So You Think You Can Dance, dance, dance...

SO excited for this season of So You Think You Can Dance. But first - weren't there supposed to be Salt Lake City auditions last night? I'm confused. I'm also confused as to why Cat Deeley is the host. Still.

What a face.



Lovely smile.

Special shout-out to our DVR. Without it, these pictures would never have been possible.

Anyway, the new search for America's Favorite Dancer is on, and for the next couple of months, I get to tune in twice a week and feel the physical pain that comes with watching amazing dancers and wishing I could move like them. As it is, my dance experience is limited strictly to a year on the Douglas High School dance team, "Danceline" (11th grade), and an hour-and-a-half jazz class every other day my senior year. Oh, and I was in a musical theater class in 10th grade, but I don't count that, because A) it was gay, and B) the teacher was really ugly and always talked about her womanly cycle. I did wear a glittery top hat and dance in a chorus line to "One" in front of an audience of about fifteen parents, though. Yes, 10th grade. Not kindergarten.

Anyway - Danceline. So, I decided I wanted to try out despite the fact that, other than 'fake-dancing' around my house for 80% of my life, I really had no clue how to move. But it wasn't for lack of soliciting my mom to put me in classes. Anyway, I ended up trying out and actually making it...I'm convinced though, that it was mostly because of the fact that the girl I got teamed up with for the audition was a really awful dancer (completely clueless, and..just...really terrible), so I automatically looked good by comparison. Either way, I made the team, and I've got a picture to prove it.

Here we are at a game, dancing a hip-hop number to "Jenny From the Block".



(That's me in the red circle. Luckily we're in our "modest" outfits here. We alternated between this outfit and another - and you should have SEEN how short the skirts were. I actually got in trouble for wearing tiny little black boy-short briefs underneath it to conceal what the leotard didn't. You could SEE the boy shorts, even when I wasn't dancing. THAT'S how short the skirt was.)

Why are half of us on the next move? Group A...



And Group B. Hm. Maybe we needed more practice.

And here's Heather.



She was HUGE. Seriously, like twelve feet tall, and SO heavy on her feet. The entire floor moved when she danced, I'm not even exaggerating - you could FEEL Heather dancing through the floor. She was a total Amazon, and really ungraceful, which was kind of too bad, because she'd been dancing for like ten years by this point. But I couldn't feel too sorry for her lack of grace, because she was really really mean to everyone on the team. No one ever wanted to be around her, and what goes around comes around, because at a performance later in the season, Heather hit the ground. She had been walking - LITERALLY walking across the floor during an 8 count, when she rolled her ankle, and all I remember was feeling the reverberations throughout my toes when she splatted face-down on the basketball court. We danced around her for a few moments until she pulled herself up and hobbled away. And the best part is that she really, actually, truly had hurt herself. She was off the team and on crutches for two months. Oh my. I might be going to hell, but this story brings me so much joy. She was such a mean person.

Anyway, I survived the basketball season and earned my letter, which has been sitting in a hat box in my closet ever since.


Every once in a while, when I'm searching for ugly pictures of myself, I come across it. And I become instantly grateful that I didn't buy a letterman's jacket JUST because I technically "lettered" in an extra-curricular activity. Some of the girls on the team did, but I would have felt stupid wearing a jacket with ONE letter on it, and no other decorations whatsoever. Plus, those things are expensive.

Abrupt change of subject - Jon's still in Madeira (til Sunday night) and I've got this weekend to myself. Again. And beyond laundry and dishes, I've got no clue what I'm going to do. He's been entertaining me with his stories from this trip, though. Apparently, his luggage with ALL of his display items is stuck at customs in Lisbon until MONDAY, because it was mislabeled. Luckily he carried all his brochures and paperwork and everything with him on the airplane, so he can still somewhat function, but he's been on the phone pretty much nonstop with his shipping department, trying to get this thing figured out. Something I learned two days ago - there's a branch of the US Embassy that you can solicit for help if your stuff gets confiscated like this, so Jon hit them up. But the conversation only lasted a few seconds.

Them: US Embassy...
Jon: I need help getting some stuff released from customs.
Them: Are you a US citizen?
Jon: .........sort of.........

He had to get someone else from his office to give them a call after that, and it must not have panned out all too well, since he's not going to be receiving his luggage in time for his convention.

Just another one of those stories that Jon would put on his own blog, if he had one.

Okay, I really need to wrap this thing up. Have a great weekend! Come visit me in Tucson if you want.

Recent Read

You know how some people hate something just because it’s popular? They won’t give a certain movie, or a book, or an idea a chance, just because everyone else in America likes it, and they think Americans are stupid? They go against the grain, just because they don’t trust the overall opinion of the public? So instead of reading that book to see for themselves, they just automatically assume that because it’s popular, it must be dumb?

I’ve never considered myself to be one of those people. Which explains how I ended up wasting $10.99, and three hours of my life on “Twilight”. It all started in the Salt Lake City airport. My book options were limited to five harlequin romance novels, Atonement (which was about ten pages thick), and Twilight. And now, having read the entire thing from cover to cover, including the author’s biography on the back, I can make the informed conclusion that this book was absolutely ridiculous. #1 New York Times Bestseller? Come on, people. Seriously. Come on.

I was embarrassed just to OWN this book, let alone be seen reading it. I kept it hidden from view at all times. I didn’t even put it up on my Facebook bookshelf, because I didn’t want anyone to know my dirty little secret. Was it mildly entertaining? Sure…as much as any other juvenile fiction story is, I guess. It’s a book about vampires written for tweens – NOTHING MORE. If I hear one more person claiming that Stephanie Meyer is an AMAZING WRITER I might just jump through a window. It’s obvious that even Mrs. Meyer herself is aware that she’s not a great writer. For example (and I can’t guarantee that I’m not going to give any plot details away): Bella (even her NAME sounds contrived) meets her Vampire Boyfriend’s family for the first time. Vampire Father, Carlisle, is a doctor, and he’s hundreds of years old. The group is on the verge of discussing his vampirey past when he gets called in to work. Stephanie cuts in here to say “It was a strange combination to absorb – the everyday concerns of the town doctor stuck in the middle of a discussion about his early days in seventeenth-century London.” Um, thanks Captain Obvious. I feel dumber now that you took it upon yourself to explain that to me.

Oh, and there’s a scene where Bella and her Vampire Boyfriend are laying in the sun (he turns glittery in the sun, how pretty!), and he gets all mad for some reason, and turns into a crazy person, and shows her how dangerous he is by (I kid you not) running around the entire meadow in a half-second, and breaking off a two foot thick branch and throwing it so hard that the entire thing splinters into a million pieces. Or something like that. Oh. My. Goodness.

Anyway, I’m done talking about this book. I feel like I’m wasting my life away thinking about it. America’s collective IQ has dropped ever since it hit the bestseller’s list, and I’m ashamed that I played a part in it. BUT JUST IN CONCLUSION – I NEVER want to hear the phrase “Edward chuckled” ever again for as long as I live. I wish I could do a “control+f” command in real life, and count how many times it comes up in that book. I lost count after 500. Her rights to the word “chuckle” (and all of its variants) have been revoked. And I hope she’s improved her vocabulary in the second and third books, but thankfully…I’ll never know.

PS- Just my opinion.

Weekend Update

So I called 911 on Friday on my way home from work. Some guy in a Honda Civic was seriously high and I kept on ending up right next to him as he did crazy things - driving southbound in the northbound lane, turning sideways across three lanes of traffic with his blinker on... anyway, as soon as I got a plate number, I called him in. Just doing my part to keep Tucson roads safe. I wasn't sure at first if you can call 911 for that sort of thing, but I didn't have the TPD on speed dial in my phone, so I went for it anyway.

Friday night we went and saw Indiana Jones, which was awesome, in my opinion. Totally worth going to see in theaters. Sure, it was mostly unbelievable, and there was some stupid stuff thrown in, but in terms of entertainment, it was great. I felt like I was on the Disneyland ride the entire time. I loved that it wasn't a lame "sequel" movie that just relies on the elements of the other movies..it was actually an Indiana Jones movie that even LOOKED like it came out just a few years after the other ones. And they mention the past in the new film, but I only counted one single little reused line, and I gave them a lot of credit for that. For actually coming up with something to ADD to the genre, not just borrowing from the others. I know that reviews have been very, very mixed for this movie, but I'm one of the fans.

Um...then other than that...this weekend has been pretty lame. I got a new dress on Friday, and a fancy new flat iron on Saturday (the infrared, ionic kind, and it's AMAZING, just for the record..). Jon got his hair cut yesterday (Cost Cutters! We tried Supercuts first, but the line was almost out the door. I was actually a little disappointed that we didn't get in there, though, because that would have been so much radder. I would have sent text messages to every single Cottrell girl, if it had panned out...). Anyway, he's currently packing for his trip to Madeira. He leaves tomorrow, how lame is that?? The first three day weekend of the year, and he's not even around. And I haven't even thought about what I'm going to do tomorrow. Maybe a movie? By myself? Is that really sad? I've braved eating at nice restaurants alone, but I'm not sure if I'm ready to take the movie theater challenge just yet. I'll let you know.

Jessie’s Laws of Sacrament Meeting

1. If your kid's toy falls at my feet more than twice, it will stay there.

2. Typos in the program will be circled.

3. If you have to squeeze past me to an available seat, your crotch points AWAY from my face. I realize that the alternative isn't lovely either, but at least that way we won’t accidentally make eye contact. This applies to movie theaters, as well.

4. Any expectations you have of me shouting "Alooooo-ha!" at you the Fast and Testimony meeting following your Hawaiian vacation will not be met. Additionally, I will not close my eyes if you ask me to, and no, I will not stand up and turn in place on your command (true story. I don't think I've ever glared so hard at someone in my entire life).

5. I will roll my eyes at any returned missionaries that pretend like they’ve forgotten how to speak basic English. And for the record – when you're back in the States, please pronounce your mission so we can all understand. Here in the US, "Chile" is pronounced "Chill-E", not "Shee-lay." I met a girl once that told me she served her mission in "oo-roo-guywyayyYYYY" and I asked her to repeat it TWO MORE TIMES before figuring out she was saying "Uruguay." I specifically asked Jon while we were dating if he EVER said "Bruxelles" while in North America, and could not have been more relieved with his answer.

6. Sorry, but if you stand up in front of everyone and mispronounce the hymn name, I'll probably be the most entertained out of the whole congregation. Case in point – my old bishop stood up the week before Christmas to introduce the intermediate hymn, "With Wandering Eye." And even better, the 2nd Counselor in our ward in Rexburg announced that next, we'd be singing "Upon the Cross of Calgary." I snickered, then laughed, and then it turned into one of those irreverent laughs where all you can do it hunch over and hope the speaker doesn't notice you shaking and wiping your eyes.

7. Sorry again, but if you stink, I will move. Jon and I had to leave a packed Sacrament meeting and sit in the hall when the guy that came in late and sat right next to us smelled just like pot roast. Jon sat up a little straighter, looked around, then leaned over to me and whispered, "Smells like dinner." After one of those irreverent laughs, we collected our stuff and headed out to the foyer.

8. Musical numbers are limited to HYMNS out of the hymnbook ONLY. I realize this eliminates lots of other good music, but this is the only surefire way to prevent me from ever having to endure another wavery-voiced teenage girl tackling "His Hands" during Sacrament meeting.

Mass Confusion

This weekend was spent at the movie theater, at the mall, at church, and at our apartment. On Saturday we caught a matinee of Prince Caspian, which was okay, but was inexplicably given the most questionable PG rating ever given since the 80s. In no particular order, and without giving away any spoilers, here’s a list of some of the things an entire theater full of children were subjected to.

1) Lots of throat slitting
2) Very noisy childbirth
3) A minotaur death by crushing
4) A crunching noise as a dislocated shoulder is reset
5) Multiple slaughters – in one, an entire group is trapped behind a gate and we watch their faces as they’re dying; and
6) A decapitation – we even get to see the head lying next to the body

Anyway, the movie is mostly bloodless, so I guess that’s how Disney squeaked past with the PG rating, and I’m not personally offended by any of it…but it definitely goes to show the flaws in the rating system. I wouldn’t take my 5 year old to see it (if I had one...). Check out this link to Eric Snider’s thoughts on the issue.

But even more ridiculous than the rating was the man sitting next to us. We opted to sit in the very back to minimize our contact with unruly children, only to realize we’d chosen to sit next to a man ten times worse than any ragamuffin child in that theater. He was your typical, annoying, movie-going buffoon. He laughed out loud during the preview for “Beverly Hills Chihuahua”. He noisily and inaccurately predicted the twists and turns of the plotline, and felt it necessary to repeat each joke out loud (sometimes several times). I guess he thought the actors’ inflection was off, or that he could do it better, or that it would be funnier when he said it, or something. He was a real cartoon.

After the movie we shopped for a while in the mall – Jon bought two pairs of jeans, which means he has to throw away two pairs of jeans. He hangs on to more clothes than any human, so I make him throw some away each time he adds more. He threw away a pair of ten year old Wranglers the other day, but not before squeezing into them and parading around the apartment for a few minutes. I have never been less attracted to my husband. He physically injured himself, too. The tightness of the high waist strained a muscle or something. Ew.

After shopping, we went to eat at El Charro – a yummy Mexican place that we really like, despite the weird service we always get there. Well. So. I had to use the restroom, so I made my way to the back, where I was confronted with two options for doors. Upon initial examination, each of the bathroom signs appeared to be the same, but when I looked closer at the one to the right, I could tell that the conquistador silhouette appeared to be slightly more feminine than the one on the left. Looking closely at the words on each, I realized one said “Charros”, and the other said “Charras” (although at first glance it was almost impossible to tell, since the defining letters had been transformed into logos for the restaurant). Anyway, so after taking several moments to make my choice, I swung open the “Charras” door, only to nearly flatten the old man who was inside, carefully washing his hands. You can imagine how quickly I spun around and walked out, and after taking one last sideways glance at the confusing door signs, I headed back to my table unrelieved. The waitress saw the look on my face when I sat down and asked if everything was okay. So I tried to brush it off, and just told her I was confused by the bathroom signs… but she practically carried me back to the scene of the crime to explain to me the anatomical differences between men and women. “See this image here? This is a lady” (she outlines the curves with her finger). We had passed the confused old man on our way there (now wandering aimlessly down the hallway) so I lowered my voice and told her the real story. She reacted just how I’d hoped she would, too. Just the right amount of shock, near-laughter, and deep sympathy. (“Oh no!! Oh, poor little dear. He must have gotten confused…”) And yes, I’ll never be able to forgive myself for not taking pictures of the bathroom signs. How much easier this entire thing would have been to explain if I’d have only remembered. We were halfway home by the time I realized my mistake, and I let out a blood-curdling gasp. The kind that almost makes Jon drive right off the road. Anyway, I’ll take the pictures next time we’re in the vicinity of that restaurant. I’m just mad they couldn’t have been included in this original post.

…And all the time in-between these events was spent watching the second season of Friday Night Lights. Such a good series. How come you’re not watching it? You really should be. Ready, go.

Surprise!

I made my mom cry on Friday night when I showed up in Salt Lake City for Mother’s Day. She’s down there for a few days taking care of my grandpa while my grandma is exploring Europe, and I decided a couple of weeks ago that I wanted to pay a surprise visit. Annie picked me up from the airport at about 8:45 in the evening on Friday, and 20 minutes later I was bouncing towards my mom, who had had no idea I would be there (amazingly, considering the amount of people that knew about it once The General caught wind.)

I only got to spend about a day and a half there, since I can’t take any more work off for a while, but it was definitely worth it. On Saturday, we woke up bright and early and drove up to Heber (AKA The Most Beautiful Place in North America…I want five homes there), ate breakfast at a fun local spot called The Hub, then dropped by Annie’s cute townhouse briefly while she gathered her work gear. She trains horses at an amazing dressage facility, and we got to go watch her in action. My mom brought her new horse down with her for the weekend, and after her lessons for the day, Annie spent some time working with my mom and Sky in a round pen. Sky’s only four and still growing into herself, but she’s absolutely beautiful when she gets to moving well. So that was fun. During Annie’s lessons, my mom and I went on a drive through the area. My mom got a couple of things at a cute market, and we stopped at “The Crater”..this creepy 80-foot-deep geothermic pool inside of a weird round cave-like hole. After Annie was done for the day, we went and got gelato at a resort there in Heber (mmmm, red orange…mmmm) then went and dropped Annie off at her house to shower and change. My mom and I went to the grocery store for a few things, then picked her up to go back to Salt Lake. We made up a quick dinner for my grandpa, then headed out to Spoon Me, a Pinkberry rip-off (but almost equally as good. And if you’re keeping track, that’s TWO ice cream stops in a row. Gelato, then frozen yogurt.). Last Christmas at Spoon Me was when my own mother accidentally called me “Jerry”, which has become one of the biggest family jokes of all time. Annie made me laugh until I cried and my abs burned when she quietly mentioned that one of her “rasjerries” had dirt on it. Yep. Still laughing. After that we headed to a restaurant called Epic for dinner. Last Christmas, Corinne, Kyle, Jon, and I went there and had a waiter named “Klutt”, and would you believe it, we had the same poor soul THIS time around, too! I’d told Annie and my mom about the waiter named Klutt before we got there, so when he first came and introduced himself, we had try hard to control our faces. I got a delicious salmon, Annie got pork medallions, and my mom got a yummy pasta. Then for dessert, we shared a mascarpone cheesecake that was one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.

Sunday was less eventful but still fun. We took a walk in the morning, then prepared for a special Mother’s Day dinner with my Aunt Marin, and Cousins Sarah, Rob, Ellie, and Brandon. My flight left at 7, so I had to leave the gathering at about 5, and I didn’t get back into Tucson until 11.

On a sadder note, my parents decided this weekend to put our sweet little dog Scout to sleep. My junior year of high school, someone abandoned two puppies in the yard of a vacant house across the street from us, so we went and collected them and kept them in our dog run for a few days, looking for someone to adopt them. My mom declared we couldn’t possibly keep either of them, but when I took Scout into the house and she curled up on my mom’s lap, it was all over. She was the sweetest little dog for about two years, and then she started to go weird. She became snappish and mean with strangers and other dogs. She sent my dad’s old lab Cricket to the vet more than once for stitches. I had to quit doing agility training with her because she was so hostile (it was sad, too, because she was really good at it). With the addition of little Gunner to my parent’s pack, she completely lost her mind, quit eating, viciously tried to bite a little boy, and tried to murder the new puppy TWICE. Anyway, here are my fondest memories of Scout - the meanest, sweetest little dog I ever knew.

1.) Giving her piggybacks around the house.


2.) Thinking back on her dragging my cousin Meg down the road. I wasn't actually there, but I'm pretty sure the way I imagine it is at least as good, if not better, than the actual event. Apparently, 8-year-old Meg was afraid that if she let go of the leash, she'd be in trouble, so the poor kid hung on as long as she could, and returned from her walk all scraped up. What a little champion.

3.) Jon's account of Scout backing up into the living room (beep, beep, beep), peeing on the floor in front of him and my extended family, then running out.

4.) Rhyming her name with funny words to see if she'll still come running when you call them out. My personal favorites: Flout, Trout, and Gout. Worked every time.

5.) Scout falling over and squealing every time my brother-in-law Steve reached out to pet her. And then hearing his comparisons of her to his perfect childhood dog, Remy. "Remy never squealed when I tried to pet him..."

Anyway, so poor little Scout caused one too many problems and was a huge liability, so my mom made the choice to put her down. And all dogs go to heaven, despite whatever Jon tries to tell you. It's in the scriptures for crying out loud.

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ALERT- I'm putting this tangent in at the very end, because I couldn't quite seem to fit it in above. When Annie and I were planning where to meet out on the curb at the SLC airport, I couldn't help but remember of one of the single-most funniest moments of the entire past year. I had completely forgotten about it until a few days ago, but here you go. Just this past Christmas, we all gathered in Salt Lake City, but Kyle, Corinne's husband, had a conflicting schedule (I can't remember why) so he ended up flying in a couple of days after the rest of us, so Jon, Corinne, Annie, and I all piled into the grey Impala that we had rented and headed off together to pick him up. When we got there, Corinne spotted him right away, waiting in the center median, so we pulled over to the right, and slightly behind him while Corinne dialed his cell number to let him know where to look for us.

Corinne: Hey, we're behind you in a grey Impala.
Kyle: [looking everywhere except at us] Oh, okay, I can see you.
Corinne: No, you don't, you're not even looking at us.
Kyle: I can SEE you, you're right over there! [begins to move quickly towards other grey Impala with arm outstretched]

Jon: He's going to get in the wrong car!!!!
Jessie: [inhuman screech] NOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOoooOOOooooo!!!!

I don't know what came over me. I was seriously panicked at the thought of Kyle getting in the wrong car. Anyway, we all laughed for an hour over the entire thing, and I know it's really random, but I had to put it somewhere, and I couldn't make it fit anywhere else.

Hope your Mother's Day was awesome.

New Acquaintance

On April 15, 2008, I had an encounter with A_ _ _ Cook. I was on the phone when he first walked into the office, and he casually made his way to my desk. Out of my corner vision, I saw that he was about 5’11 and had greezy long blonde hair. He smelled a little like a mix between Fritos and old, damp snow pants. Once I was finished with my phone call, I smiled up at him and asked what the heck he was doing in my lobby. Not really. I smiled up at him and asked if I could help him with anything. He responded by procuring a HUGE portfolio, which he had somehow snuck in undetected, and asked if we’re in the market for any art. Oh great. And I’m way too nice of a person, because for the next five minutes I got bombarded with picture after picture, until I finally started ignoring him as he was trying to shove more under my nose. They all looked like a ten year old had drawn them. He then proceeded to explain to me that he teaches music lessons, as well, in case anyone in the office might be interested. Then he handed me his card.

He has obviously used the Grand Canyon as a backdrop for combining his passions for both music and art. I love the list on the “Musician” side.

Piano, Percussion, Flute, Sax, Trumpet, Teacher

“One of these things is not like the other”…anyway, my favorite part about the entire illustration?? The fact that the little doodle of himself he’s made out of his last name actually bears very strong resemblance. Way to go, A_ _ _ _. Way to go.

Before he left, he asked me with a hint of desperation if I knew of a nearby tax company . I told him I was sorry, but no, I didn’t know of any. After angrily muttering a few moments about having to file despite the fact that he made under $9,000 last year, he was on his way, leaving me with his card, his lingering scent, and a few precious memories.

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Edited to Add: I originally had written out his entire name in this post, but then when I googled "A_ _ _ Cook Artist Tucson", my blog came up FIRST out of over 40,000 webpages!!! It kind of made me feel important, but it made me feel a little nervous, too, because who doesn't google themselves every once in a while? I'm sure my friend is no different. That's why I disguised his name.

Also, it has recently come to my attention that maybe my blog came up first out of all the other webpages because google knows that I spend a lot of time on my blog, and correctly guessed that that's the page I was looking for. Either way, better safe than sorry, right?

Saturday is a Special Day

Jon left yesterday for San Diego. This is his first trip in weeks, so I guess I can't complain too much. Actually, I can, because his May schedule is ridiculous. He's back from San Diego for a day before he leaves for Manhattan, then he's back from Manhattan for a day before he leaves for Albuquerque, then there's a possibility that he might be going BACK to Manhattan before his trip to Madeira, Portugal. Which isn't really in Portugal, it's just an island owned by Portugal. This is all before the end of the month, mind you, and it's still up in the air if he's going to be flying to Russia straight from Madeira, if he's going to be coming back to the USA and THEN flying to Russia the next day, or if he's not even going to Russia at all. How come he's home for so long with no traveling, and then all of a sudden, he's pretty much never going to be home ever again? Someone needs to sort that out. It's one thing if he travels once or twice a month for a weekend, but another for him to just be gone constantly. Truth be told, I actually kind of look forward to the occasional weekend of alone time. I get a lot more done when he's gone, and I can accomplish a lot in one weekend if he's not here. THIS weekend, however, is not turning out to be one of those. I did NOTHING last night except watch TV, Facebook, and read a few chapters of "Pride and Prejudice". Today was even worse. I did no more than two loads of laundry (still sitting in the front room..I didn't even put it away!), put half the dirty dishes in the dishwasher (still haven't emptied the first load to make room for the second...), got the mail (kind of exciting, actually, I got a $200 check from Chicken Soup for the Soul for an entry I wrote for them when I was in 9th grade), then went and had lunch at a place called Zivaz. Jesus, my ex-coworker, claims it's the best Mexican he's ever had in Tucson, so I figured I'd check it out. Then, I got my hair done by my favorite hairdresser EVER. It was my second time with her and I'll never change as long as I'm in Tucson. I might actually force her to move in with us if/when we DO move. I'm still considering it. Her name is Kashmir, and is it bad that when they told me her name over the phone for the first time, I almost asked for someone else? In my defense, prior to Kashmir, I'd had my hair done (at a different place) by a girl named "Gentle" and it was NOT a great experience. Anyway, then I came home and perused blogs for a while. I'm STILL waiting for an update, Kelsey! It's not like you have better things to do with your time..like taking care of your new baby. And sitting and staring at how adorable she is.

(this is Norah Grace. I want to have five just like her.)

Anyway, out of my extreme boredom came the idea to write a post showcasing recent purchases I've made. So.....here I go. Sorry.

THINGS THAT ARE GOLD
(I guess I have a new addiction)




(I've been wanting a gold pendant for forever..I have no idea why. I just started craving one.)


(Any comments on the length of my toes will be ignored.)

THINGS I CAN WEAR TO CHURCH


(I never know what to do with my arms in pictures...)


(Just look at that print..and the tie...and the shiny trim at the bottom...)


(This is my newest purchase out of them all and I am IN LOVE with this skirt. Keep in mind it doesn't actually look like it's made out of garbage bags in real life. The flash on the old Powershot makes it look like plastic. But it's not. I promise.)

And there you have it, maybe the most pointless post I've ever created. Have a great Sabbath tomorrow, and please keep it holy.

I Wasn't Actually There, But....

Everything in this post has to do with events that I wasn’t present for. In fact, I haven’t even met 90% of the people involved. If you have an issue with that, and if you’ll think I’m lame for writing about it on my blog, then read no further.

There was a girl that Jon used to work with…let’s just call her “Erica”. Apparently, everyone hated her because she was mean and foul.

(Case-in-Point: A couple of weeks ago, Erica and another coworker went out to lunch together, and when they came back to the car, they discovered that someone had parked too closely for Erica to open her door wide enough to get inside the driver’s seat (she’s quite heavy). So her coworker offered to back the car out for her, and before Erica obliged, she said “This is what WE do when someone parks too close…”, then reared back and hocked a huge loogie on the other car’s window. GAG!)

She was just a negative individual. With bad manners. She finally got fired last week for offending way too many people, and it was a big event complete with tears, screaming, and pounding on the table. Everyone at the office is scared that she’s one of those types that might come back one day and slash tires.

Anyway. I guess she left without taking any of her personal stuff out of her desk, so someone contacted her to let her know she would need to pick it up. Next day, she called to let them know that she was out front, waiting for someone to take her box out to her. NO ONE wanted to have anything to do with it, so brave Jon stepped up to the plate, and here’s the conversation that took place out in the parking lot. (Keep in mind I wasn’t actually there, but this is almost exactly how Jon related the incident to me.)

Erica: I don’t know why they wanted me to pick this stuff up.
Jon: Because it’s yours.
Erica: But I don’t even want it.
Jon: That’s fine.
Erica: I’m just going to throw it all in the garbage.
Jon: Are you going to throw away the Eiffel Tower keychain that I got you in Paris?
Erica: …well, no…of course I’m not going to throw THAT away….

And the point of this entire, arguably dumb story? --- MY HUSBAND IS MY HERO. And I don’t want to hear anything about writing about events that didn’t have anything to do with me. If Jon would start his own blog, it wouldn’t be an issue. The End.

Our Weekend...and a Note on Names

Last Monday, Jon and I started discussing what we wanted to for the weekend. The first idea that came up was camping, which I was really excited about. There’s a mountain range about three hours northeast of us called the White Mountains, and they’re supposed to be amazingly beautiful. Lakes, meadows, cliffs, you name it. So I got advice from some people at work, did a little research online, and called up the Rainbow Campground to make a reservation, only to be told that ALL the campsites are closed. Why could this be? Renovations? Fire danger? No. They still have a foot of snow up there. In my defense, it’s been pushing ninety in Tucson. I forgot about the rest of the world, I guess.

We came up with our next idea on Tuesday. A trip up to Phoenix. I’ve got an aunt and uncle up there, and they’re always super welcoming whenever we want to get away from Tucson for a weekend. So we started planning where we’d go…Cabelas, IKEA, and a Western-style cookout at a ranch, complete with cowboy poetry. And then…I remembered that my aunt is in Europe. And what’s a trip to Phoenix with no aunt?

Idea three was the shortest-lived of all the suggestions. Disneyland. It’s only about a 7 hour drive, and I work half-days now on Fridays, so we’d have almost two days at the park…but the more we thought about it, the more it kind of crashed and burned.

So, what DID we do this weekend? Hmm. Funny you might ask. Well, we did lots of laundry. And I cleaned the toilets, and scrubbed the bathtub. Jon did the dishes and I wiped down the countertops in the kitchen. We organized the front room, adjusted the rug, and vacuumed. And fixed the slip cover – an event that usually only takes place when we’re expecting company. I HATE that stupid slip cover. Each time I tuck it in, I swear up and down that we’re getting new furniture in our front room. But then, I change my mind, because if we’re going to be moving across town or across the country any time soon, I don’t want to have to worry about new furniture getting wrecked in the process. I worry about stuff like that. So we keep putting it off. And it’s starting to drive me crazy.

And ANOTHER thing we did this weekend was celebrate the birth of a brand new little niece, Norah Grace. Jon’s sister, Kelsey, went into labor Friday morning, and had the baby at about 5 in the morning Saturday. We haven’t seen pictures yet, but Kelsey seems to think she's pretty cute. Mom and baby are doing alright, even though it was kind of a long labor. Norah’s being monitored in the NICU for a couple of days, but it’s just mostly precautionary stuff. Anyway, I was so excited when they told us the name. It’s so beautiful it makes me want to cry. They were being very secretive about their name choices, which I think is really smart.

I’m mildly obsessed with names. I think about them a lot more than most people, I’m pretty sure. But seriously, naming a child is a huge deal! They will go by that name for the REST OF THEIR LIVES. Idaho and Utah are notorious for bad naming. In fact, my mom made my day a couple of weeks ago when she sent me the annual listings of every single child born in the Madison Memorial Hospital during the previous year. I'm not out to offend anyone..but please, give your child a name that is actually a name. Don’t make anything up. It’s their NAME. People will judge them by it for the rest of their lives. I can’t even list all the made-up atrocities I encountered while reading the announcements, but I DO want to throw in a few highlights.

A popular trend is the mix-n-match. Choose any beginning from column A, and an ending from column B.

Seriously, it works. Watch. Tambree. Kymee. Taydyn. Mayleigh. Kamsee. Kyler. TOLD you. Idaho Naming 101. See how easy it is?? The more I think about it, I don’t know why anyone ever complains about this being a hard decision.

Another trend, at least in Idaho, is naming your baby boy the most masculine word you can think of. Here are some examples, straight from Rexburg.

Ridge
Tracker
Drake
Gage (MORE THAN ONE)
Axton
Triton Duke
Bracken
Rowdy

Or, the ever popular H's-Are-Silent-And-My-Child's-Name-Is-More-Unique-With-One, as evidenced by little Tyhler and Mhya. Poor Cheznee and Jerzee got landed with the Let's-Take-a-Word-That's-Not-a-Name-and-Change-the-S's-to-Z's treatment. Or what about taking a perfectly legitimate name, but making it almost completely unrecognizable? I'm not talking about changing a letter or two, here... I'm talking about making the entire name an ABOMINATION. Kwin, Saije, and Logyn will suffer for the rest of their lives.

And it looks like, in Idaho at least, if all else fails, just name your kid Braxton. Male or female. And hey, if you don’t like Braxton, just spell it with a Y instead. Braxtyn. There were FOUR Braxtons, and TWO Braxtyns in this paper! As my good aunt Mariann once put it, "What if she marries a ‘Hicks’???"

Holy name tangent. I’m done, I promise. Now you all know how I feel about it, so you’ll know that when you tell me that you named your kid "Amberleigh," even though I’ll say "aww, that’s neat," I’m really thinking "Amberleigh? AMBERleigh?? She’s got to put that on her RESUME, you know!"

Just as long as we have that clear between us. We can still be friends, right?

PS- Thankfully, my dad named his dog Gunner, no thanks to all of you that ignored my petition for help ;-)

The Paris Saga: Day VIII + Trip Home

Day 8 was a Sunday, and our last day in Paris. We woke up around 8:30, showered, and during breakfast Jon said "We really ought to find a church to attend." I replied "That's rich!" and we both laughed for two full minutes. Silly Jon. We don't go to church when we're on vacation.

We went to Notre-Dame again, and this time the sun was actually kind of shining.



We waited in line for about a half-hour to go up the bell tower. It was our last tall, winding staircase of the trip.

Oh, and it turns out that Jon is a professional photographer...who knew?

(Sacre Coeur)

The bells started ringing while we were up there, and it was pretty cool.



Jon called me into that random, dark hole in the wall, and it turns out, the biggest of the Notre-Dame bells was housed inside, up a rickety ladder. They only ring this one for special occasions.



A view of the Seine from above...



Pretty Paris rooftops...



Flying buttresses...


And remember this tree with the pink blossoms?



After we came down from the top of the tower, we decided to stop in on mass for a few minutes.

(Not the Pope. But it was fun to pretend that it was.)

Coming out of mass, we were accosted by all the mangled and deformed inhabitants of Paris, begging for money. One unfortunate soul was sitting in a chair directly outside of the doors with his pant leg rolled up, and I'm afraid to say that I didn't look away fast enough to NOT see what was wrong with his leg. And I'm not going to go into any details. It was bad enough that I had to see it, I would never inflict that image onto anyone else. I closed my eyes and had Jon lead me through the mob. I don't handle deformity very well. It all stems from when I was in second grade in Alaska, and this little girl on the playground coaxed me into one of those tires they half-bury in the ground, where she pulled her mutant hand out of her sleeve and shoved it into my face. I was trapped by it. Umm..yeah. I am not exaggerating, I had nightmares for MONTHS. And every time I saw her on the playground from then on, I started to get dizzy. And THAT, my friends, is why to this day I still get all nervous and shaky around people with deformities. It's not that I don't love them. They just freak me out. Don't judge me.

Also, don't be deceived by this sign.



There are no bodies buried under there. We followed the stairs down three levels...into a parking garage.

From Notre-Dame we crossed the bridge and we finally got our Berthillon ice cream. Chocolate for Jon, mango for me. Speaking of mango, I bought two mangos today at the grocery store..any advice on how to slice up a mango? I had some real trouble with the first one, and kind of gave up. Anyway, we walked along the Seine and since it wasn't so cold this day, there were tons more book vendors and artists out. I even took my coat off for a picture. (Jon's idea..it was really bugging him that I was wearing it in every picture).



Don't be deceived, though. The coat went right back on after this picture was taken. We bought some postcards before heading to Hotel de Ville.



The Easily-Impressed Parisian Business Partners from Jon's conference had suggested that we check out "Le Marais", the neighborhood surrounding Hotel de Ville.

Jon was excited out of his mind when we saw this Land Rover Defender.


Two things to look for: Obviously, the woman passenger, who unrolled her window and waved maniacally at Jon, and second, the Playboy bunny on the windshield. What?

Mostly this neighborhood was full of designer clothing stores, jewelry shops, and art studios, and even though we couldn't afford anything, it was still a fun place to explore. We ended up at the Place des Vosges on accident, which was beautiful, even though there were a billion people there.

(One of the entrances)

I was halfway dead from hunger by this point, so on our way back to the Hotel de Ville, I stopped for a sandwich at a bakery. It had sliced, hardboiled eggs on it. Mmmm.



We stopped at the market for chocolate, and more YOP, before going back to the hotel to pack. :-(

I consider this the end of the "Paris Saga", although I will mention the highlights of our trip home.

-Receiving a rough frisking by a mannish TSA agent at security. She left no part of me un-jabbed, and a certain area of my upper torso was attacked at every possible angle.

-Having Jon's luggage rummaged through TWICE while in Paris...once at security, and once before gate-checking it.

-Being stuck behind two stationary people on The World's Slowest Moving Walkway.

-Listening to a child scream for ten minutes, every half-hour, on our plane ride to Atlanta. And I'm not talking about crying. I mean SCREAMING. I usually have sympathy for the parents, but they weren't doing anything to try and shut that kid up. My earplugs were no defense against the racket.

-Being held up at customs by an agent named "Plato", having to go retrieve, then recheck our bags while in ATLANTA, and waiting an hour in the security line. I will never fly through Atlanta ever again, if I can help it. It was the most disorganized airport ever. Good thing we had three hours in-between flights, or we never would have made it.

-Being mildly freaked out when an alarm sounded while waiting for our connection. Lights overhead were flashing, and a voice came on throughout the entire airport..."An emergency has been declared in the building. Please stand by for further information." We never did heard the conclusion to this.

And last but not least, what kind of ridiculous trip home would be complete without some of our luggage getting lost?

-----------------------------

All in all, the entire journey was amazing, romantic, hilarious, beautiful, and completely exhausting. Documenting all of it has been so much fun, and I'm a little sad now that I've finished! I guess that means we're due for another trip....

...to be continued?

The Paris Saga: Days V-VII

Jon’s conference took up the greater part of these days, and since there was really nothing that went on at the event that distinguished one day from the next, I’m just going to sum all of that up in a few sentences so that I can get on to the fun stuff. I got to sleep in each of these days, and wear my best outfits. Once I got to the venue, it was solid hours of sitting, replaced by intermittent standing, with a return to sitting, and occasional reading. Jon had a little more excitement than I did – at least he got to talk to people about abdominoplasty, and aesthetic vaginal surgery and stuff.

This is where we sat. And that’s what my honey looks like when he’s making his company millions of dollars.

Okay, the evenings. After the conference, on Day 5, we took a stroll up to our favorite boulangerie and got sandwiches (chicken salad…delicious) and desserts (flan…also delicious). We brought them up with us to the Arc, sat on a bench (HOORAY, it was finally warm enough to eat outside!), and ate dinner while watching the traffic circle. About 8 streets stem from the Arc out in each direction (this area is known as “Etoile”, since it looks like a star from above), and traffic at the center is ridiculous. 8 different streets pouring into this circle with NO LANES. We were in the process of talking about how remarkable it was that we hadn’t seen an accident yet when two cars collided. Honestly, I’m surprised we only witnessed ONE accident, because it was the craziest traffic I’ve ever seen.

The plan was to walk up the Arc so we could watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle at dusk, but we had some time to kill before the sun went down, so we hit up some shops near the start of the Champs-Elysees. I took this picture while walking across the street, looking back towards the Arc as the sun was setting.

It was 284 steps up another winding staircase to the top of the monument.

But it was worth it, because the view of the streets below was beautiful, and just a few minutes after we got up there, the Eiffel Tower began to light up.

(SmartCars are all over the place in Paris, and they look particularly awesome from above.)

And for your viewing pleasure…

Moving on to the NEXT evening. After dinner, we fought off the fatigue to go on a Bateaux Mouche tour of the city. It wasn’t easy though…we were completely exhausted, and we almost fell asleep on the bed back at our hotel when we stopped by to change our clothes.

A short metro ride landed us within a few minute’s walking distance of the boat dock, and we barely made it on to the 9:00 launch. But before I get ahead of myself...there was an ad in all the subway stations that made me laugh every time I saw it, and I finally snapped a picture of it on our way to the boat tour. It got funnier and funnier every time.

Ummm...My cousin Brandon??? You decide. (That's where I would have posted a side-by-side picture of him, but I don't have one on my computer. You'll just have to take my word for it.)

The boat ride took us up the river all the way past Notre-Dame, then back past where we started, before turning again and dropping us off. All in all, it was over an hour long of blaring intercoms and cold, disgruntled American high school students. But beautiful, nonetheless. The buildings all have lights that illuminate them at night, but the boats have spotlights as well, so you really get a good view as you pass. And you really get blinded when OTHER boats pass. But when THIS party-boat passes, it just makes you want to dance. And point and laugh.

Here are some of the monuments…

The Eiffel Tower was sparkling as we made our way back to the dock, and Jon snapped this picture of me watching it. This photo makes me happy.

Back at the hotel, we watched the news for a few minutes, but the image was all scrambled, so the following conversation took place:

Jon: They haven’t really perfected their satellite television over here, I guess…

Me: No, they haven't.

Jon: Yes, they have.

Me: ...what..?

Jon: I like to argue.

The next day, Day 7, was the final day of the conference. I slept in until 11, missed breakfast, and got to the conference at 12:30. Poor Jon had been at the venue since 8. We ended up leaving early, since everyone else was packing up their stuff. We stuffed it all into a suitcase and said goodbye to all the other exhibitors that Jon had become best friends with.

PEOPLE OF NOTE:

A) The Parisian Business Partners situated directly across from us. They were selling lasers, and the man had quite the inexcusable unibrow, considering he’s in the hair-removal industry. They were both so impressed when they found out that Jon speaks French. First, the woman almost fell over when he said "ca va", then as conversation continued on in French, Eyebrow Buddy perked up and came creeping over to join in the fun.

B) The Japanese Quartet to our right, selling intense “True Age” tests. Three of the four didn’t speak a word of English, but bobbed their heads enthusiastically every time they passed our booth. The fourth was a young half-Asian natively from Paris, who, in his own words, “turned Japanese”, and moved there spur of the moment. And yes, I had “Turning Japanese” stuck in my head for the rest of the day. He was actually kind of cute, and I was seriously considering forcing him to marry my friend Christa, until Jon informed me that he was a casual pot smoker. (The French-Asian kid. Not Jon. That I’m aware of.) So I gave up on that endeavor immediately. I’m sure her dad would have been thrilled that he spoke French, but not so thrilled about the other stuff. Anyway, this younger kid was the translator in the group, and, while I was eating California rolls, he was kind enough to let me know that his boss was very impressed with my chopstick skills.

C) The Tall Swedish Couple catty-corner, selling numerous skin cleansers and toners. The husband looked just like George McFly from Back to the Future. He was constantly angry at the event organizers, and let us in on all of his secrets of how to get his money back. It went something like this - pretend to sue them, and they give you your money back. His wife was pretty, seven feet tall, and wore a weird skirt with pockets all over it. Twice.

We wished everyone good luck as we left, and there's actually a pretty strong chance that Jon might run into some of them in the future.

We changed at the hotel, then went and had dinner at a fun pub. We both got hot sandwiches with cheese, ham, and fried eggs on top. The amount of Pepsi you can see in the picture set us back 12 euros. Oh yeah, and no refills.

(Jon just asked "Who's that dummy that's using two hands to eat with a fork?")

After dinner we bought a heavenly yogurty drink called YOP at the market, and I drank it back at the hotel while Jon watched hockey. This one was coconut flavored, and I'm starting to drool just thinking about it...

(How do you like that product integration there? YOP owes me a thousand dollars for that positive mention. "Pos-men" for short. 30 Rock? Anyone? No?)

TO BE CONTINUED...