If you want space, go to Utah

Crop Physiologists are like Styrofoam Plates

2011-02-28T22:14:00.000-07:00

One of the great joys of being a graduate student, AND working, is that you get to stay insanely late at work, long after the normal people have gone home for the day and are off eating grapes and thinking about things like the next season of American Idol and talking lions.

The other night, after I was done staying insanely late, I was leaving the building and spied an eerie glow from the window next door, belonging to the crop physiology people.

There had been no one around for hours, so I had to investigate.

Could it be? Apparently Crop Physiologists are not concerned about:

1. the health of their computer screen

2. the planet

3. the fact that the nosy graduate student next door will take pictures of their computers and place them on the Internet.

In an attempt to expose and shame them, I've decided to reveal their identities. I think the baby is mostly to blame here. I'm guessing there's no way she's wearing cloth diapers, either.

And their top secret data. Feel free to save, then zoom way in to read some numbers or something. I'm really sure it's top secret.

All future rumors will have to be about Justin Beiber...

2011-02-22T13:03:00.000-07:00

...because hopefully this will end my quest to make people believe me about Harvey, the camel. Even pictured here with a non-camel llama for size reference!

I'm not even, however, begin to hypothesize about this fellow. Let's just call him a donkey and get on with our day, shall we?

Of all the things I could name him, I definitely won't be picking Harvey

2011-02-16T09:12:00.000-07:00

I took this picture on the way to work this morning, and it made me so happy.
Not because it's a balmy Utah morning, where the air is fresh and the sun is shining...

No, after proclaiming there was a camel on my commute, and the skepticism that followed, and then the camel disappearing, it has finally come back to vindicate me!!

Now, I wish I had a telephoto lens, or some other fancy pants equipment, but I foresee a minor, muddy trespassing event in my future...

I also submit this picture for my southern friends. The last time we were together, one of them, who now lives in New York City was talking about how they saw a cow on the subway, and how they probably just couldn't fit it in a cab. I was all "Fit a COW in a CAB?! Don't you even need special permits to bring livestock on the subway?"

And they laughed at me, because they were talking about the Chick-fil-a cow. A person in a costume.
I said that it wasn't my fault, because I pass at least 100 cows on my way to work every day. Sometimes sheep, donkeys, and horses. Now, I will happily add camel to that list.
Take that, camel haters.

He's a man from outer space and we're taking him to his spaceship

2011-02-08T22:27:00.000-07:00

If you are awaiting the second coming of some diety, or maybe the arrival of aliens before you drink your magic kool-aid, the arrival might just have happened the other day:

That is all.

I believe you as much as that ex-boyfriend I had once

2011-01-26T12:01:00.000-07:00

Oh, Seventh Avenue catalog company and your weak threats:

If you would actually stick to your weak promise of NEVER SENDING ME A CATALOG AGAIN, all the way to December, I promise to buy one of your fine, fine products.

How about the double deep fryer?

MMMMM! Elite meat!

My oven has been feeling bad about its looks lately. This could perhaps make it feel better?

What I would hide in my wall clock: My minature statue of president Taft and some Flintstones vitamins. For the end of the world, and such.

Who needs to travel the world when you can just drink and pretend to travel? So much cheaper!!

I know I wouldn’t stay single for long if I had this bad boy on my bed.. What man can resist the wild horse motif?

So much to choose from, I almost hope they really don’t send me a catalog for a whole year!

The Scott Baio Project, 2011

2011-01-21T09:40:00.000-07:00

Many people make New Year’s resolutions. To them I say “Pishaw!” Why set yourself up for inevitable failure by outlining 50 things to do in the year, and feeling like you’ve failed come December? Usually my resolutions are somewhere along the lines of “stop abusing cats,” or “stop eating 5 bags of Cheetos per day,” things I don’t ALREADY do, so isn’t it fantastic that I can keep NOT doing them?
Despite these feelings, this year I’ve decided to make one fantastically awesome resolution,and stick to it.

On the top of a local peak are these two white billboards. Kim went up there several years ago. Who knows why they are there, but I say, “who cares?” It is my resolution to hike up there, after the snowmelt and proudly post a beautiful poster of Scott Baio on one of the sad, plain boards.

This resolution will take lots of work on my part, trust me! I will have to:

1. find a suitable poster of Scott Baio,

2. Hike up 3,000 feet to post him,

3. find the right group of people for my expedition, and

4. get in good enough shape to hike up a mountainside with the pack of beer that is required to celebrate Scott Baio, Top of the World 2011.

I get giddy when I think of the supreme happiness I will have looking out the window at work up to where Scott sits, on the top of the world, as he belongs.
I will keep you posted about The Scott Baio Project 2011.

Trademark this, sucka!

2011-01-19T22:24:00.001-07:00

When I announced my GRAND RETURN TO BLOGGING ™ I neglected to note that I really didn’t have much to say to the masses of the internet. Pretty much all I had was a picture of a paint stick.

Yes, this was all I had to go on. Pretty sad, isn’t it? Although, at the time I thought it was quite funny, because the paint stick is reminding you of all the things you need for painting, but one of them is A PAINT STICK? Do I need another one, or can this one count? It was way too much thinking for a Sunday afternoon, still wearing my ski pants in Home Depot. I do have lines that can be crossed, you know.

Anyway, looking back over the past year, I see I really haven’t been very faithful to keeping track of my life on this blog. It is nice to have a record of the things I do (what I can remember), and my mom likes it. And I like my mom, so it’s sort of a win-win situation.

In the grand tradition of getting caught up on my blog, and pretty much doing what all my other friends who blog are doing on their blogs, here’s a recap of 2010.

January: apparently I started the year sitting in my house and staring at the walls, because I have no idea what I really did that month. I’m sure my MLK Jr. Day rocked, though.

Feburary: We celebrated my friend’s birthday with the dorkiest cake known to man. Short of a 26 sided die cake, this is the next dorkiest thing you could make.

March: again, I’m drawing a blank, was there a sale at the liquor store that month?

April: I traveled to Montana to play hockey with some ladies who really know what hockey is about: playing and drinking. Unfortunately for me, I turned out to be one of the more sober ones… I did come away from the tournament with a loose Coors Light can in my hockey bag, which stayed there until the summer when it finally broke, making all of my gear smell pretty interesting. It was not a pleasant day playing defense with me during that game!

May: My Dad broke his hip and I traveled back to the homeland. I got to see my smoogie-smoo niece, and I introduced her to the fine art of cheek pinching.

I also took pictures of a water tower from my dad’s hospital room and corresponding pictures the same water tower to show him they were same water tower. Then, I had to take a map of the town and a compass, go off the hospital campus (less metal there), ordinate my position and determine for him what direction another water tower was from his window. I continued to spend the rest of my week doing similarly important tasks.

Back in Utah, my good friend Jill came to see me, we went to Vegas for the very first (and maybe last time), and traveled to exotic locations like the Hoover Dam, the Grand Canyon and DONKEY TOWN, also known as the place I will retire and own a donkey named Clem.

May wore me out, so I spent June traveling the Gates of Lodore, where the water level was so much higher than normal and the hail was so much bigger than normal that me and my little inflatable ducky pretty much met our matches. I also drank too much whiskey and fell into the river in the middle of the night, but let’s not talk too much about that.

I also took the first of many trips to the City, where I hung out on a classic climb and got a spa session from one of my favorite people.

July was the month I was invaded by moths. I also went back to the City to visit my favorite huge rat, Mitchell

August was a big month, but in a different way from May. I dressed up like a Viking and achieved iPhone video legacy. I took a picture that reminds me to always be clever. I received the best post card ever, and I took a very unflattering picture of my cat.

September was the month I turned the ripe young age of 32. I celebrated by running a marathon, climbing in southern Utah, and running a race in a ton of mud. Oh , and I started school AGAIN.

October is the month I lost a very, very dear friend, and I flew a kite off the top of a mountain.

November we found the meaning of the song “My Own Private Idaho.”

December: Champions at the Park City hockey tournament,. Back home for more cheek pinching, and confusing babies by convining them that a potato is a fantastic toy, visiting good friends.

January: Paint Stick.

Get ready for an exciting year, y’all!

2011 will be off the hook!

2011-01-06T19:29:00.000-07:00

Hey look! I might start blogging again! I also might start ending all my sentences with "phone cord."

Let's see which one happens first

phone cord.

Science Diet® Pet Food Formulated for overall health and wellness- YEAH RIGHT!

2010-08-16T17:04:00.000-06:00

An open letter to the makers of Science Diet® brand pet foods:

I may not be an advertising executive, but I'm sure you can do much better with the photo that is currently on the backside of your current cat food packaging. I understand stereotypes are the undercurrent of how we relate to each other in this crazy world, and how the snap judgements we make about each other allow us to navigate the day to day social maze we live in a tad bit easier. However, imagine your customer, after paying $13.00 for the small bag of cat food she wants to feed her cat- the cat food she has to buy because apparently her cat likes to sneak sodas and taffy when her owner is not home, and she never flosses, so her teeth fall out - imagine her sheer delight when she turns the bag over and sees this:

I mean, COME ON! Is this just not playing a bit too much on the "crazy cat lady," motif? The hearts, the turtleneck, the mousy brown hair, the completely crazy look on this lady's face and the cat who looks like it would rather be anywhere else but in these loving turtleneck sweater clad arms? Is it an accident her left hand isn't in the picture, since we all know she's single and she spends her nights listening to easy rock and watching Bridget Jones' Diary over and over again. Why can't this be a man? Or a child? Or better yet, a lovable old granny with fun grey hair? WHY THIS LADY, HILLS SCIENCE DIET? WHY?

Okay, maybe I'm a little too close to this issue to be impartial.

In the meantime, please consider the granny. If you do, next time I'll buy the medium bag. That's $23!

Love, Me.

P.S. Please note, no turtleneck. I draw the line there.

I'm being taunted by religious messengers

2010-07-07T18:54:00.000-06:00

If you remember, those sassy Jehovah's witnesses were trying to convert me with a Kenny Rogers Jesus and some old magazines.

Let's just say, they've been getting sassier...

Instead of March 2010, we're going back to 2009, 'cause it must have been a blessed year.

but, can I have Kenny back? This is just... wrong.

Are your stones hot, or are you just happy to see me?

2010-06-29T10:59:00.000-06:00

The next stop on our FANTASTICALLY AWESOME trip of AWESOMENESS (FATOA) was the new age hippie hotspot, Sedona, AZ. Sedona is very pretty, and apparently there are several spots in the area where all of the earth’s energies align or something. Those places are called vortexes, and Jill and I were determined to re-align out chi, and re-align it HARD.

Even the graffiti in Sedona is happy, life affirming graffiti.

The vortex we picked was the lazy man’s vortex, because it’s located pretty much close to town and you can park right down the trail from it. Jill and I appreciate lazy man’s vortexes. After a short little hike, our lazy little chis were at the vortex.
I expected to see mystical fairies and unicorns battling evil demons, but all I could see were buildings. Sort of sad.

I think something wrong happened to Gnomie’s chakra here. He looks a little scared.

You can just tell that all is right here with my auras. Not my hair though, I guess vortexes don’t work on hair.

It’s a chakra alignment party. The lady in the white had some kind of stones she was recharging up here. The guy, I think he was recharging his dating life by hitting on the lady in the white.

Happy flowers in Sedona.

In case the vortex wasn’t enough, Jill and I ate at some happy hippie restaurant. She got the chakra bowl (really, it was called that). I got the salad that didn’t promise anything for your chakra, but all that roughage was great for my digestion. YES! WINNER!

After Sedona, we headed back to Williams to pick up some camping supplies (read: alcohol). I have a feeling that the cup holders in the carts weren’t designed for this use in mind. However our choice in wine was validated by two other customers who saw our cup holder and said “I love that wine.”

Off to the Grand Canyon so Jill could camp for the first time since she was a kid! I must say I am super proud of her for camping not just one, but TWO nights.

After struggling to set up my friend's behemoth tent (I figured my little 2 person tent wouldn't provide the luxury camping experience I hoped for) we raced out to catch our first glimpse of the Grand Canyon at sunset.

If you've never seen the Grand Canyon, I highly recommend it at sunset for the first time. Stunning!

Then of course I had to do this which not only concerned Jill and the rest of the visitors of the viewpoint, but I 'm positive I could hear my mother cringing from about 2,000 miles away.

Totally worth it, though.

Mannequin 3: Too much pie!

2010-06-17T09:03:00.000-06:00

Coming down from the natural donkey high, Jill and I continued getting our kicks down Route 66, straight to Williams Arizona.

The High Point of Williams? We get to sleep in a brothel! The Red Garter Inn to be exact!

If someone can tell me why it looks like there are two skid marks leading right up to the front, I’d appreciate it. I think a male mannequin from the Sears in Phoenix stole a car and went joyriding to Williams where he saw the female prostitute mannequin hanging out the front window and that’s what caused the skid marks.

It’s just a guess, though.

As a side note, how EXCITING is it to see the place you’ll be staying decorated with a slutty mannequin hanging off the front? That doesn’t happen everyday, no sir!

After getting the grand tour, Jill and I settled into Big Bertha’s room. What does a brothel room look like? Prepare yourself, people!

SEXY! Wallpaper borders make me HOT!

Here, I’ve decided to make it hotter. Despite the lady being see through, I think she’s pretty cute. Any takers?

(as a side, the fact she’s see through will become pertinent in a bit)

After perusing the wonderful downtown offerings of Williams Arizona, and meeting these fine folks:

Jill and I retired to our deluxe balcony for a few pre-dinner cocktails. We had a lovely view of the rooftop and some Model T’s parked on the main street, which no fewer than 34 people took pictures of while we sat on the balcony for an hour.

We were just thinking of eating when we hear a distant “rat a tat tat.” It kept getting closer and closer. What could it be? A parade?

Why, the SOUTH HAS RISEN AGAIN! In Arizona?

Take a picture people, but don’t worry, when they hit the end of the street…

They’re turning around. YEE HAW! YOU YANKS BETTER WATCH OUT!

DRUNK YANKEES TOO!

Okay, then we ventured a whole quarter block to some restaurant that my book told me to go to because they have good margaritas. Also, the movie Midnight Run was partially filmed there, which meant nothing to me, since I’ve never seen Midnight Run. Has anyone? Should I add it to my Netflix queue?

I wonder how many Americans now know the word “queue” now that Netflix is around.

Margaritas were had. Too many, actually (see below).

Not sure what’s happening here.

Here’s my fine dinner, complete with flag to let me know the country of origin. I don’t want none of that knockoff Canadian fajitas.

At some point of the trip I had been telling Jill my penchant for food fighting, specifically that exact moment you throw food in people’s face when they didnn’t know it was coming. Just thinking of some of those food fight moments make me still laugh today.

Anyway, after I finished my ~~Canadian~~ Mexican fajitas, I had one lone tortilla. Seeing the opportunity to throw food without causing a big mess, I hurled it at Jill's face. One moment it was in my hand and one moment it… wasn’t hitting Jill!

Crap! Where did the fajita go? Oh, only to the next table where a lovely man wearing all leather and with long ratty hair and his female partner were sitting, breaking bones with their teeth and playing that game where you stab the knife really fast between your open finger.

Okay, I think they were eating chimichangas, but it was close enough to the knife thing for me.

For a split second I thought about ducking under the table but decided to be a man about it and go over there. For scary looking bikers, they were surprisingly okay that I threw a flour disc at their heads while they ate. In fact, the lady gave me a whole new idea to try the next time I would like to be inappropriate with a tortilla at a restaurant.

It involves the Silence of the Lambs, if you were wondering.

Jill and I decided to go across the street for a nice slice of pie. I had high hopes when I saw Office Space quotes in the menu:

Unfortunately the slices of pie weren’t nice at all, but mean, evil pie pieces.

After a while, I just gave up with the forks, because all my energy had to go to digesting the whipped cream.

Jill gave up too

And she fell for the old, “Wait, I didn’t get that picture, try it again” pie push in the face trick. Oldest one in the book.

After making more friends in the pie place (read: dirty looks), we decided to leave.

Settling in for the night, Jill got a nice visit from the see through lady. Apparently the brothel is haunted and sometimes the ghosts will tickle your neck while you sleep. Jill is apparently Big Bertha’s type. No one liked me at the hostel :(

In the morning, we got to meet the owner of the brothel, John, who knows everything about everything and is totally AWESOME!

We also ate breakfast with our new Belgian friends. This is Fritz and non-Fritz, because I can’t remember the other name. In fact, I can’t remember which one is actually Fritz , so this could really be a picture of non-Fritz and Fritz.

Fritz and Non-Fritz had taken months off their jobs to come to America and drive all of route 66 from Chicago to California – and then go back. I told Fritz and NF that it was interesting of them to take a vacation here because the median age of tourists in this area is about 87.5, or so it seemed. I figured two hip Belgian guys would have wanted to party late at night in nightclubs in New York or something, not eat breakfast with pie molesters in Arizona. I should be a travel agent, or something.

Anyway, we had to say by to the Fritzes and John because we had some chakra aligning to do in Sedona...

Dear Jehovah's Witnesses

2010-06-16T09:39:00.000-06:00

I'd appreciate it if you were going to try an collect my immortal soul for your religion, if you'd be kind enough to give me handouts that weren't 3 MONTHS OLD! Tacky!

Also, why does your Jesus look like a young pre-surgery Kenny Rogers?

Just wondering.

Those exceptional camels!

2010-06-03T09:52:00.000-06:00

There is a dreamland. In this dreamland there are many magical things.

To get there, you must first venture to exactly 3,333.33 feet above sea level. Once you are there, you must first learn about the harrowing process that our forefathers had to go through to build the path to dreamland.

The camels are what held it together, apparently.

After appreciating camels and stumbling upon small girl performing flips in a back room for a group that calls itself the “Kiwanis,” although by the size of their garage sale, they are worshippers of musty smelling clothing and used thermoses from 1992, continue to travel down the magical camel route towards dreamland.

Dreamland takes some time to get to. The road isn’t the best, but the desert welcomes you with beautiful colors, probably because camels pooped there like 150 years ago.

Thank you, camels.

Finally you round a dusty corner and you spy a town, brimming with people and activity and…what is that?

Wha? Donkeys? A land where donkeys and humans live together? It can’t be!

I am shocked. Amazed.

Well, actually I’m not really shocked, since I didn’t drive down that godforsaken dirt road for nothing, but hey, DONKEYS. I LOVE DONKEYS!

I love donkeys that like to peruse clothing.

I love donkeys that have itchy chins.

I love jerky donkeys that like to block the sidewalk.

This here is a baby donkey. How do I know? All the baby donkeys have a carrot with a cross through it on its forehead so we know not to feed the babies carrots, because then they will learn there is a big world outside of donkey town and they will then pack up their suitcase and head off to the big city to become the manager of a Foot Locker.

Sometimes baby donkeys are tired and have to lie down.

When they lie down long enough, the lady from the “classy ass” store comes out and flags him with a cone so us heartless humans don’t run him over. Isn't that sweet?

What do people drive in dreamland?

Of course!

Donkeys even love to watch really awful gunfights, starring Yosemite somebody. Sam? Ned? It was a three letter name...

Ian? Lee? Man, the combination of donkey excitement and heat has wiped my mind...

In dreamland is where you can find the most unique pictures EVER! I think this picture's uniqueness was voted on my the donkeys. They don't have very high standards.

This here is the most expensive building in town, for reasons that should be immediately obvious to you.

Jill and I ate a magical lunch which started to turn her into a donkey.

Then we knew it was time to leave dreamland and head back to the real world. We made a monetary sacrifice to the donkey demi-gods to hopefully allow us to leave.

And then we left dreamland.

But the real reason we left?

Turns out Yosemite Lou is the most attractive man in town.

Followed closely by this guy.

Seriously, take a look at the pictures. First person to show me a more attractive man wins a bag of carrots. Hey the donkeys sure enjoyed them!

For two single girls, this would have never worked out.

Fare the well dreamland donkey town. Until we meet again...

Or until I have to return Clem the donkey. Apparently kidnapping a donkey is frowned upon.

Fire up the old mudhole, Yosemite Mel!

Next Time Kiddos: Food fighting with bikers in Williams AZ, subtitle: Brothel beds are surprising comfortable!

P.S. Thank you camels!

Men in jorts suck

2010-05-28T09:43:00.000-06:00

Onward to the Hoover Dam! For some reason Jill was highly excited to get a dam tour. I don’t really know where her dam enthusiasm came from, but we were booking it from VEGAS, naked man pens in hand from the ~~crap~~ souvenir store, trying to get to the dam before the last tour. Yes, pay attention, I said PENS.

Unfortunately, we were late by ONE GROUP for the dam tour. Seriously this couple in front of us got the last ticket. Plus the guy was wearing jorts (jean shorts) which was a huge no-no in my book. Apparently, when you get the dam tour, you also get a yellow plastic hard hat to signify how much better you are than the rest of the people. Jill and I had to settle for the “power plant tour,” which was significantly cheaper, and there were no hats!

We watched some movie about human perseverance, American ingenuity and about how President Hoover was a cross dresser.

Actually, Jill might have just whispered that fact to me during this movie, in between our plots to kick the jorts guy in the head and steal his yellow hat.

After the movie they separate us, because, although we’re going to the same first stops, the power planties aren’t allowed to ride in the same elevator with the yellow hatties. Probably for the same reason it was good the jorts guy didn’t get within 20 feet of me.

Down into the depths of somewhere we go. The lady is telling us something about how fantastically deep we’re going and how all the concrete in the dam could pave a sidewalk around the equator, or something. These people really love their dam.

That is, until we met Bruce, our tour guide. Bruce is probably the person who is the most interested in the dam still alive today. Unfortunately, the tour is so boring and his intonation is so awful that my brain pretty much shut off within the first sentence.

Bruce tried to dazzle us by using the wooden dowel they use as a pointer in the dam tour. Sorry Bruce, I’m still not paying attention..

I pretty much spent the whole tour watching this guy and trying to figure out how I could slit his throat without too many people noticing. He just seemed too interested in the dam, if you know what I mean. He didn’t need a yellow hat.

Next up was the sexy turbine room. Pretty much a room that, unless you’re a turbine fanatic, will do nothing for you.

Here I am trying to portray the American hard work and ingenuity that went into these turbines.

Ladies and gentlemen, BRUCE!

I spent some time trying to use my camera to read what book was on the table way down in the turbine room. SUCCESS! At least it wasn’t “Essentials of Dam Maintenance.”

Look at that dam worker!

And the part of the tour everyone is excited about. Unlike these turbines that chug away to deliver power to all the drunk people pushing buttons in VEGAS,

This little turbine runs all the power for…the visitors center! And the museum! Wow, our very own turbine! And it looks like a big piece of chocolate!

Then, things got tense. Another tour guide came out to take the yellow hats on for their extended tour. I just pretended the door they were entering was taking them to some holding cell where they would be detained and trained to become a dam slave for the rest of their lives.

Bye bye yellow hats.

Then we got to take the elevator ride back up to the museum, where Bruce was sitting, awaiting questions about the dam, if we had some. So we made one up and got a very lengthy explanation about how the diversion tunnels were sealed or something. One key point is that Bruce kept saying “we” did this and “we” did that. It made me wonder exactly how old he was…

You know, I always though glory hole meant something very, very different.

Jill, don’t get too close to the glory hole!

Museum exhibits tell it like it is. I learned so much.

When Bruce wasn’t looking, I put Gnomey in the glory hole.

As we were leaving the museum to go out on the dam, the guard pointed to another building and said “your tickets include entrance to the old exhibits!”
Because he used the exclamation point, we went.
We walked into this building where a guy was sitting in the lobby. We said "hi" and he said “oh, it just started,” and ushered us into a room.

You know when you see those models of land features that you know it took some model artist like 6 years to make in 1950 and you appreciate all the time it took, but now it’s 2010 and you pretty much are good with Google earth showing you the same thing? Yeah, this was it.

So the lights kept shining on different paper mache mountains and drainages and just when you thought there was no possible place the light hadn’t shone yet, WAIT! We haven’t talked about this little tiny town in Arizona that gets water!

When it finished, Jill, me, and the other man and woman who were the only ones in the 50 seat auditorium were just silent, because we didn’t know if that was the end, because they guy wasn’t coming back in or anything.
So, I basically started clapping and saying “Bravo! WOOOO! That was fantastic! YES!”
The man and woman appreciated that immensely.

Next we finally got to walk on the dam. The moment we've been waiting for.

This also led to a lengthy discussion about the movie "Fools Rush In," with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry.

If you haven't seen it, I would really worry about it too much. Or really at all. Actually, let's never mention it again.

Of course I have to hang over the side where it says: "Do not hang on rail."

Gnomey had a good time, especially when we met some British friends on the dam who usually take their teddy bear with them and take pictures of it, but this time they had left their teddy bear in the car, like the cold heartless people they are. At least I hope they left the window cracked!

After a little dam rock climbing, we were back in the car and off to Kingman.

Next up: Playing the song "Route 66," ON ROUTE 66! CRAZY! Oh, and lots of donkeys and the best day of my life!

P.S. No teddy bears were harmed in the making of this blog post. At least, I don't think so...

Great Southwestern Shakedown, Part 1: I am a failure at VEGAS

2010-05-25T19:04:00.003-06:00

My friend Jill came to visit me from the motherland so we could engage on our yearly pilgrimage to random tourist places in the Western US. See also: let's drive around for hours at a time!

To introduce you to the players in this multi-feature story:

This is me. I'm beautiful. And I can balance on one leg.

This is Jill. She can balance umbrellas on her hand. There's a lot of balancing going on around here!

This is Jill's friend Gnomey. He goes where she goes and she takes pictures of him in the places where she is too. Exceptions: bathrooms, speakeasies and government buildings where photography is prohibited.

Our first stop of the trip was VEGAS. Neither Jill or I had ever been to VEGAS, so we thought we should go. Jill booked us into the classiest of the classy casinos, Wild Bill's Gamblin' Hall and Casino. You know when there's a word like "Gamblin'" in the name, it's CLASSY!

What can I say? We're cheap.

Anyway, upon arrivin' to VEGAS and checkin' in with Wild Bill, we promptly got our room upgraded to the most awesome of the awesomest suites, if you were visiting VEGAS in the 1980s.

I'm pretty sure Don Johnson stayed here at some point. I mean, who doesn't love a bed on a platform? Plus, the mirror requirement was pretty much met by this one spot, easy.

Plus, leather couches and art that looks like a gaping cut on your leg!

Plus the walls were painted with this super glossy paint, and you just know Gloria the maid comes in with a solution of bleach and enzymatic cleaner and just hoses the room down.

Plus a in room Jacuzzi overlooking the strip. I would call it a hot tub, but this is now the 80s, so it's a jacuzzi. More on that later.

Gnomey met some interesting friends in the room.

This is where Gnomey would serve you his Don Johnson special breakfast, after he had convinced you to come up to his room the night before and give you... the Don Johnson Special.

I tried to take some alluring pictures on the giganto-bed.

However, I only succeeded in realizing that I should definitely not pursue my career as a sultry bed model. Sorry everyone.

Finally we headed up the strip in VEGAS. VEGAS is pretty much like we thought, and we were pretty much underwhelmed. Plenty of opportunities to get your picture next to fountains, though.

Then we went into some casino so I could gamble first time ever in my short little life.

Seriously, I didn't know what in the heck I was supposed to do. I thought these things had little levers on it, but it was a bunch of buttons blinking and numbers and cryptic messages.

Finally I figured it out, and then we proceeded to play about $2.00 in the slowest possible way just to get free drinks. It was a feat of super powers, I must tell you.

Jill was a pro.

Gnomey was a winner.

And finally we were winners too, of some strawberry sugar alcohol drink. WINNERS IN VEGAS!

DOUBLE WINNER!

More walking around and securing more drinks for the walking. My pancreas didn't like it too much, though.

Of course we had to stop at the Bellagio to see the fountain show, but Jill saw something more interesting.

Apparently she thinks clowns are all pedophiles. Interesting Jill, interesting...

Jill and I can only take so much drinking and gambling and what have you, mostly because we're old and lame and she was already working on a 3 hour time deficit. We decided to head back to our Gamblin' Hall to watch a band that was called Stagefright or Mindtrap or Lameass or something. And we got to see our first poorly dressed cross dresser of the night, which was interesting because we had been out for like 5 hours already. VEGAS, it always surprises you.

What better way to relax after a night of ~~sugar consumption~~ drinking than to relax in your ~~hot tub~~ Jacuzzi?

Relaxing until I decide to pour a bottle of shampoo in the tub. Don Johnson would never make such a lame mistake!

The next morning brings its own special fun, like $15 omelets, a mile and a half walk in Old Navy flip flops to VEGAS' biggest ~~crap~~ souvenir store, and my demanding a trip to see a big glass instillation.

VEGAS, it was an interesting time. Don't hold our room at the gamblin' hall, though. I guess we're just not VEGAS material.

Up next: Fun at the Hoover Dam, including:

What does this turbine do? AHHHH THE SUSPENSE!

P.S. Don Johnson, Don Johnson's associates or Don Johnson Inc. in no way sponsored this blog post. But I wish he had.

Dear Mom,

2010-05-25T19:03:00.000-06:00

I am going to start posting on my blog again, actually any minute now. I hope you will enjoy the return of your only daughter's deepest thoughts and feelings. I also hope you stop obsessing over that stupid baby with cute chubby cheeks and maybe you will not want to get off the phone with me ON MOTHER'S DAY because "Oh the baby is trying to grab the phone!" is enough of a distraction for you. I am your daughter, she may be your granddaughter, but she's still a stupid baby.

Love,
The best daughter in the world.

I will make you feel bad about yourself

2010-01-02T13:30:00.002-07:00

If you are the type of person to make new year's resolutions, then good for you. I don't like the pressure of setting lofty goals for myself on the same day millions of other people make goals for themselves. It is for that reason that I'm a big fan of Groundhog Day resolutions. Much more low key, and Groundhog's Day always reminds me of Bill Murray and I like Bill Murray.

Yesterday was the first day of 2010, and I wanted to run, not because I had made any resolutions to run, I run quite often and felt like running yesterday mostly because for the first time in a week and a half I was able to breathe freely from both nostrils. Quite an accomplishment.

This is the getup I wore yesterday. I most likely scared every child that looked out their window and happened to see me. Either that, or I sent them into fits of laughter and made them wet their pants. Either way, I was happy.

I think I sort of look like a modern day robot. Beep boop beep beep.
I also must say, this run would have never been possible without the yaktracks Kim got me last year. They are the best present you could give a robot who wants to run in the snow.

So, if your resolution was to exercise more and you looked out the window yesterday and decided it was too snowy/wet/cold to go for a run, then shame on you!

Oh, and you can always join me for making Groundhog Day resolutions!

I've been spending too much time eating meat and listening to psychrock

2009-12-07T17:48:00.003-07:00

And besides, that Steve is so needy.
I have faith I'll be back. Believe in me. And in Bigfoot.

Great things about marathoning, #1

2009-10-01T08:46:00.002-06:00

Being able to eat a big bag of bagels the week leading up to the marathon.
There's a lot of scientific hoo-haa about if carbo loading helps you perform better, and if you should do it, when you should eat carbs, and how many and what kind.

I say let's eschew the science, and if I fail at my goal for the marathon, I'll chalk it up to the fact that I've only run a handful of days in the last week. At least I know my muscles will be well rested! Oh, and full of bagels.

How to make it among the elite

2009-08-21T08:51:00.002-06:00

This past week was spent with fellow invertebrate pathologists in Park City, Utah. I can imagine what you think a week of life spent with 250 invertebrate pathologists must be like, and I know you are insanely jealous of me.
Here are the highlights:

1. Tissue culture workshop, where I ended up leaving the ever important folder with the CD of information and my notes in my hotel room when I left on Wednesday. Fortunately, my co-worker knew enough Spanish to talk to housekeeping to get it back, although he may have indirectly asked her out on a date, too.

2. Watching TV in my nice Park City hotel room. Here, you see TV yoga done to the soundtrack of TLC's song, Creep. Not quite the soundtrack I'd imagine for aligning my chi.

3. Adult Rentals. Use your imagination. Your dirty imagination.

4. The 5K run, which was actually more like 2.75K. The best part of this run is that I was helping and not running. Races are easy when you don't have to run them!

Book Reviews by my cat

2009-08-20T09:22:00.001-06:00

Between a Rock and a Hard Place by Aron Ralston = NO

I have to admit, I sort of agreed with her.

Ere, the party's here!

2009-07-23T19:10:00.000-06:00

About a million years ago, we ran this little relay race called the "Sawtooth Relay," where you and five of your closest friends pile in a car and:
1. Stop outside of Twin Falls at a gas station where you have to walk through the kitchen to get to the bathroom, and you see a handwritten sign that says "if chicken is more than 8 days old, you have to throw it out."

2. Try to pile into your friend's old Chevy Blazer only to find that it doesn't really want to start. Be nice to a lady who crawls under your car and tells your it's probably your oxygen sensor.

3. Decide to go to Twin Falls to rent a car from a lovely gentleman named Beau at the airport. He and I will be married this fall.

4. Enjoy a delightful dinner in which you guess your friend's middle name. Hint, it starts with "B" and is the name of a wine. If you guessed Boone's Farm like me, unfortunately you are wrong.

5. Drive. Watch it get dark. Camp.

6. Wake up insanely early. Go to some place in the woods. Drink coffee. Start one person running while the other people put sparkly palm trees on their head.

7. Wait for person #1 to finish running. Take pictures of other people who you don't know.

9. Take picture of first hand off of slap bracelet relay stick.

10. Decorate rented hoopty van with dollar store items. Make "The Party's Here banner" say something in Shakespearean. Secretly name yourself Pelonius.

11. Lei your car. I think there is more coffee in here somewhere.

12. Handoff # 2! Handoff # 2! Enjoy this handoff, because it will be one of the last ones you see, because camera gets put away because I have to do stuff like run and shiver in the rain. Important stuff.

13. Wonder why everyone doesn't want to live here.

14. What is that guy in the yellow and pink doing?

15. Steal paint marker, paint Beau's hoopty car.

16. Eat honey and peanut butter out of a jar. Wonder, when you start running, why all the blood in your system is in your stomach. Remember.

17. Lather, rinse, repeat for about 42 more miles. Know your camera is safe and sound, tucked away in the map pocket. No need to risk losing it by getting it out and potentially dropping it!

18. Amass upon a Sun Valley condo where someone who owns it was in the 1982 Olympics, or something.

19. Take sexy fireside pictures of resident Hawaiian, to file away in case fodder for dating sites are ever necessary.

20. Fall in love with pepperoni pizza again.

21. Take picture #2. PBR can is a real bonus in this picture.

22. Team uniforms next year? Maybe not.

Gnomey don't play that.

2009-06-22T18:11:00.000-06:00

This is Gnomey. He came to visit me last month from Pennsylvania and we went crazy on this town of mine. Oh, and he brought Jill with him too.

Gnomey liked to watch bad street performances in outdoor malls. I think he's a little perverted, watching those girls in the sparkles but hey, whatever. He's an old guy, they get to be a little perverted.

Gnomey, Jill and I were feeling a little stiff, so we headed for our local hot springs. But, not before we met young Colton who partook in a little event I like to call, "Let's back into each other in the parking lot!" It's great fun. It's more fun if young Colton does not want to exchange insurance information, because he doesn't want to get "swindled" by my big mean insurance company. He actually used that word, "swindled." I bet he says things like "golly gee" and "wowie zowie," as well.

One 911 call later, and a very nice cop who explains to young Colton that it's illegal to do such a thing, we're off to the hot springs. Unfortunately, the world was plotting against us:

Never fear, I showed the ditch who was boss!
Gnomey enjoyed the hot springs.

As did Jill and I.

The next day we were off to explore the great treasures of Yellowstone and Teton Parks.
We totally ruined these ladies' shot of this sign, but Gnomey was a little drunk and belligerent, so he got his way.

Stopping at one of the first areas, the Paint Pots, I was reminded of the reason I love Yellowstone Park so well, is this awesome sign:

This picture speaks to me on so many levels. If I get buried when I die, can I have this sign on my headstone? That'll stop people from walking on my grave!

Fun Paint Pots:

Wise old paint pot has wise old advice for me:

More good advice. Good for hot springs and inappropriate boyfriends.

Here is the geyser museum, chock full of geysertania. I mean, there was so much information, it was amazing they were able to squeeze it all into that room. Even with the crowds of people in there too!

Who doesn't love a good sinter? Raise your hands. Nobody? I thought so.

As much as I may write about the geyser museum in sarcastic tones, it provided me with perhaps the greatest discovery in my life. The missing pieces of my original geyser danger sign!

This one I call "Magma Bandstand." Rock the night away, kids!

This sign warns you to not bring your suicidal dog. Oh, and maybe not to wear stupid matching shorts, because your dog will then want to kill him/her/itself.

I mean, if that's not the face of a suicidal dog, I don't know what is.

It's not even ugly teenagers and suicidal dogs that can die. Your cute kids wearing depression era shoes and performing a difficult triple lutz on the boardwalk can go too.

If you haven't been to Yellowstone, this is what you will see if you go. This particular bison was rolling around in the dust, until I got my camera out and then we had a standoff. Jerk.

Gnomey got a little late season skiing in.

This crow I'll call "Petey," because my friend Michele and I call every bird we see on any trip "Petey." This one could perform tricks and would move where you told it to go, which is creepy if you think about the whole "crows can remember faces" thing.

Seriously, this guy had just said, "Get up on that sign," and he did! Good thing his murder wasn't there too. Or WAS it?

Mammoth Hot Springs. Bacteria.

We stayed at a top notch hotel in Montana. I mean the toppest of the notchiest.

We also ate in a restaurant that is supposed to resemble a mine, but pretty much just had rocks in the walls and a freaky yellow light.

One of my goals was to see the petrified tree. Which is a pretty easy goal, but I like to aim low.

Gnomey was overtaken with the petrified beauty, so he just stared at it.

And then he totally broke the park law. RANGER? Come arrest this short man!

Rocks.

Baby Animals

Waterfalls. I like to call this place "The place where my button of my shorts popped off, leaving me with only 2 of 4 buttons left in my button fly."

Aah, button flys. So old school.

Speaking of old school, in another museum we got informed about the volcano and lava and other such under-crust business. The medium for education? A giant lava lamp.

Beautiful Landscape Point. Or Artist's Point. Or Artist's Landscape. I don't remember, nor do I really care.

Beautiful girls at aforementioned roadside attraction. Please don't enhance image to inspect my fly.

In a park with lots of thermal activity, I bet they go through a lot of traffic cones in a year.

After fulfilling my goal of the petrified tree, I had to move on to a new goal, because I'm a goal oriented person. New goal: Mud Volcano.

Jill didn't like Mud Volcano, because it smelled, and the bison were walking on the boardwalk.

MUD VOLCANO! MUD VOLCANO!

I wonder how awesome it would be to put Mud Volcano and Petrified Tree together.

Some place called Dragon's mouth, which was named by early Yellowstone explorers. If there's one thing that these explorers didn't possess, it was creativity when naming things they found. If I had discovered something like this, I would have named it "Indigestion Point," or "Please fasten your seat belts and return your trays to their upright positions," or "Things are getting out of hand."

Obligatory gnome with jerky bison picture.

Car at the Yellowstone Hotel where we ate lunch.

Apparently in the early Yellowstone days, it was slang to say people were "rotten logging" when they were dating, which makes me question the proliferation of disease among the young crowd.

I'm going to one day create a book of National Parks, but it's only going to be pictures of people pointing and looking at things, and not of the things themselves. This is the first picture in the book. Can you guess where we are?

Obligitory geyser coming out of head photo.

There was some eldery man in a wheelchair behind us complaining before Old Faithful went off that you used to be able to set your watch by it, but NOSIR not now.

I think it was rock and roll that ruined Old Faithful.

At the lava lamp-I mean volcano- musueum, we watched a movie where a young clean cut ranger took us on a bike ride around the park. As he's preparing to leave, he removes his hat to put on his helmet and places the hat on the handlebar. I was whispering to Jill, "where's he going to put his hat?" and you know what? He took off on the bike with his hat still on his handlebar, and his hand wrapped around the outside, all awkward like.

And then less than an hour later, we saw a ranger on a bike, but his hat wasn't dangling off his handlebar, it was strapped to his bag. Which begs the question, WHAT IS REAL? WHO AM I? WHAT IS LIFE?

The Continental Divide is supposed to be the high point of the continent, where water on one side goes east and the other side goes west. This water was running under the sign. Again, more lies in Yellowstone.

Just a hop, skip and a jump to the Tetons.

Before we left, I picked up my mail, because I like to take fresh mail on road trips with me. The mail I picked up was my new climbing rope. Here I am describing the routes we will do in the canyon to my new rope. Again, no enhancing the fly.

That night we stayed in Teton Village, where they set the pillows up on the bed in a pretty severe fashion, if you ask me. Am I supposed to sleep with a pillow on either side of my head?

If you have been to the Tetons, you will see this chapel. If you missed it, you need to come back and see it and take photos of it, immediately.

A little prayer for my rope in the car.

We checked out the ferry crossing and the general store where the guy was making gingersnap cookies on a big iron stove. They were yummy.

Boating across Jenny lake.

A little hike up Cascade Canyon, we found Gnomey's natural habitat. I told Jill we should set him free, but she wouldn't hear of it.

Gnomey doesn't leave his bag unattended- EVER.

The hike up turned out to be muddier and snowier than we had anticipated.

Jill had worn shoes that one might say were inappropriate. Okay they were INAPPROPRIATE because they were CROCS! Crocs are always inappropriate.

She was having a little diffulculty navigating snow in her foam shoes, so I was such a good friend I switched. YES PEOPLE I WORE CROCS. ON MY FEET.

But only because I love Jill.

If you ever finish in the Tetons and want to have lunch at an odd time, like 3PM in the early summer season in Jackson Hole, good luck with that.

In all, I think Gnomey (and Jill) had a good little adventure, that opened up the outlaw in them.

And I got some delicious souvenirs.

Hovering near depression?

2009-06-16T10:25:00.000-06:00

I guess I should have people over more often...

June happiness is...

2009-06-15T17:02:00.002-06:00

Vegetables! Color! PURPLE CAULIFLOWER!

Embroidered Lampshades!

These Pancakes!

Pot fillers by the stove!

My birthday is just too many months away!

2009-06-04T11:41:00.004-06:00

The Three Wolf Moon T-shirt, available from Amazon.com.

I'm sure if I spent more time on the Internet, I would have known about this awesome product, but in case you haven't, please follow the link and read the reviews. Millions of satisfied customers!

"Unfortunately I already had this exact picture tattooed on my chest, but this shirt is very useful in colder weather. "

"For you left brain types out there, who are still unsure on whether or not this shirt would make a wise purchase, allow me to break it down for you. Most shirts like this only contain one wolf. This shirt has three wolves, plus a moon. You are basically getting three wolves and a moon for the price on one wolf. You won't find that deal anywhere else. "

"I had a two-wolf shirt for a while and I didn't think life could get any better. I was wrong. Life got 50% better, no lie. "

"Well, as a gag I ordered one for the hell of it. I was going to wear it to my bro's batchelor party, just for the reaction factor. But something spectacular happened when I tried it on for the first time once it arrived. Every night, for the past 6 weeks, I have been visited by 3 wolf sprirts. And every night, they bestow upon me endless amounts of knowledge and offerings of imitation crab meat. They consider me their brothern, and I have found clarity and purpose in my life. I now feel alive for the first time and you can't get me out of this thing! "

Things that have stung me...

2009-06-02T17:49:00.003-06:00

While I prepare the roughly 356 pictures I took this last week during my week off in the Tetons and Jellystone, I thought I'd answer this meme, since I was TAGGED by Kristal, and I'm concerned that if I don't answer, then within 3 hours, my luck will change and I will be forced into slave labor at the local Chuck E. Cheese during the day, and will have to start entering Magic the Gathering tournaments at night to make money, since losing your job is one of the first things to go when your luck goes. And, I will also be horribly disfigured.

Anyway, I give you Things that have stung me the sort of pathetic edition, since I work with bees. I've discovered it's about quantity, and not diversity with me.

1. Honeybee. My first sting happened when I was about 4, my brother and I were playing He-Man and Teela in the backyard, and I was falling asleep in the poppy fields (I think we were mixing our medias here) and kneeled right on a bee. I remember my mom asking me lots of questions to make sure I wasn't going to spontaneously pass out, and for some reason I remember her putting raw meat on my knee. I'm sure that's more crossed brain synapses for you.

Since then, I've been stung about 20 more times, 18 of which have been in the last 5 years. The most painful was right on the top of my head.

2. Unknown species of wasp. When I was a kid, I always begged my parents to let me sleep in my older brother Dave's water bed, after he had left for college. They always said "no," because they didn't want to turn the water heater on (the bed was in the basement) until finally one day they said yes. Upon which I promptly rolled over on a wasp and it stung me. And I didn't like waterbeds after that.

3. Southern Fire Ant. I grew up in the South. And I was outside a lot because my mom didn't love me.

4. European Fire Ant (not to be confused with Southern Fire Ant). Did research on these buggers in Maine. They would sting you and then the pain would come. I hesitate to guess how much I've been stung by these guys, but duct tape was part of our uniform, to seal up pant legs. The most painful one of these- right on my nipple. My poor male student worker didn't know quite what to do when I suddenly started moaning and rubbing my breast.

6. Alfalfa leafcutting bee. I don't know if this counts as a sting, since it doesn't really hurt that badly. They only sting you when you smush them, and the most memorable time was when one was in my pants and I had to take my pants off in the middle of the night in an alfalfa field to get it out. The problem? My co-worker was scheduled to meet me at the truck at any minute, and he doesn't always use a headlamp to walk in the dark. That would have been an awkward situation.

Brisco County did not help me

2009-05-19T23:23:00.014-06:00

Hey! I ran a marathon! My second one! And this one wasn't as much fun at the other one!

I will tell you upfront, that I did not bring my camera to the event. Actually, the camera was in the console of the car the whole time, but I really didn't know that, because my camera and I like to play hide an seek on a daily basis.

To fill in the gaps (until Kim posts the pictures she has), I re-created some visual images using the thoroughly advanced program, Paint. If you need help telling the real pictures from the Paint pictures, you just go ahead and let me know.

Here's where my medal and race number are currently being displayed. This is where they have sat since I took them off my body on Saturday. You can tell the pride that I have in them.

Okay, so I am proud that I finished it, especially since it seemed so dang hard.

I started out the trip by getting Rock Chip '09, not to overshadow Rock Chip '08 that I got at the Tetons. Both happened on a way to an event, which made it impossible to stop and repair chip. Not that it would have helped, since it cracked right away, but whatever.
And if someone can tell me why there are rocks all over the road out West, I would appreciate it. WTF, East Side of the Mississippi?

Anyway, we get to Ogden, and pick up our race packets, which we were forced to pick up on Friday. We perused the local cafes and decided to eat at a place called Karen's Out West Cafe. I believe the name comes from the fact that when you order the food, they have to get in a car and drive to an undisclosed location "out west," pick up your food and come back, thereby necessitating the hour we had to wait for our barbecue sandwiches.

One guy was none too pleased with waiting and caused a ruckus when Kim went to the bathroom to further investigate the picture on the wall that I was pretty sure was Old Elvis. It was.
The old guy ended up leaving with his family, leaving his chicken Alfredo on the table.

Kim hooked us up with some sweet digs, and I got to see what elephant skin wallpaper looks like. As we left at 4:30 in the morning to catch the bus, I decided to drive over the curb, which resulted in the slight breakage of my bumper. Nothing that couldn't be fixed with a nice bungee cord though. It is wrong to say that the bungee is still on my car? I'm going to stick with "no."

Anyway, bus ride to the start where we had to wait in a field full of cow patties and around fire barrels. Start of the race, blah blah blah.
The first 9 miles went pretty fast, and we were pleased. I was thinking the 6-8 mile stretch would be so boring, but there was so many people and things to see, like runners urinating in people's front yards, it was great.

Somewhere around mile 10, I saw this guy. He was wearing gold Mickey Mouse ears backwards (more aerodynamic I guess), he had a little bat belt of water bottles and he was alternating running and walking. Each time I saw him he was WALKING! And he was IN FRONT OF ME! And he was PISSING ME OFF!
Each time we would pass him, he would end up passing us at an aid station, at one point I saw him talking on his cell phone and I swear Kim had to hold me back so I wouldn't grab his ears off his head and shove them in his mouth.

I finally passed that sucker somewhere about mile 15 and didn't see him again until the recovery area. Again, thanks Kim for keeping me out of jail.

As I hit the downhill at mile 17, my knee decides to start to hurt. Which it has never done before in our 4,567 miles of training runs. I finally decide to stop and stretch it, and after about mile 19, my pace deteriorates, along with my dreams of getting a better time in this marathon than the last. And, I'm tired. And, the water they are giving us tastes like gas. It's great.

I saw some guy puke over the divider around then. That was fun, mostly because I wasn't puking, so I figured I was doing better than him.

As we got out of the canyon, there were only 3 miles left. I was so overjoyed at this, and combined with the groups of people cheering you on right then, I wanted to cry tears of joy. Don't get me wrong, it was really great. It's these feelings that keep you wanting to run more marathons, because I don't know how to re-create that feeling of relief unless you run 23 miles out of the canyon and then see a sign that says "Just think of how great your butt will look."

So, I'm getting teary, and my breathing starts to change, which isn't great for my exercise induced asthma that my doctor says I apparently have. Just as I enter the tunnel that goes under the road I start to get concerned that I might suddenly suffocate and pass out in the tunnel, and no one will see me down because it's so dark and I will be marathon roadkill.

Fortunately, I made it through the tunnel, but the event was so memorable to my synapses, every time I hear the song that was on my ipod at the time, I can feel the simultaneous feelings of fear and joy.

After a few more miles, I finally cross the finish line, and the most beautiful sight I see is a big container full of bags of ice. For me! Yay!

Oh, and they had free Jamba Juice, so that was pretty awesome too.

I finally gave Kim the present today that I had meant to give her on Saturday. Bruce Campbell's autobiography. It is only fitting since she introduced me to Brisco County Jr. the TV show during our training, and we have had several conversations about "the orb," since then. Plus, I just re-watched Army of Darkness.

So that's the marathon, in a nutshell. Rock Chip, Mickey Mouse, Death Tunnel, Jamba Juice and Bruce Campbell.

Makes you want to take up running, huh?

Is it wrong that Delilah makes me violently angry?

2009-05-19T23:23:00.002-06:00

Tonight I turned on the radio, and the soft rock station was on. Delilah, the evening request show is on, and currently a man named Chad is sad that his very good friend Stacy is leaving town. See, Chad and Stacy used to date, but for whatever reason they don't anymore. So, Chad doesn't know what to do and calls Delilah. He starts telling her how much Stacy means to him, and starts to get choked up.

Delilah tells him that women prefer men who can show their feelings and besides, men who can express their feelings suffer less from heart disease.

Come on Chad, get with it.

Delilah's solution: To play "Could it be I'm Falling in Love," by The Spinners.

Your move, Chad.

Don't worry Kim...

2009-05-12T10:15:00.002-06:00

...here's one race I definitely DON'T want to do.
You keep your stupid free crocs, St. Petersburg. I find it hard to believe you have the "ultimate" goody bag. Unless the bag also contains $100,000 and a bottle of wine, I think the crocs pretty much ruin it.

Bargain Bin

2009-05-05T17:48:00.002-06:00

I'm a poor shopper in that I'll pick something up in a store and carry it with me the whole time, debating in my head if I really want it. Seventy percent of the time, I end up putting it back and half the time (of the 70%? You figure out the math) I leave the store empty handed, spending nothing more than the precious seconds of my life.

However, sometimes I pass by something and I know I MUST buy it. There's no second guessing, only furtive glances around to make sure someone isn't going to hit me over the head and knock the AMAZING FIND out of my hand before I can make it to the door.

I'm hoping it will catch on here at the Bee Lab. I think uniforms might be the way to go around here.

Butt wraps galore!

2009-04-29T17:57:00.003-06:00

There are strange sentences that one may speak in your life. For example, a recent phone message I received from my friend Josh was "I think I left my phone in your car by the cloves," and yes, it made perfect sense. Or, at the end of a recent long run, "Look Kim, I'm going to poop my gummy boob!" Again, perfect sense.
Anyway, if you ask me what I did last weekend, the answer would be "Wear a butt wrap and African dance." In case you wouldn't believe me, pictures I have stolen off of Facebook.

Please note the high complexity of our costumes. First, a black cap sleeve shirt from Down East Outfitters. When I saw the shirt had cost $9 (the dance company bought it) I went off on a huge tirade about how expensive that was for a plain black shirt. Apparently, if you care about fashion, that is not a lot to play for a plain black shirt. It is a deal.
Second part of our costumes are the skirts, brightly colored. I think the pattern on my skirt represents the great African pox of '67. I was excited to wear the pox skirt, because I usually get the purple "sea shells of Africa" skirt. I am looking forward to the day I get "Batik blue butterfly" skirt. Maybe next year.
The third, and most important part of our costumes is the BUTT WRAP. Which you WRAP around your BUTT so when you SHAKE IT, everyone sees.

Fourth is the hoochie momma red lipstick, but that's sort of optional.

Here we are, moments before the curtain rises. If you are into that sort of thing, note all the white blobs in the air. Some may say it's dust, others may say they're GHOSTS! Ooooooo!

Dance like you mean it!

We were so fast, mortal film could not begin to capture us...

Anyway, this weekend I'm off to hockey referee camp, where I'm sure we will sit and tell stories over the Zamboni and braid our whistles.

Rocket vs. Fire Engine = Lunch

2009-04-15T15:15:00.002-06:00

This blessed Easter Saturday brought forth a great bounty...of FUN!

In preparation for the weekend, I started on Friday with a little bloodletting in my kitchen sink. I am apparently going for the world record for self cutting in the kitchen without a mental issue behind it. Or is there really a mental issue and I can't bring myself to admit it? Oh, so complex. I've at least stopped pitting avocados with a sharp knife while I hold it in my hand. This cut was a run of the mill "let's scrub a sharp knife and miss," event.

Anyway, my new cut went perfectly with the bouldering comps on Saturday morning. Since climbers are lazy, my friend Josh and I were the only ones in the 9:30 AM heat. He tried to distract me by bringing his adorable child. It only worked for 20 minutes. Of course, she left after 20 minutes, but I don't really see a correlation.

Post-climbing and hand freshly re-bleeding, I met up with Katie who gave me a life healing Hello Kitty bandaid, and we headed out to Baby Animal Days, where we fought with mothers of toddlers to be able to hold a baby chick. I paid my admission like everyone else, so Bobby has to wait in line behind me! We did ride in a 1927 Model T car. Everyone was jealous of our sweet ride. Katie has the pictures, so perhaps they'll show up here on a future episode.

Then we dyed Easter eggs and drank margaritas. I didn't get a phone call telling me I was in the climbing competition finals, so I had two margaritas. Then the phone call came at 6:38PM. Finals started at 6:30 and I was in them. Oops.

The rest of the evening went off fine, though. No champion climber here, but I did invent a new sport, "high speed adult crawling." It's great fun, except the rug burn can really hurt.

Here's Humpty:

This is what you do when you try something with wax and an egg and it doesn't come out, you slap stickers on it an call it THE GREATEST EGG IN THE WORLD. What's more awesome than a rocket versus a fire engine? Not much, if you ask me.

Of course, these eggs are in my lunch today. Awesomeness has a short shelf life.

I also discovered that my precious feline is losing a tooth. Apparently her mouth gave up on it and was pushing it out of her mouth. I started calling her Elvis, but I don't think she liked it. Of course today at the vet, as she was getting tests done to make sure she was fit enough for the anesthesia for a dental cleaning tomorrow (she's a "geriatric" cat now, you know) the tooth "fell out" while they were "performing" the EKG on "her."

Okay, I added most of those quotes in for fun, but I still believe they were appalled I would let my cat look like Elvis and just yanked it out. I think "falling out," saves me money over "extraction," anyway so I'm all for it.

And since I was on the kitchen floor already, I decided to make fun of her deformity, because I don't have any children to mess up, I figured I needed to mess something up.

Besides myself, that is.

(see knife cut, hand).

What does a champion do?

2009-04-09T18:15:00.002-06:00

In the last 24 hours, a champion has:

1. Threatened optometrist receptionists to not make fun a person's name, because champion knows that person, and if you ladies have a problem with it, maybe we should step outside and I'll beat those silly glasses off your face.

2. Saw Becky (Hi Becky!) in a grocery store, and then discovered said store does not have nori to make sushi with, although store does have all other ingredients. Champion decides to right the wrong and fills out necessary grocery store paperwork in singlacate, even though she only visits this store once every 9 months. It's my good deed for the sushi eaters in the south end of town.

3. Handled giant cockroaches and millipedes at Baby Animal Days, and tried to scare small children with them. A quick statistic: 50% of children love bugs, and 50% definitely do not love bugs.

That's what a champion does. I hate to see what the losers have been doing.

Do you see what happens, Larry?

2009-04-07T11:58:00.005-06:00

This is what happens when you decide to train for a marathon. Your new best friend becomes ice. The local store clerk begins to think that you are holding regular parties with the amount of ice you buy, and is a little miffed because you aren't inviting him. Of couse it doesn't help your case when you stumble into the gas station at 10PM with a dazed look on your face and ask for ice and then can't operate the key pad for the debit card. People don't understand that you are not actually drunk, but a silly person who has used every bit of glycogen in her body and can't form complete sentences.

In other news, last night 17 mile-turned into 18.5 mile run lead me to ponder and discover some interesting facts:

1. This is my new hero. Edwin Rudd, the inventor of the household water heater. Thank you for one of the most rewarding experiences of my life last night Mr. Rudd. You know just how I like it, hot and steamy.

2. The legend is that Phidippes did die after his run to Athens from Marathon. Of course the rest of the story is that he had run 140 miles twice that week and then fought with full armor on before he ran the 26 miles to Athens. I'm sure every runner has wondered this fact during a long training run, or during the marathon itself. Just keep in mind he was working on a 300 mile week.

3. The T-bone steak is cut from the back of the cow. That semi circle in the bottom of the steak is the spinal cord, much like I was hypothesizing around mile 6.5.

4. Unfortunately, there is no Canadian cereal called Kneutix, endorsed by the mounties for its high fiber content. But there should be, and perhaps someday there will be. However, if you make up this cereal around mile 11, and it causes you and your partner to laugh so hard you can't breathe and continue running, perhaps its health benefits are overrated. Kneutix can lead to death by asphyxiation. I've seen it almost happen.

5. Jay Leno is still on late night TV. Here he is talking to Ellen DeGeneres last night.

Just though you'd like to know...

2009-03-31T08:27:00.001-06:00

...I just tried to open the lab door with my remote car thingy-majig.

This information could be pertinent at a later date.

Long distance runner, are you moving any closer to health?

2009-03-28T12:36:00.002-06:00

One of the many benefits of running, other than the increased lung capacity and improved heart health is getting out and seeing strange things. As Kim and I have gotten higher in mileage in preparation for a May marathon, we've been out longer and have to go to the little nooks and crannies of the valley for a run. We've been treated to the following scenarios:

1. A runaway calf in front of a physical therapy building with people running around trying to reign him in, and in the process they forget to put their big truck in park and it rolls backwards and over a tree.

2. An angry gentleman who was guarding the hallway to the gas station bathroom, and when I said "excuse me," he moved aside while yelling "Fer what?" meanly at me.

3. At least 40 empty cough syrup bottles, spaced about a foot apart spread along rural roads and farmer's fields.

4. Today, a man in a parka and ski goggles biking up canyon, but not looking forward, but only at the white line, until he looks and sees me and we both almost fall over. Oh, and Kim laughing at us, I'm sure, from behind.

But the best things, in my opinion, is when a song comes to me from the recesses of my brain based on some reptilian reflex to the joy or pain of running. Today, it was this ditty by Zager and Evans. I'm posting it to share it with the world, and especially Kim who had no idea what song this was, but was treated to me singing different versions of the same verse today.

I like the part where they're rocking so hard, they have to take a sit on the white stalagmites coming out of the floor, and is that guy wearing dentures?

I don't blame you for being you, but you can't blame me for hating it.

2009-03-24T17:25:00.004-06:00

One charming kitty, desiring to spend a vacation away from home for about a week. May or may not have something to do with the fact I mistook an open drier full of clothes for my litterbox. Such mistakes can happen to anyone, can't they? They're both large dark areas with soft filler inside. Who knew that wasn't litter but it was pants? I don't wear pants, so you can't get angry at me for not knowing what they are.

Anyway, maybe somewhere coastal will be ideal. Lots of fish. And sand.

And then again, maybe payback's a bitch.

I'm just sayin'.

Things you might not know about me, part 1

2009-03-18T09:04:00.003-06:00

1. When I walk through automatic doors, I like to wave my hand and pretend I am a Jedi master opening the door with the power of the force. And then I always think to myself, "these are not the droids you are looking for."

2. The biggest trouble I ever got into as a kid is when I crossed the street on my Huffy Desert Rose bike with Michelle Cellucci. When we went to cross back after riding the the subdivision across the street, who should come down the busy street but my parents who immediately pulled the car up and tossed my bike in the back and took me home. I'd like to say that I did a lot more things and this was the one I got caught at, but it was pretty much "do something wrong-then get caught." I wasn't very good at hiding anything.

3. I don't think I could survive the day without eating breakfast. I don't know how people do it!

4. One summer I lived across the street from Phylicia Rashad (Mrs. Huxtable) and down the street from Tommy Hilfiger. When I went into town wearing a tie dye t-shirt and jeans, people looked at me like I was homeless. Well, maybe the shirt did have a hole in it.

5. I have a few scars on my body. One from the forceps when I was born (more like a dent than a scar), another is from a broken ankle (screws were needed), one on my head from a car accident, and one on my hand from a time I was taking a shortcut back from a bar in Portland and I slipped and fell and landed on glass. I'm not sure which one I should be most proud of.

Mele Cascades and Jon Bon

2009-03-06T04:49:00.001-07:00

Back in Vanuatu, after our meal of simboro, we hailed a van to take us out to Mele Cascades, yes a touristy place, and yes it cost 200 Vatu in stead of 100 Vatu (that's an extra shell of kava!) to get to, but Michele and I were tourists and we were going to go big or go home.

After your pay your fee to enter, you start hiking up, gaining elevation and passing beautiful tropical pools. We would swim in these pool on the way back down, but on the way up, all I did was take pictures of them. Boy they look nice, considering the weather outside right now can't decide between snow and spring.

Jon Bon Jovi is not just immortal in Australia, he's also pretty hip among the Ni-Vanuatu.

The walk up was pretty interesting, because the people who live in Mele have their gardens all along the walk up, so you're just walking up and out of the bush comes a guy with a big bush knife. I was glad Julie was there. If she panics, I panic.

She didn't panic, so it was cool.

Michele and I had a camera duel. I think I totally won, because I didn't take the time to turn my camera vertical.

Michele, you're such an amateur.

This jerky snail was eating the banana leaves. Like he owns the place.

Our first glimpse of the cascades...

This grove of bamboo had graffiti all over it. It was cool, in that "vandalizing nature and leaving human marks" way.

As you get closer, you have to walk over rocks with running water over them, and sometimes you have a little chain to help you, sometimes not. If you ever go to Mele Cascades, outside of Port Vila ,Vanuatu remember to wear sturdy sandals and short length pants. Because tennis shoes and jeans just won't do.

Pretty flower to break up the deathly photos of wet water walking.

It's the cascades. They were pretty cool, trust me.

I don't know what this picture is of, but I thought I'd throw it in to illustrate the AWESOMENESS of the cascades as compared to the LAMENESS of some running water.

I'm like a freakin' mermaid here. Emerging from the water because I yearn to be one of those folks who can walk around without fins. Shortly I will meet Tom Hanks and I will buy a cement fountain.

On the way back down, we stopped at a lookout on the coconut groves.

And Hideaway Island, where we had been earlier in our trip and I was recovering from my kava hangover.

We half walked back into town, passing the villages along the way. Once back in town, we settled in at the local white person bar. Here we had a good view of Inriki, where we would sneak into the next day and meet a guy on his honeymoon who was ignoring his wife.

I think we hung out here until sunset, when they were going to appease all the white folks in town by showing an open air movie. We saw two while I was there, a LONG French movie about deep diving, and Wild Hogs, starring William H. Macy and John Travolta. I don't know which movie we may have seen that night, but I wanted to make sure these movies were added to the list of movies I have seen in my life. I'm not sure which one was less painful.

But it's nothing a nice Tusker at sunset won't fix!

Snow Caving '09

2009-03-05T05:04:00.000-07:00

If you've read my blog for more than a year, you may remember Snow Caving '08, in which Kim, Lindsay and I went snow caving, I got sick and they had to drag me out on a sled the next day. Good times.

Since I skipped the building of the cave last year, and pretty much failed to successfully snow cave, we had plans to have a re-do. This time, a huge group of people would go, and we'd have ourselves a golly gosh darn good time.

I took off work early the Thursday before the snow caving weekend, and Kim and I drove to snow cave central, the summit of Logan Canyon, by the sinks.

Unfortunately, it had snowed big earlier in the week, and Kim was the only one with foresight to bring snowshoes. I could have thought about that, but I don't even own snowshoes, so you really can't blame me.

We trudged our way up the slope, headed for the drifts where it's popular to build snow caves. Since our time was limited, we were hoping to renovate an existing snow cave and make it our very own. I had a nice technique in which I used the plastic sled we brought (to haul snow out of the cave) to tamp down the snow, so I could step up onto it and only posthole to my mid calf, instead of my upper thigh.

At one point, Kim turns and tells me to take the left trail. This is the trail that was to my immediate left, so I took it.

Turns out, this is the trail she meant. Ooops, short detour.

Hoping Kim had enough sense to know that I had enough sense not to get lost in the snowy woods and continue with her plan, I looped around the base of the hill and was forced to backtrack. Fortunately, when I finally emerged from the wood, toting my little plastic sled and the avalanche shovel, she was already in the process of digging out a cave entrance.

Good job Kim, way to leave me for dead.

But alas, the mighty explorer's snowshoes prevented her from shimmying into the entrance. So, I got to play the Shackleton, and do the discovering.

Into the cave I went.

I'm not a snow cave expert, but this cave was huge. As I entered the cave, I was yelling to Kim, "It has a column in the middle, and a ledge and it's big and blah blah blah."

It didn't really matter what I said, because if you've ever been in a snow cave, you know the insulating properties of the snow work also for sound.

So Kim's outside, at first thinking I'm joking, because what cave has a column built in the center? But then I don't come out, so now she's frantically removing her snow shoes, because maybe I wasn't such a liar after all.

She looks pretty comfortable, don't you think?

Anyway, back down canyon we went. In the end, everyone bailed on us, and we were pretty ambivalent about going, and we were pretty not sure of the safety of our droopy cave, so instead we cozied up in our own beds that night. Snow Caving '09, baby! It's the way to go.

And then Opie, Aunt Bea and I held hands and walked down the street

2009-03-04T09:09:00.002-07:00

I have recently changed pharmacies, from THE Big Box store to THE FAILING Big Box store that used to specialize in sales with flashing blue lights. I choose to get my drugs from the dreaded big box stores because I can secure them anywhere those big box stores are in the Continental United States and Guam, and I am such a traveler (read: I go to Pennsylvania a lot and I'm spacy enough to forget to get my prescription before I go).

The old big box store was too much for me, there was always some kind of line or people who didn't understand their insurance and were angry. Which made me have to stand and wait in the aisle that had the weight loss accoutrements in it, including that Alli drug, and every time I looked at it all I could think about was the fact that taking that is supposed to make you smell bad, and then I wondered about that for 2 hours afterwards. That's a lot of time to be thinking about Alli.

So I switched, and I couldn't be happier. It's been about 6 months, and the first few were great, no lines, easy in an out. Last month, I got to the pharmacy at 6:55 (it closes at 7:00) and it was all dark and shut down. But wait! The pharmacist was still inside, wearing his "civvie" clothes. I gave him a pitiful look and he ushered me around the side and opened the door to give me my prescription. I thought that was pretty nice.

But yesterday, I walked up to the counter and was ready to tell him who I was, but he automatically walked back and picked up my prescription and handed it to me, no words needed. What service, I say! Next I expect perhaps he will start giving me my pill every day, allowing me to drink out of his promotional Levitra cup. After that, who knows? This small town stuff is pretty nice. Until 6 more months from now, when I could possibly just become weird. Then I'll have to move to a place where people are rude and don't care who you are.

You're worth an increase in postage, baby

2009-02-22T17:00:00.002-07:00

I don't care if the price of stamps is going to go up again, I will send you mail forever, Rolando Secreto.

Julia Child, Island Style

2009-02-22T16:13:00.004-07:00

Today on Cooking in Vanuatu, we're going to make the delicious dish, simboro a mini version of the traditional dish lap lap.

First you need taro root. This vegetable is like a potato, and is on the currency, it's so awesome.

Grate the taro root. Enlist the help of a stuffed wombat toy. Grating the taro root turns it into this mucilaginous mixture that consists of what you might imagine a potato with a head cold to sneeze out of its nose, if it had a nose.

Prepare the coconut. Take your bush knife and score the coconut and break it in half. Look tough while you do it.

Get out your coconut grater that people on your island have made you. It helps if your grater has a bad ass custom carving, such as this one of a shark.

Grate coconut for shavings which you will gather coconut milk from.

Accept help from your freeloading friends. Help is used in a loose term as here it means "sit in your pajamas and watch your friend do all the hard work."

Once you have coconut milk, go back to your taro snot.

Place a lump of taro snot on a leaf of island cabbage.

Sometimes island cabbage looks like pot. Just in case you were wondering, they are not the same.

Roll the taro snot in the pot leaf.

Place rolled leaf packages in a pan, and add coconut milk. There may have also been some salt added here, I can't remember.

While the simboro is cooking and everyone is waiting for the gas to heat water to take a shower, go outside and take pictures of things surrounding your friend's house.

This is the squeaky gate next to Julie's apartment building. People in Vanuatu do not sleep at night. Instead, they go in and out of this squeaky gate all night.

Here is an avocado growing in Julie's tree. This avocado has survived so far, as it was avocado abortion season. Aborted avocados + tin roof = lots more noise.

While people in Vanuatu stay up all night, they are obligated to beat up on old junked cars on the side of the road. You are not allowed to pass this car without hitting it. It is apparently a rule.

Ding! Simboro is done!

This is one of the most delicious meals I have eaten in my life. And all it was were pot leaves and potato snot. I highly recommend it!

The world... on time

2009-02-12T11:21:00.002-07:00

Yeah, I know, I'll get to posting about my old trip soon. Ironically, I threatened to post about it about 6 months ago and never did then, either. But I have VOLCANO PICTURES and they are SO COOL so I must post then and tell the story about DRIVING THROUGH THE BUSH AT HIGH SPEEDS IN A LAND ROVER. And I may CONTINUE USING ALL CAPS if I like.

But in the meantime, my friend Katie saw something the other day that made us wonder. Turning down the main drive of the Logan Cemetery (this is not a through way), was a Fed Ex truck. Where was is going? What could possibly be its delivery?

Needless to say, if I'm dead, please feel free to send me packages, but only send them Fed Ex. I don't know if UPS will deliver.

Rack em up, mystery solved

2009-02-06T16:38:00.002-07:00

After some not very thorough investigating (I love the internets!) , I've discovered the truth about the pool man. For those of you who may think I'm crazy for wondering these things, take a read at this story and tell me he's either: 1. not interesting or 2. not a pathological liar.

Logan's local pool shark has taken a fishing pole under water in Okinawa, Japan.
That is one of life's experiences that Richard Skinner, Utah State University's billiards instructor, has experienced.
Skinner's father looked for life's thrills and passed along those experiences to his son.
At the age of 8, Skinner was crossing the border from El Paso, Texas, into Juarez, Mexico, to watch is father in boxing matches.
It wasn't long for before Skinner was being trained to box.
He was 9 when he entered his first boxing match and beat his 15-year-old opponent.
This victory had a $25 payout to Skinner.
He continued going to Mexico and fighting for the next year, and the victory money he and his dad won would supplement the low Army pay his father received to support the family.
As well as being trained to box from his Golden Glove champion father, he also was tutored on how to fly his father's two-seater plane.
It wasn't long before he had the controls of the plane to himself.
Skinner had the duty of keeping the plane at a certain level while his father hung out the side door with his riffle shooting coyotes.
Throughout his life he's caught rattlesnakes barehanded, and learned to live off the land without any food or water while completing a survival camp for the Army's Special Forces.
His adventurous life was not without some damaged body parts.
Skinner has endured breaking all his fingers two or three times and his nose nine times.
In his sophomore year of high school, he had moved across the ocean with his military family to Okinawa, Japan.
He would go deep-sea fishing with his father there on the shores.
He recalls when they weren't having any luck, so they decided to go scuba diving.
It was there that this pool shark had the idea of taking his rod down in the water with him.
His dad joined in with the idea and together they sat on an underwater cliff and lowered hooks right in front of fish, which provided many meals.
Life brought on other opportunities as well for Skinner there in Japan.
He was voted Teen Club president, which was a club that played pool, and games on the weekend, and put on 60s psychedelic dances on the weekend.
This is where he began teaching pool.
He was the only person who knew anything about the game, and the boys pleaded with Skinner to teach them.
Later Skinner moved back to Logan where he is from and moved into Mountain Aire Apartments.
Skinner had made friends with Jack Ford, President Ford's son, who was attending USU.
Jack had gone over to the apartments and came up with a plan to dive from a third-floor apartment into the swimming pool.
They would run through the living room, jump out of the window and dive into the swimming pool.
It was about 2 a.m. Sunday when the Logan police arrived to make an arrest for the apartment divers.
Skinner was in another apartment at the time, but Jack and two of his Secret Servicemen were then taken away by the police.
Skinner was asked to join some Secret Service atop of the "A" on Old Main during President Ford's trip to USU for his son's graduation.
They were armed with high-powered riffles as they watched for suspicious activity.
It wasn't too long after that that Skinner began to work as a bartender.
Since he was an employee of the bar he was able to go there during closed hours and play pool.
"I would play 14 hours of pool a day, seven days a week," Skinner admitted.
At age 21 he stared hustling pool in other cities.
He would attend tournaments in Salt Lake, Las Vegas, California, and beat several professionals in a Kansas City tournament.
Skinner later got a job with USU maintenance and housing.
With keeping up with the broken bone lifestyle he has had, his neck was broken when some co-workers pushed a mattress down three flights of stairs in Mullen Hall when it landed on his head.
He was working in the basement and walked beneath the opening in the stairwell just at the right time to be hit by the falling mattress.
Unable to lift and do required jobs, he packed his five children and moved to Missouri.
It wasn't long before his kids were racking up hospital bills from $150 to $200 a week.
They were sick with all the problems the Missouri humidity brought.
Skinner packed his family up and headed back to Logan.
He got a job driving for the bus line, until he found an advertisement for a job opening to manage the game room for USU.
One of the interviewers remembered Skinner from twenty-five years earlier as a pool hustler.
Not only were they in need of a game room manager, but a new billiards teacher.
He took the position and has seen the class go from 20 students its first year, to 12 classes and 300 students now, making it the second largest PE class offered at USU.

8 ball

2009-02-06T10:16:00.003-07:00

Because of the deadly particulate matter that gets trapped in the air here in our valley, I have been forced to run inside on certain days. Mostly, I (we) run in the field house that has an itty bitty track where 8 times around equal a mile and 64 thousand times around equals a run (or so it feels). You run around basketball courts in the center, and there is also a room with spinning bikes and a room with pool tables in it.
If we run at lunchtime, we see the "pool class" learning how to play pool as part of their well rounded university curricula, or something. This morning, I saw the pool instructor opening up his little supply closet with balls and Laffy Taffy in it. It got me thinking about what kind of person becomes a university pool instructor? Did he go to school for that? Does he teach other classes, like darts? It he really a physics professor, or a math professor, because it's really all about angles, isn't it?
There are so many questions I have about this man's life, and also about his one student who wears a top hat to class. So many questions, and only so many laps around the field house to try and figure them out...

Everytime you go away, you take a piece of me with you

2009-02-03T09:37:00.005-07:00

You are looking here at the last known picture of my beautiful and well maintained travel journal I wrote in when I visited Australia and Vanuatu in October of 2007.

Unfortunately, I still maintain that when punk kids broke into my house looking for prescription drugs, and didn't steal the painkillers I had in my cabinet for some reason, and opted to apparently steal a big jar of change and my travel journal, I got angry that I had misplaced it and ceased writing about my trip. Just like that, day 3 of Vanuatu. DONE.

Anyway, we had a great time on that trip, and I really want to finish posting about it, if not for entertainment's sake, and to promote the good name of Vanuatu in my blog, then for the fact that I am in my 30s, which means I will continue to rapidly forget details of this trip, even more so than I have already. Plus, it will save you from such gripping posts like "My Electric Bill is too High!", parts I and II.

Plus, the pictures are so beautiful and summery, it will make you sick to think of all the snow/ice/freezing rain/ particulates smaller than 2.5 outside currently.

The best sign of a tropical destination, and over priced drink with flowers stuck in it!

I hope to finish this trip posting, maybe in time for my next big trip. I'm trying to convince my parents to send me to Mexico like they did my brother. Just because I didn't get married, what do I get? Bupkis.

It's electric, boogie woogie oogie.

2009-01-29T08:47:00.002-07:00

Thanks to Alison at Rocky Mountain Power's keen skills, my extraordinary electric bill was indeed a meter mis-read. This was only after I incorrectly read my meter, thought I had used 1,000 KVH in the last 6 DAYS, immediately shut off all the power to my house and one by one tried to figure out who the power culprit was sucking the power from my life.

Unfortunately, I am not a very good meter reader, so I guess that will be one job I can't fall back on in my life. Apparently the ten thousand digit meter is not the thousand digit meter. Who knew? I can't be bothered to notice there's FIVE dials. We have Defcon 1 here, man!

Anyway, some part of my brain kicked in and I decided to confirm my reading with the power company. I read off the hands of the dials to Alison, and she pauses, for what I assume will be the "Good Gracious, Child! What are you doing over there! I'm surprised your house isn't glowing, or that planes have tried to land in your yard," speech but I get "Yep, looks like there was a misread on your meter," and put me on hold. I almost dropped the phone in relief.

As I'm eyeing my fridge, which was going to be the first appliance booted off the island, she comes back on and says, "Yes, there was a misread, your bill shouldn't be $98, it should be $116.

Pause. Phone almost dropped again.

"Just kidding, your bill is really $16." Apparently it gets a little slow down at the power station at 10PM, or I just called during comedy hour. Well played, Alison. You're a spark plug.

In other news, Happy Chinese New Year. It is the year of the toilet paper.
Don't ever tell me that I don't have to bring something to a dinner party. Unless you're running low on personal hygiene products.

Waterslides

2009-01-27T18:20:00.003-07:00

Apparently I've gone crazy in the last month and used 3 times the amount of electricity than I've ever used in the 5 years I've lived here. This factualness of this is all pending a meter read I'm planning on doing once I finish giving some Boy Scouts an "after hours" tour of the Bee Lab.

I'm trying to figure out how I could possibly even USE that much electricity in my small 2 bedroom house filled with one person. The power guy started talking about hair dryers and how much energy they use, and I wanted to tell him, "Honey, there's not enough hair on my street..."."

If it's not a meter misread, I'm voting there's a hobo living in my basement. I guess I should go down there and check it out. Maybe he's nice. And single.

Wait. I guess hobos are single by definition. Then again, I never liked eating beans right out of the can.

This reminded me of my dear Sifl and Olly, one of the best television shows of all time. The clip I thought of is at 4:32, in case you're allowed to view streaming video on your computer.

Hello, is it me you're looking for?

2009-01-23T10:45:00.004-07:00

You haven't heard from me, but don't take it personally. I've had a very busy life doing the following things:

1. Not calling you

2. Pondering the meaning of life

3. Looking deeply into my soul

4. Still not calling you

5. Enjoying salad, once again

6. Watching Cemetery Man

7. Thinking about calling you

8. Nope, phone's not ringing

9. Don't feel bad, I haven't even called my mother.

10. Breathing

I mean, with a list this long, who could blame me for mini-dropping off the cyber-telo face of the earth? Certainly not you, I'm sure.

An Open Apology

2009-01-13T11:46:00.003-07:00

If you were watching a movie in theater 6 of the University Theater Stadium 6 in Logan, Utah this past Saturday between 8 and 10:30 PM, I believe I owe you an apology.

I'm not sure why, when faced with a scene of an adult child discovering their mother had hid a secret from them their whole life, and wherein that scene had a grand pause after it, I was spontaneously moved to say "bitch," loud enough for at least a block of seats 5x5 on either side of my seat to hear, and heretofore although most people laughed, you may have been one of those people who heard me and did not laugh because you did not think it was funny, or because this was a PG-13 setting and that word may border on that fine line between PG-13 and R, especially when it is uttered in person and not through the magic screen in front of you.

Whereto, this day I offer you an apology. I'm sorry. Sort of.

What's Cagney without her Lacey?

2009-01-13T08:50:00.003-07:00

Here's a picture of the cop who though it was a good idea to stake out my place yesterday morning, in hopes that when I backed down my driveway at 76 miles per hour, he could give me a speeding ticket, because, knock on wood, I haven't had one for at least a year and a half.

However, because I am blessed with a lateral geniculate nucleus of a champ which relays visual images directly to the cortex of my brain, I caught on pretty fast. Not that I normally go 76 miles per hour out of my driveway, especially on Mondays. Mondays are a bad day for speeding anyway.

Maybe the cop doesn't know my other secret, that I'm tight with Christ for wearing his lip balm.

So Mike, have you seen THIS one?

2009-01-08T09:30:00.002-07:00

Apparently I've failed in exposing a new world to my fake brother in law, Mike. So, I'll give it another try, and after that doesn't work, I'll probably just give up. I'm not that proud. Or motivated.

With yet another Mark-spurns-a-pretty-non-wife-lady plotline behind us, it looks as if Mark Trail is finally going to touch the third rail of Mark Trail storytelling, by tackling the pretty wife-lady whose advances Mark also routinely spurns. Cherry is so worked up that she’s dispensed with her usual polo shirt and put on a sexy pink robe that’s allowing us to see her collarbone. “I hope he notices that I’ve changed my hair again!” she says, as she gingerly touches the vaguely rearranged curls perched upon her unnaturally large skull and stares at nothing in particular with her horrifying pink eyes. All the while, she’s thinking about her plans to fall on Mark and ravish him the moment he walks in the door, like an owl grabbing a mouse in its razor-sharp talons and tearing it to bits with its beak, only hotter, and with Mark maybe not being killed at the end.
Meanwhile, Doc is thinking “I hope he notices that I’ve paired up this baby blue cardigan with my orange shirt! I think the color combo really does wonders for me!” But he’s too shy to say this aloud, so he just stands there smoking his pipe, and waiting.

Add Flour, Hilarity Ensues

2009-01-07T16:26:00.004-07:00

If you're looking for something to fritter away fifteen minutes of your life, I suggest this. My friend Julie shared this with me a while ago, and I can't believe I just kept it to myself all this time! I'm so sorry, everyone.

March 28th, 1979

2009-01-06T09:12:00.002-07:00

Ah, lovely Harrisburg airport. Where else can you get such a beautiful view of the sole reason I believe my brother to be slightly off? You do the math, he was a small, under a month old fetus when the atoms started a flyin'. Those mitotic cells are sure delicate at that time.

Maybe this could also explain his third nipple.
Hope everyone had happy holidays!

Yuletide cheer

2008-12-23T13:12:00.003-07:00

If you're anxiously checking your mail looking for your yearly Christmas card, I'm here to assuage your anxiety.

Here they are.

Much cheaper than actually sending them. Hey, I at least got the address book out. I had hopes and dreams, but then this thing called reality came to stay.
Happy Holidays anyway!

Just your average holiday party

2008-12-18T16:37:00.002-07:00

Babies are hidden from the camera:

Scary, close up ghost pictures are taken of graduate students:

"Bee Anatomy Charades" doesn't quite make the "Top Ten Party Games" list:

Joyce gets to be "elegant":

While I'm just "jokey."

A picture of me and my brother as toddlers?

2008-12-17T09:57:00.003-07:00

Dang, I know I'd want to see that!

This is when Mom and Dad went through their Hobo fashion phase. It looked good on my brother. Of course, if he dressed like that now, everyone would just think he was a sloppy drunk. In fact, he looks a little drunk in this picture. He was a fussy child.

P.S. If you didn't know, this is what's called a "filler post," when I'm too lazy/busy/unmotivated to do something profound. Just so you know.

Fickle as the weather

2008-12-12T12:33:00.002-07:00

This was going to be a post about how I hate those "Slimcados" you can buy in the grocery store. Number one, because they make TERRIBLE guacamole, and number two is because I eat avocados because they have fat in them, and fat keeps you full. What's the point when you take the fat out? Besides, it's the GOOD fat. Keep it, baby!

In an effort to eat more food at home, I made about 1,000 enchiladas on Monday night. Some were beans, some were sweet potato and bean, some had meat. But, I was tired of them by Wednesday, so I stopped at the store to get an avocado to put on top. You know the drill, though, you go to the store and all the avocados are either rock hard or are about to liquefy in your hands. But, I really wanted one, so I decided to give the slimcado another try.

I had previously tried guac with the slimmy before, and it was so terrible I had to get some regular avocados and dilute out the slimcado just to make it bearable. Anyway, I topped the enchie with the slimmy, and to my surprise (!) I liked it. Not too creamy, a little brisk.

(Don't ask my why there's a piece on the counter, I must have gotten carried away when slicing).

Anyway, I wanted to share that slimmys are good for topping foods and eating by themselves. Whatever you do, do not try and make guacamole out of them. And also, if anyone is hungry for enchiladas, I have half a meat, a bean and a sweet potato one left. Will trade for steak.

My Wasted Life

2008-12-10T10:09:00.002-07:00

An open letter to M. Night Shyamalan:

Dear Mr. M. Night,
I am requesting the return of the 91 minutes of my life that I lost last night watching your terrible movie The Happening. I mean, did you really think that Zooey Deschanel's wide vacant eyes and Marky Mark's brow furrowing could hold that movie? I mean you had MARKY MARK in your movie, for crying out loud, and he did not ONCE take off his shirt. And he was the most annoying science teacher ever. And he wore a mood ring. A MOOD RING. That was not in any way emotional or touching or sensitive. It was dumb.

I know that you live in Pennsylvania now, but was that any reason to be mean to the geography of the state? Who takes a train from Philadelphia to Harrisburg and ends up somewhere near Scranton (based on where the guy pointed on the map)? I'd ask for my money back, that's for sure! And where did that nuclear power plant come from? Don't try to tell me that was Three Mile Island. I was born, but it wasn't yesterday.

The reason I'm requesting this time back from you is that the sole reason I kept watching this stupid movie was that I was waiting for the twist at the end, as you are want to do in your movies. But there was no "I'm Bruce Willis and I'm Dead" moment. It never came. True, I could have watched to the end of the credits, maybe there was something in there, but I just couldn't do it anymore. You let me down, M.

Please return my 91 minutes of living. If you are not willing to do so, then I'll have to chalk it up to experience. But remember what they say, "Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me." There will be no shame on me, M.

P.S. The part with the guy in the lion cage. Hil-ar-ious!

Good Enough for Government Work

2008-12-09T08:42:00.003-07:00

Verily I say unto you, the other day my screen door latch simply exploded into small oddly shaped metal pieces and poured down the porch stairs. It may or may not have had something to do with trying to shove a hockey bag through the door, but let's leave that one as a mystery.
Anyway, what's a girl to do but to go purchase another latch and install?

Fortunately, the pre-drilled holes from the last latch matched the new one exactly, but when I came to the latching part, I hit a snag. The previous installer (circa 1970) had beefed up the latch with a wedge of wood so that the latch would be even with the door. Unfortunately, I had bought the super steroid latch which didn't need the wood.

I was planning on removing the wedge and installing the latch properly, when lo and behold, a Christmas miracle!

Turns out the wood had been worn down into a perfect, rustic, old timey latch. Which I will use until the day I die, or until the wood splits, whichever comes first.

Check out all the leftover pieces. I feel like I got a great deal here! Anyone interested in a flat metal thingy with two holes in it?

So, then, in a whirlwind of half cocked self improvement, yesterday I wanted to wear this sweater. A sweater I had worn to the climbing gym the day before, then sort of slept in, but was so warm in it, I didn't want to take it off. The problem (besides my slobbyness)?

Apparently at some point a field mouse had decided cashmere is the perfect nest material.

Hoity toity little mouse.

Well, I couldn't very well wear a sweater with a hole in it to work, could I?

Oh no, she didn't...

Oh yes she did. Saved by the duct tape.

Next project, fuel filter change in my old car. Think of all the corners I could cut!

It's never Wapner time around here

2008-12-03T08:49:00.002-07:00

This is my cry for help.
I am in an abusive relationship.
It has been going on for at least 10 years, perhaps a few more. I am enticed with the promise of things to come, titillated with the idea of excitement, only to be denied, or let down.
Then a few years later, the cycle starts all over again. I am powerless to ignore it, so I must give in and dare to hope.
Well, last night I had a run in with my abusive relationship. I sat there on the phone, shocked that they could do it to me again. String me along for a few weeks, and then coldly deny me.

Here is a picture of the jerk:

So smug. "Hello again," he'll say, "remember me?"

Honestly, I have been called for jury duty at least 5 times in my life, and when I've only been 18 for 12 years, that's a jury summons at least every 2.4 years. I may even have gotten 6 in my lifetime (I can't remember), so that's one every 2 years.
Anyway, last night, DENIED again. I can't even get to the stage where they question me to see if I can be on the jury. I even have my answers picked out.

"I think all men are guilty."
"I don't see anything wrong with animal mutilation."
"The city is always wrong."

But then, there's always the promise of another time around...

See you in 2.4 years, my friend!

I once lit my hair on fire at this person's house...

2008-11-25T09:54:00.002-07:00

...and now she'll be on Jeopardy tomorrow.

The world is a strange place.

For Sale: Lots of Love OBO

2008-11-24T09:09:00.002-07:00

For Sale: One darling faithful old Subaru. Was given up because owner felt like she wanted a fun new car, one that represented such a professional in her 30s. Or, maybe because the owner is full of crap.

Anyway, this car is great for:

1. Parallel parking

2. Spontaneous after work trips to Montana to go fly fishing with your then fisherman boyfriend.

3. Trips to southern Utah and the Tetons with friends who come to visit you.

4. Putting all of your worldly possessions in your trunk and hauling them around town.

5. Transporting wet dogs from the canyon to their home.

7. Dropping off friends to go hiking, but you can't go because your ankle is sprained.

8. Eating breakfast on the way to work.

9. Getting a speeding ticket for 45 in a 35.

10. Getting a ticket for not stopping fully at a stop sign.

11. Driving to the court to pay various tickets.

12. Driving slower, in an effort to not get any more tickets.

Interested parties should submit a brief biography, picture, dozen cupcakes (preferably with vanilla icing), and a subscription in my name to The Economist.

In case you're wondering

2008-11-19T09:38:00.002-07:00

One of the perks of being a best man is owning a tuxedo t-shirt.

It was Halloween, after all!

How to write a best man speech

2008-11-17T07:57:00.003-07:00

HOW TO WRITE A BEST (WO)MAN SPEECH IN 10 MINUTES OR LESS

1. Get to the reception hall, after the rehearsal, and the wedding, and the bachelor party, and the 10 hours you had free when you could have written the speech with plenty of time to spare.

2. Skip the open bar for the moment (wow!) and find a quiet place to write speech. This is where is comes in handy to be a best woman, as women's restrooms tend to have pretty makeup tables in them with nice chairs and fun flowers. I imagine men's restrooms may have the same thing, but I mostly imagine urine stained floors and urinal cakes.

3. Find an appropriate media to write speech. Here, I selected a medium gauge Georgia Pacific paper towel, two pushes on the lever. For eulogies, please use at least three presses.

4. Thank your lucky stars that the reception is held at the country club, where a limitless supply of golf pencils are to be found. Plus you can look at the scorecards and found out that Gloria scored dogballs on the back nine on Thursday.

5. Take pouty pictures of yourself for documentation purposes.*

6. Write speech on paper towel, tuck it into your cleavage where it keeps popping out**, so you give it to your older brother to put in his pocket, and that's why best men are supposed to wear tuxedos!

7. Champagne.

8. Give speech.

9. Maybe a bit more champagne. You've earned it!

*This step is optional if you: 1. Don't have a blog to put pictures of yourself on, and 2. you have a shred of common sense and self-esteem.

** Please, use this step only if you are a woman. If you are a man, feel free to put speech directly into your own pocket.

I'm sorry, John McCain can't come to the phone right now.

2008-11-04T11:16:00.002-07:00

I had a great time in Pennsylvania over the past week, as I was there for my brother's wedding. Above, you will see our front porch Halloween Masterpiece, the mastermind behind it being my mother. I took one for the team and provided the bottles, though.

Anyway, I have some nice wedding pictures, but I'm glad to be away from the semi swing state of Pennsylvania, and the ten million phone calls that start out "I'm calling for John McCain."

I hate to tell people, but if you think John McCain lives in a house with puking pumpkins on the porch, perhaps you should reconsider your candidate.

I can haz a knife to kill u wit?

2008-10-27T10:46:00.001-06:00

Maybe some people shouldn't be allowed to own pets, and maybe by "some people," I mean me.

Best (Wo)man

2008-10-24T11:37:00.003-06:00

In a few days, I'll be heading back to PA for my baby brother's wedding. I have the dubious honor of being one of the few best men in the world to wear a strapless, corset top. I'm wondering what I should do for a best man speech, as I'm not married and have no external genitalia to pass my wisdom on to him. I'm thinking of one of these scenarios:

1. Don one of his "Rude Dog" shirts he used to wear as a kid, smelly gym socks and mimic the time he accosted tourists in New Jersey by holding up his Fisher Price Camera and saying "Konichiwa!"

2. Get emotional right away and blabber into the microphone, but tell my brother that I'm going to do this, and listen for a few choice words that I'll slip in so it will be funny (works like "headcheese" and "control top.")

3. Juggle cigars and martini glasses, as a tribute to him and his wife, but more as a showcase for my extreme talent.

4. Give a regular speech

5. Give no speech, because that wastes valuable open bar time.

So many choices. Any other suggestions? A fake moustache was endorsed by my bro, but shot down by his fiance. Boo.

Sinking to an all time low

2008-10-19T05:35:00.000-06:00

The annual playing of Sweet Valley High this year did not take place in one of our houses, or on our expansive front porch. Oh no, dear readers, we played it in a public place.

My brother Buzz is enjoying a fine Applebee's poured beer and wondering "which dream date will be his?" or more likely "do you think I'll recognize anyone here?"

Here is Jill, who is either a: hiding her face from the people in the restaurant so no one will see her, or b: holding up the box cover so I can get a good shot of it.

Please notice that the angle of the box in this picture makes it painfully clear that someone has defaced the visage of my feathered hair game persona, Jessica. They've always been jealous of her, because she always gets to start the game. It really says that in the rules. If there needs to be any clarification, please view the PDF of the official game rules here.

Here we are, in the thick of it. Greg, who plays Enid the nappy haired hussy is proudly displaying the boyfriend he stole from my brother, Elizabeth. I think his boyfriend was in Calculus, or something.

Besides, what game wouldn't be complete with an overpriced, underliquored cocktail? Not this game, dear readers!

(By the way, please notice that my left eye is quite Quasimodo in this picture, and pretty much in life. What happened to it?)

I'm sure my mom never thought this game would get so much use 18 years after purchasing it for me. That's a good dollar spent, if you ask me!

Maybe the sitcom "Thirtysomething" will start to make sense now

2008-10-17T05:31:00.000-06:00

What more could a girl have asked for than a chocolate cake with peanut butter icing and a mess of candles on it for her birthday?

Well, maybe a little fire game would be fun. Let's try and burn the patriarch!

Or maybe a beautiful silver tiara, purchased by my lovely mother. Guess where I wore this tiara?

A. In my house
B. At the bar
C. Picking up pizzas at the Italian Taxi
D. All of the above

Or maybe 3 red balloons, representing each decade I've been alive, along with an orange glow stick?
Or maybe we should let my 20s drift off in the night in a symbolic ritual where the balloons, before floating away in the sky, hit the balcony roof and for a split second I think I'm going to have to go up there and free them, thereby ruining my symbolic entry into my 30s and making me think that the year ahead may bode ill?

Goodbye my twenties.

We watched as they drifted away, and then I even moved into the backyard to get a better look, or maybe not want to let them go. But away they went, to eventually land in some ocean and choke a little baby sea turtle. That's what your twenties are for anyway, destructiveness.

I would walk 500 miles

2008-10-15T18:30:00.000-06:00

No, I wouldn't, but I would take the new Frontrunner train to Salt Lake to save myself about $85.00 in parking fees. Oh, yes I would. And, I would be enough of a dork to take a picture of it as well. Luckily the guy waiting for the bus next to me was pretty occupied with something else, namely the brunette he was talking to.

Dear Mormon Missionary People,

Maybe a little more access to phones for your guys might be a good thing? At least the Salt Lake phones are probably the cleanest in the country, but these guys were off to D.C., so someone needs to tell them that over there, the less physical contact you have with the phone, the better.

Yours truly,

A concerned citizen

Lunch with Pennsylvania

2008-10-15T09:11:00.002-06:00

One of the main things I do when I travel back to the homeland is eat. Sure, I like to see my family and friends and enjoy the lush foliage of a state that isn't a high desert, but there are certain things in Pennsylvania that I dream about eating.

Of course, Pennsylvania is home to such gustatory delights like hog maw and scrapple, but I guess you could say my tastes are less refined. Besides the obvious choices of beer to drink, I was also filling my gourd with actual hot wings and orange Turkey Hill Iced Tea.

The culmination of my nosh fest ended in this quintessential PA lunch, which I just had to take a picture of.

Clockwise from top: Tastycake Peanut Butter Candy Cakes, made in PA,and no, I did not eat the whole box; PA Dutch Birch Beer, kind of like a cross between root beer and sarsaparilla, I guess; Lebanon Bologna sandwich on Maier's white Italian Bread, I used to have these in my lunchbox, as I took my lunch to school almost every day of the 12 years I attended elementary though high school; and the piece de resistance, the PA pickled egg, pickled in apple cider vinegar and red beet juice, perhaps one of my favorite PA items of all time.

Okay, sure I did more in PA than eat...

15E, you're goin' down

2008-10-07T11:06:00.002-06:00

You are reading the words written by the official trivia champion of Delta flight 1189.
Yes, it's hard to believe, but little ol' me, in seat 14A, had the ULTIMATE TOP SCORE for 20 rounds of trivia on Delta in flight entertainment. I only played 5 out of the 20 games, wherein I amassed my ULTIMATE TOP SCORE of 4950 in Game 3, then took a 2.5 hour break.

With about an hour left in the flight, I decided to log back on with my personal entertainment system, to make sure my score was left untainted. I was still champion, but seat 15E was close on my tails with an ULTIMATE SECOND TOP SCORE of 4800.

I played the last few games, just to make sure my record wasn't broken, and to beat the guy in first class, seat 1B. I felt I had to do it for the little people.

In case Delta would like some suggestions, I think the trivia would be more fun if you could stand up in your seat and point to your opponent in an aisle behind you and say things like "That's what a smackdown feels like, baby!"

The only downer was when the 9 year old boy next to me started playing trivia and CHEATED off my answers. Of all the times to be dishonest, he has a long way to go to realize Delta Trivia Challenge is not worth it. Because it's impossible to be the ULTIMATE TOP SCORE CHAMPION!

Thank you ladies and gentlemen, I'm here all week!

2008-09-25T21:55:00.002-06:00

During a conversation with my mother and father on the way to a local eatery the other night:

Ellen's Dad: They always talk about pre-marital sex, but is there such a think as post-marital sex?

Ellen: Not from what I hear.

Yes, off the top of my clever little head.

Anyway, I apologize for that horrible picture of me in that blue shirt you must see if you check my blog to see if I've written anything clever, but I'm currently in the land of pickled eggs and Yuengling beer (that would be Pennsylvania, in case you didn't know).
I'll try and put some pictures up soon, but now that I'm officially in my thirties, maybe I don't have time for such frivolous things anymore.

I know, who am I kidding? I probably have more time now.

C_y of R_s

2008-09-16T11:17:00.003-06:00

Another weekend at my favorite place in Idaho.
Maybe it was the Cabinetry of Rivers, or the Cemetery of Ricks.
But sadly no. I am in a rut. A rut of climbing. In the same, albeit great, place in Idaho.
Pictures to come, but in the meantime, check out my fabulous new climbing shirt.

It was great except for the chafing ability of the sparkles on my right armpit.

Still got it after all these years...

2008-09-11T08:46:00.003-06:00

(And no, I'm not talking about the car, but it was alive and already kicking when this story takes place. Good car. Keep running. And turning. And let's not forget braking. I love it when you do that, you saucy lady. Or gentleman. I haven't figured out your sex yet. But there's still time...right?)

Back when I was 15, we moved from Tennessee to Pennsylvania. In Tennessee, you could get your driver's permit when you were 15, whereas in PA, you had to wait till you were 16.
Anyway, we moved, and I thought I'd be all over the driving test, since I'd been able to practice for the entire previous year.

I was planning on taking my test, when I heard that they were adding parallel parking to the test. Yes, the dreaded PP! So, for months I practiced parking, which I wasn't so hot on (in addition to realizing flashing red lights meant "stop," just ask my mother for that story).
Finally, I decided to fish or cut bait. Off to the DMV I went. I got this skinny lady with brown short hair and glasses. She seemed not very nice. The parking part of the test was first, and you had to park between these orange cones. Do you know how hard it is to see orange cones that hardly clear your bumper?

Anyway, I parked, but I had nudged a cone. In reality, it would have been a tiny bump on someones bumper, and isn't that what bumpers are for? I was ready for the rest of the test, but she just looked at me and told me that I failed.

"I failed for hitting that cone? I didn't even knock it down!"

"That cone could have been a small child. You failed."

I didn't bother to tell her about how her reasoning was completely insane. Why would a small child be playing in the street? And, if there were small children hanging out all over the parking space, you better believe at 16 I would be looking for another space. Heck, I'm almost 30 and I would still look for another space.

Anyway, after a few stressed out months ( I hate failing any kind of test), we ventured off to take the test again. This time I got a jolly man whom I regaled with my story of the mean, mean DMV lady. He sort of agreed with me that she was mean. By this time, they had added the high tech broomsticks in the orange cones, so you at least had a chance of parking. I made it and passed the rest of my test, which the jolly man signed with a smiley face for me.

Since then, I haven't lived in a place that necessitates me to parallel park frequently, but I've had my moments, like the time I parallel parked a 15 passenger van in downtown Harrisburg on a hill. But the other night, on my way to African dance class, the street was quite crowded, but I found the perfect place, and I executed the perfect park. Less than a foot from the curb and on the first try! It was so good, I had to take a picture of it.

It's nice to know that something I learned when I was 16 stuck!