Uniforms You Can Believe In

I think I've finally interpreted that IHOP dream that I had. I think that I'm subconsciously feeling guilt over spending too much time blogging, eating pancakes, and shopping. I subconsciously feel like I'm neglecting my children. It's funny because, if I'm neglecting my children for anything it's homework.

It's also funny because I Hate shopping. With a capital H. Italicized. There is nothing in this world that I dread more than having to sift through rack after rack of clothing to find something that is A) flattering B) inexpensive C) makes me feel like Goldie Hawn. It's such drudgery, and usually a fruitless effort for me. I very rarely find anything that makes me feel like Goldie Hawn. This is why I only have three outfits in my rotation.

I think it's high time we adopted the uniform system like on Star Trek. You know how on Star Trek each planet had a unique jumpsuit that set them apart from people from other planets? You could tell who the bad guys were right away because their outfits were really dark and organic looking. The good guys were always spiffy and crisp. We need an Earth uniform.

I shouldn't be in charge of our uniform because no one is as passionate about flip flops as I am. This is where you come in. If we were to create an Earth uniform, what should it include? I think I'm going to make one of those voting things and you can vote on it. Even you readers who never leave a comment should vote. We really need to pull together on this one, guys. Uniforms you can believe in!

[Oh yeah! Speaking of inefficent, disgruntled government employees-- you know how I hate checking my mail? (I never ever...ever check my mail.) On Friday my mail man exited his mail truck, walked all of the way to my house from the cluster box down the block, pounded on my door, and gave me a lecture about how I should check my mail more often. The nerve of that guy! I mean, he walked all of the way over and didn't bring my mail!]

Blogging at IHOP

You won't believe what happened last night. I ran into a friend of mine who I only know through blogging at IHOP. Not blogging at IHOP. I know her through blogging and then ran into her at IHOP. It was weird because I've never actually met her before and there she was at IHOP. We ate stuffed French toast together. After the French toast we went shopping at Target, which is something that I haven't done since before the Dreaded Recession. As we browsed through the baby clothes I suddenly remembered that I have four children and that I had no idea where they were.

I thought, "Did I leave them at home?!" I panicked thinking of my four children left alone for hours. What about Tess? What if she ate something out of the carpet and choked? What if DJ cut his feet with the pruning shears? What if Macey and Olivia left to find help and were wandering the streets? My heart raced. I couldn't get to my car fast enough.
That's when the cell phone that I use as an alarm clock rang and I woke up. I didn't just stuff my face with French toast? I haven't been at Target? I haven't lost my kids?

Guys, I am exhausted.

I do not feel like myself.

This afternoon I slaved over two loaves of whole wheat bread, put them in the oven, and then left for Relief Society. Anyone notice a key element of the baking process that I left out? Maybe removing the bread from the oven? I urned-BAY the ead-BRAY. ightly-SLAY. Stink-o-rama.

Like I said, I am not myself today. I have never typed anything in Pig Latin. Burning things, yes. Pig Latin, not usually.

Also, I was taking notes in political science today and I couldn't spell. I repeat, I could not spell. I kept mixing up letters or leaving letters out entirely. (If anyone out there knows what the word "Niskanen" means, please call or email me before May 6th.)

Do you guys ever feel off? Like some inefficient, disgruntled government employee has taken over your brain? I am having one of those days. One of those months.

I hope tomorrow is better.

Wisdom

Not wise: Piling onto a bus with forty other geology students and driving into the belly of the Hurricane Fault just to get a whiff of the sulfur. I don't know about you guys, but given the recent headlines coming at us from Chile, Haiti, China, etc., I don't know if hanging out on fault lines is a wise course of action. (I didn't take pictures because I didn't want to give other students the impression that I was enjoying myself. You're just going to have to be satisfied with this gem from the World Wide Web, which looks nothing like the portion of the fault that we beheld.) Behold, the Hurricane Fault:

Sometimes children need to be punished and the usual beatings just don't cut it. Wisdom: Strap them into harnesses, attach them to bungee cords, and let 'er rip.

And if they still give you attitude, let Tess handle them.

Now, for your reading enjoyment, I present:

Wisdom Overheard at the Ironwood Swimming Pool

Macey: "Olivia! Don't hit the water with your eyes open or you'll go blind!"

...brought to you by this classic of American cinema:

Other notable Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken Wisdom:

Run away and join a travelling horse diving act. Your boss's son will be a hottie.

If you wrap your feet around the legs of your chair in an act of defiance, you can get pretty much whatever you want.

If a horse has colic you have to get wuter and oil into him.

It's okay if a guy says that word water "wuter," so long as he is handsome.

This is for all you lovers out there...

I would like to dedicate the following to my husband. I love Asians. I love DJ. The only thing that would make this better is if it involved cold cereal.

The following is for those of you who are neither Asian nor DJ, because I don't want to leave anyone out. And, it involves cold cereal.

Watch for the random Cocoa Puffs around 2:10. There is something mesmerizing about this girl. If you're mesmerized, too, and want to hear more, look for them on YouTube. They are called Pomplamoose. They have a really fun version of Mrs. Robinson by Simon and Garfunkel. They also have face-melting xylophone solos. Enjoy.

I'll Take "Things That Are Orange" for 500, Alex.

Today I'm going to talk about this fellow: His name is Darrell. In this photograph he is doing my favorite thing in the world, short of licking melted chocolate off of my fingers, whacking tubes of biscuits open, and singing "Danny's Song"* at the top of my lungs. He is filling Easter eggs with candy, people. Look at the happiness on that face. What a man.

(For those who are interested, I'm declaring this Sunday Easter Make Up Day because I spent the entire Easter...missing Easter entirely. I won't go into details, but I will tell you that it involved a freak strain** of the flu and I've lost like eight pounds, which I'm sure to pile right back on in observance of Easter Make Up Day. And I never want to see, smell, hear about, or think of spinach dip and crackers ever again for as long as I live, or in the hereafter.)

Here's another random Darrell story, for those of you who still wonder if I'm the crazy one or if he is:

The other day, DJ and I switched cars. It's a long story. Anyway, about ten minutes after he left for work he called me from his cell phone. Here is the transcript:

Elise, answering the phone after two or three (bzzzzzz!)s on the counter: "Hey, hon! What's uh..."
DJ: "Elise! Have you gotten in my car yet?!"
Elise: "No. What? What's wrong with your car? Should I not be driving it?!" (I was wondering if the brakes were finally on their way out and I had just narrowly escaped careening through the In 'n Out drive through window. Imagine the flying paper hats and beef patties! And people!)
DJ: "If you see something gross in there...it's an orange. Don't throw it away!"
Elise: (incredulous silence)
DJ: "I forgot about it one day and it shrivelled up in the sun and I'm going to try to turn it into a maraca."
Elise: (looooong pause) "Seriously?"
DJ: "Yeah."
Elise: "That's the only reason you called me? You were worried that I was going to throw away your rotten orange that you want to turn into a maraca?"
DJ: "Yeah. And I love you."
Elise: "Okay. Love you, too."

No further witnesses, your honor.

We interrupt this blog post for the following Important Bulletin:

MISSING:

The Other Half of This Pair of Orange Crocs:

Any information leading to the whereabouts of said Croc will be rewarded handsomely.*** (What will become of Chancho's supersuit without his orange Crocs?!)


*"...and even though we ain't got money, I'm sooo in looove with you honey! Everything will bring a chain of loo-oooo-ove! And in the mornin' when I rise, brings tears of joy to my eyes..."
**As opposed to the non-freak strains of flu floating around out there.
***Reward: One half-eaten vat of spinach dip, which may or may not be contaminated with a freak strain of flu.