Coo-coo-catcha!

Karen and I both loved the show Arrested Development. (If you've never seen it, I weep for your embryonic soul.) One of our very favorite scenes is when Michael's parents and sister tease him about being shy. I'd be lying if I told you we haven't acted it out in our house more than once.

Why don't you go paper jam yourself?

You know how you can handle some days better than others?

Well, all I'm saying is this little cretin is about to find itself in a world of hurt.

Seriously. One more "No cartridge found" and it's sayonara fax machine. And, to be clear, when I send a fax, "fax" is not the only f-word I'm thinking, if ya know what I mean.

Something I have learned

So it turns out I can't make salt water taffy.


But I can make a mess.

Idaho. Again.

I drove up to Boise this weekend. The drive was . . . um . . . about as exciting as a drive through a desolate wasteland can be.

Here's the view driving in the right lane:And here is the view from the left lane:

And that was the drive. For a lot of hours.

My favorite part was stopping for gas in a tiny little town called Glenns Ferry. I don't know if it's just because I've lived my entire life in a big (or biggish) city, but I am absolutely enchanted with small towns. I was walking around the corner store/liquor store/florist/gas station, squealing and clapping my hands with delight about everything.

"Oh my gosh, you use shopping carts here? Just like real people!"

The purpose of the trip was fulfilled when I met up with this guy: my kid brother, Brian. We filled the weekend with cook-outs, chillaxing, frozen yogurt and me driving around lost. (Wait, where is Victory? It's supposed to be right here! . . . . What? . . . . Oh, I'm on Victory? Well, that makes more sense.)

It was clear during this weekend that I miss my sisters. I made Brian stay up for late-night girl talk and then we French-braided each other's hair. He was overjoyed.

Of course what trip to Idaho would be complete without a quick stop at Jack in the Box? No trip I'd want to take, that's for sure. And, gentlemen, if you're looking for the key to my heart, I've got two words for you: Sourdough. Jack. Just saying.
I was sad to leave Brian at the end of the weekend but I'm comforted by knowing that I'll get to see him (and the rest of the Raynors) in a couple short months.

Brian, thanks for hanging with me this weekend! I'll see you in September!

On the Wrong Side of the Law

I was threatened with a Class B misdemeanor citation last night.

I KNOW, RIGHT?

Keith and I went for an evening walk-and-talk in a local park and, before we knew it, it was late late late and we were OFFICIALLY TRESPASSING (according to the policeman who caught us criminals). The officer took down our information and put us on "a list of offenders who can be prosecuted if found on the premises after 10 pm ever again."

"Basically, folks," the policeman said, "Your first time's a warning, but the next time you're looking at a fine, impound of your vehicle, the whole thing."

I KNOW, RIGHT?

Keith was annoyed. I, on the other hand, was absolutely delighted with the situation because I have a record with the flippin' Sandy City PD. Okay, not a "record" per se, but I'm on a list of offenders. Offenders!

As Keith dropped me off , I thanked him for almost getting me arrested and made him pinkie-swear to write often if I were thrown in the clink. He left me at the door humming Folsom Prison Blues.

In honor of my run-in with the law, please enjoy a little diversion.

King George and my Beloved Texas

"Are there any TEXANS here tonight?!" George Strait called out Friday night at USANA.

And, folks, I couldn't tell you how loud I screamed or how high I jumped but it was apparently pretty impressive. A girl's gotta represent, ya know.

George continued, "I've got something right here for the Texans tonight." He starts playing Texas and, y'all, I'm not even kidding when I tell you I teared up a little bit during the second verse. And I was one of the ten people in the whole crowd that could (and did) sing every word.

I wouldn't be a Willie fan.
Nobody'd swim the Rio Grande.
I wouldn't be an American
If it wasn't for Texas.
Fort Worth would never cross my mind.
There'd be no Austin city limit sign.
No Lone Star of any kind
If it wasn't for Texas.

Since moving out of state seven years ago, I've been ribbed about my Texas pride. I just grin and agree--I'm a dyed-in-the-wool Texan. The idea of state pride is something I never knew was exclusive to Texas. Growing up, I'd always assumed everyone would be proud of the state they hailed from. I didn't think Texans were any different, merely that our pride was actually justified.

The reasoning behind a Texan's state pride is hard to describe. I'd have to describe the way a field of bluebonnets looks in the setting sun, the way it feels to see the first pitch thrown at a Ranger's game, the memory of reciting the Texas pledge of allegiance every morning of elementary school, the way my heart burns when I see the Lone Star flying and how I grin every time I see a longhorn because, seriously, why are their horns so dang long?

I'd have to recount the way I felt when I walked into the Alamo for the first time, how the streets of Dallas look at twilight, how I get a lump in my throat when I think about Jim Bowie, Sam Houston or Davy Crockett. I could tell you that Texans are just plain ol' decent people, that you can't throw a rock in Texas without hitting a white Ford pick-up and no matter who you are, you'd better have your bum in a church pew come Sunday morning. I can still remember every word of Texas, Our Texas from singing it in every school assembly as far back as I remember and you'd laugh if you knew how many times I've seen John Wayne in The Alamo or how loudly I sing this song in the shower.

But even all that won't tell you folks why I love Texas because I can't make you feel that attachment to my homeland, my stomping grounds, the backdrop to my tenderest memories, the place that still calls to me with a whisper of, "You belong here." I don't love Texas because she's better; I love Texas because she's mine.

The time will come someday when I've lived more years out of Texas than in her but that won't stop me from claiming her as my home. And just like George, I'll be a Texan 'til the day I die.

They're amphibians, you know.

I accidentally bought an African Dwarf Frog about a month ago. I went to the pet store to get some more fish for my tank but one look at this guy and I had to have him. He doesn't actually have a name because I'm incredibly indecisive but I've been leaning toward Glenn. Glenn's a nice name for a frog, dontcha think?

My nephews moved out of state right before I bought the little guy so I took a little video of him to show the boys (and you, by default). He just kind of swims around and eats some worms and then swims some more, so that's pretty much what he's doing here. I can't figure out why I like watching him so much--either he's really interesting or I just need something to dote on.

Bet you didn't know my life was this exciting, huh?

I'll take Culinary Prowess for $800, Alex.

It's Kids Week on Jeopardy* which means I feel Very Very Smart every night at 7:30. Kinda takes the fun out of trash talking the contestants. (But not really because smart kids are so annoying. Am I right, people?)

Hey! I made some salsa! (Thanks for the recipe, Lauren.)

the "before" picture

I'd show you the finished product but I apparently threw some pure crack into the mixture because it did not last long up in here. We're talking not even howyousay? one day.

I also made some cupcakes for work! Because, ya know, if my co-workers insist on always being dedicated and professional, the least I can do is try to make them fatter than me.



*Jeopardy is my very favorite television program. The roommates call it Tourette's Hour because you can hear me downstairs shouting at the TV, "Eggnog! Margaret Thatcher! CHIMPANZEES!" Also, I need friends.

Move Over Dr. Phil!

I was giving a friend some relationship advice the other day and, midway through, realized I was actually quoting lyrics from a Brooks & Dunn song.

Because I am that awesome.

Old Friends are the Best Kind

My Favorite Freckle

I have freckles. I like 'em. My favorite is right under my left eye.

This is my left eye:

Did ya see it? Right there?

That's my favorite freckle.

Disgusting Things I Actually Eat

Hey everyone! It's time for another installment of DTIAE!

I'm usually pretty conscientious of what I put in my body. I do the whole free-range meat/eggs thing and organic dairy thing and I dig the fresh fruits/veggies. I typically try to avoid preservative- or additive-heavy foods.

But sometimes . . . . heh, heh . . . . sometimes I eat truly despicable things.

DTIAE #1: Taco Bell Nachos
These guys are ridiculously gross. It's essentially fried bits of white flour & grease dipped in radioactive, alien cheese-like goo. And they are gooood. Pretty much any item on the Bell's menu reduces your life expectancy by a few years and actually going inside a Taco Bell restaurant is a sure-fire way to contract hepatitis but, like an old boyfriend, I keep going back to it. "I know I'm going to hate myself tomorrow, but right now you're all I need."

DTIAE #2: Sonic Frito Burrito
This is like a gift from the heartburn gods. They take a flour tortilla, slap a little Hormel on it, add some of our favorite cheesy goo, crumble Fritos on top and then I think they have some sweaty guy in the back sit on it for a few minutes before they wrap it up and slide it through your window. I don't eat there regularly, but every couple of years I think, "Ya know, I haven't felt the symptoms of dysentery lately. I should probably go to Sonic."


I feel gross just thinking about this food. Uggh. If you'll excuse me, I need to go eat some broccoli or something.

Next time on Disgusting Things I Actually Eat: Chinese take-out! Wo hui yong kuai zi!

Because, despite appearances, we're basically children and we're okay with that.

My thirty-year-old friend Keith shushed me last night when the trailer for G.I. Joe came on the television. He leaned forward on the couch and giggled (like a little girl) with excitement during the whole commercial.

"I have all those action figures," he told me. "They're at my parents' house."

"And how often do you play with them?" Karen asked.

"Every time I go home!" he enthusiastically admitted.

Just as I was about the tease him mercilessly for this display of juvenile fervor, the trailer for the new Harry Potter came on. (The trailer that I've seen at least 8 times, by the way.) I literally squealed with delight and watched, completely enraptured, while whispering, "Oh, I am so excited!"

Keith raised an eyebrow at me.


Ah, yes. Well, I'll forgive your nerdiness, dear, if you'll forgive mine.

From ev'ry mountainside . . .

Intellectually I know that America is no better than any other country;
emotionally I know she is better than every other country.
~Sinclair Lewis

I have a problem