Embarrassing mix-ups, and, oh how I love it when its not me.

Remember those times that I missed the obvious? Remember how I mixed up 'pubic', and 'cuticle'?

facepalm.

I'm still occasionally discovering new embarrassingly obvious facts that I've managed to never understand, but it would simply be selfish to talk more about myself.

I want to make you all feel a little less embarrassed about something outrageous that you've said or mixed up by relating a mix up that someone distantly connected with me made a while back.

In saying that we are distantly connected, I mean the far off connection one has with someone who gave birth to and/or raised them. But, I digress.

The aforementioned, unidentified person to whom I refer has had very serious back and neck problems from birth. During a surgical procedure her doctor, who was unaware of these conditions, positioned her neck in such a way that caused a lot of pain and problems when she awoke from the surgery.

While having a consultation for a follow-up procedure she made sure to mention to the doctor (who happens to be one of the most stoic, refined, and conservative people I've ever met), that she has genital fusion in her neck, so they would need to be a bit more careful.

...

Unsure looks, and and awkward silence were finally broken by my father another distant acquaintance mentioning to the doctor that she must mean congenital fusion.

Genital versus congenital. With the possibility of fusion going on here, I feel like we would need to be pretty sure about which we were speaking.

Thank goodness it was quickly cleared up, or the doctor may have thought he had a medical phenomenon on his hands.

Is it naughty that I find so much comfort in the fact that my blunders are less hilarious than these? I mean, we have also had to make sure she is very conscious of using the words 'sacrum' and 'scrotum' in the correct context.

Very confusing. Also, I hope I still have a family now.

I have something embarrassing to talk about

Image Source

No, it doesn't involve food.

I had a daydream about Robert Pattinson. A DAYDREAM. Meaning I was awake the whole time. Facepalm (I am very serious about making that my word). 

It wasn't as you might think it would be. 

I had just read an interview with one of the actors in The Host movie that just came out last weekend. He was being asked if he had received any crazy attention in the same manner that Robert had for Twilight. He hadn't. 

Then I started doing dishes. (Is there a phenomenon going on at anyone else's house involving dirty dishes ALWAYS being in the sink? I swear I wash them six time a day.)

Then I started thinking about Robert Pattinson running from a mob of screaming girls in Paris. Poor dude. I would never chase him. I mean, he has great hair, but thats about it. Girls are fa-reaks sometimes. 

Too bad I didn't live in Paris. Then he could have spotted me, a woman with a baby should be safe, in a market or cafe, and seen that I didn't react to his presence at all. Then he probably would have come and asked me to hide him for a few hours. I would have looked at him with a face of pity, and said okay.

While he hid in my apartment letting the mob search and dissipate, he would have perused the family pictures on our walls while we talked about my awesome husband, and how being married to someone you really love is the best. Then we would have talked about how Ches is a helicopter pilot, and don't you know, Rob needs a private pilot, and would love to give him a job. He would even give him a starting bonus large enough to pay of the large amount of student debt it took to get that license. There is also a small role in movie that he is involved in that the casting department has been stumped with, I might be perfect.

Then I realize I am day dreaming about Robert Pattinson and I stop immediately.

Too much explanation for something that can hold its own

My uncoolness is about to be made manifest. 

You know how when you are trying to have a conversation with someone you don't know very well, often the topic of music arises...?

Well, I love music. What I don't tell people is that my first music love is movie soundtracks. Like, I am REALLY into them. 

My first love affair with this kind of music came long ago. I was twelve. On my thirteenth birthday I received the Pirates of the Caribbean Soundtrack. (We were vacationing in Winnemucca, Nevada on my birthday. The only thing more exciting than my birthday was the fact that the bus boy at our hotel/casino thought I was older than I was and very cute. He sent me complementary ice cream at the restaurant) I had seen the movie six times in the theater, once twice in one day, and was smitten with Captain Jack. Who wasn't right?  As soon as I got it into my cutting edge tech discman, my family could have boarded a plane to Florid and come back for me a few days later. I would have been clueless. I put in the CD, closed my eyes, and visualized the entire movie as the music played over and over and over. 

It has snowballed since then. My sister is even more into them than I am, and I once heard her and a former beau have a conversation about how the composers of movie soundtracks are really the ones who have taken the place of great composers like Beethoven and Mozart. Apparently these pop stars and radio musicians have no comparative talent. I don't agree with them on all sides of that argument. I think there are SOME very talented pop stars, but as far as the talent of composition, guys like Hans Zimmer, Klaus Badelt, and Howard Shore put popular music artists to shame. 

When I had to write absurdly long papers for my classes in college, I would put on a soundtrack, and it helped my creative juices every single time. 

These instrumental masterpeices just have a way of pulling me back into the imagination that I had as a little girl. They help me prove to myself that I haven't completely, and never will completely grow up. I used to listen to them on campus sometimes, and it would transport me somewhere else long enough for me to forget my stress. i will spare you the many and nerdy details of my imagination. 

I have talked too much. Listen to this song. It can hold its own. It is enormously long, but at least listen to the first few minutes. I challenge you to not lose yourself for a little while.

Neccessary Evils

There are a lot of things I avoid doing in public as part of my personal rules.

...sing with my ipod on, and my headphones in

...fall on either of my ends (face or derriere)

...have a booger

...toot *

...walk around boisterously talking about llamas and ardvarks.

Now.  I have done, or am close to others who have done, all of these things.  And as terrible as they all are, there is one activity worse than all of these, that all of us must do in a public setting.

Use the restroom.

I mean really, is there a more embarassing place than a public restroom?  I despise them, yet in my current situation I use them 3-4 times daily.  I was using one the other day, and I realized that (at least for women) we have quite the system of public bathroom etiquette.

 I am not going to get into the endless rules about choosing stalls, what you do when you run out of tp (we've all been there right?), how you try not to look at eachother in the mirror while washing hands, not judging a stranger for checking out her backside in the mirror before she leaves (we all do it), no.  I am going to address the cough-sniff. 

I have only yet noticed two circumstances in which to use this tool.
The example below is adapted to only four stall or less bathrooms

One: When you entered the bathroom it was vacant, and you entered to take care of your needs.  After you have finished your business, but before you've left the stall, another person enters.  You must cough-sniff to let them know you are there, so they don't do anything embarrassing.

Two: You have finished washing your hands and are leaving the bathroom.  You know there is only one other person in the bathroom, and they have been sitting in their stall with no noise for quite some time.  You must cough-sniff as you leave so they know that you are departing, and they should hurry and get out all embarassing noises before the next woman enters the bathroom.

I was amazed at this system that I had been taking for granted for quite some time.

We have all also had that moment when some woman ignores this part of the bathroom code.

It's embarassing for all involved.


*This is the more refined way of refering to farting, and is part of the embarassing things that the cough-sniff help keep private.

Bedtime Conversations

Me:(singing heartily) "Who wants a twig when you can have the whoooooooooooooole treeeeeee?" (obviously an exerpt from the fabulous show Hairspray) ....Ches....I'm the whole tree!

Ches: No you're not.

Me: Well, I'm not a twig...

Ches: You're more of a weight bearing branch.

pause....

PAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Fuzzy Back Teeth

Just about every night about the time that I a quickly fading away into a drool on my pillow state, I decide I should wash my face and brush my teeth, so as to hygienate  myself in an appropriate manner (do you like my new word?).

A least every other night I ask husband if he wants to brush my teeth for me.

He has always politely declined. I always have the most polite reply of sticking my tongue out at him.

Last night the routine, and I dare say my life, changed.

He was brushing his teeth, and I said, "Can I help you?" and he said..nod nod.  So I got off the couch, and proceeded to brush my husbands teeth.  Getting my fat hands in that little mouth was a little difficult.  I think next time I will have him sit on a stool because I will be able to reach the back better.

Then....

I put toothpaste on my beautiful green toothbrush, handed it to him, opened my very large pie-hole, and....HE BRUSHED MY VERY OWN TEETH!  He missed the back completely, so I had to fix it for him, but I hurried and fixed it while he wasn't looking....well he was looking, but I couldn't have fuzzy back teeth in the morning.

I quickly became glad that we live in a basement apartment where no one walks by our one window.  How odd would it bee to walk by a window, look in, and see two grown people brushing eachother's teeth.  Not odd, I argue, INSPIRING.

Dining with the Donovans at Christmas time...

The broccoli cheese chicken soup sits sputtering happily on the stove. Taquitos, chicken nuggets, and other various foods of frozen goodness start to sizzle on the pan in the oven. The cheese ball of amazingness has been purchased from Kent’s Supermarket because everyone knows that their green onion cheese ball blows all other cheese-balls away. This is the tornado of cheese-balls. Assorted crackers have been beautifully arranged on the very old and underused cracker platter. They look so much more appetizing in a pretty circle than they do coming out of the box.

Mom moves the soup to a hot pad on the table. I have already laid out bowls and spoons, and my stomach gnomes are starting to vehemently protest the fact that they have been neglected for hours now. Family comes. Family sits. We bless the food.

It is as if the next three seconds are three minutes. My little brother sees the bowl in front of his place at the table. He looks at the spoon. He raises his head to the pot of soup sitting innocently next to my mother.

Kade: “NO!”
Mom: “Uh….is there are problem son?”
Kade: “You’ve ruined EVERYTHING! It is CHRISTMAS EVE! We can’t eat soup! It isn’t finger food! How could you ruin our tradition like that!
Mom: “So don’t eat it.”

Kade stares at his plate, and eats only with his fingers. He keeps a frown on his face, and doesn't raise his head. He is showing his extreme disgust at all of our willingness to forsake our traditions without a second thought

I try to make the situation seem less tragic to him by explaining that it could indeed be counted as finger-food because you do, in fact, hold the spoon with your fingers, but alas, it gave him zilcho, zip, nada, yes , zero comfort.

Traditions have been rudely disregarded, and the day has been ruined for him....Until we get out treats, and his smile slowly returns. Then somebody farts and his brothers and father burst into laughter, while Kim and I try not to laugh, but fail as the laugh bubbles find their way out of our throats, and mom is says something about having grown up in a high class family.

Composure....yeah. I have that.

9:24 am: I walk innocently and intently toward the Library at Logan High School to meet with my professor concerning my Teaching English Methods class. The floor is slick. The bottom of my right shoe is slick. It is a good thing I am flexible. I am pretty sure those high school students were really amazed to see a teacher doing the splits in the hallway laughing hysterically. I did not appear insane at all.

11:24 am: I walk into the Taggart Student Center listening in a very concentrated way to how one of my heels clicks on a distinctly different tone than the other one does. I open the door to the employee entrance of the bookstore forgetting the slippery nature of my right shoe's belly. I do a slick little dance with a grand wave of my arms for those, my comrades, in the hallway.

11:29 am: I hold a bowl of steaming chicken fried rice in one hand, and walk heavily to my office. The cement floors should be safe and not slippery. I reach to open the door and my mischievous little shoe slips and I see all of my rice fly up into the air. Luckily, my much more reliable and highly favored left shoe kept me on course, and I caught all the rice again in the bowl in an extremely ninja like fashion.

Needless to say my good left shoe walked the rest of the day heel toe heel toe proudly and sturdily. My right, rather naughty shoe was punished with heelTOE heelTOE heelTOE. I may or may not have received pitiful looks from passersby pitying the fact that I clearly have one leg shorter than the other, but I am pretty sure that darn dirty shoe learned its lesson.

This is a fear causer that frequents my life

I know, KNOW, and am certain, positive and certain that if I use the handicap stall in the bathroom, a person in a wheelchair is going to come in, have to go super bad, and not have anywhere to go because I am manning the stall. They will sit there, and when I walk out they will stare at me, then look at all the other empty regular stalls, and look back and forth and back and forth, getting angrier and angrier (meanwhile I just stand there with an awkward look on my face, really just concentrating on trying to remember if I zipped up my fly), and then they will yell at me about how insensitive I am, and proceed to beat me with a cane.

I honestly have this visual every time I consider using the handicap stall, whether it be because the others are taken, or because their previous occupants forgot to do jumping jacks in the stall before they left to trigger the motion sensor flusher thingies.

So I wait, or flush first.

Then, during my stay in my stall, I ALWAYS contemplate the fact that people in wheel chairs do not in fact carry canes.

Sometimes

Sometimes wife actually tries to cook dinner for husband, and sometimes it happens to be that she has enough ground beef to cook both sloppy joe AND taco meat. Sometimes she decides that they will eat the sloppy joes tonight, and save the taco meat for tomorrow. Sometimes wife sends husband to the store to get potatoes so they can have homemade fries with the aforementioned sloppy joe sandwiches of joy, and he is quick and compliant. Sometimes when wife does this she bites into her carefully and lovingly prepared sloppy joe, only to find that the meat is freezer burned and tastes of yak buttock. So sometimes wife doesn't finish her sandwich, and eats a half a bag of frozen corn instead. Usually husband doesn't even notice the icky taste, so he eats all of his sandwiches anyway. Sometimes wife wonders if he eats this ground yak posterior only to make her feel better. Wife throws away the meat. Wife does the dishes. Wife is very glad husband also bought ice cream at the grocery store, so they can have butterfinger shakes after he is done at helicopter school.

Yeah. Try to make THAT sound appetizing.
Its impossible.

Why?

I have shared these photographs with a few, close, kindred spirits. I feel their impact needs to be conveyed to a wider audience.

I opened my car door, eager to enter Deseret Industries, and partake of all that awaited me there. This is what met my gaze, and stopped me in the middle of my thoughts concerning old lady dresses, and skinny suspenders.

I turned in horror, trying to find the former peace of mind I had been enjoying, when I saw the final piece placed under the wheel of the car parked ahead of us.

I was shocked, horrified, and was forced to mourn for this poor, little, smiling, decapitated boy in his disassemblation and soiled liederhaussen.

Cliche = Truth= Best Day of My Life

Luckily our photographers made us appear highly attractive....

Because although we are genuinely happy....

We are also genuinely special....

and highly awesome.

This is just a SA-WEET picture.

Chuck Taylor = Best Man

My dress made me a babe, and well....he was my James Bond even before the bow tie.

THEY'RE HUGE!

Do you think anyone will notice if I casually stick my finger up your nose?

wind + lip gloss = hair stuck to mouth

I got your back babe

Now I got your back so much that my face is on it

My flowers smell looooovelyyyy, as well as look incredible

This is our most graceful dip-kiss yet. Yesssssssss.

He makes me laugh. I love it. Life is good.

Okay. Let's be honest. He is so attractive that it hurts. You know it does. I need an aspirin too.

"Goooood day Sunshine!"

We've got a long, wonderful way to go.
Not a bad view either. Wink.

So, About that shiny thing....

Yeah, well. The shiny thing found me. Me, lonely me, standing there in my vertical line mourning the loss of my nice circle. And then, the shiny thing, get this, flew back my direction and smacked me right in the face. Rude huh? I kind of left a big dent in my skull, but I have embraced the dent. That's right. I am happy to be getting married forever to Chesley Eugene Lewis. Here are some lovely pictures.
Awwww. Look at the sound of music shot. Just previously we had been singing about the live hills, and throwing Chesley's brother Tanner over cliffs. It was a good day.

I was being very upset in this picture because he had taken me from my family to "go to a ReAL Salt Lake game" Pfff. Well, the game wasn't until the next day. We showed up to an empty stadium. Smooooth.


This picture is from when we took a trip to Portland to visit his mission. We got to swim in public water fountains, which was basically one of my dreams. So it was one of those Walk to Rememeber kind of moments. Although I didn't get to pull my shirt over my shoulder, and have him put on a sticky butterfly tattoo. Dang. I should have thought of that.

The Shiny Thing

You know, I am in a very interesting stage in my life. I know being a college student is really kind of weird for everyone because you don't really belong at home anymore, but you know you aren't going to be at school in that drab apartment forever either. So where do I really belong right now? What is my identity? I have found my home away from home in my friends. I don't care what anyone else says I DO happen to have the best best friends in the world. I have made a set of siblings in Mark Sam and Jenelyn who, weirdly enough, are getting married to each other soon. Good things they aren't like siblings to each other :) When I found out that they were getting married (and I've known for a while. Secrets are HARD) something dawned on me. There go my last two very best friends in the whole world off into married land where singles cannot follow. Drat. Every single (no pun intended) one of the four girls that I felt closest to as friend in the last two years will have all bitten the dust within nine months. I know this is beginning to sounds like I am not happy for them. That is not the case! They have found incredible young men! Coli, Michelle, and Moe, I'm a little partial to Mark Sam because he is my brother, so I think Jenelyn is the luckiest, but you all did very well too! :D Coli, you can just see how much Scott adores you when you two are in a room together. Michelle, I love watching you and Jason laugh together. Moe, you and Paul were pretty much matched in heaven. The internet can do good things :) Jenelyn, take good care of my big brother please. I think he likes you. ANYWAY.....I love every single one of these people. Then why can't I shake the feeling of being left behind? It is like I was standing in a happy circle living and laughing with these eight people, and then they all saw something shiny at the same time, and I didn't see it, so they all ran away at the exact same time to catch the shiny thing, and then I was the only one still standing in the circle....except it wasn't a circle anymore. Just me. A vertical line instead of a circle. By myself. All of my friends chasing the shiny thing. I wouldn't want to hold them back from the shiny thing for a second, but....all at once...? I think it is probably the doing of the Big Man Upstairs, which means I HAVE to be okay with it....He probably thinks it's funny. Teaching me patience or something. I don't even want to get married this very second, but do I have to be left alone?! Well, the answer is clearly......There is no clear answer!
Okay. Phew. I'm done getting my selfish rant out. I feel better. You four girls are incredible! I am so glad that you found worthy men! Now you have to help me find one! Kapish? :D
Peace Out

Ultimate quote of the Day

Karlie: "There are PLENTY of red balls...."
weird silence as little brothers continue to put tinsel on the tree
Shane: "That sounds funny....ornaments. Red ORNAMENTS..."
PAH HA!

A date with the stuff that comes out of the end......

Below is told a very sad story....except its not so much sad as it is HILARIOUS! You should all probably wish that this would happen to you....(Dialogue is not exact. I dont have THAT good of a memory)

Once upon a time there was a very nice boy named Jon. The very nice boy named Jon asked a girl named Karlie Jean out on a date. "What shall we do for our date?" she asked. "Well I heard you like swinging," he replied, "Why don't we do that?" And so they did. When they got to the park they swang and they talked,but they soon realized a person can only swing for so long before it loses it's thrill, so they decided to go play on the playground. While they were jumping and frolicking on the playground equipment all of a sudden Jon says, "You know what I've never done?" "What?" asks Karlie with great curiosity. "I have never gone down a slide at night time before!" "Well," replied Karlie," Today is your lucky day because you have several here to choose from" So he chose the tube slide and away they went. Well Jon went down first, and Karlie Jean followed after him. When she reached about half way down she noticed a dark streak of something in the middle of the slide. She thought it was mud so she avoided it as best she could. When they reached the bottom of the slide she felt Jon should know about the dark streak, so she non-chalantly said, "Jon, you might want to check the back of your pants. I noticed something in the slide when we were on our way down." He gave her a curious look and then reached his hand back behind him. What he found there would scar both of them forever.
"There is something there. It's squishy" He pulled his hand forward to examine what residue had been placed there from off of his now soiled behind. He just stared at it for a moment. Then he slowly lifted his hand to his nose and took a slight whiff. And then he said words that changed our lives...okay maybe just our night...forever. "It's poop. And it doesn't smell like animal poop." There was human poop smeared all down the back of his leg. Now, as the narrator of this tale I failed to mention that Jon was a recently returned missionary, and had not yet quite adjusted fully to dating life. He simply stood there with a mortified look on his face. Karlie Jean could not help herself. She was overtaken with laughter. She was so overtaken with laughter that she was pretty much rolling on the ground because of it. They used the flash of the camera of the other couple that was with them (good old Mark Sam and Jenelyn) to find out all of the damage that was really done. Luckily the damage to Karlie's pants were minimal, and she had managed not to get any on her jacket. They sat on an old jumpsuit on the way home, and had the windows all the way down. It was freezing. Poor Jon washed his hands about six times and couldn't get rid of the smell. So, he sprayed some cologne on his hand and they went out for Asian slushies.
The date was deemed a once in a lifetime success!