Random Thoughts

• Number three recently conducted a Family Home Evening at our house.  And I couldn’t stop staring at him.  He’s SO PRETTY!  I think he said interesting words as well.  I have no idea.
• Why do smokers think they aren’t littering when they throw their smoldering butts all over the place? 
• And why don’t they think smoldering butts thrown out a window on the freeway could very possibly set my car, full of flammable gasoline and other flammable liquids, on fire??
• Why should it matter to me that “Obama asks moms to return to school”?  Because I sure get told that a lot on Facebook.  Like, now I’m going to go.  Because, you know, Obama asked me to. 
• When did celebrities become experts on politics and politicians?  How can a movie star with a high school education call a politician with his doctorate degree stupid?  Or a politician who has, say, run a large state?  For example.
• I recently saw a car with both a handicap parking pass and a BYU law school bumper sticker.  And I laughed.
• If I take the sacrament twice on one Sunday and miss it altogether the next Sunday, am I even? (I know the answer – just a random thought…like the title.)
• I want to be the weight I was when I thought I was fat.
• I find it very troubling when people younger than me are more successful than me.  How can this be?
• It annoys me when I see skinny people jogging.  Is that wrong?
• I am ever hopeful that mankind will realize that in order to turn left, one must move one’s vehicle into the intersection.  And not just sit there behind the cross walk.  Waiting for Godot or something.
• I’m always surprised at the end of the year when the entertainment industry lists the famous people who’ve died that year.  Sure, I remember some of them, (Michael Jackson, John Hughes, Farah Fawcett, Patrick Swayze), but I always find myself thinking, “Oh my gosh!  Did [insert forgotten celebrity] die?  Did I know that?”  When I die, I wonder if people will forget at the end of the year.  And then think, “Oh yeah.  That one girl died!”
• It’s very strange to me how so many people are following me on Twitter when I don’t have an account nor do I know how to tweet. (I keep getting messages that so-and-so is now following me on Twitter…hmmm.)
• I now have unlimited text messaging and I’m so disappointed in myself that I can’t seem to break 400 texts in a month.  What a waste of a resourse.  I must do better.
• What’s up with ads on youtube videos?  So annoying.

There should be a law

I have a confession. 

I broke the law today.  But it was TOTALLY worth it.

I think it’s against the law to take pictures of people at the gym.  But I had to.  You’ll see why in a minute.

Sadly, even though my friend and I were as inconspicous as we knew how to be, (I pretended to be showing her something on my cell phone as I took this guy’s picture…thank HEAVENS my phone didn’t flash…so very very sly), my cell phone taking skills are just not good.

They’re bad.  To be honest. 

I guess I’m kind of shaky.

But it’s better than nothing.  First, the description of what we saw today at the gym: (Now, when I describe him disparagingly, don’t judge me for judging him, because, as you will read, he deserves to be judged because he displays himself to be “seen.”  You’ll understand later.)

Old guy.  And by old, I mean older than me.  And by older than me, I mean likely in his sixties.  With a gut.  And a shoulder tattoo.  And a white beard.

In other words, he should know better.

His gym “shorts” of choice can only be described thusly:  Speedo with short sleeves…cap sleeves if you will.  A better discription is women’s volleyball shorts.  Two sizes too small.  Purple.  With wide black verticle stripes.

After I pointed him out – you know how you point out someone without wanting anyone to see you doing it…by turning your back to said person and pointing at your own chest in the general direction of the talk-ee - my friend said, “When I see gages like that I just want to rip them out.”

For the uninformed, gages are those ear discs people put inside their earlobes, which stretch them all to crap. 

FYI.

Anyway, I had totally missed the gages because I couldn’t seem to peel my eyes away from his volleyball shorts and the rather embarrassing display of his junk.

I mean seriously…if you’re going to display your junk, dress it up or something.  Maybe embellish.  But gosh, if there’s nothing really to brag about, don’t wear those shorts, and if you have to wear those shorts, don’t leave the display au natural.  Because, dude, you’re going to be talked about.  It’s your responsibility to make the chatter a little more interesting if you don’t have something talk-worthy to display.

Geez.

Anyway, when I finally dared a glance at him again, I saw the gages my friend was talking about.  They were hoops.  Yes, hoops.  As gages.  Probably about 1 1/4 inches in diameter.

What this means is that the hoops were inside his earlobes.  Stretching the crap out of them.

He looked ridiculous.

And so, I took a picture:

I’m heartbroken that the picture is so bad, but at least you get the shadow of those “shorts.”

And, since it’s so bad, you can’t see his face, which is a good thing I guess.

But really.  There should be a law.

An eye pollution law.

An unfulfilling argument

Why do I let people I don’t know bother me for lengths of time?  This is bad.

I have this motto I coined that I’ve learned to live by:  I refuse to let the opinions of people I don’t even know affect my opinion of myself.

Great motto, right?

Okay, so this latest thing didn’t really affect my opinion of myself, but it sure did affect my opinion of this guy I’ve never met.

And an old lady.

And I simply can’t seem to let the emotion go as quickly as I should.

Here’s what happened (anyone watch Monk?):

A friend on facebook made an innocent enough comment:  “I’m wondering where all the ‘classy’ Ute fans sit, ’cause I’ve always sat with the beer drinking, f’ing swearing ones similar to the fans that sat with Max’s family. I guess the ‘classy’ fans are sitting in the suites.”

Pretty benign comment.  And fair enough.

I replied:  “Goes both ways. Many Ute fans embarrass me, but I just expect more from BYU – since they’re supposed to be religious and all. I’m Ute all the way (and I’m WAY classy – AND I have a son who graduated from the Y – and two from the U as well as my husband and I) because I just can’t abide by the holier than thou’s at the Y. Did you know some great BYU fan elbowed Whittingham’s wife in the face? Just sayin’.”

THEN some moron says:  “So is [my name] suggesting that Ute fans are non-religious? I happen to know quite a few U fans, some who are relatives. There are religious people at the U just as there are non-religious people at the Y. When people start generalizing like that it just shows there ignorance and arrogance.”

What a dumb thing to say.  SO, I let him have THIS:  “Ok Keith – don’t start a fight – or else I’d have to point out your ignorance in spelling ‘there’ instead of ‘their.’ Of course I’m not suggesting Utes aren’t religious. I happen to BE a Ute fan. I’M religious, and the same religion as the church that sponsors BYU. My whole family is religious. My point was this: I expect MORE from the school that is supposed to share my Christlike values. I expect them to NOT behave as some of the Ute fans who are moronic – such as the ones who supposedly threw beer on Max Hall’s family last year. Those people embarrass me, and they don’t represent me. And sadly, they don’t surprise me. And yes, I would dare say those foul-mouthed beer throwers are not religious. Because if they were, they wouldn’t be behaving in such a way. BYU people supposedly represent me, since they are a well-known private church-based school (can’t be argued – they are what they are), yet they often display behavior that is definitely NOT Christlike. And that is where I am disappointed in BYU fans. And Max Hall. And I expect more of the BYU fans than I do the Ute fans who swear and drink beer and throw things. And I am disappointed in any U fans who share my religion and behave like idiots. But mostly, the idiots at the U are, by their actions, not religious.  Does this clear up my view for you? Because I take offense when someone I don’t know starts throwing words like ‘ignorance’ and ‘arrogance’ my way.”

Okay, so of all the things one could respond to in this scenario, some old woman wrote:  “Actually it should be spelled there. Keith was right.” 

OH…MY…GOSH!!!  Has the world gone MAD?  And…why do I care?

Couldn’t resist: 

“Sorry Carolyn. ‘There’ is a place. ‘Their’ is ‘they’ possessive.  ‘Their’ is correct.”

And I keep checking facebook to see if grandma responds.  I mean SERIOUSLY – shouldn’t a woman in her eighties know better?

I weep for America.

Too much emotion for something that simply doesn’t matter. 

I am really odd.

But you knew that.

Thanksgiving Day dysfunction

I love Thanksgiving.  Love the family, love the food, love the relaxing after the meal.

Some people don’t.

Some people have weird families.  I don’t understand these people.  I don’t understand how some people have weird families and dread Thanksgiving.

I always thought miserable Thanksgiving Days were exaggerated for effect.

Not so.

So…dinner is going well.  Seventeen family members are gathered around the turkey.  Everyone’s there. 

Life is good.  No worries.

Unbeknownst to the family, an “ongoing resentment” is percolating in young Paul, 35.

Geez Paul.  Take a walk.

Which he did, apparently.  Then he came back.

And shot and killed his twin sisters, one of whom was pregnant, his 79-year-old aunt, a sweet six-year-old girl, and critically injured his brother-in-law.

That’s some resentment.

How does this happen??  Such a sad day that will be remembered each year at Thanksgiving as a tragedy.

I just don’t get it.

Gosh I love my family.

Story here.

P.S.  I know this isn’t funny.  (I feel so much pressure to be funny…)  Except in the funny “odd” way.   I’m just grateful for my family.  That’s all.

Double your pleasure

Question:  If a young man fondles these, does he have to confess?

Just wondering.

Let me make this clear:  I have all kinds of empathy for people who might want to consider losing weight. 

Criminy – I need to lose weight for sobbing out loud.

But I’m rather discriminatory about what I wear in this sad state. 

For example:  I wear shorts when I water ski.  No need to subject my family and friends to eye pollution when they’re just trying to enjoy the landscape.

I don’t wear cap sleeve shirts if I can help it.  Frankly, I find men’s t-shirts far more flattering on my arms.

My days of wearing short shorts are OVER.

Low rise jeans, though “in,” are a bad choice for my body.  I try to keep them to a minimum.

Halter-tops, midriff shirts, see-through attire, and shirts that are just too tight are wardrobe taboo.

I know this.  And I have banned such clothes from my closet.

Even in private moments, if you know what I mean.

My point is this:  Sweetheart…if you have back fat that looks like breasts, perhaps you might want to rethink the swimming-suit-as-a-top option (complete with matching string to pull the ensemble together).  A nice billowy blouse that is most definitely NOT see-through would be fabulous.

Consider your fellow man.

Give a hoot.  Don’t pollute.

Photo courtesy of http://www.peopleofwalmart.com/.  Yes, CM, I have been there, but took another gander recently at your reminder.

I am not OCD. I’m not. I’m not. OCD. I’m not.

I don’t need to touch each light switch as I walk through a room, but I sure do fixate on things.

Certain things, people, events, tasks, whatever, just get in my system and I can’t focus on much else.  I think this is how my ADD manifests itself.  I am unable to multi-focus.  If I come to your house and the television is on, I can’t really have a conversation with you. 

I will try to focus on what you’re saying, but my eyes and mind will always flip toward the audio competition. 

This is especially problematic for visiting teaching.

I’m just saying.

So, this is my latest fixation:  Painting. 

Not because I like it.  Oh, no.  I LOATHE IT.  But we have this rental that is vacant and needs painting before it can be rented again, and I just cannot stand anything else until the painting is done.

Consequently, I now spring forth with the essence of Eau de Turpentine.  I got paint in my hair last week while doing oil-based trim.

In my defense, I was painting a door when my pony tail brushed against the freshly painted door behind me.

Innocent mistake, no?

Have you ever had paint in your hair??  Not the easy-to-work-with latex paint. 

Oh, no.  This was oil-based paint.

There is no combing.  Or finger-running-through-ing.

Until you pop open the turpentine and rub your brains out.

Sigh.

I was coming out of Sherwin Williams last week, and some marketing geniuses approached me with their card and said, “Maybe next time.”

I about wept.  And threw myself on their necks with sheer exhaustion and desperation.

These guys are brilliant.

Just brilliant.

Definitely next time.

Switching teams

Okay – minds out of the gutter…not where I’m going with this.

Remember my love for Stephenie Meyer…  To recap – love the books, not because they are high art, but because the author deserves the love.  Just a regular Mormon housewife who had a dream (literally) and wrote a book about it.  She’s stayed grounded and is just a regular nice person.  (I know people who know her.)

SO – Twilight the movie…great because it allowed a visualization of the beloved book, but seriously – quite laughable and hard to defend to those who aren’t ardent fans.  Lame special effects clouded otherwise well-executed performances by the stars.

You may recall from my Twilight post that I was unsure about Jacob. 

Oh.

My.

Gosh.

I am TOTALLY switching teams!  Look, anyone who’s read the books knows which “team” (Jacob or Edward) wins the prize, so it’s rather pointless to be siding with either man, but ladies…It is Cougar Town for this old lady.

Taylor Lautner is a beautiful specimen of a man.  Seriously – he’s 17 years old?  I feel dirty, but in such a good way.

I don’t care who you are…this boy is beautiful. 

Just soak it in for a moment.

Okay.

So, of course I saw New Moon at midnight.  Duh.  I just didn’t get into the New Moon hype like I did for Twilight.  As you’ll recall, I was way ahead of the game on the fandom, but now that the Twilight fever has hit the world with such force, it’s just not that fun to be a fan anymore.

I didn’t really watch the trailers.  Didn’t really get all amped for the movie.  In fact, I was so tired last night I almost considered missing it.

Oh so glad I didn’t.

I am here to give you a rousing YES YES YES on this movie.  It’s amazing what a little money can do for special effects.  I LOVED the werewolves.  All of them.  Hot hot hot.  And the wolves themselves…very nicely done.

I was worried.

Fears allayed.  This is a beautiful stand-alone movie…even without reading the books.  I … just … loved it.

LOVED!

New Moon may be my favorite book of the series because I thought it portrayed anguish better than anything I’d read in some time.  There is a point in the book where Meyer shows the painful passing of time by writing the month on a blank page:  October.  Then the page is turned.  November.  And on for several pages/months.  I just remember the first time I read it and feeling the pain with each physical turn of the page.  Turning the pages actually hurt.

I loved that.  And for me, the movie does a perfect job of showing this pain in the way Meyer intended.  I was so pleased with that scene.

I do have some nits to pick.  Same nits.  Edward.  Still don’t see the love for Rob Pattinson.  He’s fine.  But there was a point in the movie where his shirt was off for several minutes, and it just made me uncomfortable.  I kept thinking, “Dude.  Back on.  Just put it back on.”

He’s too skinny, pasty white, and just looks emaciated to me.  Not a muscle bulging anywhere.  And really, same gripe as last movie…chest wax dude.  Clean it up for your big scene. 

Duh.

But overall – two enthusiastic thumbs up.

So Anna…I know Breaking Dawn broke your heart.  Move past it.  Come back to the dark side.  You’ll be glad you did.

A little taste:

Just say NO to the combover

At what point does a man commit to the combover? 

Do the math…if hair, on average, grows 1/2 inch a month, a six-inch combover would take a year’s worth of effort.

How would a man wear his hair during the in-between phase?

Let’s say you have a nice three-inch combover going for you, but it only stretches across half the scalp.  Do you comb it over the scalp with a three-inch gap before it reaches the other side?

I don’t think you could actually comb it back on its growing side if it’s longer than the healthy hair.

That would just look odd.

And once the desired six-inches is reached, drag that part and get that long hair up over there. 

And pray the wind doesn’t blow.

Dude.  Give it up.

Let me make a suggestion:  Just say NO to the combover.  Embrace the blankness of hair.  Cut it all short.  Or off.

Do it for us.  Do it for yourself. 

Do it for humanity.

Random thoughts

• The swine flu has descended upon our house.  Pray for us.
• I will not infect anyone without telling them first.
• If women shouldn’t really wear slacks to church,  how is it culturally acceptable to wear capri-length tights that look like pants under skirts?
• Last night I took multi-tasking to a new level…run water in bathroom sink, wet toothbrush, leave water running to warm up to wash face, put toothpaste on toothbrush, brush teeth, while going to the bathroom, spit, rinse, wet washcloth with now warm water, turn off water, wash face, moisturize face.  Yeah, I’m disgusted, too.
• Jet Blue + red-eye + exit row no charge + empty flight = lying across three seats to sleep.
• If rock beats scissors and scissors beats paper, why, then, can’t rock beat paper? (read on a comic strip – wish it was mine)
• Girls weekend + St. George + no sleep + Ryan Shupe and the Rubberband + Peter Breinholt + excessive spending on Thomas Singer jewelry (yeah, I’d never heard of him either) = awesomeness, exhaustion and blog neglect.
• Being alluded to in the sentence “Thin people eat a lot” = the best part of the entire trip.
• I need sleepy.

These boots are made for walkin’

I just got back from a quick business trip to New York City. 

Yep.  I’ve hit the big time.  I feel so cool just saying that.

I’m so not cool.

Anyway, we did some walking.  A lot of walking.  And what are my favorite shoes of all time?

Remember?

These:

I think I can safely say that I was the only woman in all of Manhattan in red cowboy boots.

Or in cowboy boots of any kind.

Because I looked.

And, I think I can safely say I was the only person in cowboy boots in Manhattan.

We were at a Consumer Electronics show and one of the booths sported awesome massage chairs, so husband and I gave them a whirl.

We were asked to take off our shoes. 

My pants pretty much covered my boots so they weren’t super obvious until I took them off and placed them next to the massage chair.

I said to the chair guy, “Bet you don’t see that very often.”

“Nope.  I’m not a cowboy.”

Well gosh, neither am I.  Is that the point of cowboy boots?  To be a cowboy?

I’ve decided I’m a trend setter.  Next year, all you’ll see in New York City is cowboy boots. 

Likely red ones.

I just have to give a shout out to the show we saw while there.  In the Heights.  Seriously, off the hook.  One of my favorites of all time.  In the Heights won four Tony’s in 2008:  Best Musical, Best Score, Best Choreography and Best Orchestration.

Well deserved.

I’ve seen a lot of musicals.  A LOT.  This ranks.  And the best recommendation I can give it is that my husband liked it very much.  One of his tops.  Of all time.

He said it best, “A lot of musicals have an energetic number in the beginning, in the middle and at the end.  This musical was energetic throughout with just a few ballads thrown in.”

I concur.  It’s modern, energetic, funny, amazing music, incredible voices, great dancing, eye-popping.  I never thought I’d like rap.  (It’s not all rap – a lot of rap, but the singing that’s done is jaw-dropping.)  Absolutely fabulous.

A taste of In the Heights: