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.