It's Your (My) Funeral

  So, I kind of phased out during Relief Society on Sunday and started planning my funeral in my head. Here's what I have so far, it's a little rough, I just banged it out after church:

1.) DO NOT BURY ME IN SOME FANCY EXPENSIVE BOX. Cremate me. Do whatever you want with the ashes, just don't come visit my rotting corpse in an expensive plot. That's weird. Also, if there are billions of people on this earth, they can't all be buried! There's not enough room! You should do that thing where you turn me into a tree. That's cool. I saw this thing online where they talked about how if a bunch of people did that, then cemeteries would be forests. Seriously, isn't that a good idea? If you do that, though, don't freak out if the tree dies. It's not symbolic of anything, trees just die sometimes. Plant another one if you want and pretend it's the same one.

2.) NO VIEWING. I'm super serious on this, guys. I'm still traumatized from the one viewing I went to as a kid, and I don't want that to be the last way everyone remembers me, with my eyes all sunken in and crap. Why would you want to see that, anyway? I don't care if you find it comforting in some weird way, I am not cool with you all staring at my corpse. Remember me as I was ALIVE.

3. ) No hymns at the funeral. I don't feel as strongly about this as the first two, but really, I'm just not into hymns. If you play "Til We Meet Again" I'm going to be a mad ghost. You don't want a mad ghost, trust me. Don't torture yourselves with that hymn, please. Have James or Andrew make a compilation of instrumental songs from some of my favorite video games (I know you're rolling your eyes, Mom, but I don't care. There's some good music in video games!). Y'know, some Final Fantasy X or VII, Kingdom Hearts, Dragon Age. Not like the Chocobo Song or anything, the classy-sounding ones, guys. If James and Andrew are dead, then . . . Well, hopefully I'll update this before then.

4.) As for who gets what, Fay gets all my jewelry. She doesn't have to keep it if she doesn't want, no guilt, she can just choose her favorite pieces. Mom's going to give me the pink tourmaline ring Dad made when she dies, and that's actually a nice piece with some meaning, so Fay can have that. Lincoln . . . I dunno, I don't have any special trains stashed away. He can choose whatever he wants of mine. Kellie gets my beanie babies (or just one representational one if she wants. Or none. I don't care, I'm just trying to honor my promise to her from when I was 8). Everyone else can take what they want, give the rest to Goodwill. You don't need to hang on to my stuff or anything. What I hung on to due to sentimentality won't be sentimental to you, feel free to give it to Goodwill. OH, but keep the baby blessing dresses for the kids' kids someday. Don't throw those out, please.

5.) Burn my journals. Really, they're very boring, just a day-to-day account, they're not creative or funny or even that interesting, I promise. And a lot of people would be hurt because of stupid stuff I wrote when upset. I loved you all, I promise, I just vented a lot and you don't want to read it. If you can't bring yourself to burn them (though, really, you should), lock them away for my great-grandkids or something, people who didn't know me personally or would be offended by them. But, seriously, they're boring, I don't think even my descendents would want to read them.

6.) Something you COULD do at my funeral that I think would be fun would be to read excerpts from my blog, or facebook posts, or bits from my books or something. That's more personal to me than some talk we've all heard at every funeral ever about resurrection and stuff. You can throw it in at some point, like, "Hey, Julia believes in resurrection and so do 99% of people at this funeral, so that's cool, we'll see each other again someday, blah blah, now let's talk about something more interesting." OOH, also, if I'm not published, maybe print up some copies of the books I've worked really hard on so whoever wants to can read it. Not "Super", it sucks, but the Shadow book and How We Came to Quest are decent-ish. It would be nice if someone got to enjoy them. But, you know, remind people they are fantasy, so if they're not into that, don't read it just because they feel obligated.

7.) Sorry to keep harping about the funeral (wait, why am I apologizing? I should not have to keep apologizing beyond the grave!), but I want it small. Like, people who actually really knew me and loved me. Family and close friends. I don't want the big, impersonal kind with a bunch of people who barely knew me. Keep it intimate, the kind of thing I would like to go to in real life, with people I'm comfortable with. If there's someone that it would be awkward not to invite, I guess you can. But seriously, try to keep it small.

  That's what I got so far. Am I forgetting anything?

All Hail Me, Winner of Failing at Life!

  So, first The Bloggess wrote THIS amazing post about failing at being human, which made me laugh-cry (I had to read it in doses because it hurt my throat and stomach too much to laugh so much in one sitting). Then my BFF Kellie did THIS, and it was fantastic. And basically it's just bringing back too many painful, horrible, hilarious memories that I have to share. I think many of them have probably been posted on here years ago, but meh.

 These kinds of things seem to happen to me daily, which is probably why I don't talk to people much anymore. I really shouldn't be allowed to, anyway.

1. At EFY, Cute British Boy sat next to me at a John Bytheway talk. He introduced himself to me and I blanked, thinking, "My brother James would know JUST what to say to make this guy his best friend!" Held out my hand, said, "Hi, I'm James! . . . I MEAN JULIA." He later tried to whisper something to me three times, but it turns out I can't understand whispered British accents, so I gave up trying to understand and fake-laughed, assuming he was telling me a joke. "It wasn't funny," he said.

2. Used to exchange babysitting for use of washer/dryer in Oregon, so I lugged two heavy bags of laundry into my friend's house and chatted with her for about ten minutes before she finally said, "Um, it's Thursday." It took her several more hints before I realized I'd come on the wrong day.

3. Had a crush on 18 year old boy at church when I was fourteen. After sacrament meeting I was walking to class with BFF and swooning (loudly) over how much I loved him. "Haha, what if he was behind me?" I said. BFF turned around, "Um, he is." "Yeah, right, not gonna fall for that." He was.

4. Asked a man at Foot Locker if he could get me my size. He said something, but I couldn't hear well, so I laughed, assuming he told me a joke (I do this a lot, apparently) while handing him the shoe. He repeated, louder, "I don't work here."

5. At drama club, loudly complained about my assigned dance partner for musical number. Friends pointed out his father, standing feet away from us. "Dorian [name changed] isn't SO bad," I tried to course correct. "Julia, just stop," they begged. I did. Finally.

6. Went out with a group of friends to eat at Chipotle. One friend got a phone call and turned his head slightly for "privacy". I thought this was hilarious and mimicked him, slamming my head into the booth.

7. My very first trip to an OB was when I was pregnant with Lincoln. The nurse told me to take everything off and left a sheet on the table. Did not tell me robe was beneath sheet, nor that I could put it on. I hate being naked, but tried to seem nonchalant as OB walked in on me, casually standing there naked. She told me I could put on the robe. After giving me once-over.

8. Got a phone call from an insurance company with a very automated-sounding female on the other line. Halfway through something she was saying I blurted out, "Are you a robot?" I fully expected her to say, "I'm sorry, I don't understand," like most automated services do when you say something weird. Instead the woman said, "No, I'm a human being. Do I sound that bad?" I apologized, but her voice still sounded super robotic, so I laughed every time she spoke. Couldn't find a way to hang up for another five minutes.

9.  Called my male, ex-military fourth grade teacher "mom". I don't know which of us was more embarrassed.

10.  On a date at the movies. Used the cover of darkness to pick a scab off my arm. Accidentally flicked it onto date's leg (who was wearing shorts). Kept eyes glued to the screen as he brushed it off while glaring at me.

11. While we were dating, McKay took me to a fancy dinner at his professor's house, where I promptly dropped a plate of red sauced pasta on their pristine white carpet. Also, on one of our first dates he took me to a friend's house. After them joking about trusting me to not spill soup on their couch, I did just that.


  This is seriously just the tip of the iceburg. More like a speck on the iceburg. I've done so many humiliating things that I've managed to even forget some of them. What are your best worst memories?

[Also, hi. I know it's been forever. And I'm pregnant and living across the country since my last post. Maybe we'll cover that stuff later. Maybe not.]

Gluten-Free and Judginess

  I recently read an article on signs you have a gluten intolerance. I basically had every single one, all of which could quite possibly be explained by some other cause, but I thought, eh. Might as well give this whole gluten-free thingymagigy a try, and see if it helps anything.

  I don't like telling people I'm trying to go gluten-free, though. Because they get really judgey. But not from the side I was expecting. See, THIS is what I was expecting:

ME: Yeah, I'm giving this "gluten-free" thingy a whirl to see if it helps my digestion system/terrible acne.

WHOEVER ELSE: UGHHH, WHY DOES EVERYONE SUDDENLY GIVE A CRAP ABOUT GLUTEN? YOU, MY FRIEND, ARE A HIPPY, AND SHOULD DROWN YOURSELF.

  This is the reaction I expected because it's more or less what I think when I hear anyone is doing anything weird, food-wise. Paleo, juicing, all that stuff, I basically get judgey and feel superior. And I'm sorry about that. I'm not a great person.

 But terrible people like me must be in the minority, or maybe we're just better at hiding our disdain than I thought, because they're not the judgey ones I've encountered. Since I live in Oregon, here's a basic compilation of the reactions I've had:

ME: Yeah, I'm trying to go gluten-free for a while.

WHOEVER ELSE: Oh, me, too! It's so much better for you. And they have some great foods out there! There's this one cereal, it's super healthy for you, called Tastes Like Tree Bark [not actual name], and it's not bad! [NOTE: 'not bad' is the phrase used to describe something inedible made slightly more edible. Have you ever heard someone describe tofu as 'good'? No, the best that can be said of tofu is 'not bad'. End of rant.]

ME: Yeah, also Frosted Flakes! You know, since it's corn-based and all.

   And then whoever I'm talking to looks at me like I said I stabbed a baby seal. With a steak. A non-organic steak.

  See, here's where the mix-up is: I didn't say I was dieting. I didn't say I was going sugar-free, or even trying to eat healthy. I said I'm trying to give up gluten for a while. Because it would be nice to live my life without feeling perpetually tired, or having brain fog, or maybe (FINGERS CROSSED!) get rid of the acne my mother assured me would disappear after the puberty thing ended (my mother is a liar, but I love her anyway).

   So let me eat my friggin' Frosted Flakes in peace. Because they're gluten-free, and I like them. And you know what? I do feel a bit better. Even hopped up on sugar. I made gluten-free chocolate chip cookies last week, and they were the best cookies I've ever made. And I ate almost every single one.

UNRELATED P.S. Reached 100 pages in my new book! Remember how I wrote that book last year? It was crap. And I hated it. I made the mistake of never, ever editing it as I wrote, which made it one big, hot mess when I went to read over the 340+ pages I slaved over. And I realized I just wasn't crazy enough over the story I'd written to work for another year tearing it apart. So I decided to chalk it up to a learning experience and write another book, which I edit every weekend. I think that, if I were to come across the book I'm writing now in a bookstore, it is the kind of book I'd like to read. Which makes me very, very happy.

Did You Miss Me?

  You know what's been kind of nice?

   Not blogging.

   You know. Doing activities for the sake of doing them, rather than because I know it would make a good blog post. Not fretting about page views, comments, or other crap that--really? Does not matter. In the slightest.

  BUT NO MORE!

  . . . At least for today. I'm bored, and backed up in photos, so I'm going to UPDATE THE BEJEEBERS OUT OF YOU GUYS. I'm going to write as many as I can while McKay's meeting with the missionaries (he's ward mission leader thingy. That equates to lots and lots of meetings and lessons and stuff. Usually it's my video game time, but since I already played a crazy amount today, I thought I'd do something slightly more productive. I'll end these parentheses now.) Uh, yeah, that sentence got away from me (DOCTOR WHO QUOTE! Speaking of, I dreamed David Tennant was my gynecologist last night. He was just as sweet as you'd imagine. But even so, I was incredibly relieved when McKay woke me up before the actual exam. BACK TO THE SENTENCE). But, yeah, anyway, I'm going to write as many as I can tonight, and post one a day, so you guys can get into the groove of, you know, checking out this page once in a whiles again. (PARENTHESIS, RIGHT?! What is my deal with them?)


 Twenty minutes later: Hmm. I remember why I started hating blogging now. Uploading photos and editing them sucks up time like a Kirby vacuum salesman.

  *tapping fingers against invisible counter*


NEXT MORNING:

Okay, guys. Zero done last night. I'm still going to try to update the crap out of this blog, though. So stay tuned. To tide you over, here are some outtakes from our Christmas photo:

Lincoln kept trying to snuggle me. Which was adorable, but hard to keep a straight face for. And smiles pretty much ruin the whole get-up.

  And then Lincoln lost it. It was past his naptime, and things just went downhill really fast. I like my "concerned" face that looks mildly amused. Because that's what kind of mom I am, folks.

  STAY TUNED.

I Took the Road That Took Far Less Energy. Hopefully it Won't Make All the Difference.

  I get it. You're pregnant! You're excited! There's no way you're going to screw this baby up. Your kiddo will be the best dressed, well-groomed child that would never, in its wildest dreams, throw a temper tantrum in a grocery store.

  And then you have the sucker. And holy crap.

  Maybe it's just me. Especially since I live in Oregon, where the other moms I meet all have their kids on special organic, no-sugar, homemade, gluten-free, sans red dye diets.

  I don't cut that. I'm proud if Lincoln watches less than an hour of TV every day. Yeah. LESS.

  Anyway, here's my list of things I TOTALLY thought I'd be able to do with my baby that did not end up happening:

1. Shoes. I smile sadly at all those cute pregnancy pictures with the teensy baby Chucks next to the adult sized ones. Because, if those parents are anything like me, those shoes will stay that pristine forever. I have yet to meet the new parent who makes the effort to put teensy tiny shoes on their newborn. You think you will. You won't. Especially if they require laces. Trust me, not worth the $30. Buy the socks that look like shoes, much better investment.

  On a side tangent, older folks, please stop asking newborn babies, "Where are your shoes?!" We know that it's veiled criticism on the parent's behalf. Knock it off, we want to punch you. You're lucky we came to the grocery store wearing shirts. And when I say 'we', I mean both of us, baby and me.

 (P.S. This is really directed more toward pre-walkers. Lincoln usually wears shoes now. Except when we walk into church. I'm never able to pull that off for some reason.)

2. No TV before age 2! EVER EVER EVER, NOT EVEN IN THE SAME HOUSE OR PLANET.

  Some parents are able to do this. I am not. Maybe Lincoln's IQ will be 100 points less for it. Maybe it won't make much of a difference at all in the long run. It's a gamble I'm taking on behalf of my sanity.

3.  My nursery will have color-coordinated furniture, always be clean, and never smell like poop!

  Nope. Remember way back when, when I had all those posts on what would be my 'nursery of awesomeness'? Remember how I never finished those posts? It's because, when you're on a budget and perpetually exhausted, your nursery looks less like awesomeness and more like the thrift store cheapness that it is. Also, I think I clean in there maybe once every two months.

4.  No sugar cereal/processed foods/insert other food crusade!

  Like I said before, many moms in Oregon seem to have it together in this category. When one mom told me she felt guilty giving her son Cheerios, I faked a sympathetic, "Yeah, we're terrible face" while thinking, "Cheerios are in the bad column? Crap."

5. My baby will look like a mini model at all times.

  This one, along with the nursery one, depends on your budget. Me, I was shocked when I actually looked at the price tags on baby clothes. Initially, it doesn't seem so bad. $10 for an unbelievably cute sweater? SOLD! Then you realize that your infant will only fit in that sweater for about three months. And then you add the $10 for the unbelievable cute onesie to match, and the pants, and socks, and OH, you have to get that adorable matching hat they'll pull off their head every three seconds! Altogether, an outfit can easily cost $50 or more. ONE OUTFIT.

  So, Lincoln's wardrobe consists primarily of hand-me-downs, second-hand store finds, and gifts, so my own taste enters into it almost not at all. But, eh, Lincoln can make anything look good anyway. (Also, thank you for the hand-me-downs and gifts. They are very much appreciated.)

 6. I was very adamant that I did not want Lincoln to see me naked, or going to the bathroom, ever. This is primarily because, whilst pregnant, I read this really weird article where Shia LaBeouf talked about how sexy his mom is (the link goes to a very jerky column about it, but I'm too lazy to find a less biased one) and how his mother used to walk around the house naked with her friends. Something to that effect, anyway. In any case, I was very creeped.

  BUT . . . yeah. It's very hard to get dressed in the morning, fighting feelings of guilt as your child screams and pounds on the door from the outside, missing you. Also, our bathroom has a sliding door, no lock. *sigh*

  What was on your list of things you were definitely going to do with your child that did not end up going the way you thought? Or were you able to be practically perfect in every way, a la Mary Poppins? Tell me about it, mamas.

Day 17: One Thing I Wish I Was Great At

Trying new things.

I hate it.

I'm one of those people who orders the same thing every time I go to a restaurant.

I like vacationing at the same places (like Waterton and Disneyland).

At a place I love with people I love. Perfect.

I like hanging out with the same people that I enjoy.

I have no desire to skydive.

I don't like getting lost in cities I've never been to.

I don't like meeting new people.

I wish I did. I honestly do. Especially being married to McKay, who thrives on doing new things. He's always up for an adventure. But the problem is, the first time I do something, I'm so freaked out inside that I rarely enjoy it. Reminiscing about it later is far more fun for me than actually experiencing it. If I do an activity/go somewhere/do whatever it is enough, then it becomes familiar and I know what I'm doing and I can relax and enjoy it. But it takes a while. And McKay usually doesn't want to do whatever new activity we're doing even a SECOND time, let alone enough times for me to be comfortable with it. So when we're doing an activity, generally he's either slightly bored or I'm uncomfortable.

  So I wish I were good at trying new things.

  And please don't give me the "if you do new things often enough, you'll learn to enjoy it!" speech.
 It's not true.

  You can't make me you with enough practice. It's just my genetic make up. So I say this with love, but--
back off, extroverts.

  I'll still try new things.

  I just wish I liked it.


 
What do you wish you were good at?

He's Got the Moves Like Jagger

 Since learning "Whose Line is it Anyway?" is coming back, I've been watching old episodes online, reminiscing and smiling at the countless number of Monica Lewinsky jokes.

  Lincoln likes the musical numbers best. Here's him dancing to a (rather inappropriate) hoedown!

   Also note that this was taking place at the same time as my facebook post about Lincoln digging a piece of toast out of the trash (that's what he's snacking on in the video). I let him eat it because eh, at least it was whole wheat. Obviously it was a great parenting day all around.

  Aaaaaaaand, yet another bonus spring picture! For those of you who are from Lancaster and think spring is a two-week season . . . it's not. Different trees/bushes are seriously in bloom for months here. And it's awesome.

 

Aren't these tree blossoms friggin' amazing?! They remind me of Minnie Mouse.

Day 13: Five Weaknesses I Have

1. Self control. Especially when it comes to food. You may have seen my latest facebook post, in which I discussed the current sociopolitical climate. Haha! Just kidding. I talked about how I thought I burned my tongue, but it turned out I ate too many sweet tarts from Easter. But not only did I eat vast amounts of sweet tarts; I couldn't even begin to tell you how many fun-sized Hersheys, Kit-Kats, Whoppers, Reese's Eggs (they're better in egg shape), and Cadburry Mini Eggs I've eaten over the past four days. I actually feel sick at the idea of eating more chocolate. IT FINALLY HAPPENED. Anyway, yeah, self control. Need it.

2. Science. I think McKay secretly thinks I'm stupid because every time he starts talking about his work my mouth gapes open and a little drool comes out as the chemistry jargon does a jig over my head. But I'm truly not stupid. Math isn't my best, but I got an "A" in the online College Algebra course I took a few terms ago. If you don't know what an achievement that is, you've never taken an online math class. I also got straight A's through most of high school, ending with over a 4.0 GPA when I graduated. Anyway, I'M NOT STUPID. I'm just bad at science. I can memorize all the terms, but what they really mean makes no sense to me. Does not compute.

3. Getting the last word. I need to let things go.

4. Being "in the moment". I get really distracted by all the electronic thingies that I like so much, so it's hard for me sometimes to be in the here-and-now. I really enjoy Waterton (a small Canadian town we go to every summer if you're new here) because there's not really another option but being present.

5. Walking. Or basically anything to do with my feet, I am very uncoordinated. In high school people took my uncoordinatedness as a "saunter", and would judge me accordingly. One boy in PE told me that from my walk he thought I either must be a total B, or that I just didn't care about anything. Really, I just don't know how to walk correctly.


  What are your weaknesses?

Day 12: A Typical Day in the Life of Julia

 This is my last week or so.

7:30 AM: Wake up from McKay throwing Lincoln on top of me before he rushes out to the bus.

7:31-8:30 AM: Try to wake up properly, get dressed, feed Lincoln crackers and Cutie oranges, breakfast of champions. I eat leftover Easter candy, even though I promised myself I wouldn't eat any until noon.

8:30 AM: Lincoln (hopefully) goes down for a nap. I put on make-up, eat real breakfast, then play video games and/or watch "Veronica Mars", which I recently became addicted to. I'm in the third season.I might prod myself into blogging.

10:30 AM: Lincoln wakes up. I feed him some more, do dishes, clean up, play with Lincoln, etc. I also do errands around this time.

1:00 PM: Bored. Go on walk and talk to Mom (or friends occasionally) on phone for about an hour.

3:00 PM: Lincoln has second nap if I'm lucky. More video games/"Veronica Mars".

4:00 PM: If I'm feeling productive, start getting dinner together while feeding Lincoln more finger foods. At this point of the day, I'm wearing down the clock.

6:00 PM: Lincoln goes to bed. I waste time.

7:00 PM: McKay comes home from work. We eat dinner if I was feeling motivated enough to cook. If I'm in a good mood, he nags me into playing a board game or something. If it was a bad day, he lets me veg until bed.

9:30 PM: Reading, then bedtime.


   I'm a boring person, sorry. Some days I'm more interesting, but my excuse is that coming home from vacation is hard, and I'm just trying to survive Lincoln's never-ending teething; I tried counting his teeth today (I know he has at least 10, but I think it may be in the 12-14 range), and he bit me. That really hurt, Charlie.

 

Day 11: A Few of My Pet Peeves

  Burping. Hate it. It's right at face-level, so you can smell it right off. Ugh.

  When McKay leaves all the cupboard doors open after looking for something. Or when he fails to clean up the hair that inevitably covers our bathroom after he cuts his own hair.

  Waking up in the morning to the house being a mess. Especially if there's a huge pile of dirty dishes. Especially if it's a Monday.

  Line cutters. I feel my blood pressure rising just thinking of line cutters. It's so friggin' rude!

  When my creativity well runs dry. Usually seems to happen when I'm in the mood to do something creative. When all I want to do is play video games or watch Netflix, I have creativity leaking out of every orifice. I'm just too lazy to do anything with it.

  Empty water bottles in the fridge. If they're empty, FILL THEM UP.


  Um. . . yeah. A lot of things bug me. I could continue, but I'll spare you.

  What are your pet peeves?

  P.S. HAPPY EASTER! McKay bought me a new battery for my laptop, which was at the point where if it wasn't plugged in, it would automatically turn off. Yayyyyy, new battery! I was in charge of the egg hunt, and thought three-four bags of candy seemed completely reasonable for two adults and one baby.

  I was wrong. So. Much. Candy.

  I'll post some video and pics another day. Because I like being weeks behind for some reason.

Day 10: My Most Embarrassing Moment

  My entire life is pretty much a giant embarrassing moment, let's be honest.

  I actually already answered this in the last 30 Day Challenge I did, although that one was the Most Awkward First Impression I've Ever Had. It covers both of them, though, and I remember thinking I was quite funny when I wrote it at the time, so you should click on the link and read it.

  Other than that, there was the time I fell down some stairs, which opened up to the main quad at school. All my friends would regularly hang out right at that particular area, too, and they found it highly amusing. I found their amusement amusing, and also a bit disconcerting. I mean, they are supposed to like me, right?

  OOH, I thought of a good one I haven't told you yet, though! It's slightly disgusting too, which I think gives it a bonus.

  I was on a date with a guy I'd thought was cute for a very long time. We were at the movies.

   I had a scab on my arm that had been driving me nuts for a few days, so I did what I secretly hope everyone does with scabs when they're bored: I picked at it.

  I finally got it off and flicked it at the floor (yes, I was contributing to the grossness of movie theater floors. Sorry).

   Unfortunately, my aim was off, and I flicked it on my date's leg.

  Did I mention he was wearing shorts?

  He totally felt it.

  He gave me his best WEIRDED OUT face while rubbing his leg. And yeah, he was looking at me.

  He totally knew.

  For my part, I stared resolutely at the screen, pretending to be oblivious and hoping he'd think the scab I flung on his leg was in his imagination.

  We never went out again.


  Tell me your embarrassing stories! Especially if they're date-oriented, I love a bad date story.

Songs That Make Me Rant

  A lot of things make me rant. The Harry Potter movies. The phrase "I could care less". Kevin Bacon. The ending of LOST. Here are a few songs that are sure to have me ranting the whole time it's playing on the radio (and no, I can't just change the station because then I couldn't treat McKay to the same one-sided conversation he's heard at least a dozen times before).

•   Taylor Swift's "Love Story". I think this song makes anyone even remotely acquainted with literature want to blow their brains out. Romeo and Juliet? Really? You want to kill yourselves over a series of small miscommunications? And the far, far worse comparison--HAVE YOU EVER READ THE SCARLET LETTER, WOMAN?? That makes no friggin' sense in your context whatsoever and is not as romantic as you think it is. Stop pulling allusions to literature into your songs if you don't know what they mean.

• Michael Buble's "Just Haven't Met You Yet". I love/hate this song. It's really fun to sing along to, but it gets me ranting every time because it has some of the worst rhymes ever.  "I know some day it'll all work out/and you'll make me work so we can work to work it out.". Really? If you were to make a drinking game and take a sip for every time Michael says "work", you would be hammered after one playing. Or maybe not, I really have no idea how much drinking getting hammered requires. But still. I also dislike perpetuating the idea that OF COURSE none of your relationships have worked; You haven't met "the one" yet! Once you do, you will change all your ways and everything will magically WORK OUT. If it doesn't, well, then it just wasn't "the one", I guess! The problem could never possibly be you! [also take note of that, Tay-Tay]

•  Bruno Mars' "Grenade". Geez, no wonder that chick wasn't that into you. You are WAYYY too intense. And kind of whiny. Reminds me of guys that would always complain about being "Friend Zoned". Dude, that was us being nice, saying we didn't want to ruin our friendship. Really, we were just not interested because you're creepy intense.

 Any of you guys have strong reactions to songs on the radio?

We Are One [Insert Lion King 2 Song]

  Being a child is kind of what I imagine being high is like. Your thoughts make no kind of sense, but they seem very important and dramatic anyway.

  I remember when I was probably four years old, I thought that I was everyone. Or everyone was me. Like, when anyone else in the world would talk, my consciousness would rush into them and they would forget that they were me. Then their consciousness would rush back into me when it was my turn to talk. So we were all one big person, in a way, we just didn't realize it. Reading "Grendel" in high school really freaked me out because I realized I had the same reasoning as a child as a fictional monster. Then I realized that this meant that it was actually maybe possibly semi-normal to have thoughts like that, since the author obviously must have thought of it, too. Right? Right??

  Anyway, this idea of everyone being one person soon turned troubling to me. I remember pondering the implications of it in the bathtub (as one does at four years old) and realizing that this meant I was probably a bank robber sometimes. Which was the worstest thing I could think of being at the time.

  So I did what any four year old who realized they may have forgotten that they are a bank robber when their consciousness isn't in them would do. I prayed and begged Heavenly Father to please, please, please forgive me if I had ever robbed any banks.

  Kids, amIright?

  Any of you guys have strange philosophical ideas as a child?

Me, "Helping" During Set Building

ME: Where's the nail-remover thingy?

SET DESIGNER: You mean a hammer?

ME: No! The . . . you know, thingy? That looks like monster teeth?

SET DESIGNER: A stapler remover?

ME: Yes! Staples. Not nails. Blonde is my natural color, in case you couldn't tell.


  In my defense, I had just ingested an awful lot of paint fumes.


  Any of you guys sound like an idiot lately?

Party Animals

  McKay worked late last night and missed the last bus home. Which meant Lincoln and I got to drive a half-hour to Corvallis to pick him up, and then another half-hour drive home.

  We had planned a Lord of the Rings marathon, but since it was already 8 by that point, we decided to just stick with the Fellowship, since the extended version would end about midnight. Then we would have some Martinelli's and toast in the New Year.

  We made it to the end of the first disk. Well, I did. McKay fell asleep somewhere in the first hour, while I asked a bunch of technical questions he didn't know the answer to. Like, are wizards born? Can they reproduce? What IS Sauron, race-wise? Why are giant eagles always so willing to do Gandalf's bidding, yet he seems to forget about the possibilities there unless he's about to die?

  For the record, I think I would make an excellent hobbit.

  Anyway, by the time the screen said, "Insert disk two", I pulled out the Martinelli's, had a nice swig, dragged the mostly unconscious McKay to bed and promptly fell asleep myself.

  It was 10:30.


   How did you guys ring in the New Year? Probably not as awesomely as us.

My Celebrity Encounter

  As I sat and wrote in my journal at the airport last night, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a woman sit across from me. Most of her outfit was reminiscent of something Poison Ivy might wear, but much less attractive. She also had on a camo hat that said "FRESH" in glitter lettering for reasons unknown to mankind. She immediately asked me what my sign is.

  "Libra," I said without looking up.

  "Oh, so you love to read!" She said.

  "Yes," I said, still not looking up from my journal.

  "I'm a writer!" She said cheerily. I looked up, wondering if I was, in fact, meeting an author that I knew, and would then learn a valuable lesson about judging talkative people at the airport.

  "Really? That's cool," I said, still writing while I talked.

  The woman then handed me a small paper book. And when I say "paper", I don't need paperback. I mean construction paper. The kind of book my mom would help me make when I was seven and wrote things with titles like, "Timmy the Broken Crayon", which was a total rip-off of one of my favorite books at the time. Her book had a clip-art picture of a fairy on the moon on the cover.

  I can't remember the title for the book, but I do remember that it was by Marcia Moonstar. At this point I began to pray Lincoln would push the stroller back to my area so McKay could talk to Ms. Moonstar. He's been known to have full conversations with drunk people on the metro.

  "Can you believe water is three dollars a bottle here?!" Marcia Moonstar said.

  "Mmm," I said.

  "I had some coffee earlier and now I'm a bit hyped up!" said Marcia Moonstar. Everything she said ended with an exclamation point. I was wondering whether she added cream and crack to her coffee.

  Finally, McKay and Lincoln did wander over.

  "Oh, so he's YOURS!" Marcia Moonstar said. "What's your little  boy's sign?"

  "I don't know," I said honestly, "His birthday is January 14th."

  "I think that's Capricorn!" Marcia Moonstar exclaimed.

  "Could be, sure," I said, now transcribing our conversation into my journal.

  "What are you writing?!" Marcia Moonstar said.

  "I've kept a journal since 6th grade," I said, clutching its edges, worried she might run over and snatch it out of my grasp.

  "Oh. No poetry?" She said, clearly disappointed in me.

  "No, I don't do poetry," I said.

  "Well, I write fabulous poems," She said.

  "Who's your favorite poet?" McKay asked politely.

  "ME!" She said. She then admitted she didn't read many other people's poetry. I was somehow unsurprised.

   Luckily another victim sat by Marcia Moonstar at that point and was immediately asked her sign. Upon hearing that the newcomer was a Scorpio, Marcia Moonstar said, "Oh, I have a poem that you would LOVE!" as she pulled out another paper book of poems.

What Did I Expect?

  Last night at rehearsal, a man asked us for permission to take some photos while we acted. We all agreed, and I didn't think too much about it. Until the photographer came up to me during our break to show me some of the shots he had taken.

  I meant to glance at it, give some generic praise and go back about my business. But as I looked, my heart fell through my butt and I yelled, "My legs look SO FAT!"

  "What did you expect?" The photographer asked, mystified.

  I tried not to take this too personally; I DID have a ten pound baby, after all, I feel like I should be entitled to fat legs. But the real kick in the gut for me was that I actually have been trying really hard to lose my excess baby weight. I've been dieting for months, and exercising more than I ever have in my life (not that that's saying much, but still). And here I was, (stupid me!) thinking it had made some kind of difference.

  I went back to the side project I'd been working on, trying not to wig out. The photographer then handed me his camera to show me another picture, which he deemed as "better". Like an idiot, I reached for it, full of hope. That last picture must've been a fluke, right? I thought.

  "I have a huge muffin top!" I cried. Trying to salvage my reaction with a joke, I said, "At least there's photoshop, right?"

  "Oh, yeah, good idea!" The photographer said.

  I came home and cried.


  Any of you guys have an illusion shattered lately?

When Bed Bugs Bite

  Last night I dreamed that, due to some natural disaster or another, there were a large amount of baby ducks that had recently became orphaned. Due to logic similar to "you can't help them get out of the shell or they'll be too weak" (never understood that), these baby birds could not be flown to their next location, but had to go via a tiny raft that would eventually drift them to some kind of safe haven or another. I saw on TV that many people were volunteering to transport these baby ducks from their last raft to a new one that would then take them to their final destination. There were short images of attractive firemen herding baby ducks onto tiny canoes, and a number to call if you wanted to volunteer.

  I quickly headed down to the harbor to offer what little help I could, and was thrown in a group of like-minded people. We were greeted by an obese woman in a hideous sweater, who was knee-deep in the water, grabbing at an incoming raft. Rather than the cute, yellow down ducklings I'd seen on TV, these guys obviously had not had an easy voyage. Most were black and brown with muck, and many were in a state of decay. The obese woman grabbed one and said, "These guys aren't good for anything anymore except hors d'oeuvres." She then took a huge bite out of the dead duckling. Its insides looked like a hard boiled egg.

  Horrified, I looked at the rest of the ducklings on the raft. The majority of them were dead, and probably going to be the greeter's snack.

  "Yuck, this one's slimy!" Another volunteer exclaimed as they picked up a rotting duckling, covered in mucus.

  Another raft came in. "Oh, yeah, I heard about these. They definitely didn't mention these guys on the commercial," another volunteer chuckled. On the raft were decapitated baby human heads. I gaped, thunderstruck. One, a toddler, still had their torso and arms. The arms flailed when the volunteer picked it up by the hair, and I realized it was not dead. Or at least it was still capable of reflexes. The volunteer chuckled affably and patted it on the head before setting it on a new raft to take it somewhere else.

  In the morning, I told McKay about my dream.

  "You are a sick and twisted person!" McKay said.

 "It wasn't me! It was my subconscious!" I protested.

 "EXACTLY." McKay said, backing away from me.


   Seriously, what is wrong with me?

I'm the Devil, Apparently

McKay: [after asking me my opinions about various Christmas movies] I don't much care for your taste in movies, Juju!

Me: You knew what I was when you married me.

McKay: That sounds like a seminary movie I watched in high school.

Me: Yeah. I'm the snake.

McKay: You're the devil?!

Me: No, the SNAKE.

McKay: . . . Who was the devil in that metaphor.

Me: Oh. Well. You knew what I was when you married me.

Blegghhh

  Hi.

  I'm really not sure why I'm posting because I have absolutely nothing of interest to say other than to ask: Do you guys ever have days where you feel incredibly stressed and you're not sure why? Like, you want to cry, tear your hair out, curl up into a ball and eat ice cream out of a container, AND THERE'S NO REAL REASON?

  Not because I feel that way, of course. I'm asking for a, uh, friend. Yeah.

  In other news, can you guess what we're going to be for Halloween? Unless I've already told you, that's cheating. Here's a hint. Lincoln found one of our props:

    It's gonna be awesome. I love Halloween. YAY, COSPLAY!