Happy New Year Everyone! (And don't mind me)

Last night, as soon as I hit publish on my Lurve Sweet Lurve post, strange and unexpected things began happening.

I jest you NOT!

It was late and the house was slumbering peacefully. I closed my laptop and took the ethernet cable out of my ear before drifting off to sleep.

SUDDENLY! I was startled awake by an enormous cacophony of sound. What the helk? I flipped on my lamp. My mirror mirror on the wall had come crashing to the floor of it's own accord. Oversized. Wooden framed. Sturdy. Totally down for the count.

Trembling and bleary eyed, I crept out of bed to see if it had cracked so I could plan my next 7 years accordingly. I somehow managed to knock a broken printer from it's resting place and it landed on my foot, scraping the skin of my shinny shin shin on it's way down.


OOOOWIE! It made me bite my tongue in agony.

Thank heavens the mirror wasn't cracked, but isn't it a strange coincidence that a literal mirror would literally fall just as I'm trying to metaphorically transcend myself?

Bad omen? Good omen?

As soon as I laid back down to rest, the most ear shattering eye popping blasts began outside my townhouse haven window. Fireworks, no doubt, because it's New Years season, but I could have been in a war zone.

No sparkle , just BAM! BAM! BAM! One right after the other. I was jumping out of my skin. Even my son came racing into my room in a start of heart failure.

As soon as my heart stopped pounding out of my chest and I was settled back into the silence, I was acosted full force by a swarm of monstrous mosquitos straight from the dark side. They were stinkin' spiteful, not to mention rude and ill-tempered. All night long they feasted off my flesh and blew rasperries at me in my ear.

When I awoke I asked my family how they had survived the mosquito masacre and they were like, "what mosquito masacre?"

It's enough to make a poor dummy start murmuring again.

Do you think the ghost of Christmas past is trying to keep me from sharing the lurve of Christmas future?

Should I be frightened?

Should I cancel my sharing the lurve sweet lurve week and forget about transcending myself? Should I go back to inhaling whipped cream from a can and wagging my tongue rudely?

I confess it's tempting.

This is my dilemma.

I tried to be good today. I cooked my heart out for sistahs in my ward with new babies and surgeries and bad backs and heart aches. I tried to spread the lurve with a quadruple batch of rolls, but I must admit I almost started singing that one Police song while my MIL was watching me roll them out. You know the one about not standing so close to me.

But don't worry about me. You guys just go on ahead and have a happy new year. Party like a rock star. I'll work this out on my own. I would be partying too except I only made one New Year's resolution and that was to take my blog responsibilities more seriously. So, yea, don't mind me, I'll just be here sorting through my options.

ANYWHO . . . as my mom always said when she sent us out the door to party like a rock star on New Year's Eve, "See ya next year!"

Lurve Sweet Lurve

One of my life dreams, since I was a little rascal, is to teach the world to sing. In perfect harmony. 

But then we got Rock Band and a Ukulele for Christmas and it hit me that I'm tone deaf.

Do any of you know how painful it is to have a desperate desire but not the desperate means?

I guess I'll have to settle for teaching the world to write.

Pencils ready, everyone?

Okay, just horsing around--pulling your leg. I've never wanted to teach the world to sing.

But I do have fond memories of singing that song when I did the March of Dimes Walk-a-thon in third grade. It's a hap hap happy song. And I'm in a hap hap happy mood.

In fact, I've FINALLY caught the Christmas spirit and it's hungry like a wolf. 

I NEED to FEED it. I was thinking of making you listen to It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year again, but I know Funny Farmer would've hauled off and smacked me upside the head.

I think this whole Christmas season was just such a blur of nudity and gluttony and game shows that I didn't have time to stop and think about the real reason for the season. But now I can't STOP thinking about it.

With all this brain bending I've figured out what the world needs now.  

Love sweet love.

Or as Tamn would say, lurve sweet lurve.

The reasons I'm feeling so much lurve are three pronged: 1.) American Idol is starting soon 2.) I'm no longer internet impaired. 3.) I super glued the commandment I broke back together again.

Number 3 was a ginormous morale booster. I'm almost giddy over it. 

But in order for you to understand I need to share with you my philosophy on marriage, which I've shared before on my sister site:

I think God was drunk when he thought of marriage. Not a blasphemous insult if you think about it. God HAD to be drunk to cope with what he was about to do to women. For their own good, of course. And to M.E.N. too. But mostly to women (in the Middle East and in China and in Africa and in . . . you get the drift).

The thing about marriage is it's hard as helk. It's like holding a mirror up that shows you all your flaws and weaknesses and shortcomings--things you can't accept and things you can't forgive and things you can't seem to get past, like your own issues and ideals.

It's tough stuff, marriage, and rightfully so because it is after all the supersonic highway through the refiners fire.

Let me borrow a phrase from Hamlet to illustrate:

Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul;
And there I see such black and grained spots.

But how else can we learn? If we don't see the black spots, we can't baptize them by soft scrub?

So I'm thinking God must have been drunk when he thought up in-laws too because they seem to serve the same purpose.

Come to think of it don't all relationships serve the same purpose? To hold up a mirror and present us with the opportunity to learn something or fix something or throw something.

For the past 20 years, which is how long I've been married, I've been presented with 42 intense days a year to learn something, fix something or throw something. 

I usually opted to throw something, but every year I learn something too.  

So do you want to know what I learned this year. (Once again I'll let Hamlet take the words right out of my mouth):

I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in. 

What should such dummies as I do crawling between earth and heaven?

(Names have been changed, btw).

I like the way Hamlet says it because if I said it myself it would come out something like, I'm a selfish, petty tongue wagger.  I'm a slobbity bobbity oinkeroo, as in in this little piggy had roast beef.  I'm a ill mannered grumpity grump grump.    I'm an attitudinally challenged frumpity frump frump.  

I realized these things on my own and believe me, it wasn't pleasant.  My husband and I hit the water for some water therapy, since it worked for our marriage, and we sang We Shall Overcome ten times out of tune, and then I repeated the phrase I MUST, I MUST, I MUST increase my TRUST, (in God, and in my own ability to transcend myself.)  He kept trying to get me to plug in a couple of other rhymes, but I said, "One issue at a time, sweetie pie!"  

I called to the universe:"I am MORE than a frumpity frump frump, grumpity grump grump!"  

And the universe called back:  "Are. You. Sure?" 

Long conversation with the universe short, I. was. sure!  

But just to make extra sure, I got some sleep and I stopped inhaling whipped cream from a can and started inhaling V-8 from a can.  Then I started doing yoga instead of doing toga.  And now I have this sneaking suspicion that I really AM more than a frumpity frump frump.  (Although I'm still a bit of a grumpity grump grump.)

Do you have any idea what a burden was lifted when I released all the intoxicating toxic toxins?

Bad vibes are bad, people.  That's why they call them bad vibes.  I know that now.   FINALLY!  

Today I felt so light hearted that I actually commiserated with my MIL and I baked Salmon for lunch and didn't snack between meals.  

I see now that there are actually many useful lessons to be learned from our elders, like selective hearing and guilt free eating.   Just say, "I shouldn't be eating this" and poof, your guilt disappears.  I think the calories disappear too.  

Isn't it lurvely? 

And now I'm just itchin' to share the lurve.  

So this week is officially Share the Lurve Sweet Lurve week.  

Merry Christmas everyone!

My personal revelation and other depressing stories

Okay so remember when I said that the grass ain't always greener on the other side of the blizzard? And then I said it was greener, yes.  And warmer, yes.  And darker, yes.  And then I said that greener and warmer and darker have their disadvantages too, although I couldn't think of any at the time.  

Well I thought of one.  No internet for a week.  Which in BYU-H terms means two weeks.  

I KNOW, RIGHT! 

We live in university housing so we rely on the university for not only our bread and butter, but also for our cable and internet and hymn books.   When the lightening struck Hawaii last Friday night, destruction and chaos reigned throughout the land zapping 5 extremely costly internet switches on campus.  

Yes, Virginia, MY switch was zapped!

Not only does the university now have to ORDER new switches, they also have to earn the $$$ to pay for the new switches.   Gad only knows how long it will be before I can blog without make-up again.  

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking it's my own fault.  You're thinking Hawaii was struck by lightening because I broke a commandment and then I murmured publicly behind my MIL's back.  You're thinking that's what I get for wagging my tongue so rudely in the secret, private recesses of my diary!  

I'm afraid you might be right.  The sky did gnash it's teeth profusely, even so much that it did spew forth great thunderings and lightenings.  Even so much that droves and droves of droplets did pelt us continually for the space of at least an hour, whereupon I did tremble because of my iniquitous behavior. 

And now I do fear exceedingly lest I wag my tongue freely again even though John Mayer has told me to say what I need to say so many times I've considered punching him in the face if he tells me to say what I need to say one more time. 

And yet he couldn't be more right.  Sometimes you just have to say what you need to say.  Say what you need to say.  Say what you need to say.

Therein lies my dilemma.  

So anyway .  .  .  Can anyone spare a hug for a dummy?  

Now I have my IL's here without Brother Google and Sister Blog to shoulder the burden.  It's a good thing I'm now addicted to Rock Band because that's all I've got to keep me chilled.

I can probably blog without the internet.  It shouldn't be much of a problem. I mean I can think of all kinds of inconvenient and embarrassing ways to get my posts published.  And if they don't work I can always stick the ethernet cable in my ear and post via esp.  You know I've done it before, but I have to be living worthily, which I'm sooooo not right now.  I'm smashing commandments right and left, not to mention my New Year's resolutions.  

I guess I could always post all of my thoughts for the next two weeks right now and make you swear on the Holy Shakespearean Reader that you won't read ahead. 

Okay, first post: 

In answer to New England Alyson's question, "What DO you DO when you're blacked out for 24 hours with your ILs?" 

Well, Alyson, allow me to enlighten you.  Being blacked out with your IL's can be uber fun IF you have a crank radio.

Why?  Well, without saying TOO much of what I NEED to say, let me just say that spending 24 hours in the dark with your IL's without Rock Band or the internet can be a delicate matter. Nerves can be easily frayed.  Tensions can be easily mounted.  Some tongues can be held and other tongues cannot be held.  But I can summarize the experience in 2 words.  Kelly Pickler. 

Remember cute-as-a-button-sweet-as-peach-pie Kelly Pickler from American Idol?  It hit me that my MIL is a lot like Kelly Pickler.   If Kelly Pickler hollered YOOHOO to get your attention and had 76 years of family history to tell you, they'd practically be twins.   

So what do you do with Kelly Pickler in a 24 hour black-out crammed with 76 years of family history?  You crank the crank radio.  If you have a really good crank radio your hand automatically starts cranking as soon as your ear hears anything it's already heard before.  

So long post short, it's not that bad being blacked out for 24 hours with your IL's.   

Thank Gad for crank radios.  

But I must say I did have an epiphany during the blackout.  An insight.  A personal revelation, if you will.  There was a moment when I saw not just my life pass before my eyes, but my eternity. There was no power and no Rock Band and no internet and no spray whipped cream.  There wasn't even a crank radio.  There was just this forever long string of family history classes and Kelly Pickler was the teacher.  And suddenly I KNEW why all the Mormon mommies pretend to be crazy.  It's because they ARE crazy.  And they are crazy because they have the eternal perspective.  The knowledge that we have been given can be a burden as well as a blessing, huh ladies?  I hear you now!  I feeeeeeeel your pain.

What I don't get is why Gad would have us be good little angels for our whole entire life just so we can spend eternity duct taped together . . . you know.  It seems like it would be more of an incentive if we knew we could ditch our loved ones and then forever ROCK OUT or blog our brains out or spray ourselves silly with whip cream in a can.    

That's what SHE said, (but you didn't hear it from me.)  

(I do like to milk a joke for all it's worth, you gotta give me that.  Waste not, want not.) 

Okay, so one last thing before I go cold turkey.    What's uh, the dealio with all these M.E.N. who are starting to follow me?  Don't you guys know you gotta be a crazy bored mommy to read this blog? 

Unless you're in love with me.  If you're in love with me then you can stay and I'll send you Caramacs, but I gotta warn you, it won't be a pretty.  And there won't be a happy ending.   If you're gonna love me then you might as well know the stakes.  

Loving me is like a soft cozy blanket followed by a swift poke in the eye. 

As Gad as my witness, I will poke your eye out.  

I mean, I'm just saying.  

But if you want to stay . . . 

Your call.

Are you sitting down???

ALOHA EVERYONE! 

I'm back! I'm back!  I'm back!  

Did you miss me? 

Did you notice I was MIA?

I missed all my peeps so much!

Remember how I said the grass ain't always greener on the other side of the blizzard? And then I said that's it's greener, yes. And warmer, yes. 

Well, I forgot to mention that it's also darker.  At least it was darker on the night the lights went out in Hawaii.

No power for 24 hours! And still no internet. In fact I'm sitting in my car in a parking lot at BYU-H just so I can mooch off the Wi-FI. 

I probably shouldn't admit to that, huh? 

Does that make me look desperate?  

But 3 days without BlOGGING! That's just too long for one dummy to hold her breath, don't you think?

I have sooooooooo much to tell you, but I can't tell you all of it now while I'm sitting here in the parking lot. I need space and privacy to spill my black out stories.

But I DO HAVE ONE STORY I JUST HAVE TO SPILL!  

Watch out because it will make you green with envy and there's nothing I love more than making you green with envy!  Especially Mariko, my daughter's hoity toity English teacher, and Liz @ She's got fluid, and Colleen, my blog envy friend who just discovered my secret blog (thanks to big mouth Mariko). But now I'm so glad she discovered it because she is going to freakin' freak out when she reads this.  

Are you sitting down? Are you totally sitting down?

Three words . . . OH MY OBAMA SIGHTING! 

Or was that 4 words?

Yes, I saw him.  I saw the first freakin' black freakin' president of the freakin' YOUNITED states of America.  

Is it bad that I keep saying freakin?  I don't think my mom would approve.  

But who FREAKIN' cares!  I saw the first black president!  And even better, he was coming out of the bathroom.  

I mean, what are the odds?  I didn't even know black presidents went to the bathroom.  Did you?  Have you ever even thought about it?  

Neither have I.  

So, here's the scoop:

It was a beautiful, bright sunny morning.  We were at Turtle Bay, just about to walk up the sidewalk to the foyer, when SUDDENLY! a security guard stopped us and told us no one would be allowed to enter the hotel from the front for twenty minutes.  

As nature would have it, at that very moment Barack Obama SUDDENLY! decided he had to go to the bathroom.  

I didn't know any of this at the time because I was walking up the sidewalk minding my own business.  

SUDDENLY! a caravan of 50+ police cars and vans and security pulled up beside me.  And YES, out pops the man himself.  

Do you believe me, Funny Farmer?  Huh?  Huh?  Huh?  

If you don't believe me the proof is in the pudding.    

But WARNING: It's the worst pudding ever because when I get excited I lose all sensibility whatsoever.  By some stroke of outrageous bad luck, my camera battery was DEAD! Yes!  DEAD!  I had to pull the battery out and wack it upside the head in between shots.  I was able to wack enough juice into it to get 4 measly photos.  They're pretty awful, but they're pudding enough.  

He's the one in the white hat, and Michelle is the super hot first lady is the tank top.  Did you know first ladies wore tank tops?  

Me neither.

 

He's much thinner in person.  

Okay, so the story gets better. And worse! Way worse. 

I totally darted around the building and cruised through the back door while my husband and ILs were worried about the buffet. Who can think about food at a time like this, right?  That's what she said. 

So I cruise into the foyer just in time to see Obama sauntering into the bathroom. Seriously, he sauntered.  So I wait for him to come out. And while I'm waiting security totally pats me down with a metal detector. But they finish just in the nick of time for me to see Obama come out of the bathroom tucking his shirt in. 

I get my camera in ready aim fire position and BAM, nothing. I'm pushing down on the button thingie so hard. Over and over I push. I push. I push.

Nothing.  NADA!

Obama is walking closer and closer and closer.  

STILL NOTHING! 

He sees the struggle on my face and he stops. He turns and poses for me. He waves a cool cat wave. He tries to stall, but . . . NOTHING!

I'm 15 feet away from him and NOTHING! I can't get a shot off. 

By this time I'm sweating like a pig.

Finally, just as he ducks out of sight, the flash goes off.

I get my shot! 

Here's my shot!

Then I got this horrible shot of Michelle. She goes to the bathroom too, if you can believe that!


And here, my friends, is the bathroom the first black president of the USA visited right before my very eyes.

You saw it here first.

I think you guys should start a fund to send me around the world to photograph famous people and naked people and bathrooms of famous naked people. 

That is totally my dream job.   

Who's in, raise your hand.

Okay, so I'm totally embarrassed right now because people I know are walking by my car and I'm sitting in here blogging my brains out like a junkie!  

TTFN

That's what SHE said!

Aloha everyone!  

First let me say how sorry I am to those of you who got stuck in the snow today.  My heart goes out to you.  If it's any consolation, I got stuck in the sand, which is just as bad for someone who's dreaming of a white Christmas. 

Not trying to downplay your plight.  Just sayin'  the grass ain't always greener on the other side of the blizzard.  I mean it's greener, yes.  And warmer, yes.  But greener and warmer has it's drawbacks too.    Can't think of any off the top of my head, but . . .  

I hope your day was as wonder-full as mine.  I wondered about many things today.   Like why AMC would have a John Wayne Western-a-thon on Christmas Day? Did they not know my IL's would pitch a tent in the living room and try to convert me to Louis Lamour?   

I also wondered why Rock Band would include the songs Eye of the Tiger and Hungry Like the Wolves in their collection.  Can I get an Amen people?  The next kid who sings either one of those songs in my house will see just what the eye of the tiger looks like!

I also wondered how I have been able to raise my children without my MIL's full time assistance.  Without her I wouldn't know when or how much or how little my children are shoving into their mouths.  I had no idea my son could consume so much pie.  And I had no idea my other son could pull off such an amazing chipmunk impersonation when he chews.  How will I keep track of it by myself when she's gone?

Speaking of my IL's, The Office was on again tonight.  We told them they could watch their westerns if we could watch The Office. It was the episode where Michael goes on a business trip to Kanada. 

At first it was super fun laughing myself silly every time my MIL would say, "I think he's dumb" and my FIL would say, "I think they're all dumb."  

And at first it was cute when my FIL said Michael yabbers too much and my MIL called Dwight rude because he interrupted Jim and Pam while they were kissing in the parking lot to ask Pam to make copies.

But then my MIL said, "you'd think Michael would do something with his nose."

That's what she said.

Poor Michael, he was already having a sucky--his word, not mine--time in Kanada even without my MIL saying that about his nose.  She didn't even say "bless his heart" afterwards.   And then she called him crazy for calling Toby a jerky jerk face and for singing Oh My Do Da Day.  

And then she said OH MY GAD (in a disdainful way) so many times that I broke one of the commandments and I raised my voice at her and said, "He's SUPPPPPPOSSSSED to be crazy and DUMB!!!!!"  

Then she raised her voice back at me and said, "HE IS DUMB!  And besides your sons eat too much pie and too quickly, for that matter!"  (But she wasn't breaking any commandments because Moses forgot to add the one about honoring your DIL.)

Then, so help me Gad, I hauled off and . . . took a deep breath . . . and counted to 10 forwards and backwards . . . and sang Reverently Quietly backwards and forwards . . . and inhaled spray whipped cream in ginormous amounts.

And thank goodness too because I was this close to saying, "WELL YOU FALL ASLEEP DURING THE WEATHER!"

By that time the Christmas Spirit had departed thence and the evening came to a close with my MIL saying "And you guys really like this, huh?" and  "You watch this every Thursday, huh?" 

That's what she said.

But it IS a good idea to confirm things if you have any questions about them.  I agree that clarification is an essential form of communication, (not to mention humiliation.)   

If I hadn't had that spray whipped cream bottle in my mouth,  I would have clarified a few things myself. 

Like, "so you guys are really staying with us for 28 more days, huh?"

Sharing Christmas

Aloha and Mele Kalikimaka everyone!

One of my good friends just discovered my blog. She came up to me at church and said, "I can't believe you blogged on vacation!" like it was the lamest thing in the world. She also said, "I would never have time to blog every day!" Again, lame-o, get-a-life implications.

To that I say, "I blog, therefore I am."

Which is to say, "I write, therefore I am."

Which is to say, "I breathe, therefore I write."

I write like my MIL talks. I can't stop. The words just tumble out. It's my air. It's the only time the heaven's open up for me. It's my grail.

So a big MAHALO to all of you friends, fans and followers who read me and appreciate the air that I breathe and feed my dream and pat me on the back for dreaming it. I send you all glittery, magical Christmas wishes.

A special thanks to my BBFF, Lisa the Funny Farmer, for discovering me on Mormon Mommy Blogs and telling me I was going to be a star. And thanks to my brothers, Stephen and Eric, who read me daily and tell me I'm brilliant and funny and mentally unstable.

But mostly a big mahalo to my CWT (my creative writing teacher) who first told me I could write and that I have things to write about and who still encourages me today.

One of the things my CWT always encouraged me to do was PUBLISH, PUBLISH, PUBLISH. He once gave me an assignment to submit a story for publication to a magazine. I submitted a Christmas story to the New Era.

Ten years later I got a check in the mail for $1.50.

Ten years after that I got a phone call from my sister. She was screaming her head off so I could barely decipher her words, but it was something about her visiting teacher had just come over and read her a story from the New Era that sounded startlingly familiar. Sure enough it was my story.

Once I scraped my chin of the floor I screamed my head off too. (And then I felt famous for a second.)

I thought I'd share it with you (since it's Christmas and since I want to feel famous again for a second.)


Click here to read my New Era Story.



And don't forget to have a Merry Christmas!

You didn't hear it from me! (For real this time)

Is it bad that I gave my husband a pair of black silk pajamas for his birthday?  

They weren't for him, they were for me, but still . . . my black silk pajamas are his black silk pajamas, right?  

My daughter shook her head at me and my know-it-all twelve year old son told me I'm the worst wife in the world, (even though I was up at 6:30 making orange julius and slabs of bacon and fried poached over-easy scrambled eggs and banana pancakes with whip cream.)

While I was slaving away over the griddle, my son put on my black silk pajamas and paraded around the house ROTFLOL. 

He looks better in them than I do.

But you didn't hear it from me.

Is it bad that I spent my husband's whole birthday in bed wearing his/my black silk pajamas and sneezing in his face every time he got near me?

Father forgive me, for I am sick.

I have a cold.  And a fever.  So do I feed it or starve it?  That's my dilemma.

You wanna know why I got sick?  Because I'm a rebel.  Without a cause.  And because I don't like family secrets.  

Not the mysterious in-the-closet-family-secret secrets, I love those, but the secrets-to-a-successful-family secrets.   Every family has them.  The family code.  The family protocol. The family proclamation of do's and do not's.

It took me a while to learn my husband's family secrets, but they are now engraved upon a tablet of stone in my head.

1. Thou shalt not sleep. 

2. Thou shalt not speak during the weather.

3. Thou shalt not eat in between meals, or leave food on thy plate. 

4. Thou shalt not take the name of Chuck-a-Rama in vain.

5. Thou shalt not get sick.

If you happen to commit the unpardonable sin of breaking any of the aforementioned commandments in combination with other aforementioned commandments, you will be struck by lightening and go straight to marriage H. E. double. hockeysticks.  

For instance, if you don't eat everything on your plate(s) at Chuck-a-Rama because you ate in between meals and then you get sick and fall asleep during the weather, you might as well skip the bread pudding for dessert and go straight for the divorce pie.

But you didn't hear it from me.

So that's why I'm sick.  It's because I'm a rebel.  Without a cause.  And I don't have a firm testimony of family proclamation commandments.   

But I can tell you exactly what the weather is going to be tomorrow so you don't have to watch it every tamn night.  

FAIR TO PARTLY CLOUDY!  SLIGHT CHANCE OF RAIN!  

But you didn't hear it from me.

And btw, every family proclamation should have a hippocratic oath because (shhhhhhhhhhh) can I tell you something in confidence?  Come closer.

Closer.  

Closer!!!!!  

I said, CLOSER!!!!!!!!! 

My IL's fall asleep during the weather every single night and when they wake up they pretend like they watched the whole thing.

But you didn't hear it from me!

PhotoGRAPHIC Evidence

Disclaimer: Some parts of this post are rated pg-13 so enter at your own risk.

So I'm home. And can I just say, there's no place like home. (Say that three times while clicking your heels together and see what happens. I dare you.)

Can I also just say, there's no place like home for the holidays. (Am I right Kute Kasey?)

And hey, guess what? Christmas is this THURSDAY! Were you guys aware of that? I had no idea! So now I'm doing the Home Alone AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Actually I'm trying to do the Home Alone AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, but I can't quite muster the energy. I think I'm destressed.

Yes, I'm definitely in a destression.

I blame it on Maui. My body is home, but my mind is still on vacation. I can tell because I can't even muster up any annoyance at my MIL. I'm trying. Really I am, but nothing is phasing me. Not even her standing in the middle of the kitchen while I cook or saying everything nice twice or asking my FIL to show us his fissured tongue during dinner. None of it seems annoying anymore--just endearing.

And my BBFF's constant doubting and questioning me isn't even getting on my nerves today either. I think I better get on some anti-destressants.

Really my BBFF is right to question me. I do lie. She's only calling me out.

In fact I didn't take any naps in Maui. I lied about that. I told you all that I was sleeping for you so I could pocket your money, but I didn't really sleep for you. I was busy grading research papers and finals and figuring out my student's grades. But you're not going to pay me for that so I lied.

I'm a bad girl.

And I'm a bad teacher too. I didn't teach my students anything. I'm ashamed of some of their answers on the final. One question on my final asked what you call the categories of literature--poetry, drama, the novel, the short story etc. The answer is genre.

You know what one student said? Blog.

I've totally corrupted my student's minds.

But I can't even muster up enough energy to feel guilty or aggravated. I wasn't even aggravated when two of my students who received A's in my class emailed me and told me that I forgot to add their extra credit to their total points.

But I'm not here to talk about my shortcomings or my student's shortcomings, I'm here to provide a sign for Lisa--oh ye of little faith--in the form of photoGRAPHIC evidence that I did go to Maui and that I did have a super hopeless super ferry romance and that we did stumble upon a nude beach and that a partially nude mermaid did stumble upon us.

Here we are pulling out of the harbor and waving aloha oe to Diamond Head/Honolulu.

Here are my IL's and my husband with front row seats to the gag-a-thon. My MIL is chatting it up now, but give her time and she'll be BHBO.

Here is my little round Jetsonesque table and my hot chocolate and Miss Heidi's naked book. I took it's clothes off because books are less inhibited that way. It won't be long now before my hot chocolate is in my lap and I'm crawling towards the vinyl couches.

Can you find Nemo?

For those of you who are weathering storms and blizzards and power outages, look away NOW!!!!!! Place your hands over your eyes and scroll down as quickly as possible to my MIL's shoes, unless you want to feel like I felt during Autumn when everyone was posting gorgeous photos of burnt amber partially naked trees.



Nothing but sand and sky (and my legs trying to get some sun). If you look closely I'll whisper aloha in your ear.

These photos were taken with my virgin eyes before I climbed the lava rock and uncovered the nudies.

Here I am overlooking Big Makena beach.

Then I turned around and . . . ACK! PDN everywhere!

Here is a photo of my family looking at all the PDN photos that I can't show you here because my husband says I might lose my job and my calling.

WHOA WHOA WHOA! Hold on here! Is my MIL wearing Old Navy Shoes?

Can I forgive her her trespasses?

Whoops! Did You see me slip in those censored nudie photos? How sly am I? If you're under 13 you won't be able to see them anyway because I have this post set to censorship mode.

Lisa, if you really love me you'll post all the rest of the hilarious nudie photos you censored and drew all over for me on your blog. You won't get fired from your job, I promise.

And here are my boys doing the synchronized snorkeling.

And this is where the mermaid will appear momentarily. Just before I hold my horses and then catch my keys in my knickers.

And there were other things too--art galleries and shopping and restaurants and runny noses--but I don't care if you believe me or not about those things so I'm not going to post photos.

P.S. The super ferry ride home was super romantic. I read the rest of Miss Heidi's super romantic/charming/adorable book about Miss Delacourt and Sir Anthony. Oh my goodness, oh my goodness. I am so proud of Miss Heidi. My favorite part, besides the super hot kissing scenes and the romantic comedy, was when Miss Delacourt fully intends to throw herself unto her bed and sob her eyes out, but bursts into Sir Anthony's room by accident and then chucks The Taming of the Shrew right at his forehead. Hee hee. Good thinking Miss Heidi.

Was that a spoiler?

Aloha Oe

Guess where I am right now? I'm on the super ferry, heading home.

Yep. I lieth not.  

I'm in the middle of the ocean with WiFi.  How's that for space age? 

We just started the voyage so I'm not sick yet, but I'll keep you posted play by play, gag by gag.

You're welcome.

And you're also welcome for all the hard work I've been doing for you. I hope you appreciate all the sun I've been soaking up for you and all the naps I've been taking for you and all the fat boy ice cream sandwhiches I've been consuming for you and all the games shows I've been watching for you. I know you didn't ask me to watch any games shows for you. I just did that out of the goodness of my heart because I"m thoughtful that way.

But back to the play by play.  I've got the patch stuck behind my ear and I swallowed 5 ginger pills and I've been eating soda crackers like they're corn on the cob and guzzling Sprite like I'm a frat brat. Plus I've got my sweatshirt over my head and I'm curled up in a ball with the ethernet cable stuck in my ear.  Which means I'm actually blogging my brains out with my eyes closed.  I'm that good.  And look ma, NO HANDS!  Wahoo!

I wonder if the super ferry has a suggestion box? I would suggest that instead of broadcasting ESPN they broadcast old episodes of Gilligan's Island. It seems more practical.  Plus, don't you think it would add some comic relief, plus an element of fear? Plus it would generate ideas about how too cope if we ourselves get stranded on an island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I wouldn't need the ideas because I have a place to live already, but it might help my IL's figure out what they would do if they got stranded. I'm just thinking of others, as usual, which is all I've been doing this entire vacation. 

That's probably why I feel so worn out.  Thinking of others can take a lot out of a dummy.

I'm really going to miss Maui.  Of course I'm going to miss the nudity and the partial nudity, (although not the mermaid nudity) but I'm mostly going to miss the Game Show Network. Maui has the best Game Show Network. And the hard core water pressure of the condo shower. Maui has the best hard core water pressure too. It was a bit startling at first, when it ripped off my top layer of my skin, but once I accepted that I don't actually need my epidermis I've been able to chillax and enjoy the long hot showers.

I've learned so much in Maui too. Especially from my MIL. I've learned that some things are so nice they should be said twice. Like "Oh my goodness!" Goodness is much too sweet to be said just once. If you ever spread goodness around, please double the pleasure for everyone within earshot. In fact just go ahead and say everything twice. Especially if your DIL is pretending not to hear you.

But if your DIL has her eyes closed and her hands over her ears and she's repeating "LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA!" over and over, then I highly recommend shutting your trap ASAP!

Regrets?  I've had a few.  I wish we hadn't brought the kitchen sink.  We didn't even use it.   I wish we had brought my daughter instead.  We would have used her more.  But life is all about choices and sometimes you have to learn the hard way.  

Needless to say, I can hardly wait to see my daughter, but I could care less if I ever see my kitchen sink again.  

It just goes to show that things aren't people too.  Lesson learned.  

I know you wish I would ramble on aimlessly like this all day, but my battery is dying and I don't want my post to get stranded in the middle of the Pacific Ocean so I'm going to go ahead and bid  a fond aloha oe to ya'll and a fond aloha oe to Maui.  

But before I bid my fond aloha oe, can I just say one more thing about my BBFF, Lisa the Funny Farmer.  Don't tell her this, but she's really getting on my nerves.   She keeps doubting my credibility.  She has no faith in me.  She's now demanding signs that I exist and that I exist in Maui amongst all the under dressed people of the world.  

If I were God, I would have struck her down a long time ago.  But I'm not God so I will show her a sign.  Tomorrow.  When I have more battery!  (Signs take a lot of battery, you know.)

Aloha Oe, everyone.   

Aloha Oe, Maui.    

P.S.  I think all the soda crackers and ginger pills worked cause I'm not BMBO at all!  

Equal Rights for Comedy

My in-laws are prejudice.  They hate The Office.  My FIL called it, and I quote, a "dippy" show.  

Is it politically correct to discriminate against dippy comedy?  (Because if so, I'm so hoping they don't find my blog.)

We are trying to help them enlarge their scope of tolerance toward "dippy" comedy so we forced them at gunpoint to sit down and watch The Office with us tonight.  We even promised them Fat Boy ice cream sandwiches if they cracked a smile.  

So we all gathered around the television at 8 p.m.  (Well, actually we'd been gathered around the television since 5 p.m watching Family Feud.  Did you know strawberries are the sexiest food? And guess what's the 2nd sexiest food?  Not spam.  I thought for sure it would be spam. It's bananas.  My IL's eat bananas every morning and it's not sexy at all.)   

ANYWAY, we were gathered around the television at 8 p.m.  We didn't have a gun so we used a broomstick to keep the IL's from turning the channel.    

It was tricky because Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader was on at the same time and my IL's would MUCH rather watch adults be outsmarted by 5th graders than watch adults act like 5th graders. 

I know this because they told me (several times).

So The Office began with an awkward bang.  It was the Crime Aid episode where Michael and Holly have their first encounter and they say the S word 6 times in the first 5 minutes. Needless to say we heard a lot of  "oh my goodness!" and "oh gad!" and "honest to pete!"  but we held fast to the broomstick. 

My MIL looked each of my children in the eye at one point during the show and said, "Do you think this is funny?" and my FIL murmured under his breath and shook his head several times. He didn't think I could hear him. 

I may be old and over dressed, but I can hear a needle drop in a haystack. Especially when I have my hollowed-out-secret-agent-eagle-ear-spy-broom-stick to my ear.  

These are some of the things I heard: "I don't . . . see . . . the . . . point . . . of . . . watching . . . this!!!!"   

"I guess this is supposed to be funny?"  

"This is just dumb."   

It was probably the funniest night at The Office I've ever had.  

The only thing that would have made the night better would have been a round of Fat Boy ice cream sandwiches because we don't discriminate against obese ice cream.

Maui WOWIE!

Before I tell you about my day I need to clarify something.  I don't mind sleeping for you and eating for you and getting some sun for you, but I absolutely will NOT be able to exercise for you. 

Sorry guys.  I hope you're not mad at me. 

 

I should have made it clear that for only $9.95 a month I will do ALMOST anything for my friends.  

And friends, I must confess that all these brilliant ideas I've had while chilling in Maui are beginning to take their toll on me. I'm so busy sleeping for all of you that I barely have time to make the cake batter for the blog-a-thon or design my stupid party-partially-naked-and-fully-clothed-t-shirts-and-tatoos.    

Actually, after what happened today, I don't even want to make those t-shirts and tatoos anymore. 

I had another nudity encounter.  I mean, WE had another nudity encounter.  

This time it was WAY worse because it was not FAD (from a distance) it was WCP (within close proximity) and it wasn't funny at all because it was a Hawaiian tropic super duper model and she was UBER beautiful and UBER liberated as she sat on the shoreline meditating and doing all sorts of sunshine serenades.  

She wasn't totally nude, just nude from the top of her long dark hair to her hip bones.  From her hip bones down she was sporting a flimsy, flowy, filmy sarong which made her look like a mystical mermaid as she dove into the water like Ariel minus the coconut bra.  

GAWKWARD!  

Hawaiian tropic mystical mermaids PD-ing their PN are like EM.  

Translation:  HTMM's publicly displaying their partial nudity are like eye magnets.  

I would say eye candy, but I just don't feel like it.  

So my boys were doing some synchronized snorkeling at the time  and I was hoping they wouldn't notice, but when they popped out of the water . . . SURPRISE!  

Yea, they noticed, since she was kinda invading our space.  

They were like "Ooooh nasty!"  which isn't exactly the same thing as  "Ewwww nasty!" 

This time I just couldn't bring myself to give them the nudity is natural (and funny) speech.  

Then one of my twins said "Maui WOWIE!"  

And no, he didn't think of that himself.  He plagiarized that line from his dad.  MmmmHmmm.  

And then his dad (notice, I didn't say my husband) said "Take a picture!" 

I know I've boasted before about how obedient I am, but I lied, okay.  I WAS NOT ABOUT to take a picture of THAT.  I'm already feeling insecure about my OAI (over-apparel issues). 

So yea, I'm feeling like a prudish overdressed old lady right now. 

To make matters worse . . . there was no public restroom at the beach park.  There are no public restrooms on Maui.  And I'm a prudish overdressed old lady who can't go 4 hours straight without a trip to the old ladies room.   

I really wanted to drive down the road to look for an old ladies room, but I couldn't just up and leave all the men in my life to stare themselves silly at the naked HTMM eye candy.  

You know what I'm talking about right, ladies?  Right Stephen? Right Cajoh?  Right OBG? (Don't answer that, any of you, you hear me?)

So I held my horses. 

Here's a picture:  

 

Here I am faking a smile and holding my horses and feeling insecure about my over apparel, even though I'm sporting my new I-wanna-be-your-cowgirl hat and acting like I'm chillaxing.

Notice my son's face. This is my son who inspires my trademark "hee hee" laugh. He's actually saying "hee hee" as this photo is being snapped.  I know you can hear it because I know you know I know you know what he's looking at.

So FINALLY the lovely HTMM makes her spectacular exit and I dash truly, madly, deeply for the car and drive about 5 miles up the road until I finally find an outhouse which I enthusiastically embrace. But in my careless gleeful haste somehow the car keys, our life line on Maui, escape from my fingers and descend in the general direction of outer darkness.

Imagine my HORROR! Imagine me trying to explain myself to my husband and IL's and children. 

Imagine me not being able to explain myself to my husband and IL's and children because in my haste to dash away dash away dash away all I didn't bring a cell phone to call them to explain myself to them.  

Imagine the whole lot of us walking along the highway 20 miles back to the condo up hill both ways in the snow. 

Imagine me plugging my nose and sticking my hand into outer darkness in a desperate housewife attempt to retrieve the car keys so my husband wouldn't spend the whole night wishing he was married to an UBER beautiful partially naked mermaid. 

Imagine all of this racing through my brain as in   .  .  .  s l o w     m o t i o n    

I close my legs .  .  .

and the keys get caught in my knickers.

HALLELUJAH for clothes!

Can I get an AMEN!

P.S.  My cousin Sewl (Emily) is in the finals at Shelle's.  Go vote for her!  A vote for Sewl is a vote for Cewl. 

P.S.S.  Miss Heidi thinks I didn't post yesterday, but I did! I did!  Miss Heidi, look down there? Right below the comment box.  If you didn't read yesterday's post, (or the day before's) you might not get this post.  

P.S.S.S.  Miss Heidi, I'm reading your book in between the naps and the nudity and I'm loving it. 

The Secret to My Brilliant Ideas!

The best thing about vacationing is chilling out.  

When you start to chill you start to feel.  And when you start to feel you start to spill.  Your guts.  About all the things you feel as you chill.   Like love.  And gratitude.  And nudity. 

I'm feeling the love and gratitude big time--for my kids, my husband, my IL's, my M, my siblings, my neighbors, my friends, romans, countrymen . . . AND for all my blogging buddies.   

LY everyone!

The only thing I'm not feeling yet is the Christmas spirit, so I'm going to lay here and drain my brain until I feel like getting up and shopping.

As your brain drains you have a lot of empty space to fill with brilliant ideas.  I can't tell you how many brilliant ideas I've had since I've been overdosing on sleep and television and squeaky French string beans.  

The first brilliant idea came to me at 8:20 a.m.  I was just laying in bed sleeping and thinking about sleeping and dreaming about sleeping.  My whole life seemed to be surrounded by sleeping.  It was like I was consumed with it.  I was captivated by it.  I was completely compelled to sleep.  That's when it hit me.  How good I am it it.  It's my gift.  And it's my responsibility to share my gift to help all the exhausted women in the world.  I know you are all sleep deprived and fatigued.  Let me help you.  Let me sleep for you.  Tell me how many hours you need and give me your credit card number and I am so there for you.  

 

I can eat for you too.  Not to brag, but I am a skilled calorie consumer.  Tell me what you want me to eat and I will eat it.    

And if you're cold or snowed in or weathering a harsh storm, I can get some sun for you.  There is no sense in me hogging all the sun and the sleep and the mango cheesecake.  There's enough to go around the whole bloggernacle twice and back. 

Seriously, for only $9.95 a month, I will do anything for my friends.  And if you call within the next 30 minutes I'll throw in a free book light.

I got that idea from an infomercial for shoe skirts.  (Have you ever seen a shoe skirt?  It's a shoe rack and a bedskirt combined.  I kid you NOT!  How stupid/smart is that?  I wonder if the stupid smart girl has one.)  

I've gotten some rather brilliant ideas from t.v. over the past few days.  Did you know there is a show called Extreme Logging.   YAWN!  Who cares about extreme logging.  

But Extreme Blogging . . . now there's a reality show with a lot of potential, don't you think? Real women blogging their brains out.   Kristina P., our favorite comment whore, could be the sassy host.  Funny Farmer could do the Blog Management for Dummies spot.  Then every Labor Day we could do a Blogathon to raise money for Nie Nie.   We could play Rocky music while we train, but instead of drinking raw eggs we could drink raw cake batter since it's basically raw eggs anyway. We could get sponsers--$1 for every post and 10 cents for every comment.  

Wow!  So much empty space in my head right now, it's scary.  

Guess what fills my head when it's empty, besides brilliant ideas.  Nudity. 

Weird, huh?  I'm suddenly apparel-aware.  I realize I have apparel issues.  When you're on vacation in Maui you become acutely aware of your inter-apparel biases and proclivities.   I may not be guilty of PDN (public display of nudity) or PN (partial nudity) but I am an OA offender.  OA = over apparel.  I wear too much.  Think about it.   OA can be as awkward in public as PN and PDN. 

Maybe, to be fair (and politically correct), I should change my t-shirt line from Stupid Party Naked Shirts to Stupid Party Partially Naked Shirts and then create another line called Stupid Party Fully Clothed Shirts.  (You'll have to read the last post to get that.)  

"Shower Fully Clothed" and "Boogie Board Fully Clothed" could be big sellers. 

And for those of you who want to know if I covered my boys eyes when we happened upon the nude beach . . . of course not!  They didn't even notice the nudies.   They were down here looking for crabs.  

I had to scream and shout "HEY GUYS!  COME'ERE!  Come and look at all these naked people!"  

They were like, "ewww, gross, that's nasty!"  

I had to keep telling them over and over that nudity is natural (and funny).  

Then today when one son got steaming mad because another son pantsed him in the pool in front of a bunch of ladies, I said "That is NOT appropriate!"  The other two sons, who weren't steaming mad said "I thought you said it was NATURAL! (AND FUNNY). 

That's my boys!

P.S. You guys have to check out my cousin Sewl's funny entry in Shelle's Don't You Hate It When contest. It's way funnier than Ovaltine, I promise.

Public Display of Nudity

Still in Maui.  And doing some of my favorite things.  Today  I slept.  I blogged.  I ate mango cheesecake.   I slept.  I ate eggrolls.  I watched the Game Show Network.  I ate chocolate covered raisens.  I watched Happy Days.  I slept.  I jacuzzied.   

Oh, and I found a nude beach.  

Here's another acronym because you know how I feel about ugly words.  PDN = Public display of nudity. 

Everyone has an opinion about PDA (public display of affection.)  But how do you feel about PDN? 

I personally think PDN is one of the funniest things ever.  Partial nudity is not funny at all, but full monty nudity is stinkin' hilarious.  At least FAD (from a distance).  I'm a little afeared of it up close.

So this is how I came across some hee heelarious PDN today while hanging out at Maui's Big Makena beach, which is apparently just a lava rock's climb away from little Makena beach, one of the most beautiful nude beaches in the world, according to Brother Google.   

My boys:  "Hey can we go climb that lava rock and see what's on the other side?"  And off they sprinted.  

Me to my husband and IL'S.  "I better run after them to make sure they don't get hurt or stumble upon a nude beach."  

My husband and IL'S to me.  "While you're there take some photos from the top of the lava rock, especially if you stumble upon a nude beach."  

Since I'm such an obedient wife and I always do exactly what I'm told,  I climbed to the top of the lava rock and started snapping photos with my wide angle lens.  (I would show you, but I'm such a dummy I left my downloader cord thingiemajig at home).

But wait!  Was that couple walking hand in hand . . . naked? Was that couple playing paddle ball . . . naked? Was that boy boogie boarding . . . naked? 

Bingo!

Yes, they were all buck naked, except for one woman's wide brimmed sun hat to protect her delicate skin from the harsh UV rays of the sun.  (My MIL calls it head gear.   Has anyone seen my head gear she says when she's looking for her sun hat.) 

How silly to wear head gear without body gear. 

But some people were wearing body gear without head gear.  It was surprising how comfortable those who were wearing body gear seemed to feel mingling with those who were wearing only head gear.  Honestly, it was almost inspiring to see a fully clothed boogie boarder and a naked boogie boarder sharing the same wave as if  inter-apparel relationships could really work. 

I mean it would have been inspiring if I hadn't been snickering and snorting so hard and finger pointing.   

Don't get me wrong.  I'm totally cool with inter-apparel relationships.  And I am seriously so issue free when it comes to PDN (FAD). 

Like I've always said to my kids when they get out of the tub.  "Hey,  nudity is natural.  It's partial nudity that's nasty.  In fact, if God wanted us to be partially nude, we would have popped out of the birth canal wearing speedos and thong bikinis."  

I had a super conservative prudish friend in college who wore a t-shirt to bed that said Party Naked.  The only reason that shirt was so funny is because she didn't party naked.  She didn't even shower naked.  

I'm thinking of starting my own line of t-shirts like Annie Valentine did.  I could call them Stupid Party Naked t-shirts and use catchy phrases like:  

Boogie Board Naked

Paddle Ball Naked

Who Needs Head Gear!   

My Parents went to Little Makena Beach and All I Got Was This Lousy Sunburn  

Naked People are People Too!

PDNFAD Rocks!

and my favorite,

Hang Loose!

What do you guys think?  Would nudity sell?

My Super Hopeless Super Ferry Romance

Aloha everyone!

I'm in Maui. And guess how I got here!

That's right, (how'd you know? Oh, my title) we took the super ferry.

Here's how the super ferry works. You choose one of your cars to go on vacation with you, preferably whichever one needs the break the most. We chose our mini-van because it's been working for us for 9 years and it's never been off the island.

Next you climb in the car with your children and your in-laws while your husband stacks everything you own around you, including the kitchen sink. (You just never know when you'll need it).

When you get to the super ferry make sure you upgrade to the Hahalua lounge because it's at the very front of the boat so you get front row seats to watch your MIL BHBO.

(I'm creating new acronyms for this post so I don't have to say ugly words. When I say BHBO it = barfing her brains out. When I say BMBO it = barfing my brains out. If I say BYBO it = barfing your brains out)

The Hahalua lounge should be called the Ha ha Lua lounge because ha ha means I'm laughing at you and lua is the ancient Hawaiian art of self-defense. When you put it all together it means Put up your dukes while I laugh myself silly at you BYBO. 

To be fair, they should add a subtitle to their sign so you know what to expect in the Hahalua lounge.

Hahalua Loungue: Remember what it was like to be pregnant?

The Hahalua lounge is hilarious because they offer free pineapple and Costco mini suasage links and all you can drink drinks, and all you can B, B-bags, but no soda crackers. And then they let you stuff yourself while the super ferry goes surfing and they go hide in the back room with patches behind their ears pointing their fingers at you and saying ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

Our super ferry was a pro surfer. DUDE! He could win the Pipeline Masters. He could really bang. He could crank through the waves like nobodies business.

And we had front row seats for every airdrop.

At first we enjoyed the ride on the vinyl lounge couches and reclining chairs and cute little round Jetsonesque tables overlooking the front of the boat. This is where we settled with our hot chocolate and our enthusiasm for the super ferry. I also had Miss Heidi's new book in hand because I was in the mood for romance.

But as soon as I opened Miss Heidi's book I got the urge to BMBO. It wasn't because Miss Heidi's book isn't romantic, it was because we started going through a channel and romance is the last thing on your mind when you feel like BYBO. 

I don't know which channel it was, probably the Disney channel because I found Nemo. In fact I found a hundred Nemos swimming around on the Hahalua lounge carpet while I was crawling across the floor trying to get to a vinyl couch ASAP.

When a super ferry goes through rough waters in a channel it begins to breath heavily. In and out, in and out it breaths. Maybe because it's a lot of work to chug along like that with a bunch of cars and people eating pineapple and Costco sausage links on board.

If you want to know what a breathing boat sounds like imagine Darth Vadar with a sinus infection. No, Darth Vadar with a sinus infection and bronchitis because every so often, when the ocean gets really wild, Darth Vadar wakes up and coughs up a lung. When Darth Vadar coughs up a lung it feels like you're actually inside Darth Vadar's lungs being thrashed around. And that's when you feel the greatest urge to BYBO.

After the hot chocolate and all-you-can-drink Sprite flew off the little Jetsonesque tables onto my lap, my MIL grabbed her B-bag and began gagging.  

The funny thing about gagging is it's just like yawning.  When one person yawn's everyone yawns.  When one person gags, everyone gags.  I had to cover my nose and crawl along the floor, to the vinyl couches and curl up into a little ball. I closed my eyes and tried to figure out how not to BMBO.

My father in-law had some good advice, which I'd like to pass along. Don't think about it! It really works too. Just don't think about how bad you want to BYBO and then it goes away. This works for pregnant women too. Mind over matter, girls.

I tried to think happy thoughts about rainbows and butterflies, and my mind really did stop thinking about BMBO, but then my stomach started thinking about BMBO.  I couldn't figure out what to do to get my stomach to stop thinking about it so I closed my eyes and put my sweatshirt over my head and started breathing with Darth Vadar. Innnnnnnnnnnhale .  .  . exxxxxxxxxxxhale.  Soon I became one with Darth Vadar and it helped.  It really helped.  Except my MIL kept gabbing and chuckling and gabbing and chuckling.  

She has a special gift of gab where the words pour prolifically from her mouth like a waterfall, and even the urge to BHBO doesn't stop them from gushing forth.  She just gabs and gabs until her stomach meets her uvula and then he grabs her bag and BHBO.  Then she chuckles and begins gabbling again.  

Me, I don't have that gift.  I have to curl up in a little ball and close my eyes and put my sweat shirt over my head and breath in and out, in and out until I become one with Darth Vadar.  

The most hilarious thing about the Hahalua lounge is at the end.  It's like the funniest punch line to a not very funny joke, where everyone is gagging and laying across the vinyl couches with their sweatshirts over their heads and then the concessions lady comes over the intercom and announces that the free snack bar will be closing in 10 minutes so please make your final purchases NOW.    

Once we were safely docked I gave the snack bar lady the address to our vacation rental and told her I was sorry I hadn't made my final purchases at the free snack bar because I was BMBO, but I would appreciate it if she would send the rest of my free Costco sausages to this address after I stopped gagging. 

Wherein I Resecued My In-Laws

Does this title shout Miss Heidi, or what? I've been practicing so I can publish a book like her someday.


I almost went with a different title: It was a Dark and Stormy Night.


You know how much I love that opening line. (But it's not such a bad line when it's true.)


I probably should have titled it, It was a Dark and Story Night Wherein I Rescued My In-Laws!


Last night it was a dark and stormy night. There was much thundering and lightning and downpouring of rain. Insomuch that SUDDENLY a pole fell from it's upright position about 5 miles from our house and bonked a car on the head and left the road closed for 6 hours.


At the moment it fell my husband was almost home from picking up his parents from the airport and I was almost finished cutting glittery stars to string around the cultural hall for the ward Christmas party.


Things quickly deteriorated from ordinary and stressful to boring and stressful. Boring and stressful for my husband because he was trapped in a car with his parents on the other side of the pole. It wasn't long before boring and stressful turned to boring, famished and stressful.


But, as my MIL always says (and then does), "When you're in a pickle, ask the dummy."


I immediately dropped my scissors, wrapped an ice pack around my sore thumb, grabbed my red cape and a flashlight and stole an umbrella from Martha's front porch.


My trusty sidekick, twin son, also grabbed his flashlight and stole an umbrella from Martha's front porch.


Off we went to the rescue. Oh, the perilous journey, in which my husband advised me many times to never ye mind us, turn back while ye still have your sanity and your dry corduroy jeans.


But NO, onward we trudged, my twin son and myself, through the dark and frightening woods, along the dark and pounding ocean, letting our little lights so shine into the pouring rain. The rain fell in droves of droplets. Droves and droves of droplets. But we lent strength to each other and continued on.


Soon we came to a brick wall in which a stream of rushing water prevented us from completing our journey. We forged ahead in a new direction, climbing a steep incline and walking through a large and spacious field which slowly turned into a large and spacious lake. We clenched our stolen umbrellas and legally purchased flashlights as my dry corduroy jeans became damp corduroy jeans, except from the knees down where they were sopping wet corduroy jeans.


The lightening did pierce the sky exceedingly, and the thunder did pierce our eardrums exceedingly, insomuch that my twin son did waver and say "I want to go home now," but I did show exceeding bravery by saying "We're almost there" even though I did lie exceedingly because I knew not where we were and I did fear the likelihood of death by electricution was exceedingly high because of the electromagnetic genes passed on to me after my gigi was struck by lightening twice.


And I did become exceedingly weary of using exceedingly long sentences punctuated by the word exceedingly.


SUDDENLY we saw a wall in front of us. Was it a wall? No, it was a gate. But would the gate open, or would we have to turn back?


Yes, it would open and we would wedge our way through and we would come upon the parking lot where my husband and in-laws sat bored and famished and stressed.


And we did share our flashlights and stolen umbrellas with them and we did lead them safely back through the darkness and the wetness as they spoke all the while of the exceeding dangers of electrocution.


And we did successfully complete our rescue mission. And even though at the ward Christmas party it did appear as if I had been swapping DNA with a wet poodle, we did consume turkey until our bellys hurt and we did laugh until our sides ached (and I did aggravate my thumb injuries by clapping so profusely) at the Young Women doing synchronized swimming, and the Young Men doing Kung Fu theatre and the Relief Society sistahs doing Beyonce and Santa Clause wearing his Plumeria Pajamas.


And we did attempt to retreive our car and my in-laws luggage numerous times, but to no avail.


Finally at 11:37 I awoke my husband and we did successfully retrieve our car, but upon our return we did hide our faces in shame and public humiliation because our alarm clock was wagging it's tongue loudly and rudely at all the neighors.

It had slipped my husband's mind that he set the alarm for midnight so we could retreive our car. (Sorry Martha and Swirl.)

At midnight I finally turned into a pumpkin and got some sleep.



P.S. I'm not really here right now. I'm in Maui. (Nani nani boo boo. But I know you're not really here right now either. You're in church reading this post on your iphone. Am I right, or am I right? That's why I tried to sound scriptional for you so you wouldn't feel so bad about reading blogs on your iphone during church.

I hope they have wi-fi in Maui so I can post all my Maui photos and make you all exceedingly jealous that you're in church getting scriptional while I'm in Maui getting tan (as soon as the sky stops falling) and reading Miss Heidi's new book.

p.p.s. Funny Farmer wants to know how I can eat a whole bowl of cake batter and not gain at least 5 lbs. I hope this doesn't make you think less of me, but I meant to tell you in that last confessional that I actually did gain 5 lbs and I didn't really eat a bowl of cake batter. I haven't eaten a whole bowl of cake batter since I moved away from home after high school. (But if I had, it would have been yellow cake batter.)

I did eat the mints though, and my lower lip did burst into a flaming hot cold sore.

Father Forgive Me

There are nasty rumors going around the bloggernacle that I ignore my tags.

That's just vicious suspicious malicious slander! Don't believe a word of it. I have never ever ever ever been tagged.

I bet I know who is spreading the rumors. My cousin Emily, A.K.A. Sewl, who is trying to outdo me with her antique book collection, (because I'm a literature teacher). Or Susan, who wants to see what's in my purse for some reason. (Susan I can tell you right now, it's just tampons from New Zealand, nothing interesting). Or Lo, who just wants me to read every single post in her archive even though there is no tag with my name on it. (I know because I read every single post in her archive to find a tag with my name on it.)

Even so, and even thogh my motto is "Don't do tag, it's a drag," and I'm having a button made that says This is your brain on tags, and I can barely get my visiting teaching done, let alone tagging, I will be polite and pretend they actually did tag me.

The only thing is I can't remember what they tagged me about.

Oh, Susan's had to do with stealing my credit card number and Emily's was to check and see if I'm actually qualified to be a literature teacher.

I'm not falling for their little tricks so I'm going to make up my own tag.

I'm going to call it the Father Forgive Me tag. The rules are you have to forgive one person who wronged you and then you have to wrong one person so they can forgive you.

And then you have to make a list of 10 things you would say at confessional.

So first I forgave my son for talking about sex. Next I yelled rudely at my husband for talking about sex.

Then I made a list of the 10 things I would say at confessional:


1. I text with both hands.

2. I haven't gotten a hair cut since this post in August.

3. I felt ungrateful when I found out my Christmas bonus from my employer is a hymn book.

4. I felt angry when I found out my husband's Christmas bonus from his employer is a hymn book.

5. I ate a whole bowl of cake batter when I thought about my in-laws coming for 42 days.

6. While I was preparing my in-laws bedroom, I ate party mints until my lower lip burst into a flaming hot cold sore. (It's a good thing I'm addicted to Acyclovir.)

7. I'm addicted to Acyclovir.

8. I wasn't disappointed when Enrichment was cancelled this week.

9. I guilt tripped my brother into leaving a comment in my comment box.

10. I pretended I couldn't cut anymore stars for the ward Christams party because my thumb was numb. Then I let my 1st counselor do it, even though she was in labor.

Can I do one more since I'm not really addicted to Acyclovir?

11. A few days ago in my comment box I said something embarrassing to CaJoh. I said, "I like you. A lot. I'm really glad you found me." And then I found out CaJoh is a man. A MARRIED married man. He probably thought I wanted to swap DNA with him. And his wife is probably the one spreading those nasty rumors about me.

Whoever thinks CaJoh should change his name to CaJoe raise your hand.

Can I do one more since my husband and I both work for the same employer and that could technically count as one?

12. I said TAMNIT! when my husband accidentally pinned my head against the wall while we were moving furniture to prepare for his parent's arrival.

P.S. I hope you don't think I'm nervous about my in-laws coming just because I said Tamn's name in vain and I have cold sores and I ate a whole bowl of cake batter. Seriously, I'm totally cool with it. This is like the 15th year they've stayed with us for 42 days and every year gets easier and easier.

This year I'm absolutely confident that when my MIL opens our bedroom door at 6am and says "Yoohoo. AloooooHA!" I will not throw my pillow at her face and yell, "Get Out!"