, good-listeners.

YELLOW (Motive: FUN)—These are the fun lovers. Fun, or the joy of doing something just for the sake of doing it, is what motivates and drives these people. They bring great gifts of enthusiasm and optimism and are generally charismatic, spontaneous, and sociable.

Yes, the Governor DOES read my blog.

I'm a letter writer. When I feel strongly about a certain issue or bill (how many of you just started singing, "I'm just a bill. Yes I'm only a bill"?) I write to the folks in charge to make my feelings known.

Huntsman, did you get that letter I sent about HB31? 'Cause I wasn't kidding.

Today I wrote a letter to Wrigley--you know, the gum people--because I have an idea. I love Orbit gum and I really like it in the Big-E-Paks. You've seen these, yeah? They're awesome. They have 60 pieces in a little sturdy container you can put just about anywhere. Well, anywhere you'd like fresh breath! *cue cheesy smile*

This is the kind I like:

Well, those containers are great . . . until you run out of gum because you have to throw away that handy case. Wouldn't it be wonderful if Wrigley sold a refill bag so you could reuse the container? Right? Because the containers wouldn't go to waste! Well, that's the point I tried to make to Wrigley in my fan-tastic letter today.

And I made sure to include my full address in case they wanted to reward my thinking skills with a couple bags of gum. And I may have hinted that I might mention how great their gum is to the forty-some-odd people hittin' up my blog every day. And, hey, you guys could all write Wrigley and tell them what a good idea this is. And tell them to send me some free gum. Governor, you could send me some free stuff too if you'd like. Like a pen or something?

Guys! Buy Wrigley gum! It's life-changing! In a good way!

Pretty Boys

My friend tried to set me up with a guy recently. One of those pretty boys.

Yeah. That's not happening. I can imagine the kind of arguments we'd have.

Pretty Boy: Hey, if I can spend 25 minutes on my hair every morning, the least you can do is comb yours every once in a while.

Me: If you have 25 minutes to spare every morning, why haven't you been bringing me French Toast on a regular basis? Hmm? Hmm?

You see why this relationship wouldn't work.

Are we grading on a curve?

There is a guy in my ward who has a cute butt.

There, I've said it. I know I'm not the only one thinking it.

Anyway there's really nothing wrong with having a cute butt, especially in a singles ward like ours. The problem is sometimes this cute-butted guy passes the sacrament in the row in front of me. And sometimes it's really hard to think about Jesus when he's right there at eye level.

I'm just saying.



Now I'll let everyone in the ward speculate on who I'm talking about. Have fun. Oh, and who can name the movie the post title comes from?

One Sweet Night

I don't know what you did Saturday night, but it wasn't nearly as cool as what Karen, Gretchen and I did on Saturday night because you didn't have 9th row seats at a Boyz II Men concert and we did.

That's right, folks. Wallow in your jealousy.

It turned out to be one of the best concerts I've been to in a long time. The group was really engaging onstage and it was a fun, lively atmosphere. They did a lot of their hit songs from their first few records and then pulled out some old-school Motown.

The show was chock-full of nostalgia for me. I remember sitting on the floor of my bedroom in about 1995 listening to the II album. Oh, the Raynor house saw a lot of wear on that. And my sister had the single Down on Bended Knee. On cassette.

During the show, I called my mom and held up my cell so she could hear them sing A Song for Mama. I thought it only appropriate.

After the show I was really in the mood for some good old '90s R&B (shut up, you know you listen to it too) so I sang every All-4-One and Babyface song I had on my iPod on the drive home. Good times.

So to clarify: yes, it was me who sang I'll Make Love to You at the top of my lungs during the show, but it was Karen who yelled to Wanya that she'd have his babies. Just to be clear.

The only picture where all three of us didn't look stoned:

The father of Karen's children:

And no one would find me until Monday.

I stayed late at work tonight to finish up a project. Everyone else is gone. All the lights (except those in my office) are off. I have my earbuds in and my iPod cranked up.

If I were in a horror movie, this is the part where I would die.

How I almost got into a fistfight today and why I'm probably going to hell.

I was in line at Office Max and almost got my butt kicked.

I heard a woman get in line behind me and grumble impatiently, “What? They only have one cashier open?” I looked up, puzzled. There was only one person in front of me, then me. Just two people. Not really a big deal. Irritated Lady continued to huff and moan and mutter things like, “This is ridiculous!” and, I tell ya, I’m a pretty patient girl but she was really starting to grate on me.

I finally turned and gave her a small smile. And of course by “a small smile,” I mean “a look that says ‘Get a grip, already!’” I turned back to the poor cashier and rolled my eyes a little, good-naturedly.

And that started it all.

“Don’t you give me that kind of look! How dare you? I have every right to be angry about this!” Irritated Lady yelled at me.

Now, I usually avoid confrontation. I bite back a lot of things, a lot of times. In fact, I’m afraid I’m going to bite my tongue so hard one of these days, it’s going to come clean off. That being said, you yell at me in an office supply store, you’re gonna get a piece of my mind.

(This is the part when I became very, very un-Christlike.)

I turned back slowly and looked Irritated Lady square in the face. “I agree,” I said levelly, “You do have the right to be angry. You even have the right to act like a total [censored] right now.” (Oh, she was fuming!) I continued, “But I have the right to roll my eyes at your petulant behavior. This conduct would be unacceptable even for my students. And they’re six.”

I turned back to the cashier who was fighting an impossible battle against a smile. He quietly gave me twenty percent off my purchase.

Dreams from my father

I dreamed my dad was hosting a gourmet cooking class/slumber party at my childhood home and the two people invited were Barrack Obama and Sigourney Weaver.

It was weird.

Ell-oh-vee-ee

Falling in love is fun. It’s a rush, like jumping into a swimming pool. You feel helplessly weightless in the air and, for split second, a fleeting moment of terror (but good terror, like bungee-jumping terror, not like ax-murderer terror) and you hit the water—what a shock it is!—and you feel the rush of air and water bubbling and tickling up your body. And for a minute you think you might just crack in two because, really is it even possible to feel this happy?

But getting your heart broken hurts. Like a sledgehammer to the gut. It’s not all that fun.

But in the end, isn’t it better to love anyway? Because the swimming pool part was quite nice. And now you know to avoid people with sledgehammers.

Yes, I think it’s always better to love than to not.

Is that opium paste I detect?

Café Rio makes me sick. Not in the “I’m so sick of everyone talking about Café Rio because, let’s face it, it’s not that great” sense. More like in the “I’m gonna die” sense.

About an hour after I eat Café Rio food, I wind up curled in a ball on the couch moaning, “Why? Why did I eat that? Someone tell me why! Also, are you going to eat your leftovers?” Every time. And yet, when someone says, “We’re going to Café Rio,” I say, “I’ll get my purse.”

I don’t know why I go there. The food’s not terrific and it makes me (just for you, Beerman) throw-uppy.

And here's something gross: the more I type "Café Rio", the more I crave Café Rio.

I’m such a freakin’ masochist.


P.S. If you don't get the post title, click here.

You're Replaceable

Last night driving home from work, I thought to myself, “I should call James and see if he wants me to come pick him up for dinner,” but then I realized that my baby brother doesn’t live in Provo anymore and so I can’t just go down and rock his world with a Pizza Factory visit.

I continued to think about little James and that time I went down to visit and bought that poor kid shampoo, garbage bags and Band-Aids. He looked at me like I’d offered him my kidney. And that other time I lent him White Rhino for a whole weekend just ‘cause. Man, I’m an awesome big sister. But now I’m suffering pangs of brother-withdrawl. I asked my mom if she would send a replacement (they’ve got FOUR MORE of ‘em out there, for heaven’s sake!); she didn’t think it’d be a good idea.

You know what else? Huh? Huh? My dumb ol’ sister will soon be whisking her own brood out of state and far away from me: the Great Spoilin’ Aunt. Who’s going to dump out the contents of my purse searching for the gum and candy they know will always be there? (I mean, besides on Fast Sundays when I do it myself.) And mid-day Frosty runs? Gone. (P.S. Amy, did you know I give your kids ice-cream practically every time I see them? No?)

All my spoilees are leaving. I need a replacement!

Maybe I’ll get a puppy.


By the way, got this in an email from James just this morning:
"Febuary had a record amount of homicides [in Juarez]. But don´t worry, only about 5 were in our area."
Yeah, James . . . that's how to allay your mother's fears. Smart.

Jerky-Pants Jason

The biggest douchebag in America today is one Jason Mesnick. What a big, fat jerk. Some relationships don't work. I get that. But to break someone's heart on national television? Are you kidding me? I was so disgusted with him, I had to leave the room. Ugh. I'm just glad that Melissa called him out on his jerkiness.

And who else was hoping that Molly would give him the shaft? I know I was. But Molly is always and forever a bug-eyed, head-shaking, scarf-wearing idiot and was like, "Sure! I mean, I know that you are the least sensitive guy on the planet and all, despite what kind of balcony-crying you've been involved in, but I'll take you back. Because I'm a freakin' moron!"

Jason + Molly = most revolting couple ever.

I'm a nerd. How 'bout you?

When Denethor II wished that Faramir had died in place of Boromir, who didn't want to give Faramir a hug?

If you didn't you are cold, cold, cold.

P.S. Faramir is a stud. I'm so jealous of Éowyn.

A Very Naughty Thing

Most of the time I'm fairly well-behaved. Okay, okay, I don't follow all the rules all the time, but I'm definitely not a full-fledged, in-your-face rule-breaker.

But last night . . . (mischievous giggle) . . . I got home around 1:30am (okay, so technically this morning) and should have gone right to sleep. That's the should've. That's what I normally would've.

But, I was naughty instead.

Instead of sleeping, I watched Flight of the Conchords in bed while sipping my Big Gulp and munching on nachos. Yes! Nachos! In bed! At 2 am! That's not even kind of justifiable.


So naughty.

I'm not the type of girl who lays in bed eating junk food in the middle of the night. I think that's why it was so fun. Because I knew in the back of my mind it was taboo. An illicit activity. Something frowned upon by all decent society. And there I was doing it. What a rebel.


How do you break the rules?