A few days ago, when I posted about how I accidentally trekked for fake people I got this message:
God gives the powerful ability to him that is weak and tolerant.
Hey, who's he calling weak? I said I was dumb, not weak. How rude!
(Ain't it frightening just how well the ancient Chinese know me?)
Sometimes I wonder how my diary translates into Chinese? Do you think I make any sense? Cuz it's hard enough to make sense of me in English, huh?
Huh? Huh? Huh?
which reminds me, once, while I was working at the spud bar at Ricks College in Rexburg, Ideeho, this guy came up to me out of nowhere and said he had had a revelation while eating his spud that one day I would learn to speak Mandarin.
How weird is that?
Maybe he was foreshadowing my future. Maybe I'll learn to speak Mandarin via my google translator.
Ain't life just a kick?
Life is full of ironicity. That's what my hub always says.
I got an ironistic comment in my comment box yesterday from one of my neighbors, Katherine. She publicly corrected me about my pioneer ancestor Elizabeth Xavier, who I said came across the plains on the Martin handcart company.
Apparently she came across the plains on the Willy company.
Only in Utah would my neighbor know more about my pioneer heritage than I do.
I never had this problem in Hawaii. The Hawaiians could care less about my ancestry.
In case you were wondering, I do know a little bit about who I am and where I came from. Katherine, correct me if I'm wrong when I say that Elizabeth Xavier and William Tate had a bunch of kids. One of them was named Thomas. Thomas also had a bunch of kids--14 to be exact. One of them was my great, great grandmother, Isabel Constance Tait.
This is where things get hazy because it involves a painful, shameful secret.
If you want to know more about this painful, shameful secret just ask Katherine, I'm sure she'd be happy to fill you in.
J/K Katherine. J/K. It's all good in the hood.
I will tell you guys about the painful, shameful secret soon because this weekend I'm taking a little field trip to visit the daughter of Isabel Constance Tait, who just so happens to be my cutie patootie grandma.
But before my field trip I'M GOING TO THE JACK JOHNSON CONCERT!
I totally get the Pointer Sister's now because I'M SO EXCITED.
And I just can't hide it.
I originally planned on posting about my two reduce, reuse, recycle projects in honor of JJ and this day, but too many other ironistic things are happening to me so it will have to wait.
Like today I got another message on my Facebook wall from another former student who turned into and English major and then turned into an English teacher.
What are the chances? THREE former student/teachers?????? They're coming out of the woodwork in droves.
(Am I really that old? And circular?)
I 'm not going to post the message from my student here because I don't want you to think I'm a Braggety Ann, but in short she said that I am the bombiggity dawg and that I totally resurrected Monty Python for her.
(I think she might be thinking of some other Sister Dummy, but let's keep that on the DL.)
In other breaking news, I peed my pants at my nephew's wedding today.
OMGOSH, I only wish you all coulda been there with me. I don't know why I have all the fun, but the ceremony was so stinkin' cute I could hardly keep a straight face.
First of all Kris Kringle was there.
And so was Mr. Ice Miser.
(Do I have connections in high places or what?)
I don't know where Mr. Heat Miser was, but I'm guessing he wasn't worthy to attend.
The ceremony was performed by the cutest man, who said the cutest things. But it was all very . . . Princess Bride-esque, if you get my drift.
Especially when he said the word eternity, which was like a bazillion times.
(btw, I didn't pee my pants during the ceremony. It was after dinner when the groom was recapping his impressions of it for me.)
Ahhh, I lub my life.
Except the part where my kids make me look like a bad mother.
No, your eyeballs are not playing tricks on you.
My hub and I were running late to pick up the kids for the wedding dinner so they had to meet us at a gas station. Hence the following inappropriate foot wear went under the radar.
And sock wear.
Please don't call social services on me.
K, gotsta go to bed now so I can have the energy to tell you all about the JJ concert and my RRR projects and my painful, shameful family secret field trip.