Archive for childhood

Planning a wedding

So, guess what, internet… I’m planning a wedding.  For myself.  Because I’m engaged.  I figured you should know.  So I think I’ll share some of my thoughts on planning a wedding, specifically in Utah.

I recently printed out a checklist of all the things I have to do before I get married.  It’s a long list, but we’ve been working on cutting out things we don’t need.  Like a wedding coordinator.  Why would we need someone to tell us what we want for our wedding (which will be in a free venue, mind you–a huge perk to LDS-dom–in a beautiful, pre-decorated castle), and what we want our decor to be in our also-free reception venues (two receptions, one south, one north Utah).  In this day of the internet, where I can find all the ideas I need (and some I don’t need) for this stuff, what would be the point to pay someone to look on the internet for me?

Another thing I’ve crossed off because we don’t need it?  Bridesmaids.  For an LDS wedding, there’s not a huge procession where all the women involved have to wear matching dresses.  In all reality, I don’t see a point in having bridesmaids except to pose for a few pictures wearing dresses that are only flattering on 50% of the girls (unless you were part of the “popular” crowd, where all of the girls you would ask to be your bridesmaids were carbon copies of each other.  This is probably what my insane roommate’s wedding will look like, however.  I believe she is also engaged.  Although, I haven’t had occasion to ask, or even talk to her.  But that’s beside the point.  In fact, I don’t even know if I’ll find a maid of honor.  I’ll probably just have my mother help me out.  I can’t imagine asking one of my few female friends to do it–I’m not necessarily close enough with any of them to ask anyway.  I can’t imagine any of them WANTING that kind of responsibility on my behalf.  It just seems very silly when I have a mother and myself who are both very capable of taking care of ourselves and this occasion…  Although, this may mean I will likely have the tamest-ever bridal shower, filled with gifts like nice hand soap from Bath & Body Works or a gift card to Maidenform or Target.  Perhaps a nice bath rug or framed picture.  Which is cool, too.  That’s how I roll.

Let’s see, what else… Ah. Reception entertainment.  Now, we haven’t necessarily nixed this concept altogether.  I’m actually throwing around the idea of hosting an drum circle for the So-tah (southern Utah) reception, inviting all of J.D.’s percussion friends and letting them have at it with their djembes. Which I probably didn’t spell right.  Other than that, there will be plenty of children running around to keep everyone entertained.  I think we’ll have a table for them, though, with coloring books and games so they’re not SO all-over-the-place.  Haven’t decided if we’ll do much dancing.  I can’t say I’m really INto the whole Utah dance thing… I still have memories of those awkward middle school “dances” (which I ended up calling “stands” because that’s really all it was–standing, perhaps swaying, and doing a lot of perspiring) and remain jaded.  Oh, and church dances.  Those were relatively similar.  I was never really into the whole standing and swaying thing.  I just ended up talking a lot and being three times my awkward self.  I don’t think I ever talked so much in my life than I did when I was swaying awkwardly in tandem with a young man who was far more adept at keeping his mouth shut than I was.

Probably why I went to prom with my 11-year-old brother…  But hey.  J.D. loves me for it. 🙂


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The pratfalls of growing up

Recently, I’ve had a hankering for play.  Of course, with nobody to play with, I’ve begun playing a cheap X-Box version of Tony Hawk American Wasteland to wile away my hours of free time.   Amongst all this free time, I have had a lot of time to reminisce about my childhood and lit upon all of the fun I had at McDonalds and other places with those playplaces.  Those cramped tubes, those unsanitary ball pits, those smudgy windows where I could wave to Mommy and Daddy as they undoubtedely wished they could be up there playing as well.  And then I remembered the day when I was no longer allowed to play, when the hand of the Hamburgler was no longer far over my head but somewhere around my ears and shoulders– The beginning of the end of my childhood.  Some may say that it was a rite of passage, and indeed I was mildly excited when I realized that I was no longer considered a “little kid,” by the mere fact that I was finally tall enough not to be allowed into the mazes of tubes and ladders and slides — no longer allowed through the three-foot diameter portal of joy.

But, as the initial excitement of growing up faded away (relatively quickly), my brothers and I fell upon the question of why they didn’t make claustrophobic tube playgrounds for “big kids”?

Of course, the concept of playgrounds for adults is nothing new — in fact, Germany has begun construction on such a thing, including chess and badminton and — things adults already do.  But what about the colorful tubes?  Windows you can peek out of?  Those tic-tac-toe boards?  The “captain’s ships”?  The wonderful smell of sweaty plastic?  The fun of being smooshed up against some other random kid while trying to pass each-other in opposite directions?  The bumps and bruises on your knees from crawling around on all fours?  And getting lost in it all like there’s nobody that can hurt you in your protective spaceship/homebase/cocoon/hive, and forgetting that Mommy told you that you have to clean your room when you get home?

Quite frankly, I miss it.  And I’d assume that there are plenty of other college students and even parents feeling the same way as they watch their younger counterparts peek through windows and wave at them and appear at the bottom of the windy slide moments later in a fit of giggles as their hair stands up from the massive static accumulation.  Don’t we need the colors to interrupt the mundane blacks and grays and browns that permeate our society?  Don’t we need a metaphorical way to block out the world and have the chance to just peek at it from behind protective clear plastic?  Don’t we need a break from Sudoku and crossword puzzles and video games?  Don’t we need a place to call our “captain’s seat” until we’re bored and we can just hand it over to the next person without any risk of a huge corporate failure and need for a bailout?  Don’t we need to invigorate our senses with that musk smell that is apparently all the rage?  And what better way to meet your future soul mate than by awkwardly bumping shoulders and hips as you pass by with awkward hello’s and mumblings of “gotta get to home base”?  And we could all do with a few more bruises on our knees!  Last of all, couldn’t we all do with the sudden amnesia and carefree attitude that comes with entering into that impenitrable castle of plastic?

So, scale up the tube diameter, add a few more twists and turns to keep it interesting, amp up the classic rock, keep the smoothies flowing — what could be better?

It’d be the most fun I’d ever have working out.


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This is Not a Political Post


I promise.

In all honesty, this post will have nothing to do with Obama, but rather the Sailor Outfit he is wearing.  In fact, one of the only things I like about the guy is his voice.  It’s rather hypnotic.

Anyway, speaking of Sailor Moon, I have recently revived my interest in this Japanese animation cartoon thanks to the vast wonders of YouTube.  I was never able to really get into the actual show as a child due to a lack of cable television, but I exercised my obsessions elsewhere.  My website favorites list was filled with Sailor Moon websites and my picture folders filled with Sailor moon images.  And the images didn’t stop there — my binders and room was filled with my own drawings of spin-off Sailor Moon characters, including, but not limited to, Sailor Death, Sailor X (for planet X), Sailor (insert name of constellation here), Sailor Fun, and Sailor Fiction.  I was recently flipping through these old drawings and cringing at my terrible representations of the female body.  How I wish my scanner were working so I could SHOW you how bad these were.  But I suppose a description will just have to do for now.

It began at the top, as most things do, with gravity-defying hair in rather geometric shapes and always ending in very sharp points that could probably have been  weapons in and of themselves.

The hair naturally leads to the face and head, which were sadly mis-proportionate to the bodies (large), with frighteningly pointed chins and eyes like black-rimmed saucers.  all were sadly lacking in lips, and instead only had small lines for a smirk or frown (depending on how I was feeling that day.  Sailor Death, for example, was looking rather angry and emo).

From the head, we move down to the torso.  I can only say that they were extremely… Erm… Busty.  Perhaps compensating for my youth and… Immaturity?  Perhaps it was because the whole concept seemed so unnatural that my “art” tended to bring out that unnatural… ness.   Anyway, their waists were extremely tiny (in comparison to their “ribcage”) and their arms little more than sticks.  A testament to the nickname given to me by my fellow “moony” friends, toothpick.  (for those of you who don’t know, a “Moony” is a Sailor Moon fan)

The legs and feet are by far the strangest part of these concoctions.  They also were mere sticks, remaining basically the same width through the ankle, knees, thighs, and buttocks.  Poor girls, no booty to keep their pants up, perhaps that’s why they were always wearing skirts.  But that’s beside the point.  Of course, the calves DID curve, as you are well aware, but both the front line of the calf and back line remained parallel, which made the legs look more rubber than stick.  And then of course the ankles were strangely flexible, as were the feet, bending in ways impossible to describe on paper.

And thus it is.  Or they were.  I’d like to clarify I no longer draw like that.  But man, my portfolio from that part of my life is HUGE.  Seriously.

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Of Stereotypes and The Real World

It is a known fact that Utah is it’s own little “special” world.  I have lived that this “special” world for the larger part of my life.  It’s rather lovely here, except, of course, it contains no semblance whatsoever to the so-called “real” world.  I have no real comparisons to make, because I have no idea what the real world is actually like, apart from what I see on reality TV shows.  So, from a Utahn’s perspective of what the real world is like from my 14-inch TV screen, here is what I surmise would be my experience anywhere but Utah/Idaho. (also, see for a deep and “insightful” view of Utah and it’s “culture”)

If I were to move out and live in the real world, I would live in an apartment with a nice balcony where I would have parties every night.  I would always be worried about my next payment, but somehow, I lived in a rather nice apartment with brightly-colored walls and lavish furnishings.  I would always be in a fight with one of my girlfriends, and I would always be crushing on my best friend’s boyfriend.  Meanwhile, I am also falling in like with my adorable landlord, who I see at the gym every day.  I would have a never-ending wardrobe that would fit me perfectly, and I would never wear the same thing twice.  I would never have to worry about my jeans not staying up because they would be perfectly fitted to my body shape and size.  I would work all day to come home to nine catty girls, all equally as attractive as myself and working towards the same goal.  I would meet with famous people every day, and even though I also had to work a real job, I would do awesome things like go on shopping sprees and get photographed endlessly all day.  Somehow.  I would monopolize the phone and make out with lots of men. 

And yet, somehow, I would find time to tend to the ranch and tell everyone about my parents with dwarf-syndrome.  I would also go out and do crazy things like bungee-jumping and water-skiing and blowing up hot water heaters all the time, and go to awesome places like Paris, Japan, and Australia.  I would go to the beach all the time and get the perfect tan, and have perfectly manicured nails every day.

It would be amazing.

 And yet very, very wrong.

I don’t think I want to live in the real world.

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True Girl and Boy Scouters Say they REALLY Don’t Exist…

I have recently come to the knowledge that snipes, do, in fact, exist.  You may be saying to yourself, “Aw, man, I forgot about snipes!!  We had those young’uns CONVICED that they could catch one if they covered themselves in toothpaste!!”  Well. Turns out those “young’uns” were right.  At least in some parts of the world.

Myself, I never actually went snipe hunting.  I found out that their “existence” was false long before I was ever offered the wonderful opportunity to cover myself in toothpaste and dig around in small bushes like a caveman.  But, I was witness to many hunting groups departing for the hunt.  They were always late at night so I was always already “cozy” in my sleeping bag long before they arrived back from an eventul night of snipe hunting.

According to the campers’ folklore, at least in my area, a snipe is a small, fluffy, flightless bird.  It is attracted by the scent of toothpaste and are actually very cute, but hold a nasty nibble if caught, so one must be careful not to actually get bitten. 

According to Wikipedia, though, and I quote, “A Snipe is any of nearly 20 very similar wading bird species in three genera in the family Scolopacidae. They are characterised by a very long slender bill and cryptic plumage. The Gallinago snipes have a nearly worldwide distribution, the Lymnocryptes Jack Snipe is restriced to Asia and Europe and the Coenocorypha snipes are restriced to New Zealand. The three species of painted snipe are not closely related to these, and are placed in their own family, the Rostratulidae.”

So, there you have it.  I guess they’ll have to find some other name for them.  Myth BUSTED!!

(For the complete article on Snipes, go to OR for the “folklore” behind the snipe”)

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