Life is so much like a haunted hike!

First I want to thank TAMN for saving my Relief Society post by dropping by and announcing the stake tan-a-thon.  Also, I want to thank my BBFF, Lisa for shielding me from public shame and humiliation by commenting 67 times on my Relief Society post and giving me all 3 measly votes on my poll.  

You know what I love about spook-a-ramas (besides the spook and the rama)? The all-you-can-eat-buffet of ghost stories. I love this week-long blog fire we've got burning. So fun to know you've got a place to gather whenever you need to lay down your burdens and your cares and your skepticism and get freaky.   It's a lot like Woodstock--without the nudity (and the music) (and the free love) (cause in real life free love always comes at a price). 

But you know what cracks me up about this contest? People are seriously sending in ghost stories! We were totally joking about this whole blogfire spook-a-rama, but the stories keep coming in.

What I want to know is why do we get chills when we read ghost stories because I seriously got chills reading every single ghost story (except Pat's because I was too busy ROFLOL!)  If you get chills does that mean it's true?  Is there like an UNholy ghost who confirms UNholy truth?

ANYWAY, here's a cute holy haunted story.  Last night our whole neighborhood went on a haunted hike for family night. Our adventurous, party planning neighbors set up the whole thing, and even spent 3 weeks blazing the trail through the jungles behind our house. At first we were all a little jumpy, especially when their dog came bounding out of the trees and pounced on us in a Dracula mask. (I bet they set that up.) But after a while it got almost sweet, especially when all the kids started singing If the Savior Stood Beside Me at the top of their lungs. (Now that is one of the many reasons I love the primary program so much!)

Even though we saw a lot of cockroaches and centipedes and gravestones and a cat refuge camp and tripped over a lot of stumps on the path, I wasn't scared at all because my son was holding my hand and telling me jokes.

(Do you know what has 4 wheels and flies? (A garbage truck) hee hee hee)

And then everyone kept saying, "Watch out! Stump ahead. There's a stump right HERE! Careful not to trip on that stump!"

I thought to myself, life is so much like a haunted hike. As long as you've got people looking out for you and holding your hand and telling you jokes and singing songs about the Savior, it's just not that scary.

But can I tell you something embarrassing? Lately I've been fighting this compulsion to drop in on Sewl and click on her comment box just to see what the word verifier says. I swear the ghost of Yoda lives in that box. It's just like that Magic 8 Ball? You just think of a question and then click on Sewl's comment box and you'll get your answer (sometimes you have to switch the letters around and add a few vowels until you get the answer you want.) It also works the other way around. Click on the comment box first, then figure out the question. 

Do you think ghosts can get vicariously addicted to blogging?

Can I tell you something else embarrassing? I've been thinking about my one and only readers from Provo, Dan and Marci Smyth. I posted a shout out to them on my side-bar and they didn't even notice. You know why? Because they don't really read me. They just pop in once in a while to represent Provo, probably because they don't want me to think Provo is prejudice against Crash Test Dummies. I hate political correctness.

And now my husband is saying Dan and Marci don't count toward my quota because they're only sometimes, semi-regular, every-so-often, when-they're-not-too-busy-with-their-wonderful-life readers. Don't you think it's cute that their family blog is titled Our Wonderful Life and they live in Happy Valley? It's also a bit coincidental because we call our family blog Our Pottersville Life and we live in Paradise.

Now can I tell you something cute.  I'm following the old boat guy's blog.  How cute it that? The old boat guy.  How can you not follow a blog titled the old boat guy?  And the cutest part about the old boat guy is he has no posts at all.  Just a blog.  I have a feeling we can learn a lot from a silent old boat guy.  

Okay, so there are so many things I'm worried about right now.  First I'm worried because I think my next door neighbor is trying to steal my husband.  She says she just wants to borrow him because she needs a tennis husband.  Then she tells the whole world via my comment box that they played doubles together last night, which I didn't even know about.   How embarrassing!  Does that mean I get to steal her husband when I need a handyman husband? (Even if I did steal him, I would never write in her comment box, "oh, btw, did you know your husband fixed my toilet yesterday?")  Then she comes back and tells me she's only using him for tennis and basketball, and I can have him the rest of the time.  Like he's not good enough for her the rest of the time!  

Another thing I'm worried about is my daughter's hoity toity English teacher, Mariko.  She's only 28 and she wears tie-die (SO Woodstock-with-the-free-love).  Plus she says she's all for polygamous relationships, as long as her husband sits by her at the video party.  Then she tells me she's addicted to foodporn (Eww) and T.V. sitcoms on DVD and that high schoolers using adult humor is totally funny.  Now she's saying that she doesn't bring her manual to Relief Society and just pretends to cry at the end of the lesson.  Do you think I should turn her into the principal?   

The thing is, sometimes I don't think people get that I am not a priest and this is not a confessional.

The only good thing about Mariko is she's got my daughter hooked on blogging so now I can call her lame-o and weirdo when she's on the computer like she calls me lame-o and weirdo when I'm on the computer.  

Other stuff I have on my mind is life-goals.  Do you know what my #1 goal in life is? (Don't you hate it when people ask you that, like you care, and then they proceed to tell you, but they never bother to ask you what your life goals are so you finally just hang up on them and pretend you had a bad connection. Bad connections and dead batteries are my 2 favorite things about cell phones (besides the qwerty keyboards).

My number one goal in life is to get my husband to laugh at one of my jokes. Even a smile would make my life complete. The only time he smiles at me is when I'm disrobing in the dark. And the only time he laughs at me is when I'm disrobing in the light. It's not fair because I laugh at him all the time. Not at his jokes, but at his dancing. I think the minute I get a genuine deep belly laugh out of him I'll file for divorce because my work here will be done. Either that or I'll be translated. 

I can't figure out why he doesn't laugh, but I've narrowed it down to two reasons: 1. I'm not that funny. 2. He was born and raised in Provo.

You decide.

BTW, what are your life goals?

P.S. I just went to Sewl's word verifier and asked it why people from Provo don't read me. It spelled: sinnes. If you add an R, it spells sinners. It only took me 8 tries to get that message.