Say What?

I was stuck in terrible traffic today on my way to work and decided that I'd try my luck at actually getting my mother on the phone.  Most people move out of the house and are constantly harassed by their parents for visits, phone calls, and email updates.  My mother communicates like a 15 year old girl- she only text messages and never picks up the phone.  Well, this morning she actually picked up when I called.  Here was the meaningful exchange I had with my mother:

Me: Hi Mom, how are you doing?
Mom: Things are .... AHHHHHHHH!
Me: What?  What happened?  Are you okay?
Mom:  Sorry.  I almost dropped my squirrel.
Me:  What?  Please repeat what you just said because it sounded like you said, "I dropped my squirrel."
Mom: Yup, that's what I said.
(pause)
Me: Will you please explain what you mean because I have no idea why you are holding a squirrel, much less why you are almost dropping a squirrel.
Mom:  Oh, I guess I haven't spoken to you in a while, so you don't know that I have a new pet squirrel.  A tree fell down in the back yard and the baby squirrel must have been inside because the next day I was in the backyard and this dehydrated baby squirrel came right up to me and was almost dead.  I thought it would be hard to feed a squirrel, but apparently they're pretty easy to feed.  So...I have a squirrel.
Me: Promise me that this isn't like the time you said you found a dehydrated baby deer in the backyard and it turns out that you stole it from its mother.
Mom: The squirrel found me.  Anyway, I have to go shower.  It was great to hear your voice.  Text me a picture of baby Pearl.

My mom and her deer

So I'm not sure if I'm missing out by not talking on the phone weekly to my mother, or if it's better that I don't know how crazy things have gotten since I left home over a decade ago.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

I lack basic romantic skills, so instead of actually being romantic I just posted a bunch of lame poems on my husband's Facebook wall. Some are cute and some make promises of future romance. Luckily my husband has a new work schedule and will probably work until around 10:00 tonight, so I will be asleep and not have to fulfill all the promised romance. Maybe this weekend I'll pull together some fondue or something tight and red, but I'm pretty sure I'm off the hook for tonight...so I hope the poems are enough for him.

Roses are red
violets are blue
I still live in Utah
just to be with you.

Roses are red

I’m obsessed with shoes

get home soon

so I can show you my new bruise.

(not sexy…seriously, I have no idea where it came from.)

Roses are red

your toothbrush is plastic

by the time you get home tonight

I’m going to look fantastic.

Roses are red
you are pretty darn cute
one of my favorite things while conversing
is to try and work in the word “moot”

The dirty bird is red
our bedroom is blue
Let’s get busy in both tonight
after we eat fondue.

Roses are red
nachos are cheesy
you thought you played hard to get
but you were way too easy
…and you still are…easy that is.

Roses are red
Your hair is curly
I like to scare you in the shower
because your scream is so girly

My outfit will be red

Wheat Thins are delicious

I know that these poems

are getting a bit repetitious

Some of my favorite things..

Here are my new favorite ads, newspaper findings, and billboards I've found in Utah from the holiday season.

This is a novel idea. Toys for Tits...you stay classy Utah. I love the concept of being selfless and selfish at the same time.


Bitchin' tattoo dude.
Our weekly city newspaper features a Nice Tats section that I love. This one is one of my favorites. Having a pug tattooed on your arm is right up there with naked ladies and cartoon character tattoos.

So my 3 boob-size options are lemon, CANTALOUPE, and WATERMELON? Could they have picked like a grapefruit or something a little more reasonable?


This billboard is right next to the fruit one and it is for the same company.

Blairisms

Favorite two things my husband has said in the last month:

#1 -I wish I could get a boob job for my soul. It would be so much easier than actually having to work to improve myself.

#2- I'm writing a thank you note for this present and you didn't even have to ask me to do it. Can I have a BJ now?

Chore Chart

Being newlyweds means lots of changes, and I'm not just talking about sexy outfits here. Actually I'm talking about something not-so-sexy-- CHORES. After only a few months of living together we're having those new-roommate type discussions. You know, the discussion that takes place with your roomies before you start making "cute" signs and putting them up around the apartment/house that say cheery things like "Please wash your dishes" and "Don't forget to put your clothes in your hamper," when the notes you really want to post are, "Listen Pig, put your damn plate in the dishwasher. It isn't that hard!"

Anyway, this past week we were discussing the household chores that need to get done and it went something like this.

Me: What jobs around the house do you want to be responsible for?
Blair: I already have a job AND I go to grad school at night. Isn't that enough?
Me: No! I have a job too and we both need to share household responsibilities.
Blair: Okay fine, then I'll take Job Supervisor.
Me: A. that's not a job option B. If it were an option, I'm pretty sure I would have taken it already.
Blair: I already take out the trash because you just claim it's too "icky" to touch.
Me: It is "icky" and that's why it's a boy-job. What else do you want to do?
Blair: I don't WANT to do anything.
Me: (getting irritated) If you don't pick something, then I'm just going to have to assign you jobs.
Blair: Okay, Okay...I'll be in charge of all snow removal of the driveway, sidewalk, and cars in the winter. I will also wake up in time to preheat your car.
Me: Trash and Snow Removal? (thinking about how much I HATE snow) Hmmm...that sounds fair. I'll take on all other jobs in exchanged for never having to scrape ice, snow, or get into a cold car in the morning. DEAL!
Blair: Wow, that was easy.
Me: You have no idea how much I hate being cold, which is why when we move to Texas in two years we can adjust your chore list.

I Took the Plunge

I'm sure you all wish that I had kept you abreast of all the wedding planning, but alas, I am the only bride who really didn't care about a wedding. I wanted to elope to Hawaii but Blair's family would have killed him. I think my family would have high-fived me. Anyway, marriage is apparently about compromise (someone told me that once) so I decided to have an actual wedding.

Here are the 4 highlights of the events you missed:
1. proposal- My actual proposal was an elaborate Easter egg hunt that led me all over Salt Lake to the places that were significant to our relationship. The last clue and egg was hidden high up in a tree in a park. I had to actually climb the tree to get the last note. While perched up in a tree, I read the last line of my note which read "I finally treed my cougar." (My boyfriend/fiance/now husband is about 5 years younger than me.) It was a pretty awesome conclusion to a great proposal.
2. engagement photos- People in Utah send out engagement photos with their wedding invitations. I wanted ours to be really different and odd...kind of like us. Rather that taking one where we're holding hands in a random doorway, walking along a train track, or in a field not looking at each other, I decided that I wanted us jumping off a diving board (taking the proverbial plunge). There are several problems with this idea. 1) Where in April can you find a warm pool with a diving board and a pretty backdrop for a photo? The answer to that riddle is nowhere. 2) When taking a jumping-into-water photo, you only have one shot to get the perfect picture with pretty, dry, hair. The second jump you just look like a drowned rat. 3) How do you talk your fiance into wearing black booty shorts instead of droopy swim trunks?
Here is the result:
I didn't end up sending the photos in our invitations because apparently only wearing a bikini in an engagement photo is scandalous. My sister-in-laws were horrified when they saw the photos. I thought I looked pretty good, but decided if I was just going to offend people with my bare, amazing abs (I've gained 10 lbs since then) then it wasn't worth the effort to print and mail them.

3. invitations- I stuffed all the invitations for my family and his family. Blair said he would be in charge of getting addresses for his friends and sending out those invitations. 2 weeks before the wedding I found a stack of 20+ invitations, unaddressed, hidden under my bed. When I questioned Blair, he told me that getting addresses was too hard, so he just made an Evite and sent it out to all of his friends. WHAT?!! Yes, you heard correct. After I had ordered, stuffed, and stamped invitations, he went ahead and made an Evite and just sent it out to everyone he knew. I'd already finalized tables, caterer's head count, and other such chores and apparently we were having 30 more people show up that I didn't know about because they had responded to an Evite. This is why eloping would have been so amazing.

4. wedding- actually the wedding was perfect. We had so much fun and danced the night away with our friends and family. Most Mormons just showed up, ate, and left. The wedding started at 7pm and by 8pm most of our guests were leaving like rats off a sinking ship. Luckily, that just left more room on the dance floor for my friends and family.
Please notice my brother's socks in this photo.
I like my maid of honor dancing with the thumbs up sign here.
Yes, this is the Dirty Bird all gussied up for the escape. And yes, we did "Get Some". Thanks to all of Blair's classy friends for helping to decorate the car.

Nutty Bums

I'm sorry I've been offline for a while. I've had a serious boyfriend for a while and so my dating stories have really petered off. Oh, I should probably mention that I got engaged, so don't expect my blog to pick up anytime soon. It will probably become one of those people who blog about how much fun I'm having planning my wedding and how sweet my husband is. Eventually, it will just be full of pictures of my future children. So feel free to stop reading now.

My big new-worthy moment of the week actually took place while grocery shopping. I was on the snack foods aisle trying to decide which of the fruit snacks was the best deal to buy for my fiance. I was in deep thought over the pros and cons of Gushers vs Fruit by the Foot when a bum/homeless person (I'm just guessing by his appearance and smell) stands next to me holding a box of granola bars.

Bum :I wouldn't buy those if I were you
Me: Huh (I look up quizzically wondering if there was some news campaign or propaganda I missed recently explaining how fruit snacks cause cancer/aids/scabies/gonorrhea)
Bum: They're not good for you.
Me: They're not for me. My fiance loves them and has finals this week, so I thought he needed a treat. (I have no idea why I felt the need to tell him my whole life story.)
Bum: Do you love him?
Me: Well...yea (wondering where this conversation is going)
Bum: Well, you obviously don't love him that much if you're buying him crappy food like that.
Then the bum just stormed off.

I had to resist the urge to call down the aisle to him and say something witty like "aren't you homeless" or "I'm pretty sure the fact you smell of booze and pee pee means that you're unhealthy", but I refrained...not because I'm ashamed to holler in a grocery store, but because they weren't particularly great come-backs. Even now I can't really think of any witty retort. Feel free to offer suggestions. I'm still taken aback by the whole encounter of being chastised by a bum for buying fruit snacks.

Wasted Energy

For years I have wasted time looking for the perfect belt, shoes, bag, or jewelry to complete an outfit. Now, at the tender age of 30, I just realized that none of that stuff ever mattered. How do I know this? I know this because I just got hit on in the grocery store parking lot wearing all black pajamas and my hunting hat.

Seriously, here is the outfit.:

(Explanation for why I look like I’ve been run over: I had just finished driving 7 hours back from Colorado. I hadn’t slept in 48 hours and I stopped in for groceries at midnight on my way to my house.)

Here is the note on my car:

Here is a photo of Mike I got off of Facebook.

Heck yes I called him and added him on facebook. I was really curious about the type of guy who sees a girl in that hat/outfit/state and feels compelled to leave a note on her car. Wouldn’t you call?

The good thing is that if I ever started to date Mike, I would know that he would still love me no matter what I looked like; and I really like that in a man.

Any Questions?

I’m going back to Walmart immediately and stocking up on more hats.

A Cougar on the Prowl

My cougar dating streak continues.

A boy from my church asked me out via Facebook. It was my first Facebook date proposition, so of course I said yes. Plus he’s an adorable little 24 year old, and senior at the college right around the corner, AND on the basketball team. Score…double up…bonus!

These are the texts on the day of our date:

Boy: Have you ever been to Wingers before?

(note- Wingers is a chicken wing joint)

Me: Yes, but it’s been a while. (Like 10 years ago, when I was in college)

Boy: Yea, that’s probably too many calories for you. How about Red Robin?

Me: (Slightly insulted. Then I realized that he probably assumed I was so in shape that I must be a workout nut. Yes, this is my own delusion that I’m running with, so don’t take it from me.) Red Robin sounds great.

My date showed up to pick me up in a red, t-top Firebird with an actual firebird painted on the hood. He affectingly called his car the Dirty Bird. SWEET!

We took the Dirty Bird to Red Robin and stood in line with a bunch of other students from the local college to get our booth. I think, while standing in line for a booth at the Red Robin, I had one of those out-of-body moments of self-awareness where I wondered what poor choices I had made that led me to that exact moment. Where had I gone wrong? I like to refer to these types of moments as Reflective Snapshots.

After my healthy hamburger, I went home to contemplate life while trying to decide if the bonus points my date earned during dinner conversation would be able to cover the deficits caused by the Dirty Bird and the age gap.

It's Complicated

{This happened several weeks ago, but I’m just getting around to posting it.}

Sunday: A boy asked for a Thursday date. Yay! I get to follow “the rules” since he gave enough notice and say “yes, I would love to go out with you.”

Tuesday: Boy changes his profile status to “in a relationship” but doesn’t list the girl he is in the relationship with. I assume this must be a joke because we have a date on Thursday.

Wednesday: “in a relationship” status still stands. I begin to wonder if I still have a date.

Thursday: Boy never calls to confirm date or plans. I get stood up with only a facebook clue as to what has happened.

Friday: I suddenly realize that if this is how dating is going to be, then I’m going to start investing in kitty sweaters and scrapbooking materials.

The Breast Billboards EVER

(I know that I should stop with the dumb puns/alliteration in my titles, but I honestly can't help myself)

Since my commute to work is about 40 minutes every day, I’ve taken to noticing every billboard along the highway and formulating some opinions about Utah based on their signs. I’ve noticed that there are lots of good-clean-living billboards that encourage parents to spend time with their families, stop drunk driving, and help out the community. I love the messages on these, but the ones I simply adore are the ones that have anything to do with breast enlargement...and there are lots of them.

Here are my top three breast augmentation campaigns in no particular order:

(I don’t have pictures of all three because I’m terrified to pull off on the highway and take a picture with the combo of snow drifts and crazy Utah drivers all around.)

1. “Finally, getting a “D” is a good thing” This is the actual slogan on the billboard! It shows a woman standing in front of a green chalkboard wearing the hot-for-teacher outfit and glasses. SERIOUSLY Utah, did you have to go straight to a “D”? I’m pretty sure that most people I know should have stopped at a “C”. Very few women can pull off a classy fake “D” boob job.

2. The ad shows a bunch of babies looking up and the caption reads “Be the Talk of the Neighborhood”. First, I’m not sure if I’d like to get my boobs so large that everyone in the neighborhood is talking about them. Second, why are there a bunch of babies looking up? Are they supposed to be looking up in awe of someone’s awesome rack? Do fake boobs make babies salivate? Do you want your boobs so large that even neighborhoods babies are whispering among themselves “Can you believe that Nancy thought those gallon-sized water balloons were a good idea? Even we know they're fake and they've got no milk in them.”

3. The last one was this Christmas themed ad. Need I say more. Feel free to comment on it. Nothing says you complete me like a gift that boldly declares, “I love you so much that I’ll pay to change you”.

What?...What?

My little brother set me up on a date with a cute guy who lives in Provo. He showed up and was very handsome, but he kind of sounded like a dumb jock when he spoke.

Dinner conversation:

Me: How many siblings do you have?
Boy: What?
Me: How many siblings do you have?
Boy: What?
Me: (Looking up from my food and getting louder) HOW MANY SIBLINGS DO YOU HAVE?
Boy: Sorry, I’m kinda deaf.
Me: No problem. It happens when we get older.
Boy: (Smiling) Yea, I forgot my hearing aid.
Me: ha ha ha ha
Boy: Seriously.
Me: Ha ha ha ha. You’re so funny.
Boy: No seriously, I’m deaf. I can’t read your lips when you’re looking down at your plate.
Me: (Silent…crickets chirping around me)

The date and I went to a movie after dinner. I was rummaging through my purse and couldn’t find my glasses. The boy turns to me and says, “I’ll tell you what’s going on, if you yell the dialogue really loud in my ear.” It was a totally redeeming comment.


Later that night I called my brother to say WTF.
Me: WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME HE WAS DEAF?
Ghent: Really? I just thought he had a little bit of a speech impediment.
(My brother Ghent has known him for 2 years.)

Clownin' Around

I usually have a rule that I don’t date guys that are more than 3 years younger than me, but lately I’ve loosened up my standards a little. Utah doesn’t really have much to offer right now and I’ve got boo-koos of free time. A 24 year old asked me out and I just couldn’t say no…though I probably should have. He was rather forward in a totally awkward and dry way and I liked him immediately (Okay, he was just really hot…you got me). About 5 minutes into our date I realized that things would never work out between us.

Young Boy (YB): So do you have any hobbies?

Me: I go to the gym but I wouldn’t call that a hobby. I read books and used to collect koala bears. I once took up crocheting in college. That’s all I got for hobbies.

YB: I like hobbies.

Me: What types of hobbies do you do?

YB: I was really into flying kites for a while. blaa blaa blaa kites…blaa blaa kites…kites.

Me: That sounds neat.

YB: After kites I became interested in model planes. Blaa blaa model planes blaa blaa model planes.

Me: (trying really hard to sound like I care) That sounds neat too.

YB: After model planes I built miniature ships…..blaa blaa ships… ships…ships…boring

Me: So what are you into right now?

YB: (deadpan) Right now, my new hobby is humor.

Me: Humor? Like stand-up?

YB: no more like humor conceptually

Me: Humor conceptually?

YB: You know?

Me: Nope, I’m a little lost. Like conceptual clowns?

YB: No. I’ve become fascinated with what makes people laugh. It is so intriguing the variety of things that people find humorous. Don’t you think?

Me: (visualizing the phrase “game over” flash across his forehead while he’s wearing clown make-up) Yea, that is funny…I mean interesting.

My Purrrfect Life

I was looking online a couple of months ago for Halloween ideas and I came across this site in China that will make you a full plastic leather catwoman suit for $20. I ordered one, sent them my measurements, and promptly forgot all about it. On Saturday the postman rang my doorbell with a package from China. I immediately remembered all about the catsuit and hurriedly unwrapped it. My roommate was out of town and so I was home alone. Worse than that, it was snowing, so I was basically in hibernation mode with nothing better to do than put on a catsuit in the middle of a Saturday afternoon. The catsuit is a full-body (I mean full-body because it covered my feet, hands, and head) plastic, stretchy material that doesn’t have nearly as much give as I’d hoped. I squeezed, pulled, pried, lunged, tugged, and contorted myself into that costume. At the end, against any kind of decent judgment, I zipped up the back as far as I could. I posed in the mirror for the following picture and then quickly tried to get it off because I was sweating something fierce.

I realized that there was a flap that was covering the zipper and my plasticy, gloved hand couldn’t quite reach it. Unsuccessfully, I flopped around like a fish for several minutes trying to get a hold of the zipper. Then I was really sweating and starting to freak out and hyperventilate. How was I possibly going to get this thing off? It wasn’t like I could go next door to Glen, the 75 year old man to my right, and ask for a hand. The little old lady that lives on the other side of me would be equally alarmed if I told her I needed help getting out of my plastic sex-looking costume. Plus, as an added bonus, I seriously was about to pass out from heat stroke; that plasticy stuff doesn’t breathe at ALL!

I finally went out my back door and sat on the stoop in a full pleather outfit to contemplate the predicament I was in and to cool off. While sitting on the back porch I got the giggles and couldn’t stop laughing. Seriously, who else would wind up in a full plasticy, gimp-looking, catwoman costume and not be able to get out while home alone. ME! I finally stopped sweating and went back inside. It took about ten minutes of contorting, but I managed to grab the zipper and get myself out of the outfit, still having fits of laughter. Yes, it was another wild weekend in Salt Lake City. Someone please come visit me soon.

PS- I’ve decided that the costume would make the most amazing sledding suit in the whole world. Can you imagine the looks on the faces of parents and kids when I take off my ugg boots and trench coat at top of the local sledding hill to reveal a full black plastic catsuit and then proceed to body slide down the embankment? You may not have to imagine it for long because I’m pretty sure that I’ll be doing just that after the next big snow. I’m seriously that bored. Plus, who is going to recognize me and imagine how fast I’ll be?!

Here is a picture of what the catsuit was supposed to look like…if I was a tit-tacular thin Asian girl and it was made for my body. Even if I was, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't look this good in pleather.

Hey, Daddy, *I* want an Oompa Loompa!

I am so sick of girls dressing up as slutty (fill in the blank) for Halloween that I decided to go in the opposite direction. I was an Oompa Loompa. I almost chose to wear 8 inch, platform, plastic, stripper shoes with my costume and go as a Slutty Oompa Loompa, but I figured no one would find that funny but me.
(Picture- My brother and I on Halloween.)

Why is it that when you leave the house with no makeup on and wearing sweats to run to the store or decide to dress up silly instead of sexy for Halloween that you inevitably run into all the hot people that are never there when you look cute? This is some sort of Murphy’s Law. Anyway, I went out on Halloween and ran into one of the cutest boys I’ve seen since I moved to Salt Lake City. He was dressed as Freddy Krueger and he was looking at me. I looked back. He looked back. I kept glancing in his direction, and in my head, we were totally flirting. Then he caught my eye for like the 5th time and made a weird face. I suddenly had a moment of self-awareness. I realized that I wasn’t a “cute girl”; I was the creepy Oompa Loompa that was staring at the hot guy. There is no way that he could look at me, in the Oompa Loompa costume, and think that I was attractive. I almost laughed out loud at myself and then slunk back into the crowd quickly. WHY?!!

Bad Be-Hive-ior

I have a great recent date story:

I went out with someone who broke out into hives on our first two dates after dinner. I know what you’re thinking, and it was NOT an allergic reaction to the food. I know this because the first meal he cooked at his house. If you know anything about men, you know that they only know how to make like 3 meals that they use over and over again to impress women. This was definitely one of those meals. The second time he broke out was after I cooked. I gave him leftovers and told him to eat them for lunch the next day and let me know how it went.

Text at noon the next day: No hives after lunch. It is yet to be determined if you are trying to poison me.

At least he has a sense of humor. We talked on the phone and we agreed that the hives were probably a result of his nervousness around me. By “we agreed” I mean that I told him that if it wasn’t the food, then he must be allergic to me. He claims that he’s only ever had two episodes of hives in his whole life before meeting me. I explained that it must just be something about me that sets him off.

On the third date I realized that I needed to document the hives for my blog. We were eating dinner at his house.

Boy: Why is your camera on the table?

Me: Don’t worry about it.

Boy: No seriously, why is your camera out?

Me: So I could take a picture of your hives…when you break out.

Boy: Why do you want a picture of me broken out in hives?

Me: (Thinking fast) My roommate and I have a bet about the hives and I need photo documentation. (After I said this I realized that this answer wasn’t any better than “I’m taking pictures for my blog.”)

Boy: You made a BET with Jody about the hives?!

Me: Yes

Boy: What side are you on?

Me: I’m betting that you’ll break out into hives.

Boy: You bet against me!?

Me: Don’t think of it like that. I’m just following the law of averages.

Boy: Now I’m NOT breaking out in hives just to spite you.

Me: I don’t think you have that much self-control. (I tried snuggling up next to him to make him more nervous)

Conclusion: NO HIVES! I totally jinxed myself. Maybe the camera made his hives afraid. Maybe he replaced his nervous energy with annoyance instead. Who knows. All I know is that now I had to find a google picture of hives instead of having the real thing…SOOOOO disappointing.

UPDATE: I went to dinner last night with a bunch of friends and "the boy". Halfway through dinner, I looked over and realized he was broken out in hives.

Me: Are those hives?

Boy: I've been trying to hide my arms under the table for like the past 15 minutes hoping you wouldn't notice.

Me: (Reaching for my camera)

This is the result- REAL HIVE PHOTOS.

He actually let me take them; not that he really had a choice.

I apologize for the poor quality of the photos.

Here Kitty Kitty

You know when you check out at the grocery store and they print coupons for you with your receipt? Supposedly the computer at the checkout can review your purchases and determine coupons that would be useful to you on your next shopping trip. Well, these are the coupons it printed for me today.

Tampons and Cat Food!

I’d like to add that I didn’t buy any feminine hygiene products this trip or anything that relates to cats. I bought veggies, gum, bread, and some eggs. Seriously, I don’t even know what to say. Apparently the most useful items for me on my next visit are tampons and cat food. Maybe it noted that I was buying veggies, so I’m probably a girl, and that it was a Friday evening trip, showing that I’m probably single and I have nothing to do on a Friday besides shop at the grocery store and then go home to snuggle up with Mr. Whiskers. WTF!

Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit shanking people

I just spent a wonderful Labor Day in Austin, Texas. As usual, I was racing to catch my flight home and ran into the typical holiday weekend airport crowds. I was shocked as the guy at the security point called for a bag check on my purse. I did a mental assessment of what could be the offending item and realized that, unless he found the small lip-gloss at the bottom of my bag, I was okay.

Officer: Ma’am, I’m going to need to search the contents of your purse.

Me: Sure. Go ahead.

Officer: (pulls out 5 scalpels) Are these surgical instruments?

The random guy behind me made a loud “OHHHH” noise like a bomb had just been found.

Me: (Shocked with the realization that my mother, who is a nurse, more than likely decided to slip scalpels into my purse) Yes, they are scalpels.

Officer: Ma’am, is there a reason why you have 5 scalpels in your purse?

Me: No. I assume that my mom put them in there.

Officer: Why would your mother put scalpels in your purse?

Me: Because she is a nurse and thinks that I may need to lance something.

Officer: Lance something?

Me: I have no idea why she does half the things she does. She is currently letting the guy who fixed her kitchen cabinets live in her house and drive her car. She had a pet deer all last year that went everywhere with her. She still writes her name in all of her clothing. Honestly, I can’t really come up with a good answer as to why she put knives in my purse before I left for the airport.

Officer: I’m going to need to take the scalpels.

Me: Sure

***I called my mother after I made it through security. She claims that she put them in my bag because I could use them for scrapbooking and other such crafts.

2+2= Why didn't I just stick to being a plain ole English Teacher?

I know that I've fallen off on updating this blog. I guess I haven't had any adventures lately. I started a real, grown up, job about 3 weeks ago. I am now the Educational Director of a school that operates at a girls' treatment facility. In typical Virginia fashion, I applied for the job fully realizing that I was under-qualified in terms of degrees, but overqualified in terms of experience and the general ability to BS my way into things.

One of my first duties was to find a new math teacher to replace the one that the girls can't stand. So far I have interviewed three candidates, and let me say that high school Math teachers are probably the most difficult people for me to relate to. Last week there was a prospect named Vishwanathe Harangaonker. I am not making this name up. He is from India and is working as an engineer here in the states. He claims that he would, “like to learn the girls how to computate Algebraic.” I'm not even sure what that means. I'd like to believe that he's just so smart that he's speaking nerdy math jargon, but I'm pretty sure it's just an example of the fact that English isn't his first or even his second language. Let me just say thatiIt's really hard to conduct a full interview when you know in the first two minutes that you're not going to hire them. I really wanted to just start asking really bizarre questions like, "Some of our girls have strange sexual cravings that they are trying to overcome. If one of the girls was to approach you with an outlandish request for FILL IN THE BLANK, what you say? Remember, we are trying to work on their self-esteem here, so you wouldn't want to shoot her down right off the bat."

The second candidate was basically my grandfather, if he had decided to be a math teacher. He spoke so slowly that I thought I was going to have to miss lunch if he didn't wrap it up soon. I noticed that he had not only outlined a full page of questions for me, but he had also made note of the exact mileage to the school and the travel time it took him to get from his house to us. Girls that are in a residential treatment center for emotions issues would eat him alive...if they weren't automatically put to sleep by his elderly, melodic voice trying to describe math equations.

The interview yesterday was with a young lady with a severe ponytail pulled so tight that her eyes were a little squinty. She has only taught at small prep schools and has lived in Utah her whole life, which probably means she is a little too sheltered to teach our population. I think she may have cracked a smile once as she shook my hand to leave, but I couldn't be certain.

I seriously have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I have one more interview tomorrow and then I have to make a decision. I also just learned that I have to fire the old math teacher next week. This is why I shouldn't be allowed to have any real responsibilities. I'm no good at this sort of thing.

*** This should show you that I have nothing funny going on in my life. I just devoted a blog to the hiring of a math teacher. KILL ME....SOFTLY....PLEASE.

My family could beat up your family

(Yes, this is an actual family photo taken circa 1990)

The older I get, the more I appreciate my siblings. The middle child in my family, Ghent, has always been the quiet one. I’m not sure if this is in his nature, or if he was just terrorized into silence by our older brother. Anyway, Ghent has become one of the most hilarious people I know. Here are two examples of why I love him so much:

1. Somehow we got on the topic of rape. Everyone in the group was saying what they would do to avoid an attacker. My brother Ghent pipes up, “I’ve thought about this. I would just scream really loud and say, ‘Don’t, I have diarrhea!’”

2. My sister Laura had this roommate that was like a little cat in heat. She was a dance major and the sultriest little redhead you’ve ever met. Her name was Kimber, which was perfect for her. If you brought a boy over, you can bet she would be prancing around trying to get attention. I brought a date over once to meet my sister. In less than 20 minutes Kimber had stuck her boobs in his face about twelve times, gotten him water and snacks, and was curled up next to him on the other side of the couch. In fact, the next day she added my date on facebook and had written him some sexy message about how much she liked older men. (He was probably 15 years older than her) Anyway, my brother Ghent was sitting on the couch at Laura’s watching TV and Kimber came in and acted like she had just had catnip shoved up her nose. She curled up on the couch next to him and began flirting. Ghent, of course, just tried to ignore her. Kimber then upped her antics and got up, moved in-between Ghent and the TV, and proceeded to claim that her back and legs were soooo sore. She folded her body in half and shoved her butt right up in Ghent’s face for a couple of minutes while she stretched, cooed, and then sat back down next to him grinning. Ghent then said, “My turn,” and stands up and shoves his butt in Kimber’s face while making exaggerated ohhhhing and ahhhing stretching noises. Kimber was humiliated and left Gent alone to watch TV.

There are dozens of other great Ghent stories I could share, but I just wanted to give you a taste of why I love my brother so much.

PS- I forgot to share the one that happened a week ago. I asked my brother if he could help me move and he showed up with a truck and two day-laborers he grabbed from Home Depot because he said he didn’t want it to take too long. I tried to remind him that I was only moving my stuff across the street, but he just shrugged.