Check out my thoughts on The Ex on my Movie Reviews page ——–>

Okay, so I had successfully blocked this song from my memory until I came across it on a blog belonging to one of Jon’s friends. *sigh* Here’s the story: I am a gaming widow. Jon has been much better as of late, but he used to be really bad. So last year, for my 30th, Jon put together a surprise party for me. Very sweet. He also put together a DVD with every picture he could find of me during my awkward stage. Btw- my awkward stage lasted approximately 8 years. There were a lot of pictures. Anyway, also on this DVD was a video for a song that he dedicated to me. You’re thinking that’s also sweet, right? Wait until you hear the song. He played this DVD for everyone at my party. My friends thought it was freakin hilarious. Me… not so much. So now I dedicate this song to every gaming widow out there. I feel your pain.

Fine. Click here to laugh your butt off.

ps- Cassie, if you’re still out there, the DVD contained that picture of you and I that I told you about in my email. Let me know if you want a copy for your records. =)

My 5 year old, Zoe, already has some very established musical tastes. One of her current faves is the boy band Jonas Brothers. Here’s one of their songs, which I dig as well; I think it’s all of the Star Wars and Back to the Future references. Plus these guys play their own instruments. Perhaps in the future my hair will be more round. Enjoy.

There are a few news stories that are on my mind this morning. Thought I’d post them quick:

One is the story of Derek Fisher, the Jazz player who showed up in the third quarter of the Jazz-Warriors game last night. He had just gotten in off of a flight from NY, where his 10 month old daughter had spent the afternoon in surgery and chemotherapy. He managed a three pointer during OT. Amazing. Check it out.

*As a side note: Watching my husband watch the game last night was awesome. He jumped around, alternating between squealing like a high school cheerleader, and fake-swearing while punching the bed. It was awesome. He’s so cute.

The second story is actually a few days old, but I’ve been fuming for days so maybe if I just get it out there I’ll feel better. The ignorant Reverend Al Sharpton. Holy crap. Apparently, I do not believe in God. I know, it came as a shock to me, too. To think that all of my 31 years I thought that I believed in God… It was just the dumbest thing to say because there is just zero truth to it. Clearly, the man knows nothing of my (or Mitt’s) faith, but that won’t stop him from yapping his gums. Look, Reverend, you don’t have to believe what I believe, but if you’re going to put in a cheap shot about what I believe, at least know my beliefs in theory. *sigh* There, it’s all out. I feel a tad less toxic.

A little background: I’m in the Primary Presidency at church, meaning that I’m over the children and their Sunday school classes. Another part of that job is overseeing Cub Scouts. I really don’t know where to even start with this, because when I say “don’t know much about scouts”, I’m being absolutely serious. I’m not sure that I know enough about scouts to write a blog post about it. So instead, the focus of my blog post will be on my ineptitude in a scout leadership role.

First, let’s address my lack of knowledge as to which of the 46 monthly meetings I am actually supposed to attend. Den meetings, Pack meetings, Pack planning meetings, Roundtable meetings, Scout leadership meetings, new scout orientation meetings… I’m sure that if I actually attended these meetings with the frequency that I should, I would (eventually) start to acquire some scout knowledge. I’m just having a hard time getting psyched about investing the time, which is both selfish and irresponsible. But I like to honest here on my blog. If I can’t be honest here, well, you know.

At the end of the month, Jachin turns 8. At that time he will enter cubs and I will be thrust into scouts from a different angle, the parental angle. I’m hoping that wanting to see Jachin be a successful scout (Jon’s an Eagle Scout and he turned out pretty great) will be the motivation I need to really just throw myself in there with complete abandon… and let them chew me up and spit me out.

As Princess Leia might have said when her little Jedi started into cub scouts: “Help me, Jachin Alexander, you’re my only hope”.

Anyone out there have any scouting advice?

Jon and his dad spent several weekends building some really nice storage shelves in the cold storage room a few months back. I mean, nice ones. Adjustable and everything. The only “food storage” we had was a few boxes of macaroni and cheese, a couple boxes of Goldfish crackers, and 4 packages of Chips Ahoy cookies that I got on sale at Albertson’s. Not exactly a year’s supply of anything. So Jon set up a dry-pack cannery assignment for me at church a couple weeks ago. The cannery is where a lot of the humanitarian and welfare aid for our church is done. Volunteers go in and do the actual packaging of the food into #10 cans, and in return the volunteers have the opportunity to purchase X amount of cans of whatever. So this was our chance to get some actual food storage.  

So I went in this morning, having absolutely no idea what I was doing. I just knew that I was there to help with whatever they wanted and I knew that I wanted to leave with some cans of food. I had “n00b” written all over me. I actually couldn’t even find the physical entrance to the building for several minutes. (Yes, it was painful to admit that in writing.) But I got in there, and they were very nice and I filled out my sheet with what I wanted to purchase, and then I followed a guy around with a cart filling up boxes with my food cans. It was pretty painless. So $130 later, my trunk was filled (by me) with real food storage. I felt like a grown-up.

Then came the actual volunteering part. This made me very nervous. Surely they have people in there everyday with the best of intentions to help, but who aren’t all that bright. How bad could I screw up putting Hot Cocoa powder into cans? So there are all of these ladies there who, clearly, have done this a few times. They pick what I later learn are the easy spots on the assembly line. I am left to lift 40 lb bags of hot cocoa mix. I have to balance the bag on my hip, pour it carefully—without spilling any—into cans, trying to approximate how much is 4.8 lbs of cocoa mix. There is another lady who is “shaking” the cans, to get the powder to settle, another lady who puts the can on a scale to make sure it’s actually 4.8 lbs., another lady puts one of those gel packs in it to keep in the freshness, and yet another lady seals a lid on. (Yeah… who had the crappiest job?) I pretty much did this for 2 hours. We did switch to powdered milk later, at which time I stole the “shaking” position on the assembly line.

So I got through the two hours, made a few jokes (that I’m pretty sure no one got but me), hopefully did some good, and came home with a trunk full of real food storage. Yeah! And I could tell that by the time I left, there were some ladies in there looking at me with a little bit of respect. I kept up with the hectic dry-pack environment, and I earned some definite cannery-cred. I’m no longer afraid of the cannery.

Once in a great while, something comes together so perfectly that you just couldn’t have planned it any better. Actually, I hadn’t planned it at all, though my husband refuses to believe that. Let me explain:

My husband has had an iPod video for some time now. I’m not sure for how long, but for the story’s sake, let’s say, like, a year. Then several months ago my smarty-pants husband did some trade work for some guys who gave him another iPod video. This second iPod (which, for the remainder of this post, I will call iPod B) has been sitting, still shrink wrapped, on the top of our bedroom TV for months. I was told not to open it. I wasn’t allowed to have it. Jon was going to eBay it. And it sat, and it sat, and week after week I would lift iPod B to dust the top of the TV, and then I would actually dust off iPod B itself. I gave my husband idol threats like “If I dust that thing one more time, I’m opening it!” Well, he knew these threats to be false, so he made no move to sell it and poor little iPod B sat there and continued to collect dust.

Fast forward to two weeks ago. I asked Jon if I could borrow his other iPod (the one already opened and in use—iPod A, if you will) to go to the rec center to work out because suddenly I’m on a get-in-shape kick because all of my friends are getting pregnant and if I can’t have another baby, I’m at least going to look really good. (Okay, that meaty subject is for a totally different post…and my therapist.) So I take iPod A to the rec center without incident. I take it several times to the rec center without incident. And iPod A is awesome to borrow except that I don’t care for all of the playlist choices my husband put in there, so I go miles and miles on the stationary bike thinking about what I would put onto iPod B if Jon would just let me have it. (Although Jon does have Def Leppard’s Hysteria on there—which, in my opinion, is an AWESOME workout album. You can really just crank out the miles on the bike to Run Riot.)

Then, sometime last Monday, we realize that iPod A is missing. This is where it gets really tricky, so read slowly if you have to. I think that maybe I had it last, but I always put it back in the same spot on the kitchen counter. But it clearly isn’t on the counter… hmm. Jon thinks that maybe he left it in his car, but it’s not there, either. So we search high and low. The cars, closets, jackets, everywhere. Then Jon becomes convinced that I had it last. But I’m feeling pretty defensive and am not ready to be convinced that I’m to blame. So a week goes by and there’s no sign of iPod A. I am really looking hard for it, because I really want to find it in a location that would put blame and responsibility on my husband. (Yeah, I know, really mature.) The following Monday morning, after a full week of steady looking, my husband walks to the bedroom TV and picks up iPod B, blows off the dust, and says, “Well, I guess it’s time to load up this one.” Had I not been in bed with a fairly nasty case of the flu, I would have hit him in the jaw. Because, mind you, I was not convinced that I was at all to blame, and now Jon has two iPods and I still have none.

Then yesterday, I’m doing laundry and hanging on the back of the laundry room door is a tote bag that I happened to take to the gym one day. Sure enough, in this bag is iPod A. I pull it out, set it out on the counter in plain view for Jon to see as soon as he returns from his first run with iPod B. I am kind of ticked because I found it in a spot that clearly implicates me as the guilty party. But then again, now both iPods are open and surely Jon can’t use two of them. So this is where I’m thinking that this scenario couldn’t have turned out any better if I had planned it.

Well, Jon thinks I did plan it. Apparently he thinks that I am some criminal mastermind.

No kidding. Every time he looked at me last night he said, “well played”. He thinks I hid iPod A, waiting for him to crack and open iPod B, so that I could claim one. Which is actually pretty smart.

Too bad I didn’t think of it.

My book list page is up! Link at the right. ———->

Check back periodically as it will change. I read a good bit.  Feel free to chat me about any of these titles, or let me know if there’s something great that you’ve read lately.

Yesterday morning, Jachin and Zoe got up extra early (which was tough, because it was a Sunday) and decided to make me breakfast in bed. They’ve had clear ground rules laid down in regards to the kitchen. The only thing electrical they’re allowed to use without parental assistance is the toaster. No stove, no blender, no griddle, and certainly they’re to use nothing sharper than a butter knife. With these ground rules in mind, they set out to make me a sumptuous early morning treat. So I hear a bunch of clanking and drawers slamming and little-kid-whispering. Then Zoe runs down the hall and sticks her head into our bedroom and says, “Mom, we are making you a surprise. DO NOT come out into the kitchen.” Okay, fair enough. But then fast-forward another 30 minutes or so. I’m getting ready for church, the kids have to get ready for church, I’ve just remembered that it’s Fast Sunday, and that queasy feeling from last night is coming back to me. I tell the kids that I can’t eat their fabulous breakfast because 1) it’s fast Sunday (which I probably would have let slide because of all of their hard work) and 2) I’m feeling incredibly sick to my stomach. We’re hustling out the door to church when the kids start whining, “We never had any breakfast!” Crap. But we had to look no further than the counter to see a lovely plated dish of buttered toast with cut fruit on top; strawberries, bananas, and apples. (All of these roughly cut because they had to use a butter knife.) The kids each grabbed a piece and we headed out.

Later, Jachin told me that I should at least blog about this so everyone will know what he and Zoe tried so very hard to do. So thank you, my little chefs. Mom loves you.

So I was glued to the TV Friday night as Fox 13 aired (live) the “Smackdown” between S.L.C. Mayor Rocky Anderson and Sean “The Great American” Hannity. I consider myself to be fairly conservative; I find I’m getting more and more conservative in my old age.

I like Sean Hannity, though I don’t consider myself to be completely “Hannitized”. In the afternoons, while shuttling my kids between practices and activities, I switch back and forth between Sean’s radio show and Radio Disney. Both have their merits.

Rocky Anderson. What can I say about Rocky Anderson… Rocky is out for Rocky. During the entire debate, Rocky had this air about him like “Dude, I can’t believe I’m on TV with Sean Hannity. Do you know how many people can SEE me right now?” He’s a press monger. Whether or not he had any valid points on the war was—for me—completely overshadowed by his “wee-hee, look at me” attitude. Come on, he’s the mayor of Salt Lake! He’s not a rock star, though I believe HE thinks he’s a rock star. Rocky, be a mayor, already. That’s what you’re getting paid for.

And Sean, keep being a great American. Oh, and next time you’re doing a debate with some city mayor somewhere, turn off your cell phone. It’s just good debate etiquette.

Score: Hannity, one. Rocky, nothing.