"There's small choice in rotten apples." Taming Of The Shrew 1.1

Our annual trip to Cedar City Utah for the Shakespearean Festival is upon us, we leave on the morrow. Tim and I adore this trip because a. it's a hella lot cooler in Utahr and b. we get too see 3 plays. Taming of the Shrew, Cyrano De Bergerac and Fiddler On The Roof, it's the perfect trifecta.



The downside is that we have to play in the annual best ball Golf Tournament that my dad started a decade ago. Tim and I suck at golf and that is an understatement.

Erica and Zach were supposed to ride up with us, but Erica spoiled everything with her lame excuses like "we are trying to save for a house, we need to save money." Whatevs Erica. She is crossed off my list for souvenirs, if she's lucky she might get a Bill Shakespeare key ring.

New Blog

Timothy has started a blog, one might call it a tad more cerebral than mine, um, a lot more cerebral, he is calling it "Commander's Point of View."


Here he is doing what he does best, playing Chopin in a tank top.

Abigail for a weekend

I was lucky this weekend because Abigail Marie Spiro, age 10, slept over for 2 nights. We did a lot of swimming, she showed me her impressive diving

We might have played a game in the pool called "SeaCats" where the cats didn't care about their special fur getting wet. She was Sweety SeaCat and I was Cecilia SeaCat.



We went to the movies and watched "Kitt Kittredge" which was excellent.


She danced a lot while Uncle Tim serenaded.




This is an amazing video of Abby. You will see her dancing and doing impressions with Uncle Tim providing the soundtrack.



This is an academy award performance by the irrepressible Abby, playing Ann Darrow in a scene from "King Kong"




I miss her already.

Corners of my Mind

The strangest things will pop into my head at the oddest times. I'm talking about things from your past, for better or worse, that have stuck with you for life.

Here a few of mine:

My mother explaining how they had to drop chlorine in their drinking water while vacationing in Egypt.

My 9th grade Home Ec teachers telling us not to put wet dishes back into the cupboards.



Allison making color charts from of her eye shadows and lip gloss.

The smell of my Grandparents kitchen drawers, where the licorice was stored.

A guest speaker in my Mia Maid class, speaking on “Womanhood.” She was a newlywed and explained to us how instead of going to bed without make up, she would wear just a hint of mascara for her husband. My little 15 yr old head absorbed this information up like a sea sponge.

Being taught how to properly wrap a present by Irene Hays in MIA.

My dad losing his testimony while teaching me the secrets of the vehicle clutch. I told him shouting at me would not make me learn any quicker.

The mind numbingly pompous religion teachers at BYU. This is what I heard: “and then the Nephites and the Lamplights blah blah blah, fought for effing ever waah waah waah, and evil King Kryptonite cut off the head of Cronkite, (I need a Diet Coke) and all the tribes of Pillowfight died at the hill Fedora (why does every G.D. word end in –ite?) blah blah blah …and then King Formica cut off the arm of Willy Wonka-ite…blah blah… I want each of you to continue your reading in ALPHA AND OMEGA 15:1123-59890 through MACARONI 45:567-9000009…class dismissed”


Watching my mother swearing under her breath as she canned her 59th bottle of peaches.

Trying to get those tight pants onto my sticky rubber legged Barbie.


The smell of crayons and my own fear on my first day of Kindergarten.

The bottle of Tabu my grandmother kept on her dresser.


The big plastic blue treasure chest I chose a toy from, after having my teeth drilled.

My 7th grade Spanish teacher using the word “debris” instead of trash, “class please remove the debris from your isle and desks before you leave.”

The smell of cafeteria.

The feel of Dave Peckham's springy brown hair.

Playing kissing train at the Monte Cristo clubhouse.

What are some of your embedded thoughts?

Dear Russ

Dear Russ,
I must say something. You aren’t hot anymore. I first discovered you in "LA Confidential;" you played an angry cop that blurred the line between good and bad. I watched your handsome conflicted face when you fell in love with a high class hooker and showed her compassion, it was at that point that I inserted myself into your movie, goodbye Kim Basinger, I am taking over your role and Russ will hold me against his chest and kill for me. Russ you chewed the scenery and went sick on the bad guys, I was in love.



I became an incoherent mess of rapture as I watched you in "Gladiator." You were muscled and fierce. When you were sweaty and loaded down with armor fighting for your life in the coliseum I wanted to slay those lions for you, and when you looked up towards the evil Joaquin Phoenix and bellowed “I AM MAXIMUS DECIMUS MERIDIUS!” I slid out of my Harkins Theatre seat and crawled to the isle where I tried to resume some composure and sip my 1$ loyalty refill cup.


My worship was sealed for time and all eternity, when I watched you on the Oprah show explaining to her how you DESIGNED and CONSTRUCTED a chapel in your backyard for me, I mean your wife. You designed this chapel for your marriage and set the colored glass window in the perfect angled spot so that the setting sun would shine its light onto your bride’s wedding dress. I passed out cold. Tim came home and had to revive me with lines from your movies.

I forgave you your bad hair dye job in "Cinderella Man." I killed the anorexic Renee Zelleweger in my mind and placed myself in your soothing triceps of love. I didn’t mind that I had to feed our children boiled turnip soup; I would have given you all the children you wanted and lived on welfare checks and WIC.



Russ, I have tried to divert my eyes away from pictures such as these:


They are coming at me from all sorts of websites, too much, too soon! My Russ does not have a pudgy middle aged waistline and throw ill executed gang signs. STOP please I beg of you, cut and wash your hair and refrain from eating cheeseburgers and wearing Sunday church slacks. For the love of God quit throwing phones and being angry.

Russ I can’t take much more. Your second chin and bad choice of shoes are making me weak. Please God, take this tacky, paparazzi hating Russ away and bring me back my stud ass.

Love,
Michelle

Hola Morgan

Morgan began blogging in May, this is her blog Momo-Xoxo. This is Morgan (aka Griffin's girlfriend).

..and this is her cat LeeRoy, because she loves cats. LeeRoy can fetch things.


Morgan is really tall actually taller than Griffin, but because Griffin is so secure in his manhood this doesn't bother him, even when she wears 2 inch heels. When they are together they giggle A LOT and Griffin makes her carry him around on her back.

She loves to cook, she has a brother who is a Marine and a sister that lives in Texas who is married to an Army Medic. She is a massage therapist and loves Christian Bale, she likes to watch the History channel and play XBox with Griffin.

Welcome new blogger Morgan!

Missionary Position

This is all over the Internet. The creator of the "Men on a Mission Calendar" has been asked by his stake prez to come in for a little chat. I find this whole thing laughable. Leave the guy alone! So what if he made a calendar full of post missionaries, shirtless...gasp. What about the double standard here, why aren't all the "models" being dragged in for questioning as well?

Movie Review

Tim and I have been catching up on movies with NetFlix, which I love so much I would marry. The above movie is one of the best crime dramas I have seen. You will see Marisa Tomei's boobs a lot, but the performances by Ethan Hawke and Philip Seymore H. are AMAZING. This was directed by an 83 yr old Sidney Lumet (stud) and received a 92% from top critics on Rotten Tomatoes. The director starts with the crime and works backwards, the pace keeps you riveted and overly involved. Rent this.

Perfect

I have been watching the Olympic trials, a lot. I'm always amazed at these athletes and their non-human work out ethics and let's be honest, their bodies. As I'm laying on my favorite sofa with my current US Magazine and snacks and feet propped up, I began to ponder what perfection really is, at least in my opinion.

Perfect is a chilled tumbler, holding chewy ice, a freshly cut lemon wedge, pouring icy Diet Coke down over it all. It should be blessed and served at sacrament meetings in tiny cups.


Perfect is white white white clean sheets.


Perfect is Tim agreeing to see a chick movie with a lot of rain and crying in it, and finding a seat in the middle of the theatre with no one in front of me.

Perfect is new towels, made of Egyptian cotton.


Perfect is a sleeping cat or baby.


Perfect is Hello Kitty.


Perfect is laying on my bed with HGTV on in the background, 2 pillows propped, reading a book, and Fatness at my feet.

Perfect is Turtles. The blend of pecans, caramel and chocolate is holier than the Godhead.


Perfect is hydrangeas. Purple-blue.

Top 10

I’m a sucker for any kind of top 10 lists, you can find them on the front of every beauty magazine that exists. “Top ten ways to tell if a guy is cheating” “Top 10 ways to hide your thighs” “Top 10 Hollywood hunks” “Top 10 ways to tell if your boyfriend is a big fat liar” it never ends and I read every single one. Here is my top 10 list: “Phrases or words that annoy me”

10. Represent

9. No you didnn

8. Just chillin

7. The brethren

6. Crocs (ok it’s not a phrase, I just hate the shoes, especially when middle
aged anyone wears them)

5. Va-jayjay

4. Oh my frak, oh my heck

3. That’s hot

2. Baby daddy

1. Staycation

Evoke Something

I love pictures, here are a few of my favorites, some are difficult to put into words, others are obvious, like this first one.

It was summertime in Salt Lake and we were at my brother's house. Griffin spotted the overweight "Banjo" and hefted him up. The sky was a perfect blue and Griffin is absolutely delighted to be holding a 35 lb cat.



It was the first time Griffin had jet skied and he thought he was bad ass. He posed himself.



Erica had just gotten her braces removed, and was very happy. This was the first pic taken. I love her upturned hair.



This pic was taken on Griffin's 3rd birthday. The reason I love it, is because Erica in her "motherly" love for Griffin was instructing him on when, where and how to open his presents. He would barely get one opened and she would pounce on it, tossing it aside and hand him another one. The odd thing was, he accepted this from her, and not just at this birthday...it was their dynamic...Erica, teacher-Griffin, student, like it or not.



My grandpa and I had dug up worms under his cherry trees, packed our cheese sandwiches and drove "up to the canyon" to fish, I was 6 and followed my grandpa around like a puppy. When I spent the night, he was up before me making me "pannycakes" and his toxic concoction of orange juice with wheatgerm. He took this pic of me and labeled it "Chellie 1st fish-67."



This is my sister and I standing in a lake, I have no idea what lake. I was 8 years old. This picture just makes me feel good when I look at it, like summertime, childhood, carefree, and our hair is blowing. I love it.



I love her sunglasses pulling back her sun-highlighted hair, and her beautiful expression. This is Erica, animated, excited...beautiful.



This is my mother in the backyard of the Arizona Holbrook Mission. At first she didn't want to swing, but gave in. My sister Chris was pushing her, and she was laughing laughing laughing. This is how I like to think of her, free from canes and wheelchairs and happy.



Tim and I went to Hawaii for his 50th birthday last year, he had never been. When we checked into our hotel I asked the lady for a room with a view. We were on the top floor, I walked out onto the balcony and gasped, this was the shot.

Country Living

I have been receiving the periodical "Country Living" for about a year now. When I see the magazine sitting inside my mailbox cube, I start to hyperventilate. This morning over badly made tap-water coffee by Tim, as I was perusing the pages my heart rate started climbing. Why would a magazine do this to me? Because inside illustrated beautifully lays pictures of summer dining under colorful dainty lights, carefree beach picnics, tables adorned with mounds of dahlias and hydrangeas and big whitewashed homes full of colorful pottery. I hate summer.

My magazine this morning didn't disappoint, in big white giant font it reads "carefree summer living" and is filled with pictures of non-sweating people sitting in lawn chairs under big green trees sipping homemade lemonade and eating biscuits with ripe red berry jam. Do real people actually live like this?


It's 6:30 am and I've just come in the house from chlorine testing my 85 degree pool water, I'm already sweating and annoyed. Ok ok, I have a pool so stop my bitching right? Wrong, the pool is so warm I could do my dishes in it, my roses are brown and really angry at the heat and my lawn is crisp. I miss the seasons! I want summer when it's supposed to be summer, I want fall, I want to wear a sweater in October and bundle up by a fire. I want to hang Christmas lights in the snow.

Back to my magazine, I'm cancelling my subscription today. I can't take it anymore, those pictures of gardens full of flowers that grow in normal soil not alkaline clay that cactus thrive in and women frolicking at the beach carrying old picnic baskets filled with homemade bread and cooked crabs they pulled in from their G.D. homemade nets and roasted on their outdoor pits.


ENOUGH. I slow my breathing down and gently explain to myself, "you can survive another summer that only rattlesnakes and lizards enjoy," "you can climb into a car that melts the skin off your thighs," "you can hibernate in your house, leaving only for food and supplies," "you can hear people say for the umpteenth effin time, 'wow, sure is hot outside.'"