Friday, April 30, 2010

Another Field Trip

I have a lot of great things to say about my 9 year old daughter. I also want to blog about how great it is to raise kids 12 miles outside of Washington D.C.. You just can't beat the field trips and the exposure to the working parts of our government. But I'd rather tell you about the awesomest thing I heard some kid say.
I hopped on a bus this morning with Eliza and we drove past the Einstein Statue, the Lincoln Memorial, the American History Museum and stopped in front of the Natural History Museum. It was a beautiful day and we were going to see the butterfly exhibit.
The teacher stopped on the sidewalk and waited for the class to gather before we all went inside. Well, the patch of sidewalk he picked happened to be right in front of a disadvantaged man who had a guitar hooked up to a small amp and was playing some Hendrix. He had a cigarette in his hand while he played and was actually pretty good. The class turned their attention toward him and started listening.
Then one of the kids in the class leaned over to the teacher and under his breath said,

"I'll bet he's just playing that guitar so he can buy more cigarettes." And before the teacher had a chance to respond, the kid turned toward the guitarist and shouted. "Hey man, get a job!"
No kidding!
I burst out laughing but the teacher didn't even crack a smile. Instead he gave the kid a talk about appropriate behavior. How do you keep a straight face when someone says something like that? I have no idea who this kid is but I'm gonna find out.
The field trip was okay. I have a real fear of moths so I wasn't too thrilled about being surrounded by butterflies and next time I won't be wearing orange flavored lip gloss because butterflies were trying to land on my lips. So I guess the highlight was that kid.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Ode To Megan

Dear Megan,
I really wanted to write you a limerick but I can't think of anything that rhymes with Megan except for Reagan. So I'll just write you a letter.

Thanks for inviting me to your kick-a Madonna Glee party. It was so fun that I have to post a picture of the refreshment table. Something that I really didn't want to do because I hate it when other people post pictures of their spectacular parties that I wasn't invited to.


Check out the Kabbalah bracelets, cone-boob cupcakes, and anabolic steroid strawberries. If I would have known that she was going to go all out, I would have taken the theme seriously and dressed up like a fake-Britt and brought Jonah (my younger inferior boyfriend.)

But I really really want to thank you for sending me THIS (top baby names of 2009 in Idaho) again.

Love, Angela

To my other good friend Megan, thanks a lot for telling the world (via comment on this blog) about the numerous times I peed my pants in high school. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Who was it that peed her pants senior year on that double date? While wearing white shorts? On a hike?

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

I Can See My House From Here

Before I explain what happened lets just all assume that I am a decent and rational person.

Now I'm just going to come out and say it. I forced another fellow blogger to go private. I'm not really proud of it, but I don't feel bad either. A few months ago someone passed along the blog of a girl who had (as far as I could tell) dedicated her entire blog to waiting for her missionary. It was sort of a funny little blog. She was justifiably defensive about being so unabashedly in love at such a young age.

Happy ending, the missionary came home and the couple got engaged. And these two kids that I had once rolled my eyes at, I am now sort of happy for. Ahhh young love. Then over the weekend, the girl posted some pictures of her soon to be newlywed apartment. And you won't believe it-- but they are pictures of the exact apartment that Pete and I lived in as newlyweds. Eleven years ago. What are the odds man?

Too much of a coincidence to keep to myself. I made a friendly comment on her blog.

'Hi you don't know me, I found your blog, I think you're funny but also very cute and we lived in that same place for our first apartment. What are the odds? Ahh the memories!'

That's okay right? Itsa public blog.

Next way she writes.

I am officially creeped out
I am officially going private

It's too bad that I creeped someone out. I thought I only creeped Peter out. I keep forgetting that I am one of the few weirdos that read blogs of people I don't know. If anyone knows the engaged couple Niki and James, would you please tell them that I am a nice normal girl and don't mean any harm?

But I know where they live.

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Saturday Night with Shiva, Vishnu and What's the Third One?

Whenever I am bored on a Saturday night and don't have anything to do, (which almost never happens) I go to the Pan Am Safeway. Unlike a grocery store in my home town, the grocery stores here are deadsville on a Saturday night. Oh except for the Indians. The only people in the store are me, and 5 or 6 groups of Indians. They all look like they've just barely arrived in America. How can I tell? A little thing I call deductive reasoning. First of all, they don't speak much English. Second, they can never figure out how to swipe their credit cards. Third they always have bed head--indicating that they haven't adjusted to this time zone. And finally, they are always buying crazy stuff. The three Indians in front of me in line tonight timidly stepped up to the checker and placed a store made coconut cake on the belt. After some effort, they figured out how to pay. When the checker handed one of them their receipts, they just put their hands up and gave him a smile and a head waggle. I guess they don't have receipts in India?
It's actually pretty cute. Reminds me of the Indians I met in college. Of course now they're all successful engineers, but back then, they too were shy newcomers. I invited them to my house for Thanksgiving so they could see how we celebrated an American holiday. My dad put turmeric in the potatoes to make them feel more comfortable and kept saying that it was so great to have these guys at our house because it was just like the very first Thanksgiving-- you know, with the Indians and all.
Anyway, "Indian Watcher" is a pretty fun game to play, next time I'll get pictures and show you what I'm talking about. Tonight I only got the chance to get a shot of a cop playing a game called "check the hobo's back pack." That game looked pretty fun too.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

A Giggle Attack

I know that from the title, you think this'll be a sweet and innocent post. And I don't wanna mislead you, so I'll just come out and say that a giggle attack is much more mean-spirited than it sounds. But if you are plagued by them like me, you already know that.

I think it might be a way that I release stress. And I can't predict when I am going to have one, but when they come. They're bad. And humiliating. Giggle attacks are triggered by something I think is funny--not necessarily something that actually is funny. It starts with a chuckle, progresses to the kind of red faced laugh when no sound comes out and usually ends in tears. They've been known to last up to 30 minutes. At first people think it's funny, then they stop laughing and get annoyed that I can't get in control. I eventually have to leave the room. Now I know that nothing is really that funny. But it's just what I do.

I've had two this week, which is rare for me. The first one was the other day when one of my college friends came to visit and we went out for dessert. During the conversation she opened up to me about the eating disorder she'd had in college. It was a bad one. Devastating really. The worst anorexia I've ever seen-- and I grew up in SL valley. And bad bad timing for a giggle attack. Anyway, we were getting deep and she said, "Everyone kept telling me, 'stop doing this to yourself you are not fat' and I was like, 'Eff you!I know I'm not fat! I look way skinnier than you do!' "

That's funny to me.

I haven't had a lot ex-anaorexics open up to me, but I'm not sure there are many who would say something that honest. Which proves my theory that some people with eating disorders have body dysmorphia, but most of 'em are just trying to get ahead in life.

Anyway, I had a hard time calming down.

I had another one today. Okay but this is funny. I was at the helmet doctor. Oh sorry-- I mean the cranial technician's office. The nurse led us into the exam room and left a folder for me to look through. I opened up the folder and found a free gift.

A baby helmet calendar.

Really? I don't want to see my own baby in helmet. And you think I'd enjoy an entire calendar full of other people's deformed head babies?

Luckily this episode wasn't as bad and by the time the tech came it, it just looked like I had been crying, hard. And that's not as embarrassing as what she would have seen if she would have come in the room 5 minutes earlier.

One last thing if you're still reading. There is one way to trigger an episode on command. If we ever have the pleasure of being together at a late hour when things get slap happy. Ask me to tell the story about my mom's cousin and her tragic majorette accident.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Would you rather?

Would it be worse to realize you are married to a Tiger Woods or a Mr. Olivia Newton John?

Think about it for a second, don't just shout out your answer.

Do you know what's totally insane? The fact that I know people who have found themselves in both scenarios. I'm hoping that they are reading and will make a comment (anonymous of course) and tell me if they would have preferred the crappy hand they were dealt, or the other.

Do you know what else is totally insane? I led a yoga class for my daughters' brownie troop tonight. Halfway through the class, one of the girls dads came in and started doing the yoga poses with us. It was a little weird. And then at the end, I was standing off to the side and he came up to me and said, "I'll show you a warrior pose." And then he wrapped his arms around me and picked me up! I tried to pretend it didn't happen and scooted away from him a bit. And he said, "Did I just make you blush?" And then he did it again! What's wrong with people?

There just aren't words.

That is not okay. I mean I am trying to remember the last time a guy picked me up. It probably happened in college. But maybe not even then, I was sort of an angry confusing girl with a dry sense of humor, not really the kind of girl that guys like to pick up. As opposed to the sweaty unattractive mom of 5 girl that guys like to pick up.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

It's NOT a well child check up

If you come home with this pamphlet.

Wish I would have known about karma when I was 14. And 15. And 18-22.

I also wish I could go back in time. In the 80's they had less ridiculous solutions to misshaped heads.

Speaking of time travel. Will someone PLEASE take my husband to Hot Tub Time Machine? I can no longer humor his 'thing' for John Cusack-- or hot tubs-- or time machines.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Spring Break

With a new-ish baby and a traveling workaholic husband, we opted for a weekend trip instead of something big this past spring break. Well, the kids love amusement parks, I love chocolate, and Peter loves Philadelphia, so there was only one place for us. And so Easter weekend turned into a Tour de Pennsylvania. The plan was to head to Philly first so on Thursday night, I picked Peter up from the airport and we headed North. We decided to get a hotel in Delaware so I booked one in Newark. Delaware. To answer your questions, yes there is a Newark Delaware, and yes, that Newark smells like sulphur too.

Friday we woke up and drove to Philadelphia. Now you know how Philadelphia has the whole cheesesteak thing goin' on. I'm told that if you really want a true Philly cheesesteak, you have to go to one of two places. Geno's or Pat's. My neighbors are from Philly--and how. They told me that on one of their trips to Philadelphia their teenage son invited a friend--little Guatemalan kid, to go with them. They stopped for lunch at Geno's Cheesesteaks. The friend stepped up to order and as he mispronounced something on the menu, Gino himself cut him off with, "My parents had to learn English and so can you. Get the hell out." True story. Gotta love Philly.

So naturally we had to go there for lunch.

Now Peter was a Vietnamese speaking Mormon Missionary in Philadelphia so he wanted to drive by some of his old stomping grounds. We got in the car and started to drive into South (hell) Philly. We'd been driving for about 20 minutes when Jonah figures out that his seatbelt was stuck in the door so he couldn't buckle up. The problem was, there was no place safe enough to stop and open the door so he could fix it. My neighbor said that Philly is getting so bad that most people live in South Jersey and commute. You have to move to SOUTH JERSEY to get a better place?

Here is a picture of one of Peter's nicer appartments. Again, we couldn't really slow down, so it's not a great pic.
Picture this place when Peter tells you the story about how in his first day as a missionary, he had to eat balut (fertilized duck embryo) and then vomited into a stranger's kitchen sink.

Pete wanted to head to West Philadelphia next, and as much as I hoped that that part of town would look like a Will Smith video, I had to nix that option.

Come on Philly--get it together.

The trip got better, we finished it up by eating about 5 pounds of Hershey goodness and going on roller coasters at Hershey Park, but I'm not great at taking pictures, and I only got one. See below.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Dude Magnet

Insert clever unnecessary joke HERE.

Love how the third friend is running to catch up with her two denim shorted comrades. Because wearing that shirt and walking alone, well, that would just look silly.