Thwack!

I got my hair whacked off yesterday. I'm really enjoying having it short. I'm trying to decide what to do with Abby's hair, whether to give her bangs or just let it all grow out. We might dress as twins for Halloween--what do you think?

She gets it from me.

Abby's new trick is to pick out her own clothes. If I leave her in just a diaper, she'll crawl over to her drawers and pull out an ensemble and bring it to me. Her onesies and shorts are in the top drawers, and her sweaters and skirts/dresses are in the bottom drawers. We get some charming combinations.

Wait a minute, Mr. Postman

I LOVE getting things in the mail. Not junk or advertisements, I mean, but packages.

I LOVE yarn. I really got into knitting about a year ago, and then just recently I discovered the difference between cheapie-deapie acrylic yarn and the actual woolly good stuff.

So when you combine these two loves and get fancy yarn that arrives in the mail . . . well, the mind boggles. :)

Wheel of Life

I find the little connections in life to be extremely interesting. Like the days when I'd be thinking about clam chowder at school, and come home and--guess what's for dinner? So I thought it was interesting when this popped up on my blog reader today. Wasn't I just writing about that? :)

Figures.

You Are Aurora! (A.K.A. Sleeping Beauty.)

Thoughtful and loving. Authority figures probably have been sheltering you all of your life. Thankfully you're a very tranquil person who is content with what life has given you, but secretly you want to know how the outside world works.

Which Disney Princess Are You?

Run, he's got a knife!

I like credit cards. I have (just a sec, I'll check)--four credit cards. I know that some people think they are of the devil. Lots of debt-management gurus recommend that you chop them up into little tiny pieces and then burn them. If that works for you, then hey, go for it. But I get my jollies another way: rewards!

Let me tell you why I love them. Last weekend, we went to Bed Bath and Beyond with a handful of rewards-traded gift cards. I love that store, because the juxtaposition of high-quality housewares and overpriced junk amuses me. I could spend hours browsing there, but on Saturday we went with a goal in mind: a new knife set. We bought knives there when we were newlyweds, but being the starving students that we were, we bought the cheapie-deapie set. They have lived up to their reputation. I hate them. So we sauntered back to the knife section and eventually met up with the Samurai Master.

The Samurai Master knows all about the knives at BB&B. He explained, very clearly, the differences between the Henckels and Wusthof brands, and why the higher-priced sets are so expensive. We explained that we already had one Wusthof knife, and thought it would be nice to get the matching set. He very kindly pulled out the Wusthof chef's knife to show us how to sharpen it at the 20 degrees necessary for proper cutting. He began by dropping it inches from my toes. Next, the Samurai Master, living up to his name, skillfully set the blade against the sharpening steel and drew the knife down it a few times. "See? 20 degrees. And--" We never got that next bit of wisdom, because he skillfully stabbed himself in the fleshy part of his palm.

Those who know my family, my dad in particular, may be aware that we don't do well with blood. We tend to faint at blood drives, and one of us (Hi Brook! Still reading?) turns green even at verbal descriptions of gore. So when I saw the deep red rivulets coursing down his arm and dripping onto the rug . . . needless to say, I felt a burning desire to inspect the skillets on the other side of that section of the store.

The Samurai Master deserves some credit. He toughed it out. That rug will never be the same again, since it took a while for backup to arrive with a roll of paper towels, but the Samurai Master never let himself be distracted from his task. He even used his accident to his advantage, pointing out, "That's a sign of a good knife: I didn't even feel it going in!" We ended up buying the Wusthof set, which I love. It cuts chicken like . . . well, like it was the Samurai Master's hand, if you must know. The chef's knife is amazing. I guess it's the touch of the Master's hand. :P

But back to my point: our knives were free. We bought them with rewards money. So I guess technically those people who pay only the minimum balance each month paid for our knives. Thanks, guys!

when I was your age, television was called 'books'

I don't have a tv.

I haven't been watching the Olympics.
I'm not familiar with American Idol.
I've never seen So You Think You Can Dance.

But I do have a favorite tv show.

If I had a tv, I would watch these guys:
It's partly because they're funny, and partly because I love the space between Jemaine's front teeth. And partly because they remind me of every Kiwi I've ever met.

If you want to feel like you're in New Zealand, take the following steps:

• Remove all insulation from your house.
• Eat muesli for breakfast.
• Eat lamb for lunch and dinner, with a side of Marmite (not Vegemite; that's Australian).
• Buy yourself some Milo and Tim Tams and do some Tim Tam slams!
• Kiss everyone you meet on the cheek as a greeting.
  
• Watch some Flight of the Conchords on YouTube. I recommend "Mermaids" and "Jenny."
  

Sic transit gloria mundi

Why are you here?

This blog is essentially my journal.

I hope you feel like a voyeur now.

When I started writing here, I thought the only people who ever read it were Regis and I, and one of us much more often than the other. I was surprised and a little chagrined one day when my brother-in-law mentioned that he'd seen one of my posts. Recently, a friend asked if I had a blog, and pointed out that it isn't searchable on Blogger. Her comment has made me think about why I have a blog, and why I post, or don't post, what I write.

I came across my pen-and-paper journal a couple days ago, and leafing through it, it was impressed very forcibly on me that I reveal a lot more of myself than I intend to in my writing. In view of the fact that people I know only slightly can easily find my blog, and others that I know not at all can find it through search engines, I'm beginning to censor myself. That sounds a little silly, since I don't write about sex or crime, or even swear on here. I mean in the sense that I don't feel like just letting it all hang out, writing whatever I want to say about me, because I'm worried that people will think I'm depressed or self-centered or whatever. But then I end up not writing those things at all, and I'm trying to figure out why. I think it's because things that are written are written to be read, and just pushing them into a dark corner of my laptop seems wrong somehow.

So I'm going to try and taper off the censoring. Don't expect a huge change, because you'll be disappointed. This is mostly for me, a declaration that I can write whatever I want, because frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

Oh yeah, him too. :)

In deference to those who come across this blog as a link from a Loganite's site, I've decided to post something about Regis, since he's the reason you're here. Don't be fooled by the fact that he's a "member" of this blog: I think the last time he posted was when dinosaurs ruled the earth. You can't really blame him, though, because he's a very busy guy and doesn't like writing anyway.

Regis graduated in April from BYU with a degree in statistics. He's started his career at Enterprise Rent-a-Car. Right now he's up at the airport branch, which we hate because it means his hours are weird and he has a two hour commute every day. Hopefully they'll let him back into a normal branch within a month or two, this time as an assistant manager. Working takes up most of his time, but when he does have a day off, he likes to spend it relaxing and playing with Abby.

We've had some fun adventures this summer, including visiting the Hogle Zoo and climbing up to Timpanogos Caves. We're hoping to go camping soon, but we're not sure how Abby will take it. Our biggest trip will be coming in October, when my brother returns to California after his mission in Indonesia. Abby and I are going down to take care of my little sister for a couple weeks, then Regis will join us when my parents get back with Court. We are still trying to decide what fun things to do while we're in my nice, big, pretty, WARM home state. :)

A Little Side Trip

In what world does it make sense that they ship a book from Arizona to Ohio in order to send it to me in Utah? It is about 3,600 miles from Phoenix to Ohio to my house. It is about 600 miles from Phoenix to my house. Is this my book's last big hurrah before it settles into a sedentary existence with me? I feel like calling them and yelling, "I'm an exciting person! I've been to Europe, New Zealand, AND Jamaica! There is NOTHING in Wilmington, Ohio that is as exciting as that!"

Cross Dressing

Have you ever heard the song "Leather and Lace" by Stevie Nicks and Don Henley? I used to get it stuck in my head every so often. I bought it on iTunes a couple of days ago, and now it's stuck in my head with disturbing permanence. It's a very sweet song in its way, but I'm a little annoyed with it. Not just because it's stuck in my head, but because I only know a few lines from it, so I have to repeat those instead of going through the whole song. Since I've listened to it about 40 times I should know more of it, but Stevie has one of those voices which, in addition to being an acquired taste, is not the clearest.

I like it because I think it illustrates an important facet of marriage. I particularly like the lines that talk about differences: "My city, your mountain," and "give to me your leather, take from me my lace." The longer I'm married to Regis, the more I realize that we are very different. Marriage brings a lot of changes, and sometimes it's hard to remember that part of why you fell in love with that baffling person across the table is that he is not you.

This is our favorite Abby expression. Any guesses as to what we're doing to make her pull that face?

Crawling!

Okay, this movie is from a month ago, and she's MUCH faster now. But this is a cute video of my cute baby crawling.

Peas Please!

Abby prefers peas to animal crackers. I'm no longer convinced that we're related.

I have yet to sound her out on bacon, though. That may change my mind.

Bee Yourself

So, I just wrote a post that said this: "I'm a closet drama queen. I re-realized this today, when I was considering writing very bad words on my livingroom walls in black Sharpie." But then I thought that I probably shouldn't post that, since people might wonder why I'd consider doing it and get worried about me.

Don't worry about me too much. My visiting teachers came by this morning, and pointed out that now that I know them by sight, I can get their help if I ever need anything.

I'm so relieved.

Prism! Where is that ending?

"The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means." --Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

I love to read. When I go to the library and check out books, the librarians give me a speculative look and say, "You know these are all due in three weeks, right?" If all I had to worry about was reading through all those pages within three weeks, there would be no problem. The problem is that it's hard to find books that interest me. It's even harder to find books that interest me and make me like them.

I'm not one for intellectual snobbery. I don't read books to broaden my mind or educate myself. I like mystery novels, with suspense and intrigue and a romance thrown in somewhere. I love reading P.G. Wodehouse's books, with their jolly British wit and silly situations. I like reading Robert Asprin's fantasy "Myth" series. I throw the occasional chick flick book into my library bag.

I've tried including "smart" books in my hoard. My latest attempt was F. Scott Fitzgerald's Tender is the Night. I couldn't bring myself to even read the first page, since I could tell from reading the blurb on the back that it wasn't going to end well. Some of my favorite short stories are by Fitzgerald, but I have to flip through my copy of Jazz Age Stories to find them, passing over the profound but sad ones. I don't handle unhappy endings well. If boy meets girl and they fall in love, boy and girl better darn end up together once the dust settles.

In a high school English class, I always bummed a book off my teacher for our 15 minutes of silent reading. He was really into a series by some famous fantasy author, so I started reading the first installment. I think the author actually died a few years ago before finishing the final book, but his thousands of fans were overjoyed that he left instructions with his son to finish it. I really don't care whether there is a last book or not, because the first book was the last of his that I'll read. It was the most depressing story I've ever read. There's a bad guy and bunch of good guys, and the bad guy just keeps killing them off or enslaving them and stealing their powers, which makes him more powerful so he enslaves more good guys. I kept going to the end, thinking, "Man, whatever the good guys come up with to finally beat him has got to be awesome, because I don't see how they'll do it!" And you know what? They don't. The bad guy wins. Now, I realize that there are about 346 more books in the series, but just that first book was probably 500 pages long. Why on earth would I want to waste my time reading more of that kind of thing?

Obviously, not everything in life turns out ok. Sometimes, the guy and the girl don't end up together, or they do but don't stay together. Sometimes disaster is not averted, and the bad guys don't get punished. Sometimes the narrator dies in the middle of his or her story. But that's why Miss Prism and I are hanging out in the fiction section--we're holding out for the happy ever after.

What is that sound?

I love my landlords. This is mostly due to the fact that they are my parents, but let's not let that diminish the fact that they're great as landlord and -lady. Last Thursday, my landlord took me down to the appliance store and bought us a brand-new dishwasher. I don't know that I can adequately communicate the joy we feel at not having to wash our dishes before we put them in the dishwasher (which we had to do with our lousy old one). As if that were not enough, this dishwasher has enough settings to turn an astronaut's head. It tough scrubs, sanitizes, auto-cleans, heated dries, deep cleans the oven, changes Abby's diaper, gives head massages and I don't know what all. And if THAT is not enough to impress you, get this: I have to go look at the thing to make sure it's on. This is the quietest dishwasher since the invention of water. When we first installed it and turned it on to make sure it was connected, Regis, my landlord and I all looked at each other and gave a collective "Ooooo! That's quiet!" Then, the instructions instructed us to install a further piece at the bottom that made it even quieter. "Ahhhhhhh! So quiet!" Then, we were directed to install one further piece. And we were stunned. We were as silent as the dishwasher.

Seriously. It's beautiful.

Dad and Regis also installed a new in-sink garbage disposal. It's clean and shiny, despite the fact that we throw junk down it for it to grind up. Dad also fixed our closet door, which has been broken, I think, ever since my brother and his wife lived here over 3 years ago. So, apart from the fact that I've been commanded to, I have plenty of reasons to love my parents.

Pondering

I had a visit from the Relief Society presidency of our new ward a couple of days ago. We had a nice little chat, and afterwards the president asked if I was prepared to be a visiting teacher. I have to wonder . . . what would happen if I'd told her no?

Sneak sneak, giggle giggle