The Monster

Do you guys remember a few days ago when I did that Message From the Universe Tag and my message came as an inconvenient truth from the novel Crank :

I told you then, the monster is a way of life, one it's difficult to leave behind no matter how hard you try.

Well the monster personifies drug addiction.

One of my students thought I might dig these books, Crank and Glass by Ellen Hopkins because the whole story is written in poems.

And dig them I did. Ellen Hopkins is so good that you will hide them in your scripture bag so you can read them during Sacrament meeting.

But you will feel dirty reading them while listening to talks about eternal families, especially when your 10 year old starts scolding you because he sees a naughty word.

Even when I wasn't reading them during Sacrament I felt like I needed to jump in the shower.

And not because I've gone to bed with the monster.

I've never even gone to first base with the monster.

I wouldn't even hold hands with the monster if you paid me a million dollars.

But I lived under the same roof with him for many years. I shared a bathroom with him.

I shared my father with him.

I used to dream about the wicked Kung Fu Chaos I would inflict on him if I was big and strong and powerful. In my dreams I would throw my dad a light saber so he could take that monster down.

But in real life the monster took him down. At only 36 years old.

I wish the monster would stop pushing crank and glass and crack and push something like cracked wheat.

Wouldn't it be awesome if cracked wheat was the drug of choice?! Especially for us Mormons. We've got the grinders and the mixers and enough wheat stored to keep the whole world high on life through any emergency or natural disaster.

I probably still wouldn't indulge because I hate cracked wheat, but I am trying hard to get hooked on cream of wheat. My husband doesn't believe I can do it and everytime he sees me eating it he says, "I know you're not enjoying that, I can tell."

It's not that hard to get hooked on cream of wheat if you add some applesauce and then some brown sugar and then some milk and then some more applesauce and then a little more milk and then don't let it touch your lips.

But back to the monster. . . I know it's not fun to talk about him, but we can't just pretend he's not there.

He's everywhere.

And even though I've never been addicted to him, he ransacked my stone cold heart anyway and left a gaping hole right through the center.

I never filled the hole with drugs, but I understand addiction. When Huey Lewis said might as well face it, you're addicted to love, he was talking right to me.

Love addiction can be an agonizing beast (especially when you have a hole in your heart). That's why I keep my heart on ice so I don't fall off the wagon. 

I can't wait until I'm rich and famous and powerful so I can become a heart surgeon. I'll use the invisible red thread to sew up all the gaping holes in everyone's heart. And then I'll iron a patch on just to make sure it holds (you never know with invisible thread).

And then I'll buy every kid battling the monster not one, but two light sabers.

And I'll buy every parent a red cape and a pair of stretchy pants so they can protect their children.

And then, just for the helk of it, I'll buy everyone who has ever suffered at the hands of the monster a Jamba Juice. A Peenya Kowlada. Go LARGE! With immunity boost.

Since I've been reading these novels I've been thinking a lot about red capes and stretchy pants. I mean what if I can't protect my kids?

The other night after New Beginnings I had my daughter to myself for 3.5 minutes on the drive home so I thought it would be a good time to address the issue.

I wanted to be subtle, yet direct. Firm, yet gentle. Discreet, yet obvious.

I wanted to speak softly, but carry a big stick.


"BTW, " I said to her, "you know how you used to be scared of monsters when you were little and I told you there was no such thing as monsters?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I LIED! There IS a GINORMOUS SCARY monster under your bed and he'll GOBBLE YOU UP WHOLE if you look at him."

"Uhhhh . . . okay . . . " she stammered.

"AND DON'T DO DRUGS!" I yelled. "DON'T EVER EVER EVER DO DRUGS!"

I think it was just what she needed to hear because she sat in stunned silence before saying, "Maybe you ought to go get yourself a van down by the river and do some motivational speeches."

I thought that was sweet.

I think if I keep screaming this message at my kids every morning when they wake up and every night before they go to sleep, they won't do drugs.

(Now I just have to think of a way to keep them from doing love.)

Lub my Hub

My BBFF, Funny Farmer is such a funny farmer. She has, as of late, been concerned about my standing in my marriage.


I told her that my standing is fine--it's the sitting that gets tedious.


So this post is for Funny Farmer and all of you who are curious george about my tendency to fall in love with unavailable famous Jacks.



If you must know all the boring details of my life . . . I lub my hub.


There, I said it!


In fact, I would go so far as to say I lub my hub-a-dub-dub.


He's like an ole comfy pair of jeans that I can pull on for every occasion (except blogging).


I lub that I don't have to picture him in his underwear to keep from getting tongue tied and twisted when he talks to me. (Okay, that came out the wrong way and only a handful of you will get it--sorry.)


I lub that I don't have to put on my flawless bronze legs to impress him. Flawless bronze legs are a dime a dozen around these parts, but tired, overwhelmed wives with ginormous hair who can't keep the house clean are harder to come by.


I lub that he gets that.


I lub that he is totally cool about me calling him Jack, as long as I say it with a brazilian accent and matching thong.


Something to work towards.


I lub that he lets me fall in love with any Jack or Jill I want, as long as they're unavailable and famous.


BTW, I thought of two more Jacks to add to my list--Jack Sparrow and Jack Sprat. And Kristina P. suggested Jack Daniels, which I'm considering as an alternate.



My husband suggested Jack the ripper, which I'm considering as an alternate to that alternate.


I'm not in love with any of them yet because none of them have made me think deep thoughts about life or about kissing.


(Jack Sprat hasn't anyway.)




So bottom line, peeps. I lub my hub THIS MUCH! And I lub my Jacks this much.



What can I say, I've got me a big heart, (and there's plenty of room for everyone).

GROUP HUG PEEPS!

So thankful for all my friends.  Best friends ever!!! 

My eyes are seriously sweating just thinking about all the votes of support on my blog nominations and all of your excitement over the magic quilt.  

To borrow a phrase from John Adams, "I've been borrowing from my sleep" lately in order to do some extra round off back handsprings before bed.   That's how excited I am about the magic quilt.  

If you are scratching your head right now and thinking "what magic quilt?" click on the photo of the magic quilt on my right hand side bar.  

Or just click here, if you're lazy.  

A MQ button is in the works and should be done within a week so we can start promoting.  

That's not the only thing I've been borrowing sleep to do doing round off back for lately. 

I'm so excited about my new Crash-n-Friends Blog Across America site!!! 

Aaaaahhhh!  I can hardly wait for the grand opening to show it to you.  I'm just waiting on the design and template crew to finish up so I can unveil it and WE can get started.  

IF you must know . . . it's going to be our very own travel blog full of action, adventure and romance, not to mention three of my favorite things: food, nudity and profanity.  (No kids allowed in the van!  And Lo, you'll have to jog along side since you're rated G.)   

No good deed or bad deed will go unpunished over at Crash-n-Friends. 

Details TBA, but wouldn't it be awesome if a group of crazy bored mommies like us could win the best travel blog of 2009?   CBM Girl Power!  Just think of how many magic quilts we can pass along with all that exposure.

Even though I've had to borrow from my sleep lately, my dreams have been kind to me.  In fact I had the weirdest dream of my life a few nights ago and I need help interpreting.  

Setting: Russia

Scenery:  vivid, high res, super saturated mountains and city landscape. 

Mode of Transportation: Airplane

Antagonist:  A ginormous shark in a small pond of water. 

Conflict: Shark attack.    I was actually minding my own business when the shark leapt through the air and attached himself to my arm.  

Wounds sustained:  A mere flesh wound.  I totally took the shark down. 

Resolution:  I got to eat cookies.  I ate cookie after cookie after cookie.  I couldn't stop eating the cookies.  

But I'm perplexed because here's the WEIRD part:  I COULD TASTE THE COOKIE.  And I've never tasted the cookie before.  It was like a fruity Oreo.  What the what?  How can I taste a fruity Oreo in my sleep when I've never tasted a fruity Orea on my wake.  Helk, I don't think anyone has ever tasted a fruity oreo.

So what is the universe trying to tell me, peeps?

Peeps Patrol

Okay peeps, mark your calendars because the Crash Test Dummy is coming to Utah on July 10th. If you want to meet me at the airport with banners and balloons I'll send you my itinerary thingie.

And hey, maybe if I start jogging 10 miles a day I'll be able to fit into my HS cheer skirt so we can have a little pep rally by the baggage claim.

Let me know if you want me to bring my playlist and do a Kung Fu Panda workshop for your Young Women or teach your crazy bored friends how to survive 60 mph impacts w/o airbags.

Or, if you want, you can just take me out to lunch at the Olive Garden. (I accept Jamba Juice cards too.)

OR, OR, OR, we can have a quilting bee. I don't quilt myself, but you guys could quilt while I blog about it. And I can serve you chips and salsa while you quilt and I blog. I'm good at serving chips and salsa.

Dead serious--not about the chips and salsa,but about the quilting bee--thanks to Wendy @No Botox Allowed for giving wings to my magic quilt idea.

I've got a MIND BLOWING PLAN to heal the world (one quilt at a time.) Click here to read my plan and see my new site.



And you know what else I've been thinking about? Anjeny and how she nominated me for best blog of all time and how I giggled and called her a silly silly goose.

But why shouldn't I be best blog of all time? Why should I be intimidated by Pioneer Woman? I mean, true, I don't have any votes yet, but I'm only 20 votes behind pioneer woman and 24 votes behind Dooce. And I'm only 130 votes behind the real best blog of all times.

I still have time to catch up if I blog my brains out 24/7 for the next 300 days or so.

Maybe I could get Jack Johnson to write me a magic theme song that hypnotizes readers into voting for me . . .


The possibilities are endless.


I mean, I know by myself I'm not best blogger of all time, because, well, let's face it, I don't have a Marlboro man. My man doesn't even smoke. But I do have a happy German.

And a tremendous Austrian.

Seriously, what does the Pioneer Woman have that I don't have (besides a chain smoking husband)?

I may not have cows or horses, but I have cockroaches and geckos.

I may not be able to cook, but Mariko can and Damaris can and Amanda can.

Does PW have a published author who sold her first novel out of print in less than 2 months? Well, we do, thanks to Miss D. and Miss HeiD.

I may not take stunningly breath taking photographs, but Alyson does and so does Shelle.

PW has a mentally retarded brother, but I bet she doesn't have an apostate brother. And I bet she doesn't have a yellow submarine. And she probably doesn't speak to the universe or make magic quilts.

WE CAN DO THIS THING, girls!

All I need is 21 votes and I'll be on page one. And if I'm on page one, then we can make a gazillion quilts and heal the world a gazillion times faster. Then maybe we could get sponsors for our Blog-Across-America tour and we could write books about all the crazy people in America and go on Oprah and David Letterman and Regis and Kelly.

And then we could all get our hair Japanese straightened.



Are you as pumped as I am right now?





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Oh, and about my daughter's hoity toity SS teacher . . . I didn't end up busting a move on her because I had to give her the Heimlich instead. She was seriously choking on her words that she would shave her head if my daughter's group made it to the History Day district competition.

They did make it--(4th place so there's room for improvement, but STILL!)

And can I say something to my daughter's friends who also made it. Sydney/3rd place essay, Josi/3rd place performance, and Josie/2nd place documentary. WOOOHOOOOO!!!!!!

You go, girls! Seriously, SO TAMN Proud of You! (Don't tell your parents I said that.)

(Oh, and HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Josi! Can everyone leave some cake in my comment box. Wolfgang, will you bring your honey and granola frozen yogurt? And will everyone wear blue today in her honor.)



MAHALO!

You guys are da bomb!


And remember . . . A vote for Crash is a vote for Crash-n-Friends! Click on one of the blogger's choice buttons on the left hand side bar to vote. You do have to sign up and log in.

LY Friends!