Contest Winners

The votes have been tallied and the prizes have been awarded!

C0NgRaTuLaTiOnS!

Funniest story finalists:

JEN--1st place and $50 cash gas money, compliments of Katie Holms Cruz.

SHELLE--almost 1st place and a Seriously, So Blessed T-shirt, compliments of TAMN, plus A Fanciful Twist print, compliments of Vanessa.

ANNIE--3rd place and A Fanciful Twist print, compliments of Vanessa.

MARIKO-4th place and her choice of a Stupid Vampire T-Shirt, compliments of Annie

Scariest Story finalists:

ELIZABETH--1st place and a blog make-over, compliments of See my Designs by Shauna

ALYSON--almost 1st place and an original work of art by Emily, compliments of Sewl.

LISA/FUNNY FARMER--almost 2nd place and a photo shoot, compliments of Plush Moments photography.

BINKS--4th place and a print from A Fanciful Twist, compliments of Vanessa

Funniest Special Award:

LAURA--1st place and a Seriously So Blessed T-Shirt, compliments of TAMN

Scariest Special Award:

WENDY--1st place and a group of beautiful notecards with original Audrey Eclectic art, compliments of Heather

Click here to look at the prizes.

And the Winner is . . .

First, me-n-sewl want to thank you all for sharing your spooky, funny, touching, creepy, chilling stories with us. It's been a privilege to get a peek into your lives.

Second, DON'T scroll down to see who the spook-a-rama finalists are because I have a few announcements to make:

1.) Stop scrolling down and cheering.

2.) Stop scrolling down and crying.

3.) I said STOP SCROLLING DOWN! I'm talking here!

4.) Special thanks to all 5 of my favorite PRO-fessional PRO-fessors and colleagues and bosses who helped out with the judging. I was up all night baking and sewling cupcakes to say MAHALO! (That's how we say thank you on the islands.)

FYI: One bad thing about pulling my colleagues and bosses into my blog world is that they were under the impression I was a PRO-fessional Crash Test Smarty so now they're all like "Uh, heyyyyy . . . uh, so that blog of yours . . . uh . . . could use a . . . decaf!"

5.) Okay, Okay! Now you can scroll down!

It's time for the awards ceremony!

First place goes to . . . drumroll, please . . . TAMN, even though she didn't enter, because she said she wouldn't donate a prize unless she won first place.

But seriously, the finalists were paper-thin close so we have decided to post the top FOUR funnies and spookies.

The Funny Story Finalists are:

Shelle
Jen
Mariko
Annie

Ready . . . Set . . . VOTE!

Go to Sewl's blog to find out the Spooky Story Finalists.

And now for the special Awards (some of these will get prizes too):

Best first freaky-AND-well-written story goes to Andrea. (Great story, Andrea! Keep writing. And old boat guy, Andrea needs a grandpa too).

Best well-written-funny-freaky-story-about-a-fly-that-wasn't-actually-entered goes to Jami in my Ghosts are People Too Comment box. (SHOULD have entered smart/dumb girl).

Best hilarious-scary-story-that-wasn't-actually-scary goes to Pat. (LOVED it so much!)

Best string of super-real-super-intriguing-hauntings-in-Canada goes to Deedra (Totally freaked over the bed-wetting story. I wet the bed until I was 8 years old and had terrible nightmares every night.)

Best short-scary-story-within-the-word-limit-by-an-old-boat-guy goes to Arlon. (Your story rocked! Get it? Rocked! hee hee. And I award you BEST story title/s.)

Best silly-scary-story-about-Sewl, plus most SPOOKtacular purple Halloween blog goes to Ginger. (LOVE that purple blog!)

Best extremely-touching-true-ghost-story-about-grief-within-the-word-limit goes to Pokemom. (Sincerly appreciated this story! Thanks.)

Best creative-fiction-with-a-super-cool-twist-and-that-only-went-one-word-over-the-word-limit goes to Wendy. (Wendyburd, you are gooooood. And don't tell me you're shy again.)

Best creepy-clever-story-about-night-munching-rats-and-dirty-fridges goes to Laura. (Cute job, Girl (in a swirl) You were so close! Argh!)

Best cewl-photospooky-entry-with-a-way-cewl-orange-jacket goes to Audrey. (Sooo cewl and eclectic and way out of our league).

Best scary-then-disturbing-then-scary-again-then-puzzling-then-funny-then-what-the-?-story-that-was-soooooooo-close-to-getting-in-the-finals-it's-not-even-funny goes to Jake. (The judges accused this entry of plagiarism. (hee hee) But I cleared it all up).

(I just feel bad this whole thing was just a Halloween prank because so many people took it seriously. Good job anyway, guys. ;)

It's Cute Crazy Grandma Day!

Hiiiii,


Gosh, settle down folks. I can feel the anticipation just brewing and stewing in the air over the contest results. Fret not! Simon and Paula and Randy are on it!


Actually, it was way too hard for one crash test dummy and one art dummy to handle, so we contracted the judging out to some PRO-fessionals. YES, your stories are being read at this very moment by 6 very creative and competent PRO-fessors of words! We take our judging seriously at crash-n-sew and I too am as anxious to find out the results as you are. They will be posted pronto Manana morning. (Is that how you spell manana? I don't have a spanish speaking keyboard).


Hey, good news!! The old boat guy is going to adopt me-n-sewl because neither one of us have any grandpas left. That means that my BBFF, Lisa is now Auntie BBFF because she's the old boat guy's off spring! (OMGosh, I know!)

I'm excited about the old boat guy adoption because I really miss my grandpa's and I sorta miss my dad too.

And guess what! My HUSBAND FINALLY laughed at me. You should have seen him crack up when I told him about how the old boat guy was gonna adopt me-n-sewl and how me-n-sewl already adopted Alyson from New England to be our cousin, and Shellblokthoughts to be our twin. He said, "Next you'll probably adopt a new husband."

I hadn't thought of it, but it's not a bad idea. Maybe after Sue gets herself out of this super hopeless romance pickle she can start a Mormon Daddy Bloggernacle.

Just kidding honey! (I'm talking to myself right now because he can't hear me since he's not here and won't be here any time soon. I can safely say he won't be here EVER. Even after the divorce is final. And there will be a divorce since my work here is now done and I FINALLY GOT A LAUGH out of him. I know he was laughing at me and not with me, but I'm going to count it just because I want that divorce.)

Okay, just kidding honey! I love you. And I would never divorce you because I would miss your dancing way too much (talking to myself again). Plus it's cute how you're so nice to everyone. It doesn't even drive me crazy how we always have to stop and say aloha to everyone we pass and chat with them about politics and basketball and soccer and Glenn Beck and the economy and tennis and all the crazy ladies you work with. (Just kidding crazy ladies) I mean all the seriously so bored ladies you work with.

I love seriously so bored ladies. I can seriously so relate to them!

But back to boat guy gramps. Even though both of my grandpas are gone, my 2 crazy-cute grandmas are still here. I have the cutest craziest grandmas in the world. One of them is nuts and the other is wackY with a capital Y. And I mean that in a cute Y way. The one from Portage has a drawer full of king size candy bars in her fridge and can do a 5,000 piece puzzle in 30 seconds. She has been struck by lightening twice--three times if you count the time it hit the car when she was making out with my grandpa. (They must have been in the middle of some hanky panky or something--although I never got struck by lightening when I was in the car . . . never mind).

Then there is my other grandma. She lives in a tiny haunted old house on a tiny haunted old lane in a tiny haunted old town. She was actually born in this tiny haunted old hause 150 years ago. She does not have a drawer full of king size candy bars in her fridge. All she has in her fridge is egg salad sandwiches.

I got this cute letter from her today in the mailbox. The mailbox! How cute is that? Who sends letters through the mail anymore?

The letter said:

My precious Crash, (name has been changed to protect my identity, but she always calls me precious. So . . . Lord of the Rings. Sometimes she calls me darling too. I like that one better.)

Anyway, long letter short, she tells me that she's been going through a stage in her life where she's sorting through all of her stuff and she found an old Christmas card I sent in 2005 in which I mentioned that I had just finished Reading Lolita in Tehran. She said she checked that book-on-tape out at the St. George library but got ill and returned it without listening to it.

This is the cute part: "Please give me your evaluation," she says. "I've never thought of getting it again from the library. Was I right or wrong? Please check. Please reply!"

Is there a right or wrong when it comes to renewing books-on-tape? Wouldn't that fit under the category of good, better and best?

But my point is, the exclamation mark after Please reply really got to me. I think my grandma must be lonely. I would be lonely if I lived all alone in a tiny haunted house on a tiny haunted lane in a tiny haunted town. I would probably sit around sorting through my things wondering if I had made the right books-on-tape choices.

Could everyone please reply to my grandma. Tell her she's crazy cause egg salad sandwiches . . . COME ON, but tell her she made the best choice she could at the time given her circumstances. Tell her I'm ordering RLIT on tape for her from Amazon right now.

Oh, and while you're at it go reply to your own crazy cute grandma too!

Ghosts are People Too!

Guess what! The old boat guy posted. He's not as silent as I had hoped, but I still think we can learn a lot from him, especially if we want to learn about restoring boring old boats, which we don't, (but don't tell him that). See for me it's not about the boring old boats, it's about the lessons that come from the boring old boats. It's about the metaphors and the similes and the personification in the boring old boats.

But get this, the old boat guy makes it very clear that his will not be a humorous blog, just a plain boring old blog about his love affair with a few of his boring old boats. Like that's NO laughing matter. Tee hee. I have a feeling there will be some jealous raging and drunken cat fighting between his boring boats. I say we all go make the old guy feel welcome by following him cause boring boat guys need love too.

So I'm trying to figure out a way to establish some semblance of order here in my comment box. I can't leave my peeps alone or it's like the Cat in the Hat gets all hip hop on pop in there. I'm beginning to think Mormon women really aren't crazy at all, but just seriously, so bored! (Or did I already say that?)

Progress report on my husband: I had a talk with him last night and I told him he could play tennis and basketball with my neighbor as long as he doesn't laugh at her jokes. I almost got a snort out of him with that one, but not quite.

And as for Markio, now she's trying to get me to give suggestions for her new foodporn website (Eww) and I already told her about my stance on nude potato chips. But because I want my daughter to get an A in her class I've compiled a little list of ideas for possible topics: The-Food-Cab, The-Food-Whisperer, CFI, This-Old-Food, America's-Funniest-Food-Videos, Family-Food, Dancing-with-the-Food, Up-Chuck, Up-Chuck-a-Rama, The-Deadliest-Food, Kung-Food-Chaos. The-People's-Food-Court, Crash-Test-Diet-Food-For-Dummies.

There Mariko, now you have your posts for the rest of the year! Happy?

So the Spook-a-Rama is officially over, unless you haven't gone to bed yet and you're still writing furiously. Sewl and I are gathering the entries together to hand deliver to Simon, Paula and Randy backstage. On Halloween we will post the links to the top 3 funny stories here on my site. The top 3 spooky stories will be posted on Sewl's site. The voting polls will be open all day so make sure you drop by and vote a couple million times. Since we only teach correct principals, the voting is all on your honor. We completely trust you not to vote for yourself since that would be vain and ambitious.

While you're waiting I will share a bit of my own opinions about ghosts. Many of you (well, 8 of you) cared enough to tell me you love me just the way I am, but you wish I'd get real once in a while (ouch). Others said they only come here to laugh and they don't want to know what makes a CTD tick. Mariko refused to vote and said the choices don't apply (she just doesn't get politics) and that I should be funny and real at the same time. (It's no wonder she's a hoity toity English teacher).

I will do my best to meet all of your needs, even though I'm not a pleaser anymore.

It was a dark and stormy night during one of the best and worst times of my life . . . my son was scared because I think maybe for kids it takes a while for the veil to close up tight and they are more sensitive to the presence of the other side. Or maybe he was just a fraidy cat.

My son said to me that he was afraid of the monsters. I told him that there are no such things as monsters and he had nothing to fear. He asked me how I knew there was no such thing as monsters and I said because you can't see monsters. "Look around," I told him. "Do you see any monsters?" He looked around and agreed there were none. Then I was proud of myself. I told him that if he ever felt scared of Monsters all he had to do was pray and Heavenly Father would come running to help him.

You know what that darn kid said? He looked around and said, "But I can't see Heavenly Father either."

BAM! What a smart kid. Definitely that kid is the fruit of my loins (wait, do I have loins?)

What a profound moment. I had to tell him the truth then. That we can't see Heavenly Father and we can't see Scary Monsters, but we can feeeeeeel them. And they ARE there . . . both of them. But I told him that HF trumps SM! I told him to stay on HF's side cause he can kick SM's little booty. Then we talked about Pokemon, and he asked me if Pokemon could beat up Satan and I told him that YES he certainly could as long as he stayed on HF's side because that's where he got all his pokemon powers!

Long cute story short . . . ghosts don't have to be scary. Think about it . . . WE have power over ghosts and with great power comes great responsibility. Even when the ghosts get all up in our faces and start messing with our minds and kickin' our trash around and throwing our books off our shelves, I personally think we should be more ghost friendly. Cause COME ON, we're the people here!

But then ghosts are people too. Or at least they used to be. They know sorrow and suffering and pain and envy. They know joy . . . and they probably miss joy. They're lonely sometimes and hungry and they have cravings too. They miss food and fortune cookies and Runescape and Code Red Mountain Dew. And some of them are pranksters. They miss calling their friends up and saying "Your horse is in my garden."

The ghosts that are still LURKING around us need something. We just don't know what it is. But we should find out. If someone would just take the time to care about them and maybe figure out their 5 primary love languages, we wouldn't keep misunderstanding each other.

I bet ghosts feel a lot like dentists. They get sick and tired of everyone being scared of them.

And I bet they're sick of being dead too. Think about it. Wouldn't it be so boring to be dead?

But on the other hand there are the evil jealous ghosts who never were dead because they never were alive and I think it drives them crazy that they aren't people too.  These are the ones I fear. These are the ones I don't like to talk about. They're mean and spiteful because they've never had a Jamba Juice or gone surfing or held a Charles Dickens book in their hand or been Soaring over California at Disneyland or kissed a West Point Cadet.

I've never seen any of these ghosts,  but I've felt them many many times and I know they are real.

I also know that the ghosts on HF's side are also on our side and are always fighting for us. They are busy helping us pursue our happiness and comfort us at every turn. I have felt that many times, but I've also seen them in action once after I got a blessing just as I was being prepped for my emergency C-Section.  They didn't know I could see them, but there were a lot of them and they were all there to help me.  I love those ghosts!  And I know they love me too. 

We are not alone!   And ghosts are definitely people too!

The end.

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.  

Raise your hand if you think blogging is like Relief Society

I think I owe you and the whole Mormon mommy blogging community an apology for comparing blogging to an illegal, addictive substance.  I probably should have compared it to a legal, non-addictive substance like oatmeal--something that's kinda mushy but ultimately good for you, or fishing--something that can feed a (wo)man for a life time once someone teaches her how to do it. 

So, let me go ahead and rephrase that:

Raise your hand if you think blogging is like Relief Society?

Blogging really is like Relief Society because the more people you give a calling to, the more people feel obligated to come to your blog on Sundays.

Am I right? Or am I right?

 

No women are as resourceful and Kreativ as Mormon women when it comes to Glindanomics.

As sisters we prayerfully decide who we will give the Kick-A$$ blogger award to, (which is equal to the Sunday Greeter) and who we will give the Comment Whore award to, (which is equal to the 3rd Sunday teacher) and who we will give the BFF Gold Card to (which is the R.S. President).  

Tagging is just like giving away the friendship basket, except we have so many friends we can just go ahead and count it as our visiting teaching.

(btw, sisters, have you completed your tagging this month?  There's less than a week left. Remember the message is 6 Kreativ things about yourself.)

All of this is to make everyone feel welcome and included , but really it boils down to numbers (or hits, if you're smoking pakalolo).  Let's be real.

What we really want is to get our percentages up.

And we're all trying to be just like the Stake Relief Society President (TAMN). And secretly we hope someday we might make eye contact with the General Relief Society President (Ree, the Pioneer Woman) so we can ask her what it was like going through Devil's Pass with the Martin Willy Handcart company and if the devil really lives there. 

If you don't mind, could I make a quick announcement before the practice hymn?

As the Sunday Greeter I've noticed two things we Mormon Mommy Bloggers protest too much about:

1. Being crazy ladies. Looney tunes. Coo coo for Coco Puffs.  Nutty Buddies, getting through our days from pack meeting to pack meeting one Xanax at a time. Riding the Hamster Wheel until they come to take us away to the Funny Farm.

It's just not true. We're all just bored silly.

2.) Being completely satisfied with our . . . well . . . for lack of a better word . . . fortune cookies. And some of us even pretend that our fortune cookies are oh so hot and spicey.

And that's just not true either. Come on girls. We're bored silly and we have no desire to get jiggy with it.   (And to the first person who tries to defend themselves in the comment box I say, the guilty taketh the truth to be hard.)

Personally I think those who talk about it don't do it and those who don't talk about it . . . don't do it either. 

It's okay to admit your life is a sham and that deep down you really just want to move to Chicago. 

I just have one challenge for you before the Comment Whore begins the lesson: let's all try a little bit harder this week to stop the insanity.   

And don't forget to call your coordinator when you've finished your tagging teaching.  

(That wasn't much better than the pakalolo comparison, was it?) 

(How about this one:  Raise your hand if you think blogging is like a pyramid scheme!)  

(Or am I just digging this hole deeper?)   

 

OKAY, NOW you can raise your hand if you think blogging is like smoking pakalolo!

One more hit! Just one more hit!

Are you with me on this?

Well, you've probably never smoked pakalolo then. Neither have I actually, but I have this innate ability to put myself in other people's shoes (or slippers, as we call them in Hawaii. If you're wearing shoes, you're smoking pot. If you're swearing slippers, you're smoking pakalolo.)

Getting a hit is that same rush you get when you eat 48 thin mint girl scout cookies in a row. And when you've polished off the whole bag, you sigh and think just one more and I would be completely satisfied.

My sister and I talked about this last summer. She was addicted to IKEA chocolate cake at the time and I was addicted to Nacho Libre, Japanese rice crackers and Bath and Body Works Cherry Blossom. We decided it would be a perfect world if everyone was addicted to oatmeal.

My three sons are addicted to Runescape. Whatever you do, don't ever ever ever let your children take even one puff, or one swig, or one sniff of this game. It's like the crack-cocaine of computer games.

But it's seasonal. Every addiction is seasonal here in Hawaii. I know the rest of the world thinks we don't have seasons, but we actually do. There's pog season, rollerblading season, rip-stick season and Runescape season. Right now it's that time of year when I start making soup and stuffing my face with plastic pumpkin loads of candy and my boys start getting up at 5:30 a.m. to play Runescape.

But once your kids are hooked on something, what can you do? I try to take the Mrs Piggle Wiggle approach: let them have at it, in fact, up their consumption level to the point of complete overdose and then cross your heart, hope to die and stick a hundred thousand needles in your eye.

So far it's not working. My kids are going to school like Zombies (and my eyes are killing me.)

What I don't understand is why can't my kids get hooked on phonics!?

My husband took one of my boys fishing a few weeks ago and my boy said, "fishing is addicting!"

Yeah, right. And so is oatmeal.

(Deflection is the first sign of an addict.)

He's not up at 5:30 fishing, that's for sure.

I think the Runescape people sprinkled pakalolo over their game. Either that or there are some subliminal pictures of Hooter girls.

Look closely at the game title then break it down and listen carefully to what it's tellin you. It says Run escape! Then it says Run escape! Then it screams, Did you hear me? I said Run ESCAPE!

(Ironically that's the exact same thing my gigi said when I told her I was getting married.)

I have my suspicions the Runescape people did that on purpose so after they sprinkled it with Pakilolo they could turn around and say, "Dude, it's not like we didn't warn you!"

(Hey, did I just deflect the subject of blogging addiction to computer game addiction? Do you think I could be addicted to blogging? . . . Don't answer that.)

Power? YES! Primary Program? YES! Nudity? NO!

My weekend in a nutshell:  

I like power.  I like  the primary program.  I like watching every episode of  Get Smart on Sunday afternoons while my husband yells at the kids to clean the house.  But nudity?   I don't like nudity!  Nudity is no laughing matter.  

I don't like frontal nudity or backal nudity.  And I especially don't like full monty nudity.  But you'll never believe what the nudity people are trying get away with now.  Potato Chip nudity!  

Yesterday, while judging the island-wide high school speech competition I was snacking in the judges lounge when I noticed the baked chips I was putting in my temple-worthy mouth were called Simply Nude: Nothing but Sea Salt.  Of course I spit them out immediately, partly because baked chips taste like cardboard, but mostly because nudity makes me feel . . . naked. But it wasn't just the chips that made me feel . . . naked.  The whole speech competition was so in-and-of-the-worldly. 

 I judged a round of dramatic interpretation and a round of humorous interpretation and here's what I learned: 

1.) Drama is funny and comedy isn't.  

2.) High school students are thinking about s.e.x. 

3.) I love POWER!  

Did you know comedians take themselves very seriously?  Comedy to a comic is no laughing matter.  It's un-nerving to sit in a room with a bunch of solemn, silent, stewing, scowling comedians dressed in ill fitting suits and heels.  (At least they weren't nude).  In front of me they stood and seriously stared and stared seriously until I finally gave them the nod to begin making me laugh.   Awkward!  

But here's what I learned about humor: 

Jokes about floppy underwear are not funny.   Jokes about lesbians, transvestites, perverted old women, perverted young priests, swear words, fast girls, suicide and murder are not funny coming from the mouth of babes in ill fitting suits.   

Down-there jokes--NOT FUNNY!  

Arthur Miller jokes about Lucifer teaching God how to turn Adam on?  NOT funny.  

And Woody Allen should not write jokes about Dracula.  NOT funny.  Stick to incest, Woody.   

Jokes about prehistoric medicine could be funny, except . . . they're NOT.  And Midsummer Night's Dream jokes. . . only funny when a Chinese boy casts himself as the Chink in the wall. 

Chinese girls are stinkin' hilarious though when they do Joy Luck Club jokes about Chinese mother's, Chinese torture and Chinese chess sets.  Mary, I can totally see where you get your humor girl.  

Overall, these high schoolers were impressive though.  I awarded mostly S's for (Superior) and E's for (Excellent) and a few G's for (Good).  I only had to give one IGTSMBIYB  for (I'm-Going-To-Shoot-Myself-Before-I-Yawn-Boring!)  

The dramatic interpretations kinda blew my mind.  The scene I chose to win was performed by this pleasant whisp of a girl with braces and a lisp.  She really reached in a wrung my heart out. I cried.  Big crocodile tears.  They wouldn't be put back in their place.  They slid down my cheeks in humiliating ways.  And once she saw me wiping my nose on my sleeve SHE had the power instead of ME.  And I LOVE POWER!

As a women who's primary love language is Words of Affirmation--with an emphasis on words--I wasn't surprised how much I loved the POWER of wielding my pen and scribbling across their ballots. You are incredible!  You are gifted!  Talented!  Amazing!  You have found your grail! You rocked my world!  You deserve a Jamba Juice.  I imagined them laying in bed with the ballot under their pillow, a smile on their face and the words rewinding in their heads, I'm incredible!  I rocked someone's world!  I deserve a Jamba Juice!

And even though I hate Sundays and I vote the Sabbath should be moved to Fridays so we can go to movies and stuff, today was a pretty good day, and not just because I got to watch every episode of Get Smart while my husband yelled at the kids to clean the house, but because it was the primary program today which is my favorite church day of the year because I'm not the primary president and because brown kids are so dang cute!  And my kids are so dang cute too. I think I'll have a Which Country Has the Cutest Kids Contest with Sewl.  (I already know Mongolia will win, but it would still be fun).

I'll tell you why I love the primary program later.  Right now I have blogger guilt and I gotta go make Muddy Buddies with my kids.  

Silly Ghost

What a wonderful feeling to come home after a long rainy day in the world, (but not of it) and warm myself by the blogfire in my comment box.  I wish someone would figure out how to make your comment box say You've got mail! when you open it.  Loving all your PDA.  So funny no one could figure out what COJCOLDS meant.  Love messing with your minds and making you utilize all those brain cell(ulite)s.  Trying to tone up your spiritual atrophy. 

I really wanted to talk about addiction today but I can't stop thinking about ghosts.  So since we're on the subject anyway . . . it finally dawned on me that ghosts may have a sense of humor. It makes all their little shenangans so much less freaky once your realize this.  I wonder if we attract ghosts that help us reflect on our weaknesses or our issues.  Or maybe ghosts just wanna have fun.  

Anyway I'm beginning to think I'm being teased and taunted by a ghost--I hope it's not because I like to tease and taunt everyone and the ghost is trying to show me how it feels.  Heck guys, I hope no one takes my teasing personally because I even tease my GPS.  Just today I was in the car punching in global positions then turning down the wrong streets just to crack up when it says You are off course!  Plus I get such a kick out of the way that cute Brittish lady mispronounces all the Hawaiian street names.   

Right now I feel like I do when I get on my Facebook and someone has sent me a poke.  At first I'm like "Hey!"  And then I'm like "Ow!"  and then I'm like "Hmmm!"  and I keep wondering "Was that a good poke or a bad poke?"   

These are the pokes I've gotten from my ghost today:  First, when I read Sewl's super freaky ghost story and I went to leave a comment in her box the word verifier spelled faking.  Does anyone else find that mildly ironic since 1). The word verifier never spells actual words and 2.) Sewl's story was true.   So that means the ghost was just messing with me, right?  

Then today I spent the day judging the island-wide high school speech competition at St. Andrews Priory--a Catholic school, and on my way to The Ascension Wing another jet black cat bolted right across my path like an ebony streak of lightening/darkening.  But this time the cat was super fat. (Was that rude?  What I meant to say was this time the cat was super big boned).  How could a real big boned cat bolt that fast? And why would he bolt in front of me when I'm on my way to Ascension?  Messing with me, right?

Then when I was judging my first round of dramatic speeches, this guy performed a speech entitled A Slow Dance on a Killing Ground and he looked straight at me the whole speech (and you really should not make eye contact with the judges because it makes us feel uncomfortable and we know you're just trying to send us subliminal messages with your pupils so you can win).  But he was freakin' freaky and talking about how he has this hole in his heart and how the absence of love is how he got the hole, but how all his love is right inside that hole, (which is impossible because . . . wouldn't love slide right through a hole?)  But then, and this is the part that seriously gave me shivers, he tells me how he needs a place to hide and how he asks the rocks but they tell him, "sorry dude, you can't hide here," so he turns himself into a bug.  My chin hit the floor.   He needed a place to hide.  It was like the answer to a  . . . question.

Do you think my possessed bugs are just trying to hide in peoples ears because the love keeps sliding right through the hole in their hearts and the rocks won't give them any cover? 

Me neither.  Just asking.  

Probably just my ghost messin' with me again.  

Silly ghost.  

Rules and COJCOLDS (and some other stuff)

The thing that's so hard about blogging is that your train of thought is constantly interrupted by mouthy lurkers and mouthy followers. I've been trying to get this important post about addiction published all week, BUT . . .


Pat, my mouthy follower pointed out that my ghost story was not within the 500 word count rule. I wouldn't bother to acknowledge this issue but I hate being called a cheater. I know cheaters never prosper and I'm all about prosperity. Therefore, Pat, I will dignify your accusation with a response.


1. Let me direct your attention to my subtitle, which will soon be written in a different font because script is too sophisticated for a CTD, if you ask me. My subtitle says it all. I never claimed to be a good example. I only claim to be a horrible warning. Anyone who is paying attention will see that sometimes I tell you what to do and sometimes I show you what not to do. Pay attention Pat!!


2. I subscribe to the Joseph Smith notion of teaching and governing. I like to teach correct principals, and then govern myself.


3. Also, as a strong member of the COJCOLDS (hey, that spells coj colds--weird) I strive to meet the modern day COJCOLDS standard of do as I say and not as I do. Any faithful member of the COJCOLDS knows that.


4. And lastly, I could care less if you go over the 500 word limit.


(And OMGOSH, did you guys read Sewl's spookylicious story? (which was also longer than 500 words) Holy Ghostmobile! Screw the word limit! It was freakin' freaky.


I feel like I need to apologize for all my stinkin' typos over the past 24 hours. I'm a total dork when I'm drunk. Plus, I'm a bit jumpy with all these contentious bugs in my house. This morning I awoke with a centipede bite on my arm. (I KNOW!)


But today I discovered their hidden, secret, underground, evil, compound where they gather for their seances and their orgies and where they go to the bathroom. Under my dishwasher!! EEEEWW!


Which leads me to some good news. The number one benefit of renting rather than owning, besides the no-committment clause, is the FREE appliances. Today we got a new fridge and a new dishwasher. I feel so CLEAN!!! (And yet so DIRTY, you know what I mean? Now I want a new stove and a new microwave and a new blender. Plus a new evil bug compound.)


And more good news. Our censorship police here on campus have reshuffled our edited T.V. stations and now we have Nickelodeon! NICK JR Rocks! But why is Sponge Bob's grandma a chocolate chip cookie? That makes no sense. Do you think it was inter-objectial marriage?


And even more good news. I treated myself to a Philly Cheese Steak Sandwhich at the Hukilau Cafe today. (Cafe's in Hawaii are so cute. They put a floor mat at the front door to protect the floor and then they spread a big piece of cardboard over the top to protect the floor mat. So Kreativ!)


I also treated myself to a Mountain Dew--this time I tried the Super Nova. Not even close to the Code Red! It actually doesn't even taste like Mountain Dew, so what's the point?


Well, TTFN! (ta ta for now) (I like quoting Jami quote tigger.)


But can I just say one more thing about Pat? Did you know she lives her life in a Hamster Wheel? No wonder she can't get organized and find her library books on time. Two words, girlfriend: Buyer's market!


P.S. GUESS WHAT? I think I might be getting famous because I got this phone call from Washington D.C. today. Guess who it was . . . guess, guess, guess! Payless Shoe Source! They just wanted to let me know personally about their BOGO sale going on. How thoughtful is that? I wonder how they got MY number?


P.S.S. Can I clear the air about something real quick? I appreciate all of you who keep jamming up my email inbox saying, Crash, I love you. I adore you. You make me feel so inadequate to comment. It's flattering. There's nothing I want more than to make people feel inadequate, but maybe you don't understand the purpose of a comment box. It's not for you to be witty and clever. That's my job and this is MY show. If you love me, please don't tell me tin a private place where no one else can read it. I like PDA better. (public display of affection)


TTFN FR (fo' real)

You know what's annoying?

(Contests. Contests are annoying. I had to go a whole day without talking about important issues, like Polygamy, just so I could plug the Spook-A-Rama. I'm sick to death of walking around the whole neighborhood just to put Spook-A-Rama flyers on blog windshields. I think I need more friends! I'm too introverted, that's my problem. My dad used to tell me he worried about me because I was so withdrawn. Whenever he said that I would always think, well, DUH, you're a drug addict.

Too bad we can't magically transform our personalities like we can magically transform our blogs. (Psst. come ere . . . do you want to hear a secret . . . I thought going under the blog knife would make me feel better about myself, but actually I'm already sick of staring at myself all day and saying "girlfriend, you are so HOT" cause underneath it all I'm still the same introverted, withdrawn girl who can't get anyone in Provo to pay attention to me.)

You know what else is annoying? LLCs (long lost cousins) who try to steal the lime light. I over heard Sewl in her comment box, telling Alison from NEL, that she's going to post a super spooky true ghost story soon. I don't know Sewl that well because we just reunited after 25 years, but do you think she's trying to get you guys to write her name in on the ghost story ballot so she can win this contest? (I bet she wants the LOLOMGWTFLDSBBQ T-shirt from Tamn.)

And you know what else is annoying? Mouthy lurkers. At first glance it seems oxymoronic, but really, it's just moronic. If someone claims to be a lurker then why do they all the sudden start spilling their guts in an organized fashion all over your comment box? In the first place, if you're going to spill your guts, why do it in an organized fashion with your guts all listed in numerical order?

I say that any hoity toity smarty pants English teacher lurking in numerical order should be sentenced to help me and Sewl judge our Spook-a-Rama contest?

Do I hear an aye? Or a here-here!?

Oh wait, but then she couldn't enter and then I couldn't stamp a big red REJECTED on her ghost story.

Never mind.)

I'm not a competitive person by nature, but do you want to hear something spooky? (And if you decide to write my name in and vote for me on the contest ballot just keep it on the DL).

This Spook-A-Rama is really starting to spook me out.

You know how when you're about to go on a mission or get married in the temple or re-vamp the visiting teaching list you get all this opposition from the "other side"? Well, that is happening to me in reverse. It's almost like some powerful force from the "other side" is trying to keep me from promoting this contest. My husband says I'm just lazy and that I just gotta get out there and pound the pavement, but I think someone or something doesn't want us to encourage people to tell their stories and get everyone B.E.L.I.E.V.I.N.G. in ghosts.

Anyway, you'll never believe what happened to me a few nights ago! And I know you don't trust me, and I don't blame you because I do like to mess with your mind, but every single part of this story is exactly true, except I'm going to add an ambulance, but that's all.

Go turn all the lights on in the house and make some popcorn before you read this.

Go ahead, I'll wait for you.

Oh, and will you bring me some popcorn too?

Here's a totally true spooky story, except for the ambulance part

It was a dark and stormy night . . .


Screeetch! First rule of telling spooky stories: never never never begin by saying it was a dark and stormy night (or, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times, or beam me up Scotty).


Take two:


I've often wondered if evil spirits ever get desperate and try to squeeze themselves into lower life forms like bugs. And if they do, is it possible to exorcise an evil bug?

Well, a few nights ago I found out that even in the bug world evil just breeds evil if you don't exorcise it right away (aka, stamp it out by stamping on it).

It all started with a frantic knock at my front door. Picture this:

An old friend is standing on my front porch in her nightie with her garments hanging well below the hemline. She's not really standing there, she's more like wincing frantically there. Her teenage daughter is beside her with wild eyes and a cell phone. My scantily clad, old, frantically wincing friend is clutching. Clutching tightly. Clutching tightly to her left ear. Or maybe it was her right ear. It depends on which way you're looking at her.

(Here's a tip for your ghost stories. When you want to build up the tension at the climax of your story, use short. choppy. sentences.)

They ask if my husband is home because he is a P.A. which means if anyone wants free medical advice or treatment or scout physical forms signed, they come to him.

I tell them no and begin to shut the door when suddenly the daughter bursts into tears.

"Let's just go to the emergency room!" she says.

I could tell they wanted me to ask what was wrong, but being the firm respector of privacy that I am, I didn't. Besides Dancing with the Stars was on.

"A bug flew in my ear!" shouted my scantily clad, old, frantically wincing friend. "Do you think it will start burrowing into my brain?" (Mary look away for this part. Oops, I meant that last part.)

I immediately led her into my house where I proceeded to perform an emergency bugendectamy to her left/right ear. All the while her daughter is yelling "Let's just go to the emergency room!"

Despite her daughter's lack of faith in my abilities to deal diplomatically with lower life forms (I'm a former bug whisperer) I was successful in whispering the lodged bug out of her ear.

It was a roach! And it could fly. And it flew down my hallway and banged into my doorbell and then did a few loops until it landed on my husband's Work and the Glory Series

Suddenly! (Suddenly is a good way to begin a sentence if you need a startling effect. It's even more startling with an exclamation point!

Suddenly! I heard footsteps racing down my front walk. Heavy footsteps. And heavy breathing! (heavy footsteps and heavy breathing are the spookiest kind of footsteps and breathing--I learned that from Scooby Doo.) It was a man. It was my scantily clad, old, but no longer frantically wincing friend's bishop.

I laughed. "Why is your bishop here?" I asked, and then I laughed some more.

The daughter was not laughing. She was not even smiling pleasantly or relievedly when she said, "I called him."

(If you think about it, it's kind of cute that a bishop would come racing to my house to rescue a member of his ward in her nightie with a roach in her ear. Maybe he was going to bless that roach right out of that ear, but I had already done it without any priesthood power at all.)

Suddenly! A car came speeding and squealing around the corner and zoomed to a screeching halt in front of my driveway. A man darted out of the front seat and rushed recklessly towards us, his eyes wide with alarm.

I laughed again! It was her husband. He had dropped everything and pushed his kids out of the car as he zoomed past their house on his way to mine. I laughed and laughed. Was this for real?

"Did you call the ambulance too?" I said. And then I heard the sirens. Sure enough . . . I laughed again. (That was the part I made up.)

When my friend and her daughter and her bishop and her husband finally removed themselves from my front porch, I waved and said, "Hey, thanks for leaving your crazy cockroach at my house. It'll will probably burrow into my brain now."

You probably think that's what happened, huh? I can see you trying to jump the gun on the punch line right now.

PSYCH! That was called foreshadowing. I'm planting a clue to make the punch line more believable. Stay with me.

You know how it just takes one contentious person to stir a whole pot of people up to anger and discontent? I think it's the same way with bugs. I think this crazy ear roach brought out all the dormant dissatisfaction in the other bugs at my house. Within a few hours they all seemed completely disgruntled.

Around 10 pm my daughter and I saw movement near my husband's Work and the Glory. Around 10:01 that movement materialized and magnified until it was swooping down around us and whizzing right past my ear. TWICE! People, I am not lying. I wish I had never told a single lie on this blog so my credibility would not be shot-to-he@@. But I know that cockroach was trying to get into my ear too. Maybe he is a people whisperer. Maybe he had something he needed to tell me! But what? Don't go through with the contest? Stop putting the roach baits under the stove? Your fly is down? (Not talking about my zipper, people. Talking about my manic depressive fly.)

My daughter then took a shower. I heard screaming. I made my way. to where she was. dripping. and drying. and crying (no, not crying, but it rhymed nicely). A filthy dirty old cockroach (with a gray beard) had landed on the shower curtain rod and looked upon her inappropriately as she was cleansing herself.

Later than night I went to the ladies room. As I reached for the toilet paper roll . . . AAAACK! There was a big hairy cane spider staring me down. His creepy eyes met mine and I swear he winked at me before I shrieked and knocked the ethernet cable out of the wall. (This really did happen, but not this week.)

The next morning another cockroach landed on my daughter's cereal bowl, my son woke up with a gigantic swollen bed bug bite on his eye, my husband sustained 25 mosquito bites and my dog had fleas. (I don't have a dog, but if I did, I'm positive he would have had fleas).

A house of possessed bugs is managable, for the most part. But what really got me thinking that something not-of-this-world was at work was when I was driving my son to soccer practice tonight. A jet black cat jetted right across the road in front of me. (This is true.) It happened so fast I almost missed it. It made me swerve and catch my breath.

If a black cat crosses your path, it's bad luck, but what would happen if you smooshed the living daylight/nightlight out of him? Flattened him like a pancake? Would that be super-duper-double-looper good luck because you killed the bad luck. Or would that be super-duper-double-looper bad luck, because you released his little black spirit into the universe?

Who was that little black spirit anyway? And what does he want from me?

Was it fate . . . tempting me. . . to temp fate?


Something to think about.

btw, you know what's really cute about Jami, besides the fact that her blog address spells super misc? She still says TTFN (ta ta for now) How cute is that? Doesn't she know that's old school? No one watches Winnie the Pooh anymore.

Crash-n-Sewl's Spook-A-Rama Starts . . . NOW!

.

PRIZES FIRST!

First,the PRIZES! The exciting, amazing PRIZES!


Then the RULES! The dull, constricting RULES!

We got so many delightful donations from incredibly talented women that Sewl said I probably didn't need to give any of my poems away or bake any YUMMY cupcakes.

I don't really feel bad (anymore), cause LOOK at all these AWESOME prizes.


Click on the photos to link directly to these talented-women-websites.

Plush Moments Photography: Shelle over at Blokthoughts is A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. You could be the lucky winner of 1 family photo session-1 hour, which includes a DVD or CD and all rights to your photos, plus 20 edits of Shelle's shots. (Shelle lives in Utah, but she won't travel to Provo unless you are one of my followers and you write a letter to my husband telling him I rock your world.)

Seriously, So Blessed: TAMNERS will give you 60 seconds in her e-store to load your cart with anything you want. Just say BOO when you go to check out and Tamn will pay for one of your t-shirts, (plus a pedi and a Diet Coke). Just kidding, no pedi. Or Diet Coke.

Art-n-Sewl: Emily, the great, Emily the cewl, will donate a beautiful fresh custom 16X20 original painting. (SO unfair I can't enter.) Check out her Etsy. Sooooo fresh.

See My Designs by Shauna: My Blogstic Surgeon is the best and YOU too could win a nip and a tuck. Heck, Shauna says she'll give you a whole blog-make over if you win.

Audrey Eclectic: Audrey is Eclectic AND authentic. You could win a group of beautiful note cards that have prints on them of her artwork. (Don't send them, just frame them) Go inhale Audrey Eclectic's vibe RIGHT NOW!

A Fanciful Twist: Vanessa at A Fanciful Twist is fanciful AND whimsical. She's giving 3 surprise canvas prints from her shop. Go breath in her vibe RIGHT NOW! (after you breath in Audrey's vibe.

Stupid Vampire T-Shirts: Lovely, but lonely Annie Valentine is trying to earn money to go see her super-hot secret agent husband so she made these stupid vampire t-shirts. (Not calling the shirts stupid, just saying.) Go check out her site for all the hilarious designs, then buy one for all your young women so they can wear them to the premier.

And finally, Katie Holmes is throwing some gas-cash into the pot. $50, folks. (You'd think she could give more because she's so rich, being married to Tom Cruise and all, but whatever.)

This cash cannot be used for anything but gas! If we find out you have used it for anything other than gas . . . well, let's just say we know some of Brigham Young's ghost wives.

Hair Raising Ghost Story Contest Rules

The 2008 First Annual Crash-n-Sewl Spook-a-Rama Hair Raising Ghost Story Contest Rules, Regulations and Guidelines:

Drumroll please . . .(and btw, if you get bored by rules, skip to the cliff notes at the end)

1. You may enter as many stories as you want in 2 catagories:

Catagory A: Fiction and real funny

Catagory B: Non-Fiction and real real (as in spooky, real)

(Photos are a completely acceptable accessory).

In other words your story can be either real or not-real. If it's not-real it has to make us laugh. If it's real it has scare the bajeepers out of us.

2. If you enter more than once, you must promise not to neglect your duties to serving God, your country and 3 square meals a day.

3. Contest will begin right when you wake up on Thursday, October 23rd.

4. Contest will end right when you go to bed on Wednesday, October 29th.

5. October 30th will be spent deliberating with Simon Cowell and Paula Abdul.

6. The top three not-real but real-funny stories will be posted @ Crash Test Dummy Diaries on Halloween Day and, because we love American Idol as much as the Brits, the voting polls will be open to the public, that's YOU, until All-Hallows Evening (Oct 31st--not to be confused with All-Hallows Eve, which is October 30th) at Midnight. Late entries will be docked 10% per day until the winner is announced.

7. The top three real and real-real, stories will be posted @ Art-n-Sewl on Halloween Day and, because we love American Idol . . . yada yada yada . . . see above.

8. Prizes/Winners will be announced on November 1st on both blogs. Prizes will be distributed after Christmas, (just in case I can recycle some gifts) Calm down, I was kidding! You'll get your prizes before Christmas. Sheesh!

9. If you are under the age of 45 and you are afraid of giant snails, you must have a notarized parental permission slip in order to participate. If you're parents are deceased, thus preventing you from gaining the proper notarized signatures, you will not be eligible to participate.

10. Number 8 does not apply to anyone living in the continental U.S., Alaska, Hawaii or North Korea.

11. There is a word limit! YES! I said word limit. Don't moan and groan about it either because really good writers are concise and succinct and get to the point quickly and at once and without any further delay or redundancy. The word limit number is 500! I promise you can do it if you're willing to kill-your-darlings. (You won't get that unless you went to creative writing school). If you go over the word limit, please send us a lock of your hair so we can create a voodoo doll and make your body do silly tricks.

12. There are some requirements:

1.a) You must send your entry to crashnsewl@gmail.com post dated before the All-Hallows Eve-Eve deadline.

1.b) You may (notice I said may and not must) post your story on your own blog if you're an attention addict or you seek after fame and fortune and everything that goes with it (except the bad exciting stuff). But make sure you drop your link in either Crash or Sewl's comment box so we can all read it.

1.c) Besides sending an email, you must also drop a comment in either Crash or Sewl's comment box (extra-credit if you do both) In your comment you must make 3 things clear: a.) When your story is posted on your blog so we can link up and read it. b.) Which prize you prefer c.) Which blog you like better.

1.d) Can we scratch number 2? Or at least amend it? Please don't tell us which blog you like better. It will just make Sewl feel bad about herself. But do tell us when your post is published so we can all link up and read it and then you can get lots and lots of hits. (Tip: If you embed the word Osmond somewhere in your story, you'll get at least 7,000 hits.) And do you really think we're going to let you pick your own prize? (But it doesn't hurt to try.)

We will wave the $50 entry fee for the first 500 entries, so bust a move!

Okay. Let us Review: (for those of you who like lists, but not long, entertaining lists)

• Two Catagories: Fiction and funny or non-fiction and spooky--photos are fine
• More than one entry per person is only acceptable if you continue to feed your children
• Contest will run from Oct 23-29th (midnight)
• Email entries to crashnsewl@gmail.com
• Leave a comment on either Crash or Sewl's blog with the link to your ghost-post. If you're shy and don't want to publish the post, just leave a compliment in both of our boxes so we can play favorites with your entry.

(See how cool succinct concision is!)

Prizes will be given for the top 3 entries in each catagory, (and plus a few special surprise awards too).

TIPS from CRASH: A reach-in-and-grab-you-by-the-throat title, opening line and closing line are shoe-in's for a prize (unless the rest is totally dumb).

TIPS from SEWL: Yea, what she said.

The Boo Box

(YAY) we got our FIRST hair raising tale: Check it out here.

In honor of Andrea, our first entress, I'm officially dubbing this The Boo Box.  Deposit your link in the comment box so we can all get freaked out by your story. 

Here are the awesome prizes.  And here are the contest rules.  And there is the contest button so you can spread the spook around.  (Over there, on your left.  No, your other left.)  And here is the link to Sewl's freaky story.  YiKeRs!  

Surprise!

Morrrrning! Notice anything . . . different about me?

Nope, didn't lose 10 lbs. Nope, didn't get a perm.

That's right. While you were sleeping I went under the knife and woke up with a blog make-over. Here's my surgeon's number.

Now look at me! I'm all pre-professional. My husband says if I can touch more than 40 people with my writing (cause that's how many students I have) I can quit teaching and go professional. (Well, first he said I had to touch 40 people, but now he says I have to touch 40 people from PROVO! I think he just wants me to keep teaching forever because he knows I hate research papers more than I hate tatortot casserole. He says it builds character to do things you hate. )

I know G.A. Holland says it's a slippery slope to start altering your exterior--and believe me it is, I can't stop logging in and looking at myself--but he never said anything about blogstic surgery, and I believe it's way better than silicone. I personally wouldn't do silicone because Crash Test Dummies and silicone . . . Impact! Hazardous! You get my drift.

So look out below for my real post!

The Contest is Coming! The Contest is Coming!

You're probably getting tired of all the teachers in my life coming out of the woodwork of my world, but check this out . . . my daughter's English teacher just found me!

Are there any other teachers in here? Cause if so, please raise your hand now!

For all I know my kindergarten teacher's probably reading this too (unless she's dead, god rest her soul--notice I used a lower case letter g so as not to be blasphemous).

Can't a CTD just have a little breathing room to stretch out and not worry about her grammar and usage and what she's going to say at the next parent/teacher conference?

So my daughter's English teacher is this super smarty-pants-cosmopolitany-hoity toity writery-type. When she was a little snot-nosed college student she was all famous on campus--always somewhere reading her mind-blowing works of genius and accepting awards and such. And then she was the editor of the college literary magazine, which was elitist, if you ask me (you know how these writer types are.) Anyway, long story short, I didn't appreciate the huge red REJECTED stamp across my submission, MARIKO!

That's all I'm going to say about that.

Okay so I just got off a conference call with my long lost cousin, Emily--aka Sewl, or Cewl Sewl, as I called her when she was a kid. We are ironing out the details of our upcoming Spook-a-Rama Super Scary Hairy Ghosty story contest.

Here's how it went.

First we couldn't agree on anything. We tried to figure out how to combine our names. She suggested Crash-n-Sewl, but I said, why not Crash-n-Cewl? You know, for the alliteration effect. She said that sounds more like illiteration to me. No one will get it. (personally, after our conversation I wanted to call it Crash-n-Crewl, but that's just between me and you. She wasn't this rude when she was 5 years old.) Anyway, Crash-n-Sewl it is.

Don't you think it's ironic how now that she's all grown up and married to a Brit and living in North Carolina and all Mommified and artsy-fartsy, she thinks she can talk back to me.

And what gets me is she started her Art-n-Sewl blog like 3 days ago and she's already got 76 comments on one of her posts. And half of them are from Provo. Don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter, I roll with things, but she's NOT even from Provo!!! She doesn't even like Provo!!! It just goes to show that Provonians are prejudice against Crash Test Dummies. I hate to call them out, but all they care about is crafts.

So anywho, then we were trying to decide on contest rules. She made one thing L.O.U.D. and C.L.E.A.R. That I am not eligible to win this contest like I won (fair and square) my $1,000/1,000 hit give-a-way. Kind of harsh considering writing is my life and I have so many creepy other-worldy stories to tell. First of all, my dad was a drug addict, which was the pits, but it did add to the freaky paranormal activity in the house since he allowed his protective aura to get so thin. He was also a priesthood holder so he had like a double supernatural phenomenon going on. Plus, our neighbors boarded up their windows because we had snakes and rats for pets. We were practically The Adam's Family.

Although I know I could win this contest (unless Mariko were judging it) if nothing else, I'm a rule abider, so I agreed to bow out gracefully.

Next we talked about prizes.

Sewl said she would donate an original painting (art).

And one of her adorable hand-sewl'd cupcakes (sewl).

So then she said, what can you donate Crash? I said, maybe I can write an original poem or maybe sign over the copyright to a poem of their choice. And then the phone just got drop-dead quiet. She finally said, anything else? I thought for a minute and said, maybe I could donate some REAL cupcakes that you actually have to BAKE in an OVEN, that actually TASTE YUMMY when you put them in your mouth. I didn't even mean that in a rude way. I honestly was trying to think of something I could contribute. But she hung up on me. Well, first she said, Call me back when you grow up Crash.

I'm like 10 years older than her. HELLO!

But one thing we agree on is our obsession with the paranormal arts. We both had sorta border-line semi-psychic/semi-psycho-ish type parents. Sewl used to live in this creepy pink house in St. George for a while that Brigham Young had lived in back in the pioneer days. There were all kinds of hidden doorways and stairways and secret rooms, probably for all his wives. And I think some of his wives spirits still stomp that house. One night we were having a slumber party and we heard these strange cat-fight-like sounds in the T.V. room. We crept down the creaky hidden stairway and through the long secret corridor and listened. We both swear we heard a woman crying and saying "I get to sit by Brigham." Then the next morning we found popcorn scattered all over the floor and the power button on the VCR was ON! I kid you not, it was soooooo F.R.E.A.K.Y.

I know I turned that VCR off!

As for me and my house . . . Lets just say I read Amityville Horror 113 times and every Friday the 13th my eyes popped open at exactly 3:15 a.m. (I only had to set my alarm once in 1980.)

There's so much more, but the thermostat just dropped below freezing and the hair on my neck is standing up. That means I'm about to get a visitation.

Yikes, gotsta go flip on some lights.

Start writing your stories people! Contest details coming Thursday!