Good Grief.

This morning my friend Kate tagged this photo of me on Facebook:

This is me in full high school field hockey goalie regalia. As you can see...

Other girls on team: Short skirts. Cute hair ribbons. Little sweaty, but in a good way.

Me: Helmet. Giant styrofoam booties. Chest pad. THIGH pads. Had to spray equipment with lysol everyday to keep from smelling like feet.

It was so attractive. Once my mom confessed that half the time she didn't even know if it was me or the other goalie in the game because I was covered from head to toe in styrofoam. And may I say, I don't think I ever looked that large even when I was pregnant!


Free Stuff!

Here is a list of things you could have for free off craigslist today if you lived in my lovely town:

1. "Clean" horse manure (what makes it clean? what would make it dirty?)
2. A retro pink sofa
3. Monkey grass
4. An antique lawn mower
5. A gently used chandelier
6. 14 empty egg cartons
7. A box of 100 slightly stale peppermint patties (Andrea- wish you were here:) do you think they would still make a snapping sound?).
8. A box of brass doorknobs
9. Dirt

This makes me wonder what kinds of bizarre things I could post on craigslist for free. Two free caterpillars? Box of gently chewed legos? Perhaps some clean baby poop?


Oh Captian, my Captain!

Embarrassing confession: In college I would sometimes be so inspired during a class that I would cry. It's true. I took an English class on Milton from a famous southern author and on the first day he asked us to give some examples of poetry. At first everyone was quiet, but gradually people began spontaneously reciting nursery rhymes, song lyrics, Canterbury Tales, basically any form of poetry they could think of. A girl from my freshman dorm busted out some Ani DiFranco:

I am watching your chest rise and fall
like the tides of my life,
and the rest of it all
and your bones have been my bedframe
and your flesh has been my pillow
I am waiting for sleep
to offer up the deep
with both hands

Sniff. It was so perfect! Just like something out of Dead Poet's Society!

Another time, in an Art History class, the professor told us that the sculptor Claes Oldenburg once said that art is "the click of the stick of a blind man's cane on the pavement". That phrase must run through my head several times a week- I just love it. (And we're not going to talk about how I just googled it and it turns out the quote is not exactly what I thought it was.) So, in the spirit of everyday life being art, I made up a new tag- you describe the present day with at least one sentence using each of your five senses and you end up with a cool poem. Here's mine that I wrote today:

Today sounded like the clinking of a grocery cart rattling across the parking lot.
Smelled like sweaty running clothes worn until two in the afternoon.
Tasted like shredded wheat with blackberries and sugar on top.
Sounded like baby squeaks and the dog slurping water from his bowl and legos snapping together.
And felt like the crunch of a cheerio beneath my bare foot on the kitchen floor.

You're all tagged- and you don't have to stick to my format or limit yourself to one sentence per sense. I can't wait to read the posts!

Humiliation at the Kroger

Once, when they first came out, I tried the self check-out lane at the grocery store. It took twice as long as waiting in line so I, like most sane people, never used it again. Then the anti-human grocery store moguls decided to try to force us all into using them, by only opening ONE normal checkout line at busy times, like the Friday afternoon pre-dinner rush. So today I thought to myself, you know what? I'm going to give the self-checkout lane one more shot. Bad idea. Marley started crying, and since I was furiously scanning produce and the like, I was unable to comfort her. The woman behind me in line asks, "Awwww....is she spowulled?" (Translation, for those who don't speak southern: "Is she spoiled?")

Me (in my head): Did you seriously just ask me if my six-month-old baby is spoiled?
Me (out loud): Pardon me?
Rude southern lady: Is she spowulled?
Me (in my head): No, I think your face is scaring her.
Me (out loud): Um...no...she's tired.

At which point I was told by the self check-out machine to place my tomato on the scanner and wait, which I did. I was then told to place my tomato into a bag, which I did. Then it told me to take the tomato out and put it back on the scanner, which I did. Then the teenage boy whose job it was to stand by and watch while people made fools of themselves trying to pay for their groceries said to me, "Ma'am, put your tomato back in the bag."

Me: But it just told me to take it out.
Teenage boy: It's okay ma'am. Put the tomato in the bag.

That is the absolute last time that my spoiled baby and I EVER go through the self check-out lane.

And here we are in Utah last week with Eric's family, minus his sister. She was working and will be photo-shopped in at a later date (which is why Eric's mom has her arm stuck out at an odd angle). And yes, little Eric is totally itching his crotch.