Candy, Candy Corns, Candy Canes and Syrup

What happened to the good ol’ days when people said "Merry Christmas neighbor" by dropping off a plate of homemade goodies? I look forward to it every year and so far all I’ve seen (at my sisters house; my neighbors don’t bring me goodies. However, I wish Gerrard, the HOT single man 2 doors down would drop off some goodies… I have some for him…) is a bag of M&M’s and a box of Andies Mints.

COME ON! Bring me the divinity, the homemade carmels, the peanut brittle. Is it too much to ask for some homemade chocolates, that marshmallow/ popcorn/ gumdrop goo, fudge! chocolate dipped pretzels, peppermint bark or peanut butter bars. Hell, I’d even take a santa shaped sugar cookie a this point. Let’s get back to basics people! Keep you’re nativity scene, I already have one, just bring me the goods… let me taste the love.

And What to My Wondering Eyes Did Appear…

I was greeted in the gym locker room last night by a very large naked woman…. Let me make sure you understand the full scale of this, we are talking Star Jones big (before the lipo), wearing NOTHING but a smile and strutting around like she was Mr. T at a gold jewelry convention.

Now don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against “big boned” women, but I do have something against naked women in public places. Props to you for loving “the skin you’re in,” but put it away…. I don’t care if you are Eva Longoria or Rosie O’Donnell, I don’t want to see it.

No Autographs, Please!

I ran in the annual Huntington City 5K Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving. I was just one in a sea of 50 participants… ya, half of Emery County showed up to compete. It was probably the worst 3.1 miles I have ever ran and this is why:
1) It was the most boring route EVER. The course went straight down the road, 1.5 miles where there was a car parked, when you reached the car, you turned around and headed back. It honestly felt like 20 miles, just to reach the car and when I finally did, I wanted to call SAG to come pick me up. There was no SAG.

2) It was up hill both ways. I know that’s what your Grandma (or in my case my Mom, same age difference) use to always say, “ I walked to school, uphill, both ways, in snow up to my knees…” but in this case, it was 100 % true, sans the snow.

3) When I finally reached the car at the top of the hill, I turned around to head back, only to be slapped upside the face by a cold, misty head wind. Awesome! Nothing like a little resistance to really elevate the heart rate.

4) It took me a full 5 minutes longer to finish then my usual time, I’m pretty sure the only people I crossed the finish line in front of, were the walkers. I attribute this to the previous 3 factors as well as the following little doozy:
It may sound like an excuse, but damn it, I’m going to use it. ELEVATION. I’m use to running in the Salt Lake Valley, elevation: approximately 4,330 feet. Huntington’s elevation: 5,797 feet. I stared sucking wind pretty early, so like I said, I’m going to go with the idea that those 1,467 feet made a difference and I’m not just out of shape.

Luckily at the end of the race they held a drawing. I was the big winner with a 32 oz fountain drink from the local Maverick. I was pretty excited because you know that just what I needed/ wanted after the big race… a Soda. On the flip side, my picture made it into the county paper, so I think that elevates me to “local celebrity” status.

I Spy With My Judgmental Eye…

This is a list of some of my favorite things spotted at the gym, which oddly enough happened to be some of my least favorite things spotted at the gym... All can be found at the VanWinkle Gold’s (formerly referred to as the “pretty people gym” (note I said “formerly”)) on any given night. Two trips max and you can take in ALL its wonder and glory. It’s a beautiful thing.

• Naked lady in the locker room. wobbly bits, lots of wobbly bits...
• Man in sweat pants (the kind with elastic ankles). It makes me very VERY! uncomfortable.
• Beth, Dog the Bounty Hunter's wife, sans the class and blond hair. Possibly bigger boobs…
• Man sporting the gallon milk jug of water. Dude, dumbbells are included in your membership.
• Camel toe
• Moose knuckles
• Nutter jean shorts… accompanied by moose knuckles.
• Brandon Walsh from 90210, but with facial hair.
• Royal Blue, velvet track suite, with matching scrunchy and soup can bangs.
• Ru! Fi! OOOooooo!……. Bangerang
• 'Roid: The man clearly on steroids and ALWAYS at the gym.
• ‘Roid. wearing the barely there “tank” in camo… I refer to it as the upside down thong.
• The real life version of the Homies figurines
• And finally, the mirror poser. Can’t get enough of himself and neither can I…

Hypocrite!

Let it be known that I am adamantly against Christmas before I’ve filled my cornucopia and celebrated the pilgrimage to Plymouth Rock. I just don’t see the need to be putting up mistletoe before I have completed my hand print turkey and I can’t exactly “deck the halls” or roast chestnuts over an open fire, before I’ve roasted the turkey and done my Black Friday shopping at the Walmart. I don’t know, call me crazy!

I’ve noticed that not everyone sees things my way. In fact Sad FM, Easy Listening for the Over 30, started playing Christmas music on November 1. A little Premature? I think so! But rather than change my pre-set I just decided to steer clear of the station, a personal boycott if you will.

While listening to the radio on my way to work this morning, I was singing along to one of my favorite songs thinking “I love this song, I wish I heard it more often” when suddenly I realized the reason I don’t hear it very much is because IT’S A CHRISTMAS SONG! And I am the biggest hypocrite ever because here I am, supposedly boycotting Sad FM and its all Christmas music all season long philosophy and I’m singing along to the words “last Christmas I gave you my heart and the very next day, you gave it away. This year to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special...” pathetic! In both song choice and principal. PATHETIC!

...In Bed

Little World is my Chinese of choice in Salt Lake. Now, this little gem is not a really fancy establishment. I mean, you walk in and think “I may catch cryptosporidium or lockjaw” but don’t worry the food is great and they provide plenty of sugar packet to stabilize the tables, (it takes exactly 3)… and I love it! I love the seeing the plucked duck carcasses in the back, I love the woman always snapping beans at one of the tables, I love looking at my Chinese fortune on the paper place mat (I'm a boar), I love the slight fear that I may find something unwanted in my beef and broccoli (like a band-aid or a cockroach) and I love the Chinese language lesson that comes with my fortune cookie “Wo mi lu, English translation: I’m lost”.

I never leave Little Word disappointed. Ya, it’s a little sketchy, but I have yet to catch norwalk or the bird flu. On my last visit, however, I did get a little more than I bargained for… Let’s just say that when you have long legs, you probably shouldn’t cross them under a gum laden table…

It Feels Different This Time...

Cows are my Dads passion. Really, they are, if you need proof, look in his high school yearbook, it’s printed right there under his senior picture, "Cows are my passion". Naturally with that much passion planted in a place like Castle Dale, it’s a sure fire bet he’s a farmer. When it comes to my Dad’s farm its all work and very little play and therefore family vacations consisted of trips to other rural locations to look at Dad’s passion, with the occasional drive through of Yellowstone or Zion’s National Park (and when I say drive through, I mean drive through, no food, no potty breaks, no photo ops, no stopping… period!)

Needless to say, as a family we never really had the “typical” family vacation. So with my mom near death, us sister decided to get her out to experience the “world” before she kicks the bucket. luckily our ship didn't sink and speed up the process...

Our best intentions of a “typical” vacation by cruise to Canada, quickly went south starting at the airport with Dana being propositioned at security to remove her bra, you know, because of the under wire… and quickly progressed to mom being searched while complete strangers chanted “take it off” and “cavity search”. Damn robotic knee!

The trip was fantastic! We had AMAZING macaroni and cheese at Steelheads in Seattle, incredible banana fosters ice cream in Victoria and the best fish and chips EVER at a little make shift “restaurant” on the water front in Nanaimo called Troller’s Fish and Chips, (alright, I like food… back off).

Mom succeeded in erupting the dinner table with laughter due to her confusion when lady at our dinner table commented that she “had been married to her husband for 7 ½ years before he passed a year ago,” which she followed with “it was wonderful”. Now, I understand the confusion. But come on mom, did you really think she was referring to his death being “wonderful” rather than their 7 ½ year marriage?

Unfortunately I was unable to get my groove on at the nightclub due to a knee injury which left me temporarily confined to a wheelchair.

Canada was beautiful! We saw some pretty amazing things. We were the only ones on deck when a pod of Dolphins decided to swim and jump by the ship. We were able watch them for about 5 minutes before they disappeared. We also spotted Michael Bolton! He tried to disguise himself by bleaching his hair blond, but he couldn’t fool us… who knew he was into cruising!

Mom, Dana and Stacey were able to watch the sunrise, I hear it was pretty magnificent. I’ll have to take their word for it seeing as how they didn’t wake me up for the life changing experience. Other beautiful/ amazing things: This little old lady who could barely walk on her arthritic legs and osteoporosis bones, but was very fashionable in her all white track suite and 4 inch black platform peep toes.

It really hit its climax at the end of the trip, en-route to the airport, as Dana gave our Taxi driver Adam my phone number! (He defaulted to me after finding out Dana was married with 3 kids) Don’t worry, he’s called 5 times already… I’ll be sending out wedding announcements soon!

I’m also expecting a call from about 3 other people she gave my number to. Looks I’ll be pretty busy the next couple months, so don’t bother trying to get a hold of me.

It was a whirlwind trip, but it was really fun. We got a lot in. A lot of walking, A lot of eating, a lot of people watching and a lot of illegal/ risky behavior (I didn’t know my mom could bend like that, especially with the knee, apparently she learned it from Stacey).

Back in the Summer of '69

I wouldn’t say I am an old soul, however I do like things that old people like. For example, I love myself some shredded wheat, oatmeal raisin cookies, plain oatmeal for that matter, prunes, sweater vests, card games that aren’t poker, all- you- can- eat buffets, Sunday’s obituaries, stories about sickness and death, Alaska and good ol’ cross stitching, you know like grandma use to make…

Well, maybe not cross stitching.

I was a little curious to see if I really was old, what I would look like back in the day. As they say curiosity killed the cat, so let’s take a walk down memory lane shall we:

Back in 1958 I was quite the catch!

My senior year in 1960. Man I miss those glasses.

Here is a little snapshot of what my mom looked like in 1966.

Back in 1976 I really loved the song "All by Myself"

Prom night 1984.

The first time I permed my hair in 1986. I wanted to look like Blanche from the Golden Girls.

And finally, I really reached my prime in 1994. In the words of the Crash Test Dummies "Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm"

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

I’m not talking about Christmas people, rather Nick’s yearly birthday party at Ginos, my favorite Karaoke Bar in slums of Salt Lake. It encompasses all things that I enjoy: it’s smelly, it’s smokey, it’s trashy… and I never feel as classy, skinny, pretty, over dressed or coordinated in my life as I do when I walk through those glorious plywood doors. I really wanted to capture the essence of the evening, but why reinvent the wheel when Kate Gildea has done it so eloquently and coolly on her blog (please don’t sue me for plagiarism). So here are a few golden nuggets highlighting the evening courteously of Mrs. Gildea.

• You Oughta Know by Alanis Morissette is not really something that I have ever thought of as a song to get down to...but the trio of freakers loved every minute of it


• I never knew that Meredith's Brooks, "I'm a Bitch" was something that was romantic or a dance to slow dance to..


• I would also like to thank that little Latin gal in the tube top for providing hours of entertainment by allowing us to watch you for hours while you attempted body rolls in the mirror


• "With or Without You by U2" is one of my least favorite songs...and when Mr Drunk and Tone Deaf sings, it makes life pretty unbearable.


• That Alvin and the Chipmunks or that awful trio should never sing "LOVESHACK" ever again. My ears are still ringing.


• The only thing worse that Melissa Etherage's song "Come to my Window" is the girl attempting to sound like Melissa Etherage while karaokeing "Come to my Window"


• If you weight upwards of 350+ lbs and are still insisting on using an air guitar during instrumental parts of the song...please don't sing "Every Rose Has it's Thorn" unless you remind me to bring some Depends.

But, I think that Nick and I did a pretty decent rendition of "Rocketman" by Elton John..and as you can see from the action shot we were pretty into it. Look at my hair flying in the wind...Nick's hand mid air...who knew we were so in to Karaoke?

And lastly, I think that this little guys did one of the best Karaoke's of the night (his 3rd mind you). "America" by Neil Diamond has never been sung so good...even though you were a little on the intoxicated side and fell (twice) attempting to do this knee drop, I think it was worth it. It looked good...real good.

Double Your Pleasure, Double Your Fun

I just got back from girls camp (and when I say camp, I use the word loosely, as we slept in cabins, cooked in kitchens and had showers and flushing toilets). I was asked to attend by my sisters ward. I think they saw it as a bit of charity work, you know, include the single, looser girl, but I apparently fell for it because I went.

I was suppose to be an assistant camp director. This was a little awkward seeing as how I was caught in limbo between acting like the young women and being an assertive leader. I think the girls saw right through my "respectable adult" facade, because they gave me the "Young at Heart" award ( I didn't realize I was old enough to just be young at heart).

Its been a long time since I had been to girls camp, lots of things have changed. I didn't have to learn how to tie a 5 different knots or dig my own bathroom hole and apparently its not cool anymore to corn row your hair (found that out a little to late). But some things are still the same, boonedoggle key chains are still all the rage, Starbursts still roast over a fire and a riggabamboo is still made by the Princess Pat (I wish her boat would sink already).

Luckily with all the changes and not having the fun of sharpening my knife with a wet stone to kill my own dinner, I was still easily entertained. We went hiking, canoeing, zip lining and had a pretty intense game of "how many pieces of gum can you fit in your mouth."

Now, this was not my first rodeo with this game. I held the record with 17 pieces of Bubbalicious so you could say I went in a little cocky. I am proud to say that I trumped my previous record and set a new personal best with 25! Yes that's right, 25 pieces of bubble gum (did I mention I hate bubble gum). unfortunately, I was beat out by a 14 year old girl who was able to fit in 32 pieces. On her best day (or worst however you view it) she weighs about 97 pounds. COME ON! I out weigh her by like 12 pounds...wet!

Like I said, I got cocky.

Ok, it was a little more than a beating, it was an ass whipping. As you know, I'm a little competative and I don't know which is worse, admiting I lost...by a lot... or posting this picture. Either way, now that you know, I don't want to talk about it anymore.

Would You Call That Color Cantaloupe?

Every year, I "join the movement” and volunteer to be “helpful” for the M.S. Society. I don’t know if I really am helpful or not, but it makes me feel better about myself knowing I’m contributing to society in at least one way, you know, since I’m still single and have no children…

Of all the M.S. Events, the M.S. 150 Best Damn Bike Tour is my favorite. Why you may ask. Honestly I ask myself that same question every year. It was originally called the best damn bike tour, because the route was over a couple damns. Now, I call it the damn bike tour because come Sunday morning at 4:30 a.m, when I wake to feed the troops, it’s the first thing I say “damn bike tour.”

There is a reason that you should always wear black spandex. Here is your explanation why:

Most of the cyclist recognize the unwritten rule and dress accordingly, but there are a few who seem to have missed the memo. Particularly the man wearing white spandex that decided to come ask me what mile the lunch stop was at…. Let’s just say that white spandex doesn’t work on a sweaty day after riding 68 miles. Its somewhat similar to a wet t-shirt contest, except with a sausage link.

After 3 years of volunteering, they have finally recognized me for what I am and put me in a position of power. As a Special Events Leader (S.E.L), I get to do all the important things, like make sure there’s enough mayo for the sandwiches and collect garbage.

One of my favorite tasks, water. Sometimes, to make things more interesting, I ask the cyclists if they want me to feel them up…

In all seriousness, it’s was a great time! Hats off to all those who rode, participated, and sponsored the event. Especially to everyone at the M.S. Society who put it together and let me volunteer yet another year.

Say What!

I’ve always wanted to visit a physic. Why would I want to wait for my life to unfold, when I can go to a physic and get lied to about how it will supposedly turn out. You know me, I LOVE surprised, but come on, who doesn’t like a hint every now and then, so when my boss told me about her friend going to and Indian Shaman, I suggested we try it out. Granted he’s not a physic but hey, I thought it would be interesting and what better day to do it on then Friday the 13th.

To my surprised my Indian Shaman wasn’t an Indian at all, but actually a pale face. He started out by giving me an overview of his previous lives as an elk and an African-American slave and explained some stuff about energies and shockras( or something like that, I was a little distracted by the decorative beer cans lining the walls and fireplace). He then took me into a room with a table similar to ones used for massages. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't this.

I laid on my back on the table and closed my eyes as he proceeded to shake a rattle over my body and call the spirits from the four corners of the earth to be with us. I guess they showed up because he apparently saw a rope tied around my ankles that he said was holding me back. He “symbolically” cut the rope after spitting something on it that smelled strangely similar to Brute cologne. He spit the same stuff on my right hip where he said he saw the forceful imprint to of a hand. He interpreted this hand print to me as a representation of sexual abuse. I think I would recall if sexual abuse had happened to me, which I don’t, so he explained that it must have been in a previous life… of course, that would explain why I’m a wall builder in this life.

That pretty much ended our session. He did advise me to go home and take a bath with salt to clean out the “surgical wounds” from the cutting of rope and hand print removal, you know, so they didn’t get infected. Hope a dip in the swimming pool counts.

Reality Check

I'm wearing a pair of corduroy capris today. I think they look pretty fantastic if I may say so myself. Corduroy is a great fabric that is structured enough to be fairly forgiving to my pear shape, given the right cut. I love my corduroy capris.

What I don't love about my corduroy capris is the fact that I can't hide the reality the my thighs rub together when I walk. It makes a very distinctive swishing sound, comparable to the back up beeper on a backhoe. Its like my own personal warning beacon (caution thunder thighs on the move) and this warning signal makes me just insecure enough to diminish the confidence that the fit and cut gives me.

But I do look great when I'm standing still...