superbad is super bad

so it's the kickoff day for college football. and where was i? certainly not tucked under my throw laying on my comfy couch with my fluffy dog beside me and treats scattered on the coffee table. instead, i was in a stinky, sticky-floored, poorly-upholstered movie theater watching a film that talked more about male and female body parts than a college anatomy lab. superbad is right. it's a movie 17yr old boys will think is a new classic and a movie that will help those all grown up boys (my husband included) relive their glory days, when their lives revolved solely around who was hot and who was hotter. there were definitely a few funny parts, none of which i will mention since my mom is an avid supporter of anything i write. (thanks, con!) anyway. i'm trying to balance it all out with a hefty double dose of "murder she wrote." thank goodness for the hallmark channel.

friendly neighbors

that would be nice, wouldn't it? to have friendly neighbors? we wouldn't know. ours is an old hag. she swears penny poops in her yard. (which penny totally doesn't; well, she only does when we let her because old hag has bothered us that day or week or week before.) anyway. i just heard her making old hag small talk with mor. (who's outside replacing the oil filter on the hon for when we drive her down to vegas this weekend. he's so man-skilled, ain't he?)

old hag: how are things?

mor: just fine. getting the car ready so we can drive it to vegas this weekend.

oh: how nice. what are you doing there?

mor: we're just driving down to catch a flight.

oh: how nice. why would you do that?

mor: it's a lot cheaper to fly out of vegas than it is to fly out of salt lake.

oh: how nice. well then where are you going?

mor: to indiana.

oh: how nice. for a death?

moral of converstory: the only reason people go to indiana is because someone has died. not to visit family. not to see friends. but to attend a funeral. maybe someday soon, we won't be attending one for old hag.

homeboy wore combat boots to the beach

sadly, audrina had still not had enough after justin-bobby's nonsense 'time tells all tools' diatribe. so, in the latest episode of my oh-so-guilty pleasure "the hills," he actually breaks up with her. what?! and why?! i know you're all asking with bated breath. well, let me 'splain in the fewest amount of words as possible: i think justin-bobby wants audrina to die. how awful. the kid who still thinks those oversized beanies are cool broke up with audrina by leaving her motorcycle helmet on the couch of somebody's beach house. see? he does want her dead. he might as well have put a horse head in bed next to her. at least he'll have his music career.

rip audrina

"how it should have been"

not that i'm an expert

but i do like to think i say and spell most words correctly. for instance, someone who practices law is a law-yer, not a loy-er. here are a few other examples:

this...



...is a pitcher;

what you take with this...



...is a picture.

these...



...are cray-ons, not crowns. (i, sadly, am guilty of this one.)

the holiday that comes in february (which does have that r right after the b and is therefore pronounced feb-RU-ary, not feb-U-ary) is valentiNe's day. not, contrary to popular belief, valentiMe's day. (honestly, dog, i expected more of you.) here is a picture to prove it:



and you know if mr t says it, it's gospel.

as far as the spelling mistakes:
there = place
their = belonging to
they're = they are
desert = dry sandy place with lots of snakes
dessert = hot fudge sundae
percocet = Rx
percoset = nonexistent word used by bone-headed medical office staff
grateful = full of gratitude
greatfull = nonexistent word used by bone-heads in general

also, when someone tells you that something is said a certain way even if you may think you know better, do not correct them. example: there is a dr here in provo whose name is faux, pronounced fox. i referred someone to him last week, spelled his name and told them it was 'faux like fox.' for the rest of the conversation, as i could not get this someone off the phone to save his life (since his was the one in danger after 12min of dumb questions), the someone kept referring to dr foe. seriously. after the second time i said his name was 'faux like fox,' the someone told me that it was really pronounced 'faux like foe' and that i was wrong and therefore telling everyone i referred to 'dr foe' how to say his name wrong. he made it a point for the rest of our delightful conversation to call him 'dr foe.' i sure hope he brings this up to 'dr foe' when he actually gets scheduled for an appointment. should he be so lucky to get in to him without a referral. oops. guess i forgot to mention he'd need one of those. i was too busy thinking this someone was an idiot, i-d-o-u-t.*

*thanks, shaq. i love you anyway, you big oaf.

the itsy bitsy brown recluse spider

climbed into michael's shoe
when he went to put it on
the spider had one thing to do
he bit michael's leg but he didn't feel a thing
until his leg was swollen and infected and all-together disgusting and had to be opened and drained and i almost threw up into the trashcan while 7 other people looked on in grossed-out amazement at how much stuff came out of a 1/2in incision from a necrotic spider bite on poor 14yr old michael's leg all because he wanted to take out his dirt bike. the cutest thing was that his dad was holding his hand, calling him "sweetie" throughout the whole ordeal. aww.

two down, twenty-five more to go

i have successfully stripped two full hallway walls of their paint-wallpaper-paint-paint-wallpaper-paint-ness. it's only taken me about a month, and one of the two walls is only about 10in wide, but still. those two walls are stripped and just waiting to be primed and painted. granted they will have to wait until the other three (not twenty-five, i'm a liar) walls have been equally stripped of their paint-wallpaper-paint-paint-wallpaper-paint-ness, but i'm on a roll. a roll going at about the speed of me on a mile-run. haha. that makes me laugh. me, run? never. (28 aug 07 update: i'm only struggling with one more wall that now has a stick tree scraped into the p-w-p-p-w-p. wish me luck on this one. or we might just have to knock it down.)

why is it that the ugliest fish in the ocean live in the deeper-than-hell depths? and why do they have the worst names in the world? (a hairy angler? definitely not going to be the next special at red lobster, now, is she?) i'm willing to take a stab at my first question. the ugliest fish in the ocean live in the pitch black waters because they are so horribly horrendously ugly. they would not only scare the other fish in the ocean, they would eat them or cause them severe emotional drama. i'm not kidding. that is the reason i didn't post a picture of ol' hairy angler: i refuse to be responsible for any nightmares that may occur from seeing it's ugly mug. see it at your own risk, google images of "hairy angler fish." mark my words, though, you will be sorry.

hips-hips-hooray!

i did it. i finally bought myself new jeans. and not just one pair. two! count them, t-w-o new pairs of jeans. wah-ha-ha (a la the count). you have to love the gap. especially when you get an email for an extra $10 off and forget to print it off but get the extra $10 off anyway. twice. you also have to love the gap (or any clothes shop for that matter) for the dressing room conversations. today, two young ladies were discussing capris. we'll call them stacy and sandy.

stacy: so like how do those pants look?

sandy: i don't even know why i keep trying on capris even.

stacy: why? they're like so cute.

sandy: i just really don't like the way they look on me.

stacy: why? they're like so cute on you.

sandy: yeah, but i just don't like them on me.

the best part of the conversation wasn't verbal at all. when they emerged from their separate dressing rooms, stacy and sandy happened to be two of the shortest, chubbiest, most cankle-fied girls ever made by humans. now, i sympathize with them: i myself have not been blessed with the most muscularized of legs. i choose to wear capris that are more on the short-pants side. i also barely ever have the chance to wear anything but khakis since most of my life is spent at work. or sleeping. the former during which i do not wear khakis, in case you were wondering. (except on the rare occasion when i fall asleep on the couch while morgan watches ufc. (see his latest post on just that. and notice how well grammaticized it is.))

anyway. my new jeans. they're fantastic. one pair i bought are the curvy fit. initially, i was a bit distressed. 'curvy' has never been one of those terms i put at the top of my self-describing list of adjectives. however, i embraced it today. there's something wonderful in being currrrrvy. the other pair i bought are the essential fit. so, technically, i am essentially curvy or curvily essential. however you like.

on a curvily similar note, i would like to leave you with the words of some chick in the movie "she's the man" starring my girl-crush amanda bynes...

'girls with butts like mine don't date boys with faces like yours.' (we marry boys with eyelashes like mor's.)

let's all go to the home depot!

(depot pronounced deh-po. it's a throwback to an old trip to long beach after freshman year. a time i cherish yet wish had never happened. i was 19, okay? 'nough said.)



morgan and i made our weekly sojourn to our beloved diy warehouse last night. (we are very poor judges of how much paint it takes to cover a small kitchen, what can i say?) as we were checking out, there was a little mommy and her three kids in line next to us. she had a little boy about 4yrs old, one about 2 1/2, and a baby girl in a carseat. the three of them were on one of the lumber carts, with the flatbed and siderails. the baby was in the very middle and the boys were using the siderails like alexi nemov would use the parallel bars at the olympics. directly over the baby. the mommy seemed completely oblivious to the situation. and even more oblivious to what happened next. the 2 1/2yr old had dismounted (i gave him a 6.5, as it was more of a falling-off than a dismount) and was just standing next to the cart. standing there. and PEEING! he pissed all over the cement floor next to us. mor and i realized what was happening before the mommy did, but when she saw him peeing all over himself, she started yelling "gavin! gavin! gavin! no! no! no!" and picked him up and ran outside with him. while the 4yr old continued his sub-par parallel bar routine over the baby, who actually got kicked in the head at least twice that i actually saw. the mommy returned a few minutes later, with gavin and his saggy pants following behind her. i'll tell you one thing, i'm never going barefoot into the home depot ever again. well, at least not until i know they sprayed that pee-spot down with some bleach first.

my husband has bad grammar

sadly, it's true. if anyone reads his soapbox--i mean blog--please excuse him. i am not always around to edit his rantings. oh i wish i were, don't get me wrong. however, unlike those baby-making sisters of mine, i have to work to pay the rent. (that is absolutely nothing against my sisters, mind you; if i didn't HAVE to work, we all know i would just sit home and watch "matlock" and "murder she wrote" while eating eggo waffles cereal. delight!) i don't even know where he--mor--comes up with the stuff he writes. the latest one i think was about michael vick and fantasy sports. i do thoroughly agree with him on his points; i just wish they were a little better-worded. (ps he knows all of this and takes no offense. i don't think.)

totally switching gears...

how do giada's fingernails always look so perfect? she's got her hands in flour and parmigiano reggiano cheese all day long, and her nails show no worse for wear. jerk. i used to trim my cuticles until i got the shaky hand. don't know where it came from, but it came nonetheless, and i have succeeded in cutting myself on more than one occasion. now, i just scrunch them down at work, when i think about it, with the long skinny part of a pen cap. i'm ghetto like that. what.

and again...

please tell me someone saw the latest episode of "the hills." does anyone remember last season when spencer first asked heidi to move in with him, and she told him 'my answer is no,' while sitting in his (unfair!) benz, and he responded with the all-too-mature 'then my answer is get the hell outta my car'...? anyone remember that? heidi got her 'get the hell outta my car' moment last night. if you will recall, spencer "surprised" heidi with that ghastly hollywood tag mural in their new front room...



anyway, so heidi's moment comes when spencer walks in the door as she's painting OVER the eyesore. he's appalled. (probably about as much so as when he found out he isn't a d-bag. oh wait. strike that. he IS a d-bag.)



and what does heidi say to him...SURPRISE! i still think she's a moron, but that was amazing.

i just told morgan what the title of this post is, and he said his next one is going to be called "my wife, agbar naharfi, winner of the scripps spelling bee." isn't he a gem? i got the last laugh though when i asked him how he was going to spell my alter-ego's name. hahaha.

flower power

i got sucked into "meerkat manor" yesterday/saturday morning. i just couldn't stop watching. why? maybe because mitch is so handsome. or maybe because flower is such a ho. (honestly, she had pups like a few months ago, she just had another batch of 'em, and today's latest episode said she's prego again! ho.) or maybe, just maybe, because it tugs at the heartstrings. i think that's the reason. sophie and mitch and another kat got separated from the whiskers clan along with flower's newest pups. the nameless one (i can't remember his name, but he's a ho too) runs off with some floozy from one of the other clans, leaving sophie and mitch to care for the pups. mitch then takes it upon himself to go find the whiskers and lead them to sophie and the pups. blah blah blah, sophie has to care for the pups in the midst of a meerkat war--between the whiskers and the zappas (whose leader's name is frank, and don't worry that it took me the entire episode to realize his name was frank zappa, i'm a quick one)--taking them below the surface. into the zappas underground lair! oh no! to make a long, drawn-out story about rodents short...the pups don't die, the whiskers gain control of the zappas prime feeding grounds and, as aforementioned, flower is pregnant yet again. i know. watching this makes me a dork, so in turn...



morgan and i watched like four hours of "the hills" last night. and i realized something: heidi is dumb. not just your average run-of-the-mill everyday hollywood blonde dumb; she is moronically disastrously dumber than a box. spencer is just plain ugly. and they are perfect for each other. i don't see why lauren doesn't have the power to kick the both of them off the show. afterall, it really is HER show; SHE's the reason any of these foolios are on tv in the first place. if i were her, i would keep whitney, lo, frankie (even though i have no idea what his part of the story is, but i'm sure it's integral, and even though i couldn't in my wildest dream pick him out of a popped-collar puka shell necklace frosted tips line-up), jason (who has surprisingly turned his life around, and i am positive that was a direct result of his ridiculous stint on "exposed"), and perhaps audrina (although i'm not sure i like her yet). those i would remove: loser and loserette, brody "i'll never have a real job/relationship/life ever because i'm just going to live off my mom's fortune," jen bunney, and justin-bobby (he ranks up there with heidi in retardation). anyway, i can't wait for this season to really get off the ground. i especially can't wait for lauren and jason's run-in with l&l. if jason doesn't punch loser right in the ugly mug, i might lose all respect for him. or maybe gain more respect for him. time will tell.

the hawley-simpson family

aren't we cute as yellow cartoon simpson characters? i tried to give morgan 5o'clock shadow, but it came out looking like cat whiskers. and yes, that is a bling diamond in that ear of mine. that's how we roll in pro-springville-vo.

pickled asparagoose...yummm

we went to a reception last night in a really nice neighborhood. (so nice, in fact, that the neighbor had a rare silver ferrari. sickest thing i've ever seen, ps.) anyway, in such a ritzy place, they obviously had to serve ritzy food: slivered almond and fruit salad, pear and bleu cheese quesadillas, and pickled asparagus. the following picture is honest-to-goodness about the size of one of the stalks mor picked out of the silver platter of asparagus last night.



this picture will have to suffice since i was not quick enough with the camera before some do-gooder came around collecting "trash." whatever, that thing was going to be sent straight to guinness. we could have made some good money off it. oh well. now i know to always have the digital at the ready.

just keep swimming, just keeping swimming

the public pool provides some of the best darn entertainment. mor and i spent a few hours at veterans, and i could fill this entire blog with the escapades we witnessed today. this isn't going to be completely cohesive, so just keep your comments on the randomosity to yourselves.
first of all...i hate little boys. not babies or toddlers but any male from ages 9 - 15. they are the most annoying creatures alive, next to insects and rodents a'course. we had probably ten of them in the end of the pool next to us, and i thought i was going to jump in and drown them all. the last thing i heard one of them say (before being driven out by the too-touchy-feely teenage couples that had migrated from their seat (yes, singular for each couple) into the kiddie corner) was "i'm going to invent an underwater camera, dude." apparently he's too young to know about the lesser-known companies i like to call kodak and polaroid. don't tell him about them though; he thinks he's on to something. to help him perv around underwater as well as on dry land.
second of all...it's a bird, it's a plane, it's IT'S underwater superman! that's right, folks. he swims at veterans public pool. he is about 3 and 1/2 feet tall. he has just passed his swim test to get out of those floaties that are so not superman-cool. and he still pees in the pool.



third of all...people should not be allowed to wear street clothes directly from the street into the pool. i don't know where your skanky jean skirt has been (or what's on it). or how long it has been since your kid's diaper was changed. (but i can tell by the sagage that it was at least 2 - 3 pees ago.) if you don't have a real lined spandex bathing suit or swim trunks, stay home and spray yourself down with the neighbors' hose. (don't think we don't know you won't use your own water; then you'd have to pay for it.) don't wear tank tops over your bikini tops; don't think substituting basketball shorts for board shorts is okay; don't, i repeat, DO NOT not wear something underneath your white tall tee, cholas. (Q. why did the chola get pregnant? A. because her teacher told her to go home and do her essay/esse.*) it just isn't right. if you can afford the $3 it costs you to get into the pool, you should be able to spend the $5 it would cost you to buy proper swimwear at the local walmart.
fourth of all...if you are barely old enough to drive and still not old enough to buy cigarettes, you should not be sharing a chair with your scantily-clad, lubed-up boy/girlfriend. i don't want to see you bumping your special parts together while i'm optimizing my melanin. eww.
fifth of all...do not wear hoop earrings, bangle bracelets or puka shell necklaces to the pool. particularly do not wear them if you are the lifeguard. i do not feel better perhaps having to place my life in your hands just because you have accessorized your fanny pack and life preserver.
sixth of all...when it is too hot to NOT go swimming, that means it IS too hot to chainsmoke.
last of all...if you are chubbier than the friend you just pushed into the deep end, you should not do a victory dance on the edge of the pool. especially if you are in a skimpier bathing suit than said friend.
and breathe. the tirade is over.
until next time.

*joke courtesy of my beloved husband, chola-hater morgan

i'll have the blackened salmon and anna nicole smith?

no joke. mor and i went out to dinner at the neighborhood red lobster (hold your ewws and aahs) when lo and behold, anna nicole smith was waiting the table next to us. if only i'd thought to grab the camera on our way out the door. spitting image. not so much as that top pic there, but this one...



sans shoulder pads and cz-encrusted crucifix, but you catch my drift.

i would also like to take the time to say that skinny jeans do IN NO WAY make you skinny, or even look skinny for that matter. we saw numerous couples slinking up and down the hall of university mall (outside hot topic, who would have guessed) sporting the hideodorous denim. i don't even think these abhorations should be allowed in the denim family. and i'm too tired to come up with the clever category underwhich it should be classified. just stop people. stop this now.



and this picture is from the actual distributor of the skinny jeans. is this meant to entice one into buying skinny jeans? if i wasn't completely discouraged from buying them before, i sure as heck am now.

and that, students, concludes the day of the anniversary of the first year of being husband and wife. tender.

judge a book by its cover

judge people by their names. this is an especially useful practice when selecting dates, spouses and friends. try to avoid anyone who falls into any of the following categories:
1. anyone whose name can be made into a childhood rhyme
- for instance, i once dated an anthony; tony balogna. need i say more?
2. anyone whose name--first or last--is hard to pronounce or just plain weird
- inevitably, these are the boys who think their offspring should share their same fate (an ex of mine with an unusual name now has a nephew named after him; i would feel awful for this little boy if it weren't for the fact that said ex's own son bears an even worse fate. i would share these doozies, but i'm afraid this bloggy would fall into the wrong hands, and i just can't have that now, can i?)
3. anyone who has ever been given a superlative, such as "best looking guy on the football team"
- i know this doesn't necessarily follow the "what's in a name" theory, but it is still applicable, as these boys usually have manwhore names: luke (luke puke, a la #1), adam, brandon, justin, mike, brad etc. this is a sign to steer clear of these punks.
4. anyone whose name has more vowels than consonants, and vice versa
- um, this should probably go under numero 2. m'bad. although bob ctvrtlik was quite the looker in his days.
5., 6. & 7. anyone who has a plain-jane, unisex & snooty magoo name (these all go together, wait and see)
- jeff, doug, mark, steve, frank, bruce...these are all names that are borrring. they are also very popular in the world of gay men. gay name = gay man. it's. that. easy. aaand...
- pat (obviously), terry (obviously), jan (also bobby c's middle name, sad), kelly, casey, ashley, whitney, preston, sterling, stacy, morgan...oops! how'd that get in there? these names typically belong to men of ambiguous sexual origin or men of extreme affluence. either way...

be advised

do not drink the gatorade limited edition flavor, super bowl berry. unless you enjoy drinking cold sudafed. don't say i didn't warn you.

answer: no, i don't

question: don't i have anything better to do with my free time?

i was browsing le internet this afternoon when i stumbled upon something a bit disturbing. on amazon.co.uk they actually sell "adult versions" of the harry potter series. this got my wheels a'turnin'...what is in these "adult versions" of the children's best-sellers? furthermore, do i really want to know what changes were made in order to categorize these beloved stories the same way pornos are euphamised as "adult entertainment"? i guess it goes right along with our real harry potter starring in a london stage production where he and his female counterpart are completely nekkid. eww. harry potter with his pants off. gross. (i want to clarify that i was not searching for these porno potter books; i was looking up my favorite british heroine, georgia nicolson. louise rennison's books are so much cheaper for her fellow londonites--totally unfair, i say--but the shipping costs make up for it. i even had to break out the currency converter to convince myself it wasn't worth it. the books are still sitting in my amazon.co.uk shopping cart though. someday.)

continuing on with the risque subject matter...has anyone ever heard the term "flat-backed"? the "law and order" marathon of which i spoke earlier is chockfull of such useful lingo. flat-backed is just the latest. my favorite however will forever be "hcp." (hard-core prostitute for all you lay-people out there.) that dick wolf, man, is a genius. smartest man alive if you ask me. next to bret michaels. keeping the peta girl was brilliant on his part. well done, bret, well done.

lions and tigers and polar bears, oh my

don't you love sunday morning/afternoon television? especially during the off-season of football? i am pretty much limited to animal planet, tnt and espn. (i'm boycotting espn, however, until after cheater of the year bonds can put that *-marked hr over the fence finally. i hate him.) i just got done watching a special that billed this island in the arctic "polar bear alcatraz." clever. wrangel island, that's where it was shot, with a russian filmmaker who stayed with another russian polar bear expert whose name is nikita and whose daughter's name is nanuk. oh no wait, not his daughter; his dog. (i liked it better when i thought it was his daughter though.) anyway. quite interesting. i told mor what i was watching just to get his reaction; he used to have nightmares that the polar bears from the la zoo escaped and came to his house and ate his family. (to his credit, these nightmares didn't start of their own accord, but after a few teenagers decided to go for a dip in the polar bear pool at the la zoo. true story. or at least morgan has convinced me it is.)

ooh! how did i not know there is a "law and order" marathon on usa? thank goodness for retroacting tivo. phew.

we did work son

i feel like i didn't even know my husband yesterday. except for the brief amount of time we spent eating lunch (at shoots, yum), we pretty much did our own thing. i continued to struggle with the hallway walls, and mor "fixed" the honda (aka the hon). no, really he did actually fix it. runs like a dream now. driver's window still won't roll down and air conditioner blows warm air around, but purrs like a cat in heat. wait a sec... we reacquainted ourselves over treats from the sonic--orange cream slush for mor, cranberry slush for me--and reruns of "the real deal." ain't love grand?

i also got to looking at what we are supposed to be getting each other for our first anniversary, and who wants paper? is it money that's made of paper? or exactly what kind of paper are we talking about here? it (the trusty hallmark bag where i got this valuable and indisputable information) also mentions clocks as a first anniversary gift. clocks? wha? who came up with these traditional gifts? (he should be shot, and we all know it's a he because no self-respecting woman would ask for paper on her one-year mark.) and let me tell you i absolutely cannot wait until our second anniversary...cotton. sweet.

my bags are packed

we're finally going home. the both of us. yea! woohoo! i can't wait to go to ivanhoe's!!!

allow me to get down to the nitty gritty (now that i've expressed my severe enthusiasm about journeying back to indiana) and tell you about this last week...

i have completely abandoned my job as a wife and housekeeper. all to paint the little itty bitty teeny tiny back hallway. as i was putting the tape up the other night, i noticed a crack in the existing paint. being the supersleuth (aka moron) that i am, i investigated. and ending up peeling off more than 5 layers of old paint and wallpaper. what i thought was going to be a quick lipstick makeover has turned into days and nights of peeling and scraping and crying. (not really crying, unless we're talking about morgan hating me for not snuggling next to him on the couch whilst he looks up old cars on ebay and has "hard shine" on the tv.) anyway and needless to say, i have yet to begin painting. grr.

i think jcw's sounds good, but i don't have the willpower to drive all the way up there to gorge myself on greasy bacon cheeseburgers and lbs (yes lbs) of dr pepper. (i enjoy theirs much more than i do anywhere else.)