Warning: celebrity gossip to follow. I really couldn't care less about celebrity gossip, but I promise this is going to be good.
So we've established that I'm a John Mayer fan. He's got the chops, but he's what I like to call a "mimbo." You know, male bimbo. His song, "Half of My Heart," to which Taylor Swift adds some harmony, is up for a grammy.
Yesterday, my sister called to ask me if I'd heard the song "Dear John" by Taylor Swift. She told me it has been rumored that the song is basically for Mr. Mayer, in retaliation for a brief relationship gone wrong.
When I got home, I asked my 11-year-old daughter to grab her Taylor Swift CD and play me the song. Let me tell you, this kid idolizes Taylor Swift. She plays her music, wears her beret, and sings her songs in the shower. So she plays me the song. Then she asks why I wanted to hear it. I tell her it's because the song is supposed to be about John Mayer.
Her reaction: "Oooooo, busted! I'd be mad if I was her too! She sang on one of his songs and she only got to sing the same six words over and over!"
Oh, the innocence. I'm locking this kid in a tower.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
True Confessions
I have a confession.
I talk to myself. It's not inner monologue. I have conversations with myself. Dialogue. I say something, and then I say something back. I discovered this when I got married. I would ask Dear Hubby a question and then answer it out loud, myself. I still do. He's been conditioned to ignore the insanity and answer the questions I'm actually asking of him.
I have another confession.
I day dream. Like a lot. I can watch T.V. but really, I'm just looking at it. I'm actually off in la-la land, thinking about things like what I would wear to a 1950's era cocktail party (a pink chiffon dress, of course). When I read a book, I really have to focus because one word can send me off on some weird tangent and before I know it I am climbing a mountain at lightning speed, thinking about the vikings.
So naturally, there's a good book in there somewhere, right?
I talk to myself. It's not inner monologue. I have conversations with myself. Dialogue. I say something, and then I say something back. I discovered this when I got married. I would ask Dear Hubby a question and then answer it out loud, myself. I still do. He's been conditioned to ignore the insanity and answer the questions I'm actually asking of him.
I have another confession.
I day dream. Like a lot. I can watch T.V. but really, I'm just looking at it. I'm actually off in la-la land, thinking about things like what I would wear to a 1950's era cocktail party (a pink chiffon dress, of course). When I read a book, I really have to focus because one word can send me off on some weird tangent and before I know it I am climbing a mountain at lightning speed, thinking about the vikings.
So naturally, there's a good book in there somewhere, right?
Monday, January 10, 2011
Bear Down, Tucson
Today my thoughts are with my friends in Tucson, Arizona. I love Tucson. I went to college there, and so today my heart hurts. What happened there on Saturday is a complete and utter tragedy.
But what seems to be happening in the aftermath is worse. The swiftness with which blame was thrown, fingers pointed, and violent retaliation was called for happened at near light speed. The cretin who pulled the trigger? It was his fault. Plain and simple.
Today I watched two kids walk down the hallway at school, pretending to be robots. How do we go from the innocence of pretending to be robots to the ill-mannered finger-pointers that have been on the airwaves this weekend?
I'm sick and tired of bad behavior. I'm sick and tired of bad behavior getting all the attention. It seems the louder somebody yells or the more bleeps they can produce on T.V., the more attention they're given. Enough. Enough already.
You want a little dose of reality? Reality isn't T.V. It isn't questioning the paternity of your baby while you spend $300 you didn't earn on a pair of designer jeans you don't need. It isn't calling someone a foul name because they stole your boyfriend. It isn't even sitting in a coffee shop bemoaning your wretched little life.
Reality is standing up and taking responsibility for your own actions. It's earning your keep. It's serving others and taking care of your family. It's doing what's right. All the time. Every time. It's behaving in a civil manner, even when you don't want to. When something goes wrong in your life, and you're looking for someone to blame, look in the mirror.
In Tucson's case, let's blame the guy who pulled the trigger. Let's take a stand against bad behavior. Let's not pay it any attention, except to point it out to our children and say, "don't you EVER DARE behave like that." And then if they do, love them anyway. Then pretend you're a robot and chill out.
Tucson, I love you. I stand with you. May the warmth of the desert warm your hearts and heal your wounds. Bear Down.
But what seems to be happening in the aftermath is worse. The swiftness with which blame was thrown, fingers pointed, and violent retaliation was called for happened at near light speed. The cretin who pulled the trigger? It was his fault. Plain and simple.
Today I watched two kids walk down the hallway at school, pretending to be robots. How do we go from the innocence of pretending to be robots to the ill-mannered finger-pointers that have been on the airwaves this weekend?
I'm sick and tired of bad behavior. I'm sick and tired of bad behavior getting all the attention. It seems the louder somebody yells or the more bleeps they can produce on T.V., the more attention they're given. Enough. Enough already.
You want a little dose of reality? Reality isn't T.V. It isn't questioning the paternity of your baby while you spend $300 you didn't earn on a pair of designer jeans you don't need. It isn't calling someone a foul name because they stole your boyfriend. It isn't even sitting in a coffee shop bemoaning your wretched little life.
Reality is standing up and taking responsibility for your own actions. It's earning your keep. It's serving others and taking care of your family. It's doing what's right. All the time. Every time. It's behaving in a civil manner, even when you don't want to. When something goes wrong in your life, and you're looking for someone to blame, look in the mirror.
In Tucson's case, let's blame the guy who pulled the trigger. Let's take a stand against bad behavior. Let's not pay it any attention, except to point it out to our children and say, "don't you EVER DARE behave like that." And then if they do, love them anyway. Then pretend you're a robot and chill out.
Tucson, I love you. I stand with you. May the warmth of the desert warm your hearts and heal your wounds. Bear Down.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Letting Go
I had what I call an "ah-ha" moment today, and no, I'm not talking about the one-hit-wonder band. But now you're going to be singing "Take On Me" for the next several hours, right?
Anyway... back to my ah-ha moment. I have totally ignored my writing for the last several months. And yet, it keeps nagging me to do something. Begging me. Pleading with me. Sometimes I really wish I didn't want to write. Even when there's nothing in my head (which is quite often) I still want to write. And yet, I go on ignoring it.
So my new year's resolution and theme for 2011 is "let it go and go write." If the dishes don't get done, let it go and go write. Write every day, even if you only edit one word. Sit down with the computer. Delete one word and replace it with another. If you don't take a shower tonight, let it go and go write. Get the picture?
But then today I realized something entirely different. I'm holding onto something that really needs to be let go. My real issue is fear. I'm holding onto it for dear life. I'm afraid to finish anything. Because if I finish anything, then someone else will read it. Why would I open myself up to such vulnerability? Can I really allow other people to see what's going on inside this half-cooked brain of mine? Can I handle it? Can I really be okay with strangers spending their hard-earned cash to buy something I wrote? Can I even get to the point of having something to sell?
The answer of course, is YES.
Confidence, as it were, is not my problem. Fear, on the other hand, keeps getting in my way.
Time to let it go.
Anyway... back to my ah-ha moment. I have totally ignored my writing for the last several months. And yet, it keeps nagging me to do something. Begging me. Pleading with me. Sometimes I really wish I didn't want to write. Even when there's nothing in my head (which is quite often) I still want to write. And yet, I go on ignoring it.
So my new year's resolution and theme for 2011 is "let it go and go write." If the dishes don't get done, let it go and go write. Write every day, even if you only edit one word. Sit down with the computer. Delete one word and replace it with another. If you don't take a shower tonight, let it go and go write. Get the picture?
But then today I realized something entirely different. I'm holding onto something that really needs to be let go. My real issue is fear. I'm holding onto it for dear life. I'm afraid to finish anything. Because if I finish anything, then someone else will read it. Why would I open myself up to such vulnerability? Can I really allow other people to see what's going on inside this half-cooked brain of mine? Can I handle it? Can I really be okay with strangers spending their hard-earned cash to buy something I wrote? Can I even get to the point of having something to sell?
The answer of course, is YES.
Confidence, as it were, is not my problem. Fear, on the other hand, keeps getting in my way.
Time to let it go.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Holy Cow! It's 2011!
Ahem. Happy New Year.
What am I doing? Have you heard of P90X? I've been doing it for about six weeks now, which is more than I've worked out in the last two-and-a-half years. I'm pretty sure it's going to kill me. Or I'm going to have killer arms. One or the other. Dan and I have been getting up at 5 a.m. to do this. Last night, I was forced to go to Zumba as well, which I haven't done since September. It has been a challenge today to remain upright. The last time I did any kind of two-a-days, I was in marching band and twenty years younger.
What am I reading? I'm about 50 pages shy of finishing The Hourglass Door by Lisa Mangum. There's a sweet-talking Italian guy. Need I say more? Very fun. Very mysterious. And it definitely makes me feel twenty years younger.
What am I writing? A story about a mushroom-sized girl and her gigantic best friend.
Also, I found a pair of pinkish-purplish Converse All-Stars for ten bucks.
2011 is off to a good start.
You?
What am I doing? Have you heard of P90X? I've been doing it for about six weeks now, which is more than I've worked out in the last two-and-a-half years. I'm pretty sure it's going to kill me. Or I'm going to have killer arms. One or the other. Dan and I have been getting up at 5 a.m. to do this. Last night, I was forced to go to Zumba as well, which I haven't done since September. It has been a challenge today to remain upright. The last time I did any kind of two-a-days, I was in marching band and twenty years younger.
What am I reading? I'm about 50 pages shy of finishing The Hourglass Door by Lisa Mangum. There's a sweet-talking Italian guy. Need I say more? Very fun. Very mysterious. And it definitely makes me feel twenty years younger.
What am I writing? A story about a mushroom-sized girl and her gigantic best friend.
Also, I found a pair of pinkish-purplish Converse All-Stars for ten bucks.
2011 is off to a good start.
You?
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Murphy Christmas
A Brief Family History:
Historically, we tend to have bad luck when it comes to Christmas vacation. That bad luck typically comes in the form of illness. There was the time that one kid had croup, another kid had pneumonia, and the parents both had the flu. At the same time. We've driven in blizzards, had Christmas trees that refused to remain upright, and even remembered the presents only after the four-hour road trip to Grandma's house. Chances are, if my husband schedules the time off for Christmas, something would go wrong.
This year, we were bound and determined to make it a memorable one. Hubby scheduled the time off months ago. We schemed and plotted and planned to surprise our kids with a trip to Disneyland. We had our hotel. We had our road trip snacks, movies, and games. I secretly packed their clothes. We planned to leave Tuesday afternoon. And then came the Pineapple Express. I'm sure you've heard about it. Southern California is drenched, to put it mildly. Southern Utah is lined with sandbags. Looking at satellite imagery, the storm was directly over the exact route we were going to take. In addition to that, we are buried under SEVERAL feet of snow. There was no way we could safely take our kids on what under the best conditions, would be a 13-hour road trip.
HOWEVER, being the cheerful optimists that we are, we quickly came up with Plan B. We booked a hotel room in downtown Salt Lake City for tonight, where we could swim, eat at a fancy-schmancy restaurant, and take in the beautiful Christmas sights. Yesterday, we even managed to sneak in a trip to Santa's workshop, where we found some pretty awesome Christmas presents. You see, Disneyland WAS THE PRESENT, so we had nothing but a few stocking stuffers. Upon returning from our stealthy shopping spree, we walked into a freezing cold house. The Pineapple Express had struck again, this time by taking out both our furnaces. AT THE SAME TIME. So I called a guy, who said it was happening all over the valley and said he'd never seen anything like it. He was currently working on three houses in Park City. At the same time. He said he would try to get to us sometime during the evening, but if not, he would come first thing in the morning. He's here now. And I'm typing this, at the same time. Fortunately we had a warm place to sleep last night, in the form of my in-laws' vacation home, which is conveniently located 5 minutes away.
Unfortunately, this brings me to the next wrench in the Christmas gears: sickness. Currently, it seems that everything on my inside wants to be on my outside. So the hotel is canceled. The hoity-toity dinner is not an option. City sidewalks and silver bells? I think not.
I tell you this not for sympathy; but for reference. Sometime next summer, when I start dreaming of Christmas Future, and those dang sugar plums start to dance, please, please remind me about this very moment.
Historically, we tend to have bad luck when it comes to Christmas vacation. That bad luck typically comes in the form of illness. There was the time that one kid had croup, another kid had pneumonia, and the parents both had the flu. At the same time. We've driven in blizzards, had Christmas trees that refused to remain upright, and even remembered the presents only after the four-hour road trip to Grandma's house. Chances are, if my husband schedules the time off for Christmas, something would go wrong.
This year, we were bound and determined to make it a memorable one. Hubby scheduled the time off months ago. We schemed and plotted and planned to surprise our kids with a trip to Disneyland. We had our hotel. We had our road trip snacks, movies, and games. I secretly packed their clothes. We planned to leave Tuesday afternoon. And then came the Pineapple Express. I'm sure you've heard about it. Southern California is drenched, to put it mildly. Southern Utah is lined with sandbags. Looking at satellite imagery, the storm was directly over the exact route we were going to take. In addition to that, we are buried under SEVERAL feet of snow. There was no way we could safely take our kids on what under the best conditions, would be a 13-hour road trip.
HOWEVER, being the cheerful optimists that we are, we quickly came up with Plan B. We booked a hotel room in downtown Salt Lake City for tonight, where we could swim, eat at a fancy-schmancy restaurant, and take in the beautiful Christmas sights. Yesterday, we even managed to sneak in a trip to Santa's workshop, where we found some pretty awesome Christmas presents. You see, Disneyland WAS THE PRESENT, so we had nothing but a few stocking stuffers. Upon returning from our stealthy shopping spree, we walked into a freezing cold house. The Pineapple Express had struck again, this time by taking out both our furnaces. AT THE SAME TIME. So I called a guy, who said it was happening all over the valley and said he'd never seen anything like it. He was currently working on three houses in Park City. At the same time. He said he would try to get to us sometime during the evening, but if not, he would come first thing in the morning. He's here now. And I'm typing this, at the same time. Fortunately we had a warm place to sleep last night, in the form of my in-laws' vacation home, which is conveniently located 5 minutes away.
Unfortunately, this brings me to the next wrench in the Christmas gears: sickness. Currently, it seems that everything on my inside wants to be on my outside. So the hotel is canceled. The hoity-toity dinner is not an option. City sidewalks and silver bells? I think not.
I tell you this not for sympathy; but for reference. Sometime next summer, when I start dreaming of Christmas Future, and those dang sugar plums start to dance, please, please remind me about this very moment.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Christmas in Bethlehem
Last night our friends Chuck and Rachelle invited us over for dinner and game night. Delicious and fun, for sure. Stuck to their refrigerator was something that looked like a dead sea scroll. It was actually an invitation to their ward Christmas party (ward = congregation). Full of type-o's, it was written in biblical fashion. Prospective attendees were told that they must dress in ancient Bethlehem-type garb or be turned away. Really. I'm not kidding. Apparently, if you don't show up in your desert sandals in Alpine, Utah in winter, then obviously you're a Scrooge who doesn't understand the true meaning of Christmas.
Chuck and Rachelle would absolutely be invited to my Halloween gala, but I fully realize that Chuck would come in his regular clothes. And I'm okay with that. Chuck was as annoyed with having to show up at his Christmas party in his bathrobe as he was at being turned away for NOT wearing his bathrobe.
In typical Chuck fashion, he was trying to think of a "proper" outfit to wear to the party. His first thought was Bethlehem Jedi. Naturally, the rest of the evening was peppered with suggestions:
Bethlehem Avatar
Bethlehem rock star (Gene Simmons to be more precise)
Bethlehem plumber (with a loin cloth worn a little too low)
And the list goes on. Please post your suggestions here and I will pass them along to Chuck, an artist/pharmacist. If your suggestion is picked, I'm sure he'll be happy to paint your face in the style of KISS/Gene Simmons.
Chuck and Rachelle would absolutely be invited to my Halloween gala, but I fully realize that Chuck would come in his regular clothes. And I'm okay with that. Chuck was as annoyed with having to show up at his Christmas party in his bathrobe as he was at being turned away for NOT wearing his bathrobe.
In typical Chuck fashion, he was trying to think of a "proper" outfit to wear to the party. His first thought was Bethlehem Jedi. Naturally, the rest of the evening was peppered with suggestions:
Bethlehem Avatar
Bethlehem rock star (Gene Simmons to be more precise)
Bethlehem plumber (with a loin cloth worn a little too low)
And the list goes on. Please post your suggestions here and I will pass them along to Chuck, an artist/pharmacist. If your suggestion is picked, I'm sure he'll be happy to paint your face in the style of KISS/Gene Simmons.
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