Lame Title Because Blogger Doesn't Recognize the Humor in Tech-Talk

I can't help it. I'm like a proud mother who totes her daughter to all the local pageant shows and makes her cook souffles on stage. Me and Elizabeth just finished a page of the web version of Inscape.

The rest of the publication is still in editing and the published version isn't done yet but I was too impressed with our understanding of techy ways. I knew software testing was going to come in handy at some point! Check out all my majesty on this page.

And stay tuned for the day when I can link to my book review published in the same edition!

Geek Alert

I realize that this puts me at like Geek-Factor 10 (Geektor 10) but I was too EXCOITED to let this pass. Last winter I took a SF&F writing class (SciFi & Fantasy for anyone below Geektor 3(and coincidentally the best writing class I've taken thus far)) and it was taught by author Brandon Sanderson. He's published four novels now, (plus one that's available for free!) and he's got deals for several more. Now here's where it gets good. He was just offered the job the finish the final book in the Wheel of Time series!

Again, I realize that to anyone below Geektor 3 this is pretty much meaningless. The Wheel of Time series was written by major fantasy author Robert Jordan who died on September 16th while finishing up the last novel in the 12 book series. These. Are. HUGE. The last four books in the series were all New York Times #1 Bestsellers and the fact that Sanderson was asked to finish the novel has me freaking out even though I've never even read any of the series!

Maybe it's more like Geektor 12.

Should I Be Pleased or Offended?

Don't feel too bad Haras. At least people know who your famous-leader-alternate-personality is.

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

By the way have I told you about this revolutionary new fabric? It's totally going to save the planet.

When Bed Head Attacks

There are several exciting things about having short hair: it never blows in your face and gets stuck in your freshly applied lip gloss; messy is considered a style; you can get it in a Mohawk like Ferris; and best of all, you never know what amazing feat of acrobatics your hair is going to do each morning. I know some of you have been waiting awhile for this so let me present you with my favorites from several weeks of research. And yes, I cropped my face out of all the pictures. I'm willing to show off my morning hair to the virtual world but that's about it.


I think the Alfalfa like tweak in the back gives me an air of sophistication, while the Dairy Queen curl on the left leaves one feeling frosty and delicious.


It's common for birds to have their wings clipped in captivity. But behold the rare beauty of the Blond Bed Head Bird. Here in it's natural habitat it stretches it's wings in a bizarre mating call.


I like to call this my rhino look. Note the way the light shine through the upper most chunk of hair illuminating it like a halo of glory.


Most people believe that Utah has some of the best skiing in the world. That's only because they're too chicken to attempt the treachery of the Bed Head Slope of Terror. And is that a loop-da-
loop I see in the back?



I'm sorry there's not more. The other thing about short hair is that it grows out quickly leaving you with nothing more interesting in the morning than a head of generic bed head hair.

I just saw the most awesome thing that blew my mind on my way to work this morning. A tow truck (right? you with me so far?) towing a TOW TRUCK. I don't know what that's a sign for exactly but I'm sure it has something to do with the fifth dimension and parallel universes. And probably also the space time continuum.

The Seagull

Caution: the laugh factor (laughactor) of this post is virtually zero and it will most likely be interesting to no one but myself. This is instead an opportunity for me to have an English geek-out moment in a forum where I can't be interrupted. Consider yourselves warned. Also, it's long.

Tonight, being Thursday, Ylime and I had our traditional Thursday Therapy. Although admittedly we haven't honored the tradition in several years, it was apparent by our catalogue of homework we should be doing that some therapy was long overdo. In an effort to embark on a journey of artistic discovery, and also to entertain us for a couple of hours, we went to a BYU production of The Seagull by Anton Chekhov.

When I tell you that I have a deep partiality to Russian literature those readers who don't know me very well shouldn't feel left out. Most of the people who DO know me don't realize that either. But as Joni Mitchell is to Emma Thompson in Love Actually, so is Dostoevsky to my cold, English, heart. (or American. Whatever.)

First off, the play was amazing. Emily asked me what I liked about it so much and the only qualified response I can give is that hours later, I'm still stewing over it. Aside from the production being all-around awesome, there was one point the director brought up that still has me thinking.

After the final scene the director asked a question of the audience: is the play was a comedy or tragedy? After immediately rejecting the notion that it had to be labeled as one or the other I began thinking on what it would mean to be both a comedy and a tragedy, and whether the two are really so different after all.

Throughout the play there are moments of heart wrenching sadness, as well as giddy humor. (It has to be noted that a large portion of the humor depends on the enactment of the play, as one audience member recalled seeing an earlier showing completely devoid of laughs.) When I began to contrast these two virtues it occurred to me that each element was completely dependent on the other. In other words I decided that it was impossible to have a true tragedy without comedy and vise verse.

I'm not talking about tragedies like Oedipus Rex or Braveheart where you begin to wonder if the only aim of the film is to rip you heart out and leave it still beating on the living room carpet. What I'm talking about is something much more subtle. When the humor and normality of the events allow the audience to become a part of story (something drastically enhanced by this production in an arena theater) there's a lightheartedness that persuades you that nothing terrible is going to happen. So when you see a main character show up haggard and only half coherent you do not mourn because it's as if her misfortunes have happened to you. You mourn because you remember the funny way that she used to bounce around and the light in her eyes when she mused about art and theater. The pain is much more acute. It's directly related to an experience we may never have, but the dramatic effect it has on the characters is something we come to understand very well.

The Seagull will break your heart. But the impact will be much more lasting when it's contrasted with the small comedic moments of pure delight.

P.S. If I know you, and you're on the production crew, and I didn't loudly say your name and wave hello during intermission don't feel bad. I'm just awkward like that.

Things I've always Known But Never Realized Until This Week.

1. I enjoy long, muddled blog titles.

2. I use the sound of my roommate clomping around on the floor above me as a second alarm when I've hit snooze too many times.

3. Sometimes I stretch so hard that I vomit in my mouth a little.

4. It's ok. I don't have to choose. I can love Mac and Charlie equally for their individual "charm." Sorry Dennis, you just skeeve me out.

5. Few things in this world make me happier or more upbeat than listening to the guitar riffs at the end of Free Bird at full blast on my ride home from work.

6. According to dictionary.com, the penultimate source of proper English diction, "stupider" IS a word although it renders it's user more so by saying it.

7. Double-bagel Monday only SOUNDS like a good idea.

8. With the exception of Haras, and sometimes even then, what I generally find most funny is not the punchline. Any guesses at exactly which line made me laugh so hard I watched it 12 times over?

9. Two words. Four syllables: James. McAvoy.

10. No matter how hard we try most Americans will never be as funny as the average Brit trying to reach Leonardo DiCaprio.

11. I enjoy writing "list" blogs because transitions are the bane of my existence.

Tagged For Life

I have been tagged and must share 6 facts/habits about myself (6 for each time you are tagged by someone). Then I too must tag someone(or as many people as I wish) and leave a comment on their blog to notify them, and then they get to leave info about themselves and proceed to tag someone else.

First of all I want to give a shout-out of thanks to Bone Junior for tagging me and making me blog on a day of such monumental boredom that anyone who reads this will likely slip into what I like to call a light-to no-coma. Equivalent to a short nap.

Fact #1 The one redeeming thing at work today is that I get to run a test that requires me to use a command prompt and therefore makes me feel smart and computery. Even though I only know how to do the one command "put out.xml"

Fact #2 The command prompt also has a double effect of making me feel like it's 1993 and since that would make me only 10 I giggle to myself every time I type the phrase "put out."

Fact #3 I have sent a Transformers phone message to all of my coworkers informing them that our boss has joined with the enemy Decepticons and now goes by the name Bonecrusher.

Fact #4 So far not a single person has mentioned it.

Fact #5 Every time I see this picture of my nephew in his gorilla costume my heart skips a beat.

Fact #6 The last time my hair stylist asked if I was dating someone I lied and said yes, then proceeded to explain the intricacies of my complicated relationship.

That is all for now. Nicole and Irak, consider yourselves tagged.

I'm Famous! Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Bowling For Soup

For the 50 of you that I called at the last minute to go to the Bowling for Soup concert and meet & greet, here is proof of the awesome time that you missed. Due to an oversight I had no camera with me, and had only the back of my ticket to be signed by the band. Being ALONE in a tiny, confused group of 10 (or I guess 11) standing ALONE in line to meet the band, then approaching them to say hello BY MYSELF, and also being the ONLY PERSON not requesting a picture with them, it was an all around fun experience.

Some times you need to just buck up and deal with the fact that if you're ever going to get your picture taken with the Seattle fire fighters, you're going to have to go to the calendar release party by yourself. Since I had no camera with me I've been anxious for 107.9 themix to post the pictures I saw them feverishly snapping during the meet&greet. And in case any of you doubted the fact that I DID attend I offer you this proof.

Here I am at the meet&greet right after I met the band.

Oh wait. What's that? You say that the cute girl in the striped shirt looks nothing like me and I should stop trying to cover the fact that I chickened out? You say you can't see me? How about now?

I think you can tell by my expression the magnitude of the moment. If this doesn't prove my close association with the band I don't know WHAT will.

Baby Got Back

Today I unlocked a door with my butt. It was quite accidental, as most back-end phenomenon are. I almost thought it was a fluke but repeated bumpings proved that my wide-load has a knack for it. All afternoon I've been trying to think of a practical use for my newly discovered talent. Maybe I could become a locksmith.

Or a buttocksmith.

Not to be confused with a Botoxsmith who simply stops your locks from functioning in any natural way. But they sure look nice after. No judgement.

My lady hump has other talents too. It's really good at turning on the stove. Unless the pilot light is out, then things get a little heated.

Unlocking doors and turing on stoves. Maybe my bon-bon should open a bed and breakfast. The Cozy Caboose? Definite marketing potential.

The only qualm I have is my that aparently my booty is claustrophobic. I can hardly walk through a door with out slamming into the doorknob and catching it in my pocket. It sure does have good aim though, nearly half my pants have gaping holes now. Maybe I could be a pitcher for the Yankees.

They could call me The Great Bum-bino.

It Runs in the Family

There's an old joke in our family about my grandmother getting lost in her own bedroom. Unfortunately it's not an exaggeration. She got up in the middle of the night, got turned around in the dark and couldn't find her way out of the corner. Yes, she eventually found her way back to the bed. And yes, we all tease her about it now.

While several character traits have been passed down through the women in our family (my mother and grandmother often purchase the exact same sweater although they're states apart) I was hoping that this one would pass me by. I've already resigned myself to constantly finding chunks of food stuck to my shirt, thanks Grandma, but as of yet I've had no indication that I might someday get lost inside my own house. Then I recieved this email.

Late last night when I couldn't sleep I went downstairs to watch tv for awhile. Going back upstairs there were no lights on but I've lived here a long time and know my way. I was sleeping in the other room since Dad is comming down with a cold, and as I got upstairs I could hear him snoring. I turned into my room to get in bed but I bumped into something that made a jangling noise, I couldn't figure out what it was and I couldn't find the bed, the door, or the lightswitch!! After several minutes of total confusion I realized I was in the wrong bedroom. So beware, you can get lost in your own house and it does run in the family!

Love you,
mom

This is what I have to look forward to. Next thing I know I'll be sitting on little boys in the movie theater.

Fashion Insider 2004

Janay is a black barbie doll.

The force is strong with this one

It happened again. I was psychic again.

ELISABETH*:

Hey can you fix my computer? I’m too inexperienced and generally not-as-smart as you are to understand how to work with email.

JANAY:
Don’t worry about it. It’s what I do.

JANAY moves like a ninja to the adjacent cubicle, lithely slipping into the welcoming office chair and reclining at a comfortable 45 degree angle. Her fingers tap decisively on the black, Dell keyboard.

JANAY:
I think I DejaVu’d this very scenario.

JANAY emphasizes the word “DejaVu’d” as if to say “notice my witty ability to verb nouns that you would never use in normal conversation.”

ELISABETH:
What do you mean? Remember, I am generally not-as-smart as you are and am confused by your witty ability to verb nouns.

Pause

JANAY:
I saw this before. I come over to fix your computer and while I was working on it you figure it out. It turns out to be some stupid little thing.

Longer Pause**

ELISABETH:
Did I log in as the right user?

Frantically JANAY closes and restarts the email program that is the bane of all QA-testers, the hellish demon known as Lotus Notes. ELISABETH’S suspicions are confirmed as the user name field is pre-filled with the previous user. A wide smile appears on ELISABETH’S face and she slowly lifts her hand to cover her gaping mouth.

ELISABETH:
That’s the freakiest thing I’ve ever seen.

JANAY:
My work here is done. Feel free to come back to me for all your psychic computer needs.

End Scene

By the way I have a magic 8 ball that I OBVIOUSLY don’t need anymore if anyone wants it.

* Some Z’s may have been replaced with S’s to protect the innocent.
** Pauses may have been elongated for dramatic effect.

Book Club: New Moon

Two days later, and another book done. This time I decided to stretch the fun out for an extra day, and somehow managed to get to bed before the sun peaked out from behind the mountains. While it seems unlikely, the second book in the Twilight trilogy is possibly better than the first. What could possibly be better than an impromptu relationship with an Adonis like vampire? Unrequited love, cliff diving, and werewolves. That's what. (No spoilers intended; any keen reader should pick these up from clues in the first novel, as well as the title of the second.)

Whatever action elements were missing from Twilight Meyer more than makes up for in the second installment, New Moon. This time the focus is shifted from the perfection of Edward, and Bella's insecurities, and instead follows Bella's attempts to avoid a complete mental breakdown after her life takes some unexpected twists. We get to know Bella's family friend Jacob Black much better, and although he can't compare with Edward's down right perfection, his earthy, boyish nature will make many of the female readers waver in their loyalty.

With Bella's world turned around the dour mood of the second novel puts real perspective on her situation and it is here that the genius of writing in the first person shines through. Changing the rules with any established myth can be an dangerous and potentially cliche thing to attempt, but seeing this new world through Bella's eyes allows us to accept her occasional skepticism and surprise without question. It is much easier to believe what Bella thinks, rather than what we would think, and thus we gladly surrender ourselves.

Although the end comes abruptly (there is a preview chapter of book three at the end, giving false hope of another twenty pages) the best part of New Moon is the scenario set up for future novels. With Eclipse coming out August 7th and the fourth slated for September 2008 I'm excited to have another YA series to look forward to.

New Moon by Stephanie Meyer
Genre: Urban Fantasy (YA)

Good if you're looking for: something to distract you from the fact that there will be no more Harry Potter books

Effort to Enjoy: 2 (out of 5)

Book Club: Twilight

After an accidental reading-enthusiast explosion of book recommendations on an unsuspecting friend I've decided to spare the innocent bystanders and you to my reading whims instead. Welcome to the Subtle Book Club!

I know what you're expecting to review. But no, I'm not going to. I figure you're still going to read Harry Potter 7 even if I tell you that in the end Harry di. . . just kidding. I'm not that cruel. Instead I'm going to tell you about my AFTER HP book.

It's Twilight by Stephenie Meyer and I've been hearing about it for MONTHS. First we talked about it ENDLESSLY in my SciFi writing class (I know.) THEN Stephenie was on numerous panels at the fantasy convention (I said I KNOW) and on top of all that no less than 5 people have recommended it to me, one of them even enticing me with the fact that in her acknowledgments she thanks one of my favorite bands.

I finally got around to starting the book last night . . . and then I finished it last night. The story is about a 16 year old girl who moves Washington to live with her Dad, and starts spending time with a strange classmate. Ok. I'll let the cat out of the bag. He's a vampire. (The inside flap of the book confirms it.) But ladies don't let that put you off! In fact, this is probably better classified as a Urban-Fantasy-Romance. Yes, it has vampires. No, it won't keep you up at night chewing on garlic bread.

While the plot itself might be a bit simplistic Meyers does an excellent job making sure that you are interested in what really matters: the relationship between Bella and Edward. Although mildly concerned about the whole vampire issue, the complexities that it brings to their relationship is what is really intriguing. I've heard from several guys that they find the main male character extremely shallow, but that doesn't seem to stop all the girls from swooning and giggling as they read

Long story short, if you like Harry Potter, Dracula, and any books with characters named LaMaster Scott Gange then you'll love this book.

Twilight by Stephanie Meyer
Genre: Urban Fantasy (YA)
Good if you're looking for: something light that will grip, and entertain, and make you wish you had gorgeous vampires at YOUR school.
Effort to Enjoy: 2 (out of 5)

For The Love Of Beef

I'm aware that I have an unusual taste in guys. My friends have never understood why I didn't join in their reveling over Brad Pitt until they learned that it was because I would rather watch Rick Moranis. When I dreamt that Johnny Depp and Phil Hartman were both hitting on me, I was really excited about Phil Hartman. And do I really need to mention that my first celebrity crush was on Steve Gutenberg? (And not even the Goot from Police Academy. It was the Goot from Three Men and A Baby. I KNOW.)

I'm aware that by posting this I'm setting myself up for severe ridicule. But I have no fear. Why? Because I love Shia LaBeouf and I'm proud to say it. I've loved him since he was the awkward tween-ager in Even Stevens, and now that he's officially old enough to drink I'm formulating my plans to get him hammered so I can put him in my lunch box and trade him with my friends. (That's right Haras. I used your line in reference to Shia, so DEAL.) Currently there are THREE movies in the theaters boasting Shia's name on the marquee:

Transformers

Disturbia

and Surf's Up.

For my money it's all about Disturbia. Although he's amazing, the sterile CGI of Transformers kind of turned me off, and even with his cute voice, seeing him in penguin form isn't quite the same.

I know that not everyone will truly comprehend how hot Shia has gotten. Case and point my conversation with Ylime after seeing Disturbia the first time. (That's right! Three times in one week.)

Me: He is just SO cute I can't even handle it!
Ylime: Yeah. He's pretty cute I guess. But he has kind of a big nose . . . (trails off not wanting to crush my dreams with her insightful revelation.)
Me: I KNOW! That's why he's so cute! It just makes me love him even more!
Ylime: Hmmmm. That would make me love him less . . .

So for those of you unfamiliar with his history, (aren't you ashamed!) let's take a trip into the past, and explore the beginnings of who is, without question, my current celebrity crush . . . for this month at least.

After proving himself in Even Stevens, the Disney Chanel decided to give Shia another leg up and put him in the starring role in Holes. It was a proud day for us all. The white-fro was endearing as could be, and watching him teach Zero to read? Kill me now.











Despite Keanu's bad coughing fits (Constantine), and Will's BA-attitude (I Robot), Shia rose to the admirable role of side-kick in both flicks, and made us all wish that we were a fallen angel, or a rouge cop against an army of robots just so we could have witty banter with Shia.






Next came The Greatest Game Ever Played. As far as sports drama's go you wouldn't expect golf to hold your attention much. And what guy WOULDN'T look cute in traditional 1913 fashion. One word: knickers.




Now even though I've only seen bits and Pieces of A Guide To Recognizing Your Saints, the promise of an angst-filled, continually sweaty, school-uniform wearing Shia is enough to make me (insert sexual euphemism here). And his shoulders. HIS SHOULDERS!

"Still, what can’t this talented actor do? He’s able to project innocence that changes to anger in the blink of an eye; he can break our hearts with looks of longing or despair; and his amusing physicality in comic scenes is most impressive. I can’t wait to see what he’s like in five or ten years. Watch your backs, Johnny Depp and Tom Hanks. "

Need I say more?

Call me Cleo

Three years ago I slipped into a physic vortex, as I am rapidly learning. What I'm about to tell you is neither fact nor fiction, for all is but illusion when it comes to the divining arts.

Last night I went shopping with Nicole. Upon the request of Haras we looked for, and found a pair of jeans for her. Any one of the female persuasion reading this will know that buying jeans is far from an exact science. Size is nothing but an arbitrary number in the world of denim, and often the ratio of hips-to-thighs fabric leaves you looking like a beluga whale in a panty hose. (Bad metaphor courtesy of Haras) So, needless to say, I was a little concerned with picking out the right size and color. To my amazement when we got home Haras slipped the prized jeans on (they were only $12!) and they fit like a glove that was made out of denim and fashioned for the lower half of you body. They were neither too big (which would imply that I thought we was larger than she is) nor too small (which would imply that she was bigger than I thought she SHOULD be) (that's what we like to call a Lose-Lose-LOSE situation)

But amidst my personal triumph something slowly began to dawn on me. "This has . . . happened . . . before . . ." I slowly stammered out; quiet enough that my com padres couldn't here me over their own elation. "OH MY GOSH!" I shouted. They both turned and looked at me expectantly. I could see the terror in Sarah's eyes as she searched the floor for the most likely (in her mind) cause of my outburst. But the lurking spiders would live one more night in peace, for what I was about to say trumped them all.

"I dreamt this EXACT thing."

Silence.

I could tell that they were impressed; their blank stares revealing the astonishment that I had known would overpower them. But something was wrong. The stares continued for much longer than they should, they couldn't really be this dense could they?

"I don't think you understand," I continued. "Three years ago I had a dream that for some reason I was buying you jeans, and I was really concerned about getting the right fit and color and everything . . . " A small flicker of recognition showed in their faces and I saw my opportunity to pounce.

"Nicole, you remember! Forever ago when I told you I had a dream that I was on a date with Daryl from home and then two years later I WAS!" Pause for dramatic effect. "IN THE SAME CAR!" More drama. "AT THE SAME INTERSECTION!"

I still couldn't be sure if they grasped what I was telling them, but gradually their countenances changed. By the looks on their faces they were either contemplating the sheer magnitude of what I'd said, or how high the set of costs would be for a small, in home, psychic parlor.

Sarah's final comment summed up what I had suspected all along. "If you ever have a dream about, say, who I'm going to marry . . . be sure and tell me about it."

My response? "Give me a quarter, I read your palm."

Today's Obsession

All right. All right. It's been awhile. ALL RIGHT. I get it. No one even bothers to check anymore because the chances that there will be something new is like . . . less than the number of people who've checked my blog in the last couple weeks. Pretty soon my previous posts are going to be sucked in the black hole created by the lack of interest in my blog. Soaring through wormholes and reappearing out of some vortex they'll appear on the other side of space. I'm not a SciFi nerd. (I like to say quark.)

"So what," you ask mundanely "have you been doing with your ridiculous amount of free time at work?"
"Well," I respond, ignoring the impulse to make a stupid joke about your futile attempt at humour via the juxtaposition of "free time" and "at work", thereby earning your respect and admiration for my superior understanding of social cliche's, "I write a lot of run on sentences."

After much more banter, and several more hilarious and witty retorts by my self, and a few blundered jokes by you, you finally lose your patience and demand to know what I did all day at work, because you KNOW I wasn't working the whole time.

The answer is this my friends. I've discovered a new blog. www.mindyephron.blogspot.com


If any of you are fans of The Office (please say yes!) you'll recognize Mindy as "Kelly" the bimbo-blond-Indian girl who loves pink the color, Pink the person, and basically anything that is awesome. And that's what her blog is. (Awesome, not pink) It's titled "Thing's I've Bought That I Love" and love them she does.

Besides being filled with amazing beauty products (and other stuff) that makes you want to run to the nearest mall, she's also surprisingly funny in that way that professional comedy writers sometimes are. So far my favorite discovery via Mindy is ecreamery.com where you create your own custom ice cream. I created The Pink Panther which is Anise and Black Cherry gelatto with dark chocolate chips. I have no idea if it'll be any good but it sure sounds tempting!

Anyway that's all. Now I'm bored again and I've already read through all the archives . . . on to the next.

Price: $0. It's free!
Cost: By the time I've bought all the stuff I desperately need but didn't know existed before . . . much more than my average paycheck. I think I've got my Christmas list filled out.

The Gals Go Commando (it's not what you think)

Last night we played fugitive (aka commando) with our FHE group. Typically I stage my own personal commando mission to avoid playing these kind of games with a group of my peers. Why you ask? Let me refer you to the time I played capture the flag with the singles branch, and after 20 minutes of not seeing anyone (I'm that committed) I ventured out in the open only to discover that the game had ended. The teams had switched sides. I was now in enemy territory. And no one bothered to tell me.

After that I decided to sit the next 3-4 years out.

Yesterday my prepared excuse was the usual too much homework; I just don't have time; I don't want to go into cardiac arrest while sprinting for the first time since puberty; etc. etc. But riddle me this: If your roommate had offered to dress in a full batman costume (complete with billowing cape and utility belt) would YOU have missed it?

I didn't think so. And while I may not be willing to be the girl dressed as Batman, I'm more than willing to be the friend of the girl dressed as Batman.

That part of the plan went of without a hitch. Unless you call HeWeDoNotSpeakOf returning to his former glory by approaching-the-person-next-to-me-and-talking-animatedly-with-them-without-ever-acknowledging-my-presence-even-though-I-make-witty-comments-worthy-of-at-least-a-courtesy-laugh a hitch.

Personally, I do not.

When our fearless leader first yelled "GO" I thought that Haras had managed to tap into some previously unknown bat-resource as she nimbly maneuvered through the brush, skittered along the fence and in one bat-tastic flash disappeared behind a mound of dirt and gravel. Let me just say here that my gracefulness and dexterity hasn't been in such form since the Preference debacle of '02.

When I finally caught up with her, wheezing and panting, she had already devised our next attack move. Ylime was to be our time keeper (we were told we had an hour) Sarah was the brains, and I was. . . well . . . I think my main contribution was sheer comic relief. There's nothing like a good laugh when you're lying prostrate on some poor old lady's front porch.

Several times during the night I found myself literally "face down in the dirt" and I said "this doesn't hurt" but after about fifty face-first dives into the ditch . . . of destruction. . . (alliteration is my friend) I said "I've finally had enough" and I ambled along the rest of the journey, keeping a distance of at least twenty paces so my cohorts wouldn't see me secretly pleading for a flash flood to wash me away.

The rest of our adventure was a blur of pricker bushes, barbed wire, army rolls, and drops from an 8 foot wall. In the end, no, we were not caught.

Yes, we finished.

Yes, we were the last ones to arrive.

No, the rest of our group was not waiting to welcome us with cheers and high-five's.

Because, yes, they had all finished at least half and hour earlier and wondered if we had been eaten by hyena's because we wouldn't answer our phones out of fear that it was all a ploy to
force us into the open.

Yes, we come to play.

No, we were not happy to be walking home in victory.

Yes, we were glad to accept a ride for the last block before our house.

And yes, I am officially on sabbatical from anything classified as a "night game".

The Lost Art of News Radio

I wish I could write scenes this funny. But until then I'll just have to rip them off from old TV shows.

Dave Strikes Back: Part Deux

Hey, sorry I just sent you an email accidentally. Luckily it was only filled with frivolous and embarrassing things that I had only intended for close friends who have to like me anyway. Feel free to ignore it. Or print it out and post it around the ward to further my growing popularity. Either way, sorry for the bother!
Janay
PS Dave would think this was funny. (Anyone? Anyone? No? OK.)

You were right that I would think it was funny. Still, probably the
funniest thing is where you got this email address from! Granted, I
have five or six email addresses, but I'm wondering how you got this
one...ummm...just figured it out. It was from those mass emails that I
always send out to the Ward (Thanks to the Bishop). Apparently the case
is solv-ed.

Still, I might add that sending emails is only one way to garner
popularity. I'd recommend making flyers and then distributing them to
the neighborhood (that's always worked best for me).

--Dave


You wrote that entire first paragraph just so you could use 'solv-ed' didn't you? I can relate. For instance I intend to include several big words in this email just to prove that I actually CAN spell. *Defenestrate* Also, I tried the flier thing once but I kept getting phone calls from people saying they had found my dog. *Pandemonium* I realized that until I can learn to draw better stick-figures, I should stay away from posting self portraits. *Verbose* I don't really have anything left to say on the subject, I just need another sentence break before I can insert another large word. *Extemporaneous*
Janay
PS *Eschew*

Dave Strikes Back!

This is what happens when you become too cavalier in your email sending rituals; you end up accidentally sending an email full of inane questions and misspelled answers to the roommate of the brick wall you've been flirting at. This is that email. In toe-toe. I hope you are pained as much as I was. Why am I so awkward???

Dear everyone,
I sorry. I hate these too. But I'm bored. And therefore you must be bored too.
> > > 1. FIRST NAME? Janay (nay)
> > 2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? Yeah, everyone who was born before me. (Duh.)
> 3.WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? During The Queen, when the little girl gives the Queen the flowers and says "these are for you" *sniff*
> > 4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Sick.
> > 5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? Thick slices of turkey
> > 6. KIDS? Yeah, I like kids too, but not as much as turkey.
> > 7. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? If I was another person yes. If I were me trying to be friends with myself? I'd have better luck invading Poland.
> > 8. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? I prefer to refer to it as a collection of 'memoirs' so that when my great-great-great-great grand daughter finds it, she'll think I was important enough to write 'memoirs'
> > 9. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? Never. It's the language of the devil.> > 10.DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes. I keep them in my sock drawer. Right next to my trapezius
> > 11.WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? Only if it was into a tub of chocolate pudding.> > 12. WHAT IS YOU FAVORITE CEREAL? Fruity Pebbles> > 13. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? Never. I just wear them until they are dirty enough to chisle off.
> > 14. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Strong enough for a man. PH balanced for a woman.
> 15.WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Peppermint and bubble gum have to duke it out.
> > 16.SHOE SIZE? No. I don't believe in labels.
> > 17. RED OR PINK? Rink.
> > 18. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? That I seem to be incapable of making whip cream in the state of UT. (Oh, and that I live in UT)
> > 19. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? Bruno Kirby (You made a woman meow?)
> > 20.DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? Not really. I'm too lazy and conceited to read everyone's responses.
> > 21. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Very pale. Practically white. Almost see through. I'm a nudist.
> > 22. LAST THING YOU ATE? Shavings of plastic that I gnawed of the end of my pen.
> > 23. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? The sound of my brain atrophying. And Jimmy Eat World. (The two are unrelated)
> > 24. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Green. But like a cool green that all the other crayons would think was really witty and original.
> > 25. FAVORITE SMELL? The freezer
> 26. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? A Mary-Kay peddler.
> > 27. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO? Hair. Usually the kind on their head. (What were you thinking?)
> > 28. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? I suppose, although I have NO idea why we're friends. She watches Lifetime Television for Women for goodness sake!
> > 29. FAVORITE DRINK? Rasperry Chrystal Lite
> > 30. FAVORITE SPORT? Adverse weather badmintton.
> 31. EYE COLOR? Like the sea after a storm. (Blue.)
> > 32. HAT SIZE? See 'shoe size'.
> > 33. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? 24-7
> > 34. FAVORITE FOOD? Watermelon
> > 35. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? How about happy movies with scary endings? > > 36. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED AT THE MOVIES? Music and Lyrics (I know I know. But Hugh Grant makes such a cute 80's pop icon!)
> > 37. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Brown. I gave up on nudism around #27.
> > 38. SUMMER OR WINTER? Autmn.
> > 39. HUGS OR KISSES? Both. AT THE SAME TIME. (I like to live on the edge)
> 40. FAVORITE DESSERT? See #15. Does the phrase 'mind numbingly redundant' mean anything to you?
> > 41. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Any one who doesn't have someone to talk to. Or only has someone real dumb to talk to.
> > 42. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? Life of Pi. Absalom Absalom. To Kill A Mockingbird. I would add a fourth but I need my left foot to turn the pages.
> > 43. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND? Any one who has a raging crush on my and wants to confess their undying love. (Really, don't let the nudist comment sway you.)
> > 44. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? RED DWARF kcts television
> > 45. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? Little Miss Sunshine, and A Scanner Darkly (both via the DVD player of course)
> > 47. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? I prefer ROLLING STONES at BEATTLES. That way they gather no moss and take care of those pesky beetles!
> > 48. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? UK (that's the United Kingdom, not a phonetic 'yuck')
> > 49. WHAT IS YOUR PRESENT OCCUPATION? I play with software and say to myself "I must break you."
> > 50. WHERE WERE YOU BORN? That's a bit personal don't you think?


Dave will think this is funny.

I Dislike Dirt Under the Fingernails

In the case that you can't read this amazing feat of geeky-organization, click here.

My initial response to discovering such a treasure trove of geek-dom was that of pure elation. I only qualify for the second tier of geekiness! (Not speaking Klingon has really paid off this time! jiH par butih!) But then I began to take a closer look at my discovery.

Although the knowledge that I will never purchase a replica fantasy sword (Sorry Eragon) brings me great relief emotionally (not to mention socially) I still feel a bit uncomfortable with geek-science as a whole.

Besides the fact that this higherarchy makes no allowances for fans of British Television (where do all the Dwarfers belong?) my qualm is this: while we might enjoy pointing a finger at the lower-tier-members and saying "well at least I don't do THAT" I think it's time we step away from the stereotypes that anyone dressed up as Darth Vader at a convention will most likely never conceive children.

Case and point? Allow me to share a story told by my Fantasy Writing Professor. (And yes, I'm in a fantasy writing class. And no, my class mates did not find it funny when I suggested that the name for my fictional city be Xanadu. Thank you Haras.)

A man I talked to last month at church claimed that calling people nerds was a threat to national security. He said that by insulting engineers and mathematicians, we are driving people away from those professions, and therefore making the United States have a more poor crop of people who can grow up to keep us on the cutting edge of technology, letting other nations get better at it than we are. Interesting theory, one that I think is wrong for such a long list of reasons it's hard to begin naming them.

Upon further consideration, I think it's all time that we embrace our geeky tendencies. Whether they be rooted in conspiracy theories about Elvis' death, or an inclination towards C-level sitcoms in from the '90's. You know who you are.

Side note: I totally just found a site that offers a Red Dwarf role playing game? D&D look out! There's a new cat in town!

By the way, who are all these SciFi television fans who AREN'T Trekkies?

These are the DAVES!

Typically I try to keep my blog devoid of any real life experiences that don't involve bathroom humor. But since I have nothing better to do, coupled with the fact that the only interesting bathroom drama involves the toilet water being a different color every time I go in there, I've decided to make an exception. Seriously though, it went from purple to pink to blue to clear, then back to blue. It's wiggin me out.

So. I know a lot of Daves. (Hopefully you picked that up from the video, and the song is now ingrained into your frontal lobe and will replay in you head for years to come. Sorry Haras.)

In particular there is one Dave I know (I know) who likes to joke around . . . a lot. So much so that Ylime once said that she felt like she had to work hard to keep up with him.
Shortly after I showed her a deep thought that I was using on a gift. The one that says "Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine. I guess that's why several of us died of Tuberculosis."

Ylime was confused.

In my attempt to explain it to her I quickly became exasperated with the buzz kill of having to explain a joke, and I exclaimed, "Dave would have gotten that!"

Well, you know me, some of you, it didn't stop there. Soon "Dave would have . . ." became our comment for everything.

"Dave would have thought that was funny."

"Dave would have asked me about it."

"Dave would have run that red light!"

As the days went by we became increasingly aware of the fact that we were going to have to tell Dave about this joke at some point because, after all, he would think it was funny!

The time was determined, we would approach him at the ward activity and share with him the glory of our amazing discovery. We went. We waited. And he didn't show. Did someone say buzz kill?

Later that night we bombarded him at Ward Prayer accusing him of ditching on purpose. And rapidly began our assault by declaring "we talk about you all the time!" accompanied by much touching of the elbow.

Perhaps this is a good time to mention that recently I've been trying to flirt with his roommate (somewhat unsuccessfully. Like trying to flirt with a brick wall. "Oh what nice mortar you have!" But a cute brick wall, one that's really funny, and looks even cuter when he hasn't shaved that day.) Needless to say, it seems my flirtatious energy pointed at the roommate (aka He we do not speak of) misfired and was deflected back at the Dave I know (I know).

What is the point of this story you ask? To explain why on V-day I will be alone in my pajamas watching Idol.

Strange Things Are Afoot at the Circle K

For Haras, and anyone else who doesn't know what a W.C. is. This one's for you.

It seems that a little old English lady was looking for some rooms in Switzerland. She asked the local village school master to help her. A place that suited her was finally found and the lady returned to London for her luggage. She remembered then that she had not noticed a bathroom, or as she called it, a "water closet". So she wrote to the school master.

He was puzzled by the initials "W.C.", never dreaming, of course, that she was asking about a bathroom. He finally asked the help of the parish priest who decided that W.C. stood for Wesleyan Church. This was his reply:

Dear Madam, The W.C. is situated nine miles from the house in the center of a beautiful grove of trees. It is capable of holding 350 people at a time and is open on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday each week. A large number of folks attend during the summer months, so it is suggested you go early, although there is plenty of standing room.

Some folk like to take their lunch and make a day of it, especially on Thursday when there is organ accompaniment. The acoustics are very good and everyone can hear the slightest sound. It may be of interest to you to know that my daughter was married in our W.C. and it was there she met her husband.

We hope you will be there in time for our bazaar to be held very soon. The proceeds will go towards the purchase of plush seats which the folks agree are a long-felt need, as the present ones all have holes in them.

My wife is rather delicate, therefore she cannot attend regularly. It has been six months since the last time she went. Naturally, it pains her very much not to be able to go more often. I shall close now with the desire to accommodate you in every way possible and I will be happy to save you a seat down front or near the door, whichever you prefer.

School Master

Why I am destined to die alone.

Sarah, the ultimate puppet master . . .

Panic in the WC

Apparently when you are a 45 year old female working at a software company full of men, you lose all respect for the sanctity of bathroom privacy and feel the need to the intimacy of your experience with the other patrons.

This may include farting, gushing, dripping, blowing, hacking, gurgling, blasting, squeaking, sneezing, groaning, slapping, moaning, and whimpering.

I do not jest.

Your only hope is to sit quietly in your stall to avoid detection, or bolting out the door before you're forced to make eye contact with the perpetrator.

Oh, and also I'd stay away from the dishes that were recently washed in the bathroom sink.

Happy Birthday Elvis!

Now I know that everyone is expecting an Elvis post by the one and only Haras, especially considering it's his B-Day and all. (I'm surprised you didn't know that) But I think you'll also be surprised at what I DO know, and what I have learned from living with a true believer.

And by "true believer" I mean someone who stays up late at night reading conspiracy theories about how Elvis is still alive. By the way, my particular belief lies with the theory of his identical twin, Jessie, not actually being a still born but that their parents hid him away and later Elvis and Jessie switched places, thereby accounting for some rapid weight gain, and the misspelling of Elvis' middle name on his grave stone.

But that's just me.

Another thing I've learned about Elvis from Haras is the mesmerizing hold that a set of Elvis luggage can have on a person. I mean this goes beyond normal wants and desires, it's like the set has a personality of it's own, and every time you come within it's presence you're have no choice but to bow down to the magnitude of it all.

Plus it's super-cute.

Then we come to the random bits of trivial that not every layman would know. Things like Elvis impersonators from Jerusalem can be decidedly more attractive than you'd expect.

Having two life size Elvis cutouts in the windows of your condo can propel you into mini-celebrity status within your ward.

It is dangerous to question the necessity of throwing a birthday part for Elvis when face to face with a "true believer".

And, one thing that I've felt the reality of deeply, if you blab about your roommate being a "true believer" expect that your secret love of Star Trek will not be a secret for long. And also that people will know that when your hair is greasy enough, it looks wet.

But, if all the "true believers" are right, Elvis is now 72, and living happily on the top floor of Graceland. May he live long and prosper.