I feel so much better now that I finally got that off my chest and can talk about it freely.
The moving thing, that is.
Ain't that just the way it goes? Secrets and lies are like big ole chains around your psyche.
Thank you for all of the virtual hugs and words of consolation you offered in my comment box.
I appreciate you bringing to my attention all the good things about moving to Utah, like reading Playboy for the articles and being unable to buy contraceptives on Sunday.
And thank you Kritta 22 for pointing and laughing and calling me a Utard.
I also appreciate those of you who were honest enough to say "EW!" and admit you were just using me for my super hot surfer dude boyfriend.
But I especially want to thank Julie Youngblood for answering slash confirming all my questions about plastic surgery (and for handing me a tissue).
But I'm going to have to poke Martha in the eye for refusing to give me a hug. Now that smarts, Martha! But then I'm divorcing her too so I don't blame her.
Wesley's mom brought up a painful point. I will no longer be able to bring you photographs of Jack Johnson's underwear. Can you guys ever forgive me?
That point was like salt in the wound, but I promise, on my honor, as GAD as my witness, no crossies, that I will do my duty to seek out other celebrity underwear for your entertainment pleasure.
I am still at Island Park family reunioning with my IL's and they are giving me a crash course in what to expecting when you're expecting to live in Utah.
While we were trying to decide if we SHOULD or SHOULD NOT move they were courting us--wining and dining us, using their indoor voices, writing us lub notes and offering gifts.
We are now the proud owners of a pinball machine named Tommy,btw.
But as soon as we made the committment things changed. There have been no lub notes and very little wine. All we are getting now are earfuls of talk about how things are on "this side" of the ocean, and there may or may not be subtle insinuations that we may or may not be able to "handle it."
My SIL says people WORK OUT in her neighborhood. They do MARATHONS here. They go to BOOT CAMP to lift WEIGHTS with all the Relief Society sisters. How crazy is that? I always thought you went to boot camp to lay out under the stars and roast marshmellows with your boots.
And they eat all natural chocolate here. They don't just eat it either, they sell it. They have parties and sell it. You can also have parties to sell jewelry if you want. And modest clothes. And oxycodin.
Who says they don't know how to party in Utah?
And Disneyland was right . . . it IS a small world after all.
Yesterday I was hanging out with my neice and nephew and they were showing me their photo albums on FACEBOOK and guess who's picture popped up?
I was like, that's my friend. And they were like NO, that's MY friend. And vice versa.
We got in this huge wax-on/wax-off crouching-lion-hidden-dragon-kung-fu-panda fight about it.
As it turns out Barbaloot is practically related to me. My BIL is her bishop, my nephew went on a date with her, my niece spent the weekend in Park City with her, my niece's husband played soccer with her and my SIL watches The Bachelorette with her every week.
How's that for Twilight Zone?
(Speaking of Twilight Zone, I better finish my story, huh?)