we did not marry based on our mutual love for animals.

We have a house guest. His name is Pig, the Guinea Pig. Spouse is caring for him until his owners return on Wednesday.

I am having nothing to do with him (the animal, not my Spouse,) because I hate animals. I know. I know. I'm a terrible person. But it is true. I hate animals. I don't hate the people that own animals, and I thought the baby elephant at the zoo was as adorable as anyone else, but I don't like having them (the animals, not the people that like them,)in my home.

5 Reasons I Hate Animals.

1. Germs. My mother and father are very different people, but of the few things they have in common (beyond their mutual distaste for the Republican Party,) is a phobia of all things germy, which, (along with a hearty distaste for the Republican Party,) they instilled in most of their children. Growing up, it was either my father encouraging us "not to touch that handrail thousands of other people have touched," or my mother forbidding us to go barefoot on the carpet in the hotel room because, "it's infested with other people's dead skin cells!"

So you can rightfully assume that it is killing me slowly to have this CREATURE in my HOUSE that spends the majority of its time sitting in its own poop and foraging for food which is often found right next to the poop. And then, Spouse would have the audacity to encourage me to PET this CREATURE. Honestly, Spouseman, honestly.

2. Germs.

3. Germs.

4. They smell weird.

5. I'm allergic to them anyways.

Of course, Spouse feels very differently about the situation. He spends significant amounts of time cooing at it and talking to it like it has brain larger than a brussel sprout, and convincing me that it is "cute."

I have maintained my "No Animals" position thus far, but my heart did melt a tiny bit when I saw him crouched next Pig's container and heard him whisper, "Now be good, Pig, your behavior over the next few days determines whether or not my wife let's me have one of you guys next year..."



happy birthday grace

Grace turned 17 today. Kudos to the most normal and seemingly well-adjusted child in our family. (She also enjoys sandwiches)


pretty frickin festive

So here are some photos. I generally don't post lots of pictures for 2 reasons, both of them based on hyperbole.

1. It's not safe, creepy people will hunt me down and murderize me the minute I post a photo.

2. It's a slippery slope to just posting pictures, all of myself, making the same weird posing smile while shopping at Anthropologie 24/7and scrapbooking. *

Then I realized that as long as I'm reasonable (not posting our home address, not turning into a mormon princess,) that it is probably ok to post pictures sometimes.

So pictures! From the party!

Is there anything better than an interpretive dance by a four year old? I thought not. Behold my cousin, Jane.

What expression!

What poise!

The final bow.

I don't know why cousin Jared has that hat on, but don't you wish your cousin was so cute?

And my other favorite cousin, Gabe, with my aunt, Andy. Gabe is famous for seeing an employee in a Walmart store who looked like, well, Jesus, and shouting, "'Sup Jesus! Hey! Hey Jesus!" When the employee didn't respond, Gabe got a bit annoyed and yelled "Hey Jesus, I KNOW YOU!" So that's why we all love Gabe.

And we must include the very serious baby Ella. Ella is a very serious baby. She always looks rather solemn, and does not enjoy giggling, cuddling, or my gentle attempts to gnaw at her thigh. She is barely tolerating my holding her. But I can respect that, I don't like people gnawing at my thighs or expecting me to be cute, either. My sister grace, on the right, is a much more pleasant child

To prove that there were also grown-ups at the party: My mother, on the right, and my aunt Janene on the left. Proudly sporting the pins my Grandma sent them from New Mexico.

There is more, but this whole picture process is time consuming, and I'm over it.

*Choose not to be offended.



The blog is bothersome. But, DO NOT FREAK OUT if I haven't re-added your name to the blog-list thing. I still love you. My heart will go on.

But you should know that I'm sort of slow at doing things, and I get distracted, and so there you go. Many more people blog more efficiently than I do.

Anyway. I decided to finish asking the questions from so long ago. Have you forgotten? Here. Remember.

I was just finishing telling you about how yes, I often think of things to blog about, and then I am immediately vetoed. Usually by my mother. For instance, Mother, Grant, (brother) and I just had a fabulously awkward discussion on how it was an unwise choice for my mother to let me read Angela's Ashes at age 13. I did impressions. Want to hear my terribly inappropriate Angela's Ashes impression? Let's go to lunch. Mom said I can't blog about it.

Next Question from Michelle-

what occupies your thoughts during monotonous drives to such places like idaho and back?

It depends on who I am driving with. If it is someone I don't like, I turn the ADD up on high and ignore them and think about nothing. (If you ever had the impression that people with ADD think about utterly fascinating things all the time, hence the distraction, you are incorrect.)

If I like them (and I like most people, really,) I think about what I normally think about. Which, I have a confession, is not very unlike the things any 13 year old boy would think about. I'm terribly politically incorrect, inappropriate, and not as funny in real life as I think I am in my head. Also, sometimes, and this is very nerdy, I memorize and repeat poems in my head. I also rap, mentally, of course, since I'm white.

Side note: Thank you Michelle for these questions. Her next query is:

what middle name do you plan on giving the first mormon child bride spawn?

girl: Ruth

boy: Daniel

and lastly

still wearing yoga gear in public?

Heck to the yes. In fact, I am wearing yoga gear right now.

That concludes Michelle's questions. There are still two more questions left, which I will hopefully answer shortly.

Now I have a question. I took completely awesome photos of my extended family at our xmas party last Saturday.

Would you like to see some of them?


mull over this...

while I go about fixing my blog and eventually answering your questions....

I was eavesdropping earlier and heard a girl talking about how she wanted a female to do a particular job. She quickly inserted "I'm by no means a feminist, I just think she'd be better for the job."

Well fine, I can go with hiring the person best for the job. But not a feminist? And the derision in which she said the word, like feminists are whining evil people who only want girls to get jobs just to spite all the boys and then not invite them to their bra-burning party.

My mother, bless her, taught me about feminism early in life. According to her, a feminist is someone who supports the empowerment of women in all aspects of society. I briefly googled a definition for feminism, and came up with "Feminism is a belief in the right of women to have political, social, and economic equality with men."

Now, I know. I know. I know there are radical feminists who believe that all men are evil dictators worthy of castration for daring to impregnate them with their evil spawn which should immediately be aborted evil evil men and babies.

But in general, I think most feminists are simply concerned with equality. Voting rights, equal pay, maternity leave, all of these are issues associated with feminism.

I'm a feminist. I believe a woman should earn the same as her male counterpart in any given profession. (I'm not saying a woman should be paid the same if she isn't a competent employee, but if there are two equally competent employees, one male, one female, they ought to bring home the same paycheck.)

I believe a woman has the right to own property, vote, and fight for custody of her children in the case of a divorce, which she is free to initiate should she so choose.

I am not a post-feminist. I don't believe we have achieved equality. I think we make strides every day, but I firmly believe that a subsidiary of empowering women is continuing to act as an advocate for equality.

But that's just me. To me, there is nothing in the term or definition of feminism that justifies this girl's, (this girl who can vote, enter the workforce, and who benefits daily from the efforts of feminists,) decision to say the word feminist like it was a four-letter word.

What do you think?

blog drama death

There was a lot of blog drama this morning, and all my little contact thingies were deleted. It was very frustrating. I am going to start linking people back on to the blog, but I'm sure I will forget some people, because that's what I do.

So, if you don't see yourself back up here in a few days, please leave a comment and I will add you. And if you weren't on the original list, and you should have been, leave a comment.

And that is all.


so i lied

And I did not return shortly. But I did go to Costco with my Dad, and it was awesome. Grant, my 13 year old brother came too. That's right, a grown-up, a child bride, and a teenager (all with ADD) walked into a Costco together.

We chatted amicably on the drive there, until my father suddenly burst out with "I'm about 40 years away from the time you two (Grant and I) put me in a home." We assured him we wouldn't put him in a (rest) home, that we would instead make Grace (our sister) take care of him, or at the very least we'd buy him one of those live-in nurses. He was convinced however, and for the rest of the drive, reminded us that someday we'd be old, and when we were, we should "PRAY FOR A STROKE, GUYS, PRAY FOR A STROKE", so that our own children wouldn't lock us up in a "stinking facility smelling of death and urine."

Fun times!

When we arrived at Costco, I of course had to assume the role of responsible adult. Dad immediately relinquished his credit card,Costco card, and dignity to me and wandered off to "look at something for a minute." He told me and Grant to go get some toilet paper and to wait for him to "find us." At this point, Grant reverted to silence and spaced-outness,* a coping technique he frequently utilizes when faced with a situation he doesn't like. (He wanted to go look at the ipods and I wouldn't let him because I didn't want to spend hours looking for both my father and brother in a big concrete warehouse.)

So I attached him to the end of my cart and trekked on towards the paper goods.

I got two packages equalling 72 rolls of toilet paper. That should be enough to keep my family of 6 sparkly and fresh for at least a few months right? Wrong. Upon my father's return he insisted that we needed much, much, more toilet paper, because apparently the apocalypse was coming imminently, and he planned to barter toilet paper in return for the food storage items my family has failed to collect. (I frequently insert my own reasoning for my father's thinking, just fyi.) Grant awoke from his ADD slumber then, and with the fury of a very small and wiry Incredible Hulk, started chucking bulk packages of toilet paper at my father and I. We left with a total of 210 rolls of toilet paper, and my Dad muttering "we need more, let's get more," but he had already relinquished his cards and dignity so I refused to pay for more, and we left.

They punished for my insolence me by abandoning me in the check out line with two carts of toilet paper and going off to commandeer one of those electric cart things intended for the elderly. (My father flirted with the much older female Costco employee in charge of monitoring the electric carts while Grant sped away to the tire department to knock over tires.)

And that's why I haven't answered your questions. I've been recovering.

*PS I'm not judging you Grant, it is a technique I myself employ often.


questions answered part two

Here are the answers to more of your questions. Isn't this a good idea? I have something to blog about (more on what I cannot blog about later,) and you don't have to muddle through some tag where I answer questions you don't care about. (Does anyone care about 1/2 those questions in the husband tag going around. I certainly don't give a flying fish about which one of you is more stubborn.....) Anyway, if you have a burning question, you can still ask, just leave it in the comments.

So. Next question.

Friend JustMe asks:

What is the best place you've ever been? What is your dream vacation?

The time I spent in England on Study Abroad was probably one of the best experiences of my whole child bride life. England is the greatest place on earth. It took a lot of work (and a lot of bs-ing my way through BYU interviews) to get there, but once I was there = Heaven. I spent a lot of time wandering around London by myself getting horribly lost, and a lot of time in the Tate Museum. I would like to recreate some of those experiences with Spouseman. So I guess my dream vacation would be an all expense paid trip to London for a month, or two months, or possibly forever.

Friend Michelle asks the following:

if you could eat one thing for the rest of your life, and it had to be red, what would it be?
do you think up blog posts in your head during the day? cause i do.
what occupies your thoughts during monotonous drives to such places like idaho and back?
what middle name do you plan on giving the first mormon child bride spawn?
still wearing yoga gear in public?

1) Strawberries.

2) This is the part where I talk about all the things I can't blog about. Because sometimes something will happen, or I will hear something, and think, "that would be an awesome blog story." And then one of two things will happen.

The person telling me something awesome will end the story with "Oh, and you CANNOT blog about this, by the way,"


I will realize that I can't write about something/one because the person involved reads the blog, and it would be awkward. Just yesterday something totally awesome happened, but I can't tell you. Damn blog readers.

I have to go to Costco really quick with my Dad, I will return to your questions shortly or tom morrow.


your questions answered, part uno

Now I'm not feeling "eh." Now I'm feeling insomniac. So. What better way to waste time that should be spent sleeping than to answer your questions, dear friends.

Reader Annette asks:

Snickers or Twix?

Dear Annette,

Well, asking me to pick a chocolate is kind of like asking someone to pick a favorite vital organ. I like them all/find them all necessary to live. However, if the question was Snickers or Twix: Which is Better Frozen, I would have to say Snickers. Twix are less flavorful when frozen rock solid.

Reader Ace asks:

What do you think about Idaho? I live in Pocatello, love your blog, and voted for Obama. Can you believe Obama gained almost 6 points for a democratic presidential candidate in Idaho?

Dear Ace,

I like Idaho. I went to Rexburg once for EFY when I was 14, and I enjoyed myself there very much even though it was still chilly in July. I think BYU-I's campus is prettier than the regular BYU as well. I have never been to Pocatello, but I recently went to Boise because Spouseman had a conference there, and I decided that we are moving to Boise because I loved it there so freaking much. It was clean, some parts looked like San Fransisco, and they had really good milkshakes at this one place. So, yeah, go Idaho. I cannot believe that about Obama, and it just speaks to Idaho's wonderfulness even more. YES WE CAN.

Sue asks:

I was gonna go for the obvious joke (what is your last name and where do you live) but remembered you moderate comments and figured someone probably beat me to it.My question: What was your most embarrassing relationship? Spill.

Dear Sue,

ALL of my relationships were embarrassing. Seriously. But I will narrow it down to the top 3 most embarrassing, for your reading enjoyment.

1. The guy I dated in high school was embarrassing because he would write me super mushy letters whenever I was out of town and they were all like "Every time I see the moon I think of your face and realize that we are sleeping under the same moon which is waxing and also I love you." Awkward much? Even at 16 I kind of thought he was ripping off that animated movie about the immigrant mouse who gets separated from the other mice and sings a song about being underneath the same stars, and please, Internet, what is that movie called? Anyway, I kind of went along with the whole thing because I was 16 and didn't realize that acting like a freak was not a requirement for being in a relationship.

2. I dated a guy when I was on study-abroad. He was in my program, and it was embarrassing because all of our roommates were privy to all the ups and downs of our relationship, including the break-up. I'm sure it was very entertaining/obnoxious to them, and I apologize. Unless you found our histrionics entertaining, and then to you, I say thanks.

Oh, did I mention that my BYU study abroad *professor caught us making out several times? THAT was the embarrassing part.

3. But the most embarrassing relationship happened after I came home. I met a guy at the end of July ice-blocking (he landed on me in a ice-block -train gone wrong,) dated him for 3 weeks, and then broke up with him because it was getting serious and I wasn't going to be one of those Mormon Child Brides who gets married immediately after meeting someone and barely after turning 20. We were engaged by October and married in March. My family has never stopped teasing me, which is embarrassing. And I've also saved someone the question of where I got the idea for my blog title.

It is also embarrassing because I am still finding things out about the Spouse post marriage that I assume most people know pre-marriage. Like food allergies. I found those out 4 months in after offering my husband watermelon.

3.5 I guess I have to include the time in my life where I somehow attracted nearly every ex-Mormon pot-smoker in the state of Utah. Embarrassing, but I was, ahem, young, and didn't realize that acting like a freak was not a requirement for casual dating. And no, don't bother asking, I'll just tell you. I myself never partook of their goods. (Although I did learn how to disengage a smoke-detector in a Uof U college dorm.)

Lastly, meagan asks,

I have one: Did you ever find your argyle sweater? If not, how did you fill the void? I've recently lost a pair of argyle socks and am losing my will to live (:

Dear Meagan

NO! And it still pains me (I lost my argyle on study abroad.)

I filled the void with no less than 6 replacement sweaters. Including one the Spouse gifted to me. It has elbow patches, and is awesome. I suggest trying to fill your own void with rampant consumerism in the sock section of Target.

And there you go. *And I don't know why those words are yellow and why they won't change



I feel "eh" about the whole blog thing lately.

What should I write about?***

Ask me a question, I'll tell you not very many lies.* (Meaning, I'll answer them in some blog posts)**

* if your question is something along the lines of "why do you suck so much," I'm going to ask you to take a moment, shut your eyes, and imagine my hand with a certain finger extended. Then I will delete your comment before it ever sees the light of day.

**Also, I'm not going to tell you where I live, my last name (even though it is awesome and has a "z" in it,) where I teach, etc.

***if no one asks me anything, I'll shrivel up and wilt from blogger shame.


two things

I don't want my students to know:

1) I have never taken an American Government class. Not in High School, Not in College, not ever. I have no idea how to teach one, but I am going to try my very best to teach you about American Government. And probably try to brain-wash you into Obama loving socialists. JK! JK! Sort of.

2) I am only five years older than you. 6 if you're lucky.


In which I sound like a total biyotch....

You know how there are certain things that frustrate you, but you aren't allowed to say it because it is socially unacceptable? Well I'm breaking the rule. Sort of.

My Young Women and I have been trying to organize a service project for a non-profit organization in Salt Lake. It is an organization I really respect and want to support so I kind of pushed for this service project. (And I figured the girls could use a break from the usual service project of making cookies for old ladies. Which is awesome, don't get me wrong, but sometimes change is nice.)

And now for the part where I end up sounding like a terrible person.

This organization, as awesome as it is, has terrible organizational skills. No one answers the phone. No one returns emails. We are supposed to go work with this organization on December 3rd, and no one will tell me what time, what supplies we need to bring/and for how many people, etc.

I know these people are busy. I KNOW. Busy doing a very hard and admirable job. But they have made it nearly impossible for us (Young Women and myself,) to help out. They have a whole department dedicated to volunteer activities, and yet no one in that department ever returns any form of message. Are they trying to tell me they don't want volunteers.

I'm kind of at the point of calling the whole thing off, but that would be awful right? Uh, sorry, Organization, we can't help you! JUST KIDDING. NO SERVICE FOR YOU.

But seriously, how hard is it to type out a two line email telling me the time to come and the supplies needed?

I'm changing my name to Grinch McScrooge.


good wife vs. evil wife.

It is that time again! No, not the Holidays, but the time when the good wife mcb battles the evil wife mcb! Oh! The fun!

Spouse gave me a copy of his entirely way too detailed x-mas wish list, (let us take a moment to compare lists: The Spouse hands me a typed up one page list of "Options," and I simply tell him, size medium, anything black, sparkly things optional but preferred. And people tell me I'm demanding....)

Anyway. Spouse has a game on his list, a board game, that I despise. With. Every. Fiber. Of. My. Being. Spouse made me play it with his friends on our second date, and I am telling you, if he hadn't made crepes after the game, our second date would have been our last. The game sucks. It requires a PhD just to learn the rules, take hours to play, and is full of those weird situations where you can be one turn away from winning, and then someone picks a card that makes the whole game start over and I quietly start crying and using my playing piece to try and slit my wrists.

The game is on the list. I know he loves it. I know he wants it. But if we get it, he might make me play it. Sometimes with other people! He might even INVITE THEM TO OUR HOUSE, which would mean I would not only have to play THAT GAME, but I would have to HOSTESS IT.

At least I know where the knives are at my house so I don't have to scrape through my tendons with a playing piece.

So good wife says: Marriage is about sacrifices! Get him the game! It will make him happy!

Evil wife says: Are you nuts?



alarming discovery

I have noticed a recent tendency to hang out all day in yoga apparel even though I haven't done yoga in nearly a year. (I quit yoga after my instructor kept asking me to "invite my body to breathe." Um, yoga lady, my body does that on it's freakin' own. Breathing is not some party you can just RSVP for or skip if it turns out to be lame. wtf.) She also had a tendency to have the students "ask" certain limbs to stretch or move.

This is not a good idea if you have students (such as myself) who are fond of inner dialogue, and imagine themselves asking their leg "hey could you just scoot over a little bit, thanks, say hi to your mom for me!" I knew yoga wasn't for me when I couldn't get through sleeping child or whatever the hell it is called without breaking into a fit of giggles.

Anyway, yoga apparel. My recent tendency alarms me because it seems a slippery slope into Wearing Pajamas In Public. Which is not allowed. And it also causes shame spiral thoughts along the lines of "Oh no self, you have turned into one of those married girls who lets herself go after marriage and soon they will make you into an Oprah Special about GIRLS GONE GRUNGY." There we go again, inner dialogue.

Or I will just get put on What Not To Wear, which wouldn't actually suck.

Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I have ordered myself not to wear yoga clothing to the family celebration tomorrow. Or engage in any debates about the validity of the Tina Fey look-alike as a former VP candidate. Happy. Thanksgiving.


random fact:

I have somehow incorporated Rap/Hip-hop into every English Lit. lesson I've taught so far.

If I chose to tell the Education Dept. at Westy that my preferred instructional strategy was rap music, I wonder what crazy fancy terminology they would come up with to justify my excessive use of music by the literary great known as T.I.

"Educator incorporates urban musical lyrics into lessons." Or maybe "Educator devises meaningful learning activities incorporating the musical genres pioneered by African American Youth." However, student still refuses to incorporate graphic organizers.

On another note, we are starting a unit on Lord of the Flies next semester, and if anyone wants to take the initiative in turning Flies into a hip-hop musical opera, I would greatly appreciate it.



The education department is all about getting us to use classroom language. For instance, if you have your students play a game in class, you are never, ever, ever, supposed to call it a GAME. You are supposed to call it a "learning activity." Because if you say GAME, all your kids will FREAK OUT and refuse to learn.

Ok, fine. I can live with that. I guess.

What I can't live with is the continued attempts to convince me to use the term graphic organizer instead of worksheet. Apparently, a WORKSHEET is bad. GRAPHIC ORGANIZER is good.

Here is the deal. No matter what you call the thing, a worksheet is a worksheet is a worksheet. I know it. The students know it. They might be fooled (a little) by "learning activity," but if you hand them a piece of paper with problems on it, they aren't going to be fooled into thinking it's a graphic organizer just because you decided to call it that. Believe me, I've tried.

I'm no expert, but instead of trying to fool kids I'm more inclined to

a) not use that many worksheets, anyways.
b) if I do use a worksheet, I tell them why it's important. (Help you study for a test, do homework, etc.)
c) double check to make sure the worksheet is actually necessary.

Honesty really is the best policy.

And that ends my educational rant.


i have an announcement.

hot tamales, skittles, and m&ms are delicious when eaten simultaneously.


in which i am less than understanding, per the usual.

Dude. I have to go into work soon, and I am having some serious anxiety/disgruntlement. Since the internet is my alternate form of group therapy- (like real group therapy, (I assume,) only free, won't get me black-listed by insurance companies (I hope,) and I get to delete all the comments I don't like.) I'm going to discuss my feelings here.

I have a co-worker who I generally really like, but she has the habit of throwing temper-tantrums when things don't go her way. (when she doesn't get the days off that she wants, isn't allowed to go home early, etc.) This would be amusing/acceptable if she were 4, but she is 20 years old.

I try not to engage with her crazy (because I did once, and it was awful,) but sometimes I feel like cornering her and being all SERIOUSLY. You're TWENTY FREAKING YEARS OLD. Not that getting married makes you smart or responsible or better, (dumb people get married all the time,) but by the time I was 20, I was married, preparing to graduate from the U, working nights, and learning how to co-run my new "family" with my spouse. I sure as hell wasn't pitching honest-to-goodness TANTRUMS because I didn't get to go home early from work because I was bored.

Anyway, yesterday was deadly slow and my boss determined that it was "my turn" to go home early. I happily accepted, but co-worker wasn't having any of it. She started tantruming and being all SHE NEVER WORKS! I WORK WAY MORE AND NEVER GET TO GO HOME. I HAVEN'T GONE HOME EARLY FOR 3 WEEKS.

(Except for the time last week when my boss sent her home 2 hours early because she needed to ahem, go #2, and couldn't do it in our restaurant. She can only do that at home, but anyway.)

I left them mid-tantrum, but I'm kinda freakin out about the aftermath today. What if she is still cranky? I'm terrified that she will extend her 4 yr. old behavior into 4 year old retaliation techniques. Like pulling my hair. Or biting me.

To top it off, Saturdays are the days that the elderly pooping ladies come in, and I just don't think I can handle the terror of the pooping ladies with terror of my non-pooping-at-work co-worker.

Good thing next week is my last week.

Thank you for your time. Thanks also for not billing me $200 an hour to tell you this.


stuff that is freakin me the heck out

1. The current cover of Newsweek. It is a picture of Obama all close up and all focused on the nose. They also did a similar cover a few weeks ago with Sarah P. What's up with the freaky close-ups Newsweek? I'm not saying it needs to be a glamour shot, but I do not need to be able to count the pores on the nose of the President-elect. Or anyone, for that matter.

2. The fact that every time I try and cook something, something lights on fire.

3. The fact that the elderly restaurant patron that pooped all over the bathroom keeps coming back and ordering the same meal that caused the problem in the first place. So far, nothing has happened, but I'm waiting out my two weeks notice in total terror.

4. I finish my Masters Degree in May. I believe this entails the securing of a grown-up job. I keep realizing that I have very few skills besides Going to School and Making Food Look Pretty.

5. Junior High Students like me. They all want to Show Me Their Cute Hair Clip and Talk To Me About My Weekend. Even more freaky, I am starting to like them back. I spent years vowing that I would never teach Junior High. But I like those little buggers.

side note: On two separate occasions, I showed up to teach Jr. High wearing the same shoes/skirts as some of the students. I think a grown-up wardrobe may be part of the securing a grown-up job process.

And that's about it.


veteran's day*

The Cherry Trees

by Edward Thomas

The cherry trees bend over and are shedding,
On the old road where all that passed are dead,
Their petals, strewing the grass as for a wedding
This early May morn when there is none to wed.

Edward Thomas was a war poet of WWI. He was killed in battle shortly after this poem was written.

*I blatantly and unashamedly stole this post idea from my friend sarah.


On the other side.

My husband and mother occasionally bi-, ahem, complain about the difficulties associated with living with someone with ADD. To which I generally respond: Oh poor babies, eternally sealed to genius.

My husband and mother also have a theory that my father and I are a bit autistic. To which I say: There are worse things.

However, I gained some sympathy for the two after going shopping with my father. Not only did he frequently abandon his shopping cart (with wallet, coat, and selected items inside) to go look at something covered in glitter, he also frequently complained (as I often do,) about the presence of "too many damn people in this store!"

If he wasn't checking out sparkly Christmas wreaths selling for $300, he was asking employees to help him locate things, only to walk away mid-sentence, and in the most awkward moment, asking a fellow customer if he could pet her tiny dog.

Dad: "Can I pet your dog?" (while already petting dog)

Suspicious middle-aged woman:"Ummmm...."

Dad: I love dogs. But I'm not allowed to have one. I can either have a wife, or a dog.

At which point, the SMAW looks at me, assumes I am the wife, and gives me a look that could only mean "You little gold-digging tramp." Because apparently 49 yr. old men do not go shopping at Home Goods with their 22 yr. old married daughters. Only Hugh Hefner wannabees and gold-diggers allowed, thank you very much.

Anyway, after successfully navigating him through the check-out, where he tried unsuccessfully to barter with the grumpy cashier, ("Is that the best deal I can get? Is this what I get for being so good looking!") he dropped me off, somewhat dejectedly.

I later heard that he felt unsatisfied with his shopping experience. This may have had something to do with the fact that every time he asked me if he wanted yet another shiny vase/sparkly Christmas tree/ lavender bath-towels, I said "No Dad, you don't."

I feel sort of guilty now.

Dear Dad,

Next time, I will let you buy something covered in glitter.

Love, Your DAUGHTER (not your wife.)


Dear Mom/Spouse: There are still worse things.



Besides the fact that I have been mentally chanting "ObamawonobamawonobamawonOBAMAWON" in my head all week,

I also managed to quit my job.


Yes we can.


the classiest thing I have ever seen is

McCain's concession speech. Well done.

What a historic day. I'm proud to be an American.


he doesn't win,

my brother will cry (you don't want to make an 11 yr. boy old cry, do you?)

I might cry, too.


for the last time, a gentle reminder.

In my Behavior Management class in school, we are learning about rules. There are rules for making classroom rules. Did you know that? Neither did I.

But I've always sort of liked rules. I like structured things, and I find myself making rules for situations that probably don't need rules. For example, it is a rule in my life that I will never, ever, drink a beverage at a restaurant without a straw. Germs.

So naturally, I love Emily Post. So many rules! Rules for thank-you cards, rules for being a good overnight guest. Rules!

It seems though, that lately, we have forgotten one of the very most important rules, the rule that trumps the rules about thank you cards and raising your hand before speaking:

Be nice.

All the time. Even during an election. Even when you are CONVINCED that if your candidate of choice is not elected, you will DIE and it will be all the other person's fault.

It seems we need a reminder about how to "be nice" in an election. Since I don't believe Ms. Post has covered this, I will assist you.

1. It is not nice to invite someone into your home, and use it as an opportunity to bash their political beliefs. They are a guest in your home. Treat them nicely. If you are managing to engage in a civil political discussion, and it turns less than nice: STOP. It isn't worth ruining a relationship in an effort to convince your friend or relative that Obama is a terrorist.

2. It is unkind to go into a home, knowing that the residents disagree with you politically, and begin criticizing their politics in their home. It would be considered rude to go into someones home and insult the decorations (heinous as you may find them,) Why would it be okay to do so with politics?

3. Regardless of your location, refrain from making snide, under-your-breath remarks about politics. If you truly want to engage in a discussion, be a grown-up, and say so. Don't simply mutter sarcastic remarks about mavericks or socialists at the end of your sentences. You don't look clever or smart, you look silly, and most of all, it isn't nice.

For some reason, many people seem to have developed the thought that meanness is a necessary evil when discussing politics. It isn't. There is no excuse to harangue someone about Proposition 8 until they cry.

Lastly, consider two more things the next time you engage in a heated discussion-

What is your goal?
What is the result?

It doesn't matter if your goal was to change someones mind if the result is hurting their feelings. It just doesn't.

I expect a call from Good Housekeeping any day now. I've totally put Emily out of a job.


Ask and Ye Shall Recieve

My Dad and I went to see Thriller at Kingsbury Hall-

"Steph, I want one of those creepy girls to come hiss at me, but I don't think you can ask for that sort of thing."

" No Dad, Probably not."

I did let him have the aisle seat though, and he was hissed at several times.



There is some mushiness here. You have been appropriately advised.

Two years and one day ago today, the spouseman and I got engaged.

I nearly ruined it, but spouseman was insistent.

Here is a terrible photo of both of us. I would like to entitle it, "All because two pratically under-age people fell in love." See. I told you, there would be mush.

I would like you to observe a few things. Most notably, my lesbian hair, (why, why,why,) my claw hand, and my spouse's very cute eyes, which one relative thought looked "too asian," and later asked me if there were a way "to make his eyes not do that."

I am glad I said yes. I enjoy my spouse.


holy cow.

My parents are still not home. It feels like they have been gone FOREVER.

In the meantime, I have been doing an excellent job of not engaging in crazy. I have done such a good job, that I have expanded my efforts of not engaging to a whole new level. It is called not engaging in crazy mentally. You know, like when you read something entirely inaccurate in the paper or on a blog, and you are desperate leave a comment/write the editor because the statement is SO ridiculous. That is mentally engaging in crazy, and I'm not doing it.

'Tis a shame though, because last week I picked up the opinion section of an old Tribune and found these two little gems:

Gem 1: Someone praising Sarah Pallin for not having "elite verbiage." Um. Verbiage? That sounds fancy. Definitely too fancy for our world leaders.

Gem 2: "What is the difference between Obama's economic plan and socialism: Answer? NOTHING."

bahahaha. I LOVE IT WHEN PEOPLE SPEAK IN RIDDLES!!!!!!! The more inaccurate the better.

Do you know what I don't love? Politics. I know. Shocker. But in all honesty, if the world just elected me World Dominator and we never had to live through an election year again, I would be perfectly content.

The only reason I talk about politics is because I think they are important. In the visiting-the-dentist kind of way. It is usually unpleasant, but I figure being relatively informed/engaged/having healthy teeth is worth it.

The worst thing about politics are all the histrionics. Look people. Obama is not a socialist. It is not a bad thing to have a good vocabulary, and intelligence is not automatically a synonym for elitism. On the other hand, I can tell you with a fair amount of confidence that McCain isn't an evil murder bent on killing your kids in Iraq. And despite my annoyance with one Tina Fey look-alike, I really don't think her environmental policy involves standing on the north pole with a hair dryer in an attempt to speed up global warming.

So let us all not engage with crazy. We only have a few more weeks until this darn election is over. And if you promise not to tell me Obama is a socialist, I promise not to tell you that McCain is already dead and secretly a zombie and probably not legally eligible to run for president anyways.


deal or no deal.

For me, a man wearing seven's jeans, bought at full price, is a deal-breaker.

because that is a lot of sushi/rent.

but it's okay if you have different standards. i guess.


update update

I previously posted about my current responsibilities

However, my sister recently broke-up with her boyfriend, so the odds of her getting pregnant (which I would say were pretty slim anyway, she's a good girl,) are suddenly very low.

This does not pacify my mother, who called to mention that she had left a large sum of cash hidden in the house in case of an emergency.

me: Mom, that is a lot of cash, what do you think is going to happen?

Mom: Oh, I dunno, an emergency?

me: Like what?

Mom: Like you have to bail someone out of jail?

um. okay.

Is there something my mom is trying to tell me? Like my sisters are suddenly sexually active? That they got involved with the mob after I got married, and they are fleeing to Germany to throw off a loan shark? What is it?


not quite the same as "always say a prayer"

I live in my grandmother's house. She is on a mission in the butt-crack of nowhere, and I am now the "Keeper of the Vinyl*."

She has those Vinyl-lettering on wooden boards things all over the house.

Always Say A Prayer

If It Gets Too Hard To Stand, Kneel

As For Me and My House We Will Serve the Lord

The Only Idol I Worship Is Martha Stewart.

No. Not the last one. I made that up.

I've never been into the little wooden sign thing. I'm not against them specifically, but I really just don't need lots of vinyl to remind me to pray. That is what I use caffeine for.

BUT. IF I did ever decide to get a vinyl sign with words it would say this:


I think this sign would actually help me with my life. You see, I always have the problem of assuming that most people are relatively normal and can be reasoned with. I am wrong. Which is the wording a Vinyl sign would have if Le Spouse were in charge of picking a sign for me, but he isn't. **

Here are the people I will not engage with.

1. Anyone, including relatives, who say the words community organizer with the same spite I usually reserve for the words anti-Semite and pedophile. Even if you don't like Obama, it is never a bad thing to try and be engaged in helping your community.

2. Anyone, including relatives, that try and engage me in a political discussion in front of my very conservative extended family. They do not want to discuss things reasonably. They want to make me feel bad.

3. Any customer at my cafe over the age of 70. Even if you did tell me you wanted mustard on your sandwich, I will not engage. I will make you a new sandwich.***

4. Comment McCommenster. Will always think I am a complete ADD crackhead, even though I keep telling her I'm just ADD, I gave up the crack years ago.

I. Will. Not. Engage.

* Is that how you spell vinyl? It looks wrong. Mean Commenter Person, DO NOT RESPOND TO THIS QUERY.

**NO, he wouldn't really. If Le Spouse were in charge of picking a sign for me it would be all, "I love you forever, muffin, but you are totally wrong on this subject, you know it, I know it, but you are just to stubborn to admit it. I still love you, please don't throw that can of diet coke at me, LOVES." Again, he is not in charge.

*** No, I won't. I will just take your sandwich apart, spray some mustard on it, rearrange it so that it looks different, add a new toothpick, and send it back out. That is called NOT ENGAGING.



"Just make sure no one jumps off the roof or gets pregnant."

According to my mother, these are my responsibilities next week when my parents take off to Germany with my brothers for two weeks. Leaving me (and Spouseman*) with 2 teenage girls.

*If Spouseman even has any traces of masculinity left after this little estrogen stint, I will a), be grateful, and b), be very surprised.


my brother is better than yours.

My little brother, Clark, of "smartest mom in the ward fame," is now 11 years old. Today he came home from school with a poster he made earlier in the year as a "getting to know you" activity.

Here is what the poster said:


Loves- baseball, volleyball, skiing.

Hates- John Mccain, Bees

Fears- Global Warming, Bush administration

Wishes- NO (underlined) more wars

Enjoys- Golfing, Math

Admirs (supposed to be "admires") Barack Obama, Al Gore.

This is how Clark introduced himself to his class on the first day of school. Whether you agree with the politics of an 11 year old or not, you have to admit it is impressive.

My brother is better than yours


they were right.

Every year, around the time school starts, Time, and Newsweek magazine run little mini-articles about how you shouldn't feed your A.D.D. kids stuff with MSG, caffeine, sugar, or artificial coloring in it because it exacerbates their "attention difficulties*" I've always found these articles kind of stupid, because frankly, you probably shouldn't be feeding your kids that kind of stuff excessively anyway.

On Saturday, when spouseman was at the Priesthood session, I decided to pick up some Chinese take-out because spouseman doesn't like Chinese and he wasn't there to feed me and the firemen that came to my house twice last week** said I shouldn't cook anymore, so it was takeout time.

I got my MSG laden goodness, cracked open a diet coke, ate a couple sour patch kids, and maybe also had some ice cream.

Fast forward twenty minutes later to when I was bouncing and shaking and incapable of forming a sentence that didn't sound like "hey Dan how was priesthood did you know grey's anayomy christina meredith look at this cute shirt i found in the back i think i need new shoes are you hungry wanna go on a walk look at that over there wow I'm feeling weird maybe i should take a walk pushing daisies is back"

Now I'm not the hyperactive type. I'm more the zone out type of A.D.D. I'm also not Sarah Palin being interviewed by Katie Couric so I really shouldn't have been having this sort of problem.

Conclusion? Time and Newsweek are right. Absofrickinlutely right. And my husband, bless him, is a very very lucky man.

almost forgot my asteriks

* "attention difficulties" is the p.c. way to say "not listening in class, ever."

** yeah. For real.


to my first love

An ode to a dear friend, my beloved Michael.


Ever since my parents gave you to me for a high school graduation gift, I knew we were going to have a long and beautiful relationship. An even better relationship than the one I had with the first laptop my parents gave me for graduation, which died a slow and painful death after being submerged under water for a long period of time.*

Anyway, Michael, you have always been there for me. When I needed to stalk someone via facebook or blogspot. When I needed to read Dooce even though my mom thought she was "inappropriate." Last Sunday, when I beat my father at Celebrity Gossip Trivia, I knew I owed my win to you, and all the hours we spent together browsing celebrity gossip sites.

When I lived in England, and was constantly freezing, I would sleep with you every night, curled around you lovingly as you began to overheat just enough to keep me warm.

It pains me to see you succumb to your addiction to viruses and bugs that make you slow. I know you are jealous of my relationship with your half-cousin, the internet, but that is no reason to make the internet not work. Can't we all just get along? After all we have been through?

I know I have done things to hurt you, darling, and I really am sorry about the diet coke spills on the keyboard, and for not replacing the missing keys that make capitalizing things, as well as typing the letter "d" much easier.

But I fear this is a parting of the ways, Michael. You refuse to function for more than 3 minutes. Sometimes, you cannot be convinced to wake-up at all. Spouseman has tempted me with promises of a new laptop, and even though I know he is just bribing me because he is jealous of our love and wants to get rid of you, I know that it is the right thing to do.


Sleep well, friend.

* so not my fault


this is my philosophy, yeah, got my feet on the groooouuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnddddddddd.....

So I'm going to tell you a story. Once upon a time, my mom did something slightly airheaded. I don't remember what, it was a long time ago. She felt very badly about whatever it was though, because my little brother, who was only 8 at the time, tried to comfort her by saying "Don't worry Mom, I think you are the smartest mom in the whole ward." To my little brother, our ward was his whole world, and my mother was the queen.

It was funny, to my mom, and to the rest of us, and the phrase "smartest _______ in the ward," became sort of a running joke in the Nielson home. For instance, when anyone would do something stupid, they would be lovingly mocked with a hearty, "Gee, I would have expected better from the smartest Mia Maid/deacon/Scout Master in the whole WARD."

And that is how we became "the smartest family in the ward." It is a joke. The Tidwells are waaaaay smarter. So are the Jensens.

My mother has asked me to take that bit down out of my "About me" because apparently someone took it seriously, and asked her if she really thought she had raised the smartest family in the ward. It was awkward for her, apparently.

Around the same time, I got a nasty comment in my inbox telling me what a terrible person I am, how I am not doing my part with this blog to spread the gospel, how my grammar sucks, how another blog out there is using my blog to write satire (that bit I found hilarious, on oh-so-many levels, but I digress) and that I should stop mentioning grad school even though, hey, GRAD SCHOOL IS WHAT I DO and anyway, it was a very long and well thought out little way to ruin my day.

Oh wait, I'm not supposed to admit that it really hurt my feelings. I'm supposed to pretend that nasty comments don't bother me, that being told I suck doesn't sting, and that I am just so far above that sort of nonsense. I'm not. It hurt my feelings. A lot. I feel immature admitting it, but it's true. So thanks, commenter person, I'm sure you were doing your best to follow Elder Ballard's idea of using the internet to share the gospel when you wrote that.

The thing is, I think this person was taking the blog known as Mormon Child Bride a little too seriously. This isn't a serious blog. Sometimes I might talk about something more serious, but I always warn people, and hey, you don't have to read what you don't like.

But mostly, I'm just joking. I joke about MCBs because I am one. Sometimes I talk like an infant, and I hate myself for it. My husband, gulp, spoils me even though I don't think grown ups should be in charge of spoiling other grown ups. I don't spend the same time checking for a typo on the blog as I would a research paper. Maybe I should, but I don't. Bummer.

So in the future, let us remember a few ground rules.

-My family is probably only the 3rd smartest in the ward.

-Leaving mean comments is rude. Don't. Unless you could read your comment, including all your sarcastic jabs and CAPS LOCKED rantings, to me, in person, don't write it. Disagree all you want, but just because it is on the internet, doesn't mean you have a get out of being mean free card.

-If my poor spellin n gramma skillz is stressin you all out, go read a dictionary.



Most of the people in the blogosphere have read about the Nieniedialogues, and how the author, Stephanie Nielson,(not me, another Stephanie Nielson,) was in a plane crash with her husband. You also probably know about all the relief efforts being conducted to her and her family. If not, you can read more about them here.

My internet friend Sue is having a contest to help Nie. The contest goes like this, you submit a blog post from your blog that is funny, and the posts that are picked get turned into a book, and all the money from the book helps Nie. The contest ends September 30, so there is still a little time to figure out something funny. You should do it.

You can read more about the contest here. And then you can spend hours of your life reading Sue's blog.

Sue's blog book contest for Nie


book review.

A few weeks ago, my mother let me borrow her copy of The Lightning Thief. They are about on the Harry Potter reading level, and are an excellent and easy read for those who are still feeling Potter withdrawals.

I will warn you though, that these books, like Potter, are part of a series and the latest book is not due until the summer. Should you get hooked like I did, this may present a problem.

Although there are many great aspects of the book, I shall share my favorite bit. The main character, Percy, discovers that he is the "half-blood" son of a Greek god. He comes to find out that what was previously diagnosed as ADHD/Dyslexia are really traits of the Greek Gods. (It is explained further in the book.)

I enjoyed that. And next time someone feels inclined to comment on my consistent letter rearranging, spelling errors, grammar mix ups, or lack of attention-keeping skills, I shall simply tell them that my father was Zeus and I simply can't be bothered with their rubbish English. And then I will imagine zapping them with a lightning bolt. What is the point of ADD if you can't enjoy the benefits of a vivid imagination?


feeling superior....NOW

Have you people seen this website?


I am in love. And I may or may not have spent hours on this site today, wasting time. It felt so good. Lately, the complete lack of sleep, grad school crap, and the fact that 7th graders are TERRIFYING has made me feel like I'm losing my mind, particularly the part of my mind that deals with social skills and not loosing my temper.

But at least I am not posting passive-aggressive notes all over the place. AT LEAST.

So there's hope for me yet.

Why are you still here? Go to that site.



Q. Where do you work?

A. At a cafe and Murray.

Q. Can I visit you there?

A. Only if you know me, and only if you bring presents.

Q. It sounds like you hate it there, why do you stay?

A. You're confusing the feelings of overall hatred with the feelings of temporary frustration/my love of hyperbole. It's usually not so bad, and someone has only pooped all over the bathroom once.

Most importantly, since I am in school everyday/all day Monday-Thursday, this job is one of the few willing to work with my schedule. (I only work a few hours on the weekend.)

Q. Is your boss nice?

A. Yes. And she usually lets me do whatever I want. Like take a whole weekend off.

Q. Do you like your co-workers.

A. Yes. And those I don't get fired. Or get pregnant via their cracked out boyfriend and leave in order to spawn. But I'm actually not in charge of that, the getting them pregnant part. Just the convincing my boss to fire them part.

Q. If you work there so little, why do you talk about it all the time?
A. Because grad school is boring.


how to bother me quickly

Saying that you are going to finish your degree and go to graduate school is not the same as actually doing it. It. Is. Not.

Unless you are a registered student in an accredited graduate school program, you aren't a grad student.

So, little MCBs, start editing your profiles.....



There is a special place in heaven for those people who choose to become caregivers for the elderly.

There is a very special place in hell for those people who choose this profession, take their charges to my restaurant, take their charges to the restroom, and leave an enormous, disgusting mess all over the bathroom.

I understand that it is gross to clean these things up. But it is your job, as the caregiver, to do so. Or at least have the decency to alert the management, so that our unsuspecting patrons do not stumble upon said mess, and storm angrily to the counter to complain to me about it.

If you feel uncomfortable doing this, you ought to look into another profession, which does not include cleaning up these sorts of messes. I myself have found such a profession.

Which is why, when my manager tried to guilt me into cleaning up the mess, I politely declined, telling her that I do not get paid nearly enough to deal with this kind of, well, crap.


I have decided that

I have an ulcer.

And that zucchini bread is the cure.


i think it's sexy when...

My husband reveals that he knows how to thread and wind the bobbin on my sewing machine.

Yep, that's right. I said I think my husband is sexy on the internet. Next thing you know, I'll be revealing tmi about his showering habits, what name brand jean fits his butt best, and all those other things MCB's like to talk about. Since you know, their blog is their journal.


i am debating quitting...

No. I was not aware that I have been walking about, in public, with coffee spilled all over my shirt, specifically, the part of my shirt covering my right boob. Thank you for asking, and, well, bringing it to my attention.

When do we close? Well, fifteen minutes ago, but by all means, after I tell you this please continue to sit and chat for ten more minutes. Tip? Who tips anymore anyways...go on, please finish your conversation. I have nothing better to do then wait for you to leave so I can finish utilizing my college degree to mop the floor.

Yes, please, cafe manager, allow your sister to leave right before clean-up. She totally deserves it. She also deserves to have you rig the tips in her favor. I'll just stay late to clean up her mess. No. Big. Deal.

Yes, store manager, store customers, and store suppliers of coffee, I do, in fact, HATE YOU ALL.

Loves and kisses,



thought process after a long day of work....

...Have I done any good in the world today?

Well. I haven't killed anyone...

Mormon Child Bride: Lowering expectations since her suprise conception in 1986.



Now that I have told you how craptastic the tips at my job are, would anyone, um, like to work there with me? Hourly wages are available.

Duties include:

Washing Dishes
Making Food.
Serving Food to unappreciative customers.
Singing Fergie's "Fergalicious" song on demand whilst performing any of these tasks.*
Pretty much everything you do at home, except now you earn some form of monetary compensation. However, unlike at home, (or at least my home,) you cannot call any of the "patrons" retards.

I'm sort of serious. If you are a college student, or someone looking for some extra hours via part-time work....you should contact me or something......

*I'm serious.

On an unrelated note-

It has been duly noted that I am a bad publisher-of-comments, and that some people waited 5 days for their comment to be published. Sorry. I will improve.


dear restaurant patrons-

I know you are probably LDS, and I know you are frugal. I know you don't want to overspend, and I know you want to "live within your means."

Great. But they way to do that is not by ordering lots and lots of food, and then refusing to tip.

It is especially rude when you not only refuse to tip for your meal, but then offer to pay for the two elders sitting accross the room, and don't tip on their meal either.

I don't get paid to look cute, people.


thought process early this morning

"damn, why are there so many people smarter than me?"

no, no, don't try and comfort me. this isn't a compliment fishing post. there are people smarter than me, and lots of them. but, um, don't go all overboard agreeing with me either, okay? okay.


I hate it when I feel.....

Manipulated. This post is about how I hate feeling manipulated. I have also decided that I am going to write this post buffet style. Meaning I will write about 3 instances today in which I felt tampered with and you can pick what you would like to read about. It is like when my family would go to Chuck A Rama when we were little and my sister would eat only fried chicken and ice cream, because that is what she picked. Here, at Mormon Child Bride A Rama, you can read the ice cream and fried chicken bits if you like, and totally SCREW the string beans.

Le Menu

1. Ice Cream aka I hate feeling manipulated by other MCBs when I read their blogs. Maybe I should rename this segment "Frozen Yogurt" or "Red Mango."

2. String Beans aka I feel manipulated by McCain's choice of running mate.

3. Fried Chicken aka I still hate Westminster's Financial Aid Office.

Here we go.

1. I realized this was bothering me a long time ago, but I couldn't quite figure out why. I sort of hate it when a MCB will write a whole post, with a picture included, of something she really really wants. It's usually a piece of jewelry or some skirt from Anthropologie. Whatever. So she goes on and on about how getting this skirt would be so great and three posts later, BAM, Mormon Child Investment Banker man has purchased it for her. And she posts about how this skirt is now a symbol of their love and how her husband is, THE BEST.

Why does this make me feel manipulated? Well, I sort of feel vicariously manipulated for Mormon Child Investment Banker man, but I also noticed that after reading these posts I sort of feel subconsciously inferior. Even though I know better, I sometimes can't help but feel momentarily cheated. For about two seconds, sometimes I think, "Why doesn't spouseman buy me a symbol of our love at Antropologie." And then I get a grip. But I still feel manipulated.

Now this is the String Beans part. This is politics. If you don't like String Beans, skip to the Chicken.

2. When I found out McCain had picked a female for his VP, I briefly thought, "Hey, maybe he's not such a bad guy." But...........

She's not very experienced. Yes, she is Governor of Alaska, but she spends her time in office approving drilling in Alaska's Arctic National Wildlife Refuge and trying to pass a bill denying benefits to the partners of Gay State employees. She also thinks the climate change in Alaska isn't man-made, meaning she doesn't believe in Global Warming.*

After all that hulabaloo from McCain about Obama's lack of experience, you'd think McCain would pick someone with more than two years of Governorship under his or her belt. (Unless McCain counts Palin's time as a beauty pageant queen as political experience). Even Romney would make more sense. So I kind of feel like McCain picked her in order to appeal to the Female Vote,(Hey! I almost fell for it!) but how much of a glass ceiling is being broken if the woman breaking it doesn't have the experience to do a good job? Think about it.

3. I finally worked up the courage to make a strongly worded phone call to Westy's Financial Aid Department. However, somehow, despite my pre-planned speech, I ended the phone call thanking the person for her time and saying sorry for being such a pain. I honestly don't know how that happened, but there was some serious manipulation going on. **

*Really? Someone still believes global warming is some freak thing? With nothing to do with humans filling the air with pollutants and abusing natural resources? Really? Well. Way to be "special," Sarah.

** Has that ever happened to you? When you are right and yet the person somehow tricks you into saying sorry for something they did? Then again, I did nearly fall for some MCB's "My anthro skirt means my husband is better than yours" ploy, so maybe I'm "special" too.

Hope you enjoyed your meal.


A few random things-

1. While I was gone on vacation I assigned my family, who live, ohhh a whopping FOUR minutes away, the duties of Picking Up the Mail, and Feeding the Fish. Although they did collect the mail, no one ever fed the fish. Even though it was conveniently located UPSTAIRS ON THE COUNTER. I had placed it up there (even though it is in a forbidden area) so my lazy butt kin wouldn't have to WALK DOWN THE STAIRS to feed el fisho.

Fish died. Which really wasn't that big a deal, except when I would call to make sure the house was fine, and to see if my FAFSA award letter* had come yet, they always told me that FISH IS FINE, EVERYTHING IS FINE blah blah blah. Apparently, fine=dead in the N________ household.

Even better, when I arrived home I was greeted by an Imposter Fish, which looks nothing like Original Fish, in fact it looks like a Chernobyl fish because it is all lopsided and likes to swim upside down all day. Family apparently thought I wouldn't notice.

Dear Family,

I have ADD, not poor vision.

2. We had a little party spiel a few days ago, and I still haven't put away all the paper plates/plastic utensils that were used at said party. Instead, I have been using them as regular dishes because I can't be bothered to haul all the dirty dishes upstairs to the forbidden dishwasher. So I'll just keep Killing The Earth until they run out. Or Something. **

3. I start school again tomorrow, which means I will finally have an excuse (besides laziness) to not do the dishes.

*It hadn't. Because my FAFSA stuff was lost, of course.

**I can tell that this sort of bugs Spouseman, but he hasn't said anything out loud yet. So it doesn't count.


Get it together, Westo.

Today my mother called to tell me that my Dad was listening to some program on the radio, which said that Westminster College was the 19th best liberal arts college in the Nation.

The best part of the conversation concerned the fact that when she called, I was just leaving the Financial Aid office after learning that, once again, the 19th best liberal arts college in the nation had lost my financial aid records, meaning that I would have to wait another two weeks to see if I was awarded anything.

Not a big deal, except for government grants come first come first serve, and despite the fact that I filed my paperwork on time, I may be out of the running for some serious tuition money.

Thanks, Westminster.

Much to my frustration, they pulled the same routine as last semester "I'm sorry, we don't have any record of you/are you sure you applied/ we can't locate your file." Just as I am about to strangle the person, they find my records, apologize profusely for not filing, and tell me to head downstairs to get a tuition extension waiver.

At which point the tuition waiver people treat me like I'm the idiot who lost my records.

Again, many thanks Westy.


Love is

Going to Legoland California with your husband, even though after ten minutes you realize, with shame, that you and your spouse are the only adults present not hauling around a child.

I'm serious. The closest thing I found to a childless adult was a group of teenagers taking very inappropriate pictures of themselves and the life-size lego figurines.


"you're not supposed to know that part!"

Dadman: "Happy birthday, honey. You're the best thing that ever happened to us...."

Me: "By accident."


wooo v.2.0

Thanks everyone for the happy birthdays, book recommendations, and most importantly the great comments on the Young Women's Lesson. I have been thinking about them all day (my job doesn't require a lot of brain power.)

I was just going to write a brief comment in response (I love talking) but it got really long, and I figured, hey, I'll make a whole other post about it.

Here are some thoughts-

1. I mentioned this briefly in the comments, but I feel like I need to emphasize the fact that I believe a person can be/become educated in a number of ways. One way can be through a college education, but it is certainly not the only/most important way. It's your life, and you have all made the best decisions for you and your families. Way to go. Based on the comments posted I am flattered that so many bright and thoughtful people took the time to talk to me. I don't want anyone "leaving" the discussion thinking that I only value one sort of choice/life path/whatever you want to call it. I also believe that learning is a life-long endeavor, which was another oft repeated point.

I think what bothered me about the lesson was not what it said exactly, but what was lacking. I don't dislike/not support the idea of being a "homemaker," if I did, and was annoyed with the lesson for those reasons, I agree, I would be acting overly sensitive. I was reacting to the manner in which home-making was discussed. If you read the comments in the original post, check out the one discussing how the children mentioned in the lesson missed the environment created by their mother, not necessarily the cooking or handicrafts themselves. That's a point I desperately wish had been in the lesson. That was the part I was reacting to most, it should have been included, especially in 1977, which, as many people pointed out, was a time when women were generally expected to be "homemakers." I guess I'm saying the lesson was lacking, even by 1977 standards.

2. I am aware that the church views have changed, and I am happy. I am also thrilled about the Supplemental stuff on lds.org, thanks Jenny and others for pointing that out. I am still a little miffed that there is not an updated manual, but I can live with it, and I also believe one of the reasons it may not be updated is because we are expected, as teachers, to add in the supplemental/new things in the manner best suited for the needs of our Young Women.

3. I agree with the importance of "homemaking" in terms of creating a loving environment in which to raise and support a family. Although good food and handicrafts are one way to do that, I think it is important to discuss other ways in which that can be accomplished, and many people also mentioned that in their comments. I've been in plenty of homes with delicious food and beautiful handicrafts where I didn't feel the sense of belonging that comes as a result of good "homemaking." I also would like to note that I believe the father plays an equally important role in "making" a home. Both parents are responsible for raising, loving, and nurturing children and each other. I think, should I ever teach this lesson, I would note that one way to "prepare to become an Eternal Companion" is to seek out a partner willing and able to be a "homemaker" themselves. That is certainly something my dad did when he would often come home from work a little early so he could be with his children before returning to work after we were all asleep at night to finish his work for the day.

So. I am done word-vomiting all over blogspot. Thanks for playing. You are welcome to continue to play, but since I will be out of town for a few days, do not be alarmed if your comments are late to show up. Fear not, you have probably not offended me mortally.

PS whoever offered to send me stuff on the it's/its problem, leave a comment with your email (please) I won't publish your address for the world to see, but I will email you so you can send me it. If you still want to. Please. Because I need the help. I am so sick of making that error that I am reduced to grumbling.



I turn 22 today.

One step further away from MCB
and one step closer to WORLD DOMINATION.

You can send me presents, or you can just continue to leave your book recommendations in the comments.



Alternate Title- Yet another reason my relationship with Westy has been so rocky.

My father, who is a medical malpractice attorney (If you are a conservative, and/or the sort that truly hates that type of attorney, you may freak out about the evil profession for four minutes. Then you must move on.)

Anyway, one day my father admitted to me that he hated reading. My English major father, hated reading! I was shocked! He explained that he read all day, and by the time he got home he just didn't have the mental capacity to read recreationally.

I thought to myself "Okay, fine. But I will never be that way." I completed college with a major in History, and a minor in English Lit., two of the most reading-intensive studies offered. I still loved reading.

However, now that I have completed my first semester of Grad School, where I read and read and read about classroom management and learning theory, I can safely say I have developed a similar aversion to reading-on-my-own time.

If this were an episode of Grey's Anatomy I would be the patient rushed in from an accident, flat-lining until Izzie stopped making-out with someone to put those electric paddle things on my chest to revive me.

I am flat-lining as a book-nerd. You, internet audience, must save me.

I need a list of good books to read. I do not want self-help motivational literature. I do not want anything dire and depressing (Remember, in a few weeks I will return to my regimen of reading about social inequality in schools, as well as learning disabilities.) I want something good, yet entertaining, or so bad that it therefore becomes entertaining.

What are you reading? Stop making out with George and tell me.

PS I like YA fiction, but please nothing of the Stephenie Meyer variety. Been there, done that, felt ashamed that I had done that, and moved on.


overly sensitive, or maybe I have a point, you decide

So it is a good thing I'm teaching on "Agency" tommorrow, and not "Preparing to Become an Eternal Companion."

Our books are old, but here are some gems from the EC lesson I simply wouldn't be able to teach with a straight face.

"Explain that many young women enter into marriage with little preparation for the demands it makes. Write the following headings on the chalkboard: Spiritual and Homemaking." Explain that there are other areas in which young women should be prepared, but this lesson will discuss only two."

Out of all the things I wish I knew before I got married, Homemaking was admittedly on the list, but wasn't in the top two. Does anyone else think Education might have been a bit more important? With Homemaking given a less central point. Clarification, in the entire lesson, raising children was not mentioned as an aspect of homemaking, or at all, actually. I think "homemaking" in terms of raising children would be very important. In this lesson "homemaking" referenced cooking skills and keeping a "tidy home"

According to the National Women's Law Center, 71% of mothers are in the workforce. It is noted that many of those women are in the workforce due to necessity. They need to help support their families in a struggling economy.

Given that statistic, don't you think "Education" and "Life Skills" would be a valuable addition to Spirituality and Homemaking? I mean, I wish I was a better cook/homemaker, but I find the job skills/value of education instilled in me by my own stay-at-home mother were much more helpful when I became a MCB.

I'm not saying cut out homemaking, but really, is it the most important thing in preparing to become an eternal companion? On the same level as "Spirituality" in importance?

Next topic

"Explain that a young man on a mission was asked what he missed most about being away from home" "Mom's great cooking," he replied without hesitation..

A daughter replies, "[Our home] was always tidy and was decorated with her own creations"

Um, the most important thing was the woman's cooking and her handicrafts? Again, these things are important, but I guess they aren't very personal. What about her spiritual and intellectual example as a human being? Shouldn't that be emphasized more that handicrafts or a great meatloaf recipe?

So, think about this, and discuss. Is there something missing from this lesson? Is it outdated just a tad? (1977) Should we be supplementing lessons like these with recent First Presidency talks about the necessity of education?

Am I just overly sensitive?

Discuss, but play nice. I am moderating comments and sorry, but no anonymous comments allowed.


dear grandma,

Since you have been gone, serving the Lord, and I have been living in your home, I have-

not killed any plants.
except one, but it doesn't count.* And no, it wasn't your African Violet who you claim has a personality. The African Violet is fine.

not killed your fish.

not snuck into the "forbidden" part of your house, and broken into your jet tub. (it's been to hot, anyways,)

I hope this makes up for the fact that I regularly haul all the dishes upstairs and use the Forbidden Dishwasher, which necessitates me being in the Forbidden part of the house. (but so are lots of your plants that I must water! So you see, grandma, I'm in a Catch-22!)

I also deleted my facebook account a few months ago. Not because you said it was against our religion, and satanic, but even so, it's DELETED.

Hope you are well.

Love, Stephanie.

*Not my fault, that plant was on the porch, where it ought to have been getting sprinkler water. The sprinklers failed, NOT ME.


righteousness fests.

Here's the thing, I don't like it when people try and sell me things. I'm not just talking door to door or dinner-time phone solicitors, (though they also irritate me) I'm talking I really hate it when people have a strong opinion on something, and feel like they MUST CONVINCE ME RIGHT NOW to agree with them.

I mean, I like people with strong opinions, and I don't mind discussing them, but there's this little fine line of discussing and selling that I really cannot have crossed.

For instance, there is a certain movie out, which I have not seen, which is causing quite the freak out among many LDS people. It involves a superhero who looks like a winged mammal who fights a villain played by a dead actor.

Every time the movie is mentioned, and someone hears that I have yet to see it, I find myself immediately sucked into a ten minute pitch. Pro or Con.

First there are the cons. They start with an opinion, such as "It was a terrible movie, evil awful movie, I hated it and walked out." Okay, thank you for your opinion, I will consider it when I make my final decision on the winged mammal movie. Except here's the not ok selling part, they usually then proceed to tell me that if I choose to see the movie I am obviously a BAD PERSON who LOVES EVIL and Satan, and in my favorite twist, am just like those people in the Book of Mormon who got all prideful and watched bad movies, and then the Lord Smote Them. That's selling, and I really don't need the lecture. (brief aside, it's even worse when lots of con people get together, because they tend to discuss how righteous they are for not seeing the film, usually in front of some poor shmuck who admitted to seeing and enjoying the film. I like to call such gatherings "righteousness fests.")

But fear not, the Pro people are just as bad. Not content to say "I liked the movie, it was good," they must launch into there own promo defending the film. "If you don't see it, you don't understand the deeper, more artistic, meaning of the film. You are a follower who can't think for herself, so you must think the same as I think!!!!!"

I don't buy cleaning fluid from people going door to door. I hang up on solicitors (sorry guys,) and so what makes people think I am going to listen to their man of bat spiel?

Here's a public service announcement: I'm not. I will either see the movie, or not. I will either form a positive or negative opinion, which I will more than likely keep to myself. But please, consider the words NO SOLICITING metaphorically tattooed on my forehead from now on.

Seriously people.