Joel Stein, Kim Kardashian, and Me

I wish I could be like this guy:

THE Joel Stein

Actually, you know what? By comparing my picture to his, I kind of am like him. Look at his picture, then look at mine, look at his, then look at mine, look at his then look at mine:

I wish my last name were Einstein. Then I'd kind of be related to Joel.

Uh...











...I actually meant to put this picture up:

Joel and I both wear glasses!...well, sometimes I do. Can we please be related yet?

You see, Joel Stein has his own column in Time...and, not only is he published in a super-smart type of magazine, but...he's also hilarious. He has the sort of real dry, sarcastic tone that only I could hope for. I wish I could make fun of Kim Kardashian and get paid a six digit salary for it. I wish I was a little bit taller. I wish I was a baller. I wish I had a girl guy who looked good, I would call him.

This isn't really the place for me to share my secret wishes, huh? Anywaaaaays, mainly, I wish I had the ability to write a short article on why Kimmie (as I like to call her) is an attention-starved, empire-building Armenian...and have millions of eyes brisk through my freshly published page...or at least use it as the platter for the drops of mustard that plunge from someone's Sam's Club hot dog. Because, then, and only then, would I know that I've made it.

In the waste industry.

Right there with my good friend, Kim.

I could go on to say that the Kardashians are just a big pile of crap. But then I wouldn't sound all professional, like my idol, Joel--he would never use the word "crap". Instead, I'll just say that the KKK (Kim, Kourtney, and their brother, Khloe) truly do belong in the waste industry, and not just because they are a waste of our time or our energy. But (wouldn't it be funny if I had put an extra t right there at the end? You know, considering who I'm writing about) they're wasting a perfectly fine time slot on E! for this new show that's yet to be written by me, and about me, Laying Low With the Little People: A Perspective From the Bottom Up. (Oh, wait, dang it, I think Kim already trademarked that last line.)

E! doesn't yet know that it's missing out on a sleeper, though. As the sleeper (I love to sleep) and, as the sleeper who has so much in common with the famous-for-doing-nothing starlit, Kimmie (Kimmie loves to sleep...around), I feel inclined to say that I don't think I could ever have as much success as my main man, Joel.

Surely, I have just as much talent--nay, merit--as Joel. Just ask my second grade teacher. I won an award! Like, the most prestigious award available...at the time. A sticker. But, that's besides the point. An award for having the most creative story in the class! Oh...you did call my second grade teacher? She doesn't know who I am? Well, uh...then ask my fifth grade teacher. She must remember me, right? She gave me a sticker, too...why would she have given me an award out of her 32 students? What? You're telling me she gave everyone in the class an award? Fine, okay, well, I have more references. Take, for example the fact that I wrote the horoscopes for my high school newspaper. While I was a freshman. FOR A SEMESTER. I mean, if people who have the ability to forecast circumstances that are bound to take place during their classmates' day don't gain any respect around here (okay, seriously, how would I know that it's 99% likely for a student to past a pencil!), then I'm disappointed. Oh, oh, and I took a creative writing class in high school AND college.

Joel, please tell me, how long did it take for you to graduate with a Bachelor's from Stanford, receive an MA, teach humor writing at Princeton, and become a writer for multiple papers before becoming a National sensation?! I've been blogging for a year with no prospects of a six digit salary. Let alone, a salary. A year!

year/yi(ə)r/

Noun:

Five times the length that Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries were sealed together in holy matrimony. 365 days. In other words, it's the allotted time in which Kim Kardashian will:  A) come out with a new "leaked" video, most likely involving chocolate and chocolate candies;  B) introduce America to the must-have fragrance for the unhappily married couple: Breakable: Tie the Knot. It'll Leave You Hanging; and  C) acquaint the world with her never-before-seen NEW idea for a reality show spin-off: Kim and Her Butt Take to the Cameras and Do Nothing Else. Except Maybe an NFL player.

Get yours now--exclusively at Macy's!

I don't know how Joel can write--it seems so effortlessly--every week about some stupid subject (i.e. Kimmie). To resemble anything remotely similar to Joel Stein's writing, it's going to take me a LOT of work.

Something that Kim and I are not fond of.

We're both fat arses.

Stick to It

(Kind of) like a normal girl, I love kitties, horsies, and anything else remotely cute.

Especially this.

Minus this.

I recently rediscovered what all girls at one time or another had--a sticker collection.

Rainbows and unicorns make the world a happy place.

And, just because I collect(ed) unicorn stickers doesn't mean I'm all girly-ish. Because I'm not. I hate to do my hair...and the dishes. And, however cheesy as it may sound, my I'm Special stickers flooded my mind with a number of different emotions. (Does talking about feelings make me sound more maidenlike?) And, since I'm (kind of) like most girls, I overanalyzed every sticker I've ever seen.

Johnny gave me an orange with a sunKIST sticker on it. Do you think he wants to kiss me? Because that's kind of the vibe I've been getting, and maybe this sticker is him letting me know he wants to kiss me. Unless he didn't realize the sticker said KIST. Oh...maybe he doesn't even know that KIST sounds like kissed. But I still think he wants to kiss me. What do you think?

Here's my conclusion: Based on my *extensive research, I've found that most of my stickers fall under three categories (and, I'm assuming, these groups represent the majority of stickers ever to be printed). And, guess what! These categories are represented nicely by stickers from other girls!:

A) Femininity:

My baby yellow Volkswagen Beetle wasn't girly enough before I had to bring in the fairy Hello Kitty theme.

OMG! I just broke a nail shifting gears!!!!!

B) Playfulness:

Hehehe. My shoes have little bumper stickers on them!

C) Love:

Stickers in a card. Awwwwwwwww. Now where's the money?!

Yes, Casey, it DOES prove it. You're free.

So, I think I'll just keep doing what I do best.

And just keep sticking it...

If I roll up my sleeves...

...I'll look strong pounding the heck out of this dough

                              ...To the man.

That'll show him for blocking my view of The Decemberists!

*Perusing through my Hello Kitty sticker albums

Every Rose Has its Thorn

Look.

At a first glance, this award might be seen as nothing other than lovely.

But can you believe what the creator snuck into the picture? (It's nothing Disney-esque, so don't freak out if your child is viewing this.)

I'm having a hard time believing this, myself.

Take a closer look. I promise it's there.

Did you see it?

The teacup has a handle that resembles a rose's thorn.

Is Quirks of Matter is trying to give me a hint?...why would she give me an "award" that has four pink roses sitting in a thorned-theme teacup? What is she really saying? That my blog may look beautiful, classy, exquisite, divine, stunning, and angelic from afar, but once you get closer, it pokes you? I mean, like a real, sharp poke--not like one of those "friendly" Facebook pokes (it's fun poking fun at pokes). For those of you who aren't following, it's reasonable to conclude that this One Lovely Blog Award was a (subtle) reminder for:

Shannon has a pleasant, nay, lovely blog. It's comparable to the essence of a cup full of roses. Her stories are all nice and fluffy (like a bed teacup of roses). She is sharp, like the thorns of a rose, and you can get a feel for what I'm talking about when you read her stuff. About 9% of her posts have a punchline at the end that really gives you a sharp pain in your side from laughing so hard. I imagine that's what a rose thorn would feel like...if you were ever lucky enough to be poked by one...in your side. Her blog smells nice...while roses, well, they really smell like poo-oo-ooo [as revealed by the omniscient Outkast]. Shanimal's Crackers is just my cup o' tea, but Shannon looks more like a teapot--short and stout. Oh, and I've seen a few of these hearts ♥♥♥ around her page, so she really MUST be lovely.

Well, I GUESS I'll accept this award, but only because I think it's a pretty accurate description of my blog... minus the part where I look like a teapot...! Obviously. And for those of you who I'll be awarding this lovely, award to, don't worry, it's safe. I had Kudos taste the roses for me, to make sure they weren't too sweet or too sharp. She's was my guinea pig. That's a funny joke because she's really a cat. Ha. Ha. 

Look, I even have a picture of her taking her first sip, while wearing a very lovely rose headband.

Get your own rose headband for only five orders of $14.99! Available while supplies last.

And, no, this photo is not doctored. Anyways, here's what Kudos had to say about the cup full of roses and thorns:: Drinking this cup, I compare it to a kiss from a rose on the gray. 

And...I don't know what that means.

Sooo, moving along: I'm handing One Lovely Blogger Awards to not one, but to FIVE beautiful lovely bloggers:

Holly

Tara

Melanie

Tawna

Katie

Don't forget to stop and smell these roses!

Oh, and I forgot, but I have to list 7 r.a.n.d.o.m. facts about me, The Lovely Blogger, here:

-I like to customize any blog award I may receive.

-I lied. The above picture of Kudos IS doctored. 

-I don't think you could tell that the above picture of Kudos is doctored, but I needed to tell the truth, as not to feel guilty about lying. Plus, what would all (3) of my family members who may come across this post think about me? I can't believe that Shannon lied in print. In print! We're disowning her.

-Crap. I'm feeling a guilt-session come on. Okaaaaaay, so Kudos didn't really say, "Drinking this cup, I compare it to a kiss from a rose on the gray," but I have never understood those lyrics from Kiss From a Rose by Seal.

-I wonder what Seal did to get Heidi Klum to marry him.

-I am lying in bed. I don't know when to use "laying" or "lying." Guys, I already told you: I'm lying--so, of course, the previous sentence was a lie.

-I have to stand on the tub to alternate the shower head.

Wow, it was REALLY hard to come up with those facts. No, guys, seriously. I'm not even lying. Okay, I AM lying...down. I bet you couldn't tell if I was lying there or not, huh?

The Definition of Disappointment

Do you notice anything wrong with this picture?

No, what's wrong is not the fact that that one dude is scratching "down there"...while being interrogated. It's also not wrong that he's smiling while doing it--because everyone who has ever been interrogated by a cop for raping a young, helpless girl scratches down there and smiles while being questioned. Certainly.

There's still something unsettling about this picture, though. The wrongdoing is tugging at my emotions and makes me want to cry. I cannot believe 20/20 has allowed this grave wrongdoing to appear on their show! Needless to say, I'm severely disappointed, 20/20.

You still don't see it?

Now do you see anything really, really wrong?

I was supposed to be watching 20/20's hour-long show on how a woman was stuffed in a suitcase, after being brutally raped, and dumped in a field left for dead. She survived. But as soon as I saw the horrid clip above, I lost any focus that I ever had (which was 46%) on the show. I just cannot say how let down 20/20 has made me feel. 20/20 is supposed to give insight into the world around us, that we may have not known otherwise, but all I can think of is how I can't trust this show as a news source if they can't even using correct spelling and punctuation. I've been watching 20/20 ever since Hugh Downs and Barbara Walters were the hosts, and never have I noticed mistakes on their show as I have within the past few weeks. What's up wit dat, yo?

Just in case you couldn't tell, my number one pet-peeve is when your and you're are used interchangeably. I don't care if you end your sentences with a preposition. I don't care if you start your sentence with because. I don't care if you overuse commas. I certainly don't care if your "sentence" isn't really a "sentence." Considering I write fragmented sentences all the time<---That's a sentence fragment. Heck, do I even care if you end a question with a period. Yes, but right now let's pretend that I don't.

You should never ever confuse your and you're because these two words have totally different meanings. Just as to, two, and too do. Just as there, their, and they're do. Just as hear and here do. Who's and whose. Then and than.

Confusing your and you're is like Eminem writing in his lyrics:

'Sup, homies?

I'm a wrapper.

Wanna be like me?

...Become a cracker.

But...he's NOT a wrapper--he's a rapper. How confused would his fans be if they read in People magazine, "Eminem, the wrapper, is touring San Francisco"? We wouldn't know whether Eminem had changed professions and now wraps gifts for a living. Or, we could think that People accidentally misprinted Eminem and it was supposed to say M&M. Then we start wondering to ourselves, I wonder why an M&M wrapper is on tour. What, did Justin Bieber touch it or something? Or, we could simply think whoever wrote that article is stupid because they don't know the difference between a rapper and a wrapper. Your homework assignment: Write a sentence using lose and another sentence using loose. Turn your homework into my comment section by 5 PM sharp.

To make it simple: you're=a contraction for the words you + are. So, anytime you would say "you are," you can just say you're.

Now that we've covered the your from the interrogation, it's time to move on to adding commas. Let's <------contraction for let + us look at this picture:

Which sentence do you think would be the correct sentence to use to describe this photo of Grams chewing on a piece of pizza?

Let's eat Grandma!

or

Let's eat, Grandma!

The first sentence is implying that you're shouting to your other family members that you're hecka excited to start chowing down on Grandma pizza. I know I'm a picky eater and all, but I don't think my grandma would taste very good.

But...I can infer from the second sentence that I'm yelling (because she can't hear) at Grandma that it's time to eat.

See how important commas are? Let's take a second look at our original sentence:

That's what your telling me right?

The above sentence makes virtually no sense. Confusion.

vs.

That's what you're telling me, right?

This is what I think you just told me. Am I correct? Muuuuuuch better.
 
Oh, and let me just say here and now that I wouldn't ever hire Elaine Benes to be my editor. My reasoning is based on one sentence I heard her say in one episode of Seinfeld: I could care less.

Okay, here we go. Another test. Is it:

I could care less

or

I couldn't care less

The second option is correct. If you "could care less", then why are you even talking about that subject??? When someone says this,  I couldn't care less about what they have to say because I'm so distracted by them saying I could care less. If you say "I COULDN'T care less," that means that there is nothing less that you care about. You're saying that you care so little already that you couldn't possibly care any less.

I'm willing to overlook your shortcomings, 20/20, if you promise not to disappoint again.

Oh, crap.

In other news, now that we're all in a cheery mood, head on over to Jess's blog to see my list of 10 Simple Things That Make Me Happy.

Balloons

We all have fears. Some are scared of failure, spiders, or heights, while others are scared of pickles, cotton balls, or chickens. I have a lot of fears, but I guess my number one phobia would be coulrophobia: the fear of clowns. Not really. But let's pretend here, okay? My cat, Truffles, on the other hand, is deathly afraid of balloons. Phobias just can't be explained.

Well...actually, they can, because right now I'm about to trace back to how my cat came to shudder at the sight of balloons...

It was a nice, summer day, when my best friend came to my house to celebrate my sister's birthday. Truffles was only a few months old (9 years ago), still very much impressionable.

My best friend loved ladybugs, and appropriately, gave my sister a huge helium-filled ladybug balloon to help spread cheer on my sister's special day. But for Truffles, it became known as The Day That Went Down Like a Lead Balloon. Apparently, ladybugs represent luck. And luck is the exact opposite of what happened to Truffles on that fateful day.

The ladybug was out to get Truffles (or, in other words, my friend was chasing my cat around with the balloon).

Can you imagine being chased around by a creature thingy that is three times the size of you? Oh wait, I can. It's called my older brother (if you're reading this, I'm only kidding, bro). He would chase me after I'd knock on his door and runaway when he had friends over. Typical brother-sister relationship, heh. Truffles was probably thinking Why in the heck is this bug following me? Probably because it wanted to be her friend...right? (This is what I tell myself to justify the unforgivable [lack of] action I took to prevent my cat from having an irrational fear of a big, mean, floaty thing). Yes, the ladybug just wanted to be friends.

And the ladybug would not settle. She was going to gain a new friend; preferably, a cute, fluffy one. Unfortunately, I was overlooked.

Truffles tried hiding everywhere.

Under the table.

Under the bed.

Behind the desk.

In the occupied litterbox--next to her arch nemesis, Kudos, no less.

Unsuccessfully, Truffles tried camouflaging herself within the hoards of stuffed animals on my bed. The ladybug was just too smart. She (he?) could tell the difference between a replica of E.T. and a cute, fluffy living organism. Once again...I was overlooked. Are you noticing a pattern here?

I don't remember how this cat-and-mouse chase ended. Maybe Truffles gave up trying to run away and gave in to the little bugger of a beetle. Maybe she got away by running out the cat door. Maybe she finally outran the creepy-crawly my friend. But all that matters at the end of the day is that Truffles cannot be in the same room as a balloon.

So, how do you think she reacted two months ago when she saw Grandma's Valentine's balloons?

Like this, of course:


I'll tell you what, though, I think I'd be scared of balloons, too--especially if they're strung along by a clown...

...like Heidi Montag.

Ahem. Back to Truffles.

The only advice I can give her is: Life's a Circus. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show--especially when a clown falls on its face.

A Big, Fat Thumbs Up

What's not to love about Megan Fox? She is an attractive young lady (with good morals, I'm sure), is...uh...in movies, and...she's foxy (pun intended). Well, guess what, I can relate to her. We're basically, like, the same person because of one thing--no, not because we both (ironically) didn't make the cut for People's "100 Most Beautiful" people of the year edition (pshh, I don't care that I wasn't chosen. It's not as if I need a magazine to tell me who's beautiful. I can just look in the mirror for that). What connection do I have to Megan Fox, then? It's simple: Our thumbs. Love thumbody? Yes, I do.

I never thought that thumbs were a big deal. I mean, they only make life easier by helping you hold or grip things, so, seriously, what's the big deal? But this story if totally opposite for Megan. Her thumbs are, apparently, her downfall. Her thumb problem has guys now giving her a rating of 8.4/10 instead of 9.8/10! Oh, the horror. And, well, no one cares what my thumbs look like (heck, even I don't).

I thought that I was the only person in the world with my kind of thumbs--which, in a way, made me unique. Thumbs up, Shannon. But, then, during my freshman year at BYU, I met another girl who had thumbs that looked like mine. Whaaaaaaaaaaa? To make the situation even more confusing, this girl and I were both born on the same day of the same year. Whaaaaaaaaaa? So, then I started to try and figure out this weird-looking-thumb-situation and try to make sense out of the whole thing. The only reasonable conclusion in my mind was that only people who were born on my birthday have my kind of thumbs. Then, Megan Fox had to come along and expose to the world her thumbs. Thanks for stealing the limelight, Megan.

I don't watch football, but I guess during a 2010 Superbowl commercial, Megan starred in a Motorola ad, along with her fine acting skills. What's this have to do with thumbs? Well, from what I read the next day on the ever informative Yahoo! news, Motorola had hired a hand model to replace Megan's up-close hand shots. Why? Because if the public saw what Megan's thumbs really looked like, they'd focus more on her thumbs than on the phone they were trying to sell. Way to steal the limelight from everyone, Megan, geez. This Yahoo! article also informed me what exactly type of thumbs I have. I just thought they were Shannon-and-people-born-on-Shannon's-birthday thumbs, but I found out there's a technical name: Brachydactyly. To make it simple, it means our thumbs look like this:

Our thumbs are short and fat!

Just because we have alien thumbs doesn't mean we have a green thumb. But it does mean that we are experts at pushing thumbtacks into the wall. And we're also good at...oh, I don't know. How about this scenario: your friend is hammering a nail into the floor, but the hammer accidentally slips and instead of hitting the nail on the head, it hits your friend's thumb. Now your friend is probably walking around with a huge swollen thumb. Well, I'm good at looking like I have a huge swollen thumb, without actually hitting my thumb with a hammer. It's not even painful.

However, it's still easier to think of things we're not very skillful at (like texting, my thumb is too fat to fit on one button. My text recipients usually get results like: qr0qy#i0 instead of: hi how r u). Uh, having fat thumbs also makes it difficult to bowl. Yeah, sometimes my thumb gets stuck in the ball. Yeah...it really happens. Annnnd, I can't even do sign language. Uh, every time a student in my class farted, and I signed to them asking if they needed the bathroom, the kids probably thought I was shaking my fist at them in anger (my thumb is too short to even show up between my fingers). Makes sense. Unfortunately, I recognized that my dream of ever becoming a rock star fell flat (not B-flatflat, either) when I finished my growth spurt and realized that my hands would always be the size of a fourth grader's. In fact, I stopped taking piano lessons after three years because once I got into the hard stuff, my thumbs didn't have the ability to reach the needed keys. Looking on the bright side, I guess I could always play the ukulele for my music career. Sadly, though, I think this instrument is still too massive for my fingers and thumb.

But, still, the only reason I didn't make People's 100 Most Beautiful list is just because my thumbs are holding me back. I have to quote The Rolling Stones and say to People:

Under my thumb

[are] the [people] who once pushed me around

(and I hope it hurt being squished by my sausages. m.wp0###y0. [Dang you.])

The Infamous Michael Jackson Joke

Okay, so many of you might not have found the previous post's joke funny...and that's okay...as long as you at least gave me a sympathy laugh. I don't find a lot of jokes funny. But, I did happen to find one joke really funny, oh, seven or so years ago. And now I shall share with you the really funny joke--on one condition: it's wrapped within a story. Are you ready for a bedtime story? Okay, it's called: The Infamous Shannon-Joke-That-Fell-Flat Story. Ready? Go!

It was the night of my best friend's 18th birthday and as a gift, her mom set her up on a date with this guy she had really liked for, like, four years. My friend knew that she was being set up on a date, but she didn't know who it was with. She had no idea it was her crush. When my friend was in her room getting ready, the crush came over with a bouqet of flowers in hand waiting in the family room to surprise her. My friend comes out of her room and who does she see? Her dream man with flowers, nonetheless. What a glorious evening for her!

It wasn't just any date, but a group "date". "Date" because there were five people, three girls and two boys. Obviously there was an odd girl out. That person was probably me--I'm always the odd one. The only person I knew on this group thing was my best friend. The others invited to the group thing were the guy she had a crush on, the guy she had a crush on's cousin, and my best friend's friend. We were invited to go for a limo ride around Sacramento! We were in the limo deciding where to go, and trying to fill the limo with conversation as we made our way to the decided destinations. Since I only knew my friend and am not good at talking in groups (especially to people I don't know), I really didn't have much to say. I couldn't ask my BFF what it's like being in the same limo as her crush because, hello, he's right there. In fact, there didn't seem to be a lot of conversation going on. The whole limo ride is filled with all these strangers trying to make small talk with one another...

"So...happy birthday!"
"Shannon, you've already told me that five times..."
Silence.
Someone else says, "I've never been in a limo before."
"Yeah, me neither..."
Silence.
"Limos are cool."
"Yeah."

You know, that kind of talking.

"Why don't we put on some music?" Someone suggests.
"Okay."

Billie Jean can now be heard playing softly in the background of my friend's thumping heart. Hello, if you were in the same car as the guy you've liked for four years and now were officially on a date with him, you'd be nervous/excited too! Well, this Billie Jean song I faintly hear gives me an epiphany! I know! Why don't I share that Michael Jackson joke with everyone that I had only heard a few days earlier? Great idea, Shannon. I imagine patting myself on the back. Oooh, I'll be the funny person in the car. Get them all to laugh. Then my friend and her crush can start talking about how funny the joke is and branch off of that into different topics, and then, voila! They'll be talking about marriage. Okay, so maybe I wasn't really thinking like that. Rather, I was probably like, Hmm...let's see if this joke can fill the silence with a little laughter for maybe a couple of seconds. I was decided. I was going to share this hecka funny joke.

I pronounce, "Why does Michael Jackson like to shop at K-Mart?" All eyes on me. This is my moment to turn the car ride around into something where the nervousness has eased, and the ice has been broken.

"Because the boys' pants are half off!"

It was sooooo silent that you could hear a pin drop...or just hear the lyrics "People always told me be careful of what you do...". Not the reaction (or lack thereof) that I had expected. Not only was the limo even more silent than before, but now I was probably labeled as the-girl-who-tells-dumb-jokes-that-no-one-laughs-at to these three strangers. Not even a sympathy laugh. Not one. All I ask is that you at least give me a fake laugh. Is that really too much?

I couldn't figure it out. I had found that joke funny enough that I decided to share it with these new people. I would be doing them a favor if they had found it funny. Then they could share it with their families. And then their families could share it with friends. It'd be like pay it forward.

After enjoying our time playing arcades at Sunsplash and eating ice cream at Leatherby's, we made our way home. I asked my friend why no one laughed at the joke. Apparently her crush was a HUGE Michael Jackson fan and didn't much appreciate the joke. And I guess everyone (but me) knew that he loved MJ. Needless to say, the next time I'm in a limo driving around Sacramento with four other people, three of which I don't know, and no one's talking, I've learned my lesson to never tell a Michael Jackson joke because then the joke will be on me. And there still won't be laughter.

Next time you hear a joke from me that you don't find agreeable, just give me a tiny laugh, or even a smile, sit me down, put your hand on my shoulder, look at me with empathetic eyes and simply say, "Shannon, I'm sorry, but that's another Michael Jackson joke." And I will totally understand...it will mean you'd rather hear an infamous dumb blond joke...

Catwoman

Halloween was just around the corner and I needed a costume for work on Friday. It was the end of work on Thursday and as I was walking a student to the bus, I asked him, "What should I be for Halloween?"

"You could be a princess...or...angel...or...Batman's girlfriend." I only have three options according to this kid, huh? And they're all sweet things...

Later that night I went a saw a play called Hotel Frankenstein, and ended up coming home late. Still with no costume idea for the next morning. Then...voila! It hit me. I won't be Batman's girlfriend as the kid suggested, but I will be the "kind of the antithesis of bats"--Catwoman. Think about it, I love cats, and I'm (kind of) a woman. Perfect!

So, at about midnight I was running around finding things to piece together to create my costume.

The next morning, at about 7, after putting my costume on and looking ready for Halloween fun at work, I go in to show my grandma my costume. She says to me, "You look beautiful!" Thanks, Grams, that's exactly what I was going for in my Catwoman costume.

I arrive at work at 8:04 AM. Four minutes late. Dang it. But it was worth it because I had to wake up earlier than usual to get ready for the Halloween party that we'll be having at work all day. As I walk into the classroom, my boss says, "Now, I have to ask, who are you supposed to be?" Isn't it obvious?...or was she making a joke? I don't know.

The day moves on. Adults at the school are complimenting me on my outfit. I don't think the kids quite understood who I was, but I don't blame them, because how would they know who Catwoman is? They're still young.

After work I head on over to a stake bowling activity. In my Catwoman costume. My mom warned me to change before I went because there could be guys there, and how am I supposed to attract guys in that outfit? Mom, are you telling me that Halle Berry looked better as Catwoman than I do? Fine, okay, anybody would look better than me as Catwoman. But...I thought I was being creative...because looking around, no other girl was dressed as Catwoman. This tells me that 1) either I'm really creative, or 2) other girls, for some reason, would not want to dress as a woman in cat attire.

I think the reason other people were not dressed in the same outfit as me was for both reasons, actually. I'm just really creative...because I was the REAL cat woman. Who wants to even pretend to be a REAL cat woman when you can be some girl who wears cat ears and a tail and gets into trouble? I was representing all the REAL cat women out there in the real world. The ones who strive to give cats good lives. The ones who care more about their cats than they do themselves. The ones who have names for all 37 of their cats and who can tell you each individual cat's favorite meal. Let's give a round of applause, for these are the true cat heroes. I will be joining these women (if I'm lucky enough to be accepted into their clan) so I was actually dressed as myself in 25 years--wearing a pink bathrobe, my glasses, curlers in hair, bright blue eyeshadow, rosy red cheeks, bright pink lipstick, lines drawn on my face for wrinkles, bright orange Halloween cat socks, and leopard-printed slippers. Not to mention, I had cat stuffed animals hanging out of my robe's pockets.

*This is the reason why my grandma told me I looked beautiful--because I was dressed as HER (I was using her makeup and robe). Grams also likes cats.

*This is the reason why my boss asked who I was--because I pretty much look like that everyday at work and she couldn't decipher whether I was really dressed for Halloween or not.

*This is the reason why I couldn't attract guys in my outfit--because why would they want someone who wears slippers in public?

Well, folks, let me say: I was kind of dressed up. Kind of myself. But I don't think Halle Berry could play the part of Catwoman quite as well as I can.

The Best Band Name

As I'm sitting here listening to music, I can't help but wonder: How do bands come up with their names? Seriously. Some names are most excellent (Chumbawamba) and some don't hit the "most excellent" mark (The Turtles). But, I would have to say that the most original/well thought out band name goes to...drum roll, please...dun, dun, dun...drum roll continues...Dave Matthews Band! Yes, the Best Band Name award goes to them because they're just so darn clever.

My brain likes to collect random tidbits of useless information and these facts are automatically inserted into my storage vault. Example: I heard that that the creator of Family Guy, Seth MacFarlane, was supposed to be on one of the 9/11 flights but couldn't make his flight. Was his life preserved? Hmm...maybe so that he could create a fourth season. I'm not too sure on whether this next story I'm about to share, though, is actually a fact. But I like this story, so we'll pretend for the sake of this entry that it is indeed true:

There was a little-known band (at the time) who would play in bars. Unfortunately, since no one had heard of them (because they weren't yet famous, obviously) no one would come watch them. This made the band frustrated. Not knowing what to do to get more people to their gigs to hear their stupendous music, this band had to get creative. And their creativity paid off! Outside the bar, the band had decided to paint a sign and place it directly outside of the bar to attract more people. Do you know what words they painted on the sign? Of course you don't, because I haven't told you yet...well, this brilliant band painted...drum roll, please...dun, dun, dun...drum roll continues...Barenaked Ladies. This sign was so successful in attracting people into the bar (who were probably disappointed it was only a band playing, and no nude women) that the band decided to lay this name upon themselves. Forever. And ever. The end. Oh, and it seems that a lot of people--especially those in Utah--don't like saying Barenaked Ladies (because there are too many syllables or because it's awkward to say aloud? Hmm...), so they can also be known as BNL.

Actually, I take back the Best Band Name award I gave to Dave Matthews Band. It should now go into the hands of...drum roll, please...dun, dun, dun...drum roll continues...Butthole Surfers. For being so classy. Thank you. And, Butthole Surfers, I expect you to display your trophy where it can be seen by others (like on a bookshelf) and don't try and get creative by displaying it up where the sun doesn't shine (yes, I'm referring to the first half of your band name).

Cha-Cha-Cha!

Yesterday I was contemplating something of utmost importance: why is there a North and South Carolina, a North and South Dakota, but only a West Virginia and Virginia? Why no East Virginia (if you have the answer to this feel free to tell me)? Usually when I have awesome questions like this I will ask ChaCha (Text your questions to 242-242 for FREE answers!) because 1) I'm too lazy to get on the computer, or 2) there's no computer nearby to look up a question. But lately, I've been disappointed with ChaCha--it's like there's not even a person on the other end of my question answering, it's more like a computer that just goes to Google and types in one keyword from your question.

The last intelligent question I happened to ask ChaCha was What's Justin Long's date of birth? Now, this may not seem like a big deal if I don't get the correct answer to it, but I wanted to know how old he was. See, a friend and I had been talking and she said she thought Long was like, 25 and I thought he was exactly 32. The only obvious way to resolve our question was to look to ChaCha to enlighten us! Anyways, so ChaCha responds with Justin Bieber was born on March 1, 1994. ChaCha again soon! Umm...nowhere in my text did I write "Bieber." How the heck did they get that mixed up? Okay, so it may be a confusing question to some, since Justin is a common name and everything...so, I respond to ChaCha by asking them my original question again. They then responded that they did not understand what I was asking. I told them that it's a very simple question and to just google Justin Long's birthday. FINALLY. There is ONE smart person who works for ChaCha who was able to give me my answer (turns out he IS 32...I win!).

Justin Long/ Justin Bieber.

On a separate occasion, I was really wondering whether Dr. Seuss was indeed a doctor. Naturally, I asked ChaCha. Their response: Theodor Seuss Geisel, known as Dr. Seuss, was born in Springfield, Massachusetts. Well, thanks for the info, but it doesn't quite answer my question...so, I ask the same question again. They then give me the same answer. Repeat step 1 about five times. Then, finally, a smart ChaCha person comes along to my question and gives me a satisfactory answer (in case you're wondering whether Seuss was in fact a doctor): No, he wasn't a doctor. He went to Lincoln College, Oxford, intending to earn a Doctor of Philosophy in English literature. At Oxford, he met his future wife, married her, and returned to the US without earning a degree. And who cares that he's not REALLY a doctor?! He still has Dr. as part of his name! On a sidenote: like, the next day after asking this question, I saw some guy wearing a cool shirt about "Doctor" Seuss (pictured below). I almost shared my new learned knowledge with him that his shirt was a blatant LIE. But instead, I ended up taking a picture of the guy's shirt, because, I have to admit, that shirt was a classic. So, I was nice and let the guy live his life believing that Dr. Seuss was really a doctor. Life is so much better when you're naive.

Even though ChaCha isn't 100% reliable for factual answers, you can still ask an open question where you just want an opinion. ChaCha can be fun to text for this option. Your challenge: text 242-242 and ask Are you dumb? or Is the Book of Mormon true? or Are cats or dogs better? because some of their answers are fun...only if you're bored, though. Like, if you're on a bus ride, are waiting at the airport, or are sitting in Calculus, because these situations=no fun.

Chacha on! Thanks for using ChaCha! ChaCha!