“Somebody told me it was frightening how much topsoil we are losing each year, but I told that story around the campfire and nobody got scared” - Jack Handy 


I hate scary movies. Like really hate them.

My family loves them.

How did I end up with a bunch of weirdos that like to get scared? ON PURPOSE?

I guess I'm just a giant scaredy-pant-boo-wah-baby because even Moxie can sit through this stuff and not get completely wigged out. Me? Not so much. And to be totally honest, it's not like we're over here watching Horror Flicks or anything. We're talking Goosebumps people.GOOSEBUMPS.

Yes. I totally get scared from Goosebumps.

Don't judge.

*****

Would it be completely sacrilegious if I told that I am freaking glad that Christmas Vacation ends this weekend and the kids are heading back to school on Monday?

Because I totally am.

I find myself being plagued by the boogity-boogity when I admit that little nugget, too. Don't get me wrong, I love my kids like crazy. "They are my world." They are also hell-bent on killing me. I am slowly drowning in a sea of their crap that is strung from one end of the house to other. Once they head back to school the house can stay clutter free for six hours a day while they are off enlightening their minds with french and algebra.

Truthfully, I have a hard time relating to women whose entire existence is to simply take care of their children. When I hear them talking about how much they love having all their kids at home with them (making messes) it does not compute. When they talk about how excited they are for summer, I find myself wondering what is wrong with me... because that thought brings on panic attacks. I just don't get it.

I don't, by any means, begrudge their lifestyle choice either. I just don't get it. I need that extra stimulation and frankly a reason to get up in the mornings. My kids home all day does not offer me the necessary umph to drag my sorry rear out of bed every morning. Getting them off to school? Me going to work? Yes. Those are the types of things that force me to get up in the morning. Everyone hanging out, making messes? Not so much.

Neither choice is more right than other they are just different ways of doing things.

*****

Portlandia.

Watch it.

You'll thank me later.

"you can put a bird on it and call it art!"

{ Snort.}

*****

Jefe and I have a little game that we like to play and it always starts the same way - with me sending him a text asking "when you coming home cause I don't know when", his response is always the same "I don't know when, but we'll get together then yeah. You know we'll have a good time then."

We then spend the next however long shooting obscure song lyrics back and forth at each other-- and the one that receives the text has to send back another line from the song. The more obscure the lyrics are the better.

The most recent ones we threw around?

Jefe: two trailer park girls go round the outside

Me: testing "attention please" feel the tension soon as someone mentions me."

{ name that song. ready. set. go.}

It's crazy fun.

I'm not really sure how it all morphed into what it has, but me likey. A lot.

*****
It's going to be a mellow New Years around these parts and I'm glad. We're gonna hunker down, watch stupid movies-- or maybe a Mt Everest Marathon-- eat bacon wrapped water chestnuts and ring in the new year as a family.

Should be loads of fun.

Unless the teenagers decide they need to do their own partying... then not so much.

1. Trip Through Your Wires - U2
2. Jails & Bombs - Amos Lee
3. #41 - Dave Matthews Band
4. With Or Without You - U2 
5. Oxford Comma - Vampire Weekend
6. Just Like Heaven - The Watson Twins
7. No Such Thing - John Mayer
8. Spectrum - Florence & The Machines
9. Shake Down on Ninth Street - Ryan Adams
10. Baby Blue - Dave Matthews Band 

Bonus: Bad Things - Jace Everett, True Blood Soundtrack

I almost didn't make it through the holidays.

Seriously. I was like *thisclose* to dying one night. Not because someone tried to punch me (that was my manager they punched) but because I lost it and went all Postal on a customer.

I did. I totally flipped right out. Hard.

I bit her head off, chewed it up and spit it out for breakfast. I nearly went back for seconds when the crazy zombie left me and I saw a ray a sanity shining brightly in the distance.

Most people tell you to walk towards the light, but me? I ran for it, people. RAN.

On Christmas Adam (December 23rd) I was pulling my 6th consecutive night shift when a lovely group of carolers showed up to serenade us.


Awww. That's so nice, right?

Not really.

It was nice for about five minutes-- which is how long it took them to finish their repertoire of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, We Wish you a Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday Baby Jesus.

(totally not kidding)

I would have been happy with the first run through... maybe even the third. But after an hour of their singing?

Not so much.

I was not feeling it.

Not one little bit.

I had visions of my high school choir teacher, Ms. J, dancing through my head waving her stubby little finger and pointing it heaven ward while screeching "You're flat. You Are Flat! SOMEONE IS FLAT!"

Then the key changes people. Oh My Word. THE KEY CHANGES.

They were not intended, but they happened. Every. Single. Measure.  they were in a different key. And the harmonizing to Happy Birthday Baby Jesus? It made my inner wolf howl.

It was horrid and I had to stand right next to them. ALL NIGHT LONG.

They had parked their tiny little rears in the vestibule making the songs echo throughout the store. Every time someone came into the store -- or left-- they would start at the beginning of their repetoir and sing at the top of their ever loving off-key lungs.

Over and over again. Round and round we went. Rudolph; Merry Christmas; Happy Birthday Baby Jesus.

Off Key. Different Keys. AT THE SAME TIME.

Holy Cow. I was dying a slow and painful death. My eye twitch was in full blown twitch overload mode and no matter what I did I could not stop it from twitching. And there was nowhere I could go in the store to hide.

I actually offered to empty garbage and organize the dock just to get away from the noise.

I felt myself slipping into a sea of madness when some woman came through my line (which was 30 minutes long) and said "How fun! You get to listen to carolers!"

It was right then and there that I completely snapped.

"If they don't stop singing right this very second I'm going to go punch them all in the face because HOL. EEE. COW! THEY FREAKING SUCK!"

She just looked at me like I had completely lost my mind.

And lets be honest: I did.

I mean who freaks out about carolers? Uhh. Me. That's who. 

I scared her, too.

Apparently A lot.

She left my line, went to the vestibule and whispered to the girls serenading us. They looked at me all horrified like, picked up their stuff and promptly left.

I felt guilty for about half a second until I heard the most beautiful sound ever: Silence.

Finally.

Peace and Quiet.

And that's where it happened. In the middle of the silence: My heart grew and I could feel myself starting to be all festive like. I knew it was true when I softly started to hum.


Happy Holidays, Peeps. We made it.

If you ever have to steal money from your kid, and later on he discovers it's gone, I think a good thing to do is to blame it on Santa Claus. - Jack Handy

I've been working the Night Shift six nights a week for the past six weeks and seriously people? It's doing two things to me: Killing me slowly. And feeding me with never ending stories of how insane and totally possessed people have become. 

I kid you not.

I go to work every night wondering what crazy stupid things are going to happen and if we'll make it through a shift without the police being called or being threatened with bodily harm.

Yes. Bodily Harm.

I am seriously considering taking pepper spray to work with me from now until New Years when people become less possessed by Satan. Which, if you look closely, Satan and Santa have the same exact letters-- just in a different order.

Coincidence? I think not.

I will happily hold my pepper spray up as I greet each new customer "Can I interest you in a Schmoles Card tonight?" then when they start to get nasty and yell at me, one little puff will put them back in their place.

And I'll end up in jail.

Which would be safer than Schmoles during the holidays.

I have several stories in draft that I'm working on for your reading enjoyment that hopefully will be finished by this weekend.

Just remember employees have no control over the lines, people, and threatening to punch them in the face because the lines are TOO LONG is not a viable option. You just might find yourself being pepper-sprayed.

#justsayin

*****
I have realized there are some things that I know for sure are true and they will never change. Not in a million years. No matter how much I try.

1. I hate despise loathe The Christmas Shoes song with the passion of thousand burning suns. I also hate synthesizer Christmas Songs that have obnoxious echos in them.
2. Blinking, flashing, spastic Christmas lights on houses, trees -- inside or out-- make me want to lay down and have a grand mal seizure. Add it to synchronized music? I die.
3. Blow up Santa, Reindeer's, Snowmen or Penguins with scarfs are Just. Not. Right. And seeing them littering lawns make me want to punch people.
4. Pink Flamingos with Scarfs wrapped around them does not make them Christmas decorations. It makes them look more stupid than they were sans the scarfs.
5. My kids make me want to overlook all these irritants. Simply because they think they're cool. And it makes them laugh.

****
The other night I was chatting up a teenager at the register that was there with her Dad. Apparently they had been talking about schooling, because as they left my register the Dad said to his daughter "See? A college education is important. You don't want to end up working as a cashier at Schmoles do you?"

I know, right? I was floored, too.

I hollered out to them "I have a college education!"

The Dad looked horrified-- which he should be.

I mean, WHO in their right mind does that?

If I have learned one thing working at Schmoles its this: Too many people are willing to throw other people under the bus to make themselves feel better. You have no idea why a person is where they are-- be kind people. Be Kind. And, don't assume. Or use them as an example to teach your children because more than likely YOU'LL end up being the example and a more poignant teaching tool for your kids-- on how NOT to be.

Yeah. Think about that one.

*****
I haven't done any Christmas shopping yet. Not one ounce. Not one present. Not one single gift. Not even a single treat has graced my oven.

I feel like the Human version of The Grinch.

Here's hoping I can get it done this weekend. I woke up sick again this morning. It's all those freaking late nights at Schmoles, combined with customers threatening to knock me into next week because we're too crowded that's made me sick again.

I don't have time to be sick again.Or the energy.

Cross your fingers and toes I can pull it together long enough to buy some presents. That's my Christmas wish-- energy long enough to do the shopping at 1am.

*****
That's all she wrote this week.

Have a good week, and smile people. Espeically to those who are working in the stores. This time of year is brutal and it really makes a person question people, and their integrity. I can't believe how this holiday, which is really about Christ, has become such a glutenous holiday where people try to out-do each other. And can treat complete strangers who are helping them absolutely horrid, then turn around and tell their kids that some of the stuff they are buying is for the homeless shelter, because "We have to be nice to strangers." while berating you because they had to wait too long.

Not that it's ever happened to me. Or has it?

*****

1. Silent Night - Mariah Carey
2. Rest - The Temper Traps
3. Bartender (Live) - Dave Matthews Band
4. Gone Away From Me - Ray LaMontagne
5. Daydreamer - Adele
6. Believe Me Baby, I Lied - Trisha Yearwood
7. I Will Survive - Cake
8. Oh - Dave Matthews Band
9. Closer To Love - Mat Kearney
10. Running To Stand Still - U2

The majority of my working years have been with the public in some sort of customer service capacity. For the most part I like working with people simply because I can chat with them. I love talking with people and I love the challenge of making a complete stranger laugh.

However, the years and years of working with the public has taught me one simple truth: You Can't Fix Stupid. And, boy howdy. People are stupid. And, not just stupid, but STOO-PID.

People have lost their ever-lovin' minds when it comes to questions. Now, I know the teachers out there are going to say "There's no such thing as a stupid question . . . " But, honey, I'm here to tell you that you're wrong.  TOTALLY wrong.

There are stupid questions and I get asked them on a very. regular. basis. 

Take for instance the lady who asked me -- while I was standing behind the cash register -- if I was working (never mind the lanyard AND giant name badge I had on).  I quickly responded "Nope. I'm just waiting for the register to open so I can steal the money."  Or the guy who asked me last night "Do you sell clothes here?" I looked at him and then did a Vanna White hand move across the store while replying "Nope. Only tires."

Or what about the snotty lady that walked in just as we made our announcement that we were closed, picked out an entire basket of clothes and the proceeded to ask if she could try them all on... "Would I mind not closing my register, waiting and letting her try them all on?" 

My response?

"Yes I mind and No you can't. We're closed." 

She looked horrified. But seriously? We WERE closed. Who does that? Answer: Someone who thinks they are entitled, that's who. 

I roll my eyes so many times during my shifts that I'm actually worried that they're going to get stuck in the back of my head. Just like my mother warned. In my defense: I have to roll my eyes or else I pipe up with snarky comments that I'm worried will get me fired.

Like the quips I dished out on Black Friday to the people who were waiting in the 2.5 hour line at Schmoles. Granted. 2.5 hour lines totally blow, but that doesn't give you a right to be nasty, people.

Take, for instance, the man who tried to rip me a new one about how incompetent I was and that I wasn't hurrying the lines a long quickly enough... he kept going on and on about my inabilities, and the unprofessionalism of Schmoles... That's when I held up my hand to him and said "Seriously Dude? I do not get paid enough to be talked to like this."

Later that same night another lady went OFF on me about how long the lines were, and that "Wal-mart was working people through ten times faster than we were." I was sort of stunned into silence (such an odd feeling for me) because really? Wal-mart has twenty times the registers and is ten times bigger than Schmoles. I held back and simply smiled and said "I'm sorry. We're doing the best we can." 

She piped up about how that wasn't good enough and maybe we should buy more registers for black Friday (what? who says that?). That's when I temporarily lost my mind and said "No one made you come shopping at 2am-- you could have stayed at home in bed. Like a normal person." 

She responded resolutely with a hearty NO! She LOVED shopping Black Friday, it was just that our lines made her crazy.  "You love shopping black Friday?" I said. "Huh. You could've  fooled me." 

I know. I should be fired.

Do not pass go - Fired.

Do not collect $200

You're F-I-R-E-D.

Fired. 

But they won't. Not today anyway. Because truthfully? I say what everyone is thinking.

People are stupid.

And mean.

And act entitled.

Customers try to bully their way into getting what they want-- and are super rude and mean to employees in their quest for acquiring more stuff.

Pretty much every night I have to tell the manager "Listen. If someone complains about me and says that I was rude, here's what I said and why . . . "

Whenever I start the conversation out like this, the managers start to laugh and reply with variations of "Oh Boy. I can't wait to hear what you said this time".

Besides I am right. 

I don't get paid enough to be treated like dirt.

No one does Be warned: I will call you on it.

And, if you ask me a stupid question? I'll totally give you a stupid answer.

Pinky Swear.

Thought of You from Ryan J Woodward on Vimeo.

I saw this on Facebook ages ago, loved it and shared it. Then it resurfaced again yesterday on one of my friends walls. I could sit and watch this over and over again... it's just so freaking beautiful!

At my "job" last week, one of the people I was interviewing talked about how his blog was "about nothing" --  like Seinfeld.

I liked that thought a lot because it aptly describes my blog. It really IS a blog about nothing. Only not as popular as Seinfeld.

The things that people thought were touchy to discuss on Seinfeld, they did in veiled ways.

I've tried doing that, but frankly, I'm not as good at it as Seinfeld, so I'm left talking about silly things like SpongeBob and Celebrity Rehab. Which, isn't a bad thing, because those really are important things that I think about. A lot.

But, they aren't necessarily what has been consuming my thoughts for the past several months.

What has been consuming my thoughts is, as my friend Erin put it, not blog approved. And when what you really want to talk about isn't approved, you are left with nothing to blog about.

Hence the post about nothing.

I can exercise my writing muscles and try to write veiled posts about what I'm really thinking and feeling. Boy howdy that's hard. A good writer can write about something that is bothering them in a way that everyone can relate to-- and have those who are reading think that what is on your mind is the same as what's on theirs.

I don't think I have mastered that skill yet.

Life is actually really good right now. I feel like I should be knocking on wood every time I think that thought, too, because I'm just waiting for the next bomb to drop. Logically I know that isn't going to happen, but I've lived my life for the past elevenity-billion years with that mindset. It's a hard thought process to kick to the curb.

This past year has quite literally been one of the hardest years of my life. I have thought that in the past, but I can confidently say that THIS year is the big one. The life changer. Twenty-eleven kicked my trash. That's been the life changing year for me. Some of the crap from this year is not my fault, and some of it is. That's how life is, you know. A two way street. No one is completely innocent and until you can accept your role in how things are, nothing can change. Ever.

I feel like things are finally changing. For the better. And, boy howdy am I glad. It's exhausting trying to pretend all the time that life is good when in reality you feel like its been in the crapper.

But, that takes us away from the fact that this post is actually supposed to be about nothing. And that this nothing  has the potential to be something that is amazeballs good.

I have this new gig that I am involved with, and while it's been sucking up a lot of my time, I have to say that I am crazy excited about it! And, Oh So Happy.

I spent the last two days filming for it and when I get the all clear, you peeps will be the first ones to get the low-down. Until then, here is a little sneak peek of what I've been up to.

And, yes thank you. I AM crazy funny! Here's my proof: I cracked Jay McFarland, from KSL Radio's The Browser up!

I sort of hate this time of year.

I do.

I really hate it. Like A lot.

Let me explain...

Moxie is a pretty easy going kid. She will sit at her desk next to mine and "work" as long as I need to work. She has baskets of old scrapbook paper, glue sticks, staplers and tape galore to entertain her. It's actually quite fun, because she'll start singing along with the music and frankly? The kid has pipes.

She knows all the words to Pump Up The Kicks, Someone Like You and I Gotta Feelin'. When the latter comes on, she actually has to get up into the window seat of the office and dance for me. It totally cracks me up-- this little three year old go-go dancer shakin' her bon bon for all the world to see.

Lately, however, she has been watching all sorts of "shows" on TV. I use that term loosely because really what she's watching are the friggin' toy commercials. If she could have 24 hours straight of toy commercials, the kid would be in hog heaven.

She'll come running into my office screaming "Mama! Come see! COME SEE!"

The first couple of times, I freaked out because she's never done that before. I went running to see what all the hysteria was about... The Barbie Princess Castle.

The next time it was because of a Team Umizoomi Christmas Special. IN TWO WEEKS.

The next time? Dora was celebrating Christmas with all her peeps, and Moxie wanted to go. Like G-O NOW.

There is no explaining to a three-year old the ins and outs of marketing and toy commercials. She just does. not. get it. At All.

So as long as the TV is on, I have to be prepared to be pulled to the Television to witness the beauty of every single toy commercial and Christmas show preview that is aired.

Every. Single. One.

All the live long day.

It's horribly painful.

I even went so far as to "break" the TV so that it wouldn't work and all she could do was hang with me and work her crafting magic. But, then she found the "me-rote" and away we went on the Merry-go-round ride of never ending Christmas commercials.


It's killing me, this magical time of year. If I have to hear one more time "Can I has that for my birthday? Will Santa bring it for my birthday?" I think I may go postal.

I just smile, nod and say "Yes. Santa will totally bring that for your birthday." And then walk away. Because really? How else do you stop the madness?

Just smile and nod, peeps. Smile and nod.

There's only twenty-eight more days of this toy madness.

The most wonderful time of the year? I think not. It blows, yo.

When I have pressing work items that need to be done, I procrastinate and clean my house. I clean like a crazed mad woman who is on a mission to rid the world of uncleanliness.

It's strange that I do that, with regards to my work, because when I have pressing items that need dealing with in my personal life? I retreat and hide. I stop cleaning. I stop cooking. I stop functioning. I stop being.

That has been me for the last eleven months -- Retreating and hiding from my personal life, hoping it would somehow just fix itself or go away. And as such, my life became littered with dirty cobwebs.

I suspect that everyone has cobwebs in their lives that need dealing with. Most people are probably very good about  cleaning out the corners of their lives-- riding themselves of those obnoxious webs.

Others of us -- like me-- have a tendency to ignore the cobwebs until they have completely taken over and you can't see the windows for the doors.

I have spent the last three months trying to clean out my cobwebs, and it has been an arduous task. Sometimes I felt like throwing in the towel saying "I give up! These damn cobwebs win. They have conquered me and there is no hope for ever seeing the light of day." And then other times I catch a glimpse of sunlight, radiating through my cobwebs, and I can see that it is beautiful mess. Beautiful in a different way. Maybe even a better way.

My friend asked me recently why I hadn't been writing on my personal blog, and when I explained she looked at me with tears in her eyes and said "I understand. You have to clean out those cobwebs. It will be worth it in the end." 

I know she's right. It's just really hard and a very dirty process-- getting all these damn cobwebs cleaned.

And, just when I think I have found them all, I turn around and find six more over the window of my soul that somehow I had missed before. And the process starts all over again. However, this time? I'm not giving up until I have cleaned every nook and cranny and purged those webs.

I realize that I will have to continually clean my nooks and cranny's to keep those pesky webs from popping back up. That's a new thought process for me and something I never realized before-- that I have to do continual, constant maintenance. If I had only realized that years ago, I could have saved a lot of time, energy and tears. 

I look at my four little monsters and I desperately do not want them growing up with my cobweb mess.

I want them to get their own, dirty cob-web mess.

I want them to have learned from watching me and their Dad try to clean out our cobwebs and then translate that into skills for cleaning out their own mess ... when the time comes. Because it will. Of that I'm certain.

I am realizing more and more that its not ever a matter of if but when those pesky cobwebs show up. Everyone, at some point or another, has to deal with them or else they run the risk of losing everything.  If  my kids can see and learn how to effectively rid their lives of the unwanted webs now then they will be light years ahead of the rest of us.

And maybe they will be better equipped to teach their children how to effectively de-cobweb their lives without having to experience some of the pain that comes when you have to learn the process the hard way. One can only hope. It seems like it would be easier to learn this process when you have no other people depending on you rather than trying to navigate it with a family.

See that? It's me trying to look on the bright side of things.


During one of my darkest hours recently, my cute neighbor took this picture, posted it on Facebook and then called me to tell me about. I was occupied with the ugly cry when she called, so I let her call go to voice mail.

She had no idea the waters I had been navigating, or the demons I had been wrestling but her message was simple and directly from God: "I walked out in my garage this morning and I saw the most perfect rainbow going right over your house. I had the most peaceful feeling come over me, as if to say Everything is going to be alright, and I wanted you to know that." 

I cried the ugly cry even harder as I listened to that message. Twice.

It was exactly what I needed to hear and to know -- that He was aware of the cleaning I had been doing and that He was on board with the decisions I had made. That was the gentle push forward that I needed to remember... Remember how to clean. How to cook. How to function. How to be.

And, we will be OK.

Of that I'm certain.

Source: designeriphone.tumblr.com via Elisa @ on Pinterest

I have some pretty major things I have to get done.

Like Today.

They HAVE to be done.

And those things are causing me copious amounts of stress.

So instead of buckling down and just getting my shiz done,  what do I do?

I play on Pandora, Facebook and Pinterest.

If that little poster is correct, then what does that say about me? 

{sigh}

I guess I better buckle down and get my shiz together. The day's a wasting and I have to work tonight.

Oh. Wait.

I just saw the most amazeballs dress on pinterest that I I need to pin. 

(i want it so bad for the show I'm taping next week).

Oh and this song? 

Best song EVER!

I need to like it on Pandora.

And push it to Facebook.

THEN I'll get my work done.

Later.

'Gator.

Someone was recently telling me how much they hated Sponge Bob Square Pants.

"He's evil. Awful. Gross."

Really? He's a cartoon. A CARTOON.

She was getting so exercised, explaining all the reasons why Sponge Bob needs to be boycotted.

Over a cartoon?

I don't get it.

Me?

I pink puffy purple sparkly heart LOVE Sponge Bob. He's freakin' hysterical. More often than not, I'll find myself mid giggle and realize I am the only person in the room watching this cartoon. And, I like it.

I listened to this lady bag on the evils of Sponge Bob and it made me want to slap her, and then stab my eyes out with hot needles.

Who gets so worked up about a cartoon that they want to launch a boycott?

{eye roll}

Then I realized something:

I just don't think I can be friends with someone who doesn't like Sponge Bob Square Pants.

He's funny. Like me.

I recited this conversation to Caroline and she said "Well. I can tell you TONS of reasons why Sponge Bob is the perfect role model for our kids"

(you can totally hear her saying that, can't you?)

1. He has a job (for hell's sake).
2. He is a loyal friend.
3. He never speaks mean to his friends.
4. He always try's to find the positive side of things.
5. He's a hard worker.
6. He's a helper. And a giver (that's two?)
7. He is super positive.
8. He's not afraid to try anything.
9. He's a good listener.
10. He loves his peeps.


And really? Aren't those just the basic life lessons that everyone wants their kids to learn? So what if they come in the form of a bright yellow sponge? Who also happens to be freaking funny?

It's all about having a sense of humor,  I guess.

Or the lack there of.

And this my friends is why Caroline is one of my best friends and the crazy neighbor lady isn't.

Sponge Bob.

It's what real people watch.

Hello my long lost friends. How have you been? I have been MIA from blogland... well, really from  life lately. Oh how I have missed you, though. I would think about you every day, and actually compose things that I wanted to tell you in my head. But, when the time came to actually sit down and transcribe what I had perfectly composed in my brain... The words had evaporated.  I could taste them, lingering in my mind and taunting me with their flavor. It's a frustrating feeling, the one of not being able to write what is there, just out of your reach.

However, there have been life events recently that have awoken my muse with a fury and the fountain is over flowing. So to speak. I am hopeful that I will find myself writing on a more consistent basis...sharing the stories that make up the minutia of my life. And, lets be frank: The stories I share make you feel better about your life because you can say "Well, at least I wasn't as dumb as Elisa and didn't take a shower with the blinds open for the whole world to see."

You're welcome. 

*****

I have had two people whom I love dearly die this past week.

One -- my Uncle Monte -- was unexpected. But then, not really. He was old and lived a full, righteous, authentically beautiful life. He married Jefe and I. I think that was the highlight of the ceremony for me, truthfully. Having someone who has known me my whole life take the time out of their life to marry me and Jefe. He gave us words of council... and encouragement.

He always made time for his family... even silly nieces like me. When I would be downtown, I would drop by his office unexpected, and he would always stop what he was doing to visit with me. He would always take my calls when I would call. He made me feel like I was important to him.

When I was single, and my Father was commuting to work in Seattle, I was sort of big, giant hairy mess. I needed council from a Priesthood leader, and I turned to my Uncle Monte. He took a lot of time out of his busy schedule to be the Father figure in my life. Not because my own father didn't want to, but because he was unable to. He filled in... Daddy Daughter activities; priesthood blessings; and just being there for our family to call upon when Dad wasn't home. He counseled me and helped me make some key, critical decisions.

My cousin and I flew by our 19 and 20 year old selves-- solo-- all the way to Hong Kong to visit him. Yes. We have a very close family, and that has always been a source of great comfort for me.

I have always felt a bond with him because his birthday was the day before mine. I never forgot it, I just wish I would have acknowledged it more... actually told him that I always remembered his birthday. 

*****

The other death this week was my sweet cousin, Jenifer. She was 36 years young and it's just not right that she's not here any longer. She was vivacious, and boy howdy! That woman LOVED life. She lived it Out Loud, Authentically, and With Purpose. She taught me about unconditional love-- she loved and excepted everyone. Warts and all.

I have been watching her Facebook page over the past several days, and seeing the comments from her friends shows me the scope of influence this woman had with people. There are comments after comments about how she made people feel. And really? In the final analysis, that's all we have. How we make others feel when they are in our presence. She figured it out, and she became the master of making others feel good.

I had the privilege of babysitting her oldest son for several years before I moved to Chicago. She would drop him off at the butt-crack of dawn and then when she would pick him up, we would sit around in my apartment and BS until the cows came home. My word, that girl had a great sense of humor! We would start laughing, and hearing her laugh would make me laugh even more.

There is only one person who rivals me in my Diet Coke addiction, and that would be Jen. I suspect they found Diet Coke pumping through those beautiful veins of hers.

I adore Jen and Her Mother, Jan. They look more like sisters than they do Mother and Daughter. They had a bond-- a friendship-- that I have tried desperately to duplicate with my own daughters. Only time will tell if I have been able to follow their example.

These deaths have left my emotions open, exposed and raw.

I am feeling lots of  things and some of them are things that I had long forgotten. There have been several times over the past few days when I have felt my thoughts being guided --influenced almost. It has left me wondering if these two critical, key players in my game of life have been visiting and whispering things in my ear. Things to me to help me remember.

It wouldn't surprise me one little bit if they had.

*****

These deaths have left me wanting to live my life authentically, with purpose and out loud. No more waiting for this or that to happen so I can start living...  When you see someone younger than you die, it reminds you that life is indeed too short to sit around waiting for life to happen to you. YOU have to make life happen. And, I intend to do just that.

I suppose that is what death does. It makes you contemplative about life and the things you are doing and the things (people) you are neglecting. You start remembering. For me, these deaths have left me wanting to try a little harder to be a little better. A little more connected and little more there... a little more present... and a lot more connected to the ones that I love.


*****

Have a great weekend, peeps. I have major family time scheduled for the next three days. It will be wonderful to see everyone again, I just wish it were under happier circumstances.

1. Just Like Heaven - The Watson Twins
2. Let Me Go Home - Camera Obscura
3. Except The New Girl - Chris Isaak
4. Let It Be Me - Ray LaMontagne
5. Some Unholy War - Amy Winehouse
6. Don't Stop Believin' - Journey
7. Treat Me Right - Grace Potter & The Nocturnals
8. So Damn Lucky - Dave Matthews Band
9. Tennessee Sucks - Ryan Adams
10. Why Can't He Be You - Norah Jones

Bonus: Times Like These - Kid Rock

I went running for the first time in a couple of weeks on Friday. I was surprised with a couple of things that happened.

First, my body completely and totally rebelled. It had only been a week or so of utter laziness, and yet my body was completely willing to revert back to that lazy stage.

Revert ALL the way back.

It was horrifying actually to see how quickly I lost my endurance.

However, the amazing thing that happened was when I started running, and I could feel those endorphins kick in, along with my amazeballs playlist that I have slowly crafted started blaring in my ear.  I felt this little feeling starting to grow. That feeling kept growing until I found myself grinning from ear to ear, which then made me giggle.

It felt good to be pounding that pavement again, and I suddenly realized I had missed that solo time with me, my tunes and my thoughts.

I actually smiled for quite a while, as I pounded that pavement,  and at one time I realized -- because the city workers had stopped to stare-- that I was singing at the top of my lungs. Yes. I was totally singing Rhianna's Don't Stop the Music at the top of my lungs-- complete with hand actions.

Don't judge.

Or laugh.

It felt great. 

It took me slightly longer than usual to finish my run, but I felt amazing. And happy. In fact, if I knew how to do a front hand spring, or a back hand spring, or hell even a cartwheel, I totally would have. That seemed like the perfect punctuation to how I felt at the end of my run.

I am totally shocked to see myself write this next sentence but my gosh peeps, I love running.

I am still really sucky at running, but here's hoping that I will eventually be able to run a solid 30 minutes-- straight, without stopping to slowly die. 

I can honestly say that running is something I'm not naturally good at... Exercise is not something that I am naturally good at; however, that being said, I am willing to work and try until I am good at it.

I guess that's what life is all about, learning that you can do hard things... things that you are not naturally good at. Just because you sort of suck at something doesn't mean you don't try. It just means you do what it takes to get to where you want to be.


Even if it means you have to run.

I have a dirty little secret that I'm going to tell you.

Come here.

No. Closer. Closer. Come on... Closer.

Seriously, a little closer, please. I don't want everyone to hear what I'm going to tell you.

{looks around}

I love watching Celebrity Rehab. 

I know, right?

I have pontificated about how I hate reality TV and how I rarely watch TV.

And, that's true, too.

However,  the one show that sucks me in like a teenage boy getting high on helium is the train wreck of Celebrity Rehab.

Once I start I just can't stop.

I'm not sure what it is about that show that I love.

Maybe its seeing famous people falling apart in front of my very eyes. Watching their lives unravel... It's a sad thing, watching someone's life fall apart and I feel slightly guilty for being glued to the screen to see it happen. But, I just can't stop my self.

I know, I know.

That's TOTALLY unhealthy and sick and not right on so many levels,  but for some reason, I just can't stop myself.

Seeing Gary Busey-- which, incidentally, I was told by some random website should be my doppelganger (wth?)-- be a complete tool is therapeutic somehow. I'm not sure why, but it is.

If I flip on the TV in the middle of the night, and Celebrity Rehab is on, I'm a goner. A complete 100% goner. I have to watch the entire marathon and cannot stop until there are no other shows on. I won't even change the channels on the commercials because I don't want to miss one single minute of the train wreck.

There is nothing that can make you feel better about your life than watching talented, famous, wealthy people completely fall apart. Watching that makes you realize that your life? The one you feel like is slowly drowning you?

Yeah, that one.

It doesn't suck that much. 

"Writing gives you the illusion of control, and then you realize it's just an illusion, that people are going to bring their own stuff into it." 
- David Sedaris

David Sedaris is a freaking genius. An evil freaking genius.

I have read all of his books, and then listened to them as well. I will say, listening to them is WAY more enjoyable. He has this whiny voice that just hearing him start to speak makes giggles start to grow all the way down in my toes.

Listen to this.

How can you NOT laugh until you can't make another sound when you listen to him? I mean, seriously! The rabbit of Easter and a Flying Bell? CLASSIC!

-----
The kids in my neighborhood play this came called "Bigger/Better" which begs about a thousand jokes, but I will refrain from walking through that open door.  I sort of love it when they come peddling their wares to trade because I have this insane need to One Up The Entire Neighborhood.

Last night I inherited a lovely flower pot and they got an enormous mechanical horse that neighs. From me. Thing 3 was slightly upset because it was her horse getting pushed down the road by a group of boys.

But, in all fairness to me, it was broken and Moxie had given the horse a "haircut" and it didn't have a mane or tail anymore.

One time I tried to get a bunch of teenagers playing it to take either the broken lawnmower or the dead car I had sitting in the driveway (waiting to get towed to the junkyard). I would have been the winner of the universe had they been able to figure out how to move it across 3 neighborhoods to the party headquarters.

-----

Actual conversation I had with Thing 1 while we driving and singing and bee-bopping down the road:

T1: Elisa?

Me: Yes? (yes she totally called me by name)

T1: I like you.

Me: Well. I like you, too.

(continue singing our songs)

She's a cool kid and I see her moving from being less of a kid into more of my contemporary. We have fun together and I am thoroughly enjoying this phase with her.

Don't get me wrong, she's a typical mouthy teenager and drives me completely crazy at times. But the kid is a free thinker and an Artist at heart. I really dig that.

A lot.

(Aren't those eyelashes to DIE FOR?) 

-----
Sixteen days until the natives are put back on the island.

Not that I'm counting or anything, I'm just saying. The natives go back and I can be set free from the prison of summer.

Hot. Damn.

-----
Have a great weekend. Thing 1 and I are hitting a concert this weekend and I can't wait. I love going to concerts about as much as I love breathing. It's so fun to her tag along with me! She is turning 16 this next week. I can't even believe it and am floored with how fast the time is flying.

All too soon this little rug rat is going to be cruising off to college and having a wonderful experiences. She is almost ready, people. Almost ready.

I am almost caught up, finally, on all my work that I have put on the back burner for the last 2 months. Praise Allah. It feels so good to be taking control of my life and doing what I want to do with it.

1. Southern Girl - Amos Lee
2. First Love - Adele
3. Waiting on an Angel - Ben Harper
4. Where Are You Going (Live) - Dave Matthews Band
5. It Started to Rain - Amos Lee
6. Bottle It Up (Acoustic) - Sara Barielles
7. Edge of Desire - John Mayer
8. Roman Holiday - Camera Obscura
9. Falling or Flying - Grace Potter and the Nocturnals
10. The First Song - Band of Horses

Bonus: Pen and Notebook - Camera Obscura

I couldn’t sleep last night.

Try as I might, I just couldn’t get that brain of mine to stop long enough to let ole Mr. Sandman come for a visit.

I wandered around my house for a while and then went and sat on my patio and just listened.

Do you know how quiet the world is at One O’clock in the morning?

Pretty quiet.

I could hear the crickets in my neighbors yard and the frogs in the creek. Those are two sounds I absolutely love.

I could hear the occasional hum from a passing car on the interstate and I slowly became mesmerized.

For some reason there are certain sounds that have a calming effect on me and they aren’t normal ones either. Fans, thunderstorms, rain and distant traffic sounds.

I know, weird, right?

But, it’s true. I love the distant sound of cars on the interstate. It reminds me of sleeping at my Grandparents house with the windows open. I could hear the distant drum from semis coming down the mountain road and it was a calming, hypnotic sound for me.

My camping chair is my old friend—it knows me well and as I sat there, sinking slowing into my friend, I could feel the tension slowly leaking out of my body. All while listening to the sounds that ground me.

I need time to myself, and the older I get the more that time requires some sort of quiet lemme think time. Re-grouping maybe? Re-centering. Relaxing?

I sat there last night listening and watching as the stars danced for me and with there not being a full moon, I was able to see quite a few—for living in the city that is.

The sounds were hypnotic.

I could feel my body slowly relaxing, sinking deeper into my chair, as I thought about the things that were weighing me down. Places I wanted to be, and people I needed to see danced through my brain. Everyone needs friends, or at least I do, and I have wonderful friends; however, some of them live entirely too far away for my liking. And some of my friends have serious garbage they are dealing with and I majorly dislike that I am not there to help them. Or cry with them. Or laugh with them.

(preferably the latter since I’m prone to headaches these days and crying gives me a headache)

The steady hum of the crickets, frogs and infrequent traffic on the interstate slowly stopped my mind from spinning.

Slowly, my eyes became heavier and heavier and I could sense an impending visit from the man who carries sand.

And all it took was a little time out on the patio to listening to the world move forward.

My running trail. Photo taken with my iPhone.

I've started running.

Which, in all honesty, is the perfect example of an Oxy-Moron. I used to joke all the time that I couldn't  run to the mailbox... even if I was being chased by rabid dogs.

Except now I am. By my own choosing, too.

My sisters are all runners and they have begged me for years to go running. "You'll feel amazing if you do it," they would say to me. I would just roll my eyes and keep plugging away with what I was doing. Or not doing.

Then I realized I needed to ramp up my life a bit-- take it to the next level and take control.

I have lost 45 lbs people. FORTY-FIVE POUNDS.

That's a small person-- Two  Moxie's, if you will.

That's a lot of weight and all I had been doing was walking 3x a week and not eating fast food. When I finally realized just how much weight I had lost, I got energized and excited.

I look feel great.

I am finally a size 4/6 again and it feels amazeballs good.

I took my sisters advice and I have started "training." And by training I mean half walking - half running every morning.  Frankly I am shocked with how much I love it. I love every stinking minute of it. I can only run about half my route-- but it feels amazing to sweat and feel my shoes pounding the pavement.

Sometimes I have my music so loud and the tunes are so amazing that I can't stop myself from singing, and occasionally adding a little bon-bon shaking. I have thus far refrained from actually busting-a-move... but I fear its not far off.

Other times I turn the music off and just listen to the sound of my shoes marrying the pavement. It's like they were meant for each other, and they rejoice each and every time they meet.

Depending on when I run, I can hear the chorus of frogs serenading me as I pound by or the low rumble from the nearby creek.  It's peaceful, calming and rejuvenating.

Every morning there are a set of sprinklers that are always on, and I run through them like a little school girl. I actually found myself giggling this morning as I ran through them and was sprayed in the face.

It was fun. 

I can feel the stress, anxiety and anger leaving my body each time my foot touches the pavement and I feel a new person being born.

I really like this person and I hope she's here to stay.

The first time I watched this, I was a little nervous... and then it turned into something that was just stunningly beautiful to watch and listen to.

When I was fifteen years old, I had a friend that was killed.

I am embarrassed to say that we were "cheating buddies". We had three classes together and we were Cheating McCheating Pants.  He would help me in Math, I would help him in English. It was a friendship that worked.

I was horrified when I realized that my cheating pal had been killed. I would daily go to each class and look at his empty seat and feel a little piece of me die. We weren't that good of friends, but good enough that his death shook me to the core.

It was then that I started planning my funeral. It’s such a morbid thing, planning ones funeral while you're still alive,  but I realized then that I had very specific things I wanted to have happen.

No roses, only daisies. 

No crying, only laughing. 

When I was in my twenty's I was engaged to someone else-- Not Jefe-- and when his little brother turned sixteen and took the car out for a ride with his friends? He never came home. He was killed -- along with two of his friends-- that first night driving alone. 

I am 100% certain that this is the reason why I am such a freaker about Thing 1 driving.

At his funeral, I added more to my list:

Closed casket. 

When Jefe's Dad died, I added more things:

A great big party with loud music and great food. 

Please make fun of all the dumb stuff I said and did. 

I'll be honest with you, my imaginary friends. Death? It scares the hell out of me.

There was a time when it didn't and I would have openly embraced it; However, now that I'm looking down the proverbial end of the road? It scares the ever living snot out of me.


Now that I’m Forty, I’ve changed my plans again:

No longer do I want to be buried in the ground, left to rot in a sea of metal. I just find that to be disgusting.

I want to be cremated and have my ashes sprinkled under a big beautiful tree with a bench. I want my friends and family to be able to come and sit under me-- my tree-- and feel me there when they hear the wind through the tree.  Because I will be there, you know. Watching. Guiding. Loving.

No longer do I want a formal funeral. I want a party where there is lots of laughing, joking and happiness. Good food and even better music.

Those are all things that are important to me now, why would I want anything less when I am gone?

Did I mention laughing?

Please tell all the things that I swore you to secrecy—especially those embarrassing ones—so that everyone can see what a doofus I was, and remember that I was indeed, at one time, fun.

I want to hear a lot of “remember when she . . .” and then hear the roar of laughter as they remember.

I want to hear my friends telling my children “did you know this about your mother…”  or “there was this one time when your mom…”  I am certain that right now my children are convinced I had no fun, or a sense of humor. I want them to know that I was, at one time, hysterical. 

I also want my kids to know that I was a believer. I tried my hardest to my best to do what is right (that sounded a little like the scout motto there). Of course there were things that I failed miserably at, but I did the best that I could with what I knew and understood. 

I’m Forty people. FORTY. And, as Jefe likes to constantly point out—It’s all down hill from here and we could be dead any day now.

That causes me great amounts of trepidation.

I’m not ready yet. I still have so much that I want to Conquer, Accomplish, try and do.

But, just in case that “condition” that I know I have—but  the doctors don’t—turns out to be real, you all know exactly how I want my death handled.

Morbid much?

Everytime I go through the McDee's drive thru-- which lets face it,  is a lot-- I get a whiff of this smell that immediately transports me to the boarding areas of Airports.

I dunno why, other than I spent the majority of my childhood hopping one plane to another and seeing the world.

And that whiff that I get as I get my morning Diet Coke? It makes me feel all sorts of happy.

My Dad was a VP for the largest travel agency west of the Mississippi River, and what we did for fun was travel.

Disneyland for the day? Yes.

School clothes shopping in San Francisco? Yes please.

State reports for school? Lets go see that state up close and personal.

Country reports for school? Get your passports out.

You can do all that and more when your airfare is free. Or close to it.

I remember when I was Twenty and was working at the Agency, I was having a really difficult time making some decisions. So I did what I still do best: I ran away.

I hopped on a plane to San Diego and spent the day wandering around Old Town and then the Beach.

No one knew any different.

I was gone only for the day, but the sea air helped clear my head and I came home with some direction.

Not really.

I came home with a tan, but I sure felt better.

Another time, when my long term boyfriend broke up with me, I figured out that I could get airfare to Hong Kong for $37.00 round trip. So I convinced my cousin to come with me and these two Twenty-somethings  took off for sights unknown (and my uncles house).

We had a blast. We shopped. We ate. We saw the country and lots of nasty bugs.

I escaped my troubles and life started to seem a little perkier as I watched the earth rush past me from 37,000 feet in the sky.

Distance has a way of putting perspective on things. When you are so high in the air, and can see the whole road laid out before you-- the way suddenly becomes more clear.

That's one of the major reasons I like to travel. It clears my head. Helps me regroup and see things from a much larger perspective.

That giant mountain you look at every day really isn't all that big when you can see the whole thing from 37,000 feet in the sky.

When I no longer had the travel benefits that allowed me to fly willy-nilly like Superman, I would go hang out at the airport.

I totally did.

This was long before the new TSA restrictions were in place, and I would go to the airport and walk around, watch people and even sit and do my homework. There is nothing, to me at least, that is quite as cathartic as the airport.

My second favorite pasttime is people watching and the airport is ripe for the pickings. Especially back in "the olden days" when you could actually wander to the gates. I would spy people coming and going and make up stories about them.

Long lost lovers being reuninted as she squealed in delight when he came off the plane.

Another crying as he put her on the plane and sent her off into the wild blue yonder.

Mothers weeping as they send their children off to school, or missions and Fathers Beaming as said children came home.

It really is quite inspiring to watch people at the airport-- you can get a clear sense of who the person is, by how they travel and treat others.

I seriously love the Airport and it really chapped my hide when I wasn't allowed to wander around at will. I get such a rush from just being in the building. Besides, nothing feels better than jumping on a plane and letting it take you where ever it wills. Once you have been bitten by that nasty Wanderlust God, there is no turning back.

Every morning as I get that familiar whiff, I feel that pesky Wanderlust friend of mine pushing and prodding me to come back to the fold and join them on another adventure. My will is slowly failing me, and I'm seeing a reunion with me, my old pal, the wanderlust god, and my trusty companion-- the airport-- in my near future.

Where we go, only the plane will know.

not my ice cream man.

I told you earlier that one of the things I hate about summer is that blasted Ice Cream Man.

He is going to be the death of me before the end of the summer. That is if I don't kill him first.

We are in an out and out-full on war, he and I.

No longer does Moxie believe that it's just a "music truck" that goes around town helping sad little children become happy. No.  She has seen the light. She knows the truth, and the sweet goodness that is located within the belly of that Music Making Monster.

He drives through the neighborhood -- at a snails pace -- enticing the children with his creepy music. I think there are subliminal messages in his music that turns otherwise good children into evil-spawn-of-Satan-children once he has driven by, especially if you don't have any money to give to them. 

How else do you explain the crazed head spinning when they don't get their delicious crack?

Thing 3 and her cronies sell Lemon-aid all the live long day, anticipating his DAILY arrival, so they can impart their hard earned cash to the creepy-music-playing-ice cream-man.

Whom I have lovingly named Damien.

Because as you well know everyone named Damien is a servant of the Devil.

I now have solid proof of that fact in the form of the Ice Cream Man.

Damien is able to convince otherwise disagreeable teenagers to give him their hard earned cash. It's completely crazy, the spells he casts over these children.

Dear Kind Sir Man at the Bank:

 I am fully aware that people should wear shoes-- especially children. I am a proponent of a Non-Dirty Feet Zone, just like the rest of humanity. However that day? That moment? It was the least of my worries.

I don't know if you realize that when you said the things about me, and the kind of Mother I apparently am--loudly enough for me to hear-- to the teller,  you only added to the complete and utter despair that I was feeling.

Not to mention the fact that you completely deflated my already emptying emotional bank.

I've had one helluva a bad week.

Actually, make that two weeks.

It seems as though every. single. day something else has gone wrong in my life. From the giant lake in my backyard to the non-stop running of the sump pump so my basement wouldn't join the flood zone, to my lost debit card-turned stolen. Not to mention someone questioning my integrity.

There were about seventy-bajillion other things that went wrong last week, that sent me into multiple crying spells. It was a hard week and your mean, hateful comments did not help. At All. 

You didn't see me 20 minutes earlier frantically searching for Moxie's shoes-- which she has hidden.

(They're probably with my debit card.)

You also didn't see that I had been crying just 30 minutes prior to that because I was at the end of my ever-loving rope.

I had been cleaning up a huge mess from the sump pump pumping the water back INTO the house. Not out.

I had a huge mess from the deep-cleaning that I was doing.

And, I've had no access to money because my new debit card that I requested was stolen. RIGHT OUT OF MY MAIL BOX.

Not to mention that argument I got into with a friend. And Jefe. 

And, that's only the first couple of days.

Dude.

I knew I had to get to the bank to report my lost debit card as actually stolen, and I had to get there before the bank closed. Coming with Moxie in tow did in fact mean that I was going to have to bring her shoeless.

Candidly, I had bigger fish to fry than worrying about Moxie going into a bank without shoes on.

I cannot emphasize enough the fact that your mean comments that you directed to me through the teller completely destroyed me. Any other day, I would have rolled my eyes and said something about shutting your pie hole. However, that day?  I did my business at the bank, got in my car, and cried all the way home.

I am a good Mom. I love my kids and I take good care of them. Just because we happened to run an important errand at the end of the day-- after me spending the entire day cleaning up disater after disaster after disaster-- does not mean that I am stupid. Or poor. Or dirty. A bad person or a bad Mom.

Or deaf.

It means I've been working. HARD.

Moxie was in her jammies because I was working. HARD.

"People like me" have every right to live in "your" community. Hell, I grew up in this community. I can tell you how it used to look and what used to be on every corner. I know this community like the back of my hand-- and I love it. I am not "what is wrong with this community." 

There is always way more to the story than what meets the eye, and I hope that the next time you see a woman like me, you will think of your wife. Would you want some stranger saying that about YOUR WIFE and children loudly enough for the entire bank to hear?

Yeah. I didn't think so, you big, fat, stupid mustache wearing Jerk. 

~Motherboard