Happy Halloween!

I'm pretty sure I've posted this pic here before, but I just can't get enough of it.

Evans kids, Halloween night, carrying paper bags around for our Trick-or-Treat candy (note that they've all been drawn/colored on), circa 1984:

L to R: Spencer, Kirk, Brett and yours truly.

Don't worry about how you CAN'T SEE MY FACE under my hat. I wore that hat, and I wore it proudly. I sewed blue polyester fabric into the brim of a witch hat, then cut 1 inch strips to make "hair". (Came up with that GENIUS idea all on my own, thanks. Also, cut the bangs all by myself. You can tell, because they're the opposite of straight. I've been a rockstar costume stylist for, like, ever. Obviously.)

Happy Halloween, ya'll! ... Go eat some candy! Like, A BAG of it!

A little bit of this, and a little less of that...

Here are some fun morning facts about me:

I have to sleep with my alarm (which is my phone) in another room. If I sleep in the same room as my alarm, I'll turn it off in my sleep. So, it's in another room. That way, I have to get out of bed and walk into the living room to turn it off. (I won't lie, sometimes I'll still hit snooze and take it back to bed with me - and then turn it off instead of re-snoozing after ten minutes. ... I'm adorable.)

I have to plan what I'm going to wear the night before, or I will literally stand in the middle of my WALK-IN CLOSET and think "I have no clothes." For fifteen minutes. ... Or more.

Much like making wardrobe choices the night before, I have to pre-pack my lunch. If left to my own devices at 6:00 AM, I'm liable to walk out the door with a can of pineapple, a sleeve of saltine crackers and a Tootsie pop. ... That, my friends, is not a well-balanced meal.

And because three odd facts DO NOT a blog post make (and also because I'm too tired to take the time to actually write the whole stories... I tell you what, this two-week-old-cold-that-will-not-die is wearing me out), here are a couple little morning-time vignettes for your reading pleasure:

One fine morning when Jule, Weeze and I were living in the blue house, I started a fire in both the kitchen AND the bathroom. At the same time. Because I'm an overachiever. (Kitchen fire was a result of me trying to dry my sweater in the oven. - Turns out that acrylic yarn spontaneously combusts. - Bathroom fire was my curling iron melting through the plastic crates that we liked to pretend were furniture. In my defense, the bathroom fire never would have happened if the kitchen fire hadn't been taking up so much of my morning time.)

Once, when I was house-sitting for a co-worker, I woke up in the morning and saw a scratch on the headboard of the fancy bed I was sleeping in. I rolled out of bed, got down on all fours, and swiped my ring across the furniture to see if it really would scratch the wood. ... Sure thing. (I spent the rest of that weekend rubbing walnut oil into the headboard, trying to make my original scratch disappear.)

And it's not like that scratch-in-the-headboard sleepover was the most damage I ever did at DiAne's. ... Oh, no. There was the time the horses got out and I had to Hansel-and-Gretel the horses back into their pen by dropping an entire bale of hay all over the property. And the time HER DOG DIED on my watch. (It's astonishing that she ever had me back after that, really.)

Anyway... now that I've been laughing about my disasters whilst house-sitting, I'm coughing again. So, I'm going to stop typing and break the honey out. And maybe the NyQuil, too. ... At 7:30 on a Friday night. Wahoo! I'm such a party animal.

I need constant supervision

Lest you think I only do stupid things in the morning, please allow me to reassure you that I have also been known to be D-U-M-B in the middle of the night. Please see the photo below:

Here’s the back story:

Just a few short weeks ago, I woke up with a solidly WET bed, with this cute little floral-pattern glass lying next to my pillow. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what had happened. (I mean, don’t get me wrong. I was really glad when I saw the glass, because I’d been trying to figure out how I’d wet the bed in the general vicinity of my shoulders, when my pee-er was more in the middle of the mattress. But still. Confusing.)

As I thought about it, trying to figure out how that glass got into my bed, I remembered a dream I’d had the night before.

In my “dream”, I was thirsty. Super thirsty. So I got up in the middle of the night and walked into the kitchen – in the dark – and got myself a glass FULL of water. I took a couple sips, and then brought the FULL glass of water back to bed with me.

In said dream, I debated on whether or not I should put the FULL glass of water on either of my bedside tables and decided that, no, I’d be able to just hold on to it while I slept.

Guess what? It turns out that a person can’t HOLD ONTO A GLASS FULL OF WATER while she sleeps. Lying down. In a bed.

The amazing thing is that I didn’t wake up when I spilled the water – which, I’m telling you, SOAKED the upper part of my bed. Nor did I have a concrete memory of how it had happened. Just a "dream".

It seems that sleep walking isn’t just a thing of my childhood…

AKA: Further proof that I require adult supervision at all times. (And, yes, I live alone. Scary, I know.)

Argh

I'm locked out again. This is tragic! (Esp on a Friday, when I had a funny story to tell!) Stay tuned. Hopefully, my access will come back again.

Look for lights, Evans. Look. For. Lights.

The year was 1994.

I had recently moved from Arizona to the beautiful (and oh, so snowy) Provo, Utah.

And when I say snowy, I mean SNOWY. ... I knew that it snowed in Utah before I moved there, but I was shocked and horrified by how EARLY it started and how MUCH it snowed. In OCTOBER.

(Don't worry about the all caps. My winter-weather-induced rant will be over in a minute.)

Anyhoo, it was October. In Utah. In 1994. ... In the wee hours of the morning, after a big, fat, snowstorm the night before.

I'd agreed to pick up my friend Kat in the AM and drop her off at work, because her car was in the shop and we worked within two blocks of each other. She lived a good 5 miles away from me, which really isn't all that far, but the drive was going to add another 20 minutes or so to my morning commute, so I was forced to wake up a little earlier than I usually would have. (And we all know that I wake up stupid in the best of circumstances - after a full 8 hours. You can imagine where this is going.)

As I'd recently made a move from the land of Not-So-Much-Snow, I did not (sadly) have an actual snow scraper to my name. Nor, amazingly enough, did I own a pair of gloves.

At approximately 6:00 AM, I walked out of my apartment and into the darkness that is a Utah winter morning and, I am sure, said some choice words when I saw that it had snowed a good six inches overnight. (I'm getting all tense and irritated, even know, just remembering those frigid winters. Ugh. ... I'll take 117 degree summers, any day!) I made my way to my car and commenced wiping the snow off the car with my arms, then used my driver's license as a snow scraper.

You heard me. I used MY DRIVER'S LICENSE as a snow scraper. Without gloves.

After I'd cleared the snow, I fumbled through my purse with my frozen/numb fingers and pulled out my keys so I could unlock the car and get in and turn the freaking heater on.

Oh, except that the key wouldn't go into the lock. Weird. So, I tried again. And again. And again. ... Until I realized that the 4-door gray sedan I was trying to get into had a gray interior. ... And my 4-door gray sedan had black interior. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that the car I was trying to get into was a Honda. ... And my car was a Mazda.

Awesome.

Rolling my eyes, and shaking my arms at the sky, I shuffled away from the gray Honda and trolled the apartment complex parking lot, looking for my own snow-covered gray Mazda. (I'm sorry to say that it's been almost 20 years, and I am still unable to remember where I park. Like, ever. ... I wander in parking lots a lot. Reason #324 why I was meant to have a driver.)

Upon finding my own car, I wiped the snow off the windows/hood/roof/trunk with my arm. Again. And commenced to scraping the ice off the window with my driver's license. Again.

A few (long and semi-frozen) minutes later, I was in my car and headed to Orem to pick up Kat.

Oh, except that the needle on my gas gauge was pointing straight at E.

Did I know that I was out of gas the night before? Yes. Yes, I did. But, because I like to buy myself gas station breakfasts, I'd put off buying gas until the next morning. Had I forgotten that I needed to buy gas, when I'd gotten up that morning and then delayed my actual departure time because I had to clean, not one, but two, cars after a heavy snow fall? Yes. Yes, I had.

Awesome.

Being the wonder problem solver that I am, I did not panic. Instead, I mapped out a route up 9th East and over to University Parkway that I knew would take me right past a gas station, where I could fill up and then head up the hill to get my friend.

I chugged up 9th East and pulled in to the gas station on the corner across from Kent's Market. (For those of you who didn't know Provo in the mid-90's, Kent's is now a BYU Creamery and the gas station is now, I think, a jewelry store. Or maybe a Subway. Or both. ... Which I know sounds ridiculous, but I'm telling you, Mormon college kids heart sandwiches and getting engaged - and they'd love to be able to stop by the creamery on the way home for a double scoop, I am sure.)

As I pulled into the gas station, I pulled up alongside the pump, and then got out to start my gas pumping before I headed in to get breakfast.

Except the gas wasn't flowing out of the pump.

Huh.

That's weird.

I put the pump back into the tank, took the pump out of the tank and flipped the lever that would signal the tank to let the gas come, and it didn't do anything. So, I tried again. And again. And again.

And still, the pump was dry.

At this point, I was starting to get frustrated. I mean, I'd already wasted a good three minutes cleaning off a stranger's car. And now, I couldn't get the darn gas pump to work so I could fill up and go get Kat so she'd be to work by 7:00.

Argh.

So, I did the only thing I could think of.

I got back in my car and pulled forward to the next pump, then got back out of my car and tried that tank.

Still nothing. No fumes, even.

And that's when the first car started honking. (Have I mentioned that this is a fairly busy intersection in a college town, so there's almost always a line of cars... even at 6:30 in the AM?) Once one car honked, it became a free-for-all. There was a line of cars in front of the gas station, waiting for their red light to turn green and there were drivers honking at me, gesturing at me, pointing to something behind me. And laughing.

And that's when I turned around.

The gas station? Yeah... The lights weren't on. Because they weren't open yet. Which is why the gas wouldn't pump. 

True story. (Can I tell you how much I love the advent of debit/credit cards and the fact that, now, almost all gas pumps are manned with credit card machines that will allow you to swipe, pay for, and pump gas 24 hours a day? No. No, I cannot. Because there are not words for that kind of love.)

Epilogue: I did not die of embarrassment. In fact, at that point, I'm pretty sure I threw my head back and laughed out loud at my silly self, gave my honking friends a double thumbs up, and then got in the car and prayed my way to another gas station that WAS open, so I could gas up and get myself to Orem. I was a few minutes late to pick up Kat, but I still got her - and myself - to work. Neither of us got fired for being a smidge tardy. And I never ever tried to pump gas at a gas station that was closed again. Amen.

Tomorrow, tomorrow... I love ya, tomorrow. You're only a day away!

Don't mind me channeling Annie there for a minute.

It's because I'm so excited for tomorrow that I can hardly stand myself.

Why, you ask?

Because.... TOMORROW is the day that I fly to California for the Ball Cousin Baking Retreat!

Fourteen women, two little babies and a whole lot of baked goods (all under one roof) = ONE FABULOUS WEEKEND.

Here's a little sneak peek at the shopping list:

Flour - 25 lbs
Sugar - 16 cups
Powdered Sugar - 11 cups
Eggs - 4 dozen
Cocoa - 2 1/2 cups
Heavy Cream - 3 cups
Butter - 5 lbs

That's a heck of a lot of cousin bonding goodness right there, kids.

I'm so excited that I can hardly stand myself! (And now that I've told the www about it, I'm thinking maybe I can muster up the self-control to make myself pack. Wish me luck!)

Ooey gooey and DELICIOUS

Q: Who thinks it's a good idea to make cinnamon rolls over the weekend?

A: This girl.

Q: Who then thinks that what she needs in her life is a warm (leftover) cinnamon roll for breakfast on a workday?

A: Again, this girl.

Q: Who prefers her cinnamon rolls with extra (by which I mean, EXTRA) icing?

A: You can figure it out.

Q: Who's usually running too late to sit down and eat breakfast in her own kitchen, so she takes it with her and eats it in the car on the way to work?

A: Yup... Again, me.

So, you can probably see how it happened that I wound up with cream cheese icing smeared down and across my dress today. (Stupid seatbelt. Also, I'm a bit of a slob, even when I'm not trying to balance and/or eat pastries from behind the wheel.)

And thus we see the perils of taking warm, ooey gooey cinnamon rolls (with too much icing) on the road. Doesn't mean it wasn't worth it. And it doesn't mean I won't do it again!

Like, tomorrow, maybe...

Sometimes I get confused and think I live in Gotham City

As some of you (read: ALL of you) may know, I do some pretty stupid things in the AM.

And when I say stupid, I mean... STOO-PID.

So, I thought it would be fun this month to do a post a week chronicling my early morning idiocy. You know, just to help you feel better about your own lives. I'm such a giver, right?

You're welcome.

I like to buy gas on my way to work. Why? Because I loooove gas station breakfast. Gone are the days that I could have Cheetos and a Cherry Coke for breakfast, but I'm still down with donuts and/or chips with a bottle of water. I mean, a girl may as well fill her own tank while the car gasses up, right?

The last time I bought gas, I picked up a glazed donut from the bakery. (I heart QT. They have an actual bakery section. ... Don't get me wrong. I will eat Hostess, but I do prefer glazed raised.) I got back in my car - after having put the nozzle/hose back in the tank, don't you worry - and headed off to work.

Now, my car's a stick, so driving can be a little tricky when you're holding a bottle of water in one hand and a donut in the other.

I know. I paint quite a picture.

But I'm not done yet.

Imagine this: Me. At a stoplight. Water in one hand. Donut in the other. Needing to shift down in order to turn onto the freeway. ... So I did what any rational person would do; I put the donut in my mouth to hold it while I made a tight turn.

About halfway through the turn, with my mouth holding a half-eaten glazed donut, I thought... "Oh my gosh! This is EXACTLY what the bank employee felt like in Dark Knight, when The Joker pulled the pin and stuck the grenade in that guy's mouth and drove off with the school bus full of money. Ahhhhhh!"

I'm not kidding. My mind started racing and I totally panicked...

And then I remembered that I was holding a pastry between my teeth - not explosives - and I was able to breathe again. Also, I was able to eat again. ... Which was lucky, considering I still had half a donut to go - and a whole lot of post-Joker-anxiety to relieve.

True stories from my actual life

One of my good friends sent me this a while back:

I love her.

Anyone who's been on this site more than twice may have noticed, I have absolutely no shame when it comes to telling people the stupid (aka: embarrassing) things I've done in my life.

I tell these stories because I think we ALL have stories like this, and it's my belief that the more we tell them, the more we realize that doing silly (aka: embarrassing) things is just part of being human.

Also, I think they're funny.

To that end, I've decided that I'm going to tell EVEN MORE of them!

True story.

Here's the plan:

There will be a theme every month (ie: peeing my pants in public, gas station escapades, indecent exposure, super glue accidents... you get the picture), and once a week, I'll do a post that tells a story that falls under that theme.

That'll be fun, right?

True stories from my actual life will be starting on Friday of this week. Be looking forward to that!