Top Ten Reasons I Think I Am Weird

Recently, my posts seem to contain a lot of information about me that people find hard to believe. Some people even think I'm a little weird. I have to wonder if some people are right. Am I actually a little weird? Here are some reasons that I don't fit in with pretty much everyone I know in my life:

10. I don't drink soda.
9. I don't really watch TV. (I do watch LOST, and about every other year I tune in to American Idol.)
8. I dislike going to the movies. Reference earlier post.
7. I don't care for chocolate other than a teeny bite here and there. I maybe eat the equivalent of a Hershey's kiss about once a week. Maybe.
6. I can be pretty funny in blogland, but in real life, I am less entertaining.
5. I don't dig on "stuff." Electronics, gadgets, etc. are just not my thing. I could care less. After the burglary, Skip had a new Blackberry within 6 hours. I am ticked that the old junky phone I found in the drawer actually has a camera on it. Who needs a camera on their phone? How about the Kindle? I would never want that. The iphone? Ridiculously too much stuff on there. I really don't need more than one watch. It just has to tell me the time, not make me look good. I do like the ipod because we can listen to music in our home with it. That's cool.
4. SUV's irritate me, and I feel justified in acting holier-than-thou when I criticize people for owning them. However, we are going to buy one next year. I'm trying to embrace it, because we need room for a family of seven. But I hate the thought of owning one.
3. I almost never go out with girlfriends. Mostly because I have only got one in this town. Maybe if I lived near some of my friends I would go out with them more. But probably only if they wanted to double with me and Skip.
2. I get annoyed with poor spelling and grammar. The other day I had to retake my drivers test (thank you burglar, for stealing my license) and I found no less than nine errors in the manual. It was all I could do not to demand a free pass on my test since I was obviously being tested by IDIOTS.
1. I almost never nap. I can't do it. Between the feeling of wasting my time, and the sluggishness that follows the nap, I just don't find it to be a good activity for me.


The big problem about most of these quirks is that they make me seem like a snob. Like I might not like other people who DO watch a lot of TV. Or who often go to the movies. Or who eat chocolate all the time. Some of these quirks even seem to be a bit condescending. I don't intend them to be. I don't hate people who can't spell well... I just hate the bad spelling. Love the sinner, hate the sin? See? Even that seems judgmental.
I guess the bottom line is that I may be a little weird. But I promise I don't sit around judging everyone for not being as weird as I am. Unless you are the author or editor of the Drivers Manual for my state of residence. Then I judge you harshly.

Tunesday: Eggplant

or click here

Pardon the boring nature of this "video" clip. Obscure songs are limited in availability.

You may or may not have noticed my URL before. This song is a great song, but quickly became a joke between Skip and I. He has an aversion to vegetables. Corn, uncooked carrots, and green beans are the only ones he'll eat. Oh, and salad. As most of you know, I'm a little different. My life mantra is "Bring on the Produce!"

Anyway. In the early days, I was convinced Skip would come to love veggies as I do if he just had someone to cook them for him in a remarkably appetizing way. So I made this sandwich for him... grilled eggplant, summer squash, zucchini, red peppers and onions. I brushed them with olive oil and minced garlic. Threw them on his grill (GASP! THE CONTAMINATION OF MANHOOD!) and then whipped up an herbed mayonnaise while they cooked. Spread the mayo on a crusty, thick hoagie roll. Added the veggies. Topped with grated parm. I was seriously almost at the height of ecstacy over this sandwich. He took one bite, chewed without actually letting the food touch his tongue, smiled at me with tight lips, and put the sandwich down.

I was shocked and dismayed. A few days later, he played me the song to soothe my broken heart. It's since become a favorite in our house, and instead of forcing him to eat eggplant, we listen to it together and call it good.

The best version is not a live one. Dowload the album cut. It's by Michael Franks. Then go eat your vegetables while you listen. It's a double treat.

Pedro Has Spoken

I had my dad choose his favorite comment. You will see the results and his comments below:

Voting by Pedro:

1st place: Queenieweenie. An obviously intelligent individual with impeccable taste.

I agree with the photographer...you should be VERY ashamed for deleting the photo-it is stunning. I think the photog genes DO run in the family.

2nd place: Skip. My favorite son-in-law

I cannot, CANNOT, believe that you deleted that picture. Especially after I reminded you several times to enter it into the Palouse Picture Pageant. I just hope your dad does not lump me in the same boat as you and keeps me in the will. Gorgeous, GORGEOUS, picture.

3rd: place: Christie. Identified for shame. Do not delete your father.

Tell your dad not to feel bad. I delete stuff from my dad all the time, usually without reading it. GORGEOUS shot. Now we know where you get it.

LAST PLace: Happyback. Only in it for the porridge

I like it. Steve O done well. Here's my recommendation: Submit it to a local (i.e., NC local) artsy fartsy magazine, or newspaper. Hunt around for one that accepts photos for their little "Photo of the Day" competitions, or "photo of the week" or whatever. I'll take my third of the winnings in Porridge-form! mmmmm, porridge....

For the record:

1. I did not influence the voting in any way.

2. Skip is KILLING me here.

3. Happyback used to eat breakfast at our house after early morning seminary before we went to school. We were pretty much the only Mormons, so he saved my dad from having to get up too early by driving me, and in return, my dad fed him Cream Of Wheat, which they call porridge. It's probably not at all funny to anyone but my dad and Happyback. You guys enjoy your little joke.

Allison... send me the address to the QueenieWeenie palace and I'll mail your prize out.

This is my dad 2 years ago when he came to visit. He likes us to call him Ansel.

Techincally, No Breaking. Just Entering.

As many of you know by now, our home was burglarized Sunday evening while we slept. I'm slightly annoyed by the whole sitch.

1. Partially our own fault. While I didn't dare some pot-head to sneak in after midnight and see what he could find, I also neglected to ensure my garage door was closed. So essentially, I layed out the welcome mat.

2. I'm not the only idiot in town, as three other houses were also robbed the same evening. All with doors unlocked. Luckily, the punks were novices, and made off with only a few items. The worst was someone's car, which was only used for joyriding before police recovered it. We lost an ipod, a blackberry, an archaic cellphone which I planned on taking to the grave with me, my purse, and Skip's bike.

3. The downside of all that is that my purse had my keys in it. So we had to rekey the entire house AND both vehicles. I'm pretty sure no one would come back for the minivan, but Skip's Jeep is SERIOUSLY awesome. And very recognizeable. Also, I had to cancel all my bank cards and other pertinent items. I wasted hours on the phone doing so. I frown on wasting time.

4. SOMEONE WAS IN MY HOUSE. I'm betting they didn't first remove their shoes, as I like people to do. I'm also betting they broke our sobriety policy. I'm also kind of annoyed because *EDITED BY PARENTAL CONTROLS*, and what if they were hanging around listening? Seriously, how rude is that.

5. Lots of people have asked me if Skip kicked their asses. (What. People have asked me that. I'm only quoting what people have asked.) We were probably asleep when they came in. So we didn't even hear them. But I will say this. Had they been caught, they would be lucky to be upwardly mobile. Skip has impeccable self-control, along with the ability to seriously maim. Combine the two, and I'm almost a teense disappointed we slept through it all.

6. Skip and I are like Nancy Drew and One Of The Hardy Boys. We make a great team. Neither one of us freaked out when we discovered what had happened. We immediately began taking care of everything. It was kind of cool to work in tandem with him like that. Between the two of us, I think we thought of everything that needed to be done, and we rolled right through our day handling it.

7. I think the kids did fine. No one seemed scared, and we were able to laugh about a lot of it. We discussed some changes we would need to make, reassured them, and hopefully educated them a bit in the process. No one freaked out at bedtime last night, which frankly I was expecting.

8. As weird as this sounds, I think God prepped us for this.
a) As I've mentioned in the past, when Skip is out of town I like to send him HAPPY SMILING pictures of myself. I recently learned he stores said pictures on his phone. A few days before this incident, he decided he should just go ahead and delete them for saftey's sake. So I'm relieved to know that if you google "HAPPY SMILING" you will NOT find my picture, uploaded by a teenage pothead.
b) Earlier last week I decided I did not want to carry around the key to the school I work at in my purse for the summer. I did not want to be responsible should something happen to it, and I wouldn't be needing it. So I brought it back to the school.
c) Last week I had the idea to transfer all my numbers from my cellphone into a backup location. I told Skip I should do that. Then, of course, I didn't. I should've listened.

So it could've been a lot worse in a lot of superficial AND serious ways. We are thankful we were protected, and we were able to learn some lessons in the process. But if you happen to see a twitchy meth junkie riding a $700 Gary Fisher bike around town, with a black leather Tommy Hilfigger bag slung over his shoulder, talking on a Blackberry and shuffling through the playlists on an ipod... please be sure to let Skip know. An ass or two could still be kicked.

VOTE FOR PEDRO

So my dad... he's pretty much hilarious. I love the guy. Recently, he emailed me a photo he took while standing on the front porch of his house. He lives in the most gorgeous area of the Smokey Mountains. I could go on and on about how beautiful their home is, all the amazing things they've done to landscape; the hydrangeas, the herb garden, the hammock under the trellised vines, the fact that when I go there, I like to pretend I'm at a luxurious resort tucked away from the rest of the world.
But that would defeat the point of this post.

The point of this post is, like I mentioned, my dad recently emailed me this picture:

The accompanying text read:
I've decided that my photo, you know that prize winning one I sent you with the sun on the trees and the misty clouds, should have two things happen to it: 1) it should be shown on your blog with ample credit given to the photographer, perhaps even a suggestion that the blogger's developing talent in that area is very likely hereditary. 2) It should be submitted to a contest personally selected by my child, who likes to do that sort of thing, with any winnings split 50/50.

I thought my dad was joking around. Imagine my embarrassment when days later, he asked me how I was coming on the blog post and contest entry. I emailed him that I had actually deleted the photo, and since he was apparently serious, he would need to resend. He did, and for the past week and a half, I have been plagued with guilt about not pursuing his dreams for him.

The picture itself is gorgeous. You can't really see the detail here, but the sun is glistening on the trees, the clouds are drifting across the mountains; it's stunning.

I have no idea where to find and enter a photo contest. So this is gonna be it. Please leave your vote in the comments section, and if his photo is chosen as a winner, I will be sure to send him a fabulous prize for his efforts. And whomever leaves my dad the biggest ego stroke that he is clearly seeking here (like father, like daughter...) will also get a prize as well.

The Mormon Swear

Last night was the chili dinner/dessert auction for the Boy Scouts at church. The chili was decent, the desserts left much to be desired. But the money was for a good cause, so we choked down a thing or two.

In typical "stuff-like-this-only-happens-to-my-family" fashion, the following episode ensued.

The auctioneer is up there doing his thing, and he says something about "Brother Flanders, Brother Flanders, how much for this pie?" A Scout leans over and whispers something in his ear, at which point the auctioneer says, "OH! You're not Brother Flanders! You're Brother Fenton! Ah, it's all the same. Both start with F. Both are a couple of Effers."

Now of course poor Mr. Auctioneer doesn't even have a CLUE that Effers is a delicate way of tossing around the F-Bomb. But I happen to have heard it used regularly by many a rebellious Mormon. So I burst out laughing. And since my kids are all corrupt heathens like their mother, they catch the slip as well. And they are dying laughing. And my husband is looking at me, trying to choke back the laughter while lecturing me about "someone has to be the adult here..."

I'm not sure how many other people in the room caught the unintended joke, but our family did. And I'm not sure if this is my proudest moment or not, but it's one of the funnier, that's for sure.

Tunesday: There Goes My Baby

Remember the Gap Band? Oops upside ya head, I said oops upside ya head...Yeah. Good times.

Well Charlie Wilson, aka Uncle Charlie, has been doing quite a bit on his own since those days. Mostly songwriting for other artists, but producing a bit of his own stuff here and there as well. This is his latest, and frankly, I am obsessed with it. I listen to it multiple times every day. It is a smooth, upbeat love song, and it makes me want to snatch my husband right up and dance with him.

The official video has no embed code, so I had to post this clip from the Jimmy Kimmel show. The official video is so awesome though. Click here to see it. Uncle Charlie is good friends with Snoop Dogg. It's a really heartwarming version with Snoop and his true love, I think her name is Shante. I know "heartwarming" and "Snoop" are sort of contradictory terms, but really, check out his softer side. You'll feel the love, I promise. I get a little misty every time I watch it.

Click here if you can't see the video.

Say WHAT?

We had a young man over for dinner last night who is teaching Jordan to play the guitar. This young man is very nice, very socially-polished, and a smidge hairy. He has a unibrow, which to his credit, he keeps nicely groomed. But there is a thick brow there. Keola, who many of you may have noticed, also has a unibrow. He was fascinated with this young man's unibrow, and kept staring at it. Finally, Keola says, "You and me are kinda the same because we both have... you know..." and he looks at the guy's eyebrows. Then Keola tactfully points out, "Your arms are hairier though."

Out of the mouths of babes, right? Oh it only gets better. My oldest child, who recently became schooled in matters of maturation, decides to point out this gem: "You guys are not alike, Keola, because you don't have pubic hair."

I literally choked on my food, and began to cry because I was so embarrassed. Tears streaming down my face, trying to negotiate the mouthful of enchilada, I stare at my child. He says, "What? He doesn't. Just look at his arms!" At that very moment, I realize that my genius child thinks pubic hair is the hair you get anywhere on your body once you go through PUBERTY. Pits, chest, legs, arms... yes. Pubertic hair may have been a better choice of words, even if it ISN'T really a word.

Also, on another random note, I don't actually go to the movies. About once a year I'll take the kids to see something, but I really hate going to the movies. I can't remember the last grown-up movie I saw in theaters. Dreamgirls? I would much rather stay at home and watch it on Netflix in my pajamas, laying in bed with my husband. Movie theater food is so disgusting, and everyone wants to eat it. I have issues with watching people pig out on crap. It makes me feel anxious and annoyed. So seeing all these people walking around with giant greasy popcorn tubs, giant boxes of candy, and enormous cups of soda just sets me up for crankiness. And the kids expect to be able to eat all that, do you realize how much money that wastes? Not to mention the life savings I just forked out for the tickets. Seriously, what happened to $3.50 per person? What in the hell am I paying seven bucks a pop for??? Then the screen is so huge and all the motion up there just sets up my vertigo for an episode. Plus someone always has to get up and go use the bathroom, climbing all over me. Or go get more popcorn in the "endless refill tub". The whole thing is too much for me, and it feels good to finally go public with that.

I know, I'm a great big can of party.

Stuff I Just Don't Get

Here's a little dilemma we all face at some point. Today I was in the supermarket, and there was a man in front of me with a bunch of stuff. I only had 7 items. Then there was a man behind me with 3 items. I was waiting paitiently for customer number 1 to finish his transaction. The cashier says to the 3-item guy behind me, "Since you only have a couple things, you can go check out at customer service." Three-item guy says, "Nah, I'm fine thanks." Then the cashier says to me, "Do you mind if he goes ahead of you? He only has three items."

QUANDARY: I DO mind. I only have 7. Really, how much time is it gonna take her to ring up my seven items? Plus, I'm in a rush because Skip is at home cooking enchiladas for us, and waiting on me to return with a forgotten ingredient. So what I really want to say is, "Yes I do mind, actually. It would be ridiculous for him to go ahead of me simply because he has four items more than I do." But what I say, for the sake of not being a supermarket scumbag, is "No problem." The guy says, "No, really, I'm fine right here." The cashier says, "But you only have 3 items." Now I'm annoyed. So I say, "He said he doesn't mind, and I'm in a bit of a rush myself."

SHE ROLLED HER EYES AT ME. Suddenly, I became the cranky customer.

I don't get it.

Next item of business. This movie:

I cry just watching the commercial. If I get the gist, the first child has some horrible illness, so the parents conceive a 2nd child in hopes of finding a ?bone marrow match? (not sure of the details). The 2nd child spends her life in surgeries and other medical procedures, effectually keeping her sister alive. Then one day, she gets sick of doing it, and sues her parents to claim the rights to her own body. But her sister could die now.

I can't even fathom watching this movie. I can already envision myself vomitting from crying so hard. Does that sound like fun to you? I think not. But I really want to see it. Why is that? Why would I voluntarily subject myself to such sadness?

I don't get it.

That's all.

Tunesday: A Hint of Country

If you know me at all, you know I am not a country music fan. There are a few solitary songs that can stand on their own in my music library, but generally, this is not my genre.
HOWEVER...
take this little gem. It is even more enjoyable because Mr. Kenny Chesney invited one Dave Matthews to sing it with him. Talk about a couple of slick voices!
I like to listen to mellow music. It helps me stay calm, because sometimes I am not so calm. This song is called "I'm Alive" and it gets a lot of air time in my house. It's a nice reminder to count my blessings, even when my "blessings" are driving me up the wall.