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steenky bee

Updated: 2015-09-16T13:56:52.917-06:00


The End


Well, I guess we all saw this one coming, and I’m not talking about the Hoff as a cast member on the upcoming season of Dancing With the Stars either. But come on, it was only a matter of time before that singin’-boozin’ German made it to the dance floor. No, I’m actually talking about the end of this here blog.

Yeppers. I’m doing it. I’m officially pulling the plug. This blog has been on life support for far too long and it would just be cruel to let it flounder any further.

But before I go, I want to thank everyone who read me through the years. Thank you for always saying the kindest and most supportive things. Many of you I consider good friends and I’ve never even met you face to face. I cherish every word you left on my website and laughed out loud at your witty observations. I have been especially touched as of late by my presence overseas in Japan, China and the UK. Recently, not a day has gone by that Happy Town Good For You Products has left me heartfelt comments like, “I really enjoy reading happy observations of your criminal dogs.”

WTF Happy Town? I don’t own criminal dogs. I’m beginning to think you’re not even reading me very closely. So you know what Happy Town? This last post isn’t for you. It’s for my friends and loved ones and parole officer to read.

So I say to you (friends, loved ones and court appointed associate), thank you, thank you for everything. You will be missed on this website.

But don’t think, for one minute, that I’m planning on retiring with any dignity or grace. No. That just wouldn’t be my style. I still plan on still doing my part to clutter up the internet on Facebook with my observations on why I find bananas unintentionally hilarious and post pictures of my hair on really, really bad days.

Beef and Broccoli


I'm guest posting today over at Ca-Joh's site. He's good people. He's also out of town, hence the guest posting gig I landed.

If you want to hear all about how beef and broccoli changed my plans entirely for the evening, go here. If you want to continue living an unfulfilled life void of all meaning, well, then by all means, stay here. But if I were you, I would go with the beef and broccoli thing.

Tea Baggin', Dancin' and Shaunin'


It's Tuesday and I'm feeling random today. Get on board with Super Keely’s Tuesday’s Random Thoughts. If you're not doing it, you're doing it wrong. Here goes:

Yesterday, my morning Facebook status was Am I the only person who is actually a fan on Mondays? According to my friends that commented, apparently I am. I can't believe how rigorous you all are in your hatred for Mondays. Now, if we could all somehow channel that hatred into something a little more constructive, say like getting rid of pleated pants, well...then I could definitely see myself joining the bandwagon.

Speaking of bandwagons...

Today there is a Tea Bagger Express rally here in Utah. I'd really like to go if for no other reason than to get my face on Fox News and to tell the organizer folks that they should have googled the term "Tea Bagging" a little more thoroughly before they married themselves to the name. Come on people, is your friend. Use it.

Certain people have been asking me if I have given up my obsessive crush on Shaun White since I haven't talked about him for a while. Let me address those people directly:

No, Jeremy, I haven't given up on the ridiculous dream (your words, not mine) that Shaun White will stop by our house after a day of hittin' the half-pipe. I will also not give up hope that The Shaun will tell me I make the most delicious chicken curry casserole he's ever tasted and ask if he can move into our basement. It could happen. Think of the income supplementing possibilities here. I'm doing this for our family. Stop being so selfish, Jeremy.

Also, I fully recognize that "hittin' the half-pipe" sounds somewhat dirty, just like "tea bagging" did a few paragraphs ago. Believe me, the irony is not lost on me here.

Another also, this happened at work the other day during a moment of low-productivity.

(image) Actually, this has happened many times during many days. My girl Jessica just happened to capture it on film.

I've wrangled Jeremy into watching Dancing With The Stars (DWTS) with me this season. Every time Evan Lysacek waltzes onto the stage (Get it? Waltzes?) I secretly hope that Evgeni Plushenko and his hipster mullet pirouettes in front of the camera and tries to claim victory over Evan on a reality television show. Not that I don't love The Evan, because, for the love of spray-tanner, I do. He's my pick this season, but I just can't resist beating that joke to death. At the very least, the Evgeni vs Evan DWTS drama would make for an awesome SNL skit.

Well, that's about all I have rattling around in my brain right now. I've been overwhelmed by trying to console Jeremy through the whole Sandra Bullock-Jessie James fiasco. See, besides Susie-Down-The-Street, Sandy is the other girl on his "Kitchen Pass" card for celebrity-neighbor hook-ups.



Here is the the second half of my 300th Post Extravaganza. Today, it's all about the ladies representin' and asking questions of me...First up is Pamela from The Dayton Time. She and I first crossed paths over soap nuts. I kid you not. She quickly became one of my favorites. Pamela and her husband The Mister are making a run to be the next Jon and Heather Armstrong.Pamela’s Question: I would like to know if you, yourself, have ever fried sausage in bacon grease?My Answer: Honestly, reading this question, let alone envisioning the prospect, made me dry heave a little bit and caused my cholesterol to shoot through the roof. This also sounds dangerous. All I'm sayin' is I hope Pamela and The Mister were fully clothed when they attempted this culinary feat. I mean, think of the splatter in unfortunate places people.Tracy of Kaply, Inc. and I go back well over three years. She’s sarcastic, feisty and awesome all wrapped up in one hot package. She describes herself as witty, humorous and almost creepy. Honey, I couldn't agree more. Tracy’s Question: What or who was it that made you start blogging? Did you read others before you began writing? My Answer: Like everyone else, I set out to be a blogger because I heard it would clear up my skin and bring me instant fame and fortune. Sadly, only one of those things has happened since I began writing on the internet. I had no idea that I would find such a wonderful network of people whom I consider close friends even though some of us have never met face to face. Too bad, you should really see my skin up close. It’s soft and supple now, or as Henry calls it, “squishy”. Jen of Blissfully Caffeinated and I found each other four years ago. She has given me friendship, joy, coupons and some questionable birthday greetings over that time period. If you ask her what I’ve given her, I’m sure she’d tell you that I’ve given her a complex and an unsightly rash. Jen’s Question: Can I be your sister wife? Also? From one curly headed gal to another, what hair product/routine do you use to tame that mane? How did you and Jeremy meet? My Answer: Phew! Jen sure is curious isn’t she? Well, I am always searching out additional sister wife. So, welcome aboard. Girlfriend, I look forward to braiding your hair after our delicious casserole dinner. As for my hair? It’s simple. Minimal shampoos, maximum leave-in conditioners and I love, love my diffuser. I use an old jersey t-shirt to towel dry my hair so as to not break the natural curl pattern and I pray every night before bed to the picture I have of Diana Ross, the Patron Saint of Curly Hair, to have a good hair day the next day. And as for how Jeremy and I met? Well, like most couples, we met at work when he caught me making multiple copies of Diana Ross’ picture on the office copier. In order to distract him, I asked him on a date to Lagoon (a local amusement park). He said Maybe. I laughed and said, No really, what time are we going? We ended up hitting it off and kept our “romance” a secret from everyone but a few people in management. When we mailed out our wedding announcements, I kid you not, most people at work thought it was a joke. They couldn’t understand what a quiet, intelligent guy like Jeremy was doing with a quirky, frizzy chick like me.We had a massive turn out at our wedding from the office folks. I think they came just to see if Jeremy would actually go through with it.Thank you to everyone who participated in my questions and thank you for reading me. It means more to me than you know. [...]



Today marks my 299th post. Not very impressive if you count the fact that I've been blogging for 4 years. I wish I could say it's all about quality, not quantity, but who am I kidding? You've read my stuff. It's not quality.I decided to call upon my oldest bloggy friends, the ones I first met on the interweb and asked them to help a sister out. I asked each blogger to send me a question, any question, and I would answer it on site to commemorate my 300th post milestone. As is typical, my responses are a bit wordy, so I've divided this post into two portions. The sacred 300 will be up later in the week. 1. The first question comes from one of my dearest friends, Captain Dumbass of Us and Them. He is the third blogger I ever commented on. The first person ignored me. The second person ignored me WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE. (I still haven’t gotten over that one.) But the Captain? He replied right back and the rest is history. Captain’s Question: Are you now, or have you ever been a member of the Osmond family?My Answer: All Utahans can either trace their lineage directly to an Osmond or they become what is known as a “Naturalized Osmond”. This event happens unknowingly when you cross the county line into Utah County, childhood home of Donny and Marie. Of course, if you can directly trace your lineage to either side of the Osmond family (you’re either a little bit country or a little bit rock-n-roll), you are considered sort of pseudo royalty here in the land of Zion. 2. The amazing Kat of 3 Bedroom Bungalow was my first girl bloggy friend. I may have loved her too hard because she found it necessary to pick up her family and move across the pond to a foreign country to get away from me. Le Sigh. Kat’s Question: What are the best and worst parts about living in Utah? My Answer: I would say the worst part is the fact that it is still not legal to own a monkey or even transport a monkey in the state of Utah. But I hear the State Legislature is going to debate this soon in an upcoming joint session so, let’s hear it for the primates, people. The best part of about living in Utah would have to be what I call the “3 Ms”; Mommy Bloggers, Mountains and, *fingers crossed*, one day, Monkeys. 3. During our first email correspondence, Jen Cohen, aka, Sprite’s Keeper, told me she didn’t think there was enough room for two Jen’s on the internet. In reality, she is the sweetest person out there. Jen’s Question: If you had to give up one part of your body, appendage, organ, whatever, be creative! what would it be and how would you get along without it? My Answer: I don’t think I could voluntarily give up any body part. I’ve got 20 pounds I’m looking to lose, but you can’t give those things away. Believe me, I’ve tried. 4. I found Jen Pompi of Oscarelli while stalking a very windy blog (you know the one). Her avatar picture and her witty comments over there caught my eye. I just had to be friends with her. Oscarelli’s Question: What is the one thing that Steenky readers don't know about you that would surprise them? My Answer: Remember my whole “I can’t dance very well” post where I graphically showed you that I couldn’t dance?Well, that’s only partly true. Oh, I have the worse white girl overbite when I shake my money maker in da club, but I was actually quite an accomplished trained dancer in my younger years. I was involved ballet, jazz, tap, and gymnastics ages 4 thru 22. I competed in several national dance championships both individually and as part of a team. (My mom has a trophy wall!) After I finished my "dancing career", I went on to harshly judge both team and individual dance competitions. I hoped that my career as a judge would land me lucrative endorsements, or at the very least bribery money from desperate stage moms, but all I received was minimal compensation and the realization that when someone works gun fingers into a ro[...]

Most of All, I'll Miss the Flushing


Our office is in the middle of a huge, multi-phased move this week. Things are chaotic and highly stressful. Needless to say, the posting / commenting on my end with be minimal and almost nonexistent for the next little bit. For this, I apologize in advance. If you’ve read Steenky Bee any length of time, you may already know that both Jeremy and I work in the architectural industry. Our firm is retrofitting an old abandoned Bally’s Fitness Center and redesigning it to be the highest rated sustainable building in Utah. (LEED Platinum rating)*. We’re talking minimal lighting and HVAC usage, so basically, I’ll be working in the dark, sweating and/or freezing (depending on the season) and fussing with low-flow toilets. (I think we can all collectively agree that no one likes public toilets. The only saving grace they offer is their powerful flushing prowess. Well, starting next week, I can kiss that perk goodbye.)Besides the tragedies that are bound to happen in the new office rest rooms, the firm's management is extremely proud of our redesigned space and what it will mean for our sustainable design practice in the future. The employee's, however, are most proud of the fact that we now have an assigned space for the office ping-pong table. IS AWESOME. Back to the move… Amidst all the moving bins, and riveting meetings on parking procedures and access card policy to our new building, I did find something that peaked my interest. For the past three weeks or so, employees have been encouraged to organize their desks and rid their personal space of any clutter. The project managers of the move designated a table on the west side of our office for employees to place unwanted items that are still in reasonably good condition. Items on this table are free and up for grabs for anyone who wants them, first come-first serve. Tuesday, I had just finished flushing the last of several incriminating documents down the industrial strength toilets (goodbye old friend) when I found a few extra minutes on my hands. I decided to browse the selection of unwanted items to see if I could give any of them a home. Boy, am I glad I did. Witness the items free for the taking on the west side. A flask. At work. IS ALSO AWESOME. Now, I must go. They just announced a meeting to reveal the location of the parking spaces for the employees that drive a hybrid vehicle to work every day. (I told you we were being green.) No word on where the designated space for my bitchin’ Camaro will be. I'll keep you posted.*Somewhere back east, Irish Gumbo is shedding a tear filled with pride. [...]

Gettin' Fit and Gettin' Random


Today is reckoning day, the "Come to Casey" day. Every first Monday of the month I do two things; I treat myself to a meat lover's pizza and I post my fitness progress online for you all to read and for Casey to judge harshly.(The meat lover’s pizza is to console myself after I do my post of shame. The greasy bits of meat and cheese are my friends.) So is the pizza delivery guy. Note to self: we order out pizza way to often. But today, my friends, I come to you a changed woman. I have been exercising (what’s the opposite of religiously?)...fairly often. As of late, I have been getting up at 4:21 am to treadmill and lift weights with Jillian Michaels. She’s mean. She yells at me through the TV to stop being a whiner and just do it already. I love her. Why do I get up at 4:21? Well, first of all, I think to get up at that time is high-larious. Second, I hit the snooze button a few times then I get up at the more reasonable, but less funny 4:42 am and do the fitness routine for about 50 minutes. I need to start so early because I have kids to get ready for school, a husband to nag into packing a lunch and then, of course, there is my very lengthy shower routine. Remember that?If you want to join the fitness revolution, then get yourself that P90X thing everyone's talking about. I hear it works. If you want to join a community of supportive women striving to meet their fitness goals together then check out Casey's HASAY Challenge over at her site.*Warning* Abrupt subject change ahead:I know it’s only Monday, but I really want to participate in Super Keely’s Tuesday’s Random Thoughts. If you're not doing it, you're doing it wrong. I’m posting this an entire day early. I’m not only very random, but extremely overly prompt. Here goes:Do people still wear skorts? I have no clue. Are you people following @Badbanana on Twitter? If you’re not, you should be. Last week he posted this tweet and it made me laugh. Are you people following @Gingela5 on Twitter? She tweets often about her dogs, her feet and the fact that she likes pineapple. She’s actually one of my favorite people to interact with on Twitter. I’m going to BlogHER 2010. Oh joy! I’m super excited and nervous at the same time. Jenni at Oscarelli is one of the ladies in my super fun group and is really the brains behind the whole organizing of the hotel / lodging / rooming / gossiping about boys / matching outfits thing. The other day we were trading emails back and forth about getting all the ladies into a couple of rooms and this was the tail end of my email response to her:“….I won't do any foot stomping if we need to shuffle bodies in rooms a bit. It’s well known that I'll sleep anywhere. (That rumor about me has been floating around since high school, anyway.) Bawahahaha!”Okay, so that might only be funny to me. I promise it’s not true. The actual rumor floating around me in high school was that everyone I slept with said I screamed in my sleep. So...who's excited to room with me at BlogHer?[...]

Oh Utah, They're Just Jealous of You


As a Utahan, I tend to think of my state as I would a sibling or a strange second-cousin. Oh, it's okay for me to tease her and give her a wedgie or two. I may, if the mood strikes, even tell her to go suck it. But if someone else comes along and picks on her? On my Utah? Oh NO. I am not trying to hear that noise.According to our recent motto, Utah is “A pretty great state”. And? According to our license plates (which, by the way, check it - are off the hook) has the “Greatest snow on earth!” Take that, Colorado.Our current state motto is “Life Elevated”, and while nobody here really knows, or cares what that means, as a state, we (read: I) have just sort of rolled with it and concentrated on more important things like becoming a reoccurring sister-wife on HBO’s Big Love or finding out exactly where Apolo Ohno lives. Because, ladies (or gentleman – if that’s the way you roll, no judgment here, only love) Apolo most definitely DOES live in Utah for part of the year. I’ve seen him. I was close enough to smell him. More importantly, I was close enough for him to hear me when I whisper-screamed at my friend, “Oh. My. GAH! How does my hair look?” My friend, brutally honest as always, looked me over and just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Meh, it could be worse.”Yes, Utah is a strange (liquor laws) and magical (see Ohno reference above) place, but we’ve given the world some pretty stellar things too. Take Mitt Romney’s hair, for example. Have you ever seen such an immaculate head suit on anyone besides Ronald Regan, who, by the way, is most definitely Mitt’s idol both politically and hair-wise? To the world I say, you’re welcome**.*Spoiler Alert* Old Mitt up there is planning a run for president again and I, for one, can’t wait to sit and judge both him and Sarah Palin harshly on their coifs during the primaries. Just to make it fair, I will be equally critical of Joe Biden’s hair plugs, but not his face lift, because hasn’t it settled so nicely?Recently, Salt Lake City was named to the top 8 most romantic cities in the US. Apparently, if you buy enough Barry White CDs or romance novels (read: Twilight), you’re considered somewhat of a Casanova in Amazon’s eyes.Utah hosted the Winter Olympics, invented fry sauce, made jell-o into unearthly creations and for the love of Donny and Marie, we gave you the Osmonds. THE OSMONDS! Have you seen their teeth? Whiter than white and bigger than life, my friends.So, internet, I guess in a way, I am confessing my love for my state. You may point your finger at us from afar and sit in judgment of our peculiar laws, but without us, ketchup and mayo would have never found themselves together in such a delicious and unholy union.*Technically Mitt Romney is from Detroit, but we’ll go ahead and take one for the team on this one. You’ve got enough to worry about (General Motors.)This post was thrown up here today as participation in the ever so lovely Sprite’s Keeper and her Spin Cycle on Confessions. If you aren’t part of it, you should be. If you haven't been to Utah, well you should. The sister-wives are hotter than you think.[...]

How Did I End Up With This Hot Dog?


Lately, Jeremy and I have been having a little trouble communicating with each other. It started a few weeks ago when he asked me if we could take a quick drive across town to pick up a spare set of car keys to his father’s Accord so he could drive it the following week while our truck was being serviced. On my life, that is what he asked me. Below, is what Jeremy, the Delusional One, claims he asked me... “Jen, Sweetheart, mother of my children and favored lover of mine, would you be so kind to drive me to the Les Schwab Tire Center so I can spend 30 minutes drooling over rims and tires we don’t need, and watch me talk about transmissions, big game hunting and NCAA basketball with a stranger working the customer service counter? Please try to keep the children entertained. They like sitting still and the smell of galvanized rubber right?” “Then, Light of my Life, would you shuttle me to the Dodge dealership to price shop for parts while I talk with a service technician named Dale and review the finer points of tying your own flies for fishing? Don’t be alarmed if I follow him into the service bay and disappear for twelve minutes. Dale, keeps his fly collection at his work station. I’ll still see you through the plexiglas window that separates the waiting room from the bay. And I’m going to think it’s adorable watching you wrestle both Henry and Reese simultaneously especially when you let them pull at your hair like that. I’ll be sure to wink and wave at you when you mouth the words ‘I want you NOW!*’ to me from across the way. Aw, Sugarlumps, after all these years, I’m hot for you too.” * Let it be known, in reality, I mouthed the words, ‘We’re leaving NOW’. It was most definitely a threat and not a come on. “Then, my love, I’ll sweep you off to a magical place, because surely you and the children will be hungry by now. Have you ever heard of Hot Dog Heaven? Well I have, and it’s delightful. Don’t let the location in a poorly lit, suspect strip mall color your opinion of what you are about to experience. Sure the guy working the counter may be a bit on the ornery and slightly unkempt side, but that’s all part of his charm. He packs a mean Chicago Dog according to Utah standards. Trust me, Snookums, you won’t be disappointed.” “What’s that Honeybuns? You say Reese has just made a present in her diaper and you didn’t pack extras because you had no idea you’d be away from home for three hours? Don’t you worry your nappy little head. I’ll run to the store up the street and fetch a package of diapers that will be two sizes too small. I will forget to buy wipes. You just wait here with the hungry kids for our food. Go ahead and start without me…if you can. Because little do you know, I’m taking my wallet and the car with your purse locked inside. You won’t have any means to pay for the food until I return. Fifteen minutes later.” “And Lover Nugget, once we’ve finished our slightly cold food, it’s time for the final act of the night. We just need to drive down the road to pick up the spare set of car keys from my father so I can drive his Accord while our truck is being serviced next week.” That little misunderstanding up there? Cost me more than three hours of my life and way too many calories. But have no worries. Next week, unbeknownst to Jeremy, he will accompany me to purse party and a Mary Kay open house. As far as he knows, I just have to “swing” by a friend’s house for one hot minute. [...]

It's Not Unhealthy If I Don't Act Upon My Obsession


So, if you follow me on twitter or have friended me on facebook, you undoubtedly know by now that I have somewhat of an unhealthy obsession with Shaun White. I lovingly call him The Shaun. I tweet and post status updates about him often and sometimes threaten to physically show up where ever he is and braid his hair. Let’s hope this obsession doesn’t turn ugly although some of you have already claimed it has. Yes, The Shaun is a little unconventional looking, but I sort of dig that. He has a clothing line at Target, he owns his owns a helicopter and half pipe in the Colorado backcountry. But, let me assure you, those are not the only reasons I obsess over him. I respect him as an athlete, I think he's very good-looking...and I really, really want to ride in that helicopter. Don’t think this is a temporary fascination either. Every six months or so, I catch The Shaun on television during the Dew Tour or the X-Games series and I say out loud, “Oh, yeah! I forgot about him. I love him!” Three years ago at the Summer Dew Tour here in Salt Lake City I was within eyeshot of him and nearly passed out from hyperventilating in excitement. My husband Jeremy was with me and was extremely helpful with the whole situation. In between shouting, “Jen! He’s barely legal. LET IT GO!” he also told me to put my head between my legs and take deep breaths. In hindsight, me ducking down out with my head buried was a win-win for Jeremy. It not only saved his wife from passing out on a crowded and very littered area (I was wearing white capris, an obvious street hazard. But cute!), but it allowed him to suffer less embarrassment since I was no longer visible to the masses. Much to my delight, my husband is down with The Shaun too. Earlier this week as Jeremy and I watched the Olympics, we bickered with each other over who The Shaun would rather hang out with; me or him? After 20 minutes of back and forth and throwing out our most compelling arguments, our “little disagreement” was settled when I trumped all of my husband’s foolish reasons by shouting, “I have cleavage. I WIN!” Jeremy agrees. Boobs win every time. Anyway, here’s what happened Wednesday evening when I had Photoshop and a little too much time at my disposal. Look at it people. Don't avert your eyes. Our hair totally matches and you know it.*******On a separate note, I have a bit of housekeeping to take care of here. I have limited my blog stalking to two days maximum. On those two days I only give myself 70 minutes to pour through my reader. If I don’t swing by your site as frequently as you post, this is the reason why. I do love you all and appreciate more than you know when you visit me too...especially after my long absence from the internet. Your comments here crack me up and are definitely funnier and more inventive than anything I write about. I must level with you though; they are not as cute as The Shaun. It has to be said. [...]

Love Hang-Over


Just before Valentine’s Day, the Steenky Haus was hit with a monsoon of sickness. Both Henry and Reese caught nasty colds, complete with explosive sneezing and gusts of non-stop whining. Once they hit the road to recovery, they insisted that with all-day cartoon marathons in mom and dad’s room, and unlimited access to their left over Valentine’s candy, they would recover quickly.

A couple of times I heard Henry upstairs coaching his little sister on what to say when summoning me and the exact tone to use when requesting a shot of juice with a side of Sweet Tarts. In Henry’s mind this elaborate drill was necessary if the kids were to avoid the pediatrician’s office, an unfortunate lesson he learned a year ago when he pressed the issue of a stomach pain with me when, in fact, he was just trying to avoid cleaning his playroom.

Nice try little boy. I think the doctor diagnosed him with pretendanitis and told him not to play tricks on mommy.

Although, half of me is giving my son a silent high-five, because, really? He has developed deceptive organizational skills at such an early age? We have managed to raise a truly gifted child. I can’t wait to collaborate with him in the future on projects like What did daddy get mommy for Christmas? or the ever popular When did the toothless lady down the street start raising goats in her back yard? After all, I am growing very tired on being the mastermind on all these fact-finding missions. I could really use a partner.

So back to the kids…

Ten minutes has passed and I still hear Henry helping Reese go over her lines and just what to say when it becomes her turn to beg for candy. They are using her room for rehearsal since it is the only suitable area upstairs for such an activity. Reese’s area has all the princess dress up clothes and the lighting concept in that room? Is. To. Die. For.

A few minutes later, Henry and Reese emerge. (slowly, very slowly with blankets in tow - Henry has now incorporated props! I am so proud!) They come downstairs (still very slowly) to hit me with their plan. But before Henry, who is clearly leading this thing, even gets a chance to begin, Reese interrupts and excitedly shouts, SUCKER! SUCKER! over and over again.

I can only assume she was referring to the candy stash and she hasn’t picked up name-calling at such a young age. Although…if Henry and I ever find ourselves in a situation where we need a third man to get the job done, we could use Reese to run interference.

If I'm Coming For You, You'll Smell Me First


I’m participating in the web’s most popular meme today. It’s Random Tuesday Thoughts, the brainchild of Keely aka The Unmom. But, I’m sure you all already knew that. She’s blonde and famous, just like the sun.

Here goes random…

I just bought a bottle of SJP/NYC perfume and I can say that it has officially become my signature scent. Not because it speaks to my personality per se, but more because the bottle exploded in my purse after it suffered severe trauma in our office parking garage. Now, everywhere I go, I emit not-so-subtle notes of strawberries and gardenias.

On a related note, the aforementioned disaster makes it difficult for me to sneak up on strangers on the street and steal their candy while lugging around my purse. And if you didn’t already know, strangers in Salt Lake City carry thee best candy.

The other day I zipped through the drive-thru window at McDonald’s. When I pulled up to the menu board to place my order, the attendant (Hi, I'm Jarrod!) sang the McDonald’s jingle “Bah-dah-buh-bah-dahhhh, I’m lovin’ it!” before he chirped, “How can I make YOUR day!” I told him he could make my day with a fruit parfait and a rendition of “Walking on Sunshine”. Let’s just say the fruit parfait was passable at best and Jarrod! has no clue who Katrina and the Waves are.

And now…and now I just really want to watch Secret of My Success starring a young Michael J. Fox.

I am mildly obsessed with Tabatha’s Salon Takeover on Bravo. She is the definition of bitchy and honest. I wish Tabatha were in the fitness training biz. Because honey, bitchy and honest is what I need at the gym right now.

Do people still say the “fierce”? Because, I really like that word. I’ve been apprehensive to use it because I think it’s circa 2006, which doesn’t make it vintage enough to be cool just yet. It just makes me sound a little dated.

My mother gave me a little wake up call this week. I mean this literally. She actually called my phone while I was sleeping and it woke me up.

I received the Beautiful Blogger Award this week from Jessica at La Fin DuMond Farm. Thank you, Jessica, but clearly you didn't see my extreme bedhead when you threw the award my way. I was anything but beautiful that day, my friend. (I've tucked the award away in my awards page if you want to take a peek. I've contacted a local Chocolatier to have a 2/3 replica made for my sweet tooth. Delicious) Grab the Beautiful Blogger badge for yourselves!

Well, that’s it for me folks. I’m off to hopefully jump an unsuspecting stranger on the street and shake him down for a Snickers bar…without my purse, of course.

Bad Romance


I tend to write in a memoir style over here. I admire the bloggers out there that dabble in fiction. It takes dedication and imagination. I have one of those things, but not the other.

So, in honor of Valentine’s Day, I thought I’d share with you all a rare treat. Today, friends, I am going to publish my first ever short story of fiction. And by short, I mean really short. I can’t stress enough just how short it is.

Disclaimer: When I said “rare treat”, I may have been a little cocky. Those words just went nicely together. They in no way represent what you’re about to read.

Second Disclaimer: I’m sorry for what you’re about to read.

Bad Romance – by Steenky Bee

He looked at me, tears in his eyes and said, “Maybe we should just be friends.”

Shocked, I gathered my fist up to my heart and begged him to reconsider. “Please, oh, please! Don’t take this all away.” I sheepishly tilted my head and looked at him coyly from the side, “Maybe we should be friends with benefits.”

His face broke free from its rigid lines of determination. “What do you mean?” he countered looking confused. I could tell he was becoming increasingly intrigued.

I batted my eyelashes at him and whispered, “I thought we could be friends, but you could pay for my health insurance. With dental. Don’t cheap out on me now, sailor.”

{The end.}

This post was thrown up here today as participation in the ever so lovely Sprite’s Keeper and her Spin Cycle on all things Valentine's Day. If you aren’t part of it, you should be.

Your body is a temple, but how long can you live in the same house before you redecorate?


I don’t have a tattoo. I don’t think I want one either. It’s not that I don’t like them, because I do…sometimes. I appreciate them, especially a quality one. I abhor the cheesy ones.Now, before you get all uppity up in here, let me say that I don’t mean your tattoos or your friend’s tattoos. Those? Are bitchin’ as hell.Some of my dear friends have the ink. Take for instance, this guy, Captain Dumbass, famous to tens of people on the internet and always first in my reader. He’s got himself an entire mural going on.(FYI: The Captain is famous to thousands on the internet.)This next tattoo belongs to Miss Grace. She is not only one of my favorite bloggers, but she has THEE best tat in the functional/literary category. (I guess the Captain's would be first place in the scary mythical creatures that breathe fire and will most definitely kill you category.)(In case you can't quite make out exactly what her tattoo is, it's a scene from Where The Wild Things Are.) I imagine if Miss Grace ever gets really tired when she’s putting her son to bed, she could just roll over and let her back do the talkin’. How cool is that?Even my daughter’s cute little birthmom gave herself a tattoo as sentimental reminder of Reese to carry with her always. (It’s on my facebook photo page if you’d like to see.) To be clear, I don't think she gave the tattoo to herself. I'm pretty sure she paid someone to do it....I’m just too fickle to get tattooed. I can't make my mind up for more than a minute. I once indulged in a Henna tattoo at a carnival and wished I could change it moments after the seemingly buzzed and definitely sweaty guy began painting it on my arm. Although, it could have been the mixture of the suspect corn dog I had just eaten and the mustard stain in sweaty guy's beard from the corn dog he had just eaten. We will never know.Last week, Jeremy and I were talking about the flesh ink and we began throwing out ideas for tats that would be fun to see on someone else, someone more secure in their choices. We have assembled a short list of five designs below. Any feedback or suggestions you have are welcomed:1) A beautiful, but barely legible script font along the back neckline that reads: I have made a huge misteak.2) A smallish representation of The Simpsons Comic Book Guy with a thought bubble coming from his head with the words: Worst tattoo ever.3) A lower back tattoo, or “tramp stamp”, if you will, that reads: You’re welcome.4) Another lower back option. This time it would be a simple, yet noticeable red dot with the words: You are here written next to it.5) And finally, in bold sans-serif print, anywhere on your body: Love lasts forever, but a tattoo lasts six months longer.Special thanks to the Captain and Miss Grace for letting me use their backsides in this post![...]

Why Are People So Down on the Emos?


Whenever anyone asks me what my pet peeve is my first instinct, and always my initial answer is, “My pet peeve is when people ask me what my pet peeves are.” I tell you, when I nail the delivery of that line just perfectly, it gets a laugh every time. Mostly from me, but still, it’s a laugh.In all honesty, I am so intrigued by other people’s pet peeves, especially when they are either extremely particular or completely random. So, I googled “Pet Peeves” on my computer thingy to see what things were bothering people on the internets and I found myself mildly fascinated by what others had to say. I’ve listed a few I found at The Top Tens, a site that allows users to vote, comment or add their own grievances to thread groups.In my extreme laziness, instead of whipping up a post of my own, I’ve decided to copy a few of the entries and add my two cents next to them in italics. I hope nobody out there lists laziness as one of his or her hot buttons….Here goes:1. Mouth noises/chewing with mouth open – Yawn (with mouth covered, of course). Way too common and goes without saying.2. Not washing hands after using the restroom – Um…this is a given and really doesn’t belong here as a pet peeve. It belongs in a life-manual. Or written in all caps letters in the unisex bathroom at Jose's Burritos up the street from my house.3. Bitchy school girls: you are not prettier than us, and you are CERTAINLY not smarter than us, so get over yourselves!!!! (Look at all those !!! marks)– This one was my second favorite and prompted me to immediately add Mean Girls to my Net Flix cue.4. Screaming children/Temper tantrums – Well, then don’t come to our house.5. Thugs – Again, don’t come to our house.6. Overuse of the word “actually” – I’m actually guilty of this.7. Emo bands – Aw, come on. Pete Wentz is still considered mildly attractive, isn’t he? (Even without the make-up, no?)8. Skinny jeans on men – How can Emo bands, let alone Pete Wentz, exist without the skinny jean?9. People who post pet peeves on a forum page – My favorite by far.10. Sisters: they bug you all the time!!!! – I’m betting the person that posted this and #3 are one in the same. I’m also betting this person is an angsty tween who is way into Emo music.11. When your kids sneak bottles full of water into their bedrooms, stand toe to toe with each other and spend copious amounts of time taking sips only to spit the water back out at one another – Okay, this might only be me. This is a brand new pet peeve I discovered yesterday when I found my children half-dressed, each holding an empty water bottle, soaking wet, standing in a puddle of water in Henners' room.12. No Spoons at fancy restaurants – I totally agree. I'm looking at you, KFC, and your unholy union that is the "spork".This post was thrown up here today as participation in the ever so lovely Sprite’s Keeper and her Spin Cycle. If you aren’t part of it, you should be. It's a pet peeve of hers.[...]

Wait. Loss. Black. Ice.


I forget what week, or year even, it is for our HASAY Challenge update. I haven’t participated in an update since April. For those of you who don’t know, HASAY stands for Half as Small as You and it is a fitness support group founded by my dear friend Casey over at Half as Good as You after a bunch of her readers mocked her relentlessly about placing her dog Chloe on the treadmill as a form of outsourcing her own exercise needs.

Don’t judge. I’d do the same thing too, but my dogs aren’t coordinated enough to work the controls on our treadmill and complain about the workout music I've downloaded on my iPod. FYI, canines are not down with the GaGa.

For my fitness regimen, I’ve been braving Utah's bitter cold to run/walk the nature trail near my house. The trail system, in its entirety, is about nine miles long and laced with patches of black ice. I’ve managed to navigate three or four miles of it before I; a) Slip and break a hip, or b) Lie down and writhe around in pretend pain in the hopes that I can convince the middle schoolers on the path that I have slipped and bribe them with the left over Kit Kat candy bards I carry in my fanny pack to give me a ride back home on the handle bar of their bikes.

That's right. I jog with a fanny pack. How else am I supposed to carry my candy?

So I’m back on the exercise kick and I am in it to win it. And by “win it”, I mean an all expense paid vacation to Florida to be with Casey herself. And by “all expense vacation”, I mean whoever wins the HASAY Challenge must foot the bill for their own airfare, lodging and meals to make the “prize vacation” actually happen.

Casey hasn’t exactly agreed to host the winner, and she doesn't even know there is a contest at stake here, but I really, really need there to be some sort of carrot dangled in front of me in order to be successful. Sooooooooo, I have taken it upon myself to carefully hammer out the details for the HASAY Challenge winner below. I call it The Tiger Woods Odyssey Experience.

Casey will pick you up in her brother’s ’93 Toyota Corolla and after you swing by the McDonald’s drive thru, she will chauffeur you and her two small children on the open road for three full hours of driving by the infamous locations of Tiger’s favorite haunts. She claims she knows a guy who knows a guy who kinda-sorta knows where the gate entrance is to one of Tiger’s many Florida mansions. Casey will drive by slowly for photo op here as well as the bars, pro shops, pancake houses, etc. where Tiger spent a good deal of his time. The tour winds down around 4:00 because, according to Casey, that's when her brother's classes are finished at the community college and he needs his car back for his night job.

So, who else is with me?

Jersey Can be a State of Mind Too


It’s 11:00 at night on Christmas Eve and I’m downstairs in our basement all alone. I’ve told my husband I’m wrapping a few last minute gifts for the kids but really I’m sprawled out on top of the wrapping paper, positioned on my stomach, head resting on folded arms, legs kicking the sofa behind me, staring up at the television and oblivious to the world around me.Why?Three words.The. Jersey. Shore.That night I discovered exactly what a Snookie "Poof" was. That’s the night I saw The Situation for the very first time. That’s the night my world was changed for the better. When I saw those eight orange twenty-somethings fist pumping around the boardwalk and treating the Garden State like their own personal Caligula, I snapped out of my eight month long funk devoid of emotion. I kid you not.I thought to myself, Self, if this spectacle is out there, who knows what other awesomeness exists? And, Self, get up, wipe the chocolate santa stains off your festive sweats (they were red!) and explore all that you have been missing!But instead of jumping up and seizing my new found excitement immediately, I thought it best to roll over on my side just far enough to grab another piece of candy and hunker down to watch myself a Jersey Shore marathon. It's always important to pace yourselves with life changing moments.The next morning, Christmas day, after the presents were all opened, long after our company had arrived, I found myself trying to work The Jersey Shore kids into conversations with my family. Sadly, no one would join in (willingly). Actually, no one knew who the hell I was talking about. I kept shouting We’ve got ourselves a situation here! while making breakfast upstairs. My poor mom, hearing my squawking would run up two flights to see what I had set on fire. Eventually she became too tired to traipse up and down the stairs so she resigned to sit herself at my kitchen table and pretend to read the waffle iron manual with great interest so she didn’t have to engage me in any way when I went over, in great detail, my plot for a second reality show for Snookie titled Snookin' for Love.Was it divine inspiration that led me to The Jersey Shore marathon? No. Was it a lack of current programming on the part of MTV? I think so. Whatever it was, it was kismet-ish enough for me to finally see it was time for me to stop throwing myself pity parties (which were all the rage in my head - with my house DJ and killer mini sausage hors d’oeuvres and all) and start concentrating on witty things to say to The Situation when I eventually see him at a mall opening ten years from now somewhere in upstate New York because we all know that’s where these kids are going to end up eventually.So far, all I’ve come up with is, “It looks like this Situation has been downgraded to a Predicament.”This post was thrown up here today as participation in the ever so lovely Sprite’s Keeper and her Spin Cycle. If you aren’t part of it, you should be.[...]

Eddie, Please Stop Talking to Me.


It feels like I'm learning to get my blogging voice back all over again. You know the one. It's the voice in your head that says, Gee-wiz, it sure was a hoot when the copy repairman told me he hosted a photography website that featured his life's second passion, spiritual nudes. Why don't you write about that?For the record, my blogging voice has always has sounded like Theodore "Beaver" Cleaver, filled with plenty of Aw shucks! and Golly gee-wizes!For the other record, the copy repairman's first passion is rebuilding snowmobiles. (I sit way too close to a copier that has seen its better days, Folks.)Back to my blogging voice. Although this morning "The Beav" told me it would be outtasight! to tackle the spiritual nudes thing here, I just don't think I have the blogging strength or stomach to do it this early in the day.Instead, I found myself dusting off my reader, surfing the web and steering VERY wide and clear of the website the copy guy wrote down for me on his business card. This exercise found me stalking Middle Aged Woman's blog because, a) I love her and 2) I knew her site would be virtually free of any spiritual nudes. I was right. Additionally, I saw that she had put up a quotation meme a few days prior. Not only was this a welcome distraction, but it gave me something to write about. Even though I wasn't tagged, I hope MAW doesn't mind that I decided to crash her party and steal the meme for myself.So the meme goes a little something like this. If you'd like to participate, go here and check out some of the random quotes. Pick 5 quotes that you feel apply to your life, that say something about you and share. If you'd like, tag 5 people to do the same, link to the person who tagged you. Here are the few quotes I selected:"There are two kinds of people, those who finish what they start and so on."--Robert Byrne(Um, hello! I have difficulties following though on just about everything, with the only exception being a plate of nachos. Oh I'll finish those up. What's not to love about cheese and beans and cheese? Nothing, that's what.)“Sometimes I lie awake at night, and ask, 'Where have I gone wrong?' Then a voice says to me, 'This is going to take more than one night.'”--Charles M. Schulz(I hesitated to include this one because it is Charles Schulz, a man beloved by many, but by me, not so much. Old Chuck cracked a funny here though and for that, I must give him props.)“Some people see things that are and ask, Why? Some people dream of things that never were and ask, Why not? Some people have to go to work and don't have time for all that ...”--George Carlin(George, most likely high at the time he said this, pegged me perfectly with this quote. The last eight months I have questioned how anyone has any time or energy to follow their dreams let alone, wash their hair.)"It is better to travel well than to arrive."--Buddha(Perhaps this quote, more than any of the others, says more about the kind of person I pride myself on being. I am, of course, referring to the heated leather seats in my car. What? It's cold in Utah.)"How come Eddie is such a creepy guy?"--Me(Eddie is the name of the copy repair guy. 'Nuf said.)On a semi-serious and totally gushy note, I want to thank MAW for reaching out to me during my hiatus and saying the thoughful things she did. It was wonderful to hear her blogging voice.[...]

Several Things Have Happened to Us. Most of Them Uneventful.


I want to thank you all so much for the kind comments you offered me on my previous post. I was so happy to hear from my old friends (and new ones too!). Thank you for all your words of encouragement in dealing with my bout of depression, not to mention the advice for my hair. You all made my heart smile and it meant so very much to me. After all, if it’s one thing my hair could use it’s advice. If it’s two things my hair could use, well, then it would be advice and a salon strength leave in conditioner. I feel it only fair to let you know I’ve also received several complaints about my last post. All of these came in a series of phone calls from my mother. She was a little concerned that I didn’t include any updates on the kiddos in my entry and reminded me that several people including her nail lady, her masseuse and her friends from craft night would like to see more written about the little ones. Message received.I guess it’s true what they say, you can’t please everybody. But I may as well try to please my mother, her friends, her manicurist and her masseuse, right? (Is it just me, or does my mom leads a pretty swanky life?)So, if you’re one of those people who don’t really care to know what a random blogger’s children have been up to over the past six months, then please avert your eyes now. However, if you are NOT one of those people and you ARE interested, then buckle up, because this kiddie ride is about to get moving.Also, if you are Julee, my Aunt Jean, my cousins, my sister-in-laws or my parole officer, then this post is for you too. Wait, I’m totally kidding. I’m pretty sure my parole officer doesn’t read me anymore.Official update on family status: Jeremy continued being awesome and somewhat burly in 2009. Plain and simple. He had several projects at work that required him to log many hours on the phone and traveling and we missed him when he was out of town. But the kids and I partied it up while he was gone. Think Happy Meals + magic markers = newly painted walls. I spent the second half of 2009 obsessing over Tiger Woods, my recycling habits and suffering a vitamin C deficiency. (I’m almost positive these three things are not at all related.) I plan to spend 2010 eating my weight in burritos, breaking in my new neti pot and cleaning up messes. (Sadly, those three things are related.)Henry turned five this year. He experienced Lagoon (local amusement park) and sushi for the first time. He continued his love of hotel swimming pools, shoes, super heroes and any foods with cheese. (Except for foods with cheese cooked in them. Don’t even get me started.) He’s overjoyed about the prospect of starting Kindergarten next year because he thinks it will be just like a Hannah Montana episode.Reese, who is two now, spends the bulk of her time following Henry around or dressing up in princess play clothes. Although Henry has the upper hand in age, weight and general girth, make no mistake, Reese dominates him psychologically and can reduce him to tears by just touching his Bakugan toys with her big toe. I have undeniable evidence that Reese is responsible for instigating the magic marker drawing on our walls. And sometimes her face. We are totally taking the cost of the new paint out of your inheritance, little girl. [...]

No, Your Reader Isn't Deceiving You.


I’m a woman of leisure.

No, wait. I take that back.

I’m a woman of leisure pants. Ratty old leisure pants. You know, the soft, full of holes pair with that unfortunate stain? Yeah, I’m that woman.

But I didn’t post today to talk about my pants. I posted today to simply post something today. The story about my pants? That was nothing but an awkward introduction to the rest of my post.

But as long as we’re on the subject of my pants……

There are very few things in this life that will force me to jump out of my leisure pants. I love them that much. They are stretchy and forgiving and they are black so they hide just about everything except for mustard stains that pop up and say HELLO! when you are cosmic bowling with your family.

Okay, so let’s address the elephant in the room, shall we? Where have I been for six+ months? Frankly, I don’t know. I’ve been here. Sort of. I wish I had interesting and witty barbs about all my adventures through the second half of 2009, but I don’t. (Did I mention the mustard stain on my favorite pants already? Sadly, that was the highlight of my entire month of November.)
I have a confession: Around June, I just sort of lost it. Lost my zest and interest in my life. I became depressed. I no longer felt it was good to be me and I questioned my place and my purpose. It was as though I woke up one day and everything that I had once found interesting, exciting and fun, I suddenly found “Meh.” That includes my blog. And especially my hair.

Can I take a break from all this serious, touchy, feely talk to take you on a tangent and discuss the situation with my hair on my self-imposed break? A big part of my depression was my lethargy and lack of energy. This manifested itself in me not wanting to wash my hair with the frequency I had before. Gross, I know. But before you judge me and my unkempt hair, keep reading.

Now, you probably already know that I have very curly hair. It actually looks and feels better day two and three after a shampooing. My hair doesn’t grease up if I don’t wash it, in fact, it does quite the opposite and actually becomes somewhat more manageable, however, it also becomes big. I mean BIG BIG, like Delta Burke on Designing Women BIG.

I can’t tell you how many times a co-worker or my mother-in-law asked me if I was doing something “new” with my hair and they gave me a long, quizzical look. Well, if you consider going four or five days between shampooing then the answer is Why of course, yes! I am absolutely doing something new with my hair. It’s called the Delta and I’m totally rockin’ it.

But folks, I am here today to proclaim to the internets that I have been washing my hair regularly. I have been happy to get out of bed. And today….well, today, I bought myself a brand new pair of stretchy pants.

I was hoping that 2010 would end up being a whole lot better than my 2009. I’m happy to report that three weeks in, as far as the absence of mustard stains and lack of 80’s hair go, for me, this year has been a tiny bit badass.

Sometimes We Run Fast


This past weekend, Henry and I entered ourselves in a local 5-K race. At age four and a half, Henry didn’t fully grasp the concept of exactly what a 5-K entailed. I was clued in on this fact when Henry repeatedly chanted in my face, “I’m gonna beat you when I go faster! I’m gonna beat everyone in the face!” Whoa, wait a minute. Did my son just say he was going to beat everyone in the face? Indeed he did.You can imagine the nerves I had leading up to the race. My son had a plan and it involved one of two things; 1) He would run really, really fast, or 2) He would run really, really fast and quite possibly give an innocent by-stander a black eye for no reason. Here’s my little athlete on race morning.Notice the sleek styling of his running outfit. He insisted that he wear his Superman shirt because it would make him "go real fast". In hindsight, having him dressed in such vibrant colors was a good idea, because once the race started, my little boy just took off, full-bore leaving me behind. I used his brightly colored clothes and his white tuft of hair bouncing up and down to keep track of him.Just after we arrived at the athlete’s starting area, Henry noticed the organizers had booths of fruit, bagels and donuts set up for the racers. Instead of opting for a healthy choice, my little man double-fisted a pair of glazed donuts. As Henry stood around with white pastry glaze stuck to a large portion of his face, he noticed some nearby racers stretching their legs out to prepare for the race. Not wanting to appear like a rookie, Henners quickly followed suit. Here, Henry does his interpretation of "Crane with Donut".I'm not sure what this move is.I'm REALLY not sure what this move is.After Henry was all limbered up, he and I spent the next little bit trying to look menacing in the hopes that we would intimidate the competition with our pre-race posing. Unfortunately for us, no one really took notice. Henry and I spent so much time trying to psyche out the competition that we never heard the starting pistol sound and didn't begin running until a good two or three minutes after the actual race had started.The rest of the race was fairly uneventful. Unless you count the times Henners stopped mid-stride, turned around and shouted, “Hurry Mommy! You’re being too slow!” or the time he ran along side the police escort car that was flanking the racers and warned the officer, “Don't you arrest us!”All in all, my little man did a super job in his first race. Not only did Henry run almost 2 miles on his own, he never once beat anyone in the face. My cute parents even drove all the way down and joined Jeremy and Reese to sit on the side of the road as spectators and cheer him on as he raced by. Of course, once he saw them sitting there shouting and clapping for him, he mistook them for the finish line and ran up to them and announced, “I WIN!” Jeremy and I believe that all Henry needs now is a little guidance, more practice and a trainer/agent who is willing to take the fall in the event an unfortunate blood doping scandal surfaces.[...]

It's Your Birthday


Dear Lover,

Today is your birthday. You’re thirty-four years old and I’m happy to say that I’ve loved you for eleven of those years. The time before that? Meh, you were sort of on your own. I get a kick when you tell me that I’m the best thing to happen to you in the past ten years because before that time you continually remind me that “a lot of cool stuff happened” to you.

(image) Really, Jeremy? I seriously doubt it.

Did anyone shave your head hours before a major family function? Did anyone lock your keys in the truck with the engine running? Twice? And with whom did you secretly watch The Hills?

Jeremy, thanks for being such a wonderful, compassionate, hilarious and wicked hawt companion. If it weren’t for you I would have never heard the phrase, “You must have misunderheard me.” Also? I would never know where my phone charger was hising or exactly where the Yankees sit in the MLB standings. Obviously I can’t live without you.

Honey, I’m sad that we can’t be together today to celebrate your birthday. Apparently your client meeting in Colorado scheduled months ago for this very day takes precedence over the subway sandwich I offered to buy you for your birthday lunch. Maybe it’s better this way. Since we work in the same office, during work hours it’s important that we maintain a professional rapport with each other and keep the physical contact down to the occasional elbow bump as we pass each other in the hall. As an aside, I sincerely apologize for the time I accidentally called you “Lover” when I paged you for a marketing meeting. My bad on that one.

But when you come home tonight you’ll see the cake the kids and I made especially for your birthday. Of course Henners and Reese couldn’t agree on a unified design for your cake so it will be sort of a “Dora the Explorer meets Spiderman” theme. Just what you wanted, I know. Sadly, you will have missed out on the inevitable frosting fight and a spirited battle for dominance of the electric beaters. (Spoiler Alert: Reese will undoubtedly win.)

In love with you always,


P.S.: I would have called you today to wish you a Happy Birthday but my phone is dead and I can’t find the charger.

Young Love...No, Really, Really Young Love.


Henry has a girlfriend. It’s true. At the tender, young age of four, he claims he’s found the girl he wants to marry. Jeremy and I have laughed this off for a few months now telling him that he’s nowhere near ready to get married. “Give it until you’re eight,” I tell him. “If you’re still in love with this girl, then I’ll start looking at dates and venues for your wedding.”The girl who has stolen his heart goes by the name Keely. She’s four. She likes playing dolls, the color pink, sunsets and long walks near the playground. Her turn-offs include spiders, boys who are pushy in the lunch line and vegetables. Apparently, this Keely is sweet on Henry too. Jeremy and I have talked with the preschool teacher to make sure their relationship is cruising at a G-level rating only. We can’t have anything moving too quickly. Everyone knows you wait until Kindergarten to really settle down, don't they?Thankfully, according to their teacher, Henry and Keely occasionally eat lunch together and hug each other hello and goodbye. At four, I guess that’s the extent of a torrid love affair.Today, I was at the pre-school picking up the kiddos. Have I ever told you how much I love picking the kids up at their school? All the children instantly recognize me when I enter the building and shout at the top of their lungs, “It’s Henry’s mom! It’s Reesie’s mom!” They all come a runnin’, circle around me and yell whatever is on their little minds at that moment.“Henry didn’t share with me!” a blonde girl shouts. “Today we ate watermelon!” a boy named Josh announces. One time, I swear I heard Cade, one of the smaller boys in class shout, “Those shoes really clash with your handbag, lady!”Tsk, tsk. What does a four-year old know about fashion?Today I was standing outside Henry’s classroom door. Not wanting to draw any attention my way I hugged the doorframe and signaled to Henry that it was time for him to go. Normally, I walk right in the class but my pants weren’t fully pressed and I’m sure Cade couldn’t resist pointing out my pants faux pas.As I waited for Henry to grab his backpack I noticed a woman inside the classroom standing next to Keely and thought to myself that this must be her mother. The pair eventually made their way out into the hall I introduced myself as the woman who fights with Henry every morning to make sure he brushes his teeth and wears clean underwear. Debbie, as her name turned out to be, let out a loud gasp and her eyes widened to the size of saucers. “It’s about TIME we meet, don’t you think?” as she hugged me tight. “I think our children love each other!”Debbie and I then held a twenty-minute conversation, sharing what little details we knew about the kids’ ongoing “relationship”. I knew immediately Debbie was my kind of gal. She could she talk and talk and talk (like I do) and she was genuine and warm and thrilled that our children were close friends.I allowed myself a silent sigh of relief when it was confirmed that Keely is equally as smitten with Henry as he is with her. I just couldn’t bear to nurse the broken heart of my little boy if Keely decided not to be his friend. Honestly, I have my own issues to deal with at the moment. Monday it’s my turn to be “Class Mom” at school and I'm completely stressed out. It's imperative that I sport a snappy outfit that ABSOLUTELY KILLS in order to keep Chase, the tiny fashion Nazi, where he belongs - qu[...]

I'm Blogging About a Lunch I Was Invited to Because I Have a Blog


So remember a few months back when I had my first face-to-face meet up with a blogger? Remember how I kicked my shoe off in her face and made her look at a dead cockroach? Well, this past weekend I had my second blogger meet up and I have to say, it went about the same.The lovely Kristina from Pulsipher Predilections (she’s a big deal, yo) hosted her third lunch for local Utah bloggers to meet, eat and cackle out loud about how hairy David Hasselhoff is. Okay, that last bit about cackling about the Hoff’s hairiness might have only been me.Anyway, like any other blogger out there who is getting ready for a meet up with another blogger, I was super nervous. Would they like me? Would I make an ass out of myself? Would my hair sit right? I was hoping all signs would point to YES.I believe there were close to 30 lovely blogging ladies lunching Saturday and everyone was wonderful and so much fun to talk to. When I reached the banquet room at the top of the stairs, I made an immediate bee-line for one of my favorite people, Green Jello from May You Lead An Interesting Life. She claims she saw me first because my poofy hair preceded me by about four seconds. Four seconds, Green Jello? Really? All the rain must have matted my hair down a little. Typically, with weather permitting, my mane has a six second lead on me everywhere I go.Here’s a picture of Green Jello and me with wide smiles and full bellies. Here’s Green Jello with admitted lurker and stalker of Green Jello, Val of the South. She blogs over at Livin' la Vida Utah!. She’s awesome. She made me laugh. Then I challenged her to a drag race on I-15. Wisely, Val declined. She claimed she had errands to run. I claim she was chicken. Here’s Kristina shouting at me that she’ll cut me if I post this picture of her online. Oh Kristina, you are so funny. When you weren't looking I rummaged through your purse and aside from a pair of tweezers and a Kenny Loggins Greatest Hits CD, you're totally harmless.Here’s a blurry picture of Green Jello, me and the hilarious S of Lady of Perpetual Chaos. (I swiped this image from Kristina's site.) I’m so glad I was seated near S as I’m pretty sure she could be a stand up comedian if she wanted to. You know how people tell you stories about their children and sometimes you’re all um, yeah….uh huh….okay, are you done now? Well not with S. She had the wittiest way about her and I left wanting to hear more of her tales but I was fearful she would get nervous, call the authorities and have a protective order issued against me if I kept up with all the questions. And folks, I just can’t have another one of those blemishes on my record.Here’s all the ladies that attended the lunch on Saturday. Kristina and Green Jello both claimed to be giants and quite tall, but, um hello! look where the line peaks at its tallest. It begins and ends with my hair. And if you were paying attention from earlier in this post, you would recall that my hair was matted down from the rain. One of the more unlikely highlights of the lunch was when two women approached me when they heard that I was a friend of a “famous blogger”. They were giddy like schoolgirls as they probed me with questions about their cyber crush, Captain Dumbass over at Us and Them.Girls: Are you really friends with him?Me: If the money’s right.Girls: Is he really that funny in real life?Me: No. Not even close.Girls: (blank and horrified stares)Me: Y[...]

I Believe That Children Are Our Future...When it Comes to Deceit


We’ve tried hard to not spoil our children. Strike that. Jeremy has tried hard to not spoil our children. I’ve focused my efforts on teaching them that “What happens at Target, stays at Target…or at the very least in our car trunk until mommy can find an opportunity to sneak your new shoes and your new toy into the house without daddy finding out.”My children still have yet to learn the fine art of hiding purchases from my husband. Reese, our almost 2-year old, I totally understand. She’s too young to grasp the concept and she gets so worked up when she has her little hands on anything shiny or pink or anything that vaguely resemble shoes. (Ladies, can I get a witness? Also, Captain Dumbass, can I get a witness? I bet he looooves shoes too.)But Henners? What’s up dude? You’re 4 and a half years old. You should really know better by now. Oh don’t get me wrong, buddy, I know you get that you're part of a covert operation and that it’s super-dee-duper top secret and all that stuff, but WHY can you just keep it to yourself?Just last week I rewarded Henners' good behavior at the grocery store with a cheap matchbox car. My son COULD NOT wait to get himself home and send his father cryptic messages for forty minutes straight about “something small and green that has wheels and goes vroom-vroom! and it's behind my back and mommy doesn’t want you to see it because it's a secret from you.”So busted.Now, I’m sure many of you out there are thinking I’m a horrible person for teaching my children to hide purchases from their father. But to those of you that think this way, answer me this: How will these kids ever learn the importance of befriending the UPS man so that that he leaves all online purchases on the side of the house instead of the front porch so that my husband doesn’t see them on the off chance he beats me home from work?The trick of making nice all delivery the delivery men, I learned from my mother, an expert online shopper. Over the years, every UPS or FedEX man she’s ever had knew to bring her purchases all the way around to the back porch of the house. Well, they used to, that is, until my father retired and is now home most days. I imagine shortly after my dad retired and he was spending hours combing through his social security paperwork, my mom was frantically texting all the delivery men in her life with new instructions on where to leave her packages. Texting them? you say. Yes, texting them. She's that tight with the shipping and delivery men in her city. Not because her town is small or anything, but I'm sure the sheer volume of deliveries my mom has coming to her on a weekly basis keep at least two UPS delivery men very gainfully employed.Soon my mom will find herself in a precarious situation. You see, she's a few years from retirement herself. And when that time comes, she won't be able to have her packages sent to her office and then hide the packages in the truck of her car and wait to sneak them into the house when my father's not looking like she does now. Where, oh where, will she stash her goods?Mom, if you're reading this: I think I might be able to help you out. For a nominal “handling fee” of say, maybe a new pair of shoes every now and then, I’d be more than happy to be the “safe house” for your secret purchases. I see this as a win-win situation for us both. But mostly for me. Now, when my UPS man arrives with[...]