FFA: Gone With The Wind. Do you give a damn?

Uh, yeah. And I'll give a whole lot more than a damn, too, while I'm at it. I'll give you a full blown testimonial, in fact. Oh, how I love this movie. I also LOVE the book, but I met the movie first and it is one of the few movies that are based on books where I prefer the movie to the book. Not that the book isn't quite excellent. It really, really is. In fact, there's a lot more meat in the book. There's a lot more to the story than you get in the movie, and yet... I prefer the movie. Why? Because I love Clark Gable. (Oh, how I love Clark Gable. He's the 1930's equivalent to a combination of Hugh Jackman & Christian Bale, if you ask me. And we all know how much I love Wolverine & Batman... so that's saying quite a bit.) And if there was ever a role that was made for Clark Gable, it's that of Rhett Butler. Damn, damn, damn... he's a beautiful man, Rhett is. Both inside and out. I love him. I love his brash manner, his courage, his devotion to all things Scarlett (even though I personally think she's a pill and he could do soooo very much better), his honesty. I love his devotion to his Bonnie Blue, his kindness and mercy (that only Melanie ever seems to really see), and his relationship with the town harlot. Oh. My. Gosh. I love Rhett. I do. I can't help it. Watch this little clip and you'll see why I think he's the #1 Alpha Male of all time. Dudes, I so love him...

Other things I love about this movie: hating Scarlett, Mammy's red petticoat (again, I so love Rhett for buying it for her), Melanie's absolute & total goodness, the cinematography, thinking to myself that Ashley's parents made him into a sad sappy dope the second they gave him that sissified girl name, the score, the colors, the knowledge that the bodies in the battle field are real people (not computer generated), and that the fire's real too. Basically, I love everything about this movie. I love the story, the romance, the drama, the intrigue, the politics, the clothing... I love it all. Even the people who make me crazy... I love to hate them. Hands down, this is one of my favorite movies of all time (and not just because there's a swear word in it). If you haven't seen it, you must. If you have seen it, and don't love it ... you'd best not be telling me about it, because I'll have to call off our friendship. (Don't test me here, folks. I'm pretty serious.)

FFA: Super Powers

Okay, okay... I know, I know. I posted Thursday's cake pics two days late (Saturday) and now, here I am, on a Sunday night finally getting to FFA. What can I say? I have dishes in the sink, and I haven't vacuumed in I'm-not-even-gonna-say-how-long. My world is off-kilter. I am behind. I know! ...But I'm trying to catch up, I really am. Too bad my brain is fuzzy and I spent all weekend thinking over this post, mistakenly thinking that the question was "which super hero would you like to have, if you could pick only one?". Uh, hi, BATMAN, of course. But was that the actual question? No. Sadly, the actual question demands more thought, a little more introspection... which I haven't given myself time for, but whatever. Since when do I do my homework? BSing is pretty much my favorite thing to do, and so, without further ado, I give you my official answer to FFA challenge #19. Oh, right... but first I should let you all in on the question, right? Here it is: "If you could have ANY super power (either good or evil) what would it be?"

And the answer is... (drum roll, please)... time manipulation. Please, like there is any other answer to this question. I mean, sure, flying would be cool and all (if I wasn't afraid of heights), and super-strength would be sweet (if my lifestyle was such to ever NEED to be able to bend metal or break through walls), and while I do think that weather manipulation (ala Storm in X-Men) would be fun... I wouldn't want to deal with the whiners who weren't prepared for the monsoon season to strike early. So, it's time manipulation for me. Some of you may not know this, but it's true that I've had a life-long love affair with all things time-travelly. Seriously, time manipulation is where it's at for me. Just look at my favorite books, movies & tv shows. (Time Traveler's Wife, Frequency, The Love Letter, De Javu. Kate & Leopold, Back to the Future, Somewhere in Time, Quantum Leap, Journeyman, 7 days... and the list could go on and on.) I am in love with the theory of time travel. A book/show/movie made with the thought of a break in the space/time continuum brings me joy like none other. The first time I saw Frequency, I sat there with my mom for a good half hour after the movie ended and tried to unravel the whole mom/dad/son/crazed-killer cop storyline. To this day, I have a blockage in my head. I can't help but think that when it comes to the aurora borealis, time travel really is possible. I'm telling you, to be able to move backward and forward in time would be the sweetest thing ever. Hiro's got one heck of a sweet gig. (I just wish he'd hurry up and learn English already. The subtitles were killing me last week)

FFA: The Top 20

The Top 20 Things You'll NEVER Hear Me Say:

20. I hate stinky cheese.
19. Mmmmm... Carrot cake.
18. I look great in yellow!
17. My favorite pie? Cherry, hands down.
16. Please tickle me... please.
15. Could you pass me the okra?
14. I love gory movies!
13. Jack Weyland is my favorite author!
12. The red jellybeans are my fav.
11. I'm a dog person.
10. Growing up, I wished I had more brothers.
9. I heart water sports.
8. My dream job is to be a dental hygienist.
7. I dig short guys.
6. My favorite day of the week? Monday, of course!
5. Oatmeal is the best!
4. I've always wanted to be a waitress...
3. My dream vacation? Safari.
2. I love to workout.
1. Yup, Lori. That's my name.

FFA: Memories of Junior High (repressed or otherwise)

Hallelujah and welcome back to the fun that is FFA! I don't know why it is that having a random writing assignment excites me on so many levels, but boy howdy, it does. We were put out to pasture (haha, I'm so punny) for the summer, but now that it's September and school's back in session, we proud members of the FFA are back on the prowl (or... erm... the web, actually, since we're blogging... not hunting & maiming). And for you Johnny-Come-Lately's out there, let me just take a moment to explain that when I say FFA, I do not mean Future Farmers of America (though, knowing my farmtown upbringing, that's sometimes not too far from the truth), but rather I am talking of Friday Free-for-All, a super cool group of women who gather to expound (or ramble, really, esp in my case) on an assigned topic once a week. Please check out the official FFA site for our rules and registration information. Ha! I'm kidding... .there are no rules. And you can't actually register. But still, you should check out the blog. It's worth it for the header and the witty side-bar alone, esp if you've never seen it. ...But I digress. And when I have so very many FANTASTIC memories of Junior High, that's a shame. So, without further ado, let me hit some of the high (low) points of my Jr. High career.

Let's start with my bangs. I cut them myself, and I did a horrible job. To clarify, when I say "horrible job", I mean, they were an inch and a half long. Hardly enough hair to hold a spike. And when I was asked what'd happened by one of the super cool high schoolers at the bus stop... I blamed my mother. (And it's not like I only did this one time. I probably sheared myself bald up top about once every other month... my hair has always grown like a weed. Mom was constantly taking the fall for my bad bangs. Bless her.)

Jr. High was not my first foray into the world of forced athleticism, but it was the first time I was opened up to the world of physical torture for an hour and then was GRADED on my non-athletic abilities (some people called it PE, I called it my own personal version of Hell). The first 6 weeks of 7th grade PE were spent at the pool. I wrote letters excusing myself from swimming, due to being on my period, for the first 4 of those 6 weeks - and I signed my mother's name. At the end of the 4th week, Miss Smith handed me back my pencil written "please excuse my daughter" note and told me that I either had something that I needed to tell my mother (that I'd been forging notes) or there was something I needed to tell her (did I have a medical situation and was slowly bleeding out and death was imminent?). Man, I hated PE... Out of respect for my elders, I won't say how I felt about Miss Smith.

I was one of the 5 tallest kids in the entire school, and ... if you people think I'm clumsy now, you have no idea how bad it was then. I remember tripping up the stairs, multiple times (once, I fell at the feet of Chance G., Lathan F., and... gasp... Allen B. and the Trapper Keeper busted wide open, as did my head, and I had no other option but to stand up and gather things up and run away in embarrassment... good times). I fell through the bleachers in the gym (or at least, my leg did), more than once.

I'm not gonna go into what happened on Halloween in 7th grade, as this is a public forum, but please believe me when I say that I caught a lot of flack from those jr. high boys over my costume.

Since I've already borne my soul regarding my 8th grade year that was all about Allen B., I'm gonna spare you all that drama and move back in time to my oh-so-secret love affair with David S. in the 7th grade. Oh, how I loved him. Did he even have a clue? HECK NO. Did he know I existed? Yes, I think so, but that was more due to our families swapping plates of cookies back and forth (not to mention our being in the same ward and his dad working for my dad), than it had to do with, uhm... me personally. And yet, I loved him. I couldn't help it. He was taller than me, and he had brown eyes just like Ralph Macchio. I mean, really, what's not to love? Only, I couldn't EVER let him know. So my friend Holly and I made up a code name for him. You know, so we could talk about him "in public". So what was the code I came up with? Yeah, it was pretty genius. "Somebody." You know, as in "Who do you like, Laurie?" "Somebody." (insert ridiculous girly giggling here) I mean it, we called him "Somebody" all the freakin time. In the halls, on the bus, in the relative privacy of our own homes when we'd talk on the phone into the wee hours of the night (by which I mean 9:00, because that was bedtime). We thought we were SO COOL. (I'm not gonna go into how I would just about swoon every time they'd play I Want To Dance With Somebody at one of the school dances. I was pretty sure that Whitney was singing that song just for me. Nay, us.) Oh geez, what a dork.

Let's take a moment and talk about Mrs. Flake, who was possibly the world's meanest Home Ec teacher of all time. She made us pick out and re-sew so many lines in those stupid hot pads that I swear I went through an entire spool of baby pink thread on one hot pad. Yeah, even the day that I sewed my own finger into the interfacing... did I get sympathy (or even a barf bag... I never have been good with blood)? No. She took one look at my left index finger attached to the pink gingham covered interfacing and said "you'll need to pick that out and start over". Oh, how I hated her.

Now, about my hair. Oh my gosh, I wish I'd thought to have my mom send me a copy of my 8th grade school picture so I could show you all how, well, awkward I was. My hair was the worst. It was between almost-brown and actually-brown, that sort of dishwater color (it didn't get truly brown until I was in high school, and not as dark as it is now until my early 20's). It was frizzy, but not curly, and too heavy to hold the "wings" that were so very popular in the late 80's. Since I couldn't talk my mom into paying for a perm, and I was too lazy to get up at 4:00 and curl every strand on my head with a curling iron, I came up with what I thought was the perfect "almost permed look" solution. I'd wash my hair at night, then separate it into about 20 sections and braid it so it could dry with the kinks in it... then I'd get up in the morning and curl the tails of the braids. Well, usually, I'd curl them. If I got up in time. Some days I'd go to school with hair that had braid waves and then the obvious rubberband mark about an inch into the hair. Oh, I was so very very classy. So sophisticated. How humiliating.

Oh yeah, Jr. High was NOT the best time of my life. I'll grant that some of the best friends of my life came out of people that I met during those two years, and a lot of those friends are still part of my life, for which I am very grateful. Having spent an hour or so looking back at the idiocy/clumsiness/dorkiness that defined my life when I was a teenager I'm torn between thinking "some things never change" and "oh my gosh, I'm so glad that I'm past that". At the end of the day, life is funny. I do think it's funny-er if you can laugh at it, of course, which is why I really am gonna call my mom and ask her to forward me some photographic evidence of the perm/crimp/braid thing I was trying to pull off 20 years ago. (And if that teaser doesn't get you coming back for more in the next 24 hours, I don't know what will.)

FFA: Laughing Gas at the Dentist's Office

So... for those of you who know me (I mean, really know me), this will not come as any kind of a suprise when I say - I HATE LAUGHING GAS. Hate it. Cannot stand the stuff. I hate the high-ish feeling, the out-of-body-ness of it. I've had it twice in my life. Once as a kid, and it freaked me right the hell out and I yelled (yup, yelled... I was a mouthy kid - imagine) at the dentist to "get that mask off me", and then again as an adult when I went in to have my first (yes, I did just say first) root canal done at the ripe old age of 23. The second time I had someone try to put the gas mask on my face I about flipped. I didn't even get a whiff in before I lost it and told him to take it off and give me 72 shots if he needed to, that was not gonna happen. I'm telling you, it absolutely un-nerves me, to the extent that the one time I did have it (for part of a procedure, in my youth), it didn't even work. I wouldn't let myself take a deep enough breath in to let it do its job. The mere thought of being awake, but even a little bit out of my head is too creepy to me. Since I was about 10, I've been telling the dentist "shots!" before he can even ask how I want him to numb me up. Even thinking about having that mask on sends me into convulsions (I just shivered, typing that... I'm not kidding even one little bit). Ewh. Shudder, shiver, gag... blagh.

And on that note, I'm gonna go to bed now and try to avoid dreams of going to the dentist. Wish me luck!

Could I have a do-over, please?

Okay, so the FFA question of the week is: "What would you do if you had 30 minutes with absolutely NO accountability whatsoever (moral, ethical, legal, etc.)?". Huh... Absolutely NO accountability? In 30 minutes. Hmmm... that's not much time.

Well, Peggy did not mention the bending of the space & time continuum, but... since I figure this is my fantasy, I might was well go whole hog. If I have a half hour, and only a half hour at my disposal, and I can do anything that I want with it... I'm going back in time to the day that CB cashed out my retirement account and gave me a check (bless them) and I'm marching my pretty little self over to a financial advisor and I'm investing every last dollar that I have on me in Google and AOL stock. I think half an hour should do me just fine. I figure that I'd have just enough time to have them draw up the paperwork to split my investments 50/50 between the two, sign my life away, and then I'd be able to twinkle out of there and back home to my little cottage.

I figure that in 30 minutes of time travel, I could save myself years of needless work and worry. Not to mention - maybe I could score myself a cute gardner for the grounds. Oh, heck yeah...

FFA: "A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!"

Not that I don't love my life. I do. I lead a very blessed and wonderful life, and I try to be maintain an attitude of gratitude on a daily basis. There isn't anything that I need that I don't have. (And I have a lot of things that aren't needful, they're just plain fun.) I'm not complaining. There are so many worse things than being a single girl at my age, and yet....

My kingdom for a date with a man who knows how to floss (and has done so in the last 90 days).
My kingdom for a man who will not talk about how much he makes (hourly wages are not good conversation on a first date, let me tell you).
My kingdom for a man who will ask me questions about ME rather than droning on about his failed marriage(s).
My kingdom for a man who can read (past a 4th grade reading level).
My kingdom for a man who is taller than me (when I'm wearing shoes).
My kingdom for a man who knows that "ain't" is the A word that I'm talking about when I tell him that I can't live with that kind of language.
My kingdom for a man who can carry on a decent conversation.
My kingdom for a man who wouldn't justify having 5 tv's in a 2 bedroom apartment.
My kingdom for a man with good hygiene, a sense of humor - and an appreciation for the glorious thing that is... Me.

Like I said, I have a great life. I know this. And I am not complaining. There are so many things that are worse than being single. And yet... I can't help but think there have to be so many better guys out there than the ones I've been meeting lately. And so I say...

My kingdom for a man who I'd want to go out with twice.

Is that really too much to ask?

FFA: What is something I'm completely fantastic at, and what is something I'm really crappy at?

Okay... I'm just gonna say it. I am fantastic at making pie. I am. I love all things pie. I love the crust, the filling, the whipped cream and/or ice cream on top. I love it all. I love to choose (or make up) a recipe. I love to cut the butter into the flour to make the dough for the crust. I love to roll out the crust and put it in the pan. I love to flute the edges, and I love to brush milk over the top of the crust so it will brown, but not burn. I love to smell it baking, and to take it out when it's exactly perfect. I can make a nearly flawless pie, time and again, and often I fly by the seat of my pants and create a new recipe, just to see what those fruits/flavors will taste like together. It's one of my favorite things to do, and I do it well. Really, I'm not trying to brag - I'm just saying. I make a mean pie.

Now, what I don't do so well? ...Exercise any form of control when it comes to eating said pie. I can down an entire pie in a day (yeah, with ice cream on top). It's horrible, really. I justify it as eating "fruit and bread - with dairy", but really... it's just me eating a pie. By myself.

FFA: When Technology Goes Too Far

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Oh yeah, this would be technology going too far. Damn traffic cameras catching me running a light. Did I run the light on purpose? Heck no. (Obviously. Look at that completely horrible double chinned picture of me that is Exhibit A - on the phone - totally oblivious to the color of the light.) Did I hurt anyone? Again, no. (See Exhibit B. I am, far and away, the only car in the intersection.) The point of the matter is not that I didn't run the light. Clearly and obviously, I did the crime - and I'm willing to do the time (by which I mean: "pay the ticket, as well as attend the state mandated Traffic Survival School"...yeah, I said "pay the ticket and go to TSS" ...don't get me started), because I know I am guilty as charged. The thing that gets me is that there wasn't a person there to ticket me. No-sirree-bob, just a camera. Gone are the days when one could accidentally run a red light and then think "crap! well... at least no one was in the intersection... and I don't see any cops... phew!". No, now when I (accidentally) run a light, I'm stuck thinking "crap almighty! was there a camera there? oh, poo... I'm not sure, I can't remember... here's hoping that I didn't get a ticket... guess I'll find out in 3 weeks". Honestly, for a girl who grew up in a town so small we didn't have lines painted on our streets, this crazy traffic-camera thing is truly mind-blowing. (Oh, and I'm not a fan.) If I'm gonna get a ticket, I want a man in uniform to write it up for me. The End.

FFA: Write a letter to someone apologizing for something you're not really sorry for.

Dear Sister So-n-So,

I'm so sorry I had to miss the baby shower thrown by the ward for the triplets you're about to deliver. I know the invitation/sign-up they passed around Relief Society on Sunday suggested that you were in need of diapers, binkies, wipes and... well, everything. The thing is - I wasn't sure exactly what to get you, since you already seem to have an endless supply of baby supplies and boy clothes - what with the 4 boys under the age of 7 you already have. I thought about buying a big pack of diapers, but then I remembered that you like the old-school cloth kind, and wasn't sure where to go to buy them. Besides which, I had something come up (can we all say "SATC came out this weekend"?), so I was otherwise occupied for the afternoon. My apologies and deepest regrets that I couldn't be there for you and yours. Keep me on your mailing list, though. Hopefully I'll be able to make it next time.

Sincerely, Laurie

FFA: Who should play me in the movie version of my life?

Easy-peasy. Vivian Leigh.

Hahahahaha... I'm laughing out loud at that one. Hahahahaha.... Wow, that was funny.

Okay, back to reality. Uhhhhh... me, of course. Anyone who knows me knows that I know no bounds when it comes to what I'll do/say/tell to get a laugh, let alone the fact that I crave an audience. (Besides which, I know the material better than anyone else.) Forget that I'm not a famous actress, I hereby nominate myself for the role of... myself. The End.

Oh, that's not what we were going for? You wanted an actual celebrity? Okay... well, if I can't get Vivian Leigh, and if we lived in an alter-reality where Rosie wasn't so butch, and so well known for.... well... being butch (because I most certainly am not butch, by anyone's definish), then I'd take Rosie O'Donnell, hands down. Not only do I think she's so stinkin funny that I know she could play me well (note: this is back in the day when she was known for stand-up, and/or when she had her talk show, which... to this day was about the funniest day-time talk show I've ever seen in my life... I do love Ellen, don't get me wrong, but... dang, Rosie was funny back in the day when being funny was what she was known for), not to mention (and I hesitate to share this with those of you who didn't know me in my 20's)... back in the day I use to get told ALL THE FREAKIN TIME that I looked like her. I mean...strangers would tell me this...all the time. A lot of it was our coloring, more than that was the fact that we had similar hairstyles (it was the early 90's - who didn't have wacky hair?), but I like to think that a most of it was that she was absolutely hysterical. She had a way of saying things off the cuff that would make people laugh out loud - and I like to think that I can (and do) the same.

Yeah, that's right. I'd pick a comedienne (back in her glory days), rather than a famous actress, to be me. What does that say about me, I wonder? Whatever, I don't even care. I'm about the laughs, anyway. So yeah, I'll take Rosie. Hands down. Just make sure she's wearing make-up and that her hair is properly Laurie-fied, y'hear?

Rosie & Me circa 1993.

Rosie and Me circa 2006.

We don't look as much alike as we did back in the day, but still....

FFA: What Family Traditions Could I Live Without?

Okay, seriously... I've been giving this one a lot of thought - all week long - and I cannot come up with a thing that I'd change. Our clan is a little, well... nontraditional, I guess, when it comes to traditions. We do our own funky things - kind of a lot of funky things, actually - but I wouldn't change them if I could. Nope, I thought of a lot of funny stuff this week, but I didn't think of one thing that we do that I wouldn't want to do, given the option. Here's just a little sampling of what we think is fun at our house during the holidays (or, uh... any day, frankly):

We eat the rolls as soon as they come out of the oven, while they're still hot and yummy. And we do the same thing with the turkey. And with the mashed potatoes. Really, Thanksgiving and Christmas (or any other random day of the year that we're home and Mom chooses to cook a bird, and/or bread), it's like a free-for-all when it comes to the food. If you're not comfortable pulling the turkey right off the bone, dipping it in the gravy that's cooking on the stove, and stuffing it into your mouth like it's the last thing you're ever gonna eat... Well then, you might not get any. Period. I'm not kidding. More than once, the potatoes and gravy have made it to the dinner table but the turkey has not. We're pigs, we know, but we love us.

The Christmas Eve pizza trees. We've done this one since we were tiny little kids. We were poor folk (I mean P-O-O-R, remind me sometime to tell ya'll about how once a year we'd get to go out for a fast food meal and we'd get to share fries... we thought we were the luckiest kids in the world when we'd get half a small order of curly fries all to ourselves... but that's beside the point). Anyway, we were poor. To the point that, uh... we did not eat a lot of meat. Why? Because it cost money, and we were short on money. But wheat we always had. And like any other good mormon mom of her day, Mom had a wheat grinder. So, we had bread. In spades, we had bread. Which meant we ate a lot of things that centered around bread. It was cheap, Mom could make it to suit, and it would fill us up. Enter the Christmas Tree pizzas... On Christmas Eve, Mom would make about four pans of pizza with "tree" (read: triangle) shaped pizza crust, and then we'd get them all saucy and cheesed up, and then we'd all get to decorate them to look like a Christmas Tree. We'd cut green bell peppers and onions in strips and lace them like garland, dob on bits of pineapple for the star, add bits of tomato and olives for trim, and oh... glory-be-that-it-was-Christmas-and-we-would-have-meat... we'd put on pepperonis and ham pieces as ornaments. Oh man, it was like heaven, to have actual pizza toppings. (Usually we had cheese and other random toppings - only at Christmas would we be guaranteed PEPPERONI & HAM.) Seriously. H-E-A-V-E-N. To this day, I love going home and making the trees on Christmas Eve. So stinkin fun...

Uncle Remus. Oh heck yeah, we love Uncle Remus. He's the guy who always knows exactly what to give you for your birthday and/or Christmas. So much so that it's like you bought it yourself... Okay, it's exactly like you bought it yourself, actually, because that's what you did - but instead of looking like a pig who bought yourself something and then just threw it under the tree with a tag "from: me, to: me", you throw it under the tree with a tag that says "from: Uncle Remus, to: Laurie" - and then you get what you want, and you get to open it on Christmas morning and get all the ooh's & ahh's from the spectators in the familial holiday crowd. How could it get any better than that?

Coloring Easter Eggs. Yeah, in our family, it's not just a Springtime event. (Especially now that there are grandkids.) Mom has always great at buying things up when they go on post-holiday sale, and Easter Egg dye kits have always been one of those items. When they go down to .10 a package, she can't help but buy them - and then store them. For years. What this translates into is that you can dye an egg (or a dozen) just about any day of the year. And esp now that there are grandkids, we do. We've dyed eggs at Easter, Christmas, May 15th, July 23rd, Nov 12th... (Okay, I'm making these dates up now - I don't remember the actual random dates we've done this - but you get the picture.) We dye eggs. On a whim. Whenever we want. And then we hide/find them. For hours, sometimes. Isn't that awesome?

The Sunday afternoon bake-off and/or popcorn & homemade ice cream extravaganza. Oh yeah... that sentence pretty much defined my childhood and adolescence. Mom was not a big Sunday Dinner cook. She was more a "come home from church and have some fruit & toast - and then you kids can have a baking contest and we'll all make ourselves sick eating brownies, cake and ice cream" kind of cook. Oh yes, we did love our Sunday afternoons. This is when Spencer and I (and later Ty got into the mix), would head into the kitchen and see what we could find in the cookbook that we actually had the ingredients for - and then we'd bake our brains out. Enter Dad's eternal need for salty & crunchy food - the popcorn - and the fact that when I was a kid we had raw milk (read: fresh cow's milk that we bought from a neighbor down the street who got it straight from the cow herself, and then sold it to us for $1 a gallon in a big jar), so we had an endless supply of cream. And what do you do with cream? Well... you make ice cream with it, of course, on Sunday afternoon - just about every Sunday of the year. Ahhh... again, heaven. Cookies, brownies, popcorn AND ice cream... all in one day. It made the "no playing with friends" and "no watching tv" Family Day fun, if you can imagine.

So, you see, as messed up as we are... I can't get rid of any of the non-traditional traditions in my family (and, really, I only named a few - I could go on, but I'll spare you). Now, if I had some in-laws that felt the need to dress up for Thanksgiving dinner and/or go and visit the sick and afflicted on the sabbath (versus staying home and eating myself silly), there might be some things I'd need to change - but my family, with all of its nonsensical ways, is mine. And I love them. As whacked out as we may be, my childhood was (and adulthood, thus far, has been) absolutely delightful - in a "Hey! I called dibs on the drumstick! Let go! Drop it... Drop it now, or I'm gonna take the wish-bone! I'm not even kidding... Drop it now!!!" kind of way, of course. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

The valuables, obviously.

Okay, so the FFA question of the week is: What do you, or would you, hide from your kids?

Huh... interesting question. Sadly, I have no concrete answer, as I do not actually have children from which to hide anything. So, I guess that translates into, as of now, I am hiding the following:

1) Their mortal bodies. (As I don't have a man-person with which to create said children, I am currently witholding from them their own temporal selves.)

2) Their father. (Except that I am more prone to think that he's hiding himself from me, rather than that I am hiding him from our said future children.)

And I think that about sums up what I am currently hiding from my non-existant children. Now, if I did have kids, there are a few things I would definitely hide from them:

A) The Good Chocolate. (Yes, I felt that both Good and Chocolate deserve capitalization, as both words signify that I am talking about The Good Stuff - which is a proper noun. A kid can be happy with a package of smarties. I am in love with Ferrero Rocher. They are both candy, but they are not created equal. I won't give good candy to a kid, it's a waste.)

B) Super Glue. (Just in case there's a familial affinity for glueing one's person to one's self... I wouldn't want the stuff to fall into the hands of the young and innocent. I think, for obvious reasons, that there should be a minimum age cap on the use of Super Glue. I'm thinking 12, for the average bear. Of course, this translates into.... oh, 35, hopefully, for me.)

C) Money. (As I used to steal from my mom's stash of silver dollars, I know that kids can be theiving little wretches. Of course, as I was a stealer (and then a subsequent spender) of several silver dollars, I know how fun it was to steal/spend them - so maybe I wouldn't really hide those, so much as just make it a challenge for a kid to find them. Who knows, really?)

D) Doggie Treats. (I know. Who'd have thought that you'd have to hide doggie treats? Uh, I would. And why would I think this? Because I was the kind of kid who fed doggie treats to her younger brothers. Now that I'm an adult, I know that's gross. (Back then I just thought it was pretty darn funny.) So, I'd hide them from the kids so they couldn't give them out like candy (or, uh... jerky, actually) to their younger siblings.)

E) Girl Scout Cookies - Thin Mints, esp. (This is what I learned from my mother - buy cookies from every Girl Scout who comes to your door, and then hide them in the storage closet so you can eat them while your kids are in school/asleep/outside. You get the picture.)

And probably a slew of other things that I'd hide from the little monsters - mostly stuff that I don't want to share, or I'd want to keep clean. I'm kind of a pig that way. (Surprise!) :)

FFA Followup

So, tonight I was going through some old photos and was laughing out loud at how cool I thought I was as a teenager. I'm going to go ahead and attach some photos for ya'll to enjoy. Go ahead and laugh at me, I totally deserve it.

Gosh, these are funny...

So, here I am at the ripe old age of 16. I (gasp!) wasn't asked to Prom my Junior year in High School, so I threw a party for myself and my other friends who didn't get asked. (I know, it's hard to imagine that dudes weren't drooling after me. Check out the pegged pants and the Sally Jesse Raphael glasses... How did they ever resist?)

And then, amazingly enough, I wasn't asked again my Senior year. I pulled out all the stops on my second year of The Un-Prom Party, and actually made this dress. (I know, the mind wonders at my innate mad sewing skills.)

Seriously, aren't these about the funniest pics you've ever seen? Oh wow, I was so stinkin funny... Geez.

And here's the thing... like my teen years weren't enough to bury myself socially, check out this beauty from my twenties. My cousin Julie and I were driving from AZ back to UT and we were tired (and obviously slap happy), so we pulled over to take a break by the side of the road. Somehow a short break turned into an hour long photo shoot. The beautiful woodland crept right into our psyches, and before we knew it, we were sticking pieces of wood in pigtails and posing like "forest deer". Pretty sweet, huh?

And then one (okay, two) more... This is me wearing candle wax. Yup, you read that right - candle wax, I'm wearing it.

I had a lilac scented candle that I was absolutely in love with. I burned it into oblivion, and then was heartbroken when the wick burnt to a crisp and I couldn't get any more burn out of the candle. There were a few scraps of wax left in the bottom of the jar, so I got a spoon and dug them out so I could smell the candle one last time before it went the way of all burnt out candles. As I was smelling it off the spoon I thought "huh... I wonder how it would be if I actually put the wax on my nose?". No sooner did I wonder, than I was wearing a wax-mask and my cousin/roommate walked in and laughed out loud. Of course she wanted to take my picture, and who am I to pass up an opportunity for a silly photo-op? So, here I am with lavender scented wax molded to my face. Classy.

The List Goes On & On, My Friends

For those of you who are not FFA-ers (and no, I do not mean Future Farmers of America), let me introduce you to the joy that is Friday in the world of me. For some time now I've been reading the random (and absolutely hysterical) Friday musings of four of the funniest girls ever. Now that I have a blog, I have been allowed to join FFA (which was always a dream of mine in High School, so you can understand how exciting this is for me). Here's the dealio - we each blog a response to the weekly challenge. Points are awarded for creativity and good story telling. (Kidding, there are no points. Dangit! ) For more information on FFA or links to other bloggers who participate in the madness (or if you just want to see a really sweet header), go to: http://fridayfreeforall.blogspot.com/

This week's topic: What is the lamest thing I ever did as a teenager that I thought was SOOOOO cool?

Oh geez... This list could go on forever, I'm sad to say. Let me hit the highlights. (Or would that be lowlights? I'm, frankly, not sure...)

All things Allen B. Allen was this guy that I loved in Junior High - to the point of absolute distraction. And who could blame me? Not only did he have absolutely dreamy blue eyes (ala Frank Sinatra), he was the only boy in school taller than me. I loved him so much that I would sneak up to the band room on lunch break and put (anonymous, of course) love notes in his trombone case. I would follow him around campus hoping he'd talk to me. I made friends with his twin brother, and then would "milk" him for information on my beloved, all under the ruse that "my friend really really likes him". Oh man, no wonder I'm not married... it's all becoming very clear.

All things Diana F. Diana came into my life in Junior High as well, and was my "partner in crime" for a good six years or so. (Until she married about the nicest guy ever and settled down and started a family - oh, and we grew up and realized that we had been complete idiots in our youth.) A brief list of some of the dumb things Diana and I did/got into while we thought we were being uber cool:

1) We (okay, Di) would drive up the biggest hill in town in her van, just so she could put it in neutral and we could coast down the other side. So you can get the picture here, let me tell you that she had to gun it and hit the base of that hill at 50, just to get a good head start, and then we'd climb slowly but surely up the last third of the hill, hoping we'd get to the top so we could go down the other side. More than once, she had to throw it in neutral so we could roll back down the hill so she could back up and get a better start, going even faster. Keep in mind that the hill was by no means "tree-free". There were bushes and trees (and who knows what else, really) all over the hill, we'd dodge them both on our way up and on our way down. And we did all of this without our seatbelts on. Yup, talk about dumb teenagers. We truly thought we were invincible - and we thought it was fun to bump around (read: get thrown around on a very fast and bumpy ride... think "Indiana Jones" @ Disneyland), so we didn't belt ourselves in. Dumb idiot kids.

2) The time we went on a school trip, fully intending to light the toilet in our hotel on fire. Yup, you read that right. Oh wow, we were such hooligans. We went on a school trip when we were sophomores and signed up as "roommates" with the intent to start a toilet on fire. We packed everything we thought we might could need to do such a thing (hairspray, rubbing alchohol, finger nail polish remover, cotton balls, newspaper... pretty much anything that we knew was a chemical and/or we thought would burn - heck, at one point we even tried the hotel stock shampoo & conditioner). We spent about 2 hours in the bathroom that night, trying chemical concoction after chemical concoction, but we got nothin! At the time we were incredibly bummed (embittered is probably a better word, actually), but in retrospect... halle-freakin-lujah! Can you imagine how much damage we could have caused? Stupid, stupid girls.

3) We'd dress up in her little brothers' clothes and become our alter egos (I was Tim and... unbelievably, I can't think of her name... rest assured, it was something good and nerdy), and then we'd sneak out of the house (dressed the the hilt as complete and total nerds) and we'd make public appearances. We had nerd voices that we'd use when we went out like this - we'd visit friends, stop by the grocery store (the only store in town), go to Maverick and get a frozen yogurt, all the while having "nerd conversation" in our high and squeaky, completely annoying falsetto voices. You name it, in a very small town, we did it - in costume. And then we'd go back to her house and begin the struggle that was getting back out of the clothes we'd so painfully stuffed ourselved into without laughing ourselves into oblivion and thereby ripping the clothes before we could get out of them. (Yeah, it happened, the ruination of many an article of clothing due to good and hard bursts of giggles. I recall a sudden burst of laughter that made buttons fly right off a vest and against a wall - 10 feet away. Of course, that only made me laugh harder.) Oh man, good times.

All things Cousinly. I have 4 cousins that are within 2 years of me, and we would hang out and eat junk food like none other (those of you who know me can imagine how bad it is when I'm with my kinfolk... we all have an unreasonably high tolerance for junk food, and serve only to egg each other on when it comes to downing entire pizzas and/or packages of cookies and cartons of ice cream). When Julie was old enough to drive, we finally had freedom from bondage (parents and younger siblings) and we'd leave our grandparents' house for "Cousin Bonding". We'd drive all over Provo yelling "View Haloo" out the rolled down windows (who had A/C back in the day?) randomly, to people in their yards, missionaries at the MTC field, really cute college boys. (Oh my word. I'm sensing a theme. First the Allen B. thing, then this... no wonder I'm single.) My favorite was when we'd pull up to a stoplight (always a treat for a small town girl like me - we had no stoplights at home, so they were a bit of a novelty) and Greg would roll down his window and say "Pardon me, but do you have any Grey Poupon?". We'd all burst into laughter, and then drive away...

You know, the more I think about it, the more I think that my entire life has been a series of me thinking I'm cool, and then in retrospect realizing that I'm such a dork... In the end, I can't think of one single event that I thought was cool, but in reality was lame. Maybe that's because I'm always lame, or... maybe it's because I'm cool enough to find joy in the lame things. I'm not sure. Either way... I've laughed a lot. And now, I hope, you have too. :)