scratch subtle

New Blog?

2010-05-04T09:02:00.000-07:00

NEW BLOG NEW BLOG! Ok I know what you're thinking. "Janay, how can you possibly expect us to read a new blog of yours when you can't even managed to update this one?" Please people. Give me my dream.

Just look. Then you can ignore it the way I've ignored you.

halfbakedjanay.blogspot.com

23 Days of Miyagi & Me: Dog Hands

2009-10-13T14:46:00.003-07:00

In mid January Miyagi and Me were in that magical place between being together and BEING TOGETHER. We went to dinner at friends house and during a game of Apples to Apples we sneakily held hands under the table.

There are few things in this life as wonderful as holding the hand of the guy you like in a sneaky manner that the rest of the room is unaware of.

Anyway. Partway through the game one of the family dogs plopped it's not insubstantial self at my feet looked up at me with big "pet me!" eyes, and I relented. I'm generally not allergic to dogs, but this canine had a bid 'o the old mange and smelled like a wet bear skin rug. I could feel the itch creeping up my arm and into my eyes as I walked in the front door so I wasn't going to take any chances with prolonged exposure. So before Miyagi and I left (together I might add) I let go of his hand, and walked to the kitchen sink proclaiming loudly, "just a moment. I've got to wash the dog off my hand!"

The mutt's puppy dog eyes were nothing compared to the look Miyagi gave me. Quickly I tried to fumble out an explanation, "no, the dog. I mean, I was petting the dog . . . see THIS hand . . .not THIS hand . . .smells weird . . ."

Of course the rest of the group wanted to know what we were laughing about so hard, but we just giggled in that way that new couples are wont to do. This was the first in a long series of accidental insults that plauged our first week of dating. But I think story time is over for today.

24 Days of Miyagi & Me: The Frozen Pizza

2009-10-13T14:22:00.003-07:00

It was late. We were hungry. There's no shame in a frozen pizza now and then.

We cooked up a couple pizzas and Miyagi pulled them out skillfully, using the giant wooden paddle that calls itself a pizza board. We set them on top of the stove and started to rummage around for the pizza slicer. Somehow in the following moments we managed to pull one of the pizzas off the stove top, and face down on the floor. After staring at it for a few dazed moments, we discussed our options in true Miyagi & Me fashion.

"Well . . . huh."

*shrug* "I don't know . . .?"

"I guess we could . . ."

" . . . I don't think it's bad . . ."

"should we just . . .?"

And then we promptly picked up the pizza, then picked up all the TOPPINGS from the pizza, plopped them back on and proceeded to eat the whole thing as if nothing had happened.

I was actually tastier than the intact pizza . . . maybe it's all that Italian seasoning I use to clean the floor.

25 Days of Miyagi & Me

2009-10-13T13:50:00.004-07:00

It's been a quiet few months on the blog front here, but instead of giving you excuses I'm going to give you something better. A story! Hurrah!

I'm currently counting down the days to my wedding (literally, we're now at 25) and since a paper chain only results in scraps of construction paper on the floor, I've decided to count down the 25 days with 25 stories of Miyagi & Me. That sounds like a children's book doesn't it?

I realize that in announcing this that I could be dooming myself to failure, but I'm hopeful that instead this will just refuel my desire to share my innermost thoughts with the vast internet void.

Today's story takes place almost one year ago Oct. 31st 2008. For the first time in years I had planned a spectacular Halloween costume, complete with home-made dress (thanks mom!) and about an hour of custom makeup that left smudges on all the walls like Tobias in AD.

I went dressed as Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas, and even though most people thought I was just a creepy rag doll I kept hoping that at least one person would understand how awesome my costume was. Amidst a sea of cats, witches and sparkly-Halloween-make-up girls I tried not sound too dejected when I told Miyagi that I was ACTUALLY Sally, and not just a homicidal Raggedy Anne. He felt so bad that he didn't figure that out for himself, and later, when he asked me to dance I was sure it was just his way of trying to make up for it.

I was thrilled that he actually knew who Sally was, but I continued to make myself feel better by forcing him to do a variety of silly dances which looked HILARIOUS in his gnome get up. And thus began the courtship of Sally and the Gnome. Wow. There's another children's book!

Anything For A Story

2009-02-25T08:59:00.004-08:00

For awhile, the chic parent-concern was the negative influence of Harry Potter on children. Particularly the glamorization of witches, wizards and other sorcery stuffs. But I’ve found another, possibly more disturbing side effect of Potter-love that evidenced itself in my 10 year old niece, who took the time to sit down and interview Miyagi-san . . . as Rita Skeeter.

For those of you not in the know, here’s a summary of Rita Skeeter’s profile via the wisdom of Wikipedia: Rita Skeeter is a reporter for the Daily Prophet and a correspondent for the Witch Weekly, who specializes in yellow journalism, for which she is armed with such magical devices as the Quick-Quotes Quill. Rita is an unregistered Animagus, capable of transforming into a beetle to spy on unsuspecting victims for her stories. As a reporter who fabricates information in order to write an appealing story, she is an antagonist to Harry and his friends throughout Goblet of Fire, and brief but reluctant ally in Order of the Phoenix.

Note in particular the phrase “fabricates information in order to write an appealing story”

INT. FAMILY ROOM -DAY

In a sparsely furnished family room JANAY and MIYAGI sit watching the last minutes of FIEVEL GOES WEST. Enter RITA SKEETER, a ten year old would-be journalist, looking for her next story for the family newsletter and touting her grandparents’ digital camera. Rita stands in the shadows, casually lifting the camera and snapping pictures slyly as if catching the lovers in flagrante. After several shots Rita frowns, lowering the camera and saying:

RITA SKEETER
You look really weird in these pictures.

MIYAGI
Sorry for being a weird looking guy.

Plopping herself down in the chair opposite him, Rita pulls out a pen and paper and beings her assault on her newest victim.

RITA SKEETER
So, can I ask you a few questions? Good. What is your favorite color?

MIYAGI
Um, blue.

RITA SKEETER

Ok, what is your favorite movie?

MIYAGI

Umm, I don’t know. I like a lot of movies.

RITA SKEETER

Well, what’s your favorite book? What about music? What do you LOOOOOVE?

Miyagi laughs nervously and looks to Janay for help. But Janay is as surprised as he is, and secretly envious of her niece’s ability to ask the tough questions. Hoping for an entertaining answer, Janay just shrugs and watches him squirm.

RITA SKEETER

Ok, so how long have the two of you been together?

More nervous laugher and “oh, kids these days” looks.

MIYAGI

Uh, just over a month.

RITA SKEETER

And do you meet often?

MIYAGI

Meet? Well, we see each other most days . . .

RITA SKEETER

Ok “Glued at the hip”

In an effort to shift the focus Miyagi-san makes a comment about James Horner, the musical composer in Fievel Goes West. Janay revels in the glory of a boyfriend who appreciates the intricacies and subtle humor of such a classic movie.

RITA SKEETER
James Horner, huh? “Is really interested in actresses.”

MIYAGI
Well, James Horner isn’t an actor. He composed the music.

RITA SKEETER

Oh, ok. “Is really interested in composers.”

MIYAGI

Not really, I was just interested that it was James Horner.

RITA SKEETER

“Really loves James Horner.”

MIYAGI

I don’t really care about James Horner it was just interesting . . .

RITA SKEETER

“Is completely indifferent to James Horner.”

MIYAGI

Well I wouldn’t say that . . .

RITA SKEETER

Ok. I think we’ve got our piece.

I’d kind of figured that this was the end of it. That after putting Miyagi through the ringer, my nieces would be done for the day. But, not to be out done by her sister, mini-Rita waited until that night when Miyagi got off the phone to ask, “Was that your other girlfriend? How would Janay feel if you had another girlfriend?”

The family newsletter seems to be quickly becoming the family tabloid. And sales have never been higher.

Come What? May.

2009-02-19T11:17:00.003-08:00

I just found out that one of my favorite authors is coming to Seattle and it’s almost guaranteed I’ll be able to go! Given that my last opportunity to see her went down in a fiery ball of disappointment (although the fault was really due to an impromptu trip to Hawaii so . . . ) I’m uber-excited this time. May is turning into an exciting month for me. Please to enjoy all the glory to come broken down into easily readable tidbits.

May 13th: Flight of the Conchords live in Seattle! Add bonus points for the fact that my new gentlemen friend (hereafter known as Miyagi) bought us tickets to this show three months in the future without even considering whether we’d still be together then! Subtract points for my mindless exclamation upon hearing the news that it was “terribly optimistic” of him. Don’t think THAT hasn’t come back to bite me. (Extra bonus points for Miyagi for NOT taking it the wrong way.)

May 19th: The glory and grace of Jen Lancaster in my very own Third Place Books! Highlights include the fact that she’s cool enough to pick the most awesome of independent book retailers in the area, and with a pub inside the store she’ll likely get a little smashed and I’ll have my chance to prove my worth as her witty, yet sober, friend whom she simply must include in her writerly-social circles. The trick is to make sure THEY’RE the drunken ones.

May 22-25th: FOLKLIFE. FolklifeFolklifeFolklife. Again, last year’s Folklife experience was snatched from me at the hands of an awesome graduation gift (did I mention I got a tan?) and I can feel my hippie-soul crying out for release. I’m already practicing my drum circle routines and saving up for loads of head scarves, ceramic mugs, piroshkies, and at least one caricature of myself and Miyagi. Preferably where I don’t have freckles on my nose (just big pores thankyouverymuch Mr. Makemeselfconcious-artist-man.)

May1st/May 8th: Nerd-tastic movie releases of Wolverine AND Star Trek. For once in my life I will not have to barter with/threaten roommates to accompany me because Miyagi-san not only appreciates both franchises, he REVELS in them. Much like myself. I admit I’m somewhat more partial to Wolverine, if only for the high nerd-factor in comparing the history of Wolverine with the original comics. Also, in true Yanaj fashion, I’m most excited to see Liev Schriber in such a bad-@$$ role. What about Hugh Jackman you ask? Meh. He’ll do.

Bacon Gives Me Gas

2009-02-12T10:03:00.003-08:00

December marked the end of an era for me.

My journey began in a class I crashed with Haras where her teacher showed a clip from Apollo-13. I whispered that I’d never seen the movie and she, burning with the insistence of a thousand suns, replied in a yelled-whisper, “but it’s got Kevin Bacon in it!”

To this day neither of us is sure what that was meant to imply, considering that I’d never expressed any inclination towards Kevin Bacon, or his work. Not to say that I had any strong desire to avoid him . . . until then. After giving it a bit of consideration I realized it was entirely possible that I’d never seen a single movie of his! Once I confirmed my suspicions on IMDB, my objective became obvious. I’d managed to go my whole life without seeing Kevin Bacon (in all his six-degree glory) and I wasn’t about to change that now.

The next few years passed somewhat uneventfully in relation to my Kevin Bacon-avoidance quest. The only real benefit was a ready answer for the “I’ve never” game, which I used on many occasions. And any inclination I had to see Footloose or Tremors were quickly dispelled by a feverish commitment to my new-found quest.

But then.

December 31st, 20008. Innocently I agreed to a day at the movies with my friend Werdna. Having already seen Doubt and Slumdog Millionaire we decided to round out the evening with another film we were sure was headed for the Oscars. Enter Frost/Nixon. I’ve never encountered such a difficult moral dilemma in my life.

When the shady character on the street said, “you want to try some drugs, man?” I replied, “No thanks, I get high on life.” (Yes I was thinking of you Irak)

When the kid in chemistry class offered me the answers to the exam, I beat him away with my For the Strength of the Youth pamphlet.

But when I was sitting in that dark theater, watching the opening credits, and saw the big, white letters spell out “Kevin Bacon” I froze. “Trickery!” I screamed. After a moment of disbelief I turned to Werdna with desperation in my eyes, pleading for direction. “I don’t know if I can see this! It’s got Kevin Bacon in it!” “Yeah I know,” he said, “he’s really good.”

Then I knew I couldn’t rely on him, the cinematic experience had already begun to numb his instincts and I could feel their power taking hold of me. For a few, vain, moments I struggled, looking around frantically, weighing the cost of the ticket against my pride, and wondering if I could recover by hiding my eyes every time he came on screen.

I’m ashamed to say that I gave into the peer pressure and tried my best to enjoy the show anyway.

“I’ve never seen a Kevin Bacon movie” Not anymore. Now I’m reduced to saying “I’ve never seen a quintessential 80’s movie in which Kevin Bacon plays the lead and/or dances rebelliously.”

How many degrees of separation between me and a Kevin Bacon movie? Just one. Just one.

When Bugs Attack

2008-07-17T12:50:00.007-07:00

I recently had a conversation with a friend about the implications of living alone, and whether the ups were worth the downs. Well, something happened yesterday that convinced me I, personally, can not be expected to live alone without some contingencies.

I was the victim of a vicious attack. In my own home. If Nicole hadn't been there I don't know what I would have done. Probably scream and cry and jump up and down flapping my hands. Wait, yeah that's pretty much what I did anyway.

As I sat barefoot at my computer the culprit sauntered into my room without even the decency to recognize that he was out of place and unwelcome. And I tell you, if EVER a spider looked smug it was this one.

Also, let me clarify. I'm not talking, "oh no. a spider equivalent to the size of a quarter hiding behind my bookcase. whatever shall I do." I'm talking, "what is that small hamster doing in the middle of my room and OH MY GOSH THAT'S NOT A HAMSTER OR ANY VARIATION OF CUTE FUZZY MAMMAL AND FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY WHY DO THESE THINGS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME?" It was a beefcake in the worst sense possible.

Although I registered some movement in my periph it wasn't until Nicole alerted me to his presence with an informative, "holy crap that thing is HUGE!" Somehow within two milliseconds I was on the other side of the door, peering into the room and trying not to convulse as I curled my toes under my feet as tightly as possible.

After some failed shoe-squishing attempts it was decided that the only way to catch this mongrel was to call in the big guns (read: vacuum cleaner of death.) I'm sure this is what vacuum engineers had in mind when designing the hose attachment. After letting the bug-sucker run for about 5 minutes we finally consented to switch it off, and store it in the garage lest the mutant crawl OUT of the vacuum and resume his reign of terror.

For the rest of the night every stray hair and every wisp of dust was in my mind a blood sucking hell-monster bent on tormenting me for his evil purposes. Luckily I made it through the ordeal unharmed. Well, mostly. The next morning I discovered something on my leg and for the first time EVER I prayed for a pimple.

No. This was not something I could have handled on my own. I think it's finally time to invest in one of these. Or reconsider my fall-back plan: a bee-keeper outfit marinated in bug spray.

Working For the Weekend

2008-07-07T09:23:00.005-07:00

What does a normal Ladies Night entail? Pillow fights and facial masks and brutal waxing sessions? Hmm. Occasionally. This weekend I had one long, extended Ladies Night with Nicole. It went from early Thursday night until the wee hours of Monday morning. And there was not a single facial mask through the whole thing. (Although there's a small chance that we wore these matching "Ladies Night" t-shirts most of the time. No way to confirm it.) Really, I guess the only thing that qualified it as "a time for ladies" was the fact that there were no menfolk present. Which is a shame.

-Movies watched includes: I, Robot; Star Wars Episode III; The Island; The Witches; and a documentary on Andre the Giant. Normally I wouldn't go to Nicole for my SciFi fix but she really pulled through for me on this one. Ok, so there may have been several episodes of Saved By the Bell stuck in there somewhere too.

-Food consumed: S'mores; teriyaki chicken kabobs; the most amazing chicken, bacon and artichoke pizza; corn on the cob; potato salad; wonderful, greasy Italian (followed by an explosive episode in the bathroom); an entire bag of frozen rolls (we cooked them first); and loads of various candy-type products. We ate on plates decorated with American Flags so that it FELT like 4th of July weekend. Move over Martha.

-Books Read: We both finished off the remaining books in the Sisters Grimm series (I had two left, Nicole had 4) which gave the weekend a magical, enchanted type of feel. Also we smelled pretty bad from postponing showers in favor of reading.

-Topics discussed: The hubris of all singles wards; the creepiness of all humanoid robots; the endearing quality of Ewan McGreggor's bad American accent; the relief we feel because we didn't end up with any of our ex-boyfriends; the sole-wrenching effect of Hayden Christensen's acting (Nicole disagreed);and what all-around awesome people we both are.

-My Favorite Moment: A strangely heated debate about which is more deadly, a vampire or a werewolf. This took place while waiting for the lady at WalMart to tell us where the wooden skewers (aka small wooden stakes) are located (next to the spatulas FYI) and if they had anymore in stock (they were sold out). Nicole's theory was based on the fact that vampires have more weaknesses (garlic, crosses, wooden stakes, holy water etc.) because they are more deadly. I took the opposite view arguing that because the werewolf can only be killed by a silver bullet, it is harder to kill, therefore more deadly (girls can be geeky too). In the end we realized that this was all a ruse for our true, underlying opinions about Edward vs. Jake. Nicole roots for team Jake, I cheer for team Edward. Tragically, no matter who wins, we both lose.

A Subtle Review

2008-06-27T11:45:00.000-07:00

In all my post-bachelors-degree free time I've been watching a lot of movies. So I've decided to start posting my thoughts on them. No, I wasn't a film major. Or even minor. But I've got a lot of movie-related musings and they've got to go somewhere. And that somewhere is here.

Yelnats Talf

2008-06-10T10:02:00.014-07:00

A few weeks ago I got a letter from my niece telling me her class had read a story about Flat Stanley and how she was sending me a Stanley that she made. I was supposed to take him with me everywhere I went and document our adventures, but I'm a slacker and so I did it all in one night.

One memorable outtake was when I tried to make it look like he was playing with my friends' cat toy, but instead it looked like he hung himself. I decided to leave that one out. Here's what I did instead:

Here is Stanley enjoying a a day of sun-bathing in Hawaii. See. You can tell it's really Hawaii because of the Sweet Maui Onion Hawaiian potato chips next to him. Also the "palm tree" is a dead give away.

Here Stanley is helping me study. His strangely askew reading spectacles denote his studious nature. Stanley thinks that Lady Macbeth's moral reversal relieves her of all blame, making Macbeth the real villain of the play. Oh, Stanley! You always spark such controversy!

Stanley wanted to fight Rocky, but he was too afraid to fight a South Paul. Wait. It's South PAW? Yeah that kind of makes more sense. I blame Rocky's facial paralysis.

Elvis and Stanley became best pals. I guess they just have a lot in common. What with being two-dimensional and all.

Stanley was a great help in the kitchen but . . . it was kind of demeaning. "Dump that package of generic processed cheese into the macaroni NOW!!!" "YES, CHEF!" And then I cried. And he liked it.

Then we tried to play hide-and-seek but I think he was cheating. Look at the smirk on his face, the smarmy little bugger.

Low-Point: The Institute of Official Cheer

2008-05-29T13:50:00.007-07:00

This afternoon I came across this site run by James Lileks, who is a humor columnist in Minneapolis. Considering Minneapolis is often lauded for being a mecca for comedic talent (sarcasm.) I'd consider this a diamond in the ruff of -20 degree weather typically found there. I've never actually been there, so I don't have much to base an opinion on, but if I can get the same stuff online from the comfort of my air-conditioned cubicle then why should I?

Basically what he does is post old pictures/ads/comic book pages/cold war-era promotional artwork and make witty comments about discrepancies of old-timey politics.

In quiet, friendly letters the site proclaims what it does best: humiliate the defenseless past since 1996. If the subscript of the title page doesn't convince you of its inherent greatness then you're probably a grumpy pensioner yelling at all the readers to get off your cyber-lawn and wondering why all your commie neighbors haven't been black-balled yet.

Being something of a computer aficionado (double sarcasm.) I was instantly drawn to the compu-promo section. Lileks describes this section as, "big hideous computers, and the women who loved them: a salute to the early years of computer promotion." Once I saw this entry I knew I had struck the equivalent of Internet gold. Dotcom-karats I call em. Subtle references to other sources comedic genius, particularly those including old B-movies, always sit well with me. And this section is rife with them.

Thus far I haven't even strayed to any of the other sections. There are enough back-posts here that with a little luck I could probably stretch this out for the rest of the summer.

Hot Cookin

2008-05-28T16:36:00.007-07:00

Normally I don’t like to admit that I watch American Idol. In fact, when I do watch it I’m usually locked in my bedroom with a blanket over my head. I debated a long time about writing about this, but I figured if I was ever going to blog about American Idol I might as well do it now during the post-AI media storm when my confession can be waved off as another piece of fan-girl blather and not seen as a reliable barometer of my personal taste. Wow. Can I write a run-on sentence or what?

The fact is, I love David Cook. As a friend once put it, I don’t love him like I love peanut butter. I mean, I luuuuuvvvaaaahhh him.

From the first moment Cookie walked in with his faux hawk and argyle sweater I was hooked. It turned out to be a bonus that he could actually sing. And once he sang his emo/rock version of Hello I knew I’d never think about American Idol the same. I guess you could say “He had me at ‘Hello” but I’d like to maintain SOME semblance of dignity here.

But what really gets me? He’s so darn articulate. Every time I see him on a talk show I giggle to myself then sigh in recognition that I will never be that eloquent. I want to use my feminine wiles to trick him into a philosophical conversation that requires a delicate formulation of logic and necessitates explanations of complex ideas. Then I’ll lean back in my chaise lounge and watch him articulate. And yes, you can watch someone articulate. At least I can. I don’t know what your problem is.

Also in my fantasy he’s pacing back and forth in a black tee-shirt and intermittently flashing his crooked half-smile.

Some people would accuse me of rapidly jumping from obsession to obsession, claiming that I’ll be over him in another month. But only idiots with shiny new ‘stangs would actually believe something stupid like that. Unbeknown to most Shia’s likeness still lives on my door, Danny Wallace’s book still lives on my shelf, and Brand New's croonings still live on my ipod. Perhaps the initial intensity wears off a bit, but I never go back on something I truly love. (Good Charlotte I’m still rooting for you! Even if it’s just for old time’s sake.)

So, to sum up: David Cook, I am your Cookie Monster, and I will continue to steal from the Cookie jar, because I know this Cookie will never crumble . . . and various other double entendres Cookie puns.

I have retarded tingles for myself.

Getting Rooster-y

2008-05-27T13:47:00.003-07:00

Something amazing happened to me today. I managed to inadvertently tap into the male ego for a brief moment. Much the same way Gibson learned valuable lessons about the female gender in What Women Want, I too learned how easy it is to be corrupted by the sense of entitlement men seem to experience all the time. Like that one Big-Dirty who believed he had a shot with you even though you’re clearly out of his league? Yeah, I can see how he could disillusion himself into thinking that despite being TOTALLY off base. You know who I’m talking to.

So this weekend I bought a pair of jeans that were more expensive than I’d normally go for. But they were ridiculously on sale and there was only one pair left that someone had returned and so, in my shopping equivalent of a blood-frenzy, I snatched them up and hauled them home.

Only today did I discover the best thing about these jeans. Behind the zipper of the fly there is stitched a small and unobtrusive lightning bolt.

I wish I could describe the rush this discovery gave me. It was like I was instantly teleported the psyche of a man who was greatly endowed and asserted this confidence in his everyday life. Like I could suddenly get away with anything, and more importantly anyONE, I wanted to.

I immediately stormed into my office and confronted my boss about the bug report I’d been working on all morning, waving it wildly in his face and proclaiming that his inability to grasp simple explanations should not constitute hours of redundant work on my part.

Ok, so I didn’t actually do that. Partially because everyone I work with is fairly pleasant and quite competent. But I could feel myself just waiting for someone to cross me because then I could jab my finger in their shoulder and say, “Oh yeah? Cross THIS.”

Finding this hidden treasure was like free admission to the world of ego centric men who think they’re the best thing since sliced bread despite all evidence to the contrary.

As if my mind rationalized all outlandish actions because I have a hidden force to fall back on that would shock and amaze all if they only knew! The fools! They have no idea of the power I wield!

And then my female rational slowly returned as I realized that this secret weapon of mine was nothing more than a lightning bolt on my crotch.

I guess the Justice League will have to wait a little longer for my services.

Oh, and this also means that I WILL NOT be showing up uninvited on David Cook’s doorstep with any unfounded confidence. But I will still show up on his doorstep. Just without the confidence part. You never know.

Low Point--Whatever

2008-05-02T15:42:00.003-07:00

I debated about posting this as another low-point because it comes from another sf/f author and if I haven't already driven you away with my sf/f geekiness I'm sure you're just waiting for an excuse. But then I read this post about a stupid headline and it managed to distract me for a full minute and a half and successfully brought me out of low-point territory.

This is a blog by John Scalzi and while he talks a lot about the sf/f genre and writing world, he also throws in lots of other amusing tidbits which should allow all you closet SciFi fans enough of an excuse to read guiltlessly. Also he seems a bit enamored with his cats, which also makes it a good fit for anyone who likes to divert all their unrequited love on the feline race.

And if you like sf/f AND you have seven cats . . . well.

Also, his actual novels/short stories are really good too. Even if you DON'T like sf/f OR live in MEOWtropolis.

Low Point--Writing Excuses

2008-05-01T14:20:00.007-07:00

It seems that everyday at work I hit a point, a point where I find myself in the darkest reaches of my mind, one might call it the "depths of despair." Usually this hits around 3pm. A time when I'm burned out from classifying documents within nested zip files, and just the thought of writing up an issue report makes me left lung collapse. Typically, I've already cruised all my normal blogs, I've either gotten sick of my music, or left my ipod at home, and I'm so bloated-full of Diet Coke that Joe Banks could use me as a life raft instead of his luggage. (Anyone? Here's a hint.) PLUS it's Thursday, which is already my low-point in the week which makes today's low-point uber-low-pointy.

Tragically I can't just leave work, and they don't like it when I sing along to SA-LINE DEE-YON in my cubicle. Instead I'm forced to find some OTHER way to amuse myself. Today it was this:

This is a series of podcasts called Writing Excuses from three writers in Utah Valley about some of the pitfalls of writing fiction. One of them was a professor of mine, Brandon, whom I've mentioned before but all three have great advice to give. Each podcast is about 15 minutes long because, as they say, "you're busy, and we're not that smart." Well I don't know about how smart they are, but I am SERIOUSLY not that busy. I've already listened to about 5 episodes today because luckily I can take in writerly wisdom while formatting npg files. Oh the life of a software-tester. So glamorous. (Sarah? If you will? *Glamorous Glamorous* Thank you.)

I know this won't appeal too much to non-writer-types out there, which is pretty much all three of you, but if you've even been curious about the classification continuum of villains you might find it interesting. And if not then just read this list (which they also link on the podcast site) of things to consider when you're an evil overlord because it's pretty much the best thing ever.

Also, these pictures have nothing to do with this topic, they're just to distract you from the mundane nature of this post. "Well excuuuuuuse me Princess!" This, m'friends, is a low-point.

Gradua-SHON Celebra-SHON

2008-04-29T12:21:00.009-07:00

Graduation is an institution's last-ditch effort to humiliate students. And it works. You're forced to wear funny clothes in front of crowds of people who's only care is when the %@#& this thing is going to be over. Hint: the graduates are thinking the SAME THING. Nevertheless I managed to enjoy mine and here are some highlights for you to enjoy vicariously:

-For once in my life it made sense to plan an outfit based on the shoes, for which I received several compliments. One was even from a guy who felt the need to shout across a crowd of several thousand graduates, "JANAY'S SHOES ARE HOT!!!" which, let's face it, they kind of are. (These are not my feet but these are the shoes. My feet are much sexier. And the shoes look even hotter sticking out of a judge's robe.)

-At the large commencement I stood in my designated area blithely greeting all my fellow English graduates, until I realized I was the only one with a brown tassel. In a sea of white and gold I was the one, brown turd floating in the bowl. I was supposed to be graduating with a Bachelor of Arts, not a Bachelor of FINE Arts and SOMEONE gave me the wrong color tassel. Sheesh people. Do we graduates need to do EVERYTHING for you?

-We stood lined up for said commencement for at least 45 min outside. Which wouldn't be so bad on a spring-y April day, but this day was less spring-y and more snow-stormy. So instead of looking pleasantly flush from the quiet breeze meandering throughout the trees, we looked red-nosed and purple-knuckled as we tried to cut off the breeze meandering up our skirts. Also looked a bit like Harry Potter which is not very dignified.

-I finally saw the fish in the basement of the Widtsoe building. It was kind of anticlimactic but would be cool if you had an office down there. When my 2 year old nephew saw the big lobster he spent the next several minutes explaining how if the lobster tried to pinch him he would kick it, then poop on his head. I told him he should teach a self-defense class.

-My Mom and I graduated at the same time. This meant that while walking in together I had to listen to her whine that everyone was pointing and laughing at the "old lady." Then when we got our fake diploma's, "Janay's mother graduating with a degree in Family Life" got way more applause than Janay did. Plus it was the only applause that wasn't followed by an adamant "Shhhh!" *sigh*

-I FINALLY got to get IN the fountain in the courtyard of the JFSB. Of course, we had to tempt all my nephews away with the promise of ice cream to suppress a riot when "Aunt Nay" got to go in. The wet foot prints walking away from the fountain were a bit incriminating but I'm just glad I didn't slip on the marble and dunk myself.

-I had my suspicions confirmed that graduates are not exempt from just being plain stupid. Especially when they're trying to be seen by their parents across a crowd of 20k people in the Marriot Center. One guy I know struggled for at least 20 minutes saying, "Can you see me? How can you not see me I'm RIGHT across from you. Can you see me? Ok, now I'm pointing to my head. No . . . everyone ELSE is waving I'm the one pointing to my HEAD. Now I'm jumping up and down. Can you see me now? I'm pointing to my head and jumping up and down. I'M RIGHT ACROSS FROM YOU!"

-While walking to our designated areas my Mom and I ran into some family friends. Greetings were exchanged. Smiles were shared. Congratulations expressed. And all by exclaiming, "Heeeeyy! Hey! Haaaay! Heeeeyyyyyy!"

How to get on my good side

2008-03-11T09:59:00.003-07:00

Step 1: See me at some point during my busy day and engage in a wholly forgettable conversation. Preferably referencing our work, class, bongo lessons etc.

Step 2: That night in my dream accuse me of always showing up for work (class, synchronized swimming) hours late and generally tell me what a bad employee I am and therefore an awful human being.

Step 3: Ensure that I have at least a momentary understanding that what is happening is not reality and therefore I feel justified in giving you the railing of your life, complete with brightly colored words that I secretly admire the potency of but never use out due to an inclination towards a modest vocab. (You in your perfectly tailored, pin-stripe suite. A pathetic attempt at professionalism.)

Step 4: Immediately following said railing politely suggest that my dream is NOT in fact a dream and that I have just deeply offended you and all your posterity.

Step 5: The next morning at work (class, D&D sesh) smile at me, reminding me that in reality you're NOTHING like my dream version, consequently making me feel horrible about myself for belittling you so effectively. (Although I am quite pleased with the clever execution.)

Following these simple steps will ensure that for at least the following 24 hours I will bring you your printing (hand-out, moon-boots) I will rummage through the snack table looking for the best fruit-snacks available, and send you helpful hints on creating a local DocLibrary replica of a Notes database which doesn't replicate with the Domino server (ain't work excitin'!) All out of guilt. In short. I will become your B-word.

ABC's of me, if I have to, I guess.

2008-03-06T23:08:00.005-08:00

A - Attached or Single: attached to the idea that if I answer these badly enough no one will ever make me fill out another one. But otherwise single. Single like a fox.

B - Best Friend: anyone who gets this reference: “The time for talking is over. Now call it extreme if you like, but I propose we hit it hard, and we hit it fast, with a major, and I mean major, leaflet campaign.” Which will be no one. Oh well.

C - Cake or Pie: unless James McAvoy is going to jump out of the cake, pie.

D - Day of Choice: Thursday. I don’t really know why except that I hate Thursdays and that’s more than I can say for any of the other forgettable slacker-days.

E - Essential Item: several random notebooks that I fill with genius ideas then never look at again.

F - Favorite Color: green. It has all the austerity of a blue or red without that stigma of over-popularity.

G - Gummi Bears or Worms: bears, but only because they come dipped in chocolate.

H - Hometown: Bothell, Washington, the Snohomish side, where we welcome you for “a day or a lifetime.”

I - Indulgence(s): anything British or Canadian, or in particular hilarious and unconventionally attractive men from England or Canada. Oh, and I’ve been reading a lot of SciFi novels recently so, yeah.

J - January or July: January. I’ve decided to balk the dictating conventions of the Gregorian calendar and rename all the months after my favorite literary heroes. In that case I prefer Jude-ly. But Rochester-uary is right out.

K - Kids: Let’s just say I’m headed down to my brother’s place for Easter. He has four boys under the age of 7 and it’s about time for my bi-annual birth control.

L - Life is Incomplete Without: oxygen. Well, technically only 20% oxygen and about 78% nitrogen. (See SciFi above.)

M - Marriage Date: no thanks. I prefer marriage raisins.

N - Number of Siblings: three. None of whom would ever make me fill out a stupid questionnaire.
O - Oranges or Apples: apples. Fuji.

P- Phobias or Fears: spiders. And alphabetic-themed tags. (Tired of this yet?)

Q - Quote(s): "Smooch my big, white alien forehead."

R - Reason to Smile: this.

S - Season: where I come from we don’t have seasons. There’s only rainy, and slightly more rainy. But I really prefer fall and spring because they writhe with inner turmoil.

T - Tag Seven: I don’t want to be held accountable for tagging anyone else so I hereby allow seven people to tag themselves. You know who you are.

U - Unknown Fact About Me: I've self-diagnosed myself with reverse seasonal-affective disorder. I get depressed when it's sunny for days on end.

V - Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animal: oppressor. I just can’t get enough of waiters telling me “it’s nice to see a girl who can eat” when I order a steak.

W - Worst Habit: thinking that my life is too boring to have anything to blog about.

X - X-Rays or Ultrasounds: x-rays, the more x-rays there are the less times “xylophone” will have to show up in alphabet books.

Y - Your Favorite Food: watermelon. “Just plant a watermelon on my grave and let the juice slurp slurp run down.”

Z - Zodiac: Taurus. But only by one day which is lucky because I am SO not the same sign as Haras.

When Your Powers Combine. . .

2008-02-17T15:42:00.005-08:00

Three of the most powerful forces in my universe combined this week: an author I LOVE (Jen Lancaster) doing in a book signing in the city I LOVE (Seattle, where else?) the same week as my MOST beloved Folklife Festival.

As if I weren't planning it anyway, I'm hereby officially doing a road trip home the end of May. Yes it's awhile off but that just gives me time to ponder the wonderfulness of this triple threat.

First, there's really no need to laud the magnitude of said author. Seriously? Just check out her blog and prepare to be converted. 'Nuff said. But what makes it better is that she's condescending to do a signing at one of my favorite bookstores, which happens to be within 10 minutes of my house.

Pretty much the only thing this bookstore DOESN'T have going for it is that it's not in a creaky old building with misshapen, wobbly wood floors and tight, jagged corners wherein to crack open monstrous tomes filled with Russian disparity. Ahhhh.

Luckily, they DO have several restaurants, over sized chess games, and weekly literary readings to make up for it. And the best bit? The used books are mixed right in with the new ones! I know some people prefer the crisp whiteness of new books but old books have history. HISTORY. Reading a used book is like constructing an emotional connection with some unseen spirit of the past. Unless it's a really crappy book, then you can feel all elitist for not having such awful taste.

As if it weren't enough the same week we have the Folklife Festival. This is my all time, hands down FAVORITE thing to do in Seattle. Every year that I go I leave feeling like I need to start wearing more tie-dye, and that my (limited) jewelry collection is gaudy and crypto-fascist. I resolve to eat nothing but gyros and peroshki from that point on, and to finally pursue my obvious talents as the key member of a drum circle. In my opinion, if you're too self-conscious to get up and bang along with the group then you shouldn't be allowed to stare at the bra-less hippie dancing next to you. And that's half the fun.

So if you're in Utah, you're invited on my road-trip. And if you're in Seattle, well, you're invited on a one-way road trip back to Utah.

One word of caution, I WILL be singing my family's favorite road trip song . . ."Country roooooooad take me hoooooome to the plaaaaace I beloooohooooong!"

V-Day

2008-02-14T10:19:00.004-08:00

This year I've managed to harness the brute force of optimism and recognize why it's great to be a single girl on Valentine's Day. Just don't call it "Single Awareness Day" because really? That stopped being funny in about 8th grade.

I think my path to enlightenment started in high school when, in an obscenely romantic gesture a guy showed up to my early morning seminary with a bouquet of roses and a bucket of chocolate (you heard! a bucket!)

Terribly sweet right? (Definition Sweet: Used to describe an act that has the potential for excellence but only if it came from someone else. See Great Personality)

Yeah, it would have been nice if I wasn't dating someone else at the time (holy awkward moment Batman!). . . someone else who thoughtfully forked out the dough for a bouquet of baby's-breath (FYI guys? Not good. Nooooot gooooood.) It didn't make matters any better that Casanova lived about two hours away putting his start time to somewhere around the 4am mark. Yeah. I inspire greatness . . . just out of the wrong guys.

But this year I'm optimistic. Any guy bearing flowers and chocolate will be received graciously and not with the adolescent awkwardness I'm still trying to shake.

Therefore here are my reasons why it's great to be a single girl on Valentine's Day:

Everyone EXPECTS you to go out with your girlfriends and yet staying at home in sweats is equally acceptable

You can smile at the tension in the faces of the married men you work with as they try to finagle some time alone with their wives

It's not quite so sad when you tell someone that the best gift you received was from your Aunt

Or that that gift was complete with a mini-teddy bear, a bottle of body spray in "cotton candy fantasy" and a "glamour pack" with sparkly accoutrements for "the young at heart"

You can get as glammed up with the afore mentioned sparkles without anyone assuming you're going to put-out at the end of the night

While all the other smug couples are crammed into their chick-flicks you can sneak into the only Sci-Fi flick playing and have plenty of leg room

In future years you can look back on the day and not remember a two hour wait outside Olive Garden, but the announcement of another Star Wars movie, which fills you with glee that Lucille's admonition that Annyong go "see a Star War" is now entirely possible!

Happy Lovin.

I Heart FotC

2008-01-25T09:08:00.000-08:00

It's official. If you haven't heard about Flight of the Conchords by NOW you're officially uncool. I can say this with confidence because I've already forced it on most of my friends (aka the only people who read this blog anyway) and if you've somehow managed to dodge out of the line of fire well, we'll just consider you cool by association.

I haven't been this overtly obsessed with something since the first time I saw Little Shop of Horrors and I watched it 12 times in that first week. To this day I still have something of a latent crush on Rick Moranis.

So when I realized that I was spending an average of an hour each day re-watching clips of their show on youtube I knew something needed to be done. Kari and Shawn, I apologize. I didn't mean to go behind your back and purchase the full season on dvd but I couldn't help myself. I saw it on the shelf at the store and it just looked up at me with these big, baleful eyes what was I supposed to do? I'll tell you. I did what any self-respecting person would do: I brought it home, made up a bed with an old blanket in the corner and laid out a piece of newspaper for it to piddle on.

FotC was previously New Zealand's fourth most popular digi-folk parody group, they've now been upstaged by an FotC tribute group, and their HBO show is the story of Bret and Jemaine's quest to expand their solitary American fan into a full-blown fan base. (Because if you put base on the end of it it sounds bigger.)

I have promised Shawn and Kari that I wouldn't watch any episodes without them so thus far I've just been replaying the first 5 over and over again and giggling manically to myself. So far my favorite moments include:

Jemaine finally getting tired of Bret's nagging and conceding that the reason he's moving out is because Bret eats too loud and it's "deefining"
Bret's helmet that looks like his real hair
Jemaine accusing Bret's girl friend (Cocoa) of trying to break up the band, then slurring "Cocoa, oh no!" to sound like Yoko Ono
Jemaine's face when asked what his rap name is to which he replies "Hip-hopapotamus. But you can call me Jemaine if you like."
Jemaine swiping his hand across his throat and nodding towards Cocoa indicating that Bret should break up with her and Bret saying "no man, I'm not gonna kill her"

Also, the entirety of this post is much more amusing if you read it in a whiny New Zealand accent. Now, please to enjoy what is possibly my favorite song from the show. Or at least the one that I've had stuck in my head for the last two weeks:

Steriods vs Time Travel

2008-01-16T11:01:00.000-08:00

Every time a new horror movie comes out Haras makes a deal with me: I'll go to the scary movie with her in exchange for her going to a SciFi movie with me. We're getting more and more like an old married couple every day. We literally finish each other's sentences. Or at least predict the perfect quote/retort with surprising accuracy.

So far the score is Janay at scary movies:2 Haras at SF&F movies:0

Haras has a unique talent for wriggling out of commitments that might expose her closet obsession with SF&F.

Although Rambo technically isn't a scary movie, I've decided to categorize it in the general "I don't really care about it but Haras is obsessed with seeing it so I know she'll make me go anyway" category, and I'm require that she go see a movie with me. But not just any movie. This movie.

So far my favorite reviewer quotes include gems like : "Is this movie so god-awful bad that it's hilariously good? Can't be bothered deciding. Figure that's an answer in itself."

And, "Just where this kingdom is I don't know, but since the king of the title is played by Burt Reynolds, I'm guessing it's the Lost Continent of Atlanta. "

And, my favorite, "Uwe Boll isn't the worst director in the world, but In the Name of the King might be more enjoyable if he were."

Thus far Haras is proving resistant. Feel free to harras Haras (eh? ehhh??) on her blog to convince her that being an old married couple means making concessions.

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

2007-12-12T19:04:00.000-08:00

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

2007-12-12T15:50:00.001-08:00

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?

2007-11-30T11:21:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-27T15:49:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-11-09T09:16:00.001-08:00

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

2007-11-08T21:59:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-10-22T11:10:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-19T15:19:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-16T08:46:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-05T13:49:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-03T08:53:00.001-07:00

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

2007-09-26T10:41:00.000-07:00

Janay is a black barbie doll.

The force is strong with this one

2007-09-10T11:17:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-25T23:32:00.001-07:00

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

2007-07-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-06T12:04:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-14T10:48:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-13T09:36:00.000-07:00

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)

2007-03-27T10:27:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-06T09:25:00.000-08:00

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

2007-02-20T10:12:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-02-19T22:15:00.001-08:00

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

2007-02-13T09:47:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-02-12T10:35:00.000-08:00

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

2007-02-01T08:01:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-01-16T18:36:00.001-08:00

Sarah, the ultimate puppet master . . .

Panic in the WC

2007-01-10T08:23:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-01-08T10:49:00.000-08:00

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.

I'd like to Bond with some of that James!

2006-12-13T11:33:00.000-08:00

Things I want to tell you but that I'm too lazy to put in paragraph form.

Currently my viewing count of Casino Royal is up to 3, with the possibility of a 4th by the end of the week.

One of those times involved a fire-alarm not potent enough to pull me and Haras out of our perfect seats.

We may or may not have cheated our way into extra rain checks after said showing.
And by 'we' I mean Haras. I, on the other hand, was forced to quickly stifle a "well yes, my good man, we have in fact received the proper dosage of rain checks that you were so obliging as to bestow on us earlier, and no we are not in need of any additional ones because that would be deceitful, and dishonest."

It came out as "Wuuuhhh yeeeaaaahhhshssup"

The only thing worse than being in a theater filled with couples, is realizing that you and your roommate are still wearing your ugly Christmas sweaters from a party earlier that night, and that you actually do look like the sad lesbian couple you always joke about being.

With each viewing I’m convinced that Haras and I will undoubtedly fill the show with multiple inside jokes that will entertain us for months, but I end up becoming too flustered by the magnitude of Daniel Craig to be witty.

Instead I find my self grinning stupidly for two and a half hours and giggling every time he has his shirt off.

The lessons I've learned from Bond have given me a sense of reckless abandon which allowed me to successfully navigate my way around a possible encounter with a friend I did not wish to talk to.

Said encounter may have involved frantic tiptoeing through isles, numerous back flips while pondering the paradox of being half monk half hit man executing all moves with Bond-like composure, and finally seeking refuge in the Spanish section of the library.

But without the back flips.

I only do back flips when no one is watching.

Something D-O-O Economics

2006-11-22T09:55:00.000-08:00

It was my first year attending Education Week at BYU. The few years previous I had stayed at our friends house, babysitting, while my parents left before dawn and came home looking like they had finally been voted off the island. For some unknown reason I found this terribly appealing and I anxiously awaited the year that I turned 14 and was eligible to attend. For those of you who have not been fortunate enough to attend Education Week, let me explain one thing; Education Week, while wonderful and uplifting, has the innate side effect of sucking a persons will to live. It's what your week would be like if you tried taking 40 credits each semester. It's like the tour de France of classes, but without the shorts. It's like that scene in the Matrix where Keanu "learns" kung fu, except that you don't know kung fu. You don't even know your own name. And by the end of the day, all your capable of is slinking back to your car and praying that your auto-pilot will take you someplace with a recliner.
Most of the week had been spent listening to analogies about dating and football, and scribbling illegible notes in a water damaged notebook. On a whim my Mom and I attended a class together, what it was actually about I have no earthly idea, but apparently it sounded enticing at the time. What I do remember is a story the speaker told about a support group that uses laughter as therapy. But instead of watching funny movies or telling jokes, they participated in a group activity guaranteed to produce loud, obnoxious, unrestrained laughter for the enjoyment of all. Sitting in a circle, the would in unison recite the mantra "Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. . . " until the entire group had broken form and were laughing of their own volition.
Needless to say I found this wildly funny, and in my Education-Week-induced-delirium I spent the next several minutes trying (unsuccessful) to muffle the sound of my hysteria. For a few moments I was under the misapprehension that I might get away with it, but It wasn't long before my Mom realized that I wasn't having a seizure. After trying (unsuccessfully) to shush me without attracting too much attention, the inevitable happened. It only took one sideways glance at each other, and soon we were both shaking with full 6.0 magnitude. Somehow, despite our obvious knack for inconspicuousness we attracted the attention of several other students surrounding us, and just as an earthquake begins at the epicenter, so did the ripples of laughter begin with our inability to contain ourselves. It started in the back corner of a classroom that holds 900 people, and within seconds it had traveled all the way to the podium where the speaker was forced to pause in her dialogue and question (unsuccessfully) what was happening. That did nothing to quell our fits of giggles, and in the end we had to mutually agree not to look at each other throughout the remainder of the class for fear of an aftershock. We were unsuccessful.

A bear in his natural habitat, a studebaker.

2006-11-22T08:28:00.000-08:00

You Are Fozzie Bear

"Wocka! Wocka!"You're the life of the party, and you love making people crack up.If only your routine didn't always bomb!You may find more groans than laughs, but always keep the jokes coming.

The Muppet Personality Test

The Jig Is Up: Part Deux

2006-11-03T16:27:00.000-08:00

A while ago I was kindly reminded that I have neglected to include one of my most infamous experiences as an incompetent person. And since I have no online-shame, I'll share this experience with you as long as you understand one thing; I've learned my lesson. That said, allow me to set the scene.

The year was 2004, a crazy year for me at BYU. I had been keeping myself busy with school, work, tutoring at a nearby high school, and trying to start prank-wars with my nocturnal roommates. Things had been going well, and my roomie Nicole and I had decided to go out to dinner. We sat down, and were pleased to see that the restaurant was not very crowded and that we could talk undisturbed about what was going on in our lives, and how we were coping with living in Provo. Dinner came and we talked some more, and throughout the meal I began to notice a buss boy clearing the tables near us. For some reason he seemed very familiar, and I was sure that I had seen him somewhere before. At the time I was working a job on campus which required me to help many students in person. As a result I was constantly making claims that I had seen someone before, and that I somehow I knew them. Nicole was no stranger to this, so when I mentioned that I recognized the buss boy she rolled her eyes as if to say "here we go again!" And indeed we did.

After we had finished our meal, and after much debating, Nicole convinced me (in that special way that only Nicole can) that I should leave a note with my number for the cute buss boy. "What the heck!" I thought, "what's the worst that could happen?" Silly Janay. So quickly I scribbled a note on my receipt hoping that our waitress would take pity on me and hand it over to the desired recipient. Note: I want to point out that it was not even an option that I would actually TALK to this guy, because anyone who knows me know that I don't talk to guys, particularly if I'm interested. I'd much rather ignore them to make sure that they don't know of my interest . . . and it usually works. I can honestly say that most guys I'm interested in have no idea that I even exist, so . . . success!

On the way home Nicole and I were laughing about my "daring" move, and began to wonder why we didn't do things like this more often? I mean, we are in Mormon town here, most of the guys we're going to meet are going to fulfill at least our BASIC qualifications.

A couple days later I got a phone call. He told me his name and that he was from the restaurant; I had no idea what he was talking about, but I played along like I knew exactly who he was and eventually my inherent intuition kicked in.

The conversation was going well, albeit very awkwardly, when he asked me "so how old are you?" that's when I knew something was wrong. I was feeling very young at the time so I told him that I would be 21 in a few weeks, and as soon as I said that I realized my mistake. My suspicion's were confirmed when he told me that he also had a birthday coming up . . . he's 17th birthday. Worse than knowing that I had just hit on a minor was when I realized where I knew him from.

He was a student I tutored at the high school for troubled teens.

For once I realized that my inability to approach people of the male persuasion had saved me from potentially an even MORE embarrassing situation.

The conversation ended with asking me to call him back sometime (though preferably before 9pm if possible). After I hung up, I looked over at a curious Nicole and said "THIS is why we don't approach guys Nicole, because of things like this."

Needless to say I never tutored at that school again.

Revenge of the Nerds

2006-10-30T09:55:00.000-08:00

Today I took my first step into a bigger, nerdier world. Before I tell you exactly what that step was let me first say a few things in my defense. I have seen Lost. I have believed that something might actually be answered in a future episode, and I've learned that no matter how much people talk on the internet about their theories about the show, that doesn't give them anymore of a life. That said, it's confession time.

With the promise of new and wonderful shows for this fall season, I was feeling optimistic about television. I soon found that my week would scheduled around ANTM, Biggest Looser, Studio 60, Grey's Anatomy and, you guessed it, Heroes. In the past I've had, what I consider, very good taste in TV shows. (for proof of this I will refer to the mutiple seasons of Arrested Development, News Radio and The Office that I own (BTW those are supposed to show that I have GOOD taste)) But this fall's season has me a little caught up in the moment (Live in the now!) and thus my downfall.

After experiencing the deadly mix of a Hero's marathon, and being bored at work, I found myself perusing online forums which postulate about what's in store for the new cult-classic. (it gets worse) After scanning for a few moments I was surprised to see that no one had mentioned the one plot twist that I saw as completely obvious, and I was shocked that it had not even been addressed as a possibility! Well. Being the consciencous television viewer that I am, I could not simply stand by, and let these spoiler-hounds remain in the dark. So I did the noble thing, and I did it with as much humility as I could muster up (I even included a disclaimer that someone may have already pointed out this oh-so-obvious plot twist, and I had just neglected to see it)

I thought that at most I would get a polite response saying that my idea was interesting, or even unfounded. Boy was I wrong. Within 5 minutes my natural curiousity got the best of my, and I logged back on to see if anyone had responded. At first I was confused because I couldn't find my original post, then I discovered that it was about three pages back. Three pages of responses by the Uber-nerds who rule that domain, berrating me for bringing up a topic which had already been debunked by their larger-than-life-super-computer-like-minds. (although they failed to cite their sources, I guess uber-nerds don't NEED to take English 110) Apparently my idea would have been a great one if I had "come up with it TWO WEEKS AGO" I'm ashamed. I guess I'll just take my 12 sided die and go back to playing D&D in my basement.

Walk Like An Egyptian

2006-10-18T11:25:00.000-07:00

MySpace. A place for friends. And also a place where men from foreign countries can share their secret pain and confess their undying love for you from the comfort of their own homes, through the anonymity of an online message. Ahhhhh. Isn't the internet great! (or The Web, as I like to call it)

Most of the time these messages are from someone who could rightly be referred to as a Senior-Crazy-Bitey-Hands (read March 28th) type man, but this time, I was amazed by the blunt eloquence of this humble Egyptian man's request.

Subject: Please . . . Janay?
I was looking soooooooooo hard, I was looking everywhere and anywhere untill I realized that she doesn't exist, she really doesn't exist at all....... So I decided to stop looking and give up about women forever forever forever..... The princess of my dreams doesn't exist, that's for sure!..........BUT.......When I looked at your charming eyes, I felt a spark running all over my body, I felt that I'm living in heaven......And when I looked at your warm irresistible smile, I felt that I'm the happiest person on this planet, I felt that this world is smilling to me.......And when I looked at your beautiful angelic face, I felt that I'm flying in the sky, I felt that this world is mine!!..... But unfortunately, I don't live in USA, I'm not american, I'm not even the same religion as you are....so of course you are not interested in me!!!......**SIGH!!**
-Mero

Mero-
Curse the infernal fates who conspire to keep us apart! I'm sorry that you took yourself on a wild-goose chase only to find out that the princess of your dreams does not exist! I know exaclty how that feels. When I was 7 I spent hours in my backyard setting leperchauns traps. Boy was I disappointed. But keep your head up Mero! You, and I? We are the same! We may yet find that princess (or prince) of our dreams! It's like you say in your ABout Me section. There are four kinds of people. But me, Mero? I'm the second kind. I'm still searching for my soulmate and so must you! I will not let you quit! Be strong and perservere and in time, you might just get that chance to propose to Nicole Kidman in front of all her body guards, but then, the answer will be up to her. . . **SIGH**

I have yet to get a response . . .

The Jig Is Up

2006-10-18T08:08:00.000-07:00

Upon reading my recent blog about my general incompetence as a human, I was overwhelmed by the amount of remarks I got from friends and family, kindly reminding my that I had neglected to include some very key experiences. Now, lest I deceive you into thinking that I am more competent than my initial analysis claims, I have obligingly decided to include these additional proofs of my stupidity. Why? Because I'm just that smart.

*Courtesy of Nicole*
When I came home one night I noticed a grasshopper the size of a Buick resting comfortably on my from door. Well, I decided, this measly invertebrate would not best me! So I causally swatted the beast away with the back of my hand. What I didn't know was that Mr. Jiminy Cricket was not going down so easily. Without warning he leapt from the door and dive-bombed my head with the speed and accuracy of a . . . well, of a grasshopper I suppose.

Not to be out done, I also whipped into action and dodged in the only direction I could (my Matrix move is woefully under-practiced, so I had no choice but to bend forward). Unfortunately the bug had cornered me, and my rash decision to dodge resulted in me scraping my head along the brick surface of my building as the bug flittered away smugly into the night. Besides my hurt ego that I had to nurse for days, I also had perfectly parallel scratch marks on my forehead as a constant reminder of my encounter.

Upon reflection I can only assume that the cricket was exacting revenge on me for all those little grasshoppers I used to put in jars with bits of grass when I was little. Next time I'll be sure to add a twig.

PS If you can think of any other memories I might have repressed that would befit another blog entry on the subject, please don't hesitate to remind me . . . I have complete faith in your ability to do so.

The Blog of Eternal Stench

2006-10-16T16:38:00.000-07:00

In the past I've felt that I needed to blog about SOMETHING. But no longer. From here out I vow to blog about EVERYTHING and NOTHING as I see fit. And if you don't like it? Too bad sucka! You'll have nothing and you'll like it!

Let the nothing begin. (Cue the rock man and his friends, man on snail, and hamster/bat thing. All together now? "The Nothing . . .")

I recently had two conversations with two friends. Who also happen to befriends with each other, but for the purposes of this blog, shall remain independently anonymous. One friend said "what's the point of a blog? The only people reading your blog are your friends so you can't write all the personal stuff you'd want to because it includes them, and so you have to censor yourself and what's the fun of writing something that you can post online for the world to see if you have to censor yourself?" Needless to say this friend has a tendency for run-on sentences.

The second conversation I had with my second friend has no relevance to this blog and therefore I will not give you the details. In the end though I couldn't help thinking, friend number one has a point.

Although there ARE ways around the anonymity problem such as giving all your friends alibi's, but in the end you're forced to use an alibi that you can actually remember; such as spelling the name backwards, or something else completely original and sure to keep the true identity under wraps (once again, a shout out of thanks to my BFF Haras)

So what's to be done? There are two options left.

Option #1: admit defeat and blog only about things that your friends (and family) will approve of, namely anecdotes of wild adventures that you highly over-exaggerate in order to make your life sound more interesting and exciting than it actually is.

Or.

Option #2: scream triumphantly and without reservation "social graces be damned!" and steel yourself against the barrage of angry comments (or lack of comments) that will plague your blog as you brazenly flout your opinions of your friends and family (and acquaintances) bad taste in clothing, movies and all things you consider yourself an expert in. (Harry Potter trivia?)

Personally I'd opt for option #3: (I know, I know I said there were only two,but if I told you there were three it'd ruin the dramatic suspense THAT IS this blog) Ah hem.

Option #3: Tell all your friends, family, and acquaintances (and pets) that you have an amusingly charming blog, dutifully update it with humorous accounts of your utterly mundane life, then secretly, and without reservation upkeep ANOTHER blog where you can vent your stress, resentment, or sheer glee concerning the events of that utterly mundane life we talked about earlier.

Granted, not everyone's life is as utterly mundane as my own, and therefore these parameters may not apply to them. I, for example, have never punched myself in the face and so I do not have that kind of experience to draw from. But let me just say this. If someday in the near future you see a mysterious link to an even more mysterious blog, full of secrets and indiscretions you never before thought your mild-mannered friend was capable of, rest assured, it's not mine.

Special Guest Blogger!!!

2006-10-11T14:34:00.000-07:00

Upon request, here is my blog. Why is Kari stupid, you ask? We may never know. We can only refer to the symptoms and endless examples that only scratch the surface of the unknown bottomless pit that is the stupidity of Kari. You want some of these examples? Either because I’m that nice or that stupid, I will acquiesce to your request.

1. I’ve been crazy about the same guy for nearly four years. He doesn’t know.
2. He stands me up on at least a monthly basis. I still let him get away with it.
3. I keep expecting him to get his act together.
4. I keep hoping that he’ll ignore the two gorgeous girls that want him, and pick me instead.
5. I keep applying the B.S. through everything principle of high school, although my grades clearly reflect the fallacy of utilizing such an idea beyond public school.
6. My back really hurts. If I do daily exercises, it feels better. Once I actually did the exercises on my mission and my back stopped hurting. And so I stopped doing the exercises.
7. I still somehow believe in the idea that personality will get you farther than looks.

Mission moments of stupidity
1. I wore two different shoes—one brown, one black for a whole day on accident.
2. I shot an elder in the eye with a rubber band.
3. Because of me, missionaries are no longer allowed to play foozball at the institute building in Leeds, England.
4. I killed Kenny (the car) the day we got him.
5. I locked the keys in the car twice (although this was Walter). Actually the second time I didn’t, but I thought I had, so we spent thirty minutes trying to break into a car that didn’t actually have the keys in it.

Post-mission
1. This was over general conference. I asked Sterling at the conference center where the SLC temple was, and it was literally RIGHT IN FRONT OF US. Cool, huh.
2. ITRYSOHARD. That’s stupid.

These are just a few of Kari’s moments of stupidity. I hope you enjoyed them as much as they embarrass(ed) me!

Kari

I'd Make A Better Ape Than A Human

2006-10-10T09:24:00.000-07:00

Over the last few years I have come to realize that if something strange and bizarre is going to happen, it's going to happen to Sarah. But if something utterly idiotic is going to happen, it's probably my fault. Don't believe me? I didn't think you would. Therefore I have compiled a list of proofs of my general incompetence as a human being. Enjoy.

When I was the first person to use the bathroom at work, I did not notice the toilet seat was still up from the cleaning crew, and I promptly sat directly IN the toilet bowl.

No matter how many times I look it up, I always misspell the word "necessary",or is it "neccesary"?

The first formal dance I went to in college, I tripped and fell face first down 2 flights of stairs, leaving my date behind in the dust.

When my friend said "I don't think I have your number" I assumed he said "I think I have your number", and then wondered why he sat there awkwardly fiddling with the seatbelt, looking at me expectantly.

I have spent entire days being angry with someone for something they did in my dream.

After I broke my full-length mirror, Sarah bought me another one as a gift, which I shattered not two days later in exactly the same way.

I have never gone an entire winter without falling, butt first, on the ice.

When I left a notebook containing some personal entries at my auto-maintenance class, I decided not to ask my teacher about it, on the off chance that he had read it, and would therefore connect the ramblings of a bitter psychopath to myself.

I am so OCD about folding wrappers that I don't like to eat Hershey's Kisses, because the wrappers always tear.

Everytime I wash dishes by hand I get a wet spot across my waist from leaning against the counter. It has never occurred to me to use a towel.

One of the first times I wore heels in public, I punctured a hole in the floor of my local rite-aid. I've never worn heels in a drug store since.

I panic when my alarm goes off and I won't push any buttons until I'm sure I have the right one because I'm scared that the wrong button will some how result in a huge catastrophe.

Every time I try to use a USB drive, it takes me at least 3 tries to figure out which direction it goes in.

When pickin up my curling iron, I yanked the cord which then pulled my basket of make-up off the shelf, and into the toilet. Then I went eyeliner-fishing.

Sometimes when I'm asleep, I snore so loudly and abruptly that I wake myself up.

Right now I would rather work on my blog than go over to my boss to ask for something to do, because that would involve walking by the cute guy's cubicle. And I'd rather be bored than have another awkward look-in-look-out-look-in-look-out situation.

After spell-checking this blog, I noticed that I accidently changed 'Hershey kisses' to 'horse's kisses'.

I think I've made my point.

2006-09-20T14:41:00.000-07:00

To the office, he's lazy. But he'll soon become the most ambitious man with a club. NextPage software developer Jack Bauer can't afford to always play by the rules. As a participant of the 1st annual golf tournament, Jack must stop engineers, testers, and programmers, usually while releasing the newest build of R12. What follows is an account, unfolding in real time, of each consecutive hour, in what is about to be one very bad day.

HOURS UNTIL TEE TIME:21:23
Tuesday, September 19, 2006 10:37 AM

To: EVERYONE
Subject: Golf Tournament
Bob, Jean, Alan, and I look forward to taking the winners stand at the end. John assures me that his recent shoulder operation will not limit his ability to sign autographs at the end. So, don’t be shy about asking,

David

HOURS UNTIL TEE TIME:
21:16
Tuesday, September 19, 2006 10:44 AM

To: EVERYONE
Subject: Golf Tournament
David, your group is more than welcome to come to the winner stand to congratulate Charlie, Joe, Carol and I on a thoroughly dominating victory.
Sam

HOURS UNTIL TEE TIME:
20:29
Tuesday, September 19, 2006 11:31 AM

To: EVERYONE
Subject: Golf Tournament
Folks, sometimes you have to remember it’s the littlest dogs that bark the loudest. Don’t let them faze you. When a chance comes along, you watch it approach, then stalk it like a hawk stalks the mouse scurrying across the bare ground on a cold, dry moring in January. When the sun rises in the east and peirces your gaze with it's glowing rays of promise, that is when you look to the west, and measure the length of your shadow against the length of your courage. And when the day comes that you find that you've surpassed your own will of character; the day that your bravery overshadows your fear; the day that small men become taller, and tall men become giants, that is the day that I will TEAR IT UP ON THE GOLF COURSE!
Jack
AKA: NextPage software developer, Jack Bauer
PS Nothing but the furries of hell will deter me from victory!PPS And those furries will have to BRING IT! Victory, it will be mine. Oh yes, it will be mine.

HOURS UNTIL TEE TIME:19:44
Tuesday, September 19, 2006 12:16 PM

To: EVERYONE

Subject: Golf Tournament
I know most of you are going to be very sad but we are going to cancel the golf tournament this Friday due to the high chance of inclement weather (rain and really cold temperature).
Carol

Whaaaaaahhht??

2006-09-17T13:08:00.000-07:00

Golf Time!!

To go, or not to go. That is the question. The question that every employee asks themselves on the fateful day the get the first notice of the annual office golf tournament. As a part time employee I usually revel in knowing that I'm not invited, which also means I get to leave early, during the awards ceremony, and enjoy the tournament in solitude. But unfortunately this company has outsmarted me. Without prior consent my name was added to a roster of company teams competing this year. "No experience needed! Play for fun! Get to know your co-workers! If you don't have clubs we'll pay for you to rent them!" The messages beat me into submission before I know what's what; the room starts spinning and all I see is a blur of computer monitors whizzing by, the servers taunting me with their replicas and their email clients. Then I realize the room isn’t spinning at all, my chair is. And I’m squealing like a 6 year old on Space Mountain.

So who are these illusive teammates of mine? Three middle-aged computer programmers, out to show the world, or the company, that they DO know the meaning of fun, and that they DO have other interests besides computer games. In truth I've never met them . . . even less of an incentive to go. True, we could bond over the drama of Commander Worf falling for a girl who's half Romulan, but alas, Star Trek antics only get you so far in life. Then you're forced to turn to golf. The dark side, as we Trekkies like to call it (I'll be stoned to death for that later). So the ultimate question remains: to go, or not to go.

After careful consideration I've decided that although there is great potential for a memorable outing (and accompanying blog) that's not enough to entice me to get out of bed at 7am to "get to know" my alleged co-workers. I've been here for two weeks, and thus far I don't see any evidence that there actually are other people working here besides the 4 people I know. APPARENTLY this whole floor belongs to our office, but the howling wind, and rolling tumbleweeds is beginning to make me suspicious.

2006-09-08T11:29:00.000-07:00

The Joys of Employment . . .

There are many small joys in life that come with something new. Wearing pair of socks for the first time; the first scoop of icecream from a fresh carton (when you can still fool yourself into thinking that you'll only have one dishfull); and that first crack in the spine of a good paperback. Most of the time, first are exciting, refreshing, and enjoyable. The first day of a new job for the intelligent, modern woman, however, is much different. In order to appreciate this in full, we will examine my entire first WEEK of work.

>>It all starts when you spend two hours filling out a page and a half of HR paperwork, listening to the roar of the air conditioner, and trying not to laugh when the other newbie says to your, I'm *this* close to retirement boss, "ummm . . . don't be mad buuuuuut . . . I don't have like my social security card with me . . ." Apparently these high-tech software companies have some sort of SUPER-copy machine that requires at least 20 minutes of individual attention per copy . . . it's good to know that your drivers license picture will be immortalized in the records of your HR department . . .until you die.

>>Introductions happen at a break-neck pace. You know it, and they know it. No one was listening. Now when you see them you'll look away in an awkward moment because ASKING for a name is out of the question. Office camaraderie at it's best.

>>Incorporating the office jargon is always a challenge, new words that make you feel like a natural woman. Things like "upload it to a Domino server so we can set up a monitor system", or "We need to wer-ify the location of Moe-hoe at Pawey's" (a sad attempt to phoneticize an accent).

>>Secure buildings are particularly interesting; where you need a key-card to get in any door, you get the lovely task of pacing-outside-the-office-waiting-for-someone-to-come-to-the-bathroom-so-you-can-harass-them-to-let-you-in-while-you-try-to-position-yourself-so-that-the-receptionist-in-the-office-across-the-hall-will-stop-looking-at-you-like-you've-just-stolen-the-last-doughnut-in-the-break-room-which-you-couldn't-get-into-if-you-wanted-because-you-still-don't-have-a-key! Hypothetically.

>>Finding the women's room can be difficult enough, but then discovering that it has a motion sensor, so that if you sit too long on the can, you'll soon be sitting in the dark. Then someone else comes in a finds you there . . . they know how long you've been there, they've timed the lights themselves . . .now you're both hoping that the air-freshener sensor will kick in soon.

>>And finally, the icing on the cupcake of employment, that first time you accidentally say something inappropriate to your boss. Like when he's training you on a program and offers to demonstrate it on a computer and you sweetly ask, "Your place, or mine?" Needless to say, we went to mine.

PACMAN TAKES A BACK SEAT

2006-08-07T22:44:00.000-07:00

I found a new favorite game. It's kind of like Dance Dance Revolution except that instead of moving your feet you move your hands (and there aren’t QUITE as many pale skinny guys participating in a “dance off”) No question it’s better than the $10 knock off DDR that I bought on ebay. For some reason I have yet to comprehend the thrill is a bit diminished when all the songs sound like an Atari game, and no matter when you step on the pad, you’re always wrong. It’s an obsessive compulsive’s nightmare. But I digress. After you get over the initial embarrassment of the cheesy but insanely loud music, it's kind of addicting. But then you watch the other people playing it and you can't help but think, "Wow. Do I look that idiotic and uncoordinated when I play? Answer: No chance in hell. I'm much more poised and classy." At least that's the lie I tell my self to justify another session. I look almost as classy as I do when I play the game where it senses your moves, and when you want your guy to hide behind the couch while villain numero uno is popping caps at you, you have to literally pop a squat. There’s a lot of ‘popping’ in that game. That's just another think that I have to add to my list of things to do in the privacy of my own home after I'm a millionaire. Right after the swimming pool full of pudding.

2006-07-12T02:25:00.000-07:00

MySpace Strikes Again!!

The other night Sarah and I were bored. I mean BORED. After our favorite show failed to air, we decided it was time to photograph Sarah’s bruise. (Remember I said BORED) After several attempts with her camera phone we got annoyed with the artificial shutter clicking, and decided it was time to break in my new digital camera.

Don’t be deceived, all that is digital is not gold.

This camera in particular measures about 1”x2”, can only hold 20 pictures, has a viewfinder that is activated by manually pushing it up, and runs on a AAA battery. Eventually we got Sarah in a very compromising position, and had some minor success. (Which is reflected in Sarah’s blog)

And then it was time. LET THE GREAT EXPERAMENT BEGIN! For all you MySpace-ers out there, you may recognize what you’re about to see. Personal photography at it’s finest. When meeting people online it’s best to know as little about them as possible, and those myspace angles are all about the deception.

Thus behold my eye. Is it my right eye? Did I flip the image and my hair is actually parted on the other side? The world may never know!!!

Why is Sarah looking up at the ceiling? Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it Brandon Routh in spandex?

And finally, why is Sarah playing the bagpipes, while I play with bio-hazardous materials?

Answer=

BORED.

2006-07-06T18:51:00.000-07:00

Ok this is just too much. On Sunday hundreds of people flocked to a hospital in India to see a man holding a piece of his own skull. . .which FELL OFF! I don’t know about you, but if any part of me fell off I would NOT be that calm, especially not if it was my SKULL! The good news is that now those costume designers for the inevitable He-man movie won’t have to worry about finding a mask for Skeletor. (Haha. Sorry) Apparently this guy burned himself . . .uh . . .on his head . . .so bad that his skull died and started to rebuild a new one. FYI 007, you might want to inform Q that his new lightning-rod-hidden-in-a-fedora might not be such a hit. But it is guaranteed to shock and amaze! (wow, sorry again.) The one thing this story has taught me is that my idea for rubber “soft hats” might not be such a bad idea . . .although the Styrofoam toupee might still need some work. Oh, and if you’re like me, closer inspection reveals that he has a bandage on his head, and that he is actually not frying bacon using his electrically enhanced brain waves.

2006-07-05T22:12:00.000-07:00

I recently had the play-sure to attend a restaurant of such notoriety it’s typically only featured quality cinema such as The Cable Guy. That’s right. You fellow green-knight supporters know phenomenon of which I refer. Medieval Times has regaled patrons with authentic dinning experiences (minus the Pepsi) and the medieval version of swashbuckling sword fights and dramatic excitement.

Never before in the history of these dignified patrons have they willingly donned cardboard crowns with such loyalty and excitement. At least not since their 10th birthday party at Burger King. The energy of the area is the closest thing we have in America to the European world cup fans. Each group cheering unquestionably to the knight bearing their designated color, and shouting profanities at the competing knights, then secretly giggling when their own knight falls dramatically into single un-removed pile of horse doo. The food is almost pointless, but to aid the ingestion of beer, once you get caught up in the action in front of you. Indeed my co-attendee Emily waved her little green banner so vigilantly and so enthusiastically that by the end of the tournament she had nothing but a frayed, green fuzz ball on a stick.

Before going we decided that we were going to make the most of this experience by paying the extra $4 to be in the "royalty" section. This entitled us to the afore mentioned banner, a dvd of the performance, and the play-sure of listening to the drunked menopausal women to our left complaining about not getting a flower from our knight, and the spoiled, prepubesent, mall-rat sisters to our right literally bludgening each other over a hankerchief from the princess. If you're curious, the 7 year old won.

GO GREEN! GO GREEN! GO GREEN!

2006-07-05T21:13:00.000-07:00

This is my dramatic entrance to the blogging community. Prepare to be dazzled.