oh shoot

For a long time, the blog known as "The Mormon Child Bride," was a fairly anonymous endeavor. It started out as a "note" on my now obliterated facebook account, and I talked about how my grandma was sure to kill me for coloring my hair dark purple. Three people read it.

For awhile, when I was still a naive blogger, one not afraid of nasty comments about how I'm not a good Mormon because I don't like Mitt Romney, I wrote about social-political issues that I found meaningful. Some crazies had found my blog, and taken offense, bumping my readership up to, oh, 7.

Then I got extremely lazy. I started writing about bloggers who bugged me, words I didn't like, and by my 100th post, I had sunk to the point of discussing my underwear. Fabulous. I'm sure glad I work my pants off to get an education. For some reason, at this point, my readership decided to spike. Do not ask me, I don't know how it happened.

I found out today that the father of one of Dan's friends (Allison, Sarah, it's RITCHIE'S DAD) read my blog. I was mortified. He mentioned it a few days ago, which means my friend's dad now knows that the girls roam free. crap. crap. crap. (When Dan told me, my reaction was along the lines of "SH&^%!!!! Does he know I say bad words on my blog!!???" Dan said something about how the man uses bad words on the phone, but I was not comforted.)

To cap off my day, the son of said father, (who now knows waaay to much about me,) was over at my apartment helping Dan move the heavy furniture to our new place. During this time he happened to find a highly inappropriate message that I wrote to Dan on my chalkboard table.

Perhaps it is a sign. A sign that I should take my blog private, save the chalkboard for basic math equations, or, most preferably, melt into the ground from humiliation.


grad school quotes/ me being a meanie-poo

I read/heard some fabulous things in grad school today.

"It is fine if the government wants to tell poor kids to 'pull themselves up by their bootstraps'(pause,) But they've got to give them boots first."

"One of the most greatly popularized notions in this society is that the poor don't know what they are missing."

"The greatest indicator of high test scores is family income. If you want higher test scores, get your kid born into a wealthier family."

I could make an argument that one of the best parts about being a liberal is that your cohorts make such clever and scaldingly funny comments when calling for educational reform. (get your kid born into a wealthier family, love it.) All while our lovely president is mispronouncing "nuclear" and calling himself "the decider." But then someone would send me a tape of Michael Moore making fart sounds with his armpit, and my argument would be defunct. So I won't.

Instead, I believe it is time for another edict to my fellow Mormon Child Bride bloggers.

Dear MCBs,

Please stop talking like a child while writing in your blog. Stop using one word sentences like "YUMMY!" to describe ALL your meals. It makes me suspect that your husband had to pretend that the spoon was an airplane to get you to eat. Please stop adding "ie" or "y" to the names of your significant others. If he didn't grow up being called "Dannie poo" your recent marriage is not the time to implement that practice.

Furthermore, please stop infantilizing your husband with excessive use of the words "adorable" or "cutie." A few times is acceptable, husbands, like puppies, are often adorable. But when overused, I must wonder if you wed a 9 month old baby with huge thighs- since that is my personal definition of an "adorable cutie."

Lastly, a quick reminder. You may only randomly insert "I/we are so blessed" into a post two times. All other times require some form of explanation of the blessedness.

Thanks guys!


to self from jimmeny cricket

dear stephanie,

it has come to our attention that you spend WAAAY to much time blog/internet surfing and not enough time doing your homework.

need i remind you that your grad program is very expensive? more importantly, how will you continue to intellectually b*#ch slap comment mccommentster every day if you haven't done the reading? hmmmmm?

also, you really shouldn't have told the internet that you frequently (always) go about bra-less. now everyone is looking at your boobs to determine their sag-factor. unwise, unwise.

please stop blogging and do your homework.


your conscience, aka, the little angel you so repeatedly brush off your shoulder.



I am into my 14th hour of wearing a bra. I cannot remember the last time I wore a bra for this long. (High School?)

I know, I know, tmi. Well, whatever, this is my blog.

It is not so bad. But I get to take it off now because I am going to bed.


we have an understanding.

via text

me: I hate everyone today.

spouse: I forgot to bring the sheets (to my parent's home for washing). I'll wash them tonight.

That was the beginning and end of the conversation. I'm not kidding.

I am developing a very scientific theory (meaning it is my opinion based solely on my own experiences) that ADD is kind of like second-hand smoke. Just as someone who lives with a smoker often develops the same health problems as a smoker, living with an ADD person eventually causes your brain to function in a similar matter. Hence why the spouse chose to answer my text in such a manner. Unlike second hand smoke, however, the effects of second-hand ADD (SHADD) can often be beneficial.

When we first met, and I would text my husband completely random nonsense, the poor dear would try and interpret it like I was a human being capable of linear thought. I would say

"I hate everyone today," (but really just some customer who bothered me, or a fellow student who kept trying to be my friend...the nerve...)

and spouseman, well, back then he was "the boy {who} can cook," would inevitably reply

"What's wrong? Are you all right? What happened?"

And then I would be confused, having already forgotten that I sent him some border-line psychotic text at some earlier point. Then I would have to remember the situation that prompted the text, and inevitably start over with

"Everyone is retarded. That is all."

which would result in

"You'll have to tell me later"

Which I wouldn't, because I'd forget.

Now that spouse has "SHADD," these problems are eliminated.

And yes, I know what you are thinking, I don't know how I got accepted to grad school either.


excellent start.

I started grad school this week. Here are the highs and lows thus far.

High and Low. On Monday, I had a paper due for my class at four. I did it that morning, after bribing myself with a trip to Target. I told myself that if I finished my paper before noon, I could go to Target. I finished at 1:30 and still went to Target. High- I finished the paper. Low-it was the first day of class and I was already bribing myself.

High- During the three hour class, I only got up and randomly left ONCE (for a necessary mind-clearing walk and bathroom break). For a person with old lady stiff knees and toddler level attention span, that is a new record. I believe I shall reward myself with a trip to Target.....(just kidding.)

High- Almost everyone in the class seems truly interested in becoming a teacher. I've been in education classes before where this has not been the case.

Low- At least one person is an annoying question asker "Is this a handout, or a packet?" Um it is a piece of paper sweetie, call it what you want but make sure you read it for next time.

High- Holy free parking Batman! Holy class is actually close to where I parked, Robin!

And that is pretty much grad school.


Group Thought on the Internet

A few weeks ago I read an article in the New York Times about the oh-so-famous Heather Armstrong, aka "Dooce." 'Dooce is a Utah-based blogger who writes about her kid, her dogs, all the normal stuff. But she is insanely popular (I myself am a devoted reader,) because she is hysterically funny. She makes a story about putting her kid to bed SNL worthy.

The article also mentioned Gabrielle Blair, she lives in New York, but like Heather Armstrong, graduated from BYU, and who also has a nationally recognized blog.

It got me to thinking about how so many recognized bloggers hail from our humble state of Utah. (dooce, designmom, stephmodo, ect,) It also reminded me of how everyone I have ever met in my entire existence of growing up in Utah now maintains a blog. I have a sneaking suspicion that it may have something to do with our "Utah culture." We love scrap booking. We are, in general, a family oriented state who love to utilize technology to keep in touch. (Nearly every blog I look at states that their blog intends to "help you keep in touch as our family grows," or "keep our family and friends up-to-date on our adventures.") A lot of people may say this is due to our LDS majority, but I know plenty of non-LDS people who live here because it is a family-friendly community with affordable housing and lots of scrap booking stores.

Although I think it is great that our "Utah" values are now nationally recognized on the Internet and in the News, I have also noticed a slightly less appealing revelation about all these other, non-famous Utah bloggers.

We all write about the exact same thing. In the past few weeks, every other "Mormon Child Bride" has a blog post about the following things-

1) Their husbands graduation from college. (Disturbingly, I have seen very few posts about a wife graduating.)

2) How happy they are that spring is here, and an accompanying photo of the swimsuit they want to buy for the summer.

3) A "tag" where they list "where they met their husband," and "who does the dishes, or is more stubborn."

4) Pictures of going out to Utah's new Cheesecake Factory. Honestly, I have read about a zillion blogs all about the Cheesecake Factory.

Then they announce that their blog is "going private" because information about their choice of swimsuits or dish-washing preferences are so unique that they only want friends and family to know if they prefer a one-piece or a tankini. (I would like to make a quick tangent- If you are posting pictures of your kids, or other potentially dangerous info, I understand going private. But going private when all you talk about is going out to the Cheesecake Factory? Give me a break.)

It seems to me that we have a problem with group thought. If you are going to post pictures and stories about your life, how about posting something about how you are an unique individual, with thoughts, experiences, and perspectives different that every other tankini-sporting woman in the State? Why not set a goal to make your experiences with your husband as funny (or at least interesting,) as the ones on Dooce?

Perhaps it has something to do with fear. Along with our family-oriented values, living in Utah seems to come with a pretty heady case of "Keeping up with the Joneses," or "Huntsman's" as the case may be. It seems very important to my fellow bloggers that they show only the happiest, most magazine-spread- worthy aspects of their lives. If we actually reveal a story about how our husband is more stubborn, (instead of just claiming he is in a ''tag") we may appear less perfect. And that could be scary.

I know that come tomorrow all the blogs will have a picture of the author and their mom (usually at the author's wedding,) claiming that their mother is their best friend and so cute and the best mom ever and such a great example. Great. But after you honor your mom, I challenge you to the following: write something original. Write something a little more personal (What? You can post a picture of you kissing your husband over cheesecake, but not how you feel about the environment?) It can be silly, serious, funny or not, but please, for the love of all things holy, no more pictures of your swimsuit.

Oh, and one more thing. Next year, I want to see some pictures of all you wives out there wearing a cap and gown and clutching that diploma.


How to Annoy Me

Let's do a quick recap. I hate people who sing randomly, people who hug me without permission*, bunnies, most babies, the color pink, and in general anything liked by anyone with more than just a half-rotted black cynical heart.

I just watched an episode of "Scrubs**" where everything was sung, musical-style. (Or, Sarah, for you, soviet-style.) Anyway, this was annoying. I had to watch it for key-plot developments (Will Carla go back to work, or not?) But all the singing was pretty darn irritating. No more singing.

There is a person in my life who always sings important information. Oh, lets say this person and her husband recently recieved a mission call after nine months of debating back and forth whether or not to go, but forbidding us to move because they wanted us to watch their house if they went. Let's just say they finally got their call and this person calls me, hater of all song, and insists on singing "OHHHH STEEEEEPPPHHHH guess what came in the mail today, the mail today, the mail today, guess what came in the mail today, lalalala!"

I hate singing. I especially hate singing except when I drop a plate of hot food on the floor at work and therefore have to start the order over. Even if the food has only been on the floor ten seconds, they make me make the food again. Anyway, at this point it is acceptable to sing one single word. This word starts with an "s" and rhymes with "hit."

* If you are wondering whether or not you have permission to hug me, consider the following. The only people on that very short list have been given either written or verbal permission. Or they participated in giving me life.

* *I also have another Scrubs related tidbit. This one in the form of a confession. This will only be relevant to watchers of the show, but I ask you this question. Is it bad that the two characters I "relate" to on the show are Jordan and Elliot? Often simultaneously? Discuss.


oh the joy.

My Grandparents received their mission call last Wednesday. They will be leaving May 26 for the MTC, and will be serving in the Albuquerque, New Mexico mission. This is there bajillionth mission. (Not Really, but whatever.)

Now while I am very happy for my grandparents, and know that they will be great missionaries, I am also extremely excited because we will be living/taking care of/throwing wild keggers in their house while they are gone. One of those things is not like the other, think carefully before deciding which one.

Because this is a momentous occasion, I think it is time to make a list to commemorate it.


Some Wonderful Aspects of Living in my Grandparents House.

1. Oh. The space. The space. Spaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaace. We will only be staying in their basement apartment, but that is still so much bigger than our midget sized apartment.

2. Washing Machine/Dryer. While I do enjoy going to my parent's house to borrow their washer and eating their food, it will be nice to do laundry in the same place that I live.

3. Space.

4. Space.

5. No police barricades on the streets when the police are trying to catch some hoodlum. No hoodlums. No drunk neighbors. No chickens roaming the sidewalks.

Does this sound to good to be true? Kind of like the beginning of a horror movie when the nice couple finds the house of their dreams, but the audience knows it is haunted by a murderous ghost? Yes, Yes, sounds familiar, right?

Well. There are some similar downsides to living in my grandparent's basement.

1. It is haunted.

2. My grandma has chosen to decorate the basement by hanging shelves all along the walls to display her antique farming/mechanical tools. Like old rusty scythes and wrenches, ect. The basement kind of looks like Martha Stewart's house after she marries Hannibal Lecter and they move to the 'burbs.

3. We are FORBIDDEN to move, touch, or so much THINK about rearranging the decor. It will stay within convenient reach of the ghost that will kill Dan and I after we move in.

This is the part where the audience screams at the hot female lead "Don't GO IN THE BASEMENT," even though you all know she's goin'.

But at least I will have access to a washer and dryer.