Disney tips.

I’m recuperating from yet another Disney adventure. This one was with two new people, both men (I know, good job Casey!). Yes, it’s like trip number 37 (and yes, the skies were filled with ash, the sun was red, the moon was orange and it felt apocalyptic) but each time I go with someone new, I have new experiences and we try to mix it up a bit. Because of this, I’ll try to imbue you with some of our mix-it up ideas as well as share in some of our adventures:

Get reservations for lunch at the Blue Bayou several weeks in advance 1-714-781-3463. When you eat there, ask for a seat near the water and share a Monte Cristo. It’s huge. Be aware that any meal there is the cost of a semester’s tuition at Yale.

Ride the Indiana Jones ride in the back row, standing on the angled floor. Of course you’re buckled in, but you’re whipped about considerably more than when you’re just sitting in front. This is good for a hearty laugh and some fabulous back-cracking whiplash.

Don’t leave your hat in Space Mountain.

Lean forward and face your ride partner on Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. It feels more like “The wildest ride in the wilderness” this way. This is of course, if you’ve already been on it several times. If you do it your first time, you’ll miss out on the dynamite-eating goat and the view of the park from the top.

Although the classic Haunted Mansion is fabulous, make it a point to see it all Nightmare Before Christmas-y before you die. Your trip to heaven is guaranteed if you do.

When heading to Fantasyland, use the route behind Big Thunder Mtn. It’s usually less traffic-y, there’s a good chance of seeing a character walking about, and you’ll definitely see a couple making out.

The turkey legs taste like ham. Watch out. Make sure you drink plenty of liquids afterwards.

If you drop your wallet in New Orleans Square, make sure an honest person picks it up and hands it to a Disneyland employee. Hug the employee that returns it.

If you’re leaving a note for someone who’ll be in the park the next day, don’t leave it in the back of the furthest recipe book in the stack. Apparently, recipe books are a popular item.

Take advantage of the people watching opportunities. Give each other assignments during your day. We had some great assignments and found every one of the following:
- A couple wearing matching outfits
- Three pairs of striped socks
- A family of six or more
- Girls who thought they were cuter than everyone else
- A couple who you can’t even fathom would be a couple
- Someone wearing 3 cowboy-ish things
- Three boys wearing girl pants
- A cross-dresser
These are just examples. You are welcome to go further and crazier. We were fortunate enough to get additional gems like Superman, rock-a-billies, and the Grand Master of the Toy Story Mania ride.

Do the Monkee walk in the large open area in California Adventure that is no longer displaying Whoopi Goldberg’s head.

Get some soup in a sourdough bread bowl in California Adventure. It’ll make you forget the hotdogs and hamburgers you were forced to eat at Disneyland as a child.

Talk nice to the ride attendants and make friends with employees. You get nicer treatment and get to ride the Matterhorn first after a repair.

When riding the Matterhorn, sit alone (unless you really really want to be holding onto someone for fear of the Abominable Snowman) and cross your legs. Apparently I like to be whipped around in the rides.

If soot and ash are raining down on Disneyland, be sure to NOT wear flip flops. Otherwise your feet WILL be completely black by the end of the day.

Be sure to lean over while eating a churro so that sugar doesn’t end up down your shirt. Shake the churro twice after each bite.

While going up the hill at the beginning of Space Mtn. lean your head back and rest it on the car to get a fantastic, spacey ride. Just be sure to pick your head up as you start down the first hill or you will end up with a goose egg.

Always ask for the top row of Soarin’.

Make a stranger sit in the first 2 seats of Splash Mtn. If not, bring a change of clothes. They’ve added more water to the ride.

Make sure you bring aspirin, plastic baggies, and baby powder (chaffing is an issue after Splash Mountain and Grizzly Rapids).

Be sure to ride the Finding Nemo Submarine Ride in the early morning when the air in the sub will be fresh. Otherwise, it smells like bus.

Make the most ADD person in your group get the fast passes.

Hmm. I’ve got to get back to work so I’ll have to add more at another time. In the meanwhile, memorize this list.

Christmas Time Time

So, I'm like in New York City and yes, I allow you to be jealous. It's 8 am in the Big Apple and I just scarfed down some fruit and caffeine free Diet Coke (my sister hates reading labels. . . I'll have to go pick up the fully leaded stuff at lunch I suppose) while watching a parade of school busses stroll down 49th Street. Not a bad life, I must say.

This blessed break from reality chases the heels of months of torture- overtime. Overtime in the game industry isn't a suprise, it's expected. . . Like dental visits, taxes, or if you're lucky - jury duty. (I just got THAT blessed notice a couple weeks ago. So I'm to expect my jury servece sometime between October and December. Lucky me.) I digress.

Yesterday, my sister and I just walked the streets of New York City and I sucked it all in, the buildings, the people, the flower markets, the sickening smells of garbage, honking, outdoor dining, business suits and taxis everywhere. I must say, I don't mind the business suits at all. . . Quite delish in fact. I found myself humming a lot.

So, whenever my friends and I would see a hot man, we'd think to ourselves "Self, what a great gift my eyes just received for that brief moment when they were blessed with a vision of handsome-ness. It's like a holiday. A great one in fact" and in lieu of saying that mouthfull, we'd just say outloud "Merry Christmas!" to alert each other of the prescence of beauty in the nearby vicinity. This "Merry Christmas" has since been replaced with "Christmas Time Time!", to a jaunty tune made up by my nephew when he was four (for a great time, you should listen to his riviting rendition of "Dinosaur Saur"). Anyway, there are a lot of "Christmas Time Time"'s in New York City, it made for a fabulous walk about town. You should try it, people look at you funny when you burst into song. Good times. Good times.

So Old-fashioned, I know.

Ok, since I last checked into the mother ship, I’ve done quite a few things. I spent some time with my family at a beach house in Neskowin, Oregon where we made a most stellar sand castle, I dove into the barely above freezing water to be a good big sister, and walked a ton. Since then, I’ve spent just about every waking moment at work, pulling crazy 80+ hour weeks. . . Oddly enough, and I’ve actually had time for dates this week. Ok, one and a half. The other will be happening tomorrow.

And herein lies the beef.

I just want to put this out there. You see, I’ve dated for over half my life and yes, the protocol has changed, I recognize that. Now, the guy doesn’t have to come into my living room to meet my dad before he takes me to miniature golf and milkshakes. In fact, if it’s a first date, I don’t usually even let him pick me up. We meet somewhere public (especially if it’s a blind date) just for safty. Now, I don’t receive a phone call on Wednesday asking me out for Friday. Instead, I get a text message on Monday asking me out on Tuesday. When did Tuesday become a date night? It’s fine, I’m cool like that.

Not that I mind texts. They’re fun for the occasional flirt and “Be there in 5 min” kind of thing. But when a guy asks for your number so he can text you? C’mon. The word “telephone” means “transmitting speech sounds over a distance”, not “avoiding actual contact with a person before it’s absolutely necessary”. (On a side note, this 87 emails before you meet when you live 15 minutes away thing is ridiculous. You’ve built this huge thing up in your mind only to meet a totally un-stellar, perfectly normal, one-pant leg at a time person sitting across from you at the booth at Denny’s.)

But am I so archaic in my thought process here? When a guy asks me out on Tuesday for a date on Friday, am I wrong in assuming he’ll have some sort of plan? I’ve had some dates who had every moment planned out. They even offered to order for me at a restaurant with food I couldn’t pronounce. That was kind of cool. I felt very taken care of. I’ve also had dates who didn’t have a plan cemented in stone, but have several options thought out and that was great. They gave me choices, obviously keeping in mind that I had an opinion too. But the ones who pick me up and say “where do you want to go?” just make me want to belt them in the gut. . . Especially when they’ve had several days to think about it.

Girls like to know they’re on someone’s mind and that’s evident if you start the date with some sort of plan. . . . ESPECIALLY THE FIRST DATE! Show that you have some backbone man! Take her to a place you really like and know so that you feel comfortable there! Don’t expect her to make all the decisions! Do you know how long it took her to choose that top and those shoes that you’re probably not even noticing in the first place?

Holy freakin’ cow.

Misse Beverly Dout

So my friend Martha and I were IMing and talking about a guy I had been interested in who recently mentioned his girlfriend to me. I IMed something like “his loss” and she typed back “Yeah, he misse dout”.

From that mistype sprang an effusion of imagination. We decided that his girlfriend’s name was indeed Misse Dout and we came up with her bio. I’ll share some choice moments.

That's hilarious. Misse Beverly Dout. . . And she has red hair.
AND LOTS AND LOTS OF FRECKLES
HER HAIR IS UNRULY, KINKY, NOT CURLY
Yeah, and she's got poo colored eyes.
YEAH, AND SHE ALWAYS WEARS EMERALD GREEN BECAUSE IN SOME TIME SPACE CONTINUUM, SOMEONE TOLD HER REDHEADS NEED TO WEAR EMERALD GREEN/JEWEL TONES.
And she wears really light blue jeans a la 1995
YES! AND SHE FOLDS THE BOTTOMS AND WEARS WHITE KEDS THAT SHE BLEACHES EVERY SATURDAY
And has a weird laugh. Not cute, just weird.
YEAH, NOT ONE YOU CAN GET USED TO.
It takes you off guard and she laughs at inopportune and awkward times.
YOU JUMP OUT OF YOUR CHAIR BECAUSE SHE CACKLES WHEN THINGS ARE TOO QUIET FOR HER. HAVE YOU SEEN HER NOSE?
Not only freckly but huge! And all red and swollen because of allergies. She's allergic to his deodorant.
BUT SHE WON'T TELL HIM BECAUSE SHE IS AFRAID HE WILL LEAVE HER JUST LIKE ALL THE OTHERS
Yeah. She also won't ever let him in her room because of her Cabbage Patch Doll collection.
AND HER BARBIE DOLL HOUSE
And the rainbow kite hanging from the ceiling.
AND HER WEAVING LOOM. SHE IS MAKING HIM A RAG POTHOLDER FOR CHRISTMAS
With his initials.
YES, SHE WON THE WEAVING LOOM CHAMPIONSHIP IN 4TH GRADE
She still has the ribbon up on her vanity next to her photograph she took with Kirk Cameron during a "Left Behind" DVD signing.
YEAH, AND SHE KNOWS THE DVD WORD FOR WORD
Yep. She watches that and the He Man movie in tandem every Saturday.
WHILE HER KEDS ARE BLEACHING
Yes, during her weaving time.
SHE OWNS STOCK IN HOBBY LOBBY AND ROBERTS CRAFT
She's already made her wedding dress and practices writing her name in her diary with a lock and a unicorn on the cover.
IS SHE HYPHENATING?
She's practicing both versions. Still deciding.
IF I HAD A LAST NAME LIKE DOUT- I WOULD DEFINITELY HYPHENATE LOL. I DON'T HATE HER COMPLETELY. JUST DON'T MAKE ME HANG OUT WITH HER
ever
SHE USES HAND SANITIZER LIKE LOTION
She always smells sterile.
And names her plants.
EUNICE AND BEATRICE DOUT. SHE GIVES THEM HER LAST NAME
Don't forget Fergie Dout
Named after Princess Sarah
OH, YEAH, FERGIE IS NEW. SHE IS OBSESSED WITH BRITISH ROYALTY
She's made their action figures out of Barbie and Ken dolls.
SHE TRAVELED TO BRITAIN ONCE AND JUST HUNG OUT OUTSIDE OF BUCKINGHAM PALACE. WITH HER BAD TEETH PEOPLE THOUGHT SHE WAS A LOCAL
She bought a royal guard hat at Epcot and wore it on her trip.
ALONG WITH HER PRINCE HARRY T-SHIRT THAT SHE MADE WITH T-SHIRT IRON ONS AND TRIED TO SELL ON EBAY, BUT NO ONE WAS THAT INTERESTED IN HARRY. THEY WANTED WILLIAM
True. She has a William purse.
BUT SHE HAS A THING FOR REDHEADS SINCE SHE IS ONE. AND SHE DRIVES A BEAT UP GEO PRISM IN PURPLE BUT THE PASSENGER DOOR IS GREEN
With a Garfield in the back window and her license plate says "ETURNL"
WITH A LICENSE PLATE FRAME THAT READS: "RULDS2?"
She's part of the Wednesday night sewing club
YES SHE LIKES TO BE INVOLVED
She's also making a recipe book just so she can get her recipes out.
AGAIN- THE ONLY ONE CONTRIBUTING
She's very proud of her "Angel-ed eggs" which are really deviled eggs but she changed the name.
SHE DOESN'T PLAN TO MOVE OUT OF HER PARENTS HOUSE UNTIL SHE MOVES IN TO HER HUSBAND'S
She has all the names of her six children picked out and written inside the cover of "Emma"
AND SHE MAKES "BETTER THAN SEX CAKE" BUT SHE DOESN'T DARE CALL IT THAT. SHE HAS TO SPELL IT OUT IN A WHISPER. SHE DOESN'T PLAN TO KISS BEFORE SHE MARRIES.
Better than making babies cake.
Every time he goes in for a kiss, she pulls away and then starts to sneeze bc of his deodorant again. he still hasn't caught on.
NO, HE HAS NO CLUE
HE THINKS SHE IS PLAYING HARD TO GET
Oh yeah, but he can only take a couple more nights of misnamed good food and British Royalty role playing games.
WOW- YOU HAVE MADE ME LAUGH PRETTY HARD TODAY FRIEND
Same thing! We're pretty funny.

I'm a geek

Oh no. I’m a geek. A full on Batman t shirt owning, movie quoting, trivia knowing, computer using, matchy matchy geek.

I’ve always thought of myself as quirky. I mean, I’ve got a random collection of t’s, including the aforementioned Batman, Bo Duke, Kirk Cameron, Care Bears, Debbie Harry, Cedric Diggory, and Corey Haim to name a few. I just used “aforementioned” properly in a sentence. I have over a hundred pairs of shoes and like to match them to my outfits. I have too many movies, some of which I haven’t even seen. I have a Donny Osmond poster hanging on the same wall as my Morrissey and Breakfast Club posters. I’ve been to Disneyland too many times to remember and I don’t live in California. I have a Nightmare Before Christmas collection. I hate it when people dangle their participles. I have issues when people don’t wash their hair enough. I’m a stickler for using my turn signal, even when I’m alone on a road. I know what “NPC” and “RPG’s” are. I have a book on how to draw comic book characters. I usually fall for the funny best friend in movies. I had a huge crush on Owen Wilson for five years. My dog is named after Tim Burton and a wookie. I know all the words to “Puttin’ on the Ritz” and I have a Winnie the Pooh blanket here by my desk.

Ok, so now that I list all of that, I realize I’ve been a geek for a while. . . But yesterday, the realization hit me hard as I was walking to lunch. I passed a pair of guys talking. One of them whined “But I want to go to Toshi Station to pick up some power coversions!”

It took everything I have to not correct him. Inside, my mind was saying “Converters you idiot! ConverTERS! Why would Luke Skywalker ever go to Toshi Station to buy conversions?! I bet now you’re going to try and convince me that Mon Motha was dating Grand Moff Tarkin.”

Yeah. I’m a geek.

Evolution

I had a thought today as I was stuck behind a pickup truck whose driver refused to go the speed limit or use turn signals and gave the bird to the people she cut off while in the process of not signaling. It was one of those multi-colored trucks, brown rust body, blue hood, and black doors. One door flaunted a spray painted logo of a star being formed of broken guns. The rear window sported several choice stickers like Calvin peeing on something and a rabbit with antlers. The ever spectacular mud flaps with the silhouette of a lady were blowing in the wind. Shiny chrome framed the license plate while the rest of the truck was rusting away. But what made me do a double take was the Darwin fish on the bumper that displayed the word “evolve”. Ironic, isn’t it? Everything about the truck was evidence contrary to the whole idea of evolution. Maybe the driver was trying to remind herself.

To do:
- Buy more wife beaters and yell at the cashier
- Get tattoo of the Tazmanian Devil removed
- Try and use expired coupons from KFC at Taco Bell
- Evolve

Pot Lucks

Recently I went to a pot luck full of single people. It was yet another eye opening experience. The food was good. I think only a couple people brought store bought cookies. I was impressed. There were find out questions on the paper covered tables, to help spark conversations and crayons scattered around in case the conversations lull.

While our conversations freely flowed, we grabbed a few of the questions out just to see what we could’ve been talking about. One was “What are you wearing that best represents you?” The best thing I could come up with was my plastic bracelets. The rest of my clothes actually almost looked grown up. My roommate was lucky though, she was wearing a tshirt with a skeleton kid on it saying “Nobody wants to play with me”

Another question was “If you were on a long flight, who would you want to sit next to on the plane?” I stated that I didn’t want anyone to sit by me. I’d rather have the elbow room. I hate being squished on a plane. A friend across the table kept saying “The plane is full, you have to sit by someone!” but since that wasn’t stated on the paper, I stuck with my initial answer.

The two guys next to us were characters. Every time I would say something, one of them would just stare at me as if he was checking off something in his head. Finally, I asked him what he was doing and he told me he was profiling me. Some profile. I’m sure it was incredibly shallow. Who’s going to discuss deep things like the state of the union my personal feelings on child development while eating meatballs and fruit salad?

At the end, I started rolling up the paper tablecloths to help clean up. As I neared the end of the table, I got close to a guy drinking a soda (let’s call him Eddie) who was just watching the cleanup and a girl who was folding chairs. I had to stop a couple feet away from Eddie because there were some bottles of water on the table. With my arms full, I looked up at Eddie and said “Hey, can we throw these bottles away?”

He looked at me, shrugged, and said “I don’t care, they’re not my drinks. You can do whatever you want.”

The girl with the chairs looked up at him and said “She was asking for help.”

It was at that point that I realized yet again how different men and women are. It’s funny how one can have a reoccurring realization, as if it doesn’t stick the first two thousand times. I smiled as Eddie took the bottles and threw them away then continued sipping his soda while we finished clearing the table.

I keep hearing that we have to be very direct with men. Eddie was a testament to that. Ladies, if you want a man to throw water bottles away, just tell him. He’ll do it. He just needs exact direction, not hints.

New York City

I just came back from a trip to New York City to visit my sister with my mom. Other than the 100 degree weather, it was fabulous. The city is crazy beautiful, full of people of every race, background, and situation.

It was interesting to see the different parts of Manhattan. We stayed in Karley’s apartment, surrounded by high rises and not too far from all the ginormous office towers.
We ate at Tao, a very chic restaurant (Karley told me they filmed a scene from “Hitch” there) and my mom started dancing to the house music being pumped through the room. Who knew my mom was so cool? She had gone shopping beforehand, buying a lot of black and white clothes to “New York” herself. . . She fit right in. In fact, she got six boyfriends at the Bagel place the next morning. The crusty old men there were flirting up a storm and giving her free cookies. They weren’t about to offer me any.

We walked to the bizarre world of Times Square, where although it was crowded and lit like a Christmas tree, it was surprisingly quiet. Everyone was walking around agape and no one was watching where they were going. The signs advertising Coke, Broadway shows, and stupid movies starring Adam Sandler and Mike Meyers illuminated the streets and captivated the crowds

SoHo was so posh, everyone advertising their D&G or Prada ensembles and greeting each other with kisses on the cheek. The beautiful people were out in full force. We almost ran into pretty Dax Shepard and his arm candy as we were window shopping. I felt very out of place in my Kohl’s shirt, Target sunglasses, and large pant size. After a stop in Chinatown to pick up a knock off D&G purse and glasses, I felt better. (sadly, the vendors in Chinatown could do nothing about my pant size). The fancy cupcake from some super famous bakery didn’t help either.

I tell you what, walking around NY really makes SLC very tiny in comparison. But, in retrospect, New York’s got nothing on us. . . They may have Saturday Night Live, the Today Show, the Beastie Boys, Sean Puffy Combs, Vince Lombardi, Jerry Seinfeld, and James Cagney but we’ve got the Osmonds! Take that, Brooklyn!

So Many New Things

I’ve learned a couple things these past few weeks I haven’t posted anything. . . Well, I’ll go back and do a small recap of my adventures and interject my newly acquired knowledge (or witnesses to knowledge I already had).

I went to Los Angeles with some friends during the weekend of Mother’s Day. We spent time at Disneyland, California Adventure, The J. Paul Getty Museum, Santa Monica, Hollywood, and several restaurants. While on this trip, I learned some key things: my jeans aren’t as flattering as I thought they were, women should always wear bras even if they’re not busty (their lack of bra is definitely not as flattering as they think they are). Churros should be eaten away from the body and only when you’re dry and full garlic meals shouldn’t be eaten while on a date. Women talk to more strangers than men do. I get scolded if I buckle my backpack into the Tower of Terror seatbelt. Martha Andrea and I look cute in a similar cut shirt. I still don’t like tomatoes. too many teenage girls think they’re really cute in Winnie the Pooh ear barrettes. Hannah Montana really is taking over the world. I can’t eat a full burger from the ESPN Zone without being sick and no one should eat a full Monte Cristo sandwich from the Blue Bayou by themselves. Some people have weird ideas at what constitutes “fine art”. Gina Davis looks a bit older than I thought. PT Cruisers have terrible turning radiuses and weird shiny distracting dashboards, and Jeff snores.

The trip was a blast.

Then upon returning, I learned that my dog gets both exhausted and wounded at pet care places, I’m not as rich as I’d like to think, the government really doesn’t want to give me my six hundred dollars, and my bed is my favorite.

Since then, I learned that I didn’t like the second Narnia movie or Golden Compass. My melon colored shirt makes me look both tan and thinner so I’ll be wearing that every day. A Master Butler taught me that gum doesn’t freshen breath and that when a lady leaves the table, the man should order a new napkin for her. He also taught me how to eat cheesecake. I never knew you needed both a fork and a spoon.

Today I learned that t-shirts starring Bo Duke will invoke teasing.

Holy cow, that’s a lot. . . And that was only in two weeks.

Dating panel

Recently I was asked to be on a dating panel. It’s exactly what you think; six people sitting up in front of a crowd, answering questions. As I looked down the table at the other girls in the panel, high school came to mind. I was sitting with the Prom queen, the head cheerleader, and the captain of the chess club. I guess that made me the class clown. The guys had an equal division of clicks. Yeah, I couldn’t figure out how I fit in either.

The questions were pretty great. There were ones like “How should I ask a girl out?” or “If a girl ignores me, is she playing hard to get or is she not interested?” My answers were pretty simple too; “Just ask her. Chances are good that she’ll say yes (that is if you don’t display any creepy mutant factors)” and “Move along Captain Stalker. . . she’s not interested. Find another prey to harass.” There were other questions addressing whether or not a first date is alright on Valentines day, if and when the girl should pay, what a woman wants in a man, etc.

It was interesting though. Every question was pretty much asking the same thing: How do I not fail at dating? Finally, after several different versions of this one question I pointed out that everyone in the room was in their thirties or forties and single - we’ve all failed. That’s why they held the dating panel in the first place. The only way not to fail at all in dating is to not date. . . But then you’re sitting on your couch every night with no life to speak of and although you’re not having your heart broken, you’re not progressing either- which in my book is the biggest failure of them all. Go date already.

There’s this weird thing in Utah that people only feel comfortable dating someone when they know that person is 100% interested or they’ve already established that they’re a couple. My question is this – How do you know if someone fits you before you’ve tried them on for size? If anyone has ever made you go “Hmm. That’s interesting” at all. . . Ask them out. See what makes them tick. . .They could fit you perfectly.

After the panel, I was approached by several different men saying things like “I’ve learned so much from you blah blah blah. ..” and I just got frustrated. I didn’t feel like anything I shared was new. It was just common sense. All I learned was that the number one thing a man is looking for in a woman is punctuality and in order to get a man’s attention, I need to drop a handkerchief.

wardrobe malfunctions

Every time someone asks me about my most embarrassing moment, I have to ponder it quite a bit. . . It’s not that I haven’t had blush-enducing events in my life – it’s that I’ve had so many and have decided that being mortified by them doesn’t make them any less embarrassing. I also believe that the amount of witnesses to said event also determines the level of embarrassment.

A good example of not enough witnesses was when I was on a date in Rexburg Idaho in the winter. That’s not the embarrassing part. My date was a pretty cool guy, complete with a Jeep. At the end of the date he came to my side of the jeep, opened my door, and reached for my hand. Luckily I took it because as soon as my foot hit the ice covered ground, it slid. Both feet shot between his and we were stuck, holding hands as he straddled my body, and attempted to keep me from hitting the ground. I was suspended in his grasp but during my fall, my dress rode up my body and became more of a cummerbund around my waist instead of the gown it was.

We laughed about it, but I wasn’t necessarily embarrassed. Everyone falls prey to the Rexburg ice sheet.

Another example was when I was walking with a group of friends from a college event. Strangely, I was dressed up again. We were the first group in long line of students leaving the building and as we walked, I felt the elastic in my slip’s waistband pop. I said nothing.

I remained silent as we continued walking and I could feel the slip slowly work its way down my waist. . . Soon we started to hear laughing from behind. I knew my slip was sticking far below the bottom of my skirt but I remained engrossed in our conversation, trying to walk a little straddled so I could keep it up. But to no avail. There was no way I could keep it up when it slid completely over the butt and hit the knees. The slip fell to the ground and I just stepped out of it as we kept walking. Laughter erupted from the dozens of students behind us but my friends remained oblivious to the situation.

I can’t say that was embarrassing because my friends never knew what happened (Ok NOW they do). And the people behind us had no idea who I was. . . And as far as I know, the slip is still on the sidewalk.

I guess I’m more embarrassed by things that you can’t laugh off, like rude behavior or meanness.

Huh. This reminds me. . . I need a new slip.

my prom

My sister and I both had proms this weekend. She’s 16 and I’m 34. Hers was her junior prom and mine was an 80s prom party, where a whole bunch of adults acted like we were 17 again. The only real comforting thing for me was the fact that I didn’t ever actually go to a prom in the 80s. I graduated in the 90s. But of course I went along with it. . . Any opportunity I have to dress up and dance is ok by me.

Well, I made my dress out of taffeta and satin. It was spectacularly pink and black with a drop waist, puffy sleeves, tiered skirt, and a huge flower on my hip. I made a wrist corsage that was about a foot long. I had on tan tights that looked more like a grey corpse color and black pumps. My hair looked like that crazy tight perm we all had in 1987 and I had enough eye shadow to make Cindy Lauper jealous. I couldn’t believe I already had a tube of pink lipstick in my makeup box. I even wore “Primo” perfume. A friend of mine came with me. He wore a perfect new wave/Flock of Seagulls hairdo, a bowtie, and cummerbund.

Anyway, it was a fun dance. There were miles of taffeta and enough bangs to fill a yearbook. The air was full of Aquanet and Drakkar. Neon and pastel colors were resurrected. Girls still sat in chairs watching the boys lean against the walls. It looked just like a prom with a huge disco ball in the center, tinfoil stars, a faux background for prom photos, and 80s music. . . But, instead of the expected room of teenagers, it was full of chaperones. Instead of Anthony Michael Hall, it had 40 year olds wearing mullet wigs. Instead of the creepy man that played the principal in Ferris Beuller, the walls were lined with scores of creepy men. I couldn’t tell if they were in costume or not. Sad thing was- some of the costumes weren’t too much of a stretch for many of the people there.

But now the dance is over, my hair is straight again. I did have to put on a t shirt that matched the hot pink nail polish though, and I couldn’t quite put away the blue eye liner. . . I liked it so much, I’m wearing it today. Watch out Molly Ringwald – I’m the prom queen now.

Enjoy the flashback

Girls asking boys out

Sometimes I see topics on my homepage that look like they’d be an entertaining read. Today’s entertaining read was “How to Ask a Guy Out”.

Apparently I have to be direct. . . No wait, indirect. It says be both or either. Apparently, I’m to invite him but let him feel powerful and in charge. “Hello there, you great example of dominance and fertility, you – How would you like to eat a steak with me tonight? It can be raw and you don’t have to use a fork if you want. . . What? You have to kill a wildebeest with your bare hands and then invent fire? . . Oh, well another time then.”

We have to come up with a plan but don’t over-plan it. So does that mean I can come up with the first four words of the invitation but I have to let the following seven words be spontaneous? I realize I shouldn’t come up to him with a 3 layer cake with “So, you up for some pizza tonight?” I mean seriously, the cake would ruin his appetite and that would be a good $20 down the drain. And I shouldn’t run up all of the sudden and blurt out “Eat pizza with me tonight!” as soon as the thought hit my mind. That’d freak him out and I’d probably get a side cramp from the sudden dash over to ask him.

My favorite part was this “Don’t come on too strong . . .Approach the object of your desire as you would a timid bunny rabbit.” Are you kidding me? Am I to walk slowly because sudden movements would scare him, and slowly stick out my hand so he can smell it and become familiar with me? What’s he going to think? “Oh, she smells like coconuts. I like coconuts. And she moves slowly. I won’t get scared while munching on my lettuce.” Then while on my date, should I offer him carrots and a newspaper to pee on?

No wonder we have issues asking men out! I mean, it’s easy for guys. . . All they have to do is say “Hey, you want to (fill in the blank)?” and we’ll say yes. Women on the other hand have to be directly indirect while planning spontaneously and approaching the guy like he’s a long-eared over-productive rodent.

Moniker boys

I’m a single 34 year old woman. . . I’ve gone on quite a few dates in my life and because of this, have many interesting stories. I think I’ve become the source of entertainment for many of the girls at work, most of whom are married with children and are out of the dating world. Well, because I’ve gone out with several men during my employment here, and have stories about so many others, that the ladies can’t keep track of names. So, we’ve resorted to the nickname system because it’s easier for them to remember (not to say I’m such a hussy that I’ve dated every man in the state of Utah, but maybe because the girls don’t have the best memories.) Anyway, there’s “Bagel or Danish”, “Prof. Plumb”, “Teddy Ruxpin”, “The Yapper”, Pocket-Sized Boyfriend”, “Boop”, and “Crow Bar Tongue” to name a few.

Well, today I went out with “Lawyer” for lunch and we were laughing about bad dates. I mentioned “Crow Bar Tongue” by his alias (partially because I can’t remember his real name . . . the experience was so awful that I think I’ve blocked him out. . . I just remember the experience and his braided belt a-la 1996.) And then he asked me if all my boys have nicknames and if he had one. I explained that many do, because it helps the girls at work with my stories and that his nickname was “Lawyer” because of his profession. . . Pretty self explanatory I suppose.

He decided that he wanted a more impressive moniker and sat there, thinking of different handles for himself. I have to laugh to myself at the whole experience, but it was hard to explain that he was pretty much “Lawyer” and that’s it. . . You can’t change someone’s name once the story has started!

Am I alone in this? Doesn’t everyone have strange boy stories and nicknames for each one?

Adventures in boo boos

Do you ever hear of freak accidents and think “Oh that could never happen to me”?

I have a friend who has them all the time. One time, when shoveling the snow from her roof, she fell off into a snow bank and got stabbed in the butt by an icicle. She had to get several stitches. Another time, she was watching some hot guy cross the street, didn’t notice she was entering a construction zone, and fell into an open manhole- breaking her leg. She popped her hip once when a bike fell on her head. Her primary school class pushed her out a second story window. And, a personal favorite; she was electrocuted by her washing machine.

Hmm, now that I’ve shared bits of my friend’s stories, mine doesn’t seem all that spectacular. That was poor planning on my part.

It was a few years ago, when I worked on the fifth floor of our office building. I was just pushing the button of my floor in an elevator when I noticed a man walking across the lobby towards me. I shot out my hand to stay the doors so that he could enter but it didn’t go as planned. Apparently, I had stuck my hand in the exact center of the entryway and the doors shut before the bumper thingies (I’ll have to look up the technical word for it sometime) even touched my hand.

I howled in pain and surprise as the doors shut and then again after my fingers slammed into the top of the outer doorway. I tried to curl them as they grazed against the walls and doors of floors 2 and 3 while I yanked to get my hand free. It hurt terribly but the situation was so ridiculous that I just found myself laughing and crying the whole time.

Finally, I f reed my hand on the fourth floor and the elevator froze, probably trying to assess what had just happened. I stared down at my hand. The fingertips were red from scraping across all the inner workings of the elevator and the rest of the hand was red and swelling. The elevator started moving again. By the time I had reached my office my knuckles weren’t discernable. At the end of the day, I had a 3 inch wide bruise that circled my whole hand. It was one of the most fabulous wound stories I had ever received and the only witness was that poor guy I left in the lobby who just heard a loud howl as he saw four fingertips ride up the elevator doors.

I showed off the bruise for weeks.

Blind dates

A friend of mine had a blind date last night and told me that he was alright but she had a lot more fun with the other couple (whom she didn't know beforehand either). This brings me to today's subject.
I can only think of one blind date in the circle of people I know that has worked out, my parents. And their blind date wasn't even a normal one. My dad was a plebe (freshman) at the Naval Academy when his commanding officer called him up. The officer, R.B. Hall told my dad to be the escort of his girlfriend's little sister during June week. For those of you who don't know, June week is the week of the Army/Navy football game, the whole week is filled with parties, dances, and of course, the big game. R.B. gave my dad a picture of this junior in high school, told him to write her and invite her to be his date*.

So, dad was literally commanded to take mom out. She then invited herself to be his date the next year's June Week. The year after that, his roommate asked her because he liked her. Then, dad's fourth year, dad asked her to June Week because he didn't want his roommate to have her. Then he graduated.

I won't give you the whole story, but I will tell you that mom proposed to dad three times before he finally gave her an answer, and that was only after he'd gone out to sea for 9 months and she flew to Seattle from St. Louis to meet his family on her own accord.
So, the one blind date that actually worked only worked because of an officer's command and a girl's persistence.

Sounds like way too much effort to me . . .

I'm sure they'll correct me if I'm wrong. Here they are.



*Please note: My dad had never had a date before that except to take his cousin to her high school prom . . . unless you count the times he drove his friends and their dates around because he was the one with the car. It wasn't that girls weren't interested, (believe me, I've read his yearbook). But that he was shy.

And here's your random pic of a random man.

I love walking my dog. Oh yeah, it’s a great bonding experience between the two of us. Yes, the neighborhood kids come out to play with him and all know his name. Sure, the parents all wave to us as we walk and the area is nice. Yes, it’s a nice escape from life. Of course I enjoy being outside, especially when it’s nice out. Granted, playing fetch and running in the park is a great way to keep up a heart rate. . . But so is watching a game of rugby.

And THAT my friends, is why I love walking my dog. For the past couple of weeks, every evening between 6 and 7 there has been a large group of very handsome, very in-shape Polynesian men practicing and playing rugby in my park. (Ok, it’s not MY park per se, but I’ve been using it for five years. . . I called dibs.) It makes it hard to remember to throw Chewies’ ball. I also forget to breathe too. That could be problematic.

What is it about a plethora of exotic looking men throwing around a weird-shaped ball in a manner that makes absolutely no sense to me whatsoever that makes a girl go weak in the knees? I dunno. I’m not going to complain. I think I’m going to look up rugby online and figure it out.

My hot dentist

My dentist is hot.

You know how when you know you have a dentist appointment coming, you make sure you brush your teeth really well for that last week floss every day (after six months of flossless life)? Then that morning, you make sure you blow you nose really well so you don’t have any danglers or spider webs. Well, not only do I floss every day for that last week, brush super great, and check for danglers and webs, but I make sure I’m super cute.

I don’t even go this far for a date (but then again, a date isn’t scrutinizing my dental work underneath a crazy big halogen light with a water pick and tiny mirror). I want to make sure my eye makeup is just right because he’s only three inches away from my face and I want to make sure his view through those huge plastic dentist goggles is nice. I put on perfume because I’m sure he’s tired of smelling halitosis and mint toothpaste. I ponder pithy remarks for those rare moments of relief when he’s not stretching my mouth to epic proportions in order to become familiar with my uvula. And I wear clothes that will match the blue paper bib because heaven forbid my clashing in front of the dental Adonis perched above me in his dashing gun-metal blue scrubs and messed hair with a bit of gray at the temples. Sigh.

So, he’s married. Maybe he has a brother. If he does, he’ll for sure recommend me to him. I mean, I didn’t have any cavities!

Nostalgia

My baby sister (who at 16, isn’t much of a baby anymore) just sent me a plethora of photos of the fam when we were much younger. As I perused the photos, I stopped on a couple and a few thoughts came to mind. And because I didn’t have anything else to say, I’d share these thoughts with you. What do you care anyway? You don’t have to read this. You’re coming to this blog voluntarily.

Anyway, back to my thoughts. Let’s go to the photo with the kids on the couch. Which of my seven siblings was that baby? Was skin cancer even an issue in the 80s? And while I’m on that train of thought, why can’t I tan like that now? Why did Carey have to get that awesomely white blonde color? She doesn’t even know how to fix hair! Where did I get that fabulously striped shirt? When did mom think it was alright to have a faded print of a duck hanging on our walls? Where are those curtains now? Did mom make me a dress out of those like she did out of that bed sheet that one time? And did my folks not have problems with naked kids sitting on the couch?

Then I went to the family shot and laughed out loud. My mom and dad look like they should host some blonde Osmond Christmas special. My three brothers all look like they should be orphans in the play “Oliver”. Carey’s hair looks like a white slug was trying to crawl across her head and climb into her brain. And while I’m on the topic of bangs, mine are impressive. I wonder how long it took me to get them to do that - my head is tilted because they’re obviously so heavy. Why didn’t I take any time on the rest of my hair? Why am I wearing Tarzan’s loincloth around my neck?

Who knows? The eighties were a strange time in fashion history. . . Yet, now I see girls sporting fashions I wore in 7th grade. We’ve got to warn them! Quick- run outside and tell the first teenage girl you see that jelly shoes are an awful idea and that her feet will smell like cheese for months if she invests in them! Hurry! Summer is on its way!

Suffer for beauty

My mom always said “Casey, you have to suffer for beauty.” Usually she said that while she was doing something to my head. She was all about braiding my usually very long hair into Princess Leia buns, Heidi loopy things, or over the top of my head- like the Swiss Miss Hot Chocolate girl. My school pictures are gems. As I was entering junior high, she said it when she pulled my hair into those tiny tight rollers and then poured the acid burning home perm solution on my scalp.

She was right though. I mean, you look at the models on magazines and they’ve suffered plenty. They’ve completely given up eating altogether, surviving on a diet of cigarettes and Evian. Poor poor girls, suffering as they’re fawned over and walk the catwalks in Milan wearing designer clothes costing more than my car made by people I can’t pronounce. I digress. Back to the subject at hand, MY suffering for beauty.

I love shoes. Yesterday (oh, hope you had a nice Easter, by the way) was an exciting day. I got to wear my really super cute 5 inch high heeled white dress shoes that went. I love what those shoes do for my calves (and my height – I’m well over 6’ in those shoes). They’re so cute that even a guy commented on them and men don’t notice anything! Well, as I walked around with cute shoes, painted toe nails, and shapely calves, I was suffering. By the end of 4 hours, I had huge blisters. Oh, but I kept smiling.

This morning, I woke up at 5:30 to hit the gym (another example of that whole “suffering for beauty” thing) and tried to put on my gym shoes. But to no avail. I couldn’t walk in them. I tried for a good five minutes to walk but couldn’t do it without looking like an idiot. So, I gave up on suffering, took off the shoes and went back to bed.

Spring is in the air

I love the spring. I know, everyone says that because of the whole “Oh look, the world is coming back to life” thing we’ve got going. I love it because I hate the snow so much that I get mad just seeing a Norman Rockwell holiday painting when it’s not Christmas. I’m good with snow at Christmas but the grey crap that’s piled up for weeks on end in our parking lot, taking up 12 spaces has just got to go.

And now that it’s spring, the grey crap had better be gone for good . . . until next Christmas I mean.

So now I can whip out all of my springtime merriment. Out come the fruit scented perfumes (am I the only one that divides her scents into seasons and moods? And while I’m on the perfume subject, does anyone else match her perfume to her outfit?), the bright colored shirts, the eight million technicolored flip flops, plaid shorts (shut up, you know you’re jealous), and the pink eye shadow.

I must admit, I’ll miss the layering with all my jackets and tuxedo shirts that the winter allowed. Springtime calls for short sleeves, which highlight my non-Kelly Ripa upper arms.

Shoot.

I have passed some line somewhere

“I have passed some line, some place. I am beginning to repel people I'm trying to seduce.” That was said by Holly Hunter’s character, Jane Craig in 1987’s “Broadcast News”.

Personally, I feel both this statement and its opposite, “I’m beginning to seduce people I’m trying to repel” are apparent in my life.

When I was 23, I worked at a high school translating many of the classes into Spanish for the children of migrant workers. This small town had a rather large gang population and the gang leader was this 6’3” tall 6’3” wide Mexican senior named Oscar. He was terrifying. He almost killed my brother once. Anyway, on his graduation day, he came over and gave me this huge hug and said “Maestra will you marry me? I could take care of you.”

My response? “No thank you but please don’t kill me.” How romantic.

This past December, A man the size of a mountain and dressed like a mix between gangsta and bouncer was in the same aisle of Blockbuster as I was, perusing the comedies.

Later, in line, I noticed this small weasel of a man bugging the Mountain. Weasel was saying “Omigosh! You’re Michael Jordan’s bodyguard aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Was all the Mountain could say before Weasel started pelting him with questions. I stood there paying for my rentals, imagining how many different ways the Mountain could disassemble Weasel in 30 seconds. But, as I was leaving, Mountain called out to me “Hey you. What’s your name?”

There were like 6 people in between us in line so I didn’t realize at first he was talking to me. I answered him and he walked past everyone else and came up to me. I was engulfed in his shadow. “Do you like to dance Casey?” I answered that I did, but that I wasn’t feeling up to it at the moment. He told me to call him and we’d go dancing together, gave me his card and left.

No, I haven’t called him but his card is still on my fridge if you’re interested.

Just recently, a 21 year old Mexican construction worker gave me a golden ring with heart on it and told me that I have his heart. I tried to tell him that our 13 year age gap was an issue. He didn’t see it that way. Then I told him I had a boyfriend. He said he wasn’t a jealous man. Shoot. I said my boyfriend was a jealous man but that didn’t seem to sway him either.

Not that any of these guys aren’t quality guys, I’m just not sure we’d have a lot to talk about after the initial introductions were over. I only know so much about gang life, basketball, and Mexican construction.

As for the men I’m trying to seduce? Ew, that sounds weird. If any of you know me, I’m sure you’ll understand. . . I’m not really the seductive type. Maybe that’s why I’m not very effective with the boys I like. I mean, I still haven’t been able to make Owen Wilson notice me.

My Not-So-Happy New Year

This New Years Day, I was at a friend’s sushi party and only really knew the hostess. The rest of the people there were either complete strangers, mild acquaintances, or just strange. I was sitting in proximity to the Diet Coke and was talking to a pair of sisters, let’s call them Josie and Jane*. Josie was next to me and Jane was on her other side. I had talked to Josie before but only in a “my goodness the weather is nice today” kind of way. . . Wait, come to think on it, she did mention wanting to make out with a friend of mine in the midst of that weather conversation. It was like “Wow, the weather sure is improving. Your tall friend Dan is absolutely gorgeous and needs me to kiss him. I like the snow, don’t you?”

But I digress. As I was talking to these sisters, a man sat by Jane, picked up her hand, and starting rubbing it. I didn’t say anything because I thought they were friends. Obviously not. She slowly turned and looked at him, face aghast.

“What are you doing!?” she asked

“I’m a physical therapist” He said. “Doesn’t that feel good?”

“No!” she said, pulling her defiled hand away and turning towards our conversation.

By this time, another guy sat by me and we had starting talking. We’ll name him Mike. Anyway, Mike and I were talking and Josie wanted to join in. “Mike, if you want to, Casey will make out with you. Go on, take her outside. She’ll kiss you a lot.”

Are you kidding me? I’ve only talked about the weather with this woman and already she’s painted me as some sort of lip slut to a complete stranger?! Needless to say, I tried to brush over her obnoxious remark and continue the conversation with Mike. Soon, I saw Josie stand up and hover over us. I pretended not to notice.

“I’ve got a new hug. You want to feel it?” She said.

Ew. I looked over at Mike because I thought she was talking to him but he was smiling at me bemusedly. Horror stricken, I looked up at Josie. Her face was fixed on mine, her mouth smiling and her arms extended. “No! Go hug someone else. Go hug a man.” I fought. But she persisted, begging me to hug her. Finally Mike suggested that if I hugged her, she’d go away. So I stood up and leaned in, not wanting to make too much contact.

She grabbed me, pulled me in, and then pushed her ample bosom into me. Now, I’ve failed to explain this girl’s stature. She’s about 6’1” and well endowed. And when I say ample bosom, I don’t mean it in the polite way Jane Austin would. The girl was huge. There were mammaries everywhere. It was awful. I strained against her, repulsed.

“That’s gross! I’ve got my own pair! Why would I want you to squeeze up into me like that? Go freaking hug a man!” Ew Ew ew ew. I felt so dirty. A nearby guy had been watching and came in for his own hug, distracting her for a moment. I turned to Mike and said I had enough excitement for the evening and was leaving. He bent in, kissed me and then told me to have a good year.

What a surreal way to welcome in a year. I didn’t even get any sushi. And where was Jane this whole time? Why didn’t she reign in her sister? Was she still busy fending off physical therapists with hand issues? Oh well, I guess it’s good because things can only get better from there, right?

*Please note: Most names in this blog will be changed to protect the innocent or myself from the people who’re the cause of that particular day’s random thoughts.

Um, so here's the beginning of my random thoughts.

I used to write random thoughts daily and send them out to over a hundred women along with some photo of a Hollywood hottie with some Casey blurb on it. I keep getting requests to start that up again and while my other blog, http://www.caseynelsonstuff.blogspot.com/ is more for my artwork- I'd start this up for my random thoughts. . . So, here's a new blog. . . With random thoughts. Now, bear in mind, these are the ramblings of a single woman so they're probably weird and one-sided. And since I've kept some of the thoughts from before, I'll submit a few of those before I whip out some new ones.



I miss underoos. Remember the power you felt with your special underwear? I had a Wonder woman tank top/underwear combo, a Batgirl bra and underwear set, and Artoo Deetoo underwear. I really did feel stronger with my blue and white starry Wonder Woman panties.



Man, Wonder Woman was so cool. She had dating all figured out. She could just change her clothes by turning around in a circle. Us mere mortals spend forever trying on several outfits, turning around to see how our butts looked in the jeans only to end up wearing the first outfit we put on. I wish that I had the lasso of truth too. Then I could really tell what a man was thinking instead of thinking "Oh crap, he wiped his nose when I did. Do I have a nose nugget?" or "Gah! Was that a real laugh or a courtesy laugh? Am I funny enough? Am I too funny? Crap. I don't know! Should I just shut up? Shut up Casey!!" . And her invisible jet? That's the way to go, I tell ya. You could park anywhere, no need to worry about valet parking (uh, not that I've had a date that required valet parking in ages but just in case). She could also kick hiney if necessary. I don't think she realized how wonderful her life really was. And those star encrusted wrist bands went with everything.