Ugh...

Okay. Holy crap, everyone. My ten year high school reunion was this last weekend. You may be thinking, "Elise, how can it possibly be your ten year reunion? You don't look a day over 21!" Well..heh hehh...thanks, but it's true. For the record, I didn't attend the reunion dinner-- not because I was afraid but because DJ was boiling his elk head. But that's a story for another post. When I think of high school I think of three awkward years of bad clothes, bad hair, and times that I really am not dying to remember. You may be thinking to yourself, "Hmm...not a lot changes..." Trust me-- it used to be a lot worse. I think I have an above-average number of embarrassing memories. My mind chooses the most inopportune times to remind me of these moments. Like I'll be sitting in the doctor's office, already feeling insecure, and then I'll remember the time when we were at a taping of the Price is Right and they called my name so I "went on down!"... but it wasn't really my name they had called. To be fair to myself-- they called MY name, just not my last name. And the girl sitting next to me, who was a stranger, and who I will curse until the day I die, was telling me, "It's you! Go! Go!" Thankfully I didn't actually make it on stage. (I have to say, though, it would have been cool to meet Bob Barker, just not under those circumstances.)


I have so many memories like that. My family and few remaining friends love to remind me about them, because for some reason they find my tragedy hilarious. I recently participated in one of those e-mail forwards where your friends do a survey and tell you about yourself. Ugh. One of the questions on the survey was, "What is the funniest memory you have with me?" or something like that. EVERY reply came back with a story about how I humiliated myself in one way or another. Like, "Hey, remember the time at Lake Powell when you ran into the glass door on the houseboat because you thought it was open?" (I was, like, eleven! Come on!) or "Hey, remember that time we were tracting and you slipped on the ice and your skirt came up over your head?" Yes, thank you, "friends"-- I remember all too well. I can't remember my own address most of the time, but my mind can recall these moments with stunning clarity.


So thank goodness DJ had an elk head to boil, right? I cannot even imagine the horrifying memories that would be drudged up by spending two hours in the company of people who knew me at the peak of my awkwardness. So, let's all hear it for DJ's barbaric elk head boiling ritual! Wherever that elk is--scampering around in the meadows of Elk Heaven, or whatever--I hope he knows that I appreciate his sacrifice.

Viper Venom Shmiper Shmenom

I only have two items to discuss today. One is an amusing anecdote. The other is a complaint about grout. Let's start with the anecdote, shall we? So my middle child Olivia has been doing this thing lately where she asks us the gender of everything in sight. For example: "Mom, is Elmo a boy or a geeoh?" and "Mom, is grandpa a boy or a geeoh?". She then added to the options: "Mom, is Barbie a boy or a geeoh or a kid?" I think that she thinks that when you're under the age of 12 gender doesn't apply. Fine by me. The biggest surprise came a few weeks ago. She's going through this Wall-E phase and she asked me, "Mom, is Wall-E a boy, or a geeoh, or a kid, or binoculars?" I love kids.

Item number two: why is grout so FRIGGIN' HARD TO CLEAN?? I promise to keep this brief. The former occupants of our new house were apparently people who cooked a lot of greasy food and then ate it directly off of the grout. This made moving in really gross for me, but thanks to Clorox and my trusty yellow cleaning gloves we can walk on our floor without feeling the need to be vaccinated. Anyhoo, this afternoon I pulled out this dusty bottle of grout cleaner that a friend gave to me. It's called Viper Venom. Sounds like a scum and filth KILLER, right? Like, you sprinkle that stuff on the floor and you expect to hear a hissing, bubbling sound and envision a microscopic Lord of the Rings-style battle going on in the grout. I think whoever named that stuff must have been reading a lot of science fiction novels or inhaling a lot of fumes. I was a little underwhelmed by it's performance. I spent longer than I care to admit scrubbing my grout this afternoon. That's time I could've spent eating cookies. Reading books. Learning French. After working up a sweat and probably burning 300 calories, I came to this conclusion: Do I really want to look back on my life and remember a lot of cleaning? Do I want my children to remember me as someone who was bent over the tile, cursing under her breath like a truck driver? NO! I'm getting off of this computer, I'm loading my kids in the car and we are going to do something REALLY memorable! Like go to Target and eat a soft pretzel!

We moved!

So, after living on the prairie for a whopping four months we decided it was time to get back to civilization. Actually, the people whose house we were leasing decided it for us. Actually, to be even more accurate, the bank of the people whose house we were leasing decided that it was time for us to move. I'll spare you the gory "Hi, I'm your landlord. Nice to meet you. In six months the house you are living in will be owned by the bank" details. I miss the prairie and the wonderful friends that we made there but my-oh-my it's nice to get back to the big city. Let me tell you, folks, being a three minute drive from a Hot 'n Ready pizza drive through does have its perks. I will never cook dinner again. I'm kidding. I'll cook at least once a week. Like on Sundays. I can't very well pull through the Hot 'n Ready line on a Sunday. Can you imagine explaining that at the Pearly Gates?



Speaking of perks (I was--it's up there somewhere), our new subdivision has a swimming pool AND a hot tub! Do your research the next time you move, people. It pays off. (It may also prevent you from renting a foreclosing house.) We took my sister Carrie, her husband Manny, and her Chilean in-laws for a dip tonight. (I think you officially have to call it "going for a dip" if it's after 8 PM.) It was nice and peaceful for a while and then a gaggle of teenagers showed up and it got a little High School Musical and we got the heck out of there. We are interested in going swimming again, though, for those out there who are interested. Open invitation! The cheap pizzas abound and the entertainment is adequate. Give us a call!