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The Big Gay Weekend

June 7th, 2010

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

At least I didn’t leave my panties

May 20th, 2010

Generally speaking, parents love me. Last weekend, despite my best efforts, this fact still remains true.

It was ED’s best friends graduation party. I took the opportunity as an excuse to buy a cute little dress, matching cardigan, a spray tan and shiny blue heels.

Jason grad 3

I was dressed the role of the casual yet sophisticated guest and was doing a good job of acting the part too.

Then along came two glasses of wine… followed by a few too many margaritas… and shots of Pendalton for the graduate.

The new law school grad, John and ED

The new law school grad, John and ED

Me and Karina the Russian shortly after discovering Jose Cuervo's cousin

Me and Karina the Russian shortly after discovering Jose Cuervo's cousin

ED and I, you know I'm tipsy when I start tipping over in pictures.

ED and I, you know I'm tipsy when I start tipping over in pictures.

Soon the rest of the party had dispersed except for a small group. The men of this group, graduate included, decided that it was now time to jump in the pool.

Jason grad 11

Of course us girls were too smart to join them...

Of course us girls were too smart to join them...

that is, until we saw them in the steam room.

that is, until we saw them in the steam room.

Seeing them all steamy and warm was just too much to bare.  So we found some towels, and some suits, and joined them.

Mysteriously the camera and the pictures stop there. At least I think so.

The rest of the night is a little bit…hazy.

I woke the next morning in a panic trying to remember everything. Did we get in the pool? Yes. Did we have suits on? Yeees? Where did I change? Was it in the basement? Was it in the parents room? Did I change back into my clothes before we left? Oh my god where are my underwear? Please, please, lord tell me I didn’t leave my underwear in their basement. Wait, what underwear was I even wearing? Please tell me they were somewhat decent. Knowing my luck they probably had holes in them!

I left the house early the next morning to go to a client’s event. It wasn’t until later that night that I finally met up with ED (his phone got water damage so we were communicating through email. Talk about frustrating!). I asked him, “do you think Jason’s parents hate me? Did I make an ass out of myself?”

Ed assured me that I am crazy and that they were just happy we all had a great time.

Whew!

My reputation remains untarnished and hopefully I will get an invite back again soon. I promise I’ll wear appropriate underwear next time.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Out and About, Posts Grandma won't approve of

Here’s the plan: we are going to have no plan what-so-ever

April 28th, 2010

Guess what season it is?

Spring?

Nope.

IT’S CONCERT SEASON! Even better than spring!

To kick off concert season I got a pair of VIP tickets for Karina the Russian and I to see Train perform at an outdoor concert. I spent the morning listening to all their CD’s in preparation.

Karina and I decided to take public transportation down so we wouldn’t have to deal with parking. When TRAX rolled to our stop downtown we unloaded and immediately sensed there was a problem.

There was no music playing.

Which is odd because the train drops you off pretty much right infront of the venue. Still we walked over to check it out.

There were no people.

So we looked at each other, sat down on a bench and pulled out the tickets. I looked over at her confused.

Me: “It says Gallivan Center… on the 22nd… I don’t understand.”

KTR: “That’s because today is the 24th, honey, not the 22nd.”

Notice the lack of people behind us? Yeah, that's a problem.

Notice the lack of people behind us? Yeah, that's a problem.

After laghing non-stop for a good ten minutes at just how freaking blonde we both are, we decided to get a drink and figure out what to do next.

We went to a little bar on Main Street called Murphy’s. After thumbing through the local entertainment magazine to try to find something to do, it became apparent that there was nothing going on.

So we sat at the bar, still laughing at our predicament, then Karina looked up and noticed a bunch of figurines that looked Irish. ”Do you think this is an Irish bar?”

I looked to the left at a menu and sure enough, green clovers… on a menu… at a bar called Murphys. “Yes honey, I am pretty sure we are at an Irish bar.”

You can tell it's an Irish bar by the jukebox in the back playing "It wasn't me"

You can tell it's an Irish bar by the jukebox in the back playing Shaggy's "It wasn't me"

This is when our brilliant “Plan B” began to take form. We were going to have no plan what-so-ever. Just go from bar to bar. BUT each bar should represent a different country.

We are soooo brilliant after two drinks!

Our next stop was a little place called The Beer Hive. When we got there we decided to add two new components to our journey. 1) order whatever the specialty drink is and 2) talk with an accent. An English accent.

Fancy a beer, love?

Fancy a beer, love?

We were honestly convinced that The Beer Hive was a German bar because the menu had all German food on it. However, when we asked the waitress if you had to be German to work there she informed us just how wrong we were.

Bloody hell!

Our next stop was a quick one to a place called Speak Easy. After sampling the bar tenders special, A blushing Vagina, we figured it wasn’t culturally diverse enough for us and moved on…

TO JAPAN!!!

TO JAPAN!!!

Oh Sushi! was the perfect stop as we were in desperate need of some sustinance grub by this point.

After leaving Japan, we had a moment of hesitation as to whether the night should end or continue on. Of course, the answer was to continue on!

Next stop?

America?

America?

Well… we were British after all, so a bar called Cheers to You would be foriegn, right?

We stayed long enough to have their special, a Rootbeer Mind Eraser chased by two large glasses of water, and were on our way to our last stop.

Itally.

Unfortunately we didn’t remember to take a picture while at Kristauffs Martini bar.

Bollocks!

In fact, we didn’t remember to order their specialy drink either. We just ordered water and headed back to where we started.

On a train, giggling the whole way home.

On a train, giggling the whole way home.

Sometimes the best nights are the nights you don’t plan and who says there is nothing fun to do in Salt Lake City anyway? All you need is an imagination, and a friend willing to experience the journey with you.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

K to the R stories, Out and About, Posts Grandma won't approve of

Hobnobbing With the Drunk and Charitable

April 12th, 2010

auction

Date night is always fun, especially when it involves getting dressed up with one of your best friends.

Heidi and I decided we were due for one of these nights. We bought tickets to the Cabaret of Fools fund raiser for the Ririe Woodbury Dance Theater, knowing next to nothing about what the event would be like.

When we first arrived, we grabbed a few glasses of wine and began bidding on the silent auction items.

I think I bid on about ten.

I have no idea what they were for.

Fortunately we became distracted by the free hors d’oeuvre. We made the mistake of thinking they were the dinner that came with the tickets. So we chowed down thinking we better get our moneys worth of mini quiches, meanwhile all my silent bids were put to shame.

Two… or possibly three, drinks later, we found out there was still a full dinner to be served as well as entertainment, a live auction and dancing. We bought a few more drink tickets and entered the “entertainment” room we knew nothing about.

The great/messed-up thing about fund raising events like this is they know peoples wallets get proportionately loser with the amount of alcohol they ingest. Such was certainly true of the man at our table who, during the live auction, paid $250 for a package of chocolates, or the person who paid $600 for a case of 24 bottles of wine (valued at $440).

Heidi and I actually bid on the bottles of wine. We made a quick decision to combine our money and bid. Our max was $200.

Obviously, we’re hardcore gamblers.

Two-ish more drinks later we decided to leave.

Needing to sober up, we decide to walk in our high heels to another bar downtown. We couldn’t bring ourselves to enter a bar playing techno music or one filled with the “yeah bros and shiny hoes,” so we walked for quite some time and ended up at a little place called Kristauf’s Martini Bar which is totally decent if you’re ever in downtown Salt Lake City.

The rest of the night is a little hazy. All I know is I woke up at 3 in the morning smelling like McDonalds and feeling like death.

I’m such a light weight, why I thought I could keep up with the fund-raising socialite crowd is beyond me. Looking back now, I remember watching them pour a drink 3/4 full of booze with just a splash of  mixer for color.

Jokes on them though, it doesn’t matter how strong you make my drinks, I’ll still never pay $250 for chocolates.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Out and About, Posts Grandma won't approve of

My First (and possibly last) Guest Blogger!

July 23rd, 2009

I’m off learning how to be a better, more efficient blogger, which is code for I’m on vacation in Chicago.  I asked my long time friend Chip if he would be interested in writing a guest post. I think his response was something like “sure, why the fuck not?” I told him this was his chance to write on a females blog about anything he wanted. That was all the direction I gave him…

Lord help me, I hope this goes over well!

Blogfully yours,

Summer

***

If it’s one thing I hate, it’s touchy-feely, self-help articles written by delusional, overly-sensitive morons who can’t even help themselves. If it’s two things I hate, it’s when those touchy-feely, self-help articles get emailed to me.

Awhile back, I found such an article in my in-box. Written by a guy who positioned himself as the “voice of all men,” the list was supposed to be a guide for women – you know, so they could “understand” us men better. Normally, I’d dump that kind of dog shit in the trash faster than you can say “Women Are From Venus, Men Are From Uranus,” and then instantly terminate my friendship with whoever forwarded it to me, but for some reason, I read it.

It was awful. Like “Runaway Bride” awful. It was insipid, it was spineless, and it was flat-out misrepresenting the male of our species. If anything, it was only going to make women think that men are more pathetic than we already are.

So in an effort to set the record straight – and to retain some of our dignity, I’ve written a response to each of the points in the original article. That original article – AND THIS IS IMPORTANT – is directly below, in italics. And yes, I’m going to ask you to read it. Quickly. Yes, it’s going to be painful, but it’s necessary to build up the proper amount of nausea to understand my retort – which immediately follows. (You may need a bottle of whiskey to get through this first part though…)

What Scares a Man?

By David Zinczenko, for Men’s Health

You probably think you know what frightens most men. A long-weekend at the in-laws’ place. Antiquing. Running out of beer in the third quarter. But that’s just the stuff he’ll admit to being afraid of, which, by definition, means they’re not his true deep fears. So how can you determine what those are? Easy: They’re the ones he’ll almost never talk about. But I will. Let’s count down through the Scary Fifteen:

#15 Hair in the drain. The first sign of male pattern baldness brings a man face-to-follicle with a skimpy aspect of his future. And it’s always earlier than he expects or wants (which is, like, never). Logically, men know that baldness is as much of a part of life as Leno making Britney jokes. Logically, men know that being bald doesn’t mean that they’re any less smart, virile, or successful. Logically, men know that women don’t care how much hair their men have. Logically, men know there are plenty of bald men who are comfortable in their skin–no matter how much of it they’re showing. But when it first happens, it feels like stepping on a scale and being 20 pounds heavier or waking up in high school with a quarter-sized nose pimple. It’s the inevitable and uncontrollable change in appearance that men try so desperately to protect. Maybe even more importantly, this moment when a man starts losing his hair says a lot about him-whether he’s cool enough to handle it, or anxious enough to attempt to deny it with comb-overs, Rogaine, or faith healers.

#14 Getting caught noticing another woman. A man’s instinctual response to visual stimulation very rarely has anything to do with his current relationship or how he feels about it. But his lizard brain reacts instantly, and before he knows he’s doing it, he’s looking at someone else. We hate having to explain behaviors that even we don’t fully understand.

#13 Rejection. Doesn’t matter whether it happens after a job interview, or at a bar, or on the basketball court. And remember, there’s a difference between losing and being outright rejected. Men can handle losing a game or having a bar conversation disintegrate into nothing. But the proud creatures that men are, they hate having their shots blocked. Mainly, that’s because it means that someone else has the upper hand-and is gloating about it.

#12 Super Nanny.

#11 Speedos.

#10 His dad’s death. It’s his most powerful moment of a reflection, as he thinks about his own mortality. Becoming the family patriarch is heavy stuff. For many men, it’s a life-changing moment, because they think about what their fathers did for them and what they failed to do. The next step: considering what they need to do to be better dads and better men themselves–which means they must confront their own failures, as well. That’s a lot for a grief-stricken man to deal with. He should get some latitude to do that in his own way. For him, reaching out may be through what seem like misdirections–more chatter about fishing with friends, an extra set of tickets to the Phillies showdown with the Mets. But guys need a reason to get together; the talk will come during a slow point in the 6th inning, or in the car on the way home.

#9 Her tears. Men know it’s natural, that women need to do it, and that it’s a signal that they better provide something more than just a tissue-even though many men have no clue what that something might be. Men have been told that women cry for all kinds of reasons-to release some emotions, to get our attention, or just because dammit, The Bachelor rose ceremony is so stinkin’ sad. Men want to do the right thing, but because men don’t navigate those falling waters very often, they probably do the wrong thing more often than not. Which is another reason why they fear her emotional tsunami.

#8 Being a lousy lover. Of all the things that men want to happen in bed, pleasing their women ranks near the top of the list, according to a national Men, Love, and Sex survey by Harris Interactive. Men hate to think that women may be bored, unimpressed, or unsatisfied. Maybe it’s an ego thing (okay, it is an ego thing), but men do very genuinely care about how much pleasure a woman is having in bed. That’s why the faking thing drives men so crazy. To men, feigned pleasure is code for: You’re so damn terrible at this, but there there, little fella, I’m gonna make you feel good about your inadequate self. Men want to know what women want, and they want to be successful in delivering it.

#7 Not being a god to his kids. There comes a time when men don’t care much about what strangers, co-workers, friends, in-laws, or anybody else thinks about them. But when a kid articulates his father’s flaws, it’s the ultimate heart crumbler. Men know that sometimes they work too much or are too short-fused or simply fall short on the hero-dad meter, but deep down, they know it’s the most important job that they’re going to do. And if they don’t do it right, they know there’s a significant chink in their masculine armor.

#6 Living paycheck to paycheck. Even though men aren’t the only hunters and providers anymore, they still feel a deep evolutionary pull to provide the backbone and protection for their tribe. When men lose money, can’t make enough money, or are scrounging for money, it can be an emotional disaster-it makes them feel like they’re losing control in their lives.

#5 Beautiful women. Few things intimidate men more than IRS audits and 12-foot birdie putts. A beautiful woman is one of them. A beautiful woman-whether spotted at work, in bookstores, driving in the next lane, anywhere-simply has the power to turn a man of steel into creamed corn. Men know this. Men try to resist this. Ultimately, it’s a challenge. Beauty may be a short-lived form of power, but it is profound, and nearly all men cower before it. It can make them do really, really stupid things.

#4 Getting naked. Ladies shouldn’t think that they’re alone in fleshy hang-ups. Guys are just as concerned about what women will initially think about their body hair, muscles, guts, toes, and other parts. Men are deeply aware that they can be too fat, too skinny, too hairy, too smelly, and while men are eager to revel in a woman’s body, they also share anxiety about revealing their own.

#3 Tofurky.

#2 Not seeing his kids grow up. Death, of course, scares everyone-not so much for the bad stuff that may happen to them, but for missing out on all the good stuff that will happen to their kids. Or, worse yet, not being around to protect them from the bad stuff.

# 1 Public humiliation. Here’s one that will make even the strongest men cave: Looking weak. Whether a man is extremely secure-or insanely insecure-about himself, he’s worries that he’ll look incompetent, idiotic, or both. Doesn’t matter whether it’s a zipper malfunction, an off-color joke he mistakenly slips in during a speech, a dismissive statement by a boss in a department meeting, fumbling the fly ball at a softball game, getting arrested for fighting after his kid’s soccer game, whatever. It’s one thing to make mistakes. But making the reputation-damaging ones in public is tough to take. That’s because as much as men try to protect their homes, their families, their appearance, and their jobs, perhaps the most nerve-wracking job of all is protecting the thing they can’t cure with money, with effort or with laser hair removal: their reputations.

And now, my response:

Interesting, David, but your article simply doesn’t apply to me.

#15. Hair in the drain? Screw it. I’ve shaved my head lots of times. If I start going bald, I’ll do it again. Men don’t care about hair as much as self-help articles like this say they do. Bruce Willis is getting laid a lot more than Yanni or Fabio, dipshit.

#14. Getting caught checking out other women. Please. I only date women who point out hot chicks.

#13. Rejection. To me, succumbing to rejection is like getting bucked off a horse and not getting back on. If you give up, you’re a pussy and should be castrated as not to pollute our gene pool.

#12. Super Nanny? Are you kidding? Any man who’s scared of Super Nanny is a man who doesn’t have the balls or intelligence to discipline his own kids. Again, these people are dipshits who should not be breeding.

#11. Speedos. Speedos are like clowns. They’re not scary if you avoid them.

#10. A father’s death. This is retarded. If you have to wait until your father dies to realize your own mortality, then you need to stop screwing your sister, stop watching NASCAR, and have someone come over and slap you in the face. Wake the fuck up. Until you do, you’ll only be an embarrassment to your dad, mama’s-boy.

#9. A woman’s tears. Nothing about this is scary. Sad maybe. But scary? Be a man. Be there for her like she’s been there for you. Make her (and yourself) a stiff cocktail and get through it together. If this goes on for days, drink more. If this goes on for years, kill her.

#8. Being a bad lover. Good sex is about two things: Communication and the right physical fit. If you and your chick can’t talk about what you like, or if you’re always trying to pound a square peg into one of those triangle-shaped holes, the sex is going to be bad. (NOTE: If you actually have a square peg, or she has a triangle-shaped hole, one of you is a space alien.)

#7. Not being a god to his kids. Who’s the douche who wrote THAT shit? You don’t need to be a “god” to anyone. All you need is for your kids to respect  you – which isn’t going to happen if you keep watching American Idol and writing stupid shit like this. Plus, here’s a little newsflash, chief: You’re not a god and you never will be.

#6. Living paycheck to paycheck. I understand that this can be scary. But ambition and a little responsibility will go a long way towards eliminating this. Translation: Get a job and use a condom. The world is tired of bankrolling your bankrupt lifestyle and your retarded fuck trophies.

#5. Beautiful women. If you’re a man who’s scared of beautiful women, check yourself for testicles. If you feel some and are still curled up in a ball, just remember this: No matter how beautiful she is, keep in mind that somewhere, someone is sick and tired of her shit. If that doesn’t cure you, kill yourself. You’re too pathetic to breathe the same air as me.

#4. Getting naked. If you’re scared of someone seeing you naked, maybe it’s time to put down the Krispy Kreme, the Taco Bell, the Starbucks Double Vanilla Cappuccino Latte Thingy, and hit the gym. Period.

#3. Tofurky. The only reason you should be scared of this is if you’re being forced to eat it. And if you’re being forced to eat it, either A) you need to tell your chick to back the fuck off or B) listen to her because she’s probably trying to tell you to lose that spare tire so she’ll find you less revolting and want to have sex with you again sometime.

#2. Not being around to raise your kids. Shut the fuck up. Chances are — if you’re like 90% of the people I see who have kids these days — YOU’RE not raising them at all anyway. Instead, you’re letting our system of social welfare do it, or worse – you have plenty of money and a nanny is raising them. What?  You want to see them become adults so you can see what a success they’ve become? Let me put your mind at ease: Your little angels aren’t gonna amount to shit if you keep letting them sit around all day eating Cheetos and playing X-Box. Try taking an active role in raising them now, dumbass.

#1. Public humiliation. Yawn. It’s only humiliating if you allow it to be. What ever happened to laughing at yourself?

FINAL THOUGHT:

I don’t blame women for being fed up with the modern-day heterosexual male. If you’re a male and you’re scared of this kind of stuff, you’re a giant pussy. Conversely, MY male friends — gay or straight — aren’t scared of any of this bullshit. We’re men. Real men. And we’re tired of all the self-help columnists making us look bad. Here’s some tampons and Oprah’s book of the month. Get the fuck out of my sight.

Sincerely,

Chip Haskell

I was going to post a "nice" picture of Chip but I thought that would be too girly of me and this is, afterall, a guys post.

I was going to post a "nice" picture of Chip but I thought that would be too girly of me and this is, afterall, a guys post.

BlogHer09, Guest Blogger, Posts Grandma won't approve of, blogging

WARNING: Russian Texting Can Lead to Embarrassment

July 16th, 2009

CAUTION: Please have your earmuffs (or eyemuffs?) ready because Russians talk dirty.

Oh Karina, Karina, Karina. What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?
ohohBefore I begin this tale of woe, I want to first clarify that I am doing so with full permission from the lovely Karina the Russian, as this truly is one of her most embarrassing moments.

The other night, as Staci, Karina and I were gathered to color my hair, we were all talking like we do about random chick things when out of the blue Karina looks up from her phone, gets this panicked look on her face and says, “Oh no… OH NO! OH SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!”

Immediately both Staci and I are like “what’s wrong? What happened?” But all Karina can do is shake her head with a look of disbelief and horror and say “Fuck my life!”

After a little bit of coaxing we finally found out that her boyfriend, The Dirty Rocker, had been texting her from 2 phones while he was away visiting his family. He asked her to save both numbers so she would know it was him when he called or text.

Now, Karina is not what one would call shy about her sexuality. Let’s just say she is a woman who knows how to keep things interesting…  So when she told us she accidentally sent a message requesting a picture of  The Dirty Rockers dick… to the wrong number, the only question to ask was whose number was it?

She explained, in between a combination of crying and laughing, that she had saved the second number The Dirty Rocker had given her under THE EXACT SAME NAME! So when she got “Who is this?” as a reply she instantly realized her blunder.

By this point she has dropped down to the floor and is continuing to mumble a combination of “Oh my god. Oh my god.” and “Fuck my life. Fuck my life.” over and over so we ask her again, who’s number she sent the message to.

Karina clears her throat, looks right at me and says, “The Dirty Rockers MOTHER!!!”

You can imagine the howls that started in after that! Both Staci and I chiming in with “NO WAY” and “YOU DIDN’T!” and laughing so hard tears started forming in our eyes too! At this point Staci grabs a camera because this moment of  Karina’s ultimate horror and humiliation was too precious not to capture and we knew (once her humiliation subsided) she would appreciate it. May sound odd to you, but we like to capture all types of moments — not just the happy ones!

I am happy to report that The Dirty Rockers mother has an excellent sense of humor and Karina is still welcome to come around. She is working on double checking every text before it goes out and keeping her head held high.

Feel free to share any of your most embarrassing moments in the comments. It will make Karina the Russian feel better.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

K to the R stories, Posts Grandma won't approve of, Story Time

Every Tattoo Has a Story – Part II

June 22nd, 2009

So I did it… After 2 years of talking about it, I actually did it and let me tell you, I forgot how freaking bad getting tattooed hurts! Call me a wuss if you must, but sitting still while someone continuously jams a needle into your back is draining!
I’d like to thank the talented Mitch Anderson of Mutiny Ink for being the one to continuously jam that needle.

Before Picture

Step One: Sketching for placement

Step Two: Drilling The Outline. The most painful part in my opinion.

Step Three: Coloring. I guess the technical term is “shading”, but whatev.

Finally, after 2 hours and 15 minutes of resisting the urge to either scream or punch Mitch in the junk, we have the final product (notice Mitch in the background smiling? I swear it is not because I was showing him my boobs! He is probably just happy about the whole not getting punched in the junk part)!

I can’t tell you how happy I am with the results! I’m in a shit load of pain right now, but I can’t stop staring at it. ED told me he thinks it looks very sexy and to be honest, it makes me feel sexy too.
Right now the challenge is finding clothes to wear. Because of the size and location it makes wearing a bra all but impossible, but going without one is not exactly an option so I’m going to have to suck it up and find a way to make it work.

Pain is beauty, right?

Blogfully yours,

Summer

PS – While the parents were a little… um… shocked? at Fathers Day dinner, they did not react too bad. My mothers only question, “did you have to get it so big?”.

Posts Grandma won't approve of, Tattoos

I Would Walk 500 Miles and I Would Walk 500 More

May 13th, 2009

MetropolitanManhattan… both start with an “M”, both sound fancy and both are in downtown Salt Lake City. One is a seedy underground club, one is an upscale restaurant. My beautiful friend Susan invited me to lunch last week…guess which “M” location I ended up at.

“Hey Sarah, I was supposed to meet Susan for lunch today and I think I am at the wrong place. I’m at the Manhattan and it looks a little…um…scary… I don’t think they even serve lunch here either… Anyway, I don’t have Susan’s number, could you text it to me?”

“I’m pretty sure you are supposed to beat Metropolitan… not Manhattan sweetie.”

“Fuck.”

I get the address from Sarah, look around at the lunch time crowds walking the downtown streets and decide, what the hell? I’m healthy and parking is a pain, I’ll just walk it.

15 minutes later I show up at the correct “M” restaurant looking wind blown and limping from walking in heels that are a half size too small.

Susan and I had a good laugh about my stupidity and she promptly ordered me a glass of wine, then shortly after, another. Thank God Susan has such an amazing sense of humor and thank God she had her car so she could drive me back to mine because there is NO way I was going to walk all the way back.

Attention to detail kiddos… trust me and my blistered feet, it is highly important.

Blogfully yours,
Summer

Posts Grandma won't approve of, Story Time

Sure, I’d love to see your farm!

March 25th, 2009
I have great news! This weekend I am going to hang out on a farm somewhere in the middle of no-where Utah! Yay me!

The other day ED asked me, over a plate of cheese fries from The Training Table, what my plans for the weekend are and what my homework load was looking like. I told him that I didn’t really have any plans and that homework outlook seemed low, then added suspiciously, “why do you ask?”. Then my darling ED told me that he was going to go to his parents house for the weekend, along with his brother, to do some work on the family farm. Then he oh so casually asked me if I would like to join him… at his parents house… for the weekend! I am happy to report that I did not jump across the table and kiss him, nor did I start hyperventalating from a full blown panic attack. I kept it cool and collected and simply said, “Sure, that sounds like fun.”

Later I got a call from my best friend Karin The Russian (that’s right she started her own blog) to tell her about my conversation. We went over all of the important details, like what the deeper meaning could be, how I felt about things and what the traveling arrangements would be.

We got off the phone, less than 2 minutes later Karina called me back up.

Karina: “I totally forgot to ask you the most important question! What are you going to wear? I think you should wear the new shirt you got from bebe yesterday! You look so sexy in that!”

Me: laughing “Well, I am going to be on a farm, so I don’t think a silk blouse from bebe is the best choice. Plus, I don’t want to appear all uppity fancy-shmancy high maitenence. I was thinking I would just wear jeans and casual tops and my cowboy boots.”

Karina: “So let me get this strait… you won’t wear a bebe shirt, but you are going to wear your DESIGNER cowboy boots? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Me: “Boots are boots! They won’t know the difference. I just can’t wear them out in the mud…come to think of it, that might give me away.”

Karina: “Whatever. OK, here is your To Do list items while you are there. Are you ready? Number one: Wear overalls! Number two: Have sex in a barn!”

Me: “Oh. My. God! You are too funny!”

Karina: “I expect a full report on these two items. Just make sure that you do not have straw stuck in your hair when you go back in the house. But if you do, just hurry and put in your mouth and they will think you are one of them!”

Good old Karina. Always looking out for what is important!

All joking aside, what do you wear to meet the parents? I’m slightly out of practice here folks. In fact, the last parents I met, were my x-husbands. Wow… “but I am So not going to do what everyone thinks I am going to do, which is totally FREAK out!” Sorry, had a Jerry McGuire flashback for a minute there.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Dating debating, Posts Grandma won't approve of

Spring Breaking It!

March 15th, 2009

I successfully survived the first weekend of my very first Spring Break as a college student! Since I am going back to school later in life, I never fully understood just how awesome Spring Break actually is.
My original plan was to party every night to make up for all the boring weekend nights that I have spent staying in to write an English paper or to study for one test or another. I didn’t really stick to that plan completely for 2 reasons.
1. I am no longer a wreckless 21 year old.
2.I am old(er) and partying takes it’s toll on me. Recovery time seems to take a lot longer.

Friday nights original plans were to go to a Wine Gala, but it was canceled for one reason or another. Instead I went to the gym then over to my sisters house, played card games with her boyfriend and passed out watching Knocked Up. WOO HOO! Party animal!

Saturday night however, I made up for it. My beautifully crazy friend Ariane had the rare experience of having a sitter for her 2 beautiful children and demanded asked me to join her for a girls night out. Everything that Ariane does is in grand fashion so it was no surprise that she was able to get us a VIP booth at Harry O’s in Park City for the Spring bebe fashion show. Since Park City is a good 20+ minute drive up a super winding canyon, she also got us rooms to stay at over night. Not too shabby, right?

I got all dressed up (in bebe of course!) and headed up with 5 other girls. Inspite the the fact that Harry O’s is known to be a bit of a meat market and that ED the boyfriend wasn’t thrilled about me staying over night with a bunch of single chics, I had good time. The fashion show was small but really cool to see, I got to dance my ass off all night which is awesome because I haven’t gone dancing in what seems like forever and last but not least, VIP booth = Champagne!

Girls night out are rarely without drama and of course this night was no exception. But the important thing is that even though we got less than 4 hours of sleep, we made it home safe.
I’ll tell you though, after a night like that I’m fairly positive that I will be celebrating the rest of my Spring Break by catching up on my DVR and snuggling with ED. There is far less recovery time that way!

Blogfully yours,
Summer

Out and About, Posts Grandma won't approve of