you eat pieces of crap for breakfast?

Biden? Seriously? Biden? This election is now McCain's to lose. I think McCain could pick Lieberman and still win...what were you thinking Obama? Still, I like the odds.
McCrap can use all the help he can get...we'll see if he picks Romney. In my fantasy world, he would pick Fred Thompson. I liked fred.

What seems to be the problem, Micheal?

Aaron and I were watching the Olympics when a crappy promo for America's Got Talent came on and painfully finished with a shot of David Hasslehof sporting a Germany-loves-me-so-should-you face. And I huffed, "Hasslehof."

To which Aaron replied enthusiastically, "I know, it almost makes the show legit."

I (sincerely) love that I'm spending eternity with this man.

you can read minds?

In college, I had four bulimic and/or anorexic roommates at various times (two at one time though--that was brutal). This lifestyle was never a temptation to me, especially when I had to clean the bathrooms after one of their purge/laxative episodes. Because of my experience with these girls, I have a pretty good understanding of eating disorders and the brutal effects it has on everyone. I always thought bulimia was the easy one--the nastier of the two--but you could eat all you want. Although, watching them binge was almost as gross as hearing them throw up.

Anyway, I know that the disorders are about control, and now that I lack a bit of control of my own life, I see now how anorexia is actually easier. It is easy to not eat. And you are quickly rewarded as the weight drips off. (To anyone reading this: do not worry, I am not even considering having an eating disorder...I'm smarter than that. I was stressing about something, so I just didn't eat for two days, but now I'm fine.) Anyway, it was a surprising realization and something I have been thinking about...it makes me concerned about others that I see slipping toward this.

Another interesting insight into this disorder: Everyone I know that has had or currently has an eating disorder: they all have boob jobs. Every single one. And the longer they have had their new boobs, the less happy they are with them or with their bodies.

Despite how frumpy I might be or feel, I am glad that the way I look doesn't completely affect who I am...that I find worth in other attributes of my personality and life. So much so, that I was actually delighting in the motherly sag of my ladies--it was empowering in a weird sorta way.

Melrose Place is a really good show

so I've been working out at the clubhouse every night and each night this girl beats me there. So instead of watching the Olympics while I run, I am subjected to the crap shows that this girl watches, i.e., Keeping up with the Kardashins and Gossip Girl. These shows are so bad and nasty, they make 90210 and Melrose Place look like My Turn on Earth.

Not so much here, but right here

Do you ever get knocked on your butt and realize: for not doing anything wrong, you haven't been doing enough right? I feel that today. I could be much much better than I am. And I know what I need to do. I just think it is frustrating that I can easily ignore and be complacent about these things until I'm kicked in the butt. Lately, I definitely have been thinking that I'm better (spiritually) than I actually am. I haven't reached dirtbag status...I just could be doing a little bit...a lot a bit better. Here's to moving forward and hoping.

yeah, you want to ride that feeling

I am Hercules today. I loaded myself, 4 kids and a mattress into the car all on my own. And then, I loaded the mattress (sure, it was a twin, but it had a bit of a pillow-top) into the house and up the stairs all on my own. I don't need a boy; just my two guns: shirley and pepper--them be some tough-ass arm muscles. (grammatical retardedness intended.)

damn, we're in a tight spot

and like that, it's over.

fuuuuuuudge

riggan smiggin frackn licken brrrrrrrrrgggggggh. rackan lacken batter knat. arrrrr. sniggen.

How can two people be so opposite but so in love? rrrrrr.

look at her, she's just soo old

So I've been having difficulty judging how old I look. I feel continually 24. Do I look this number? No. But do I actually look 33? That's another question all together. I went to this RS activity the other night, at the party they went around the room and had everyone say a little somethin-somethin about themselves. A couple of the ladies, I would have sworn were pushing 40...and then they said, "oh and I'm 30." And I think to myself: if you're 30, then oh crap, I might look like the crypt keeper. And then there are girls in my ward that I think are my same age, but watch they'll turn out to be 26-28.

Age is such a perplexing concept. It frustrates me that time determines it and that we must continue to age despite how we feel. I think you should be the age you feel. I'll have to talk to Heavenly Father, when I meet him, and discuss the flaws in our aging system.

Aaron turns 35 in February...we discussed that he would soon be closer to 40 than 29. This freaked him out. It made me grateful that I was only turning 34, but let's face it, I'm only 1 year away from the same fate.

And now you know, and knowing is half the battle

Remember when Doogie Houser MD was a good show? Those were simpler times. Come to think of it, Doogie kept a blog.

do you like pina coladas?

Minimalism really appeals to me: little to clean up, little to pack, less possessions. Moby is a minimalist; I know this because I saw his NY apartment on MTV's Cribs (this is a sad confession). It seemed so calm and uncluttered. I guess I desire this because my personality is the exact opposite: high strung and cluttered.

When I worked with computer nerds, one of the engineers had a screensaver of a tiny island in the Pacific. I asked him once why that was his screensaver and he told me it was his escape. Minimalist design is my escape. Because I desire it, I'm constantly chucking stuff that I don't use or can't think of a reason for keeping it. This drives Aaron insane because he would pack his poopy diapers from when he was a baby (if he could).

But despite my desires, I am sad to report that I am not a minimalist...I am a maxamist. (I just made that up, don't judge it.) Moving has painfully pointed me to this realization. With every ridiculous box I open, my maxamist behavior spits into my face. Despite my hatred of crap, I have a lot of crap. (Although, I just unpacked some gems from college, that I plan to post on the loversons soon.) I try to tell myself that minimalism just isn't possible with kids...but what I'm afraid to admit is that it isn't possible with me either.

Maybe I'll find a picture of a minimalist room and make it my screensaver.

milk was a bad choice

Last night I was snacking in the dark on some mediocre snap peas while watching a movie. One of the snap peas had a white spot on it, so I chucked it to the side. But I didn't discriminate against any others. After the movie I took my plate and the lone pea to the kitchen...where there was light. In the light, I realized that white spot on the pea pod was not just old and busted, but mold encrusted. I immediately gagged on the idea that I may have eaten some of his friends.

Maybe it will be a friendly mold that will act like penicillin and cleanse my body of any harmful anything...or maybe more likely, my immune system is up for a challenge...so far so good.

marco

Our house is in the void of cell phone coverage. I have no signal until I drive two minutes away. So since we moved in, I catch up on my correspondence on my way to the store. At first, I was thrown off, like having a ghost limb after an amputation. But now, the silent phone is kinda nice. I'm getting loads done, and the girls are getting plenty of attention. It reminds me of life, once upon a time, when no one had cell phones and we just focused on where we were and who we were with.

Although, Aaron is out of town and I am missing him something fierce. He gets home tomorrow night. I don't think we've ever gone this long without speaking on the phone in I don't know how long. That is when having no phone is no good.

That said, I need to switch to AT&T...one of the few that gets coverage in our house. This saddens me, I have tmobile myfaves and that saves us tons of cash money. ooh well.

ahhh mercury, sweetest of the transition metals

In Colorado, not too many homes have personal pools. Instead they have community pools/clubhouse for each subdivision. Our community pool is great--very family friendly (zero entry for the wee chicks and a water slide that even Bryn loves). There are about 750 homes that belong to this community, and there are loads of kids on all the streets. It is the beginning of August and school starts in a few weeks. In Utah, this would mean the pool is jammed with moms and kids from sun up to sun down.

The girls beg every day to go to the pool. Most days, I take them. Here's the rub, our pool has never had more than 15 kids/people while we've been there. And that includes us! Me and the ladies make up a third of the pool population. I don't get it. Where are all the kids? Is swimming no longer cool?

Here's my theory, and I think it's a good one: working moms. All the kids are stuck in daycare. There are rarely any kids under 6 at the pool. Usually me and one other mom/dad. The other kids, that are at the pool, are old enough to stay home by themselves; thus they can go to the pool.

This theory makes me sad...sad for all the children stuck in daycare instead of swirling down the slide or diving under the waterfall.

It also makes me feel incredibly grateful to Aaron for working hard, so that I don't need to put our chicklets in daycare. I am very grateful to spend every crazy day with the girls.

I feel for working moms. I know that some of them don't want to be there. But unfortunately, their situation requires it...Carolyn always comes to mind. And now that she and Johnny are divorced, she really has no other option. Or sweet amazing Cindy, who lost her husband, and had to pick up the pieces.

poolside sidebar: I am finally tan enough that I like my freckles. I hate my freckles most of the year, except for now when they blend into my tan but pop just a little to make me look freshly sun kissed.

no one makes me bleed my own blood

So we moved in...but we're back at the apartment again tonight. Why? Because Aaron loves to drag things out until I pull out my hair annnnnnd because we left this morning at 7am to meet the movers (so we didn't have time to get everything out).

Today was not my favorite day.

The movers went fast and got everything in the house by 1pm but they completely busted 3 of the six chairs for the dining table. Frustrating, but now we'll get a new set. Almost everything got here. We have a couple of mystery boxes missing, which is lame. Managing kids, helping movers, having a period (which aaron claims I planned; he needs a beating today), running around like a chicken, and unpacking, unpacking, unpacking. Oh and our air conditioning was not working. It is fixed now, but we were dying for most of the day. Good times.

Aaron and I are both working on little sleep and lots of ridiculousness. Moving lowlight: Aaron threatened to punch me in the ovaries: right in the baby makers. (Not literally, it is a quote from Ron Burgundy)...but they were definitely fighting words. Especially when I'm PMSing and have a caffeine headache...yeah, I've been drinking way too many diet Cherry Pepsis this week. I got to cut back on the feel good juice. We're cuddly now but I was ready to take aaron to chinatown earlier today.

We're going to relax and get some sleep and hopefully tomorrow will be better. peace out.