Here's To Silly!

Me: Do you think it's ironic at all that we're sitting here, eating the junk food we just bought at Walgreen's at [an insane hour of night/morning], watching an episode of King of the Hill where Bill learns he has adult-onset diabetes?

Wonderman: God bless the universe and its sense of humor.

Comments (1) Full article

Almost exactly a year ago, when my hair was long and flowing, I saw a delightful girl with short dark hair in a faux hawk. (For those who aren't familiar with the term, it is a fake mohawk, meaning that the hair is formed into the spiky ridge without shaving off all the sides.) Generally I consider this to be one of the silliest and tackiest hairstyles ever. In fact, I distinctly remember laughing at one of the most eligible bachelors of Cache Valley because he had a carefully coiffed faux hawk and we sighed into our tortilla soup, because we knew that meant he was probably gay. However, this girl was cute. Really cute (it was an awesome off-center faux hawk amidst tousled waves, something I was sure I could probably maybe do). Cute enough that I wanted to be just like her. Mostly. Well, it made me want to cut my hair so I could have a cute faux hawk, too. I did tell myself to wait until after the wedding because it seemed appropriate to have long flowing hair in all the wedding pictures. I did, however, make a plan to cut my hair soon (ish) after the wedding, so that I could be cute like her. Little did I know. Sigh.

However, now my hair has finally grown to a long and flowing enough state that I could attempt a faux hawk (ironic, isn't it, the things we have to wait for and how we don't get what we expect?) I did my hair in a faux hawk just two nights ago. In the process, I laughed at myself repeatedly. When I completed the task, I couldn't decide if I looked more like a circus clown (especially with the pink cheeks I'm still getting used to) or an angry teenager trying to fit in by standing out. Either way, I certainly didn't pull it off as well as that cute girl from yesteryear (this is such a fun word to use, don't you think?). Still, if I've learned anything about hair in all my travails, I've learned that no matter what it is, if you walk out of the door with confidence you generally get a better response. That I did. Then I tried on clothes at Target. My poor little faux hawk did suffer, but perhaps it was better for the softening. Shall I try again? Heaven only knows. Here are the results of my first attempt:

Comments (7) Full article

Wonderman and I have an enemy. It is this guy:

Comments (1) Full article

I really want to see this movie. Wonderman watched the trailer with me and just said, "For the love of God, at least put a ninja in there or something." I love him anyway.

Comments (2) Full article

This is my old neighborhood. It makes me feel sad and strangely anxious to be back to see if I could maybe help out or do something. At least just be there for the mourning. Alas, prayers are all I've got. My poor Island. It's so weird, this is exactly where I used to go jogging and bike riding all the time.

ksl.com - Logan mudslide recovery efforts intensify

Shared via AddThis

Comments (0) Full article

This is a quote that I wrote down from the movie "The Last Kiss" when I watched it, approximately seventeen ages ago. It's been on my fridge ever since. I don't think I'll be hauling it across the ocean to hang on my new fridge, so I thought I'd post it here:

Comments (1) Full article

Here's the conundrum: I love to cook. Like, a lot. I really love it. It's in my blood. However, I HATE (no, I don't suppose I HATE it, that is rather too strong of a word, I just feel completely incompetent at it, which leads to a certain disdain) planning regular meals, especially healthy ones (Yes, Ms. Woodward, I know that "ones" is not actually a word, but sometimes it's the only way to describe exactly what I'm saying [yes, I think almost that exact thought every time I use "ones," which is often]). When I was single, I didn't so much succumb to fast food (very often), but there was a lot of yogurt and graham crackers going on. Now I am married, which automatically turned me into a domestic goddess, of course. Right? Wait, wasn't that supposed to come in the mail with the marriage certificate, the domestic goddess certificate? Sigh. Mine must've gotten lost in transit. All I know is, I felt particularly proud of myself for not only cooking a delicious meal, but cooking it FOR ME when I was the only one home. It doesn't happen often folks, but it does happen.

Comments (2) Full article

One of the best parts of being married is having someone else to pick up the slack and do those things I can't do alone. For example, Wonderman just got out of the shower and is looking mighty fine and I bemoaned out loud the fact that I can't whistle (never have been able to; I've tried and tried), because it's times like these I wish I could, so he whistled for me. I then laughed and thanked him for whistling at himself when I couldn't. Isn't marriage great?

Comments (1) Full article

Makeup and I have an interesting relationship. I love trying new things and a new eyeshadow or lipgloss can pretty much always make my day better (me? buy three new lipglosses the day before going on a date with a boy that I really liked, just because somehow it gave me more confidence? maybe.). However, I'd like to imagine that I'm that totally awesomely gorgeous granola who needs no makeup to show the world her gloriousness. I used to go through stages. Once, dating a very pretty boy who always wore cologne and matchy clothes, I warned him that the daily makeup stage was bound to end soon. I'd like to believe that's not why he dumped me, but I may never know. That was seven years ago and I've been wearing daily makeup ever since. Not sure why. But I am sure that I recently made some drastic changes to my routine, which are DELIGHTFUL!
First was reading a friend's blog (to which I would provide a link, but I can't find it becaused it's been a while and she doesn't have a search option on her blog) about red lipstick. I remembered the glory days when a friend of mine described me as the girl who wore dark lipstick to church. Much time had passed since then and I wanted to return. Enter a sale on Maybelline's new lipgloss, which is basically eternal. I had to try it. What a delight! Bright red lips forever. The forever part lost some of its appeal when I had to use a sandblaster to get it off my face at night. Once I was introduced to an effective remover however, I augmented my collection with another shade and moved on to the next connundrum - ze cheeks.


I'd read that blush should be the color I turn naturally when flushed. One day after working out, I looked in the mirror and realized that my peachy-browny blush was doing me no good. I also am now 30 and aging quickly, so I took to heart the advice to find a cream blush, as it makes one look younger. ;) I found it and I love it, I think. It's very pink and when I first put it on I felt like the seventh grade me on picture day when Mamar said to me right before stepping in front of the camera "Oh, I wish you would've told me you were going to wear makeup." Le sigh. For years after, she tried to instruct me on blush application. Sigh, I must've been a poor student. The first few times I put on my new blush, I felt like a ridiculous low-end doll that was painted by a hyperactive child forced into slave labor that had to meet a certain daily quota or certain death. It wasn't pretty. There was bright Peony-color everywhere. Then, something changed. Perhaps it's the sheer nature of my new tint, perhaps with practice my abilities are soaring. I do certainly look younger and fresher and ready for summer. Almost dewy, in fact.

Conclusion: I never meant to be that girl who wears daily makeup. Inside, I sort of make fun of her for not being able to leave the house without war paint. Still, as long as I am playing the part, I might as well look good and have fun doing it.

Comments (3) Full article

Comments (0) Full article

I remember once in high school, back when I was truly enigmatic, a friend of mine walked me home on a cool autumn day. He asked me if there was anyone who truly understood me (it was, of course, a deep and meaningful high school conversation that dealt with life's real issues as we struggled to define ourselves amongst our peers and our angst). I answered "Jesus. Maybe my sister. That's it." While I have grown and changed (I especially like the quote "A woman is meant to be loved, not understood" - Oscar Wilde, because it expresses my growing understanding so nicely), and in my maturity I've shed some of my mystery (I think), I don't think I had even begun to comprehend the tiniest part of how great my sister is. She is really, really great. And I know she loves me, even if she doesn't always understand me. Thanks, sister (I'm going to refer to you as Irma from here on out, because it's kind of a silly name [my apologies to anyone who has an Irma that is dear to their heart] and it's also Portuguese for "sister," except that in Portuguese there is that little worm above the "a" that makes it nasal and totally different, but you still get the idea). Thanks.

Comments (1) Full article