What I did this weekend.

We went to see "Wall-E" with Zaerica (Erica and Zach, keep up people). There was a mixed bag of reviews from the 4 of us. Zachary did not like it, I could tell this from the way his knee was bouncing up and down at a 100 RPM's, Tim only laughed in a few places and seemed unimpressed. Keep in mind these two men are fans of "Alien vs Predator" and deem the box set of "Rocky" kick ass.

Erica and I loved the movie, because we have good taste. It was imaginative, inspirational, funny, sad, creative and you will fall in love with Wall-E within 10 seconds. It is a classic.

Talented daughter

I called Erica pleading with her to wave her magic header wand and make mine look prettier.

This daughter of mine is very talented, if I hadn't seen her head spring from my c-section incision, I wouldn't think we were related.

Thank you Cacasita, as usual, I bow to you.

SEAL

I couldn't sleep last night. One I was thinking about my dad because the 1 year mark of his passing is today, (my sister eloquently posted about him in her blog Learning The Instrument) and two I'm about 20 pages away from completing "Lone Survivor."

I read for 6 hours yesterday, I couldn't put it down, except to fill my plate with watermelon and instruct Tim on how to properly clean a DVD.

I highly highly recommend this book. He takes you through the ultimate in military training, SEAL training, which is beyond rigorous and you feel right there with him during hell week when he was awake for 6 days doing crazy horrible exercises and barely hanging onto consciousness. Hell week was nothing compared to his survival story. Starting with chapter 7 he begins the harrowing patriotic tale of how he alone survived a Taliban attack high in the mountains of Afghanistan. I was sobbing as I read the heroism of his fellow teammates. These men are not human. There is a life altering moment in the book where he was faced with making a decision which still haunts him to this day. I don't want to give anything away, but I would say to any person that considers himself an American to read this book.

Peter Berg (The Kingdom) will be directing the movie, due out in 2009, I'm hoping Tim -yummy- Riggins from "Friday Night Lights" will portray him.

In My Head

On my mind today is absolutely nothing, except for:

DeAnna did not give Graham a rose and then he handed her a letter and said it was just for her to read and then she cried and wondered if she had made a mistake.


Horrible “new release” movie choices on Netflix, unless you count “Fool’s Gold” as stellar entertainment. Matthew and Kate making another movie where she is silly and giggly and scene set ups that require him to go shirtless.


It’s still hot, which makes me pissy and tired, like yesterday when I yelled at Tim for using the ice maker which sounds like a rock tumbler which woke me from my afternoon sofa nap.

Summer reality shows have lost their minds. These Japanese inspired shows where the contestants are running around on giant rubber balls and sliding down into mud pits are really making me angry.

Feeling guilty that I haven’t called my mother in 2 days.

Feeling guilty that I never cook dinner anymore, and use the excuse that “we are all on different schedules” even though we aren’t.

Wondering if Angelina Jolie’s new movie “Wanted” will be her usual fine kick-ass stuff. I would love to see Angie kick Jennifer Aniston’s whiny “oh I love John Mayer because he’s such a poet” face into oblivion. Don’t get me started. Ok where was I…


I wish I was reading a really good book, one that I couldn’t put down.

Wishing I could get Tim to understand why I shouldn’t work anymore, and wondering why he doesn’t understand my need to stay home, read blogs and watch daytime t.v.

Wanting to dump my house upside down and redecorate in a contemporary style.

Trying to pinpoint the day Tom C. lost his mind and became a freakshow.


That’s what is in my head today.

Cat Bath

Fatness was due, due for a bath. This is the only time I can get Griffin to quickly leave his XBox 360 gaming session. You see, Griffin holds that DNA that all boys do...LOVE TO TERRORIZE KITTY gene, and I need the unusually strong vice grip of Griffin, he is the only one that can keep Fatness in place during bath time.

Do you see the terror in Fatness' eyes? He knows 2 things at this point, Griffin is holding me and there is a tub of water 10 inches away.



Kitty is still calm, he hasn't started the clawing and howling, that comes when I pour the first cup of water on him. Right now he is basically thinking "I shall kill them both."



Griffin and I are confirming the Holy Ghost upon him before we get started.



With the first cup of water, the clawing and howling has begun. Griffin is laughing and Fatness just called me a "mother effer."



It's taking 4 hands to hold him down. Fatness is complaining about the off brand shampoo I was using and said I was a "bitch-tard."



All done kitty. The 3 of us are exhausted.



He will spend the next 3 hours licking himself and watching "Kathy Griffin My Life On The D List", it's the only reality show that calms him down.

Poly Blend

Tim and I were driving home from Prescott last Sunday when he said something that chilled me to my bones. I was minding my own business watching my “Friday Night Lights” 2nd season DVD on my portable player when Tim glanced over at me and said without humor, “what are you doing, wearing your mom’s shirt?” I gave it a 2 Mississippi while I took this all in, then I told him to “shut it.” I tried to go back to my football players but couldn’t concentrate anymore, so instead I did a mental checklist of what constitutes a “mom shirt.”

Poly/cotton blend, check.

Ugly flowery pattern, check.

Sensible neckline, check.

JC Penney purchase, check.

Erica would hate it, check.

Apparently the mom math had added up, making Tim correct. When I got home I tried calming my nerves with 2 rails of Skittle dust snorted through a bendy straw and reading my US Weekly, but I was still unsettled. I went upstairs and flung my mom shirt to the floor and found a shirt Erica would approve of. Tim had ruined my Sunday and not in the same way a 3 hour block of LDS church used to either, no he reminded me that I was beginning that slow metamorphosis into my mother, who by the way, never met a polyester she didn’t love.

I give you the accused:

Why?

I saw an averaged aged woman in the break room this morning, she was standing at the microwave, rocking the mom jean. The high waisted denim pant that comes to a severe tight ankle and makes an ass look like a garage door. My question is, why are women still wearing these?

Suicide by Letter Opener

I woke up this morning and it started off very wrong. I got on my scale and saw a 2 lb gain and this after trying all my tricks. Fatness was more clingy than usual, and his meowing was a whiny/howl/death spiral of neediness, I curtly told him to leave me alone. My commute started off with my coffee spilling and some hard core cursing, followed with 2 road closures and a woman in an ugly Toyota tailgating me. I was going my usual appropriate 65 MPH and she was obviously late for her “I’m an GD Effing Idiot” seminar.

It’s a day like this when I’m close to stapling myself to death, that I breathe a sigh of relief when I see this in an email subject line: “Indulge me/boredom” and the paragraph begins: “Ok I am developing an unhealthy obsession with The Bachelorette.” Aaaah, an email from my sister.

She is my sanity touchstone, and pop-news sidekick. She saves me from committing felonies and overdosing on Diet Coke and Skittles. Here is a sampling of why I love her emails:

“I hate this effing time of year… I take Abby to swimming lessons and sit and watch her outside and I am a sweatbox by the end. The only upside are the cute jailbait lifeguards who swagger around the pool.”

She listens to me rant about how much I hate John Travolta and his big fat head and his stupid Scientology and the fact that he parks a jetliner at his house and kisses Oprah’s fat ass and then… she agrees with me:

“…John Travolta is gross. He and Nicolas Cage have descended into doing ridiculously stupid movies all the time when they used to be decent actors. I know, John T used to be hot with a capital H.....his head is ginormous.”

Thanks for seeing things my way sis, and spending the better part of your day on the Internet looking for the men from “The Bachelorette.” You have delayed my office-suicide for another day.

"Is he gay?"

I walked into the beauty salon sat down and waited for my stylist to wrap the plastic drape around me, instead, she whispered “we need your advice on gay men.” I said “ahh what?” “Well you dated a gay man, and your brother is gay, so we have some questions for you.” Yes, I did date a gay man and though I will use the excuse that I was a virginous naïve 19 year old Mormon, the fact that he collected Judy Garland memorabilia and hand crafted his own pair of ruby red shoes for Halloween, escaped me completely. My little post-Mia Maid head wouldn’t compute gay or why he didn’t like kissing. I turned to my stylist, “ok what’s going on?” Whispering again, she pointed to a petite curvy girl who worked the chair next to her , “Sarah finally slept with her boyfriend, and she, well we, think he might be gay.” Yes, they had come to the right person, I would say I have a Masters Degree in gay.

I swiveled around to Sarah and said, “let me ask you some questions first, this will save us some time.” She nodded nervously and put down her scissors. “I need to know how he styles his hair and if he has nice furniture?” “Well, his hair is cut very close and neat, and his furniture is ok.” “Does he have an unhealthy devotion to Madonna, Christina A., or Elton John?” She shook her pretty head “NO.” I pondered my next question, “tell me about the sex.” She hesitated and then said “well this one time I was laying naked on the bed waiting for him, ya know to surprise him…he walked in and saw me and said he was tired.” I held up my hand to stop her “you have been dating for 30 days, you’re young and beautiful, NO STRAIGHT MAN would EVER turn that down, unless he had just somehow chopped off his own head with an axe.” I asked her if this happened very often, she explained that he said he was tired a lot and told her there were “rules to all of this sex stuff.” Again, I stopped her, “ Sarah, the only rules a 25 year old straight male would have is to try and get your pants off as often and early as possible.” My stylist said “see.” I told her this wasn’t looking good. I asked her if there was anything else sort of weird he might have said, she tapped her manicured nail against her chin, “well the other day he mentioned that our friend’s wife had really nice hair, and that he liked it better when she wore it down.”

I told her the verdict was in, “he IS gay.” She looked over at me with big brown sad eyes, “really?” “Absolutely gay, you are wasting your time.”

Fat Cats

There is no reason for this post except that I find this card very funny, and the fact that Griffin signed his last name to it, is even funnier.

Superhero

I grew up thinking my dad was some sort of Mormon superhero. I never heard him utter one swear word or forget to read his daily scriptures or miss a church meeting or GOD FORBID turn down a church calling, that would be akin to insubordination. He was self disciplined and fastidious. Me, not so much, especially with my high school grades.

I remember getting a big fat hideous "D" in 11th grade accounting and dreading nay, wanting to die, thinking about my dad's reaction to my horrific grade. I would have gladly taken a Guantanamo water board torture or the Spanish Inquisition than face him. I often wondered if my dad was ever an impetuous teenager, or if by superpowers bestowed upon him through a Starfleet command of the brethren, he popped down to earth like Capt. Kirk being beamed through a transporter, in full adult form. He was not human to me.

Growing up, I realized dad was not a superhero after all, he apparently did endure high school and was not beamed to earth by Starfleet Command or the brethren. I found the evidence, in a small document tucked away in an old yellowed envelope. As I scanned over the grades, musing to myself that he really didn't do much better than me, I saw it there at the top--2nd term physics--a beautiful hideous "D" and I just smiled.

6191 Surrey Court

As I mentioned a few posts ago we had an estate sale for the family home I grew up in. It held 37 years of memories and I just wanted to say thanks and a final good bye.

Thanks for putting up with my awkward years and a few awkward friends along the way.



My first date and my corsage that was the size of a head of lettuce.




Tacky holiday decorations, relatives and flocked trees.



My mother's hair do's that defied gravity.



Thanks for welcoming my odd friends, the ones my 2 cousins (on the right) didn't know how to react to.



Memories of Alli, dressing up for Halloween, crank calls, proms, tears, laughter, boys, long phone calls and a lot of giggling.



My first baby shower.



Thanks for providing a lawn for football and basement full of old toys for 15 grandchildren.



Thanks for seeing me through some rough single years, like the 1st Christmas without my children.



I love you old house. I love your big front lawn, your silly umbrella trees, my pink carpeted bedroom, your basement where I laid next to my dad to watch t.v., your kitchen were my sister made popcorn on the stove, your fireplace, your patio where we barbecued, your flowers and for being my comfort and my safe place to land. Good bye old friend.

What I am loving

My fresh issue of Vanity Fair, with an amazing article on Ms. Jolie.


Anticipating "The Dark Knight" starring the delicious C. Bale.


Carpooling. I'm loving this. I can sit back and let my carpool buddy hassle with ass-hole drivers.


WHAT I AM HATING.


The heat index is rising.



That all I have to watch is "The Bachelorette" and I'm actually getting emotional during the show and frustrated because she won't get rid of Twilly!



Day 10 of this. Last night ME: "Tim, when are you going to fix our toilet?" TIM: "I'm going to call a plumber."

I heart San Diego

I have been frolicking in 69 degree weather for the past 4 days. We stayed with Brad & Denton, which is basically staying at the Hyatt. Our trip started off on the wrong foot. It was around Gila Bend when I glanced over to see this:

Tim wearing female sun glasses. I pointed this little fact out and got "it doesn't matter."

I was greeted in San Diego with fresh flowers in my room, a private marble bathroom, down comforter, stunning views and a plate of freshly made snacks.


I proclaimed to Timothy there would BE a zoo visit this trip. We got there early to avoid the panda viewing lines. I was hoping out loud and repeating many times much to Tim's annoyance "the pandas should be awake, I'm sure they will be awake, it's early so they ought to be awake."

We were forewarned many times to keep quiet lest we upset them.


I just knew they would be up and rolling around, chasing their baby up a tree.


ummm, he didn't move from this position for 4 hours, I know because I went back 4 hours later.

Here is the view of the female, she also was in a vegetative state...good thing we were all obeying those signs.


Surely the baby will be up and about.

Nada.

The highlights of the zoo were not the fat lazy disappointing stupid pandas, but the gorillas. They apologized for the enormous entry fee and also the irritating bus tour announcer and gave us quite a show. The babies were frolicking and the parents were awake and thanked us for coming.


Off to the koala's! YES, I love them. The annoying guide made sure we understood they were MAR SU PIALS not BEARS.

Another bad stroke of luck. This little guy apparently had been stuffed and perched up there, because again, he NEVER EVER moved. Walking out of the electrifying koala exhibit Tim said "he didn't blink his eyes for 15 minutes."


I knew one breed would NOT disappoint, after all they are the royalty of the animal kingdom.
KITTIES!




I told Tim I was going back to the pandas for one last hopeful viewing. Maybe just maybe they were looking like one of the many pictures taken of them, you know, alive.


Nope. Nope and nope.


Oh ya, happy 7 years sweety.