Festival of Trees

Last Tuesday Susan and I tagged along with Mom and Dad to the annual Festival of Trees in Salt Lake City. The collection of trees and other Christmas decorations are donated by people and get auctioned off throughout the night to benefit Primary Children's Hospital.

This tree and the presents around it were made of glass. They lit up in time to Christmas music. Needless to say, it was an amazing presentation. The minimum bid for this magnificent piece of art was a mere $25,000. I was thinking about getting it, but ended up not because I couldn't figure out where to put it in our huge apartment.

Susan loved the Pooh and Friends tree.

There were also gingerbread houses for people to bid on. I say nuts to bidding on it, I want to live in it!

This was dad's favorite tree. It was all made of wood and had tiny billiard balls that rolled through mechanisms from top to bottom. Once the balls reached the bottom they were blown back to the top through the trunk of the tree. We think it could be dad's next wooden project.

We all had a great time walking around and looking at the trees, wreaths, centerpieces, and gingerbread houses. It's definitely a great family tradition... although next time I think Susan will bring a more comfortable pair of shoes (that's her leaning on the giant nutcracker to rub her aching feet.)

Piglet Moment

Yesterday I had a Piglet moment, and by that I don't mean eating all the Ben & Jerry's. I was walking on campus by the canyon and the wind was so strong that as I went to take a step forward a gust poofed up over the side of the hill and sent me staggering backwards a little. It took a little extra umph of energy (which is somewhere between a heave and a heft) to lean forward and get myself going again through the swirling leaves. I was reminded, by this harrowing little scene, of Winnie the Pooh and the Blustery Day when Piglet is fighting agianst the wind and eventually gets blown away. Only in my version Paul was not holding onto me by my unravelling scarf and flying me like a kite because, let's face it, that would have been a spectacle. Happy Wind-sday Everyone!

Cupcake Walk Tips

We've all felt that familiar fear of being at a prestigious party when a cupcake walk is about to take place. You are afraid to participate in front of your friends and co-workers because you aren't sure if you can win an elusive cupcake, right? Watch the videos below for some great tips from two professional cupcake walkers to ease your anxieties at your next office party.

Give the People What They Want!

Ok, rabid readers, you asked for it. The Armstrong Halloween Carnival was graced with the presence of two celebrities, Kriss and Kross (of Kriss Kross) and Action 3 News was even fortunate enough to get a personalized rap just for us! Watch the video below and you won't be able to keep yourself from singing along...

Action 3 News Behind the Scenes

You always knew Action 3 news was action packed, but take a look at the behind-the-scenes controversy between the camera man and the mime when things start to get heated...
For the record, I had no idea my face would look like this when the video was not started. Shocking to say the least.

Halloween Alter Egos

Wow I just want to thank Curt and Meg (aka Mime and Disney Tourist) for an awesome Halloween Party! My limited bloggie skills inhibit me from posting all the wacky fun that was recorded by Action 3 News (aka, Paul and Alison) but I have included, for your viewing pleasure, one sampling of Alison, Susan, and Stace slipping into their Halloween alter egos. Although, Stace's absentminded act wasn't entirely far from the truth. (Just Kidding Stace! We love you.) Keep your eyes riveted to this blog for future episodes from Action 3 News including appearances by Kris Kross and David Beckham. I also want to give a big thanks to Paul for being such an amazing camera man.

Black Cat Lore According to Paul

Now this is sound advice for anyone interested in avoiding the uncommonly bad luck, possibly resulting in death or dismemberment, brought on this season by the legendary black cat crossing one's path. Two days ago Paul and I were walking through the school parking lot at an hour too early to relate when a black cat slinked (yes, it slinked) from between some parked cars in front of us and walked directly across our path so boldly and broadly that there was no avoiding the cursed trail he left in his wake. I was, naturally, frozen in superstitious fear, but Paul immediately sprang into action. He took my hand and led me in sort of a wobbly circle which eventually rejoined our original course toward the business building.

"There" he looked triumphant, "we are now safe."
"How?" I asked confused, and a little dizzy. "We still have to cross it's path."
"No," he insisted confidently, "we have negated his powers by curving our path into his path but still away from it..." and then I think there was something about a trajectory and the healing powers of spinning in a circle. Needless to say I was a bit skeptical with regard to Paul's certain knowledge of black cat lore that seemed to come out of nowhere, but the prospect of being late to class eventually drove all thoughts of cats, black or otherwise, out of our minds and we speed-walked directly through the ominous path of said cat on to class.

Due to the fact that I am still alive and in possession of all my limbs one or more assertions can be drawn from this scientific experience. First Paul's take on counteracting black cat powers must be accurate. I have also considered the possibility that the cat was actually not black and it was just too dark outside. In the event that Paul's little cat dance actually worked, the scientific method would also dictate that handstands deter werewolves and leeches hate loud music. You are welcome to use this powerful information to your advantage. Have a safe and fun Halloween everyone!

The Return of the Butterfinger

When I was young and in my trick-or-treating phase of life (let's face it, if it was socially acceptable I still probably would be trick or treating), the Butterfinger Bar was considered the payload of trick-or-treat candy. Not being bold enough to actually rifle through an outstretched bowl of candy for my favourite bar, I had trained my eyes to search out even the tiniest speck of characteristic orange wrapper poking up among other, lesser-quality, offerings. The night's take was pretty much valued by the pile of Butterfingers lovingly separated from the evening's regular revenue.

Since those days I have lost touch with Butterfinger. It may have had something to do with four years of braces or limited expendable income, but for some reason Butterfinger and I became estranged. I am pleased to report that his year, with the full support of Paul, Butterfinger and I have rekindled our affair. It was only last Sunday that my Grandma persuaded me to take home a handful candy bars and the spark of passion that had lain latent all these years was reignited into a candy-craving inferno. I'm not expecting this wild rendezvous to last long (most likely until Halloween is over) but I'm glad that for a few fun-sized bites every once in a while I get to relive my childhood. I encourage everyone to dig out the phone number of a favourite childhood treat from which you've grown apart and re-live a bit of the fun of the Halloween season.

Footage Revealed!

Due to the extremely sensitive nature of the footage you are about to see from deep within the recesses of the famed Club 33 this blog must be posted anonymously in complete anonymity and under anonymous circumstances by yours truly, who shall not be named. That said, I think the music selection by the Club 33 Sound and Light crew is quite apropos.

Surprise Denial

I am a little ashamed to admit that some things in this life still take me by surprise when there is absolutely no reason to be shocked. For example, yesterday the low fuel light in my car came on and I was, naturally, flabbergasted. Had I not been watching the little white needle creep toward the ominous orange hash mark for the past week and a half? This morning I opened the dishwasher and was blown away to find the dishes in it were not sparkly clean, although I don't know why I was so surprised because since I didn't start it last night the laws of physics dictate that the dishes would remain besmirched with remnants of the evening meal. My car registration bill came in the mail yesterday and I acted like it doesn't come each and every year. All those mornings that I settled on a black shirt I staggered backward with shock when I got to work and noticed a deodorant smear on one side. What I should be saying on the non-deodorant day is "Hey? This is a black shirt isn't it? Where's the white streak of shame?" Why do I go on like this? I'm not sure except that maybe I'm in denial about my lack of automobile fuel and the state of my wardrobe.

Life doesn't only take me by repeated surprise in negative ways. Sometimes these pseudo-surprises are really pleasant. For the past three weeks I have driven down the street gaping like an idiot at the trees and saying to Paul "Look at that one! Look at those amazing colors!" The trees change colors every year and yet they still amaze me. Every time the phone rings and I see it is a good friend calling I feel a pleasant twinge of startlement, and every year when Christmas comes around I get excited like it might not come again next year. To everyone else out there in surprise-denial, here's to enjoying the unexpected, or at least indulging in the life-affirming shock of what we probably should have expected.

How did this happen?

Today I want to address something that has been on my mind... and stuck to my forehead, and poking me in the eye; in other words, my bangs. Bangs have been an interesting fashion development over the last seven or so years, and although they have been around since the pyramids (according to the Charleton Heston version of the Ten Commandments), the latest emergence of facial fringe has brought together past and future styles of bangs in an unprecedented display of follicular creativity. You all know what I'm talking about:

1. "Extreme Swoop" makes you legally blind in at least one eye, but very dramatic
2. "Black Ops Bangs" are grown so long and straight over the forehead that the eyelashes actually have to lift hair as the eyelid opens. Meant to camouflage the wearer in urban surroundings.
3. "Cold War Bangs" are worn short and bluntly straight, accompanied by arrestingly straight sides. Strikes fear into the heart of any opponent or fellow commuter.
4. "Uncommitted Bangs" I think those are supposed to be bangs aren't they? Does that person even KNOW they have bangs? who can tell.
5. "Feather Bangs" unusual hybrid of the late seventies and early eighties. Often accompanied by a mullet or hairspray wings. Have been observed to have mind controlling powers in that once you wear them, you can't seem to let go.
6. "The Tube" We all had it, some still do. You know, it's perfectly curled and sprayed so as to resemble a section of Slinky taped to one's forehead.
7. "Shag Bangs" Imagine Garth from Wayne's World.
8. "The Pyramid" This is a structural anomalie in which the wearer has expertly swept a section of bangs back and secured it with an arsenal of bobby pins, creating a dome so indestructable modern science is still trying to replicate it. This structure often gives rise to:
9. "The Alfalfa" an excapee of bangs intended to be swept back sticks straight up in the air and refuses to lay neither forward nor back.

The style I am currently sporting, and what led to this literary overture on bangs, is what I affectionately call the scarecrow look. It is characterized by scraggely bits of hair in so many varying shades of blond and brown and so many different lengths that it literally looks like I picked up pieces of straw off the ground and taped them to my forehead. Everywhere I go if someone's eyes stray to my forehead region I want to yell "I know! Scarecrow bangs right?" because I do know how unfortunate they are. It's not my fault! They sort of evolved over time and there is nothing I can do, short of setting my hair on fire, until July 3rd at which time I hope to pay a professional to get this thing under control. In the meantime can I borrow a weedwacker from someone?

Imposter M&M

I don't want to fill my blog with negativity, but indulge me for a second while I get something off my chest. I hate when peanut M&Ms masquerade as almond M&Ms. They parade around in the almond bag showing off identical flashy colors and sporting the same basic shape as their almond counterparts, but inside they're just a peanut! I know, I know, it's a nut surrounded by chocolate right, why does it matter? But there is something about the way the almond cracks into fractal shards when you bite into it that makes it fun to crunch. The peanut simply doesn't measure up. (I extend my apologies to any solid peanut fans, but it's the truth.) When I bite into an almond M&M I expect to get an almond M&M and not a peanut in almond clothing. Tune in next time when I address the injustice of Coolaid that looks just like water...

Seattle Sentiments

Our road trip to Seattle was amazing! We went to the Univeristy of Washington campus, the Space Needle, the Seattle LDS Temple, Pike's Place Market, and my personal favorite, the Seattle Aquarium. The aquarium was right on the water front and had a petting pool where you could touch (with one finger and one finger only, according to the staff) all kinds of starfish, sea cucumbers, and anemonies. Starfish are rough and not as spongy as they look, but sea cucumbers are slimey and very squishy. I felt quite invasive touching them. My favorite animals to watch were the otters and a giant puffer fish that floated around and bumped into things like he had special needs. All in all, our trip was a huge success and I would like to thank Anna, Eric, Curt, and Meg for sponsoring it. Below are some photos of our adventure!

24 Hours in a Car...

Wow, there are road trips, and then there are ROAD TRIPS and what I am about to describe was the latter. Curtis, Megan, Paul, and Alison embarked on an epic adventure that would lead them through excitement, danger, and outrageous musical stylings unprecedented and irreplicable by modern science as of the date of this publication. I think one of the high points of the marathon car ride from Logan, Utah to Seattle, Washington was when Curt and Paul, overcome by Taco Time fumes, decided to cement their friendship in semi-permanent ink. The footage that follows may shock you... at least it does me.

Lost in a Book

Once upon a time, when I had a two hour metro commute every day, I tended to want to avoid interacting with my fellow commuters, so I took to reading and I got a great chance to delve into those classic books I had always wanted to try, but never had the time. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and actually miss my commute just a little (not the smell, though... I don't miss that at all.)

Unfortunately, a recent edition of the Today Show and the "just in" rack at Borders have caused me to notice that the splashy descriptions on the front of literary entertainment marketed mainly to females is made up mostly of words such as "sizzeling, sexy, biting, and scandalous." In short, the must-read of the summer is most likely going to burn you, give you an STD, or get you arrested. What happened to the type of great novels I discovered deep beneath the streets of Washington DC? I am tired of the only thing rolling off the presses being ANOTHER story about a downtown working girl or updown socialite caught up in the world of gossip, fashion, and inappropriate behavior at the office. Two words... self destruction.

I propose that if you are really interested in a great summer read, you dive into one of the books listed on my Girly Book List (which is always taking additional suggestions) and get to know some of the real heroines of literature. These are characters you can really get behind and when the story is over you feel uplifted and inspired, instead of wishing you could take a shower.

There are antagonists who would argue that the great books I describe were actually the smut of yesteryear, and that they closely compare to the brainless drivel recently spread across your local book store shelves, but I defy that conjecture. Once any reader has experienced the wit of Elizabeth Bennett or the courage of Jane Eyre she will realize that these timeless classics will always stand out over the insipid novels of the here and now. Women of the metro, stand up and be counted as readers of real literature!

Back In Time

So, I was at the supermarket today (I say supermarket because it is a word my grandma would have used) shopping for ingredients to invite my family over for a pancake dinner tomorrow and, as fate would have it, blueberries were on for a dollar a carton and there were only two perfectly tiny plastic containers left. What luck!

I finished my shopping and it was while I was in the checkout line unloading my cart that tragedy struck. Both of the poorly protected containers of beautiful blue berries slipped stealthily through a gap in the cart and landed in a quiet pile on my shoe. I felt it before I saw it (blueberries are softer than I had anticipated) and was almost afraid to look down at the little bits of juicy goodness rolling away from me forever across the grimy floor.

Time stood still as I looked from the cashier (who I happened to know personally) to the bagger and back again. "Do you want to get another one?" The bagger urged like I was hard of hearing. Yes! Another one... I snapped out of my trance. That is precisely what I need. I dodged displays of easter candy and salad dressing as I franticly speed-walked to the produce section. I spotted a worker stocking nectarines an zeroed in. "Do you have any more?" I implored pointing to the "Blueberries 99 cents!" sign as a little tear began to well in my right eye.

"We're out." He said with what I thought was a little less sympathy than what the situation required. Crestfallen, I turned and slowly dragged my feet back to the check out line, now vacant of any stray berries, and solemnly paid for my groceries. Oh, if only the force of my mind could will time to reverse the few precious seconds it would have required to change the destiny of those ill fated berries.

The drive home strung my mind to other times when, with all the force I could muster, I had willed time to reverse for only a few moments. I am sure you, dear reader, can remember the feeling of the moment directly after you flung out an insult that should have been withheld, or the silent seconds following the crunch of a fender bender after you backed up without looking. I suppose those times have happened to us all, and will probably happen a few more times before we die (maybe even as we die), but the important thing is to learn from them. I know that I vow next time to be a little more careful as to the placement of precious produce in my shopping cart... and think before I speak... and look before I back up... and point the mustard away before I squeeze... and wait to step on a bus until I've read where it's going...and...

Crazy Yellow

I am not the kind of person prone to skitsophrenia or craziness, but I was christmas shopping two months ago when I saw a bright yellow grossgrain ribbon belt with a sparkely buckle hanging on a rack and something inside me awakened and said quite clearly "You would love that belt."

To which I immediately replied "it looks like an impulse buy to me that would end up forgotten and un-worn in the back of the closet."

"No," insisted the voice, "I promise you would wear it."

"Voice," I continued, "I know me. I have avoided yellow all my life for the washed-out, unflattering look it lends to my blonde hair and fair skin."

"Even so" the voice coerced, "it would look great on you." I held firm, but fortunately the voice had other methods and to my surprise I found the belt in my stocking on Christmas morning. Insane as it may sound, I LOVE IT. I never knew what I was missing by resigning myself to blues and pinks and greens all my life, which, I am happy to say, can now fulfill their potential when paired with the yellow.

Don't be alarmed; I still don't wear yellow pants or shirts etc. (I haven't gone THAT crazy) but I have found a happy medium of yellow accessories and I urge anyone reading this to take stock of the things you've been denying yourself just because you are used to it not working out. Now the yellow and I enjoy a symbiotic relationship that all started with the sparkely belt.

Speling Disklaymer...

I can't spell. I know it, and even though these convenient text windows are equipped with a spell check button, sometimes I am too preoccupied to use it, or I just enjoy the colloquial asymmetry created by the look of my misspelled words too much to correct them. In any case, I am issuing a warning here and now that you will encounter poorly spelled words on this page, so if that type of flagrant disregard for proper literature (not to mention blatent over-use of commas) offends you I would suggest periodically averting your eyes. Safe journey.

Snow Night

It was dark, it was late, it was cold. In short, it was just the kind of night an early-to-bed-home-body like me would have loved to stay inside. A heavy snowstorm was flopping fatty flakes onto anything that would stand still and, contrary to my hibernative nature, I was longing to be out in it. I forced my husband into his coat and boots and I donned my mittens and wellies and we headed out. We hiked through the drifts to the lawn of the nearby hospital. (Being appartment dwellers we are, sadly, without a yard.) The following is what eventually overcame us.

In the beginning...

Here it is. It has begun. I always knew it would happen, and yet tried to stave off the inevitable for a reason unbeknownst to me. Maybe I thought I would ignore it and it would become obsolete... maybe I thought I'd love it and become an addict (a vice I abhore and try to avoid if I can help it)... or maybe I was just afraid of the term itself, but whatever the reason and however I overcame it I am, henceforth and officially, a blogger. Hmmm.