Sunday, July 31, 2011

The Real Housewife of H2oVille

If you've happened to read a couple of my tragic posts where I attempted to bake these cookies and this angel food cake, then you already know I've inherited my Mother's penchant for using the smoke detector as the timer.  However, I think I may give it another go.  But it's okay, it's okay because I understand now what I did wrong.

I wasn't properly attired. 

Do swimmers try to race without their speedo?  Soccer players without their cleats?  Do stuntmen allow themselves to be set ablaze without their fire-retardant jumpsuit?  Absolutely not.  So what was I thinking trying to bake without an apron? *slaps hand to forehead*

Luckily, I have a foolproof plan to remedy this.  I will win this adorable cupcake apron that I will don on my next baking foray that will undoubtedly guarantee my culinary success.

Is this picture really blurry or did E2 slip something in my coffee? 

The Real Housewife of H2oVille is hosting this giveaway.  Oh, and the apron comes with a cupcake recipe book.  So, I don't see how my plan CAN'T work.  And with that, I have some takeout to order.

Friday, July 29, 2011

It Was Not Awesome.

When I first moved to Utah, a date thought it would be a good idea to take me mountain biking.  Sure, why not?  I know how to ride a bike.  I've totally got this!  Mmm nope.  Going down some stupid mountain trail, I ate shit and ended up with a face/knee/elbow insert whatever you want here/ full of dirt and teeny tiny rocks.  It was not my favorite and it was not awesome.

Fast forward fifteen years and here I am, dating a, granola eating, tree hugging hippie freak who races mountain bikes.  And who, I would proudly like to add, just won his third race in a row on Tuesday.  Cute little thing isn't he?

 So.  This is the part where I briefly deviate from the actual point of the post because I'm immature and crass and have a woefully lowbrow sense of humor. 
When E2 and I go to the climbing gym, I wear tight, form fitting pants so I don't get tangled up in myself and fall to my demise on the soft, cushy mats below.  After one such evening at the gym, I got up and walked past E2, blissfully unaware of my public disgrace that was happening down under...if you get what I'm saying.  Oh.  You don't.  Okay.  I had some major camel toe going on.  The likes of which required at least 5 of the 7 dwarfs to go prospecting with the jaws of life to extricate the thing.  Not sneezy though.  His snot spraying, germ spreading little self can stay the hell out.  I don't need that sort of thing going on.  Clearly I was already having enough problems with my crotchal region.
But as I said, at this point, totally ignorant of my bagina fashion faux pas.  Not to worry.  E2 was kind enough to discreetly bring it to my attention by pointing, laughing and blurting "Nice camel toe!"  
And so, with that, I'd like to bring to your attention the tight little number E2 is wearing in the picture above.  I can never remember what it's actually called but I refer to it as his unitard, singlet, or fruit cup.  He does not appreciate or condone these references.  Girls, imagine your tightest sports bra and how it mashes the girls together so tightly they're practically compressed into your chest cavity.  Same concept with the unitard.  It's a tight little holding facility for the dangly bits.  Which is just fine for riding but creates one...or two, problems.  Look closely.  Oh yes.  We've got MOOSE KNUCKLE PEOPLE.  And that right there is called payback.  
But back to me and how I despise mountain biking.

He's been trying for months to get me on a mountain bike and yesterday, I finally caved.  After spending at least an hour getting it tuned up for me, adjusted properly and even sawing off the metal stick thingie that holds the seat in place (whatever, I don't know bike terminology.  It was too high.  That's all I know) I was ready to go.  He shows me how to shift gears and which brake to use.  I stick my feet in the pedal holder thingies (again, I don't know what the damn things are called) and away I went. 
I rode up and down the street a few times to get the feel of it.  Remember, it's been years since I've been on a bike.  I'm feeling relatively comfortable and decide not to push my luck so I pull up to where E2 is waiting in front of the house by the curb.  I glide on over so I'm parallel with him and the curb, come to a stop and put my foot down on the curb to balance myself.  
                                    Oh.          Except what?  
My foot's not moving and as if in slow motion I tip over onto my side, crash onto the curb, and the stupid heavy 1984 mountain bike lands on top of me.  I had forgotten to slide my foot out of the pedal holder before trying to stop.

E2: "Holy shit!  Are you alright?" As he's trying to pull me up off the ground.
Me: "Yeah.  But I think I bent your bike".
E2: "Forget the bike.  You sure you're okay?  It looks like you got a little scratched up" he says while pointing to my leg.

I look down and realize I've been mortally wounded.  I must have punctured an artery...above my ankle...cause we have arteries there.  There's blood gushing everywhere but I was able to get a picture before he staunched the tsunami-like tidal wave of gore oozing from my leg.

Don't worry...I plan on buying a tan later this week. 

So, yeah.  The mountain bike.  On a flat, paved road.  I tipped over.  While not moving.  I went down like a bag of dirt.

Tomorrow we head up to Little Cottonwood Canyon.  Where there are steep dirt trails.  That have rocks.  And trees.  And moose.  It's cool though.  I have pretty good insurance.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Butterfly Award! Soooo pretty!

Butterfly award
Look what I got!!  Look what I got!!  Kortney over at Kortney's Krazy Life is a total sweetheart and awarded it to me.  I was so excited and nudged E2 who was sitting next to me on the couch to show him.

E2: "What is it?"

Me: " It's a blog award from another blogger who thinks mine is worth reading" I say while bouncing in my seat.

Clearly not understanding the magnitude of such an honor, he simply gave me an odd look and replied with an underwhelming "neat", then went back to watching Breaking Bad.

Neat?  That's it?  Not the response I was expecting.  What's his deal?  Ahhh waitaminute!  I've got it!!  Obviously he was overcome with jealousy and just didn't know how to properly express it.  Ugh!  Some people are so petty!  Why can't he just be happy for me?  Whatev's.  I'll let this one slide.  I've found in my vast experience with relationships that it's important to pick your battles. 

So Kortney, I was excited.  Thank you!!  Kortney recently posted a recipe for breakfast cups that I thought looked SO good.  We're having a breakfast potluck on Monday, (I kid you not, another effing potluck) and I made the comment that I should attempt to make them to bring in.  That idea was quickly vetoed and it was suggested a demand was made that I bring something store bought. 

Moving on.  The rules for the Butterfly Award are as follows:
  1. Link the person back who awarded you
  2. Share 7 things about yourself
  3. Answer the following questions below
  4. Award this to 15 bloggers

Seven things you never cared to know:
  1. I served a Mormon mission for 18 months in Napa Valley.
  2. I have a malamute/husky/wolf named Midas who I lost in the custody battle.
  3. Okay, there was no custody battle.  I don't have a yard.  Or a house for that matter.
  4. Even after years in the U.S. I still pronounce about as "a boot" and house like "hoose".  Or so I'm told.  Over and over and over.  I get it people.  I occasionally talk funny.  Let it die!
  5. I was born in the front seat of a Gremlin on the way to the hospital with my little head bouncing face down on the seat.  What kind of introduction is that?  It's a wonder I'm not more surly than I am.  And plus...GROSS!!!
  6. I can wiggle my ears and touch my tongue to my nose.  I'm considering adding this skill set to my resume.
  7. I sometimes think I have the best family anyone could ever ask for.  Sometimes.

Name your favorite color-
Chartreuse.  Mainly because I don't really know what this color is. 

Name your favorite song-
The Canadian national anthem.  Okay, not really even though it IS super cool.  I'm currently digging The Funeral by Band of Horses.

Name your favorite dessert-
Chardonnay.  WHAT?

What wizzes you off- 
Flakes.  Not the dead skin type.  The people type.  

When you’re upset you-
Act like a mature adult and explain my feelings in a calm and rational way.  And then I throw folding chairs.  

Your favorite pet-
My sweet behemoth monster Midas.

Black or white-
I refuse to answer on the grounds of irrelevance.

Your biggest fear-
Paralysis.  Geez.  I don't even like typing it out.

best feature-
My sunny disposition, naturally!  :)  See?  Smiley face proves it.

Everyday attitude-
See above answer.  

What is perfection-
Having the people I love and respect the most in my life accept me the way I am.

Guilty pleasure-
Reading completely lame espionage spy novels.  I love em, okay?  Lay off!

I’m awarding these 15 blogs!! Congratulations!! 

Caffeinated OC Mommy 
Caleb "he's a spaz but it's cool" Shreves 
Wow that was awkward  
Tony Van Helsing 
The Tattooed Housewife 
My Joy Project 
Oilfield Trash 
The Joyful Sparrow 
Chicken Noodle Gravy 

I wanted to mention what it is I love about each of these blogs but I'm running short on time.  Just check them out because I really do have great taste in blogs!

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

I'm A Total Whore...but it's not what you think!

Pic found here

*Sigh*  Yep.  I'm starting this post with a sigh because, to be honest, I feel pretty sheepish.  Oh, why mince words?  I feel downright stupid.  You see, for the love of blogs came up with the nifty idea of awarding 'best of category' to certain blogs.  I, in my naivete, thought this meant the fine people of FTLOB would be perusing the blogs, making the decisions and I might get a comment or two.  Mmm nope.  It's a popularity contest where you ask your pals to vote for you.



Everyone knows how redheads fare when it comes to this sort of thing.  We all know blonde's have more fun and brunettes remember it the next day but what about the redheads?  Any mention of them?  Not really.  And whys that?  Oh, right.  That would be because we're in the town square burning at the stake.  No big deal. 

So this is the part where I admit that I have no shame, completely whore myself out and implore you to save me from utter blogging humiliation.  You see, I have no illusions.  Even though I have 40 of the coolest followers in all of Bloggerdom, see where I'm going with this.  What I am asking, okay, begging, is for you to help me not get totally annihilated, completely obliterated, reduced to utter ruin!!

This calls for another sigh.  *SIGH*  That's better. 

I entered under the "random" blog category and if you click on here I'm number 21 which makes me legal so you won't get into trouble!  Thank you to any of you who help me out.  Really!  I'm going to go see about a muscle relaxant now.  My sphincter has gotten squinched up from the stress of it all.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

It's Cool Cause I'm Super Good At Other Things.

Okay!  You know what?  I get it!!  I can't cook and/or bake.  After my last post, a couple of people that know me outside of the blogosphere, were kind enough to remind me of a previous epic baking failure, from a YEAR ago, the memory of which I had managed to shove to the back recesses of my mind along with such useless memories like algebra and the entire German poem Die Lorelei.

Die schönste Jungfrau sitzet dort oben wunderbar
ihr goldnes Geschmeide blitzet sie kämmt ihr goldenes Haar.

Such a melodic, flowing language.

Back to the cookies.  I burned them, okay?  Big deal.  I'll bet if I had just scraped the bottoms they would have been fine.  I don't even remember why I thought baking cookies was a good idea.  Another stupid potluck no doubt.  I can't think of any other reason to voluntarily take on such an endeavor.

And yes, it's been pointed out that I used a cake pan instead of a cookie sheet.  You bakers and your semantics.
On more than one occasion I'll show up to work with some story about my latest moronic escapade and my dear friend and confidant confidence sucking asshole of a coworker Jack will ask, yet again, "Soo, what exactly are you any good at?  Can you do anything?  Why exactly is E2 dating you?"  It's such a good thing I have a healthy self esteem.  So, I've decided to list some things that I'm super good at and make me awesome.

1. Flossing.  I've said it before and I'll say it again.  Oral hygiene is not to be taken lightly.  People judge you by your teeth.  You only get one set.  Take care of them people!  So yeah, I'm super good at flossing.

2.  Some people think I'm funny.  I have proof!  Caffeinated OC Mommy was awesome enough to mention me in her blog so I'm returning the love.  Her most recent post where she talks about crack-o-lanterns had me giggling and shuddering all at once.  Kinda like a really good pee shiver, only better!  So yeah, she's awesome.  And she thinks I'm funny.  Booyah!!

3.  I can type 88 wpm.  At least that was the best score I got taking the typing test at work on Friday instead of filing like I should have been doing.  And yeah, it was after my third try and I had 5 mistakes but still...
You know what?  Shut up!

4.  I'm also super good at realizing when to quit when I'm not enjoying something.  Such as making stupid, pointless lists that require self reflection and may or may not put a small dint in my incredibly healthy, impenetrable self esteem JAKE YOU DICK!!  Oops, I mean Jack.  Ah well, looks like your covers blown now.  *shrug*

Saturday, July 16, 2011

Darwinism and Baseball

 E2's response after being shown the story of the idiotic baseball fan:

"Spacial awareness.  Not to be discounted when it comes to Darwinism."

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

I think you know where you can shove your Potluck.

Monday was the second day within a week that my company department held a potluck. You bring your one dish to share and in return get to choose from a veritable plethora of edible delights. Who doesn’t love a good potluck? *raises hand* This girl, right here.

I don’t eat at buffets. Wanna know why? Two words. Snot guards. Any place serving food that has found it necessary to separate the food about to be consumed from the public’s bodily fluids is absolutely not to be trusted. I would rather search for lunch leftovers under my fingernails.

Same concept applies to potlucks. Sure, I work with these people and see them every day but how can I trust that they didn’t stick their filthy finger in the batter, test it out and dip again; just to be sure they put enough vanilla in there? How am I to know if a cloud of eyebrow dandruff has covertly drifted into that crock pot? What I DO know is that some of them think washing your hands with hot water and soap after using the rest room is more of a suggestion than a necessity. After Monday’s potluck a couple of coworkers mentioned feeling slightly nauseous. I stated that clearly it was the inevitable onset of Hepatitis C. They blew me off but we shall see. We shall see.

However, the questionable hygiene habits of my coworkers are not the main reason I dislike potlucks. It’s the pressure. Pressure that I very rarely cave in to. Last week’s potluck I zipped out 20 minutes before, grabbed a box of croissants and a jar of Nutella. Tossed it on the table and called it good. For some ridiculous reason I felt I should make an effort for this week’s potluck. Ugh. I don’t like baking or cooking or measuring or anything that requires more than dialing for takeout.

And so, in a stroke of impossible optimism I decided to bake an angel food cake. I vigorously washed my hands. With soap, even. Whipped up the batter, sans eyebrow dandruff and popped it in the oven. With my bowl of whipped cream and cherry topping standing by for the finished product, I plopped down on the couch with my glass of vino to await my culinary masterpiece.

I showed up with a meat, cheese and cracker tray that Cindy said looked like a lunchable on steroids.

                                                            I hate potlucks.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

A Wedding And Some Wine

Another couple has crossed over to that dark underworld of marriage.  And it was by far the most fun weekend celebration of doom I've ever experienced.  Key elements that will ensure the wedding to be a smashing success are as follows in order of importance:
  1. Liquor.  Free and in abundance.  Even the most bitchy and catty of table companions will mellow out and realize I'm only talking to your husband now because you have pointedly ignored me and my attempts at conversation for the last 30 minutes of dinner.  Is it MY fault you decided to pull your hair back so tight it's narrowed your eyes and made you look like you're permanently squinting?  Is it MY fault your husband keeps checking out our server's cleavage when your own is so prominently on display?  Is it MY fault you have yet to lose the baby weight from your last child...who is now FOUR?  You're in Laguna Beach for hell's sake!  Have another drink and enjoy it!  Which brings me to number two.
  2. Location.  Which would you prefer?  Someplace warm and sunny with an ocean you can go kayaking in and have curious little seals swimming around you wanting to play and watch the pelicans gliding overhead that sure, pooped midair and splattered you on the forehead but whatev's it wiped off easily enough and did I mention there's an ocean?  OR.  A wedding in someplace like South Dakota where you can...I don't even know what.  My coworker has a theory that SD doesn't even exist because really, have you ever actually MET anyone who lives there, is from there, or has been there?  I think he may be onto something.
  3. An awesomely cool couple who really do love each other and are excited to voluntarily spend the rest of their lives together.  I know you would think this should be a given at a wedding but you would be wrong.  

I've already grown bored making this list so I'll stop at three.  Best not to overdo it.  Just going to put up a few pics from the weekend wedding bonanza and call it good. 

Lawn bowling + a never-ending margarita fountain = flawless form.

The older dude in the picture behind me worked at the club and was giving our team pointers.  I was three margaritas into the game at this point, and I think it was this roll that my bowl, ball, whatever they're called wobbled off into the game beside ours.  He slapped his forehead with the exclamation "Jesus Christ!  At THIS stage of the game?"  We did not win.

The gorgeous bride in her sparkly white wedding dress waiting for our shuttle.

The bride and groom after the ceremony.

 Which, I have to say, was one of the odder ceremonies I've witnessed.  The woman who performed the ceremony was a new-age, chakra-aligning, crystal wearing cliche who was just plain awesome.  She held a rather loud bell and one of those metal things used to bang a gong.  After each sentence she would punctuate it with "Aho" and ding the bell.  "May Mother Jaguar wrap us in her coils of love and smile down upon us.  Aho!"  I just remember standing there during the ceremony thinking "What the what?  Coils of who and aho what?  Aho ld on one minute cause I'm totally lost".  And I thought E2 was a hippie.

Let's pause for a moment while I talk about this dress.
 Soo I'm a total sucker and bought this dress online from Victoria's Secret.  The model in the picture was wearing the green version.  The model looked fantastic in the green dress.  If I buy the green dress I will look like a beautiful model.  Logically I know this is not how it works.  I know this is how the marketing genius's want it to work.  Illogically, I hoped it would work as my fingers were typing in my credit card information.  The dress is basically just a skirt with two really long flaps of fabric that you twist any which way to create the look you want on top.  The problem with this dress is that no matter how you work it, there is no bra in the world that's going to work with it.  I didn't know how cold the air conditioning was going to be and was not relishing the embarrassing "Looks like the turkey's done" comments from E2.  So, in an effort to minimize the RT, I scotch taped my poor nips.  Yeah.  If I'd only been savvy enough to know about these little gems that Mandy_Fish found.  The stinging, throbbing pain from the quick rip to get the tape off, even after a plethora of wine, was not something I will soon forget.

The Best? Man and E2
They forwent (is that a word?) the traditional wedding cake and went with tower after tower of gourmet cupcakes.  I'm not a big fan of cake in any form so I did not partake but E2 assured me they were delectable.

I don't dance.  I'm white, self-conscious and without fail end up doing a totally horrific combination of the running man mixed with the sprinkler.  Therefore, I don't dance.  Usually.  EXCEPT on occasions when there are people on the dance floor like this:

Dude ready to puke, a Mexican wanting to fist and a sloppy drunk in a fro.  Bust a move boys!

I love Lane's face in this one.  Some serious Blue Steel!

The man in the fro?  Father of the Bride.  How awesome is that?
Blurred vision.  It was time to call it a night.

The next day we had a few hours before E2 had to take me to LAX to catch my flight home.  There are no beaches in Utah, unless you count the Great Salt Lake and enjoy the aromatic scents of sulfur and brine shrimp.  So we walked down to the beach to try to get our fill until the next time.

Please.  No comments about how I got crabs at Laguna Beach. 
Cute, isn't he?

Sunset.  I'm ready to go back now, okay?