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.

Thumbelina

"I'm leaving my girlfriend," the rosy cheeked boy whispered in my ear during a lovey-dovey musical scene--obviously trying to replicate Disney--from the movie, Thumbelina.

I droop my mouth in an exaggerated look of shock. "Why?"

 "For you."

I usually don't make good first impressions, but today goes to show that unfortunate circumstances can change.

"You're small like Thumbelina," he smiles at me with those deep-set baby blue eyes of his. I know that his now ex-"girlfriend" was the woman who worked as the office secretary...who was also old enough to be his grandma. I get it, he's hitting the stage now where he's becoming more attracted to younger women. Who are also around his height.

I had only known this new boy for four hours before he told me I was his new girlfriend. Who did this guy think he was, trying to win me over with these expedient compliments? But boy, I have to admit--he sure knew how to sweep a girl off her feet.

Flattery soon hazed my judgment. I couldn't hold any of this new-found knowledge in anymore. I needed to tell everyone thes words of admiration that this boy had just revealed to me.

"...so he told me he's leaving Pam for me," my face beams as my dry, chapped lips curl naturally into smile formation.

"Oh, well that's interesting," my boss enlightened me.

"Oh...?" I acknowledge, as I try to make the carpet clutter-free of Legos.

"Because today he told me that I was his new girlfriend." I didn't think it was supposed to start raining until tomorrow, but this snippet of news from my boss sure dampened my parade. She continued, "Yeah, these were his exact words: I'm leaving my girlfriend for you." She said this as she scrubbed markers from the wall. How could she act as if this was a typical thing to be told?

"Oooooooh," was all I managed to muster. "B-b-but that's exactly what he told me!" I exclaimed with a genuine look of shock plastering my face, I'm sure.

"Then he said..." my boss remarked as she had one of the other eight year olds go over and blow his nose, "since we're boyfriend and girlfriend now, we need to go hot-tubbing." She continued to make the classroom more presentable for the baby shower that was scheduled to be held in her honor in half and hour.

My life of perfection, if only for 20 minutes, came to a halt. My man, at the grand age of eight, is already wanting to hot-tub with another woman (married, nonetheless) whose first child is due next month.

There's a fairy in this story. Here's a hint: it's not me...or Thumbelina.

Fairy tales don't really exist...but fairies do.

I Am Your Sunshine, Your Only Sunshine

Usually I find myself responding to "that one short girl," my sister's name, or quite simply, "hey, butthead." You know, the usual pet names. However, tonight I find myself being called something that I've never been called before: The Most Sunshine Blog, thanks to Syida. Because if my blog ain't sunshine and daisies, then I don't know what is.

I don't see any sunshine on this picture. I might have to rectify that. Or change the name of the award.

Guys, I just have to tell you that I've been typing in silence. So...I decided to turn on some iTunes to keep my mind from exploding. Know what's really funny (well, besides this joke: How do you wake Lady Gaga up? Poke her face!)? Well, the song that decided to play is...Steal My Sunshine by Len! I don't even know what the heck this song is about, but I love the irony of the whole situation. Kind of like I love cake. But now I'm starting to like ice cream more and more. Mmmm, especially Baskin Robbin's Lucky Mint ice cream. That stuff is to die for. Well, not really. I wouldn't die for ice cream. But, then again, maybe I would from overeating it.

Anyways, you don't need to steal the above award if you really, really, really, really want it. All you have to do is ask. But I'll probably say no. So, if you really, really, like, really (x10.73) want The Sunshine Award 2011, just join the blog hop at the bottom of this post. All you need to do is link up your blog's url and, voila! Millions of other bloggers will stop by your blog and take a looksie. Well, maybe not millions. More, like, hundreds. Pretty good deal, huh? It's a win/win situation for everyone: YOU receive a fabulous award, YOU get more visitors to your blog, and YOU are special (plus, you know, all this stuff about me giving you awards and thingies only makes me look like I'm a saint).

Yes, I really DO look like a saint...a saint who makes flowers blossom from the glow of my stunning face.

Join this blog hop if you want The Sunshine Award 2011 award. If you don't want the award, fine. You're more than welcome to put my altered version on your page. I know that's what you really want. There's no need to be shy here, we're all friends, right? Well, according to this blog hop, we are!

1. Follow HOST'S and CO-HOSTS' blogs through GFC.

Host-Tawna's Journey to a Healthier Me (Click this link to add your blog to the hop!)

Co-Host-My Journey with Candida

Co-Host-Shanimal's Crackers

2. Grab the button and put it somewhere on your page.

To link to this blog, copy and paste the code below into your site. This hop is scheduled to be open until Sunday night at midnight EST.

<a href="http://tawnasplan..com" target="_blank"><img src="http://i754.photobucket.com/albums/xx183/tawna6988/Decorated%20images/Hearts.jpg" border="0" alt="Tawnasplan" /></a>

I got a pocket, got a pocket full of sunshine (oh, so that's why my jeans aren't fitting as well. And here I thought it was just from all the Lucky Mint ice cream. Wow, I'm dumb). I got a love and I know that it's ALL mine, oh, whoa ooooooh.

Oh, wait, it's not ALL mine. You did steal my sunshine. Rainy days and Mondays always get me down.

Let Them Eat Cake!

Ever since living in Utah, I feel like I've come in contact with a lot of talented bakers.

Take, for example,

Cakes from the school bakery contest:

A Pizza Cake!

A Fishbowl Cake!

A Hotdog and Fries Cake!

I was so shocked with how well these cakes turned out. How can people be so creative? Then I saw

Cakes from Midway Country Corner:

A Reeses Pieces and Popcorn Cake!

A Bumble Abominable Snowman Cake!

A Sweetarts Cake!

I'm proud to say that creativity runs a little bit through my family. This can be seen in a

Cake by my dad:

A Pyramid Cake!

Yeah, Utah, I know I'm going to fit right in. Mostly because my "creations" turn out looking like I had intended. Kind of like this

Cake by my mom:

"Cat food with chocolate on it?"
[Pause] Uh, It's An..."Earthquake" Cake...! Yeah.

What Kind of Animal Would I Be?

What does a frog,

a fish,

and a cat


all have in common (besides being super adorable)?

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According to my sister, I look like all of the above. Or vice versa. I guess it's because they have big cheeks, and huge eyes are so lovable and cute. Aww, thanks!

But, what am I supposed to say if a potential date asked me if I could be any animal, what would I be AND why?

Would I say, "I would be a dog because I'm man's best friend"? Nuh uh, cliché.


Would I say, "I would be a cat because I can sit on your lap and purr"? Uh, no.


Would I say, "I would be a chameleon because they have big, bulging eyes...just my style I can adapt to any surrounding"? Yes. And I did say it...

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...in front of a group of 50, while on stage competing in a dating game, one of three girls left competing for a blind-folded guy's heart. Do you think my chameleon answer won him over?

If you say "yes" then move on to item #1
If you say "no" then move on to item #2

1. I love you! You're the best. However, as much as you and I both know he should've been smitten by my answer, reality is...he wasn't. Move on to the next question.
2. Hi. You're a good guesser. And this answer is correct. It was just luck on your part, though. Move on to the next question.

Next question:

Who do you think his ideal girl was--the dog or cat?

If you say "dog" then move on to item #3
If you say "cat" then move on to item #4

3. Doggonit, how'd you get that right? That was supposed to be a trick question. Either you guessed (I'm sure of it) or you used this logic: D.O.G.=Daughter of God. Definitely a good trait. After all, a few months ago when I asked my brother about this one girl who had a crush on him, he said, "Well, she's uh...a daughter of God." Move on to the next question.
4. You're almost right. Not quite. Although everyone (I) knows you should be right. Everyone (cat ladies) knows cats are better than dogs, they're only second to chameleons. Move on to the next question.

Next question:

Do you think the dog-girl and blind-folded guy were a good pair?

If you say "yes" then move on to item #5
If you say "no," then you're right. Move on to the next question.

5. Dogs and blind-folded people don't go together. Well, unless you're LOOKING to be guided. But, I don't think this bozo guy was. I think he was just looking for an ordinary girl with ordinary answers to be "man's best friend," if you know what I mean. Move on to the next question.

Next question:

What kind of animal would I describe this blind-folded dude as?

If you say "Your mom" then you're totally off base.
If you say "a dumb

then you'd be correct.

Happy Feet's Replacement

After learning a ton from this article, I've come to the conclusion that I have mostly healthy (and happy) feet. Oh, and that I'm pretty healthy, too. Pshh, I only experience one of those symptoms listed in 18 Things Your Feet Say About Your Health. One. Out of 18. That means I'm ONLY 5.55% messed up. Therefore, I'm declaring myself to be the new happy feet spokesperson. How do you like my slogan:

Forget gellin' like a felon,
how about gettin' jiggy wit it
like a midget?

Let's see here, 100-5.55=94.45. I'm 94.45% good, people! I think this means that when I was in elementary school and on crutches, and a girl started a rumor to her class that I was faking the whole "having bad feet" thing, she was right. I guess I really didn't have feet problems! What joyous news that I've only just uncovered.

Now that I've realized how happy and healthy my feet are, I can't help but wonder if I only had 6 foot surgeries because the podiatrist has a foot fetish and just wanted alone time--with my feet--while I laid unconscious on the operating table for seven hours each time. Hmm. If that's the case, it's not any of my business, really.

Man, I'm starting to think deeply now. Are articles supposed to make you reflect on past experiences in your life?

As I reflect on my numerous surgeries, I'm now starting to wonder why I had that grueling back surgery that left me in a back brace for months--the same surgery that stunted my ability to grow taller. I could've been 5'4". 5'4"! Life changing.

Do you think that back specialist just wanted alone time to sneak a peek at my feet, too (rush Shannon to the operating table!...eh, let's knock her out for 8 hours this time)? I don't care. He could've messed with my feet and I wouldn't have known the difference. My feet already look like Fred Flintstone's feet--how much more could they get screwed up? Oh, that's right, they got screwed up on my fourth surgery when many screws and pins were meticulously placed inside each of my feet, only to have the screws removed from one foot on my sixth surgery.

At least I was able to write a fifth grade award-winning autobiographical incident about my back surgery. I guess my teacher loved reading about me being under the influence of anesthesia, all the while using my bunny stuffed animal to play Peek-a-Boo with the doctors and nurses. The darndest things those kids do.

...but I didn't have the foot surgeries for nothing! I have actually benefited from these apparently not-needed surgeries, believe it or not. Without them, how in the world would I be privileged enough to park in a handicapped spot for sixth months (besides stealing my grandma's sign...which I don't do...)? How else would I be able to go through the exits of Disneyland rides--waiting 5 minutes instead of 90--without having a wheelchair? How else could I have the excuse to race my grandma in one of those motorized carts at Wal-Mart? If you look helpless, remember, people are scared to approach you and tell you NOT to be doing something (Excuse me, ma'am, but you probably shouldn't be going more than 5 miles per hour on that wheelchair. You might hit someone. [Reminder to self: NEVER let Grandma drive a motorized cart in Disneyland again]). And, lastly, how in the heck would I be able to get out of mowing the lawn for 2 weeks?

Do you think that girl dressed as a nerd at that last Halloween dance, who complimented me on my feet, rather than my costume ("I just want to tell you that you have the cutest feet!") was really telling me that my feet look healthy, and therefore, happy?

My Frankenstein foot.

I wonder.

(Not Cute) Pet-Peeves

1. When your and you're are used interchangeably.
Hey, your cool. Is that you're dog? I think your my new best friend. Can I be you're valentine? See, isn't that annoying?

2. Those who feel the need to name their kid something weird.
We all know about Gwyneth Paltrow and Apple. Apple????? Might as well have named your precious daughter Watermelon. There's no difference--you're kid is still a fruit. So, we've all heard of the words apple and watermelon. But what do you do when someone makes up a word and names their kid that? It's like the parents' thought process is, I have a name that, like, people have heard of. I don't like it when people can read my name and pronounce it on the first try. I want to make teachers who are calling roll butcher my child's name, so then the teacher will have to ask if she pronounced the child's name correctly, and the kid can be so used to his name being butchered that he's expecting it to be butchered, and he's proud of this fact, and the fact that he can make the teacher look stupid for saying his name incorrectly.

3. People who liked Napoleon Dynamite, or those that continue to quote it.
That movie is lame. I didn't laugh once throughout the whole thing. People told me I'd like it better if I saw it more than once. Well, guess what! I watched it about 35 times (because BYU students were obsessed with it at the time) and I still think it's horribly stupid. If you want to quote something good, I suggest watching Dumb and Dumber. I mean, compare the quotes: Vote For Pedro vs. We Got No Food, No Jobs, Our Pets' Heads Are Falling Off!

4. Skinny girls who think they're fat.
You know what I'm talking about. You walk into a room and there's, like, this 5'10" model-like girl who's pretty and gorgeous and all that junk. You scan her over and within a second you tell yourself that she can't weigh more than 105 pounds. Then, when she's offered her a saltine cracker, "Oh no, dahlin', I'm watching my figure. I've been on Weight Watchers all my life and I need to keep this weight. If I gain three pounds I would absolutely die!! That would be the end of me. In fact, I need to lose 10 more pounds--you can never lose enough, sweetie. I won't stop criticizing myself and making those around me feel uncomfortable until I look like Karen Carpenter."

5. People who are happy ALL THE TIME.
Yeah, positive people are nice to be around, but if your happy during every circumstance, every bad situation, every single little thing, I'm going to think your fake, or a robot whose button is set on Uncontrollable Optimism...or something. "Oh hey, guys, I just got a flat tire on the freeway, but it's super fantastic because I still have three good tires. I mean these other tires are practically new and they do their job so well. I really love my tires! Having three tires is just dandy because these remaining three can still keep each other company. That reminds me of Three's Company--I love that show! Hehehehe, Jack Tripper is SO funny. But, what's actually funnier is my tire blowing out on the freeway that could've gotten me killed is really a blessing because I swerved from running over the candy wrapper because I thought it was a squirrel...but it wasn't a squirrel! Anyways, I ended up running over a nail instead, but I'm so happy that I put my life and others' in danger to keep from killing an innocent little creature who was somehow lost on the freeway. I love life and even little squirrels deserve the chance to have one! And I'm glad I get to go buy a new tire because I LOVE to shop! So, actually, me getting a flat tire is giving me a reason to go out and shop for a new tire who could be the other three tires' companions. I'm ecstatic about the whole situation..."

Oh, I see you're not smiling anymore, huh? What's there not to be happy about?

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.])

A Good Listener

A good listener is someone you can talk to because they are actually listening to what you are saying. Supposedly, "good listeners" give auditory feedback to let you know they're listening, but with Belinda, I don't even have to worry that I'm not receiving the auditory feedback. If I'm in the middle of talking, I'm not listening for her Mmm-hmms, I sees, or Yeah, I understands...because I can plainly see from her face that she is, in fact, listening.

I mean, if I tell her my infamous Michael Jackson joke, I'm sensing the shock she's feeling--based on her facial expresion. (And, yeah, I would prefer a shocked reaction over no reaction...)

If I told her that the song isn't really called Like a Cheese Stick, she's displaying the surprised look. Thank goodness there's one other person out there, besides me, who thought that's what the lyrics really were! Otherwise, I would've felt like an idiot...

If I told her that my grandma got a high rating on HotorNot.com, once again, I'm getting the expression of unbelievable...but honestly, I don't know why she would find it unbelievable that my grandma got a high rating. I mean, it's pretty obvious Gram's a "looker."

If I told her that The Office plans to continue without Steve Carrell, I would get the impression that she's completely stunned (like the rest of us).

But what really wins me over is when I talk to Belinda about guys (or lack thereof). I can say, "Yeah, I haven't been asked out on a date in eight years," and she has an expression written all over her face that gives me a boost of self-confidence--she looks astounded. And really, that makes me feel good. It lets me know that even she can't believe I haven't been asked out and she too, is thinking, What's wrong with these guys? I can even say to her, "Oh, I don't think he likes me like that," and she'll look just as surprised. She doesn't need to say, "Shannon, you're wrong, he really does like you like that," because I can just read her face and it tells me more than any words ever could.

And this, my friends, is why I like talking to Belinda...because she always looks so interested and surprised at what I have to say.

Suga Moma

I was just perusing through some old emails, reminiscing on good (and bad) times. My email is like a treasure trove of Shannon-ness. No, really. I've had the same email address since I was, like, 13, so just by browsing, you can easily see how I've grown in maturity (but not in height) within the past twelve years. Nah, not really. Anyways, as I was scrolling through the past decade of my life, I found an old email of a text conversation that I had with a random stranger. Apparently people mistakenly text me a lot? And apparently I like to act like I know these people who mistakenly text me? And apparently I like to save these weird little conversations that I have with strangers? Yes, yes, and uh-huuuuh. They (*cough, cough* meaning my parents) don't call me Shenanigans for nothin'.

August 2007:

Strange Number: How is jr. high so far? whats your favorite class? -aunt michl

Me: PE cuz I like all the eye candy

SN: ben!!! :)

Me: ssshhh, dont tell my parents...

SN: dont worry! its our secret!

Me: thanks youre da best! did i tell u i have a gf?

SN: no...is she cute? whats her name?

Me: yah i wouldnt date someone whos uuuugly...her name is ashley but were not official yet. we only been out once.

SN: blond? brown? black hair? long or short? eye color? maybe you should send a pic

Me: shes my suga moma

(attached was this picture):


Welp, I never heard from Aunt Michl again. I guess she thought Ben's girlfriend had flunked 8th grade one too many times...

Don't worry, Grandma, you're still hot! Just ask your friends on Hotornot! And your Hotornot friends wouldn't even care if, or how many times you've flunked 8th grade...because they think you're tasty just like that corndog you're eating. Mmm-hmm.

Sidenote: I got this approved by Grams before posting it. I told her that she was a "sugar mama," to which she replied, "Yeah, I am." Haha. Love you, Grandma!

Identity Crises

Have you ever stopped to think about the things in this world that don't seem to fit the "mold"? Maybe it's just me. I don't fit the mold. Heck, I don't even fit correctly on an adult bike. And maybe it's just me who thinks and ponders about "the mold"--no, not mold on cheese. Like, is tomato pronounced tuh-mey-toh or tuh-ma-toh? Obviously, it's pronounced the first way (I know because when you push the "speak" button on dictionary.com it says so), so I don't know whose idea it was to speak the latter.

On the topic of tomatoes...

What's the deal with them being classified as a fruit and then being treated as if they're a vegetable? I mean, fruit in a salad?! Bizzare...unless, it's a fruit salad. Maybe that's why I don't like salad--you just don't mix fruit with lettuce. Disgusting. Tomatoes, you're really a fruit, hence you don't belong in any kind of salad unless it's fruit salad. Wikipedia has this to say about how you should be treated:

Tomatoes have been designated the state vegetable of New Jersey. Arkansas took both sides by declaring the "South Arkansas Vine Ripe Pink Tomato" to be both the state fruit and the state vegetable in the same law. In 2009, the state of Ohio passed a law making the tomato the state's official fruit.

Different states are telling you that you're two different types of food, tomatoes. I'm sorry that you're so confused as to which role to play during your little lifetime. It must be really confusing for you. My verdict: if you're a fruit then act like a fruit. The end.

Rhubarb...

What's the deal with them being classified as a vegetable and then being treated as if they're a fruit? I mean, vegetable in a pie?! Bizarre...unless, it's...no, vegetables should never be made into a pie. That would be like me saying, Hey, I have this great idea. Let's make celery pie! Umm, no thanks. Rhubarb, you're really a vegetable, hence you don't belong in any kind of pie. Period. Wikipedia has this to say about your identity:

Rhubarb is considered to be a vegetable; however, in the United States a New York court decided in 1947 that since it was used in the United States as a fruit it was to be counted as a fruit for the purposes of regulations and duties.

Let me get this straight: You're born a vegetable. You have all the vegetable parts. But since you're being treated as if you're a fruit, the USA changes your identity to fruit? I can see the confusion displayed all over your little stick body. My verdict: if you're a vegetable then act like a vegetable. The end.

Ladybugs...

There's perplextion written all over these poor creatures' faces. First, they have the word lady in their name. Second, they have the word bug in their name. Two pieces of false information. These insects can be both male and female. So why the lady in their title?

The name "ladybird" originated in Britain where the insects became known as "Our Lady's bird" or the "Lady beetle". Mary (Our Lady) was often depicted wearing a red cloak in early paintings and the spots of the seven spot ladybird (the most common in Europe) were said to symbolise her seven joys and seven sorrows. In the US, the name was adapted to ladybug.

So, Britain pinned this on ya little guys. Oh gosh, am I blurring your self-image even more by calling you guys since you're apparently ladies? Now I'M confused. I just don't know what to call you. Just change your name altogether. I have an idea; how about Those Insects That Everyone Calls Bugs But Who Aren't Bugs That Everyone Thinks Are Sooooo Cute That They're Often Associated With Little Girls Along With Butterflies (Aww man, are butterflies actually made from butter...?) And Rainbows.

Besides the whole lady thing, we now have the fact from the ever-trustworthy Wikipedia (again) that you are in fact NOT bugs. That's right. You heard me. Apparently you're really coccinellids, a type of insect. I'm done trying to fit you into a certain category. My verdict: if you're an insect that act like an insect. Oh wait, you already do that. Well then, if you're a lady, then act like a lady. But, not all of you are ladies. You're probably an even mixture of males and females. Hmm...here we go: if you're cute, then continue acting cute. The end.

Michael Jackson...

"It don't matter if you're black or white". Oh really, Michael? Then...what's with all the changes...to your hair?

My verdict: if you're Michael Jackson then you make really good music. The end.

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 Shining...Uh, I Mean the Shiner

Two days ago, I received what I thought would now be a shiner. Fortunately, it didn't turn into a black eye. Unfortunately, for the past two days it hurt as though I had a black eye. Fortunately, it doesn't hurt now. Unfortunately, I still have a little tiny bruise. Fortunately, I can cover it up with makeup. Unfortunately, I'm basically out of cover-up makeup. Fortunately, I don't have a hot date this week where I would be self-conscious about the teeny tiny bruise on my face. Unfortunately, I don't have a hot date this week...or for the next five years.



Oh, I guess you're wondering HOW, exactly, I received what I thought would now be a shiner.
Listed below are the options. There may seem to be more than one right answer, but there isn't. Choose the one answer that seems most correct.

A. I walked into a pole.

B. I got into a brawl with some gangstas because they said that I shouldn't be dissing Like a G6...so, they threw a shoe at me and it hit me in the eye. And it hurt. Really bad.

C. I was going to give someone a high-five but we missed each other's hands and their hand consequently hit me in the face. I hit them in the stomach.

D. I was at work with a new student to our class who has a hard time with transition. She's still in the transition phase, actually, from moving to a new school. She has lots of temper tantrums and is really stubborn. So, when it came time for her to come my table to work on her letter sounds, she was in a bad mood since it was work time. She does not like work time. She likes play time. And right before coming to my table it was play time, so this was a very hard transition for her to make. She was wanting to get out of her chair and roll on the floor and scream and cry. I sat directly behind her, pinning her chair between my chair and the table. Did I ever think that this little girl could be strong? Not really. But she was a fast little bugger. And, a strong little bugger, I might add (she must have lots of experience doing what she did to me) because out of nowhere. WHAM! Right smack in my face is the back of her head. Where did this girl learn to headbutt? So not cool. So unexpected. So painful. Luckily, I was wearing my glasses so they may have blocked the blow to my eye. I'm also lucky she didn't break my glasses, because glasses are expensive to replace! Then, after her whacking to my face, she rubs the back of her head as if she's hurt. Hmm...maybe if it hurts you shouldn't do it. Just my opinion. Anyways, to sum up this choice: D. I was headbutted by a second grade girl.

And the answer is *drum roll, please*

A! If you said A you're correct! You just won an invisible over-the-internet-hug-by-a-stranger. Aren't you glad you played this game?

Okay, okaaaaay, sorry. A is not the most correct answer. That would seem to be the most probable answer to me, but alas, the most correct answer is D (I hope that answer wasn't too obvious).

All I can say is that it's too bad this whole incident didn't happen before picture day. The tiny bruise I have on my face would have made my picture all the more beautiful. And then I would have on record that I have actually been in a fight. Well, I didn't fight back or anything, but I could say I've been attacked...but I would just leave out the fact that it was by a 40 pound second grade girl. Those little facts don't really matter that much, anyway. Right? Right.

The Scrunched-Face Look

Tell me, do you find scrunched faces on animals cute?

A Potbellied Pig.


A Persian.

A Pug.

A Person.

Yeah, me neither.

Okay, fine, the pig is cute.

Picture Day

Tomorrow is picture day. Great. I haven't had a "picture day" since high school. It's been so long that I've forgotten what I'm supposed to do. Just sit there and look pretty? Well, as you can see from these two pictures I've posted, I AM quite the looker. But I find it strange that the only person who comments on just how beautiful I am is Grandma--hey, and she wasn't even wearing her glasses when she said that. I must really have knocked her spectacles off with my incredibly good looks.

I work at an elementary school, right? So, staff gets a free packet of pictures...of themselves. What the heck am I supposed to do with pictures of myself?? Despite what you may think, I'm not the type to frame a picture of myself and set it on the nightstand next to my bed so that it's the last thing I see before I go to sleep and the first thing I see when I wake up. One can only view so much beauty during the day, so I need a break from my flawless face, just to keep me grounded...that's why I will not frame a picture of myself and put it next to MY bed. But, there is a guest room in our home and I think I will frame this old picture of me (the one where I'm wearing a super stylish hat) and put it next to that bed. I'm sure this picture would give the guests pleasant dreams.

Now, as to what to do with the pictures I take tomorrow--of course, my coworkers are helpful--both of them told me to hand out my pictures to guys. Umm...yeah...fantastic idea! My response to that? "Okay. On the back of the picture it'll say Hi, I'm Single. Nice to meet you." And just by seeing my beautiful face the guys will be like, How in the world is this gorgeous woman still single? Oh, and in fine print her picture says "Best country line dancer"? I CANNOT pass her up!

I hope my picture tomorrow turns out as stunning out these two. But, I'm just not sure I can top these pictures--I had a brilliant smile, good hair, and my body is not in an awkward position...at all. I'm just not sure I will be able to pull that off again. Wish me luck that I can look as good tomorrow as I did in these. It would mean a lot. Hey, maybe I'll even send you one of my pictures for supporting me (I am going to have like, 50, so I could even send one to your grandma). Wouldn't you just love that? And I know the perfect place for it: on your nightstand. That way you could have a natural night light--from the glow that I radiate--my picture would just brighten your day or night.

Short and Sweet...Not.

"What's with the age gap hiring policy at most movie theaters? Did you ever notice they never hire anyone between the ages of fifteen and eighty, you know what I mean? Like, the girl that sells you the ticket, she's ten. Then there's the guy who rips the ticket, he's one hundred and two. So, what happened in the middle, there? You couldn't find anybody? It's like they want to show you how life comes full circle. You're fifteen, you sell the tickets. Then you leave, you go out, you have a family, kids, marriage, career, grandchildren, eighty years later, you're back in the same theater three feet away. Ripping tickets. Took you eighty years to move three feet."-Jerry Seinfeld

I worked at a movie theater for almost four years, and while I worked there, customers would comment that they didn't know I could legally work there, since I looked 12. But, I've been told that it's good to look young because then when you're old you'll still look young. I secretly think that whoever's telling me this just says it so that I can feel okay about not looking my age. Who's to say what 24.92 years looks like, anyway?

Okay, let's name off reasons why it's good to look young at my age:

-you can still go trick-or-treating on Halloween without being questioned
-you can still order off the kids meal in restaurants (for those 12 and under only)
-if you're in college, all the other students will point at you and whisper to their friends how you must be a child prodigy who graduated from high school five years early
-you can see PG movies without people wondering why you'd rather see Finding Nemo than The Matrix
-you can live with your parents without anyone questioning it

Okay, now let's name off reasons why it's bad to look young at my age:

-you can still go trick-or-treating on Halloween without question...but you go alone because your friends are all too mature-looking
-you can still order off the kids meal in restaurants (for those 12 and under only)...but when you're on a date with a guy you like, the waitress reports him to authorities for being a pedophile...
-you work at an elementary school like I do, and the principal sees you walking down the hall and asks if you have a hall pass to use the bathroom
-you can see PG-13 movies...but the ticket seller will have to have your guardian's permission before selling you the ticket
-when at a stoplight, the driver in the car over stares at you with their cellphone in hand taking down your license plate number ready to report a stolen vehicle--much like this video

Not only do I have a baby face, but it's kind of a double whammy because I am also short.



Okay, let's name off reasons why it's good to be short:
 
-you can date any guy without worrying that he'll be shorter than you
-on a plane you can stretch your legs out in coach as if you're in first class
-you have a head rest at the movie theater, while normally, people have to sink into their chair to not block the view of the people behind 'em
-you can be on a soap opera
-you don't have to lean back when you're doing the limbo

Okay, now let's name off reasons why it's bad to be short:

 

-the guys you're attracted to are over a foot taller than you
-you have a head rest at the movie theater while it's normal for people's heads go over the seat...but your feet still can't reach the ground
-you can be on a soap opera...but you will be the backup for a child actor (like Mickey is in the Seinfeld episode, The Stand-In)
-every shirt you wear looks like a nightgown on you.
-Capris fit you like normal pants.
-you have to stand on a chair to reach the second shelf in the cabinets
-you will never be an NBA player
-you are used to being measured to see whether or not you can ride the roller coaster
-even when you wear high heels you're still a whole five inches shorter than the average girl
-parents are pointing you out to their children telling them that if they don't eat their vegetables then they will end up like you (as if that's a bad thing...)
-you are still riding around on your Barbie bike that you've had since third grade because you still can barely touch the ground

I've heard so many short jokes it's not even funny. No, really, they're not funny jokes. Short jokes are easy to come up with but having them be witty and something I've never heard before is...well, hard. I remember one time while I was working at the theater and playing the part of greeter-who-rips-the-tickets-from-behind-a-podium-stand, one man came up to me and told me to stop standing in a hole. I remember that joke not necessarily because it made me laugh (although I gave him a fake smile) but because it was new. Come up with new material, people.

I really can't wait until I'm old and still have my baby face. But, as you age you also gain new features, like wrinkles. Having a baby face with wrinkles will almost guarantee that when a mom passes by she'll say to her child, See, that's what tanning does to you. The overexposure to the sun ruins your skin and gives you wrinkles at an early age. I bet that lady's only 30, but she looks 74. No matter what age I am, I will still be a source that mothers use to teach their children life lessons. I just cannot wait for the plethora of short jokes to come my way when I'm 74 and a foot shorter than I am now. I also can't wait until I'm 102 and get to work back at the theater again, all the while standing in a deeper hole.

An Ode (Except Not Really) to the Hottest Grandma on the Net

August 2007

Who would combine puka shells with a purple/teal-mixed-animal-print blouse? None other than my grams! You have to admit they look great together too. To top off the outfit just throw on a tilted hat...ah, now the look's complete. This is just another ordinary picture that I have of Grams. But what's not so ordinary is the story behind the picture. Story time, children. Like, really, take a deep breath, relax, and take off your socks because they're about to be blown away...unless you've already taken your socks off, that is.

A few years ago I was bedridden due to major surgery. What to do with all my free time? Join hotornot.com of course! But, naturally, I would never join that site, so I had this brilliant idea to post a picture of Grams--the exact same picture in this post--on that site.

Her profile:

Username: SugaMoma
Age: 22
About Me: 'Sup, homie Gs? I'm looking for my gangsta love. He must love being spoiled. Rapping career a must (that way he could serenade with sweet lullabies like Eminem's "Mockingbird"). Must drive a cadillac--the lower the better. Sometimes it's hard getting into those things. Must be willing to call me Shawty. I'd appreciate it if he frequently throws up the Westside sign in my presence. Must sag his drawers regularly as if he has a loaded diaper--I feel accomplished playing the role of a mamacita. Bonus: have at least one gold tooth. Hollaback, dawgs. Word.

Success! She had wannabe rappers writing her from all over the country and to top it all off, her "hot or not" rating was an average in the high 8s (now I feel special when people tell me I look exactly like her)! I suspect, though, that she was receiving such high scores because there were 90 year old men on that site who came across her picture and thought she was the most beautiful creature the Internet had ever seen. Or, I'm not going to rule this out either; but maybe, just maybe, she was receiving such high scores because her profile and picture were hilarious. No, I think the first scenario is more likely. Unfortunately, some little party-pooper had to go along and report my grandma's picture to the authorities, and needless to say, we were banned from that site because a picture of a little "old" lady was in the same category with girls in their 20s, and that's clearly against the rules. Shame. Who says 22 year olds can't have wrinkles?

A couple of months ago I went with my friend to her ward's opening social and had to play one of those "get-to-know-you" kind of games...you know, the games you try to avoid. In an attempt to try and spice up the question, What's one thing you've done that you don't think anyone else in this room has ever done before?, I told everyone who came to me with a pencil and paper (I would never tell this story to people in my ward) that I had posted my gram's picture on that wretched site. By the end, everyone had known that my grams is HOT (mainly because the person in charge of the social read my answer out loud to the whole entire group, thanks). I guess the person in charge of the social gathering would rate my quirky story as an 8.8--you have to admit, though, that hearing about someone's grandma attracting rappers is 11 times more interesting than learning that someone climbed Mount Everest. Pshh. The Mount Everest story would probably only rate at a 5.3.

Now when someone comes up to Grams and says, You're so cute!, she now knows to respond with Actually, I'm hot. Just ask the Internet.

***No grandmas were harmed in the making of this blog.