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Thursday, August 20, 2015

she told me don't worry no more

A couple of years ago I started growing my hair out.  My friend and magic neighbor Wendy grows her hair out and donates it, and I thought that was a nice idea, so I decided to try it for myself.  Plus I was sick of my shoulder-length bob and thought it would be fun to be able to have ponytails and Willie Nelson braids for a while.  BIG MISTAKE.  It's taking forever and I hate it because it's always in the way and it's hot and messy and it gets everywhere and makes me look like a polygamist.  

So my friends and family have been making fun of me for a long time because I believe in the inevitability of Terminators, but as more and more devices have AI and start communicating with each other and making more and more of our decisions for us, I'm starting to look not so much crazy as prescient, and I want all of you to remember that when the singularity happens.  Feel free to join me in my pessimism corner:  
http://waitbutwhy.com/2015/01/artificial-intelligence-revolution-1.html
http://waitbutwhy.com/2015/01/artificial-intelligence-revolution-2.html

Now will you listen to me about zombies?  Or do you insist on your benighted scoffing?  Foolish mortal:  
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2014/10/141031-zombies-parasites-animals-science-halloween/

Did I tell you about how I ate a tomato sandwich, with a tomato from my own garden, on July 3rd this year?  It was delicious and I was incredibly smug about it.  Karma has repaid my smugness in the form of a mystery animal attacking and eating almost all of my tomatoes since then--I can never get to them before the varmint does, and I have had to cut off the bitten section of so many of them.  The bites are too big for a worm and too small for a skunk.  Maybe it's an escaped fighting rooster from across the street, or a guinea fowl.  I'm very cross about it.

Why do zucchini plants stink?  I picked my only zucchini to have survived so far for lunch the other day, and my hands smelled bad for the rest of the afternoon, even after multiple washes.  This is a design flaw.

Last week as part of our reunion with John's family we went to Lagoon, a local amusement park.  Because of heat, noise, crowds, and general theme park suckiness, Lagoon can sometimes feel like one of the worst places on earth you can choose to be.  Somehow we've begun a tradition of going there as part of this reunion.  I don't know how it started, but every year John and I and some of the other parents try to shut it down with ever less tact, and we are just making no progress.  It's a mystery.  But many of the kids are old enough that they can roam the park in packs of their own, and the parents don't have to be with them every waking moment while they ride endlessly on Bulgy the Whale.  So it gets better every year, and our kids do like running around with their cousins.  So I guess Lagoon is an okay place sometimes, with occasional highs and lows.  The high was that some kind soul turned in our car keys which had fallen out of a giant hole in John's pocket.  The low was when I was on the skyride and suddenly there was a splash of some kind of yellow-brown diarrhea on my shin, I can only assume/hope from a bird.

This has been a pretty negative post, full of complaints about hair and bad smells and bugs and humanity's doom, so I will leave you with a positive image:

Tuesday, August 4, 2015

his tail lashing, he'll be smashing every shop in town

Hello, I've been busy, but not with anything terribly interesting.  I do have a newly-formed opinion I'd like to share with you.  It may be a bit divisive, and I would just ask that you respect my beliefs.  


Here we go:  you know those cheap little washcloths you can get in gift shops or the dollar store, and they have like pictures of dinosaurs or cartoon characters or whatnot on them?  Lots of times they're smooshed into an egg- or disc-shaped package?  I love those things, and let me tell you why:  their substandard terry cloth looping makes them very nubbly, and they are great for exfoliating.  I have found that the nicer/more expensive a washcloth is, the thicker the pile is, and the worse job it does at actually washing my face.  There, disagree with me if you want, but I'm the voice of reason and truth.  

A couple of weeks ago Emmett had an orthodontist appointment, and he spent some time in the waiting room reading the magazines.  We were driving home and suddenly he burst out, "Sports Illustrated is sexist!"  I said, "True, but why are you saying this?"  "The USA women's team just won the world cup, Carli Lloyd had a hat trick in the first sixteen minutes of the game--she herself scored more goals than Japan had allowed in all the other games, and they gave them like five pages!  And Serena Williams just won Wimbledon for the sixth time, and they barely mentioned it, and the rest of the magazine was about football's off season!  Nobody cares!"  He was so exercised about it, and brothers and sisters, can you imagine how my heart swelled with parental pride?  It was a beautiful moment.  

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

you will never stray for every day your Christmas dreams come true

Argh, Groceries is killing me, man!  He is the most expensive free cat I've ever had.  I took him to the vet last week because he was peeing blood--I know this because he has taken to peeing in the sink.  IN THE SINK.  On one hand, that is super gross, but on the other, the sink is not upholstery and is easily cleaned.  So it turned out he had a UTI and I paid the extra fifteen dollars to have them give him a shot rather than do the oral antibiotics, which brought the total to $106.  Money well spent, because it is worth fifteen dollars to me to not have to wrestle medicine into a cat.  But the problem is not solved, because as of this morning he is still peeing blood, and also he has tapeworms, as John discovered the other night, when he found a white, wriggling worm segment on Groceries's butt.  I am so thoroughly disgusted by this whole thing.  So back to the vet we went, where he cost us another $79, and this time I get to smash worm medicine into his food as well as give him an oral antibiotic.  He won't eat the food if there is medicine in it, by the way.  Plus he always rage-pees in the carrier when I take him to the vet, so now my clothes smell like cat pee.  Why do I have animals?

Friday, May 29, 2015

where the fun doesn't stop at only eighty bucks a pop in beautiful happy world land

Image result for magners bee beard


I am deep in the throes of prepping for Travis Sorenson Day, which is a holiday John and I have created, and which maybe I've mentioned before, I don't remember.  In short, we've declared a holiday in honor of one of John's childhood friends, because Travis has always remembered John's birthday ever since John moved to Utah, and John felt bad that he never reciprocated, so we decided that we would start celebrating Travis's birthday.  That was long ago, in the halcyon days of 2008.  We were so young then!  Also we didn't have air conditioning, which was hard on our guests, since there was no way to escape from the oppressive heat of late May in Utah.  How times have changed.  For this year's festivities we're having pork tacos, which is what I'm busy with right now.  We cleaned the patio off last weekend, and Grant spent six hours, literally, mowing the lawn.  It's been so rainy that we haven't been able to mow and it was like the pampas of Argentina out there.

I still haven't dared to open my beehive and get the honey.  All the other bee people are nagging me and prophesying dire events if I don't, but nuts to them.

I think maybe Sally and Minerva aren't actually pregnant?  Surely they would have kidded by now.  They aren't getting any fatter, and there are only two weeks left in the window of time to correspond with the buck being here.  Strange.  Maybe he was shooting blanks.  Or maybe they saw what happened to Hazel and were like NOPE, REABSORBING NOW.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

I was just doing what any hero would do

Image result for parks and recreation ron gif

Right off the bat I want to say that I like Jim Gaffigan's comedy.  Beyond the Pale is delightful and some of it was so funny it made me cry.  Mr. Universe, same.  So you know that when I say I expected better of his new show it comes from a place of love.  And I should watch it before I judge too harshly, but I saw a promo photo for it yesterday, and it looks like the main cast is four dudes and one lady?  Like, even his wife's best friend is a man?  And then he tweeted a picture of a cast list, and it was, like, the biggest sausagefest.  Five women and twenty-eight men--many of the men are cameos, so I don't know if that's one episode or multiple episodes or what, but still.  C'mon, Jim.  Let's get some women in there, unless that is in fact representative of your real life, in which case what a disappointing world this still is.

And since I spent yesterday avoiding work by watching Parks and Recreation, I am reminded that I love that show.  I love all the characters, I love how they've grown and blossomed over the years, and I want to hug them all, except Councilman Jamm, whom I hate so much.  

Okay!  I'm lying, I didn't really avoid work the whole day.  I was trying to write something and it was so, so terrible.  I keep getting about two pages into a story and then it's so bad I have to close it down and start a new one, which is just as bad, repeat to infinity.  

I will not miss David Letterman.  He's gross and creepy.  

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

no you cain't get a man with a gun

Someone told me the other night that they couldn't imagine me getting angry or yelling at my kids, which I guess means that I'm successfully passing as a nice person.  Good job, me!

I mean, I am generally nice, in that I don't believe in being rude for no reason, and I almost always accept food assignments for funerals and such, and yeah, I try to help children improve their literacy even though they act like jerks, but my gooey center is not a sweet one.  I think my gooey center probably tastes like tobacco spittle.

While slogging my way through the twitters I realized that when I scroll using the touchpad my computer makes a barely-audible clicking sound, sort of like ruffling pages in a book, and I am so annoyed by this now that if I were a baby I would be fussing SO MUCH, and my parents would probably have to buy a white noise machine to drown out the sound of the clicks so I could sleep.  Except, here's the part I've never figured out:  how can anyone sleep with the sound of white noise?  "Hey, you know that noise you hear when your radio station isn't coming in very clear?  That sound that's so irritating that you'd rather not listen to the radio at all?  Let's make a machine that makes that noise all the time, and it will sell like hotcakes!"  Babies are crazy is what I'm saying.

I don't think I ever missed the bus when I was in junior high or high school, but I drive Grant and/or Emmett to school at least once a week.  This is how you know I'm not doing a very good job on them.  At least they're not on drugs, that we know about, but if they could add "can catch the school bus" and "is considerate of others" to their resumes it would be really neat.

Thursday, April 30, 2015

you remind me of the babe

The neighbors I'm goatsitting for live over by a huge swampy area called the Black Slough, so every spring they have terrible problems with gnats, tiny little no-see-um gnats that bite you everywhere.  So since I have been playing midwife I have gnat bites all over in my hair and around my ears, and if I lived in a place with no-see-ums?  Would move.  This is no way to live.  And yet half of the people in our ward deal with the gnats every year.  You can't even go outside!  Poop on that is what I say.  A few years ago my uncle Kenny, whose house is also near the Black Slough, was talking about how much he hates going to the doctor--he was going through chemo at the time--and he said, "I would rather thin beets with a short-handled hoe in the gnats than go to the doctor."  For people who understand sugar beets and hoes and gnats, that is a powerfully vivid image.

A girl I know is getting a roller skate tattoo for her birthday, and it caused me to wonder--what is a relationship with a tattoo artist like?  Do you always use the same person, or do you bebop around?  It seems like going to a new artist would be even more awkward than changing hairdressers, but maybe tattoo artists aren't actually very territorial.  Maybe they understand that certain artists are right for certain designs, and they have no problem with you using the best artist for the job.  It's a tricky world to navigate, man.  So many feelings to consider.  

I wish it were always fall, so I could wear boots and cook ham and it would rain instead of snow.  Which is the autumnest of states?  Vermont, maybe, or New Hampshire?  I should move there I guess, except for I'm pretty sure those places get snow, yuck.  Washington seems pretty autumnal, and maybe Montana, but I refuse to move to Montana unless forced by global climate change.  And I'm sure they get snow.  Snow is horrid.  Why is there not a machine to create a portable climate, so everyone could be where they're the happiest?  This is probably not even the fakest thing that we could invent.  This is just money waiting to be made, guys.