I think my mother made a pact with Jesus to keep me humble.

It’s the best explanation I have for the reason dogs howl when I try to sing. Because if I could sing? I would totally be a full fledged diva. I’d be like, I said PEANUT BUTTER M&M’s NOT PEANUT, you MORON! How do you expect me to perform without my PEANUT BUTTER M&M’S??? For the love of god, where is my stylist? No not her, I like the other stylist better and would someone PLEASE get these red roses out of my dressing room? I specifically said NO red roses, only pink, because they make me feel pretty.

Yeah, good call on that pact, mom.

The other night ED and I were driving in the car and I started singing along to the radio.

“Honey, why do you purposely sing as flat and off key as possible?”

“What? What are you talking about? This is just how I sing.”

“No, that can’t be how you sing. You are purposely making your voice sound worse than it is.”

“NO, I’M NOT. I just have a really bad singing voice thankyouverymuch.”

Sigh.

Apparently performing in front of a million screaming fans is not in the cards for me any time soon. I mean, you know you don’t have a shot in hell when you’ve got your boyfriend, your mom AND Jesus all plotting against you.

Thanks a lot, a-holes.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

ED is not Emotionally Disturbed, Story Time

Remember back when people got cats because they had a problem with mice?

Yeah, my cat has never caught a mouse.

I’ve seen her stalk a few flies and the occasional Daddy Long Legs, but that’s about the extent of her hunting skills. Although I can’t say it’s entirely her fault, I did have her de-clawed when she was a kitten which hardly makes hard core gaming easy for her.

You can imagine my surprise when I saw my lazy cat, Aurora, came bolting through the crack in the screen door, running for her life from a momma bird that was chasing after her. I looked down and in Aurora’s mouth was a baby bird! She looked up at me and dropped the bird. It flew a foot and Aurora promptly knocked it down, holding it under her claw-less paws.

Of course I did what most sane pet owners do and FREAKED OUT! I ran up the stairs for back up, “Heidi! Heidi! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! There is a bird in the house! Aurora caught a baby bird! What do I do????”

We came down stairs and Aurora was still playing catch and release with the poor little sparrow. Heidi informed me that I need to catch the bird and bring it outside the house. To which I replied, “The fuck? I can’t catch a bird!”

Heidi in her wisdom, peaking from behind the door, informed me, “It’s not like the bird can hurt you, you know?”

Right. I am a giant, totally capable of catching a bird the size of tangerine.

I grabbed an empty basket and a princess DVD (totally appropriate bird catching tools) and slowly tried to coerce the bird into my trap. After a few too many attempts, squeals and minor heart palpitations, I finally had the bird secured.

“Now what do I do? I mean, I don’t know where the nest is. Will the momma bird come and get it?”

Of course Heidi had no clue but told me to put it on the grass, which I did.

The bird was stunned and wouldn’t move. I don’t blame it really. I would be stunned too if I had just lived through being caught and tortured by a cat, a crazy screaming giant woman, entrapment and unforeseen freedom.

I was pretty sure the bird wasn’t hurt, just not quite old enough to fly very far (it still had a few down feathers). Still, I couldn’t bring myself to go back outside and check on it.

The next morning on my way to work I passed by the spot where I had left the bird on the grass the night before. It was no where to be seen.

I like to tell myself the bird is okay.

Because sometimes living in the world where upside down goldfish are “just sleeping” and the family dog went to live on a farm far away where he can run and run, is just so much better than the truth.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Bitch kitty, Story Time

Here is my work philosophy:

Accomplishments should be celebrated…

Celebrations should be shared…

Sharing should involve champagne…

Cheers!

May this week bring you something to celebrate as well.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Circus life

This Father’s Day I became the worlds greatest daughter. While some people give their dads ties or socks, I did something that completely blew him away – I committed a felony.

Well, technically it was more a misdemeanor, but whatev, I totally committed a crime just to show my dad how much I love him! That totally kicks the shit out of making him dinner! Only problem now is that I will never be able to top this criminal gift. I’ve hit my gift giving peak!

Shit.

I am sure you are wondering what crime I committed. The answer to that question is, “why in the world would I admit the details of breaking the law on the internet?” It’s like when the villain reveals the details of his plot to take over the world to the captured hero. Don’t you just think duh dude, just kill him while you’ve got the chance, otherwise he is going escape and thwart your evil plans! There will be NO thwarting of my Father’s Day shenanigans!

Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there and especially to the greatest dad ever, who happens to be mine.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Loved One(s)

Summer is a time for vacations. It’s a time for enjoying the sun, laying out by the pool, being lazy, evening hikes, and backyard barbecues. But for this Summer, summer is also for school, homework and never ending lectures.

Granted I am only taking two classes. A welcome break to the four I attempted to juggle last semester.

One of my classes is nothing but lectures. Two nights a week for an hour and a half at a time I listen to a history fanatic tell me about the discovery and development of America. His visual aids? An overhead projector and slides. It’s the early 90′s all over again.

My second class is an on-line one. So far the instructor has posted a syllabus and then booked a flight to Fiji. The entire class has questions, yet no one has heard a peep from him. The chat room is filled with disgruntled students. To call this class frustrating would be an understatement.

Gotta love a community college education.

I remember when I was a little girl my parents set my bed time at 8:30 p.m. During the summer months I would be in bed while it was still light outside. I would look out my window and watch the other kids whose parents weren’t big fat meanie-heads still laughing and playing in the street. Then I would feel sorry for myself and curse my bad luck of having such cruel parents.

That’s kind of how I feel now. I watch those who made the good decisions of going to college in their youth who now get to leave work and not have to go to class or worry about homework. Then I feel sorry for myself and curse my parents for being right when they told me I should make college a priority right after high school.

What is that saying? All of our problems in life can be traced back to our childhoods?

Yeah, thanks a lot mom and dad!

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Uncategorized

Growing up I was the neighborhood babysitter.

I remember the first diaper I ever changed. I used about a dozen baby wipes and put the fresh diaper on backwards.

Oddly enough, the parents still invited me back the next weekend.

Almost 2o years after changing that first poopy butt, people are still asking me to watch their children.

This past weekend, I was responsible for the life and well being of five children. Originally it was just supposed to be my older sister’s two children.

However, before entering into this adventure, I knew I would need back up and distractions – for both me and the children.  So the kids cousin, as well as Karina and her two Russian children joined the mix.

Now I am nothing, if not the utmost hostess. I prepared for the evening by purchasing child friendly food, toys, drinks and snacks as well as adult friendly wine and movies.

After feeding them a dinner of spagetti and juice boxes, I decided it would be best to let them work off their dinner and locked them outside with a handful of toys – their reward for finishing their dinner.

After the children had ran off their dinner, I decided it was safe to give them their extra special treat of soy ice cream with bananas and sprinkles.

What? I’m their aunt, I’m allowed to spoil them.

Another hour of running off their sugary treat and I finally let them back in the house. Karina and I got them changed into their PJ’s and settled in to watch a movie.

But first…

“OK kiddos, what’s rule number one?”

“Stay in bed and don’t move.”

“Right. And what is rule number two?”

“Watch the movie.”

“Great. And what is rule number three?”

“Don’t bother you unless it’s an emergency.”

“Awesome! Now, what is the most important rule of all?”

“HAVE FUN!!!!”

They listen so well.

After getting the kids some popcorn and drinks, it was finally time to let them leave us alone. Karina and I went into my room, accompanied by a mini DVD player, a bottle of wine, a bag of rainbow twizzlers and another bag of cheesy munchies.

After checking on the kids a half a dozen times, they finally passed out and we tried to do the same. It was hard for me though. I kept envisioning one or more of them peeing on my couch or blow up mattress.

The next morning I woke to the voice of the middle child, “Guys, wake up! Guys, it’s mooooorning. Wake up! Wake up! Wake UP!”

It was before eight in the morning.

Children are such ass holes.

Once all of the kids were moving around, AKA screaming and fighting, I barked paranoid orders from my bedroom for all of them to take turns using the restroom.

I hadn’t checked yet, but if there was a chance to save me from pee clean up duty, I was all over it.

After locating my glasses, I stumbled into the living room and found them some cartoons to watch.

While sitting on the couch, waiting for the fog to clear from my head, the youngest of the group, Pasha, came up to me and informed me, “When I am at my mom’s house. She always makes me breakfast in the morning. ”

Ugh.

So Karina and I made the little blood suckers waffles with strawberries, cheesy scrambled eggs, sausage and hashbrowns. Being the rotten aunt that I am, they had to clear their plates before leaving the table too.

Goodness, I am one mean S.O.B!

It was raining outside so the kids said they wanted to watch yet another movie.

We reviewed the rules one more time and I turned on another kids show.

Part of me feels a little bad for having them watch so much TV, but another part of me is grateful for the built in electronic babysitter.

I swear, with this many children it was near impossible to have any quality bonding time. I felt like all I had time to do was cook and clean, cook and clean, make a snack, oh wait, you’re thirsty now? Here is your drink. Wait, you don’t want water? How about juice? Oh you’re done with your apple slices now? OK. WHAT? WHAT DO YOU WANT NOW?

Ahem.

Adorable little shits, all of them. Adorable little birth control reminding shits.

I returned all of the children to their appropriate homes 24 hours later with only one visible injury, which I swear was not my fault. No one had any broken bones and I am pretty sure all of the children had a good time.

Now, it seems to me like I’ve come a long way from backwards diapers and wasted wipes. And lord, oh lord am I glad babysitting is no longer my only source of income!

Not that I don’t love each of them… because I totally do. But doses of 24 hours at a time are more than enough for this childless gal.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Loved One(s)

A few months ago my mother made the off-handed comment that part of the reason my sister and I were fighting was due to our both being a little on the selfish side. That, and we’re both stubborn.

This notion of being selfish weighed heavy on my mind for quite some time. I meant to write about it a while back, but obviously I was too wrapped up in myself to find time to write about it. Then last Saturday as I am thinking about my plans for the day – pedicure, lunch with ED, lay by the pool with the girls, go to a movie (“Get me to the Greek,” HILARIOUSLY stupid! Totally recommend it.) – the though of being selfish crossed my mind again.

As a point of reference, my mother has spent her life in service. She is a full-time nurse, she serves religious callings for the LDS church, she is in a cooking club (which is the polar opposite of my cooking club), and on the weekends she is always watching one or more of her grandchildren. She has countless gift certificates to get massages or visit the spa but she just can’t seem to find the time because she is too busy taking care of everyone else.

I, on the other hand, would totally use those spa gift cards because I only have myself to take care of.

Well, I also take care of my cat.

Totally selfish, right?

Only I’m not.

Not really anyway.

The conclusion I have come to is this: At this phase in my life my priorities involve bettering myself through school, working hard in a career I love, spending time with building my relationships with friends, family, and of course my significant other, ED. It is not that I am selfish, I have made a conscious decision to be where I am.

Having grown up in the Mormon religion I know that, especially as a woman, spending too much time taking care of yourself when you could be taking care of others is considered a selfish thing to do. Your life should be all about service, not about discovering your own dreams and ambitions. It wasn’t until I reached the age of 25 that I finally made the decision to claim independence and find out what I was really made of.

Almost five years later, I do not regret my decision.

One day my priorities will be different. One day my priorities might involve the most selfless act of all – parenthood! One day it might involve feeding starving kids in Africa or actually being active in charitable groups instead of just attending their events. Who knows! One day it might involve the Peace Corp, rescuing stray kittens, baking cookies for the homeless and mowing my elderly neighbors lawn.

One day…

But until then, this is my life and I am pretty damn okay with it.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Just me, NOT light and fluffy, TMI Friday

Oh baseball, the all-American pastime. A sport filled with gorgeous men who openly play with their balls and spit on the ground without shame. Yes baseball, the best sport to devour a hot dog while attending a game.

Why? Because it’s baseball.

When I took Karina the Russian to her first baseball game, “why” questions were in abundance. And by first baseball game, I mean, like EVER.

In our typical fashion, the adventure began with the journey. We decided to take the train, A.K.A. TRAX, to avoid having to deal with parking.

I guess we must not have been paying close enough attention to our stop because when we heard the robotic woman’s voice say “Ballpark,” we exited the train.

THREE MILES TOO EARLY!

But of course we didn’t think to wait and get on another train, no, we decide to walk in our heels the rest of the way.

Honestly, I have a new found respect for hookers.

When we finally showed up at the ballpark, sweaty and with bloody feet, we had no problem finding our way to my companies catered suite. After grabbing some much needed beverages we found our seats and settled in to watch the game.

“Why are there so many gray people out there and no white guys?”

“That’s because the gray team is playing defense. They white guys, our team, is up to bat.”

“Why are some of the guys so far out there? Do they not like them?”

“They play a position called outfield, if a ball gets hit far it’s their job to catch the ball.”

“Why isn’t that guy hitting the ball? SWING THE WOOD THING LAZY ASS!”

“You only swing on the good throws, the rest are called ‘balls’ and you don’t try to hit those.”

“Balls. Base-ball. Basket-ball. These men are all about their balls! And why is there a big 420 painted on the fence over there? Is this a stoner game?”

“No, that’s the length of the field. I guess every field is different or something.”

“Hmm… why is that guy dressed in black bent over like that? He looks like he needs to take a dump.”

“That’s an umpire, he helps judge the game.”

“How do you know so much about this confusing-ass game? You don’t even like sports! You are wearing heels for god’s sake!”

That one stumped me for a minute to be honest. I think baseball is forced on us from childhood. I remember in P.E. having to play baseball and being taught all the rules. I wasn’t any good and I didn’t particularly like it, but I developed a level of respect for it.  I remember my parents once taking me to a semi-professional game where I asked my dad a million of questions just like Karina asked me.

Well… maybe not just like she was asking me. I’m pretty sure I never asked my dad if baseball was a game for stoners.

After the game ended, we were able to sweet talk my co-workers brother to driving us to our cars. Thank goodness too, because by this point in the night it was all dark and not hitchhiker friendly, plus there was no way in hell either of us could have walked the come to find out, HALF block to the correct train stop.

Yes, baseball…

It can be so painful.

And confusing.

But only if you are Russian.

Or possibly a stoner.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

PS – you would have died to see the priceless look on Karina’s face when we all stood up to sing “Take me out to the ballpark.”

K to the R stories, Out and About, Story Time

My sister Staci needs an intervention. A texting intervention.

Over the weekend, while laying by Karina the Russian’s pool, we realized just how bad she has gotten. Her face is always in her phone. The girl can’t even pee without her damn phone. I mean, it’s boarder line scary.

I think I told her more than once I was going to throw her phone in the pool if she didn’t stop texting.

It’s ridiculous.

Anyway, we are laying by the pool and she says she has to leave to go to a wedding reception with my mother because she is the good daughter. We agree that we should all go to a movie together later and she leaves.

Karina and I find the movie time and location that will work best. We figure if we just text Staci the details there shouldn’t be a problem with her meeting us there.

However, being the beautiful blond that my sister is, she accidentally left her phone in my parents car. Which wouldn’t have been a big deal except that they had dinner reservations to celebrate their 35th wedding anniversary (Happy Anniversary mom and dad!!!) leaving her phone-less and in an all out panic.

Trying to remember what people did before cell phones, Staci drives to three different gas stations before she finds a working payphone. She gets change from the clerk for a dollar and calls my phone. I didn’t answer so she calls Karina’s phone. She didn’t hear it and didn’t answer but Staci left her a message so we are now aware that she is phone-less and scared.

Side note: did you know payphones now cost .50 cents? WTF?

Honestly I am just impressed she remembered both of our numbers by heart. That’s more that I can say.

Next thing I know I’m sitting at dinner with Karina and we are feeling super bad for our poor, freaking-out, lost Staci. Then, I get a text message from my brother-in-law.

Apparently poor, freaking-out, lost Staci is also uber resourceful. She went home, got on Facebook and sent out a mad request to whoever was online and could contact us for her.

When we finally reunited with her she was still notably traumatized by the whole event.

Some sisters are comforting at times like this. I left the comforting to Karina while I snapped a few pictures.

My crazy sister… she is like a modern day pioneer woman. She survived four hours without a phone!

If that aint roughing it in this day and age, I don’t know what is.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Story Time

My weekend started with a double date; a seemingly normal thing to do. But with my friends, nothing is ever quite as it seems.

We began the night by going out for Mexican food. Our appetizer? A round of tequila. The restaurant was very authentic. The food was amazing and they even had a mariachi band wandering the isles who serenaded us to “Bésame Mucho.” We felt like we had escaped Utah and entered Mexico if only for a brief time.

Our next stop was to a gay bar to watch what we thought was a drag queen competition. It may have been, I’m not really sure. We stayed long enough to play a couple rounds of pool, watch a few scantily clad performance acts (which were very entertaining), and marvel at how great the Carol Channing impersonator was. After that my feet had had enough and we decided to go someplace that allowed for sitting – preferably with shoes off.

We ended up at another friend of ours house where we chatted with him and his partner about our night out at the drag queen show. The company and the wine was wonderful!

The next morning ED and I met up early in order to find a place to sit along the parade route. What parade you might ask? The Gay Pride Parade, of course. I go to the Utah Pride festival every year to show my support to the gay community as well as my gay friends. This year, however, was the first year I have made it to the parade.

My favorite part of the parade was an equal rights group who held sign that said things like, “I’m straight, but I support equal rights” and “I’m Mormon, but I support equal rights,” followed by another proud group with signs that said, “I love my gay sister” and “I support my gay son.” To see such bold statements in my VERY conservative (and often times close minded) state, made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, or maybe that was just the DC Cowboys dancing their way through the parade.

After grabbing a bite to eat with ED, I dropped him off in exchange for my non-lesbian date, Sarah. We headed down to the Pride Festival to peruse the booths while sipping on cocktails, sweating to death and running into countless people we knew. After a few hours we decided we could take the heat no more and left.

When I got home and looked in the mirror I noticed that my gay weekend had changed me. My chest, arms and face are now flaming red. I forgot to put on sunscreen and have my first sunburn of the year.

Clothes hurt right now.

Oh well, I suppose it’s a small price to pay to have a gay ‘ol time.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Out and About, Posts Grandma won't approve of