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.

Mawwaige! Mawwaige is what bwings us togethah today...

For the following post, I will turn my sister's wedding into a story all about me. Me, me, me. Welcome to my blog.

Last week my little sister Marianne, who is old enough to vote but not yet old enough to gamble, announced that she was going to marry her fiance Frank on Monday instead of in November. (I just call them by their celebrity couple name, MariFran.) Since I'm no good at photography, setting up chairs, or being a deejay MariFran asked me to make their wedding cake. Technically I've never made a wedding cake. However, I have baked cakes and then frosted them and I've been to a few weddings. That's about it as far as my baking credentials go.

Naturally, I agreed eagerly because I am a moron. I spent all day Sunday breaking the Sabbath and baking cakes (and reading Catching Fire). Monday morning I rambled on over to my dad's dance hall to frost some cakes. Let me tell you, frosting cakes takes five things: 1. A long time 2. Eight bags of powdered sugar 3. An entire thing of shortening 4. My mom's expertise 5. One bag of peanut butter M&M's and 6. One animal-style cheeseburger from In 'n Out.

I cannot emphasize the time factor enough. We did not have enough time. Here's my mom checking her watch. It was like 3:00 at this point. The wedding was at 4:00.

We frosted our butts off.

And then I skedaddled on home to comb the chunks of food out of my kids' hair and bring them back for the wedding, but not before I got stuck behind this guy on Snow Canyon Parkway, where the speed limit is 40 mph:

This is when I forced Marianne to pose with the cake monster before the ceremony: "DAB NABBIT, hold still or so help me I'll never let Carrie take you to the dollar store EVER AGAIN!":

This is my son. His official name is Darrell. His nickname is D.J. but his unofficial nickname is Chancho. It's complicated; that's why he's so depressed. One of my favorite things to do to drive D.J. nuts is play with his ears. Can you blame me? Look at how voluptuous and pink and fuzzy they are. I can't stay away from them. I love this little guy's ears. He'll probably need therapy one day.

"Mawwaige. Mawwaige is what bwings us togethah today...":From this angle it looks like MariFran got married in a quarry, but it was actually a beautiful setting, especially once I got there. Aren't Marianne and Frank cute?

Jedi Shampoo

The directions on my new shampoo, which smells of almond and shea butter:

"Massage shampoo into your locks and let the moisturizing ingredients infuse every strand. Rinse and allow the much-needed alone time leave you feeling just as replenished as your hair."

It really says that. I read it this morning while I was amidst the Moisturizing Ingredients Infusing the Strands phase. The directions on the back of the conditioner were identical, which is strange. I feel like someone's trying to pull one over on me. Like some sort of shampoo Jedi mind trick.

It seems like they are marketing this shampoo to a very specific set of people, doesn't it? Who in this world can only get a moment's peace in the shower (and sometimes not even then)? MOMS. That's right, ladies. I found our shampoo. And it was a complete accident, too. Talk about serendipity.

(What's next, I wonder? Directions on toilet paper? "Enjoy your much-needed alone time...")

"I (chest pound) have made fire!"

Remember in the movie Castaway when Tom Hanks makes fire and then dances around it, yelling?

"I (chest pound) have made fire!"

I had a Tom Hanks moment on Wednesday when I danced around this:

Please don't judge me for taking a picture of it. It was a monumental day for me. It is whole wheat bread that is both homemade and edible. At least, it was edible once we smeared half a cube of butter on it and drowned it in honey. Maybe an old dusty yearbook would also be edible if it was prepared this way. (Yes, Meegan, that is your blue loaf pan. Too bad you're in LOGAN. Sucka'!)

Yesterday I decided that I wanted to figure out how to make a yearbook, I mean, loaf of wheat bread that was not only edible but delicious. I consulted my Aunt Mary and she gave me a recipe for the following:

Creepy how much it looks like the other, crappier wheat bread, isn't it? Creepy. It looks like the other wheat bread but it tastes like it fell from heaven.

Which reminds me, I am glad that Heavenly Father has stopped the system of giving us our blessings in the form of mysterious chunks of bread. I prefer my blessings to be in the form of mysterious boxes of doughnuts.

Or yard sales full of brand-name, barely used clothing that is just the right size for my kids.

Or a car that keeps running even though the mechanic only gave it three months to live.

Or a husband who knows how to solder.

Or making it through my morning run without getting attacked by perverts and/or having a heart attack.

Or not living on an active tectonic plate boundary.

Or hearing "Pump Up the Jam" on the radio.

Or finding a parking spot next to the cart thing.

So many gifts from heaven...

Vegetable Suicide Intervention

First, a little business. I need to announce the lucky winner of the rest of my bag of M&Ms. And the winner is...

My Short Aunt Cathy!

Sorry, Readers, but the winner wasn't chosen randomly. You should know me better than that. I chose the winner based on the following four factors: 1. Does his/her husband repair my car when it breaks? 2. Do I feel bad for calling this person short? 3. Does this person send me neat pictures via e-mail? 4. Is this person awesome? If you haven't done any of those things, then you know why you haven't won. (I mean, you may be awesome, but has your husband fixed my car? EXACTLY.) And next time you'll think about it before you try to win, won't you?

I don't have anything to say today, other than that I need to clean out my refrigerator. In the last two months I haven't gone near my fridge other than to retrieve chocolate syrup and milk. It's pretty frightening in there; that's why I don't visit often.
This overwhelming need became apparent to me last night when I was attempting to make dinner and I retrieved THREE separate bottles of KC Masterpiece that each had roughly one and a half tablespoons of barbecue sauce in them. While I was rooting through the condiment shelves I also found a bottle of liquid smoke that I had forgotten about and a jar of cloudy green juice that used to have pickles in it. I know that on the bottom shelf, in the very back, there is a bowl of tuna salad that could probably be donated to science. I haven't seen it in a while but I know it's there, unless it left the fridge of its own accord. I wouldn't blame it. Anything that had to spend its days next to DJ's giant pot of Beef Brisket Stew Concoction would be begging for death. I fully expect to open the door one of these days to find a head of romaine dangling from a piece of spaghetti. Vegetable suicide.
Anyway, that's what I'll be working on today. Happy Spring Break.

Passive Aggressive Apologies and a GIVEAWAY!

I apologize in advance for the randomness of this post. I haven't even written it yet, but I feel that an apology will be in order. I have eaten a lot of plain M&Ms today.


I apologize, DJ, for studying late into the night and not saving any energy for...you know...


I apologize, Professor Green, for not studying for my midterm. I'm just going to rely on my good looks for this one. That, and my natural genius (hey, they've gotten me this far...). I have better things to do tonight.


I apologize, Relief Society of the Snow Canyon 6th ward, for allowing the lesson I was giving on temperance to turn into a debate over the evils of cell phones. (Anyone else see the irony there?) I will work on my classroom management skills. [Elderly ladies: Cell phones are practical. Spring chickens: Try not to let your cell phone ring during church; it freaks the old ladies right out.]


I apologize, Readers of my Blog, for using terrible grammar and for never posting. And for not being Christ-like. And for posting a picture of the World's Ugliest Dog. And for not doing giveaways.


I apologize, Children of Mine, for yelling, being impatient, and all around ill-tempered. It isn't because I don't love you; it's because I'm still learning how to be a mom.


I apologize, February, for celebrating your passing. I think you're the most misunderstood of all of the months. However, you contain no food-centered holidays, you are cold and dismal, and no one likes you. Sorry.


I apologize, Person Who Sent a Fake E-mail to My Husband, for calling you crazy. I can understand how you might feel that my husband's Alaskan fishing lodge is a scam operation set up for the sole purpose of swindling you out of your money. You must have been truly concerned to go through the trouble of creating a fake e-mail account, sending a fake e-mail (in which you called yourself a "wealthy investor"; so very Cosmo Kramer), forming a posse, and cornering my husband in the parking lot like you were on 60 Minutes or Get Gephart or something. I apologize for calling you crazy behind your back. I wish I could have said it to your face.


I apologize, Ancestors, for not turning my heart to you. My fun (even though she's short) aunt Cathy sent me an e-mail with pictures of my grandparents and it made me wish that I had known them. I was really young when they passed away. These pictures made me wish that I knew more about them. Don't they look like fun?

I wonder if they would have hated cell phones.

Random Giveaway Announcement!

If you are interested in winning the rest of my Family Size bag of plain M&Ms, leave an interesting factoid about my grandparents in a comment. While supplies last. Don't Tweet about it because I'm not on Twitter and I won't even know how to find out about it if you did. You can post something about it on Facebook and if I see it I'll think it's neat, but it won't necessarily increase your odds of winning. Just saying.

John Wilkes Booth

Thank you, Coral Cliffs Elementary for providing me with the following entertainment:

6:00 p.m.- I was making smoothies and 'dillas for dinner. Macey was watching. "Mom," Macey asked, "Did you know that Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves?"

"Yeah. That's pretty neat, huh?" I responded and went back to the blender, "Do you know what a slave is?"

Macey, after thinking for a second, "Umm....a bad person?"

Elise: "GAH!" I was then forced into a ten minute explanation of slavery in five-year-old terms. I'm pretty sure Macey considers herself a slave now. And she'll probably be afraid of kidnappers for the rest of her life. And plays (more on that later).

6:16 p.m.- As I was peeling a banana, Macey asked, "Mom, did you know that Abraham Lincoln was the sixteenth president of the United States?"

Me: "No, I didn't." Inwardly I was thinking about how Macey is already starting to know more than me.

6:24 p.m.- While sipping her smoothie Macey launched into the following speech: "Mom, did you know that Abraham Lincoln was born in the wilderness and lived in a log cabin and had to read by the light of a fire and his mom had to teach him because they didn't have a school?"

"Huh." I responded, trying futilely to ward off brain freeze.

6:28 p.m.- Macey says in her most grave voice, "Mom. Abraham Lincoln was shot and killed."

"Yeah. Do you know where he was when he was killed? At a PLAY. The guy who killed him was... ... ..." (This is where my mind went blank.) "It wasn 't Lee Harvey Oswald...umm...And I KNOW that Benjamin Gates' ancestors had nothing to do with it..."

Normally when I'm faced with a question of this nature I will simply text Jon and Meegan and see who responds first. I wanted to remember it on my own so I spent the remainder of the evening trying to remember who shot Abraham Lincoln. I couldn't focus on anything without Abe Lincoln's nameless assassin interrupting my thoughts.

9:31 p.m.- The kids were in bed, DJ was doing his homework on the computer and I was reading recreationally. (I know. It's been so long! Blasted homework.) The house was so quiet you could hear the cursing of the gnats that were hitting our porch light. "JOHN WILKES BOOTH!" I proclaimed victoriously.

John Wilkes Booth, everyone.

The end.

Let Us Pray

If your ward executive secretary calls you on Saturday night and asks if you will give the opening prayer in Sacrament meeting the following morning, be sure to ask him the following questions:

1. I'm usually ten minutes late--does that matter?
2. If not, are you cool with me giving the prayer from the foyer?
3. Is there going to be a Senator in attendance?

I would never have thought to ask question #3 until this morning. When I showed up at Sacrament meeting to give the opening prayer Senator Orrin Hatch was sitting on the stand. I came this close to pretending that I forgot something in my car and driving to Disneyland. (That rhymed.) The executive secretary would never find me there because I know a great place to hide in New Orleans Square. I pulled it together, though, and said the prayer. (That also rhymed.)
After a nervous, shaky-voiced prayer I sat down by DJ. As we sang the Sacrament hymn I had a revelation. (Yeah, I know. I should've been thinking about the Atonement. I was distracted by the fact that I should've ironed my clothes.) I remembered a video I saw of Senator Hatch this past week. You can watch it here. Needless to say, I wish I had remembered the video before I froke (that's "freak out", past tense). It brought me a lot of comfort.

(P.S. Brother Hatch's talk was very good. Here's a memorable quote: "Atheists look at God the way bank robbers look at policemen." It doesn't rhyme or anything but I thought it was pretty good. For a smart man he sure didn't rhyme very much.)

the Ugly, the Bad, and the Good

Bad ideas I had this week:

• Parallel parking my Tahoe in a Prius-sized parking space at school.


• Putting Big Boy Undies on DJ (little DJ) and then forgetting about them. And then going to Walmart. (Which is always a bad idea, in and of itself. Always.)
  
• Writing smart-alecky answers to the questions on my geology homework at midnight. (Why, oh why do I think I'm funny when I'm tired? Or ever?)


• Letting Olivia hold the bag of wheat we were taking to my aunt Mary's house to grind (because she has a really spiffy grinder and let us use it because she's awesome that way). I have wheat kernels all over my car.


• Eating Cafe Rio knock-off pork salads for, like, eight meals straight. Holy angioplasty, Batman.
  

Good ideas I had slash ripped off this week but mostly just ripped off:

• Six words: Cafe Rio pork knock-off recipe. Where have you been all my life?! I'm going to post it here...it's that good. And for those of you who are worried about the Coke--don't worry, the caffeine burns off when you cook it. (wink, wink)
• "Human progress never rolls in on wheels on inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co-workers with God..."--Martin Luther King, Jr. Good idea.


• Putting spinach and frozen broccoli in my kids' smoothies. I got this idea from my brilliant friend, Judi, who has been tricking her children into eating vegetables this way for years. Good parenting is all about trickery. And bribery. And starfall.com.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for...

Cafe Rio Pork Knock-off Recipe That I Found On the Internet

2 lbs. pork (the fatty, delicious shoulder kind that comes in a net because it's bad for you)

3 cans Coca-Cola (NOT diet. Seriously? You're already eating pork.)

1/4 c. brown sugar

dash garlic salt

1/4 c. water

1 can diced green chilies

3/4 can enchilada sauce (medium-hotness Old El Paso)

1 c. brown sugar

Marinate the pork in 1 and 1/2 cans of Coke and 1/4 c. brown sugar for a few hours or overnight.

Drain marinade and put pork, 1/2 can of Coke, water and garlic salt in a crock pot on high for 3-4 hours. Remove pork and drain and leftover liquid. Shred pork.

In a food processor or blender, blend 1/2 can Coke, chilies, enchilada sauce, and 1 c. brown sugar. Put shredded pork and sauce in crock pot on high for another two hours. Voila!

And, as promised, The Ugly:

Horn Tooting

Excuse me, I feel inclined to toot my own horn.

Political Science 1100, how I loathe thee! You are a despicable class. You require me to debate about political issues for which there is no solution. You test me on opinions and theories that I don't understand. Your textbook is coma-inducing. Also, your classroom is frigid, has unflattering fluorescent lighting, and smells vaguely of erasers and feet. But today, Political Science, you are my friend.

I have taken my first political science test. Not only did I pass the first test, but I got the second highest score in all of the instructor's classes. 98%! All together now: HALLELUJAH!

Horn tooting over.

As you were.